Captive Hearts (18 page)

Curious, he stopped to listen and decipher from which direction it came. As he continued down the hall, he discovered a chamber door standing ajar. Resting a hand against the portal, he pushed it open further. Light from the hall sconce behind him shone inside the room, casting dark shadows in the corners. From the doorway, the coverlet on the bed was wrinkled but nothing else appeared disturbed. Shaking his head, he continued on downstairs.

Elton waited in the entrance foyer.

“We’ll return late tomorrow evening, Elton.”

“I shall be sure to tell his lordship, sir.” One of the maids was just outside the west entrance when I came in. You may want to check the door is secure.

“Of course, sir.

Matthew exited the house and glanced toward the west entrance as he walked down the front steps. The man and woman were gone. It was too cold to linger outside for long. He drew his cloak close and called to Henry to join him inside the coach.

The man settled back against the leather seat as though he feared the pressure of his body might mar it.

“’Tis too cold to be atop the coach if you don’t

have to be, Henry. Besides, I have something to discuss with you.” “Aye, Cap’in.”

“The trouble we discussed earlier—”

“Aye, Cap’in.

“I may have to take you up on your offer.”

Katherine rose from her perch upon the window seat and smoothed the wrinkles at the front of her dark gray gown. She joined Georgie at the table and started helping him clear the tea things away.

“You don’t have ta help me, Miss Katherine. I can do it.” “I know, Georgie. I do not mind.” His attention focused on her cheek and he grimaced in sympathy. “Is there anythin’ I can get for you, Ma’am?” She shook her head and touched the swollen side of her face gingerly. The initial burn had passed and had settled down to a persistent dull ache. “No, I do not believe so.”

With a nod, he went back to gathering the heavy china tea service upon the tray.

“My pa used to pound on me some. He’d get drunk and come home. Used to pound on my ma some too, ’til she died.”

She focused on his young features and found his freckled face both funny and endearing. His attempt to ease her embarrassment and pain reflected a chivalry he had obviously learned at Matthew’s hand.

“The Cap’in took me off the docks in Charleston and made me his cabin boy.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

A knot rose in her throat. She had married a good man, a strong man; she didn’t need anyone to point it out to her. His penchant to protect those weaker than himself would one day get him killed.

“You were very fortunate to have found him.” Aye, I was.” He nodded.

They both were. Had he been any other man she would probably be sporting a black eye or worse for her recent behavior. He had shown greater restraint than her

father ever had.

She realized that she’d been waiting for him to behave like her father, and he was just not going to. He would never raise his hand to those smaller or weaker than himself. She supposed she presented a very frustrating problem to him always doing things that tested his temper and leaving him no recourse.

In less than a fortnight, he had managed to show her how different men could be from her perception of them.

She had painted them all with the same callous, unfeeling brush her father and uncle had placed in her hand. Now, she knew there were those who weren’t out to manipulate and dominate those weaker than themselves.

The door behind her opened without a warning knock, and she turned to look over her shoulder. Beads of moisture glistened in Matthew’s dark hair and wet the shoulders of his cloak. He tossed the leather valise he carried onto the bunk and removed his cloak then hung it on a peg at the door.

She collected a towel from the washstand and went to offer it to him. Matthew studied her features, his gaze sharp. “A white flag, Katherine? I’d have thought you’d sooner fight to the death than surrender.”

“A flag of truce, so that we may negotiate,” she suggested.

“I have negotiated with you before and come out the loser.”

“Will ye be needin’ anythin’ else, Cap’in?” Georgie asked from the door.

“No, Georgie.” He crossed the cabin in two long strides to open the door for him.

The silence that stretched between them with Georgie’s departure grew taut as sail canvas. He removed his long coat and hung it beside his cloak. He unwrapped the stock from about his neck and hung it there as well.

Katherine turned away and went to the window seat to look out upon the water. The reflective light of the cabin limited her vision to a small patch directly beneath the window. The warm yellow lights of the lanterns behind her turned the dingy gray water a milky green.

He tossed a cream-colored piece of paper on her lap as he sat down beside her. “I’ve read it. Is there anything

that you neglected to include in the story?” She had hoped to avoid telling him the more personal parts of the story, but if she held anything back now he would view it as another betrayal. As she strove to avoid looking at him, all she felt was a bone deep pain and tiredness.

The wooden bulkhead behind her felt cool through the thinness of her gown as she rested back against it. It grounded her in the present so that the past could not wound her so bitterly.

“I do not remember everything about that night. Had the guns been in the coach, we might have had a fighting chance.”

“The guns?”

“My brother’s guns. There was a compartment beneath the seat where they were kept, but when we opened it to arm ourselves they were gone. Even the powder and shot were missing. Edward said one of the servants must have discovered them while cleaning the coach and taken them to sell.”

“That sounds a reasonable assumption.” He shifted and braced a hand on the back of the desk chair.

“My mother made me get inside the compartment and hide. I heard gunshots and her screaming. I don’t remember what happened next. It is as though time just ceased to be.

“The only face I remember is the one I drew. I remember being cold, and everything looked as though I viewed it through the bottom of a glass. My legs were slick with blood, and my gown clung to them as though it were alive.”

His movement as he released the chair back brought her gaze to his face to find his expression wooden. She wondered what he hid behind that control. Revulsion?

Pity? “It was from the shot in my side, not what you are thinking. He told me that came later.”

“You said nothing of being shot.” His tone was subdued, careful.

“Here.” She touched her waist. “The ball tore through my stays and into my side. It took the surgeon some time to pick out the whalebone fragments. In the end he told me it was probably the undergarment that saved my life.”

She fell silent as she struggled to retain her composure.

“All I remember after being shot is a weight pressing down on top of me and a rope tight about my neck squeezing my throat so that my head pounded. I couldn’t breathe. There was a light in the distance. I thought at the time, if only I could reach it, I would be safe.”

“Who is he?” he asked.

She stared at him confused.

“You said ‘he’ told you.”

“Edward.” She drew her legs up and looped her arms about her knees, hugging them hard.

Silence settled between them weighted with emotion.

She turned to look out upon the water, away, unable to bear whatever she would see in his expression.

“When was it Edward began searching for a husband for you?”

“Barely a month later. He said we would have to be quick about it before rumor made it impossible for him to find me a match. He insisted my immigrating to another country would be for the best.” She finally looked at him, but his attention was directed at the bare wooden floor beneath his feet. “I wanted to tell you everything before the wedding, but— you were never released from prison and my notes were never delivered.”

“It wouldn’t have changed the outcome of things, Katherine.” He rose to his feet and looked for a long moment out into the darkness. “I’ll have Webster prepare a meal,” he said as he crossed to don his long coat and cloak. “I’ll be up on the quarter deck should you need me.” She rested her forehead against her up-drawn knees as tears ran unheeded down her cheeks. He hadn’t looked at her a single time. Her chest ached with the pain of his rejection. She had never dreamed anything could hurt so much.

****

Matthew pounded his fist against the railing of the quarterdeck. Knowing she had been abused when injured made him sick, but it also thrust to life a rage he had tried to ignore for days. He could ignore it no longer. It twisted like a thing alive in the pit of his stomach. He wanted the men responsible for this, dead. They were out there somewhere free to do as they pleased while she

stayed huddled beneath decks, afraid and outcast. He wanted to rail at the injustice of it.

When had he begun to care so much about this stranger he had married? From the moment she had walked into that dirty, dim cell and offered him her hand and his freedom. She had invaded his thoughts, his dreams. Even when he was concentrating on other things, she was like a tune that threaded its way though his mind.

Now that she had posted the bills and had the story hawked upon the streets, he couldn’t leave her behind when he left England–but he had known that all along.

She was his responsibility. His wife.

She was determined that their marriage would be a temporary one though there was no way for them to end it. By making the story public, she had backed them both into a corner, in more ways than one. He was furious with her for that, but in a way, he was also relieved. Relieved because the choice had been taken out of his hands.

Acknowledging that made him uncomfortable. He had faced situations on board ship and made decisions under circumstances that any hesitation might have meant life or death. Never had he vacillated over anything as he had about Katherine. He had tried to avoid facing why. Now he had no choice, but to confront it.

He was afraid of loving her. Afraid of loving her and losing her, as he had Caroline.

He had wanted Caroline, gotten her with child, and caused her death. He wanted Katherine, possibly more than he had ever wanted any other woman. Wanted her so much, he dreamed of making love to her. He knew if he started touching her, there would be no way he could keep himself from taking her. He just wasn’t that self-sacrificing.

And what if they made love and she conceived? Just the idea twisted his stomach into painful knots. He raked his fingers through his hair and groaned in frustration.

The black cord that bound it at the nape of his neck came loose, and he stuck it in his pocket.

After speaking of the rape, making love would be the last thing she would be ready to do. But the desire to lay claim to her, to wipe out her memories of that night and

fill her mind with only his touch, his kisses, his body, was so strong every muscle felt knotted with the effort to resist.

He slumped down on the top step of the quarterdeck and studied the rigging above as he allowed the familiar feel of the ship beneath him to soothe his rampaging emotions. He could not face her until he had himself under control. If he went below now he’d likely carry her to his bunk, and take her, and damn the consequences.

Katherine deserved better than that.

****

The numerous humiliations her father had heaped upon her had taught her well. Facing Matthew after their earlier exchange was one of the most difficult things she had ever done. Katherine kept her composure intact for pride’s sake alone and forced herself to respond to his attempts at conversation as though nothing were wrong. By the end of the meal, her hold upon her emotions was tenuous. Anger and pain warred inside her, threatening an eruption of either tears or violence.

Georgie returned for the dishes. Where he had lingered to talk to her before, a frown flitted across his face as though he sensed the tension between her and Matthew, and the boy hurried through the chore and left.

The door had barely closed behind him when Matthew moved to the desk and said, “Please come here, Katherine.”

She hesitated then, girding her composure, strode across the cabin to join him.

He opened a drawer and removed a small bottle. “I have some liniment for your cheek.” He pulled the cork from the vessel and moistened a small scrap of linen.

She flinched, as much from the strong smell of the medicine as the unexpected emotional pain his touch caused.

Matthew murmured an apology and hurried to finish the task then set aside the medicine. His fingers grasped her jaw raising her face for his perusal. “I shouldn’t have shown such restraint with your uncle,” he commented. “Is it very painful?”

Surprised by his concern, she studied his expression then shook her head.

“Not all men hit.”

“I know.”

“Do you? You don’t look as though you truly believe it.” His black brows knitted together in a frown, his mouth set in a ridged line that bespoke of temper held in check. “The only thing I have for pain is a bottle of brandy. Would you like a dram?”

“No.”

He stepped behind her to unfasten the buttons of her gown. She had, had a difficult time getting in and out of the garment earlier in the day and, though she resented his help, it did make the task easier. She held the gown close against her as the buttons gave way. When he unlaced her stays as well, she turned to look over her shoulder at him.

Matthew rested his hand upon her shoulders beneath the fabric and though the frown still lingered, his lips no longer looked compressed.

“Thank you.” Though she sought to dismiss him, her voice came out just above a whisper. His calloused fingers ran lightly over her collarbones. Her breasts grew tight, the nipples puckering beneath the bodice. She wondered how he could inspire such feelings when only a few hours before she had thought he found her repulsive.

He wasn’t behaving that way now. She wished she understood more about men. She couldn’t read anything that was going on behind his face.