“As am I!” she said fervently. “I don’t like the war with France, but I can understand since we’ve done it for centuries. But why fight Americans, who are our brothers and cousins? I’m hoping that with Napoleon gone, we can have a long and prosperous peace.”
“We can but hope.” He didn’t sound terribly optimistic.
They’d reached the main deck so she reluctantly released his arm. “Time for breakfast. Later, Rory and I will go down to watch the animals again. Together.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “Till later, Miss Hollings.”
“Constance,” she said shyly. “Since we’re shipmates and you’re my rescuer.”
“Constance,” he said with a slow, warm smile. “My name is Jason.” He inclined his head and left her.
As she crossed the deck toward the officers’ mess, she realized she was doing the same thing as Rory: finding one of the men on this voyage far too attractive. She’d have to bury those feelings.
But she would enjoy them, and the memory of his smile, for a little longer.
* * *
Rory thought Constance looked distracted when she arrived at the officers’ mess, but she didn’t find out why until they returned to their cabin. Hanging on the outside knob was a canvas bag tagged with their names.
When they entered the cabin, Rory opened the bag and found a pair of neatly folded scarves. Her brow furrowed. “These are very pretty, but who gave them to us?” Constance took the shimmering green scarf and let it fall open to reveal bands of gold embroidery at both ends. It was about a foot wide and easily six feet long. “They’re from Mr. Landers. When I was looking at the lion, I was assaulted by one of the animal keepers who apparently thought I was a . . . a woman of ill repute.” She tried to sound casual, but her voice was less than steady.
“What!” Rory stared at her cousin, shocked. “Can you identify the man who attacked you? He must be reported to Captain Hawkins and punished!”
Constance sank onto her bunk and pulled the green scarf through her fingers nervously. “Mr. Landers rescued me before any damage was done and explained that having a bare head and face made me look like I wasn’t a respectable woman. When I suggested wearing head scarves when we’re out and about, he said he’d send over a couple that are suitable. After he terrorized the fellow, he asked if I wanted to report the incident, but when I thought about it, I said no.”
“Why? Even if you were a prostitute, he shouldn’t have assaulted you!”
“Since the assault seemed to be a misunderstanding, I thought it best not to make an official report, which might increase tensions on the ship. Mr. Landers said he’d discuss it unofficially with the captain to ensure nothing similar happened again.” She wrapped the light, silky fabric experimentally around her neck, lower face, and head. “If I must wear a scarf, this one is very pretty.”
“It brings out the green in your eyes.” Rory perched on the bench seat below the window and examined the other scarf, which was similar in style but blue instead of green. “Thank heaven that Mr. Landers was available to rescue you.”
“There are brutes about, but we’re lucky that many men are kind and honest and protective.”
Hearing an unexpected note in her cousin’s voice, Rory asked, “And Mr. Landers is such a man?”
Constance blushed. “Like you, I’m finding myself too attracted to one of the men on this ship.”
“I wonder if we’re susceptible because we know this voyage might end in our being forever separated from our own kind?” Rory said thoughtfully.
“I suppose that’s possible,” Constance said. “Yet I think I would find Mr. Landers attractive under any conditions.”
Rory wondered if she’d be so drawn to Gabriel Hawkins if she wasn’t in danger of lifelong slavery. No, she’d find him appealing anywhere because he wasn’t like any other man she’d known. He lived in a broader world than the one in which she had been raised, the world she’d spent years trying to escape.
Scratching sounded at their door. Constance said warily, “Do you think that’s some other idiot male who thinks our cabin is a brothel?”
“I think such a man would knock or rattle the doorknob or croon sweet nothings in Arabic.” Rory moved to the door and cautiously opened it, then reflexively jerked backward. Sitting outside on his haunches was The Spook, and in his mouth was a still-struggling gray rat. A large rat.
“Good heavens!” Constance said, pulling her feet up onto her bunk bed. “What is that creature? A refugee from Malek’s menagerie?”
“He’s the ship’s cat. I met him last night. Since he didn’t have a name, I christened him The Spook. Captain Hawkins said this is exactly how he applied for the job of ship’s cat. He showed up on the Zephyr with a struggling rat in his teeth and broke its neck to prove his credentials.”
“He must like you,” Constance said, relaxing a little. “He’s brought you a gift.”
Rory winced as The Spook crunched down on the rat. There was an audible snap, and the rodent stopped struggling.
In her travels, Rory had seen many sights that would be considered unfit for a lady’s eyes, but she had to steel herself to say, “What a very efficient mouser you are, Mr. Spook. Are you waiting for an invitation to come in?”
She stepped aside and the cat entered and dropped the dead rat at her feet. “I suppose an honest rat is a better gift than bad poetry from some idiot boy who thinks I’m a perfect lady. Spook, you don’t seem inclined to eat your prey. May I throw it out?”
He sat down on his haunches again and began washing his face. Rory asked, “Constance, you’re the one with medical experience. Do you wish to do the honors?”
Her cousin shuddered elaborately. “No, thank you! You’re the one he fancies.”
After Rory unlatched the small porthole, she used the canvas bag the scarves had come in to gingerly pick up the limp body. Then she hurled it out as hard as she could.
After closing the cabin door, she sat on the bench seat and extended a hand to the cat. “He really is an odd-looking creature, isn’t he? Strange proportions, with a head too small for that rather large body, absurdly long legs, and the splotches of gray on his head and back are two distinctly different shades.”
“And cross-eyed. He looks like he was made of spare parts left over from other cats,” Constance observed. “Are you sure he isn’t some exotic African breed?”
“As far as I know, he’s a standard alley cat. But he’s rather endearing, isn’t he?”
“If you say so. I’ll concede that he’s an interesting-looking fellow. Mr. Spook, will you come here so I can scratch your head?” Constance stretched out a hand invitingly.
Ignoring her, the cat crossed to Rory and sat in front of her, his cross-eyed gaze fixed on her face. Moving slowly so as not to startle him, she scratched between his ears. He leaned into her and began purring.
She smiled and continued scratching his head and neck. “Last night when I asked if he might spend the night with us, he must have realized it was an invitation.”
“He could have showed up without the hostess present!”
“True.” Rory laughed. “But he has guaranteed we’ll never forget meeting him.”
Chapter 12
Diplomacy was required when traveling with potentially hostile passengers who outnumbered one’s own crew. Gabriel would have preferred flogging the man who had assaulted Miss Hollings, but he and Malek were in agreement that handling the matter unofficially was wisest. Gabriel commended Landers on his good sense, and Malek gave a lecture to his men about the proper ways of regarding European women, since many of them had never seen such exotic, apparently brazen creatures before.
Later in the day, Gabriel observed his female passengers moving about the ship with discreetly wound head scarves that covered all of their faces except for their eyes. Oddly enough, he had no trouble telling the cousins apart even though they were of similar size and shape. He had a feeling he could find Lady Aurora in a coal cel
lar at midnight, and wasn’t that a foolish thought for a hard-bitten sea captain?
One crisis averted on the voyage, but Constantinople was still at least two and a half weeks away. He wondered what the next crisis would be, but shrugged. Dealing with crises was a captain’s job.
At dinner in the officers’ mess, the ladies removed their scarves so they could eat, and Lady Aurora entertained the table with her tale of how the ship’s cat had invited himself into their cabin and given proof of his hunting skill in the process. She seemed to have reacted to the struggling rat more calmly than he’d done when The Spook had first joined his crew.
After dinner, the ladies donned their scarves again and withdrew to their cabin together. He watched them go wistfully. Foolish of him to wish that Rory would roam the ship every night, but he couldn’t help but hope.
It had always been his custom to make his rounds of the ship before retiring, ending at the taffrail where he would unwind and sense the weather for the coming hours. Tonight, the waves were rougher than usual and it felt as if there would be rain by morning, but nothing serious.
As he eyed scudding clouds across the waxing moon, his thoughts obsessively returned to the subject of how to successfully free Malek’s family and the two captive English ladies. He didn’t know Gürkan well, but in his previous dealings, he’d judged the man to be a bully who enjoyed causing pain. Malek was hoping that ransom money and gifts would free his family because he had no other hope, but Gabriel suspected that Gürkan would accept the money and gifts, then slam the door in Malek’s face.
Though Gabriel didn’t know much about the Ottoman legal system, it was a fact of life everywhere that men of great wealth and power were usually able to commit crimes that would get lesser men executed. If Malek accused his cousin of kidnapping his wife and children, Gürkan could claim they were slaves given as gifts. And if Malek protested too much, his family might die of some mysterious fever in Gürkan’s harem. Malek knew that as well as Gabriel did. The situation was damnable.
He hadn’t realized how tense he’d become until a faint fragrance of rosemary pulled him from his thoughts. Rory. He turned and smiled as she approached, moving gracefully from one handhold to another because of the rough seas.
“Captain,” she said, voice demure but giving him a smile that blazed like a candle in the night.
He suspected that the smile he returned made him look like a babbling idiot. “Lady Aurora. Are you and Miss Hollings settling in well?” Had he asked her that last night? Probably.
“Yes, your crew has been all that is kind.”
“Since it’s windy, shall we move here?” He motioned to the leeward side of the quarterdeck, which was a little calmer, and also out of sight of any crewmen.
Rory wasn’t wearing the head scarf, and there was just enough light to reveal the classical purity of her features. Searching for a neutral topic, he asked, “Has the cat moved in with you and Miss Hollings? He needs to remember that his first duty is patrolling the ship and providing summary justice to vermin.”
She laughed. “He spent some time lounging on Constance’s bunk, but left when I came out and went off to report for duty. I expect he is even now searching out mice and rats. Cats are really valuable at sea, aren’t they?”
“Very. The cook dotes on him because vermin can destroy a ship’s supplies very quickly. There is no better antidote to that than cats.”
“I shall be sure to include a cat on board with my blockade-runner heroine. Constance was doing sketches of me looking brave and dashing.” She frowned. “I need to learn more about cutlasses. Do you have yours on you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he admitted. “For all that the sea seems quiet tonight, these are potentially dangerous waters. If a galley full of pirates approached and tried to board, one wouldn’t want to be without weapons.”
“I must remember to put that in my story. May I see the cutlass?”
He pulled the blade from its sheath, which was mostly concealed under his long coat, and showed it to her. The curving blade glinted briefly as the moon emerged from behind passing clouds. “Have you had any experience with swords?”
She studied the weapon with interest. “I sometimes fenced with my older brothers, but we used lightweight fencing foils.”
“A cutlass is shorter and much heavier. Heavy enough to cut through ropes and canvas and even wood if necessary.” He showed her the proper grip and demonstrated several cutting motions. “It’s good for close-quarters work and doesn’t require as much training as a long sword. That’s why they’re so useful on ships.”
“May I hold it?”
He didn’t usually allow others to handle his sword, so it seemed very personal to give it to Rory. Handing it over hilt first, he said, “The blade is very sharp, so use care.”
The weapon briefly sagged in her hand when she took hold of it. “This really is heavy!”
She ran her fingertips over the subtle engraving on the curved blade, then took a firm grip on the basket handle. As she raised the cutlass and moved it carefully through the air to get a sense of how it felt in her hand, she observed, “Brandishing a cutlass is harder than it looks. My heroine is going to have to have strong wrists!”
There was a heavy bench by the mizzenmast so she hopped gracefully onto it, catching a line with one hand for balance as she swayed with the ship’s motion. “Behold the brave and beautiful captain of the swiftest blockade runner on the high seas!”
He beheld a goddess of wind and sea. And he knew the image of vital, laughing Lady Aurora with a cutlass in hand and her golden hair and full skirts billowing in the wind would remain with him until the day he died. Throat tight, he said only, “No need to brandish it unless you’re being boarded. Hold the cutlass by your side as you look nobly into the sea, eyes narrowed while you scan for enemy sails.”
She chuckled. “It’s hard to see myself as a danger to anyone.”
She was certainly a danger to male hearts and wits. He lifted his hand to retrieve the weapon. “Tomorrow you can examine it more closely in daylight.”
She passed the cutlass back, hilt first. He liked that she was a quick learner and respected the potential danger of weapons. After sheathing the cutlass, he raised his hand again to help her down from her perch.
As he did, the Zephyr lurched into an unusually deep wave. In the act of descending, Rory lost her balance and a bundle of warm, soft female tumbled into his arms. He barely managed to keep them both from crashing to the deck, but years of sailing experience came to his aid and he stayed upright, holding her hard against him with one arm.
He froze, flooded with sensations. How long had it been since he’d held a woman like this? Far, far too long, and that woman had not been Rory Lawrence.
She could have pulled away, but instead she gave a small sigh of pleasure and melted against him, her arms sliding around his chest and her cheek rubbing sensuously against his throat. “I shouldn’t want this so much,” she said huskily.
“Nor should I.” Yet he literally could not force himself to let her go. He’d seen her lovely, graceful body barely concealed by silken veils, and he remembered every detail of her tapering waist and slim limbs and perfect breasts. Immobilized by an intoxicating blend of desire and emotion, he ran his hands over her sweet curves and wished they were skin to skin, intimate as Adam and Eve.
Seeking, his mouth met hers in a kiss of wonder and delight. Her lips were warm and soft, not wholly inexperienced but far from practiced. His reaction flared into shattering need. He wanted to claim her, protect her, bind her to him forever.
The ship’s bell rang through the darkness. Eight bells. Midnight, the changing of the watch, and far past time to put distance between them. Dear God, what was he doing kissing her on his quarterdeck with his helmsman on the other side of the mizzenmast?
He forced himself to release her and step back, one hand still steadying her against the ship’s endless rolling. “That shouldn’t have happen
ed,” he said roughly.
“Yet I find it impossible to say that I’m sorry,” she responded, her voice uneven and her eyes wide with shocked delight. She was warm and willing, impossible to resist.
Yet he must. He must.
He drew a deep breath and removed his steadying hand, clenching his fingers into a fist. “This way madness lies.”
“I prefer madness to reality.” She shivered and moved away till her back was braced against the mast. Her face was a pale oval as she gazed at him. “If only I was a free woman, I could explore this madness! But I’m not, and I can’t.”
Gabriel had fought hand to hand on decks slippery with blood, and his imagination supplied paralyzing images of such a battle on the Zephyr. His men being cut down by Malek’s. The cook, the cabin boy, Landers. And God only knew what would happen to the women.
He could not allow reckless desire to risk everyone on the ship. Though he could not regret that embrace, as fragments of control returned, he swore he would not let it happen again. “Are there any safe topics we can discuss while our brains return to better function?”
Her smile was rueful. “I don’t think there are. Talking about the present is dangerous. The future is depressing. Perhaps the past is safe?”
“The past has its dangers as well,” he said wryly.
She cocked her head to one side. “Your past has been the Royal Navy and being disowned. Are they too dark to discuss?”
He hesitated since they were topics he preferred to avoid. Yet he cared for Rory a great deal. Though they had no future or much of a present, he wanted to reveal something of himself in an act of trust and intimacy. “Dark, but not too dark to discuss.”
“You said that you hadn’t done anything you felt was wrong, even if it was against the rules. What did you do that was so terrible you were disowned at a tender age? Gambled away too much money? Drank too much? Fell in love with a wholly unsuitable female?”
Once a Scoundrel (Rogues Redeemed #3) Page 10