Gregory, Lisa (17 page)

"Well,
you have certainly turned my captain's head."

"That
beast," Katherine sniffed.

"Oh
no, ma'am, Captain Hampton's really a very fine gentleman."

"He
may be a very fine captain, but a gentleman he is not," she said with
asperity. "Unless, of course, it is the Southern idea of good breeding to kidnap
a lady and rape her!"

Fortner
blinked, somewhat taken aback at her bluntness. "No, no, I'm sure that is
not his intention," he murmured vaguely.

"He
told me so himself."

"He's
not an unkind man; I know that he has a great deal of feeling for you. He often
speaks of your beauty. It is just that he is so entranced by you, and couldn't
bear to leave you."

"Poppycock,"
she said sharply. "He is not in the slightest entranced by me. I just
happened to be the only female around."

"Oh,
no, that's not true. The captain would never run such a risk to his crew unless
his affections were very much engaged."

"That
man thinks of no one but himself."

"You're
wrong there, ma'am. A good captain always thinks of his crew, and he is a good
captain."

"So
everyone tells me. But he must be insane to try this escape. The Navy couldn't
be more than an hour behind you, you must know that, and with sailing vessels
far swifter than this crate."

"More
than an hour, I should think. Look at the sun; what direction are we
going?"

"North."

"Which
way would you presume we would go?"

"South;
maybe due east."

"Exactly.
And south is the way we sailed until we were out of sight of the harbor. How
long will it be before they realize that we couldn't have gone that direction?
And then won't they go east, not north? Or maybe waste time searching inlets
and coves to see if we're hiding there? Rather more than an hour behind us,
don't you think?"

"So
it is several hours before they find us. But eventually they will; this tub
can't possibly outrun them," she said scornfully, but inside her heart
plummeted. That small difference in hours was all-important to her.

"With
luck, we won't be on this 'tub' much longer."

"What
do you mean?"

"Well,
madame, we plan to practice our profession— piracy, I imagine you'd call
it."

"You're
going to steal a ship?" she asked incredulously.

"Stole
this one, didn't we?" he said and grinned boyishly.

"You're
all insane," Katherine decided, and he laughed.

"Yes,
ma'am, a little."

"Miss
Devereaux." Katherine whirled around at the sound of the captain's voice.
"Must you bewitch my crew, too?"

"Sorry,
sir," Fortner replied. "I'll take my leave now. Ma'am. Captain."

Katherine
swept the captain with a haughty glance and maintained an icy silence. He
pulled his mouth down in a lopsided grin.

"Come
now, Miss Devereaux, is this fair? Here you have captured my heart, but won't
comfort me with even one word or a smile."

"Play
your games elsewhere, Captain. I'm not a silly child to be taken in by your
flirtatious manner and phony compliments. You have already revealed your true
nature to me."

He
heaved a mock sigh and leaned back against the railing, watching her. "I
know. Abominable, am I not? So absolutely horrid as to find you desirable. So
utterly lost to the finer things in life that I find your skin delightfully
soft to touch and your lips very kissable. Indeed, so low that I can't sleep at
night for thinking of your honey-colored hair and how much I long to let it run
through my fingers, to bury my face in it."

She
colored and looked away, too embarrassed to speak.

"What?"
he said, his voice lightly mocking. "Have you nothing to say? Surely I
cannot have rendered you speechless."

"Please,"
she said, a trifle shakily.

"Please
what?" He reached out to smooth a wind-whipped curl back into place.

"Please
don't say such things."

"Why
not? They're true." He laughed softly. "You know, you are the oddest
creature. When I storm at you, say vile things to you, you don't even flinch,
just stare me straight in the eye and storm right back at me. But when I
compliment you and tell you how lovely you are, you blush and look away and ask
me not to say such things."

Gently
he pulled her to him and slid one hand beneath her cloak. He let his hand roam
freely, stroking her back and stomach, caressing her breasts. Involuntarily,
she responded to his touch.

"Take
your hands off me!" she snapped.

He
clucked his tongue in reproof. "Now, is that any way to talk? I'm only
trying to gentle you to my touch."

"I
am not a mare for you to tame, sir. I am a woman."

"I
am well aware of that."

"A
human being, Captain Hampton, with feelings and pride and—"

"And
weaknesses and desires, also, Miss Devereaux. Why deny them?"

"What
do you mean?"

Softly
his lips brushed her temple, her cheek, her ear. "I mean, relax; let me
give you the same pleasure you'll give me. Give your passions free rein. You'll
find that it's far more enjoyable."

"If
you think that I would ever enjoy having you touch me—why, it makes me ill."

He
sighed. "What a cold Boston bitch you are," he said conversationally.
"Permit me to leave you alone with yourself, since that is the only
company proper enough for you."

She
glared at him as he strode away. "I hate you! I hate you!" she
muttered through clenched teeth.

She
resumed her inspection of the ship, more determined than ever to find a hiding
place. She found a small, high ledge near the brig where MacPherson and the
guards sat in chains. She held a short, whispered conversation with the prisoners,
but they could not help her, chained as they were. Nor was the ledge a good
place to hide since it had no covering. At the top of the stairs leading to the
sailors' quarters, there was a tiny closet. She was able to squeeze inside it,
and could even look out at the deck through the hole where the lock would have
gone. But what use was it? That would probably be the first place they would
look. What more obvious place to hide than a closet?

Sighing,
she walked to the railing and looked out at the ocean. A heroine of any novel,
she thought, faced with such a situation, would have dramatic hysterics
(indeed, would have been having them for the past three hours) and hurl herself
over the side. Suddenly she straightened—but what a perfect idea! She began to
pace, deep in thought. It just might work, close as the closet was to the
railing. If it did, it would at least slow them down for a few minutes, and
perhaps even enable her to hide without being noticed at all.

She
looked around her; there was no one near or looking in her direction. Calmly
she untied the ribbons of her hat. With a last quick glance around, she tossed
it into the ocean and hurried to the closet. Opening the door, she uttered a
high, piercing shriek and darted inside, closing the door after her. Quickly
she heard the thud of running feet and, from high above up in the sails, a
voice calling, "Man overboard."

"Good
God, it's her!" boomed a voice so close it made her jump. "That's her
hat in the water."

Katherine
quietly sank to her knees and peered through the keyhole. A knot of men were
clumped at the railing; Fortner was tossing out a life preserver. She could
feel the ship slowing and heard the sails being taken in. She smiled to
herself—they believed it; they thought she was in the ocean with her bonnet.
Hopefully they would waste a good deal of time looking for her and then,
believing her dead, never bother to search the ship for her. She would be safe
until the Navy arrived.

There
was the thunder of a man running, and Hampton came into view.

"She's
overboard, sir," Fortner said.

The
captain paled. "Jesus Christ! That little fool!" Swiftly he pulled
off his boots.

"Sir,
you aren't going in after her, are you?"

"Of
course."

"But,
Captain, that water's cold as ice. We don't even know where she is; she hasn't
come up that we can see."

"That
heavy cloak and all those damned petticoats would pull her down."

In
one fluid motion he jumped up onto the railing, stood poised for a moment, then
dove cleanly into the water.

"Put
down a lifeboat, Mason," Fortner ordered.

"Aren't
any, sir—they haven't been put on board yet."

"Damnation!"

Katherine
watched the quiet, tense group of men until her neck and back ached from the
strain of her position. Why was he persisting in swimming around in that freezing
water? He'd catch pneumonia—if he didn't drown.

"Sir!"
Jenkins called. "You'd best come in now. It's been over fifteen minutes.
You couldn't save her now. Grab the preserver and we'll haul you in."

They
began to haul on the rope, and finally Hampton appeared and crawled over the
railing to drop onto the deck, exhausted from battling the heavy northern seas.
Unsteadily he rose to his feet, dripping wet and gasping for breath.

"Sir,
you'll die if you stay out here in this cold with those wet clothes on. Why
don't you go to your cabin and get those off?"

The
man swung his face toward Fortner, and Katherine caught a glimpse of his weary
face. The strange bleakness in his eyes almost made her gasp. Quickly she
covered her mouth; this was no time to be discovered.

"Mason,
check the ship; see if you can find any blankets or cloths so the captain can
dry off. Try that closet there."

"Yessir."

With
horror, Katherine watched him approach her closet. She scrambled to her feet
and pressed herself back against the wall, but the door swung open, revealing
her to the group of men. Mason's hand dropped from the door handle and he
stepped back as if he had seen a ghost. She looked at Hampton. He stood
straight and still, his face cold, his eyes glittering like ice. Then he sprang
forward and seized her wrist in his iron grasp.

"Damn
you! What in the hell kind of game do you think you're playing!"

Katherine
felt numb with fear; desperately she wished that she had never come up with
this idea.

"Do
you realize that we thought you were dead? That I nearly drowned trying to save
you?"

She
gulped and willed herself to speak. Through frozen lips she said, "And do
you realize how much time you have lost?"

His
nostrils flared in anger and for a moment she thought he was about to strike
her. Instead, he snapped, "Full sail, Fortner!" Then he turned on his
heel and strode off to his cabin, dragging her with him. Wryly she thought that
it was a good thing she was not a delicate woman, or her wrist would be crushed
by now.

Once
inside his quarters he slammed the door and with one quick motion of his arm
flung her across the room. She thudded against the far wall, knocking the wind
out of her, and sank to the floor.

"Damn
it, woman, I'd like to throttle you with my bare hands!" he roared.

The
pain in her shoulder where she had smashed into the wall turned her fear to
anger, and, struggling for breath, she managed to gasp, "Well, I am very
sorry that it so displeases you that I am alive."

Water
dripped from him, puddling on the floor, and involuntarily he shivered.
"You scared the living hell out of me."

"I
can't imagine why it should have mattered to you."

"It
is a little disconcerting to think that a woman has drowned herself rather than
endure your attentions."

"You
needn't worry," Katherine said scornfully. "Believe me, I would not
kill myself because of you!"

He
simply stared at her, visibly struggling to suppress his rage.

"You
ought to change clothes. You'll catch your death of cold if you stand about in
those wet garments."

His
eyes were splinters of ice. "I shouldn't be surprised if I murder you
myself before this is over."

She
tossed her head, feeling more confident; the worst of his anger had passed, and
she could breathe again. "I wouldn't be so sure of that. It might be the
other way around."

He
said nothing, but purposefully began to unbutton his shirt. Katherine stiffened
and her eyes widened in fright. She had provoked him too much and now he was
going to do that awful thing to her. Seeing her reaction, he grinned.

"No,
my pet, I am not about to punish you by inflicting my horrible demonstrations
of affection on you. I am simply trying to avoid pneumonia, as you
suggested." He wrung out his shirt, his eyes fixed tauntingly on her.
"I'm afraid that little dip in the ocean has somewhat cooled my
ardor."