Captain's Bride (16 page)

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Nicholas turned to
Jago and extended a hand. “I’m pleased to have you on board, Jago.
You can sail with me anytime.”

Jago grinned, creasing his beetle-browed,
knife-scarred face. “Aye, Cap’n.” He took Nicholas’s hand in a
bone-crushing grip.

Only then did Nicholas go to Glory. She seemed unable
to speak. “Are you all right?” he asked, giving in to worry for the
first time.

“Ye-yes,” she stuttered, beginning to shake. Her full
breasts threatened to spill out over the top of the gown. Her shiny
hair tumbled in silken strands to frame her face.

Nicholas had seen her in mourning clothes, seen her
in stylish day dresses, even seen her in elegant, daringly low-cut
gowns, but he’d never in his wildest dreams imagined the pagan
beauty that lay beneath her expensive fashions. His heart hammered
and his blood boiled. It was all he could do not to carry her off,
just as the sailors had intended to do.

“How did you get here?” he demanded, his tone harsher
than he intended. The girl had the most infuriating effect on him.
One he didn’t like in the least. It made him all the angrier. He
grabbed her by the arms and shook her— hard. “I said how did you
get here!”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Nathan!” She tore free
and began running madly down the dirt lane, her pale hair flying
out behind her. She rounded the comer of the tavern to see Nathan
sitting up, swaying, holding his head.

“Nathan!” she cried, rushing to kneel beside him.
“Are you all right?”

He groaned. “My head hurts something awful, and there
are two of you, but I guess I’ll live . . . Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She poked him gently in the ribs—a
reminder to change his manner of speech—as Captain Blackwell knelt
beside her.

He examined Nathan’s head. “He’s got a nasty lump and
probably a slight concussion, but I think he’ll be all right.”

“Thank God.”

Nicholas stood up, then jerked her none to gently to
her feet. “I want to know just exactly how you got here. And I want
the truth.”

Glory swallowed hard. “I—I . . .” Noticing that the
scowl on Nicholas’s face was growing blacker by the moment, she
licked her suddenly dry lips. “I told the night watch I had to see
Rosabelle. I persuaded him to let us come ashore.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

She straightened her spine and lifted her chin
defiantly. “Nothing so terrible. I came ashore, that’s all. Just
the same as you.”

“Not quite the same,” he said softly. “You caused one
of my crewmen to disobey a direct order. Because of you, he’ll be
punished. As will your servant.”

“What!” Glory shrieked. “But they’ve done nothing. It
was my idea to come ashore, not theirs. Surely you can’t blame
them?”

Nicholas didn’t answer. Just tugged her along to the
shore boat, roughly handed her in to Jago, and climbed aboard
himself. No one said a word as Jago and Nathan manned the oars.
Glory’s hands trembled so badly she had to clutch the folds of her
skirt to still them. Surely Nicholas was only trying to scare her.
He’d see reason once they reached the ship. She would persuade him
to forgive the three of them somehow.

“Nicholas, please,” she begged, the moment they set
foot on the deck.

“Jago, escort the lady to her cabin. Lock the door.
When Rosabelle returns, tell her she’s to bunk with Madame
LaFarge.”

Jago nodded.

“When you’ve finished, escort her servant to the
brig. “He’ll make the balance of the voyage below decks.”

“Nooo!” Glory screamed. “You can’t do that! It was my
idea. I made him do it!”

“Mr. Dodd.”

“Aye, Captain.” Jago wrapped a huge arm around her
waist and effortlessly hauled her down the stairs to her cabin. He
opened the door and gently but firmly deposited her inside.

“Sorry, Miss Glory. Try to understand. Captain
Blackwell’s got no choice. The whole crew knows he told you to stay
behind. He told the night watch and your man directly. His word is
law. He has to stand by it or the men won’t work for him. You’ve
left him no choice.”

“Oh, God,” Glory said. Tears coursed down her cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“Captain knows that. He hates this as much as you.”
Jago closed the door, and Glory heard the key turn in the lock.

Still dressed in her orange satin garb, she sank onto
the lower bunk and gave herself up to deep racking sobs. She’d
never felt more miserable in her life. The last thing she’d wanted
was to hurt someone else. Now Nathan would spend the rest of the
voyage in the brig, and she still didn’t know what would happen to
the young sailor. And all because she’d wanted to have her way. She
was spoiled and willful, just as Nicholas said. A fresh wave of
tears spilled down her cheeks. The lump in her throat threatened to
choke her.

After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours,
she finally fell asleep. She awoke sometime later, feeling leaden
and achy all over. Rising from the berth, she forced herself to
wash her face and brush her hair, then pulled on a white cotton
nightdress.

There was always tomorrow, she told herself. She’d
try again tomorrow. Then she remembered the hard cold look on the
tall sea captain’s face. And felt like crying all over again.

Exhausted and worried, Glory awoke later than usual.
The day was already hot and humid, leaving her nightgown clinging
to her skin. The ship creaked and swayed beneath her so she knew
they’d made way, and she longed for the cooler air up on deck.
After performing her morning ablutions, she dressed in one of her
black day dresses, leaving off all but her thinnest petticoat, her
one concession to the heat. She was brushing her hair when a knock
at the door interrupted her.

The ship’s cook requested permission to enter. The
wizened little man came shuffling in, carrying a tray laden with
biscuits and coffee, his eyes downcast. “Momin’, Miss Glory,”
Cookie mumbled so low she could barely make out the words.”

“Good morning, Cookie,” she answered, just as
halfheartedly. As he set the tray down and turned to leave the
room, Glory caught his weathered hand. “Cookie, I have to speak
with Captain Blackwell. Do you think you could—”

A loud crack stopped her in midsentence. Her eyes
flew wide at the second crack, and her heart knocked against her
ribs. She’d know that sound anywhere. “Cookie, tell me what’s
happening.”

“Nothin’ fer you to worry about. Had to be done.” The
lash sounded again.

“Tell me!”

“Man disobeyed the captain’s direct order. He’s—”

Glory didn’t wait to hear the rest. Brushing past the
grizzled old man, she raced out the door and up the ladder. The
whole crew stood in silence, assembled in front of the mainmast.
Mac MacDougal wielded the braided leather whip that sliced across
the young sailor’s bare back.

“Oh, God.” Glory raced across the deck toward
Nicholas, who stood arrow-straight, facing his men. Tears blurred
her vision; she stumbled once, but kept on going. Nicholas’s
already dark expression darkened even more.

“Go back to your cabin,” he commanded, his tone
harsh.

“Please Captain,” Glory pleaded. “Please don’t do
this. This was my fault, not his.”

“Mr. Pintassle!” he called out. “Escort Miss
Summerfield to my cabin. Make certain she doesn’t leave. I’ll see
to her when I’m through here.”

“Nicholas, please,” Glory shrieked. “You can’t do
this!”

Joshua’s arm slid beneath her elbow. “Please, Miss
Summerfield,” he said softly. “You’ll only make things worse.”

She just stared at him. The lash echoed. She thought
of running to Mac, pleading with him to see reason, but, as if
reading her thoughts, Jago Dodd stepped in front of her, forming a
wall against the grisly sight and her intervention.

“Go with him, miss,” he warned, and she knew he meant
to take her below himself if she refused.

Nodding dumbly, she started back toward the ladder,
Joshua Pintassle trailing along behind. He opened the captain’s
cabin door for her, but didn’t follow her inside. She knew he kept
watch in the corridor.

In minutes, the snap of the whip ceased its eerie
rhythm, and Glory closed her eyes, thankful it was over. Wringing
her hands, she stood nervously in front of Nicholas’s desk waiting
for him to appear. She didn’t have long to wait.

He entered the room striding angrily toward her, his
gray eyes dark with fury. “That’s twice you’ve disobeyed me in
front of the crew!” he roared. “I’ll not stand for it again!”

His anger fired her own.

“You had no right to punish that man. I was the one
you should have punished. I was the one who disobeyed your damnable
orders!

She faced him squarely, her blond hair tousled and
swirling around her face as it had the night before. Nicholas
regarded her darkly, his temper barely contained.

“I have
every
right. I am the master of this
vessel. It is my duty to see the
Black Spider
reaches her
destination safely. In order to do that, I must have a crew who
will obey me. The night watch disobeyed my orders. Thanks to you, I
had no choice but to punish him.” Her bottom lip trembled, and
Nicholas read the pain in her eyes. He hardened his heart against
it.

“I’m the one you should punish,” she argued. “Not
Nathan, not that poor sailor. I’m the one who disobeyed your
orders.”

“For once in your life, Miss Summerfield,” Nicholas
said coldly, “you’re right. Unfortunately, you’re a woman. I
can’t—”

“That makes no difference. That is not the question
here. How many lashes did the boy receive?”

“Ten,” he said softly.

“Then give the same to me!”

Nicholas stared hard at her. Though she faced him
with defiance, she couldn’t disguise the guilt she felt, her
terrible need to make amends. Combined with the rage he felt at
being upbraided in front of his men, it was all the prodding he
needed. “There’s a leather pointer beside my desk. Get it.”

For a moment she looked uncertain. Then she
straightened, lifted her chin, and went to fetch the stiff leather
rod. She handed it to him with trembling fingers and Nicholas
almost weakened. “Turn around and put your hands on the desk.”

She did as he told her. Raising the rod above his
head, he swung a stinging blow across the tender flesh of her
bottom. She didn’t even flinch. He forced himself to think of the
man he’d had whipped on deck and brought the rod down in another
stinging blow. Three. Four. Five. His hand shook so hard on the
sixth he could scarcely hold the rod. Seven. He heard her whimper,
and tossed the rod away as if it burned his palm.

“Enough!” He pulled her into his arms. “You’ve had
enough.”

“Nicholas, I’m so sorry.” Her warm tears wet his
cheeks where they pressed against him, and soaked the front of his
shirt.

“It’s over, love,” he whispered. “You’ve paid for
your mistake the same as the others. What’s done is past; you don’t
have to feel guilty anymore.”

She slid her arms around his neck and clung to him.
“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“I know, love.” He smoothed the silvery strands of
hair from her cheeks, then kissed her forehead, her eyes, her nose.
“I know.” As she tilted her tearstained face to look at him, he
kissed her lips, gently at first, tenderly, wanting to take away
the hurt, wishing none of it had happened, wishing he could hold
her forever. When she opened her mouth to allow his tongue
entrance, Nicholas forgot their heated words, forgot all but his
desire for her. With a soft groan, he deepened the kiss. Her mouth
tasted sweet, her lips felt warm and full. Cradling her cheeks
between his hands, he brushed away the last of her tears, and a
surge of protectiveness wrapped itself around his heart.

Mindlessly he moved his mouth along the line of her
slender throat while he lifted her into his arms and carried her to
his bed. As he lay down beside her, his tongue traced a fiery path
along her skin and his hands slid down the bodice of her dress,
cupping her breasts, teasing the peaks through the heavy silk
fabric. He wanted to rip the offending barrier away. Instead, he
carefully began to unfasten the buttons at her back.

Glory was in the place she most wanted to be—wrapped
in Nicholas’s arms. Never had she felt like this, never had she
experienced the burning desire, the building need for another human
being. She wanted Nicholas to caress her, wanted to feel his hands
on her most sensitive, most intimate parts. His lips were a drug,
seducing her, leaving her breathless and thirsty.

He moved his mouth to the curve of her neck, and
Glory arched against him. Though she reveled in his touch, part of
her remained uncertain. She was acting like a wanton, wishing he
would touch her, wanting even more. His hands worked the buttons at
her back, and she only wished he would hurry, that nothing lay
between them. She could hear her mother’s words: “It’s vile and
dirty.” But it didn’t seem vile to Glory. It seemed wonderful.

As his lips returned to her mouth and his tongue
found its way inside, Glory softly mewed with pleasure. Unbuttoning
his shirt, she slipped her hands inside and marveled at the feel of
the stiff hairs curling on his chest, the flat hard circle of his
nipple. He groaned, and she reveled in his response.

Miraculously, the bodice of her dress fell away,
leaving Glory’s full breasts straining against the top of her
corset. Nicholas cradled each one and stroked her nipples, his kiss
warm and sensuous, his tongue probing and tasting, sending tiny
shivers across her flesh. She couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t
stand the thought of his pulling away. She felt a surge of love
that bordered on madness, and prayed he felt it, too.

The ship strained and surged, perfectly matching the
rhythm of their movements. Nicholas slid her skirts up and cupped
her bottom, forcing her even closer. She could feel his manhood
pressing determinedly against her and wondered how it would feel
inside.