Free The Red Siren by M. L. Tyndall Page A

been able to resist asking him, even if it meant she would have to spend more time with the man she had vowed to avoid. She could not deny that he had come in handy today as a diversion to Sir Wilhelm’s slobbering attentions. And she could not expect to completely elude a man living at her home. Besides, since he clearly did not recognize her—or he would have had her arrested already—perhaps she could use Mr. Waite after all.
      Nevertheless, excitement coursed through her at the chance to inspect one of His Majesty’s Royal Navy ships. It certainly couldn’t hurt to learn as much as she could about the ships that pursued her—something her father had never given her a chance to do. “A navy ship is no place for a lady,” she could still hear him say.
      “Oars up!” one of the men shouted. The eight-man crew hefted their oars straight above their heads as the boat thudded and splashedagainst the ship’s hull.
      Faith glanced up at the planks of damp wood that rose above her like the impenetrable walls of an enemy fortress—impenetrable to obvious foes, not clandestine foes like her. For like a tiny white ant, she intended to bore her way through the ship, seek out its weaknesses, and devour it from within.
      “Captain’s coming aboard!” someone yelled from above.
      After the men secured the jolly boat with ropes, a bosun’s chair was lowered over the side.
      Faith rolled her eyes. She had hoped to avoid this demeaning way men had devised to hoist women aboard ships—as if they were cargo. She could climb the rope ladder as well as any man.
      But she couldn’t tell that to the captain.
      Mr. Waite rose and extended a hand to Faith. “I’m afraid this is the only way we have to bring you safely aboard, Miss Westcott.”
      “I am sure I will manage.” She smiled as she settled into the swaying chair and grabbed the ropes on each side.
      Mr. Waite gave the signal to hoist her aboard, and the baritone command “Heave, heave!” poured over the bulwarks as the ropes snapped tight and her chair rose.
      “Side by side, lively now, men,” another man yelled from above as the captain sprang up the rope ladder with the ease of a man who spent more time aboard a ship than on land.
      As Faith rounded the top railing, dozens of eyes shot her way, but the crowd of sailors quickly resumed their forward stares. A line of men near the railing raised whistles and blew out a sharp trill as drums pounded behind her.
      Mr. Waite grabbed the rail and jumped on board. “Atte–e–e–en–tion!” Every sailor removed his hat, and the captain responded by touching the tip of his.
      “Welcome aboard, Captain.” A young, uniformed officer with a thin mustache stepped forward just as Faith’s shoes tapped the deck. Two seamen assisted her off the wobbling chair.
      “Thank you, Mr. Borland,” Mr. Waite replied as the rest of the crew dispersed to their duties.
      Faith stood amazed at the formality and organization of the sailors, even at port.
      “Miss Faith Westcott.” Mr. Waite gestured toward her. “May Ipresent Mr. Reginald Borland, my first lieutenant, as well as a good friend.”
      “At your service, miss.” The young man bowed and allowed his narrow brown eyes to drift over her. Then, slapping his bicorn atop his sandy hair, he straightened his blue navy coat. A line of gold buttons ran down the center of each pristine white lapel, winking at Faith in the sunlight.
      “Miss Westcott is my temporary ward,” Mr. Waite explained, “and has requested a brief tour of the ship. Since we have no current orders to sail, I thought to oblige her.”
      “Very well, Captain.” Lieutenant Borland offered a sly wink toward his captain before turning to leave.
      Ignoring him, the captain extended his elbow