Sea Change (25 page)

"That is what frightened me the most," he said in a low voice. "I was beginning not to care that you were forbidden. I just wanted to be near you, and touch you, and breathe in your scent. God help me, I don't know if ultimately it would have mattered to me...Charley."

She heard his words like a treasure handed to her, one she could keep locked inside her and take out later to remember, and enjoy when her nights were long and lonely. Davy Fletcher wanted her, Charley Alcott, and for tonight that would have to be enough.

He moved his hand up her bare arm to her hair, and he gave her a little shove, pushing her onto her back. She heard the ship's bell and knew she should get dressed and return to her cabin before the morning watch, but it was hard to think with Davy smiling at her and lightly touching her, stroking her, making her realize how starved she'd been for human contact and closeness. It also brought to life those feelings that she'd thought were over following her climax, and she remembered what the whores said about a woman being like an ember.

"What is making you smile?"

"You are. Being here with you." She sighed. "It feels so good to be held...it has been so long."

"How long?"

"Forever."

His lips curled up at the corners in that smile that captivated her so, and he leaned down to kiss her again. This time Charley was not going to be a passive participant, and she reached down to find and hold him, because she knew that would give him pleasure. She also knew it took men some time to recover after their climax, so when her exploring hand found him she was surprised, and broke off the kiss to raise the covers and look.

"You are remarkably tumescent," she said. If anything, her words made him swell larger. "Oh my. Is this normal for you?"

"Doctor, none of this is normal for me."

When she looked up at him he kissed her lightly.

"'Normal' is not a word that enters into a discussion of relations with you, Charley Alcott. But if you are done speaking, it is time to move to the next stage of your education."

And so saying he moved the covers down off of her body, and showed her how areas of her flesh she'd never considered especially sensitive, or beautiful, or even necessary could take on a whole new meaning in the captain's bunk.

If any of the officers or crew of the
Fancy
suspected their doctor and their captain were engaging in activities that went beyond the average doctor and commander relationship, they were wise enough to keep their thoughts to themselves.

Charley had other problems. David Fletcher seemed to be under the misapprehension that Charley Alcott was going to practice medicine differently than she'd done one month earlier, before she fell off of the
Fancy
into the water.

"I do not like it. As you pointed out, Dr. Alcott, you've seen the privates of every privateer aboard this ship!"

They were in the sick bay after morning sick call, and David was leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He was not wearing his coat, and his sleeves were rolled up past his forearms. Charley wanted to strip him bare and study his musculature, going over that fine body inch by inch.

But there were reports to be written and ruffled feelings to be soothed.

"You are correct. I have seen all the privateers' privates. Including yours," she added with a smile. "Do not be jealous. I need to see the men to perform my duties."

"Oh, very well," he grumbled, pushing himself off the door. "But I don't like it!"

Charley stood on her toes and kissed him on the tip of his nose.

"You are still the prettiest privateer I've ever seen, Captain Pirate. But go back up on deck now. Sick call is over and I have work to do."

He bolted the door to sick bay and looked back at her. "Actually, Doctor, I did come down here for a reason. I've been plagued by a terrible swelling."

"Really? Where--"

Before she could finish, he stepped closer to her and pulled her against his muscled frame. He ran his hands down her back to her hips and wiggled himself against her.

"Oh, that swelling."

She pulled her head back and looked down at him, then put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile.

"It does not look so terrible to me, Captain."

"You are right, it does look rather splendid," he said, gazing down at himself with pride.

Charley felt her eyes roll, and cleared her throat. "I usually recommend a cold compress to deal with swelling, Captain."

He grabbed her hand and put it on his swollen parts. "I don't know, Doctor," he said huskily. "I think this swelling would benefit more from an application of wet heat than a cold compress. Wet heat, and friction. In fact, I know from experience that that's the cure for this swelling."

To illustrate the benefits of wet heat, he angled his head and put his mouth over hers, a maneuver guaranteed to bring her attention fully to focus on his swelling. In fact, it seemed to aggravate the problem and make it even more obvious.

She stroked her hand along his impressive length and broke away from his talented mouth. "You are practicing medicine again, Captain. You said you would leave that up to me."

She punctuated this sentence by grasping him firmly, which produced a noise from between his lips that did sound like he was in discomfort. He brought his head forward and nuzzled her beneath her ear, bringing a gasp from deep from within her own throat. His lips traveled along the skin of her neck, raising his own brand of heat and sparking a fever within her. The man did have a talent for throwing her humors out of balance, but he also knew how to restore her to contentment and satisfaction.

"You must take my advice on this, Doctor," he whispered against her skin. "I have seen and dealt with far more of these swelling situations than you have."

"Hmmmm...I will grant that you have more experience with this issue," her voice came out in a low rasp, despite her efforts to maintain a professional demeanor. "And I should always be willing to learn from all sources. Wet heat, you say?"

"A sovereign remedy," he murmured.

"I'll have to examine this more closely then."

Charley lowered herself to her knees and undid the buttons before her eyes. As David's trousers fell around his ankles and she saw exactly how severe his swelling was, she knew she had to take matters into her own hands. Discussions from her most educational evening in Madame Cornelia's house came back to her and she put her lessons into action, bringing her mouth down around him, to his incoherent delight. She applied the cure that he swore by, and to no one's surprise, she soon had the swelling--and the captain--completely relieved.

As he was leaving the cabin David winked at her and said, "Always a pleasure to see your expertise in action, Doctor."

"Scoundrel!" she said to the air where he'd been, as Pirate shot into the cabin before the door closed.

Charley smiled to herself after he left. This life she was living was as fantastical as Shakespeare's
Tempest
, full of adventures and voyages and hidden identities.

And the magic of loving her own prince, as Miranda loved Ferdinand.

But that story had a happy ending with the two lovers wed, and David had made no mention of love or marriage. He wanted her, she knew that well enough, but for how long? The rational part of her brain understood that he felt bound to offer for Miss Dixon, but the irrational part that brought her to his bunk at night wanted more. She wanted his love and his name and his children.

She also wanted to practice medicine.

Was she willing to settle for his passion and for the opportunity to be his ship's doctor?

"I will take what I can get, for now," she said aloud.

"Mrrrrowwwr?" Pirate said from where he was washing himself atop her bunk.

"I said, you are too much like your namesake."

The cat did not argue the point and went back to his ablutions.

The tomcat and the master of the
Fancy
did resemble one another; both were fierce and independent, not giving up while hunting, and their eyes held the same gleam of masculine satisfaction when their prey was under their paw.

The evenings the doctor and the captain spent together were as before, and their arguing and sparring continued. With one difference--at some point during the evening they ended up naked.

"But surely you realize, Captain Fletcher, that now with Napoleon exiled to Elba, Britain can devote its full attention to defeating the United States? How can you hope to prevail against the mightiest nation on earth when the Emperor Napoleon could not win?"

Charley was stretched out on the captain's bunk, leaning up against the bulkhead. She watched him as he moved in the confined space of his cabin. Davy was stripped down to his breeches and they hung low on his hips, his fine bones jutting out, a line of ebony hair pointing the way to what she desired. For now though, she was content to watch. She had never seen a panther, but based on what she'd read it seemed his lithe movements mimicked that of the hunting cat, elegant, no energy wasted, the lean form a delight to the eyes.

"You underestimate the will of the American people, Doctor." He poked his finger in the air for emphasis. "When you push us, we push back. Hard. John Bull cannot bully America into surrendering now any more than you could forty years ago. Have you already forgotten the lesson of Fort McHenry?"

He rummaged in his desk and pulled out a tattered newspaper, much folded and creased.

"My mother sent this to me with the letters, a newspaper from home. A Mr. Key wrote a poem about the battle, Doctor, titled 'The Defence of Fort McHenry.' Look here--'the land of the free and the home of the brave.' That's America, Charley! I won't ask you to drink to an American victory, but you won't mind if I have a tot?"

David poured himself some rum while humming a tune. Charley listened, her head cocked to the side.

"I know that tune--I heard it in the inn where I waited to board the
Lady Jane.
It is 'To Anacreon in Heaven,' is it not? I recall the people who attempted to navigate its melody often failed miserably."

"Maybe it's a song best attempted while drinking for the full effect. But I'm told it is now popular in Baltimore with lyrics based on Mr. Key's poem--'And the rockets' red glare...'"

Charley snickered as his voice strained through the notes. "That tune will never catch on, Captain. Certainly not the way you sing! Best you stick to sailing your ship."

"You don't like my singing? That's mutinous talk, Doctor, and you will be flogged for it!"

His "flogging" took the form of jumping on her and tickling her, which soon had his laughing victim begging for mercy.

"No quarter for mutineers!" her tormenter said, but then his actions shifted from tickling to touching, moving his hands over her body in ways designed to delight rather than torture.

Once again Charley marveled at the complexities of the human body. She knew about the major components involved in sexual stimulation, but who knew that where her shoulder met her neck would be so sensitive to touch? Who would have suspected that one's ankles could be licked, stimulating sensation in parts of the body far removed from her feet?

This was what was different about their relationship now, Charley thought afterward, as the sweat cooled on their bodies. Not just the sexual activity, but the touching. The closeness. She never knew how much she lacked it in her life, the joy that came from being hugged, from having contact with another human being. She picked up David's hand and ran her finger over his index finger, feeling the strength in that long digit which could bring her such delight.

"What are you doing?"

"There are twenty-seven bones in your hand. Blood vessels, tendons, ligaments. Muscles. A baby is fascinated when he discovers his hand and will watch it, moving his own fingers, turning it over." She held his hand and marveled at it before threading her fingers through his. "Such a complex mechanism, and capable of so much--for good or for evil."

David leaned over and kissed her hair, her body held close to his. Charley shifted slightly. Tonight she'd come prepared with a vinegar soaked sponge, but there was always the worry in the back of her mind that such a method wasn't a hundred percent effective, as demonstrated at Madame Cornelia's house. But she also understood better now the drives and desires that caused smart women to make foolish choices.

"Why such a big sigh, Charley?"

"Just thoughts of the future. David--"

But before she could say more he released her hand and placed a finger across her lips.

"A privateer learns to take each day as it comes, Charley. One day may bring boredom, the next day may bring a prize, the day after that--anything can happen and life at sea is chancy. We live for the day."

"It is that kind of philosophy that brings the men to sick bay with diseases of Venus, Captain," Charley said sharply.

"You think like a doctor, and not a sailor. Which is as it should be. I have sailors aplenty, but only one doctor. You."

He reached for her again, but Charley reluctantly disengaged herself. "I need to return to my quarters, Captain. It is late."

Charley shrugged her shirt over her head. When she looked at him again, David was propped up on one arm and watching her, a frown on his face.

"I wish things were different, Charley, and you could spend the night."

She wanted to spend the night. She wanted to spend this night and every night held in his arms, feeling safe and cherished, and maybe even loved.

"Not a good idea, Captain. We tread on thin ice here and we have to maintain our fiction for the crew."

"It would be different if you came with me to America."

Charley paused from where she was buttoning herself. A chill went over her frame that owed nothing to the warm air of the Caribbean night.

"Come to America? There is a woman in Baltimore expecting a proposal of marriage from you, Captain Fletcher. Have you forgotten? I have not."