“Aye.”
With a nod of approval, he opened his fingers. She plucked the key free and shut the door. Laughing to herself, she inspected the ornate molding on the key’s flared end. The means to lock Cain out of his own quarters—loyalty amongst thieves evidently only went so far.
How curious that the fabled Drake possessed wit. From all the rumors, he was every inch as deadly as the terrifying Blackbeard. As unpredictable as the psychotic Low. True, she knew of no account where Drake showed mercy, but the man she’d just met didn’t strike her as cold-hearted or insane.
She stuffed the key beneath the mattress. Who would have ever thought she’d end up aboard a ship with two captains of The Flying Gang and find herself unscathed?
Her gaze dropped to Cain’s pillow.
Perhaps not entirely unscathed. But beyond the fact she was an inadvertent party to her intended’s murder, she couldn’t find reason to complain. She groaned at the thought. What was she saying? She had plenty of complaints. Lack of clothes, lack of privacy, men who might do her bodily harm, men she wanted to do her bodily harm…
Good heavens, at this rate, with her present inability to think straight, she’d end up in the gossip rags as part of the pirates’ little brigade.
A wholly unacceptable possibility.
No, she must think of how to stop this nonsense. How to convince Cain into not only turning her loose, but also into letting Richard live. If she paid close enough attention, the key to succeeding in those lofty goals would present itself. As errors showed in math, Cain’s would make themselves known as well. He couldn’t keep his weakness hidden forever. Something would give, and she would know exactly what to do.
In the meantime, keeping her distance from Cain was the smartest decision she could make.
Don’t let him close. Absolutely not close enough to touch.
All very sound logic, but by the stars above, saying and doing were two completely different things. She’d have to dig deep, deeper than she ever had, to find the strength to mind her own unbending orders.
351
Bound By Decency
11
Cain wiped the sweat from his brow with the corner of his shirt. He huffed out a hard breath, the trip up the rigging a practice he didn’t make habit. But the greenhorn showed enough promise that Cain felt it worth his time to instruct the man on the proper repairs, as opposed to giving the chore to an experienced seaman. Lads didn’t learn unless someone invested in them. This one had the makings of a master topman.
“Trim her up, lay her straight, and tie her tight. Who’s on the next watch?”
“Barney, sir.” The young man stood tall and straight, his chin puffed out to gain a larger stature.
Cain shook his head. “Not sir. There’s not a drop of blue blood in me, and if there was, I’d cut it out. You’ll call me Captain. When you’ve sailed with me three years, and not a day sooner, you may call me Cain.”
“Y-yes, si—er, Captain.”
Holding back a chuckle, Cain clapped a narrow shoulder that had yet to acquire a man’s full strength. “Now, Tom, you won’t finish that task before eight bells. Barney’s been fitting ropes as long as I can remember. You’d be well served to stay on through the forenoon watch.”
Tom bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Yes, Captain.”
“You tell Barney I gave you leave to lend a hand. Otherwise, Old Barnacle there, will grouse about until he scrapes your nerves raw.” He gave the lad a grin. “He’s a crusty bastard, but he’ll teach you well.” With a jerk of his head, he indicated the slackened line. “Go on, lively now.”
Tom grabbed the rigging, fitted his toe between the knots, and began to climb. Safe from the prying eyes of youth, Cain turned his attention to the forecastle where he’d last seen India. Expecting to find her still standing on the deck and her curious stare fastened on him, when he looked on the empty platform, his brows drew into a tight line. Where the devil had she run off to?
Even better, why? Had the rocking of the boat disturbed her sensitive belly? Or, in leaving her alone, had he invited one of the sorry curs aboard to harass her person?
He glanced around, unwilling to have the men observe his concern. To a band of brigands, a coveted prize became all that more enticing. Moreover, while Cain would suffer Drake’s irritating amusement, he cared little to encounter the same belligerence from every dog who crossed his shadow.
As his gaze trekked down the main deck, across to the opposite side, and even up to the quarterdeck, Cain’s apprehension rose. She must be ill, for she’d been enjoying the whale and looked at peace high on the bow. Yet if India’s nausea had returned, he must take the blame. He’d brought her above, his sole purpose to seduce her with a little gallantry. Had he pushed beyond what she was able?
He ducked beneath the sagging bowline and hurried to his cabin. He reached for the door, his chest in a vise. Damnation, he’d let his foolish plan override reason. He should have let her rest. Should have spent the day soliciting her affections in the cabin, if he must.
He barged inside, convinced he’d find her huddled in the bed. “India?”
From before the tall row of shelves that held all the trinkets he’d collected on his travels, she whipped around with a surprised squeak.
All the constricted air in his lungs spilled forth in a rush. The hand he clutched around the doorknob relaxed. Not abed. Thank the stars.
Cain searched her face, certain he would see the grey pallor he had once mistaken as fear. But he found no trace of ash. Her cheeks held the robust color of life. Her eyes, although wide, still held their damnable gleam. His frown deepened. “Did you find the decks displeasing?”
“No. The walk was refreshing.” Her hands wound together at her waist, as if she sought to hide some great secret. Suspicion rose. Perhaps he’d been a greater fool by believing her adamant claim she knew nothing about Richard. If Richard had told her about the one treasure Cain revered, perhaps she sought to find it.
Cain glanced over her shoulder at the shelves and the small jewel-encrusted box that sat between two urns of solid ivory. Untouched, the lid lay closed. From the lack of streaks in the fine layer of dust that covered the shelf, he knew she had not disturbed the royal heirloom.
“Why did you leave?”
“I, ah…” She crossed to the desk where she fingered a rolled-up chart. “I thought it would be prudent to take my leave. You were occupied. I didn’t wish to impose on your time.”
Impose on his time? Not bloody likely.
“What is this?” She tapped a fingernail on his leather-bound journal.
The change in subject was so obvious a deaf man could have heard it. Nevertheless, Cain entertained her conversation. If he pressed her to explain her absence, he left himself open to explain why he cared. He joined her at the desk and opened the ledger to the long columns of names and numbers. “My logs.”
Surprise edged India’s voice. “Logs? I didn’t think pirates documented their activities. Isn’t that a bit risky?”
He gave her a one-shoulder shrug. “Most don’t. I can’t seem to break the habit.” Running a finger down the itemized list of names that filled the leftmost column on every page, he explained, “This is the full listing of the crew. I record their shares of profits.”
A smile played on India’s full lips as she tipped her chin up to look at him. “Profits?”
“Yes, the things we, ah…” Understanding she teased and that she already knew the answer, Cain grinned with her. “Acquire.”
“Acquire. That is a nice word for it.” She picked up the book and thumbed through the pages. If she looked long enough, she’d notice the gaping expanse of time from the last time he’d had cause to track shares of plunder and the present voyage. She would also observe different names in the key positions captains didn’t make it habit to replace. Had he been at sea as Cain these last two years, the entries would have matched.
Her fingertip paused mid-descent. Delicately arch
ed eyebrows drew infinitesimally together. “You have an error in your mathematics.”
Cain moved next to her side and pushed the binding down. “Where?”
“Here.” She tapped the page. “You overpaid each man by a hundred pounds.”
As Cain caught just enough of the entry to read the date, she pulled the book out of his grasp and turned her shoulders away. “Good heavens, this is a lot of money, Cain.” Moving to the desk, she plopped the book down, smoothed out the pages, and leaned over to study the figures. “Why on earth did you convert everything to pounds? Wouldn’t it have been simpler to pay them out in the coin you”—she glanced up through her long eyelashes— “acquired?”
“What the devil are you going on about?” He marched around the corner of the desk and elbowed in at her side.
“Look.” She pointed to the digits. “You logged 128 doubloons, 823 pistoles, and 12 French Louis’s per man. But you calculated their share in pounds. The conversion would be 1178 pounds per share, but you gave everyone 1278.” She looked up. Astonishment registered behind her gaze before she blinked. “Who carries that kind of coin in their hold? You had forty-seven men. That’s a little over fifty-five thousand pounds! And you shorted yourself forty-seven hundred!”
Unable to believe her claim, he pulled the ledger over in front of him. He chewed on the side of his tongue as he recalculated the columns. Though half the men he’d paid now lay in Davy Jones’ Locker and he’d regained all the shares they left behind, the idea he’d made such a grievous error appalled him. One by one he stepped through the calculations.
“I fail to follow your logic, little bird. The math adds correctly.” He pushed the book over in front of her. “Check again. 12 Louis equal 10 pounds.”
“10.2.”
He gave her a sharp look. “Insignificant. The pistoles convert to—Oh, Christ!”
India turned a smug smile on him. “I told you it was incorrect.”
Cain grumbled beneath his breath and thumped the ledger shut. “Indeed you did.” As the incidents surrounding the exceptional take floated into his memory, he chortled quietly. Opening the journal once more, he flipped several pages beyond the columns she’d fixated on and pushed his index finger to one underlined entry. “It’s of no matter, really. Royce took it all back, and then some, when he ran down the schooner I wagered he could not.”
Shock widened India’s eyes, but the twitch of her mouth belied her struggle not to laugh. She cleared her features with the clearing of her throat and asked with contrived condescension, “You made sport of picking victims?”
He yielded to a husky chuckle. “My dear, sweet, little bird, the tremor of your voice betrays you. Laugh if you wish. I will keep your secret.”
The most delightful giggle he had ever heard trilled from her throat. She covered it quickly with a cough and pressed her fingers to her mouth. “I will not laugh at the misfortune of the innocent.” Though her words scolded, her eyes danced with mischief. In the next instant, her composure shattered, and she dissolved into laughter. “Oh, Cain, tell me you didn’t wager amongst yourselves about whether you could overtake other vessels.”
“Very well, I shan’t tell you such.”
Her eyes watered with her laughter. Cain looked on in fascination. Amused. By God, she was amused. This little prim and proper merchant’s daughter found his habits amusing. In a thousand years, he never would have guessed her reaction would be thus. No law-abiding citizen would hesitate to scold, let alone women who were more prone to sympathy and gentleness. Yet India spared him her tongue. Gifted him with her good humor.
His eyes swept down her body, seeing her in a new light. Indeed, she was still every inch the breathtaking woman who made his blood simmer. But the primness he’d initially contrived, the delicacy he imagined, he realized were false. She had spirit, far more than she displayed with her courage. Like he, she possessed a wild will. Only hers lay cloaked behind a proper shell.
The urge to drag her into his arms and discover just how wild that spirit ran rammed into his gut. In one swift, heavy beat of his heart, the need to know everything he could about this enigma of a woman possessed him. How she came to be so skilled with numbers. Where she learned to speak so boldly. And above all, what she would do if he refused to listen to her protests of loyalty and honor and showed her all the pleasures that a man and woman could create.
She would be so easy to corrupt.
As she dabbed at her tears, she choked out, “I’m wretched for laughing. Absolutely wicked.”
“You haven’t the faintest idea what wickedness is.” Even his ears could hear the hoarseness that crept into his throat and made speaking difficult.
India tipped her head up. Dark lashes lifted to reveal deep pools of aqua. In a near whisper, she replied, “I believe I know a thing or two.”
Time stood still as they stared at one another. The very air crackled with rising energy, sexual awareness that glinted in India’s captivating eyes. Cain’s breathing hardened. Slowly he rose. India didn’t move. Her eyes held his as he closed the distance between them and cupped her cheek in his palm. Her breath caught audibly as he drew the pad of his thumb over her lush, parted lips.
“I can teach you more,” he murmured.
Cain felt the tremble roll through her, and sense shattered through the haze of want. This conversation was wrong, all wrong. God’s teeth, what had come over him? He didn’t want to corrupt India. To do so would be a worse sin than even killing Richard. Richard had cause to die. India remained an innocent. He wouldn’t commit the final injustice and march her directly into the devil’s hands by spoiling all that was good and decent within her. True, his body might hunger for her, but he couldn’t bring himself to stoop that low. He’d protected her across every league they sailed away from England, and now, evidently, he must protect her from himself.
He stepped back, distancing himself further from the sweet temptation of her rosy lips. “I must oversee the repairs. I will join you for supper.”
“Cain?”
Her call stopped him at the door. He looked back, unable to do more than lift an eyebrow.
Her confidence had retreated. She worked her hands at her waist, twisting them around each other in restless agitation. She nibbled on her lower lip, her expression laden with hesitant uncertainty. After a moment, she dismissed whatever thought plagued her with a tentative smile. “Is there something I could do? At home, I rarely sat idle. I’m quite…” She paused, her brow crinkling as if she struggled to find words. With a subtle shake of her head, she finished, “Bored, confined in here.”
“Bored?” He blinked.
A light laugh issued from her lips. Smiling, she nodded. “Yes, there you have it. I’d never dream of telling my host something so frank, but it’s the truth. I’m desperately, hopelessly, bored.” With earnestness reflected in her gaze, she added, “I want a job. On the deck.”
Stunned, his jaw dropped. A lady did not labor. He quickly snapped his mouth shut with a sharp frown. “I don’t think that would be wise. You should rest, drink some more tea before the ginger loses strength.” He tipped his head to indicate the many books that lined the shelf behind her. “There is plenty for you to read.”
Before she could protest, he took refuge in the hall. A chore, for God’s sake. Soon enough, she’d be asking him to teach her how to climb the rigging. All the more reason to keep the sails full and race headlong into Nassau. Boredom meant mischief. India Prescott was trouble enough without the added complication of idleness.
On the decks once more, Cain took a deep breath to ease the tightness in his body. Yet no matter how he tried, the unwelcome heat in his blood lingered. Standing in the same room with her was a torture worse than any flogging. Listening to the confounding statements that tumbled off her tongue, more terrible than cannonade. Surely, Richard hadn’t abided by her brazen words. And her father would have filled her mouth with lye were he to hear.
What had come over her? From all
Richard said, she was the embodiment of London society.
In answer, a nagging tingle settled into the base of Cain’s spine. He had come over her. Introduced her to this nonsense. Fed her mind with talk of freedom. Already she bore the stain of his taint. And in a thousand lifetimes, he wouldn’t wish that darkness on anyone. He was doomed to this life. She, on the other hand, could still be saved. Her father possessed the means.
“Another morose mood?” Drake appeared at Cain’s left, a cask of last night’s Hangman’s Blood tucked beneath his arm, which he tapped with the flat of his hand. “Care to join me on the quarterdeck?”
Cain eyed the small wooden barrel. The prospect of a stiff drink made his mouth water. It would burn away the uncomfortable sensations that rolled around in his gut like balls of lead. Ease the unwanted guilt. Carry him off to the blissful place where his thoughts ceased their constant racket, and he could act on impulse, without the voice of reason to disturb his conscious.
He debated, knowing all the other problems impulse could create. A mug or two of indulgence came with consequence. After what had just transpired with India in his cabin, he did not trust himself to leave her intact if he were into his cups.
Drake held up his other hand. Two mugs dangled off his fingers, and he waved them about, allowing them to clang together. “Come take your mind off things, Captain. Before this accursed decency rots you from the inside out.”
On a sharp, decisive nod, Cain swept an arm toward the quarterdeck. Indeed, he would enjoy a mug, or even three. This unrelenting battle in his head would drive him mad. Better to drink than transform into a raving lunatic.
351
Bound By Decency
12
Perched on the edge of Cain’s desk, India held her mug in both hands and inhaled the bitter vapor. Beyond the wide window beside the bed, sunlight turned the ocean peaks to tiny gold-capped mountains. She stared, lost to the gentle cascade, but unseeing all the same. A heavy lump wedged into the small space behind her ribs. The same iron weight that settled in so frequently when her father decided to exercise his dominion over her.
Bound by Decency Page 11