Sea Scoundrel (2 page)

No. Those girls depended on her, and she would not fail them. No, it was Mama she was more like. Papa always said Mama could accomplish anything she set her pretty little head to do. So mama did. And so too would her daughter ... despite Aunt Harriette’s thoughts to the contrary.

Patience looked beyond looming masts and furled sails, toward a heaven rife with cotton clouds in an azure sky.

Sighing, hoping her prayer had been heard, she smoothed the unruly wind-whipped curls from her face and gazed toward the ship, up and up higher, to the top of the tal est mast. And there he stood securing a sail, the knave who’d come to her rescue—if rescue it could be cal ed—looking down at her with half a salute and a ful , mocking smile.

Patience turned quickly away. A scoundrel, she confirmed, with a face chiseled by a master—just like her father.

Succumbing to the charm of a man like that could be perilous.

Seagul s seemed to squawk louder and soar faster, as if in keeping with the wild new beat of her heart, and trepidation squeezed the breath from her chest with a mighty fist. Oh Lord, what had she got herself into?

In that turbulent moment, Patience wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run. But her practical nature took command and she reined in her panic. “No time for foolishness,” she told herself. “Wel begun is nearly done.” She stood, straightened her spine and raised her chin, prepared to face whatever, whomever, she must for her girls.

The endless, silver sea before her made her smile, the scent of brine sharp, the breeze gentling. She inhaled deeply, once, twice, three slow times ... and calmed. She’d always found sea-air soothing, perhaps because of the times she and Papa walked the shore together. Right now, she could almost feel him squeeze her hand.

She’d adored the handsome devil. He’d smel ed of spice, smoke and brandy—too much brandy, but he was a most wonderful father. He once said they’d made a grave error naming her Patience. It was a long time before she understood what he meant by that.

She was twelve when she lost him. He had gambled away their money, saw a way to win it back and bet on a horse he was to race. Riding drunk, Papa broke his neck.

A week later, her twin brothers were born. Next morning, nurse said Mama and her brothers had gone to be with papa. Patience wondered for a long time why they hadn’t taken her.

It stil didn’t bear thinking about.

Then she went to live with Aunt Harriette who said Papa had kil ed himself, and mama and her brothers as wel .

Patience would never forgive her aunt for that.

“Yoo-hoo! Patience! Patience Kendal !” Sophie, a vision in yel ow, like an overturned buttercup, had final y arrived.

Except for the fact that, unlike her, Sophie had a bosom, everything about her was petite, her height, her waist, and her delicate features. But what she lacked in size, Sophie made up for in enthusiasm.

But as if Sophie cast a spel , Patience’s rescuer soon approached.

“Patience,” Sophie said eyes wide and eager. “I couldn’t wait, so I came ahead.” She stood on her toes to scan the ship. “Where are the sailors?” She held her hat, looked up, and shaded her eyes. “I see some, Patience, in the rigging, and—”

“Sophie. Mind now, we are not looking to find sailors for husbands. Your mama would not appreciate—”

“There’s Mama’s carriage, now,” Sophie said, to interrupt the scold, and Patience’s rescuer, sun-dark arms crossed, settled himself against a nearby piling.

Mrs. Kane heaved her imposing rose-silk and lace bosom through the carriage door first, and stepped down with a victorious smile. “My dear Patience,” she shouted. “The happy day at last!”

Mr. Kane must be deaf, Patience thought, or wish he was.

His wife spoke like an actress on a stage. With the woman’s embrace, Patience’s face smothered in bosoms, she wondered what the scoundrel must think.

“Soon you wil be back in your own beloved homeland,” the matron said, removing bank notes from her reticule. “Here is the money for your passage, rent on a house and wardrobes for you both. Don’t skimp now. It’s costly to make a good match.” She looked to the heavens. “To think, the Marquess of Andover might be
my
son-in-law! He’l thank you for this, you know.”

Patience’s rescuer straightened so fast, he nearly distracted Patience from her dilemma; Mrs. Kane thought she
knew
the Marquess of Andover ... wel enough to introduce Sophie? Patience heard about the man forever.

He might be ninety; he might even be dead. But to address the misunderstanding now, when plans were made and money spent, would be useless. No, she would seek an introduction to the doddering rake when they arrived in London. He would be too old; the girls would lose interest.

Everything would be fine.

Mrs. Kane beamed and clasped her hands in delight.

“Don’t forget, a bonus if Sophie weds a title. The bigger the title, the bigger the bonus.”

“Hah!” came her rescuer’s singular comment.

Mrs. Kane wept upon departing as if she were leaving Sophie to the sodden earth for eternity.

The next of Patience’s charges arrived. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown dress ... Grace. Spectacles slipping down her nose, she clutched a basket to her breast, as if it held al her worldly possessions.

Patience had charged the same for each girl with the exception of Grace. Now the Parson named each expense, much as Sophie’s parent had done, and settled accounts.

Patience consoled Grace’s father, and the girl fol owed a trunk-hauling seaman aboard, in complete control of her emotions.

Patience’s were in turmoil. Her rescuer’s interest infuriated her. She must send him on his way.

Brows rising, he unfolded his arms and straightened as she approached. “It would be nice if your captain put in an appearance, Mister...?”

He bowed. “St. Benedict.”

Warmth crept up her neck. “Not,
Captain
St. Benedict?” He gave her the devil’s own smile. “At your service.” Now, she understood his arrogance. “So,
you
are the Captain.”

“And you are a fraud, Miss Kendal .”

Patience looked about to see if anyone heard. “That’s Lady Patience to you,” she snapped.

Eyes ablaze, the man slapped the piling. “A bloody English Aristocrat. And haughty as al hel , to boot. I should have known.”

Patience’s own fire blazed. “And you are a rude colonial, not fit to associate with your own kind, much less mine.” Stormy eyes dark, the captain angled his head. “As you say.”

Patience turned away, amid confusion and regret. Why had she made such an appal ing statement? Colonials were honest and refreshing. And in a way, she
was
a fraud. She only used her title because circumstances demanded it and threw it in his face because of his insult. She turned back.

“Captain, please I—”

“Don’t bother to apologize, Lady Patience, your words mean less than nothing. For a child, though, you play at dangerous games. Perhaps someday, when you grow up a bit, you’l realize—”

“Child? What a preposterous—”

“Oh, you play the adult wel enough, but—”

“How old do you think I am?”

He examined her person, slowly, thoroughly, tangled curls to dusty slippers, his gaze a caress so alive, Patience shivered. “Not a day over sixteen,” he said.

“I’l have you know I am four and twenty.” Patience realized she’d stammered like the child he took her for and cringed.

The Captain’s skeptical gaze lowered, almost, but not quite, against his volition, to her nonexistent bosom. And he grinned. “I don’t believe you.”

“Oh! You are such a ... such a ... man! You think a woman’s brains are in her bosom!”

The Captain’s eyes widened and he laughed so hard, sailors on ship and dock stopped to watch.

Mortified, Patience turned away, but her tormentor stepped before her and she walked into his rock-hard chest.

He took her arms to steady her; someone on the ship whistled, and his devil’s eyes danced. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Patience’s urge to do him harm doubled, and she wondered at her bloodlust. His mocking smile returned, and her anger blazed anew. “Take your hands off me.” He raised them to show they were no longer connected to her person. “I’m trying to apologize, Lady Patience.” Drat him for that spark of sincerity. “You didn’t want to hear mine. Now I don’t want to hear yours.”

“Touché,” he whispered, leaning close. “But let me clear a misconception for you. I do not, nor does any man to my knowledge, think a woman’s brains are ... ah....” He glanced at her lack of endowment. “There.” Patience fisted her hands to keep from slapping the smile off his face.

The knave cleared his throat, coughed, and leaned closer stil . “Believe me, Lady Patience; men are more likely to think that the size of a woman’s brain decreases as the size of her bosom increases.”

“Then, why do men like women with large bosoms?” Patience slapped a hand to her mouth. As ever, words spil ed from her mouth before her brain became engaged. It must be difficult to shock this pirate, but judging by the look on his face, she had just managed it.

A need to correct her blunder overtook her. “No doubt,
that
is one of the great mysteries of the universe.” Interest lit his features. “A mystery I would be happy to solve for you when you grow up, Lady Kendal , should you wish it.”

“I tel you, I am four and twenty.”

The glint in his eyes leapt. “Then you wish it now?” Waves lapped at pilings. A gul shrieked and swooped. The sun throbbed in the sky blistering Patience’s skin; she could feel the burn. “I do not believe this conversation is proper,” she said on a thready whisper, her words ridiculous in their tardiness.

“I did not open the subject,” said he.

Patience’s stomach fluttered with some new malady, like a swarm of butterflies trapped there, and she wished with every breath that it would stop. “Nor should you have continued it.” She stepped back.

He nodded, his eyes, his demeanor that of the brusque Captain once more. “Your pardon. Are you nearly ready to board? We sail with the tide.”

“Al the girls have not arrived.”

“Al ? How many are you taking?”

“I settled arrangements with your agent. Why should you care? I am paying their fare.”

“Accommodations, for one thing. What do you mean you’re paying their fare? Or your own for that matter? I distinctly heard two people say
they
were paying yours.”

“Why do you care who pays? Your task is to see us safely across the ocean, nothing more. I trust that can be accomplished with as little personal contact as possible.” The Captain combed a hand through his hair, adding to his disreputable appearance. “I’l send my first mate, Shane, to escort the rest of you. As to personal contact, I heartily agree. Keep yourself and your sweet beauties away from me and my men. Good day, Lady Patience.” Patience observed the strength in his strong hands and the play of muscles along his sun-bronzed arms as he grasped the rail and hauled himself up the plank in three long, graceful strides. Hot prickles assaulted her as he did. From the memory of his hands cradling her foot, she supposed, or her own foolish words.

This was either going to be the longest month of her life, or it would be the death of her.

* * *

Captain Grant St. Benedict cursed his luck as he circled the deck. Patience. Her parents had, of course, meant the name as warning. Anyone coming in contact with the termagant must need patience aplenty.

From the first, he’d watched her, pacing in nervous agitation, her long auburn hair flying in the breeze, her skirts whipping about her slender ankles. Once, when some inner demon seemed to beset her, she’d puffed out her nonexistent chest as if waiting to have a medal pinned there. Perhaps he’d pin one there himself.

The Captain shook his head. Dangerous thought, that.

He was glad she was as old as she claimed because ...

she’d had an ... effect on him, God help him. A scrapper, a schemer, he’d best remember. Charging them al for the same things, promising introductions to the Marquess of Andover.

He’d like to see that happen!

Wel she’d fol ow his rules, or he’d take her over his knee—

Now that could be quite the sport. He shook himself against temptation. The safest sport to share with Lady Patience Kendal would be no sport at al .

The double meaning intrigued him. Did he mean he should stay away from her? Or did he mean, deep down, that life would be no fun unless he took a few sporting chances where she was concerned?

He meant, he told himself with firm resolve, that he should steer clear of her.

No.
She
should steer clear of him, by God! And if she made a wrong move, just one....

When a knot of sailors broke into raucous laughter, Grant approached, grateful to take his thoughts from—

“That feisty red-haired wench could surely warm a man’s cockles,” said a salty-voiced sailor.

Grant fisted his hands. “You no-account, lazy water rats, get your sun-dried carcasses over here, on the double.” His tars moved with amazing speed for being taken by surprise.

They stood alert, wary as he examined them. “Jasper, where are the two young ladies who came aboard earlier?”

“Cabin deck, Cap’n.”

“Good. Now hear this. Several members of the fair sex wil be traveling with us this trip.” Grant strol ed beside the line of mangy tars, hands behind his back. “Women aboard are unusual, but not unheard-of.” He stopped, examined each in turn. “You may carry water for them, offer a word of advice, and see they come to no harm. You may even befriend them.” He took a breath, prepared to snap them into awareness. “But you wil mind your manners! You wil mind your language! And most of al , you wil mind your hands!” Sven smoothed his beard. Paddy shuffled.

“And if you so much as pul your Jonny-ready from your trousers within twenty feet of one, you wil discover it is no longer a prized member of the ‘cockles’ that wanted warming.” He looked at each in turn. God, they were a scurvy lot. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Aye Cap’n.”

“Yes Sir.”

“This wil be a long voyage. Fail to heed my warning, and you’re shark bait.” As their Captain, he nodded his dismissal. “Prepare to haul anchor.”