“Where is Mistress Caroline?”
“She has yet to show a leg.”
“Assemble the watch. I want the rigging inspected at once.” Trevor perched at the top of the companion ladder. “And find out which members of the crew have helm experience. We could use an extra hand.”
George inclined his head. “Where are you going?”
“To check on my bunkmate.” He descended to the main deck and turned to the corridor leading to his cabin. As he passed the galley, he waved to the cook. “Serve an early lunch, and tell every man to eat his fill. I want the oven fires doused in two hours.”
“Storm, Cap’n?”
“Aye.”
“Bloody hell.”
At the entrance to his quarters, he grasped the knob, twisted, and stepped into what had been his private domain.
“Blast!”
Caroline, deep in concentration, sat at the tiny table he’d rummaged from the fo’c’sle looking pretty as a picture. To the undiscerning eye, she could have been his wife, busily mending one of his garments.
“Now that is not a very welcoming welcome,” he said with more humor than intended.
“Oh, Captain, you startled me, and that is never a good thing when I’ve a needle in my grasp.” Her smile was pure angel. Why the devil did she have to be so damn decent?
“A lethal weapon, perhaps?”
“Not so much.” She laughed, a lighthearted sound he found utterly disarming. “How long have been there?”
“Enough to know you are not having much luck with the repairs to my shirt.” She favored him with a mischievous grin. “Shall I ask Billy to resume his duties?”
“Don’t you dare.” She appeared offended by the mere suggestion. “While I must admit sewing was never my strong suit, I will not be upstaged by your cabin boy. It’s just that I’ve stitched this tear three times, and I’ve yet to get it straight.”
“Your devotion to the task is commendable, sweet.” Trevor crossed the room and paused at the washstand. Pouring water into the basin, he said, “By the by, be sure to eat plenty for lunch. It will be the last hot meal for a day or two.”
“Has the weather turned?”
“Your knowledge of sea life continues to amaze me.” He dried his hands and hung the towel on a peg. “Are you certain you have never served a man aboard ship--other than Dalton?”
“I promise, you are the second.” Caroline retrieved the scissors from the basket and commenced cutting the crooked patch. “I believe you hinted at a storm, Captain. Are we in any danger?”
“It is a line squall.” Trevor walked to his desk and assembled various charts. “And it looks to be a foul one.”
“Oh, dear.” She dropped the shirt in her lap and glanced out the stern windows. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I beg your pardon?” Once again she surprised him. With a bundle of maps tucked under an arm, he strolled to her. “What do you propose?”
“I do not know.” The curious courtesan set her mending aside, rose from her chair, and shrugged. “But if you have need of me, I shall assist you, in whatever capacity you require.”
There it was again, that sinking suspicion that his temporary mistress, who was not his mistress in truth, was something else entirely. But what woman would claim that occupation when she was not? It simply did not stand to reason.
“How many years have you spent in service to men?” He cupped her chin in his hand. “Tell me, Caroline, I will not be angry.”
“Not so long as you might think.”
Now he was getting somewhere.
“If you are what you profess, then I must know, was Dalton your first benefactor, on land and sea?”
“You could say that.”
Ah, that explained it. She was an inexperienced doxy, and a dangerous one, to boot. Youth and innocence were a potent combination, and she could demand a king’s ransom in London for such qualities. Give her ten more guardians, and she might be ready for Trevor.
And he might be ready for her.
#
Twelve hours passed before Trevor returned to their cabin. And although Caroline did her best to heed his advice, the constant pitch and roll, more pronounced than normal, made it impossible for her to remain in their bunk without clutching the mattress.
“My, but you look awful.” She rushed to his side, wanting to do something, anything, to be useful. Since she couldn’t give Trevor what he wanted most, she was determined to offer other assistance. For some reason she could not discern, his good opinion was important. “It must be terrible up there, what with the rain and wind. We need to get you out of those wet clothes before you catch a chill.”
“Well, it is just my luck that you make such a tempting offer when I am too tired to oblige.”
Oh, those cursed blushes.
“But you retain your sense of humor, I see.”
Trading a towel for his soaked oilskin, she hung the outerwear on a peg. After he peeled his shirt from his damp flesh and tossed it on the floor, she grabbed a second towel and began to blot his back.
His head turned, Trevor arched a brow, sighed, and said, “Thank you.”
“I am at your service, Captain.”
“I know you are, but I am clueless to understand why.” Her reward was a magnetic smile, impossibly sweet. “At the risk of offending you, I must say you behave nothing like a courtesan.”
“No offense taken, and it is my turn to thank you.” He couldn’t know it, would never know it, but his awkward compliment touched her to the core. How could she tell him what he made her feel? Warm. Wicked. Wanton. When his hands fell to his waistband, she retreated. “If you give me a moment, I will fetch your tray.”
She couldn’t get out of the cabin fast enough.
Because the handsome seaman was getting harder and harder to resist.
In what must have looked like a comedy of errors, Caroline tripped and stumbled her way to the galley and retrieved the captain’s meal. It was, perhaps, her good fortune that the simple fare of dried beef, fresh fruit, and bread presented little chance of spillage, given the current conditions at sea.
Upon entering the cabin, she found Trevor sitting at the table, garbed only in his robe. Kicking the door shut behind her, she dipped and swayed with the motion of the boat and set the food before him. Slipping into the chair opposite her captain, she smiled.
“Hungry?”
Trevor’s head snapped up, met her gaze, pinned her to her seat. She expected him to say something, to shock her with a ribald comment, as he had done on so many occasions, but he simply sat there and stared. And how he stared.
While a storm raged beyond the stern windows, a tempest of a different sort played hell with her nerves. In those all-too-knowing green eyes, she saw the promise of passion, blazing with intensity, the heat of desire, searing her from top to toe, and some mystical quality that defied recognition but was nonetheless potent.
“What led you to become a courtesan?”
Sword to the heart with deadly precision. It was as though he had doused her in the icy waters of the Baltic.
He didn’t know it, and Caroline would die before she admitted it to a living soul, including her friends, but Trevor had hurt her just then. It disappointed her that he found it so easy to believe her a doxy, that there was no legitimate explanation for her presence on Dalton’s ship. Yet how could he know, as he was unaware of her shame?
“You do not have to tell me, if you do not wish it.” Her captain canted his head and furrowed his brow. “But I should very much like to know your history, if you care to share.”
“It is a long story that’ll keep.” She mustered a brittle smile. “You should eat and get some rest.”
“Perhaps, another night.”
“Indeed.”
“Promise?”
Why did he want to know anything of her? Their agreement required that their acquaintance end upon docking in London. Of course, if they were never to see each other
again, what could it hurt to divulge her scandal, as long as names were omitted to protect the guilty?
“I promise.”
They passed the meal in uneasy silence, the spell of desire broken, destroyed by his query. Afterward, Caroline gathered the dishes and conveyed them to the galley. When she returned to the cabin, Trevor was in the bunk, so she rounded the room, dousing the lanterns, one at a time. For a long while she stood at bedside, stealing glimpses, in the staccato flashes of lightning, of the man who haunted her slumber, as he tossed and turned with the ship. Finally, she sat on the edge of the mattress, reached out, and rubbed his scalp, back and forth. Soon, his breath came, slow and steady, of deep sleep.
But sleep did not come for her, so she kept midnight watch over her captain.
Mulling the circumstances that placed her on Dalton’s ship, she could not escape her demons. In a chair she eventually moved to the windows, she perched, with knees bent, hugging her legs. Beyond the mullioned glass, the ocean swirled and soared, foamed and sprayed, as a menacing manifestation of the pain and humiliation that tormented her every waking hour. And the skies above, dark and angry, rumbled and roared, as if to say: You can run, but you cannot hide.
Well, she had run, and in so doing had discovered that hers was a useless endeavor.
But she was accustomed to useless endeavors.
As a child, Caroline had been painfully shy, even among her lifelong friends. When choosing sides for Lady of the Manor, she was always the last one picked. A bit of a Long Meg, she preferred the youthful activities more commonly associated with boys, not girls, and that won her little notice from the opposite sex. And although her parents had hoped her awkward tendencies would fade with age, they had merely exhibited themselves in other ways.
At parties and dances, she remained in the shadows, hugging the wall or a convenient plant stand. Other than her childhood chums, no one sought her company. Eventually, she excelled in her ability to blend into the background. And just when she’d despaired of ever finding a husband, one man paid suit with disastrous results, and she again faded into the landscape.
Not so anymore.
Trevor wanted her, had made no secret of his desire. Whether or not he knew it, he’d fed her a tempting, oh-so succulent morsel of all that was achievable between a man and a woman, and Caroline wanted more. Yet she could not escape the familiar doubt that kept her at bay. Had they met in London, with so many beautiful ladies and young belles from which to choose, would he have shown her the slightest interest?
But did it matter?
Here, in the middle of the Atlantic, she was the only woman aboard his ship, better odds she would never enjoy. What if she surrendered? What if she set duty, honor, and responsibility aside and yielded her virtue to the one man determined to claim it?
Perhaps this was her golden opportunity to move up from the rear.
Perhaps this was her time to stand.
A knock at the door startled her and brought Trevor alert.
“Come.” He yawned and stretched.
George peered inside. “Morning, Mistress Caroline.” To the captain he said, “Sir, we’re a wee before the first watch.”
“How does she go?”
“We’re on course, but the storm has slowed us down. Ya saw us through the worst of it, tho.”
“Sound the bells, I’ll be at post for the duty roster.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” said George before exiting.
“Should I get your breakfast?” she asked.
“No. There’s no time.” Trevor cast a glance at Caroline, her pillow, and then came to rest on her, still sitting before the stern windows. “Did you not come to bed?”
“I did.” She lied. “But all this tossing about made it difficult to actually sleep, and I did not want to disturb you, so I rose early.”
“By the by, I passed a peaceful night, thanks to your handiwork. Where did you learn that particular skill?”
“My mother suffers megrims,” she explained. “Rubbing her scalp alleviates the pain, and I thought it might help you rest better.”
“You thought right.” Naked, standing at his locker, Trevor pulled out a fresh shirt, draped it over his shoulders, and speared his arms into the sleeves. Then he stepped into grey breeches. “You know, given all you’ve done for the men, I would like to do something for you. Is there anything you can think of that might make your trip more comfortable? Mind you, we are at sea.”
A week ago, Caroline had demanded her own cabin, but the captain declared there was no additional space available.
But that was then.
“I believe a kiss in payment will suffice.”
“Forgive me, mistress mine, but you’re not very good at bargaining.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I would expect a courtesan to demand something of value.”
“And you believe your kiss holds no value, silly man?” She was flirting shamelessly with him.
Trevor arched a brow. “Well said, my lady. As for your question, a kiss can be of estimable worth, depending on the outcome.”
“Ah, but that has already been negotiated has it not?” she asked, as he tugged on his boots. Delighted by his expression of surprise, she laughed. “So, shall I have my due, or must I call the master-at-arms?”
With nary a word he came at her.
A single hand slipped beneath her hair to grip her by the nape. Pulling her close, their noses a scant inch apart, Trevor suddenly froze. For what seemed an interminable pause, but was only a few minutes, he simply studied her, and she availed herself of their respective positions to do the same with him.
Myriad emotions danced in his countenance, some evident, others impervious to interpretation. But for the hand holding her near, she could have faltered beneath his intoxicating investigation. And though he touched her in a single place, she felt him everywhere at once. And, oh, what she felt.
“I could stare a lifetime into your eyes,” Trevor said in the softest whisper.
Caroline went up in smoke.
Locking her arms behind his neck, she kissed her captain for all she was worth and garnered a pleasurable groan as reward. Her lips moved in a sensuous symphony, her tongue in a naughty rhythm meant to entice, almost begging Trevor to want her as she wanted him. How thrilling it was when he cocked his head, deepening their kiss, taking her even further into sweet oblivion, hugging her so tight that she no longer knew where she ended and he began.
Until he set her back on her heels.
“Duty calls,” was all he said.
A few minutes passed before Caroline discovered she was alone, and she leaned against the table. From top to toe, her body burned, ached with a need she tried but failed to understand or control. Fire seared a line from the bottom of her stomach to that never before touched space between her thighs. Like the falling rain, remnants of their passion lingered in the air, pooling on the boards at her feet. Caroline pressed her fingertips to her lips, still throbbing from the force of their shared bliss, and wondered how different their situation would be had they met in society’s ballrooms. But did the circumstances of their acquaintance matter if it were temporary? That he thought her a courtesan seemed insignificant.
A new truth dawned.
If she gave herself to Trevor, she would be ruined--unmarriageable. And her brother would never force her to wed. From where she stood, indulging in the physical delights her captain offered seemed the perfect answer to her quandary, not to mention the man was gorgeous and willing to cooperate.
If she were smart, she would seize this gift of fate.
These weeks at sea would carry her into the twilight of her life. When she was old and gray, she could recall a time when she was desired above all else, when one man wanted her, and her, alone.
But she had to act fast.
At the very least, she surmised she had three weeks to give herself to Trevor. Three weeks to accept what he offered. On the thought, a wicked shiver coursed her spine
.
Caroline strolled to the stern windows. The storm had eased but the ocean still churned. The turbulent weather matched her mood: tumultuous, hedonistic, and wildly unpredictable. No, she would not turn away from this virgin taste of passion. With unflinching determination, she placed a damp palm to the cold glass, but it did nothing to cool the heat simmering within her. Staring at her reflection, barely visible, she smiled.
“I’ll do it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
As the storm ebbed and flowed, the following days passed in a fog of frustration. Trevor rose early and returned late, trudging into the cabin with a scarce glance in her direction. Sometimes he ate, and sometimes he merely flung himself, fully clothed, on the bunk. Just when they thought they had escaped the tempest, it would gather steam and rage again. But that wasn’t the only thing raging.
Just how did one launch a full-scale seduction?
While Caroline remained entrenched in the belief that her tack was true and equally certain her most intimate gift was destined to be his, she had no real idea how to entice a man. So she did the things she was positive would make her desirable under the present circumstances.
Every meal was served with care, awaiting only his arrival and his appetite; she mended his clothes, and kept their quarters neat and tidy. In short, Caroline did what she could to prove to her captain how useful she could be in every way--except one.
Must she do everything herself?
She had thought it a simple matter of kissing, which would lead to more intense relations. It seemed a sensible, logical conclusion. She had kissed his forehead, his cheeks, and had even kissed Trevor on the mouth as he fell asleep. Her reward had been an impressive snore.
How did one go about initiating a seduction?
As the tempest wailed for the fourth day, Trevor stumbled through the door. Soaked, eyes bloodshot, and face pale as a ghost, he collapsed in a coughing fit. After stripping the wet clothing from his skin, Caroline hurried to dry him.
Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast) Page 4