The Pirate and the Puritan

by Howe, Cheryl

  As he eased open the door, the tangle of black skirts and wild curls that slid from the interior forced him to reconsider. He’d imagined the storm bad luck? The roguish smile he’d hoped to use to charm his stowaway slipped into a frown. What had he done to deserve this?

  Felicity Kendall lifted her head from the puddle of black wool she’d formed on the carpet. Her face shone a translucent white through a waterfall of caramel-colored hair. For the first time in their acquaintance, her glazed expression lacked hostility…or even recognition. Drew couldn’t conjure a witty remark, much less form a coherent thought. Once again Felicity had got the best of him, and she’d yet to utter a word. He just stood there, stunned and speechless.

  She struggled to lift herself off the floor. Once she braced herself on hands and knees, she paused to pant like a wounded pup.

  “Take me back to shore,” she commanded the Persian rug.

  Unbelievable. Drew recovered enough to know that, in this case, he did indeed have the upper hand with Miss Kendall. Not only that, she was aboard his ship, subject to his domain. At least he now knew who tampered with the lock. She no doubt thought to find something to discredit him. Instead, she’d landed herself completely at his mercy. He’d be the one giving orders, not the other way around.

  “Sorry I can’t oblige your request. Seems we’re in the grips of a nasty...”

  She emptied the contents of her stomach onto the plush carpet, splattering his boots in the process, and Drew forgot what else he’d intended to say.

  As if to remind them of the tempest, the ship lurched to its side, then just as abruptly righted itself, banging the armoire doors closed. Drew absorbed the motion by balancing his weight on his splayed legs. Felicity was thrown to her side, where she remained unmoving. In fact, she lay so still, her eyes glazed and unfocused, he feared her dead. He bent down and lifted a clump of hair from her face. At his touch, she curled into a ball, her hands clutched to her stomach.

  “Maybe some fresh air wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.” He crouched, waiting for her reaction.

  If her unusual silence wasn’t hint enough, the perspiration that beaded her upper lip along with her chalky pallor warned she’d soon be retching again. He scooped her into his arms. “Come on, sweeting. You’ll feel better with a little water splashed on your face.” Or a lot, as the case might be.

  Drew carried his bundle through the narrow passageway, marveling at her meekness. Her cheek nestled against his damp shirt, and the contact seared him all the way to his thudding heart. Having Felicity on board his ship was enough to fray his nerves—having her cradled in his arms sped his pulse to the rhythm of the constant rain. Dread and forbidden lust formed a heady aphrodisiac.

  Two faces squeezed between the galley’s entrance gaped at his progress. Drew turned Felicity’s face into his chest. “Avery, clean up the mess in the great cabin.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Avery Sneed only blinked once before he followed Drew’s orders. Red, the other crewman, slunk back into the galley—probably to save himself from helping Avery.

  Turning his back on the men, Drew ascended the stairs that led to the main deck. Let them think what they would as long as they didn’t recognize Felicity. He doubted they’d appreciate having an unscheduled passenger who could identify them. Avery had been Ben’s driver, Red his cook.

  When Drew stepped into the hissing storm with his limp bundle, the deck careened with what seemed like malicious intent to knock him to his knees. The rolling waves sounded like an army of furious tigers trapped in a hollow cave. He almost changed his mind about bringing Felicity on deck, but the ship righted itself and the rain slowed to a tolerable shower instead of a pelting fury.

  A glimpse at the sky showed a patch of illuminated gray passing overhead, but black beasts were on its tail. Drew strode to the protection of the mainmast. Felicity could gulp a few lungfuls of fresh air before she’d have to be trapped below for God knows how long. He eased her down the length of his body until her feet touched the deck. Her stiff demeanor had tricked him into believing her more solidly built, but her dead weight hardly caused him to strain.

  She leaned against him, drowning in the heavy black material of her dress as much as the rain. Though she clenched her fist around his shirt, she’d have sunk to her knees if his arm wasn’t wrapped securely around her waist. With his free hand, he pulled the wild strands of hair plastered across her face out of her eyes. Before he leaned down to kiss the top of her head, he caught himself.

  He shook off the foolish impulse, questioning his sanity. To remind himself who she was, he lifted her chin so he could look into her face. Purple circles ringed her dark eyes. The rush of empathy that had almost prompted a kiss returned.

  “This will pass, love. Is the air helping at all?”

  “I don’t feel well,” she croaked.

  Drew swallowed a chuckle but didn’t bother to hide his grin. “That’s obvious.” Never could he have imagined Felicity Kendall at a loss for words so blatantly apparent.

  “No”—she paused to gasp for breath before she could finish the sentence she seemed desperate to get out—“I don’t feel well right now.”

  Her words prompted Drew into immediate action. He pried her fingers off his shirt and lowered her to her knees, then kneeled behind her, holding her steady, while she braced herself on all fours. Having her lean over the side of the ship would have gotten them both washed overboard. Between the miserable dry coughs that sliced through the pounding waves, he heard her soft sobs. Both tore at his hardened heart.

  Drew reached for the thick rope of hair that hung across her face and spilled onto the deck. He held the mass out of her way with one hand. With his other arm, he circled her waist and held her rump steadfastly against his hip. His knees planted firmly on the deck absorbed the continued rolls of the ship and anchored both their weights.

  When her heavy breathing was the only sound that could be heard above the rain and wind, he realized the awkwardness of their positions. Of course he’d been in similar positions with women before, but never in his wildest dreams had he pictured Felicity and himself in such circumstances. And never had the women been getting sick.

  A nasty wave crawled over the deck and forced him to flex his thighs to maintain their balance. Despite the storm that howled its return, his traitorous body interpreted the movement as something else entirely. With his blood eagerly rushing to places it had no business being, he reached underneath Felicity’s arms and pulled her up with him as he stood. “Your stomach is empty, love, so I’m going to have to take you below.”

  He lifted her in his arms, and she sagged against his chest like a broken doll, succumbing to his will without an ounce of protest. The drastic change in her personality worried Drew all over again. Once he entered the protected deck below, he studied her closed eyes and gave into his earlier urge. He placed an almost invisible kiss on the top of her head.

  Drew returned to the luxurious great cabin, the only chamber on the Sea Mistress furnished for the needs of a woman. He planned on getting rid of the ship after this voyage. Too much attention had been attracted to it and to his true identity. He laid Felicity on the silk comforter, realizing she would have put all the clues together, anyway. Her unscheduled trip on the Sea Mistress had only hastened the process.

  Her docile demeanor wouldn’t last, but that didn’t stop Drew’s desire to hasten her recovery. He hated seeing her so weak. A dark halo spread around her as the ivory bedding absorbed the water from her drenched clothing and hair. Drew sat beside her, unbuttoning the high neck of her heavy gown. Her lack of protest when he began to undress her sounded an alarm. He touched her cheeks, finding her skin chilled. Banishing his guilt and ignoring his slight glee, he peeled off the black casing Felicity used to shield herself from the world.

  He dropped the gown to the floor and attacked the fastening of her stiff corset. His hands stilled as he stared at the lushness he uncovered. Apparently no one had ever instructed
Felicity in the wearing of the things. The feminine undergarment concealed, almost strangled, what it should have accentuated. Miss Kendall had a figure to rival Venus. Her breasts were full, large and appeared enticingly firm. Her white cotton chemise escaped the drenching of her dress, keeping her somewhat concealed and teasing his imagination with what lay beneath. He tore his gaze away before he burned a hole in the cotton. If he wanted to adhere to the integrity of his role as nursemaid, he’d better move on to a less challenging duty.

  Underskirts entwined around Felicity’s legs, hiding those appendages from the world. Drew reached down to remove the black boots peeking out beneath. Even with his gaze focused on nothing but the laces of her shoes, he felt like a lecher taking advantage of a helpless female.

  Fortifying himself with the innocence of his intent and ignoring his not so virtuous urges, he pulled off layers of muslin petticoats, refusing to touch the knee-length chemise. He brushed his fingers along Felicity’s calf. Her stockings remained thankfully dry. Reaching under her chemise to remove them would have sorely tested his endurance.

  He got up from the bed to search for something to dry her hair. When she regained her strength, something he assured himself would happen, she’d be livid to find he of all people had undressed her. He doubted she’d be satisfied with the fact that he’d had no choice, or appeased by the knowledge that his skill in the area of undressing women allowed him to do so quickly. Yet having a crewmember do the job was out of the question. His men were self-confessed cutthroats, not gentlemen who would respect a lady—no matter how angelic she might look at the moment. He pulled his hot gaze away from where her light cotton chemise clung to the apex of her thighs. He wasn’t much better.

  When he turned to the armoire, hoping to find a towel, he noticed the wooden box that had spilled out with Felicity. Seeing the tattered remnants of his life scattered across the floor confirmed his worst suspicions. The little witch had been spying on him.

  And worse yet, she no doubt thought she found what she was looking for. Two bills of sale bearing his real name lay face up on the carpet. She’d have no trouble figuring out Drew Crawford and Lord Christian Andrews were one and the same. Good. Let her think the worst of him.

  He neatly folded the documents and returned them to the box, before gathering the fragile items he’d sworn to toss overboard a dozen times. A yellowed, returned and unopened letter his mother had written to his father lay among the pile. Drew had never had the courage to read the last letter his mother had written, and the thought of Felicity doing so irritated Drew enough to chide himself for his compassion. That she’d peered into his past bothered him more than her discovery of the papers which she would interpret as his involvement in the slave trade. If he’d decided to strip her naked and tie her to the bed until the storm passed instead of taking such precious care with her, he’d be justified.

  He scooped up the sprig of purple lilac, a few more of whose tiny petals had fallen off. He sniffed it, though he knew the fragrance was long gone. He should just throw it away. Instead, he gently returned the letter and the sprig to the security of the tattered wooden box, the only baggage he’d brought with him from England.

  With the heirloom tucked under his arm, he stalked over to the bed. He searched the features of the tranquil figure in white for the conniving shrew who’d broken onto his ship and ransacked his meager belongings.

  After he studied her still face to assure himself her extreme condition wasn’t a ploy, he placed his palm against the side of her cheek and traced her lips with his thumb. With his other hand, he brushed her hair away from her face. He let his fingers stray until they were enveloped in the golden brown torrent spilling over the pillow. Her placid features tightened in pain when his caress found a lump the size of an egg protruding from the back of her skull. He gingerly removed his hands from her hair and reached for the box. No new scratch marred the sturdy wood to discern whether she had found the heavy object or it found her.

  Whether she’d managed to examine the contents of the box before it hit her on the head mattered not. Felicity Kendall was finally at his mercy. She would answer his many questions, not the other way around. God help them both.

  ***

  Felicity shook herself from a deep sleep. Even before she could pry open her eyes, she knew he was gone. How long she’d drifted in and out of an endless nightmare of pain, her head throbbing, her stomach pitching, provided as great a mystery as who he was. Strong fingers massaging her temples and a deep voice coaxing her from her misery remained the only tangible evidence that her savior had been flesh and blood instead of a figment of her desperate imagination.

  She blinked, trying to clear her vision. Instead of the whitewashed ceiling of her bedroom, uniform planks, varnished and shiny, loomed over her head. The splashing of water and her nausea brought her back to the nightmare of her voyage to Barbados. But another ship’s name loomed in the back of her mind.

  Sunlight filled the room with a hazy afternoon glow. She must be seriously ill to sleep so far past dawn. Idleness was a sin. Though not serious enough to earn a fine or physical punishment, a reprimand in front of the congregation would be in order. She let her eyes drift shut again, relishing her last moments of decadence. As miserable as she felt, lying abed until late morning felt oh, so good. No wonder it was a sin.

  Reluctantly, she stretched, and discovered her stockings glided over what had to be silk. Not that she had much experience with the expensive material. The most she’d ever seen had been…

  Tattered glimpses of how she’d come to be lying between silk sheets on a moving ship trickled to the forefront of her thinking like an unwanted fever. After her father had gone to bed, she had discovered the name of Lord Christian’s vessel in the New England Company’s ledgers. Sneaking from her father’s house and finding the ship had gone so smoothly. Her mission had been a resounding success until she had hidden in the armoire after hearing someone board the Sea Mistress and soon discovered she couldn’t let herself out. Her imprisonment had turned from a slight inconvenience to the incarnation of hell as she woke to the mad pitching of the ship.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath, grateful to be alive, and realized her gown had been removed, along with her corset. How she’d come to be without them presented another mystery she must solve. She flung out her hand and groped for a pillow to cover her face. If she could just go back to sleep until the throbbing in her head subsided, she could figure out her predicament later.

  The feather-stuffed silk shut out the light but didn’t squelch the rapid flood of her returning memory. She was on Lord Christian Andrews’s ship. Under full sail no less.

  She removed the pillow and listened. The motion of the ship had steadied and waves lapped against the hull instead of beating the sides like fists. No one else seemed to be in the cabin she occupied. To be sure of that, she forced herself to sit up. As soon as she lifted her heavy head off the pillow, splintering pain tossed bright fragments of light in front of her eyes. She squeezed her eyelids shut against the explosion.

  Just as a sob tightened her throat, a loud screech announced the opening of the portal. The sound delivered another unbearable slice of pain. Knowing someone entered the room forced Felicity to open her eyes in a squint. For the first time, she caught a clear glimpse of the man who had played her nurse. She quickly darted her gaze away before she had to meet his eyes. Good lord, he'd undressed her.

  Even with her focus firmly fixed on the silk coverlet, his image burned into her mind’s eye. He bore a tray in his hands, but that didn’t hinder his swagger in the least. His hair fell in thick brown waves just past his broad shoulders and stood starkly against the white cambric shirt he’d not bothered to lace. His close-fitting black breeches tapered into scuffed boots that began below his knees. A blush crept to Felicity’s cheeks as she remembered her first glimpse of those boots and the powerful legs attached to them.

  “I owe you heartfelt thanks, sir, and my apologies,” she
whispered, cringing against the sound of her own voice.

  She closed her eyes briefly, struggling with the reality of her flesh-and-blood rescuer. He appeared to be pure muscle under his rumpled clothes. It was hard to believe he was the same man who had touched her with such gentleness.

  Images of his body pressed intimately against hers came back with enough force to turn her cheeks hot. Though she believed his actions innocent and her condition kept her from any say in the matter, his unexpected virility washed her in guilt, as if they had intentionally participated in some type of lascivious behavior. When his boots echoed across the wooden floor, then drifted onto the carpet, she yanked the bedcovers to her neck.

  His weight sagged the mattress as he brazenly sank down next to her. Maybe if she pretended she was asleep, he’d go away. Usually she wasn’t so cowardly, but usually she wasn’t practically naked in the company of a stranger—a stranger she was forced to rely upon.

  He brushed strands of hair from her face and cupped her cheek, then her forehead. His touch was gentle, but she couldn’t stop herself from stiffening. She should tell him to leave. He’d taken too many liberties already. Though she appreciated his kind intent, he was a man and she a woman and the devil lurked in such innocent situations. At least she’d been told so enough times to make her think of it now.

  To her shock, she enjoyed his touch. She needed the warmth of his physical support, his help. She needed him. Unaccustomed tears stung her eyes. She turned her face against her pillow, confused by her weakness. Instead of pulling away, he caressed her cheek. His thumb captured the tear clinging to her lashes.

  “Please, don’t,” she whispered hoarsely. She couldn’t remember the last time she had wept. To have someone wipe away her tears had been an eternity.

  He removed his hands obediently at her croaked command.