She frowned, uncertain she’d heard him correctly. “Pardon?”
Silent laughter shook his shoulders. “For conquering Cain, princess.” He tipped his head, drawing her attention to the golden loop on his ear that reflected the bright sunlight. “Or did you decide you don’t have it in you to take on a rover?”
Drake’s eyes danced with mischief, and in the amused twist of his sensual mouth, she read what she’d missed before. He had thrown the gauntlet at her feet. Was doing so now. Why? What did he gain from goading her into pursuing Cain?
No matter the reason, India’s pride revolted at the insinuation she was less than suitable for Cain. They’d been lovers during her sickness—clearly she satisfied him in some measure. She lifted her chin and met Drake’s gaze with stubborn determination. “I assure you, I have it in me.”
To prove her point, she glanced around the decks. A young seaman lazed against a stack of tarred and sealed crates, indulging in a horn of some unidentifiable drink. She pulled her bandanna off her head, and using it as a signal flag, called him over. “You, sir. You there!”
The man glanced over his left shoulder, then his right, before he pointed at himself, his eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“Yes, you.”
He cast a wary glance Drake’s way. When Drake answered with an approving nod, the man approached. “Yessir—er, miss?”
India summoned the sweetest smile she could muster. With a dip of her chin, she batted her eyelashes the way her maid had instructed her to do when dealing with a man she wanted something from. She’d never employed the farce before, feeling it was too coy, too obvious to ever be worth her time. Now, however, she didn’t intend to lose this unspoken wager. “If you please, I need to request a favor, good sir.”
****
Cain’s quest to locate Drake and drag him into the belly of the ship to aid with the logs came to an abrupt halt at the sound of India’s sugary voice. He stared at the sailor kneeling before Drake and blinked. Not a sailor. India. He’d been blind not to notice her dark pigtail dangling down her back. What in the seven hells was she up to now? He cocked his head, squinting at the pair.
She lowered her voice, and with a slender finger beckoned William Cooper closer. Her words were just loud enough to reach Cain’s ears. “I need to attend to some personal business at the head. Do you think you could mind my duties? It seems Drake is of no mind to grant me a reprieve.” She fanned her hand in front of her face, and her hushed voice took on a touch of shock. “The brute says if I’m to work, I must finish my watch, or I may take myself to the side of the rail.”
Drake! Cain’s scowl shifted to his quartermaster. India was no common layman, no slave to force at a task. If she wished to quit, the decks would survive without her washing. Damnation, for that matter, she shouldn’t be on her knees scrubbing planks at all.
He took a step forward, determined to put an end to the disgraceful matter. But when Drake’s head snapped Cain’s way, and he observed the way Drake’s teeth bit into his lower lip to temper laughter, Cain paused.
Cooper’s features reddened. He shot Drake a disapproving look, then offered India his hand and helped her to her feet. “S-sure thing, Miss Prescott.”
“Oh, you are a dear,” she cooed as she ran her hand across Cooper’s forearm. “I shan’t forget your kindness. I promise I won’t be but a few minutes.”
In his mind, Cain knew the flirtation was false. She would no more employ the beguiling habits of virginal lasses than she would slice her own wrists. She spoke plain, held no regard for the ploys debutantes used on rich noblemen. But knowing India meant none of the richly exaggerated words, and convincing himself of the matter, were two entirely different things. Jealousy sparked. She had no business standing so close to another man’s side that her breasts brushed against his bicep. No business making promises with her eyes and cooing intimate words, whatever their nature. He curled one hand into a fist and ground his teeth together.
Cooper dropped to his knees and fished the brush out of the bucket. He bent over the planks, his wide smile as embarrassing as a love-sick school boy’s. Cain rolled his eyes. Pathetic. Did the man really have no idea he was being played a fool?
As India turned around, Cain ducked behind the stack of crates. She was up to something, no doubt, and Drake, his loyal friend and current needle in his side, was in on it as well. Something that couldn’t bode well, no matter what the objective. Drake was as apt to encourage India to climb the rigging as she was to ask if she could.
“Well played, princess,” Drake murmured as he took her elbow. “Well played indeed.”
India laughed softly. “At least my back will no longer protest. Though I wonder when he will catch on.”
“About ten minutes from now, when you fail to return from the head.”
Despite himself, at the sound of India’s giggle, Cain smiled. So rarely did he hear her amusement that he bathed in the light, enveloping melody.
So she’d done it on purpose, extracted her own means of revenge for Reggie’s bamboozling yesterday, and what appeared to be a second go-round today. Cain gave in to a broad grin. Saints’ toes, the woman was truly a breath of fresh air. Such spirit. Such boldness. Such a stark contrast from the whining complaints and incessant demands his mother had placed upon his father. India asked for little, save only to be useful. His mother would still be in the cabin, moaning about her capture. Insisting someone return her to England this instant. Not so India. No, she’d embraced her conditions with zest and determination that he had yet to find in any woman of gentility.
He stepped from behind the crates and crossed in front of their path. Pretending ignorance, he hailed his quartermaster. “Drake! You hide when you’re needed.”
“Needed?” Drake scoffed. “I’m attendin’ to important matters. Methinks Miss Prescott shouldn’t be forced to sulk in your cabin all day.”
Cain lowered his gaze to India’s sunburned face. As her turquoise eyes locked with his, his heart swelled to painful limits. Visions of the night spent in each others’ arms flashed in his memory, and his breath caught. He’d thought for certain she understood. Had come so close to embracing everything she offered and forgetting Richard, his betrayal, and all the damning reasons he should stay far away from her.
She tore her gaze away and affixed a smile that waivered at the corner of her mouth. “It’s all right, Drake. I’m certain Cain had more important matters to attend to.”
Like bloody hell, and she knew it too. The uncertainty that trembled on her lips evidenced the fact she offered excuses for his behavior. Yet she was too polite, and damn it, decent, to scorn him on the deck.
Chagrined, he murmured, “I have shares to calculate and divide.”
“From yesterday’s raid?” Her eyes lighted with keen interest.
“Aye. As quartermaster Drake is to aid me.”
Never one to miss an opportunity to make Cain’s life abject misery, Drake placed India’s hand on Cain’s arm. “I give my duties over to the lady.”
Before Cain could protest, Drake ducked beneath a sagging line and jogged toward the quarterdeck. Cain swallowed with effort. Alone with India. Though he longed for nothing more, it was an idea of the worst kind. He’d planned to spend the day apart, making delivering her to Old Bess tonight that much easier. But if he objected to her aid, she’d know it was only an attempt at evasion. He needed assistance as well. Without it, he’d never have the men’s shares ready by the time they dropped anchor off the coast.
He inhaled a deep, fortifying breath. “Well then. Shall we?”
She took two steps forward, leading him toward the main hatch. He caught up in an easy stride and helped her onto the descending ladder. Her palm was warm against his. Her grip confident and secure. He held her fingers a heartbeat longer than necessary, enchanted by the light, casual contact that seemed so natural, and somehow so very intimate.
When India stepped onto the deck below, Cain climbed down the ladder.
He swept his arm to the left, indicating another smaller ladder a few feet away. Overhead, a lantern illuminated the top rungs, while deep within the hole, the lamps he’d left burning near the haul the crew brought in gave the interior of the hold a warm orange glow.
India descended with purpose, never hesitating as she set bare toes on roughshod rungs. Cain couldn’t begin to explain why, but her agility fascinated him. She’d make an excellent topman.
He dismissed the misplaced thought with a perturbed shake of his head. Good match or not, he’d lock her in the hold before he ever let her climb the ropes. Too much danger came with the duty. The risk she’d plummet to her death, too great.
At the bottom, she grinned up at him. “Are you coming?”
“Aye,” he murmured absently.
As he climbed down, she disappeared amongst the cargo. The rattle of a heavy chain told him she inspected the markings on the crates. What would she say when she calculated the pounds and discovered in one single raid that they’d accumulated what one honest shipment to the Colonies would bring in profits?
He didn’t have to wait long for his answer.
“Good heavens, Cain! There’s a fortune down here!”
“Indeed there is.” He rounded the corner to find her bent over the table he’d furnished by turning an empty leaguer on its end. His chair comprised two crates stacked atop each other. He pulled another pair beside his and gestured for her to sit.
She settled onto the aged wooden slats, wriggled around until she made herself comfortable. Then, to his surprise, she pulled his ledger in front of her, picked up his quill, and dipped it into the small bottle of ink. “You dictate. I’ll record.”
He pulled the quill from her fingers. “I’ll record. You dictate. The men would have it no other way.”
In a classic display of the stubbornness he admired, she plucked the quill out of his grasp. “My mathematics is better than yours.”
Cain couldn’t resist the pleading nature of her eyes. Nor the truth of her abilities. Recording loot was a chore he did only out of necessity. The sheer tediousness of logging items, aligning columns of numbers, and calculating every currency exchange quite frankly made him want to tear out his hair.
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Very well then. We’ll record what we have, then divide it evenly between the crew. From my shares we’ll then subtract the payment for the injured.” A frown creased his brow as he remembered Young Jim. “Notate a thousand pounds please, to Charlotte Sommers.”
She glanced up through thick inky eyelashes. “Someone special?”
It took a moment for Cain to grasp her meaning. When he came to realize she referred to his personal involvements, an unexplainable thrill shot down his spine. He’d have never believed India would be capable of jealousy. Particularly not in regard to him. But the brittle edge to her question left no doubt. He hid a smile by turning toward the cargo. “Young Jim was killed. She’s his widow.”
“Oh.”
His smile broke free at her flat, monotone reply. Cain quickly changed the subject and focused on the task at hand. “Three crates of raw silk.”
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Bound By Decency
22
Cain braced his hands against his lower back and stretched. Fifty-seven crates, twelve barrels, and he couldn’t remember how many personal trunks—at last he was finished with bending over, shuffling heavy objects around, and prying out nails to inventory the enclosed contents. Finished with no time to waste. Thank the sweet Lord the three new men had organized the hold, making the chore much faster.
A half hour earlier, eight bells marked the passing of the afternoon watch. By his approximation of the distance to port, they would dock within the hour. Once India finished tallying the total, dividing it between eighty-seven men, and accounting for the injured pay, the crew would be frothing at the mouth to set their feet on land and their mouths on ample breasts.
Old Bess, indeed, would find her house full tonight.
Chuckling at the thought, Cain wove his way between the rafter-high stacks and sank gratefully onto the crates at India’s side. Too late, he realized his mistake in sitting so close. Her natural feminine scent teased like the devil himself. He clenched his hand into fists to keep from hauling her off her seat and into his lap. God’s teeth, he craved her like sweet rum.
She chewed on her lower lip as she worked, occasionally muttering beneath her breath. The quill scratched endlessly. One by one, the single entries became the intricate document that seaman trusted him to craft.
Abruptly, she circled something in his ledger, then set the quill down. “Here’s your final tally.”
Without examining the figure, he gave her an encouraging nod. “Now divide it by eighty-seven. Triple the sum for myself and Drake, then—”
“I already have.” She pushed the ledger beneath his nose. “I wrote down what you said earlier and calculated as we went along.” With a teasing grin she added, “I had to do something while you were admiring your pretties.”
He scolded her wit with a frown he didn’t feel. Finished? It would take him a good hour to tally the final per-man share. He pulled the ledger closer and squinted at the numbers. What she’d done, exactly, he couldn’t decipher. But her neat handwriting and her carefully crafted numbers spoke to her level of detail. Where he could follow her logic and her mathematics, he found no error, lending credence to his faith she’d made none. She’d even broken out the payout, not only tripling and doubling the appropriate shares, but also accounting for the men he’d absently listed in the coordinating positions who had suffered injury.
At the very bottom of the column, she subtracted one thousand pounds from his take.
Cain slowly pushed the ledger away and turned to her, incredulous. “How?”
She gave him a modest shrug. “My father taught me numbers before he taught me how to read. They make sense to me.”
And she was damn good with them. Her efforts here would grant him a few more hours in her company, which against his better judgment, he very much wanted. Another conversation with her. Time to etch into his memory all the fascinating aspects of her personality. The beauty of her angelic face.
He fought the urge, knowing it would only make parting more difficult. Already the idea of sending her off on a carriage tied his innards into knots. The words slipped out before he could stop them. “Dine with me tonight. While the men are ashore and The Kraken is quiet, dine with me?” To temper the desperation evident to his own ears, he added more quietly, “Then I’ll take you to the inn where you can sleep in your own bed and indulge in a bath.”
Her gaze flickered with an emotion that vanished before Cain could completely grasp it. Disappointment? He could find no reason for dismay—he’d done what her noble Teddy would. Offered her the privacy she deserved. The treat of a hot bath. No woman who’d been trapped aboard a ship for weeks on end would turn up her nose at the prospect of a perfumed bath.
She looked to her hands as she wrung them in her lap. “Cain, last night, I made a mistake.”
Ah. So that was the reason for her disappointment. She’d read more into his offer of dinner than he had intended. He rushed to end the conversation before it could go further. “Let’s leave last night in the past, where it belongs.”
Her hand caught his arm, her hold firm. “No. I want to talk about it.”
He bristled, the memory of their interlude too uncomfortable to face once again. Bitterness rose, unbidden. He gritted his teeth against the tightening of his lungs. Abruptly, he stood, dislodging her hand. “There’s nothing to discuss, India. It’s done and over. Leave it be.”
To his absolute consternation, she refused to let the subject rest. In a stronger tone, she insisted, “I don’t want to leave it be. I want to know why you left. Why you didn’t come back.”
Cain stared at the thick wall of treasure, his back as stiff as if someone had shoved an iron rod alongside his spine. He pursed his lips and set his jaw. She coul
d badger all she wished. Nothing would make him pursue this course.
****
In the granite lines of Cain’s face, India read what he didn’t say: Don’t ask again. Very well, she wouldn’t. At minimum, a four-week return journey to England loomed on the horizon. Plenty of time to drag answers out of him. For now, she’d let him believe he’d won.
Heavy stomping on the floorboards overhead relieved her of a response. Cain took advantage of the racket and changed the conversation. “Drake will arrive shortly to see the men are paid fairly.”
“Drake? Not yourself?”
Before her eyes, Cain’s body visibly relaxed. The clenched fist at his side let go, and he flexed his fingers. “As the crew’s elected representative, payment is the quartermaster’s duty. It is the way of rovers.”
She glanced around, picturing the briny seamen lugging out crates by the armful. “Does he hand them a crate and let them do what they will with it?”
“The men who sail for me are given their choice of two options. Take the raw treasure, or I will purchase what isn’t coin at the port rate. The smarter ones will take the goods and store them for later trade where they can make more money.” Cain thumped a large crate marked with three black X’s and stamped with leafy canes. “Jamaican molasses is nearly priceless. Particularly in other ports where rovers frequent. Without it, they’d have no rum.”
No wonder Grey and Cain thrived so well in the markets. Cain didn’t just understand the sea, he understood trade. Intimately so. Richard had struggled with the concept of shipping to demand. More than once they’d argued about his desire to ship goods to ports that saw little interest in the product, and her desire to establish new markets where goods had yet to be introduced.
“You argued with Richard about trade routes didn’t you?”
Cain drew back in surprise. “He told you?”
“No. He argued them with me.” She let out a soft chuckle. “He really was quite inept. I think Father only agreed to the merger because you’d be involved.”
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