He turned, his face expressionless and his voice in calm control. “You demonstrate such joy over a minor matter. I would have imagined it took expensive gifts to gain such a notable reaction.”
Apprehension caused her smile to falter, but her strong-willed nature forced her to retain her composure. She had forgotten how foolishly most aristocratic women reacted to gifts their husbands lavished on them.
“You hesitate. Don’t tell me you never demanded trinkets from your lovers?”
His tone, so full of scorn, irritated Catherine and her defenses emerged for battle. She sat up straighter, her shoulders going back, her chest out and her chin up. Her hands immediately sought her pearls. “I don’t accept trinkets.”
Lucian gave her a mocking bow. “Excuse me, m’lady, for the insult. I suppose gems and gold are more to your taste. Like that strand of pearls you seem to favor. A gift from a satisfied lover?”
Catherine surprised herself with her hasty response, especially since she had no idea where it came from. “An earl presented me with this lovely strand in gratitude for a brief affair that he insisted gave him pleasure beyond his wildest fantasies.”
Lucian felt his skin prickled. Damn, but her little barb frustrated him. Fantasies. That was a dangerous word for her to mention. It was a rare woman willing to fulfill a man’s fantasies and he wondered just how rare Catherine Abelard was.
Catherine once again felt the need to force him into leaving the cabin. She required time alone, to see to her needs and to think. Lord, how she needed to think things over. “If you would like to see various other pieces of fine jewelry presented to me by grateful gentlemen, then bring my traveling case to me and I’ll be glad to detail each gift. Of course, I can detail the affair if you prefer.”
Catherine held her breath for his answer. She could no more detail an affair than she could swim. She had a strange feeling that she might just drown in her own words.
His retort was biting. “Your affairs hold no interest for me. And I will bring you nothing. You, Lady Catherine, are in no position to give orders.”
One look at him reminded her just how precarious her position was. She just couldn’t get over the size and muscled bulk of him. She had never imagined a man structured so superbly and powerfully. She could understand how women would find him appealing, but strangely enough it was his eyes and hair that Catherine found her glances returning to.
“Don’t play your games with me, Catherine,” he nearly shouted. “That innocently yearning look will not work on me. You may yearn, but you’re far from innocent.”
Catherine had no idea what he was referring to and thought when in doubt it was best to agree. “You’re right, Captain. I do apologize if I caused you discomfort.”
Damn, but she was good with those cunning barbs. It was time to take his leave before he lost his temper and did something he would regret.
He moved to the door.
“Captain,” she called out to him, halting him in his tracks.
He turned once again and with annoyance asked, “What now?”
“My comb.”
He looked at her oddly.
She clarified. “I would like my comb if you could possibly have it sent to me.”
“Sweetness,” he said with a strange laugh. “It doesn’t suit you, Catherine.” He left the room, slamming the door and causing Catherine to jump.
Her shoulders slumped and she sighed heavily and then as though throwing off her cloak of despair, she bounded out of bed. She had no time to feel sorry for herself. There was work to be done. A lazy mind or body would get her nowhere and she ached desperately to return home.
While having a quick wash from the white ceramic water basin in the wooden-and-brass stand near the stove, she gave more thought to her father. She wondered about his condition. Had he improved? Would his condition worsen when he learned of her fate? Would he attempt to search for her?
The marquis had been the perfect father, loving her unconditionally. She recalled when she was young, about ten perhaps, he had caught her in a small lie. He had taken the time to discuss with her the importance of honesty and the honor of one’s word. She had promised that she would never, not ever, lie to him again. He had pledged the same.
That single memory was the reason she knew her father was not guilty of Captain Lucifer’s accusations. He was a fair and honest man. His merchant ships were of the few who did not brutalize their crew members. He fought for the less fortunate even though his ideals made him less popular with his own kind. He was truly a man of strong convictions and that was why these treason charges were so ludicrous.
Catherine was sitting in the wooden chair next to the stove deep in thought, drying her hands on a white cotton towel when a rustle outside the door caught her attention.
A loud thud was followed by a painful “Ouch,” followed by argumentative voices. One voice she recognized and it brought a smile to her face.
“You clumsy idiot, I should have had one of the other men, one with more brains, help me,” Santos complained as he limped in, pushing the door wide open.
“It’s heavier than it looks, Santos. Honest.” Bones declared, dragging the polished oak traveling trunk into the cabin.
Catherine discreetly draped the towel she held over her bare legs and smiled her greeting.
Bones beamed from ear to ear his toothless grin causing Catherine’s own smile to widen. “I can’t tell you how thankful I am to you for carrying my trunk here. You are very kind and thoughtful.”
Santos snorted a laugh and Bones blushed, fumbling to find the right words. “Thanks, my pleasure, pleased to help—”
“Enough,” Santos ordered. “He was following the captain’s orders and doesn’t need any thanks.”
“That’s right, that’s right,” Bones agreed, bobbing his head. “The captain told me to get your trunk and bring it right quick. And I always do what the captain tells me no matter what it is.”
“Why?” Catherine asked.
Both men looked at her as if she was daft.
“I should explain my interest in your reason for following the captain’s orders?” Catherine asked.
Both shook their heads.
“I’ve heard tales of pirates, especially about Captain Lucifer, and I wondered if perhaps he was as vicious to his crew as the stories make him out to be.”
“Who’s spreading such bloody lies? Why, me and the crew will find the bastard and—”
“Bones!” Santos shouted. “Watch your mouth in front of the lady.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, m’lady,” Bones said with a nod.
Catherine acknowledged his apology with her own nod, too dumfounded to speak. She had not expected to find the crew loyal to the captain, especially not to the point of physically defending him against a verbal accusation. And foremost she had not at all expected Santos to refer to her as a lady. It worried and touched her simultaneously. She could not afford to have her charade uncovered, but it was nice to have someone think of her as such.
“Move the trunk to the end of the bed and be gone with you,” Santos ordered gruffly.
“Ouch!” Santos yelped when Bones hit his other foot while he attempted to drag it where Santos had ordered. “Get your useless ass out of here.”
“The lady,” Bones said with a whispered reminder and a blush to his already ruddy cheeks.
“Out, out,” Santos shouted, shooing him out of the room like an irritating pest.
Catherine couldn’t contain her laughter. When the door closed her giggles burst free.
Santos turned an angry scowl on her, but it vanished quickly when he caught sight of her bright face. “I don’t know why I put up with him.”
“There must be a reason,” Catherine said, feeling comfortable enough with Santos to probe for answers to questions. Questions that would help her plan succeed.
“Aye, there is,” Santos said a bit sadly, easily moving the trunk to rest at the end of the bed.
Ca
therine remained silent, having learned over the last few days that with a simple question and only a minimum of prodding Santos spoke freely.
“Lucian saved Bones from a mean one, he did.” The memories caused the lines on Santos’s face to crease more deeply with his frown.
Lucian. The name drifted in Catherine’s head. Could it be the captain’s given name? She listened closely, intending to learn as much as possible.
“The details aren’t fit for your ears. All you need to know is that Bones is safe and the pirate is rotting in hell where he belongs.”
“Lucian killed him?” She used the captain’s name without thought.
“Lucian does what is necessary to survive,” Santos returned. “And how is it that you know his name?”
“Whose name?” Catherine asked.
“The captain. You called him Lucian.”
“That’s his name?”
“I called him by his name.” Santos shook his head answering his own question. “He’s going to have my flogged.”
“He’d never do that!” Catherine said stunned.
Santos glared at her oddly. “How do you know Lucian never flogs his men?”
“Simple,” Catherine said. “The barbaric punishment was inflicted on him repeatedly. He wouldn’t make another suffer such abuse.”
“You begin to understand him.”
She hoped to understand Lucian even better thanks to Santos. “Those forced years on the merchant ship must have been difficult.”
Santos’s attention drifted far away, though his eyes remained on her. “I still can hear his screams, though he learned quickly enough that the captain enjoyed when the men screamed. Then he silenced his pain even when the salty seawater hit his open wounds. He didn’t respond. He remained silent. Dead silent. Then there were his recoveries when the insects would swarm around his festering wounds. I spent many sleepless nights keeping the bugs form feasting on his raw flesh.”
Catherine shuddered. The horrible picture Santos painted turned her stomach. Her father would never have employed such a sadistic captain. Never. The cruelty Lucian had endured was inconceivable. No wonder he hated her father. But how did he come to think her father responsible for his plight? Who had provided him with false information and why?
“Our situation didn’t improve much when our ship was captured by pirates,” Santos said and waved his hand in disgust. “But those tales are best left untold.”
“You spent many years with him?”
“Over ten, and it wasn’t until Lucian took command of the pirate ship did our lot improve. “Santos moved toward the door.
Catherine wished to hear more, but Santos had his way about him. He spoke in bits and pieces and with each piece Catherine planned on solving her puzzle.
“He’s not what he appears,” Santos said softly. So softly that Catherine barely heard him.
Her response was just as soft and spoken as the cabin door closed. “Neither am I.”
Chapter Eight
The rain began early in the afternoon. It was a steady and heavy downpour, but lacked the strong wind that would have made it a raging storm.
Surprisingly, Catherine hadn’t noticed when the rain had begun. She had been too occupied rummaging through her trunk and reflecting on her situation to take note.
She considered dressing, but after examining her wardrobe she felt the garments were too cumbersome for her confined quarters. She required light, unrestricting clothing so she could move about quickly and quietly. She decided upon her pale pink linen shift trimmed at the low neckline with a row of embroidered roses. It was one of her favorite garments and she wore it often beneath her dresses. It was sleeveless and fell down along her body, curving slightly over her hips to rest at her ankles.
She draped her pearls over the shift, breathing easier when they fell protectively against her. She spied the captain’s white silk shirt on the bed where she had discarded it.
With a spark of delightful mischief in her eyes, she reached for the garment. “I shall continue to wear your shirt, Lucian.”
Her use of his given name startled her and she hesitated a moment in picking up his shirt.
“Lucian,” she whispered, testing the name once again on her lips. She slipped his shirt on, rubbing the soft material against her cheek.
“Who are you, Lucian?” That question had plagued her often of late. His speech was refined as were his manners when he ate. He kept himself clean-shaven and his body was always damp at night when he returned to the cabin as though he had just washed. And his long dark red hair always shone and smelled of the sun and sea.
He was not, Catherine decided, a commoner. Could he be of noble birth? But that didn’t make sense. A nobleman would never be sold into service to a merchant ship. Perhaps he was an illegitimate offspring of a nobleman who didn’t wish his secret known. She shook her head. She would talk with Santos more and learn what she could. Eventually all the pieces would fit.
She liked talking with Santos. He treated her not only like a lady, but like a friend. And she got the distinct feeling that although he would follow Lucian’s dictates, he did not always agree with him.
Catherine yawned and looked to the windows. The rain pounded against the glass. The sky was dreary gray and would darken early tonight because of the foul weather.
She closed the lid on her trunk and looked around her on the floor. Several of her personal articles surrounded her and she smiled. She planned on accenting the cabin with her own things to irritate Lucian all the more and hopefully force him to flee the cabin as often as possible. She would then be free to safely search for the documents and also be safe from scrutiny.
She placed her sliver comb set on the small chest next to the side of the bed where Lucian slept. She added her bottle of rose water and her skin lotion, specially blended for her by a local herbalist.
She draped her assortment of silk ribbons over the brass bar on the washstand and placed her blue and white china soap dish on the shelf beneath the brass bar, adding a bar of rose-scented soap to it.
A rumble in her stomach alerted her to her hunger and the fact that supper would soon be arriving. She decided to arrange the table a bit more formally this evening. Lucian had joined her for the evening meal these last couple of nights and she had felt intimidated by his presence and silence. Not tonight. Tonight she would play the harlot so well; he would storm from the room never to return.
She laughed at her own daydreams and set about to work. She took a white lace scarf from her trunk and arranged it to run down the middle of the scarred table. She fetched the crystal goblets and mother-of-pearl handled utensils from the cabinet that housed Lucian’s liquor and placed them appropriately on the table. She chose a bottle of red wine from the lower shelf of the cabinet and moved the oil lamp to the center of the table.
The flickering light reflected off the crystal and the setting for only two suggested that it was an intimate interlude for lovers.
Catherine smiled, slipped out of Lucian’s shirt and sat at the table to wait.
o0o
The rain had soaked Lucian. His clothes clung to him, his hair dripped with water. He could have retreated below, his men wouldn’t have minded. But he would have. He had promised himself when he took over the ship that he wouldn’t expect his crew to do anything he wouldn’t do himself. He had earned their respect and their faithfulness and he had no intentions of abusing those privileges.
He took the steps down to his cabin, tired and worn out from the physical duties he had performed. He was in no mood to spar with Catherine this evening. It was the comfort of his cabin, a good meal and his bed that he sought and no more.
He reluctantly opened the door and entered. He stopped abruptly only a few feet into the cabin.
“Good evening, Lucian, Catherine said, attempting to hide her nervous tremble. The sight of him glistening wet caused her heart to thunder. His features appeared more handsome, his body more powerful. He gave the appear
ance of a mighty god who had just risen from the sea. “Santos promised our meal would be here soon. Are you hungry?”
He was hungry all right. But it was all lusty hunger that gripped him seeing her standing there with her body so exquisitely outlined in that pale pink shift. The garment hinted at what lay beneath and knowing what it concealed only heightened his passion.
“I’m hungry and tired,” he snapped, “and in no mood to be seduced.”
Catherine couldn’t hide her smile. She was becoming talented at playing the harlot and with so little experience. She felt proud of herself.
“I was thinking only of your comfort, Lucian,” she said sweetly.
“I’m sure you were, Cath —” His eyes suddenly grew heated with anger. “Blast it all, woman, how did you find out my name?”
Catherine was about to answer him when he waved her response away with his hand. “Forget it. Santos could have been the only one to tell you.”
“Completely by accident,” she said, defending Santos.
“It was no accident,” Lucian said, walking over to the washstand to grab a towel. His glance took in the colorful ribbons and the soap, its rose scent drifting up to tempt his nostrils.
He was about to bellow in rage when he realized her intentions. She planned to torment him into making love to her. She’d be relentless in her pursuit of him. He would be her prize, her trophy to discreetly display before her intimate friends upon her return. Whispered gossip would spread like wildfire and soon her string of lovers would grow and multiply.
But not if he had his way. He’d give her a sample, a small taste of what she ached for, but she would never know fulfillment in his arms. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.
Lucian stripped out of his wet clothes, discarding them to lie in a heap at his feet. He snapped the towel off the brass bar and roughly dried himself. He took his time, running the white towel over his chest and down around his flat belly.
He turned, offering Catherine a better view, and propped his foot up on the nearby chair while he vigorously dried his leg. He treated his other leg likewise and then dropped the towel down over his back, grabbing the other end at his waist and running it back and forth diagonally across his back. With that finished he tossed it aside, stretched his arms up to relieve his sore muscles and give Catherine more time to devour him with her eyes. He then stepped behind the washstand and reached for dark velvet robe, tying the belt loosely around his waist.
The Buccaneer Page 8
