by Connie Mason
Lewdness! But the wench was a virgin. He’d proved it with his own hand. Feeling that thin membrane against his fingertip last night was the only thing that had made him stop long enough for her to choose to leave him.
Miss Munroe stuck her tongue out at her friend, then stood and flounced from the room. Nick rose when she did and settled back into his chair once she was gone.
Miss Smythe burst into tears.
“Lord, deliver me from weeping women.” Nick fished out his hanky and handed it to her. “I’ll forget the whole tale if you’ll only do me two wee favors.”
“What?” she blubbered into his handkerchief.
“Number one—Stop crying.”
Miss Smythe blinked several times, blew her nose loudly and sniffed. “And number two?”
“Tell me how the three of you wound up on the Molly Harper with that scoundrel Rathbun.” When she offered his kerchief back, he waved it away. “Keep it.”
“Lieutenant Rathbun’s no scoundrel,” Miss Smythe insisted. “He saved us.”
“How?”
“Before the ship bound for New South Wales pulled away from the dock, Lieutenant Rathbun made a deal with the captain of the vessel. He’s a progressive thinker, you see. He doesn’t believe in punishment. He favors reformation.”
“Hmph!” It sounded like snake oil to Nicholas, but he motioned for her to continue.
“At any rate, the captain agreed that any women who met Lieutenant Rathbun’s requirements should be transferred to his safekeeping.”
Nick figured that along with those high-sounding sentiments some coin had also changed hands. “And what were those requirements?”
She blushed as bright as the fuchsia azaleas by his front door.
“Lieutenant Rathbun required a certain level of comeliness and…purity. He brought a midwife with him to…make certain.”
“On the theory that only comely virgins may benefit from reformation?” Nicholas asked with a grim smile.
“He said it was virtue’s reward.” Her puzzled frown told him she hadn’t considered the matter from that angle before. “In any case, the three of us were the only ones he redeemed from the prison ship.”
“Redeemed?” Nick repeated. “You make him sound like some sort of savior.”
“If you’d seen that hold we were pulled from, you’d agree with me.” She folded her hands on her lap to still them. “But after that, Lieutenant Rathbun continued to show his worth. He said we were to be brides of fine gentlemen in the Colonies. We were taken for fittings for two gowns a piece and boarded in a snug little private cabin on the Molly Harper.”
“And you didn’t question his motives?”
“The man saved us from a horrible fate. And I don’t think Eve would have survived the journey on that other ship what with her—”
Miss Smythe clamped her lips together. She’d already said more than Nick had heard from her in all the weeks she’d lived under his roof. Apparently, she could still keep some secrets.
“Her wounds?” Nick prompted. When Miss Smythe stared at him in wonderment, he nodded. “Aye, I know about the flogging. Never mind how. Tell you about it, did she?”
“No, Eve is a very private person,” Miss Smythe said. “But you must remember, we three shared a very snug cabin. And those sorts of wounds take a long time to heal.”
To say nothing of the wound to her spirit, Nick thought darkly. He’d still relish the chance to kill the piece of dung who’d marked Eve’s back with his whip.
“At any rate, Lieutenant Rathbun schooled us in all the refinements a lady should display. He’s helped us ever so much, almost as much as yourself, Captain.” Miss Smythe worried her bottom lip. “I know you must think poorly of us for lying to you all this time, but we didn’t know what else to do. The world is a difficult place for a woman without a man’s protection.” She sighed. “I suppose you’ll want us to go on to the Carolinas with Lieutenant Rathbun now.”
“Not as long as there’s breath in my body.” Wherever Rathbun was intent on taking them, Nick would bet the Susan Bell it wasn’t to a trio of deserving bridegrooms. He took one of Penelope Smythe’s hands and kissed her knuckles as reverently as if she were a duchess. “In the gorgeous East, when a man saves another’s life, he is responsible for that life from then on. You and your friends are under my protection for as long as you require it. And your secret is now mine, your lie on my head. Let it trouble yours no more.”
Her little face crumpled and tears welled along her lower lids.
“But no tears. I forbid it,” he said with mock sternness.
Miss Smythe gave him a shy smile.
“Captain! Captain Scott!” Miss Munroe came running back into the dining room, her cunning little slippers slapping against the wide-planked floor. Her lovely face was drawn with concern.
Nicholas rose to his feet. “What is it?”
“It’s Eve.”
“Is she truly ill?” Nick pushed past her toward the wing where the bedchambers were clustered.
“No, no, it’s not that,” Miss Munroe said as she dogged him down the hall. “She’s gone.”
Chapter Sixteen
Eve tramped down the dirt track as fast as she could go without attracting undo attention from the other islanders who were making their way to the market in St. Georges. If the rain grew worse, the track would turn to mud and her footing would grow more treacherous. A horse would have made her flight much easier, but if she’d taken Nicholas’s horse, he might claim later that she’d stolen it.
She couldn’t chance it.
During the time she’d been on Bermuda, she’d seen a few poor souls in the stocks outside the courthouse. Sometimes in England, such a sentence resulted in death or loss of an eye if the crowd turned vicious and decided to throw stones. At the very least, the victim’s ear was nailed.
But here the islanders only hurled insults and pelted the condemned with rotting fruit. Shame, it seemed, was enough deterrent for the local miscreants.
Still, she’d never let herself fall into the hands of the law again if she could help it. She should have run when she was first accused back in London, but she’d been so sure her innocence would win out.
Now she knew better.
A pebble lodged in her slipper and stabbed at the ball of her foot. She stopped to take it out, the sudden pain stirring memories she’d rather not call up.
Shame was a miserable punishment. She thought she’d die of it when they stripped her to the waist and dragged her half-naked before the assembled crowd. Loathsome and foul-breathed, the rabble pressed in on her, grabbing at her and hurling insults, as she was led bound to the stake.
Then at the first taste of the lash, shame burned away in searing pain. With each stroke, she lost a bit of herself. She ground her teeth and tried to hold back, but ended up screaming herself hoarse. Her muscles contorted in arching spasms. She was a broken marionette whose puppet master delighted in watching her dance to his cruel tune. She’d have done anything to make it stop.
Anything.
When it finally did, her spirit was as shattered as her flesh. She burned for five days with fever and three more with cold fury in the filth of Newgate’s big common cell.
Then her natural robust health returned and her back began to heal.
And with the newly formed scars, came her determination never to lose control of her own body again.
That’s what made Nicholas Scott so dangerous. Even without bonds, he made her want to surrender. With no lash but pleasure, she was near to losing herself in him. She couldn’t give herself over to another person so completely.
She didn’t think her spirit would survive it a second time.
Eve reached the outskirts of St. Georges and hurried down the narrow ways toward the wharf. She didn’t know if Captain Bostock’s vessel was still in port, but even if it wasn’t, she’d slipped a pair of silver spoons in her small bag. Surely that would induce some fisherman to ferry her to the island whe
re the Sea Wolf made its berth.
She hoped Nick wouldn’t miss a pair of spoons.
Wind whipped her skirts and she heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her. She turned in time to see Nicholas Scott barreling down on her atop his black stallion. She turned and ran, but it was no use. He leaned over and scooped her up with one arm.
“No! Put me—oof!”
She landed on her stomach across the horse’s back in front of him, her bottom bouncing skyward. All the air whooshed from her lungs and she fought to draw more as he kicked the horse into a full-out gallop across the cobbled square.
He hadn’t taken time to saddle the beast, she realized as her hands searched for something to cling to. She finally had to settle for Nick’s booted leg since falling off at this speed was sure to result in a broken bone.
When they reached the wharf, he reined in the stallion so hard, the horse nearly sat on its haunches. Nick slid off, tossing the reins to a wharf rat along with terse instructions for the horse’s care.
“What do you think you’re—” she started.
He cut off her question by dragging her from the horse’s back and flopping her over his own shoulder. “Put me down this instant.”
Nick didn’t answer her, but he doffed his hat pleasantly and spoke to everyone they passed on their way down to the Susan B’s gangplank.
Her pleas for help from the townsfolk were met with laughter and knowing grins. They howled with mirth when she pounded his back.
Nick waggled his brows at the islanders. “I deserved that.”
They chortled even louder. It was Punch and Judy without the strings. They decided her fury was merely part of the show.
Lord Nick was just having a bit of fun.
His pleasant tone disappeared once the deck of the ship was under his feet. “Sound the ship’s bell, Mr. Higgs. Is the crew aboard?”
“All but Digory Bock. Seems he’s in his cups again, sir.”
“At this hour? Strike him from the roll permanently. I’ve no use for a rum pot on my crew. Prepare to make sail within the hour.”
“But, this weather, Cap’n…”
“What do you intend I should do about the bloody weather, Higgs?” he demanded with a snarl. “I’m not God Almighty, am I?”
“No, but he thinks he is,” Eve said, still draped over his shoulder and too breathless to pound his back any longer. “Doesn’t he, Mr. Higgs?”
Nick gave her bottom a swat, which was largely deflected by her panniers and yards of fabric.
“Oh! That was becoming to a gentleman, Lord Nick.” Her voice dripped irony.
“As silence is to a lady,” he fired back.
“But sir, the storm—” Higgs began.
“Higgs, you’re whining like an old woman. Once we clear the channel, we’ll outrun it. The wind will push us ahead of the storm,” he explained as he strode toward the companionway that led down to his cabin. “We’ve done it countless times.”
“Aye, sir, but never shaving things this close.”
Nick turned back to face him down. “Your objections are noted, Mr. Higgs. If you feel yourself unequal to your duties, I shall have you relieved.”
Eve twisted around to look at Higgs over her shoulder. The first mate’s mouth twitched with indecision; then he straightened his shoulders, but he didn’t drop his gaze a whit.
“No, sir. I’m fit for duty.”
“Then see the carpenter about a bolt for the outside of my cabin door and step lively. Carry on, Mr. Higgs.”
And Nick carried on as well, heading for the companionway door once more.
Eve briefly considered grappling with the doorjamb and trying to fight passing through it, but the Susan B was Nick’s ship. Just as St. Georges was his town.
She might as well try to fight the wind.
So she ducked her head as they disappeared belowdecks and decided to pick her fights when there was a chance she might win.
He kicked open his cabin door and dropped her on his narrow bunk. “Now stay there.”
“I am not your hound, to stay or go at your word.” She popped to her feet. “Nor am I a member of your crew to be ordered about.”
He pulled her close and covered her mouth with his in a hard kiss. He trapped her arms between them and ravished her mouth, demanding she open to him. When her lips parted slightly, he pressed his advantage and invaded. She couldn’t fight him. He was too strong.
And her body was his willing ally. Part of her welcomed him in with aching abandon. He made rough love to her mouth, pulling her down into his dark desires. She sank like a swimmer caught in a riptide.
Drowning was actually said to be quite pleasant once a body gave up.
Finally he released her and she drew a shuddering breath. With a fresh breath came fresh resolve.
“I need to get the ship underway, but I’ll be back,” he promised. “You and I began something last night that we haven’t finished yet.”
“Yes, we did,” she said. “You just didn’t like the conclusion.”
His head snapped toward the sound of a soft knock and he strode toward the door. “That’ll be Higgs with the bolt. I’m locking you in for your own safety.”
“Not your own convenience?”
One corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. “That, too. There’s some bread and cheese on the shelf. Get something in your stomach. This is apt to be a wild ride.”
Panic clawed her throat. Her last storm at sea had been harrowing enough to last a lifetime.
“Perhaps Mr. Higgs is right. Can’t the journey wait till the squall passes?” she asked, ashamed of the quake in her voice. Out the stern windows, the eastern horizon was the nasty yellowish purple of a week-old bruise. “You don’t have to do this to impress me with your seamanship.”
“No, it appears I have to do it to make sure you can’t run away again until we have this out.” His eyes softened for a moment as he searched her face, then his nononsense attitude reasserted itself. “And the lock is to keep you from folly. You have a history of leaping from perfectly seaworthy vessels, remember.”
He closed the door behind him. She heard a few sharp raps of a hammer and then a bolt slid home with finality.
Mr. Higgs had the crew well in hand when Nick reappeared on the quarterdeck, but seeing their captain at the wheel made the seamen leap even more smartly to their duties.
Nick had sailed the Susan Bell in plenty of dicey weather.
“The wind is her lover,” he liked to say, “and occasionally, the old girl likes it rough.”
He intended to outrun the coming storm. It was a measure of his crew’s faith in him that spirits were high and there was nary a grumble from any save the cook, who was unhappy that Nick ordered a cold supper to avoid having a fire in the galley.
As soon as they cleared the harbor, he commanded all her canvas laid on and the Susan B bounded over the waves like a fox fleeing before the hounds.
Once they left the ring of reefs and shoals, Nick turned her nose south by southwest. She nearly lifted from the water and took flight.
“Mr. Tatem, did you bring along that wheezy old squeeze box of yours?”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“Fetch it out and step lively man, we need some music to speed us on our way.” Nick looked up at the rigging, where every sail strained against the cords. “At this rate, lads, we’ll hail the Turks in record time.”
The men danced the hornpipe below the mains’le, laughing and singing roughly.
A quarter hour later, Nick was ordering the sails trimmed. They wouldn’t bear the growing force of the wind. Then in another quarter, he commanded them taken up altogether, leaving the ship’s masts bare. The sea mounded up around them and sails only gave the storm a firmer grip on the Susan B.
By the sounding of the next bell, Nick was faced with the grim knowledge that he should have listened to Mr. Higgs.
Eve tried to stay on the bunk, but the violent roll of the ship tossed her to the flo
or. She pressed her cheek to the smooth teak, deciding she was better off right there. She hadn’t been sick on the Molly Harper, but she’d already cast up the bread and cheese into the captain’s chamber pot in the corner.
Waves slapped the stern windows with such force, she expected the sea to rush in at any moment. Sometimes, it seemed the Susan Bell stood on end, dancing on the waves like a dolphin on its tail. The ship teetered on each crest. Then her nose would slam down and race headlong into the next trough.
Eve closed the thick interior shutters over the windows. She had no hope of the wood keeping the sea out if the heavy glass gave, but at least she wouldn’t have to watch it coming. The next roll sent her sprawling back on the floor.
There was a sharp rap on the door, the bolt slid and the door opened a crack.
“Miss Upshall?” It was Peregrine Higgs. “Cap’n ordered me to see to you.”
“I’m here,” she said weakly as Mr. Higgs came into the cabin, trailing a stream of water off his oilcloth coat. He snuffed out the oil lantern swinging from the low beam. They were thrown into almost total darkness, the only light a sickly greenish phosphorescence creeping in around the shutters.
“Cap’n has ordered all non-essential lamps extinguished,” he explained as he knelt beside her. He pulled a blanket off the bunk and wrapped it around her. “Very wise of you. You’ll be safer on the floor.”
Safer than what, she wondered. The vessel groaned around them like a woman in labor.
“The Susan Bell is as sturdy a ship as a man could wish. And the pumps are staying well ahead of the water in the bilge,” he said, his voice clear and comforting.
Eve wondered at his calm speech, his stutter gone, in the midst of calamity. During the wreck of the Molly Harper, the sailors swore and cried out in fear. If peril gave a man a chance to show his true mettle, she decided Mr. Higgs was made of solid gold.
“There’ll be no supper, I fear,” he said. “Cook’s sick as a green lubber.”
“None needed.” Her belly roiled afresh at the thought of food.
“We need only wait till the storm blows itself out.”
“So the crew is safe?” The Molly Harper had lost a seaman over the side even before the ship struck that reef.
