After the ship’s bells rang, signaling the beginning of dog watch, Nicholas went below deck. He entered his quarters, hanging his jacket on the hook secured to the cabin wall. Small hands folded around his shoulders. Nicholas turned into the arms of Judith, an old amour.
Hair pinned into a nest of curls and bows atop her head, her long lashes fanned him. Glancing about the space, he searched for additional surprises before his gaze touched her again. “Why are ye here, Judith?”
“I thought to give you my company.”
“I’m a married mon.”
Her smile was a slow, inviting curving of full lips. “You brought me aboard your ship before.”
“Three years gone. Not since Cassie was old enough to understand.”
“Your wife’s not here, is she?” Her fingers spun the short hairs at the base of his neck. “Neither is Cassie.” Standing on the tips of her slippers, her arms encircled his neck before ruby lips pressed against his.
His hands moved along the length of her arm, easing out of her hold and stepping away. “I’m not interested.” He crossed the room to the small map table bolted to the ship’s floor. “What do ye want, Judith?”
“Your wife doesn’t make you happy. I can.”
His head shook. She was never one to tangle words. “Years ago, you sought more than the coin I had offered. Ye wanted a lord. Though you couldn’t boast of a relationship with a peer, knowing he was above your station was enough. Have you forgotten? I still can’t give you that.”
She moved closer. Nicholas recognized the easy sway of full hips. “You don’t believe that. Your circumstance has changed.”
The palms of his hands slammed against the surface of the table. “Nay!”
Judith gasped.
“Ye made your choice.”
“Nicholas?” Harold stumbled into the room. His eyes moved between them.
Nicholas straightened, folding his arms across his chest. “Ye’ll stay in Harold’s quarters.”
“I’ll stay here, with you.” She pouted.
In a swift move, he took her shoulders. “Ye’ll do as I say and be glad I don’t bunk ye with the men.”
Her lips pinched. “Turn the ship around!”
“No. It is too late to drop a rowboat. You wanted aboard, and here you will stay.”
Shrugging out of his hold, she pushed past them and out the door.
“Why didn’t the men stop her?” he asked Harold.
His cousin shrugged. “They assumed you knew.”
Nicholas jabbed his finger in Harold’s direction. “Keep her away from the men. She bats her lashes, and I’ll toss her off the deck myself.”
“We’ll have to return sooner than planned.”
“Over a bloody whore?”
“Try explaining to your wife why ye voyaged for months with your whore.”
“Jesu.” He ran sprawled fingers through his hair. “Aye. We’ll stop to load, no more.”
“The men will not be happy.” Harold said.
“The men will be content to return home with full purses.”
Alone in the room, Nicholas turned to the map. His finger traced the route he’d carefully planned. Fewer nights docked, the right winds and currents ensured them an early return. His finger tapped the spot indicating the Far East, and he knew that part of the trip was lost.
Sleep did not come easy that night, nor any of the nights in the weeks they’d departed. With most of the goods loaded and the crew having little time for entertainment on exotic shores, they were anxious and randy. Two lads had been rationed to bread and water for groping Judith. The rest he’d threatened with forfeiture of their share of the wages. While that stopped the men from making advances, it did nothing about the woman sashaying on his deck. His jaw clenched, suspecting the tension on board was her intent.
Tomorrow he would have words with Judith.
Tonight he needed sleep.
It had taken hours, but he had finally been lulled to sleep by the rocking of waves slapping the side of the ship. And it was the first night that dreams of his wife had not awoken him in the middle of the night, sweating and wanting. The longer he stayed at sea, the more vivid the memory of her touch had been. Even the sea breeze, once sure and true, had turned on him, until every brush of wind against his loose strands of hair reminded him of her hands at his nape.
Tonight he slept.
He had not dreamed of Isabella, yet he was restless. The shouting above his head was not moans of pleasure. The thumping of heals and the trace of sulfur peppering the air were not from the rose water she used in her bath. And surely his wife did not possess a gun…
Nicholas jolted up, his legs swinging off the bed. Slipping his feet into his boots, he was out the door before the second shot pierced the air. At the top of the stairs, he grabbed a lad by the shoulders, halting his descent.
“We’re taking fire, sir!” The lad’s eyes were wild.
Dammit, he knew that. He looked from the lad to his scrambling crew. “Where are you going?”
“First mate ordered powder, Captain.”
“Keep the barrels filled,” he commanded. “And Jesu, keep low before you get us all killed!” He released the young man, watching him stumble below deck to the supply hold.
Another shot echoed through the air, and he prayed his third, Grey, kept their distance from the enemy ship.
He pushed past the men. Above his head, a man scaled the mainmast to the fighting top. Hurrying across the deck, he found Harold taking cover behind the quarterdeck. “Who are they?”
“Still too dark to see their flag.”
“Pirates?”
“Aye, from what we can tell. The men are at their posts. They know not to waste a shot.” Harold nodded towards a second ship. “We heard gunfire in the distance… It was then that I realized it was Amrason’s vessel under charge.”
Nicholas cursed. “Let us come to Amrason’s aid, then.”
Harold nodded.
Picking up one of the guns laying between them, Nicholas loaded the musket. The pirates had likely used early dawn’s cover to attack. They had not anticipated clear, cloudless skies, however, or the glow that slowly broke over the sea.
“Nicholas? Nicholas?”
He stilled. Reaching over Harold, he peered around the wall. “Does the woman use common sense?”
Harold chuckled when Nicholas darted from their cover.
When he reached Judith, she clung to him. Her tucked curls now fell about her shoulders. “Oh Nicholas, thank God!”
“Get below, Judith.”
She shook her head, grip tightening.
“Unless you want those men to find you—hide!”
Her eyes widened.
“Hide in the crew’s quarters, among their bedding. If the pirates board they’ll be more interested in merchandise than the crew’s worthless belongings.” He pulled her towards the stairs and gave her a nudge.
Cursing, he turned on his heels, stopping only to give the men operating the cannon their orders and watch them load the first shot.
“Fire!”
That was their only warning as the ship’s cannon fired. Holding his breath, he waited for a sign that their shot hit its mark. When screams rent the air from the pirate ship, he slumped against the wall. He breathed deep and felt the subtle shift of the ship beneath him. “Grey found us a current.”
The ship moved closer.
“Aye, so did they.” Harold pointed as the pirates’ ship moved broadside.
“Ready your guns,” Nicholas yelled. He filled both hands with his pistols. Aimed. Fired. Gunshots echoed around them. Both ships answered the other’s call to surrender. Closing his eyes, he heard the screams of men and prayed they were not his. Countless times they reloaded, called for gunpowder, and told his mates to stand strong. “Hold your ground!”
Saltpeter and gunpowder thickened the air, the fresh scent of sea air gone. A deck once mopped clean was mucked with blood and powder.
&nb
sp; A few feet away, gunshots hit the end of the quarterdeck where his new crewmate huddled. The man’s fingers fumbled with his weapon. Another shot hit the wall, just above Calloway’s shoulder.
“Light the slow match, mon!” he said. Calloway took aim. Nicholas watched wide eyed as the spark moved up the fuse. It smoldered but did not ignite. The slow match did not touch the gunpowder.
“Jammed!” Calloway fought with his gun again.
Cursing, Nicholas grabbed the musket at his feet, aimed, and fired at the pirate slumped before the other vessel’s bowsprit. When the man fell into the water, he said, “Don’t just sit there, Calloway, repack that musket!”
“Aye, Captain!”
One by one he watched the pirates fall, yet still they came. As the first morning breeze drifted across the sea, he looked at the tattered sails. Leaving Harold, he moved towards the wheel. Jesu, he had no appetite for dying today.
When a round of cheers sounded, Nicholas looked towards the pirates’ ship. They were leaving, turning their wheel away from Amrason’s ship. He took stock of his men, his ship, and when Amrason’s vessel maneuvered alongside theirs, his men stretched a plank to the deck of the other ship.
“Your men?”
“Alive because of you, Captain Nicholas.”
Nicholas shook the man’s outstretched hand.
“That was brave, to risk your lives and come to our aid,” Amrason said.
“I’d like to think the favor will be returned one day.” Nicholas looked over the ocean. “I suggest we leave these waters.”
Amrason nodded before again stepping onto the plank that joined their ships. He paused. “These pirates are becoming bolder. Blackening their sails, attacking under dark skies. We would fare better together.”
Nicholas shifted. “What are you suggesting?”
“We sail and return together. Pirates are less likely to attack two ships, and our lives will not be solely dependent on incompetent men.”
“The first convoy.” Nicholas nodded, sure this new partnership would benefit them both.
At the helm, Nicholas spun the wheel. They were still in the currents. With luck, their sails would catch the winds that would lead them home.
Twenty Three
“Isabella?”
Isabella looked up from the unfinished letter on the desk to the little girl, knowing that her undivided attention was required. Cassie sat in the corner of the library with blocks, strips of wood—peeled from the bark of a tree by one of the stable hands—and a bowl of paste prepared by Edyeth.
Isabella’s lips twitched in amusement.
“When is Papa coming home?”
“Soon, darling.” Isabella’s voice caught. Cassie must have heard the uncertainty in her voice. She looked up from her play, a frown creasing her brow.
That answer, as well as the others she’d used in the month since Nicholas had left, was no longer sufficient. Cassie’s persistence showed no sign of easing. In fact, the child grew restless with time, and no amount of reassurance placated her questions. Isabella was immensely grateful to the staff for distracting Cassie. The house now had two cooks, thanks to Nicholas for continuing to employ her two servants. He’d found a place for them here, insisting they stay for as long as they wanted it.
It had all worked remarkably well. While Miss Conley, the head cook, prepared delicious lunches and suppers, she was lacking in the art of perfecting pastry. Mrs. Berths filled that void quite well. Her scones and sweets went a long way in soothing Cassie. On many occasions, Mrs. Berths also prepared their picnic luncheons. Miss Conley often commented on the increased time she now had for the market and the creation of new dishes.
Mr. Berths, on the other hand, once Isabella’s head butler, now found the extra time as second butler highly vexing, except for the moments he snuck off with his wife.
Taking the paper between her fingers, Isabella crumpled the letter she’d started, balling it in her fist before tossing it into the bin with the others. The message was meant for the madam in charge of Sound of Voices. She had hoped to gain a few more students now that she was married and the wagging tongues had quieted, finding some new gossip more entertaining. However, Isabella knew the elite society could be high handed with their forgiveness, especially if they felt snubbed.
She didn’t need to seek employ now that she was married. Nicholas had entrusted her with enough coin and pin money—but the bit of freedom she’d tasted from her brief independence was alluring.
Isabella snatched another paper from her writing desk, then dipped her quill.
A month had passed since her marriage to Nicholas. In that time, she had never felt lonelier. She had gotten exactly what she had bargained for, yet the knowledge brought her no enjoyment.
“Will you go away when Papa comes home?” Cassie asked, startling Isabella from her thoughts.
“Of course not,” she answered readily, wondering why Cassie would ask such a question. “This is my home now.”
Cassie smiled with all the mischievousness of an imp.
“Cassie—”
“I know Papa married you because he wanted me to have a mother, and you didn’t really want to marry my papa, so you ran away.” Cassie smeared another clump of paste on the blocks, then spread the paste with the brush. She paused. “Next time take his ship. He can’t catch you if you take his ship.”
Isabella snorted back a laugh. The child was far too clever, Isabella thought. Pushing back from the desk, Isabella came to sit on the settee close to Cassie. “One of the reasons we married was because of you,” she said, confident Nicholas had always been open and honest with the child, and immediately grateful with her decision when Cassie responded with a nod. “He wanted you to have a life with all the joys he could provide.”
“But you don’t love my papa.”
At the time of their marriage, she did not, Isabella confessed. In time she’d come to know the man who was both the relentless captain and the father. He was not at all who she’d expected. The servants respected and adored him, and he was a fair master. He had not neglected Cassie to servants or shunned his responsibility because she was not of his seed. Quite the opposite.
Her heart tugged. Despite all the affection he received, he held himself separate from everyone. Looking at the world from outside instead of participating, as though he waited for its rejection and disappointment, expected it. Poor Nicholas. Isabella hugged her waist, wondering when he had lost his trust in love.
Isabella awoke and groaned the next morning. Tossing her arm over her eyes, she blocked the sunlight from rendering her blind. Last evening she’d opened the curtains and unlatched the windows, wanting the cool night air to dull her senses. Forgetting him was not that simple. She wanted to escape, anything to forget the memory of Nicholas’s angry footsteps outside the doors of her room. Their last night together tumbled back with vivid certainty. Her husband! How had the entire event turned rotten?
“Is that what you truly desire, Isabella, to be alone? Is my touch so repulsive?”
“Yes.”
Isabella squeezed her eyes shut. The emotions he had stirred scared her. She had lied. Recklessly answered out of fear.
What a ninny she was.
Something changed in him then. A quiet calm took over. She expected rage, anger perhaps, but received none. Late into the night he’d left their room. The following morning he’d packed their trunks with swift silence.
How sure she’d been of what she desired. Now she was not so convinced. She silently wept, feeling a profound sense of loss.
Their ride home from Gretna Green the following day had been filled with tension. There might as well have been a mountain between them, Isabella thought.
Later that afternoon, when the air had cooled, he’d wrapped his coat around her shoulders with cold carefulness. She’d felt his anger, frustration, and even jealousy before, but never such chill. He had avoided her touch, Isabella remembered with deep longing, a connection her body now c
raved. And when he’d helped her from the carriage, Nicholas hadn’t held her by the waist as he typically did, but by her gloved fingers, as though they had not shared an intimate night together.
But Isabella felt his warmth from the small contact, and was sure, when their eyes met, he’d felt it too.
Frustrated, Isabella rolled onto her stomach, wishing the night had swallowed her. From the time she met Nicholas, she was torn between desire and pride. There was nothing proper about the man. He infuriated her. But by the devil, he set all her nerves on end. Her heart leapt and responded even when her head was tormented and confused by her feelings. He proved an elixir against all things wicked.
Even now, she wanted him. Her muscles stretched, taut at the reminder of his vow.
It was her own cowardice that had kept her from Nicholas that night, and pride that had kept her from asking he not sail. Instead, she sought solace in the cool night air. But the stars did not dull her hope for love, and the moon, with all its beauty, did not cease the knowledge of her disposition.
“Leave,” Isabella warned when the door to her room opened.
“I’ll do nothing of the sort,” Virginia said. “He’ll be back. He always comes home.”
Isabella buried herself deeper beneath the sheets, pulling the covers over her head. Instead of retreating, the footsteps grew nearer. She sulked, any hope at solitude dashed when the bed dipped.
“Locking yourself away in your rooms won’t gain Nicholas’s favor. No good can come of it.” Virginia’s voice softened.
Her head shook. Pity would send her into another fit of tears. “I wish to be left alone.” There was a brief pause. Isabella held her breath. Surely someone in this house must obey.
“Did he hurt you? He could be—but I can’t imagine him uncaring with your first time.”
Isabella groaned, mortified. “He was most…” She thought of the right words. “Attentive.” She felt a blush color her cheeks, and immediately clutched the covers to shield her embarrassment.
Not deterred by Isabella’s tight grip, Virginia eased the covers past Isabella’s shoulders, rousting her from hiding before helping her to sit. “Nicholas is a complicated man,” Virginia said when Isabella sat, tucking the coverlet firmly around her torso. “He’s not at all the unkind beast the world knows him to be.”
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