by Howe, Cheryl
“I’m sorry. You’ve been so kind.” She wiped her tears and sniffed. Even in her worst bouts of seasickness aboard the Queen Elizabeth, she’d not felt this awful. “What’s wrong with me?”
She forced herself to finally look at him and instantly wished she hadn’t. His face was tanned and rough, yet undeniably appealing. Eyes the color of warm tropical waters simmered in angular contours. Against her will she had the urge to compare her rescuer to Drew. She urgently pushed the thought away. This was a kind stranger, not another handsome man for her to ogle. What was wrong with her? Was she being tested? The good Lord should have known by now she’d surely fail.
He stared at her in sincere confusion, as if she spoke a language foreign to him. “You hit your head.”
His voice sounded peppered with loose gravel, not like the smooth, comforting tone she remembered from her blurred hours of illness. Felicity studied his features. As he met her gaze without the slightest wavering, she was forced to look away to stop the heat that crept up her neck.
“How did I hit my head? I recall being trapped in the…” She let her words trail off. The awkwardness of her position rattled her all over again. She tensed, but couldn’t sit up even if an armed assassin had marched through the door. Her very presence proved she’d been lurking where she shouldn’t. And then there was the box. Too many memories flooded back to her at once. Picking the lock to enter the Sea Mistress before Drew slipped away. Hastily skimming bills of sale for a man and a boy.
If Lord Christian Andrews dealt in slaves—as she now knew he did—perhaps he would sell her as well. She’d heard of such things, and it would suit him nicely to have her out of the way forever. This sailor could be nursing her back to health on his orders.
“My father is Benjamin Kendall. Perhaps he’s your employer?” When he continued to stare without expression, she rushed to fill up the space left by his apparent desire not to reveal himself to her. “My presence here was a mistake. I assure you, it’s not what you might think.”
Trying to figure out what he might think while coming up with a plausible excuse for it proved too much for her. Her thoughts became more muddled than they were already. She again gave up the struggle with her eyelids, bringing up her hand to gently massage her temples.
She slid her hand into her hair to find the source of her pain. Her fingers grazed an enormous knot. Examining its size was too painful, but she imagined it swelled the better part of her skull. Blasted box.
“Rest,” her benefactor commanded in his previous half-growl. When he removed himself from her bed, Felicity had to force herself to be relieved.
“You should eat,” he said. “I brought you some broth and crackers.” He enunciated every word slowly and carefully, as if it strained him. His perfect English led her to believe the language was not foreign to him.
A whiff of what he’d brought on his tray reached her nose.
“No. I don’t want anything.” She covered her mouth. The idea alone almost made her retch.
“I’ll feed you. You won’t have to lift your head.” He answered more easily and smoothly this time, and his voice grew more familiar, like the soft words from last night. Though she had no idea what Drew looked like without wig and makeup, and she didn’t even know the color of his hair, she tried to assure herself this stranger wasn’t he.
She strained to look at him from the corner of her eye. “What’s your name? I owe you so much.”
He turned his back on her in answer to her question, proving he was purposely avoiding her request for information. She truly was grateful, but she’d need more from him than he had already given. He was her only ally at the moment.
Before she realized what he had tucked in his hand, he lifted a brown chipped mug to her lips. “Drink. We’ll talk later.”
“No!” Her sharp answer startled both of them. The closer he brought the concoction to her nose, the more violently her stomach reacted. “Please, I’d rather sleep.”
He nodded, then disappeared from her view again.
When his boots sounded his return, she forced her eyes open. Before she could return to the sleep she desperately needed, she had to have the answer to the question that had haunted her since she’d come to her senses.
“Does your employer know I’m here?”
He shrugged. “Of course.”
Felicity bolted to a sitting position. Splinters of pain penetrated the back of her eyes and the room spun, but she refused to give in to her weakness or her fear.
If this man was Drew devoid of powdered hair and skin, surely he’d not miss the opportunity to gloat at her misfortune. She forced herself to study his features with all the intensity her fuzzy mind could muster. Unfortunately, the effort brought another wave of wicked nausea.
“I’m the captain of this ship,” the man said. “I answer only to myself, and you’ve nothing to fear from me.”
His words swept away some of her panic, but confusion swiftly followed Felicity’s moment of relief. Had she sneaked aboard the wrong ship?
“Sleep,” her benefactor commanded. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll make you eat some soup if you don’t slow that mischievous mind of yours.”
She pretended to follow his request, but his crooked grin burned behind her eyelids. Another face danced through the misty meadow separating dream and reality. A brass gong banged beside her aching head couldn’t have been more unpleasantly shocking. The unusual color of his eyes, the lean, tall build, even the arrogant smirk—they were hauntingly similar. Yet it couldn’t be. Even if they were twins, the sheer kindness, the long hours of unselfish caring starkly separated the two men. This was not Drew. She refused to believe otherwise or she’d go mad.
Calmed by her rationalization, she allowed her eyes to flutter shut. A healing sleep crawled over her and swept her away in spite of the man lingering in the half-open doorway.
***
Drew indulged his desire to watch Felicity sleep.
When she’d failed to instantly recognize him, he’d almost believed that his bad luck had turned, but the calculating gleam in her suddenly wide eyes had dashed any hope he could whisk her back to Barbados without her knowing his identity. Her gratitude shocked him. Her vulnerability unnerved him, even more so with her fully awake. The hissing wet cat he’d faced on every other meeting protected a childlike heart, raw and ripe for the plucking. Her prickly facade hid what she thought of as weakness. She craved the touch of another human being, just like everyone else.
Of course, acting on his attraction for her could only cause them both harm. He turned and left the room, denying himself the pleasure of pressing his palm against her cheek. Checking for fever could no longer be used as an excuse to touch her.
He climbed the steps to the main deck to relieve the helmsman. Much of his time had been spent nursing Felicity, leaving his small crew exhausted. The severity of her condition had justified his actions. Her return to consciousness stole his excuse to linger by her side. Besides, now that she could, she’d probably slap him for the liberties he’d taken.
At Drew’s approach, Smythe relinquished the wheel without a word and stumbled below in a bleary-eyed daze. The rhythmic sloshing of the calm sea warned Drew the simple act of steering the ship would not serve as the distraction he needed. Thoughts of his uninvited guest would consume him.
Felicity’s frosty exterior protected a woman eager to burn with her pent-up desire, he realized. She was powder waiting to be ignited. Yet, no matter how much he’d like to see her bum with lust, he’d have to settle for only setting ablaze her anger. He wished curtailing his appetite had been one of his virtues.
Drew forcibly reminded himself that Felicity was a friend’s daughter and normally not a woman easily dabbled with. She’d see him hang if she knew who he was and had the chance. Yet despite her past animosity toward him, he must continue to act as her protector—even if it meant taming a shrew while playing the tedious part of gentleman. How ironic that t
hat was the one disguise he’d never truly mastered.
Chapter Five
The morning sun awakened the old Felicity. Drew walked into his cabin to find her poised in front of the armoire, balanced on her tiptoes, searching the top shelf for something that wasn’t there.
Last night he’d oiled the squeaky door, partly out of an inherent need for stealth and partly for her comfort. As always, his devious nature proved advantageous. A tray bearing a breakfast of weak broth, rainwater flavored with a pinch of tea, and a few crackers occupied his hands, forcing him to kick the door shut with a resounding boom.
Felicity’s gaze jerked over her shoulder. She froze in her guilty pose, like a child caught misbehaving. Drew also found himself taken by surprise, staring as wide-eyed as she. His reaction, however, had more to do with the transparency of her chemise in the morning light than the discovery of her snooping.
Recovering first, Drew sauntered across the room and set down the tray. He faced her, arms folded across his chest, feet braced. “Looking for something?”
Felicity thawed from her position, her arms slowly melting to hang by her sides. Waves of wild curls shimmered with a hint of gold in the sun spilling from the cabin’s window. His gaze drifted hungrily from her hair to the veil of her chemise. The white garment left her arms bare and exposed her legs, knee to feet. What it did to her ample curves forced him to drag his perusal back to the glint in her green-brown eyes.
He corrected his earlier observation. Ice appropriately described Miss Kendall at their first meeting, but flame came to mind at the moment. The annoying ache in his empty stomach slithered lower due to hunger pains of a different kind.
“I...” began Felicity. Her explanation appeared to evaporate with the questions that drifted across her features. Her eyes narrowed into feral aggression. The answers she found on her own obviously stirred her temper. The meek and mild Felicity of the night before transformed into the adversary he’d come to admire.
“You!” she said in a whispered curse.
“I’m so pleased you’re feeling better.” With the shrew back in his helpless patient, he allowed the desire coiled in his belly to claw its way into his gaze. His vow to protect the vulnerability he’d discovered in her two nights before wavered when faced with her venom-filled glare.
But alas, his little Puritan didn’t appear to notice her state of undress or the wanting in his warning leer.
Shoulders back, she boldly stalked him, thrusting her breasts against the white cotton of her chemise. When she planted her hands on her well-rounded hips, perfect rose nipples strained against the thin material.
“What is your game?”
As always, the woman’s audacity pushed Drew past his good intentions. He erased the space between them. His towering stance forced her to turn her face up to his. He wanted her to feel his presence, his dominance. The veneer of civility no longer held him in check and she needed to understand that right from the start.
“Felicity.” He curled her name around his tongue like a sugar-dipped confection. “No game, love.” He placed a finger underneath her chin, forcing her to tilt her head even farther, laying open her soft, pale throat. “But I will be needing an explanation for your presence aboard my ship.”
She slapped away his hand. Her glare declared her refusal to be intimidated as much as her physical blow. “I insist you take me back to Barbados this instant. I know you’re a fraud, so don’t even attempt to taunt me.”
He wanted to laugh at her audacity and wring her arrogant neck at the same time. “That’s right, Felicity. I’m no aristocrat. I’m not even considered a gentleman. I’m just a lowly commoner they would cross the street to avoid.”
His sarcastic comment pricked at his own raw wound he’d sworn had closed. No matter what he did or became, or how much money he accumulated, the truth in the statement always haunted him when he least expected it.
“Don’t flatter yourself. You sully the name of good common men by lumping yourself with them. You’re nothing but a criminal.”
As she vehemently flung her insult, she discreetly backed away from him. He closed the gap in two determined strides.
“My point exactly, though you express it more eloquently. You are in no position to make demands.” With the pad of his index finger, he caressed her shoulder to elbow. “I’ll be the one doing the demanding.”
Instead of betraying the slightest alarm at his blatant sexual threat, her pupils flared with indignant rage. She jerked away from him, but out of obvious disgust rather than distress.
“Please stop this charade. Your interest in me is as transparent as your fraudulent name. If you continue, you’ll send me into another bout of nausea.”
Her distaste insulted him more than a slap might have. Women loved him. Men feared him. Felicity seemed to think him a joke. The fact that his flicker of attraction for this vicious piece of Puritan baggage had raged into an inferno annoyed him even more at her rebuke.
In what he hoped was a convincing sign of indifference, he shrugged and hid behind an amused observance. She wasn’t about to witness the effect she had on him a moment longer. Her heart might be soft and fragile deep down, but its fortress was laced with broken glass.
“Are you going to take me back to Barbados or not?” Felicity folded her arms over her chest, making Drew wonder if she had finally realized her chemise had become enticingly transparent.
“No.” He enunciated the single word with immense satisfaction.
He thought her confidence wavered slightly when she paused to gape at him, but her screech banished the notion. “No? I demand to know what you plan to do with me.
“If you haven’t noticed, we’re not moving. We’re drifting. Maybe if you demanded the wind blow, it would cooperate. I know I would.”
“So, you are going to return me to Barbados eventually?”
“I’m afraid I’ve worn out my welcome on that particular island. But not to worry; I’ll get you home somehow. Nagging sea hags are notoriously bad luck.”
Her stunned expression proved he’d hit a nerve. She recovered quickly, baring her teeth for a counterattack.
“Oh, yes. I haven’t forgotten your cowardly retreat, Lord Christian. Or should I call you Master Crawford?”
His grin, or sneer to be more accurate, confirmed her shaky aim. He could tell by her satisfied smirk that she’d not known for sure her stab at the truth would be accurate. The little fool had no idea that a man would be in serious danger for knowing less about him.
“So, what else do you know, my pretty spy? Perhaps you might not be going home after all.”
The long-awaited show of panic that knitted her brow hardly pricked his conscience. He used to enjoy the thinness of the veil separating his criminal activities from his true identity. Now that the curtain separating him from the hangman’s noose had begun to unravel, he found no humor or irony in any of his secrets.
“You wouldn’t dare hurt me,” she said. “My father would figure out what happened to me. He would discover your deceit as easily as I have.” The cracking of her voice when she mentioned her father destroyed the bluster of her threat.
“I suppose Ben might be inclined to sail off to your rescue. Not to worry. I’ll be ready for him.” Drew retrieved the pistol tucked in the waistband of his breeches and watched her remaining composure slip away.
“Don’t you dare lay a hand on my father. You’ve caused enough damage to his life. If you’ve left him to take the blame for your wrongdoings—”
“You’ll what? I have the gun, Felicity.” He waved the weapon to make his point. “And I’m bigger than you.” He found it amazing and ridiculous that she couldn’t keep her sharp tongue in check. He had to be the one to stop the insane drift of their conversation before she realized he was bluffing, or worse, she forced him to do something he would regret just to save face. “I don’t want to hurt you or Ben.”
He lowered the gun. Her wide eyes followed the weapon.
“It’s not even primed.” He tossed the pistol on the bed to prove it harmless. But that didn’t stop her from backing against the far wall.
His success in finally intimidating her made him feel like a bully for the second time in their short relationship. “Come sit down, Felicity. Eat the food I brought you.”
She watched him warily. “Why should I believe you or anything you say?”
He sat in one of the high-backed chairs crowding the table, hoping she’d follow his lead. “You threw up on my boots. If I didn’t toss you overboard after that greeting, I don’t know what else I can do to prove you’re safe on this ship.”
Apprehension drained from her face, replaced by a flush that colored her cheeks. “You would have to remind me of that. I suppose any shred of manners you possessed went out the window with your fancy clothes.” She warily approached the table. After making a show of examining the stale crackers and pottery mugs, she sat across from him. “I did thank you, you know.”
Their gazes collided and held. In the momentary lull in their animosity, a sharp jolt of sexual awareness shot down the length of him. He would have sworn the same emotion turned her cool brown eyes to warm hazel, but she looked away before he knew for sure.
“It was the least I could do.” He continued as if the moment never happened. “But now we have a problem. Don’t we?”
“I know who you are and that you deal in slaves, among other things. Is that the problem you’re speaking of?” Felicity stopped sniffing the mug of tea she held and gazed over its glazed rim as if she’d just delivered a mortal blow.
“You know my name, but you don’t know much else.” She opened her mouth to refute his statement, but he fended her off with a raised hand. “I picked up the contents of my chest that were scattered on the floor. I assumed you looked through it. Those things were personal by the way.”
“But I saw the documents. You bought slaves under a different name. Drew Crawford, I believe. Not very clever, Drew.”
“Slavery is not illegal, Felicity.” He drawled her name as she did his. In spite of the circumstances, he liked the sound of his name on her lips. “All you really know is that I was impersonating nobility.”