Under Her Brass Corset

by Brenda Williamson

  “Miss Thatch, I owe you a debt of gratitude for your gracious help in convincing the captain to let me come aboard.”

  “It’s the least I can do in repayment of your services.”

  “What services?” Jasper asked, leery of the thinly veiled double meanings.

  “Why, showing me the island, of course,” Abigail answered. “He was a complete gentleman, as if he were born into high society.”

  “Oh, he got his foot in—the back door.” Jasper chuckled.

  “What is he talking about?” Abigail asked, as he knew she would.

  “Go on. Tell her about your past. You were so free with mine, I think Abigail might like to hear how your mother came together with a lord and had you.”

  Abigail turned to Adam. “Is it true?”

  “Yes. I’m the bastard son of a Lancaster, and I don’t give it much thought anymore. Jasp knows I put that all behind me a couple of centuries ago.”

  “Well then, I was right, you do have the comportment of an aristocrat.” A smile played at her lips. Her coyness radiated from the twinkle in her eyes to the graceful moves she made. She positioned herself in a way that prevented him from seeing her and Adam at the same time, so he felt as if they secretly signaled each other when he turned from one to the other.

  To avoid the flirtatious game the two played, which he felt was done just to irk him, he lifted the lever to hoist the anchor and then went to the mainsail to prepare to set sail.

  “We should be air bound in no time at all,” he said, untying the folded canvas from the boom.

  “Will it take long to get to where the treasure is located?” Abigail asked.

  “A couple of hours.”

  She came toward him, brushing her leg against a crate. Her face wrinkled with pain. He fought asking if she felt all right, and returned to his initial assumption.

  Jasper anticipated getting his head bitten off by her wrath when concern for her health got the better of him. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Yes,” she snapped.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Adam asked. “It’s been awhile, but if you refresh my memory and tell me what needs doing, I can—”

  “I can do it myself.” Abigail jumped right in with grabbing the handle of the large gear. “You get the steam up, Captain Blackthorn.”

  Pride flowed through Jasper. Abigail wanted to assist and she had proven herself capable. He walked across the deck, and looked back at her squatting by the engine, watching the pressure gauge. When he came back, he was going to make it a point to get a better answer to his inquiry of her condition. He went below to the boiler room and stoked the furnace with plenty of wood he had stocked up on from Juan’s island.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Adam had followed him.

  “Yes. Stay below until we drop anchor again,” he said and returned to the main deck to see that Abigail had cranked the large sail up and was working on the smaller one.

  “Here, I’ll finish.” He moved alongside her and grabbed for the handle.

  The Illusion sailed smoothly off the water.

  He locked down the handle and hurried up to the quarterdeck. Abigail stayed at the rail on the starboard side. Not a hint of a smile or any happiness showed on her face. He made quick work of turning the ship’s wheel to adjust the rudder. Once he had the direction right, he rejoined her.

  Her dismissal of him seemed to go deeper then any hormonal upset. Bound to wait her out, he choose to be jovial, until she forgot or got over whatever bothered her.

  “Perfect currents, a beautiful day, what more could we ask for?” He smiled, and still got nothing in return from Abigail.

  He stood with her for what seemed a long time. The occasional adjustments he had to make to their direction took him away for only several minutes at a time. Each return to Abigail’s side became a challenge to keep quiet. He lived alone all the time. Yet he never found staying silent so damn hard.

  When Abigail went belowdecks, he thought to go too, see if they might sort through her upset. But he remained above. She returned shortly, having discarded the corset.

  “There’s where we’re headed,” he finally pointed out, turning to shut down the steam for their descent.

  “It’s not very big, is it?” She trailed him to the engine.

  “Everything looks small from up here.” He watched her grab the handle on the small sail. “You’ve picked up rather quickly the routine of how to operate the sails.”

  For the first time in hours, Abigail smiled.

  “You look beautiful today,” he commented, hoping to keep her looking happy.

  “Thank you.”

  “And you’re not wearing the corset, I see.” He finished cranking the handle.

  “One of the buckles broke.”

  “I’ll fix it.”

  “That would be nice.” Mindlessly, she touched the brooch.

  “It’s an heirloom?” He nodded to indicate the cameo she rubbed.

  Her gaze dropped to it. “Yes. It was my grandmother’s.”

  “It’s lovely on you.” He checked that the steam pressure was down and then lowered another sail.

  Abigail looked up as the canvas collapsed on the yardarm. The sour look she’d had appeared gone for good as she continued to help him land the Illusion.

  “Feeling better?” he asked, suffering from the guilt of not questioning her dark mood earlier.

  “There’s nothing wrong with me,” she snapped, proving he misjudged her mellowed temperament.

  “I know some women find it a difficult topic to discuss with a man, but I would think after what we’ve been through, you’d know you can trust me to have sympathy for anything you need to share.”

  “What are you babbling about?” She gave him a quizzical frown.

  “Your womanly time.”

  For the first time in over twenty-four hours, he heard her laugh. Not the pleasant little twitters of delight either. No, this had a serious tone of surprise and disbelief. Did she think he had no compassion for her condition?

  “If you are inquiring as to whether I’ve started my menstrual cycle,” she began, “the answer is no. I told you yesterday, that’s weeks away and…Now I understand what you were taking about with the rags.” Another chuckle sputtered from her. “What on earth made you think I was having my…my womanly time?”

  He felt more embarrassed than Abigail seemed to be. “Your sour disposition,” he answered honestly.

  She gave a shrug, and he knew then she wasn’t going to explain anything to him. He suffered exasperation, but damned if the tight-lipped attribute to Abigail’s character didn’t have a sexy appeal to it—the kind of allure that made him want to spank her until she promised to be good.

  Jasper dropped anchor, giving up his thoughts about something he couldn’t change. He released the longboat into the water, and then went below to fetch the Crystal Compass.

  “Can I come back up top now?” Adam asked, looking too comfortable lounging on the bunk where Abigail and Jasper had made love.

  “No. We’re anchored off Ocracoke Island. Abigail and I are going ashore and we’ll be back shortly.”

  “Then I suppose I can finish my nap.”

  Jasper saw the brass corset lying on the trunk and he picked it up. “I’ll sail around to Bath Town afterward. You should be able to find a good ship there.” He took out an awl from his desk drawer and restitched the leather strap to fix the buckle.

  “Bath Town sounds good to me,” Adam said in return.

  Jasper put the corset down and opened the cabinet. He picked up the velvet bag holding the Compass. He didn’t think he had missed talking to Adam, but everything in his life had changed because of Abigail.

  “What happen to your ship?” he asked, curious to know more.

  “Storm, sloppy crew, hit rocks, end of story.”

  “Sloppy crew, huh?”

  “The worst. I should have looked into the whole steam engine and flying thing that
you do. Now that I see how it works, might be a good idea to rely only on myself.” Adam sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bunk. His boots clunked hard on the wood. “About Isabel.”

  “It’s done. I’m over it all.”

  “Really?” Adam’s brow rose. “Are you sure you don’t want to hang on to your anger another hundred and fifty years, or are you worried Miss Thatch won’t stand for it?”

  Jasper folded his arms together and leaned against the doorjamb. “I don’t rightly think it matters. There’s no future with her any more than there was one with Isabel. Mortals aren’t part of the immortal world. I know that the hard way.”

  “Still, Abigail is here with you.”

  “It’s just a one-time thing—a mission she’s on that I agreed to help see her through. Then back to England she goes.”

  “You keep telling yourself that enough and just maybe you’ll convince yourself. As for me, I don’t believe for a second that Abigail is going to give up on you.”

  Jasper trudged up the narrow stairwell to the middle deck. Adam was right. He’d find a way to live without her. But what about her feelings? How deep did her emotions go toward him? Was he setting her up for heartbreak?

  Abigail stood waiting at the rail when he returned. Beads of perspiration dampened her face. She fanned her hand back and forth without much luck in stirring the air.

  “You can stay here,” he suggested, thinking she might be hiding illness.

  “Are you serious?” Her eyes went wide. “I’m not letting you steal my treasure. I pretended to let you think you were winning me over with your drivel about being immortal and how my great-grandfather buried magical water just so you’d bring me this far. Now that I’m here, I’m going to the island and claim what rightfully belongs to me, and you’re not going to get in my way.”

  Abigail’s statement finally enlightened him about her somber spirit. “So, that’s what’s been eating at you. I thought we were past all this mistrust.”

  “You dazzled me with your gadgets and lovemaking, but I’m not brainless enough to believe in anyone living forever. Although I must admit you had me for a minute. Preying on my loneliness and making me fall for you was an extremely effective ploy, Captain Blackthorn. Too bad you played it too far with the immortality.”

  “I swear, Abigail, I’m not deceiving you about anything. I’ve told you more about my life than I’ve ever told anyone. I thought you understood that.”

  “I’m going to get my treasure. You can wait here or you can come. Either way, I want my snow globe.” She held her hand out for it.

  “How about I carry it until we get to the island?” he suggested, not eager to have it possibly slip from her fingers into the sea.

  “No.” Her mouth held that rigid, stern line of thinned lips from pursing them too tight.

  “Fine, just don’t drop it.” He swung a leg over the side first. “I’ll climb down the rope ladder. You step on the steam lift.”

  “Don’t you have to operate it from that box up on the quarterdeck?” She stood looking down at him.

  “That’s for raising the platform. Your weight should be enough for it to slowly lower.” He watched her put a leg over the rail. The long, full skirting of the dress made her move awkwardly.

  “Then how does it go back up if you’re at the bottom and the control box is at the top?” She continuously switched the crystal compass from hand to hand as she arranged her stance on the platform and rode the steam lift down the side of the Illusion.

  “I climb the ladder.”

  “Doesn’t sound practical. What good is it if you can only use it to get down?”

  The gentle waves rocked the ship. Abigail lost her balance and the compass fell from her hand.

  Jasper reached out and caught it, then gave her a warning glare.

  “Sorry.” She hopped into the boat. “It slipped.”

  “I’ll hold on to it.” He tucked it in his pocket. “What did you think I was going to do if there was a treasure? Dig it up and walk away from my ship?”

  “Maybe. How do I know all the elaborate details of a charlatan’s con?”

  “Abigail.” He sighed.

  If he thought it would work, he’d lean over and kiss some sense back into the woman. But from the hard-edged expression, he figured she’d probably clobber him with an oar. The best he could hope for was to take her to the treasure and let her see for herself that there were no fistfuls of jewels or trunks packed with gold coins.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Abigail stood back and watched Jasper shake the snow globe. Just as she had seen before, tiny rays of light shot through the glass and arced. Instead of one arc of light, several streaked through the glass into different directions. It had to work on magnets stronger than she had ever seen.

  “What if someone comes along?” she asked, surveying the lighthouse and the scattering of buildings not far from the beach.

  “Then we pretend we’re on holiday.” Jasper said, walking, following the shortest beam. “Come on.”

  It wasn’t colorful, but the rainbow-shaped arc glowed brightly. Unable to wait another second to find her pot of gold, she ran ahead. Seagulls strutting around in the sand flew away, squawking about the disturbance. Some moved down the beach and landed. Others spiraled upward and circled the tall white lighthouse. If she were on holiday, she’d love to take the time and watch them.

  Abigail dropped to her hands and knees on the hot sand where the light pointed. She dug quickly, anxious to discover she’d been right about a great treasure. To come so far and not find anything was her worst fear.

  “How deep is it?” she asked, glancing briefly over her shoulder at Jasper.

  He watched with a blank stare. She wondered why he wasn’t excited, why he wasn’t helping her plow through the silky white sand.

  “Don’t know. I didn’t bury it.”

  She kept scooping handfuls of sand out of the hole that she started. “You’re a pirate, how deep do you typically bury treasure?”

  “I’ve never buried anything in my life. I tend to spend my wealth or invest it.”

  Abigail paused and looked up at him again. “Oh, aren’t you the practical one.” A growing concern that Jasper might stop her and try to claim the treasure as his own lingered in her thoughts.

  “Find it yet?” he asked, casually sitting down on a large flat rock, looking handsome and sexy and dangerous.

  “No, but I will.” She dug faster, ignoring the pungent odor rising from the ground.

  Her fingers hit something and she pulled up the soft object.

  “Ew, what is that!” She tossed it away.

  “A clump of dead seaweed. I’d say you’re close.”

  When she brought up another handful of sand, she stared at the small bottle in her palm. “This can’t be it.” She brushed off the sand and held up her find. She shook it slightly and saw no more than a few spoonfuls of clear liquid.

  She looked over at Jasper, who was getting up.

  “This is some sort of trick.” She threw the bottle at him and started digging again.

  “Abigail.” He dropped down on his knees behind her. “I wasn’t lying to you.”

  “You had to be. Who would bury a bottle of water? It’s just a marker, like the seaweed. The treasure is still under here.”

  She scooped sand out of her way and fanatically raked a bigger hole.

  “Abigail, stop.” Jasper put his arms around her and squeezed her tight.

  “Let go.” She struggled, unwilling to give up.

  “You don’t need a treasure, me beauty.” His kisses pressed warmly against her head.

  “I do,” she cried. “I don’t want to lose my family’s house. I can pretend I don’t need it. I told myself I didn’t want it because it was a burden. But the truth is it hurts too much to think of never living there again. When you’re gone, it’s the only place I’ll feel comfortable being.”

  Jasper’s hold loosened slightly. “When I
’m gone?”

  “Mr. Sutterby told me you left the woman carrying your baby. He said they thought you died, but you didn’t. You could have gone back.”

  “I did go back. Unfortunately, I was kidnapped by pirates and forced to work on their ship.”

  “Another flaw in your story.” She sniffed back tears. “If you were immortal, then they shouldn’t have been able to stop you.”

  “Back then sailing across an ocean took months, not days. By the time I returned, she and the baby were gone—dead. I blamed Adam and I shouldn’t have. When I left, I went back to the pirates. I would never have abandoned her.”

  She wiped at her tears, not knowing what to say.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Abby. Trust me, everything will be all right.” He whispered the exact words she needed to hear.

  His arms loosened enough to let her scoot around, and then his embrace tightened again. He rocked her in his hug. His kisses circled her face, gliding from her forehead, to her temple, to her cheek. He moved his hands from her back to her jaw.

  “I won’t let you lose your house.” He brushed her cheeks. “Now stop crying.”

  She looked through watery eyes at him, trying to trust his words, to have faith that he wasn’t tricking her.

  “What can you do?” She sniffled again, unable to believe there was any hope, unless… “Do you know where my treasure is?”

  “There’s no treasure. I swear.” He tipped her face up. “However, a man can amass quite a fortune in four hundred years, me beauty.”

  “There you go again with that four hundred year—” Abigail’s words disappeared into Jasper’s kiss.

  She clung to him, hungry for the attention, appreciative of his concern, yet feeling foolish nevertheless. His make-believe stories weren’t nearly so bad when she put them up against her confidence that she’d find a treasure.

  However, the bad thoughts had no place in her head. She lifted her arms and wrapped them around Jasper. He slid his fingers into her hair as he held her head steady for his demanding kiss. A wave of warmth flowed through her, carrying unspoken promises of happiness. He had kept her safe on her quest, and she trusted he’d take care of her in the future if she let him.