An infamous reputation he was counting on tonight.
The dinghy bumped against The Kraken’s hull. As the seamen below guided the woman up the ladder, Cain pushed off the rail to face the shipboard crew. “Take up the anchor! Hands to halyards, lively now! Prepare to get her underwater!”
On his sharp bark, the crew sprung to life. They clambered to the lines, shouting calls to men further aft. The ruckus was comforting, a subtle energy that soothed Cain’s agitated soul. He’d captured his prize, and the thrill of victory thrummed in his veins.
Anxious to be far from the British shore, he turned to greet his captive.
At a seaman’s none-too-gentle shove, she stumbled forward, and Cain reflexively caught her elbow to stop her fall.
“Take your hands off me.” She jerked her arm away with so much ferocity she stumbled once again. The soggy blanket covering her head tumbled loose. Raven hair framed an angelic face and dripped over slight shoulders. In defiance, she lifted her head, narrowing the brightest blue eyes Cain had ever seen.
For a moment, he could do nothing more than stare. Richard had said his intended was lovely, but somehow, Cain had never pictured her as a beauty. Yet now, as she stood before him, her chest heaving with indignation and her hair a sopping mess, he realized Richard had once again played him false. India Prescott wasn’t merely lovely. She was breathtaking.
“What in the name of Mary do you think you’re doing?” she snapped. “My father will see you hang for this.”
Her sharp tongue yanked Cain out of his stupor. He collected himself quickly, and for the first time since his arrest, gave into a broad grin. “Indeed, he will have to get in line.”
India’s eyes widened a fraction, but anger drew delicate brows downward, and those sky-blue eyes narrowed. “I see no amusement in this. Do you have any idea who I am?”
As a rumble of laughter broke through the men within earshot, Cain’s humor subsided. His smile faded, and he reached out to twine a thick lock of her hair around his finger. Turning his wrist, he wrapped the silken length around his hand, slowly bringing her closer. So close that the wet fabric straining across her breasts dampened his shirt. The heat of her skin grazed his. “I know well who you are, Miss Prescott.” He ran the back of his free hand across her dainty collar bone, over the slope of her shoulder, then lifted it to draw his thumb across her parted lips. The audible catch of her breath ricocheted through him. So she was not unaffected by him. Good. He could use it to his advantage.
His gaze held hers. A flicker of fear passed behind her eyes, but to her credit, she didn’t shrink away. She stood straight and proud, even as she shivered in the stirring breeze. Courage Cain didn’t often encounter from the gentle-born. God’s teeth, men far stronger and larger than she didn’t hesitate to grovel at his feet. Yet she, no bigger than a lark, defied him with stubborn silence.
Unacceptable.
To drive her subservient position as his captive home, he tightened his hold on her hair until she winced. Leaning forward, he lowered his mouth to her ear. “You are the daughter of a powerful man and presently my prisoner, to do with as I will.” Stepping back, he untwined his hand and smirked.
India’s palm cracked across his cheek. “Rot in hell!”
A slow burn spread through the side of Cain’s face. He resisted the urge to rub it away. How interesting. She did not burst into tears and simper for her virtue as many of the proper women he knew would have. India fought back, refusing to yield despite her certain knowledge that he held her life in his hands.
Respect stirred in some deep portion of his soul. Cain choked it down with the reminder that she wasn’t just any woman. She belonged to Richard. She knew where the cowardly bastard hid. Likely, she already knew why she was here.
He folded his arms across his chest and pinned her with a frown. “Since you cannot seem to grasp your circumstances, Miss Prescott, allow me to enlighten you. I am Cain. And it amuses me greatly that you will lead the man you love to his death.”
****
India’s blood turned cold. Cain. She had struck Cain. Not just any thieving pirate, but the very bane of the sea. He’d schooled under Henry Jennings. Rumor had it he held close acquaintance with the vile Blackbeard. She’d been pulled from her bed to stand before the devil himself.
All because Richard couldn’t tolerate the loss of a few thousand pounds. Damn him.
She swallowed hard and summoned the anger that had taken fear’s place the instant the open carriage that brought her here sloshed mud into her lap. She would not cower. Cain didn’t deserve that kind of power. He was a bastard of bastards, a cold calculating killer.
Yet she wasn’t a fool, and she quickly reined in her outrage. She had no desire for an early death. Provoking him would only guarantee such.
Careful to keep the fury from her throat, she replied, “If you think I’ll lead him to you, you are mistaken. I have no idea where he is.”
Cain’s expression hardened. “You’ll have plenty of time to remember.” He nodded to the man at his side and thrust a key into his hand. “Take her to my cabin, Drake. Lock her in.” As if she were no more significant than scrap of trash, Cain disappeared down the deck without a backward glance.
On the heels of his retreat, one solitary word sank into India’s head—Drake. She slowly turned to look at the man he left behind. He wore no bandana as Cain had, and long dark hair shadowed hawk-like features. Slightly taller than Cain, yet equally broad of shoulder, his presence would have been just as intimidating as his reputation—were it not for his broad grin.
Certainly a pirate captain from the legendary Flying Gang wouldn’t grin so. “You aren’t the Dr—”
“Aye, I am.” He took her by the elbow and ushered her down the forecastle steps to the main deck.
She ducked under a yard, dodged a burly man who hauled upon the braces. All around, men hustled at the ropes, a coordinated chaos that somehow managed to come together in uniform. Near the main mast, she caught another glimpse of Cain. Not ten feet away, he leaned against the thick timber, arms crossed over his chest once again. He stared straight at her with a self-satisfied smile.
Pompous ass.
Barely giving India the time to mind her footing against the rain-slicked planks, Drake guided her through a heavy door and into a secluded hall. He didn’t halt his pace, forbade her the opportunity for conversation. Like the captive she was, he thrust her unceremoniously through a door at the end of the corridor and slammed it shut.
The lock scraped into place, heavy and foreboding.
India huddled into her wet blanket to ward off the chill that crept into her bones. Somehow, she’d found herself amidst The Flying Gang. Prisoner to two of the Caribbean’s most feared pirates. First Cain, now Drake. What they were doing sailing together, she couldn’t explain. Why they wanted her held almost as many questions. The only error she’d made was to agree to marry Richard Grey, who had refused to help Cain gain a pardon after Cain stole from the Virginia Maiden. Yet even her betrothal she could fault her father for. He hadn’t given her a choice.
Fear fingered at the base of India’s spine. She shivered and glanced around. A small lamp atop a well-kept desk lit the spacious cabin with faint yellow. Barely enough light to make out a dining table, a comfortable velvet armchair, and a rather imposing bed. She turned from the pile of colorful heavy quilts, embarrassed to stand in a man’s personal chambers. What Cain did there…
She squeezed her eyes shut against the vivid image that surfaced despite her attempts to block it out. Cain’s big, imposing body bare atop the deep crimson quilt. His sun-bronzed skin glistening in the silver moonlight.
India swore beneath her breath. For heaven’s sake, no proper woman would consider what a man did in his bed, let alone what liaisons Cain engaged in. He had kidnapped her. That act would damn her for eternity. She didn’t need her troublesome mind helping her further into the gutters of London.
The ship bobbed on a high swell. M
uffled shouts poured through the timbers overhead. Planks creaked, and the vessel jerked forward as the wind caught her many sails. On the nearby table, a crystal decanter rattled in its holding box.
India groaned as the surreal haze of her predicament cleared into hard reality. This wasn’t some dream that would come to an end with morning’s light. Cain, the devil himself, had taken her captive. God only knew how long she might suffer this imprisonment. She could only pray He would see her returned unharmed.
As a woman aboard a pirate ship, that was as likely as the odds she’d meet a mermaid.
She dropped onto the edge of the chair and gazed out the elaborate window. Beyond, the dark sky shifted. Moonlight peeked through thick storm clouds to illuminate the scandalously large bed.
Another sharp dip of the bow, and her stomach rolled. Lord above, not only did ships dictate every aspect of her life, they made her as ill as the plague. She swallowed down the bitter taste of bile and clutched at the chair, determined to keep her body still despite the rollicking motion.
Her last voyage at sea—a brief trip to France, no less—left her bedridden for weeks after. If Cain didn’t satisfy his interest in her soon, she’d turn into a helpless, retching mess.
Pulling in a shallow breath, she steered her thoughts away from the upheaval of her belly. A vision of Cain surfaced. In another setting, he would have been handsome. Against a full head of wild long hair, his light eyes would surely draw attention. But handsome as he might be, she didn’t dare take an inch of him for granted. He stole, he killed, he ravaged. He was every bit the immoral barbarian Richard and her father had described.
Now he stooped to using women as executioner’s bait. He must think her a sniveling coward, if he believed merely kidnapping her would spook her into aiding Richard’s death. While true, she felt no great love for her intended and would have much preferred her father paired her with Richard’s absent partner, Teddy, she’d have no part in murder. Richard might have turned tail and fled to France like a coward, but India would die before she revealed a single hint.
If she were smart, she’d concoct a story about Richard’s whereabouts and gain her freedom. Then again, if Cain chose to keep her aboard while he followed the ruse, once he discovered her duplicity, she’d suffer the same end he planned for Richard. While she’d do about anything to free herself from her unpleasant engagement, she wasn’t prepared to sacrifice her life. Until she could design a plan, she’d be best suited to claim ignorance. Buy time to think things through, look for a way to send word to Richard.
The ship pulled hard to starboard. It pitched downward, raising the stern high. She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable drop.
When it came, India bolted out of her chair and raced across the room. Beside the bed she dropped to her knees before the empty chamber pot. Clutching it with both hands, she held fast as her stomach upturned in one great heave.
351
Bound By Decency
2
Cain held the wheel, savoring the feel of smooth wood beneath his palms. The wind stirred the aroma of fresh rain and salt. He inhaled deeply and surveyed the lightening horizon. Perhaps he should reevaluate the measure of India’s ruination. After all, once she revealed Richard’s location, what else was he to do with her until they reached a port he could enter? He would have weeks to indulge in the sensual pleasures of her gentle curves.
No.
He grimaced and tightened his grip on the wheel. He couldn’t allow himself to become distracted by the sweet promise of her body. She was a tool to what he desired, and he could not become preoccupied with a temporary dalliance. Particularly an untrustworthy dalliance.
Cain frowned as he scanned the lavender sky. He had left India in his cabin for six hours. By now, she would realize he had no intention of returning her to land. Not for a good while, at least. An hour aboard would serve to destroy her reputation. Several weeks would ruin even her father’s ability to purchase her reception into proper homes. And Richard, who prized both the woman and her money, would never want to look upon her again.
Cain might have felt guilty if he weren’t convinced that India knew where Richard was hiding. As besotted as his former partner was, she’d know every conniving detail of his plan, including his betrayal. For that matter, if India Prescott were anything like Cain’s own mother, it wouldn’t surprise him if she’d urged Richard into the set up. Women craved wealth. So long as they possessed it, the means of obtaining it mattered little.
Bloody hell, his mother had driven his father to the sea. Cain as well, once he could braid a length of rope.
The low tone of six bells rang through the stillness. Cain glanced down at the snoozing helmsman near his feet. When he did not immediately jump to, he gave the man’s backside a sharp kick. “Up, King. You may take back your wheel.”
The man scrubbed at his eyes. “Aye. Sorry, Cap’n. With ye at the helm, I let me eyelids droop.”
Cain accepted his apology with a curt nod. “Keep her steady.”
He ambled down to the main deck, stepped over a round of coiled rope, and paused at the rail to look out at the sea. This late part of middle watch, an hour before morning watch began, remained his favorite. Men worked efficiently, careful to keep their voices low. The hushed murmur brought comfort. The ringing of the bells brought peace. Compared to the more boisterous moments when the sun stood at its highest, here he could think.
A distant light on the horizon marked another vessel several leagues away. With the overhanging clouds, he couldn’t make out mast or sail. In truth, he didn’t care. He felt no need to plunder. Not until he settled his score with Richard. Turning from the ship without a word of warning, he made for his cabin.
Inside, he found his windows open and India huddled in his chair. On closer inspection, he observed she slept. Glancing around, he inventoried his meager things. She had not nosed about, as he’d expected. Odd. Curiosity was a woman’s second bane. He had yet to meet a one who couldn’t curb the habit.
Cain went to his desk to turn up the lamp before going to her. A rough shake of her shoulder brought her upright with a squeak. Her eyes widened to twice their normal size, and she visibly shrank from his touch. The ashen color of her delicate features further announced her fear.
Good.
“You are not here to rest, Miss Prescott. This is not a respite of pleasure. You’re here to recall where Richard set his sails to.”
She swallowed, then shook her head. A shiver rolled through her, setting her hands into a tremble. Cain frowned at the wet blanket she wore around her shoulders. “Why do you still wear that soggy thing?”
With effort, India sat up straighter. Color filled her cheeks as she looked to the floor. In a near inaudible voice she answered, “It would be indecent to lounge about in my sleeping clothes.”
The visual gave him pause. A remembrance of her slender body cloaked with wet, white muslin, so thin he could witness every shapely curve, burst within his head. On its heels rose the forbidden fantasy of creamy skin cloaked only by her long ebony tresses, her full breasts swaying beneath the satiny drape. His entire body tightened. His heart kicked a heavy beat.
Appalled by his unexpected reaction to her simple statement, Cain moved to the windows. He pulled one shut with more force then necessary and slammed the lock in place with a balled fist. “Richard. Tell me where he is.”
“I don’t know.”
She had spirit, he’d give her that. But her willfulness would accomplish little, lying even less. Though lies were the third, and most intolerable bane of femininity. He yanked another window shut. “Fabricating stories will get you nowhere. One of two things will happen—you will tell me where he is, else I will find him without your aid. The latter I don’t advise.”
“Even if I did know, I’d not tell you. You wish to kill him. I’ll have no part in that.”
Cain chuckled beneath his breath. She wasn’t as brave as she wanted him to believe, for the vibration of he
r voice betrayed her disguised fear. Her fear was his salvation. If he played upon it, she would come to believe he was truly capable of doing her harm. And to avoid harm, she would confess her secrets.
He turned around to level her with a hard look of warning. But when his gaze fell on her wide eyes, his throat seized, denying him words. Not blue, as he had thought before. No, in the brighter lamplight they gleamed deep turquoise. Like the clear waters near Nassau.
Saints teeth, more than a dozen women had tumbled through his life, and not once had he ever glimpsed such fathomless eyes.
With effort, he tore his gaze away. Hand clenched at his side, he ground his teeth together. He dared not become distracted by her beauty. She was nothing more than a pawn. A trifle piece meant to be strategically played.
“Miss Prescott, if you expect me to believe a man’s intended does not know his whereabouts, you’ve mistaken me for a fool.”
She sat forward, her features now pasty white. “No. You don’t understand—”
His eyes narrowed as a fresh rush of anger raced through his veins. “Tell me what I don’t understand. That you seek to protect the man who betrayed me? That you and your father despaired over my failure to hang? I say, little bit, tell me what exactly I do not understand.”
With furrowed brows, India shook her head. “I cannot help you. I don’t know why I’m here. For the love of Mary, I can’t tell you where Richard might be.” Her voice rose in indignation. “The day he heard of your escape, he left, saying only that he would return before summer’s end.”
Bound by Decency Page 2