The Price of Pleasure (9 page)

T
ori shook so hard her teeth clattered. Little wonder. Her best friend had been kidnapped, she'd just been saved from falling to her death, she'd received her first kiss, and the man responsible for all of it was trying to undress her.

After her fall, she'd hurried to the ladder, determined to get warm. When she slipped yet again on the slick rungs, Sutherland was behind her, helping her up. She was exhausted, her body weak, and she let him. Inside, he'd turned his back while she struggled to dry and change, but her arms felt stretched from their sockets. The mattress beckoned, and she buckled to a heap.

He turned around immediately, kneeling beside her. “Oh, no, Victoria, not until you're dry. Come here,” he ordered gently as he grasped her shoulder and made her sit up. He took the tail of his shirt and wiped at a smudge on her face.

Still holding her shoulder, he leaned over to the pile of linens in the corner and found the most absorbent material there. He took the cloth and lightly twisted her hair with it, wringing out the water. How could such a big man handle her with such care?

“You've got to get changed. I won't look if you let me help you.” His voice was low, soothing, and deep. Lulled, she let him remove her top, in the back of her mind conscious that he did indeed keep his eyes above her chest. But she tensed when he unfastened her skirt.

“Can you do this by yourself?”

Her arms were dead blocks on the sides of her body. Loath to do it, but knowing how dangerous it was to have wet clothes on in this climate, she shook her head. His eyes never wavered from hers as he tugged down her sodden skirt and briskly wiped down her legs, arms, and belly. Leaving the cloth to cover her, he pulled a large shirt over her. She wondered if he realized it had once been his.

He hadn't ogled her, but behaved like a gentleman. Now. Yet earlier when he'd kissed her…

She shook harder at the memory, and he grasped her chin and made her look at him. She couldn't get her eyes to focus. Did his own eyes show worry? Was his face haggard with fatigue?

He laid her down and pulled a sheet over her. Just before her lids closed for good, a gust buffeted the hut. Thinking of Cammy trapped aboard a ship made her feel like crying—or striking him. “You shouldn't have separated us,” she rasped. “Not when she's so sick.”

“We'll talk about this when you've rested.”

Dimly, she heard herself say, “She better be safe. For your sake…”

What felt like hours later, she stirred. Cracking open her eyes, she was surprised to see light, then realized he'd brought in a flickering lantern. She peeked at him through the hair that had fallen in her face. He sat with one long leg stretched out, the other bent with a thick arm resting over it. He never took his eyes from her.

Disconcerted, she sat up, pushing her hair back to tuck it behind her ears. His gaze followed her every movement.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she answered curtly, frowning at her hoarse voice.

“I imagine you have quite a few questions.”

She moved to sit on her knees, facing him, the lantern shining between them. “I want to be absolutely sure you were sent by my grandfather.”

“How?”

“Describe Belmont Court to me.”

He eyed her suspiciously and asked in an impatient voice, “Have you even been there?”

“Well, of course.”

He exhaled and related, “The estate manager's name is Huckabee. There's a stream running through the property that's full of trout. There's a walled rose garden adjacent to the south side of the manor.”

“So he did send you,” she said in resignation. “Why did it take so long?”

“I'm heading the eighth mission. The others must not have journeyed so far out.”

“Why you?”

Her question obviously took him aback. “Belmont chose me because he trusts me. I'm known as a man of my word.”

He said the last reluctantly, as if he despised talking about himself. But he'd neglected mentioning one thing she was
very
interested in. “A man of your word? That's nice.” She skewered him with a look. “But what I want to know is
if you can sail.”

Sitting straighter, he ground out, “I've never had any complaints.” Then seeming to curb his irritation, he said, “I'm more than capable of getting you home. My older brother is also a captain and I learned a lot from him. For the four years before this voyage I oversaw his estate, but before then I sailed routinely.”

She chewed her bottom lip, waiting for more information, but he didn't elaborate. Reading him was like reading a rock.

He must have misconstrued her silence, because he said in a severe tone, “I will protect you with my life.”

She leaned forward, her gaze catching his. “That's what the captain of the
Serendipity
said…and he did!”

He had no answer for that.

“What are you to protect me from?”

“Perhaps from falling.” When she flushed, he added, “Belmont entrusted me as your guardian in the event your parents had passed on.”

“Is that why you feel you can order me about?” Tori asked.

“I was given that duty, yes. You're my ward now.”

“What's your incentive for bringing me back?”

“Belmont is…compensating me in his will.”

He'd hesitated. Was he lying about the will?
Will?
“Is he sick?” she demanded.

“No, no,” he assured her. “Not that I could see.”

She sighed in relief. Strange to feel such an instant, biting fear for a man she hadn't seen in almost a decade, even if he was her last blood relative. When she saw he scrutinized her reaction, she hastily asked, “How long is the trip to England?”

“It all depends on the trade winds. We made it to Oceania in four months, but the return will take longer.”

“Four months…Cammy won't make it four weeks.”

“Once I explained who I was, Miss Scott was glad to go, relieved that you'd finally be rescued.”

When the enormity of the situation hit her, she felt dazed. “Putting her on a ship for the first time in a storm.” She looked at him in confusion. “Why would you do that?”

“I wanted her where I could be assured of her safety.” He leaned forward. “I'm going to be putting you aboard as soon as they return.”

She narrowed her eyes. “We're at cross-purposes, Captain. I refuse to travel farther than New Zealand until Cammy's better.”

Obviously struggling with anger, he snapped, “I'm not some
hack
to deliver you wherever you deign to go—”

A limb cracked nearby and tumbled against the roof, startling her. She couldn't imagine what Cammy must be going through. Though to be honest, Cammy had never voiced a fear of ships. Still…“You're a cold-blooded bastard for doing this to her.”

His eyes grew dark and forbidding. His voice was brutal when he said, “You're not the first to call me that and you won't be the last. Regardless, it's logical. If I get her on the ship, I know you'll follow. And I have a responsibility to get my crew out of here.”

“Cold-blooded.”

“Shrewd,” he grated.

“Go to hell, Captain Sutherland.” She lay down and turned from him in a huff.

“Fine thanks for someone who just saved your life.”

Over her shoulder, she said, “You can't imagine what I'd have said if you hadn't.”

 

For the entire night, the storm lashed the shelter, but the hut kept out the elements flawlessly. Grant struggled to stay awake, reasoning that he wasn't
sleeping
alone with his ward in her room. He was
guarding
her, as was his duty.

At dawn, the rain abated, and Grant blearily stumbled down the ladder to check for the ship. When he found the bay empty, he scuffed to a rain trough on the side of the hut and set up to shave. Just as he finished, she walked by, changed from his stolen shirt. Her face was still pink with sleep, and the morning breeze toyed with the tips of her hair and the ragged fringe of her clothes.

“The ship hasn't returned.” Her voice was raw.

“No, not yet.”

“Why? It's fair weather.”

“The storm might have blown them farther out. Don't be worried—this sometimes happens.” Remembering the way she'd felt in his arms last night after the fall, he couldn't draw his gaze away. Even when she looked at him with disgust.

“Don't be worried? Are you jesting? I don't even know you, much less your ship or your crew. I don't know that they are good men. I don't know that they aren't sinking somewhere as we speak. Every minute that ship is missing”—her lips thinned—“is a minute I despise you more.” She snagged a covered basket hanging from the platform and a broad-brimmed hat, then swished by him.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“How can you think that's any of your business?” she tossed back.

“I'll simply follow you if you don't tell me.”

She slowed and turned. “We've established that you've got a one in two chance of catching me.” As he approached, she openly scrutinized him, as if sizing him up and finding him lacking. “I feel good about making it one in three.”

Without warning, he snared her handwoven basket. His brows drew together as he recognized the leather from his boot.

To be honest, it did make a fine handle.

“Give it back!”

Holding the basket so she couldn't reach, he opened the lid to find a knife, bone hooks, some type of thin, fibrous line. “Fishing? If I were inclined to let you out of my sight—which I'm not—I would go fish and leave you here to do more ladylike things.”

She hopped up and snatched it back. “Such as?”

“Perhaps mending some of the more unfortunately placed holes in your attire.” He gave her blouse, where a tear gaped from the shoulder toward her chest, a pointed look.

“If I were inclined to let you out of my sight—which I've been from day one—I would leave you here and go fish since I'm much better at it than you.”

He shook his head. “How do you know that? I could be a master fisherman.”

Her chin shot up. “Because I'm the best ever. So no one could be better.”

“Victoria, you'll learn in England that young ladies aren't usually so arrogant.” He frowned, then added, “Well, they might be, but they hide it better.”

“Hide arrogance.” She tapped the side of her head. “There. Noted. Now, good day.”

“Wait.” He put his hand on her arm. “It seems to me that you'd want to keep me in sight.”

She gave his hand a withering glance. “Why? If you're truly the gentleman you brag to be, then you'd never leave without me.”

Damn it, he hadn't bragged. His mind cast about for some kind of leverage over her. “Listen, you want things from me—”

Her eyes widened. “I want
nothing
from you.”

“Don't you? It's possible I could be persuaded to stop at Cape Town to break up the journey for your friend and find a doctor.”

“If I did what? Let you kiss me again?”

He felt himself flush. “That…that was a mistake. It won't happen again.”

“You don't know how right you are about that,” she said vehemently.

Was it so terrible for her to be kissed by me?
“I was thinking more along the lines of cooperating with me, and staying close by.” She was an easy read. Her emotions warred on her face. He knew the instant she determined to go along with him, because her face fell.

“You must swear we'll stop at Cape Town.”

“I swear it.”

“I'll agree to it, but”—she put her weight on one leg and cocked her hip in a saucy stance—“if you get in the way of my fishing, I will leave you. And it's not to be held against me.”

His lips curled. “Don't worry yourself on that score, Victoria.”

“We'll see,” she scoffed, then whirled around to rush down a steep path—Grant following close behind her—until they came upon an inlet draped in shade. Grant had traversed this section of the island before and remembered the mangrove trees that littered the water's edge. Now he noticed the thick fish darting among their roots and the din from hungry terns racketing above the canopy.

Seeming oblivious to his presence, Victoria dropped her basket, then grabbed a spear from within a rotting tree trunk. When she walked to the bank, she stopped only to ruck up the ends of her skirt and tuck them into the waist.

He battled an urge to look around and make sure no one saw her like this. Most of her legs—her thighs—were bare. “I don't understand you at all,” he said in exasperation. “You think nothing of decorum but won't be caught dead without a hat.”