Seven Years to Sin

by Sylvia Day

  Chapter 12

  Jess strolled along the deck with her arm linked with Beth’s. The ocean breeze was strong, filling the sails and hurtling the ship toward its destination. Still, the pace was not swift enough for the abigail.

  “I grow weary of the ocean and this vessel,” Beth grumbled. “And we ’ave weeks yet to endure.”

  “Oh, it’s not so odious as that.”

  The brunette looked at her with a mischievous smile. “You ’ave a ’andsom distraction to ’asten the journey.”

  Jess attempted to look innocent. “Not that I would ever admit to such.”

  Through her interactions with Alistair, she’d come to a new understanding of the pervasive infatuation most young women experienced in adolescence. Jess had never experienced it herself until now. She thought about Alistair with alarming regularity, both awake and while dreaming.

  “Remind me of your fellow in Jamaica,” Jess said, hoping for a respite from her fascination.

  “Ah … my ’arry. A sweet and randy man. The best kind, I say.”

  Jess laughed. “How naughty you are!”

  “At times,” Beth agreed, unabashed.

  “Sweet and randy, you say? No one told me to esteem such qualities.”

  “You were told well enough to catch yerself the comeliest gentlemen I’ve ever seen,” the abigail shot back. “O’course the prettier they are, the ’arder it is for their women.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “They are treated differently. More is expected of them, yet less is expected of them. They are excused from some things and ’eld to a ’igher standard for others.” Beth looked at her. “No disrespect intended, milady, but you should know.”

  Jess nodded. She did know.

  “So what you ’ave,” Beth explained, “are men who know greater freedom with fewer consequences. They are forgiven more often than not. And we women cannot seem to stop caring for them anyway, which ’urts. If I’ve a choice between men—one ’andsome and charming, one sweet and randy—I’d choose the sweet one. I know I’d be much ’appier.”

  “You are a wise woman, Beth.”

  Beth shrugged. “Lessons ’ard won. But I’m grateful for them all the same. Although, to tell the truth, I’d likely break that rule o’ mine for Mr. Caulfield. There’s ’andsome and then there’s men who make yer toes curl. Something to be said for that.”

  “Yes, he does do that, does he not?” Which made it so deucedly hard to resist him and the consequences that would assuredly follow a liaison with him. She had yet to find suitable justification for such risk. A few hours of pleasure seemed too flimsy.

  “You needn’t frown so, milady. Yer safe enough.”

  Feeling far from safe, Jess looked at the abigail curiously. “In what way?”

  “It’s too soon for you. Yer still grieving. When the ’eart is still ’ealing, we find someone who ’elps us forget it hurts. But one day we don’t want to forget any longer and we let ’em go. When that time comes for you, you’ll say farewell to Mr. Caulfield with gratitude and no regrets. It’s the way we women survive the passing of our men.”

  “Truly?” Jess was taken with the notion of being immune to deep attachment to Alistair. The prospect was both astonishing … and a relief.

  “Well … there’s no pain for the one ’ealing, because in the process, the ’eart forms a shell like a clam. Until it’s strong enough to love again.” Squeezing Jess’s arm, Beth said, “And I wouldn’t worry too much on Mr. Caulfield’s account, milady. There’s a particular way about ’im. In my experience, men who ’ave that way ’ave been building their own shell for a long time. They like it in there, and they ’ave no intention o’ coming out.”

  A child ran across the aftcastle. The unexpected sight so startled Jess, she lost track of what she’d been about to say. The lad looked to be no more than ten and one, with a mop of blond curls and cheeks that were still chubby. He was racing toward the helmsman when a booted foot was thrust into his way. The boy tripped, crashing into the deck with a pained cry.

  Horrified by the cruelty of the act, Jess was further infuriated when the responsible seaman yanked the boy upright and cuffed his ears, then proceeded to scold the child with words coarse enough to burn her ears. As the child cowered in the face of such vitriolic rage, his small chin lifted with white-faced courage.

  In that moment, Jess remembered vividly what it felt like to be standing in his place. She was taken back to that place where fear and rising panic assailed her along with the dreadful waiting for the next blow. Because there was always a next blow. The sick fury that gripped men such as her father and this man fed on itself, escalating until only sheer physical exhaustion prevented them from inflicting further abuse.

  Unable to turn a blind eye, Jess unlinked her arm from Beth’s and strode forward. “You, sir!”

  The sailor was so involved in his tirade, he failed to hear her. She called out again, louder, attracting the notice of a crewmember next to him who shoved at his shoulder to gain his attention.

  She drew to a halt in front of them. “Sir, I cannot abide such treatment of children. There are more effective ways to discipline.”

  The man eyed her with cold, dark eyes. “This isn’t any business of yers.”

  “Mind yer manners with ’er ladyship,” Beth scolded, which earned her a dark glower.

  Jess knew that look well. His blood was hot with spite and the need to vent it. It was a sad fact that there were many men like her father, men who lacked the sense or willpower to purge what ailed them in noninjurious ways. They only knew how to spew their hatred on others and were so morally afflicted, they drew pleasure from doing so.

  “You don’t know ’ow to run a ship, yer ladyship,” he said with a derisive curl to his mouth. “And until you do, you’d best leave the learnin’ of how to survive on one to me.”

  Other men slowly closed in around them, exacerbating her growing anxiety.

  “Teaching,” she corrected, struggling against nervous tension so fierce her shoulders and neck ached with it, “—if that is what you presume to call it, is equally applicable to all trades. You are going about it poorly in any case.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, smiling through a reddish bushy beard in a chilling manner. “When a sailor is told to fetch something, ’e best not forget what it was ’e was sent to fetch or that ’e was sent to fetch it!”

  “He is a c-child!” she argued. The cracking of her voice struck her like a whiplash. She took a step backward without volition.

  Something within her broke at the realization that her prized and hard-won equanimity was so easily assailable. She’d convinced herself if she were ever faced with another abusive individual in her adulthood, she would be capable of controlling the interaction in a way she hadn’t as a child. She had believed she would be stronger and could say all the cutting words she’d imagined in her youth. Yet here she stood with her stomach knotted and spine rigid, her entire frame riddled with vibrating tension.

  “The boy is a seaman first.” He reached out and caught the little one by the hair, yanking hard. The child stumbled into him with a low cry. “And ’e ’as to earn ’is keep and not get in the way.”

  She swallowed past her fear. “From what I witnessed, it was your foot that was misplaced in his way.”

  “Lady Tarley.”

  At the sound of Alistair’s voice, Jess turned.

  The loitering sailors parted for him as he drew near, and silence spread in his wake. The mere manner of his bearing commanded attention and respect. Her clenched fists relaxed, then tightened again when frustration rose anew. She should not need another individual to feel settled, but it seemed she did and that made her feel very weak and helpless. “Yes, Mr. Caulfield?”

  His gaze was intent on her face. “Is my assistance desired?”

  Jess debated her answer for a moment, then said, “Could we speak privately?”

  “Of course.” H
e raked their audience with a sweeping glance. “Carry on.”

  The sailors quickly dispersed.

  Alistair pointed at the man who’d so angered Jess. “You.”

  The man pulled off his worn cap. “Aye, Mr. Caulfield?”

  The change that swept over Alistair was astonishing. The blue of his irises took on a marked chill, causing Jess to shiver. She remembered that cool detachment from their youth, the icy ruthlessness that had lured women and reckless gamblers alike.

  “Consider your treatment of that young sailor carefully,” he warned in a biting tone. “I do not tolerate the maltreatment of children on my ship.”

  A potent rush of admiration and pleasure flowed through Jess. Alistair must have seen enough during his approach to discern a problem, and his position on the subject meant a great deal to her.

  She extended her hand toward the child. “Perhaps he could make his egress with us?”

  The boy’s eyes widened with more terror than he’d shown while suffering abuse. He shook his head violently and stepped closer to the other men.

  She was briefly confused, having expected relief and gratitude. Then comprehension set in. One of the harder lessons she’d learned in her youth was that delaying the inevitable only led to greater penalty in the end.

  Unshed tears stung her eyes. Pity for both the child in front of her and the child she herself had once been. In all likelihood, she’d only made things worse for the boy.

  Without waiting for Alistair, Jess pivoted and hurried toward the companionway. When she felt his hand at the small of her back, her vision blurred. She allowed him to lead her, grateful when he ushered her below deck and behind the privacy of a closed door.

  His cabin. Despite her distraction and tear-clouded eyes, she knew it immediately by scent. His unique virile fragrance permeated the air and raised her temperature.

  The space was of similar size to her own cabin and furnished much the same, but she felt different in his domain, aware of a heightened awareness and an altogether sensual sense of anticipation.

  She exhaled a shaky breath, her hands knotting together in a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil. She was not free of her father, as she’d previously supposed. And now she knew she would never be free.

  “Jessica?” Alistair rounded her. His breath hissed out. “Damnation … Don’t cry.”

  She attempted to move away. He caught her to him, crushing her into the hard length of his body. Her cheek was pressed into the superfine of his coat. Beneath her ear, his heart beat in a strong and steady rhythm.

  “Talk to me,” he urged.

  “Th-that man is offensive to me in every way. He is vile and unrepentant about it. I know his kind. He is an animal. You would be wise to be rid of him.”

  There was a long pause when she finished, during which Alistair’s breathing was too sharply regulated to be completely natural. She knew him well enough to know he was weighing the import and implications of her concern, and speculating on the root of it.

  His hands stroked the curve of her spine. “I intend to speak to Captain Smith. The man will be dismissed at port.”

  Straightening, she put distance between them. He made her want to lean on him in ways beyond the physical. Dangerous ways.

  “Jess …” The familiarity of his address roused even more conflicted feelings. “It might benefit you to talk about the reason you are so upset.”

  “With you?” she scoffed, redirecting her frustration at him in self-defense. She was too susceptible to him, too exposed. “I should bare myself to a stranger?”

  He accepted her crossness with grace enough to shame her. “Perhaps I am the best choice,” he said calmly. “I’m an impartial party, over whom you hold the knowledge of a tainted past. And even if I were inclined to divulge information indiscriminately—which you know I am not—I’m far removed from anyone who might wield it against you.”

  “I cannot conceive of anything I would rather discuss less.” She moved toward the door.

  Alistair blocked her way and crossed his arms.

  The entrapment aggravated her already volatile mood. “You intend to detain me?”

  The curve of his beautiful mouth was a silent challenge. But unlike the seaman’s mocking derisiveness, Alistair’s regard empowered her.

  “You’re vulnerable now,” he said. “You will stay with me as long as you are.”

  The parallels to what Beth had said on the deck mere moments ago didn’t escape her. His intended meaning was different, but the phrasing was applicable regardless. Thanks to Beth’s greater experience, she now knew why she was so drawn to the temptation Alistair presented. But an understanding of what he would gain in return still eluded her. “What concern am I of yours?”

  “You are my lover, Jess.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Sex is merely a formality at this point.” His tone was low and intimate. “You and I have always been inevitable. And I am not a man to take pieces of a whole. I must have everything. The good as well as the bad.”

  “Just spew it all over you?” Her words were sharply clipped, a reaction to a sudden violent rush of longing. “Would that not make me of similar ilk to that sailor? Forcing another individual to bear the brunt of my personal disquiet?”

  Alistair took a step closer. “Unlike the boy, I can take it. Better yet, I want it. There is no part of you I don’t want.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my hunger for you is unrestrained, so you must be also. In all ways.”

  Jess felt the urge to pace, but resisted due to long training. Ladies did not pace. They did not reveal anything other than serenity. They existed to ease a man’s burdens, not add to them.

  Yet Alistair—the most thoroughly masculine creature of her acquaintance—was the only individual with whom she felt comfortable sharing the shadowy aspects of her soul. She knew, with unaccountable near certainty, that he would not think less of her as others might. He would not alter his treatment of her. Darkness was known to him. He’d lived within it, embraced it, and seemed all the stronger for the experience. It still amazed her to think of how driven he was, how ruthlessly focused he could be, how far he was willing to fall from grace to avoid failure and be self-sufficient.

  At too young an age, his innate sensuality and stunning countenance had exposed him to the lascivious interest of those who were jaded and immoral. Knowing it was his responsibility to see to his own future, he’d taken what advantage he could from an untenable circumstance. But at what cost to him?

  “Jessica. What are you thinking about when you look at me in that manner?”

  She was staring at him, enthralled by his dark beauty and the undeniable edge to him. She hadn’t the knowledge to understand the “way about him” that Beth had referenced, but she was a woman nevertheless, with all the primitive instincts of her gender. He exuded a raw sensuality that was nothing less than addictive. When she wasn’t with him, she wished to be. That depth of craving had frightened her for the last sennight, knowing as she did that nothing permanent could ever exist between them.

  Her world was not his; his was not hers. They were traveling the same road for a brief time, but their paths would diverge. She could not stay in the West Indies forever, and he would not long tolerate London Society, whatever he might say to the contrary. His hunger for her was not the only thing unrestrained about him. He was a bold and brazen man, vibrant and powerful. The ton—whose mores she’d been well trained to epitomize—would stifle and bore him.

  No, she didn’t have the knowledge Beth possessed … but Alistair did. He, too, had spoken of their liaison as fitting within a brief span of time. Quickly come and as swiftly gone. Room enough only for fondness and gratitude. She had to trust their greater counsel in this.

  “I admire you,” she said.

  Although he appeared unmoved, she sensed the stillness that gripped him. “After all you know about me?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a weigh
ted pause. “You are almost certainly the only person aware of my past transgressions who would say that.”

  “Yet you did not hesitate to be honest with me. You must have had some faith in my ability to be open minded.”

  “I was not without apprehension,” he confessed, his jaw taut. “But yes, I believed you would be more likely to overlook my sins than hold them against me.”

  The recent emptiness in her chest now filled with something warm and tender. “I would not have believed it of myself.”

  She lacked the words to explain what she was feeling. It was something akin to victorious, and it was so much the opposite of the defeat she’d felt when leaving the deck, it seemed impossible that one emotion could so swiftly follow the other.

  Her mind was her own.

  There was no denying that her body had been damaged and her emotions could so easily be overrun by fear. But her mind remained uncorrupted. She was capable of judging Alistair with criteria outside the narrow scope to which she had been taught to conform. For all his strenuous efforts, her father had failed, because she did not think as he did. There were pieces of her he hadn’t been capable of reaching. The freedom inherent in that revelation was profound and deeply moving. And Alistair had made the discovery possible. Without him, she might never have faced a choice capable of enlightening her. She had never before been presented with the option of accepting something that was unacceptable. Her world did not have such decisions in it.

  Alistair remained still as a statue as her world tilted on its axis, his handsome features hard set.

  She saw through his exterior and understood; he hadn’t yet accepted his choices. Not the way he so readily accepted her.

  With great care, Jess untied the ribbons of her bonnet and removed it, setting it carefully atop the seat of a chair. En route to the door, she skirted Alistair, but though he turned to watch her, he didn’t stop her. She knew he’d follow her if she left and thought herself lucky for that.

  She engaged the oval-shaped brass latch and heard his sharp inhalation behind her.

  Jess walked to the bed and sat carefully on the edge of the mattress.