Captain's Bride (10 page)

“I’m not about to go against your mother’s wishes,
Miss Summerfield,” he said, beginning to get angry. “You had better
have your servant take you back home where you belong.”

Glory rose to her feet, playing her final card. “I’m
going to New York, Captain Blackwell—with or without your
assistance. I came to you because you and my father were friends. I
felt I’d be safe on board your ship. If you won’t take me to New
York, I’ll find someone who will. If anything happens to me, it
will be on
your
conscience.” She swung toward the low door,
praying he would stop her. She’d taken only a few steps before she
felt his hand on her arm.

“You’re that determined to go?”

“I am.”

“You understand we’ll be stopping at ports along the
way. It will take you days longer to reach New York.”

“I’d still feel safer traveling with you,
Captain.”

“Then you leave me no choice. I’ll take you to your
aunt, but I’m sending word to your mother.”

“I don’t need my mother’s permission, Captain. I’m a
grown woman. But then, maybe you hadn’t noticed.” Nicholas
Blackwell raked her with his eyes. Wet and soggy, her expensive
black traveling dress clung to every curve of her body. It outlined
the points of her thrusting breasts and hinted at the shapely line
of her hips and legs. Even damp and windblown, her flaxen hair
gleamed in the lamplight.

He’d noticed all right.

He’d noticed the first time he saw her. Though he
hated to admit it, he’d imagined bedding her a hundred times during
his weeks at sea.

“I’ve noticed, Miss Summerfield. As I’m certain my
men will.” Her cheeks flushed at his words, and he remembered the
smooth feel of them cradled between his hands. “If you’re sailing
with me, I’ll expect you to follow my orders. You’ll do exactly as
I say. Is that understood?”

“Of course, Captain.”

“There are two other women aboard.”

For a moment she looked relieved. Then she eyed him
suspiciously. “Are these women
passengers?
” she asked, “or
personal
acquaintances?”

Remembering what she’d said about Lavinia Bond, he
felt the pull of a smile. “They’re passengers. Though I believe
you’ll find them . . .
different
from the other women you’ve
known.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy their company.”

One comer of his mouth curved upward. “You’ll find
them educational, of that I have no doubt. You can bunk with
Rosabelle.” He started toward the door.

“And my servant?”

He turned to face her, his expression hard. She was
lying and he knew it. But he owed it to Julian to discover just
exactly what she was up to.

“I have money to pay for our passage,” she added
before he could answer.

“I see.” He studied her face a moment more,
recognizing the determined look in her eye. The same look she’d
worn before she raced him across the muddy fields. Spoiled and
willful, he thought, and wondered if this episode would end in
disaster as well. He ignored the tiny voice that reminded him of
the way she’d saved the Negro boy—and the sweetness of the kiss
they’d shared on the road.

“Come along, Miss Summerfield. I’ll show you to your
cabin.”

Glory lifted her soggy skirts and muddy petticoats
and followed him into the corridor.

“Captain?” an attractive blond man in well-tailored
clothes called out from the top of the passageway. “We’re ready to
cast off whenever you give the order.”

Nicholas turned to face him. “Make way, Mr.
Pintas-sle. I’ll join you on deck just as soon as I get our new
passenger settled in.” The young man eyed Glory oddly for a moment,
then turned and headed back up on deck.

Nicholas knocked lightly on one of the cabin doors.
After receiving permission to enter, he swung the door wide, just
as the ship began to creak and sway. It was an odd sensation, and
Glory braced herself against the bulkhead.

“I hope you don’t get seasick,” Nicholas said with a
scowl.

“I’ll do my best,” she told him, and prayed she
wouldn’t embarrass herself. She’d traveled by ship only once
before, on a coastal packet to Savannah with her father. During
that much shorter trip, she’d gotten just a little woozy, but the
sea had been smooth, the sailing easy. Today the waters still
churned from last night’s storm; whitecaps pounded against the
sides of the ship even while it sat in port. But the storm was
ebbing, by the look of it. Already the sun was beginning to peek
through the clouds. Glory could see a bright dawn breaking outside
the tiny porthole, and she read it as a good sign,

“Miss Summerfield, meet Rosabelle,” Nicholas
said.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss . . . ?”

“Rosabelle,” the girl reminded her, as if she weren’t
too bright. “Just plain Rosabelle.”

Glory glanced up at the captain, who looked amused,
then back to the girl on the bunk. “Rosabelle,” she corrected. She
could barely make out the girl’s features in the still-early light,
but she appeared to be short and slightly pudgy, with long
mouse-brown hair. When she leaned forward into the sunshine, Glory
noticed she was very young, with apple-round cheeks and full
scarlet lips. Her nightdress was of thin, worn muslin.

“I’ll have your servant bring your bags,” Nicholas
told Glory. “After that, one of the men will show him where he can
bunk.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Nicholas nodded and closed the door. He headed down
the narrow passageway already regretting his decision. It was
almost as if Julian Summerfield’s presence hovered above him,
smiling triumphantly. Two weeks with Glory. Two weeks with nothing,
no one, to keep him away from her but his own somewhat frayed
conscience. Seeing her today, he realized again how many times he’d
thought of her these past few weeks. He could still remember their
kiss, the feel of her lips beneath his, with such clarity it might
have happened only minutes ago, instead of weeks. The fact was, he
wanted Gloria Summerfield in his bed. Badly. But bedding her meant
marriage—the ultimate nightmare for Nicholas. Marriage was out of
the question.

As captain of the ship, he reminded himself, he had
an obligation to treat her with at least a minimum of courtesy. But
above that, he decided, he would force himself to stay clear of the
blue-eyed girl—or make her dislike him so much she’d stay away from
him!

“Looks like me and you is cabinmates,” Rosabelle
said in a soft voice that betrayed her lack of education.

“I guess so,” Glory agreed, attempting to be polite
when all she really wanted to do was get out of her wet garments
and into her bunk. “You’re traveling all the way to New York?”

“Nah. There’s a settlement near Cape Fear. But it’ll
take us a while to get there. Cap’n’s got some stops along the
way.”

A knock at the door interrupted them as Nathan
delivered Glory’s big carpetbag. He said nothing, just grinned and
winked at her, then fled the room. Glory hung up her several black
dresses as best she could on a peg beside the door, removed her
soggy clothes, and gratefully climbed into the top berth. Asleep in
minutes, she didn’t awaken until ten hours later, when she heard
someone pounding on her door.

“Just a minute,” she called out. After slipping into
a light silk wrapper, she ran her hands through her rumpled blond
hair. She knew she looked a fright and suddenly prayed the man at
the door wasn’t the handsome captain.

It was.

The hard lines of his face seemed to ease a little as
he took in her sleepy appearance, the tangled mass of her hair.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said. “I thought
you’d be up by now.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, Captain. I didn’t mean to
sleep so long. What time is it?”

“Almost three o’clock.”

“I guess the trip into Charleston took more out of me
than I thought.”

“I’m sure it did,” he said dryly. “I stopped by to
ask if you wanted a tour of the ship, but I see my timing was
off.”

“If you’ll give me a few minutes to get ready, I’d
like that very much.”

She looked perfect just the way she was, he thought.
For the place he would most like to take her was back to his bed. A
single ray of sunlight reflected on her hair, turning it a silvery
gold, and her clear complexion still carried the rosy tint of
sleep. Though she held her wrapper in place with a long,
slim-fingered hand, he could see the mounds of her breasts, and
almost ached to know whether they really tilted upward, as they
appeared. Instead he let her close the door, and returned to his
place on the deck. A few minutes later, he glimpsed her pale hair
ruffled by the wind as she climbed the aft ladder to join him on
the holystoned deck.

Glory breathed deeply of the clean salt air. The
wind whipped her crisp silk skirts with their layers of petticoats
while sea gulls screeched overhead.

Fortunately the sea had calmed; the sky had turned a
clear azure blue. As a brisk wind puffed the white canvas sails,
several crewmen smartly made fast the lines. When Glory approached,
they stopped their work and stared at her with what could only be
described as awe. Glory smiled at them warmly.

Their tall sea captain stood at the rail, his long
legs spread against the gentle roll and pitch of the ship. He
glanced toward his men, then at Glory, his look a little sterner
than before.

“Welcome aboard the
Black Spider
,” he said.
But the words rang false, and Glory wondered why.

“
Black Spider
,” Glory repeated, eyeing the man
dressed more like a pirate than the gentleman he’d been at the
manor. She corrected herself: Not
exactly
a gentleman. “The
name seems appropriate,” she said only half teasing.

“She’s a triple-masted, square-rigged ship,” he told
her, and a hint of pride laced his voice. “She measures two hundred
twenty feet, and she’s one of the older ships in the fleet, but
she’s reliable. We use her mostly for transporting merchandise to
and from the secondary cities along the coast.”

“Father said you had quite an armada.” Her eyes
turned sad as she spoke of her father, but the clear ocean breezes
were already beginning to soothe her, to lessen the ache in her
heart.

A nearly imperceptible tightening around his mouth
said the captain had noticed the change in her mood, but he only
glanced out to sea. “The
Black Witch
, my flagship, is the
fastest ship in the fleet.” He led Glory toward the bow. “But she’s
been in dry dock for the past few months.” Nicholas waved to the
fair-haired man she’d seen before, and the man hurried toward them,
a broad whitetoothed smile on his face.

“Miss Summerfield,” Nicholas said, “I’d like you to
meet Joshua Pintassle, our first mate.”

“How do you do, Mr. Pintassle.”

“I’m honored, Miss Summerfield.” Glory recognized the
familiar warmth in his cheeks, the wistful look she’d seen on her
suitors’ faces so many times before. Joshua Pintassle looked every
bit the gentleman, his hair and clothing immaculate, his handsome
face smooth-shaven. She smiled up at him. She could always use an
ally.

“If there’s anything I can do,” he was saying,
“anything at all to make your trip more pleasant, just let me
know.”

Glory smiled again and watched him through the thick
fringe of her lashes. “I’ll do that, Mr. Pintassle.”

Nicholas scowled. “I’m sure Miss Summerfield will get
along just fine.” He glanced toward the two men who were unfurling
canvas. “That rigging looks a little slack,” he said to his first
mate. “Take care of it.”

“Aye, Captain,” Joshua Pintassle said, his cheeks
coloring. With a slight bow to Glory, he beat a hasty retreat.

“Maybe you’d like to take a turn at the wheel, Miss
Summerfield,” Nicholas suggested a bit curtly, returning his
attention to Glory.

Her head came up. “Miss Summerfield? I thought we’d
dispensed with formality back at the manor.”

With a narrow smile, Nicholas raked her with his
eyes, his slow perusal settling on the swell of her breasts, partly
exposed by the cut of her neckline, the rest oulined by the wind
against the fabric of her gown. “I think it would be in both your
best interest and mine if we weren’t too friendly in front of the
crew.” He glanced toward several men in duck pants. One wore a red
checked shirt, unbuttoned to expose his broad tattooed chest;
another, shorter man with a black patch over one eye lifted his
canvas hat in mock salute. Each watched Glory with bold interest.
“They’re a tough lot,” Nicholas warned. “Remember to keep your
distance.”

Glory stiffened. His mild rebuke seemed a gentle way
of telling her just exactly what distance
he
intended
keeping, and Glory felt a flare of temper. Maybe she no longer held
his interest. But then, maybe she never had. They’d only shared a
single kiss—one that had left Glory breathless and more than a
little enamored of Nicholas Black-well. Obviously the kiss had
meant less than nothing to the roguish sea captain.

“I’ll remember that, Captain.” She could have sworn
she saw his jaw tighten before he returned his attention to the
sea.

Nicholas escorted her up the ladder to the massive
carved teakwood wheel on the aft deck and even allowed her to take
a turn at steering. Then he introduced her to the brig’s second
mate, a man named MacDougal. Mac, as his shipmates called him, was
a stocky red-faced Scotsman in his middle years. He’d known his
captain since Nicholas was a boy.

“Me and the cap’n go back a long ways, lass,” he told
her. “Nicky signed on as a cabin boy aboard the
Sovereign
Lady
bound fer England. He was no more’n a boy. I took him
under my wing. Why, I taught the lad everythin’ he knows.”

Glory was amazed at Nicholas’s indulgent smile, one
of the few she’d ever seen. He looked younger, almost boyish, and
Glory suddenly wished
she
could make him smile like
that.