Light stubble scraped pleasantly as he grazed her shoulder with his chin. The hand at her breast dipped beneath the quilt to roam down the length of her abdomen and rest at her navel. “Have I seen what only a husband is allowed?” He dipped his head and skimmed his lips along her neck. “Aye,” he murmured, a breath before his teeth nipped the side of her throat.
Subjected to Cain’s bold foray, tingles spread through India’s body, all the way down to her toes. She closed her eyes and a low moan slipped off her parted lips. Breathing became a chore more difficult than lifting boulders with her teeth as she fought the instinctual urge to raise her hips and guide his palm lower.
He released her, granting her the ability to lift her lashes. Yet he robbed her of freedom by placing his hands on the mattress near her shoulders. He braced himself on both arms, and his body descended onto hers. Half covered by his mesmerizing weight, India avoided the unsettling burn of his intense gaze. She ordered her thoughts away from the press of his erection against her left thigh.
His breath whispered against her lips. “I have touched all those sacred places as well.”
As she drew in a gulp of air, Cain’s mouth found hers. A demanding nudge parted her lips. His tongue slowly dipped inside to touch hers. India told herself if she weren’t so shocked, she’d have fought him off. Beat him upside the temple to dislodge his mouth. And yet, the only protest she could muster was a soft mewl. Even that sound rang distinctly full of pleasure.
The dozens of kisses she’d dreamt of didn’t hold a candle to the warmth of Cain’s mouth. Through the startlingly brittle flavor of alcohol, the stroke of his tongue held the richness of velvet. With each intimate brush, heat flared through her bloodstream and fanned the intolerable ache in her womb. His boldness shook loose what remained of her good sense. More than that, it excited her. She looped her arms around his neck, seeking to participate by mimicking the intimate caress she had dreamt of uncountable times.
A groan rumbled in the depths of Cain’s chest. The sound vibrated off his lips, into her, and tightened her womb into an uncomfortable ball. In search of relief, she arched her body into his, increasing the number of places they connected. To her consternation, the quilts hindered her pursuit. She couldn’t get close enough. Couldn’t find the elusive heat that radiated off his powerful frame, through the covers, and into her.
Confounding her further, Cain tore his mouth away. His breath fell against her cheek, fast and hard. On it, the fumes of drink permeated through the intoxicating aroma of sage.
India flattened a palm against his bare shoulder. She hadn’t imagined the heat. It ebbed through her hand, warming her blood further. “Are you drunk?”
He opened his eyes to gaze into hers. His brows drew into a tight line. “Very.”
As a misplaced laugh crept up her throat, Cain threw the covers aside. With a muffled oath against the saints, he crawled over her and exited the bed. In one swift jerk, he donned his trousers, then stomped out of the room. The door slammed behind him.
Uncertain whether she should feel relief or dismay, India stared at the heavy barrier wide-eyed. In the silence that followed, a fissure of shame crept into her veins. She might now be educated in the ways of men and women, and she might willfully surrender every cent that would come to her upon marriage if she could change her circumstance, but she belonged to Richard. He alone possessed the right to touch her intimately. To kiss her until her head spun.
Damn Cain. Like the brigand he was, he took without asking. Pillaged with no thought to the innocent. Not only had he ruined her reputation, he had destroyed her virtue. Now, if she ever found her way back to Britain, even the slight redemption that would come with an undesirable marriage would be lost to her. She would be seen as a whore. Her father’s money couldn’t fix this, and his status would suffer as well.
Anger surfaced. She had been played by everyone these last few months. Richard saw her as a means to wealth and power. Cain used her as a pawn to retribution. Even her father used her to his advantage to a degree. By Mary, she refused to be a pawn any longer. If she were forced to accept the role of outcast, she would not suffer another dictatorship. It was beyond time for her to write the rules to her life.
And the first rule began with no more nakedness in front of Cain. He would not bend her to his will with her own body.
She left the bed to search for her abandoned gown. A quick inspection of the neat shelves and uncluttered furniture had her fists on her hips. No long sleeping gown of muslin, no discarded scrap of white. Instead, the only article of clothing she found, other than Cain’s discarded shirt, was a set of folded boy’s trousers and a shirt so thin it bordered on indecent.
With a frustrated hiss, India threw the clothes across the room and stomped back to the bed. There, light-headedness gripped her. She grabbed for the headboard to still the sudden sway of the room and gingerly lowered herself to the mattress. In the moonlight, she glimpsed her quivering legs. Pressing a hand to the twitching muscle, the thinness of her thighs perplexed her.
She pulled herself across the quilts to gaze out at the sea. A quick glance to the heavens revealed the light of the bright North Star. Looking east, she searched for the shoreline of Britain that a day or two of travel would leave behind.
Glistening waves stretched across the horizon, uninterrupted by the rise of land.
A strange feeling of unease wafted down her spine. In its wake, she shivered. She cast a nervous glance about the cabin as the hole in her memories widened. Exactly how long had she been Cain’s lover?
351
Bound By Decency
8
Cain blew through the doors to the main deck like the devil himself was on his tail. A thousand curses rose behind his clenched teeth. Christ and hellfire, when had his cock begun to guide his brain? One innocent question, and he’d been content to steer India astray, hungry for the sweet haven her body offered. A man who let a woman eradicate his common sense wasn’t fit to lead, much less execute a manhunt and coordinate a killing.
He eyed his men, in desperate need of an outlet for the pent up tension in his body. Several unwitting targets sprawled across the darkened decks.
Though he had encouraged the men to indulge, he couldn’t abide by their negligence. He stalked to the first man, a boy scarce over the age of eighteen, and hauled him up by his collar. Pressing the man’s back into a large crate, Cain narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t give you leave to nap through your watch. Learn how to handle your drink or find yourself without!”
He dropped the boy, left him spluttering in surprise.
Handle his drink—the irony was not lost upon Cain. Were it not for the bottomless tankard Drake had passed him hours earlier, he wouldn’t have become lost in the fantasy of India. Still, these worthless louts didn’t have the excuse of a beautiful woman to hide behind. While they slept, The Kraken was a sitting duck.
Cain marched to the next slumbering body, a burly man whose arms bore the inked art of the east. He kicked him in the buttocks. “Up, I say! Sleep off your pitiful weakness after the tolling of eight bells.”
“But, Cain—”
Cain would hear none of it. When the man refused to scramble to his feet, Cain folded his arms across his chest and glowered. “Get off your sorry backside or bones is what you’ll be.”
As he glanced up, noting the crookedness of the main yard, his anger blistered. He gave the nearby line a sharp jerk that returned the halyard to a right angle and straightened the loose sail. With fierceness that befitted the wrath of a cannon, he tied the line into a tight knot and glared at the seaman. “You are in charge of our direct course.” He jammed a thumb at the righted mainsail. “Yet you cannot even keep us straight.”
Spying an eavesdropper to his left, Cain marched over to the bearded man. Halfway there, he tripped over an abandoned length of rope. With a curse loud enough to wake the dead, he caught himself on a barrel. “Ropes everywhere—a man can’t walk without risking his neck!
”
He grabbed the wide-eyed sailor by the shoulders and gave him a push toward the mate who was tottering to his feet. “You. Exchange places with Sleepy. Perhaps you can keep your eyelids open.”
His steely gaze fell once more to the rotund crewman. “And you, Sleepy, get yourself below decks. Present yourself to Stuart.” The bosun would find a fitting punishment. Probably one more lenient than Cain would prefer, but nevertheless, worthy all the same. Besides, in his present fit of fury, Cain didn’t trust himself not to keelhaul the man.
“Cap’n on th’ deck! Rise, you miserable fools!” A sharp whistle followed the bellow.
Cain surveyed the darkened figures for the bosun’s mate. Thank the heavens for small miracles and for the sense some men evidently still possessed. He found Young Jim on the forecastle deck, the rattan jutting from above his ear his identifying mark. Even in the dark, the length of cane stuck out from his sinewy shadow.
“Cap’n on th’ deck! Up, I say! Up!”
Cain pivoted, intending to join Young Jim on the forecastle. Though the bosun’s mate sought to rouse the slumbering crew, he too erred. He had allowed them to doze in the first place. An act Young Jim well knew was punishable by death. The crew named the punishment in the very Articles of Command they drafted.
Halfway across the main deck, a hand clamped into Cain’s shoulder. Drake’s low voice warned, “Cain. Enough.”
Every muscle in Cain’s body tensed. Slowly, he turned around. At his thigh, he curled his hand into a fist. Through a narrowed gaze he instructed, “Turn me loose.”
“I won’t. Whatever has you in a temper, these men are not your target. If you are in such desperate need of one, then take yourself to my cabin.”
Cain shrugged off Drake’s hand. “What is the purpose of a watch if the crew’s eyes are closed?”
Drake flung his arm to the rail and the sea beyond. “Look around you! We haven’t seen a ship in weeks. Do you fear The Flying Dutchman?”
Ignoring Drake’s sarcasm, Cain wheeled around and stalked toward the quarterdeck. So help him, if the helmsman lounged, he’d string him up.
The heavy fall of Drake’s feet followed.
To Cain’s surprise, he found the helmsman’s mate wide awake and grinning through the spokes of the great wheel. Cain squinted, trying to recall the shorter man’s name. Drake mentioned King had picked him up in Charles Towne, but no amount of searching answered Cain’s quandary. He shrugged. The man’s name mattered little. That he could turn the rudder was all Cain cared about.
He called up to the poop, “Prepare to come about, Helmsman.” Cain lifted his gaze to the stars, plotting out the chart he knew by heart.
“Come about? Cain, what are you up to?” Drake asked in a hushed whisper.
Spying the bright North Star, Cain tracked the constellations. “Helm a-larboard. We sail for Nassau.”
“Nassau?” Drake hissed. “We were bound for the colony. Spoils, an’ gold, an’ all the like.”
Cain spared him the briefest of glances before restoring his gaze on the heavens. “Quartermaster, do you care to relay the commands down the line, or do you wish to stand here and argue with me all night?”
The slap of a fist against an open palm belied Drake’s temper. Cain ignored the sound and climbed up to join King’s mate on the poop. “Easy now. Not too much until the sails adjust. Larboard nice an’ easy.”
When Cain looked over his shoulder, Drake’s long dark hair bobbed down the stairs. Drake’s husky voice rasped above the murmurs of the crew. “Man the yards, sheets and tacks! You there, Digger, shorten up that sail. Square away the jib! Cooome abooout!”
In the still of night, Drake’s commands echoed up the decks where Young Jim repeated them from the forecastle. Men stumbled to duty amidst a sea of curses, certain Cain’s directive was more a product of his anger than any useful purpose.
As The Kraken shifted course, Cain kept his gaze fixed on the stars. Slowly, the bow pivoted. Water lapped against the hull, sloshed behind the stern. And deep down inside Cain’s agitated soul, peace returned. For the first time since he’d taken India captive, he felt as if he’d made the correct decision. Nassau, with its colorful port, crowded taverns, and painted whores, called.
When the North Star fell into perfect alignment with the main mast’s high stump, he clapped a hand on the helmsman’s mate’s shoulder. “Keep her there, mate. Midships now.”
With a short nod, the helmsman spun the wheel, restoring the rudder in line with the keel.
In a louder voice, Cain called down to Drake, “Sheet home now, then reeve off the lines.”
At Drake’s repeated command, the sailors unfurled the remaining sails, straightened them to right angles, and tied off the lines to hold them tight. The Kraken moved forward at a faster pace.
Satisfied, Cain descended from the poop. Drake met him at the bottom of the stairs, his frown intact.
“To your cabin, so you say?”
“So I say.”
In the tumult, the warmth of Hangman’s Blood running in Cain’s blood faded along with the heaviness in his limbs. As he followed Drake, his head began to pound. Each step increased the drums against his skull, and he squeezed his temples between thumb and middle finger. He blamed India for the throbbing ache. For if she hadn’t tempted him beyond all reason, he would still be sacked out in his bed, not marching through the halls, destined to explain himself.
Drake pushed open his door and entered. Cain followed, glancing around to insure Reggie didn’t still lurk in the corner.
All was quiet. Reggie’s bunk, long abandoned.
Drake dropped into a heavy armchair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “You take us into waters filled with pirates. Explain yourself.”
Cain expelled a harsh breath. “We are pirates, in case you’ve forgotten. None we meet would be foolish enough to lay siege to us.”
Exasperated, Drake leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Cain, you’ll find no fat-bellied merchants on the route to Nassau. The crew won’t take kindly to this change of course.”
More annoyed than he could recall ever being, Cain tempered the urge to pound sense into Drake by counting out three long breaths. When his annoyance faded, he held Drake’s steely stare. “Remind the crew we search for Richard. I’ve wasted three weeks. He left no word with India. If she speaks the truth, and I believe she does, he departed shortly after you gutted Jacobs and stole his keys.”
“So the good lady prompted you to this madness? She’s recovered? I take it by the fact you’re still awake, she wasn’t happy to see you.”
More truth than what Cain desired to confess lurked in the answer to Drake’s questions. The happy part, however, haunted him. India’s kiss spoke far more of welcome than it had disgust. She’d lifted her body as if she too shared the aching need that ran in his blood. Her reaction unsettled him. If she still suffered from the arrack, he could understand her willingness. But that he’d taken the drink away the previous night, made her invitation unexplainable.
“India is of no use to me. I’ll not waste another day with her underfoot.”
Drake’s low laughter rumbled through the closet-sized space. “Methinks, more aptly, you’ve grown soft on the little chit.”
When Cain scoffed, Drake’s laughter took on more heart. “Now wouldn’t that be fittin’ retribution. Be sure to tell Richard, before you run him through, how sweet she tastes.”
“Close your trap, Drake.”
“If you aren’t willin’…”
A slow burn began in Cain’s gut at the thought of Drake laying a single hand on India. He clenched his fist until his hand began to tingle. Through tight lips he ground out, “Lay one finger on Miss Prescott and you’ll kiss a cannon’s muzzle.”
Mock innocence passed across Drake’s expression. He held both hands up in surrender. “Easy, Cain. While my current bed is empty, I have a lover. She’d tie my balls in knots if I even thought of such a thing.”
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Only Drake’s devotion to the woman he’d spent the last handful of years with tempered Cain’s unexplainable rush of jealousy. He uncurled his fingers and shook out his hand. On a curt nod, he changed the subject. “Someone’s seen Richard. I’d stake my life on it. We’ll hail every Jolly Roger we recognize until we discover where he hides.”
“And India? What says she to the prospect of murdering her intended?”
A distant memory of India’s understanding about her engagement to Richard filtered through Cain’s mind. With it came the uncomfortable tug of sympathy. The foreign urge to shelter her from her father’s binding promise. He shook his head and murmured, “She knows she is his key to wealth.”
Dark eyebrows lifted, and Drake’s eyes filled with meaning. “If I may, Cain, a bit of advice.”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Drake would spew his thoughts, regardless.
“If such is the case, and India knows she’s a mere pawn, methinks you’d be wise to use that to your advantage. Convince her, if you will, to have a care about your fate. Her father possesses the means to lift the noose around your neck.”
No! The bellow thundered through Cain’s mind. He would do many things to avenge his fate, but he wouldn’t become indebted to a woman. In so doing, he’d bind himself to her wishes for eternity. A slave to her demands, obligated to see to her needs. He’d rather hang than create for himself the same hell his father had suffered.
Beyond all those justifiable reasons, he couldn’t tolerate the thought of misleading India in such a horrendous fashion. She was too damnably good for that sordid sport.
Drake let out a disapproving grunt. “I see your decency objects.”
“Decency has little to do with my objection.”
“Then what is the trouble?”
Bound by Decency Page 8