Captive Splendors (20 page)

“Yes, but not very well. Ladies don't play cards. I just like the pictures of the birds. But if you want to pass some time, perhaps you could teach me what you know, and then later on we could play a real game for . . . for money. I have five pounds I could wager.”

An hour later Aubrey rose and stared down at Wren. “My dear, you have a natural talent for this game. For someone who just likes to look at the backs of the cards, you did remarkably well. If we had been playing for money, you would have skinned my purse.”

“Beginner's luck, Aubrey. If we had been playing for money, I doubt I could have been so lucky. Are you sure you taught me all you know? Somehow I thought card playing was more difficult.”

“It's only difficult when you cheat at the game. And I would never do that,” he said virtuously, raising his eyes to the heavens.

“Nor I,” Wren echoed just as virtuously. “Being a cardsharp is the same as being a thief.”

“You're so right, my dear. What do you say to a short stroll on deck before dinner?”

They chatted companionably as they made their rounds. When Wren saw Sara enter the wheelhouse, she faltered in her step and her eyes smoldered and sparked angrily. Then she turned abruptly, anxious to get back to her quarters, and left Farrington standing there perplexedly.

Aubrey saw Caleb nod to Sara and motion her to sit down. “It's the wrong choice, Cal,” he said quietly, and wandered off.

Sara seated herself and folded her hands primly into the folds of her thick black skirts. How pale her hands looked, she thought, with their delicate tracing of blue veins. She was thin, much too thin, unable to eat for fear the rocking of the ship would make her vomit. Her liquid-blue eyes appeared to Caleb to be gentle, yet sad. What was she doing here? he wondered.

She knew she had to say something or he would begin to think her as addlepated as Bascom. “Captain van der Rhys, I've come to thank you for allowing me to stay on deck. I feel much better now that I've gotten my sea legs, and if you wish, I can return to my . . . my brother and the others.”

Caleb watched her closely. Captain van der Rhys, she called him. In Tyler Sinclair's house she had called him Caleb quite freely and had openly flirted with him. Women! His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as he replied, “I was planning on seeking you out later to see how you were faring. I feel reassured to hear you are on the mend and have your sea legs. For a while I thought I was captaining a hospital ship.”

Sara moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and gazed up at him. She was annoyed at the way he was staring at her. His eyes traveled from her mouth to her throat and down to her breasts. His face wore an amused look and his eyes were openly mocking as he made no effort to conceal his approval. It had been a long time since he had had a woman. He made a mental wager with himself that he could have her in bed within the hour.

“It's time for me to turn the wheel over to my first mate. Would you like me to show you around the
Sea Siren?”

Sara's eyes lowered. “I'd like that very much, Captain van der Rhys.”

Caleb's expression continued to be amused as he handed over the wheel to Peter, who grinned at him knowingly.

As they strolled along the deck, Sara spoke quietly. “Does this invitation to walk with you mean you no longer find me unattractive?” It was a bold, blatant question, and Caleb answered in kind.

“I found you very attractive back in England, and I find you very attractive now. But I like to be the one who does the pursuing. I've found over the years that when a woman sets out to snare a man, she usually has some use for him. Do you, Sara Stoneham, find me useful in some way?”

Sara laughed, the first genuine laugh she had uttered in months. “And if I did, do you think I would admit it? Why don't we agree that if we were to find a convenient room with a bed, I would find you useful?”

Caleb laughed also. “I guess that means you no longer fear my fits.”

Sara raised her eyes and smiled happily. “I've learned to live with many things not to my liking over the past months. I think I can learn to live with your fits.” Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the openly speculative looks the seamen were giving her and Caleb. It was good that they noticed. Later she would need them to bear witness that she had lain with the captain.

Caleb's shoulders tensed as he approached Peter's cabin. His gut told him he would be sorry for this little adventure, and he almost made an excuse to turn back. But it was too late. They were already through the door, and Sara kicked it shut with her foot and leaned against it, her eyes wide with invitation. Caleb took her in his arms and she flung her arms around his neck, her lips slightly parted. He kissed her savagely, his tongue exploring the sweetness of her mouth. Then he drew away and carefully chose the words he wanted to say. “This means nothing other than what it is.” His sun-bronzed hand tilted her chin upward, bringing her face to his.

“But of course. A moment of passion, of bodily release, nothing more. I understand, Caleb,” she said, moving toward him and locking him in a tight embrace. The pulsating throbbing in her breasts made her cry out as she returned his ardor with total wantonness.

Their clothing in a tangled heap on the floor, Caleb lay down next to Sara and pulled her close. His movements were slow, almost lazy, as he played with her body. His mouth was brutal in its intensity as he brushed and teased her silken skin till the rosy crests became taut and erect.

Sara's tongue became a live serpent as it traced the outline of Caleb's mouth, darting inside, treasuring its warm moistness.

He kissed her eyes and neck and the hollow of her throat, where her pulse beat so wildly she thought she would faint. His hands were demanding as they swept across her thighs and found the warmth between her legs, sending her into a breathless frenzy of desire with each caress of his fingertips. When she thought she could no longer bear the feverish pitch to which he had brought her, he drove into her, again and again. Crashing waves of fire coursed through her as she cried out his name over and over.

Later, lying side by side, she stroked his cheek with gentle fingers. Perhaps now she could live again, love again and find some kind of happiness, regardless of Malcolm. Her body had responded to his passions, and that was all she needed to know for the moment. She watched Caleb's eyes close, his face content in the aftermath of their lovemaking. How well he had enjoyed her, crying out her name as she had forced his from her lips.

When sleep had overtaken him and his breathing had become deep and regular, Sara crept from the bunk and dressed quietly. She paused for a moment to stare down at him and admitted regretfully to herself that she had no feeling for Caleb other than that of physical satisfaction. He was an artful lover, demanding, overpowering, exciting, yet Malcolm would always be the man she wanted, the man she hungered for and craved. However far away from her Malcolm was in death, she would always remember the urgency of his hands, his mouth, his entire body. Her need for him went beyond the physical boundaries of sex, hers was the need of love.

Perhaps, Sara thought, in time she could learn to love Caleb van der Rhys. The next time she joined him in bed she would practice all the things Malcolm had taught her. Today was too soon. As it was, the Dutchman had been surprised to discover she was not a virgin. What would he say when he found out she was pregnant and claiming him as the father of her unborn child? It didn't matter what he thought. It mattered only what he did. Caleb van der Rhys was an honorable man. And honorable men always did what clever women said they should do.

 

Caleb woke, immediately aware of where he was and what had occurred between him and Sara Stoneham. He stretched his long-muscled limbs and felt them come to life. There was no denying he was much better, recovering nicely from the injuries he had sustained during the storm. A man had to be in fine fettle to satisfy a woman the way he had just satisfied Sara. He could still hear the sound of his name on her lips as one wave of passion had followed another. He smiled, self-assured that his injuries had in no way affected his performance in bed.

He supposed he should be feeling somewhat guilty about Sara. He knew he entertained no thoughts of a deeper attachment to her, except perhaps another encounter beneath the sheets. He had no desire to play the part of a love-sick puppy. It had been a pleasurable interlude, and somehow he had the impression that little Miss Stoneham was more versed in the arts of love than she had let on. And he hadn't been disappointed to discover that she wasn't a virgin. Virgins, he told himself, are bothersome creatures. He was tired of breaking them in for some other man to enjoy. He'd take a woman of experience any day.

As happened so often lately, whenever his thoughts were on women, somehow they traveled to Wren. He would have to seek her out and explain to her that his plans included taking her back to Sirena and Regan, even if that meant bringing her all the way to Java. And the sooner the better. Why did he keep postponing the inevitable? Before long he would have to face her, something he had been avoiding to keep from remembering how she had felt beside him in the bunk, his arms wrapped protectively about her. How she had called his name and how he had answered. How he had buried his face in her wealth of dark hair and groaned at his inadequacy to make her well. She couldn't mean anything to him, he wouldn't allow it. She was a sister of sorts. A street urchin whom Sirena had defended and generously adopted. His only obligation to her was that of a brother bent on avenging his sister, regardless of her insistence that she had avenged herself. Then why did you give orders to the crew to bar her from the wheelhouse? a niggling voice questioned.

How well he remembered the first day he had seen Wren. The image of her as a child was almost impossible to keep from his thoughts. As well as the sound of Sirena's hushed murmur to Frau Holtz that Wren was his destiny. Why did those words persist in revolving around his head? He must not have heard correctly. How could a woman be a man's destiny? Bah! he snorted as he swung his legs over the side of the bunk.

One leg in his trousers, he stopped and almost fell to the floor. Sirena had been Regan's destiny. He had known it before either of them. “God, help me,” he muttered as he shoved his other leg into his trousers and hastily donned his shirt. He needed fresh air and the deck beneath his feet. He needed to look at the ocean and see the breakers. The sea was his destiny, not some two-legged creature with eyes like tapered candle flames.

 

While Sara had whiled away her idle hours with Caleb in the first mate's bunk, her brother had been telling his flock that the sinners above deck were the devil's handiwork and he would save them all. His prayer book clutched in his bony hands, he called for each member to stand in front of him so that he could personally convince them, just by the touch of his hand, that he was the Lord's chosen messenger and, as such, would drive the devil from this ship. If necessary, he exhorted, he would captain the ship himself.

Lydia Stoneham was the first to stand before him and hold out her hand. “Please, Bascom, speak with Captain van der Rhys and ask if the women might not go on deck just for a few moments. The heat down here is unbearable and the stench is terrible. Tell him you're sorry and beg his forgiveness, if necessary.” Her voice rose till it was a shrill shriek. “Damn you, ask him!”

Bascom raised his hand and hit her on the side of the head with the prayer book, stunning her briefly. “Profanity! You dare to use profanity in the presence of a messenger of the Lord! My own wife! Down on your knees, woman, and if the Lord doesn't strike you dead, you can consider yourself fortunate. My own wife! And in front of my flock!”

Lydia was beyond caring, beyond feeling. He was insane, and if he was a messenger of the Lord, then she was his disciple. “I've had enough of you and your mealy-mouthed mutterings. I can't bear another minute of it, not another minute. I'm going up that ladder and I'm never coming down again. Did you hear me, Bascom? If I have to leap overboard, I will. I'll do anything to get away from you. You're insane!” she shot over her shoulder as she gathered up her skirts and raced up the wooden ladder.

When she emerged through the hatch and stepped onto the deck above, the seaman standing guard could only regard her with surprise, unsure of what he should do. He couldn't push a woman back down the ladder. Captain van der Rhys hadn't said what he should do if a woman came up the ladder and tried to escape. Before he could decide what course of action to take, Lydia was running down the deck, sobbing heartbrokenly. She would throw herself over the rail and it would be over. Better to die than to live out her life with Bascom.

Blinded by tears, she paid no heed to where she was running and didn't see a pair of strong arms reach out for her. She shrieked as though in pain, thinking it was Bascom who had trapped her.

But these strong arms weren't Bascom's. And the square face with the strong chin weren't Bascom's either. This face had dark eyes full of concern and belonged to the first mate, Peter. “Easy, now . . . easy, now,” he said softly. “What seems to be the matter? How did you get up here and where are you going?”

“Over the rail,” Lydia gulped as she dabbed at the tears glistening in her eyes. “I hate him—I've always hated him,” she blurted defiantly. “He's insane, and I'd rather die than go back down there. If you make me go back, I'll find a way to get up here again. Please,” she implored, “don't make me go back down there.”

“I won't make you go back, but I think we'd better have a little talk with the captain.” So she hated her husband and thought him insane, did she? It was the first sensible thing Peter had heard in weeks. She should know about the preacher, being married to him, he thought happily. She certainly was a pretty woman, and he did admire a pretty face.