by Kresley Cole
She walked closer and raised her face to catch his gaze. "Chancey, if you kick me off this ship, then I'm walking straight over to the Southern Cross and sailing with Sutherland. You know he'll take me on." She gave him a sly look.
"Bloody hell! Yer father'll have a stroke, ye just see if he won't. And he'll be comin' after ye."
"No, he won't--I wrote him a letter. He'll be fine," she said blithely, though she doubted her pleading letter would in fact keep him idle in London. "One way or another, I'm sailing this race. Since you need me, I might as well sail with you."
When he still looked unconvinced, she said, "You're always telling me to follow my gut--listen to my instincts. Well, right now my instinct's telling me that I need to be a part of this race."
Chancey looked as though that idea affected him, but then he smirked. "I'll just stay here till Sutherland sails. Then where will ye be?"
She smirked back. "If you go by his ship, you'll see that he's not sailing today, and rumor has it that he's not going to sail for a couple more days. Who knows, Chancey, he might be waiting to find me," she said. She didn't believe that, but this line of argument appeared to be wearing the man down. "I'll just go let him know where I am." She turned on her heel, astonishing even herself with how scheming she could be. But this was an exception--she had to sail.
She'd just made it to the gangway when he reeled off a curse. His voice gruff, he called out, "I hope all those dancin' lessons didn't make ye forget yer dead reckonin' and numbers."
Several hundred ships upriver from Nicole, Derek sat for a good part of the afternoon nursing a bottle of brandy. The race would be starting soon, so he left his cabin to climb up on deck. He took a deep breath of air, fresher because of the high tide, and scanned the port crowded with the world's fastest moonrakers, their masts towering into the clouds. He could hear the lively music carrying over the water as an official band played. All along the Thames, shopkeepers filled the quayside with their colorful stalls, and the national flags of all the entries dotted the patchwork scene. It was a huge celebration, one he and his men should be a part of. But he couldn't think of that now.
He'd expected that the sight of his better rivals with their spotless vessels in full regalia would make him feel like a complete fool for choosing to stay in port. He'd watched and jotted down his customary observations about the ships, but he hadn't come to regret his decision. For some reason that he didn't understand, he had to find Nicole before he sailed. An urgency gripped him that he couldn't explain to himself, much less to his disgusted brother or disgruntled crew.
Remembering the astonished faces of his sailors when he'd told them his decision made his lips twitch. He hadn't missed the quick exchange of coins as bets were paid. Well, they could laugh all they wanted. The decision to find her was...right.
His semidrunken musings were interrupted when he noticed the Bella Nicola taking her place among the other ships. He knew Lassiter was still in jail, and that he hadn't even attempted the surely futile search for another captain. So who in the hell was taking the ship on?
Derek raced over the helm to pick up his spyglass. Unsteadily, he trained it on the ship.
With her glinting hair streaming out behind her, Nicole Lassiter stood at the bow of the Bella Nicola and was sailing right past him. Chancey had the bridge.
Derek shook his head, unable to believe it. He ran a hand over his face; then, with an excitement he hadn't felt in years, he turned toward his crew and bellowed, "Make ready to sail!"
Chapter 10
O ut of necessity, Nicole and Chancey made it through the day without arguing.
But that night...
"Damn it, what were ye thinkin'?" he bellowed over dinner. His voice boomed so loud, Nicole thought it rattled their tin plates.
She blew out a breath. "You know, I was thinking we'd make it through the whole day."
He had his thick hand stuffed into the handle of a mug that he whacked against the table for emphasis. "This is no school outin'. We're sailin' into the Forties--ye know the kind o' storms we'll see."
"I know, and I can't wait." She slathered butter on a biscuit and took a big bite.
"We'll have to adjust our course because o' ye. Hell, we shouldn't even sail this bloody race." Another bang of his mug. "We don't have a chance with ye on board."
"That's where you're wrong," she declared, tempted to bang her mug back at him. "I plan on navigating for us, winning this race, and saving the line. Unless you want to risk my father's future and ours as well, we'll stay steady and weather whatever comes, as it comes."
"What about Sutherland? We all saw him yellin' at his crew and them all scamperin' all over the deck--ye know he's comin'. What do ye think he'll do now?"
"I think he'll eat our wake for the next thirteen thousand miles," she said with a lazy grin, ignoring Chancey's vexed expression. She picked up an apple and knife and leisurely began cutting. "Really, what can he do now that we're under way? Catch us?" she scoffed.
"No, he can't catch the Bella Nicola. But say what if?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "I can't understand a man like that. Chancey, why wasn't he planning on sailing today? Doesn't he care that this is probably the most important race of his life?"
"Sometimes a man like that is beyond carin' about anythin'," he answered as he wrenched his mug off his hand and pushed his plate aside.
"Why?"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out tobacco for his clay pipe. "'Cause he's lost the hope in him."
"So, what happens with someone like him? Do they just stay that way forever?" she asked, then added, "Oh, don't look at me all suspicious like that. I'm not making plans--I'm just curious. I might not ever see him again."
He eyed her skeptically, but at her feigned studious look he relaxed, lit his pipe, and began explaining. "A man can change, but only when he can start lookin' forward to the days ahead. If ye dread every mornin' cause it's a new day, then ye stop carin'."
"Is that what happened with you when your wife died?"
Chancey inhaled deeply on his pipe, the air forcing his barrel chest to grow even larger, and exhaled slowly. "Aye. It were bloody hard--so hard I'd given up on livin'. But then yer father hired me aboard. Blasted Yank wouldn't take no for an answer--said he understood what I was goin' through. And I knew quick-like that I needed to help him care for ye. Ye were so wild, doin' only as ye pleased. And he couldn't naysay ye. Still can't, if ye ask me," he grumbled.
She ignored the last comment and asked, "So, we helped you get your hope back?"
"Aye. It takes somethin' to change yer life so much ye can finally see that yer days could turn out good-like in the future."
Was that why Sutherland wasted all that he'd been given in his life? He threw away so much, and it angered her. She needed to feed that anger, because she'd unforgivably developed soft feelings toward him that made her weak--soft feelings that clung even after she understood how truly despicable he was. She couldn't seem to think of him without her heart squeezing in her chest, yet for him she'd been merely a...diversion. The heated names she'd called him that strange night while trying to get Chancey to forget the idea of marriage had seemed harsh and overdone then. Really, they were exactly fitting.
What was so bad was that, deep down, she'd known. She'd felt the danger rolling off him. She'd seen him in that vile tap house and had learned about his exploits even before she met him.
The only thing that kept her from truly hating Sutherland was remembering that she had been using him as well. She'd needed to appease her desires and curiosity because, until that night, she'd tossed in her bed wondering about passion until she thought it would drive her mad.
Sadly, she still tossed in her bed, but now it was because she understood what passion was.
Why couldn't he be the type of man who would be as affected as she was and feel this longing, too?
"Nic, ye look like ye're gonna cry," Chancey said hesitantly as he relit his pipe.
"Huh?" She shook her head. "I was just thinking...and I am not going to cry." She was appalled at the idea. "When was the last time you saw me cry?"
Chancey thought before answering. "When ye were eight and ye fell outta the riggin' and broke yer arm. Such a wee monkey ye were." He chuckled. "I thought yer father was gonna have a fit."
The mention of her father brought Nicole's attention back to where it should have been in the first place. Since she was fairly certain Sutherland had had nothing to do with her father's continued imprisonment or the ship sabotage, she would just tuck that memory of him way back in her heart and think of him no more. The next few months would be grueling enough as it was.
"We'll just have to brazen it out," Nicole said decisively. "That's what we'll do. Father is counting on both of us, even if he doesn't know it yet. I won't let a sod like Sutherland put me off course."
Lassiter's imprisonment lasted not one week more, but two. He'd been like a madman when he'd received Nicole's letter because he couldn't do a thing to stop her. Within minutes of his release he was in Mayfair, drumming on the doors at Atworth House.
Jason pushed past the aging butler and marched down to the salon. It was a place he'd always remember. In that room, Evelyn Banning had blamed him for her daughter's death. She'd called Nicole a savage. And she'd extracted a promise to return Nicole to this mausoleum when she was only twelve. It was the only promise he'd ever broken.
He froze in midstride as he was confronted with the huge portrait of Laurel above the fireplace. No, he'd broken one other promise. In that steamy night off the coast of Brazil, he'd told Laurel that she would live.
He couldn't save his wife, but he could damn well go after his daughter.
"Nicole has sailed on my ship in the Great Circle Race," Jason announced without preamble when he stood in front of her.
Evelyn didn't raise her coiffed head from her cross-stitching. "She told me she was returning to Paris or elsewhere on the Continent. Not sailing to Australia again."
"I need to go after her, and I don't have a ship within two weeks' sailing time of here." His throat tightened. "I...I need passage," he ground out.
At this, she lowered her work. "Honestly, Jason! Don't be so melodramatic. I'm angry, too, but there's nothing to be done for it now. She'll be back soon enough. Chit will miss much of the season, though." Then, in a dismissing tone, she added, "Keep me updated on her whereabouts."
"I don't think you understand me. She is in danger, and I need to go after her."
The dowager stood in a huff. "Ridiculous. After all the times you've written, assuring me how safe she was, how beneficial sailing was for the girl--don't go changing your tale on me." She turned to leave the room.
"I could make sure she was safe because I was with her," Jason said as he grasped her arm. She gave him a withering look, but he couldn't be deterred. "Damn it, I wanted to spare you the realities of this trip, but you leave me no choice. I've been investigating a series of strange accidents that have been afflicting several lines. I know that my ship was targeted because Nicole stumbled across a couple of cutthroats sabotaging it. She barely escaped with her life."
He continued over the woman's horrified gasp, "She'll travel through the fortieth parallel, known as the Roaring Forties, where some of the worst weather on earth manifests itself. Thirty-to sixty-foot rogue waves, large enough to swallow a ship of much more tonnage than mine, are not unheard of. The path where they are charted to sail has literally thousands of shipwrecks on the sea floor. And if I know Nicole, she'll probably even maneuver them into the Screaming Fifties, which are much, much--"
"I don't want to know!" The cross-stitching she'd been clutching dropped to the floor. "For God's sake, why have you taken her there in the past?" she cried in outrage.
"We never sailed the more extreme course. But Nicole came across her competition's planned route. It was next to suicidal. Now that she knows how far into the Forties he'll go, she'll sail even farther south."
"I do not believe this." She grasped the high collar at her throat with shaking fingers. "This is your fault. Again!"
Lassiter drew his eyebrows together in an agonized expression. "It's usually not so dangerous. And even now, I wouldn't overly worry about her because she's in capable hands. Hell, she is a capable hand. But before there was no doubt about our ship's integrity--now I don't know if those thugs could have been successful. It would be a deadly combination if they timed an accident to occur in the strongest tossing of the ship."
His look was beseeching. "I've got to get to my daughter, because if she hasn't already, she could soon know a living hell."
Chapter 11
T his is embarrassing," Nicole heard one of their midshipmen mumble from the deck.
What an understatement. Just hours ago, they'd lost their rudder, and the Bella Nicola had become completely incapacitated. Their beautiful, regal ship with its American flag pennants had been flailing around, out of control--a menace to the fishing vessels dotting the waters off the coast of Brazil.
After several hours, they'd managed to rig a makeshift rudder that would help them get closer to land and help. More important, they'd been able to get out of sight before the other gaining ships in the race had any chance to see them. Nicole knew it was shallow--but she would simply have to drown herself if Sutherland saw them like this.
She shook her hung head, only to cringe again when she looked up to the bow. They'd certainly found help.
The Bella Nicola was being towed by a fully stocked guano freighter.
Even in the turmoil of the Bay of Biscay's continuous storms, which Derek secretly believed was the best part of sailing, his mind had been constantly on Nicole. Evidently, she'd been spying on the competition. All of the competition, if he was part of some list.
Hell, he'd seen her studying his chart. And now that she'd learned how far south he planned to go, they'd try to beat it. He in turn would have to sail closer to the Antarctic than he'd ever anticipated.
When he found Nicole he would...bloody hell, he didn't know what he'd do.
For not quite six thousand miles, he'd followed patiently behind the Bella Nicola, rarely varying from his south-southwest course. He'd already passed other competitors and was comfortable with his position, even though Nicole led, and he was most likely steadily losing ground on her. He didn't doubt he'd make it up in the Southern Ocean--no ship was stronger than his in those seas.
As they neared the easternmost tip of South America and the waters took on the emerald green cast so common over the reefs in this area, his crew spotted some local fishing vessels about sixty miles off the coast. Anxious to confirm his second-place position, Derek closed in and signaled them. The locals approached in their log raft jangadas and related that the Desirade had already passed.
Silence claimed the deck. Word of Tallywood's lead stunned everyone. Even though the Desirade was an extreme clipper, Tallywood had never attained half its potential speed. With his superior airs and his negligence in captaining, he'd become a hated figure in the shipping community.
Tallywood's lead was surprising news in itself, but then Derek learned that the Bella Nicola had been towed into port at Recife, Brazil.
Towed?
He thought of his own strong position, of the ships he'd passed in the Bay of Biscay and down the trades. It would be a close thing to take the lead from Tallywood as they continued south, then turned east toward Africa and the Cape of Good Hope, but Derek could afford to stop. It wasn't as if Nicole would be cutting a larger lead in the meantime, and she was his main competition. Or at least, her ship was. After ordering his crew to Recife, he went to his cabin to change.
He smiled, a lupine grin, when he recalled another excellent reason to stop in Recife--namely, Madam Maria Delgado's bordello....
Without warning, the dream from two nights before flooded his mind. In it, Nicole lay in his bed, completely unclothed beside him, her impatient hands smoothing over his body. H
e turned and reached for her, pulling her body close to press against the naked length of his own.
He tilted her head to take his seeking mouth, and she eagerly met his lips, slipping her tongue in to lightly lap at his own. His hands roamed the front of her body, only stopping to press his thumbs over her nipples.
Over and over, he brushed the peaks while he plundered her mouth, until she began writhing uncontrollably, arching her pelvis onto his swollen rod, making him want to explode against her.
The husky little moans escaping her soft lips made him desperate to possess her, to pound himself into her unmercifully until he made her convulse around him and cry his name. But each time he positioned her to take him, she moved elusively, maddeningly. At last, she allowed him to rise over her, his arms at her sides and his legs resting between hers as his mouth hungrily took hers again.
Suddenly she broke the kiss, and he sensed she would move away from him again. To keep her where he wanted, he swiftly spread his legs over hers to rest against the side of each thigh so that all of him surrounded her pinned body. But then she put her small hands on his chest and, before he could stop her, pushed against him as she inched her way down his body until he straddled her shoulders and head. He was too stunned to move--too heavily aroused to think. And when she grasped him and brought that hot, wet mouth over him, he didn't know if he could stop himself from spilling into her....
Jerking upright in bed, he'd awakened from the most powerfully erotic dream he'd ever experienced. As the pressure pooled in his groin, he groaned in the dark. He gripped himself, intending to finish it off, but his rough hand sliding over his cock was a poor substitute for a woman's soft flesh, or soft mouth.
His aching erection wouldn't subside, and with each second he'd endured it, he'd sworn he would make her pay for this night. She had brought him to this--to experiencing more violently sensual dreams than he'd ever had, even as a green lad. Even more determinedly, he'd vowed that he would find a woman when they next stopped and use her until Nicole was placed firmly in the back of his mind.