What a mess he’d gotten himself into. He couldn’t sleep for fantasizing about the robust youth, so how could he in good conscience chastise Dunn for his infatuation with such a vibrant young lady?
And she was vibrant.
Amazing how, in just two days, she turned from a weak girl who coughed much of the time into an adventurer, an educator, and someone with such a lust for life. Everyone on ship wanted to be in her presence.
Morgan, it seemed, noticed the attention and would not stray more than ten feet from her side.
Alastair didn’t blame him. That girl was destined to do something outside of propriety. She embraced new experiences and enjoyed all the differences she experienced. If she were his sister, he’d lock her belowdeck and not let her out without a chastity belt.
Currently, Morgan leaned against the bulwark and read, or pretended to read, a book, while Lydia taught eighteen of his toughest sailors the alphabet and how to spell simple words. She was a marvel, the way she convinced the seamen that reading would improve their lot in life and kept their interest during the class with stories.
Alastair would love to keep her. The crew, always loyal because of their freedom on his ship, would likely start paying to work for him since they received an education, and entertainment to boot, with Miss Lydia teaching them and singing between times.
He’d not heard her cough more than once or twice since the Channel merged with the ocean. Not surprising. The ocean air was so much fresher than the smoke-and-fog-choked London. He never understood why Mother was determined to stay there. Of course, her four or five lovers and three bastard children might have something to do with it, but still. With her looks, even at fifty, and the money she inherited from her bachelor brother, she could move anywhere.
For what must have been the twentieth time that morning, his gaze veered to the man haunting his dreams of late. Morgan, relaxed enough to go without a cravat today, leaned against the bulwark. He held the small book loosely in one hand and tilted his head back, eyes closed, gathering sun rays on his face. He reminded Alastair of a wolfhound lazing on a sunny step. If he kept this up, that sprinkling of freckles would turn into a lickable freckle map across his face.
Alastair shook that thought away. Even so, it was difficult to pull his gaze away from such an entrancing sight, but he would not be caught moon gazing like Dunn. In fact, he should put a stop to that right now, before he talked with Morgan.
Dunn leaned over the quarterdeck, chin on fist, staring at Lydia with a puppy-like, worshipful expression.
He walked up the stairs, across the scrubbed boards, and then knocked one knee out from under his first mate.
“What the…” The man came up swinging, and Alastair readied for a fight.
Dunn pulled his punch before hitting his captain. “What the bloody ’ell’d you do that for?”
“You were completely unaware of your surroundings. I could have cut your throat.”
“No, sir, I—”
“Yes, I could have. It is one thing to admire a fine figure, but don’t neglect your duty to this ship while dreaming about getting your nose under that skirt.”
“But, sir—”
“No. Listen to me, and this time pay attention. That woman is quality, and you are the second son of a washerwoman. No matter that you managed to educate yourself, you are not in her class and never will be. And if you continue to neglect your duties, I will find myself a new first mate.”
Dunn bristled. Mouth in a snarl, he looked away before his anger took over. He was a good first mate and knew his place.
Alastair moved in close and whispered, “I will not allow you to ruin her reputation or her chastity. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir. But I would never—”
“I expect you to tell the rest of the crew that they will protect her and not harm her in any way. Is that also clear?”
“Yes, of course. Captain, you know I wouldn’t. We’ve been friends—”
Alastair glared at him.
“…working together for five years. You know you can trust me.”
Alastair gave him one of his cold smiles he knew made his crew’s skin crawl. “Make sure I don’t regret putting my trust in you, then.”
Rising to his full height, which fell somewhere around short, Dunn squared his shoulders and gave a sloppy salute.
He almost laughed at the man’s indignant anger over a slip of a girl but instead stopped the man from leaving angry. “You know what an awful idea it is to have an affair with quality. Especially someone you will leave in a port and never see again.”
“Aye, sir, I am quite aware. But I can’t help wondering why you keep staring at Mr. Morgan. Perhaps you should take your own advice.”
Alastair paused, feeling the smooth ridges on his braid clasp to give himself time to think. Why did he keep staring at Morgan? The boy was handsome, true, but that had never been enough to hold his attention for long. He was prickly, yes. He was a challenge, most definitely. Was that enough to justify this fascination? Something for him to think about. Until then he would prevaricate. “Things are different for me, you know that, Dunn. Even if we share an interest, Mr. Morgan and I can have no future together, no matter what happens.”
His first mate nodded and then looked out at the water. “Your father will not be happy knowing you picked up a couple of nobs, seeing as how he disagrees with the way you run your ship; won’t want word getting out there are credible witnesses who can confirm you let your crew commit buggery. He might take this ship away from you, not realizing you made the crew behave on this trip.”
Alastair’s gut tightened, hearing someone else state his recurring fear. “With any luck, Father will never find out.”
He swallowed. Hard. Trying to force away the memory not too many years past, of a late night, too much brandy, and an uncomfortable discussion with his father. “I know you let your scum of a crew fornicate in plain view, but what about you? Do you dip your wick in men as well?”
Alastair shot back. “What does it matter to you? You have several bastards who can inherit and carry on the line. As does mother.” That last was meant to hurt Father, and it had worked. End of argument.
His father had never brought the subject up again, but Alastair still worried over that night, the angry shouts and possible retaliation.
He shook away the memory, and with the onerous task of confronting his friend finished, he went to talk to Morgan. He wanted a chance to raise the boy’s hackles again. Something about him. He was smart, earnest, and prickly, and that combination was a challenge. He wanted that fine body tense with pleasure above him and wanted to match wits with the boy, but Morgan made excuses to leave each time he tried to start a conversation. With Lydia in the midst of her class, Morgan was trapped.
Leaning with his head tilted to the sun, Morgan had a faint sheen of sweat on his strong neck. Alastair wanted to lick the freshly shaven skin and chase the salty moisture up to those perfect lips. Forcing down his lust, he said, “You and Miss Lydia seem to be benefiting from our hospitality.”
Morgan looked his way, then closed his eyes again. The man never jumped or startled. Must have nerves of steel.
“The weather is quite nice, and the air is breathable. Since Lydia has improved so rapidly, she now believes me when I tell her the ailment is not consumption. You cannot imagine how happy that makes me. One of the many doctors I dragged her to diagnosed it as a consumptive illness, and we believed him.” The boy continued more rapidly, as if fighting off the need to weep. “Anyone would benefit from leaving London. It has always been our home, but I never realized what a dreadful place it is.”
“I agree. My mother still lives there; even though she can afford to live anywhere, she has no desire to leave. Can’t understand it myself.”
At the mention of some personal history, Morgan turned his full gaze his way. Oh, so he is curious about me? Good. Good indeed.
He nodded at the man’s sister. “She seems much improved.”
“Yes, thank the heavens. I worried she wouldn’t survive until we sailed.” Morgan glanced sheepishly his way. “One of the reasons the delay irritated me a bit.”
He snorted. “A bit? I thought you hoped to rip my head off, which would have done no good at all, as there would have been no captain for your trip.”
Morgan laughed, a deep, full sound, and Alastair could not drag his eyes away from the man’s face, a breathtaking image when he smiled. He’d been wrong in the tavern. This man personified beautiful. His nose and frowns were irresistible, but when he smiled, it changed his looks from handsome to utterly magnificent.
“I must admit, my temper is my greatest flaw. Please forgive me. It is just…” He cast a glance at his sister. “She is my only family. It is my responsibility to keep her safe.”
Anger, protectiveness, and happiness. This man had a zest for life. He could not stop staring at Morgan. Hell, half his seamen were tripping over themselves to get a look at this man. Daylight highlighting his features, the breeze in his hair, he looked like a fae being who commanded the weather.
Morgan noticed his regard. He glanced over, licked his lips slowly, then smiled.
Of course Alastair’s gaze followed the action, and he was certain Morgan sensed his full-blown lust.
To give himself time to settle his arousal, he turned and pointed at the impromptu classroom. “Your sister is an amazing young lady. So accepting of differences.” There were at least three different races in her class, and one woman, Tim, who looked more like a lad in her shapeless sailor’s slops. She’d been a street urchin who changed her name and took to wearing boys’ clothes around ten years of age to keep from being pimped out. She was tough, handy with a blade, and held her own with the crew and her duties; most of the time the men forgot she was a woman until someone new hired on. Miss Lydia treated all of them with respect and did not talk down to anyone for not knowing their letters.
“My sister is a precious thing. Sometimes I wonder if she weren’t sent directly from heaven to show us all what humanity is. Then I wonder why God would have sent her to me.” He smirked.
“Perhaps to show you there is some gray in your black-and-white world?”
There was a slight bristling before Morgan relaxed again. “Perhaps.”
“I’ve told my crew that she is to be treated with the utmost respect. They will look after her; they are a good lot. You can relax your vigil.”
The boy seemed to inwardly melt at that comment. “I’ve watched after her since our father died, and then she got sick a few years ago. I didn’t know what to do, how to make her well. You cannot believe what a relief—” He broke off, his voice thick. “She is talking about the future again. She’d stopped doing that for such a long time.”
“Your mother?”
“Died in childbed when much too young.”
He placed a hand on the boy’s granite-firm arm. He could feel the muscles flex even through a lawn shirt and smoothly worn wool coat. What did this man do to develop muscles upon muscles? “You have done a good job. She has survived, you are taking her away from god-awful London Town, and she has obviously thrived under your guardianship. Take some time to enjoy your first-rate work, to let yourself enjoy being free from obligations and worry. She is in a safe place. Take the chance to be young and alive again.”
The look Morgan gave him could have singed hair. “I might… I just might do that, Captain Breckenridge.”
Oh, the way that gaze and those words sent his world spinning on its axis. Time to set the stage for a more intimate encounter. “I have adjusted our contract to accommodate the alteration in our estimated arrival to Dominica and to verify the amount of cargo loaded. Come by after supper, and I will give you your copy.”
“I’ll come by after I watch the sunset. Have you noticed how fast the transition is from light to complete darkness on the water?”
Fighting a smile, Alastair said, “Yes, I have noticed. See you after supper, then?”
Nodding slightly, Morgan stared at his lips.
It was nearly the hardest thing he’d ever done, leaving that spot at that time and pretending he had something important to do.
“Here is your copy of the document.” Alastair enjoyed how good Morgan looked sitting across the desk from him, lantern light bouncing off the low open-beamed ceiling, turning his hair almost auburn. Broad shoulders dressed in slightly worn, dark-brown wool filled the captain’s cabin, making the room look less lonely than it had in a long while. He held out the tightly rolled parchment they signed moments earlier, and leaned over the table. “I am glad you agreed with the new conditions of our contract.”
Morgan reached for the contract without rising from his chair. “They were minor alterations, nothing for me to dispute.”
A bit of the devil got into Alastair, and he pulled the document just out of reach. Morgan reached farther, and again he retreated. With his head ever so slightly tilted, Morgan lowered his arm and regarded Alastair.
Having obviously decided, the man rose, moved around the table, took two steps closer, and then one more unneeded step before bending down. He was so close, Alastair could count the flecks of gold in his eyes.
“Why the game of keep away?” Smooth as river-washed stone and warm as the first sip of good rum, the words glided across Alastair’s skin.
Morgan reached for the paper slowly, giving Alastair time to yank it away if he desired. Oh, he desired, but not for a game of keep away. He held still until a large, warm hand curled over his fingers. Closing his eyes, he made an audible swallow.
“Not pulling away now?”
Stupidly, he shook his head. For the life of Neptune, he could not think of anything to say. Too much concentration focused on the erotic tingles filling his belly.
Opening his eyes, he saw Morgan lean closer. So close, he heard slow, steady breathing. Close enough to catch the hint of eau de cologne. Close enough to see a flare of nostrils, the enlarging pupils. Damn. Morgan was aroused, highly aroused.
Desire flooded his veins, complete with shortness of breath and a painful constriction in too tight trousers.
Those looks that lasted a second too long now made sense, but not the looks of regret, not the clenched teeth and clenched fists, the ridiculous anger. Alastair made it clear he was interested, available. Why hadn’t the boy simply accepted the offer, which he obviously wanted, instead of letting frustration build?
Time to relieve the boy’s frustration; time to take what he had longed for since that foggy afternoon in London. He touched Morgan’s cheek, rubbing a finger slowly down rough, half-day stubble. For a moment Morgan paused, jaw tightened, seemed to rethink his actions, then dipped his head.
Unable to breathe, he closed eyes and waited for the kiss he longed for since the Red Pig. The whisper of breath caressed his lips. So close now. Anticipation sent him forward. And then, just like that, Morgan took the scroll from Alastair’s limp, numb fingers and slipped from the bunk into the dark, cold, lonely North Atlantic night.
DAMNATION, WHAT HAD he just done? Rhain chastised himself as he stormed down to his cabin to stow the document.
He’d promised himself he would not—not—do this again with any man after Robert. Except for a few lapses that led him to visit a molly house or two…or perhaps three…he’d kept that promise.
And now I go and almost sit in the pirate’s lap. Almost kissed that irreverent mouth, for God’s sake. What the bloody hell was wrong with him?
He could be content with a woman, have a wife, a family. Couldn’t he? Perhaps meet her in Dominica.
He found women attractive after all, had been with a few, even though he preferred men. Plus, being with a woman would have an added benefit. He would be able to distance himself from her enough so as to never again suffer a broken heart.
Robert had nearly crippled him with an unanticipated rejection. He would not go through that pain again. And this pirate… He was quick-witted, intriguing, tough but kin
d. Compassionate at times. He had the power to snare and crush an unsuspecting heart.
Add the power of the captain’s allure to this damn ship, which felt like a safe haven, like he could do anything and not be caught, or if caught, receive a salacious wink and nothing more, and that led to problems. The feeling of safety could trick and then trap and smash an already bruised heart.
What a stupid fool, he. With his uncommon lusts, he would never be safe. From now on, he would keep his guard up, avoid the pirate, and keep his damn kisses to himself.
Chapter Four
Casablanca, Morocco
It was obvious they were far from England before ropes even touched the decrepit dock. Rhain worried it would not hold up under the added weight of the Hurricane’s men and cargo.
Trees of a shape he’d never seen before Lisbon stood sentinel to round-capped buildings. Sounds were different. Exotic music filled the air. The predominant language held a melodious flair, loud and incomprehensible. Rhain reveled in the discordant music played on drums, cymbals, and wind instruments.
Lydia squeezed his arm and bounced on her little feet.
Rhain laughed. “Lydia, you aren’t excited, are you?”
“Of course I am excited. This is the most spectacular adventure we have ever experienced. Probably will ever have. Look at all the colorful clothes.” She took a deep breath and closed vivid blue eyes. “Just smell the air.”
The air smelled like a bubbling pot of the Indian curry favored by one of his father’s friends who’d spent time in India and brought back a cook. He suspected the cook also served as convenient lover, but that was purely supposition.
He breathed in the warm, fragrant air. Spicy indeed. His stomach rumbled, and Lydia laughed.
“Did you ever realize life could be this wonderful?”
He patted her hand, surprised he no longer held anger at this, their second delay on the voyage to the plantation.
Lisbon had been a disappointment. The Hurricane had slipped in to dock while he and Lydia slept. They were not allowed to leave the ship. They were in port only eight hours, off-loading some valuable cargo under the colonial flag.
His Pirate (Second Chance Book 2) Page 3