Bound by Decency (13 page)

“Bored?” He blinked.

A light laugh issued from her lips. Smiling, she nodded. “Yes, there you have it. I’d never dream of telling my host something so frank, but it’s the truth. I’m desperately, hopelessly, bored.” With
earnestness
reflected in her gaze, she added, “I want a job. On the deck.”

Stunned, his jaw dropped. A lady did not labor. He quickly snapped his mouth shut with a sharp frown. “I don’t think that would be wise. You should rest, drink some more tea before the ginger loses strength.” He tipped his head to indicate the many books that lined the shelf behind her. “There is plenty for you to read.”

Before she could protest, he took refuge in the hall. A
chore
, for God’s sake. Soon enough, she’d be asking him to teach her how to climb the rigging. All the more reason to keep the sails full and race headlong into
Nassau
. Boredom meant mischief. India Prescott was trouble enough without the added complication of idleness.

On the decks once more, Cain took a deep breath to ease the tightness in his body. Yet no matter how he tried, the unwelcome heat in his blood lingered. Standing in the same room with her was a torture worse than any flogging. Listening to the confounding statements that tumbled off her tongue, more terrible than cannonade. Surely, Richard hadn’t abided by her brazen words. And her father would have filled her mouth with lye were he to hear.

What had come over her? From all Richard said, she was the embodiment of
London
society.

In answer, a nagging tingle settled into the base of Cain’s spine.
He
had come over her. Introduced her to this nonsense. Fed her mind with talk of freedom. Already she bore the stain of his taint. And in a thousand lifetimes, he wouldn’t wish that darkness on anyone. He was doomed to this life. She, on the other hand, could still be saved. Her father possessed the means.

“Another morose mood?” Drake appeared at Cain’s left, a cask of last night’s Hangman’s Blood tucked beneath his arm, which he tapped with the flat of his hand. “Care to join me on the quarterdeck?”

Cain eyed the small wooden barrel. The prospect of a stiff drink made his mouth water. It would burn away the uncomfortable sensations that rolled around in his gut like balls of lead. Ease the unwanted guilt. Carry him off to the blissful place where his thoughts ceased their constant racket, and he could act on impulse, without the voice of reason to disturb his conscious.

He debated, knowing all the other problems impulse could create. A mug or two of indulgence came with consequence. After what had just
transpired
with
India
in his cabin, he did not trust himself to leave her intact if he were into his cups.

Drake held up his other hand. Two mugs dangled off his fingers, and he waved them about, allowing them to clang together. “Come take your mind off things,
Captain
. Before this accursed decency rots you from the inside out.”

On a sharp, decisive nod, Cain swept an arm toward the quarterdeck. Indeed, he would enjoy a mug, or even three. This unrelenting battle in his head would drive him mad. Better to drink than transform into a raving lunatic.

351

Bound By Decency

12

P
erched on the edge of Cain’s desk,
India
held her mug in both hands and inhaled the bitter vapor. Beyond the wide window beside the bed, sunlight turned the ocean peaks to tiny gold-capped mountains. She stared, lost to the gentle cascade, but unseeing all the same. A heavy lump wedged into the small space behind her ribs. The same iron weight that settled in so frequently when her father decided to exercise his dominion over her.

At least at home she could anticipate three hours each afternoon where she could rummage through the business records or read the daily barrage of solicitations. Fiction had never struck her fancy—it did no good to read about the lives she’d like to live. The tales only served to remind her that, as a woman, she must fit into a standard and bind her tongue, her actions, her very thoughts to expectations.

She glanced again at the row of colorful spines lining Cain’s tall
bookcase
. Not for the first time, her gaze lingered on the curious golden box two shelves from the top. The massive sapphire cabochon centered in the front panel would be worth a fortune on its own—let alone the heavy gold that surrounded all the other jewels.

If she were the sort to snoop, she’d dig through Cain’s belongings for the key. He’d learn the folly of his decision to keep her locked away and bored if he returned to find his cabin a cluttered mess. But she wasn’t the kind of stock that pried into other’s personal effects. Her father alone received the brunt of her curiosity. Even that she justified by his long-ago habit of keeping her on his knee while he handled his affairs. And in any case, he was her
father.
Certain liberties applied.

Heaving a sigh,
India
set down her empty mug and let her shoulders slump. There had to be a task she could take on to keep the hours from dragging. It had been years since she’d last picked up a needle and thread, but presently she’d ask the entire crew to line up outside the door and pass her their mending.

Laughter rumbled through the floorboards overhead. She rolled her eyes. No one told men what was appropriate to laugh about. No one forbade them to walk where they desired. Certainly not aboard a ship, where if trouble arose, the culprit could be easily found.

A ship! Pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead, she
bit back a
groan. Good gracious, she didn’t have to listen to Cain. What would he do—lock her in? She had a key. Drake mentioned the decks were safe enough by day. Surely, she could find something to do. Scrub a floor, wipe down the rails, roll up rope—any number of the tasks she’d observed.

She hopped off the desk, new energy rushing through her veins. Cain would have no cause to complain when she showed him how well she accomplished a task. In fact, she’d make certain she did the chore so well he
asked
her to
assume
it on
the morrow
.

With a wide smile,
India
grabbed up a scrap of cloth and tied it around her head in a similar fashion to the way Cain wore his. She knotted the ends with a fierce jerk, pushed the rest of her long hair behind her shoulders. Rolling up her sleeves to the elbows, she went to the door.

At the end of the narrow corridor, the warm breeze hit her full in the face. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun. Her maid, Colette, would say the sun brought freckles
.
But Colette was far away, her nagging voice a distant memory. Colette couldn’t preach at her aboard
The Kraken.
Here,
India
was free to do as she desired.

With a deep, satisfied breath, she pushed forward onto the deck, her shoulders proud, her steps confident.

Freedom at last.

“Excuse me, sir
.
”
S
he tapped a thick, brown shoulder.

He turned around, revealing a long scar that crossed over one sealed eye. “What ye be wantin’, chit?”

“Work. A
chore
to pass the time.”

“Pass the time, ye say?” He lifted off his knees, rising to his full, stocky height. His solitary green eye roved down the length of her body, then sparkled as he squinted. “I spect we kin find ye somethin’ to pass the time.”

India
’s confident smile took on more life. She enthusiastically bobbed her head. “That would be wonderful. I’m afraid it’s dreadfully boring in the cabin all alone.”

The man took her hand in his larger, rougher one and helped her over a jumbled pile of canvas. “Ye say it be boring? Well, we’ll be certain to relieve ye of your…
restlessness
.” He chuckled, a sound more like the rasp of one who suffered from the weakness of the lungs, than any noise of humor.

He led her toward an open hatch in the middle of the deck. Standing at the side, he gestured at the darkened opening, indicating she should descend first.
Hesitant
,
India
peered up at him. Suspicion gnawed at the base of her spine. “There’s something of use down
there?”

Again came the raspy wheezing laughter. His eye gleamed bright, and he bobbed his balding head. “Verra useful, lass.
Verra
useful. Go on down, there be work for hours, if’n ye so like.”

As a sense of self-purpose settled around her,
India
shook off the nagging feeling something was amiss and grabbed hold of the ladder tips. Drake had said the crew was safe enough by day.

Gingerly, she dropped a foot into the hole.

Before her toes could connect with the rung, a hand clamped around her upper arm. Fingers bit down painfully. Startled, she looked up with a gasp. Drake’s dark glower silenced the protest on the tip of her tongue.

In one swift motion, he hoisted her out of the hatch and set her on her feet at his side. His fingers held tight. His glower, however, rested on the seaman. “What do you think you’re about, you addle-minded dog?”

Spluttering nonsensical utterances, the man backed up until his back hit the
main mast
. “She be bored, Drake. I thought—”

“Curse your prating insolence! You did not
think
. Sod off, you bloody bastard. Take yourself to Stuart afore I plant a ball between your ears.”

At Drake’s profane outburst,
India
’s face burned all the way to the tips of her ears. She cast her gaze to her bare toes. Full understanding of her
naivety
and what had nearly just occurred sank in deep. With it came the flush of humility, a scald even greater than embarrassment. She shifted her weight. Prayed for the decks to open up and swallow her whole.

Drake’s fingers relaxed around her arm. “Are you harmed?”

Unable to look him in the eye, she stared at the large golden loop dangling from his ear. “No.”

“Then best we take you back to Cain’s cabin.”

The thought of the cabin and the absolute nothingness within collapsed her chest. She clutched at Drake’s fingers, her eyes wide. “Please no. That was foolish, I confess. But I
must
find something to do, Drake. I’m so bored in there I cannot take another minute of it.”

He drew back. A dark eyebrow arched to mock her. “Cain has not seen fit to keep you entertained?”

She twisted free of Drake’s hold and folded her arms over her chest. “You are no better than that other man.”

A loud guffaw softened his expression. “Oh, princess, I assure you, I’m a good sight better than Slater.
I
wouldn’t hesitate to tell you what I had in mind.” His laughter diminished into the faintest hint of a smile that curved the corners of his mouth. “Unlike the good Captain, I have no fondness for decency.” Reaching out, he caught her about the wrist. “You’re serious in this request for work?”

“Very much so.”

“Then let’s find you a task that won’t get you into trouble.” He led her across the deck to the starboard side where a young man sat on a barrel, several lengths of fine rope at his feet.

“Reggie, Miss Prescott would like to learn a useful task.”

The lad’s pale face scrunched into a disapproving frown. “What of it?”

Drake toed the rope. “Why don’t you teach her how to braid?” He looked to
India
, his usual good humor alive again on his handsome face. “Reggie is in a bit of a snit, princess. It seems our cannons have no sport to fire on, thus a master gunner suffers the same problem as yourself. Boredom.”

India
grinned down at the narrow-framed blond. “Show me what to do?” Dragging an empty crate beside Reggie’s,
India
sat down. When she looked up to thank Drake, his broad back disappeared from view.

Reggie thrust the ropes into her hands. “You know how t’braid? Like hair.” He yanked a lock of her hair. “It be like that.”

India
rolled the thick fibers between her hands. Maybe the task worked like hair, but the act would be a good sight different. She glanced down at the lengths Reggie had completed. The result too. “Are you sure it’s just like that?”

“Mostly.” He shoved his hands int
o his pockets. “You’ll get the ’
ang o’ it. I jes remembered I be fergettin’ somethin’ on the gun deck.” A casual dip of his chin indicated the ropes in
India
’s hold. “You get started. I’ll be back in a jiff t’check on ye.”

“All right. It can’t be that difficult.” Carefully she laid one length across the other and snugged it tight. Looking up for confirmation she’d done it appropriately, she found Reggie gone.

So much for tutoring. Very well then, she’d do her best. When Reggie returned, she’d undo everything, if she must. Until then, this would suffice, so long as it kept her from the cabin.

****

C
ain watched Drake approach through a narrow squint and tried to hold on to the rapidly fading pleasant burn of Hangman’s Blood. Yet each step Drake took toward him, his charge deliberately left behind, turned the warmth into an uncomfortable scorch.

Drake ascended, his trademark grin accompanied by a stumble as he missed the topmost tread. He caught himself on the handhold and scowled at the floor. “Someone should cut off a stair.”

“Oh, leave off
.
Y
ou are full of your drink,” Cain grumbled. “Since your mind is soaked, I’ll take care of
India
myself.”

He started for the stair, but Drake’s hand fisted into the back of his shirt. “Cease your foolery, Cain. She can find no trouble in plain sight.”

“No trouble?” He twisted his shoulders, dislodging Drake’s grip. “The woman defines trouble.”

Drake snatched at the mug Cain had abandoned. One swift thrust shoved the heavy stoneware into his gut, hard enough the wind fled Cain’s lungs. He grabbed the mug as he doubled over, spluttering for air.

“For Christ’s sake, Cain, bed the woman an’ be done with her. I grow weary of your belly-aching.”

Cain managed to breathe in a short gasp. Shaking his head, he stood up. Bed the woman—if he only could indulge.

For several seconds Cain did nothing more than glower, until he felt certain his lungs had once again learned how to function. When his chest relaxed, he transferred the tension to his fist. “Friendship affords you many liberties, Drake, but you push your limits.”

Chortling through his nose, Drake dropped to the deck and leaned against the hull. He stretched out his legs and lazily crossed one ankle over the other, effectively blocking Cain’s passage. “If you keep her confined until we reach
Nassau
, you’ll have her sneakin’ about an’ gettin’ in worse trouble. Sit down. Have another mug.”

Cain grumbled to himself, but dropped to the floor with a disgusted mutter. When Drake made to fill up his empty mug, Cain blocked the mouth with his hand. “I’ll have no more.”

“She’s turned you soft.”

Cain stared at the exposed planks to the hull. When he’d seen John Slater escort
India
to the main hatch, he’d nearly pulled Drake’s gun from his waist and fired. Drake had intervened before Cain could. Soft, however, was a word he refused to acknowledge. He didn’t
care
for India Prescott. She merely fascinated him. Part gentile lady, part seductress—he couldn’t anticipate what she might do next. Certainly disobeying his instruction to stay in his cabin hadn’t crossed his mind. But the why of it perplexed him. He
should
have anticipated she’d disobey. He’d blindly taken her at her word. Something he didn’t make the habit of doing.

“Never thought you’d fall victim to a
lady’s
charm’s, Cain,” Drake murmured. “Perhaps when you cut Richard through, some of his blue-blood will seep into you. Then you can take his place. Become the
gentleman
Cain.”