Sea Scoundrel (9 page)

However he moved, she fol owed.

When the Captain lifted her into his arms and walked to his bunk, her heart accelerated. When a look of horror crossed his face, and he stood her on the cold floor with dispatch, confusion replaced elation.

Breathing deep, the Captain disengaged himself, and took her hands, holding them together in his own.

The thudding of her heart slowed.

She was almost certain his did too.

“That’s why you can’t dance,” he said, looking straight into her eyes. So straight she wanted to turn away, except she couldn’t, not for anything.

“And, Patience? If you want to dance ... I mean,
really
dance, you come see me. We’l come here and lock the door. And we’l dance until you cry out with the joy of it.”
CHAPTER FIVE

Grant knew that Patience must be as confused by their dancing, and kissing, and by the things he’d said, as she was by her own unfulfil ed, perhaps even unrecognized, desire.

When she fled his cabin, her face aflame; his body was afire. Why didn’t the dog fal overboard when he
needed
an icy dip?

He paced his cabin, thinking of his clothes gone for such a lovely cause, of her wearing them against her smooth white skin, and chuckled at his condition. He would get hard every time he looked at her in that getup. Bloody hel .

His father would die laughing for thinking of his strait-laced, rebel ious, son, frustrated by a skinny, slip of a lass, who looked as if she’d just left the schoolroom.

He combed his hand through his hair. Five women aboard and Lady Patience Kendal was the only one he wanted. Oh how he wanted. He’d like to teach that beautiful, budding bloom of womanhood a few things. Hel , he’d like to teach her everything.

He swore a colorful string of oaths and slammed his fist into the wal , gaining satisfaction from the pain. Shane opened the door in time to catch the diatribe, a grin on his face.

“She came out wearing different clothes.”

“And?”

Shane shrugged. “Just making an observation.” He raised his hands in surrender. “It would have been fine with me, if she came out wearing nothing.”

“Wel , that was a close one, too. What about you and the waterfal ? What were you two doing in here?” Shane shook his head. “I’d prefer you to knock before you come in from now on, Grant.”

Grant nodded. “I guess you’d best do the same.” They sized each other up, neither of them offering a disclaimer.

And that worried the hel out of Grant. For both their sakes.

Later, as Patience prepared to change into one of her two wearable dresses for dinner, her face flamed anew. She turned her back to her cabin mates, so they wouldn’t see her distress and speculate as to its cause, though they’d speculated enough for a lifetime after she’d come back wearing different clothes. Thank God she’d convinced them nothing was amiss.

When she removed the Captain’s shirt, she felt a new sensitivity in her nipples, almost as if he was stil touching her there. They grew hard and achy with her just remembering. Other places too were sensitive.

What was happening to her? That man fascinated and frightened her. She wanted to see where this new awareness between them would lead, couldn’t wait to see him, again, but wondered how she would face him, again.

She ached—loving and hating the need—and didn’t even know what it was she craved, though quite certain only one man could satisfy her ambiguous desire, except that Captain Grant St. Benedict was not a part of her plan. A man like that became as great a threat to a woman’s independence as she could imagine. Like Papa. A scoundrel, handsome, charming. The captain probably drank and gambled too.

‘Twas not the captain she needed, but her freedom, to live her life as she wished, to answer to no one, present or future. Her goal, she reminded herself, was to become an independent woman. Dependent upon no one. No even....

Patience snapped out of her reverie when her head and arms emerged from her dress. Sophie and Angel, heads bent together in concentration, made her smile. “How many needlework items can you stitch, Sophie? And can anyone sew al the ones you design, Angel?”

“You know that’s not al we do, Patience.”

“Fol owing the sailors about and getting yourselves and them into trouble is not the best of pass-times, either.

“We visit Horatio,” Sophie said.

“Horatio? Is he one of the sailors? I don’t think I’ve met him yet.”

The girls laughed. “No, sil y, he’s a pig.”

“There’s a pig on the ship?”

“Yes, he’s in a pen near the afterdeck, behind a bulkhead.

“We never met a pig before,” Angel said.

“We thought him very handsome and named him Horatio,” Sophie added. “He’s our special friend.”

“I’m glad you found something to amuse yourselves,” Patience said, thinking that if they were making friends with pigs, they were more bored than she realized. “Let’s get some of Doc’s stew.”

Stil self-conscious over dancing with the Captain in his cabin, Patience hoped her dance partner would be too busy to join them for dinner. But when she stepped into Grace and Angel’s cabin, she saw it was too much to hope for. He looked as if he were waiting for her. Shane laughed at something Rose said, and the Captain scowled. When he saw her, he raked his gaze over her, his look changing from anticipation to disappointment.

Because she was wearing a dress? But he said she should.

She questioned him with her look, as if they shared some inner bond, a language transcending everything, a connection so tangible, it was hard to believe everyone in the cabin couldn’t feel or sense the power of it. She looked from one to the other to see if they noticed, but they seemed oblivious. Thank God.

After a subdued meal, when the plum duff was brought in, the girls applauded Doc’s masterpiece. Steamed in an oval tin mold, the dark, heavily-spiced pudding and cake mixture lay blanketed with hard sauce.

Patience tasted it. Ah. “A dish as delicious as it is beautiful.” She took a second piece, licked her sticky fingers, but stopped when she noticed the Captain watching her.

“Got to cal the watch,” Shane said, jumping up. He left, almost as if he’d been prodded.

“Oh good. Dickie’s on next,” Angel said. “I have to get the riding lights from the lamp room. He promised to teach me to hang them in the rigging. Come and watch me.” Rose, Sophie and Grace fol owed her, eager for the upcoming show. The cabin emptied, except for her and the Captain. When Patience realized they were alone, she became self-conscious, remembering their
dance
and searched for a napkin to rid herself of the hard sauce on her fingers.

The Captain moved to the chair beside her. “Here, let me,” he said, taking her hand. But instead of wiping it with a cloth, he took one of her sticky fingers and licked the hard sauce from it.

His tongue was rough, chafing and titil ating. Patience squirmed in her seat. She should demand he stop, but something held her in place.

When he licked one finger clean, he began on the next.

A malady, intense and heavy, invaded Patience’s limbs, her stomach, everywhere. She didn’t like this sil y game anymore. She didn’t understand the object or the rules, and the uncertainty disconcerted her.

“It’s wonderful this way,” the Captain said, as if he could read her confusion. “Plum duff wil never taste this good, again.”

Patience pul ed her hand away, and wiped her fingers. “I’l tel Doc you want more.” She stood and left.

Bemused, the Captain watched the vixen walk out, as regal as a queen.
Well I’ll be
. He ran his hands through his hair.

“Idiot. What you want for dessert isn’t even on the menu.

Worse, it’s pure poison. Forget it.” He started to fol ow, and stopped. “Did that twit say she was hanging the riding lights? Bloody hel .”

He came to stand beside Patience on the deck to watch Angel and the sailor, Dickie, climb the ratlines. “What in hel are they doing?”

“She told you, he’s teaching her to hang the lamp in the rigging. I heard him give her the proper instructions on how to make a rol ing hitch knot and something about the lanyard and a shroud or something.”

“And you could tel the instructions were proper?” Patience shrugged.

“Wonderful,” he said. “I’m sure with such an amazing accomplishment to her credit, your Lord Andover wil choose the little Angel—and I use the word loosely—as the passion of his life.”

Their plan to meet the Marquess of Andover obviously nettled the Captain mightily, and Patience was beginning to sense the need to refrain from responding to his taunts, those regarding the Marquess in particular. She turned back to watch Angel. “See, she’s doing fine.”

“So it seems. Good night, Lady Patience.”

“Good night Captain.” Lady Patience again. Her title aggravated him as wel , she mused, as she watched him go. In fact, he seemed to hate everything about England’s Aristocracy.

She smiled. He’d probably cuckolded an unsuspecting Lord and got caught. Not that she knew precisely what that meant, but she knew rakes did it. And if their snarly Captain was anything, she just knew he was a rake.

Angel and Dickie came down from hanging the red light then Angel went up alone to hang the green. When she finished, the sailors cheered and whistled.

Angel bowed and preened. “Dickie taught me something else.”

Patience winced, thinking of her dancing lessons.

“Listen,” Angel said. “
Rules of the Road at Sea
When both side lights you see ahead

You port your helm and show your red.

For green to green, or red to red,

Is perfect safety, go ahead.

And when upon your port is seen,

A stranger’s starboard light of green, There’s not so much for you to do.

For green to port, keeps clear of you.” After good-nights al around, Patience said good night to Angel. The rest of the girls had long since gone to bed.

Later, lying in the hammock, with which she’d made a wary peace, Patience feared she might be a loose woman, for she should not feel the fluttering jitters when that blasted, arrogant man looked at her. And when he touched her.

Blast, she was like a pup waiting for a bone. A foolish sil y pup, who would be better off digging one up for herself.

She spent too much time thinking about the man. Think about something else, she told herself. Something wonderful like ... the rose garden at Craithorne, where she grew up, and the swing she’d loved so much.

Patience’s eyes closed.

She glided in that very swing, the scent of roses wafting on the air. A strong, bronzed hand stroked her hair, her neck.

Patience moved closer, and fel from the hammock. Odd sounds permeated her fogged brain—running feet, destruction, curses—prickles snaked along her spine.

“Fire! Fire in the rigging!”

The door to her cabin burst open. The Captain stopped when he saw her sitting on the floor. He used a word Patience never heard and pul ed her to her feet. “That blasted woman set fire to my ship. Get your useless females on deck. Now!”

Within minutes, the girls were fil ing and carrying buckets from the water barrels, while sailors climbed the masts to put out the fire. After what seemed a lifetime, the fire had been stopped. As acrid smoke and the disgusting odor of burnt tar and hemp hung in the air, the sailors’ fury began.

Exhausted, ready to drop, Patience and her girls stood in soiled nightrails, while the sailors jeered, cal ing them Jonahs, jinxes and even witches.

Tears made white lines through the soot on Angel’s face.

The Captain shoved the sailor, Dickie, forward. “Lock him up.”

“Aren’t you being a little harsh, Captain?” Patience said then stepped back at the fury in his eyes. “The fire wasn’t his fault.”

“No. You’re right, it wasn’t. But be careful where you lead, Lady Patience, or I’l lock up your little Angel with him. No.

That would be like rewarding the fool.”

“What?”

“To begin with, that idiot let her hang the second light alone, without making sure it was done properly. She didn’t hang it down far enough. The flame from the lamp caught, setting fire to the rigging. The damage might have been minimal, had he been performing his duty; he was supposed to be on watch after al . But instead he and your Angel—which if you ask me is a little like cal ing you Patience—let the fire burn while they dal ied in some dark corner.

Patience turned to Angel and could tel by her regretful look that the Captain spoke the truth. She must have sneaked out after they said goodnight.

“We’re in the middle of an ocean, Lady Patience. Where do you think passengers go when a ship burns?” He let her ponder the possibilities and nodded. “We could have died.

Every one of us.”

Patience put her trembling fingers to her lips.

“Exactly. Now, if you think the men resented you before, I’m afraid it was nothing to how they’l feel in future. A fire on a ship is the worst thing to befal a crew, and one of your girls started it. You’l stay in your cabins until further notice.”

“Oh, please, Captain, we—”

“For your own protection. If one of my men doesn’t strangle a few of you, I might do it myself. Right now, Lady Patience, I’m sorely tempted.”

* * *

Patience moved Angel in with her and Rose, putting Sophie next door with Grace. At first, Angel cried more than Rose. Eventual y they read every book they brought between them—some more than once. They didn’t see Sophie or Grace for days. They were cross, snappish, and Rose began to cry twice as much as before, only brightening when Shane sneaked a quick visit. Once, when he was with them, they heard the Captain bel ow his name and Patience worried one brother would murder the other.

The only other person they saw was Paddy, and he had probably been threatened with drowning, because he refused to utter a word.

The absolute worst result of their incarceration, Patience hated to admit, even to herself, was that she missed the Captain. She wasn’t sure why, because he shouted at her al the time, but she missed him al right. She must be daft.

Their last conversation had taken place the day he confined them to their cabins. She’d argued, pleaded, but he wouldn’t be swayed. She said she needed to hang their things every day. He said he’d have one of the sailors do it.