“Oh, God,” he groaned. “I want to touch you, kiss you everywhere.”
Her head spinning, she gasped her agreement.
When he was done undressing her, Seth stood to take off his trousers, but Bess stopped him. “Please,” she murmured. “Let me.”
His eyes flamed with blue fire as she rose and grabbed hold of his waistband, tugged gently downward, paying homage to his lean hips, taut-muscled thighs, as she pulled off his trousers. And then he helped her to rise and eased her toward the bunk, pressing her down to continue to make love to her.
Their actions became frantic, laced with the desperation of having been denied the ecstasy for too long. The cabin filled with their soft cries of pleasure and the sound of their labored breathing as they rediscovered each other physically, recalling what each could do to heighten the other’s enjoyment.
They were so involved with their pleasure in one another that they didn’t hear Seth’s steward call for his captain or his gentle tapping on the hatch. It was only after Mark increased the strength of his pounding that Seth heard the noise.
Seth cursed beneath his breath as he lifted his head from the soft lush comfort of Bess’s breasts.
Sixteen
“What’s wrong?” Bess asked, startled by the interruption. Her dark gaze mirrored her concern.
“I don’t know.” The knock came again, and Seth scowled. “But don’t worry, I’ll handle it.” His frown eased away magically as he attempted to smile at her in reassurance.
She looked beautiful, he thought, with her passion-glazed midnight eyes and her mouth pink and swollen from his kisses. He wanted to ignore the continued hammering on the hatch, but he knew it must be important, or else Mark Hawke wouldn’t persist so.
As he rose and left Bess, his gaze slid over her lovely length. The muted lantern glow made her appear ethereal, like an angel with the crowning glory of her golden hair. Her chemise was still raised up to expose her breasts, full and wet from the homage he paid her with his mouth.
“Captain!”
The anxious tone of Mark’s voice got Seth’s attention. He grabbed a pair of breeches and hurriedly dressed.
Bess, confused by the commotion and the absence of Seth’s warmth, became truly alarmed. “What’s wrong? Who is it?”
“Mark.” Seth’s features were hard as he quickly donned his shirt. Mark’s call came again. “I’m coming, Mr. Hawke!” he yelled back with impatience.
As he strode toward the hatch, Bess realized his intent. “No!” she cried, scrambling to find a cover to hide her nakedness.
She had managed to grab a blanket but there wasn’t time to adequately cover herself before Seth opened the hatch. She gasped and looked over, and was relieved to see that Seth had opened the door just a few inches. There was no way Mark could see past her husband.
She could hear Seth and his steward speaking in low undertones. Curious about their topic of discussion, Bess got up and began to dress, fumbling with fabric and folds in her haste to be finished. As she pulled on her chemise, the reality of what she’d been about to do struck her.
She had nearly surrendered herself to him! The knowledge that she and Seth would have been man and wife in the physical sense hit her like a splash of cold water. She would have stood the risk of losing all, and for what? One night of heaven in Seth’s arms.
Bess felt her body flush with heat as she recalled the way Seth had undressed her. His kisses and the sensitive, intimate places on her body still pulsated from the after effects of his touch. She knew it had been good between them years ago, but how could she have forgotten how good? No man had ever come close to arousing her senses the way Seth Garret did, and she was afraid, for they had months yet left of their journey. A time during which she would be sharing Seth’s cabin, and in danger of surrendering herself fully to his seductive charms.
The two men’s voices sounded muffled now, and glancing from her petticoat to the hatch, Bess saw that Seth had stepped outside into the passageway, allowing her several moments of privacy. When he returned, would Seth expect her to continue where they had left off?
She cursed as she struggled with her petticoat, stepping and stumbling over the hem. Seth came in just as she pulled the garment into place. He stared at her, his expression stern. As her eyes continued to hold his, her heart thundered within her breast.
“I—” she began, but Seth interrupted her, saving her, for she didn’t know what to say.
“They’ve spotted a small boat off the port bow. We believe the people in the boat are survivors from a shipwreck.” He paused. “We’ll be taking on extra passengers.”
Bess’s thoughts swam inside her head, a jumbled mass of confusion and emotion. “Passengers?” she echoed, her mind trying to assimilate what it meant.
“Aye.” In his haste, Seth had buttoned his shirt wrong, and seeing it, Bess blushed, thinking how it must have looked to Mark Hawke.
Seth looked down, following the direction of her gaze, and when he glanced up again, he gave her a crooked smile. “I hardly think he noticed,” he said, accurately guessing her thoughts.
She nodded. “I certainly hope not.”
He scowled. “He believes we’re married, Bess. What’s wrong with him believing that we enjoy each other physically?”
Bess’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you attempted to make love to me?”
“Attempted?” he said, his voice dry. “I thought I was doing quite well, actually.”
And he was, damn him, she thought. Knowing that she was blushing again, she hurriedly changed the subject. “These passengers—are they shipwrecked?”
“It would appear so, but we won’t know for sure until they come up alongside us.”
“Is anyone injured?” she asked. Her gaze settled on his throat, bare above his white shirt collar. His skin, she recalled, was warm yet smooth, except where hair covered his masculine body. His muscles, she remembered, were hardened from work, and his chest and other hair was soft and dark. The memory of touching him rekindled the physical tension within her.
“James couldn’t tell, but he thought so.” Seth saw the way Bess was looking at him, and he nearly forgot that he was wanted topside. He didn’t want to leave, knew that if he did, there would be little to no chance of having Bess in his bed again. She was his wife, but she didn’t want to be. That fact and the knowledge that they were nearing Cape Horn, the most dangerous part of their journey, made him hesitate in leaving. He wanted to forget the voyage and his commission to transport goods. He wanted to forget the past and concentrate on the present, on making love to the woman before him.
“Captain,” Mark’s voice called through the closed hatch. “The boat is beside us.”
“Thank you, Mark,” Seth responded loudly enough to be heard through the hatch. “Tell the mate I’ll be right up.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Seth continued to eye Bess. “I must go up.”
“Can I help?” she asked, surprising him with her offer. “Surely, if there are injured . . .”
“If you’d like,” he said.
She glanced down at her petticoat. “I’d better change.” It would be safer, she thought, and easier to wear her men’s clothes, so that she could move about more freely.
“What’s wrong with the clothes you have on?”
“I can’t wear my petticoat with trousers.”
“I like you in woman’s clothes.”
She bristled. “It’ll be easier to move about in men’s trousers.”
He scowled, looked as if he were going to say something more, but then apparently changed his mind, because all he said was, “Fine. Do what you like. I’ll see you topside.” There was an edge to his voice that said he was annoyed with her, and Bess’s irritation with him grew. Then he left her alone, and she felt his absence keenly.
She took off her petticoat and pulled on a pair of trousers, her thoughts on Seth’s displeasure with her choice of garments. What was wrong with wearing men�
�s clothes? How could she move about caring for the injured in her gown?
Her mind wandered to what she and Seth had been doing when they’d been interrupted by Mark Hawke. She shivered with pleasure, recalling how he’d made her feel, the magical power of his touch. Her body tensed as she thought of how it would have been if they hadn’t been disturbed.
But then it occurred to her that there were people coming on board—injured people, who might need her help. She began to dress more quickly, her movements no longer clumsy but firm with purpose. She donned a white shirt that matched the trousers and then braided her hair into one long plait that hung down her back, fastening it with a piece of hemp. Then, she left the cabin for the upper deck.
Bess arrived at the rail on the starboard bow side of the Sea Mistress just as the small boat touched the clipper ship’s side. Seth, she saw, had positioned himself fore of her, shouting orders to his men.
“Lower the ropes!” his voice boomed. “Reilly, secure the boat and then climb on board to assess the injured.”
“Aye, captain!” The second mate replied as he hurried to obey.
“Mr. Kelley,” Seth commanded. “Prepare the swing. We can’t expect the wounded to climb ropes, can we? See what we can do to make their ascent easier.”
Bess was unaware that Mathilde Dunnon had come up to stand beside her, until she heard the woman gasp with outrage.
“A swing!” she exclaimed. “He didn’t offer us a swing!”
Turning to face her, Bess eyed the heavyset woman, but kept her thoughts to herself. No doubt there had been a question as to whether or not the swing would have held under Mathilde’s weight. When she turned back toward Seth, he was gesturing toward his steward.
“Mark! Tell Mr. Cookson to fire up the stove. God only knows how long it’s been since these people had a decent meal. Tell him to heat up any biscuits left from supper, or if they’re gone, to make more. And we’ll need him to heat up some coffee.”
Mark nodded through his captain’s list of orders and scurried away to do Seth’s bidding.
With rapid-fire precision, Seth displayed his skill and authority as he continued to give command after command. The first of the shipwreck victims was raised on board the Sea Mistress in record time. She was a woman of middle age with graying hair fastened in a knot at her neck, but with several strands to wildly frame her fatigue-lined face. The lady looked not only tired but burned by the sun, and Bess went to her side to help her after she was lifted from the swing.
The woman tottered on unsteady feet, and a member of the crew was lowering the swing again before she got her bearings. “Thank you,” she gasped, peering at Bess through glazed eyes.
“You’ll be all right now,” Bess soothed her. She shot Mathilde Dunnon a glance, silently instructing the woman to help them. Mathilde was slow in understanding, but finally she came to the victim’s other side. Taking her by the arm, she helped Bess to move the sunburned woman to a seat made by a plank laid over a coil of ropes.
“My niece,” the woman gasped as they sat her down. “Rebecca . . .”
“She’s in the boat?” Bess asked, hazarding a guess.
The lady nodded. “She’s hurt,” she said, her voice sounding strangled. “Her head. She hit it on something as we left the ship—a wooden crate or something—before we got her out of the water.”
“Wait here with Mrs. Dunnon.” Bess shot Mathilde a glance and was surprised when the woman gave a nod of reassurance. “I’ll speak with the captain,” she told the shipwreck victim.
She took a second to peer over the rail to the small boat in the water below. Her chest constricted when she saw the frail female figure lying to one side in the bottom of the boat. Did Richard Reilly know the girl had suffered a head injury? Did one of the other two passengers left in the boat with her tell the second mate that she’d been hurt?
A knock on the head could mean serious injury, Bess thought with concern. Instinctively her gaze went to Seth, who had moved from the upper deck to the quarterdeck. He was silently watching the proceedings with intent blue eyes.
She went up the ladder to speak with him, and he turned just as she reached his side. “Seth, the woman they brought up says the girl in the boat has suffered a head injury. She hit it on some floating debris after they abandoned ship.”
He fixed her with his gaze and for a moment it was as if they were back in the cabin making passionate love. But then the illusion of desire was gone from his expression as he nodded in acknowledgment of what she’d told him.
“Mr. Kelley,” he called, continuing after he had the mate’s full attention. “There’s a girl. She’s hurt, possibly seriously.” He glanced toward Bess for confirmation, and she inclined her head. “Tell Reilly,” he said to Kelley, “to put all the others before him and then secure himself in the swing and carry the girl on board.”
James Kelley went to tell the second mate, and Bess moved to return to the girl’s aunt.
“Bess.”
She froze at Seth’s call, and then turned. “Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
Her breath caught. She knew to what he was referring—their earlier moments together when they’d been naked and hotly pressed into each other’s lengths, when they’d all but committed the final act of lovemaking. “Yes,” she said.
“Good.” He nodded, his voice and features serious. If he had regretted the interruption, it didn’t show.
Bess returned to check on the older of the two female victims and then went to the rail in time to help on board the second of two male passengers. The first, an old man, stood, wrapped in a blanket, his face as red as that of the middle-aged woman.
The person now being helped to the deck was a young man in his twenties, an attractive male with blond hair. He smiled at Bess’s offer of help.
“I’ll be all right,” he assured her, his brown eyes studying her with frank admiration. He hesitated and then said, “I didn’t know there would be women on board.”
Bess raised an eyebrow. “Does it matter? Would it have made a difference if you’d known? Perhaps you would have preferred to float forever in your dinghy?”
He blinked at her caustic tone. She wasn’t sure why she’d spoken in so surly a tone, unless, she thought, it had something to do with the fact that the last of the victims was being hoisted on board ship and Seth himself had come to assist her onto the deck.
“Sorry,” she murmured, smiling to show him her apology was genuine. “I’m not usually so rude.”
His grin told her she was easily forgiven. “My fault, I’m sure. But I assure you, I meant no insult. In fact, I’m pleasantly surprised to find such loveliness amidst all these men.”
His gaze asked questions that she wasn’t prepared to answer at the moment. Bess led him to sit beside the girl’s aunt, and then swung back to the rail to see James Kelley take the girl from Richard Reilly, who was cradling her gently within his arms.
Bess moved closer and stared at the unconscious girl. The last of the victims was a young woman, not a girl, with incredibly angelic features framed by unbound auburn hair, which glistened with red fire under the setting sun. She looked pale and lifeless, and the men, Bess could see, were instantly attracted by her beauty and vulnerability. Even Seth, she saw, seemed mesmerized by the lovely, yet pitiful picture Rebecca presented. And Bess felt a prickle of jealousy as she observed Seth’s changing face.
She sensed Seth’s intention as he shifted on his feet and took the girl from James’s arms. As he stared at the girl, transfixed, the jealousy that had begun to flame in Bess crawled outward, spreading its fingers of fire up her neck, making the little hairs on her nape stand up on end.
On impulse, Bess hurried to his side and grabbed his arm. Seth looked at her, and she was alarmed by his glazed expression of stark pain.
“Seth?” she breathed worriedly.
He blinked, and his gaze cleared. “Bess,” he murmured. “I’m glad you’re here.”
She
saw that he was sincere, and her heart started to beat faster.
“We’ll have to put the women in with Mrs. Dunnon,” he said. “Mr. Dunnon, I’m afraid, will have to share quarters with Cook.”
His attention returned to the woman he held, but there was no sign of his earlier strange fascination. Bess was relieved.
The two women survivors of the schooner, The Lady Grey, were Clara and Rebecca Montague, aunt and niece from Boston, Massachusetts, where the ship had first set sail for California. The men, who were unrelated both to each other and either of the women, were Wendall Beaufort, middle aged cabinet-maker from Concord, and Paul Halloran, the young gambler with the fair hair and smiling brown eyes.
Halloran looked weak, but uninjured, while Beaufort, on the other hand, appeared to have a serious wound to his left arm. When questioned, Mr. Beaufort explained that he’d sustained the injury when he leaped over the ship’s rail while abandoning the vessel. A fire that had started in the galley had spread quickly to other parts of the Lady Grey and had caught on to a keg of black powder, sending the whole vessel up in an explosion of wood and steel.
The women were taken to the Dunnons’ cabin. George Dunnon, to his credit, was more than willing to give up sharing his wife’s quarters. Mathilde, however, was far less enthusiastic about the change, but at her husband’s insistence, she eventually came around.
There was a small cabin beside the galley, where Mr. Cookson and Mark Hawke, Seth’s steward, slept. It was an unusual arrangement perhaps, Reeves had once told Bess, but one that had worked out well for both Mark and the cook.
Now that cabin would be cramped indeed, for Wendall Beaufort would share it, as well as the minister.
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