That night, after giving her ample time to prepare for bed by claiming he had a few things to attend to before he was able to retire, Devlin entered their cabin. “I need to make some notes in my log.” He closed the door and turned, that same tortured look she’d seen on his face the previous evening enveloping his features the moment his gaze found her. Before she could discern the cause or question him about it, he cleared his throat and went to sit at his desk. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. I’m in the middle of an excellent book, so I can easily read for the next hour or so.” Propped against her pillow, she reclined in bed with the blanket up to her waist. Her hair, which she’d undone and combed, hung loosely over her shoulder.
They’d made peace with each other that afternoon when he’d apologized for what he’d done. She’d admitted to overreacting a little and the conversation had happily ended with a fun game of chess, during which their friendship had been restored. Saying nothing further, Devlin retrieved his writing utensils. There was something strangely comforting about hearing the tip of his quill scratching across the paper as he wrote. Cassandra smiled and turned the page of her book, so engrossed in the story she did not notice when Devlin eventually stood and began to undress.
Until he asked, “Which book are you reading?”
She looked up and was instantly glad she was sitting down, because if she’d been standing, she probably would have fallen right over. As it was, keeping her mouth shut and not gaping was incredibly hard when confronted with his gorgeous perfection. Last night, she’d only glimpsed his back from the corner of her eye and had found it difficult to sleep after. Now, she was faced with his naked chest and abdomen, with muscles she’d thought existed only on sculptures.
Maintaining a vacant expression was extraordinarily difficult, yet somehow, inexplicably, she believed she managed to do so quite well.
Unfortunately, she could not for the life of her recall his question and ended up uttering a somewhat confused, “What?”
Devlin’s lips twitched. “Your book.”
“My book?”
A knowing smile seemed to envelope his features. It almost felt like his eyes might swallow her whole. “What’s it called?”
Cassandra stared at him blankly for a good two seconds, until, to her utter mortification, she was forced to check the cover because he’d made her forget the title.
“Autobiography and Letters,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended. “By Mary Delany.” It bothered her to no end that he had the power to turn her into a blithering idiot.
“Hmm...” Having already removed his boots, he shucked his trousers and padded across the floor, dressed only in his smalls and hose. Cassandra ground her teeth in frustration. “I haven’t read it myself. Perhaps I can borrow it when you’re done?”
“You would be interested in reading a woman’s autobiography?”
“If it is interesting, I see no reason why I shouldn’t.”
“Um. Right. Of course.” She cleared her throat. He got into bed and pulled his blanket over himself. She stared at him. He gave her a questioning look. Eventually she sighed. “Will you not be putting on a nightshirt?”
“No.” Lying on his back, he tucked one arm beneath his head, offering her a direct view of the hair protruding from his armpit.
“No?” Although she tried to use a mild tone as a means by which to convey indifference, she heard the irritation in her voice the moment she spoke.
“I don’t wear nightshirts, Cass.” He reached for the oil lamp. “May I put out the light?”
Cassandra put her book aside. “Yes.” The cabin transformed into infinite blackness. Closing her eyes against it, Cassandra pondered his comment and finally decided to address it by asking, “Have you never worn them?”
“Obviously I did as a child.” He sounded annoyed.
She bit her lip, dissatisfied with his answer. “So one day you simply decided that from now on you would only wear your smalls to bed?”
A rough exhalation preceded his next comment. “I cannot imagine why you’re so interested in my nighttime attire.”
“Because it’s unusual.”
“Not that unusual,” he grumbled.
“Don’t you get cold?” She heard him expel a weary sigh, but he didn’t answer her question. For some bizarre reason, she could not seem to let the subject rest. It had hooked itself in her brain, causing her to say, “It really wouldn’t do for you to catch a chill. Not when you’re the captain and—”
“Cass.” Her name seemed to be forced from somewhere deep in his throat. It sounded raspy. “Would you please stop trying to manage me?”
“Bu—”
“I won’t catch a chill. I never have before. At least not from the lack of a night shirt since I’m used to wearing considerably fewer clothes to bed. So will you please stop worrying and go to sleep?”
Cassandra barely managed a weak, “Good night,” because all she could think of now was a naked Devlin and that was not an image conducive to sleep. It also wasn’t the sort of thing a woman wished to contemplate when she was trying to remain faithful to another man. Add to that the patience and attentiveness he was showing Penelope, and she knew her heart was in trouble. Because when it came to Devlin, there was so much more than a physical attraction.
There was the man himself.
She’d always known him to be a fine person, but watching him work with his men and interact with Penelope really cemented this awareness.
Forcing her thoughts back to Timothy, she whispered her vow to him as she’d done for the last thirteen years. But somehow, the words didn’t feel as honest. They no longer seemed to carry the weight they once had.
And nothing could have terrified her more.
Chapter 9
They dropped anchor in Lisbon on August fifteenth, ten days after leaving London. Having left Cassandra and Penelope to prepare for an outing on land, Devlin helped Monty gather the items, letters mostly, they’d be delivering to some of the Englishmen stationed there. Truthfully, he was glad to have something to keep his mind busy and away from his lovely wife. She was, as it turned out, proving to be an inconvenient distraction. And considering they still had several months left of their voyage, he wasn’t quite sure he’d be able to keep his sanity unless he spent less time in her company.
Which, he had to admit, would not be conducive to his courtship.
What bothered him most was that she didn’t seem to share his need for more than friendship. After being trapped on a ship together for almost two weeks, he would have thought her position on this would have started to change, if even a little. But that did not appear to be the case.
Oh, he knew he was able to affect her – the deep pink tones flooding her cheeks every evening when he undressed and got ready for bed proved it. But she was apparently more determined than he’d imagined to keep a barrier between them, and he was not the sort of man who’d ever resort to forcing a woman against her will. Which put them at a sort of impasse.
“Can you see to it that these are delivered?” he asked Monty once they’d filled a satchel with four letters and two small parcels bound for the British embassy. “I’d like to show my wife and daughter some of the sights since this is their first time travelling abroad.”
My daughter.
It was the first time Devlin had referred to Penelope as such. But it felt right. Everything about marrying Cassandra felt right. Apart from the fact that she did not want his touch or his kisses or any of the other intimacies a man and wife should expect from a marriage.
“Of course.” Monty put on his hat and grabbed the satchel. “Heaven knows you deserve to enjoy the early days of your marriage for as long as you can.”
Although he did not feel the lighthearted fervor he ought, Devlin knew his friend had a point. Once they left Lisbon and headed for Cape Town, he’d be in higher demand on deck and have less time to spend with Cassandra and Penelope. So he wished Monty luck and
went to find his wife. It wasn’t her fault his heart was weighed down by concerns for their future. She’d been honest with him from the start – had made no pretense about what he might expect from her in marriage – and he, foolish man, had believed he’d easily change her mind.
He’d believed the spark he’d felt between them right from the start simply needed stoking. Considering Cassandra’s past and everything she had told him, he ought to have known better. And it was now ten bloody days since they’d spoken their vows. Ten nights of him parading around half naked in the hope of…what exactly? That she’d melt in response to his tempting physique and beg him to take her to bed?
She obviously wasn’t going to and he was starting to think he was proving to be the biggest idiot to ever walk the earth for even supposing such a tactic might work. Wearily, he climbed the ladder leading onto the deck, took a deep breath of fresh air, and expelled it slowly. He was so damn tired of constantly wanting, his body strained and needy in ways it hadn’t been since he was a lad still dreaming of his first tup.
At least if he’d listened to her from the start, they wouldn’t be sharing a cabin, and he wouldn’t have to see her lying there, no more than two yards away, dressed only in that provocative nightgown of hers. Hell, he’d not even seen her naked, and yet the fantasies stirring his mind and body were so damn creative at this point, he wasn’t sure what to do.
With the sort of rigid control he’d never believed he possessed, he forced himself to think of his father’s parting words. You’re just like Caleb and Griffin. Utterly useless and a disgrace to this family. You’ll never amount to anything. Do you hear!
Devlin’s hands shook as they always did in response to the memory. But it did the trick. He was on deck now, damn it, surrounded by his men and with Cassandra and Penelope standing right over there by the railing. It really wouldn’t do for any of them to witness the effect his lusty thoughts were having on him.
“If you’re amicable to the idea,” he told Cassandra after exchanging a couple of words with Mr. Harris, “I thought we might spend the day ashore so you and Pe—”
“Oh yes,” Penelope exclaimed with an enthusiastic bounce. Clasping her hands together, she turned to Cassandra. “Oh please, Mama. It will be so much better than remaining on board all day, and I can already tell from here that there’s so much to see, and I’ve never been to Portugal before, and—”
“All right,” Cassandra grinned, her eyes bright with the pleasure her daughter’s eagerness gave her. And then she smiled at Devlin – as if he’d worked a magnificent miracle – and it was all he could do not to pull her straight into his arms and kiss her beautiful mouth. Her next words however, were a wonderful alternative. “I can think of nothing better than to explore a new land with the two of you.”
So he offered her his arm, which she accepted. He then looked directly at Penelope and said, “Lead the way, Penny. It looks like adventure awaits us.”
With a squeal of delight, Penelope spun on her heel and marched toward the spot where a rope ladder had been secured to the side of the ship. Two rowboats had already been readied and lowered into the water, one transporting some of the crew to land while the other began maneuvering into position the moment Devlin gave the order.
“Wait,” Cassandra warned, her voice filled with worry, when Penelope prepared to clamber over the side as if she’d been born on the ocean. “You should let Devlin help you.”
Warmth seeped beneath Devlin’s skin, spreading outward along each limb on account of her words. She wasn’t just including him, she was trusting him with her daughter’s safety in a way that made him feel capable of practically anything. Not that there was much he could really do to help since using a rope ladder didn’t required much practice, but he made sure to instruct Penelope on how to move her hands downward gradually in accordance with her feet, to not make any sudden movements that might cause the ladder to swing and, most importantly, to be careful.
Once she’d reached the rowboat and found a seat on one of the benches, Cassandra breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He gestured. “Your turn now.”
“Right.” She bit her lip, took a hesitant step toward the ladder, and peered over the side. “Dear lord.”
Devlin couldn’t help smiling. “Afraid of heights?”
“Of course not,” she grumbled.
“Your daughter did it without hesitation.”
Her brow creased. “She also leaps into the lake at Clearview from trees.”
It took some effort not to laugh when an unbidden image of Cass doing that entered his head. “Well, we can climb down together. Which is probably the best thing for us to do anyway since it will allow me to stop your skirts from billowing out.” When she stared at him blankly, he leaned in and whispered, “Wouldn’t want to give my rower the sort of view he’ll never forget.”
She sputtered something that made no sense and turned a deep shade of red. “Perhaps I should—”
“Come on,” he told her bluntly the moment he heard the hesitation in her voice. His hands went to her waist before she could comment, and then he was lifting her up and over the side of the ship. “Grab the rope.”
“Dev!” Her voice was filled with indignation but at least she followed his orders.
Satisfied, he climbed onto the rung directly below the one where she stood and held on to the rope on either side of her.
Because of their difference in height, having her slightly higher up on the ladder brought their faces to the same level. So he pressed in close, pretending he had to adjust his position for the sole purpose of savoring the rare proximity their current positions allowed.
“Relax. I won’t let you fall.” His voice was low, deliberately soothing, and perhaps a little seductive as well. It couldn’t be helped really. Not when he could feel her warm body against his own and smell the fresh scent of soap along with a hint of rosewater on her skin. “We’ll climb down together. When you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” she said much sooner than he’d hoped. Then again, they couldn’t remain where they were too long, dangling from the top of a rope ladder while Penelope waited for them in the boat below.
Scoundrel, he told himself silently as they descended. Reprobate and unforgiveable rogue. One thing was certain however, and that was the fact that his crew might have to lock him away before they reached Australia, all because of a woman who’d likely drive him to madness.
It was a sad state of affairs indeed when a man’s own wife made him a prime candidate for Bedlam.
The sights and smells of Lisbon were exotic and so different from those Cassandra was accustomed to. She could not stop from turning her head in every direction or sniffing the air as they walked.
“The air is so much fresher here than in London,” she said as they made their way through a series of narrow streets. The houses on either side weren’t necessarily nicer than those in England. Most were plainer and narrower, squeezed together in a way that ought to have seemed overcrowded. But the varying array of colors added character and the sunshine bathing the walls provided a cheerfulness London homes lacked.
“I believe the ocean carries away all the unpleasant smells,” Devlin commented. He drew Cassandra to a halt so they could wait for Penelope, who’d stopped to admire a shop window. “Not that there’s much to complain about in that way to begin with. Lisbon isn’t as industrial as London. There are fewer factories, less smoke, cleaner air.” He glanced in Penelope’s direction and smiled. “Do you see something you like?” Releasing Cassandra’s arm, he went to look at whatever it was that had caught Penelope’s attention.
Cassandra watched the pair while trying to ignore how bereft she now felt. She’d liked having her arm linked with Devlin’s and missed the sense of security his touch had provided. When she’d gotten onto that rope ladder earlier, against her will, as it were, she’d been terrified until he’d joined her. It hadn’t mattered that their c
ombined weight had probably increased the chance of the thin rope snapping and both of them plunging into the sea. All she’d known in that moment was the strength he’d offered and the certainty she would be safe as long as he didn’t leave her.
An ache bloomed in her breast, and she swallowed the pain that had been her constant companion for so many years. Devlin was already proving to be an excellent father for Penelope and the thought of Penelope viewing him as such – of Devlin being the only father she’d ever know— made Cassandra’s eyes flood with unexpected tears.
With only good intentions, he’d stolen the role that should have belonged to Timothy. It was a stupid observation to make. Cassandra realized this and hastily brushed the tears aside before anyone had the chance to see. But she couldn’t stop the sense of loss or despair from tunneling through her. Everything Timothy had been, every promise she’d made him and every stride she’d taken to preserve his memory, was slipping between her fingers.
Penelope pointed at something Cassandra couldn’t make out. Before she was able to move in closer and see what her daughter was so enthralled by, Devlin had taken her hand and entered the shop with her.
“We’ll be right back,” he told Cassandra with scarcely a glance in her direction. Which was just as well since it gave Cassandra a much needed chance to compose herself before either returned.
They did so within five minutes and with Penelope wearing a big bright smile.
On her head, she wore a stunning bonnet of pale green silk, tastefully decorated with braided cream ribbons along each edge. It was the first bonnet Penelope had ever owned and something about it – about all of it – made Cassandra react in a way she would later regret for at least twenty reasons. But in that moment, all she could do was stand there and stare while hot anger began to swirl inside her, growing and rising until there was nothing else for it but to allow it the freedom it craved.
“What,” she asked, her voice not her own but belonging to some horrid woman she’d rather not be, “do you think you are doing?”
Her Seafaring Scoundrel Page 11