The strain of his voice revealed that he was wound tighter than a new spool of thread, and close to unraveling at any second. Understanding his meaning, Cassandra gave a quick nod and turned on her heel. When she climbed into bed ten minutes later after finding Penelope fast asleep, she could not stop from wondering what it would be like to simply surrender – to abandon her inhibitions and let herself lie with Devlin.
The memory of the kiss they’d shared and the pleasure he’d brought her while holding her in his arms filled her with even more longing.
It wasn’t until she woke the following morning that she remembered. For the first time since Timothy’s death, she’d forgotten to speak her vow before drifting off to sleep. And nothing could have made her hate herself more.
Chapter 11
As usual whenever he sailed, Devlin slept only three hours. He’d gone to bed a while after sending Cassandra back to their cabin and was now awake before her, allowing him the satisfaction of watching her face while she slept. He still couldn’t quite grasp the fact that she was his wife or the enthusiasm with which she’d kissed him last night. Yes, she’d been hesitant at first, perhaps unsure, but then, once she’d made her decision, she’d unveiled a passionate side he could scarcely wait to explore further. Hell, it had taken his body a good half hour to accept that it wouldn’t be getting what it wanted anytime soon.
Slowly, he reminded himself. They had time –plenty of it in fact – and they’d made a tremendous stride in the right direction. So as long as he didn’t push her too hard or make demands before she was ready, he was certain they’d soon be exploring each other more intimately.
A devilish smile curved his lips as he went to wash and get dressed. He couldn’t wait to see her naked, to bury himself in her heat and send her soaring.
Dropping his gaze, he groaned. Just the thought of it, however brief it had been, had put him in a state once again. He glanced at the window and the cold ocean beyond. With a sigh, he grabbed a book on common diseases found aboard ships and how to treat them, and prepared to wait for his body – or a certain part of it – to relax.
It was almost four by the time he made his way to the galley for breakfast after checking on Monty, who’d taken over the helm right before Devlin had gone to bed. Once he’d eaten, Devlin would relieve his friend so he could get some much needed rest.
He entered the gun deck and glanced around. Ordinarily, Talbot was already bustling about at this hour, getting food ready for four o’ clock, when half the crew finished their watch and the other half rose to start theirs. But all was quiet. The stove wasn’t even lit and…
Hell. Were those dirty dishes from last night’s meal? A cabin boy would have to be roused immediately to handle this mess, and Mr. Talbot too. Devlin prided himself on taking care of his men and would not expect any of them to work on empty stomachs.
But when he reached the sleeping quarters below deck and approached the cot Talbot favored over the hammocks, he instantly knew his cook would not be preparing food that day or for several days to come. His forehead was damp, his sleep the restless kind caused by high fever, and if that weren’t enough indication of Talbot’s malaise, the bucket next to his cot made it startlingly clear.
Devlin backed up a step to escape the sour stench of vomit. If Talbot was sick, his assistant would have to take over. Except the young man nicknamed Chopper, who’d so often leapt in to help whenever Talbot was indisposed, looked no better off than Talbot.
Good God! If there was an epidemic on board it would cripple the crew, extend the journey, lead to hunger and lack of fresh water before they reached port. It would be a catastrophe, not to mention he’d no bloody clue as to whom he could turn to in order to feed all these men. Four hundred and eighty souls depended on him and here they were, only three days’ sail from Lisbon, and now this! He glanced around at the sleeping men in their hammocks while panic began to set in. Perhaps they ought to turn back.
Perhaps…
A thought struck him.
Before he had time to consider the wisdom of the plan forming in his head, he strode forward and shook one of the cabin boys awake. “To the galley with you,” he ordered. “There’s a mess there that must be cleaned right away.”
The boy, barely fifteen years of age, stammered something incoherent before rolling out of his hammock and landing on wobbly legs. Devlin regretted having to rouse him but knew not what else to do. Talbot and Chopper both looked like death, and if they were contagious, he’d be an idiot to let them manage the food even if he were able to force them into action.
Instead, he woke another sailor and instructed him to help the cabin boy, assuring him he’d be allowed an extra hour’s sleep later as compensation. Satisfied something was being done to fix the situation, Devlin then made his way back to his cabin where Cassandra still slept so soundly, the very idea of waking her gave him pause.
But no. He could not afford to let her sleep when she was the only other person on board who knew how to cook well enough to solve the current dilemma. Devil take it, he ought to have learned himself if for no other reason than so he could leap in and help in such situations. But he hadn’t and lamenting his lack of culinary skills wouldn’t fill any stomachs.
So he sat on the edge of Cassandra’s bed and placed one hand on her shoulder. “Cass?” He nudged her a little and she responded with an agitated groan. “Wake up.” He shook her more roughly. She swatted him away as if he were some pesky insect.
Devlin sighed. There really wasn’t time for this. In another ten minutes or so the bell would signal the end of the watch, and men would rush to the galley expecting something. “Right then,” he muttered and promptly yanked the blanket away from Cassandra.
Her eyes flew open on a gasp. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” she asked as she pulled on her nightgown and did her utmost to protect her modesty.
Later, it would occur to him that her blaspheme should have surprised him since he’d never heard her curse before. But in that moment, the only thing his brain was able to process was the fact that her nightgown had crawled almost all the way to her waist, allowing him to glimpse the rounded curve of her bottom peeking out from beneath the fine muslin. Of course, he’d seen all there was to see of her thighs and legs and feet…but her bottom…
He cleared his throat. Time to take charge and remember his reason for waking her up in the first place. “Talbot and his assistant are both sick, so I need you to get up, get dressed, and come with me right now.”
She blinked. “But—”
“No time to argue.” He grabbed her by her elbow and hauled her to her feet. “The crew will need to be fed in—” The bell sounding the watch shift rang. Feet pounded across the deck above them. Devlin cursed beneath his breath. “Now.”
“I, um…” With a yawn, she nodded.
“Good.” Devlin grabbed some undergarments from one of the drawers beneath her bed and located a dress cut from practical brown linen. Tossing the lot on her bed, he proceeded to pull off her nightgown without preamble.
Which earned him a shriek.
He stilled. Let her nightgown fall. “Now is not the time for modesty, Cass, but for practicality and haste.”
“As if I was not made aware of that when you woke me in the rudest and most abrupt fashion I’ve ever experienced.”
“Sorry,” he muttered, because it was the thing to say, not because he actually felt it. How could he when his brash method had allowed him to fill in some of the gaps that existed in his most carnal fantasies? “I only thought to help.”
“I’m sure you did,” she told him with cutting force, “but I can manage perfectly fine on my own. Thank you.”
He gave a curt nod, deliberately choosing to ignore the disappointment he felt as he moved to the door. It wasn’t as if he expected her to profess her undying love for him because of one kiss, but he had, damn it all, expected it to change something between them. In his vast experience of kissing, theirs was the most s
pectacular, the most unforgettable – perfection itself. Yet now, she wouldn’t even let him—her husband, not some stranger, he told himself disdainfully— help her dress.
“Fine then. I’ll go and inform the crew that their breakfast is going to be late.” And with that he left her, before he succumbed to temptation and caused additional delay by kissing her.
“Christ have mercy,” he muttered as he stomped off, his mood defined by the problem he faced with Talbot and the unsated state he’d endured for so long he was sure it was starting to wear on his health. Like the rest of his men, he usually found a willing woman to tend to his needs when he was in port, but his betrothal to Cass had happened so soon after his arrival in London, he’d not had the time. And once he’d gotten betrothed, the idea of sleeping with someone else hadn’t entered his head. Which meant it was now…he did a quick sum and decided five months fit the bill.
Good God! Another man would likely have forced himself on his wife by now. Devlin winced. He hated himself for having such thoughts – for allowing himself to consider for even one second the fate she’d have had as another man’s wife. As if he wished he were able to be an unfeeling bastard and take what he wanted without hesitation.
He couldn’t and he wouldn’t, which meant he’d have to suffer the repercussions of marrying a woman who still mourned a man she’d never married, thirteen years after his death. She loved him. It made perfect sense that she did, and it would be foolish to think she wouldn’t. He was the man she’d picked to be her life partner, her childhood friend, Penelope’s father and, and, and…
The truth was Devlin was sick of Timothy and the hold he maintained on Cassandra’s heart.
There it was, even if he had to rot in hell for feeling this way about someone who’d earned a halo the moment he’d drawn his last breath. Timothy’s character no longer mattered. In Cassandra’s mind, he was incomparable, irreplaceable, a martyr of sorts – impossible for anyone else to live up to. And what surprised Devlin the most was not so much the awareness that this was a fact he would have to accept, but rather the pain it caused him to do so.
Feeding hundreds of men was not on Cassandra’s list of qualifications. That said, she wasn’t about to back down from a challenge or refuse to help in a crisis, no matter how boorish her husband was choosing to be. She did, after all, know how to handle a stove and how to prepare a basic meal. Having spent the past week watching Talbot work, she also had a sense of the routine required for swift satisfaction among the crew. So she rolled up her sleeves and went to work, ignoring the stares and the bated breaths of expectation simmering in the air.
“Porridge,” she declared once she’d taken a moment to ponder her options. There was an audible groan from some of the men who’d heard her. But rather than shy away from their criticism, she glared in the general direction from which the sound had come. “Would you rather wait an hour or two in order to eat?”
When nobody answered, she picked out the largest pot she could find and proceeded to add both water and oats. Once the mixture was simmering over the fire, she added some salt, then located some sugar and cinnamon for the final touch.
“This aint ’alf bad,” one of the sailors murmured half an hour later. “Better than I expected.”
Cassandra accepted the compliment with a smile and without ruining the moment by asking if he’d been one of the ones to complain earlier.
“Well done,” Monty told her when he came down to collect his ration. “Working under pressure on only a few hours’ sleep can be a challenge. Particularly when you’re being asked to do something you’re not familiar with.”
And when your husband is choosing to be difficult, she mused. She still couldn’t quite believe the brashness with which he’d forced her out of bed or the harshness with which he’d proceeded to give her orders or… She swallowed, recalling her state of undress when he’d pulled back the covers.
It shouldn’t have mattered, she supposed, yet it did. Perhaps because of the kiss they’d shared and the aching awareness that had rushed to the front of her mind as soon as she’d opened her eyes and spotted Devlin. Because that was when it had hit her and she’d remembered – the vow she ought to have made, unspoken for the first time in over a decade, because he’d made her forget. And this, coupled with the vulnerability she’d felt as her body was bared to his gaze, the guilt expanding around her with each breath she took, and the pure annoyance any sane person would feel upon being woken after only four hours of sleep, had made her churlish.
Not that she cared. For the first time ever, Cassandra decided she had a right to be out of sorts, irritated even, if she desired. Her world as she knew it had, after all, been set at an angle. So much so that she’d sail right over the side if the world were as flat as some people once thought it to be.
“Mrs. Crawford?”
Cassandra snapped to attention and stared back at Monty. “I do beg your pardon,” she muttered and quickly served him a bowl of hot porridge.
He nodded his thanks. “Not to trouble you, but Devlin said I should ask you to plan the next meal once we’ve all finished this one. It will help get us back on schedule.”
Too stunned to speak, Cassandra stared after him as he walked away. She ought to have known, but she’d been too busy to wonder about the upcoming meals and how they’d get prepared. If Mr. Talbot was as sick as she suspected he must be for her to end up in charge of the galley, she’d probably have to cook every meal until he was able to get back on his feet.
Exhausted, she sagged against the work table and scrubbed one hand across her brow. It was going to be a very long journey indeed. Though not nearly as difficult as she’d imagined when Penelope woke with a fever the following morning.
“I’ll fetch Bronswick,” Devlin told Cassandra while she placed another cool compress on Penelope’s brow. She didn’t turn to look at him, she merely nodded in acknowledgement. “And then I’ll stay with her.” He paused before carefully adding, “While you prepare luncheon.”
Cassandra glanced over her shoulder then, but he’d already disappeared from the doorway. Lord help her, she couldn’t recall ever being this tired. Or worried, for that matter. Having slept in three hour increments since the previous day, she’d made sure food was ready for the crew every four hours, even if it was just soup and some biscuits to tide them over until the next meal. And now Penelope, who hadn’t been sick since she’d caught a cold three years earlier, was burning up.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Trevor asked when he popped his head in one minute later. Concern flickered in the young man’s eyes as he looked across at Penelope.
Cassandra shook her head. “No. Thank you.”
Trevor hesitated briefly, made an awkward nodding motion, and left.
“Mama?” Penelope’s voice was weak and strained.
“Yes, my darling.” Cassandra caught her daughter’s hand and squeezed it.
“Can you please stay with me today?”
A lump formed in Cassandra’s throat, and for a brief second she struggled to keep her composure. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Heaven above, how she hated this, hated herself for bringing her daughter along on this foolish voyage, for leaving the comfort of their home to travel the world with a husband she hadn’t wanted in the first place, and for letting desire destroy her principles.
Her voice trembled when she spoke again. “If you’ll recall, the cook is also sick, so I have to step in and help as best as I can. But Devlin…” She had to stop for a moment to gather her wits. Just mentioning his name caused a fresh rush of guilt to clutch at her heart. “He’ll watch over you. And Mr. Bronswick will also do his best to make you feel better.”
“Promise?”
Cassandra caught her trembling lower lip between her teeth. “Of course.” Bowing her head, she dropped a kiss on Penelope’s cheek. Behind her, a man cleared his throat, and Cassandra realized Devlin had returned with the physician. “I will see you later. All right?”
Penelope merely nodded.
Cassandra stood and turned to Devlin. “Promise me you’ll fetch me if she worsens,” she whispered.
“Of course,” Devlin murmured, his dark eyes piercing hers with a fierce intensity that set her mind slightly more at ease.
“Talbot is showing some improvement today,” Bronswick said, “which would suggest a swift-moving ailment from which your daughter will soon recover.”
“Let’s hope so.” It was all Cassandra could think to say as she glanced down at Penelope one last time before heading to the galley. Devlin would care for her as if she were his own. Cassandra knew this without even having to ponder the issue. But not being able to sit by her bedside herself – it made her heart ache.
Two hours later, Cassandra stumbled toward Penelope’s cabin. She scarcely recalled boiling the eggs, frying the fish, or preparing the oranges she’d decided to serve. It was all a blur since her mind had been fully occupied by thoughts of her daughter and how she was faring. At least no one had sent for her, which surely meant that Penelope’s condition at least hadn’t worsened.
Clinging to this hope, Cassandra turned a corner and quickened her step when Penelope’s door came into view. It required an exercise in extreme self-control for her not to fling it wide open and rush to her daughter’s side. Instead, she carefully turned the knob and eased the door slowly away from its frame in order to minimize her disturbance.
The first thing that struck her was the air. It seemed fresher than earlier, and when a sudden rush of coolness licked at her skin, she realized the porthole had been opened. Cassandra smiled approvingly and edged her way further into the snug space. And that was when she saw them. Dismayed, Cassandra froze and simply stared while a series of warm, brightly colored emotions filled her heart and expanded it so much she feared it might burst.
She swallowed hard against the tightening of her throat as she watched Devlin sleep, his large body stretched out awkwardly on Penelope’s narrow bed while he cradled her in his arms. Her head was cushioned against his chest and she looked more peaceful than when Cassandra had last seen her. A soft snore left Devlin’s mouth, and Cassandra could not help but smile. Timothy might be gone but at least Devlin was here, and right now, that was all that mattered. His strength and his ability to make things better, his thoughtfulness and consideration for a girl who wasn’t his own. He was being a father to her – the father she’d always wanted – and Cassandra had no right to resent that. It was clear to her that Penelope needed him. And perhaps she needed him too, if she were being completely honest. Far more than she cared to admit.
Her Seafaring Scoundrel Page 14