The man was insufferable.
Rina dumped the last of the bathwater over the side of the ship and dropped the empty bucket onto the deck with a thud, wiping her hands on the toweling she’d tied over her skirts.
“Mending his breeches indeed,” she muttered, gazing unseeingly out over the vast gray sea, her thoughts a tumultuous blend of fury and confusion. She still didn’t believe Tremayne when he proclaimed his innocence. Well, not entirely, at least.
But she’d begun to doubt. And she’d come to understand that doubt caused problems.
If Tremayne was telling the truth—and the if was loud and unwieldy—she would never forgive herself for taking vengeance out on him. Not because of him, really. The fact was, Tremayne was guilty of a good many crimes, and even if he was innocent of her father’s murder, she had no qualms about him having to pay for the others.
But to let the guilty man go unpunished? That would be the unforgivable sin.
Rina couldn’t let that happen.
So, even if it meant a temporary truce with the scoundrel that was One-Eyed Jack Tremayne—even if it meant serving him as his cabin boy and suffering his impudent orders and insulting innuendo—she would do what was necessary.
“I can do it,” she said half to herself as she picked up the bucket and squared her shoulders.
“I’ve no doubt you can, lass,” a nasal voice, thick with mockery drawled behind her.
Rina swung around, the empty bucket dangling from her fingertips as her free hand flew to her chest in surprise. Rafferty stood before her, grinning widely, his eyes not leaving hers as he spat onto the deck. A drip of black spittle hung from his lips. He licked it and chuckled at Rina’s look of distaste.
“Mighty prim and proper now, aren’t ya?” he said, eyes raking down her form slowly and making Rina’s skin crawl. “Put ye in a gown and suddenly ye think yer a lady.” He took a step closer, running a finger along the fabric tucked into her bodice. “But I’ll not be forgettin’ ye running around in breeches, yer assets on display fer all t’see.”
She slapped his hand away, but he only leered at her, shaking back a greasy hank of hair. “We both know what’s beneath that gown, don’t we?” he rasped.
Rina glanced frantically around her, but Rafferty had her cornered between a large crate and a dinghy, out of sight unless someone happened to walk right by them.
“I got a wee taste before, but I do believe I’d like a bit more,” he said through his teeth, grabbing her upper arms in a bruising grip.
“Let me go!” Rina shrieked, thrashing about and lifting her knee to kick him. Unfortunately, her long skirts thwarted her attempt, and Rafferty only laughed, sour breath and spittle hitting her face.
“Now, don’t be like that,” he wheedled, pressing her against the deck rail, his hard body allaying any further attempts at kicking. “Ye can enjoy it, if ye like.” He wrapped an arm around her back, pinning one of her arms against her side and gripping the other tightly. Reaching up with his other hand, he took her chin roughly in his fingers. Rina fought his hold, her stomach roiling at the scent of his breath mingled with body odor, and she did the only thing she could think of. Arching backward, she gathered her strength and thrust her head forward with all her might, her forehead meeting Rafferty’s nose with a jarring crack.
He released her immediately, an agonized groan escaping his lips as his fingers cradled his now bleeding nose. Ignoring the pain in her forehead, adrenaline forcing back a wave of dizziness, Rina swung the empty bucket at Rafferty’s head with both hands, the satisfying thwack and resulting thud as Rafferty hit the deck making her grimace in satisfaction. She stood for a moment, trembling, the bucket rattling in her hands as Rafferty rolled around in pain, blood gushing from his nose as he cursed her rather colorfully. Rina resisted the urge to kick him, half-worried she might trip in the attempt, and instead stepped around him quickly, only to come face to face with Max Baines . . . and Master Rigger Hutchins . . . and James . . . and behind them about a dozen more men watching Rafferty writhe, shock written all over their faces.
Rina sniffed, wondering where they’d all been when Rafferty was manhandling her.
“What did you do?” Baines asked, wide eyes drifting from Rafferty to her.
She lifted her chin stubbornly. “The reprobate would not take no for an answer.”
“Reprobate?” Baines repeated, shooting a questioning glance at Hutchins, who just shrugged in response.
Rina rolled her eyes. “Regardless, rest assured, he deserved it,” she said haughtily, stepping around Rafferty and intending to continue toward the captain’s quarters. She stopped short, though, at the rather intense and hungry looks pointed her way from several of the men.
Or rather, pointed toward her bosom.
Her fingers fluttered up nervously, and she realized in the scuffle she had lost the bit of lace tucked into her bodice. She didn’t need to look down to know the front of her gown gaped a bit, presenting a clear view of her bosom. She straightened her shoulders, gripping the extra fabric in her tight fist before shoving through the crowd to head belowdecks.
Of course, Captain Tremayne stood leaning against the arched doorway, eyebrows raised in amusement. Rina stalked over to him, stopping only when she realized there was not enough room to squeeze past.
“I told you,” he said quietly, picking at his fingernails with the point of his dagger.
“And I told you,” she hissed back, “I could handle the situation.”
“This time,” he retorted, fixing her with a pointed glare. “What happens if Rafferty isn’t so careless next time? Or one of the others? Or perhaps more than one at a time?”
Rina gasped, face flushing at the implication. “No!”
“Oh, yes, Miss Talbot,” he murmured, leaning in a bit in what Sarina was sure was an attempt to intimidate her.
It was working.
“I told you, my men take what they want,” he said simply.
“But,” she stammered, “surely you wouldn’t let them . . .”
“Of course not, not intentionally, at least,” he said quickly. “But I can hardly be everywhere at once, can I? I do have a ship to run, after all.” He went back to picking at his fingernails, annoyingly relaxed despite Rina’s agitation. She gripped the empty bucket tightly, considering a vague desire to repeat her actions and crack Tremayne against the head with it, as well. She hated the fact that she knew he was right. She’d been lucky enough to catch Rafferty off guard, but it was not a large ship—not large enough, at least—and if he got another opportunity to accost her, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to fight him off.
Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder at the crew, all watching in rapt fascination, and some with undisguised lust.
She turned back to Jonathan. “All right. What do I need to do?” she hissed. “Make some sort of announcement?”
Jonathan grinned and slid his dagger back into its sheath. “Oh, I don’t believe that will be necessary.”
And with no further warning, he lunged forward and captured Rina in his arms. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders as he spun her, bending her slightly backward over his arm, his mouth hovering a hairsbreadth from hers.
“What are you doing?” she snarled through gritted teeth, forcing down a rush of heat she didn’t want to consider.
Jonathan winked. “Laying claim,” he said, just before he kissed her thoroughly.
Today, I begin a new life in a New World. It is difficult to leave behind London, the home of my childhood. Yet, the anticipation of what lies ahead compels me.
I stand on deck, the salt air bracing, and as I watch England grow smaller in the distance, I feel a strange sense of peace.
- The Journal of Simon Alistair Mellick, 9 July, 1664
Perhaps he was overdoing it, but Jonathan figured if a man needed to make a point, he may as well make it soundly. And after what he’d just witnessed, he believed the point definitely needed to be made.
He
’d emerged onto the deck, automatically searching for Sarina but not spotting her at first. It was only when he heard the loud crash and saw the bastard, Rafferty, collapse onto the deck, clutching at his nose, that he realized what had been going on. The rest of the crew had apparently been unaware as well, all gathering to see what the commotion was about.
Hot anger surged through Jonathan, and with it came an overwhelming urge to rip his master gunner limb from limb. But when Sarina stepped around Rafferty’s flailing body, flushed but unharmed and her head held high, his fury was quickly replaced by a resigned appreciation.
Blast, the woman was a pain in the arse, but even he had to admit she was a formidable wench.
So he’d forced a casual air, and proceeded to send an important message to every man on board his ship. It was his duty, after all. As captain, he felt responsible for the safety of each member of his crew.
Still, Jonathan readily conceded that kissing Sarina Talbot wasn’t quite as distasteful as he’d imagined it would be.
She was soft—surprisingly so, considering her stiff demeanor—her body forming to his in a rather distracting way. She gasped in outrage when he first touched his lips to hers, her fingers gripping at his shoulders to keep her balance. She struggled slightly, but then . . .
Then . . .
Then she softened even further, a quiet sound forming in the back of her throat as Jonathan’s hands clutched at the back of her scalp and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Her lips parted, breath mingling with his, and Jonathan felt a shot of heat plunge straight to his groin. He snarled under his breath, tongue dipping out to taste her as his arm tightened around her waist.
Suddenly she stiffened, fingers clawing at his shoulders, and she began to struggle in earnest.
Jonathan snapped back into a semblance of control and pulled away, drawing Sarina up to stand on her feet. She swayed a bit, and Jonathan fought back a smirk, holding her shoulders gently until he was certain she wasn’t going to swoon.
Instead, her eyes narrowed, and she flounced past him, heading down the hall toward his quarters. Jonathan couldn’t resist smacking her backside, grinning back at her unrepentantly as she flushed, glaring viciously at him, only to redden further at the boisterous catcalls coming from the crew.
He turned to Max, keeping his grin in place. “Ten lashes for Rafferty,” he said in a low, deadly voice. “Make certain the men witness it, but the wench does not.”
The first mate nodded as Jonathan turned back to the crew.
“As you were,” he shouted with a wink before turning to follow Sarina into the dim corridor. He winced when he heard a door slam ahead of him, and tried not to laugh when he entered his cabin to find her pacing angrily. She crossed to him, chest heaving in her ill-fitting gown.
Not that Jonathan noticed.
“Well, I think—“ he began, but he never got to finish his thought, because Sarina reared back and slapped him across the face. Hard.
“You . . .” she sputtered. “You lecherous rake!”
“Rake?” Jonathan rubbed at his cheek. “You can hardly blame me for trying to protect you.”
“That wasn’t about protection!” she spat back. “That was you taking liberties!”
“As if you didn’t enjoy it.”
Sarina gasped and raised her arm to slap him again, but he was quicker this time, catching her wrist before she made contact.
“I believe once can be excused,” he said quietly, threat oozing with every syllable. “Female hysteria and all that . . .”
“Hysteria?” She scoffed, struggling to rip her wrist from his grip. “Hardly. More like well-founded outrage. To manhandle me like a common strumpet—“
At that, Jonathan tugged her closer, gritting his teeth in an unpleasant smile. “A common strumpet would know how to kiss,” he pointed out, purposely goading her.
“Well . . . I never!”
“Exactly my point.”
Sarina swung out with her other hand, but Jonathan caught that as well, his jaw tightening in frustration. “Would you please stop trying to hit me?”
“Would you please stop doing things that make me want to?”
Jonathan couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Miss Talbot, calm down, please,” he said. “If you’d allow me to explain.”
Sarina laughed humorlessly. “As if you could.” She frowned, but her movements stilled.
“If I release you, do you promise not to slap me again?” He eyed her carefully, only relaxing his grip after her curt nod. He stepped back, holding his hands out, just in case she changed her mind.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to slap you,” she said. “Goodness, for a pirate, you’re awfully skittish.”
“Well, you can hardly blame me,” he retorted. “You take every opportunity to brain me.”
She snorted. “As if you had one.”
“Tut tut, Miss Talbot,” he said, rounding his desk to sit in his chair. “Some might think you protest too much.”
“And what in the world is that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged, tapping a finger on his lips. “Just that there was a moment there when you didn’t seem to be protesting at all.”
“What?” Sarina gaped, her eyes darting around as she scrabbled for words. “It was . . . my head. I was still dizzy from hitting Rafferty. And . . . you just . . . you took me by surprise. I didn’t expect you to be so . . . so . . .”
“Delicious?” he offered smugly.
She glared. “Forward.”
“I had to make it believable for the crew.”
“And why exactly would you need to use your tongue for that? It wasn’t as if they could see inside my mouth!”
Jonathan ignored the heat roaring up at the memory of her mouth . . . her tongue . . . the feel of her warm body pressed against his.
“They have seen me with other women before,” he replied, absently noting a twitch of her jaw at that comment.
Interesting.
“They would have noticed if I held back with you,” he added.
Her fight deflated. “Well, you could have warned me,” she said begrudgingly. “It would have been nice to have been prepared.”
“Oh, come now, Miss Talbot,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Where would be the fun in that?”
“You’re a very irritating man, Captain.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Well,” Sarina said loftily, brushing at her skirts as she tried to collect herself. “To avoid such distasteful displays again, I think it best we adopt a few guidelines.”
Jonathan smirked. He had to admit he enjoyed battling wits with Sarina Talbot. The woman was infuriating, but definitely not boring.
“I don’t abide well with rules, Miss Talbot.”
“Undoubtedly,” she retorted, brushing back her hair. “Nevertheless, if we are to enact this charade, I am afraid I must insist on a few concessions on your part.”
“I abide even less with concessions.”
“Would you just listen to me?” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration. “For heaven’s sake, you don’t even know what I’m asking!”
He eyed her for a moment, then nodded slightly. “Very well. What are your demands?”
Sarina inhaled deeply. “First of all, I sleep in the bed.”
Jonathan snorted. “Now who’s being forward?”
“Not with you, you arrogant prat!” she snapped. “I sleep in the bed. You sleep on the cot.”
Jonathan huffed out a laugh. “Not bloody likely!”
“You’d put your comfort before a lady’s?” she asked haughtily.
“Always.” He leaned forward with a leering smile. “That is, unless she’s in the bed with me.”
Sarina colored, but didn’t rise to bait. “Very well. It is your bed, after all. But I’m afraid I must insist on a mattress at least. There is no way I can sleep on those ropes.”
Jonathan fought a smile when he realized that Sarin
a never intended to take his bed, but was using it as a negotiating tactic. “All right,” he conceded. “There are some spare ticks in the hold. But you’ll haul it up yourself. No bothering my men with menial tasks.”
“Yes, well, I suppose menial tasks are my job now, right?” she muttered.
“Exactly.” Tremayne leaned his elbows on the desk, fingers tented before his lips. “Anything else?”
“No chamber pots. That is non-negotiable.”
Jonathan winced. He could hardly blame her. “Done.”
She lifted her chin. “And no sneaking peeks,” she said. “When I’m dressing . . . or bathing . . .” He cast a pointed look at her bodice and she hurried to the chest to retrieve another handkerchief.
“And absolutely no more kissing.”
Tremayne raised a brow. “No kissing? None at all?”
She tucked the handkerchief into her gown. “You’ve established our apparent relationship with your crew. They’re aware I’m staying in your quarters. I wouldn’t think it necessary.”
He rubbed a finger lightly over his lips, back and forth. “Not necessary, no,” he said, voice low, considering. Sarina’s gaze drifted to his mouth, where he continued to trace a slow circuit across his lips. “But enjoyable.”
She started, eyes snapping up. “Hardly!”
He stood, rounding the desk to stand disturbingly close to her. Sarina took a step back, then forward again, refusing to be intimidated. He loomed over her, eye glittering in the lantern light.
“Are you certain it would be so distasteful, Miss Talbot?” he rasped quietly. “So certain you wouldn’t like it?”
“Of course I wouldn’t!” she insisted, voice catching. She cleared her throat nervously. “I would never . . .”
“Never?” he pressed, leaning even closer. “No reason to hold back, Miss Talbot. It’s not as if your reputation is in danger.”
Sarina sputtered, unable to form words.
“You’re already sharing quarters with a—how did you put it?—a lecherous rake,” he prodded, unable to resist. “Why not enjoy yourself?”
He could see her trembling, although whether her discomfort stemmed from his proximity or her own reaction to it, he wasn’t sure. She swayed toward him slightly, and his mouth curved in victory.
Cutlass Page 8