Sea Mistress

  “Where shall I put my things?” she asked.

  He waved toward his trunk, a large domed sea chest with metal hinges and leather straps. “You may place them in there if you like.”

  Along with my things. He didn’t say the words. He didn’t have to, she could read the thought in his face.

  “Thank you.” Her features pale, she got up and began gathering her clothes. Some had been draped across the bunk next to where she sat, while one set of her man’s clothing rested on the built-in bench.

  “Bess . . .” The gentleness in Seth’s tone made her look at him. “Let me help you. You look unwell. Perhaps you should lie down for a while after we’re done.”

  There was nothing but real concern in his face, in his words. Responding to it, Bess nodded, and her heart beat a rapid stacatto at his tender caring for her. She was aware that he had duties on the quarterdeck, but, for now, his concern for her had taken precedence over his command.

  Seth was careful as he placed her clothing into the trunk. He helped her to fold each item first and then he set them down so that the garments wouldn’t get awkwardly crushed or too wrinkled.

  When Seth picked up her nightgown, she blushed and snatched it out of his hand, silently vowing that she’d never wear it while in his presence. She would cover herself at all times while she lived in such close proximity to him.

  To his credit, Seth said nothing after she’d snatched her nightgown. He reached for the blue gown that lay on his bunk, hanging it on a hook on the wall. When he was done, he turned to her, first checking to see if all her things were safely stowed away.

  “Will you be all right?” he asked softly.

  His gentleness made her feel like crying, for she couldn’t forget how it had been in the past . . . his tenderness toward her then. Only then, she thought, they’d been in love. She had been in love.

  “Yes,” she said. “I thought I’d lie down for a while as you suggested.”

  Suddenly she experienced a flash of panic, and seeing it apparently, Seth frowned. “Take the bunk,” he said. “Later, I’ll make up a pallet on the floor.”

  “Are you sure?” She looked grateful, which for some reason appeared to irritate him.

  He nodded, muttered something about inspecting the riggings, and then left so abruptly that Bess found herself staring, gape-mouthed, at the closed hatch.

  It was going to be the longest two months she’d ever lived, Bess thought.

  The power of his presence lingered behind to fill up the cabin and taunt her senses . . . to destroy her peace of mind.

  “Heaven help me,” she whispered, “for I am afraid and confused, and on the verge of forgetting why I came.”

  A very dangerous state of affairs.

  Fourteen

  Two days after leaving port, the crew of the Sea Mistress were snapping at one another, driven crazy by the wife of the Protestant minister. Seth gazed at the activity on deck and realized that something had to be done before a fight broke out among the men, an altercation that would no doubt be started because of the frustrations of dealing with the Dunnons—of being scolded and constantly reprimanded by an obtuse woman, who thought she was an expert, but who knew little to nothing of the duties on board ship.

  George Dunnon had thus far remained silent, listening to his wife’s constant chatter day in and day out, not interfering in any way. But Seth had reached the end of his tether. He would speak to both Dunnons this day. Either Mathilde would consent to close her mouth and mind her own business or he—the captain—would find a place to dump them both. Bargain or not, one could only tolerate so much. The safety of the crew and passengers depended upon the well-being of the men and their clear-headed state of mind.

  Seth knew his own frustration wasn’t helped by his sharing a cabin with Bess. At night when the lantern was turned low and the cabin was nearly in darkness, he could hear the soft sound of her breathing and the rustle of her bedclothes each time she moved in sleep. His imagination would go wild at those times. He would envision her in her most intimate moments, picturing her naked form from her rosy-tipped breasts to the soft golden curls that shielded her femininity. He wanted Bess with an intensity that had startled him at first.

  As he’d promised, he’d fixed a sleeping pallet on the floor for himself. And the hard wooden decking did little each night to help him forget that Bess was in the same room with him.

  How could he sleep knowing she was only inches away?

  She came into his view, wearing her blue gown. She looked lovely and approachable as she paused to speak briefly with one of his crew. The sailor’s responding smile lit up the man’s face.

  He had to admit that Bess’s calming presence on the deck, her ready words of praise for his men, had helped to ease the strain brought by Mrs. Dunnon, but he could see that Bess’s patience was also beginning to wear thin. He had to give her credit. Considering her personal feelings for Mathilde, Bess had behaved admirably in the woman’s presence. She never snapped at Mathilde, but spoke to her in low, even tones, but Seth could tell that Bess was exerting a great deal of control over her temper. He was coming to know his lovely wife.

  The captain smiled.

  She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t look at him. Bess didn’t want Seth to know she was aware that he was staring at her.

  Had he guessed how much his look affected her?

  She hoped not. Her nerves were already raw from the two sleepless nights sharing Seth’s cabin, and a female passenger who didn’t understand the meaning of the word silence.

  Two days and nights living in the same room with Seth Garret, playing his wife, had been a profoundly disturbing experience for her. But then she had known it would be, which was why she hadn’t wanted to marry him. She’d known the arrangement would be difficult for her.

  Did Seth feel the attraction, too? The sexual pull that clawed at her insides and brought tingling ripples to the back of her spine? How was she supposed to sleep at night with him so close?

  There was no place for her to escape him. Before, she’d had the privacy of her own cabin in which to gather her composure. But while sharing Seth’s cabin, where could she escape?

  Locking herself inside alone wouldn’t help. There were reminders of Seth’s presence everywhere—in his furniture and wash basin, in the trunk that held his clothes. She could envision Seth standing near his chart table late at night, pouring over his maps . . . Seth taking off his boots and placing them under the built-in bench . . .

  It wouldn’t help her to leave the cabin either, because he seemed to be everywhere she went.

  The worst time for her was at night when the lantern’s wick was barely lit and the cabin was shrouded in semidarkness. His sleeping pallet was only a few feet away, and having him so close drove her wild. Her mind filled with active imaginings.

  It didn’t help that she was sleeping in his bunk on the mattress that had conformed to his body during many a sea voyage. She could detect the lingering traces of his scent on the pillow.

  Bess shivered and closed her eyes. She felt as if she’d been caressed by him, down the length of her bare arms below the elbow-length sleeves of her blue gown. The weather was warm, but her skin rose in gooseflesh as if she were cold. She didn’t feel cold; she actually felt hot.

  She wanted Seth badly.

  He is your husband. Would it be so very terrible to lie with him?

  It wouldn’t be terrible in the physical sense, she thought. Their lovemaking would be glorious, heavenly. But submitting to him would be the wrong thing to do. Once the marriage was legally consummated, she’d be bound to him for life. She’d lose her rights to E. Metcalfe Co. She’d lose her freedom. She’d lose her soul.

  Bess heard a high-pitched shriek and turned to see Mathilde Dunnon swatting a young sailor over the head with her hat, a straw bonnet that she’d brought with her and that had seen better days.

  “You clumsy fool!” the woman cried. “I could have slipped on that w
et deck and broken my neck!”

  A show, Bess thought, that every man and woman on board would applaud enthusiastically. No one on board the Sea Mistress liked Mathilde Dunnon.

  The sailor apparently felt that way, Bess saw. Pushed beyond his limits, he must have made some unpleasant remark, for Mrs. Dunnon gasped in outrage and then proceeded to berate the man loudly.

  Bess looked for the captain on the quarterdeck and found him studying her. For a time, they seemed to share the same thoughts, exchanging a silent message of commiseration.

  Seth glanced away first. Mathilde’s ranting had become abusive, and he could tell that Jacob Hawke was trying to hold back from striking the woman—but was rapidly losing the battle with himself.

  Hurrying down the ladder, Seth came to where Mrs. Dunnon and Jacob Hawke stood eye to eye, nose to nose, on the main deck.

  “Mrs. Dunnon.”

  She immediately ceased her scolding. “Captain!” She looked relieved to see him, while Jacob Hawke was dismayed.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Captain Garret. Your man—”

  The captain turned abruptly to his crew man, effectively cutting off Mathilde’s flow of words. “Jacob, relieve Mr. Kelley and take over at the helm.”

  The sailor looked relieved at an excuse to escape. “Aye, captain. Right away.” He bobbed his head respectfully before he scurried away.

  Seth stifled a smile. The large woman beside him cleared her throat. He closed his eyes briefly, seeking the patience to deal with her.

  “Captain, why did you let him go?”

  “I would have a word with you and your husband in your cabin,” he said, interrupting her. “Immediately.”

  George Dunnon suddenly appeared as if by magic. Seth was startled to realize that the man must have been nearby all along, watching his wife’s antics with the crew.

  “Captain?” he said. “Is something wrong?”

  “In your cabin, please, Mr. Dunnon. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Alarm flickered in the man’s expression, but he assured the commander they would be in their cabin, waiting.

  Seth narrowed his eyes in speculation as the couple moved toward the ladder. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something like this must have occurred with the Dunnons before, most likely resulting in the Dunnons being put off another ship.

  Bess was still at the rail. Seth felt the strongest desire to go to her, if only to talk with her for a brief moment.

  He gave in to the weakness.

  Bess saw that Seth was approaching her, and her stomach fluttered as if there were butterflies trapped inside it. She was afraid to talk with him. He’d been so quiet since she’d moved into his cabin. His serious, somber disposition had only made her more aware of him, more attuned to each change in his moods.

  He stopped before her, examining her with piercing blue eyes.

  “Seth,” she murmured, her breath catching in her throat.

  “I’m going to have a talk with the Dunnons.”

  She nodded, unable to control the surge of relief she felt that Seth might have a stifling effect on Mathilde Dunnon.

  “Have supper with me later?” he asked.

  Her heart skipped a beat and then began to pump hard and fast. They’d been married two days, and thus far Seth had managed to avoid dining with her. She didn’t think he’d been eating with the crew, for how would it appear for a newly wedded man to seem to be evading the company of his wife?

  Suspicious, she thought. Certainly not as if they were in love, and creating this illusion had been the reason for their marriage, the plan all along. Bess had decided that first night that he must have gone down to the galley when no one else was around, sneaking a bite to eat in private. She’d been hurt when he hadn’t come to share dinner with her when the ship’s bells rang that it was time. She’d thought it was because, as with Mathilde Dunnon, he could barely tolerate her presence. But now . . .

  “All right,” she said, thrilling to the prospect of spending some time with him. Why did a simple supper invitation have such an effect on her? She wanted to hate Seth; he’d hurt her, used her, and she was out to get even with him.

  Wasn’t she?

  Seth felt the tension uncoil from his muscles. He hadn’t realized that he’d been tense, until she’d agreed and he’d been relieved. He knew she was aware that he’d been avoiding her. He saw the startled look on her face just now at his invitation, the pleasure that followed, and he was inordinately pleased.

  Privately, he admired how radiantly beautiful she was. Her golden hair gleamed under the sun; her dark eyes glowed in her lovely face. And the blue gown hugged her womanly curves in all the right places, drawing his attention for a brief moment to her small, full breasts. “I’ll see you in our cabin,” he said, before leaving her for the Dunnons’ cabin.

  Our, Seth thought, liking the sound and meaning of the word in relation to him and his new wife. He knew he was a fool for thinking that way. It had been so long since they’d had any relationship at all, and he’d hated her for so long. Hated? No, perhaps not hate, but certainly not love. Contempt, maybe. Yes, contempt for the way she’d treated him five years before.

  He thought of one of their earlier conversations. Apparently, she’d been angry when he’d left her to go to sea. He’d thought she understood. But she hadn’t; in fact, perhaps she’d been so angry and hurt that she’d decided to find another beau— a wealthy one.

  Seth frowned at the thought. He paused before the Dunnons’ cabin, and scowled at the wooden door. He didn’t want to delve too deeply into Bess’s reasons for never marrying. The notion, the implication, was just too unsettling for his peace of mind.

  He raised his hand and knocked on the hatch. He had enough to worry about; he had to deal presently with George Dunnon and his exasperating wife.

  The hatch opened, and Seth stepped inside, oblivious to George’s and his wife’s greetings, unable to keep his mind from Bess and the dinner they would soon be sharing.

  He would dine with his wife, he thought. And then perhaps he would ease the ache inside of him once and for all. Yes, the only way to banish his obsession with his former lover was to seduce her and destroy the illusion of what it was like to make love to her. The joy, the memory of how it had been, couldn’t possibly be real. Surely, once he’d had her, the reality of having her would cold-sober him. And his fascination with her would die a quick, sudden death.

  Fifteen

  Bess waited for Seth to join her. His invitation to dine had come as a shock to her, and she’d become so nervous that she could barely think straight. She knew she was being very foolish to look forward to being with him, especially given their past. Still . . . dining with Seth would be a welcome change from eating alone or with Reeves.

  As she thought of John Reeves, Bess frowned. Her friend had barely spoken to her since her marriage to Seth. She knew he was angry, but what could she do? She’d been given no choice but to wed.

  The few times she’d encountered John on the upper deck, she’d seen the hurt in his eyes, and she realized he had trouble understanding the whole situation, why she’d chosen to go to California at all.

  Reeves knew that she and Seth planned to have the marriage annulled, yet he wasn’t happy. Didn’t he believe her? Was it because he feared losing his job?

  There was nothing Bess could say or do that would alleviate Reeves’s misgivings. Especially since she was concerned about her position herself! She’d never thought when they’d left Wilmington that she’d soon become Seth’s wife!

  And what was worse was that she almost liked the idea of being his wife . . . until she reminded herself of the true nature of the man and how much she had to lose if the marriage continued.

  Mark Hawke had left only moments before. The steward had come to his captain’s cabin to set up the dining table. Smiling, he had explained that he’d just seen Seth and that the captain had seemed anxious for the meal.

  Bess’s heart had raced u
ntil Mark told her of the special supper being prepared by Mr. Cookson for not only the captain and his missus but for the entire crew as well. The meat had been acquired in Pernambuco along with the ingredients used in the accompanying side dishes.

  She decided that it must be the prospect of eating the special meal that appealed to Seth. It couldn’t be an evening spent in her company.

  She understood his delight. Since leaving Wilmington they’d eaten simple seamen’s fare, mostly salt pork or fish and beans or rice and the unappetizing hard-tack biscuits. Occasionally, Cook would surprise them with some peas and gravy, but those were sometimes overcooked, and it was like eating paste.

  Not that Bess ever complained to anyone of her meals. Each day by the time she’d heard the bells for dinner, Bess was usually so bored that eating was welcome simply as something to do . . . and she was often so hungry that it hadn’t mattered what she ate.

  But this night there would be fruit as well as fresh vegetables and meat . . . And Bess looked forward to eating not only because of the food, but because of her prospective dinner companion.

  Bess studied the table Mark had set, and her lips curved upward at seeing the fancy snow-white linen tablecloth. Apparently, whether the others knew it or not, this was to be her wedding supper. Hers and Seth’s.

  “Dinner will be ready shortly, Captain.” Mark’s voice filtered through the hatch, drawing Bess’s attention.

  She heard Seth’s deep answering tones, and felt a tingle of anticipation. The door handle moved, and the hatch opened. Seth stood at the threshold a moment, his eyes searching about the cabin, his expression brightening as his gaze alighted on her.

  He smiled and entered the room. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” He unbuttoned his shirt as he went to the trunk, and he opened the lid, fumbled through its contents, and pulled out a clean shirt, which he donned casually.

  Bess’s mouth went dry at the sight of him. It had been a long time since she’d seen him unclothed, and the broad, rippling expanse of his naked chest made her breasts swell and rise up against the bodice of her gown. A soft matte of dark hair covered his upper body from chest to stomach, tapering to a V, which disappeared into the waistband of his trousers.