The Captain's Caress

by Leigh Greenwood

  “Pity,” said Brent, giving Summer a look so heated that she flushed and threw the petticoat from her.

  Lowering her eyes, she tried very hard to fight the frightening attraction she had for this man. “You’ll have to go now,” she said more quietly. “I’ll need every possible minute if I’m to clear away this mess and be dressed in time. It’s going to take me longer without Bridgit.”

  “Things aren’t as bad as you think,” he said, the twinkle in his eyes becoming so pronounced that Summer felt her knees weaken. “I have to dress, too.”

  “So?”

  “This is my cabin. My clothes are here.”

  “But that’s impossible!” Summer gulped in consternation.

  “I can help you clear away this mess and show you where to put your clothes. I will even hook up your gown.” He gave Summer such a hungry look that she felt her clothes had suddenly vanished, exposing her to his ravenous gaze. She backed away and sat down on the bed, jumped back up again when she realized where she was. Brent’s twinkle of amusement threatened to expand into a laugh.

  “You can’t mean it,” she stammered. “I’ve never done anything, I mean, I wouldn’t do anything, I mean, oooooh, I don’t know what I mean,” she exploded in desperation, “but you can’t stay here. I’d faint with mortification.”

  “Do you faint often?” Brent asked curiously. “I’m afraid you’re going to be unconscious a lot during the next few weeks.” He moved to a bureau and began to take out stacks of clothing. “I’ll give you half of the drawers, but you’ll have to make do with that. There’s not a spare inch from bow to stern. We’re riding so low now that a good storm would force me to throw a fortune into the sea just to stay afloat.”

  “I hope we run into a hurricane and you have to throw everything overboard,” Summer said spitefully.

  “You’d better hope we don’t. The first thing to go would be your trunks.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “I most certainly would. This ship is a business. I can’t make a profit throwing my goods into the sea. But your clothing is another matter. Besides, Gowan will buy you more.” The sound of that hated name caused his wrath to arc again. He was having trouble remembering to be angry with this entrancing girl, and the fierce catapulting back and forth between opposite passions threatened to turn his mood completely black.

  “Not even you could find new clothes in the middle of the Atlantic,” she said crossly.

  “Then you’d have to wear that dress until we reach Cuba.”

  “That could take months. It would be in shreds.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I hope for a small storm at least,” Brent said, grinning at her in a way that caused her heart to flutter uncomfortably in her chest. “That’s a sight I’d give half my shares to see.”

  “I’d wrap myself in a sheet and not set foot outside this cabin, even if it took years for me to be rescued from this detestable ship,” she said furiously.

  “In that case, I suggest you pray for fair weather,” snapped Brent. “Now, charming though it may be to talk with you, I have to dress. I’ll help you with your gown, or you can wear what you have on. It makes no difference to me.”

  Summer glowered at him; she was trapped and had to accept his presence, but she didn’t have to accept his help. “It’ll take me half a day to put all these things away properly,” she said in a sulky voice, turning to the piles of clothing scattered about the room. “Go have your dinner. I’ll stay here.”

  “You’ll dine with everyone else. I won’t have you starving.” Brent’s tone admitted of no argument. “There, I’ve cleared this chest. It’s not much space, but you can’t expect me to throw all my clothes out. Not unless you’re willing to do the same.”

  “You’re the most ill-mannered man I’ve ever met,” Summer retorted, although she was discomfited by her reaction to his nearness.

  “Because I think you’d look lovely in a shift?” he asked, feeling hot desire surge through him again.

  “That’s not what you meant, and you know it,” she said, stamping her small foot. “It’s mortifying, and I can’t wait until the earl gives you the beating you deserve.” Brent drew near Summer, his expression so grim that she looked about for a place to hide.

  “No one,” he growled, “and most especially the earl, is going to beat me. I suggest you remember that you’re under my protection now. I’ve treated you with great tolerance up to this point, but if you continue to behave like a spiteful shrew, I may change my mind.”

  “If you call abducting and abusing me tolerant behavior, you’re insane,” asserted Summer. “Now you’re threatening to violate every concept of modesty and propriety as well. I suppose that’s some more of your tolerant behavior?”

  “Don’t get worked up over nothing,” he said sharply. “You’re only changing your clothes.”

  “This isn’t nothing,” she said, seething. “You talk about me sitting down to dine half-dressed like it’s a harmless joke instead of a painful humiliation. And if you think I’m going to stand here sorting my linens while you stare at me you’re out of your mind,” she added with a flourish.

  “I don’t give a damn when you sort them,” Brent shot back at her. “I’ve seen too many females in underwear to be interested in yours. You can hang these items from the masts for all I care, though I don’t advise it. After so many months at sea the men are easily distracted, and they might get the wrong idea.”

  “You’re the most heartless, cruel, inhuman! …”

  “Maybe, but I don’t make a habit of standing around talking arrant nonsense. Now I’m going to change my clothes. You can waste your time calling me names if you like, but dinner is still at seven.” With that ultimatum, he took off his coat and folded it up neatly. “I don’t have a valet, so I will show you how to take care of yourself.” He pulled off his tie and began to unbutton his shirt.

  “Oh,” she said in a faint voice, and buried her face in her hands.

  “You must learn to make the most of limited space at sea, but you’ll never do that if you keep your hands over your eyes.” He wanted to stay angry, but her attraction was so great he found himself acting like a schoolboy trying to impress a girl.

  “It’s indecent,” muttered Summer.

  “I take that as a personal insult. You may not think me handsome, but you don’t have to call me indecent.”

  “You know you’re not … you know I didn’t mean,” she stammered. In her agitation, she uncovered her eyes and they fell on Brent’s well-muscled chest, shoulders, and arms. His discarded shirt lay at his feet. “Oh my God,” she whimpered, and sank down on the bed, too weak to put her hands back over her eyes.

  “See, it’s not as bad as you thought.” Brent sat down to change his boots.

  “It’s horrible,” Summer said in a tremulous voice, but she was unable to take her eyes off the overwhelming male body in front of her. He was so near she could reach out and touch him. Summer had seen bare-chested men before. The muscular workers in the sugar-cane fields rarely wore more than a loincloth, but somehow it had never mattered. This man began to pull off his boots, and she felt shattered, helpless before the powerful force of his presence. She tried not to look at him, but her eyes persisted in devouring every inch of him, from the short amber fur that covered the center of his chest to the deep tan on his shoulders and arms. Every detail seemed to fit perfectly into the mesmerizing force of the whole, resulting in an almost lethal dose of raw male power.

  Brent’s huge muscles flexed, strained, and rippled as he worked to pull off the tight-fitting boots; they played across his chest, down his powerful shoulders, and along his straining forearms, rippling his smooth, tanned skin and making him look like a huge sleek cat stretching its muscles for the sheer pleasure of it.

  After a struggle, Brent got his boots off and rose to put them away. In spite of herself, Summer watched as he moved across the cabin in stockinged feet, his lithe grace as sensual as it was inviting.
Fingers of charged excitement raced hither and thither through her body, churning up unnamed feelings and causing her to tense with excitement.

  As he reached up to place the boots on a shelf above his head, his tall frame, tapered from broad shoulders to narrow waist, was displayed for easy viewing. His torso was smooth and glowed in the light, his stomach was flat and taut. Summer was fascinated and watched helplessly as he twisted and bent to put things away or to retrieve items he wanted.

  A wicked grin danced on his lips when he turned to her and began to undo his breeches. That was too much for Summer. With a smothered moan, she threw herself upon the bed and buried her face in the pillows. Her long burnished locks were all that Brent could see.

  A robust chuckle escaped him. “That’s not a very flattering reaction, milady. Don’t you find me attractive?” Beyond the power of speech, Summer could only shake her head. “My vanity has led me into error again,” he said in mock distress. “Smith often tells me that preoccupation with one’s appearance is an unhealthy obsession.” He dropped his breeches to the floor, and their soft plop sent shock waves racing through Summer’s every fiber.

  “Maybe you’ll be good enough to satisfy my vanity on one point. Am I more pleasing to the eye than your precious husband?” Summer didn’t answer. “Don’t be afraid to look at me. I’m not embarrassed,” he assured her.

  Summer shuddered convulsively, and pulled another pillow over her head.

  “Come now, milady, it can’t be that bad. After years of watching nearly naked men in the fields, you’re surely not suffering from an excess of modesty.”

  Summer clapped the pillows tightly over her ears.

  “No? Well, maybe I was mistaken, but I’m disappointed.” He put on fresh britches and laced them up. “I was looking forward to hearing my praises on your lips. I guess we’ll have to save that for some other time.” He reached for a clean shirt and began to button it up. “You’d better be thinking about what you want to wear. There isn’t much time left and you haven’t laid out anything yet. Dinner waits for no one on the Windswept, not even the captain.” Finished with buttoning his shirt, he sat down to put on his shoes. “Of course, you can wear that gown if you like, but I think I ought to point out that, what with throwing yourself about, it’s a good deal crumpled. You do have lovely hair, but as you’ve got it under a pillow at the moment, I’m unable to say whether it stands in need of attention.” Brent stood up and began to tie his tie. “I’ll send someone to give your shoes a good brushing, but of course you’ll have to decide which pair you’re going to wear. That can’t be too easy with your face buried in the sheets. On the other hand, maybe you already know what you mean to put on.” He paused, raised his chin, and then let it settle slowly into the soft, snowy folds of his cravat. He studied himself in the mirror to see that his appearance satisfied him. Assured on this point, he began to brush his hair. Brent never wore a wig, and his glistening locks fell easily into place with a few practiced sweeps of the soft brush. After one last look in the mirror, he turned back to Summer.

  “You can dig yourself out now,” he said, repressed laughter in his voice. “Except for my waistcoat, which I will put on as soon as I find it, I offer nothing to offend your modesty. I make no guarantees as to your reaction to my face, but at least my propriety is beyond question.”

  Summer stirred, but she didn’t lift her head from the bed.

  “Oh, come now. This pretense of maidenly modesty has gone on long enough. If you don’t begin changing soon, you’ll be late for dinner, and no one will forgive you if you spoil one of Jacques’ dinners.”

  “You promise you’re dressed?” a muffled voice asked from under several pillows.

  “For God’s sake, woman, I said I was, didn’t I?”

  Summer took the pillows off her head and tentatively opened her eyes.

  “I had to make sure,” she said, sitting up. Brent was just making the final adjustments to his waistcoat when she saw him, and her eyes opened wide in wonder. He was a god, by far the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She had never had a clear image in her mind of the man she hoped she would meet someday, but she knew in an instant that she was looking at him now.

  He wore black patent leather shoes, rounded at the toe and decorated with silver buckles. His powerful calves were enclosed in tight white hose, and the bulging muscles of his thighs strained against dark green skin-tight satin breeches that left no doubt of his masculinity. His waistcoat was of a rather plain design, but loosely cut so as not to confine his body too tightly. A snowy cravat billowed at his throat, and his hair was tied with a black ribbon at the back. His only jewelry was a pair of heavy gold rings set with precious stones—he wore one on each hand—and a gold chain that was attached to the watch which he kept in his right pocket. He was everything she’d hoped, dreamed, and prayed for, the perfect embodiment of a young girl’s dream, and he stood right in front of her, still grinning at her in a way that made her mind go blank and her body become a limp, nerveless bundle.

  With one last look in the mirror he turned to Summer. “I have a few things that need attending to, so I’ll leave you alone since you don’t seem to appreciate my presence.” He reached into a narrow closet and pulled out the most gorgeous coat Summer had ever seen. Its coloring matched the green of his breeches, and it was decorated with silver braid and black buttons. “I think you ought to reconsider my offer,” he said as he struggled into the tight-fitting coat. “You have no idea how helpful I can be in the bedroom.”

  Summer blushed all over again. “I don’t want your help,” she declared quickly. “I can take care of myself.”

  “You’ll be glad to have it,” he insisted, smoothing out the wrinkles on the sleeves. “I’ll come back in half an hour. Be ready, or you’ll sit down in what you have on.”

  “I’ll be ready,” she pledged, so glad to be spared his bedeviling presence that she would have promised anything. “It won’t take me very long if I can find what I need,” she said, surveying the disorder around her.

  “If you can’t find it, do without it. I doubt anyone would know the difference.” He left her without waiting for a response.

  For a few minutes Summer was too unnerved to move. That she was a prisoner on a pirate ship was almost too fantastic to believe. But that she was about to dress for a formal dinner prepared by a French chef was too incredible even for a dream. This day was assuming nightmarish proportions. Who was this man that could maintain such a table at sea, and what did he mean to do with her?

  She broke out of her reverie with a jerk. She had to hurry, or she’d never be dressed before he returned. She doubted that he kept his temper when anyone displeased him, and she had not the least doubt that, if she were not already in her gown, he would put her in it. The thought lent speed to her movements. She didn’t want to give him any excuse to touch her; she wasn’t sure she could stand it.

  Chapter 5

  A sharp knock at the door startled Summer into fumbling with her buttons. “Are you ready yet?” called the now-familiar voice.

  “Almost,” she answered, as Brent’s imposing frame filled the doorway. “It’ll just take a minute more.” She tried once again to do up the buttons at the back of her dress, but she still couldn’t reach all of them.

  “Let me do that,” Brent said. “You’ll give yourself a backache, and not be done before midnight.”

  “I can do it by myself,” Summer insisted, twisting away from him. Brent took her firmly by the shoulders.

  “Don’t be a fool. You know you’ve been trying to button that dress for the last five minutes, and you’ll still be at it an hour from now if I don’t do it for you. I promise I won’t rape you before dinner, so there’s no need for all this running away.”

  Summer was speechless; Brent had put her barely realized fears into words. “You should be ashamed to mention such a subject before a lady,” she said after a stunned pause.

  “I’m not that weak-minded,” replied Brent, f
astening the last button. “You should never be afraid of words.”

  “But words and thoughts are the precursors of action,” she argued. “The more familiar you are with an idea, the less fearful you are of its taboos.”

  “Well you’re certainly not stupid,” he said with less mockery than she expected. “I was sure only a featherhead would marry Gowan.”

  “You don’t need to go into that again,” she answered coldly. “You have made it quite plain to me and to every man on the two ships how you feel on that subject.” Brent raised his eyebrows as she stopped to gather up a shawl.

  “Feisty little filly, aren’t you? I’ll wager you and the earl have some rare evenings in that draughty old castle of his.”

  “What passes between my husband and myself is no concern of yours,” Summer said in her most haughty voice. “I don’t discuss such matters with anyone.”

  Brent’s eyebrows drew a little closer together and the lines around his mouth tightened. “I don’t plan to discuss them either. I have something very different in mind,” he said, his voice devoid of all warmth.

  Summer wondered about the significance of his words and his abrupt changes of mood, but there was nothing in his impassive face to give her a clue as to what his thoughts might be or what he was going to do next. He was the most contradictory, unpredictable human she had ever encountered, and she fervently wished she had never set eyes on him.

  Brent took her shawl out of her hands, draped it over her shoulders, and opened the door. “After you, milady,” he said, standing back. The passageway was too narrow for them to walk abreast, and Summer had to step aside to allow Brent to throw open a door only a few steps away on the opposite side of the passage. She stepped into a medium-size room with a low, beamed ceiling, almost entirely taken up by a large table. A half-dozen men, anxious and ill at ease, rose to their feet when she entered the chamber; the one she knew to be Smith came forward to lead her to her chair.