Salting the Wound

by Janet Woods

  ‘Wait until we hit an Atlantic storm if you think that.’ He slapped a piece of smoked bacon on a thick slab of bread and butter and held it out to her. ‘Here, eat this instead.’

  Nick’s patience was wearing thin, so she smiled and bit a chunk from one side. ‘Thank you, Nick, but I’ll eat the broth if you don’t mind. It smells delicious.’

  ‘Contrary little madam,’ he growled.

  Nick was like a cauldron. Turn the heat up under him and he began to boil. Turn it down and his temper subsided like a charm. ‘Stop being in such of a grumble with me,’ and she bestowed her most charming smile on him. ‘When will we get back to Poole? Charlotte will be sick with worry about me.’

  The smile Nick gave her was altogether smug. ‘In approximately seven weeks’ time, since we’re going there via Boston.’

  ‘Seven weeks!’ She closed her eyes for a moment, hoping it was all a dream. When she opened them again Nick would be gone, the ship would be gone and her aching head would be gone. Though, better an aching head that not having a head at all. The trouble was she could still hear the wind and water, ropes slapping, timbers creaking, and other marine sounds. She’d have to use guile on him, though she didn’t think she’d be very good at it. She opened her eyes to their fullest, dipped her eyelashes once, then gave him her best smile. ‘I don’t suppose—’

  ‘You suppose right, Aria. Turning back would cost Thornton Shipping a great deal of time and money, and it would put our schedule out.’ His mouth took on an amused curve. ‘Why are you blinking, have you got something in your eyes?’

  ‘You know I haven’t. I’m being alluring.’

  ‘I assure you, you’re not.’

  She giggled when he chuckled, and opened her purse to gaze at the contents. She closed it again, saying hopefully, ‘I have two shillings, will that get me home?’

  He whooped with laughter. ‘That won’t even pay for your provisions.’

  Picking up her spoon she scooped up the broth, in case it proved to be her last meal. It was filling and had barley in to thicken it. She sighed when she finished it. ‘That was tasty. Is there any fruit?’

  He plucked a couple of purple plums from a dish and offered them to her. ‘They’re a bit sour. I was waiting for them to ripen.’

  The first one was extremely sour. Her jaw clenched as the acidity sent multiple shudders skittering into her ears. She handed the second plum back to him. ‘Yours, I think.’

  ‘Next question, Aria?’

  ‘Where does one get a bath on this ship of yours?’

  ‘We haven’t got enough fresh water on board to take baths. Sam will supply you with a bowl of water every day, in which to wash.’

  ‘I never thought,’ she wailed. ‘My hair desperately needs washing. It’s sticky with dried blood and I can’t get it untangled.’

  ‘Red said that if you wash it in salt water it will help the wound to heal, even though it might sting. Sam will bring you some. We have an abundant supply, with or without fish.’ He smiled. ‘Last night you asked Cook to cut your hair. I prevented him because you were rambling a bit. It’s too pretty to cut off. If you’d like I’ll act as your maid until your shoulder heals properly, and braid it into a queue for you in the morning. It will be easier to manage like that.’

  She nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  Sam came in and placed a jug of coffee on the table. There was no cream to go with it, but plenty of honey to sweeten. Sipping at the brew she made a face.

  ‘Too strong?’

  When she nodded he tipped half of it back into the pot and added hot water from a second jug to her cup. ‘Try that.’

  She smiled after she’d sipped it. ‘Much better, thank you.’

  ‘Now, Aria. Tell me why you came aboard my ship in the first place.’

  ‘Firstly, to deliver a satchel of fabric you dropped the last time you visited my home.’

  His eyes sharpened and his smile faded; he was obviously remembering the occasion. ‘That was a year ago,’ he said harshly. ‘You could have left it with my Aunt Daisy. What’s the real reason? Has something happened to Charlotte? Is her husband ill-treating her? If so, it serves her right.’

  But he looked as though he’d turn the ship around and go back to Poole to rescue Charlotte straight away, she thought with a sigh, and he’d probably come off worse in an encounter with Seth, who was a trained soldier, after all.

  She placed a hand over his. Best to tell him now. ‘You must reconcile yourself to the fact that Charlotte appears to be happily married. In fact, just a week ago she gave birth to twin babies. A boy called Mitchell and a girl named Jessica.’

  Nick didn’t say anything straight away, but slid his hand away and stood, his eyes narrowed as he informed her briefly, ‘My Aunt Daisy has already acquainted me with the fact.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Thank you for returning the length of silk, but you needn’t have gone to the trouble. I’d intended that for Charlotte’s wedding gown. It’s yours if you want it.’

  ‘But—’

  He laid a finger across her mouth. ‘The conversation is at an end. Heed my instructions. You are not to come on deck by yourself. I’ll be down later to braid your hair and take you up for some air. In the meantime you can rest. If you behave yourself we can watch the stars come out. If you need anything, ask Sam. He has five sisters, so is an expert on women. Aren’t you Sam?’

  ‘If you say so, Captain.’

  ‘You’ll have to make do for about three weeks, until we reach Boston. We’ll arrange a time between us when we can both have private use of the cabin for a short time each day. We can buy you some new clothes once we berth.’

  ‘For two shillings?’

  ‘I’ll make you a loan.’ He smiled. ‘Sam has enough clothing to outfit the gentlemen queuing in a whore’s parlour for a month. He might lend you something.’

  She giggled at his colourful phrase.

  He shrugged and offered her a shamefaced grin. ‘Accept my pardon. I’m not used to having women on board. I’ll try and watch my tongue from now on. Let me rephrase that. Sam’s mother sent him to sea with an outfit for every occasion. Sam’s not much bigger than you at the moment and he might lend you a pair of trousers. What say you, Sam?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Miss Honeyman can have my best set, the ones my mother told me to keep for Sundays. The trousers are too short now, and there’s that shirt with the frills on. I’ve never worn it, and I’ve grown out of it. My chest has got bigger, see.’ He filled his lungs with air to expand it.

  Amusement danced over the dark surface of Nick’s eyes. ‘That’s enough of a demonstration, Sam. We don’t want Miss Honeyman to swoon. I had noticed your growth into manhood and was about to comment on it. And frills on the shirt certainly don’t suit you. I’ll replace the outfit when we get to Boston with something more manly. The trouble with mothers is that they don’t want their sons to grow up, eh lad.’

  Marianne remembered that Nick had grown up under the care of his uncle and the fearsome Aunt Daisy, so perhaps it was wishful thinking on his part. Nevertheless, Nick was good with Sam, and she had a sudden vision of the captain sprawled in a chair with a couple of dark-eyed sons on his knees, both gazing raptly up at him with adoration while he told them a story.

  But for that he’d need a woman he loved, and one who loved him. There was a sudden ache in her throat that she found hard to set aside. He’d been constant and loyal in his affection for Charlotte, and had made no bones about it. But her sister was unavailable to him now. When he reached the door, she said, ‘Nick? I’m so sorry . . . about Charlotte.’

  Nick knew exactly what Aria was thinking . . . that he was broken-hearted and pining for her sister. It was true that Charlotte’s betrayal had come as a shock, and he’d be the first to admit that he’d survived a period of some serious soul-searching in the bottom of a bottle.

  He’d discovered among the dregs that most of his anger had risen from his own vanity. His relationship with Cha
rlotte had always been one of combat, and at that moment when they’d last met, she’d had no choice but deliver him the coup de grâce.

  The wound she’d inflicted on him no longer dominated his thoughts. It was healing, as surely as that ugly gash on Aria’s head would heal. Thank goodness she’d whacked her head and not her pretty face, for it would leave a scar.

  The humiliation of sprawling face down in the dirt still rankled though, and he doubted if he’d ever get over that particular dent to his pride. Sometimes he considered retribution for that cruelty she’d inflicted on him. The smile she’d exchanged with Seth Hardy had nearly broken his heart, and he’d reached the conclusion that if she’d ever loved him, she didn’t now. And if she’d never loved him, then she’d never pretended otherwise. He’d been suffering from a delusion of his own making. More shattering was the knowledge that he’d needed her to fill a space in his life.

  Earlier in the cabin, when Aria had smiled so beguilingly at him in an effort to persuade him to return her to her family, it had dawned on him that he’d been handed the perfect tool with which to take his revenge on his former love. He was tempted to, but could he do it, and would he like himself afterwards?

  ‘I daresay I’ll get over Charlotte eventually,’ he said, and closed the door behind him. When he was outside, Nick leaned against it for a moment and his eyes narrowed as he completed his train of thought with a soft laugh. If he did decide to take his revenge, it would be in Aria Honeyman’s best interests to watch out.

  The next time Nick set eyes on his unwanted guest, was at dinner. She’d brushed most of the tangles from her hair with his brush and had managed to tie it at the nape of her neck with a ribbon she’d pulled from her bonnet.

  Red had made a stew with dumplings. And there was a tart made from dried apples and raspberries.

  Aria wore a pair of moleskin trousers, which clung becomingly to the curves of her behind. Over the top she wore Sam’s despised frills, the cuffs turned back to the length of her arms. Her hair was a dark and stormy tumble of curls. He gazed at her, savouring her appearance and wondering why he’d never seen her through the eyes of a man before.

  She caught him staring. Anxiously she said, ‘Do I look all right?’

  An exquisitely provocative sprite, indeed, he thought, and cleared his throat before he forced out a laugh. ‘The ladies of Poole would foam at the mouth and lash their tongues if they set their eyes on you looking like that.’

  Her face fell. ‘Is it that bad?’

  ‘My dear Aria, have you looked in the mirror lately? If so, you must know how perfectly ravishing you’ve become.’

  A blush suffused her cheeks. ‘You shouldn’t say such things to me, Nick.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She looked away. ‘Because I’m afraid.’

  ‘That I might ravish you?’

  ‘No, I’d never think that of you,’ she said quickly. ‘You were always a gentleman around me. It’s because I love someone. I would not like that to be spoiled.’

  The mere fact that she was standing here on his ship meant it was already spoiled. ‘Who is it you love?’

  ‘Oh . . . someone.’

  Curiosity filled him. ‘Does the man love you in return?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . sometimes I think . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Then again, he has such a fine, upright and professional manner. It’s hard to tell. He says he likes me and I’ve known him a long time. Almost as long as I’ve known you.’

  He sounded like a self-important prig to Nick. Longevity didn’t breed loyalty or love if Charlotte’s example was anything to go by. What a little innocent Aria was. Hearing the yearning in her voice, he asked, ‘Has the man tried to kiss you yet?’

  She looked shocked. ‘He wouldn’t. Lucian is a gentleman.’

  With water running through his veins. Poor little Aria, yearning for the kiss of a man she’d never be able to have, Nick thought. Lucian Beresford was a handsome man with a charming manner, and he was good at his job. But he was dispassionate and ambitious. If he married at all he’d marry into wealth, and by all accounts he’d set his sights on a woman recently widowed. Aria deserved better than him, and even if she didn’t, Beresford wouldn’t want her once she was surrounded by scandal. She needed someone with passion, someone who would cherish her and who she could adore in return.

  Someone like Nick Thornton, perhaps? He gave a wry smile. Now that would set the cat amongst the pigeons, and it was worth consideration. Aria hadn’t realized her slip of the tongue, as she hadn’t considered the ramifications of coming aboard his ship unaccompanied. Once she returned home, and they’d realized where she’d been, the gossips would set to work and she’d be like a lamb to the slaughter. Poor Aria.

  Still, that wasn’t his problem . . . unless he decided to make it his. He slid her a sideways look. He’d never met anyone so refreshingly ingenuous, and she was feminine to the core. ‘If I were Lucian I’d have kissed you by now.’

  ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t take such a liberty.’ Her eyes flicked up to his, alight with curiosity. ‘Were you always a gentleman with Charlotte?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be if I discussed our relationship with you, now would I? If you want us to remain friends mind your own business, Aria.’

  Her laughter rode astride the goose bumps prickling down his spine. ‘On the strength of that I know I can trust you, Nick.’

  ‘It would be wiser if you didn’t assume anything.’ He gave a soft laugh and held out his best jacket for her to wear, easing it on to her sore shoulder first. Her hands disappeared into the sleeves and stayed there. He folded it around her from behind so she was in his arms, then left a kiss, as light as a butterfly, where her shoulder joined her neck. Her skin quivered against his mouth, but she didn’t attempt to move away.

  ‘Can you still trust me?’ he whispered against her ear.

  She turned to gaze at him, giving a delectable little laugh that set his hair on end as she held out her arms. ‘It tickled. Turn the cuffs up please, Nick. Or should I call you Captain Thornton in front of the crew?’

  ‘You can call me any name you consider suitable.’ He folded back the sleeves. ‘There, that’s better. Here, put that arm back in the sling. You forgot to answer my question, Aria.’

  ‘I didn’t forget. Some questions are better left unanswered.’ When she gently touched a finger against his bottom lip he wanted to grab her hand and scrape his teeth across her palm. His uncle had been right. This was a woman who made a man feel like a man without even trying. There was nothing in her of the shrewish nature her sister had. Aria was all softness and laughter, but had a fine touch of mettle about her when she needed it, he suspected.

  Lightly, she said, ‘Let’s go up on deck and watch the stars come out, like you promised. I’ll expect you to tell me the name of every one.’

  ‘Pick one out for yourself and I’ll prise it out of the sky for you.’

  ‘It would be lonely separated from its companions and wouldn’t shine so brightly.’ She slid her hand trustingly into his. ‘Lead the way, Captain Thornton.’

  They sat on the hatch cover, and the crew walked casually back and forth, stopping to ask how she was. The crafty load of buggers, he thought. He allowed them to take a look at her, to smile and be smiled on and beguiled, then sent them sharply about their business.

  Overhead the stars peppered the sky one by one, then by their hundreds as the sky darkened, until the whole sky was a blaze of twinkling lights. Now and again a star would shoot across the sky. Marianne seemed enchanted by it, so her voice was hushed in reverence of the show when she said, ‘It’s magical, Nick.’

  His hand closed around hers and her pulse beat against his palm.

  In the crew’s quarters someone began to play a fiddle. The men began to take it in turns singing the sailor’s alphabet, their voices gruff. A is for the anchor that hangs on our bow. B for the bowsprits through the wild sea do plough . . . as they neared the end Aria softly joined in the choru
s ‘So merry, so merry, so merry are we. No mortals on earth are like sailors at sea. Blow high or blow low as the good ship sails on.’

  ‘Give a sailor his grog and there’s nothing goes wrong,’ Nick finished with the rest of the voices when they were raised with great gusto.

  She laughed as a cheer went up. ‘Tell me about the stars now.’

  It was a balmy night and the ship rode the swell as smoothly as a rocking horse in a child’s nursery. All that could change in a moment, but he’d know if the wind changed direction and if the sails needed to be trimmed.

  He was showing off, extolling the glory of the heavens to her when he felt the slight weight of her head pressing against his shoulder. He gave a wry smile. ‘So much for stargazing, kitten, I’ve sent you to sleep.’ He slid an arm around her for support.

  ‘Mmm . . .’ she murmured and turned her face against him to snuggle against his chest. The breeze caught her hair and a multitude of flying strands reached up, to cling to and caress his face. It smelled of salt and seaweed, like the ocean she’d washed it in.

  Her long lashes quivered against her skin. She had a neat little nose and her slightly parted mouth had a relaxed curve. He wanted to kiss it, and gave a bit of a grin. Now, who was beguiled by her? Then and there Nick decided he’d be doing himself a favour if he threw her overboard. At least he’d get some sleep. Then came the afterthought – he might be doing her a favour too.

  He woke her with a gentle shake. ‘Time you went to your cot, I think. I’ll take you down.’

  Her eyes were fuddled for a moment, then they cleared. ‘Did I fall asleep? It must have been the sea air.’

  ‘I thought it was because I’d bored you.’

  ‘I’ve never known you to be boring, Nick. As for the air . . . it’s wonderful air, with a mind all of its own.’

  He appreciated her sentiment, and the way she expressed it. She looked at things differently from most women he’d known. He stood, assisting her to her feet. ‘I wish there was some way I could make you more comfortable, Aria.’