The ship groaned against the tight hold Gavin had upon the wheel. He had to ease off. The ship and the boy. “Bloody hell,” he whispered.
Gavin took a deep breath and watched the moonrise spill its silvery shimmer over the water. It was the night after the full, its perfect circle missing one edge. Memories flooded his senses. The same moon was watching Alice as she slept.
Would the light fall across her bed? Across her hair fanning the pillow? With the moon so bright, he could see it all in his mind. The rise and fall of her breathing. Her body naked beneath the thin sheet. One perfect breast exposed. One long leg. She’d wake when he came into the room, hold back the bedding in invitation, and he’d slip into her arms, pulling her body against his, drowning in the smell of her skin and the sweet taste of her mouth.
“Bloody damn, blasted hell.” Why couldn’t he get her out of his mind? His body still pulsed with want. Having her only made him want her more. He was thankful for the length of his coat. Gavin slipped a hand into a wide slashed pocket and wrapped his fingers around the heavy parcel. His gift to her. The necklace she refused.
He’d carried it since Simons returned it to him with her message. Gavin hadn’t shown any reaction, but simply dropped it in his pocket. And there it would remain. A weighty reminder of her time with him. His thumb traced the edges of the large stones as green eyes flashed in his memory.
Gavin handed over the wheel at the next bell after he barked at the helmsman for being late to his post. Storming off the quarterdeck, he made his final rounds before heading below. His body was taut with heated frustration. Entering his quarter, he snatched a fresh bottle of brandy and a glass before he caught sight of Bump. The child was asleep in his chair hidden away beneath a gray hat with a white feather. “Dammit…she’s ruined the lot of us.”
Settling the boy, Gavin returned to his desk. Another endless night stretched out before him. The brandy stood waiting. He pulled Beth’s letters from their hiding place and untied their leather lace. Lifting the first envelope, he traced his name with a fingertip.
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve read your words, Beth? I can recite them by memory. I treasure them. I hate them.” He pulled the cork from the bottle. “Eleven years. I’ve held them and poured over every page trying to understand. How could you have loved me like you professed and done what you did? I know, the babe.” He gave a heavy sigh. “I know I can’t understand the pain, but you never gave me a chance to carry some of that grief. He was my son, too. I loved you with everything I had. I would have walked into hell with you and found a way out. I never got the chance. You stole that from me. When you took your life, you took mine too.”
Gavin recorked the bottle and pushed it away. He ran a weary hand over his eyes. “Eleven years, Beth. I’ve honored the love I shared with you for all that time. I’ve mourned and grieved and been eaten alive by guilt until the only things left for me were empty, hollow memories and a stack of yellowed letters.”
Gavin pulled the necklace out of his pocket and unwrapped it. The gems caught the light. “I love her, Beth. I love her, and I pushed her away because of my loyalty to you. I had to keep her safe. Not only from this brutal life, but from a life with me. I failed you, but I wasn’t going to fail her too.” He crushed the necklace tight, the edge of the gold cutting into his hand. “So why doesn’t it feel like I’ve done the right thing?”
His arm swept the surface of his desk. Letters scattered. The glass shattered when it hit the floor, but the thick bottle of brandy stayed intact and rolled back to rest against his boot.
Gavin shut his eyes. The strong drink taunted him. Called to him like a siren of the sea. The sweet call of oblivion where nothing mattered. Nothing hurt. It could help him to forget, if only for the night. Brandy had seen him through the first few years after Beth’s death, but soon became out of control. He was rarely sober during those times. It was Jaxon Steele who pulled him out of that hellish whirlpooled pit. Beat some sense into him. Dried him out. Gave him back his dignity. Steele had trusted him. Not only with his life but also his ship.
Reaching down, Gavin grasped the bottle as he rose to his feet. He crossed to the bank of windows and threw the thing out to toss in the waves of the ship’s wake. The moon’s glow washed the sea. And as he had for a thousand times already today, he thought about Alice.
MacTavish was right. He was a horse’s arse.
Chapter 23
After the tension of meeting with Carlton Whitmore and Emerson Blake, Alice spent an exhausting morning being tugged about by Brighton and Rebecca. Brighton acted as tour guide, showing Alice all his favorite parts of the estate—the tree he climbed, where he lost his first tooth, and the place where a large black snake had left its skin.
Touring the stables, she was introduced to Champ and Molly, the children’s ponies. Brighton warned her about King’s Knight, a towering black stallion. He had a nasty temper and was a terrible biter. She wasn’t about to get too close. But Starr, a gentle roan mare with a white blaze upon her forehead, was the best horse Brighton knew, second to his beloved Champ.
Their visit to the stable had been quick. Rebecca was indeed terrified of the large nickering beasts. She wouldn’t venture any farther than the shade of the wide doorway. As the day progressed, Alice was please to see Rebecca relaxing in her company. Her thumb, while always at the ready, found its way to her mouth less often. The reason, Alice soon discovered, was that Rebecca outrivaled her mother’s gift of constant chatter.
Walking past the neat fields of tobacco Alice noted the rows of small shacks to house the field hands. Brighton pointed out the larger house near the head of the fields, which belonged to the overseer, Mister Bishop.
“I don’t like him,” announced Rebecca. “He likes to yell and…and cusses a blue streak.”
Alice cocked an eyebrow. “Where did you hear such an expression?”
“Nurse Susanna. We were walking, and her big straw hat blew off into the fields and we chased it because it was new and nurse said it cost a pretty penny and Mister Bishop chased after us and started hollering and Nurse covered my ears and hollered back at him then she told Mama he cusses a blue streak.” One long sentence, all in one breathe. Alice had to smile.
As both children ran off toward the main house, Alice paused to look over the slave quarters again. From what she’d observed, the Whitmore’s were good to their help, but the fact still remained these men, women, and children were property. If he and Emerson Blake had witnessed those men from the Delmar, she wondered if they would have a different view.
Alice returned the children to the nursery after their noon meal. She would have loved to join them for a rest, but Isabelle revised the day’s schedule, and Alice was hurried off to town.
Cape Henry was a bustling seaport, with a variety of merchants ready to service the growing population. What interested Alice more, however, was the strong number of British soldiers and seamen in town. The same sick worry from this morning washed over her. Gavin had risked everything to bring her here. She couldn’t bear to think what would happen to him and the entire crew if they were caught.
By the time she and Isabelle returned to the estate, Alice was beyond exhausted. No training aboard a pirate ship prepared her for the ball of perpetual energy that was Isabelle Whitmore. They returned with armloads of packages with more to be delivered later. For each gown Isabelle picked for Alice, she chose two for herself. Lengths of cloth were debated, shoes dyed to match. She even insisted on buying Alice a tiny feathered hat, which perched upon her head like a bird’s nest simply because it suited Alice’s coloring.
The children were well rested by the time they returned, and after being spoiled with small treats and gifts from their mother, they were eager to spend more time with Alice before nurse would gather them for their baths.
“Why don’t I read to you? Brighton, could you fetch us a book? Do you have a favorite story you’d like to hear?” Alice settl
ed them in the shade of the wide front porch.
“Couldn’t you tell us a story instead?” Brighton lay on his stomach lining up his new lead soldiers. He popped up. “A story about pirates.”
Alice shook her head. “Your mother wouldn’t approve.”
“Please?” both of them pleaded. Two sets of imploring blue eyes blinked up at her.
“What if I tell you about a little boy?” she countered.
“Are there pirates?” The lad had a one-track mind.
“Yes,” Alice promised. Brighton’s eyes lit up, and she continued. “He’s a few years younger than you, Brighton, and he lives on a pirate ship with bright red sails.”
“Was he with his mommy?” asked Rebecca.
Her brother shot her a look. “There aren’t pirate mommies.”
Alice continued, “He doesn’t have a mother or a father, but he has a whole ship full of people looking out for him. Captain, especially.”
Brighton had forgotten about his soldiers. “What’s his name?”
Alice smiled. “His name is William, but once you become a member of a pirate crew, sometimes they give you a nickname. Like when Brighton calls you Becca.
The girl scooted closer. “What was his made up name?”
Alice tucked Rebecca’s fine hair behind her ear. “They call him Bump.”
“Bump?” Brighton laughed. “That’s not a pirate name.”
Alice shrugged one shoulder. “It is. He wasn’t used to being on a ship. And when things fall or are swinging, if you aren’t watching, you can get a bumped on the head. He got a lot of bumps at first.
“He wasn’t careful.” Rebecca frowned and pushed her thumb into her mouth.
“He was as careful as he could be, and his friends would shout for him to look out, but he couldn’t hear them.”
“Was it too noisy?” asked Brighton.
Alice ruffled his hair as she’d done to Bump. “No, Bump can’t hear. His ears don’t work anymore.” The children looked at each other as Alice continued. “But Bump is a fine cabin boy. He’s brave and strong. I miss him. Makes me wonder what it would be like if I couldn’t hear like Bump.” Alice pointed up into the trees. “Can you hear the birds calling to each other? I love to hear the birds. Can you imagine what it would be like if you couldn’t hear your favorite sounds?”
“I don’t like this story,” pouted Rebecca. “It’s sad.”
Alice laid a gentle hand on her head. “Don’t be sad. I want you to remember to be grateful. You’re very lucky children, strong and healthy, with two wonderful parents and a beautiful place to live.”
“Will Bump get a mommy?” Rebecca asked around her thumb. Brighton reached over and gently removed it from her mouth.
“I don’t think so.” Alice gave a quick shake to her head.
“I bet he’ll get his own pistol,” chimed Brighton.
Alice smirked. She could almost picture MacTavish rummaging through the gun bin to find the perfect one as he’d done for her. “When he’s older.”
Rebecca looked at her brother in disgust. “Mommies are better than stinky old pistols.”
“To girls maybe, not boys,” he argued.
“Girls can have pistols, too.” Rebecca planted her hands on her hips.
“They cannot. Can they, Alice?”
Alice put a hand on each child’s shoulder and held them apart. “Only grownups get pistols. Now pick up your things and let’s find Susanna. Its time she scrubbed your dirty little necks.”
On the way back to the nursery, the children discussed the pros and cons of pistol ownership versus something even better than mommies—puppies. Leaving them in Susanna’s gentle care she couldn’t help but wonder about Bump.
It had only been a day, and she missed him desperately.
Dressing in one of her new gowns, a lightweight, striped cotton in a soft shade of green, Alice applied a bit more concealing powder. The color of the dress did wonderful things to the green of her eyes, and it fit her like it had been made for her.
Arriving in the parlor, she found Isabelle Whitmore looking lovely in a dress of silvery blue. She was the very height of elegance and grace. A single teardrop of sapphire adorned her throat and dripped from each ear. The perfect hostess, she was pouring the wine.
Alice twisted her ring. It had been months and an entire ocean since she dined amongst gentry. She hoped she remembered which fork to use. “Good evening, Isabelle.”
“Alice, dear, don’t you look lovely. I knew the color would suit you. So much more attractive than the mud-colored skirt you arrived in.” She handed her a glass. “I’ve just come from seeing the children. They are quite taken with you already. I’m so pleased.”
“They were fun today. Both so eager and curious.”
Isabelle beamed. “I told you, everyone loves them.” She took a sip of wine, and slipped her hand through Alice’s arm, steering her toward the back patio overlooking the gardens. “I worry about Rebecca being too timid, but she’s young yet. And Brighton takes after his father in so many ways. He’s anxious to wish away his childhood so he can do all those grownup things he thinks are so interesting.”
They stood catching the first cool breeze of the evening. “It’s beautiful here. The children gave me the tour. Tomorrow, Brighton wants to show me the stream.”
“It’s one of his favorite places. I’ll have Cook pack you a basket lunch.”
“Well, what have we here?” Carlton Whitmore stepped out onto the patio. “Blake, we’ve found their hiding spot.” Isabelle tipped her cheek as he kissed her. “My dear, you are a vision.”
Isabelle scolded, “We weren’t hiding, and if you men had any sense of time, you’d not have kept us waiting.” She smiled at their guest. “Emerson, I’m so pleased you asked to join us tonight.”
Emerson Blake looked much better when he wasn’t flying into a study anxious to hang a ship full of pirates. “Isabelle, you’re too kind. I forced myself upon you and you’re gracious enough not to show me the door.” Emerson kissed her hand. Had she been meeting him for the first time, Alice might have considered him attractive.
“Nonsense, you’re always welcome.” Isabelle turned toward Alice. “Have you met our new governess, Mistress Alice Tupper?”
“Yes, this morning. My lack of manners precedes me, I’m afraid.” He nodded a greeting in her direction. His eyes warmed. “But the idea of spending my evening in the company of two such beautiful women was all the incentive I needed to be boorish once again.”
His flight of angry agitation past, Emerson Blake was the vision of a country gentleman. Wig, waistcoat, and walking stick. Dressed in his dinner clothing, he was quite handsome. His dark coloring hidden by a short wig, yet the strength of his brows and the depth of his brown eyes seemed more striking in contrast. When he smiled, a boyish dimple flashed in one cheek. Broad shoulders filled the fine brocade of his wine-colored waistcoat. A froth of lace adorned his neck and cuffs. Slim hips and long legs were encased in a dark gray satin. A proper gentleman down to the silk of his stockings and the buckles on his heeled shoes.
“I would have thought all your evenings would be spent with Harriet Applegate. Rumor has it you’ve spent a good deal of time in her company. Perhaps we’ll soon have news of a harvest wedding?”
“Isabelle,” cautioned Carlton, “leave the man be.”
Emerson chuckled. “Isabelle, ever the matchmaker. Harriet is a lovely woman, quite proper. Fine stock. A pleasant enough companion. She and her mother are off. Visiting an aunt, I believe. Up North. The summer temperatures don’t suit them.” He moved closer to Alice. “What about you, Mistress Tupper? Does the heat suit you?”
The way he emphasized the word “heat” put her immediately on guard. “The workers in the fields must suffer terribly on days like today.”
He waved a hand in dismissal. “They’re used to it.”
Alice opened her mouth preparing to congratulate him on
maintaining his high standard of boorish qualities, when dinner was announced. Emerson scooped her arm and tucked it in his as their hosts led them into the dining room. He gave her fingers a squeeze and whispered, “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
“Dinner?” she countered. Emerson laughed as Alice tugged her hand away from his arm.
Five long courses later, Alice was ready to step in front of a cannon and yell, “Fire.” Emerson Blake was relentless in his attention. He dominated the conversation. When he wasn’t asking questions about her life in England, he was regaling her with stories about himself. Each charming anecdote ending with some subtle yet pointed mention regarding his wealth, prestige, or standing in the community.
Alice nearly wept with joy when Carlton suggested he and Emerson retire to the study for their brandy and cigars.
“Wonderful idea, Carlton, I can tell you about the two new racing stallions I acquired. Fine stock.” He rose and smoothed his vest. “Excellent meal, Isabelle. Thank you.” He gave a quick bow. “Mistress Tupper. I trust we’ll see one another again.”
“I fear it’s inevitable.” Her parting shot flew clear over his bow. It hadn’t even ruffled his wig.
After the men left, Alice begged off tea with Isabelle claiming the children had worn her out. She needed nothing more than a quick breath of fresh air before seeking out her bed.
Pale moonlight lit the graveled garden paths. The air, blissfully cool. Alice took a deep breath, willing the tension to leave her shoulders.
A faint whiff of cigar smoke met her before she heard the footsteps in the walk. “Perfect end to a perfect evening.” Emerson’s voice reached out to her in the moonlight. “Mind if I join you?”
Alice screwed her eyes shut and refused to turn around. “Actually—”
“Staring into my brandy just now, I couldn’t get a particular image out of my mind.” He had come to stand beside her, took a pull on his cigar, and blew a cloud of smoke above their heads. “Aren’t you going to ask what image?”
Within a Captain's Treasure Page 17
