She flopped back against her pillow with a groan and stared up at the white wood planking overhead. It had taken forever to fall asleep last night, and it was all because of him. Her husband clearly had no qualms about undressing in her presence. So he’d paraded about, removing his breeches and then his shirt as if he’d no care in the world.
And she’d looked. How could she not when he’d practically filled the cabin with his masculinity? Besides, she hadn’t thought there’d be much harm in taking a little peek. But she’d been wrong. The moment she glimpsed the muscles straining across his back, her brain had turned to mush. All she could do was stare. And keep her mouth shut so she wouldn’t start drooling. Her pulse had quickened, the tips of her fingers had started to tingle with some crazy need to reach out and touch him, and hot little embers had danced with wild abandon across her shoulders.
By removing his clothes, Devlin had managed to instill a feeling she hadn’t experienced in years. And as it had gripped her, sending sparks spiraling through her, she’d known it for what it was.
Desire.
The worst part had not been her inability to look away or even the fact that she’d realized she wanted her husband with quite a surprising force. Most disturbing had been her inability to stop herself from comparing him with Timothy. But Timothy was the only other man she’d ever seen in a state of undress, so it had been a reflexive reaction completely beyond her control. Unlike Devlin, however, Timothy had had the body one might expect from a man of leisure– lean and elegant. He’d also been only two and twenty when he’d died, his frame still waiting to be filled out.
By comparison, Devlin looked like the sort of man who engaged in physical work on a daily basis. His wide back, flexing and straining with every movement, tapered toward a narrow waist. Arms, rippling with muscles of varying sizes, looked strong enough to wield the mightiest sword. And then, of course, there was the rest of him.
She’d closed her eyes and listened while he made his way to bed. Guilt had curled its crooked fingers around her heart and squeezed without remorse. Devlin had snuffed out the light and they’d said goodnight to each other.
“I’m yours and you’re mine, forever and always, no matter what.”
Tears had burned in her eyes as she’d whispered the words, because she’d known that by feeling desire for Devlin, she’d betrayed Timothy in a way she’d sworn she never would.
A heavy sigh pushed its way out of her lungs. She scrubbed one hand over her face and tried to push the unpleasant feelings aside.
Knowing she had to get on with the day and worried Penelope might be waiting for her, Cassandra got out of bed and gathered the clothes she would wear that day. It took only ten minutes for her to finish with her toilette, set her hair in a simple knot, and put on the sage green dress she’d picked out. Years of not having a maid to assist her had made her pick clothes she could put on alone, which was, she reflected, quite practical.
Grabbing a shawl, she left the cabin and went to knock on Penelope’s door. When there was no answer, she pushed down the handle and looked inside the small cabin. Finding it empty, she made her way to the deck. A cool breeze hit her face as she climbed the ladder, so she pulled her shawl tight across her shoulders and tied the two ends in a knot to keep it from flying away. Shouts overhead made her look up. Two men, so high above her she couldn’t make out their features, were balancing on a beam of wood that went across the mast while managing one of the sails. One wrong move and they would plunge to their deaths.
Cassandra sucked in a breath and looked away. The deck itself was full of activity. Teams of men pulled on ropes while a middle-aged man named Mr. Harris, whom she now knew to be the boatswain, appeared to be checking their work while assessing the ship’s overall condition. Unfamiliar words and phrases like, “Give her sheet,” “Tail on,” and “Keep your luff,” were shouted with clear precision.
She shielded her eyes against the sun with the palm of her hand and looked out across the water. They were sailing adjacent to the coastline, gradually adding distance as they crossed the English Channel.
“Good morning, Mrs. Crawford.”
Jolting slightly, Cassandra turned. “Good morning, Mr. Quinn.”
Placing his hand on her elbow, he steered her toward the side of the ship. “It’s probably best not to stand in the middle of the deck. And I’d suggest you keep your wits about you all the time in case one of the riggers drops something.”
“Riggers?”
Mr. Quinn pointed at the men who balanced so high in the air they made her feel dizzy. “Doesn’t happen too often, but you don’t want to be in the way of an item falling from that kind of height if it does.”
“Of course not. Thank you.” A lock of hair had come loose in the breeze so she pushed it aside, trying in vain to secure it behind her ear. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my daughter?”
Mr. Quinn grinned. “Indeed I have. She was up bright and early. Helped us haul anchor.” He winked. “Won’t be long before she’s commanding the ship herself.”
Cassandra laughed. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“You think I’m joking, aye?” When Cassandra pursed her lips he chuckled and jutted his chin toward a spot behind her. “Just take a look for yourself, why don’t you? She’s standing right there.”
Cassandra turned. She hadn’t seen Penelope because she wasn’t on the main deck. Instead she stood on the quarterdeck with Devlin, her hands on the wheel while he issued directions. A wide grin the likes of which Cassandra had never seen was painted across her face. On her head was a tricorn so big it almost covered her eyes.
A surge of warmth filled Cassandra’s heart. She smiled, a little undone by the appreciation Devlin instilled in her. He was making Penelope feel at home by giving her something important to do. “May I go up there?” she asked Mr. Quinn.
“Of course. I dare say those two will be glad to see you.” The sly look in his eyes made her cheeks feel slightly warmer than before. “Come on. I’ll escort you.”
What Cassandra hadn’t noticed, however, when she’d looked up from the main deck was Devlin’s attire. Gone were the fashionable London clothes he usually wore, replaced by a beautifully tailored uniform that fit him so snuggly she almost forgot how to think. Cut from royal blue wool, his tailcoat was lined with gold cording. Matching epaulets adorned each shoulder and two rows of gold buttons followed a vertical line on each side. Beneath it, he wore a white waistcoat, shirt, and breeches. Polished black boots and a saber attached to his side finished off the ensemble.
“Monty,” he said as soon as he spotted Cassandra and Mr. Quinn, “can you please take over?” He patted Penelope on her shoulder. “Just keep her steady and you’ll be fine.”
“This is the best thing ever, Mama! Can you believe I’m actually steering a ship?”
“I’ve always told you that you can do anything you set your mind to,” Cassandra informed her. “Though I must admit I never imagined it being this.”
“You must be hungry,” Devlin said as he linked his arm with hers and began escorting her back down below deck. “Did you sleep well?”
“Very.” Watching her step, she descended the ladder. “You should have woken me sooner though. I can’t quite believe how late it is.”
“I thought it best to let you get the rest you need. But I’m glad you’re up.” Having joined her, he gave her a sly smile. “I can’t wait to give you a proper tour, starting with the galley.”
To Cassandra’s horror, her stomach responded with a low rumble, but if Devlin heard it, he pretended not to, for which she was immensely grateful. Instead, he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her through a narrow doorway next to the ladder. What had been a small crowded area before suddenly opened up to encompass the width of the ship.
“That’s the lower part of the capstan.” Devlin gestured toward a cylinder as thick as the trunk of an oak. “The top half – the part that sits on the main deck – has spokes in it. We use it fo
r winding rope. And this,” Devlin continued, pulling her through a square doorway, “is the gun deck.”
Cassandra gasped in astonishment. Gleaming black cannons – eight on either side – were evenly placed between tables and benches. Buckets and knotted ropes hung overhead and against the bulkheads, while polished wood barrels stood as if strategically positioned along the length of the deck.
“It’s beautiful and so incredibly clean.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and gave him a quick glance to see if he’d taken offense.
“What did you expect?” His eyes shone brightly with mischief. “That I would tolerate scruffiness?”
“No. I suppose not. But it really is impressive.”
He responded with a grin. “Come on.” His fingers curled more securely around her hand. “I’ll show you where Mr. Talbot works his magic.”
Mr. Talbot was the cook. Cassandra remembered him from yesterday when Devlin had asked his entire crew to line up on deck so they could be introduced to her.
“How does an omelet sound?” Mr. Talbot asked after greetings had been exchanged.
“I’ve never tried one before.” Cassandra gave Devlin an uncertain look. “Is it good?”
“One of Talbot’s many specialties.”
“Ah,” Cassandra smiled. “Well, then, I suppose I must try it.”
Mr. Talbot beamed. “You won’t be sorry.” He began gathering eggs, an onion, and a tomato, as well as a small bunch of chives. “Will you be eating as well, Captain?”
“It would be rude of me to let a lady eat alone,” Devlin said as he studied Mr. Talbot’s ingredients with wolfish anticipation. “So I won’t say no to a small portion.”
“This is delicious,” Cassandra told Devlin a short while later. She stuck another piece of omelet in her mouth and savored the flavor. “I don’t suppose he could teach me how to make it?”
“You like to cook?” The question came with a hint of surprise.
Cassandra shrugged one shoulder and ate two more bites. “It gives me satisfaction. Not that I’m especially good at it, mind you. Emily’s the one with the culinary talent, but I’d still like to keep at it. Especially if I’m able to improve my skills.” There was something curious about the way he looked at her and a thought struck her. “You think I should be above such things, don’t you? As an earl’s daughter, you—”
“Stop right there.” He’d spoken abruptly, in a manner that put her slightly on edge. Setting down his cutlery, he pushed his plate aside and crossed his arms on the table so he could lean forward and stare straight into her eyes. It was unnerving, the way her heart leapt in response. Not out of foreboding, but with the thrill of being the center of such intense focus. It was both terrifying and wonderful all at the same time.
And then he spoke. “What can I possibly have said or done to make you think I’d ever prevent you from doing something that makes you happy?”
Unable to think, Cassandra could only cling to what she knew of the world she’d grown up in, which happened to be the same one as his. “Women of my rank don’t perform household chores.”
He raised one eyebrow.
Accepting his challenge, she rolled her eyes. “Unless, of course, they’ve allowed themselves to be ruined, run off from home, and decided to live life on their own terms. But,” she added, raising one finger to stop him from interrupting, “that doesn’t mean I should not try to be the respectable wife you deserve.”
“While I appreciate your willingness to give up on something you like for my sake,” he said, “I should probably point out to you at this point, since you do not seem to have realized it on your own, that I’m not your average gentleman.”
“Because you’d rather work for a living even though I’m sure you don’t have to?”
He was the son of a duke, after all, and brother to one now. Cassandra had no doubt in her mind that he or Griffin would ever suffer financially.
But rather than nod, Devlin shook his head and grinned. “No. It is because I told my father he could sod off, if you’ll pardon my French, when he insisted I follow a path I did not want for myself. I left London, much as you did, aware that my father considered me to be a great disappointment.”
“So what you’re saying—”
“Is that you are free to keep doing as you please without any judgment from me.” He frowned, then amended, “Provided you don’t put yourself or anyone else in danger.”
It was hard not to like him when he was being so agreeable. Not that Cassandra wanted to dislike him per se, but it would have been easier for her to keep an invisible wall between them – to convince herself he was wrong for her – if he’d been just a little ill-tempered or contrary. It would have been easier for her to stay true to her beliefs.
“If you’re done with your food,” Devlin said, breaking into her thoughts, “I’ll show you where we keep the chickens.”
Cassandra almost spat out the tea she was in the process of drinking. “Chickens?”
“Well,” he told her, eyes gleaming, “we do need to get the eggs for our omelets from somewhere and having chickens on board seems like the best solution.” He stroked his chin as if in thought. The edge of his mouth lifted. “Catching seagulls is devilishly hard, you know, and only possible when—”
He broke off, most likely because of Cassandra’s sputtering laughter. She didn’t dare ask how one would even attempt to catch a seagull while on a moving vessel. Did one have to wait for it to land and then creep up on it, or did one attempt to harpoon it from the deck of the ship. Every option she envisioned was more ridiculous than the last and only increased her laughter.
“I see,” she eventually managed between inhalations. Needing to get herself under some measure of control, she drank the rest of her tea, aware Devlin was smiling at her, his expression one of pure satisfaction.
“Bronswick, together with his son, Trevor, built the coop,” Devlin said once they’d climbed down to the lower deck. Square hatch-like windows that could be closed with the quick tug of a rope offered a reasonable amount of daylight. “What do you think?”
“Penny will love this,” Cassandra said as she watched the chickens strut about, pecking at the corn someone had strewn out for them to eat. To one side was a closed off section inside which straw had been piled. “That must be where they sleep?”
“And where they lay their eggs.”
Cassandra straightened. “I once considered getting chickens at Clearview, but I worried we might forget to put them inside one evening and wake up to find them eaten by a fox.”
“No risk of that happening here,” Devlin said with a chuckle. “And they’re actually surprisingly easy to take care of. Here, you should try holding one.”
“I don’t think so,” Cassandra said and took a step back, but Devlin had already opened the gate allowing him entry. He scooped a chicken up into his arms and returned to Cassandra. She stared at it, unsure what to do, for although she might have been living in the countryside and wasn’t completely unfamiliar with livestock, her experience with animals was limited to Raphael, the Clearview housecat.
“Come on.” Devlin leaned in closer and offered a wry smile. “I promise it won’t peck off your fingers.”
“Good God, I should certainly hope not,” Cassandra muttered. She considered the chicken and she considered Devlin. One was clearly more anxious for her to go through with this than the other. Well then…
Deciding she wanted to prove herself capable rather than a coward, she reached for the mass of feathers comprising the chicken and almost dropped it when it started flapping its wings in protest.
“Remind me why I am doing this?” she grumbled once she’d gotten a better hold of the bird.
Devlin crossed his arms and gave her a broad smile. “To satisfy my curiosity.” When she narrowed her gaze at him he added, “I’ve always wondered what you would look like holding a chicken.”
“Really?”
He shrugged. “It also means yo
u can’t hit me once I tell you that Penelope may have requested a sibling and that I may have assured her I’d do my best to accommodate her wish.”
Cassandra’s stomach plummeted. “What?”
“I’m sorry, but she looked at me with those big brown eyes and the words popped out by themselves. It really didn’t have much to do with me at all, now I think of it.”
He was right. She did want to hit him. Right over his head, except that would mean whacking him with a chicken. Cassandra glared at the man she’d married. “You’ve just gone and promised her something she’ll never have, Devlin.” It felt like a knife had been plunged straight into her belly. “How could you?”
His expression sobered. “I couldn’t very well tell her the truth, Cass. If anything, she’ll just think we can’t conceive.”
“Take this, would you?” She held the chicken toward him. When he hesitated, she blew out a frustrated breath. “I promise not to hit you.”
“All right.” He took the chicken from her and returned it to the coop.
The moment he straightened, she punched his shoulder as hard as she could.
“Ow!” His brow furrowed. “You promised you wouldn’t hit me.”
“Well, I lied.” She brushed past him and headed toward the ladder. “It isn’t so nice, is it?”
He muttered something she couldn’t hear. Not that she cared. She was too upset with what he’d done, not just because he’d lied to Penelope, but because she felt he’d betrayed her trust – like he was secretly planning to get her with child one way or another, even if it meant involving her daughter.
Disgruntled, she headed back up to the main deck, hoping to seek out Penelope. They had some lessons to get through together, but when Cassandra saw that Trevor was teaching her how to fish, Cassandra returned to her cabin instead. Mathematics and French could wait a while. There were other things a young girl could learn that were just as important, and so far The Condor seemed to be a first-rate schoolroom.
Her Seafaring Scoundrel Page 10