The Consul's Daughter

by Jane Jackson

  All this raced through her mind at lightning speed. No matter what either of them suspected, they had no proof, and she would not break her oath of secrecy to her father.

  Not knowing whom to trust, she could trust no one. She had to pretend the documents did not exist. Future conversations with Antonio Valdes would require extreme caution. But right now she needed to convince Jago that Valdes’s interest was purely personal.

  ‘You –’ Her voice cracked and she had to clear her throat. ‘You are mistaken. Señor Valdes is a gentleman.’ She desperately hoped he would interpret her trembling as indignation. ‘He would not take advantage. Anyway,’ she said recklessly as he shook his head in disgust, ‘you are in no position to condemn my behaviour, or anyone else’s.’

  Immediately the words were spoken she wished them unsaid. His face darkened ominously and his eyes turned as cold as arctic seas. Releasing her hair, he gripped her shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh.

  The brush fell unnoticed to the deck. Her breath sobbed in her throat as he pulled her towards him and her hands flew up to fend him off. Her heart leapt in a dark tangle of fear and shocking excitement.

  One hand snaked round her waist, the other grasped the nape of her neck, effectively immobilising her. One black brow rose.

  ‘Jealous, Caseley?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She meant it to sound scathing, a rebuff of his massive conceit. But the look in his eyes and the unyielding hardness of his body against hers were stopping her breath, sapping her will.

  ‘Let me go,’ she pleaded, her voice unsteady. She could feel her strength ebbing and a treacherous weakness stealing along her limbs. ‘I – I’m sorry.’

  He frowned. ‘For what?’

  ‘Anything. I should not have said … Don’t, please … don’t …’ Her voice faded to a strangled whisper as his head lowered to hers, blotting out the light.

  ‘Hush,’ he said against her mouth. For a moment neither moved. Then a tremor rippled through him. As Caseley’s hands pushed against his chest, his lips covered hers.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She hadn’t known what to expect: perhaps demand, even anger. But his mouth moved on hers with heart-stopping tenderness. Her eyes closed and she was falling, flying. His lips were warm, soft. Helpless against their gentle pressure hers parted.

  Her heart cried out to him as her body lost its rigidity and became pliant. It fitted against his as if created for this moment, for him.

  Her fingers spread, sliding through the silky black hair. Beneath the searing heat of his skin she could feel the rapid thunder of his heartbeat, and was awed.

  With a groan he tore his mouth from hers, his breathing harsh, and she gave a soft inarticulate cry of loss. Gripping her upper arms he held her away, his face a taut mask. His eyes blazed with emotions she did not understand.

  Releasing her without a word, he turned swiftly and strode out. She staggered against the table, hearing the clang of his quick footsteps on the stairs.

  Bereft, she lifted a hand to touch her mouth. Reaction set in and she began to shake, hugging herself as she trembled. An aching void yawned in the pit of her stomach.

  Shame and doubt bubbled up like marsh gas. He had a mistress. Why had he kissed her? A whim? Punishment for her defiance? Why had she let him? Not merely allowed, but responded, welcomed. She had been waiting without knowing what for. Now she knew. But that joyous moment of recognition had been shattered into jagged shards by his rejection and abrupt departure.

  A wrenching sigh sobbed in her throat. Why had he come into her life? He had stirred hopes she had deliberately suppressed, disrupted an existence she had tried to fill with meaning by caring for her father, running the house, and shouldering the responsibility of protecting him and the business.

  It would have been better if she had never met him. She would have dreamed, yearned, but she wouldn’t have known. Knowing made loss agonising.

  She pressed her fingertips to the throbbing ache in her forehead. The day had only just begun. There were meals to attend and the crew to face, as well as Antonio Valdes. She had to pull herself together.

  She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting him. She could still feel the sensation of his mouth on hers, still smell his skin. She scooped up the now-cool water to bathe her face again and erase every trace. But it was too late. Jago Barata had left his mark on her as surely as if he had used a branding iron.

  She could not begin to guess at his motive. He had seemed reluctant but driven. As his lips had touched hers, his hunger and barely controlled violence had shocked her. Yet she had not been frightened, nor had she fought.

  His mouth had softened like a sigh, and he had stirred an aching sweetness so exquisite her heart had stumbled. Then he had gone, leaving a gaping wound.

  With unsteady fingers she twisted her hair into a thick coil on her nape and anchored it with pins. She would not think about him. She could as easily stop breathing. His presence was all around. She was living in his cabin. She had slept in his bunk. His hand had penned the flowing writing in the log. And her body still quivered from his touch.

  There was no escape.

  Unwilling to face a truth she had no idea how to deal with, she avoided the mirror. Instead she tidied away her soap, flannel, and toothbrush, folded her nightgown, plumped the pillow, and straightened the blankets on her bunk. The tasks soothed her so that when Martin knocked she was able to open the door and greet him with a mask of calm firmly in place.

  ‘’Morning, miss. All right if I fetch the bread and milk? Breakfast’ll be ready in a few minutes.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll bring the bucket –’

  ‘No, miss. Cap’n wouldn’t like that. You leave ’n there and I’ll fetch ’n d’rectly.’

  Her stomach clenched into a small hard knot as she sat down opposite Hammer and Jimbo. Making an effort to smile she returned their greetings, dreading the moment when Jago would join them. Antonio came in, freshly shaved and trailing the scent of soap and cologne. Nathan followed, his expression betraying amusement and scorn. Caseley realised Jago must be at the wheel. That meant he would eat later.

  Relief left her weak. For a moment she wondered if he might be avoiding her, but dismissed the notion. He had made it clear that her presence on board would not be permitted to affect the ship’s routine.

  So she had to hide a start of surprise when she heard Hammer ask Nathan why the skipper was on an eight to noon watch when he had already put in an extra two hours during the night.

  The mate shrugged. ‘He’ll have his reasons. He want you to check the repair on the spare mainsail and re-stitch ’n if he’s loose, all right?’

  Hammer nodded, his mouth full.

  ‘Going to strip and grease the dolly winch, he was,’ Jimbo put in.

  ‘That’ll keep. Do ’n after.’

  Antonio frowned at the boiled oatmeal Nathan ladled onto his plate, then turned to Caseley.

  ‘Buenas dias, guapa señorita.’

  ‘Good morning, Señor Valdes.’

  He studied her. ‘Something is wrong. What is it? You must tell me.’

  Caseley looked at her plate, and carefully lifted a spoonful of oatmeal to which she had added treacle and a little milk. Surely it could not be that obvious? The others had greeted her quite normally. There had been no lingering glances or questioning frowns. He was guessing, she realised. More than that, he seemed hopeful. Pushing thoughts of Jago to the back of her mind, she closed a door on them.

  ‘You are mistaken, Señor. Nothing is wrong. Why should you think there is?’

  His gaze was speculative, assessing. ‘Because –’ he answered in Spanish, ‘yesterday I was a brute. I told you sad tales of my country. These are not your problems. But to engage your interest, your sympathy, I did this cruel thing. I asked questions, wanting to learn about you and your family. My only excuse is that though Fate has brought us together, it is for so short a time. But you will be in my heart forever.’ He b
rought his head close to hers. ‘Do you believe in love at first sight, señorita? I did not,’ he paused, ‘until yesterday.’

  Caseley looked away from his smouldering gaze, and toyed with her oatmeal, her cheeks on fire.

  Nathan pushed the jug of milk towards her, his frowning gaze darting between her and the Spaniard.

  She did not know what to say. For an instant she had been tempted to laugh. But he was so abject, so sincere, she felt ashamed of the impulse.

  Then, like a feather brushing over her skin, came realisation. His impassioned plea had been made entirely in Spanish. Despite telling him yesterday that she spoke little of the language, she had been too taken aback to interrupt or claim that she did not understand.

  She glanced up, met his gaze, and saw only admiration. Maybe she had been wrong about him. Maybe her overwrought imagination had seen intrigue and threat where none existed. His forcefulness and inquisitorial manner had unsettled her. But, as Miss Amelia had often remarked, the Latin temperament was volatile, impatient, and passionate, and thus not easy for the cool, phlegmatic English to understand.

  Caseley had wondered how Miss Amelia knew. Had she reached this conclusion through her studies of Spanish art and literature? Or had she in her younger days known a man like Antonio Valdes? Had she loved and lost?

  ‘Madre de Dios,’ he swore under his breath. ‘I am a clumsy fool. My head counsels silence but my heart must speak. And the heart is always stronger, no es verdad? Your pardon, señorita, I beg you.’

  Caseley was thoroughly unsettled. She had not invited his attention – had she? Could she, simply through not wanting to appear discourteous, have given him the impression that she welcomed his declarations? She didn’t.

  Perhaps someone more experienced might laugh them off and do so without causing offence. But she didn’t have that experience. No one had ever spoken of love to her. Common sense told her he didn’t mean it. He was exaggerating, though she had no idea why.

  Nathan cleared his throat. ‘Come on, miss. You got to do better ’n that, else the skipper’ll have my hide.’ He indicated the plate she had hardly touched. ‘Want a drop more milk do you?’

  Unable to watch her himself, Jago had detailed the mate to do it and no matter what his own feelings were, Nathan would obey his captain.

  ‘No, thank you, Mr Ferris, this is fine.’ She made herself swallow a spoonful of the glutinous porridge. She knew she needed the nourishment. Nor did she want to put the mate in the position of having to report her. She sensed his discomfort, and none of this was his fault.

  ‘What is this?’ Antonio demanded in a low voice. ‘The captain is surely exceeding his authority. It is unforgivable. I will speak with him.’

  ‘No.’ Caseley surprised herself with her firmness. ‘That is not necessary. Captain Barata is responsible for my welfare while I am aboard. He is only saying what my father would say were he here.’

  Antonio leaned towards her. ‘What would your father say to you sharing the captain’s cabin, señorita? Is that also necessary for your welfare?’

  Caseley’s face flamed. ‘I – I – ’

  ‘Señorita,’ he interrupted with smooth concern. ‘You are a lady of sensitivity, as yet unmarried. Such an unorthodox arrangement must be deeply distressing for you. When I learned you were to travel with us I offered my cabin. I was told to mind my own business. It seems the captain is a law unto himself. But what are his reasons for forcing such embarrassment upon you? No man of honour would ’

  ‘Please excuse me, señor.’ Caseley pushed her barely touched plate away and stood up.

  ‘Can you trust him?’ Antonio hissed. ‘What does he want from you?’

  ‘Miss –’ Nathan began.

  ‘It’s all right, Nathan. I’m – I just need –’ Shaking her head she fled.

  She wanted to hide in the day room, not see or speak to anyone. She needed to think. She hadn’t had time to wonder how the arrangements might appear to anyone else. The crew had made little of it. But they must be curious. Unless – Had this happened before? Were they used to seeing a woman on board?

  No. Instinct told her that was not so. If they showed little reaction it was because they were well-disciplined and they trusted Jago. His reasons were not their business. But clearly Antonio saw something sinister in it, and he had reawakened all her doubts.

  Jago had said it was for her protection. Against what or whom? He had kissed her. He was trying to stop her talking to Antonio. Why?

  She hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. She did not want to see Jago. The memory of his kiss was still too vivid. Just thinking of it made her heart turn over. But she had to go to the wheel shelter.

  Her heart quickened as she climbed the stairs. The breeze was fresh and tasted of salt. All the sails were full. She clung to the top of the gunwale as she made her way aft, the wind blowing into her face over the port quarter.

  Jago stood behind the massive oak wheel, the wind billowing his shirt, his booted feet apart, balanced against the schooner’s motion. His hands rested lightly on the varnished spokes and his gaze shifted from sea to sails then to the compass as he held their course, harnessing the power of wind and current to coax all possible speed from the graceful vessel.

  The schooner’s bow rose and she was suddenly conscious of the size of the seas around them. The deep water was inky blue and streaked with foam blown back from the wave crests. Carried forward on a rolling mass of water, Cygnet met a cross sea with her head down. As her prow carved a path through, a cloud of spray flew skyward and Caseley gasped as some of it caught her, stippling her blouse and trickling down one side of her face and neck.

  ‘Get below,’ Jago bellowed as she gripped the rail with one hand using the other to wipe cold salt water from her stinging eyes.

  She shook her head and released the rain to lurch across to the wheel shelter.

  ‘Are you sick?’ He had to shout above the din created by the wind shrieking through the sheets and shrouds and the creaking blocks.

  ‘No,’ she yelled back, her face burning as she fumbled with the latch.

  With a brief nod he looked down to check the compass once more. He might have been a stranger. Yet his strong arms had held her close and his mouth had caressed hers with a sweetness she would never have suspected in him.

  She almost fell into the tiny shack. Fortunately the bucket was empty except for a puddle of carbolic whose powerful smell caught in her throat. She wondered which of the crew had the unenviable task of cleaning it and sympathised, realising how much she took for granted at home.

  As she swayed back to the companionway she could feel Jago’s eyes on her. The temptation to look round was almost irresistible. But pride gave her the strength she needed. He had walked away without a word. Even now, though they were alone on deck, not by a word or a smile had he so much as hinted that anything had occurred between them.

  Maybe as far as he was concerned it hadn’t. Maybe it had slipped from his mind, an impulse acted on and dismissed. Not important enough even to be regretted. Simply forgotten.

  She hurried back to the day cabin, her head down, nearly tripping in her haste to be alone as scalding tears spilled down her cheeks. Hurt, bewildered, hating herself and him, she curled up on the bunk. But the harder she tried to untangle her thoughts, the more confused she became. What to believe? Whom to trust?

  At dinnertime, pride and reluctance to give Jago reason to criticise her forced her into the mess. She ate as much as she could, conscious of his rare glances, and remembered to thank Martin, who reddened and was at once teased by the rest of the crew.

  Escaping back to the cabin, she brought a book from her bag and curled up in one corner at the stern end of the bench to read.

  Jago came in a little later. The atmosphere changed in an instant, becoming charged with tension. Bending over the table to enter details of their course and the weather into the log he asked if she had everything she needed. She thanked him politely and said she
did. Then he left. But the tension lingered on.

  Towards late afternoon, Antonio Valdes knocked softly, claiming an urgent need to talk to her. She did not open the door, grateful for the barrier as she pleaded a headache. After sowing further seeds of doubt as to her safety under Jago’s so-called protection, he left.

  Tea followed a similar pattern. When, to settle an argument, Jimbo wanted her opinion about the best way to cook pigs’ trotters, Jago answered, deftly steering the conversation away from her. Yet instead of feeling excluded or rebuffed, she was relieved and grateful. The men took their cue from him. While giving her an occasional nod or smile to acknowledge her presence at the table, they left her alone.

  Only Antonio persisted in trying to draw her out. But after his third attempt to begin a private conversation with her in Spanish earned him a cutting rebuke from Jago, he subsided into simmering silence.

  As soon as she had finished eating, Caseley excused herself, left the table, and went up on deck. Hammer was at the wheel and after a nod and smile, made a point of checking the compass and looking up at the sails as she went to the wheel shelter.

  When she came out the sun had set, leaving a blood-red stain on the horizon. In the twilight, stars were beginning to appear. A cold pale moon hung low in the dusky sky. With nothing but sea all around her she felt very small and insignificant. She moved down the deck, staying on the seaward side, filling her lungs with cold fresh air as she gripped the rail and gazed out across foam-tipped waves.

  Thinking about home she wondered how her father was. She did not hear Jago’s footsteps. But she was suddenly aware of him behind her. She could feel his presence, the warmth of his body across the inches that separated them. Tension crawled along her nerves. She shivered, craving and dreading his hand on her shoulder or cupping her elbow. But he did not touch her.

  ‘Come below.’ His deep voice was gentle, but the words were an order. There was nothing to be gained by arguing. She obeyed without looking round.