Her Seafaring Scoundrel

by Sophie Barnes

  Devlin caught a quick glimpse of his head, and then it was gone as a wave swept between them. He started swimming toward the spot where he believed Monty to be. One arm reached forward while the other came up and over. The sea swelled beneath him, halting his progress and pushing him back. Good God, he had to save him, he simply had to.

  Already exhausted from handling the ship, Devlin forced his body into compliance and kept swimming until he was sure his arms would give up. Panting for breath, he paused to check his location once more. And then he spotted his friend, arms flailing as he struggled against the waves, his body turned in the wrong direction.

  “Monty!” Devlin’s voice was frayed by the wind, and he knew there was nothing to do but keep going. He had to. He simply had to.

  And so he did, until there was only a yard between them. “Grab my hand,” Devlin shouted while doing his best not to choke on a large gulp of water.

  Monty splashed around until he saw him. He reached for Devlin, their fingers brushed, and then Devlin felt the hard pull of the tether. “The line’s gone taut. You have to come closer.”

  Gasping for breath, Monty struggled to do as Devlin asked, but the waves were no easy foe to conquer, and it was clear that his strength was starting to fail. Devlin reached out again. Now there were two more inches between them.

  No. It wouldn’t end like this. It couldn’t. Not with Monty lost at sea.

  He needed something – an extension of sorts. If he undid the tether, the rope would be longer and he would be able to reach. It was a mad idea, a dangerous one, but Devlin knew he would never forgive himself if he chose not to try. “Keep swimming toward me! Stay as close as you can!”

  The knot was tied in such a way that it took Devlin only a second to widen the loop around his waist, grab it by one hand, and pull his legs through. Extending both arms, he held on tight to the loop, prayed it would not come undone, and offered Monty his free hand.

  His friend barely caught it before a wave rolled over both of their heads. They went under, tumbling, and with their weight trying to drag them apart. But now that Devlin had grabbed him, there was no way in hell he was letting him go. He held on tight and pulled Monty back up with him into the pelting rain.

  Cassandra banged on her door for what had to be the hundredth time even though she knew it was pointless to do so. But it was better than turning hysterical. According to Devlin’s orders, she’d been locked away in her cabin, and after insisting she had to be let out to see to her daughter, Penelope had been deposited in the cabin with her.

  “I’m sure he’ll be all right,” Penelope told her hopefully. “He has to be.”

  Yes. He did. Cassandra agreed with that. She couldn’t very well murder him if he didn’t come back. But if a mere carriage could end Timothy’s life, how could she possibly hope for Devlin to leap into the ferocious sea and survive?

  The ship lurched, sending her stumbling. She steadied herself against the bulwark, then made her way to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Not much better. Oof! It’s when the ship falls…” She hung her head over the pot she’d brought with her. “I feel like I’m going to be sick but then I’m not.”

  “Maybe you should try to sleep?”

  “Lying down only makes it worse.”

  “I see.” Cassandra bit her lip. “I could try and read to you in order to pass the time.”

  And to stop from thinking of Devlin and whether or not she would see him again.

  Her insides had tied themselves into a big messy knot when she’d seen him dive over the side of the ship. It tightened now at the thought of him fighting his way through the water, of waves tumbling over his head, and Dear God, what chance did he possibly have? How would he ever survive?

  “Mama?”

  Cassandra blinked. “Yes?”

  “You offered to read.”

  “Right. So I did.” She wasn’t sure how she managed to keep every part of herself in check, how she stopped herself from unraveling completely. But somehow she did. Somehow she managed to read two full chapters of Waverly without being aware she’d done so. Absently, her eyes had moved over the words while her mouth spoke them aloud. Until she realized the ship wasn’t bobbing about quite as much as it had done earlier. It was settling, the darkness receding, and…

  Something scraped against the door, most likely whatever had been used to secure it and stop Cassandra from getting out. It opened one second later and Bronswick appeared, looking much like a half-drowned rat. “The storm has passed. I thought you should know.” He disappeared before Cassandra could question him further. Infuriating man! She wanted to chase him and shake him and…

  Devlin, sopping wet from head to toe, half stumbled, half fell through the door. His eyes went straight to his bed where Penelope rested, the longing on his face transforming into defeat. Groaning, he staggered around his desk, expelled a long breath, and collapsed in his chair.

  At which point Cassandra burst into tears.

  Devlin wasn’t sure what he needed first. A tall glass of brandy, to get his clothes off, or to fall into bed. Unfortunately his bed was presently occupied by Penelope. And as long as she was in the cabin he couldn’t get undressed either. So he chose to start with the brandy.

  The bottle he kept in his desk drawer would serve nicely. After fumbling about for a bit on account of his aching hands, he managed to fill a glass and drink. Christ, that felt good! He welcomed the bite and the heat that followed. It filled his chest and made him feel more or less whole again.

  Penelope stood. “I’ll go back to my own cabin. In case you want to lie down.”

  “Thank you.” He wasn’t sure he had the strength to get out of the chair, but he was grateful for her consideration.

  She seemed to hesitate. “Will you be all right, Mama?”

  Cassandra made a sound and Penelope left the cabin. “I thought you were dead,” she said once her daughter was gone. Her voice was hoarse and slightly broken.

  Devlin took another fortifying sip of his drink. Ahh. “Sorry to disappoint,” he said, aiming for levity. After all, they’d been at odds with each other for weeks now, so it seemed like a natural comment to make.

  But then he looked at her, at her blotchy face and red-rimmed eyes, at the tears streaking over her cheeks. His heart made a funny leap, and he straightened himself in his chair. But before he was able to analyze the situation, Cassandra was on her feet with her hands fisted at her sides. The cabin was small, so it took only two steps for her to reach him. Leaning down, she brought her face level with his. Anger, the likes of which he’d never seen before, flashed in her eyes, and for a brief second, he seriously considered jumping back into the ocean.

  “I thought you were dead,” she hissed, repeating herself. Only this time she followed the statement with a punch to his chest. It hurt. Even though there wasn’t much force behind the blow, Devlin’s weak body received it with bruising force. And then she hit him again. “I thought I’d lost you as well, Dev.” Another punch landed against his shoulder. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  He caught her wrists even as she collapsed before him, sinking onto her knees with great heaving sobs. “I had no choice, Cass. You have to understand. I had to save him.”

  He stared down into her crumpled face and felt his heart wobble. In spite of everything, she obviously cared for him. Why else would she respond like this?

  “Never again. Please, you have to promise me, Dev.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Not as long as I am the captain.” This only made her cry harder, so Devlin did the only thing he could think of doing and pulled her against his chest, holding her close, his hand stroking her back until her breaths eased. And even then, he remained as he was, hugging her to him and savoring her warmth for long moments after.

  Until she leaned back abruptly, as if she’d just remembered something. “We have to get you dry.” Her eyes, still wet with tears, had widened. Her hands reached out, patti
ng his chest. “No, no, no…you cannot survive all of this just to die from a chill.” She pulled away and rose to her feet. “I won’t allow it.”

  Devlin gave her an assessing look. “You seem remarkably concerned about my wellbeing all of a sudden.”

  “Of course I’m concerned. I would have to be a shrew not to be.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  She puffed out a breath. “You are my husband after all, and I do love you.” Her hands waved about as if they had the power to speed things along. “Now get up so I can help you undress.”

  But Devlin couldn’t move. He could only stare, and eventually manage to ask, “Could you repeat that please?”

  She looked delightfully irritated. Devlin frowned. How could irritation possibly be delightful? Shrugging, he chose not to ponder the issue while waiting for her to respond.

  “I said, get up.”

  “No,” he drawled. “Before that.”

  Her lips curved ever so slightly, into what resembled a secretive smile. “You’re my husband.” She crossed her arms as if in defiance.

  “No. That’s not it either.” He stood, forcing her back a step. “The part I’m interested in pertains to how you feel. I’d like to hear you say it again.”

  She tilted her head at a stubborn angle. “Very well. I love you.”

  Air rushed from his lungs. “Did I really have to almost die for you to realize that?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It occurred to me before the storm started. I wanted to tell you, but you were asleep by the time I returned to the cabin and when I awoke, you were gone.”

  He blinked. She loved him and he…

  He clasped each side of her face, holding her steady while he kissed her. “I love you too,” he murmured against her lips. “I’m just not sure I deserve you.”

  Her hands worked the fastenings of his shirt while he kissed his way down her neck. “Of course you do. You’re no more to blame for what happened to Timothy than I or anyone else.” Stepping back so he was forced to halt his progress, she stared him straight in the eye. “It was an accident. I was too emotionally wrapped up in it not to find your confession jarring. But once I’d thought it all through, I regretted the way I reacted. It was wrong and you didn’t deserve it. Especially not when you were just trying to save that poor boy from dying.”

  “Just because my intentions were good doesn’t mean—”

  “Of course not. I know that. But you’ve carried this weight for so long, and I’d like to help free you from it.” Her hand reached up to cup his cheek. “Too many factors played a part for it to have been one man’s fault alone. And in the end, the truth is that Timothy didn’t look where he was going. I loved him. I’ll always love him. But that doesn’t mean I cannot love you as well.”

  “Do you really mean that?” He dared not hope.

  She nodded. Just once. “I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t.” The smile she gave him next was almost bashful. She tried to hide it by giving her attention back to his shirt, and in the next instant the garment was pulled up over his head.

  Devlin watched as she shook it out and hung it on a hook behind the door. His skin was damp and he suddenly felt much colder than he had before.

  “Here. This will help,” Cassandra said. She’d produced a towel and was now running the thing up and down his arms.

  It was hard not to smirk. Damn him but he was exhausted, though apparently not too much for him to enjoy his wife’s ministrations. She loved him. And that made everything better. It also made him want her with a desperation that nearly stole his breath. After the day he’d just had, one would think he’d be too bloody knackered to think in such terms. But his body was clearly responding to what she was doing. And he, wicked man that he was, couldn’t help but tease her a little.

  “My legs are practically frozen.” He tried to give her a pitiful look. “Perhaps you can help me remove my breeches.”

  She went utterly still. The towel pressed against his chest. “I, um…” He heard her gulp and almost laughed.

  “The fabric’s rather clingy,” he explained.

  “A—all right.” Nibbling on her lip as if pondering some complicated equation, she stared at the buttons of his falls.

  “You do understand how clothing works, do you not?”

  Her expression turned into one of pure annoyance. “Of course I do.” And apparently that was all the goading she needed. Her fingers reached for the buttons, and quicker than he could adjust himself to what was about to transpire, she’d divested him of his breeches and smalls in one fell swoop.

  He gaped at her.

  She eyed him with smug satisfaction. “Will that be all?”

  “Hell no,” he muttered.

  A startled squeal was all she could manage before she was in his arms. His mouth captured hers, conveying without the need for words what was in his heart. He loved her. He would always love her. And being with her like this was utter perfection. So he deepened the kiss, held on tight, and allowed himself to believe he deserved this – that he deserved her.

  She responded with fervor, kissing him back as if she would perish if she didn’t.

  “My God, Cass.” He fumbled with her skirts, yanking them up until he discovered her warmth. “I need you. Right here. Right now.” The whimper she uttered when he turned and lowered himself to his bed was all the encouragement he needed. He pulled her down with him, straddling her on his lap. “Just…” He shifted her slightly, gritted his teeth, and hissed out a breath when she claimed him. He was naked, she fully clothed, and that alone drove him wild.

  Gripping her hips, he guided her movements until he was dizzy with pleasure.

  She was perfect, her body complementing his in the most intoxicating way imaginable. He could get drunk on this feeling, on this love that had blossomed between them. And he had to tell her, had to remind her of how much she mattered to him.

  “You’re mine, Cass. I’ll cherish you forever. For as long as I live. I—”

  “Dev!” His name was part gasp, part benediction.

  One second later, he followed her over the edge with a heartfelt, “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she told him soon after, once they were stretched out on his bed. It was narrow, but cozy. They were lying on their sides, her back to his front and with his arm curled over her waist. Snug and warm.

  Eyes closed, Devlin felt himself sinking as sleep crept toward him. A thought, or rather a worry, roused him just enough to ask, “Does this mean you’re not leaving me when we reach Cape Town?”

  She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “It means you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid. Forever.”

  “Good,” he muttered against the back of her neck.

  Reassured, Devlin inhaled Cassandra’s sweet fragrance and finally, blissfully, allowed himself to rest.

  Chapter 17

  “May I go up there?” Penelope asked. She gestured toward the top of the main mast. “Please?”

  They’d docked in Sydney harbor two days prior and were due to depart the following morning. Deciding to join Devlin when he’d gone to call on Governor Macquarie, Cassandra had been quite surprised by the colony’s development since it had only been established roughly thirty years earlier. Yet she spotted a couple of rather nice churches, a bank, and a series of shops that looked as though they’d been plucked out of Bond Street.

  It was surprisingly civilized when considering Sydney’s past as a penal colony. Intrigued, Cassandra had taken careful note of the people, aware that many were emancipated convicts who’d been given land and had chosen to stay.

  “I don’t know,” Cassandra said in response to Penelope’s question about the climb she wanted to make. “It’s very high up.” Since leaving Cape Town, Penelope had begun climbing the rigging with Devlin whenever the weather was calm enough to allow it. But she’d only been up in the crow’s nest once and was now keen to go up again.

  “The view from up there will be
stunning,” Penelope pleaded.

  “You’ll have to be tethered,” Devlin remarked. “And someone must go with you.”

  “Not to criticize you for interfering,” Cassandra murmured, “but it does sound as though you’re volunteering.”

  “Trevor can take me,” Penelope said.

  Cassandra narrowed her gaze. “Trevor?” The name left her mouth as if it were foreign.

  “Mr. Bronswick’s son?” Penelope offered.

  “I know who he is,” Cassandra said. Locating the youth, she gave him what felt like a much too tight smile. “I’m just not sure if he’s…um…I mean…” Grappling for words, she looked to Devlin for help. “Is he capable?”

  “You can trust him to bring her back safely,” Devlin assured her. He followed the statement with a wink directed at Penelope.

  Penelope grinned and Cassandra sighed. She wasn’t sure who doted more on whom, these days. “Very well. You may…” Penelope was already off, hurrying across the deck to where Trevor stood waiting.

  “I reckon she’ll marry him one day,” Devlin murmured.

  “What?”

  “She does seem to favor his company.”

  “Pfft. That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Devlin caught Cassandra’s hand and together they watched Penelope climb up the rigging with Trevor directly behind her, his hands on either side caging her in and keeping her safe.

  “She’s only just turned thirteen,” Cassandra muttered. “It’s much too soon to think of her marrying. And besides, he’s got to be twice her age at least.”

  Devlin grinned. “I do enjoy needling you, Cass.”

  “You’re a scoundrel, do you know that?”

  “Yes, but at least I am your scoundrel.” He pulled her closer and dropped an affectionate kiss on her temple. “And he’s actually only ten years her senior. I could see it working.”

  Cassandra wrenched herself away from him so she could give his shoulder a punch. But she was laughing and she secretly loved her husband’s teasing, even though she doubted she’d ever admit it.