The men practiced whenever they could take time out from their work; that meant anytime between daybreak and midnight. Rather than climb the stairs from her cabin a dozen times a day, Summer began to spend most of her time on deck. Some of those working out were self-conscious at first. A few did try to get to know her better, but one look from the captain was enough to convince the most foolhardy to keep his distance. It was impossible for the crewmen not to stare at Summer, but they took care to keep their eyes on their work when Brent was about.
And that seemed to be just about all the time these days. He might say he needed to practice as well as anyone else, but it was obvious that his practice took second place to his interest in the beautiful countess.
The crew had no inkling of the deepening closeness between Brent and Summer. They’d rarely seen her, and his treatment of her on that first day remained strong in their minds. Smith was the first to notice the change, but he never shared confidences with anyone except Brent. And junior officers held their captain in such awe, thought him so godlike, that it was a jolt to find he was subject to the same emotions and desires that plagued them. They attempted to question Smith, and were expertly snubbed.
However, when Summer began to put in regular appearances on deck, the whole crew had an opportunity to observe Brent and Summer, and it wasn’t long before everyone decided that the captain was smitten at last. He tolerated no familiarity with the countess, and barely restrained himself from treating an imagined insult to her with the same severity he usually reserved for insubordination. Only Brent remained unaware of the real extent of his feelings.
There had never been any room in his thoughts for marriage. For ten years he had devoted all of his time, energy, and concentration to two things: his career at sea and his hatred of Gowan. These existed side by side, each giving way to the other when necessary. There was no conflict, no sacrifice of one for the other, because Brent had realized that the only chance he had to bring Gowan to justice was to gain command of a ship and to have the power that came with that command.
He well knew that Summer was having an effect on him, but he was convinced that his attraction to her was only physical and that he could forget her just as easily as he had all of the others. Since there was no need to consider that unpleasant course of action at the moment, he put it out of his mind. He now accepted her presence at the table as a matter of course, and he firmly believed that his concern was only to protect her.
Brent was unaware that he glanced up at her a hundred times during an evening. And he didn’t see the smile that touched his lips, the light that glowed in his eyes, or the relaxation of the muscles in his jaw when he gazed at her. He was unaware that the evidence of her presence in his cabin—slippers, a ribbon, a brush—gave him a deep sense of contentment, a feeling of pleasure that was new to him. He studied her, thirsting to know what she was like, trying to fathom her depths through the things she did and said.
But the most profound change in him, one he never suspected and would have vehemently denied, was that he would give up his desire for revenge rather than lose Summer. He had no inkling of this transformation, nor was he aware that, as she had become a part of him, his hatred for Gowan had become less intense. In just a few weeks, Summer had become just as much a part of his days as his duties on the ship he commanded. He no longer thought of himself singly, even in his own mind; she was always there. Even more than his boyhood home, she was necessary to his happiness and well-being, and each solution he came up with for her future was automatically rejected if it failed to keep her at his side.
Chapter 11
The first day of the games dawned bright and clear; the usual turbulence of the Atlantic had died down; and the bright sun, quickly absorbing the cool of the morning, insured it would be hot by noon. At the same time, feeding seabirds reminded Summer that Havana and their journey’s end were near. Very soon now she would be on her own, and she couldn’t afford the emotional luxury of being in love with Brent. She reminded herself of her vow to fight any temptation to think longingly of his comforting strength or to give in to the hypnotizing effect of his smile.
The men had been up before dawn—some testing muscles and reflexes or limbering up by running around the deck, others setting up the courses and insuring that the day’s events would go quickly and smoothly. But the busiest person of all was Smith, for the success of the games rested squarely on his shoulders. It was his task to keep the lists of contestants, determine the order of the events, oversee them, and make sure that all preparations were completed. Summer did her best to help, but she was so nervous and excited she took up as much of his time as she saved.
Brent moved among the men, saying a few words to each and wishing them all good luck. His encouragement was warmly received even by those who knew they had little chance of besting him, and soon he had established an atmosphere of cheerful camaraderie.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to remember half of them,” Summer said to Smith as she quickly reviewed the rules for a contest she had never even heard of until a few days ago.
“You’ll do just fine,” he assured her. “Just remember to watch very carefully as they cross the finish.”
“But that’s the trouble. I get so excited I’m afraid I’ll be cheering instead of watching.”
“Who are you cheering for?” asked Brent, as he came up from behind her. “I’m going to be mighty upset if you’re pulling against me.” He was cooling off from his morning exercise, and a fine film of perspiration caused his scantily clad, deeply tanned body to glisten in the sun, highlighting every muscle and sculpted curve. He looked like a god, a hero from some ancient legend. The pit of Summer’s stomach knotted and her knees grew weak.
“I didn’t say I was cheering for anyone,” she mumbled, blushing and lowering her gaze. “I just said that I might be cheering.” She raised her eyes again; she had to learn not to cower before him.
“We can’t have a judge who cheers for her favorites, or one who gets so excited she forgets to watch the finish.”
“I’ll do my best to be impartial and to watch carefully,” she said coldly, her resentment rising. “I realize how much these games mean to the men, and I wouldn’t do anything to spoil them, but I did warn you that I am completely without experience.” It was just like him to find fault with her even before she’d had a chance to prove herself.
“Everybody’s anxious to win,” Smith interposed diplomatically. “It’s particularly important this year because of the prizes and the fact that you’re going to present them.”
“I hope the men appreciate those blasted prizes,” Brent grumbled. “Your pack ransacked every inch of this ship, not to mention the time they spent away from their duties.” He directed a baleful glare at his first mate, but Smith didn’t flinch. “I think the men are ready to begin,” he announced moodily.
“It’ll just take me a few minutes more,” Smith told him, not taking his eyes from his task.
“How do you feel?” Brent asked Summer, his tone more kind now.
“Nervous,” she confided, steadfastly trying to ignore his inviting smile.
“The first events will be easy. They’re foot races. There’s only room for two or three runners at a time.”
“I’m still nervous.”
“You’ll calm down once we begin.”
“If you’ll come with me, milady, we can get started,” Smith said. “Captain, since you have to run in the third heat, you’d better go warm up.”
“You give orders very well.” Brent laughed. “You sound more like a captain than I do.”
“He looks more like one, too,” Summer commented. Brent’s brief pants exposed almost his entire body to the glistening sun, and she had hardly taken her eyes off him since he’d joined them.
Brent drew himself up. Muscles tense and bulging, he met Summer’s critical glance with an imperious look. “Who looks more like the captain?” he asked, daring her to compare his physique with
that of the much less well-developed Smith.
Summer smoothly corrected herself. “I meant to say that Smith is dressed more like a captain.”
“That is true,” Brent replied, but he gave her a satisfied smile.
“You look more like a castaway.” Summer repressed a fervent wish to be cast away with him. “I’ll bet the earl would never recognize you if you returned to Scotland looking like that.”
“The earl wouldn’t have to worry about recognizing him,” Smith observed dryly. “The captain would freeze to death in the first snow.”
Brent eyed the two of them, a frown gathering on his forehead. “A little more of this, and I’ll set you both adrift. I have a position to maintain in the eyes of the crew.”
“If you didn’t look like one of them, you wouldn’t have to worry about it.” Summer let her eyes wander over him with leisurely nonchalance, hoping that they didn’t show how powerfully his presence affected her. “Of course there are some things that clothes can never do, but when it comes to conveying rank and station, they are an absolute necessity.”
“I’ll remember that when I feel the need to make a good impression,” Brent responded coolly. “But right now we’re wasting time.” He walked away, and Summer had to tear her eyes from him. How could she get him out of her heart when she couldn’t keep from staring at him?
“First set of runners,” Smith called out, and three young men of nearly the same size and age lined up at the line drawn on the planks of the deck.
“You all know the rules,” he said. “Start at the sound of the pistol and run four times around the deck. Remember to stay outside the red barrels. Anyone going inside is automatically disqualified. You can cross over in front of a runner as long as you’re far enough ahead not to impede his race. The winner qualifies for the next race. That clear?” The three nodded. They were impatient to begin. “Are you ready?” called Smith, and they knelt at the line. “Get set. Go!”
The last word was punctuated by the loud report of a pistol, and the three men sprinted toward the bow of the ship. The outside runner, shorter and lower to the ground than the others, made a faster start and was able to cross over to the inside before they reached the first turn. It was a sharp bend that doubled back almost one hundred and eighty degrees in three or four strides. The runners slowed abruptly to keep from colliding with the rail, then accelerated quickly, the shortest man still in the lead. They rounded the broader turn at the stern at a faster pace and pounded past the starting line for the first time, about two yards apart.
The order remained unchanged during the second circuit, but during the third, the trailing runners began to close the gap. They fell back on the turn coming onto the last full circuit, but made a supreme effort to pass the leader before the short run to the bow. Once again the leader held his place. On the far side the second-place runner was passed by the last runner, who ran up to the leader’s heels just as they made the final turn. He angled out from behind the leader two strides before they hit the stretch so that when they straightened out he was only a yard behind with a clear shot to win.
Not daring to even glance at the men coming toward her, Summer stood at the finish line, her eyes fixed on the spot where they would cross it. She didn’t want to be involved in the contest, she just wanted to see which color passed the line first. She heard the thunder of their sturdy feet pounding toward her, and her heart beat faster and faster. “Oh please, don’t let me get it wrong,” she pleaded softly. Then a blur of color passed before her eyes, and she called, “Green!” loud and clear. Summer had just called her first race.
“You won’t get a closer race than that, and you got it right on the button.”
She hadn’t noticed Brent come up behind her during the last lap.
“Thank you,” she said, beaming with pride in spite of her effort to remain cool. When he looked at her like that, it was impossible to think of anything except the color of his eyes.
“Why don’t you watch the beginning of the next race with me?”
“I’d better stay here,” she decided. “I’ll get too excited if I watch the whole race.” She didn’t add that his physical presence would destroy her concentration as it was doing at the moment. She pretended to close her eyes against the glare of the sun, but the image of mighty limbs and a tanned torso was burned into her memory. Just knowing he was within inches of her fingertips was enough to bring a flush to her cheeks.
The winner of the heat came up to receive congratulations from the captain. Summer smiled and offered him her hand. The poor man was exhausted, but his shining eyes bespoke his pleasure in the captain’s words and his delight in being able to touch Summer’s dainty hand.
“If you smile like that at every winner, they’re all going to knock themselves out trying to win,” Brent barked, heedless of listening ears. “I can’t afford to have good men disabled.” He sounded disgruntled.
“I’ll do my best not to overexcite them,” Summer snapped. “It’s a shame it won’t work on you,” she added.
“Has just the opposite effect, doesn’t it?”
Summer turned her back on him, not daring to meet his laughing eyes. “Not even a dunking in the Arctic Ocean could cool you down,” she said, hoping the sting of her words would wipe the smirk off his face, but Brent grinned even more broadly.
“If I had you to keep me warm, I could melt the whole polar cap.” He looked at the thrusting curves of her breasts, the outline of her hips and thighs as the wind molded her dress to her body. “With the sight you’re affording us right now, we may overheat long before noon.”
Summer tried to pull her thin dress away from her body, but it only whipped more tightly about her legs. Brent’s crack of laughter did nothing to improve her temper, and all at once she found his presence less exciting. “I can’t concentrate on the next race when you are intentionally making me angry. Please go away.”
“Certainly, Countess.” He only called her Countess when he was angry or trying to aggravate her. “I can save it all for tonight when you’ll be able to concentrate on me alone.”
He whispered the last word in her ear before going over to the runner kneeling for the start of the second race.
“That man is a beast,” Summer said under her breath. “I don’t know why I let him taunt me like that. I’d like to shoot him.”
Bang! The pistol shot startled her. But three sets of feet pounding the planks of the deck reassured her that all was normal. All she had to do was keep track of the number of laps and then wait to see which color crossed the line first.
It was green again, but the race was easier because the winner came in a full yard before his closest opponent. The third race found Brent competing against the two tallest runners; he won easily after leading all the way.
“Where’s my blinding smile?” he asked, in a voice calculated to provoke her. “You can’t give me less than you give my crew.”
“I wish I didn’t have to give you any more than I give your crew,” she said in a low hiss.
“Captains always receive special treatment,” he retorted. Then he took her chin in his hand and forced her head up until her gold-flecked eyes met his azure blue ones. “And I intend to claim the winner’s privilege.”
She wrenched her face out of his grasp. “Don’t be too sure. You haven’t won yet.” The fire in her eyes matched the heat that coursed through her body.
“But I shall, Countess, I shall.” He chucked her under the chin and walked away, leaving her shaking with rage. She felt that she had been humiliated in front of the whole crew, and she burned with a desire to punish him. But before she could indulge in any wishful thinking, the pistol sounded and another three runners were pounding toward her. Maybe he’ll slip and crack his head, she thought savagely, but she didn’t put much faith in that idea.
The morning wore on, and contest followed contest. Teams competed for the best time in setting a sail, in taking one down, and in climbing the rigging and descending.
There was a tug of war, a contest of brute strength in which contestants struggled to haul up the ship’s anchor, and there were many contests involving various weapons, some of which Summer had never seen. “Does anyone get hurt?” she asked Smith, as two men dueled with long swords whose curving blades flashed in the sun.
“Not often. The judging is based on skill in handling the weapon, not mere strength. If they inflict an injury they lose points or are disqualified. That shows a lack of control, both in the handling of the weapon and of the temper. And control is something the captain prizes.”
“Is everything the crew does planned according to the captain’s wishes?” she asked, revolted.
“Of course,” Smith replied. He was surprised that Summer would even think it necessary to ask such a question. “The captain’s word is law on any ship.”
“The captain, the captain, the captain! ” she repeated, loathing in her voice. “I’ve heard that word until I’m sick of it!” She thought of his earlier treatment of her. “I’d have thought you’d have too much pride to give in to everything he says. Does everyone quiver and quake each time he opens his mouth?” Summer fought to keep a hold on her emotions; she hoped Smith wouldn’t see that a breaking heart was at the root of her angry tirade.
“I don’t think you understand the nature of the relationship between a ship’s crew and its captain,” Smith answered, at a loss to explain the vehemence of her outburst.
“I understand that not one of you has the backbone to stand up to that grinning bully.” The accumulated wrongs she’d experienced closed in on her, and she became so angry she started to shake. “You just say ‘Yes, Captain’ and ‘Of course, Captain,’ and then run off to do his bidding like good little boys.”
“As I said, you don’t understand how a captain and his crew work together.” Smith decided not to try to explain the complex relationship to Summer. “I doubt anyone can who hasn’t been to sea at least once.”
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