A Heart's Masquerade

by Deborah Simmons

  Cat’s wistful smile spread into a mischievous grin at the knowledge that her long dormant dream of a seafaring life was close to realization. Her heart beat just a little faster with anticipation, though she knew her mentor would never approve of her scheme.

  Budd had entertained her with his tales of storms and battles, pirates, and fantastic underwater creatures. He had shared his knowledge with her until she could name each part of a ship and tie every knot in a rope, but in the end, they both knew she had no place upon the water. Her future was to be a lady, and Cat didn’t know which one of them was more disappointed by that fact.

  Glancing toward where Budd said he would be staying, Cat was tempted to look in on him, but she knew he would try to stop her from going. Even worse, he would do his best to protect her, though he was no match for Edward.

  With a firm shake of her head, Cat stepped away from the lane, sending a silent farewell to her old friend. Then she took a narrow track away from the estate and village that had encompassed her entire world for as long as she could remember.

  ***

  When she reached Barton near dawn, Cat was bone-weary from the hours she’d spent on the road, wary not only of her cousin, but all manner of ruffians, especially the infamous gangs of pressmen who periodically roamed the coastal towns and cities in search of bodies to fill England’s naval vessels.

  Her plans for going to sea did not involve being forced to join the navy, where conditions were known to be deplorable. Cat did not want to fight Napoleon. She simply wanted to work her way to Barbados on a decent ship, and she hoped Captain Duprey would provide that opportunity.

  She found him standing at the end of the quay, one foot on some rocks tumbling near the edge, his long cloak thrown back and his eyes on the breaking dawn. For a moment she hesitated, wondering fearfully if he would recognize her as the young girl from the day before.

  But she could not turn back now, so she took a deep breath and walked toward him. Still, she had forgotten in the span of a night how utterly handsome he was, and her surprise made her stop again before reaching him.

  The sun lighting his face seemed to caress his features: the dark brows over deep-set eyes, the classic nose, the full lower lip, and the waves of thick, dark hair brushed back from his face by the breeze. He was blessed with a youthful countenance which made his age difficult to determine, yet his bearing told Cat he was no green youth.

  He held himself with complete self-assurance, as though nothing could touch him, no troubles or squabbles or storms at sea. Here was a man Cat instinctively knew others would follow.

  "I sincerely hope, for your sake, that you are not intent upon picking my pocket."

  Cat almost jumped at the words, for the man’s gaze never strayed from the horizon, nor did he move from his position.

  "Certainly not," Cat said, indignant.

  At her response, the handsome face turned to survey her, one eyebrow cocked sardonically.

  Annoyed to feel herself blushing, Cat straightened her shoulders and looked directly into the chocolate brown eyes that viewed her with such disdain. "You are the captain of that ship, sir?" she asked, pointing to the Reckless.

  "I am," he answered, a curious mixture of pride and self-mockery in his voice.

  Cat’s body tensed with the realization that her life depended on the next few minutes. Sending up a brief prayer of entreaty, she took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

  "Well, sir, I would like to offer my services. I would make a good cabin boy. I can read and write and cipher. I could keep your books... and I know about sailing." Cat rushed on. "And I really want to go to sea."

  The eyebrow cocked even higher as the captain regarded her in surprise. "Have you ever crewed a ship before?" he asked.

  "No, sir, but I..."

  "Then how did you come by all that wisdom?"

  "My... grandfather, sir. He was a sailor. Taught me everything he knew," Cat said, studying the toes of her boots. She cleared her throat, trying desperately to look and sound less like herself and more like Jim, who would be dumbfounded to learn that anyone was holding him up as a model of behavior.

  "I see," the captain said. "And you live with this legendary seaman, I assume?"

  "Well, not anymore, sir," Cat said as she looked earnestly up at him, warming to her tale. "You see, he lost his work and sent me out to earn my own way."

  "How old are you?"

  "Thirteen," she lied. "But I can work hard, truly I can. Oh, please, take me on, sir. You won’t be sorry, I promise you." Cat held her breath while the object of her entreaties turned back to the horizon, considering her request.

  When he spoke, he did not turn to face her. "I suspect you are being pursued by the authorities - or worse - over some bad business, and that explains your sudden desire to go to sea," he said, holding up a hand to stop Cat’s protests. "But my gut tells me to give you a chance." He sighed. "Just cease your constant chatter, boy, and don’t be a bother to me or I’ll throw you to the sharks."

  Afraid to open her mouth, Cat simply nodded, though she was fairly bursting with relief at her escape from Edward and anticipation of the adventures that lay ahead. She hurried to follow alongside the captain’s long strides as they headed toward the Reckless.

  Cat gazed in awe at the giant vessel that loomed above them, its masts stretching into the pale sky. Even at this early hour, Cat could see the dark figures of men moving purposefully aboard, and her heart soared nearly as high as the crow’s nest at the sight.

  Cat’s reverie was broken by the sound of Captain Duprey’s deep voice, raised in casual dismissal. "Bert, this child fancies himself to be my cabin boy. Take care of him, will you?" he told a short, stocky fellow, leaving Cat to study her shipmate.

  Bert, the first mate, was older than the captain. He had flecks of white in his wild black hair and a scar that began at the edge of one bushy eyebrow and ran all the way down his cheek, making him look ferocious. He nodded at the captain’s words without even glancing in Cat’s direction as he oversaw the transfer of a sailor, seeming unconscious, from the quay to the ship.

  Cat watched in fascination as they rigged the prone man into the block and tackle, a system of pulleys used to haul cargo and people aboard. And she smiled when she recognized the type of knot, a bowline, that was used to secure the rope around him.

  "The damn fool drank too much," Bert said, pointing at the still prostrate man being hoisted into the air. "Let it be a warning to you, lad."

  "Yes, sir!" Cat grinned, much too excited to be intimidated. Wellshire, Edward and his crimes, and even dear Budd were forgotten as her childhood ambition became a reality. She spared no worries for the captain or the wild-looking man before her, but focused on the future.

  "Are you waiting for God himself to invite you aboard?" Bert’s voice broke into her thoughts, and with a deep breath, Cat scrambled up the plank. As her feet touched the wood of the ship’s deck, she nearly hugged herself with happiness at the promise of a sea voyage, at last.

  Chapter Two

  Cat’s first week at sea passed in a blur as she fetched and carried, scrambled up the ratlines, and watched the anchor and the sails being hoisted. Initially, all was confusion as she familiarized herself with the ship. She discovered that it was one thing to know the parts of a model, another to find where the bow lay when in the dimness below the decks.

  Still, she learned quickly, and although turns around Wellshire’s small lake had not prepared her for the reel and roll of the deck beneath her feet, Cat soon gained her sea legs, leaping up among the masts or down into the bowels of the vessel as though she’d been born to it. If Bert was testing her, she passed, for he soon sent her to assume her duties as cabin boy.

  Cat liked the captain’s spacious quarters, neat but masculine, with its books, navigational tools, and maps. Sunlight from the diamond paned windows bathed the room in a warm glow, illuminating the massive bed and large sea chest nearby. The cabin smelled better, too. Instead of the r
eek of damp wood, unwashed bodies, and stale air, here she breathed traces of tobacco, paper, salt breeze, and the captain’s soap.

  Cat had barely seen the man since boarding, her only contact those times when she brought him a cup of coffee at dawn or waited on him at meals. Maybe things would be different now, she thought, hoping for a chance to talk with him as she had when he’d rescued her. It seemed then as if they could strike up a friendship, which Cat longed to do.

  And now she would have a chance to prove herself, she thought, rubbing her hands together in contemplation of giving the cabin a thorough going over. "Cleanliness be next to Godliness," Budd had always said, claiming that the cleaner the ship, the less chance of sickness.

  When she had finished scrubbing down the walls and floor, the pungent odor of lye soap pervaded the air, but it, too, was a good smell, for it chased the mustiness from the corners. Taking a moment from her labors, Cat wrote a letter to Budd.

  "I don’t know when this will reach you," she began, "but I hope you are not worried about me. I am safe aboard a ship and doing well. It is quite as you said it should be, except for a few of the finer details you failed to mention, namely the water, the food, and the smell. The water tastes like the metal it is stored in, the food is awful (even though they say we have been eating well since leaving port), and the air below decks is foul. But you would be quite proud of me as I am a real sailor, and even the first mate said so."

  The letter was brief because she simply wanted to set his mind at ease without saying too much. Smiling ruefully, she added "Cabin Boy" to her signature. She did not want Budd to think she was lodged with the crew, where it was dark, damp, and overcrowded, the air truly unwholesome.

  It never occurred to her that Budd might not be reassured to know she was sleeping in the captain’s cabin, for Cat was well pleased with the hammock strung up for her in a corner of the room.

  She folded the letter, then opened it again, wondering whether she should explain the reason for her sudden departure from Wellshire. She did not want Budd to think she was foolhardy, running off to sea like an irresponsible child, but neither did she want to worry him needlessly with tales of Edward’s treachery.

  She frowned, hoping Budd would not think her a coward for flying from the different circumstances at her childhood home. But how things had changed.

  Although Budd often muttered under his breath about Cat’s lack of supervision, she was used to having the run of the big house, while her stepfather traveled or lived in London, leaving only a few servants at Wellshire. She supposed it was a lonely life, but it was one that had suited her until her stepfather suddenly appeared with Edward in tow.

  Lord Wellshire had been estranged from Edward’s mother, but when she died, the young man had presented himself to his uncle, sporting a sheen of fine manners that had charmed her stepfather. And the next thing Cat knew, Lord Wellshire was grooming his heir for the responsibilities of a country home… until the accident.

  A poacher’s stray bullet had felled her stepfather, or so the authorities said. But Cat had not been satisfied with that explanation. And, apparently, Edward had gotten wind of her suspicions.

  She shook her head in grief and anger, remembering the casual manner in which he had admitted his guilt. Her cousin had appeared in her life only to destroy it, and he had done so in an astonishingly quick period of time. Now he was enjoying her stepfather’s title and property, while she...

  "Cat!"

  Cat almost jumped at the sound of her name and turned swiftly toward the tall figure striding through the cabin door.

  "I’m here, captain," she said, putting the letter away. Glancing up at him, she was struck by how handsome he looked. Some brown locks carelessly brushed his forehead, and his open throated white shirt revealed dark hair dampened with sweat on his chest.

  He walked to the middle of the room and stopped abruptly, a puzzled expression on his face. "What the devil is that smell?" he asked.

  "Soap, sir. I scrubbed down the cabin," Cat said, surprised by his incredulous look. "I found some in the stores, soap, that is, sir. I hope it’s all right." Her words trailed off lamely.

  He broke into a grin, displaying even white teeth. "All right? By God, it’s almost civilized." He laughed, then sat down on the edge of the bed and stripped off his shirt. "Well, it’s a good day for cleaning then. I’m for a bath. How about you?"

  "No, thank you, sir," Cat said, darting her eyes away from the muscles on his bare back.

  "Perhaps I phrased that incorrectly," Ransom said, removing his boots. "You have not had a bath since boarding this vessel, correct?"

  "No, sir, but..."

  He didn’t let her finish. "You’ll find I don’t hold with the superstition that it’s unlucky to bathe while aboard, mainly because I prefer to be able to breathe in the presence of my crew. And you are definitely beginning to stink," he said.

  "Although there are men on board who smell worse than you do, I don’t share my cabin with them. Therefore, you will take a bath. You can use the tub when I’m finished. Now run along and fetch me some water. Get the cook to help you."

  Cat hurried to do the captain’s bidding, her mind working all the while on how to avoid the bath. The buckets of salt water were heavy, and she was out of breath when she entered the room, a grumbling cook at her heels.

  "Fer God’s sake, will you hurry?" Hale complained with disgust, pushing past her. Outweighing Cat several times over, he lifted his buckets easily, emptying them into a brass tub that now stood in the center of the cabin. Then he was gone, pushing past Cat to return to his domain.

  Cat stepped forward while nervously eyeing the captain, who was yanking off his boots. The difficult task of lifting each unwieldy bucket to the side of the tub required her full attention, but when the last was emptied, she glanced back at the captain, only to find him stripping off his breeches. She turned to hasten from the room, but his voice stopped her in her tracks.

  "Hold, lad, I won’t be long," he said. "And you’ll want yours before the water cools."

  Cat steeled her shoulders, took a deep breath, and turned around for her first look at a man. Her breathing stopped as she saw him step into the tub. He was beautiful: tall and lean, flat-stomached and wide-shouldered, his whole body firm, and his skin a warm golden color. And where the gold ended...

  She quickly averted her gaze and busied herself laying out towels and clean clothes for him as she listened to the sounds of his bath. But every now and again she discreetly glanced at his muscled back as he lathered, and the picture of his naked form was branded on her brain forever.

  When he was finished, Cat willed the blush to leave her face and began laying out her own clean clothes.

  "Well, lad, it’s all yours," the captain said, and Cat could hear him toweling off, although she studiously avoided looking his way.

  "I’ll be wanting my privacy, sir, if it’s all the same to you," she mumbled.

  The captain burst out laughing, and she shot a glance toward him. He watched her from under the square of linen he was moving roughly over his hair. "What’s this? Have you something I’ve not seen?"

  "Yes, sir," Cat answered. Turning to face him, she looked him straight in the eye. "Scars, sir. Birth scars. A horrible sight, they are. I’m quite conscious of them," she added, hanging her head in apparent shame.

  "Hmm… well, have it your way then, lad," the captain said gruffly, running a hand through his wet locks. He donned his breeches and boots and, grabbing a shirt, opened the cabin door.

  But before leaving, he tossed a warning over his shoulder. "If I find you didn’t wash, my lad, I’ll toss you in the ocean for your bath, make no mistake." And then he was gone.

  Cat listened for his receding footsteps, then shot the bolt on the door, just to be sure. She stripped off her clothes, leaving in place the cloth that wound around her chest, tightly binding her breasts.

  If the captain reappeared, she would elaborate on the scar story, while hop
ing he looked no closer. With a nervous sigh, she stepped into the tub, determined to make quick work of her ablutions.

  But the water felt glorious, and Cat had to force herself to rush, while straining her ears for any sound outside the cabin door. Still, she could not help thinking of Ransom, who had been sitting in her place a few minutes before, and the memory of his naked body made her shiver in the oddest fashion.

  Cat shook off the mood as she stepped from the water and hurried into her clothes, hoping for her own sake that Ransom was not a stickler for hygiene, for bathing in these close quarters was too nerve-racking. When the Reckless reached warmer climes, she would do her washing in the ocean.

  Once dressed again as a boy, Cat immediately went up on deck to make sure the captain noted her clean state. It would not do for him to start checking on her bathing habits, and besides, she wanted him to trust her.

  As the days passed, Cat’s wish was granted, for she did earn her captain’s trust. She was assigned additional responsibilities, including copying down the ship’s accounts, yet her hopes of kindling a friendship with Ransom Duprey dwindled.

  Although she spent more time with him, he reminded her little of the stranger who had rescued her from Edward. And she began to wonder just what kind of man he was.

  Cat knew that he was held in high esteem by the crew. In the kind of life where death could suddenly loom imminent, a man with the ability to make swift decisions was invaluable, and the captain had proven himself many times over to his men. He kept them healthy, too, using the newest ideas to maintain his ship and fend off illness, even if it meant serving up plates of onions for supper. Fruits and vegetables, now thought to aid in the sailor’s constant battle against disease, were not always readily available, but the crew of the Reckless were better off than most.

  More important to his men, the captain paid a good wage. Although the sailors on most privateers received minimal pay and did not share in any of the prizes taken, Ransom Duprey made sure his men received at least some of the booty, ensuring a loyalty that was rare on any ocean.