Bound by Decency (23 page)

He pulled the quill from her fingers. “I’ll record. You dictate. The men would have it no other way.”

In a classic display of the stubbornness he admired, she plucked the quill out of his grasp. “My mathematics is better than yours.”

Cain couldn’t resist the pleading nature of her eyes. Nor the truth of her abilities. Recording loot was a chore he did only out of necessity. The sheer tediousness of logging items, aligning columns of numbers, and calculating every currency exchange quite frankly made him want to tear out his hair.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Very well then. We’ll record what we have, then divide it evenly between the crew. From my shares we’ll then subtract the payment for the injured.” A frown creased his brow as he remembered Young Jim. “Notate a thousand pounds please, to Charlotte Sommers.”

She glanced up through thick inky eyelashes. “Someone special?”

It took a moment for Cain to grasp her meaning. When he came to realize she referred to his personal involvements, an unexplainable thrill shot down his spine. He’d have never believed
India
would be capable of jealousy. Particularly not in regard to him. But the brittle edge to her question left no doubt. He hid a smile by turning toward the cargo. “Young Jim was killed. She’s his widow.”

“Oh.”

His smile broke free at her flat, monotone reply. Cain quickly changed the subject and focused on the task at hand. “Three crates of raw silk.”

351

Bound By Decency

22

C
ain braced his hands against his lower back and stretched. Fifty-seven crates, twelve barrels, and he couldn’t remember how many personal trunks—at last he was finished with bending over, shuffling heavy objects around, and prying out nails to inventory the enclosed contents. Finished with no time to waste. Thank the sweet Lord the three new men had organized the hold, making the chore much faster.

A half hour earlier, eight bells marked the passing of the afternoon watch. By his approximation of the distance to port, they would dock within the hour. Once
India
finished tallying the total, dividing it between eighty-seven men, and accounting for the injured pay, the crew would be frothing at the mouth to set their feet on land and their mouths on ample breasts.

Old Bess, indeed, would find her house full tonight.

Chuckling at the thought, Cain wove his way between the rafter-high stacks and sank gratefully onto the crates at
India
’s side. Too late, he realized his mistake in sitting so close. Her natural feminine scent teased like the devil himself. He clenched his hand into fists to keep from hauling her off her seat and into his lap. God’s teeth, he craved her like sweet rum.

She chewed on her lower lip as she worked, occasionally muttering beneath her breath. The quill scratched endlessly. One by one, the single entries became the intricate document that seaman trusted him to craft.

Abruptly, she circled something in his ledger, then set the quill down. “Here’s your final tally.”

Without examining the figure, he gave her an encouraging nod. “Now divide it by eighty-seven. Triple the sum for myself and Drake, then—”

“I already have.” She pushed the ledger beneath his nose. “I wrote down what you said earlier and calculated as we went along.” With a teasing grin she added, “I had to do something while you were admiring your pretties.”

He scolded her wit with a frown he didn’t feel. Finished? It would take him a good hour to tally the final per-man share. He pulled the ledger closer and squinted at the numbers. What she’d done, exactly, he couldn’t decipher. But her neat handwriting and her carefully crafted numbers spoke to her level of detail. Where he could follow her logic and her mathematics, he found no error, lending credence to his faith she’d made none. She’d even broken out the payout, not only tripling and doubling the appropriate shares, but also accounting for the men he’d absently listed in the coordinating positions who had suffered injury.

At the very bottom of the column, she subtracted one thousand pounds from his take.

Cain slowly pushed the ledger away and turned to her, incredulous. “How?”

She gave him a modest shrug. “My father taught me numbers before he taught me how to read. They make sense to me.”

And she was damn good with them. Her efforts here would grant him a few more hours in her company, which
against his better judgment
, he very much wanted. Another conversation with her. Time to etch into his memory all the fascinating aspects of her personality. The beauty of her angelic face.

He fought the urge, knowing it would only make parting more difficult. Already the idea of sending her off on a carriage tied his innards into knots. The words slipped out before he could stop them. “Dine with me tonight. While the men are ashore and
The Kraken
is quiet, dine with me?” To temper the
desperation
evident to his own ears, he added more quietly, “Then I’ll take you to the inn where you can sleep in your own bed and indulge in a bath.”

Her gaze flickered with an emotion that vanished before Cain could completely grasp it. Disappointment? He could find no reason for dismay—he’d done what her noble Teddy would. Offered her the privacy she deserved. The treat of a hot bath. No woman who’d been trapped aboard a ship for weeks on end would turn up her nose at the prospect of a perfumed bath.

She looked to her hands as she wrung them in her lap. “Cain, last night, I made a mistake.”

Ah. So that was the reason for her disappointment. She’d read more into his offer of dinner than he had intended. He rushed to end the conversation before it could go further. “Let’s leave last night in the past, where it belongs.”

Her hand caught his arm, her hold firm. “No. I want to talk about it.”

He bristled, the memory of their interlude too uncomfortable to face once again. Bitterness rose, unbidden. He gritted his teeth against the tightening of his lungs. Abruptly, he stood, dislodging her hand. “There’s nothing to discuss,
India
. It’s done and over. Leave it be.”

To his absolute consternation, she refused to let the subject rest. In a stronger tone, she insisted, “I don’t want to leave it be. I want to know why you left. Why you didn’t come back.”

Cain stared at the thick wall of treasure, his back as stiff as if someone had shoved an iron rod alongside his spine. He pursed his lips and set his jaw. She could badger all she wished. Nothing would make him pursue this course.

****

I
n the granite lines of Cain’s face,
India
read what he didn’t say
:
Don’t ask again.
Very well, she wouldn’t. At minimum, a four-week return journey to
England
loomed on the horizon. Plenty of time to drag answers out of him. For now, she’d let him believe he’d won.

Heavy stomping on the floorboards overhead relieved her of a response. Cain took advantage of the racket and changed the conversation. “Drake will arrive shortly to see the men are paid fairly.”

“Drake? Not yourself?”

Before her eyes, Cain’s body visibly relaxed. The clenched fist at his side let go, and he flexed his fingers. “As the crew’s elected representative, payment is the quartermaster’s duty.
It is the way of rovers.
”

She glanced around, picturing the briny seamen lugging out crates by the armful. “Does he hand them a crate and let them do what they will with it?”

“The men who sail for me are given their choice of two options. Take the raw treasure, or I will purchase what isn’t coin at the port rate. The smarter ones will take the goods and store them for later trade where they can make more money.” Cain thumped a large crate marked with three black X’s and stamped with leafy canes. “Jamaican molasses is nearly priceless. Particularly in other ports where rovers frequent. Without it, they’d have no rum.”

No wonder Grey and Cain thrived so well in the markets. Cain didn’t just understand the sea, he understood trade. Intimately so. Richard had struggled with the concept of shipping to demand. More than once they’d argued about his desire to ship goods to ports that saw little interest in the product, and her desire to establish new
markets
where goods had yet to be introduced.

“You argued with Richard about trade routes didn’t you?”

Cain drew back in surprise. “He told you?”

“No. He argued them with me.” She let out a soft chuckle. “He really was quite inept. I think Father only agreed to the merger because you’d be involved.”

Again, surprise passed across Cain’s face, and she saw a man who’d struggled to attain respect, never quite realizing he had achieved it. He’d come so far from the lawless pirate he’d once been. Could become so much more if she could just convince him out of this plan for revenge. With Richard’s crimes exposed, Cain stood to gain a partnership that would quickly grant him power in an elite circle of wealthy, influential tradesmen.

The ladder creaked, and
India
looked up to see Drake climbing down. She fell silent. It would be useless to discuss the merits of turning Richard over to the authorities in front of Drake. Cain didn’t want to listen when they were alone. He’d never let her finish her thought in front of his trouble-making cohort.

Drake glanced between them, then swept his gaze across the room. “I’m not interruptin’ am I?”

India
rolled her eyes and mounted the ladder. She’d bet her entire inheritance those dancing dark eyes
wanted
to interrupt. Scoundrel didn’t begin to describe the cocky quartermaster. The woman who tolerated him would have to
possess
an angel’s infinite patience. Otherwise, she’d go crazy trying to anticipate what he might do next. Sink a ship. Rob the King. Seduce a nun. Drake knew no boundaries. It was amazing Cain tolerated him at all.

“I’ll bring our meal,” Cain called after her.

When she was once again cloistered in his comfortable cabin, she sat down at his desk and unrolled a time-stained map. Different colors of ink plotted points across the
Atlantic
Sea
, through the Indian Ocean, and two red dots marked the
port
of
Singapore
and an unnamed island farther south. A large green circle encompassed the island conglomeration of the
Bahamas
.

India
picked up Cain’s letter opener and laid it on the map. The handle rested on
Nassau
. The deadly point reached for
Bordeaux
,
France
. Then she shifted the thin blade to gauge the distance between
Nassau
and
England
. It would take Cain almost as long to reach Richard, as it would to return her home. The most direct route, should he learn of Richard’s location, would place Cain directly in the path of not only Britain’s Navy, but also Spain’s and Portugal’s.

She pushed the opener aside and let the map roll in on itself. If Cain ever found Richard, he’d sail right into a death trap. One glimpse of the Roger he arrogantly boasted, and cannons would fire until nothing remained of
The Kraken
. She couldn’t allow that to happen. The conniving, double-crossing Richard wasn’t worth one good man’s life. And whatever Cain might have been before, goodness reigned inside him now. She’d stake her life on it.

Everything boiled down to convincing him to go to the authorities. Two years of honest work proved him worthy of a pardon. Someone would listen. Someone would see reason and excuse his prior offenses.
 

If he’d only come around.

Restless energy swamped her, and she shoved out of the chair to pace the long planks in front of his shelves. As she walked, she chewed on her thumbnail. Her father possessed the kind of influence that could garner him a pardon. It would take some doing, particularly
given that
Cain had kidnapped her, but he was a reasonable man. Not the sort to react on emotion once logical fact had been presented.

She stopped abruptly, her spirits taking flight. That was exactly what she’d do—speak to her father, help clear Cain’s name from these recent events, and then convince her father to speak to his governmental friends. The only chore that remain
ed
was getting Cain to agree.

She’d start that battle tonight. Over dinner. When she had Cain all to herself and the crew caroused on the wharf. If it became absolutely necessary, she’d use Drake’s veiled suggestion to employ her body and coerce Cain’s baser nature.

Somewhere he was vulnerable. By the time sunrise came,
India
intended to know Cain’s Achilles heel.

Feeling as if she’d finally discovered a purpose worthy of her efforts, and to say the least a little intimidated at the daunting task,
India
hurried to the warped tin mounted on the wall and surveyed her reflection. Her sunburn added color to her cheeks, a stain that would have mortified her a month ago. Now the subtle pink marked the changes she’d made in her outlook on life. It fueled her drive. Stated for all to see that she was no longer the refined, polite, society miss destined only to make a suitable match with a husband and devote herself to a mundane life of overseeing households and raising children. She would have more than that, and she didn’t care who turned up their noses or whispered behind their hands.

She removed her bandana and finger-combed her tangled hair. When it hung in a thick mass around her shoulders, she stepped away, having done all she could to tame the locks into a manageable mane. It wasn’t much, but at least she didn’t look like Medusa. She shed her shirt in favor of the cleaner, looser one she’d slept in the night before. If she had to stoop to seduction, she’d employ every advantage.

Satisfied she’d groomed herself to the best of her constraints, she went to the shelves to pass the time with one of Cain’s colorfully bound books. In no particular mood for any certain piece, she reached for a reddish-brown spine. But as her fingertips made contact with the binding, a glimmer from the corner of her eye diverted her attention. She released the book and squinted at the trinket.

Jewels, far richer and brighter than she’d ever laid her eyes on, sparkled against a golden bed of filigree handiwork. Monarchial engraved leaves added flourish around a sapphire cabochon larger than the St. Edward’s. In typical fashion of royalty, the prominent gem was framed by two smaller, yet equally outstanding, uncut rubies. Adding to the box’s ostentation, the entire lid boasted so many small diamonds it would take several hours to count them all.