At least at home she could anticipate three hours each afternoon where she could rummage through the business records or read the daily barrage of solicitations. Fiction had never struck her fancy—it did no good to read about the lives she’d like to live. The tales only served to remind her that, as a woman, she must fit into a standard and bind her tongue, her actions, her very thoughts to expectations.
She glanced again at the row of colorful spines lining Cain’s tall bookcase. Not for the first time, her gaze lingered on the curious golden box two shelves from the top. The massive sapphire cabochon centered in the front panel would be worth a fortune on its own—let alone the heavy gold that surrounded all the other jewels.
If she were the sort to snoop, she’d dig through Cain’s belongings for the key. He’d learn the folly of his decision to keep her locked away and bored if he returned to find his cabin a cluttered mess. But she wasn’t the kind of stock that pried into other’s personal effects. Her father alone received the brunt of her curiosity. Even that she justified by his long-ago habit of keeping her on his knee while he handled his affairs. And in any case, he was her father. Certain liberties applied.
Heaving a sigh, India set down her empty mug and let her shoulders slump. There had to be a task she could take on to keep the hours from dragging. It had been years since she’d last picked up a needle and thread, but presently she’d ask the entire crew to line up outside the door and pass her their mending.
Laughter rumbled through the floorboards overhead. She rolled her eyes. No one told men what was appropriate to laugh about. No one forbade them to walk where they desired. Certainly not aboard a ship, where if trouble arose, the culprit could be easily found.
A ship! Pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead, she bit back a groan. Good gracious, she didn’t have to listen to Cain. What would he do—lock her in? She had a key. Drake mentioned the decks were safe enough by day. Surely, she could find something to do. Scrub a floor, wipe down the rails, roll up rope—any number of the tasks she’d observed.
She hopped off the desk, new energy rushing through her veins. Cain would have no cause to complain when she showed him how well she accomplished a task. In fact, she’d make certain she did the chore so well he asked her to assume it on the morrow.
With a wide smile, India grabbed up a scrap of cloth and tied it around her head in a similar fashion to the way Cain wore his. She knotted the ends with a fierce jerk, pushed the rest of her long hair behind her shoulders. Rolling up her sleeves to the elbows, she went to the door.
At the end of the narrow corridor, the warm breeze hit her full in the face. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun. Her maid, Colette, would say the sun brought freckles. But Colette was far away, her nagging voice a distant memory. Colette couldn’t preach at her aboard The Kraken. Here, India was free to do as she desired.
With a deep, satisfied breath, she pushed forward onto the deck, her shoulders proud, her steps confident.
Freedom at last.
“Excuse me, sir.” She tapped a thick, brown shoulder.
He turned around, revealing a long scar that crossed over one sealed eye. “What ye be wantin’, chit?”
“Work. A chore to pass the time.”
“Pass the time, ye say?” He lifted off his knees, rising to his full, stocky height. His solitary green eye roved down the length of her body, then sparkled as he squinted. “I spect we kin find ye somethin’ to pass the time.”
India’s confident smile took on more life. She enthusiastically bobbed her head. “That would be wonderful. I’m afraid it’s dreadfully boring in the cabin all alone.”
The man took her hand in his larger, rougher one and helped her over a jumbled pile of canvas. “Ye say it be boring? Well, we’ll be certain to relieve ye of your…restlessness.” He chuckled, a sound more like the rasp of one who suffered from the weakness of the lungs, than any noise of humor.
He led her toward an open hatch in the middle of the deck. Standing at the side, he gestured at the darkened opening, indicating she should descend first. Hesitant, India peered up at him. Suspicion gnawed at the base of her spine. “There’s something of use down there?”
Again came the raspy wheezing laughter. His eye gleamed bright, and he bobbed his balding head. “Verra useful, lass. Verra useful. Go on down, there be work for hours, if’n ye so like.”
As a sense of self-purpose settled around her, India shook off the nagging feeling something was amiss and grabbed hold of the ladder tips. Drake had said the crew was safe enough by day.
Gingerly, she dropped a foot into the hole.
Before her toes could connect with the rung, a hand clamped around her upper arm. Fingers bit down painfully. Startled, she looked up with a gasp. Drake’s dark glower silenced the protest on the tip of her tongue.
In one swift motion, he hoisted her out of the hatch and set her on her feet at his side. His fingers held tight. His glower, however, rested on the seaman. “What do you think you’re about, you addle-minded dog?”
Spluttering nonsensical utterances, the man backed up until his back hit the main mast. “She be bored, Drake. I thought—”
“Curse your prating insolence! You did not think. Sod off, you bloody bastard. Take yourself to Stuart afore I plant a ball between your ears.”
At Drake’s profane outburst, India’s face burned all the way to the tips of her ears. She cast her gaze to her bare toes. Full understanding of her naivety and what had nearly just occurred sank in deep. With it came the flush of humility, a scald even greater than embarrassment. She shifted her weight. Prayed for the decks to open up and swallow her whole.
Drake’s fingers relaxed around her arm. “Are you harmed?”
Unable to look him in the eye, she stared at the large golden loop dangling from his ear. “No.”
“Then best we take you back to Cain’s cabin.”
The thought of the cabin and the absolute nothingness within collapsed her chest. She clutched at Drake’s fingers, her eyes wide. “Please no. That was foolish, I confess. But I must find something to do, Drake. I’m so bored in there I cannot take another minute of it.”
He drew back. A dark eyebrow arched to mock her. “Cain has not seen fit to keep you entertained?”
She twisted free of Drake’s hold and folded her arms over her chest. “You are no better than that other man.”
A loud guffaw softened his expression. “Oh, princess, I assure you, I’m a good sight better than Slater. I wouldn’t hesitate to tell you what I had in mind.” His laughter diminished into the faintest hint of a smile that curved the corners of his mouth. “Unlike the good Captain, I have no fondness for decency.” Reaching out, he caught her about the wrist. “You’re serious in this request for work?”
“Very much so.”
“Then let’s find you a task that won’t get you into trouble.” He led her across the deck to the starboard side where a young man sat on a barrel, several lengths of fine rope at his feet.
“Reggie, Miss Prescott would like to learn a useful task.”
The lad’s pale face scrunched into a disapproving frown. “What of it?”
Drake toed the rope. “Why don’t you teach her how to braid?” He looked to India, his usual good humor alive again on his handsome face. “Reggie is in a bit of a snit, princess. It seems our cannons have no sport to fire on, thus a master gunner suffers the same problem as yourself. Boredom.”
India grinned down at the narrow-framed blond. “Show me what to do?” Dragging an empty crate beside Reggie’s, India sat down. When she looked up to thank Drake, his broad back disappeared from view.
Reggie thrust the ropes into her hands. “You know how t’braid? Like hair.” He yanked a lock of her hair. “It be like that.”
India rolled the thick fibers between her hands. Maybe the task worked like hair, but the act would be a good sight different. She glanced down at the lengths Reggie had completed. The result too. “Are you sur
e it’s just like that?”
“Mostly.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’ll get the ’ang o’ it. I jes remembered I be fergettin’ somethin’ on the gun deck.” A casual dip of his chin indicated the ropes in India’s hold. “You get started. I’ll be back in a jiff t’check on ye.”
“All right. It can’t be that difficult.” Carefully she laid one length across the other and snugged it tight. Looking up for confirmation she’d done it appropriately, she found Reggie gone.
So much for tutoring. Very well then, she’d do her best. When Reggie returned, she’d undo everything, if she must. Until then, this would suffice, so long as it kept her from the cabin.
****
Cain watched Drake approach through a narrow squint and tried to hold on to the rapidly fading pleasant burn of Hangman’s Blood. Yet each step Drake took toward him, his charge deliberately left behind, turned the warmth into an uncomfortable scorch.
Drake ascended, his trademark grin accompanied by a stumble as he missed the topmost tread. He caught himself on the handhold and scowled at the floor. “Someone should cut off a stair.”
“Oh, leave off. You are full of your drink,” Cain grumbled. “Since your mind is soaked, I’ll take care of India myself.”
He started for the stair, but Drake’s hand fisted into the back of his shirt. “Cease your foolery, Cain. She can find no trouble in plain sight.”
“No trouble?” He twisted his shoulders, dislodging Drake’s grip. “The woman defines trouble.”
Drake snatched at the mug Cain had abandoned. One swift thrust shoved the heavy stoneware into his gut, hard enough the wind fled Cain’s lungs. He grabbed the mug as he doubled over, spluttering for air.
“For Christ’s sake, Cain, bed the woman an’ be done with her. I grow weary of your belly-aching.”
Cain managed to breathe in a short gasp. Shaking his head, he stood up. Bed the woman—if he only could indulge.
For several seconds Cain did nothing more than glower, until he felt certain his lungs had once again learned how to function. When his chest relaxed, he transferred the tension to his fist. “Friendship affords you many liberties, Drake, but you push your limits.”
Chortling through his nose, Drake dropped to the deck and leaned against the hull. He stretched out his legs and lazily crossed one ankle over the other, effectively blocking Cain’s passage. “If you keep her confined until we reach Nassau, you’ll have her sneakin’ about an’ gettin’ in worse trouble. Sit down. Have another mug.”
Cain grumbled to himself, but dropped to the floor with a disgusted mutter. When Drake made to fill up his empty mug, Cain blocked the mouth with his hand. “I’ll have no more.”
“She’s turned you soft.”
Cain stared at the exposed planks to the hull. When he’d seen John Slater escort India to the main hatch, he’d nearly pulled Drake’s gun from his waist and fired. Drake had intervened before Cain could. Soft, however, was a word he refused to acknowledge. He didn’t care for India Prescott. She merely fascinated him. Part gentile lady, part seductress—he couldn’t anticipate what she might do next. Certainly disobeying his instruction to stay in his cabin hadn’t crossed his mind. But the why of it perplexed him. He should have anticipated she’d disobey. He’d blindly taken her at her word. Something he didn’t make the habit of doing.
“Never thought you’d fall victim to a lady’s charm’s, Cain,” Drake murmured. “Perhaps when you cut Richard through, some of his blue-blood will seep into you. Then you can take his place. Become the gentleman Cain.”
If only he could.
“Blast, but you are despicable company.” Cain dropped his head back to the planks and stared at the blue sky. “I’m leaving her in Nassau, as I told you. Tomorrow night, she will take up residence with Old Bess.”
Drake drank deeply from his mug and switched one crossed ankle for the other. “I wager you’ll be the randy bloke to break her in afore you sail out of port. What say you—fifty pounds?”
Bolting upright, Cain swiveled to face the devil intent on tormenting him. “You are the foulest excuse for a human being I have ever known.”
With a lift of his cup in mock salute, Drake smirked. “A fine compliment.”
His restraint pushed beyond his limits, Cain reached across and snatched the mug from Drake’s hands. He hurled it over the rail. The plunk of water announced its descent into the deep. Satisfaction poured through Cain. He silenced a triumphant grunt with pursed lips.
“Now damnation, what’d you go an’ do that for?” Drake eased to his feet and leaned over the rail to fruitlessly search for his mug.
“In hopes you’d bail over to fetch it.”
Dark eyebrows tugged together in consternation as Drake turned around. With a sad shake of his head, he strode to the ladder. “The devil himself could hardly desire better company than yours. Do us all a favor. If not India, find a wench in Nassau. You’re a bloody trial on my patience.”
A wench. Indeed, Cain had not thought of that before. With the distraction of India, he had quite forgotten his initial anticipation of seeing once again, the buxom blonde, Ella. She would most assuredly relieve him of this accursed lust. He could bury himself inside her welcoming depths and eradicate all thoughts India.
A low chuckle rumbled in the back of his throat. By the saints, Nassau offered better promises each time he considered the brigand’s haven.
351
Bound By Decency
13
Twilight found Cain’s spirits no better. Too many hours he’d watched India diligently tend to the mass of ropes. He’d witnessed too many men look too long on her ample breasts. Too many appreciative mutterings drifted to his ears. Jealousy slashed through him with each utterance, fueling his ire. Though he dared not show the uncalled for emotion, he couldn’t cease the slow burn that spread through his veins.
As the pungent aroma of onions blended with the hearty scent of meat, he left the quarterdeck to collect her for the promised evening meal. He told himself his intention to dine with her was yet another attempt to keep her safe from the leers of his crew. That the prospect of spending time alone with her had nothing to do with the increased rhythm of his heart. That the rapid cadence behind his ribs was a product of worry, nothing else.
He crossed the decks at a slow, deliberate pace, taking care to acknowledge the men he passed. As long as he didn’t rush to her, no one could find opportunity to falsely accuse him of attachment he didn’t feel. And she would have no cause to suspect he craved the warmth of her smile.
At her side, he stopped short. His gaze riveted on her bloodied hands. Anger tightened his chest. “Good, God!”
India startled. She lifted her face, but the bright smile plastered to her lips faded as if she were truly relieved to drop her façade.
Scowling, Cain dropped to a knee and pried the rope from her shredded fingers. He picked up one hand, turned her palm up. Cracked and chafed, her delicate skin was a ferocious crimson. The pad of her index finger bled. A heavy sigh tumbled loose. “You should’ve ceased your chore several hours ago,” he lectured quietly.
She pulled her hand free and gingerly closed her fingers. “Reggie said he’d return. I didn’t know if I should quit.”
“Aye,” he murmured as he lifted his gaze to hers. “You should have.” He picked up her opposite hand and found it in no better condition.
As another ball of anger rolled through him, he ground his teeth together and slid his fingers to her elbow to aid her to her feet. Reggie should have realized India couldn’t begin to spend a full day laboring at braiding ropes. Not when her hands had likely done no more than mending. She was too delicate for this, her skin too fragile. Devil’s tongue, he’d take a strap to Reggie if he could get away with doing so.
India touched the back of Cain’s hand, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Truly, Cain, there’s no need to be angry. I enjoyed myself immensely.”
He let out a derisive snort. “I
sincerely doubt you liked rubbing away your skin. I recall the burn of bristly rope all too well.”
“Well, no. That part I could have gone without,” India confessed with a light laugh. “But I’ll survive. No true harm’s been done. Do you have some salve?”
“Aye. Come along, and I’ll tend your hands.” He steered her toward the door that led to his private hall.
She followed at an easy pace, her steps free of the exhaustion he’d glimpsed behind her eyes. In the high lift of her shoulders and the smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, he read happiness that seemed wholly out of place. She ought to be fuming over Reggie’s trickery. Yet it would not surprise him if she began to hum.
“Is that dinner I smell?”
“It is. Most likely we’ll have pork stew. Cleaver favors the simpler dishes when port is within sight.”
“Pork stew,” she mused. “I can’t say I’ve had that before.”
He pushed open his cabin door and motioned for her to enter. “If you like onions, you’ll enjoy the meal.”
Halfway to the chair, she turned to him with knitted brows. “Perhaps you should prepare more of that tea. As much as I like onions, they do not reciprocate the affection.”
Cain chuckled. He gestured at the chair. When she settled herself into the brushed velvet cushion, he crossed to his footlocker to rummage for his satchel of healing concoctions. Over the years, he’d collected an array of different medicines and remedies. Obscure herbs from the east, salves from the Indies, and common treatments acquired from the Colonies. Aside from the golden box upon his shelf, the bag was his greatest treasure.
He found it at the bottom of the trunk and brought it to India’s feet. Then he gathered his basin, the pitcher of water, and two unused bandanas. He took them all to where she waited and knelt on one knee. “Give me your hand.”
Bound by Decency Page 12