It was a daunting thought, and Angela was quiet for a moment before saying, “I suppose we must learn from our tribulations.”
“What do you suppose this particular tribulation is meant to teach us?” Emily asked to the accompaniment of more splashing. “I already knew about fear.”
Angela smiled. “Perhaps we’re meant to exercise our minds and think of a way to escape.”
“Escape?” Emily sounded uneasy. “I’m not that brave. I don’t think I should like the consequences if we fail. Didn’t you hear Dylan’s comments yesterday about captives who have tried escaping and been caught?”
“He was only trying to frighten us into cowering in our cabins and not asking anything of him that might be the least bit inconvenient,” Angela replied. “I’m not at all certain Saber would actually tie cannonballs to our waists and throw us overboard as Dylan claims pirates are accustomed to doing.”
“But are you certain that he wouldn’t?”
That question gave her pause. No, she wasn’t certain of him in any way. Even though on occasion she had the thought that he might truly have been reared as a gentleman, there were too many times Saber had shown traces of ruthlessness to make her believe he had latent tendencies toward mercy. If she was ever foolish enough to believe he might display charitable traits, she had only to bring to mind the memory of Captain Turnower and his ill-fated crew being blasted out of the water by cannon fire.
She suppressed a shiver. That particular memory did fervent battle with other memories, those disturbing visions that came to her mind in the long, dark hours of night when she should be sleeping. At those times, her traitorous mind and body would recall the touch of his hand and the press of his mouth against her lips. It was ridiculous, of course, yet the memories still burned and made her ache at times, a most mortifying response to such a villainous pirate.
“No,” she said at last, “I’m not at all certain of his reaction. But I do know that we can govern our own actions and rule our own fates.”
“I don’t know about that last,” Emily said from behind the screen. There was a loud splash and a blur of movement as she rose from the tub and reached out an arm for the towel draped over a chair. “It’s difficult to rule your own fate when someone else holds the power of life or death over you.”
“But does he? I know that he does to some degree, yet I still think we can overcome any obstacles if we put our full minds and energies to it.” Angela paused, then said, “If we are truly careful, I believe that we can outwit Captain Saber.”
Emily’s head appeared at the edge of the screen, her dark eyes wide and damp strands of hair clinging to her plump shoulders. “Outwit him? How?”
Angela stood up and began to unfasten her gown. “If we are clever enough to make full use of everything we have at our disposal, it can be done. I’ve thought about it for several days.”
Emily looked doubtful. “Do you mean to steal a boat and escape? I’m not a very good sailor, you know.”
“I know.” Angela pulled her gown over her head and tossed it over a chair, then sat down and began peeling off her stockings. “Sooner or later, we should be near enough to land to form a solid plan. What we need to do until then is ensure that we’ll have the means to carry it out.”
“I don’t understand.” Wearing the silk dressing gown Dylan had provided for her, Emily stepped out from behind the Chinese screen. The thin rose silk clung to her damp body in places, and the hem was much too long for her, dragging over the canvas Dylan had placed under the brass tub to protect the floor. “How can we plan to have the means to escape when we don’t even know where we’ll be?”
“We may not know, but there are others aboard who do.” Angela let that sink in for a moment as she focused on rolling her stockings neatly and placing them atop her gown. She looked up to find Emily staring at her with a puzzled frown.
“The crew? I should hope they know where we’re going, but that still doesn’t help us. None of them would tell us, I’m sure.”
“Not normally, no. But if we have gained the affection and trust of one of them . . .” Angela deliberately let her voice trail into silence while she stepped behind the screen and removed the rest of her garments.
She had poured the rest of the hot water into the tub along with a liberal dose of bath salts and was sinking down into the tub when Emily finally said, “You mean Dylan.”
Angela leaned back and draped her arms over the high rim. She raised her voice to be heard over the screen. “Yes. Dylan likes you. I’m certain he would help us if we convinced him our lives were in danger.”
Silence.
“Dylan seems especially fond of you, Emily.”
More silence.
Angela tried again. “Of course, we would have to be so discreet no one would suspect him of helping us.”
“You want me to ask him,” Emily said flatly, and Angela hesitated.
“Not now,” she said after a moment. “Later, when we’re close to land.”
“It would endanger him as well as us,” Emily said in a tight voice. “I don’t want to do it.”
“You would rather be sold to some Turkish caliph and live in his harem the rest of your life? Or perhaps be sold to a farmer in the colonies and hoe weeds and pick cotton all day every day?” Angela didn’t try to hide her irritation. “What is the matter, Emily? Don’t you have any sort of survival instinct?”
“Yes,” Emily flashed. “If you’re so convinced this will work, why don’t you try it on Captain Saber?”
“Saber!” Angela dropped her washcloth. “He would see right through me in an instant. Besides, Dylan likes you. Saber hates me.”
Emily gave a scornful laugh. “Not a bit of it. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And for that matter, I’ve seen the way you look at him, too.”
“Really, Emily, you’re imagining things again.” Angela scrubbed angrily at one arm. “I do not appreciate your even suggesting such a thing.”
“You don’t seem to mind suggesting it for me. Don’t you have any sort of compassion?”
“Of course.” Angela sat up with a jerk, sending a spray of water onto the canvas mat. “I had compassion for Captain Turnower and his crew, and I have compassion for you. Do you expect me to have compassion for a pirate who has probably robbed, raped, and murdered more people in a single year than we can imagine? Emily, think!”
A faint sob drifted around the screen, and Angela closed her eyes with frustration. This was not going well. Dear Emily, so filled with guileless trust that she could not even enlist the aid of one of her own captors. Sighing, Angela said aloud, “If it distresses you, don’t think about it, Emily. We’ll devise another plan.”
“Oh good,” Emily said with obvious relief. After a moment, she added in a faint voice, “I think I shall go back to our cabin now. I left my hairbrush there, and my hair tangles so badly if I do not brush it dry.”
“I’ll be along in a few minutes,” Angela said, lifting a leg and soaping it with leisurely strokes. “I just want to enjoy my bath.”
Emily stepped to the door and called for Dylan. In a moment, his steps could be heard on the steep companionway, and he knocked once before swinging open the door.
“I’ve a word or two to say to both of you,” he called out, and he did not sound very pleased.
“Is there something amiss, Dylan?” Angela asked from behind the screen, but he refused to reply, saying only that he would speak to her later.
“Right now, I’ll take Emily back to her cabin while you finish your bath.”
“If you intend to give her a piece of your mind about something,” Angela observed, “make certain you can spare it.”
“Don’t be too sassy. You won’t like what I have to say any more than she will. Come along, Miss Emily.”
The murmur of their voices faded behind the closed door, and Angela sighed. Her enjoyment of the bath was marred by Emily’s distress. There was little she could do to alleviate it. If she sympathized
too much, then any hope of getting Emily to actually cooperate with her plan would be doomed. No, she simply had to coax Emily into doing it. Their freedom certainly depended upon it, and possibly even their lives. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t like Dylan. She did. But if he could be tricked into helping them, she would do it in an instant.
Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a few moments of indulgent soaking before she rose from the tub. Dylan would be returning shortly, and she had no desire to risk meeting up with Captain Saber. He was too perceptive, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew what she was thinking most of the time.
Frequently, there was a mocking light in his eyes, as if he knew she lay awake at night and thought of him. She should have been shamed by it, but she was more confused than anything else. How could she have allowed him to kiss her? She should have screamed, or slapped him, or shown some kind of reaction other than a breathless plea for him to stop. That last still left her flushed with humiliation. She’d never considered herself weak or spineless, but apparently, Saber was able to find her frailties quickly enough. She didn’t understand it at all. Thoughts of Philippe should have kept her strong, but they hadn’t. Oddly, she’d not thought of him for an instant when Saber kissed her. Not until much later, anyway.
Angela sighed and rose from the tub. She reached for a towel. All this dwelling on what couldn’t be changed was pointless. She should devote all her energies to escaping. Yet she was more afraid of how Saber made her feel than the possibilities of what he could do to her. She had to escape, and soon, if she was to survive with her soul intact.
Kit stood in the doorway like a stone statue, one hand still on the latch, his eyes riveted to the scene in his cabin. God. He’d forgotten. The Azores were within sight, and his mind had been on business. Intent on retrieving the letters of marque from his locked casket, he’d not given a single thought to the fact that the women might still be in his cabin with their damned bath.
Yet they were. Or one of them was, at any rate. Where the hell was Dylan? He was supposed to stand guard outside the door, but there had been no sign of him. Kit muttered a curse when Angela stepped from behind the Chinese screen clad in a towel that barely hid her torso and left her long, creamy legs bare. She hadn’t noticed him as she reached for a silk dressing gown thrown over a chair. The towel slipped dangerously low, revealing the high rise of one breast and enticing shadows. He sagged against the doorframe.
God, he couldn’t help it. Angela aroused a fire in him that was as urgent as it was baffling. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind since he’d first laid eyes on her, and now it would be worse. Much worse. Seeing her in the filmy chemise had been bad enough. He closed his eyes. Visions of tantalizing skin, luscious curves, and bare legs would be pure hell in the nights to follow.
A flash of heat produced predictable physical results. He opened his eyes and wrenched away from the doorframe.
“Must you drip all ever my carpet?” he asked in as mild a tone as he could manage.
Angela turned with a jerk and a gasp, and the towel fell. For an instant, she stood paralyzed, breasts rising and falling with each rapid breath. Kit tried in vain to ignore a prodding sense of urgency. Then she gave another strangled gasp and snatched up the robe to hold it in front of her. It draped in a fall of green silk that hid very little, and she tried to readjust it with clumsy haste. Her quick, fluttering movements made him think of a startled butterfly.
“It really doesn’t hide much,” he observed calmly. He tilted his head to one side. “You would do better to put it on, I think.”
She stood quite still, staring at him with wide eyes as green as the silk robe she held. A bright flush stained her high cheekbones. The flush stained her throat down to the curve of her rounded breasts, a most interesting reaction. He speculated an instant on possibilities before drawling, “At least cover the parts that are too tempting, angel. It’s not that I’m not enjoying the show, but have you considered the fact that you might grow chilled?”
That seemed to propel her into action at last. She stepped back behind the Chinese screen and there was a flurry of green silk accompanied by a furious, “How dare you!”
“How dare I what? Come into my own cabin?” Kit folded his arms over his chest and said, “I gave permission for you to take a brief bath in my tub, which is in my cabin, in case you’ve forgotten. I did not give permission for you and your fripperies to actually take over my quarters. Where is your chaperon, green eyes?”
“I suppose you mean my guard,” Angela snapped from behind the screen. “He’s out tying cannonballs to unfortunate prisoners, I presume. Isn’t that what pirates do?”
Kit said evenly, “Yes, at times. At other times, we defile distressed damsels. Or had you forgotten?”
“Not for an instant!” Angela appeared at the edge of the screen, the dressing gown wrapped tightly around her body. There was now a scarcity of visible skin, but he noted with a slight grin that the robe clung in revealing folds to her damp body.
“You seem to find this amusing, Captain Saber,” she said stiffly, and he realized she’d misinterpreted his reaction.
Lifting a brow, he said, “Annoyed more closely describes my emotions at this moment. Why is it that I stumble across you and your maid in various stages of undress at every opportunity? Don’t you know how to keep your clothes on?”
“Yes, but one does not usually do so when bathing. At least, not a civilized person.”
“Ah, I take it that inference is meant to imply that I am not civilized, Miss High-and-Mighty?”
“Not imply—state unequivocally.”
He strode forward, hardly realizing his intention until he had one hand around her arm and had pulled her against him. His hand tightened around her upper arm.
“You’re so bloody high-minded. Has it ever occurred to you that given the right circumstances, you might behave in a less than civilized manner yourself?”
“I might be frightened, but I doubt very seriously I would stoop to some of the crimes you have committed.”
“Oh do you.” He laughed harshly. “Yes, I imagine you’d like to think so. But I wonder. I wonder just how polite you would be when faced with the possibility of a slow death. Or witnessing the death of someone you knew and loved. Do you think you would courteously request that the perpetrators cease and desist? Or would you look around you for a weapon, and when you had used it and they were dead, would you want to laugh?”
Her face had gone pale, her eyes as murky as green bottle glass. Kit shook his head.
“Yes, I can see by your face that you think it’s all a crock of nonsense, but I assure you, sweetheart, that given the right situation, you would do just the same. You’re a fighter and a survivor. I noted that about you the first day, when you jabbed your knee into my crotch. Do you think you would not fight? Since you’ve been on this ship, that’s all you’ve done. Granted, the weapons have been words, but the intent is the same.”
“What would you have me do?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “Yield to unjust demands? Surrender meekly?”
“No. I would never recommend spineless submission to anyone. It will get you killed in the long run.”
Her eyes flashed, and she tried to pull away. When he did not release her, she said angrily, “Then why must you torment me? If you approve of resistance, why do you try to suppress it?”
“Ah, because I do not necessarily approve of resistance against me,” he said with a laugh. “It depends on the circumstances, angel. While I am not trying to really harm you, only rid myself of you, there are others who would deserve such an enthusiastic revolt.”
“I have never before met a man who deserves an uprising more than you,” she snapped, and this time he let her go when she tried to get away.
A smile curled his mouth. He couldn’t help it. She was such a fierce little creature at times that his irritation usually lost to amusement at her useless bravado.
Her eyes flamed at his
obvious amusement. “Damn you!”
He laughed. “I’ve been damned for more years than you know, angel. But I do approve your usage of profanity. A few more verbose expletives, and you’ll be right at home among the crew.”
“Among those ravages of humanity?” she scoffed. “I hardly think so. It would take someone with far more excesses of immorality than I have exhibited to feel at home amon—”
He caught a handful of her hair and pulled her head back, effectively cutting off her sneering criticism. Anger made his voice harsh.
“I would like to see how moral you would be when faced with the lives some of those men have led. Some of them were condemned to death for a crime no worse than stealing bread to feed their starving family. Yet they were called criminal, and sent to the gallows. If not for escape, more than one man aboard this ship would be food for the worms by now, because the justice system decrees that it is moral for babies to die screaming for food but immoral for a man to be forced to rob to provide it. Oh, I can see that you don’t believe me. Well, it is obviously much easier to live your way, believing that life is all sugarplums and hot bread.”
“You don’t know what I believe,” she said in a voice that shook slightly. “You don’t know me at all.”
“No, and I don’t want to,” he said with deliberate cruelty. “I don’t want to know more about you than I do, because it would sicken me. I’ve known enough females just like you to give me a good idea of the workings of your mind. You’re selfish and vain, and want only the momentary gratification of whatever whims come to mind.”
His grip had tightened in her damp, curling hair; pale strands streamed over his hand and danced loosely. He saw pained tears spring into her eyes, making them glisten darkly.
“That’s not true,” she whispered. “I want happiness, but not at the cost of others.”
“Oh? Is that right? Why do I have the impression that Emily was not eager to go on this journey? She seemed less than enthusiastic about leaving England, yet she is here nevertheless.”
Capture The Wind Page 12
