Capture The Wind (38 page)

Why had she not suspected what he would say? Something should have warned her, some small word or deed that would give her a hint that her days aboard the ship were soon to end.

Perhaps it should have been the horrible episode with Reed. It still haunted her, the finality with which Kit had pronounced sentence on him for disobeying an order. It didn’t seem fair to her, as the crew had willingly drunk the rum Reed had passed out, but no one wanted to listen. Her protests had earned her hard looks, and Kit had ordered her taken below to her cabin. Dylan had tried to explain it to her after he’d escorted her below.

“Lovey, listen to me,” he’d pleaded, “even on a pirate ship there are rules. Reed broke a cardinal rule. He endangered all of us by giving out the rum—”

“But the crew drank it,” she argued hotly. “Are they not just as guilty?”

“Technically, yes. But the argument was presented that since Saber was not present and the rum was being given out, the responsibility was Reed’s. He was in charge of the barrels, and he disobeyed a direct order. His punishment is warning enough to the rest of the crew. Think about it—if not for Monroe’s warning, we might all be swinging from a gibbet right now.”

“But it was so horrible,” she’d whispered, still shocked by the vision of Reed choking out his life at the end of a noose hanging from the yardarm.

“You weren’t meant to see it.” Dylan’s sigh conveyed his dismay. “I was supposed to lock you in your cabin. I forgot.”

Shuddering, the image of Kit’s hard face as he had placed the noose around Reed’s neck convulsed Angela’s stomach into a tight knot. There had been no mercy, no compassion in the features of a man she’d thought capable of both. The contradiction frightened her.

“Angela,” Dylan said gently, “he only did what he had to do. That’s his job. That is why he can command men who’d just as soon cut your throat as not,” he’d said matter-of-factly. “Do you think a weak man could control this band?”

It was not a comforting thought. And now, when Kit’s face held no tinge of mercy or love, only determination, she knew she should have been prepared for his rejection.

When the tension between them grew unbearable, she turned away from the rail to leave. Kit’s voice stopped her.

“No need to run away, Angela. You must realize that I’m only concerned for your welfare.”

She had almost forgotten how easily he could control her with a few words or a gesture. It was much too irritating to be manipulated so easily. She whirled around, anger shooting through her like a poisoned dart. “Concerned? Or burdened? I’ve not inconvenienced you until now, I notice.”

“Our vulnerability has not been so bluntly evident until now.” His calm tone contradicted his savage expression, but it wasn’t until she turned again to leave that he grabbed her arm. “There are times one cannot run, Angela. I’m trying to avoid the next crisis.”

She twisted her arm from his grasp. “With pirates, there are always more crises. What makes you think you can avoid the next one?”

“Perhaps I can’t, but I can ensure that you won’t be in any danger from a cruising Spanish man-o’-war or a French frigate. Do you think I liked hearing that you killed a man?”

The blood drained from her face, and a cold chill raked her with icy fingers. Shocked into silence, she could only stare up at Kit. There was no condemnation in his eyes, only a bitter acceptance. The death had not been mentioned, and she had not thought he knew. The searing memory of that moment still haunted her. How dare he bring that up now, of all times?

Whirling about, she made the escape pride had not allowed her to make a few moments before. Nausea curdled her stomach, and her hands were trembling so that she could barely grasp the latch to her cabin door. It was more the rolling motion of the ship than her efforts that swung open the door at last, and she lurched inside with a choking cry.

Without realizing she’d crossed the cabin, she was face down on the bunk, hands curling into the soft cotton quilt in a convulsive motion. Hot tears smeared her cheeks and the quilt, and she closed her eyes. Did Kit only pretend to be concerned for her welfare? If he truly cared about her, he would not take her home. Did he think he could stay with her once in London? It was highly unlikely he’d get past the London Bridge gate without being arrested. Even with a clever disguise, the
Sea Tiger
would most likely be recognized if he sailed anywhere close. Oh yes, he wasn’t fooling her with his lame excuses.

Thank God she’d made it to her cabin before surrendering to tears. It would have been humiliating to be reduced to sniveling like a schoolgirl in front of him.

“You really should learn to shut doors behind you,” a voice drawled from her doorway, and she turned on the bed to see Kit standing in the open portal. Hastily, she wiped away her tears.

“Get out,” she snapped at him, sitting up. “I don’t wish to talk to you right now.”

Ignoring that, he stepped inside and closed the door. “Too bad. I’m in the mood to talk to you. Do you suppose you could explain the meaning of this little drama you’re enacting? I would be positively fascinated to learn why you’re behaving as if I’ve just announced my decision to sell you on the block in Barbados.”

Schooling her rebelliously quivering lower lip into stiffness, she managed to say coolly, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. You have stated your intention to return me to London—which is what I have been asking you to do for the past month—and I have acknowledged it.”

Kit’s mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. “Have you. Pardon me, but we have differing views. It was more an assault than an acknowledgment. Am I to deduce from your reaction that you don’t want to go home?”

She turned away without answering. Of course she wanted to go home. But not like this. Not because he didn’t want her to stay with him. Dear God, why must this be so difficult? Why didn’t he just go away and leave her alone?

“Angela.” The mattress dipped as he sat down, but she refused to look at him. Before long his hands settled on the slope of her shoulders. Gently, he pulled her backward to hold her against his chest, and she could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. “You’re the stubbornest woman I’ve ever met,” he muttered as his fingers slid beneath her heavy hair to caress her.

Predictably, his touch sent shivers through her, and she held tightly to her anger, using it as a shield. He would not smooth over his actions with honeyed words and promises he didn’t mean. She’d had enough of that from Philippe.

Kit began to massage her shoulders with light, circular motions, his clever fingers occasionally exploring the sensitive whorls of her ear. Shivering, she pulled away and turned to look at him.

He observed her in silence for a moment, then said in a light, faintly amused voice, “Though rumors may contradict me, I do not usually make a habit of abducting innocent young English women, however beautiful they may be. If you will recall, I rescued you. There is a sizable difference, in my opinion.”

“I also recall the reason I
had
to be rescued,” she said tartly, and he grinned.

“Ah yes. The unfortunate fire aboard the
Scrutiny.
Whatever would you have done had I not been there?”

“Continued my voyage to New Orleans, most likely,” she shot at him. “Had you not attacked us, there would have been no fire.”

“And had you continued on to New Orleans, you would have found your precious betrothed awaiting you at the wharf, no doubt.”

His sarcasm penetrated to her marrow, and she sucked in a sharp breath. She was well aware that had she managed to find Philippe at all, the outcome would have been the same.

Warily, she asked, “Are you insinuating that you have alleviated my
 . . .
my shock at finding Philippe with
 . . .
in—”

Floundering to a halt, she glared at Kit when he finished for her,
“Inflagrante?”

“In a compromising situation,” she corrected angrily.

Kit waved a dismissive hand. “Just another way of saying the same thing. He wouldn’t have been waiting for you, and you would have taken the next ship home. That is what I am doing for you now, if you will only be sensible and tell me why you’re so irritated about it.”

“Because you’re only doing it now when I’ve become an inconvenience for you,” she blurted. “Do you think I’m deaf? I heard you quite clearly.”

His brows lowered. “Surely, you aren’t referring to my choice of words when I reached the ship after fighting my way across the beach. Even a complete idiot would understand that I was in no mood to be diplomatic.”

“Excuse me, but as a
deuced inconvenience,
I find it difficult to distinguish between diplomacy and truth.”

Kit put a hand over his eyes. “Dear God. I had hoped for a modicum of restraint here, but I can see it was in vain.” He looked at her over the edge of his palm, then shook his head. “Angela, if I have hurt your feelings, I apologize.”

She sat quite still. It was the first time he had ever uttered anything near an apology. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then she asked softly, “Are you certain you wish to admit to committing an error?”

Faint lines bracketed his mouth in a smile. “Perhaps this one time. It would help, however, if I knew exactly what I was apologizing for
 . . .
was it the inconvenience remark?”

“Partially.” She heaved a sigh. Communication, it was said, was the key to avoiding misunderstandings. If she took a chance and told him how she felt, perhaps his explanation would at least provide an answer.

Lacing her fingers together, she took a deep breath and said, “I feel that you are merely trying to rid yourself of a burden that has grown much too inconvenient by returning me to London. Is that the case, Kit?”

She couldn’t look up at him, afraid of what she might see. His laughter was soft and beguiling. “No,” he said gently, “that is not the case. I am returning you to London for the very reason I stated—it is too dangerous for you to remain aboard the
Sea Tiger.”

Looking up, she asked, “And that is all?”

“That is all.” He paused, then added, “Besides, it’s becoming bloody annoying to issue threats to members of my crew who stare at you a bit too closely.”

“Have you?”

“Actually, it is Dylan who has been the most energetic on your behalf. I can think of three individuals who do not stand very high in his estimation at this moment because they evinced too much interest in your . . . form . . . when you boarded ship in your wet dress.”

That unpleasant memory—the bloodstained dress had been tossed overboard as soon as she could manage it—made her shiver. Angela looked back down at her entwined fingers, and Kit reached out to touch her lightly on her bent head.

“What else is bothering you, angel?”

His soft concern was her undoing. The tears began to flow, hot and searing, choking her. He said nothing, but drew her into his embrace and held her, rocking silently until she finally stopped. Then he offered her a corner of the quilt on which to wipe her eyes and nose, wryly observing that she should really carry a handkerchief for such emergencies.

When he tucked a finger beneath her chin to tilt her face up to his, she did not try to avoid him. There was a subtle change in his expression, one she had not seen before. She shifted slightly, snuffling in a most ungenteel fashion.

“You’re not a woman who should make a habit of weeping,” he said lightly. “Your nose is as red as a cherry.”

“Thank you!”

Laughing, he drew her close again, this time pulling her into his lap. She lay her head against the strong bend of his arm and shoulder, sighing.

“I know what’s bothering you, angel. Mr. Buttons told me how brave you were when you were attacked.” She shuddered, and his embrace tightened. “Listen to me—you did what you had to do. Do you think you’re the only one who has ever been forced to that end? I can tell you that you’re not.”

“Nothing excuses what I did.” Her voice broke slightly, and she steadied it before saying, “I killed a man.”

“Some are forced to it at a very young age.”

A tinge of bitterness had crept into his voice, and she recalled how he’d once mentioned the fact that he’d been in his first battle at the tender age of eleven. That was when he had received the scar that curved from his brow to his cheek. Odd how she never even noticed it now, when it had first made her shiver with dread at his wicked appearance.

“As you were forced to it?” she asked before her courage failed her. When he didn’t reply, she pulled slightly away and looked at him. “Tell me, Kit. I need to know that I’m not the only one who has ever felt this way.”

Instead of answering, he removed her from his lap and rose to his feet. He stood for a moment, looking down at her in the thickening gloom. Light through the tiny portholes had dimmed, and the cabin was filled with shadows.