The years had taken a toll on them both.
The thought offered Caleb no satisfaction as he hoisted her against his chest and started toward the small white-framed cottage just a hundred yards from the base of the lighthouse. A black shutter had come loose from its lock and banged in the wind against the side of the house. A rooster-shaped weather vane atop the roof spun wildly in circles.
He glanced up toward the lighthouse to make sure the light still burned bright. Satisfied when he saw its steady flash, he strode up the five steps to the porch and pushed through the front door.
Water dripped from his clothes and Alanna’s skirts as he strode down the darkened hallway toward a back room he reserved for the rescued. He laid her on a bed outfitted with fresh sheets.
Caleb pulled off his wet gloves and lit a lamp and then the preset fire in the hearth. He waited until flames flickered, sparked and spit out the first bit of warmth.
He drew back, shrugged off his coat and hung it on the back of a wooden chair before turning his attention to Alanna.
He raised the lantern. Her damp blond ringlets blanketed her face and her gloved fingers were curled into small fists as if she still fought for her life.
He touched her cheek, needing to reassure himself that she was real. Her skin felt cold, but her breathing sounded stronger.
The wet clothes were seeping the warmth from her body and if he didn’t undress her soon, what the storm hadn’t accomplished, hypothermia would.
He set down the lamp on a small bedside table and flexed his fingers. His outrage remained as raw as the day of the inquest—the day she’d refused to see him.
Annoyed, he reminded himself that he’d stripped many a near-drowned sailor. And buttons and bows aside, the job remained the same.
The sooner he set about the task, the sooner it would be over.
Lifting her foot, he yanked at the laces of her boots, then tugged each off and tossed them on the floor. “Why couldn’t you stay away?”
She moaned softly at the sound of his voice but remained unconscious.
Caleb unfastened the clasp at the base of her throat and pulled off her cape, made five times heavier by the water. He was amazed she’d stayed afloat as long as she had wearing the contraption.
Most men or women couldn’t swim, but Alanna’s father had had a healthy respect for the sea and had insisted his daughter learn as soon as she could walk.
And she’d always been a fighter.
There’d been a time when he’d known her body intimately. Touching her had been as natural as breathing. Now he felt like an interloper.
Irritated, Caleb stripped off her clothes as quickly as he could manage. He then grabbed a blanket from the edge of the bed and laid it over her. He tucked the folds around the edge of her slim body and moved her to the other, drier, side of the bed.
An involuntary shiver escaped her lips as if she were finally wrestling the chill from her bone. She looked so small, so helpless.
Caleb stood back and dug a hand through his wet hair. His fingers brushed the rough skin of the scar on the right side of his face. “You shouldn’t have come.”
As he turned to leave, she rolled on her side and curled her knees up to her chest. “Caleb.”
Chapter Four
The instant Alanna stepped out onto Patterson Shipping’s docks Caleb Pitt had noticed her. He’d also not been happy to see her. Still, Alanna kept walking, drawn like a moth to a flame.
His ink-black pants and cable-knit turtleneck sweater had been as dark as his thick, closely cropped hair. His long, muscular legs had eaten up the space between them in seconds.
“Lady, do you have any idea how dangerous these docks are? Most sailors would eat a pretty thing like you up,” he shouted over the winds.
Undaunted, Alanna had stood her ground. “I’m looking for my father, Obadiah Patterson.” If she thought dropping the company president’s name would intimidate him, she was wrong.
His powerful body blocked the sun as he towered over her. His gaze trailed over her small frame, taking in every detail. “Then you should know how unsafe these docks are for women.”
His masculine scrutiny left her body tingling. “I stand corrected.” Unrepentant, she held out her hand. “Alanna Patterson.”
He pulled off a worn leather glove and took her hand. He squeezed her fingers gently, but she could feel the leashed power in his hand. “Caleb Pitt.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Father’s told me a lot about you.”
“That so?”
She smiled, confident. “Father says you’re rough around the edges, trouble.”
Caleb’s vivid blue eyes sharpened. He leaned close to her. His own scent mingled with the sandalwood of his soap. “He’s right.”
She held her ground. “He also tells me a sea witch blessed you with the gift for reading the seas.”
Laughter sparked in his eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong. ’Twas not a sea witch that gave me the talent, but the Devil.”
She feigned shock. “The Devil?”
“Aye. The talent to read the seas and predict storms in exchange for my soul.”
Alanna laughed at his outrageously dark humor. “I’ve never met a man who sold his soul. Tell me, would you like to attend a dinner party Father’s having on Friday? I’d be very interested to know how one goes about bargaining with the Dark Prince,” she’d teased.
“I’d be delighted.” His extra emphasis on the last word made her more aware that with this man she was out of her depth. He possessed an earthy masculinity that, despite her best efforts, left her breathless and blushing.
Alanna’s mind drifted in and out of consciousness and sleep. One moment she was on fire, pushing off her blankets, in the next, she froze, unable to get warm no matter how deeply she burrowed under the rough blankets.
But at all times, she was aware of Caleb’s rough hands touching her damp forehead, brushing the curls from her head or applying a moist cloth. His deep voice was soft and soothing at times and at other times there were hints of anger. If she’d had the strength, she would have reminded him she was the one that should be angry.
When Alanna finally could open her eyes, she forgot the recriminations. All she wanted was to see Caleb, to know that he wasn’t a dream. But through her fever, he remained a dark silhouette, his face shrouded by darkness. The only detail that struck her was that his hair was no longer cropped short. His thick hair, as black as ink, hung past his broad shoulders.
So many things could have been said and all she could think to say was, “You’ve changed your hair.”
He must have thought she’d still been asleep because the sound of her voice seemed to shock him. He drew back slightly. “It’s easier.”
She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and closed her eyes. She was simply too tired to connect words into sentences. “That’s nice.”
She heard the clink of porcelain against glass and the rush of water. The bed’s mattress sagged when he sat beside her.
“Drink this.” His steady hand lifted her head. He tipped a cup to her dry lips.
She touched his wrist, her hand unsteady. The bitter-tasting drink washed over her dry tongue. It trickled down the sides of her mouth and her neck. “It’s awful.”
“It’s Yaupon tea. It’ll soothe your fever.”
“If it doesn’t kill me first.”
“If I wanted you dead, I’d have let the ocean take you.”
“Of course.”
He pressed the cup to her lips. “Sip slowly,” he cautioned. “There’s plenty.”
“Great.” Alanna drank until the cup was empty, then relaxed back against the pillow.
She was vaguely aware when he dipped a cloth into a basin. She heard the water trickle as he wrung the excess water from it.
He pressed the cool rag against her hot cheeks and forehead. The cold felt good. When her skin warmed the rag, he dunked it again in the water. As he ran the cloth over her n
aked flesh, she realized that she wasn’t wearing anything. There was no shame, just gratitude that he was there. Methodically, he repeated the actions until her body had cooled. She slept.
Alanna wasn’t sure what time it was when she awoke again, but the room was dark except for the firelight glowing in the hearth.
She was aware of two things. Caleb was still in the room and her thick hair felt greasy and her teeth gritty. “I must look dreadful.”
His laugh was bitter, sharp. Her eyes started to focus on him. “If you’re worried about your appearance, you’ll survive.”
Panic exploded inside her at the thought of being alone. “Caleb, don’t leave me.”
She sensed his gaze on her. “You need to rest.”
“Promise me you won’t leave just yet. I don’t want to be alone.” She sounded weak and afraid and hated it, but there was no hiding it.
A long silence stretched between them. “All right, I’ll stay.”
Sighing, she relaxed into her pillow. Feeling more at ease than she had in months, she gave herself to sleep. “Thank you.”
When Alanna awoke again, awareness of him cloaked the room. She wasn’t sure if she’d been sleeping for hours or days. She was only aware that the rain still pelted the windowpanes. A breeze drifted through the open doorway leading to a long dark hallway.
Her head pounded, however, her skin no longer burned and her brain didn’t feel fuzzy. She was more like herself.
On the bedside table was the box that had brought her here. Its lacquer coating glistened in the pale light.
Alanna tried to sit up, but regretted the move instantly. Her chest, back and arm muscles ached, the pain a reminder of her struggles in the sound. With some effort, she rolled on her side to ease the discomfort in her back. Her body was stiff, as if she’d aged a hundred years in the last few days.
Caleb. Where was he?
He’d saved her life and cared for her. If not for Caleb, she’d have died.
Few men would have gone into the storm to save her. Crowley had left her behind. Henry wouldn’t have had the strength to save her.
When she’d started this journey she’d been filled with righteous anger. In her mind, Caleb had owed her an explanation. He’d owed her an apology. Now, nothing was as clear-cut as it had been. Suddenly, the speech she’d rehearsed and planned to recite seemed juvenile and self-righteous.
Very aware that Caleb was close, Alanna grew restless. She tried to sit up again. Her movements were slower, more deliberate, yet she still winced as she worked her strained muscles and her head spun with another bout of dizziness. Her stomach churned, forcing her to cup her head in her hands.
Slowly her body adjusted to its new position and the spinning calmed. She pushed a curtain of blond hair out of her eyes and surveyed the oversize, partially buttoned white shirt she wore. The shirt was cut wide to fit Caleb’s shoulders and, though clean, his scent still clung to the material. Underneath it, she was naked.
Before when she’d been sick, her state of dress hadn’t mattered. Now she was very aware of it.
Heat rose in her cheeks as she smoothed her hand over the cotton sleeves that hung a good six inches past her hands.
“You’re finally up.” Caleb’s rough voice came from a darkened corner.
Alanna started, searching the shadows for him. “Yes.”
His face was shadowed and she couldn’t make out his features. His long, lean hands rested on the arms of his chair and his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle.
On the floor in front of his chair lay a dog. The dog was part shepherd, part mutt with brown-and-black bristly fur. Toby. He was older, more muscular, than Alanna remembered, but the crimped right ear was unmistakable. Caleb had found the dog when it was a half-starved puppy living under the Portsmouth docks three years ago.
All she could think to say was, “You kept Toby.”
Toby perked up his ears but didn’t leave Caleb’s side.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Caleb’s surprise was clear.
She cleared her throat. “I heard your life got…complicated for a while. I just thought the responsibility of a dog was too much.”
“I don’t run from responsibility.” Challenge edged his words.
She might have argued the point with him if she could have summoned the fire and spit. “I’m glad you kept him. He’s a good dog.”
Caleb rubbed the dog between its floppy brown ears. His gaze made her skin burn.
Uncomfortable, she fastened the top buttons on the shirt. With as much dignity as she could muster she said, “Thank you for saving me.”
“It’s what I do,” he said coolly.
“Of course.” There’d been nothing special about her rescue. He’d been doing his job. The thought that she was no longer unique saddened her. “How long have I been here?”
“Two days.”
“Two days! I am expected in Richmond on Friday.”
“You always had an active social calendar.” Sarcasm etched his words.
Her mind was racing. How could she have slept so long? Lord, she would never be able to explain this to Henry. “I don’t suppose you know where my clothes are?”
“Ruined.”
Panic shot through her veins. “What do you mean ruined?”
“Water and velvet don’t seem to mix, and your underclothes smelled of seaweed.”
And her valise remained on Crowley’s boat. If Henry were going to be annoyed by her tardiness, he certainly would not appreciate her arriving home half-naked. “Do you have something more dignified than one of your shirts that I could wear?”
He studied her a long moment, staring until she felt her cheeks blush. “I’ll scrounge pants and a sweater for you later,” he said finally. Clearly, her state of dress was of no import to him.
His lack of concern annoyed her. It also frustrated her the firelight cast a glow on her, but he remained shadowed. She clutched the folds of the shirt tighter. “Could you find something for me now. It isn’t proper for me to be half-dressed and alone with you.”
A tense silence settled between them. “There was a time when you didn’t mind being half-dressed when we were together. Or have you forgotten?”
With aching clarity she remembered everything about their nights together. Too many nights, she’d lain awake remembering the way her skin tingled when he’d kissed the hollow of her neck, how her heart raced when his hand touched her thigh and the completeness she’d felt when he’d been inside her.
He rose to his full six feet two inches. The dog rose and yawned.
Caleb stepped out of the shadows and for the first time she saw his face. She saw the scar first. Jagged and raised, the scar stretched from the corner of his left eye down over his cheek to his jaw.
Alanna stared at Caleb’s scar in stunned horror and then, hating herself for it, flinched. Her father had spoken in passing of Caleb’s injuries as if they were little more than scratches.
Her father was wrong.
Whatever had happened to Caleb was violent and agonizing.
She shouldn’t have cared that he’d suffered but she did. Tears tightened her throat and several seconds passed before she trusted herself to meet his steely gaze.
Caleb’s eyes were the same, blue as a winter sky, but they were sharper, more direct if that were possible. His shoulders looked broader and his hands larger.
The lines around his full mouth and eyes were etched deeper. He’d tied back his black hair, accentuating streaks of gray at the temples. The rugged masculine features she’d once found so appealing had hardened into a chilling, unrecognizable mask.
The anger drained from her face and she felt as if a soft breeze would topple her over. “Did you get the scar in the accident?”
“Yes.”
“Caleb, I had no idea.”
“Why have you come?” His voice grated like sand against skin.
Color flamed her face. Dear Lord, she should not have come. “I’m ho
noring my father’s will.”
“What are you talking about? Your father hated me.”
She reached for the box on the nightstand and held it out to him. “This is for you.”
He made no move toward her. “You never listened to Obadiah when he was alive. It’s hard for me to see you traveling so far to see that his last wishes are observed.” He paused. “I can only conclude you came to see me.”
The accuracy of his words goaded her temper.
“Arrogance was always your downfall.”
He nodded his head, acknowledging her statement. “And selfishness yours.”
She stiffened.
A low bitter laugh rumbled in his chest. “Let’s face it, Alanna. The only person you’ve ever looked after is yourself.”
Her fingers tightened around the box. “How dare you!”
“I’m not in the mood for the wounded dove act, Alanna. I don’t want anything from you and especially from your father,” he said. “I’ve already made that clear in writing. Or have you for gotten?”
She glared at him, anger burning inside her. How could he be so ungrateful to the man who had brought him into his company? “Father treated you like a son.”
“When it suited him,” he said tightly.
“He saw that you met the right people and then, after the Intrepid, he tried to protect you.”
Thunder cracked outside. Lightning flashed. For an instant she saw part of his face.
“Is that what he told you?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “Obadiah never let truth get in the way of his goals.”
She set the box back on the nightstand. “I was right to cut you off two years ago. The man I knew and loved died with the Intrepid.”
He moved toward the door, and then paused.
“And may he rest in peace.”
Unexpected tears choked her throat. Fury turned to guilt. “Henry was right. This trip was a fool’s errand.”
Caleb’s fingers tightened into a fist. “Henry Strathmore?”
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