by Brenda Novak
“But your father deserves—”
“Therein lies the problem,” Nathaniel interrupted. Damn if he didn’t want to shout. “I know what my father deserves, and I bloody well want nothing more than to give it to him. But shouldn’t the lives of others—of innocents—mean more to me than destroying him? The marquess is young. He’s bitter and misguided perhaps, but he’s not to blame for Greystone’s actions any more than Alexandra deserves what has happened to her.” He sighed. “I know what I should do. I should salvage what I can of my future, forget my father, and move on.”
Trenton paused, as if trying to put sufficient thought into his next words. “Nathaniel, a couple of years spent picking the pockets of the unwary just to get a bite to eat numbed my conscience years ago. I have felt no guilt about stealing from the duke. And I’m not overly worried about Newgate or whatever our final punishment will be if we’re caught. I figure I’ll deserve it by then; I’ve always expected such an end anyway. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t know if I’m the best person to offer advice, but if living a pirate’s life is troubling you, there’s no reason you can’t change.”
“Aye. I wish it were so easy.” Nathaniel stared into space. “I can’t explain it or even understand it, but there’s a part of me that has ahold of this thing, and I can’t let it go.”
“What does that say for Alexandra?”
Nathaniel steeled himself against the pang of sadness that the thought of life without Alexandra provoked. “It says nothing. I’m taking her back, just like I planned.”
* * *
Nanchu was spooning clear broth into Alexandra’s mouth when Nathaniel entered. She glanced up as he shut the door, her eyes like saucers in her pale face, and Nathaniel felt a twinge of guilt. Despite Nanchu’s assurances that the bullet had passed cleanly through her shoulder without causing any major damage, Nathaniel worried that the wound would not heal well.
And he knew it should be he convalescing in that bed from a bullet wound, not some poor girl.
“This patient know what good for her,” Nanchu said as Alexandra continued to obediently sip soup from the spoon he held out to her. “Unlike young man.”
“The marquess still won’t allow the poultices?” Nathaniel asked in surprise.
Nanchu shook his head. “I cannot force a fool from his foolishness.”
Nathaniel frowned. He’d moved his half brother into the purser’s cabin where the boy could be more closely watched, but the knowledge of who Jake was didn’t help his popularity among the crew. The boy had as much pride and arrogance as their father, but very little wisdom. “Then there’s nothing we can do. Perhaps mettle alone will save his hand. It’s saved me on occasion.”
Nanchu gave a snort that let Nathaniel know he disagreed about the Marquess of Clifton possessing any such redeeming trait. “Come.” He motioned Nathaniel toward the bed. “If you please, finish here? Henry waiting in sick bay. Need to check arm before his watch.”
Henry was a member of the crew who had fallen from the rigging several days earlier and broken his arm. Nathaniel didn’t doubt that the man needed attention, but he hesitated to perform the task of feeding Alexandra. It was easier to keep up a shield of indifference when he wasn’t so close to her.
He glanced toward the bed, frowned, considered making some excuse, then chided himself for being weak-willed. Taking the bowl Nanchu held out to him, he moved irritably into the doctor’s place.
“See she eats to last drop.” Nanchu clasped his hands in a prayer-like attitude and bowed his head in Alexandra’s direction.
Alexandra gave the doctor a smile, and Nathaniel noticed how it made her face light up. The dark rings around her eyes became less conspicuous. Her cheeks bloomed with a bit of their usual color, and her hair, cascading onto the pillows in wild disarray, looked as soft as silk and more tempting to his hand than spun gold.
Nathaniel wondered what it would feel like to entwine his fingers in those golden tresses and pull, forcing her head back to receive his kiss. Then he wished he could pass the bowl back to Nanchu and head to the deck or to Trenton’s cabin—anywhere his heart was safe from melting. But the little doctor had already left the room.
Alexandra glanced up at him expectantly, long dark lashes making a perfect frame for her big green eyes.
Nathaniel let his scowl darken, hoping to discourage her from smiling again, or looking at him, or doing anything else that might make him want to touch her. She had complicated his life enough already. The revelations of the day had burdened him alternately with guilt, anger, and chagrin.
He filled the spoon and held it to her lips, but it was difficult to concentrate on the soup. She wore one of his own shirts, her dress no longer serviceable after the rigors it had been through, and the swell of her breasts beneath the cloth lured him to distraction. The thought of her naked beneath his clothes made the blood pound in his ears until suddenly he laughed, his voice ringing loud in the silence.
“What is it?” Alexandra asked.
Nathaniel didn’t answer; he just grinned, remembering how he had thought himself a pervert, a deviant, to be so attracted to his sister. Now he reveled in the knowledge that he was completely normal after all—and decided to seek a little revenge for the sleepless nights her impersonation of Anne had put him through.
“What is it?” Alexandra repeated, smiling with the contagion of his mirth.
“I was only thinking that you must feel very strongly about me, to have taken that bullet the way that you did.”
“I must?” Alexandra laughed herself. “I don’t know why I was foolish enough to jump in front of you, but I doubt it stemmed from anything more than impulse.”
Her color deepened, contradicting her words, and Nathaniel warmed to his game. Placing the soup on the table, he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his. “You wouldn’t have saved my life if you didn’t care for me.”
Alexandra snatched her hand away, looking uncomfortable, as though she didn’t know what to do at this odd turn in his behavior. “What I feel doesn’t matter.” She glanced at the bowl of soup. “Aren’t you going to feed me any more? Nanchu said I should eat it all—”
“You can try to change the subject,” Nathaniel replied, gently caressing her arm with his knuckles, “but I have a way of learning the truth.”
He admired the delicate arch of her brows as she raised them. “I think you must be well into your cups.”
Nathaniel had enjoyed more than his usual mug of rum for dinner. Everyone had. There was precious little to eat, and drink filled the belly. But he doubted the alcohol had half as much effect upon him as the softness of Alexandra’s skin. “I’m drunk only on desire,” he admitted.
Alexandra’s eyes flew wide, like those of a startled child, as he retrieved her hand and kissed the tip of each finger.
“What are you doing? I’m not well,” she said breathlessly.
Nathaniel smiled, enjoying her discomfiture. He let her go, but only to shift his position on the bed so he could hover over her.
“You’re beautiful.” He let his hand delve into her thick curls as he had longed to do. Twisting the shining tresses around each finger, he pulled gently until Alexandra’s head tilted back and her breath fanned his face.
Nathaniel expected her to object, but she didn’t. She merely closed her eyes, like someone savoring the feel of the sun on her cheeks.
He bowed closer. Alexandra wore no cologne—she had none—but her skin smelled slightly of soap. After the heavy perfumes many women wore to camouflage the reek of everyday perspiration and dirt, the mere absence of such appealed to him. He nuzzled her neck and ear, taking in the clean, sweet scent of her.
“I want you,” he said, longing to kiss her.
Alexandra’s lids fluttered opened. “Don’t,” she whispered, but the word held no conviction, and she didn’t resist or pull away. She waited, her mouth slightly parted, watching him beneath her lashes.
Nathaniel bent his head until his lip
s lightly touched hers. Velvety soft, full and promising, her mouth moved beneath his own until he could control himself no longer. His grip tightened on her hair as he parted her lips, then he groaned in pleasure when she allowed his tongue access to her own.
Alexandra’s hand climbed up his arm to circle his neck, and Nathaniel had to struggle to keep his passion in check. She was injured; he didn’t want to hurt her. Forcing himself to use some restraint, he left her lips to travel kisses across her cheek and nibble at her earlobe with his teeth.
“Wait…” She gasped as his tongue darted into her ear. He blew gently on the wetness it left behind, feeling a degree of satisfaction when her body quivered against him.
“Alexandra, sweet Alexandra, how you have plagued my dreams,” he whispered, alternating between sucking her earlobe and slipping his tongue into her ear again.
“Nathaniel—” Her hands reached for his hair and tugged him back for another kiss. As he drank from the wetness of her mouth, he feared he’d lose himself and simply drown. His body was making commitments his mind could not keep, yet he felt as powerless to resist as a leaf tossed against the wind.
It took all of his focus to pull away. When he did, Alexandra’s face was flushed, and he could hear the soft pant of her breathing.
Suddenly Nathaniel was angry—angry with Alexandra for complicating his life when he least needed it, angry with his father for filling his heart with hatred until he had no chance at love, but mostly angry with himself for walking too close to the flame of his attraction. He wanted Alexandra, so much that it rankled to deny himself. Yet he couldn’t take advantage of her innocence, especially after all she’d been through because of him. She wanted things he could not give her: a husband and a family. There was no place in his life for a woman. There was room only in his bed.
Quickly putting the distance of several feet between them, he moved away. “You’re a witch, fair maiden,” he murmured, admiring Alexandra’s stormy eyes and her hair, tousled by his own hand. Then, afraid her beauty would weaken his resolve, he turned and left.
Slamming the door behind him, Nathaniel strode briskly down the companionway, heading up on deck. He needed the chill night air to cool his body and his mind, but movement in the hall behind him made him turn. Rat approached, carrying a lantern and singing some bawdy song about a sailor and his woman as he hurried toward the hatch, no doubt intent upon gathering with some of the others to do more drinking.
The little man froze when he recognized Nathaniel. “Cap’n? Is somethin’ wrong?”
Even from several feet away, Nathaniel could smell alcohol on Rat’s breath and guessed he’d already had a great deal more than his daily share of rum. “Where are you coming from?”
“I just took my turn standin’ watch over the marquess. This voyage ‘as certainly turned into a family affair, eh?” Rat’s grin led Nathaniel to believe he knew, or at least suspected, Alexandra was not Anne. It looked more like a leer in the shifting light of the lantern.
Instantly alarmed, Nathaniel asked, “Who put you on the schedule?” He wanted to keep Rat as far away from Jake—from Clifton—as possible, and he’d thought he’d made that sufficiently clear to Trenton already.
“Daniel took sick, so I told ‘im I’d take ‘is watch.”
“He took sick, or he drank himself into a stupor?” Nathaniel asked.
Rat laughed. “Well, ‘tis not far from the same thing, aye?”
The knowledge that his orders had been undermined stoked Nathaniel’s wrath like a fresh log on a roaring fire. “Why didn’t you get Trenton’s approval first?”
“I was only doin’ the bloke a favor. Didn’t think it’d be necessary.”
“You were wrong. It’s very necessary. If someone can’t take their turn, I want you to come find me. Do you understand?”
“Aye, but—”
“Just follow orders,” Nathaniel ground out. “You got that?” Unable to abide Rat ever since the incident with Alexandra in his cabin, Nathaniel pounded his finger into the smaller man’s chest.
“What’d I say? What’d I do?” Rat cried in alarm, stepping back.
When he heard the defensiveness in Rat’s voice, Nathaniel dropped his hand. He was overwrought and probably just looking for a target, but it goaded him that Rat had been left in charge of his half brother. Nathaniel didn’t trust the little thief. Trenton and the others had to be more careful.
“Go below and get some sleep,” he admonished, and Rat fled.
Chapter 10
“Sorry, Captain, there is nothing more to do. Hand must come off or boy will lose more of arm,” Nanchu said quietly.
Alexandra was sitting in Nathaniel’s bed, propped up by pillows. She was feeling stronger, the wound in her shoulder healing without any hint of infection, but the doctor’s news made her look worriedly to the pirate captain. Naked to the waist, he’d just left his hammock and was standing at the washbasin, using a cloth to bathe before starting his day. The doctor stood at the door.
“It’s beginning to rot?” Nathaniel’s face was inscrutable as he set the rag on the edge of the bowl and turned toward the Chinese man.
“I’m afraid so. Boy has been so… uncooperative.” Only because Alexandra had come to know Nanchu over the days of her convalescence was she able to detect his dislike for Jake, or rather, Lord Clifton. “Otherwise, maybe outcome different.”
Nathaniel sighed and looked at Alexandra, then turned and finished tying his hair back. Finally his eyes found the doctor in the mirror. “Do what you must for his ultimate well-being. I’ll be there momentarily.”
Nanchu bowed and backed out of the room while Alexandra sat, picturing the face of the man she had seen carried aboard the Vengeance. The tragedy of losing a limb while fighting for some noble cause, as in war, was bad enough. But this was infinitely worse. The marquess would lose his hand because of Nathaniel—and he’d be lucky if the stump didn’t fester and cause him to lose his life.
Nathaniel brushed his teeth and drew on his shirt while Alexandra watched.
“Do you have something to say, or have you taken new interest in my attire?” He turned his back to her as he strapped on his pistol and put his knife in his boot, a ritual he performed every day.
“Trenton told me who Jake is,” she said, ignoring the sarcasm in his voice. “Surely you know the duke will hate you more after this. He’ll probably kill you for it.”
“I think you need to decide which role you mean to play”—he turned and raised a mocking brow—”my sister Anne or an unconcerned needlewoman from Manchester. Advisor and confidante are not among your options.”
Alexandra winced beneath the sting of his words. She hadn’t seen Nathaniel for more than a brief moment over the past two days since he’d kissed her. It seemed that he was as eager as she to keep plenty of distance between them. “I didn’t ask to be here,” she retorted. “Besides, someone needs to talk some sense into you. Not all of life’s problems can be handled with a knife or a gun.”
“Now you’re a philosopher?”
“I’ve done my share of living by my wits.”
“Then perhaps you know when to keep your opinions to yourself.”
Alexandra swallowed hard, once again at the receiving end of Nathaniel’s angry glare. Unwilling to let him have the last word, she lifted her chin. “Now that I know you don’t have the good sense to appreciate my wisdom, I will.”
“Next time I’m lost in indecision, I’ll remember to ask for your help.”
“I won’t be around. You promised to take me home, remember?”
Nathaniel gave her a slight bow. “Indeed. And it won’t be long now. Soon you’ll be back in your safe existence, just as if nothing had ever changed.”
With that he stalked from the room, leaving Alexandra to wonder why she cared if the duke killed him or not. She should have let the sniper have a clean shot and saved them all a great deal of trouble.
Judging from his behavior, he felt worse about his
half brother’s hand than she did, but he couldn’t open up and say so. Nothing about Nathaniel was simple. She hated his autocratic manner, his cynicism, his sharp temper, and… Alexandra thought for a moment. What else did she hate about the pirate captain? She couldn’t put her finger on everything just then, but when her temper began to cool, she knew. She hated the risks he took, the enemies he made, the hurt he had suffered as a child. Worse than anything, she hated the fact that soon she might never see him again.
* * *
Nathaniel cringed as his eye caught sight of the doctor’s instruments: two sharp knives for slicing through skin, muscle, and tendons, a bone saw, a piece of rope to clamp between Clifton’s teeth, and a bucket of boiling pitch to sear the flesh and stop the bleeding.
For all Nanchu’s advancement in the field of medicine, cutting off a limb was still cutting off a limb. He did it the same way any other doctor would—with a little bit of rum and a saw, and in less than a minute. Much longer, and the patient would bleed to death, if the shock and pain didn’t kill him first.
“Are you sure we have to do this?” Nathaniel asked as Tiny, Trenton, Garth, and John used ropes to strap the frantic Clifton to the table.
Nanchu didn’t answer. He removed the bandage from the marquess’s wrist and let the putrid smell and grayish-green flesh speak for themselves.
“No! Don’t! Please!” Lord Clifton thrashed wildly as they tried to tie him down. Managing to free a leg, he kicked John and sent him sprawling, but Nathaniel stepped in.
“You did this,” the marquess snarled, his eyes glassy. “ You want me to be no more whole than you are.”
Nathaniel stared down at his half brother while Nanchu applied a tourniquet just below Clifton’s elbow. He thought he’d feel hate, maybe even the morbid sense of satisfaction that his half brother accused him of feeling, but he was wholly unprepared for the poignant remorse that flooded his heart. The boy thought he had done this on purpose? Regardless of who Lord Clifton was, at that moment he was simply a man about to lose his hand, and after struggling to live a normal life with such a handicap, Nathaniel would have given anything to save it.