Her Seafaring Scoundrel

by Sophie Barnes

  A quivering sigh made its way past her lips. She cared about Devlin, just as he cared about her, but to think there could ever be anything more was, “Absurd.”

  She considered the word and was stunned by how ill-fitting it sounded to her own ears. But to suppose there would ever be anything more between them was absolutely terrifying.

  She’d lived with Timothy’s loss for so long, buried herself in the love they’d once shared, and known she’d never recover. Marrying Devlin for security was one thing. Allowing him the affection she’d always associated with Timothy was quite another.

  Except, the feelings Devlin stirred in her heart were real. It would be cowardly and unfair to them both if she tried to ignore them. He was her husband, her fondest companion, the pillar of strength she’d leaned on when she had been lost and afraid. But when he’d needed her to offer assurance and the forgiveness he deserved, she’d threatened to leave him.

  The words had been spoken in pain and anger. It was past time she took them back and told Devlin he wasn’t to blame for Timothy’s death any more than she was. She had to help him, and she needed to let him know that he hadn’t lost her.

  “It’s not easy, you know,” a deep voice spoke.

  Cassandra turned and located Mr. Quinn. He was standing just two feet away. “What isn’t?”

  “Captaining a ship. Being responsible for a crew of four hundred and eighty.” He stepped up beside her and rested one hand on the railing. The wind caught his hair, whipping a few stray locks to one side. “Your husband’s only ever lost one. Has he told you about him?”

  “The boy who fell from the mast?”

  “Mm… Devlin was quite determined to save Luke although it was clear to everyone else there was nothing to do.” Mr. Quinn’s eyes were shadowed by darkness, yet there was no ignoring the intensity of his gaze.

  “He told me the ship’s physician had gone ashore the previous day when they passed Dover.”

  “That’s right.”

  Cassandra waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she had to ask, “Then what did he do?” Because this was Devlin they were discussing. No matter how bleak the situation, he would have striven to save that boy’s life. Good lord. Had he not told her he’d broken his arm attempting to catch him? How on earth could she have forgotten that?

  “He put me in a carriage and ordered the driver to take me to St. George’s hospital. My mission was to fetch Mr. Mallory, one of London’s greatest physicians, back to the ship as swiftly as possible.”

  “St. George’s,” she muttered. “Formerly known as Lanesborough House. It’s on Hyde Park Corner.” She didn’t have to say more to know what this meant. Devlin had sent Mr. Quinn by carriage to fetch the only man he believed might be able to save Luke’s life. And in order to get there, they’d had to pass through St. James’s. It was the shortest route.

  Cassandra blinked. Devlin had told her about the accident, he’d even mentioned the order he’d given Quinn, but she hadn’t realized this happened the same day Timothy died – that he’d been struck by the very carriage intended to ensure Luke’s survival. Devlin hadn’t explained it, preventing her from making the necessary connection.

  “Why wouldn’t he tell me this?”

  Mr. Quinn grunted. “It’s not his style. Making excuses.”

  Maybe not, but it did give Cassandra additional solace, knowing he’d not merely issued an aimless command. Although, she reflected, she should have realized this, regardless. Devlin never acted unnecessarily.

  “My point is—”

  “He’s no more at fault than I was, insisting we had to get married in that exact church.” Her fingers tightened around her glass. Was this why she’d been so stuck in the past? Because she blamed herself? She hadn’t considered it a possibility until she’d spoken the words.

  “Perhaps you should tell him.”

  “I know I should.” A sudden gust of wind dislodged her footing. She caught the railing to steady herself, causing her sherry to slosh over the side of her glass. “I’ve been meaning to do so for several days.”

  “Really?”

  She shrugged. “Even without considering the reason why the carriage was where it was on that particular day, I knew it was wrong to blame Devlin. It was just easier I suppose, than having to face the alternative.”

  Mr. Quinn nodded. “He’s lucky to have you.”

  She snorted. “He thinks I’m planning to leave him at Cape Town and go back to London.”

  “But you won’t?”

  “No. I’m staying. No matter what.”

  The deck rose at a sharper angle as a much higher wave lifted the ship. “I think you need to go back to your cabin,” Mr. Quinn told her gravely. “It appears a storm may be starting and the last place you’ll want to be during that is somewhere out here.”

  “All right.” She wasn’t foolish enough to ignore good advice. Just foolish enough not to recognize her husband’s innocence or to acknowledge her feelings for him, even when the truth stared her straight in the face. She wished Mr. Quinn a good night and moved past him.

  “If you’ll recall,” he told her right before she reached the ladder, “I’m also married. Trusting another person with your heart is a frightening thing to do, Mrs. Crawford. But the reward is, in my opinion at least, worth it.”

  Cassandra agreed. She’d been shocked by Devlin’s confession, that was all. Coming on the heels of their lovemaking, who could blame her? The problem was how long it had taken for her to decide what to do. The answer should have been simple. She should have told him it wasn’t his fault the moment she’d acknowledged the fact. As his friend, she should have tried to ease the pain and the guilt that so clearly consumed him much sooner.

  Instead, she’d kept her distance, too wrapped up in her own grief to pay attention to his.

  Tomorrow, she decided as she snuck her way back inside their cabin and cast a quick glance at the bed where he lay, she’d do what she could to acquit him of blame. She’d forgive him if that was what it would take for him to forgive himself, and most importantly, she’d tell him she’d no intention of ever leaving his side.

  Unfortunately, as it turned out, fate wasn’t quite with her.

  The cabin was still fairly dark when she woke to a series of thuds. Her body seemed to tilt, then the chair behind Devlin’s desk fell over. Men’s voices, shouting, accompanied the stomping of feet as they hurried about overhead. Timbers creaked and Cassandra’s head dipped down until she was looking up at her feet. Good God! The overturned chair slid toward her, paused for a second, then slid back from whence it had come.

  Grabbing onto the side of her bed, Cassandra attempted to sit. The ship rocked so violently she struggled to stay in one spot. One look at Devlin’s bed and she saw he was gone. The ship pitched and fell once again with such crashing force, it was a wonder the wood didn’t splinter.

  “Mama?” The shout was faint, barely audible from the opposite side of the bulkhead.

  Cassandra was on her feet in a second, heedless of how impossible walking might be. If Penelope was frightened, she’d find her way to her cabin, one way or another, even if she had to crawl there on her hands and knees just to stop from falling.

  She grabbed her robe and shoved her arms through the sleeves while steadying herself against the edge of her bed. The ship lurched and she skidded forward, slamming her hip into the desk.

  Muttering an oath she’d never imagined she’d ever speak, she reached for the door knob and hauled herself forward.

  “Penny,” she gasped, almost falling into her daughter’s cabin. “It’s just a storm. You mustn’t worry.”

  “I don’t feel very good,” Penelope groaned. “I really think sleeping in a hammock would have been better.”

  “Do you think you might be sick?” Cassandra asked, ignoring her comment.

  “Maybe.”

  Cassandra glanced around, furiously searching for something her daughter could use if she had to cast up her dinner
. When nothing seemed to avail itself, she made her decision. “Don’t leave your cabin, Penny. I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” Penelope’s voice followed Cassandra back into the passageway.

  “Make way,” a sailor shouted as he ran past her. Before she could think to ask him where Devlin might be or how long he reckoned the storm might last, he’d disappeared up the ladder.

  A spray of water landed at her feet. Cassandra held on fast to the brass rail attached to the bulkhead and fought to stay upright while the ship rolled to one side.

  “Mama!”

  Returning to Penelope’s side right now would accomplish nothing, so Cassandra clenched her jaw and made her way forward. She wasn’t quite sure how she managed to reach the galley without falling over. Sheer force of will and knowing her daughter depended on her for help were the only explanations. She grabbed a pot from the hook it had been secured to, held on tight, and started back toward Penelope’s cabin.

  “Here,” she gasped when she finally returned. “Use this if you have to.”

  The ship dove and Cassandra’s stomach dropped. Penelope screamed, but she didn’t let go of the pot. “I don’t like this, Mama.” Her voice was strangled. “I don’t like it one bit.”

  “I know. Neither do I.” The deck began tilting again, as it did right before the ship began falling. Cassandra braced herself for the inevitable, with her feet wide apart and both hands gripping whatever surface they could find. And then it happened again, jarring her bones. Her side ached where it had made contact with the desk, and her ankle was sore too, though not sprained, thank God. She could at least walk.

  “Water,” Penelope said. “There’s water on the floor.”

  “It’s coming in through the hatch every time it gets opened. You don’t have to worry. It’s not a leak.” Penelope nodded and bent her head over the pot. At least the guardrail along the edge of her bed would stop her from falling out. She’d be safe as long as she stayed where she was. “I have to go back to my cabin, Penny.”

  Penelope’s head jerked up, her eyes latching onto Cassandra’s. “No. Please stay.”

  “I…” Another wave lifted the ship, then dropped it straight back in the ocean. Cassandra’s foot slipped and before she could gain her balance, she fell on her bottom. Hard. Pain arced through her, wrenching a groan from somewhere so deep it felt like it came from her belly. “I can’t stay here for as long as this lasts,” she said once she managed to pull herself upright. “But maybe you can come to my cabin instead. Devlin isn’t there right now. He’s probably—”

  “Up there,” Penelope said, her eyes wide with panic.

  “He, um…” Dear God. Cassandra hadn’t allowed herself to worry about him until right now, but of course Penelope was right. He was the captain after all, and as such, he was probably at the helm as they spoke. She swallowed and told herself to stay calm. “I’m sure this isn’t his first storm. It’s worse for us because we’re not used to it. Come on. I’ll help you move, Penny. Let’s—”

  “Man overboard!”

  She barely heard the shout. It sounded so distant and yet she knew her ears didn’t betray her in the way her spine stiffened and her nerve endings started to wither. And then, of course, if that weren’t enough, there was the horrified look of finality on Penelope’s face.

  “Stay here,” Cassandra ordered. “Don’t you dare move!”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find out what’s going on,” Cassandra shouted over her shoulder. But the truth was she had to be sure Devlin wasn’t in danger. And God, it felt awful, but she could not stop from praying the man who’d gone over the side was someone else. “Please don’t let him die. Please, please, please…”

  The ship lurched, throwing her into the ladder. She caught the handrails and yanked herself upright, then started to climb. Saltwater splashed her face and dampened her clothes when she threw the hatch open and climbed out onto the deck, careful to hold on to something. Blinking, she adjusted her gaze to her murky surroundings. Men, more than she could possibly count, scurried about, heaving on ropes, even climbing the rigging to adjust the sails.

  “Bring to an anchor!”

  Cassandra whipped her head round to see who’d given the order, because it didn’t sound like Devlin.

  And it wasn’t.

  It was Mr. Bronswick.

  She gaped at him for a full second while trying to comprehend what was happening.

  She hadn’t seen him steer before.

  It was always Devlin or Mr. Quinn.

  “Beat to quarters and ease off handsomely at the captain’s command!”

  Cassandra sucked in a breath and looked about wildly, searching for Devlin amid the crowd of men following orders. A drum started, its hollow signal summoning all hands to their respective stations. Another surge of water spilled over her head. She sputtered and wiped her face with the back of her arm.

  “Will someone please get my foolish wife below so I don’t have to save her next?”

  And that was when she saw him.

  Devlin was standing near the railing with two of his men who were busy securing a rope to his waist. Stripped of his coat and boots, he offered only his profile for her consideration. But it was enough for her to see the determined gleam in his eyes.

  Understanding dawned and she took a step forward, moving as if through mud in a futile attempt to reach him on time. “No. Devlin, no!”

  A strong arm wound its way round her waist and yanked her back. “You’ll die out here if you’re not more careful,” a strange voice muttered next to her ear.

  And then Devlin jumped, leaping into the mountainous waves without one backward glance.

  And all Cassandra could do was scream.

  Chapter 16

  This was not the first storm Devlin had sailed through, but it was the first one to frighten the wits out of him, because this time it wasn’t just him and his men. Cassandra and Penny – his entire life – were on board, and if anything were to happen to them…

  Well, he probably wouldn’t live to know about it, he told himself grimly while doing his best to meet the next wave at just the right angle. Monty had woken him two hours earlier when the wind had worsened and it became clear the captain’s presence was required on deck. Devlin had been at the helm ever since, calling orders or relying on Monty and Bronswick to do so for him.

  Water was now everywhere, falling from black clouds and splashing onto the deck from all sides. A flash of lightening brightened the sky and illuminated the next oncoming wave. Devlin tightened his grip on the wheel’s handles and held on fast so it wouldn’t slip back. He had to keep the rudder on the port side of the stern-post in order to avoid getting hit from the side.

  Devlin glanced up at the sails and frowned. He’d ordered them furled so they could continue downwind with bare poles. Last he’d checked, they’d looked fine. But now…

  The main sail suddenly dropped and a gust of wind caught it.

  “Christ have mercy,” Devlin cursed as he struggled to keep the ship steady. If he failed to hold the stern perpendicular to the approaching waves, one could push the ship sideways, and if that happened, they’d likely capsize.

  “The rope’s stuck!” someone yelled. “I can’t bring the sail back up.”

  “I’m coming to help you,” Monty shouted, his thick voice cutting through all the noise. “Bronswick, toss me a line.”

  “Wait for my mark,” Devlin called, the muscles in his arms burning with the effort of keeping the rudder steady. Another wave caught the ship and lifted it up. With the sail counterbalancing Devlin’s steering, they barely managed to stay on course. “Climb. Now!”

  Monty made his way up the rigging with remarkable speed and agility for a man of his size.

  “Is he tethered?” Devlin asked Bronswick.

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “All right then,” Devlin muttered as another wave approached. “Hold on!”

  When
Devlin glanced back up, Monty was helping another crewmember secure the sail. The task immediately made the ship easier to steer. And then Monty was climbing back down. He reached the deck and removed the tether, started making his way toward Devlin.

  The stern rose as a wave grew beneath it, water spilled onto the deck from all sides, and then a sharp wind whipped across the stern, smacking Devlin straight in the face. When he opened his eyes once more, Monty was gone.

  “Man overboard!”

  The call confirmed what Devlin’s brain had refused to grasp. “Bronswick!” His quartermaster was at his side in an instant. “Heave to using the anchor. I’m going in after him.” Devlin rushed forward, shouting instructions as he went for a rope to be readied. “We must make haste,” he ordered as he glanced out over the side. Monty wasn’t very far and Devlin would bloody well reach him if it was the last thing he did.

  A rope was secured to his waist while he pulled off his coat and boots.

  “Bring to, an anchor,” Bronswick shouted.

  The bow hit a wave, soaking the deck and everything on it. Devlin glanced back briefly, intending to signal to Bronswick, except his wife was somehow there now, frantically clinging to a handrail, and Devlin’s heart seemed to stop beating. He had no time for this. And what the hell was she thinking anyway, to step onto the deck in this sort of weather? Angered by her foolish behavior and the added concern he now had for her safety, he barked an order for someone – anyone – to take her below.

  And then, without further hesitation, he dove into the water, submerging himself in silence. Until he broke the surface and reentered the storm. Frantically, yet with the control he knew he required, he took a moment to get his bearings. The ship was behind him, which meant that Monty had to be more or less…there…

  Thank God they were off the coast of Africa and not in the North Atlantic. He doubted he’d freeze to death, but instead he might drown. Or Monty might if Devlin didn’t reach him fast enough. Staying afloat while fighting the waves was a difficult battle, more so for Monty, whose coat and boots would be weighing him down.