by Louisa Trent
His gaze dropped to her parted thighs. The visual excited men, a lesson Ruby had taught her long ago, and so she knew her splayed and tied body aroused her disciplinarian. Joshua wanted her again...
Or rather, he wished to make use of her body again. His vigorous appetite for sex both elated her and filled her with dread; men have been known to substitute an attainable woman for one who is not, thereby saving the chastity of a lady they hope to marry. Wed a lady, bed a whore. It was a time-honored tradition. She fell into the latter category, the Quaker lady into the former.
She broached the subject that had preyed on her mind, as his hooded eyes broached her. "Where did you really go this past week?"
"The Grand Banks," he said, giving her the same stock answer as Peggy, who was also a terrible liar.
"I would like honesty between us."
"A gentleman gives his mistress as much honesty as he can."
Her brows raised. "Oh, is that what I am now? Not your whore, your mistress? A promotion, I gather. Well, I think I should just as soon remain as I was, if you don't mind. Gentlemen talk more freely with a whore."
"You prefer whoring to what I have offered you?" he exploded.
"What have you offered me? Only financial compensation! I tell you this, sir; I would much prefer to remain a whore, than have an untruthful relationship."
"Some women do prefer the whoring life. If that's what you need, you can get it from me as well as from anyone else. Are you done with your meal?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"Are you done with me?"
"No."
"Good."
He loosed her from the ties. "Let's try a bed this time, shall we?"
"Sound idea that, and what say you to an adventure a little more daring?
"More d-d-daring?" he said hoarsely, and in a comical move, teetered backwards, clutching his upper arm and shoulder, as though mortally wounded.
Evidently, her lover was in need of convincing...
When she finished her argument, cum clung to the points of her breasts. She scooped her winnings up and deposited the product of his man's lust into her mouth, sucking her finger vigorously to remove every last bit.
She grinned. "You know, Cap'n, I rather liked that." She could tell he did too, despite his protests to the contrary. "Are you up for another go 'round?"
The sea captain's face took on an appalled expression. Green around the gills, he swayed, groaned, gasped, "Harry, Harry, you're killing me, Harry!"
Before she could catch him, he collapsed at her feet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Harry sprang like a gazelle for Josh, her ear pressed at his chest.
He was still breathing, though shallowly. What was wrong? Why had he collapsed?
Her gaze surveyed him. Joshua's skin usually sported a seaman's perpetual tan, but his face was pallid now. And his lips! They were bluish and pinched. Perspiration dotted his forehead. And he was cold, clammy, unnaturally still.
Thinking to shake him awake, she grabbed his shoulders, then slipped her hands to his upper arms.
He winced, groaned in pain.
Was that blood on his sleeve?
My God! It was blood. Her fingers were coated with crimson. Joshua was bleeding. Profusely.
She attacked his shirt, her hands moving frantically over the buttons, ripping them off in her haste.
His arm was hurt, bleeding; she could see that now. But what had done the damage? A bullet?
Please, no! Not a bullet.
When she had the shirt off, she jumped to her feet for the drying linen. Wadding it up, she used it to staunch the blood flow so she could see the source of the problem...
Not a bullet! A clean slash, deep enough to require stitches, but not so severe that she couldn't handle it herself, with the help of the sea captain's medicine chest.
She scrambled to get the wooden box.
Opening the double-hung doors on the front, she saw an assortment of small drawers, inside of which were tinctures, cures for all manner of illnesses. The box also contained aids for surgery.
After forcing a swallow of laudanum down Josh's throat--to keep him out while she stitched him up--she proceeded to clean the wound with water. Finally, as a precaution against the fever that often followed stitching, she poured whiskey over the gaping wound.
Needle threaded, she seamed the slashed flesh. After the stitches were tied off, she cut the leftover thread with her teeth and replaced the bloodied bandage. The patient belonged at home in his own bed, away from the damp of the wharves. But out cold on laudanum, Josh was dead weight, far too heavy for her to move on her own. Surely his carriage would arrive soon to pick him up and drive him back to the mansion--the sea captain must have informed Andrew of his arrival! She would simply wait for Peggy's husband to help her move him.
Harry covered the sea captain up to the chin to keep him warm, then drew the dark privacy curtain around the bunk to keep out the damp ocean breezes. That accomplished, she searched out her own clothes in anticipation of the carriage's arrival. She was shrugging into her shirt when she heard footsteps outside the cabin. Andrew!
She raced to let him in.
And came face to face with a stranger.
The man tipped his hat. "Name's Dan Green, ma'am, and I'm looking for the sea captain of this here vessel--Captain Joshua Kane."
"Why?" she asked, boldly, something in the stranger's attitude making her wary.
"I hear tell this schooner came up from down south, ma'am, and I sure would like to ask the captain a friendly question or two about some runaway slaves escaped from a plantation in Atlanta."
Dan Green was a bounty hunter! Harry could smell the reek of dirty reward money emanating from his pores.
"I've procured me a process to catch those runaways," Green continued, "and I almost caught one carrying a thousand-dollar reward on his head, when a lawbreaker interceded on his behalf. I took a knife to him, and that should've slowed him down a mite. I 'spect to find him real soon, and when I do, I'm turning him over to the Marshall for aiding and abetting fugitives."
A chill ran down Harry's spine. Joshua! He had a knife wound on his arm--had he saved those slaves?
Keeping her expression carefully composed so as not to betray her fear, Harry asked, "What does any of this have to do with Captain Kane?"
"Well, ma'am, seeing this schooner just pulled into port from down south, I'm wondering if the captain might have seen that dockside scuffle."
"Captain Kane is not here right now, but I will certainly relay the information upon his return"
"You might tell the captain, ma'am, that the man I'm looking for has got to be favoring his arm. Bleeding like a stuck pig too, if'n he hasn't seen a doc."
"I will." She smiled.
The bounty hunter eyed her partially open shirt. "So--you know the cap'n real well, do you?"
"Well enough."
"You his woman?"
"His whore," she corrected. "I traveled with him to Atlanta, and kept him so well-occupied in port, that I know he couldn't have seen anything."
"Do tell?"
"Yes. Captain Kane was with me the whole time."
"I reckon I sure would like to ask him a few questions anyway, just in case. If you don't mind, I think I'll stick around inside the cabin for a spell..."
The cabin was dark, and she had covered Josh up well, encircled his bunk with the sleeping curtain. The bloody water in the basin, the linen she had used to staunch the wound, and the medical box were all inside the bed enclosure.
"By all means." She tossed her head and smiled, let her shirt loosen, until the upper slopes of her breasts were revealed. "Mr. Green, I wore Captain Kane out that last night in port before we set sail, and so I know he won't be looking to get any today, and so as it happens, I'm between customers--"
"Do tell?" The repulsive bounty hunter leered inside her gaping shirt.
"Yes, I do tell. Not that a virile and handsome man like yours
The bounty hunter thumbed his jaw. "I've always had a hankering for redheaded fillies--that hair is natural, ain't it, honey?"
"Yes."
"Think you could show me some proof?"
Feeling like she could easily retch, Harry unbuttoned the shirt and opened it wide.
The slave catcher's eyes dipped to the center of her body. "That sure is a red beaver you got yourself there, sugar," he said, and gave her a cocky grin, sure of his appeal to the ladies.
Harry had all to do to breathe the same air as the bounty hunter, and here she was about to trade her body for Joshua's safety. For if the man she loved awakened, groaned, made some sound, he would give himself away.
She was so proud of him! To think Joshua had interceded on the behalf of a runaway slave! That's what his knife wound was about; he had stepped in and saved another human being from a certain return to slavery, and by doing so, had placed himself in jeopardy. If his intercession was found out, Joshua would be fined, sent to jail, his reputation would be lost. Putting those concerns aside, he had risked everything so another might live free. Any sacrifice she made dimmed in comparison...
Harry dropped her shirt to the floor.
"You've got a great set of jugs on you, sugar," the slave catcher said, grabbing one.
"I'm so happy you think so, Dan," she replied evenly, feeling the bile rise in her throat.
She fought it down as his hands moved between her legs. This bounty hunter would never touch the heart of her; her love belonged solely to Joshua and that love would remain inviolate, regardless of what this coyote did to her...
Though tolerating his hands would have been easier, had he been toad-ugly and monster-repulsive.
Dan Green was neither. In fact, he was good looking. But inside, he was loathsome. Anyone who would hunt down another human being for profit, defiled his own humanity.
"Not here," she said quickly, when he one-handed the front of his trousers. "Let's go to the first mate's cabin."
"And you're sure this Captain Kane was with you the whole time you were in Atlanta?"
"Why would any man leave my side to walk the wharves at night?" she asked, taking his hand and leading him out of the cabin, away from Joshua.
* * * *
"Here," Andrew said, propping him up to a sit. "Let me help you to your feet, sir."
Josh felt woozy, like he had been drugged. Tongue thick on the words, he asked, "Harry? Where's Harry?"
"You mean Mrs. Smith?"
"Right," Josh said, holding onto the bed stand. Why was the deck pitching under his feet?
"Her! I found the slut downstairs, naked on her knees before a man's rigging. Looked like she was about to blow his sails, when in I walked and interrupted. I ordered him off the ship. Your housekeeper is getting dressed, away from my sight. Disgusting bitch, going off with a gent and leaving you here alone to bleed to death, by the looks of things."
"Harry naked with another man?"
"Saw her with my own eyes. She sure hoodwinked me. Despite her whoring reputation, I took her for a decent woman. Wrong! Any woman goes off with one man, while another man is lying injured in the next cabin over, is no good in my estimation." Andrew looked behind him. "Here she is now."
Harry rushed into the room. "Are you all right?"
Joshua's eyes narrowed on her nudity, on her passion-bruised mouth, on the enormous nipples he had not recently provoked. She didn't try to hide her nakedness from his driver, the true sign of a woman beyond redemption. Harry was a born harlot, and Joshua had to face up to that fact. "Andrew, would you be good enough to wait up on deck? I have something I need to discuss with Mrs. Smith in private."
"Very good, sir." His driver fled the cabin.
"Is it true? Did you off with another man after I had passed out?"
"Yes." She straightened her shoulders. "But there were precipitating factors. Please--if you would but hear me out--let me explain..."
He shook his head. "Did you stitch me up?"
"You were bleeding. There was no one else..."
"Thank you."
Josh took a deep breath. It hurt like hell to fill his lungs, but he had to do something to refrain from backhanding her across those succulent lips, from striking that contrary mouth. The urge to strike back against her unfaithfulness had him in its black grip.
He fought the urge. A man never hits a woman, even when provoked.
The rattan. The spanking. Those were methods of controlled discipline ... erotic domination. What he felt now was an out-of-control need to hurt her as she had hurt him.
He would not give into it.
"I knew you were a whore, Harry. You are merely staying true to form. I had only deluded myself into believing we could take this arrangement to a new level. I see now we cannot."
"If you would but let me explain!"
"Silence!" he shouted, trembling with weakness. "You have my gratitude for seeing to my care. But henceforth, I would prefer you keep to a different bedchamber."
She straightened her shoulders. "Very well. I will take the chamber next to yours. You may yet develop a fever."
"Thank you for your concern, but Andrew will handle my care here on out." He surveyed her wanton nudity. "Kindly dress, then meet me in the carriage for the ride back to the mansion."
Turning on his heel, Joshua walked slowly away from Harry.
CHAPTER THIRTY
During his convalescence, Joshua had left instructions with Andrew to bar Harry from his bedchamber. Tricky creature that she was, the little whore managed to sneak past his man several times, knocking at the locked door, inquiring as to his health through the keyhole.
He always turned her away.
A fortnight later, Joshua was up and about, fully recovered.
He was taking a stroll in the gardens one sunny afternoon, when Kouadjo came rushing toward him.
"Letter for you from the Quaker lady, Cap'n," the wizened seaman said, untucking the missive from his sleeve.
Kouadjo was the first man Joshua had helped escape the bonds of slavery. In a turnabout, rather than take the train to Canada, Kouadjo had refused his ticket, adamantly insisting to go to work for him instead. Ever since, the wizened African had acted as Josh's shadow, never letting his former sea captain out of his sight for any longer than it took him to take a hot piss in the cold Pacific.
Kouadjo was one of the reasons Josh had to be careful; the man was still in danger of recapture, and if Joshua's link to the Underground Railroad were found out, the runaway slave would be sent back to the southern plantation from whence he had escaped. A horrific possibility.
As the letter passed to dark hand from darker hand, Kouadjo's dignity and courage in the face of an uncertain future filled Josh with awe.
"Cap'n, you are needed. There are passengers who seek a way station on their trip. They ask for your help."
"Since you always read these letters from Emma Howland first, why not save a step and simply relate the contents?"
While Kouadjo shrugged and grinned, Josh removed the sheet of paper from the unsealed envelope. Without glancing at the words, he asked, "So--when am I needed, mate?"
"Two days hence," his friend replied.
* * * *
Harry was on hands and knees scrubbing boot traffic from the hall, when he arrived home later that afternoon.
"Good day to you madam," he said, taking his hat in hand.
Harry looked up from her sudsy water, wiped her hands on her apron. "How are you?"
"Most excellent."
Josh could see that the same could not be said of her. Harry looked ill--exhaustion etched her features, blue shadows smudged her sunken eyes, a gray pallor muddied her normally healthy complexion.
Her wan appearance taking him aback, he stuttered out, "W-w-what ails you? And get off your hands and knees, dammit!"
Not trusting himself to touch her, not in any way, he stood back to give her room but did not help her rise.
Harry remained on her knees, making no attempt to gain her feet. "If I left here, sir, would you think to look?"
"What foolishness is this? You are not leaving here! Absolutely, you are not! I would hunt you down and bring you back. You owe me, girl," he blustered.
"No, I am not leaving. You need me too much for me to take off like a thief in the night!"
"And you would know about that circumstance."
She said, a weary note creeping into her voice, "Mine is but a hypothetical question, but I would appreciate an honest reply."
"Well I suppose ... I don't know..." He raked a hand through his hair; the idea of her leaving had left him so nonplussed, that he was at a loss to get two thoughts together.
He tried again. "I would look everywhere for you--every whore house and brothel in New Bedford and Boston. New York, as well, in case you thought to ply your profession there."
She laughed. "You never thought, even for a minute, did you, that I might seek out honest employment?"
"No," he said baldly, now standing over her as she knelt on the floor, scrub brush in hand, apron covering a faded dark gown. "You are a whore and whoring is what a woman like you does. Why would I have looked anyplace else?"
"I hoped that you would have given me the benefit of the doubt," she offered as a ridiculous argument.
"Seven years ago when I sailed from port, I left you a bag of money. You never spent it on your support. Instead, you chose to become a whore."
She jumped to her feet, raced for his study.
He followed in pursuit. "Where do you think you are going, girl?"
A small velvet bag was tossed at him from his sea captain's desk.
"There! I left that for you this morning."
"I just this moment returned," he said defensively, upending the bag's contents onto his desktop.
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