The Pirate and the Puritan (10 page)

“Please stop this charade. Your
interest in me is as transparent as your fraudulent name. If you continue,
you’ll send me into another bout of nausea.”

Her distaste insulted him more
than a slap might have. Women loved him. Men feared him. Felicity seemed to
think him a joke. The fact that his flicker of attraction for this vicious
piece of Puritan baggage had raged into an inferno annoyed him even more at her
rebuke.

In what he hoped was a convincing
sign of indifference, he shrugged and hid behind an amused observance. She
wasn’t about to witness the effect she had on him a moment longer. Her heart
might be soft and fragile deep down, but its fortress was laced with broken
glass.

“Are you going to take me back to
Barbados or not?” Felicity folded her arms over her chest, making Drew wonder
if she had finally realized her chemise had become enticingly transparent.

“No.” He enunciated the single
word with immense satisfaction.

He thought her confidence wavered
slightly when she paused to gape at him, but her screech banished the notion.
“No? I demand to know what you plan to do with me.

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re
not moving. We’re drifting. Maybe if you demanded the wind blow, it would
cooperate. I know I would.”

“So, you are going to return me
to Barbados eventually?”

“I’m afraid I’ve worn out my welcome
on that particular island. But not to worry; I’ll get you home somehow. Nagging
sea hags are notoriously bad luck.”

Her stunned expression proved
he’d hit a nerve. She recovered quickly, baring her teeth for a counterattack.

“Oh, yes. I haven’t forgotten
your cowardly retreat, Lord Christian. Or should I call you Master Crawford?”

His grin, or sneer to be more
accurate, confirmed her shaky aim. He could tell by her satisfied smirk that
she’d not known for sure her stab at the truth would be accurate. The little
fool had no idea that a man would be in serious danger for knowing less about
him.

“So, what else do you know, my
pretty spy? Perhaps you might not be going home after all.”

The long-awaited show of panic
that knitted her brow hardly pricked his conscience. He used to enjoy the
thinness of the veil separating his criminal activities from his true identity.
Now that the curtain separating him from the hangman’s noose had begun to
unravel, he found no humor or irony in any of his secrets.

“You wouldn’t dare hurt me,” she
said. “My father would figure out what happened to me. He would discover your
deceit as easily as I have.” The cracking of her voice when she mentioned her
father destroyed the bluster of her threat.

“I suppose Ben might be inclined
to sail off to your rescue. Not to worry. I’ll be ready for him.” Drew
retrieved the pistol tucked in the waistband of his breeches and watched her
remaining composure slip away.

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on my
father. You’ve caused enough damage to his life. If you’ve left him to take the
blame for your wrongdoings—”

“You’ll what? I have the gun,
Felicity.” He waved the weapon to make his point. “And I’m bigger than you.” He
found it amazing and ridiculous that she couldn’t keep her sharp tongue in check.
He had to be the one to stop the insane drift of their conversation before she
realized he was bluffing, or worse, she forced him to do something he would
regret just to save face. “I don’t want to hurt you or Ben.”

He lowered the gun. Her wide eyes
followed the weapon.

“It’s not even primed.” He tossed
the pistol on the bed to prove it harmless. But that didn’t stop her from
backing against the far wall.

His success in finally
intimidating her made him feel like a bully for the second time in their short
relationship. “Come sit down, Felicity. Eat the food I brought you.”

She watched him warily. “Why
should I believe you or anything you say?”

He sat in one of the high-backed
chairs crowding the table, hoping she’d follow his lead. “You threw up on my
boots. If I didn’t toss you overboard after that greeting, I don’t know what
else I can do to prove you’re safe on this ship.”

Apprehension drained from her
face, replaced by a flush that colored her cheeks. “You would have to remind me
of that. I suppose any shred of manners you possessed went out the window with
your fancy clothes.” She warily approached the table. After making a show of
examining the stale crackers and pottery mugs, she sat across from him. “I did
thank you, you know.”

Their gazes collided and held. In
the momentary lull in their animosity, a sharp jolt of sexual awareness shot
down the length of him. He would have sworn the same emotion turned her cool
brown eyes to warm hazel, but she looked away before he knew for sure.

“It was the least I could do.” He
continued as if the moment never happened. “But now we have a problem. Don’t
we?”

“I know who you are and that you
deal in slaves, among other things. Is that the problem you’re speaking of?”
Felicity stopped sniffing the mug of tea she held and gazed over its glazed rim
as if she’d just delivered a mortal blow.

“You know my name, but you don’t
know much else.” She opened her mouth to refute his statement, but he fended
her off with a raised hand. “I picked up the contents of my chest that were
scattered on the floor. I assumed you looked through it. Those things were
personal by the way.”

“But I saw the documents. You
bought slaves under a different name. Drew Crawford, I believe. Not very
clever,
Drew
.”

“Slavery is not illegal,
Felicity
.”
He drawled her name as she did his. In spite of the circumstances, he liked the
sound of his name on her lips. “All you really know is that I was impersonating
nobility.”

“Your actions are reprehensible,
legal or not. My father would be horrified.”

“Yes, he would. I don’t think you
want that. And if you spread the news of your discovery, who knows how many of
my other reprehensible acts will turn up? Guilt by association is an unfair
practice, but all too common. Men have hanged for less.”

“You said you didn’t want to hurt
my father. Do you actually believe I could sit by and let you continue your
treachery against his good name?”

Her color rose with her pitch,
but she managed to keep her anger under control. He could only assume she had
more common sense when her father was in jeopardy rather than herself.

“No, Felicity. I have a
proposition I think we can both live with, and I mean that figuratively, of
course.” He couldn’t resist giving her one of his most wicked smiles. “You’ll
keep your beautiful mouth shut and I’ll never try to contact your father again.
I’ll stay out of his life completely and relinquish all claims to the New
England Trading Company.”

She sat straighter in her chair.
He could only imagine how she’d longed to hear those precise words roll off his
tongue. She’d probably prefer him on his knees, but this was the best she would
get.

In her eagerness, she scooted to
the edge of her seat. “You’ll sign a statement to that effect?”

“If you want. What name would you
like me to use?” She drew her brows together and assessed him from the corner
of one eye.

He shrugged. “It really doesn’t
matter if I sign a document or not. I don’t want my true name revealed in
Barbados any more than you want your father associated with my horrid deeds. If
I were you, I wouldn’t even tell Ben. It would only hurt him. But that’s
entirely up to you.”

She studied the sleek tabletop.
The tightness around her full lips hinted at her inward battle. When she
finally met his gaze, her brown eyes were clear and sure. To his surprise, she
reached out her hand to him. “You stay away from my father and I’ll keep your
secrets.”

He grasped her hand, giving it a
firm squeeze, then a shake, unable to resist holding her soft hand longer than
necessary. This was the first time she’d voluntarily touched him skin to skin.
It signified a beginning, but of what he didn’t dare dwell on. A slight tug on
her part won her instant release.

Felicity returned her
concentration to the contents of her cup, but he noticed her shiver. The
temperature in the cabin sweltered. The tropical sun heated everything that had
been drenched by the rain to an unbearable intensity. Perhaps the heat only
affected him, and for reasons other than the humidity.

“Are you feeling all right?
You’re not chilled?” He stood to leave, reminding himself of his many duties,
like getting his ship to their home port before his men started to eat the
sails, or worse, each other.

“I’m fine.” After an extended
examination, she sipped the tea, then winced. “You can take this. I’m not all
that hungry.” She nudged the tray in his direction.

He pushed it back, rattling the
cup and bowl. “If I take it away, someone will eat it. Probably me. I want it
all gone before I come back.”

“But I’m not hungry and it
doesn’t smell very good.”

“You will be before the day is
over, and that’s all the food we have. Your unscheduled passage has left me at
a loss. I didn’t have the foresight to bring her highness’s favorite dishes.”

“I didn’t ask for special
treatment.”

“No, you just demanded it.
Nothing like a sick woman in your bed to get your attention.”

“Please, I’ve thanked you
already.” Her pinched expression wavered between annoyance and embarrassment.
She pushed the tray toward him a second time. “Here. You eat it. I can wait
until you take me home.”

“Felicity, you haven’t eaten in
two days. If the wind doesn’t pick up, it might be two more.” He walked toward
the door without the tray.

“Two days? I’ve been here for two
days?” Her head sank into her hands. He stopped and watched her struggle to
account for the lost time.

“I’ll get you home as soon as I
can. Get some rest. That bump on your head must still hurt.” He wrestled with
the urge to comfort her. His struggle ended with the realization that
conscious, she wasn’t nearly as pliable. To force her to rest, he’d probably
have to wrestle her into bed. With that all too enticing thought, he strode to
the door.

“Drew?”

Her call stopped him before he
could slip into the hall. When she said his name again, the same shiver of
pleasure crawled up his spine.

He grinned. “You must have begun
to like me a little. You’re calling me by my first name.”

“I don’t like you at all. It’s
just that I’m not used to your real name, and Drew is what my father called
you.” The way she avoided his gaze while she stumbled over her words gave him
the impression she did care for him more than she let on.

Maybe she wouldn’t mind being
wrestled into bed. He had to get out of the cabin before the idea took root.
Before he could escape, he caught her striding toward the door. The thin cloth
of her chemise clung to her thighs and molded against the curve of her hips. He
had no choice but to stare like the hungry letch he was.

She brought her arms across her
chest. “Where are the rest of my clothes?”

She was aware of her state of
undress after all. Apparently, she wore masks as expertly as he.

“I’m sorry, Felicity. Your
clothes were ruined. I tossed them overboard. You were sick all over
everything. I tried—”

“I understand.” She stopped him
before he could go into further detail. “You’ll need to find something else for
me to wear when I leave the ship. What I have on is fine for now”—she tugged on
the scooped neckline of her chemise and turned away from him—“as it’s miserable
in here.”

His smile widened at her attempt
to reduce her flimsy attire as having no consequence except in practical terms.
Could she truly be blind to her blatant seductiveness in the thin chemise? Just
in case, he decided to remind her.

“Don’t leave this cabin. Believe
it or not, there are worse fiends walking this ship than myself. They might
find your attire appealing for reasons besides its suitability for this cabin’s
heat.”

She nodded, then turned away. He
paused before closing the door to savor the enticing outline that view
provided. Oh, but she did have curves.

In the companionway leading to
the main deck, he whistled. As he passed the galley, he ignored the grumbling
of his crew and the hunger gnawing at his own belly. The tightness in his
breeches was something he couldn’t ignore. Confrontations with Felicity Kendall
had left him exhilarated from their first meeting. This encounter proved to be
no exception. Even when she was at his mercy, she came out fighting. But his
opponent had lost one of her defenses.

His emergence from the deck below
surrounded him with white-hot sunshine. He shielded his gaze and studied the
brilliant blue cloudless sky. Not a single breeze disturbed the grandeur of the
steamy tropical day. A sailor’s curse. Drew snatched the black bundle of cloth
drying over a mast. As he threw the garments into the calm turquoise sea, he
thought his luck might have changed after all.

Felicity clutched together the
lapels of the wool jacket she’d draped over her shoulders and sank onto the
silk cushions banking the panel of windows at the stern. The single ship that
bobbed in the turquoise cove appeared to be the small island’s only resident.
She tried to quell her rising panic at the fact that they’d not arrived in
Barbados.

When she’d awoken to find dawn
creeping across her bed, she noticed the man’s jacket draped at her feet and
assumed she would be eating breakfast at her father’s table. As the day grew
hotter and her hunger stronger, she could do nothing but lie on the big bed and
question her fate. She was dealing with a criminal, after all.

Still, she found it difficult to
reconcile Drew Crawford with Lord Christian Andrews. Somehow, the polished
persona of Lord Christian had worried her more than the rough, self-admitted
charlatan who had undressed her and been her nursemaid. She fingered her coat’s
frayed lapel, turning it up to bury her nose in its masculine fragrance of
musk, sea and untamable wind. The garment had to belong to Drew. His presence
stormed her senses and sent ripples of awareness across her skin.