“I was unable to sleep and thought a walk on the deck would help. I truly believed I would be safe late at night.”
Did he detect a touch of accusation in her voice? As if it were his fault she was attacked? Damn her, it was his fault. Since she had no chaperone and no man to keep her safe, the job fell to him. If she were his wife, he’d … He quickly pulled his mind from such a fruitless direction. It was none of his business what her husband allowed or didn’t allow. He just hoped he could hand her over to the fool-headed man in one piece.
“Mrs. Sutherland, from now on if you want to walk the deck at night, please send for me. I will escort you.” Because, Lord knew, he didn’t have anything else to do.
A flash of defiance crossed her face. For a moment, he thought she would refuse his request, but to his surprise and relief she nodded her consent.
Despite his resolve to make a quick check on her, he leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. “Do you have any idea why Donell was on deck?”
“Drinking, I presume.”
Yes, Nicholas thought the same, but Donell’s drunkenness could easily be a ruse to hide other nefarious duties—like sabotaging the ship. Of course, the noxious smell of the man had been no ruse. “Did you notice anything else?”
She tilted her head, causing that braid to dip even lower. “Why the inquiry, Captain?”
“Merely curious.”
She seemed to consider his statement. “No,” she said slowly. “There wasn’t anything else I noted, other than that he seemed to come from nowhere.”
Nicholas pushed away from the doorjamb and stepped back. He’d been foolish to think she knew anything. And he’d wasted his time lingering when he had important duties to attend to. “Again, my apologies for my crewman’s behavior. I’ll let you retire and will see you in a few hours.”
Oliver, Nicholas’s quartermaster, stood before him, a petulant expression on his face.
“Since Donell’s in the brig, ain’t nobody to do his work,” Oliver said.
“Then you split up his work among the others.”
“Ain’t nobody goin’ t’want t’do extra work. Ain’t their fault Donell got himself throwed into the brink in the first place. No disrespect, Cap’n.”
Nicholas heaved a sigh of frustration. This was what he had to deal with? Crewmen who weren’t willing to work a little extra?
“Then they should take their frustration out on Donell when he’s released.”
Oliver’s eyes widened. “You bein’ serious, Cap’n?”
“No, of course not.” Yes, very serious. Maybe it would keep the others in line better if they knew the other sailors would discipline them. Then again, maybe not.
Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and Nicholas straightened. Hell and damnation. Emmaline Sutherland was walking the ship late at night again.
He tracked her movements with a narrowed gaze. His traitorous mind followed the soft sway of her hips and the occasional glimpse of an ankle.
He would have thought her encounter with Donell three nights ago was enough to frighten her into staying in her cabin, but apparently not.
“So we was wonderin’ if maybe you could let Donell out, seein’ as how his work ain’t gettin’ done.”
Nicholas pulled his attention back to Oliver. “I am not releasing Donell and it’s up to you to see that his work is done. If you can’t find someone to do it, then you need to do it yourself.”
Oliver straightened his bony shoulders and narrowed his watery eyes. How he ever made it to quartermaster was beyond Nicholas. Hell, Samuel would have been a much better choice.
Emmaline flitted along the deck like a ghost, sure in her steps, ignoring the wet spray of the sea. Odd, that. Most women disliked getting wet, and would be screeching about their hair and gown.
What a strange and baffling woman. She cared not about fashion, as she had so vociferously informed him. She traveled alone and claimed to be married yet never spoke of a husband.
“I ain’t doin’ his work and my work,” Oliver said.
Nicholas pierced him with a glare, more irritated that Oliver was pulling him from his contemplation of Emmaline than by his disrespect. Disrespect he could handle. His wayward thoughts concerning his passenger he could not.
“Then I suggest you find someone who will or I will let the cat-o’-nine-tails out of the bag and let it make the decision.”
Even in the dim light of the moon, Nicholas could see Oliver’s face pale. Flogging was his last recourse but he would use it if he had to. Nicholas was well aware that Oliver was testing him to see how far he could push, how much he could get away with. No doubt he’d been pressured to do so. Now the man could take his answer back to the crew and maybe some work would get accomplished around here.
In the meantime, he had a woman to pursue.
He left Oliver standing there to contemplate the possible flogging and kept himself to the shadows to watch Emmaline’s furtive progress across the deck. She was adept at avoiding the other sailors, as if she knew where they would be.
He had no issues with her being out and about during the day. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it. Certainly, she was unlike any other woman he’d ever met. Most women he sailed with—and there had been very few—spent their time belowdecks, away from the harmful rays of the sun, mostly seasick. But not Emmaline Sutherland. She walked the deck daily—and nightly?—despite her encounter with Donell, and she watched his men with a critical eye as they went about their duties. It was almost as if she were weighing their performance and judging him by it. That was ridiculous, of course. She had no way of knowing what each individual’s job was or whether he performed his job correctly.
His gaze caught on her swaying braid that nearly touched her buttocks. Despite her unfashionable thinness, her hips flared in an enticing way, hinting at curves where curves should be. Not many, but enough to stir Nicholas’s groin.
Sebastian would say he’d been too long without a woman, and Sebastian would be correct. But since Nicholas’s injury, no woman enticed him.
Unfortunately, the first woman to do so was a harpy who refused to listen to orders and was married, to boot. With the way his luck had been running these last several years, he shouldn’t be surprised.
She hesitated at the steps leading to the hold. For long moments she stood there, her body rolling with the pitch of the ship, and stared down the darkened companionway.
Surely she wasn’t thinking of entering the hold. What could she possibly want there? All the cargo was packed into barrels and crates and lashed tightly together.
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and moved on, taking one last look at the companionway.
Nicholas followed, more confused than ever.
She climbed the steep steps to the quarterdeck, and with lengthening strides that had her skirts billowing, crossed the deck. Suddenly she stopped, again at another set of steps. These led to the officers’ quarters and Nicholas’s cabin.
Nicholas moved to the shadows, curious and a little excited. Was she contemplating an assignation with him? The minx. Did she not speak of her husband because they had the type of marriage where they enjoyed extramarital affairs? He’d never bedded a married woman and wasn’t about to start now, yet he still felt excitement at the prospect of her entering his cabin for a good romp.
He ached with the images invading his thoughts. Of pulling all of that ebony hair from its confining pins and running his hands through it. Of kissing the soft, golden skin of her throat and hearing her moans of pleasure.
He waited, holding his breath, for what she was to do next. Of course, he might be wrong. She might be planning an assignation with another officer. The thought didn’t sit well with him, not only because his officers weren’t much better than the accursed sailors, but because he wanted her all to himself.
Good Lord, Addison, gain some control over yourself.
Her shoulders slumped and she turned on her heel
so fast Nicholas had to duck farther into the shadows to stay hidden. She strode back across the quarterdeck and headed toward her cabin. Nicholas hurried to catch up, a little disappointed she hadn’t knocked on his cabin door.
As the sun peeked over the horizon, she slipped into her bedchamber and firmly closed the door behind her, leaving Nicholas clenching his hands at his sides and nearly snarling with frustration.
He was on the biggest mission of his life. Important men were counting on him to discover the reasons behind the attacks on Blackwell’s ships. Now was not the time to be distracted by a beautiful woman.
However captivating she was.
He contemplated the wooden door. His mind conjured images of her sun-kissed skin revealed inch by glorious inch as she stripped off her gown. Of her firm breasts rising as she lifted her arms to slip out of the gown. A narrow waist he could span with his hands, and those delicious hips. What did she look like with that magnificent ebony hair unplaited and spread around her?
With a growl, Nicholas marched back to his cabin. Thoughts of a naked Emmaline Sutherland followed him step for step.
Some fool pounding on her cabin door had Emmaline springing to her feet before she came fully awake.
“Who is it?” she yelled, forgetting she wasn’t on her own ship and therefore shouldn’t use her sailor’s voice.
“Captain Addison, Mrs. Sutherland.”
She groaned. She’d been in bed less than an hour after roaming the ship until early morning. She was tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep.
“One moment, please.” She searched frantically for her robe, finding it balled up beneath her bunk. She shook it out and grimaced at the wrinkles before pulling it on. It wasn’t appropriate to answer her door in her nightgown and robe, but what was she to do? She didn’t have a lady’s maid to run interference for her.
She opened the door a crack and peered out with still-bleary eyes. Addison stood on the other side, a look of impatience about him.
“Yes?”
His gaze flickered over her hair, down to her hand clutching the robe closed at her throat, then lower, skipping over her chest and traveling to her toes, only to start its way back up, more leisurely this time. Everywhere his gaze touched, her skin tingled as if his hands followed.
Her nipples puckered. She tightened her hold on the robe and moved so most of the door was blocking her. Merely a physical reaction to a decent-looking man, Emmaline. She wasn’t at all attracted to him on an intellectual level. He was arrogant. And it angered her above all reason that he believed every woman was only interested in fashion.
She cleared her throat and his gaze jerked back to hers. “Did you need something, Captain?”
His mischievous grin told her he wasn’t at all ashamed he’d been caught ogling her. “You requested a tour of the ship and I am here to give it to you.”
“Give it to me?” Lord, but her mind was still asleep.
His grin turned into a full-blown smile, while his navy eyes smoldered with promises she refused to contemplate, yet weakened her knees. Oh, the rogue! “A tour of the ship, Mrs. Sutherland.” The last thing she wanted was a tour of his ship. She’d been “touring” the ship since she boarded, day after day and night after night, despite his dire warnings concerning her safety.
Now she wanted to sleep, but she couldn’t say that because she would have to admit she wasn’t sleeping at night.
“I’m sorry, Captain, but I have a bit of a headache.”
“Then a stroll on the deck is exactly what you need. The fresh air will do wonders for an aching head.”
“I’m not dressed.”
Again he looked her up and down, his lips turning up at the corners and those eyes burning with blue flames. “I can see that.”
Oh, my. A lady would object. A lady would slam the door in his face. A lady would never have answered the door in her nightgown and robe in the first place. A lady Emmaline Sutherland was not. Therefore she merely stood there, speechless, her breasts tingling and heat growing between her legs. Good Lord. She cleared her throat, searching for the appropriate admonition.
Addison’s sizzling gaze met hers. “A situation you can easily remedy by slipping into something”—he looked her up and down again; Lord have mercy, her knees nearly buckled and she clutched the door tighter—“else.”
How in the bloody hell did he manage to make something so ordinary sound so decadent? Emmaline had never been with a man before, never wanted to until she met Nicholas Addison. For a wild moment she contemplated reaching across the threshold and dragging him into her cabin to press her body against his.
The image made her mind go blank and for a moment all she could do was picture his dark head bent to suckle her …
“Give me a few moments.” She shut the door in his face and stood in the middle of her small cabin trying to control her erratic breathing, her pounding heart and the scenario playing over and over in her mind.
Stop this, the pirate in her screamed. Yesssss, the woman in her moaned. Yes, yes, yes. She wanted Nicholas Addison in her cabin. She wanted to learn what a man could do for a woman, and she especially wanted to learn what a woman could do for a man. Oh, she’d heard stories.
It was hard not to when one worked entirely with men. She’d fought off her fair share, men who mistakenly thought she was a weak woman. Every one of them learned to respect the sharp end of her sword. And yet, with all that she’d lived with men, she still didn’t know what it was like to be with a man.
She looked longingly at her rumpled bed sheets, imagining him lying on top of them and her draped over him.
Enough!
She was tired, that was all. She needed to concentrate on her goal of finding a way into Addison’s cabin to search for the shipping information for Blackwell’s ships.
If her contacts were to be believed, and she had no reason not to believe them, then Blackwell was setting sail with a shipload of gold. They didn’t know where the ship was going, or even what port it was leaving from, and Emmaline needed that information. In a last ditch effort to discover what she needed, she had paid Blackwell Shipping for passage on their vessel, in the hope that the information would be there.
Thoughts of her mission held firmly in mind, she changed into her gown, thankful she hadn’t purchased any of those silly gowns requiring two people to lace her up. Really, women should start wearing breeches and shirts. They were much more convenient.
She splashed water on her face to wake herself up, and contemplated unplaiting her hair and brushing it out. Instead, she twisted it into a bun and jammed a few pins in it to keep it off her face and back.
Within minutes, she was ready, but hesitated before opening the door. She always had to brace herself before confronting Captain Addison. He had a quick tongue and she had to be in top mental form to spar with him—something she wasn’t certain she was prepared for this early in the morning. And those disturbing images of him were hovering at the edge of her mind, ready to spring forth at the least provocation.
With a deep breath for courage, she opened the door. And exhaled in surprise. Captain Addison was leaning against the opposite wall. Arms crossed, white shirt open at the throat to reveal tanned skin, tight breeches, old and worn and faded by the sun. One knee was bent, his booted foot pressed against the wall behind him. His black hair was mussed, his blue eyes hooded, revealing no emotion other than, possibly, impatience.
Emmaline’s mouth dried up for the second time that morning. She’d witnessed men in every stage of undress. Nursed them when they were injured, sick and dying, but none of them inspired the feelings in her that this man did. For the first time ever, she wished she were a different person. A better person. A person Captain Addison would respect. Someone he would look on as suitable to court.
Court? She scoffed at such a silly idea. She was not a person someone would court, and it was best she remembered it.
Captain Addison was not of her world and never would be. Neither
was she of his world. Not unless she was willing to give up everything she’d fought hard for over the past eleven years. And she wasn’t willing to do that. Not for Addison. Not for anyone.
“You look tired.” He pushed away from the wall to stand beside her.
“I have a headache,” she snapped, more angry at herself for thinking such ridiculous thoughts than at him for waking her so early.
“Then let’s be off to the upper decks where you can take in the clean air. There’s nothing like ocean air to clear your head.”
She grimaced at his jovial mood, at her reaction to him and at the heat that was in his eyes moments ago but was conspicuously absent now.
“What would you like to see?” he asked once they reached the top deck.
She shrugged, not needing the tour anymore but forced to maintain the farce.
“Very well, let’s begin with the bow.”
With an inward groan, Emmaline followed. Her pretend headache was turning into the real thing. She needed a few hours of sleep in order to keep up with Addison, but it looked as if she wasn’t going to get that anytime soon.
“The front of the ship is called the bow. The back is called the stern. If you get confused as to which is which, remember B comes before S in the alphabet.” He hesitated. “Forgive me, I assume you are able to read?”
“I can read.” Surely he didn’t believe she was so dense that she didn’t know the difference between the bow and the stern.
He shrugged. “Most people can’t. It’s rare for a woman to be able to.”
What was it with this man that he lumped all women together as empty-headed? “I assure you, Captain, I can read, and quite well. I also know the difference between the bow and the stern.”
He moved forward, forcing her to follow. “As you can see, there are three masts.” He pointed to the foremast. “The masts are the poles sticking up from the deck.”
She closed her eyes to keep from circling his neck with her hands. How had she thought him attractive? What had she been thinking when she fought to keep herself from tumbling him to her bunk? The man was insufferable. This was not what she’d meant when she requested a tour of the ship.
The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance Page 3
