“Each rope serves a purpose other than merely holding the sail to the mast.”
Oh, please, do not go into the function of the rigging. If he did, she feared she would jump overboard. Her head was pounding and the bright sun didn’t help matters.
“What is that over there?” she asked.
“Where?” He peered in the direction her finger was pointing.
“Over there. At the other end of the boat. By the … what did you call it? The stern?”
Some inner perverseness sprang forth. If he thought she was some ninny-headed debutante with nothing but fabric samples on her mind, then that was how she would act.
He drew himself upright and gave her a severe look. “Mrs. Sutherland, we do not refer to these vessels as boats. They are ships. And I do not see what you are pointing at.”
Because she wasn’t pointing at anything except toward the stern, where she desperately wanted to be in order to avoid the rest of what was proving to be a very boring tour.
He took her elbow and guided her forward. He droned on and on about mundane information she already knew. Eventually, she turned her thoughts away from him and studied the men trimming the sails. A few more were scouring the deck and two were coiling rope. For the most part, they were a blundering, half-witted lot. However, Captain Addison had managed to corral them into some semblance of a crew. They were still filthy and shifty eyed, but they did their jobs. Maybe not in the way she would have preferred if she were captain, but they were sailing smoothly and the ship was clean. ’Twas more than she expected when she first boarded.
She looked at Captain Addison with, damn it, new admiration. It took a fine leader to instill such discipline in men like this.
They finally made it to the stern, Captain Addison still pointing out various irrelevant things along the way. Saying much, but imparting no useful information.
“What about that deck?” She pointed to the deck in question.
“That’s the orlop deck. Short for overlap deck because it overlaps the hold.”
“And what is in the hold?”
“Our cargo.”
She turned wide eyes to him. “Are we carrying much cargo?”
“Loaded to the gills, Mrs. Sutherland.”
“And what are we carrying?” She wanted to get a look at the cargo merely out of curiosity. Before leaving London she hadn’t been able to determine what exactly the Pride was carrying. Not that it mattered. Her plan was to acquire the information on which ship of Blackwell’s was carrying the gold, then she would sail to Boston to meet up with Phin. But still, the pirate in her wanted to know. If the price was worth it, she was open to changing her plans.
“Spices from the Orient, fabric and various other sundries the colonies need from us.”
Quickly she calculated the value, allowing for which spices they might be carrying, and the quality of the fabric. Oh, yes, she knew fine fabric when she saw it—she simply refused to wear it.
Before she could ask if he would take her to the hold, he firmly grasped her elbow and steered her toward the quarterdeck. The steps here were more like a ladder and Captain Addison ascended first, leaving Emmaline to stare up at his very tight arse—er, backside. Lord have mercy. The breeches were old, forming tightly to his muscular buttocks. Emmaline licked her lips.
He turned and offered his hand down to her. She hesitated, never having had the need for assistance up these steps and on the verge of telling him so. Then she saw the challenge in his eyes, daring her to put her hand in his and she couldn’t refuse. She’d never been able to refuse a dare.
The minute their fingers touched, her gaze flew to his as shock waves traveled up her arm.
His stern features didn’t alter, didn’t suggest he felt anything other than another set of fingers in his.
She gathered her skirts in her other hand, ascending as best she could in the blasted gown. Gently, he tugged, and she landed on her feet. Off balance, she swayed, her body colliding with his. His arms went around her to keep her steady and suddenly they were toe-to-toe, chest to chest.
“Oh.” She looked up into his hooded eyes, startled by his strength and the breadth of his hard chest.
Emmaline’s gaze traveled to his firm lips. An uncontrollable urge to press her lips against his nearly chased away all logical thought.
His hand moved to her back, bringing her fully against him. He lowered his head toward hers and she lifted hers automatically, as if her body knew what it wanted even if her mind didn’t. Their lips touched, collided. Her hands, caught between them, folded into the fabric of his coat. She was surprised at how warm his lips were. How firm.
Before she could even fully contemplate exactly what they were doing, he stepped away, leaving her swaying, her eyes half-closed, her head tilted up.
Addison’s lips thinned and he looked away, running a hand through all that black hair. Hair she’d wanted desperately to touch.
“I believe that concludes your tour of the ship,” he said, his voice husky, with a bit of a tremor.
Emmaline opened her eyes and cleared her throat. “You, uh, never showed me the orlop deck.” Her voice was shaky, strained, but it was nothing compared to how shaky and strained she felt inside.
“Nothing to see. The orlop deck consists of my office and those of a few of the officers.”
“Your office?”
His heated gaze met hers. “And my cabin.”
She straightened her shoulders, shaking off the remnants of his kiss. Don’t be a fool, Emmaline. ’Twas nothing but a kiss.
She shook her head to clear it. Damn it, how could she forget? She needed to get into that office, but not now. Desperate for a distraction, she looked around.
“And what is belowdecks?”
Addison squinted against the bright sun. He smelled of fresh ocean breezes and man, a combination she desperately tried to ignore. She’d never been intrigued by a man’s scent before, or the way his hand felt in hers.
“Nothing you need concern yourself with.”
“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, forcing her mind back to a somewhat normal state, even if she feared normal wasn’t normal any longer. “Am I too delicate for such things?” She purposely made her voice sound shrewish to put herself on an even keel.
“Ah.” He hesitated as if he knew he was treading on uneven ground. “I wouldn’t consider you … delicate.”
Her shoulders went back. What did he mean, he didn’t consider her delicate? Was she coarse? Of course, she was coarse, but she thought she’d hid it well.
He held his hand up, as if to ward off the words she was fighting to keep inside. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant was, though you are stronger than most women, the lower decks aren’t for any type of woman.”
“And why is that?”
“Sailors are a superstitious lot, Mrs. Sutherland. They believe women are unlucky on ships and this bunch of characters I’ve been given—” He cut his words off as if he’d said too much.
She’d witnessed his crew and he was correct. They were much more than a “bunch of characters,” as he so nobly put it. Even though he’d coerced and intimidated them into working together, they were still louts, vandals and criminals. They would sooner stab you in the back than face you.
Still, she couldn’t let the subject go. “Surely I’m safe in your care, Captain.”
Something hot passed through his eyes. Hot and delectable and, oh, how she wanted hot and delectable. “Of course, but I wouldn’t want to test them. Leave them to do their work.”
“Very well. What about the cannons? Can I see the cannons?”
He frowned. “They’re called guns and, no, you cannot see them.”
“The kitchen?” She was pushing, poking, prodding, because she needed to put them back on the same footing they’d been on yesterday. As adversaries.
“It’s called the galley and Slushy would be livid if I brought a lady down there.”
“Slushy?”
“
The name of our cook, and he’s a crusty sailor on the best of days.”
She forced her lower lip out in what she hoped would be a pout. Unless she counted her toddling years, she’d never pouted before, but had seen many a girl do it. “Well, then, what else is there?”
Addison looked her up and down, as if he wanted to answer but couldn’t. For a wonderful, terrifying moment she thought he was going to suggest something that would surely make a lady run away in haste. Instead he said, “There is nothing else for us, Mrs. Sutherland.”
Chapter Four
Nicholas had a problem. Other than Emmaline Sutherland and his obsession with her.
Sitting at his desk, he rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers. The farther the Pride sailed from London, the stranger the crew behaved. They still went about their tasks and accomplished what needed to be done. There had been no dissension since his talk with Oliver and the threat of flogging, which should relieve him, yet high tension hummed in the air.
It was almost as if they were in fear.
He massaged his aching thigh and stretched his leg in an attempt to unknot the muscle. Someone knocked on the door.
“Enter.”
The door opened, the wood creaking on leather hinges. Oliver stood in the opening.
“You wanted t’see me, Cap’n?” His gaze darted around Nicholas’s office, resting on nothing.
Nicholas beckoned him closer. “Come in. Please close the door behind you.”
Oliver closed the door and shuffled to stand in front of the desk. From the trembling of his hands to the ready-to-flee look in his eyes, his demeanor screamed his nervousness. It could still be the threat of flogging, but Nicholas didn’t think so.
“Sit down. Please.”
Oliver perched on the edge of the chair, his bony shoulders squared, and licked his lips.
“I’m concerned about the men,” Nicholas said.
Oliver clutched the arms of the chair. “Sir?”
“The farther we sail from London, the more … nervous … the men appear. What’s the talk amongst them?”
Oliver cleared his throat. “Well … uh …”
Nicholas sighed at Oliver’s furtive look and his futile attempt to gain time. “Out with it, man. I can’t address their fears if I don’t know what they are afraid of.”
“Pirates.”
“Pirates?”
Oliver nodded.
“What about pirates?”
“Blackwell Shipping ’as problems with pirates,” the man said, as if explaining the obvious to a child.
“Do the men think we’ll be attacked?”
Oliver nodded.
“And do you believe this?”
He nodded again.
“What makes you believe we’ll be attacked by pirates?”
“The last three of Blackwell’s ships was attacked. By pirates. Lady Anne.”
Nicholas blinked and tried to control the twitching of his lips. “You don’t honestly believe that woman exists, do you?”
Oliver nodded vigorously this time.
“Have you seen her?”
“Nay. But I’ve ’eard stories. She’s mean and nasty and she steals your soul when she looks at ye wit’ those strange eyes.”
“Strange eyes?”
Oliver’s head bobbed. “They change depending on her mood, and watch out when they turn orange.”
Orange? Nicholas wiped a hand down his face and coughed to cover his laugh. “Tell me, Oliver, have you ever been on a Blackwell ship that’s been attacked by pirates?”
“No, sir.” Oliver shook his head so hard he lost the ribbon tying his hair back. Dirty brown strands fell across his shoulders.
“What does this Lady Anne do when she attacks?”
“She puts a spell on the crew, enchants them, then takes ever’ting off the ship.”
How had the man made it this far in life? Ridiculous. The whole story was ridiculous. A pirate—a woman—with orange eyes that changed depending on her mood? Who attacked and plundered ships? No, not ridiculous. Impossible.
A knock on Nicholas’s door had Oliver jumping so high Nicholas feared the man would hit his head on the ceiling.
“Enter.”
Samuel came rushing in. “Captain, you’re needed up top. Fog.”
“Bloody hell.” Fog. Could this day get any worse?
Emmaline took a deep breath, felt for the dagger strapped to her thigh and headed with purposeful strides toward the orlop deck. Fog had rolled in earlier that afternoon, blanketing the ship, closing them in, bathing everything in an eerie glow.
Addison had furled the sails and the Pride sat unmoving in a calm sea. The clanging of the rigging produced a muffled, hollow sound that sent goose bumps running up her arm. Fog was never good, especially for a merchant vessel. If the Pride’s cargo reached Boston after other ships on the same run, the price of the merchandise she carried would decline, cutting into her profit.
However, the fog was a boon for her. Emmaline could slide through it unnoticed, and anything that cut into Daniel Blackwell’s profit was her ally.
With a stealth learned from years of illegal activity, Emmaline made it to the stairs leading to the orlop deck.
She proceeded with caution to the captain’s cabin, where he also conducted the business of running the ship. It was here that Addison would keep the shipping routes and his captain’s log, as well as any other pertinent information—like a list of the cargo the ship was carrying. No light spilled from the crack beneath the door. She eased it open, holding her breath when the leather hinges protested. When no one came running, demanding to know her business, she opened the door fully and stepped through, closing it behind her.
She made her way to his desk, where Addison had draped his captain’s jacket over a wooden chair. She ran her fingers down the rough fabric, wrestling with an unholy need to bunch it in her hands and bring it to her face to smell the scent of ocean breezes and Nicholas Addison.
She’d neither seen nor spoken to him since the tour of the ship four days ago, when he’d kissed her. She missed his quick wit and sharp tongue and, yes, even his ridiculous commands. Not to mention that there were times she swore her lips still tingled in remembrance of their kiss.
With a snort of derision at her wayward thoughts, she pulled open a desk drawer and began to search.
Nicholas picked his way toward his cabin. Bloody fog. This was more than an inconvenience, this was a damn nuisance. Was it too much to ask for smooth sailing? His rough-and-tumble crew nearly shook in their boots at the least provocation, their darting eyes searching for the orange-eyed Lady Anne to fall from the sky and put a spell on them. No amount of reasoning would lead them to believe such a woman could not possibly exist.
To top it all off, Nicholas couldn’t shake his thoughts of Emmaline Sutherland. Four mornings ago, after catching her at her nocturnal ramblings, he’d deliberately waited only an hour before waking her. He wanted to teach her a lesson, to deprive her of sleep as she deprived him of sleep.
Now he wondered who had taught whom a lesson. Her sleepy-eyed glares hadn’t given him any satisfaction of the sort he’d sought. Instead, he’d pictured her looking up at him from tumbled bedclothes after a good romp.
His “tour” of the ship, a tour he’d purposely made mundane to aggravate her, had ensnared him. His manhood stood at half-mast almost constantly, and ached in a way it hadn’t in years. And that kiss … He certainly had not set out to kiss her, but when he pulled her into his body, when he felt her curves against him, he’d lost all reason. That kiss had been short-lived and entirely unsatisfactory. He’d wanted more, but reason had intruded, and while he’d been thankful for it, he’d also been aggravated by it.
For the past four days he’d thought of little other than finishing the kiss to his satisfaction.
What he needed was to seek out a willing woman once he reached Boston, but the thought of bed sport with a whore didn’t appeal to him. He wanted Emmaline Sutherlan
d, and it didn’t seem to matter to his body that she was married and completely unconventional.
He wanted her in ways he hadn’t thought of in a long while. Beneath him and above him. In front of him and with his face buried between her legs. He wanted to see her kneeling before him, looking up at him with fire burning in her eyes.
He wiped his brow, not knowing if he was wiping mist from the fog or sweat from his thoughts. Whatever it was, he needed relief from his constant arousal.
Unfortunately, steering clear of her didn’t help matters.
He reached his office, opened the door and froze.
Emmaline’s head jerked up and she gasped, her hand deep within her bodice.
’Twas as if all his erotic dreams had manifested themselves. Instantly, his manhood began to throb.
Emmaline quickly pulled her hand from her gown.
Nicholas closed the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mrs.
Sutherland.”
“Captain Addison.” Her gaze remained steady but wary.
He sauntered into the room, extremely satisfied when she backed up a step.
He stopped in front of her. Her green eyes widened and she licked her lower lip. His hungry gaze followed, and he wished it was his tongue licking her lips, wanted with an unholy desperation to finish what he’d started on the deck four days ago.
She lifted her chin, staring down her nose at him even though he towered over her.
“Why are you here, Emmaline?”
She opened her mouth, but no sound came. Her flushed face slowly lost color. She lowered her gaze to his lips and the color suddenly returned tenfold, until her cheeks seemed to burn. “I …” She looked up at him with shimmering green eyes.
His mind turned in circles, lust followed by suspicion and chased around by lust again.
He grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him. His starving gaze devoured her full lips and his skin sizzled where she pressed against him. His erection was exquisitely painful.
She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. A groan tore through him, his powerful lust nearly buckling his knees. Holy hell, this woman would prove to be his undoing.
The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance Page 4