Sea Scoundrel (11 page)

The girls cheered.

The dolphin jumped out of the water, wiggled in midair, then dove back in. Patience leaned near the Captain, “I think the dolphin rather sweet.”

He tweaked her nose. “If you ever tel anyone, I’l deny it, but I agree.”

Happiness fil ed her. The Captain stood beside her, smiling. The sailors looked on, without scowls, and the girls enjoyed the show. At that moment, not a worry beset her.

Could their bad luck be over?

Without warning, a stream of sea-foam covered them. One of the girls screamed.

When she wiped her eyes, Patience saw Sophie sitting in a puddle, hair dripping in her face, a flying-fish flopping in her lap. Wel ington cavorted to and fro before her, yapping.

Patience knelt beside her. “What happened?”

“It hit me in the face,” Sophie wailed, watching the offending creature stink up her gown. “I was so surprised, I tripped and landed on my ... deck.”

“Sophie,” The Captain said. “If Doc is in a good mood, he’l fry that delicacy for the person lucky enough to find it.” Sophie examined the creature, mouth pursed, eyebrows furrowed. “Hmm.” She looked at the girls, the sailors, her gaze stopping at Jasper. She smiled, careful y grasped the fish by its tail-fin and picked herself up. She went to Jasper, who tried to look stoic with a wiggling fish hanging topsy-turvy before his face. “By way of apology,” Sophie said. “I would like to fry this myself and give it to you as a gift. Wil you let me make amends, Jasper, for popping you?” Jasper gave a half nod.

Sophie served the succulent morsel for breakfast the next morning, and Jasper declared it, “The finest eating since leaving the Emerald Isle.”

That same day, the Captain’s voice cal ing, “Ahoy,” through the speaking trumpet caught Patience’s attention.

A regal blue-sailed vessel glided toward them. It came so close, Patience thought she might jump to its deck, but when she looked, the ocean gap between ships was much wider than she thought.

“What ship?” a man from Blue Sails cal ed through his horn.

“
Knave’s Secret
, from Newport,” the Captain responded.

“Where bound?”

“London.”

“How many days out?”

“Nineteen, What ship?” Captain St. Benedict asked.

“
The Connecticut
, from Dover.”

“Where bound?”

“Providence.”

“How many days out?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Permission to come aboard?” Captain St. Benedict asked, surprising her. Half an hour later, she watched a dory carry him over. He climbed a rope ladder and went over the side to be greeted by a bearded man. They shook hands and strode from sight.

* * *

At nearly midnight Grant finished his errand, shook Captain Davenport’s hand and thanked him, satisfied with his night’s work. When he returned to his ship he gave orders the dory await his return.

“Shane, wake up.” His brother sat right up, always ready to respond in an emergency. “Captain Davenport is wil ing to take you aboard. I just want to know one thing.”

“What?” Shane pushed his hair from his eyes, and scrubbed at his face with both hands.

“Does Rose want her daughter back?”

“Of course she does!”

“Captain Davenport needs an extra man. Two of his crew were lost in a storm. He’l take you on. Go back to Rhode Island for Rose’s daughter. From what you said about her mother, she’l do more harm than good to a little one. After that, fast as he can load his cargo, Captain Davenport’s sailing to London. You get the baby in Updike’s Newtown and return to Providence in time to join him. You’l arrive in London, two, maybe three weeks behind us.” Shane listened, his face registering stunned amazement. “I can’t believe you’d do this for Rose. I mean, I’m important to this ship. You can hardly do without me.” He grinned.

Grant cuffed him. “Your watering pot is not going to be happy ‘til her chick’s back in the nest, and you’re not going to be happy ‘til you’re in there with them.” Grant tried to be stern, but from Shane’s grin, he could tel it wasn’t working.

“You know damn wel , you’re the best mate a man could want, but I’ve got Jasper and Sven.”

Grant began to pace. “I must be getting soft, but since you told me about Rose’s little girl, I’m plagued by the memory of us, barely out of leading strings, setting off in the middle of the night to find Mother. The look on the old man’s face, when he caught us, tel ing us she was no good, that we were better off without her; it’s haunted me. I hated him for that as much as I hated her for leaving. And I hated myself, most of al .

“Rose’s baby should be with Rose. She shouldn’t grow up thinking her mother deserted her, or, dammit, that it was her fault her mother left. Go get her, Shane.”

“Aye, aye Cap’n.” He pul ed on his pants. “I’m going to let her meet her new papa ‘cause I’m going to marry Rose soon as I get to London.” He threw clothes into his sea bag.

“Don’t tel anyone where I’ve gone. I want to see Rose’s face when I put Amy in her arms.”

“Whatever you say. Get going. Captain Davenport’s a fair man, but we’ve kept him waiting long enough.” Shane smiled, slapped his brother on the back, threw his bag over his shoulders, and left without another word.

Standing on the deck of his ship, in the dark of night, the Captain watched his best friend board The Connecticut.

Eight bel s. Midnight.

In his cabin, he poured himself a brandy, relaxed against the cushions on the window-seat and watched the Connecticut as it got smal er in the distance. He missed Shane already. There had been just the two of them since he was ten, Shane eight, and they’d always looked out for each other.

It wasn’t Shane’s sailing off that real y bothered him, Grant knew. But his brother would soon become a bigger part of Rose’s life. He would have a family apart from his older brother. He guessed that was how life should be. Hadn’t Shane said so? Hel , he just hoped they’d be happy.

Grant closed his eyes for a minute, and he saw children of different ages, lined according to size. The littlest, a girl, about two, on the left, a boy, twelve or thirteen on the right.

Dimples, red hair, laughing green eyes. Patience, scooping the babe into her arms.

Her eyes were loving, her smile welcoming as she looked at someone he could not see. Jealousy fil ed Grant, regret.

Another man taught her passion.

But, no help for it. He remembered the look of loathing on his mother’s face when he reached for her, his confusion at her disgust. He had always feared getting close to anyone, except Shane, who suffered as he did.

Now he found himself weakening. A smal breasted girl—

no, a woman—with auburn hair, and a smile to make the heather bloom, cal ed to him. Patience. He gave up, and let the fantasy play out.

But children were no longer part it. Patience wore a long rose nightrail, impending motherhood making her glow. He went to her, cupped her ample breasts and realized he’d have to tel her that when she carried and nursed their ...
her
children, she would have a bosom.

She’d like that.

But he was shaken. It seemed too possible. Too real.

“No.” He shouted into the empty cabin. There’d be no loving and no risk of not being loved in return. No rebuffs. Grant stood, shook his head. He lived on his own and wanted it that way. He refused the dream. “No, no, and no!” he shouted, tossing his brandy glass against the wal .

He embraced the sound of shattering as he undressed and climbed into his bunk. And as he closed his eyes, he wished his soul did not also feel shattered.

Sleep, drive her from my mind, he prayed as he drifted.

Patience lay beneath his questing hands. He kissed her breasts, her lips, touched her everywhere. She gloried in his attention, did things that made him shudder and harden.

He would slip into her velvet sheath when he could wait no longer. Any minute now.

Grant fought wakefulness against the disorienting pounding in his head.

Patience knocked on the Captain’s door again. She had to know the truth. Now. “Captain? Captain, are you in there?” She opened the door to his cabin, went in, and shut it behind her. Had he sent Shane on the Connecticut just to get him away from Rose?

He slept. She watched him for a minute, wishing, but anger beat longing. She shook him, hesitated. Perhaps she should wait until he came up on deck. No, dammit, she was mad.

His chest and shoulders were exposed, a sheet covered the rest. Deciding she’d better not touch him, she bent to his ear. “Captain,” she whispered. “Captain, wake up, please. I need to speak with you.” Why was she being so polite when she wanted to throttle him, she was so angry?

But it seemed cruel to startle even the snarly Captain awake. Sighing, she spoke a little louder. “Captain. It’s Patience. Can I speak to you?”

His sleep-glazed eyes opened and as she was about to speak, he pul ed her, in one fluid motion ful on top of him, and his arms closed hard around her.

His mouth opened and came for hers. Lightening struck when they kissed, his mouth performing a hot, fierce, plundering.

The angles and contours of his body seemed to met her own. She loved moving with and against, into and along him, wished, almost, that they might go on forever, living out their lives here in this bunk, kissing, holding, discovering.

“Lets ...” He nipped at her lips. “Remove ...” He nipped again. “... your nightrail.”

Patience evaded the next nip. “I’m not wearing my nightrail.” Her answer seemed to freeze him. He stil ed, scanned her face, the cabin. Then he pushed with such strength, she toppled to the floor.

He growled when he saw what he’d done, and offered his hand.

She ignored it and rose on her own. “Thank you very much. I must say, your
good morning
is decidedly unique.” She dusted herself off and looked at him lying there breathing hard, chin pointed toward the ceiling, one arm covering his eyes, one knee bent beneath the sheet. “Anything more to your morning ritual I should be aware of, Captain?”

“Get the hel out!”

“I would like to speak with you about Shane.”

“He’s gone.”

“That’s what Jasper said. And I want to know why?” The Captain removed his arm, the look on his face hostile, angry. “Not that it’s any of your business, Lady Patience, but The Connecticut’s Captain needed a first mate.”

“And you needed?”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“You needed to keep Shane and Rose apart. You said you didn’t like their friendship.”

“You are an ignorant little miss. They are not friends.”

“You could never understand anything like that, could you?

You’re cold and hard-hearted.”

“It was a business deal, Lady Patience. The Captain needed Shane, and I needed two barrels of good French brandy.”

“I guess you couldn’t have struck a better bargain than that, could you Captain?”

“Yes,” he said in disgust. “I could’ve traded Shane for a good French whore.”

In disgust, she left him.

Days later, alone in her cabin, Patience paced, beside-herself worried. With Shane gone, Rose had resumed her habitual lament. Her grieving was so quiet now, it seemed almost deeper than at the beginning of the voyage. And the more restrained Rose’s grieving, the more Patience worried.

Angel, never having got over setting fire to the ship, had taken up the womanly art of needlework, her stitches reminiscent of the loose rigging. Grace became her ever-patient teacher; Sophie hadn’t the perseverance for it.

Patience was disgusted with the lot of them.

She threw herself onto Rose’s bunk and lay on her stomach, knees bent, feet in the air. She was disgusted with herself as wel . The Captain hadn’t spoken to her in three days, wouldn’t even look in her direction.

And al she could think about were his shattering kisses as she’d lain atop him in his bunk. Fool that she was, she was actual y happy to have experienced just that much passion.

He made her aware of herself as a woman, something she would never forget. Unfortunate, however, that her only experience of passion would be with the ornery Captain of the
Knave’s Secret
.

Oh, but he was such a sinful y-handsome beast.

They’d shared other kisses, smal ones, other touches, and there was the dancing. That was heady. But the other morning, with him sleep-warm and lusty, wel , that had been sheer bliss. She became al liquid and wil ing just remembering. His tongue invaded her mouth, his lips skimmed hers, angling this way and that, taking and taking.

She couldn’t seem to give or get enough.

Patience touched her cheek where the Captain’s morning beard had rubbed it raw.

She pondered how his hands had slipped to her bottom and pul ed her against him, how deliciously, wonderful y wicked she’d felt lying atop him, parts of him, hard rigid parts, seeming to belong just there, nestled into welcoming parts of her.

A sweet, cloying warmth invaded with a vengeance. She took a great gulp of air, let it out in a whoosh, flopped onto her back, and placed her feet flat on the wal .

How could a memory make her feel prickly needy? How did the Captain feel when he remembered? Probably angry, like when it happened, the way he’d been since.

Patience pushed both feet hard against the wal , shrieked once for satisfaction and jumped from the bunk. She exited the cabin and made for the main deck. She had to stop thinking about it. She had to forget this odd craving to repeat the experience. Captain Grant St. Benedict disliked her, and she disliked him. He’d sent Shane away to be nasty, to separate him from Rose. For that alone, she wasn’t speaking to him.

She found Sophie in the gal ey. She’d been so taken with cooking the flying-fish, she’d become enthral ed with cooking anything. Doc, a fatherly man in his fifties with a white beard and beaming smile, seemed to enjoy teaching her. Even now, his laughter confirmed it.

“Where’d Angel go this morning, Sophie?”

“To feed Horatio.”

Doc sobered. “Horatio?”

“Horatio, the pig. He’s our pet,” Sophie said with a smile.

Doc’s laughter grew until he had to wipe his eyes with his apron. “Angel’s going to be mighty surprised at how she finds Horatio this morning,” he said catching his breath.