Captive Hearts (16 page)

“You should have said you were hurt when first you arrived.” She pulled him forward and untied the handkerchief. “Webster or Georgie could have done a better job bandaging it.”

“They weren’t about when it happened, so I had to tie it myself in the coach.”

The cut ran across the middle of his forearm and was deeper in the center than at the edges. She thought it was too straight to be anything but a knife wound. She swallowed against the sudden rush of fear that cut off her breath for a moment. She positioned his arm over the basin and began to gently bathe away the dried blood.

The coppery smell made her queasy, and she breathed through her mouth until the feeling passed.

She paused to look up at him, her throat feeling tight. “Tell me I have not brought trouble to you.” He smoothed a dark auburn curl back from her cheek. “You haven’t. Sometimes the docks can be a dangerous place, Katherine. Knives are a sailor’s first choice of weapon when in a fight. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She continued to study his features for a moment before going back to the task at hand. She wanted to believe him, but knew she shouldn’t. “You will need a few stitches. I will ask Elton to send for a doctor.” If this incident was somehow caused by the men who had attacked her family…Fear clenched like a fist in the pit of her stomach. She had to draw them away somehow. She had to leave tomorrow.

****

Katherine gripped the corner of the pillow and fought the urge to weep. The finality of what she had planned had come crashing down upon her at dinner. Every time Matthew had spoken, she had caught herself studying his expression in a desperate bid to remember it. Every touch of his hand had become precious. His protectiveness when

they were in social situations—his penchant for sharing his cloak and his body heat in the coach—and his hand covering hers in the bend of his arm when they walked together—had all become gestures to hold dear in her memories.

How many times had he unfastened her gown, just like any other husband? Or touched her cheek, or smoothed back a wayward curl? How many times had he shared some passing thought or observation and made her feel privy to his inner thoughts? And why had she not done the same in return? What could it have hurt? Regret tasted like bitter ashes in her mouth.

It did no good to torment herself with questions, or dreams of something different. The very needs and desires that had brought them together would keep them apart. An ache of loss squeezed her heart and she turned her face into the pillow to fight against a fresh wave of tears.

“What is it, you are mulling over?” Matthew asked his tone hushed.

The fire’s pale glow threw flickering light across the bottom of the bed just enough to see his profile. Katherine swallowed twice to clear her throat, but her voice still came out weak and husky. “I was just wondering…if we had met in a different manner…but then we would have probably never met at all.”

“Despite my close relationship with my aunt and uncle, I doubt a lowly sea captain would have been invited to court.”

“Neither was I.”

“You didn’t have a coming out?”

“No.”

Matthew turned on his side facing her. “Why not?” Katherine drew in a breath laced with his scent.

Even that she would remember. “My father wished to choose my husband.”

“It seems you would have had a better chance at a good match during the season.”

“A title, wealth, all the things that we are told our husband’s must have, did not mean to me what my father thought they should.”

“What was it you were looking for?”

You

. The word poised on the tip of her tongue and she swallowed it back. “I did not know. I just resented being put up for auction like a prize mare with a good bloodline.”

He remained silent for a moment, and she wondered if she had shocked him with her bluntness. When he threw back the covers and rose, she thought she had angered him.

Lighting a small twig of wood at the fireplace he lit the oil lamp beside their bed. “Come here, Katherine.” He motioned to her.

Studying his face she wiggled free of the covers and slid to the edge of the bed.

Dressed in the disreputable cut off trousers he had taken to wearing to bed, he bowed to her and somehow made the gesture as courtly as it would have been had he been fully dressed. “Captain Matthew Hamilton, Lady Katherine, how do you do?”

“I do very well, Captain Hamilton.” As she took in the muscular definition of his thighs, stomach, and chest, she bent her head to hide her smile.

“It would thrill me if you would share that smile with me, Lady Katherine, and the thought that brought it to your lips.” “I was thinking that, should all suitors dress as you are right now, there would be less time spent on pretentious flirtation.”

Matthew chuckled. But when his warm gaze swept down her body, clad in her night shift, her limbs grew weak and weighty and her cheeks hot. She pressed her hand to the front of the gown as her heart fluttered.

“Is your dance card filled, Lady Katherine?” Her throat tightened with emotion at the question.

“No.” “Will you share a dance with me?” He offered his hand.

“We have no music,” she said as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to draw her to her feet.

“I will count the beat.” He guided her to an open space, unobstructed by furniture. When he lifted his hands palm up she placed hers in them. He named a simple country dance. “Do you know it?”

“I believe so.”

“Though it is written for six, we should do very well. I will count and you come toward me then back, then toward me and back—” He went through each step, his hand brushing her shoulder, pressing her hip as he guided her in practice. Then they were dancing in earnest as he counted the beat and they stepped forward almost touching, then backed away. He was turning her, casting off and stepping down the section of carpet and meeting her again.

To Katherine, their steps mirrored their relationship to date, for it had been fraught with tantalizing closeness and loneliness. They were poised between commitment and parting, trapped there by circumstances they couldn’t control.

They stopped, a little out of breath. Katherine, her hands tucked behind her, tipped her head back to look up at him.

Matthew cupped her cheek, his pale blue eyes intent.

“Better?

He had sensed her upset and done all this to make her feel better. With this last sweet action he captured her heart.

“Where is she?” Matthew demanded. Concern lanced through him, kicking his heart into a gallop. He cautioned himself to remain calm.

“I don’t know, Cap’in. Georgie and I ’ave been over ever’ inch of the Caroline. We ’aven’t been able to find ’er.” Henry’s gaze shifted to the water, his salt-worn features creased with worry. “Ye don’t suppose she fell overboard?”

“You didn’t hear anything, and Georgie was on deck with her fishing off the bow. She couldn’t have fallen overboard.” Matthew’s gaze swept the deck looking for any nook or cranny they might have missed. After his experience the night before, he had brought Katherine on board with him to keep her safe. What could have happened? “Go below and search again. Maybe she’s in the galley with Webster. She likes to cook.”

“Aye, Cap’in.”

“Georgie.”

The boy stepped forward. “Aye, Cap’in.”

“What was Katherine doing when you last saw her?” Georgie’s freckles stood out on a face pale with fear.

“She was sittin’ on the quarterdeck on a crate drawin’ the deck bellow, Cap’in.”

He should never have insisted she accompany him today. But there had been something in her manner this morning. She had been withdrawn, more so than usual, upset, or…something. Could she have somehow rowed ashore?

He climbed the steps to the quarterdeck and turned to search the lower deck from the higher perspective. If someone had sneaked aboard and taken her, Georgie would have heard something. If she had fallen overboard, there would be some sign of it. The sketches she had been working on would have been scattered upon the deck or in the water. He narrowed his gaze against the glare of the winter sun. A chill wind whipped across the deck and

rippled the lashed sails above his head and he glanced up.

He tracked something white as it fluttered and looped through the air then sailed outward to disappear over the aft rail of the ship. He tilted his head back to follow the line of mast and spars to the crow’s nest overhead. His breath caught and held, his jaw tightening against the stream of oaths that leaped to his tongue.

“Georgie.”

“Aye, Cap’in.”

“Go below and tell Henry I’ve found her.” Georgie tipped his head back following Matthew’s train of sight then his mouth dropped open in astonishment. “How ye goin’ ta get her down, Cap’in?”

“The same way she got up there. Go tell him.”

“Aye, Cap’in.” The boy ran across the deck and disappeared below like a jackrabbit into its hole.

Matthew approached the ladder and took several deep breaths to calm his temper. He mounted the ladder to the crow’s nest.

Katherine moved the charcoal across the paper with quick sure strokes. At this distance, the people were tiny forms moving about the ships docked along the quay. The buildings, constructed one next to the other parallel to the docking area, created a monotone hued backdrop. The late afternoon sun reflected off the windows, setting to light the drab facades of the warehouses.

In the crow’s nest, a stinging, cold breeze blew away the scent of tar and the pungent odor of the river. Her cheeks and nose burnt from the chill. Her fingers were numb. The heavy sweater she had found in a chest in Matthew’s cabin kept her torso and arms relatively warm despite its warn spots. It covered the upper part of her thighs nearly to her knees. She thought that a good thing since she had exchanged her gown for a pair of breeches she’d brought along in her bag. A knitted cap held her hair back and kept it from whipping about her face.

She would have to go back down soon. Her toes were aching from the cold and would soon be numb as well.

“Why are you up here, Katherine?” She jerked, caught unaware by Matthew’s sudden appearance from below. The crow’s nest had little room to spare once he stood beside her. His pale blue gaze flashed

like heat lightning, the set of his jaw grim and angry. A nervous shiver of apprehension raced up her spine.

“I thought it would offer me a more interesting view of the dock.”

His gaze raked her from head to toe. “What the hell do you have on?”

“A pair of my brother’s old breeches and a sweater I found in your cabin. I hope you do not mind me wearing it.” She pulled at the edge of the garment as his gaze settled upon her legs.

His jaw worked for a moment. “I can see you’re dressed as a boy. But why?”

“It seemed more practical since I was climbing around the decks of the ship. The wind kept blowing about my skirts, and it was neither comfortable nor modest.”

His gaze narrowed. “Practical they may be, but if you were aiming for modesty you’ve failed. The breeches show the shape of your legs and the stockings show even more.

Were I not the only one here to see them, I’d be stripping them from you and putting your gown back on.” Taken aback by the possessiveness of the threat, she stared at him. “I suppose you would rather I had climbed up here in a gown.”

“I’d rather you not climb up here at all. During a storm the wind alone can toss you out of the basket.”

“It is not storming, Matthew, and I was careful.”

“Careful would have been content to roam the deck below.” He pointed downward.

“But look what I would have missed.” She waved an arm in the direction of the docks.

He gave the view only a cursory look. “You’d have missed having your cheeks burnt by the wind and your nose red as a raspberry. You look half frozen. Bundle your things together. We’re going down.” Had she not been so cold, Katherine may have argued further just on principle. She rolled the charcoal sticks she held into a piece of paper and slipped them into her breeches pocket. Withdrawing a handkerchief, she wiped her stained hands as best she could. Tucking the cloth back into her pocket she kneeled to secure the small drawing board and the sketch she had rendered within

the leather portfolio Johnny had fashioned for her. She buckled the strap along the flap, slipped her arms through the leather straps at the side, and settled it on her back.

She paused to look one last time at the dock, the warehouses, and the city that stretched out behind them in the distance.

“You do not know how fortunate you are to have been able to experience such freedom, Matthew.”

“What do you mean?”

She studied his features. Cold had slapped a ruddy tint into his cheeks. With his black brows drawn together in a frown and a shadow of beard darkening his jaw, he looked dangerously handsome.

“No matter where you go, or what you do, no one will try to force you to adhere to rules that clip your wings before you are even able to spread them. Whether it is you, or my uncle, or some nosy someone who takes it into their head that I need protection from my own impulsiveness, I will always have someone hanging over my shoulder watching my every move. There will always be someone trying to force me to adhere to what they think is respectable behavior when all I really want to do is be free to be what and who I am.” His blue gaze raked her again. “Do you wish yourself a boy, Katherine?”

Disappointment nipped her heart and made her feel suddenly tired. “No. I have never wanted to be anything but what I am.”

”Even men have to adhere to rules, Katherine. Even we have to acknowledge our limitations. Had I been free to do as I pleased I wouldn’t have spent nearly three months in a jail cell.”

“It was because of that, I thought you would understand.”

“Understand what? That you delight in doing outrageous things to cause trouble?” She flinched as pain lanced through her. His resentment of her had finally bubbled to the surface and though she had warned herself repeatedly to expect it, it still caught her unaware. Uncertain of her composure, she stepped to the opening at the center of the crow’s nest and