Sea Mistress (23 page)

She was hurt. “Why?”

He caressed her cheek, his features displaying tenderness. “I mean no insult, sweet. I'm merely expressing astonishment that you could defend me so.”

She thought about this and was astonished herself. This was the man who had hurt her. Why did she have so much trouble remembering that?

“Oh, Elisabeth. . ..” he whispered with an ache in his voice. He leaned closer. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Barely two inches separated their mouths, and Bess struggled not to move, not to give into the attraction. She nodded. “If it's anything like what you do to me.”

He groaned and then kissed her lips. The kiss wasn't the light peck that ended the wedding ceremony, but a meshing of mouths, hot and wild. Bess clutched Seth's shirt front, moaning when Seth left her mouth to worship her neck, his lips moist and caressing against her throat.

“Oh, Lisabeth,” he gasped. “It's been so long.”

She sighed with pleasure. “I know,” she whispered. She inhaled sharply as he nuzzled her ear. The tiny hairs at her nape rose as tremors of sensation tickled her neck, and her breasts swelled, aching inside her gown.

His fingers fumbled with the front buttons of her blue bodice. Bess felt his breath against the bare skin above the neckline of her chemise, and she grabbed his hands. “We shouldn't,” she said hoarsely.

“It's all right,” he assured her.

No, it's not all right,
she thought. But then Seth kissed the upper swell of her left breast, and she forgot all about the rights and wrongs of making love with Seth Garret. Desire flooded her, making her lose track of all but Seth's touch . . . the hot marauding journey of his mouth.

He parted the front of her bodice, carefully sliding it away, kissing each revealed shoulder in turn. Then, he knelt before her, clutching her about the waist, burying his face against her chemise-clad breasts.

Tears tightened Bess's throat as she held him close, stroked his hair. There was no questioning the depth of Seth's passion, but this simple action on his part hinted at emotion. She experienced an overflowing wash of tenderness toward him, even while desire pulsated deep within her, heating her blood and moistening her most intimate core.

His hold on her eased, and when he looked up, his eyes flamed a brilliant blue like that of the hottest part of a flame. While watching her expression, he leaned close and kissed one aching mound, and she closed her eyes as the contact brought a severe jolt of feeling.

“Seth . . .”

“Aye, Lisabeth, what is it?” he whispered. “What do you want?”

She didn't speak, couldn't, because she was afraid to. Had it always been like this? And if so, how could she have forgotten?

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, his voice husky. “To kiss your breasts?” He rose and undid the ribbons of her chemise, parting the collar until her breasts fell free for his hungry gaze. “Lisabeth?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, I want you to touch me, kiss me.”

He bent and took her nipple, laving the tiny hard bud with his tongue. “How's that, Lisabeth? Do you remember how it was? Do you remember how I loved you with my body, touched every lovely inch of with my fingers and lips?”

“Oh, God,” she moaned, recalling now with startling intensity. He lowered his head to continue his homage of her breasts, and she closed her eyes, recalling the magic of a certain warm night when the moon had caressed their naked bodies. And Seth had worshiped her so thoroughly. She could remember how it had felt at that final moment when the stars had shattered across the heavens and their bodies had cleaved together in earthshaking ecstasy.

“That's it, Lisabeth,” he murmured. “See how you blossom so prettily for me.” She looked down as he traced her wet nipple. The sight of his fingertips on her bare breast, his touch, heightened her desire, intensified her need to have him deep inside her again.

“Seth,” she began.

“I know, I know.” He recaptured her nipple in his mouth, suckling her, making her cry out and hold him to her. His eyes were glowing as he raised his head. “Let me love you again, Bess.”

Her head swimming, she nodded. “Yes.”

His features were taut with desire as he removed her gown, bending to help her step from its skirts. She stood before him in her chemise and petticoats, the chemise open and revealing love-swollen pink nipples.

“Do you want to touch me?” he said hoarsely. “Go on. I'll let you. Remember how I feel?” He grabbed her hand and placed it on his shirt. “Unbutton my shirt, Lisabeth.”

She did so with trembling fingers.

“There,” he said with husky satisfaction. “Now touch me.”

Bess hesitated before placing her hands on his chest. The hair there was soft and curly just as she'd remembered it. In fact, there were many intimate things about them that she was recalling in great detail now. Things that she'd forgotten about . . . like the way his stomach muscles contracted when touched, the way his breath changed when she played with his nipples.

Her glance sought his trousers where his manhood rose hard against the cloth, stretching taut the fabric. His eyelashes were lowered in passion when her gaze sought his face. He was watching her expectantly, hopefully. With a boldness she hadn't exhibited in years, she cupped the cloth-covered mound. His gasp of pleasure encouraged her, and she continued stroking him through the fine cloth.

“Touch me, Lisabeth,” he pleaded.

“I am t—”

“No, inside.”

She swallowed. A feeling of anticipation heightened her desire as she unfastened his trousers. He gave an incoherent cry as his engorged shaft burst free of cloth. Concerned, Bess felt her heart pound hard, until she saw by his expression that the sound had been one of passion-induced pleasure.

She took hold of his penis and slid her fingers along its length, stopping to rub its velvety tip before moving down to the curling nest of hair at its base. Seth groaned, and Bess watched his expression as she continued to stroke him, to give him pleasure. He began to caress her as she touched him, cupping her breasts, worrying her nipples. And as he fondled and worshipped her with his hands, he studied her through heavy-lidded eyes, his face taut, his gaze glistening.

The feel of him within her hands, the warmth of his hard, masculine body, added to her own excitement. Seth's fingers and hands were doing wonderful things to her, and when he eased her toward the bunk, she went willingly, for she wanted the pleasure to continue. She wanted to kiss him and fondle him until he cried out her name.

She felt her first flicker of alarm as he laid her down and settled himself above her, his weight pinning her to the soft mattress on the bunk. But then Seth began to suckle her breast, drawing her nipple into his mouth, his tongue tenderly playing with the rosy nub. And she promptly forgot her misgivings as she gloried in his touch.

He raised his head, his eyes glowing hotly with his desire for her, his hands continuing to fondle her breasts, and, as he slipped to her side, her cotton-covered belly.

“You're magnificent, love,” he said with reverence. “You've grown even more beautiful since I made love to you last. Your breasts are fuller . . . your skin is so soft . . .”

Her eyes bright with passion, she caressed his cheek. “And you've become more handsome . . .”

He raised an eyebrow. “I?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

Seth, who had been observing the shape and color of her lips, watched her lips move, and moaned with the longing to kiss her. He bent his head and took her mouth, leaning into her with the force of his passion. Bess didn't struggle, but whimpered beneath his lips and kissed him back.

Their mouths broke apart, and they began to caress each other feverishly, their need driving them hard. Frustrated with her chemise, Seth pushed up the hem, baring her to his gaze and his kisses. He repositioned himself nearer to her, and Bess clutched at his head, his back, with one hand, while her other hand grasped and loved his throbbing manhood.

They continued to touch each other, until, frustrated with the remaining layers of clothing, they stopped and helped each other undress. Seth helped Bess first, assisting her to sit and tugging the chemise gently over her head. He set her back against the bunk then and pulled her petticoats down, running his palms over her legs as he did so, making her gasp, especially when he paused and his hands lingered caressingly near the apex of her thighs. He went back to run his fingers over her hips before he returned to the task of discarding her petticoats.

“Oh, God,” he groaned. “I want to touch you, kiss you everywhere.”

Her head spinning, she gasped her agreement.

When he was done undressing her, Seth stood to take off his trousers, but Bess stopped him. “Please,” she murmured. “Let me.”

His eyes flamed with blue fire as she rose and grabbed hold of his waistband, tugged gently downward, paying homage to his lean hips, taut-muscled thighs, as she pulled off his trousers. And then he helped her to rise and eased her toward the bunk, pressing her down to continue to make love to her.

Their actions became frantic, laced with the desperation of having been denied the ecstasy for too long. The cabin filled with their soft cries of pleasure and the sound of their labored breathing as they rediscovered each other physically, recalling what each could do to heighten the other's enjoyment.

They were so involved with their pleasure in one another that they didn't hear Seth's steward call for his captain or his gentle tapping on the hatch. It was only after Mark increased the strength of his pounding that Seth heard the noise.

Seth cursed beneath his breath as he lifted his head from the soft lush comfort of Bess's breasts.

“What's wrong?” Bess asked, startled by the interruption. Her dark gaze mirrored her concern.

“I don't know.” The knock came again, and Seth scowled. “But don't worry, I'll handle it.” His frown eased away magically as he attempted to smile at her in reassurance.

She looked beautiful, he thought, with her passion-glazed midnight eyes and her mouth pink and swollen from his kisses. He wanted to ignore the continued hammering on the hatch, but he knew it must be important, or else Mark Hawke wouldn't persist so.

As he rose and left Bess, his gaze slid over her lovely length. The muted lantern glow made her appear ethereal, like an angel with the crowning glory of her golden hair. Her chemise was still raised up to expose her breasts, full and wet from the homage he paid her with his mouth.

The anxious tone of Mark's voice got Seth's attention. He grabbed a pair of breeches and hurriedly dressed.

Bess, confused by the commotion and the absence of Seth's warmth, became truly alarmed. “What's wrong? Who is it?”

“Mark.” Seth's features were hard as he quickly donned his shirt. Mark's call came again. “I'm coming, Mr. Hawke!” he yelled back with impatience.

As he strode toward the hatch, Bess realized his intent. “No!” she cried, scrambling to find a cover to hide her nakedness.

She had managed to grab a blanket but there wasn't time to adequately cover herself before Seth opened the hatch. She gasped and looked over, and was relieved to see that Seth had opened the door just a few inches. There was no way Mark could see past her husband.

She could hear Seth and his steward speaking in low undertones. Curious about their topic of discussion, Bess got up and began to dress, fumbling with fabric and folds in her haste to be finished. As she pulled on her chemise, the reality of what she'd been about to do struck her.

She had nearly surrendered herself to him! The knowledge that she and Seth would have been man and wife in the physical sense hit her like a splash of cold water. She would have stood the risk of losing all, and for what? One night of heaven in Seth's arms.

Bess felt her body flush with heat as she recalled the way Seth had undressed her. His kisses and the sensitive, intimate places on her body still pulsated from the after effects of his touch. She knew it had been good between them years ago, but how could she have forgotten
how good?
No man had ever come close to arousing her senses the way Seth Garret did, and she was afraid, for they had months yet left of their journey. A time during which she would be sharing Seth's cabin, and in danger of surrendering herself fully to his seductive charms.

The two men's voices sounded muffled now, and glancing from her petticoat to the hatch, Bess saw that Seth had stepped outside into the passageway, allowing her several moments of privacy. When he returned, would Seth expect her to continue where they had left off?

She cursed as she struggled with her petticoat, stepping and stumbling over the hem. Seth came in just as she pulled the garment into place. He stared at her, his expression stern. As her eyes continued to hold his, her heart thundered within her breast.

“I—” she began, but Seth interrupted her, saving her, for she didn't know what to say.

“They've spotted a small boat off the port bow. We believe the people in the boat are survivors from a shipwreck.” He paused. “We'll be taking on extra passengers.”

Bess's thoughts swam inside her head, a jumbled mass of confusion and emotion. “Passengers?” she echoed, her mind trying to assimilate what it meant.

“Aye.” In his haste, Seth had buttoned his shirt wrong, and seeing it, Bess blushed, thinking how it must have looked to Mark Hawke.

Seth looked down, following the direction of her gaze, and when he glanced up again, he gave her a crooked smile. “I hardly think he noticed,” he said, accurately guessing her thoughts.

She nodded. “I certainly hope not.”

He scowled. “He believes we're married, Bess. What's wrong with him believing that we enjoy each other physically?”

Bess's eyes narrowed. “Is that why you attempted to make love to me?”

“Attempted?” he said, his voice dry. “I thought I was doing quite well, actually.”

And he was, damn him, she thought. Knowing that she was blushing again, she hurriedly changed the subject. “These passengers—are they shipwrecked?”

“It would appear so, but we won't know for sure until they come up alongside us.”

“Is anyone injured?” she asked. Her gaze settled on his throat, bare above his white shirt collar. His skin, she recalled, was warm yet smooth, except where hair covered his masculine body. His muscles, she remembered, were hardened from work, and his chest and other hair was soft and dark. The memory of touching him rekindled the physical tension within her.

“James couldn't tell, but he thought so.” Seth saw the way Bess was looking at him, and he nearly forgot that he was wanted topside. He didn't want to leave, knew that if he did, there would be little to no chance of having Bess in his bed again. She was his wife, but she didn't want to be. That fact and the knowledge that they were nearing Cape Horn, the most dangerous part of their journey, made him hesitate in leaving. He wanted to forget the voyage and his commission to transport goods. He wanted to forget the past and concentrate on the present, on making love to the woman before him.

“Captain,” Mark's voice called through the closed hatch. “The boat is beside us.”

“Thank you, Mark,” Seth responded loudly enough to be heard through the hatch. “Tell the mate I'll be right up.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Seth continued to eye Bess. “I must go up.”

“Can I help?” she asked, surprising him with her offer. “Surely, if there are injured . . .”

“If you'd like,” he said.

She glanced down at her petticoat. “I'd better change.” It would be safer, she thought, and easier to wear her men's clothes, so that she could move about more freely.

“What's wrong with the clothes you have on?”

“I can't wear my petticoat with trousers.”

“I like you in woman's clothes.”

She bristled. “It'll be easier to move about in men's trousers.”

He scowled, looked as if he were going to say something more, but then apparently changed his mind, because all he said was, “Fine. Do what you like. I'll see you topside.” There was an edge to his voice that said he was annoyed with her, and Bess's irritation with him grew. Then he left her alone, and she felt his absence keenly.

She took off her petticoat and pulled on a pair of trousers, her thoughts on Seth's displeasure with her choice of garments. What was wrong with wearing men's clothes? How could she move about caring for the injured in her gown?

Her mind wandered to what she and Seth had been doing when they'd been interrupted by Mark Hawke. She shivered with pleasure, recalling how he'd made her feel, the magical power of his touch. Her body tensed as she thought of how it would have been if they hadn't been disturbed.

But then it occurred to her that there were people coming on board—injured people, who might need her help. She began to dress more quickly, her movements no longer clumsy but firm with purpose. She donned a white shirt that matched the trousers and then braided her hair into one long plait that hung down her back, fastening it with a piece of hemp. Then, she left the cabin for the upper deck.

Bess arrived at the rail on the starboard bow side of the
Sea Mistress
just as the small boat touched the clipper ship's side. Seth, she saw, had positioned himself fore of her, shouting orders to his men.

“Lower the ropes!” his voice boomed. “Reilly, secure the boat and then climb on board to assess the injured.”

“Aye, captain!” The second mate replied as he hurried to obey.

“Mr. Kelley,” Seth commanded. “Prepare the swing. We can't expect the wounded to climb ropes, can we? See what we can do to make their ascent easier.”

Bess was unaware that Mathilde Dunnon had come up to stand beside her, until she heard the woman gasp with outrage.

“A swing!” she exclaimed. “He didn't offer us a swing!”

Turning to face her, Bess eyed the heavyset woman, but kept her thoughts to herself. No doubt there had been a question as to whether or not the swing would have held under Mathilde's weight. When she turned back toward Seth, he was gesturing toward his steward.

“Mark! Tell Mr. Cookson to fire up the stove. God only knows how long it's been since these people had a decent meal. Tell him to heat up any biscuits left from supper, or if they're gone, to make more. And we'll need him to heat up some coffee.”

Mark nodded through his captain's list of orders and scurried away to do Seth's bidding.

With rapid-fire precision, Seth displayed his skill and authority as he continued to give command after command. The first of the shipwreck victims was raised on board the
Sea Mistress
in record time. She was a woman of middle age with graying hair fastened in a knot at her neck, but with several strands to wildly frame her fatigue-lined face. The lady looked not only tired but burned by the sun, and Bess went to her side to help her after she was lifted from the swing.

The woman tottered on unsteady feet, and a member of the crew was lowering the swing again before she got her bearings. “Thank you,” she gasped, peering at Bess through glazed eyes.

“You'll be all right now,” Bess soothed her. She shot Mathilde Dunnon a glance, silently instructing the woman to help them. Mathilde was slow in understanding, but finally she came to the victim's other side. Taking her by the arm, she helped Bess to move the sunburned woman to a seat made by a plank laid over a coil of ropes.

“My niece,” the woman gasped as they sat her down. “Rebecca . . .”

“She's in the boat?” Bess asked, hazarding a guess.

The lady nodded. “She's hurt,” she said, her voice sounding strangled. “Her head. She hit it on something as we left the ship—a wooden crate or something—before we got her out of the water.”

“Wait here with Mrs. Dunnon.” Bess shot Mathilde a glance and was surprised when the woman gave a nod of reassurance. “I'll speak with the captain,” she told the shipwreck victim.

She took a second to peer over the rail to the small boat in the water below. Her chest constricted when she saw the frail female figure lying to one side in the bottom of the boat. Did Richard Reilly know the girl had suffered a head injury? Did one of the other two passengers left in the boat with her tell the second mate that she'd been hurt?

A knock on the head could mean serious injury, Bess thought with concern. Instinctively her gaze went to Seth, who had moved from the upper deck to the quarterdeck. He was silently watching the proceedings with intent blue eyes.

She went up the ladder to speak with him, and he turned just as she reached his side. “Seth, the woman they brought up says the girl in the boat has suffered a head injury. She hit it on some floating debris after they abandoned ship.”

He fixed her with his gaze and for a moment it was as if they were back in the cabin making passionate love. But then the illusion of desire was gone from his expression as he nodded in acknowledgment of what she'd told him.

“Mr. Kelley,” he called, continuing after he had the mate's full attention. “There's a girl. She's hurt, possibly seriously.” He glanced toward Bess for confirmation, and she inclined her head. “Tell Reilly,” he said to Kelley, “to put all the others before him and then secure himself in the swing and carry the girl on board.”

James Kelley went to tell the second mate, and Bess moved to return to the girl's aunt.

“Bess.”

She froze at Seth's call, and then turned. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

Her breath caught. She knew to what he was referring—their earlier moments together when they'd been naked and hotly pressed into each other's lengths, when they'd all but committed the final act of lovemaking. “Yes,” she said.

“Good.” He nodded, his voice and features serious. If he had regretted the interruption, it didn't show.

Bess returned to check on the older of the two female victims and then went to the rail in time to help on board the second of two male passengers. The first, an old man, stood, wrapped in a blanket, his face as red as that of the middle-aged woman.

The person now being helped to the deck was a young man in his twenties, an attractive male with blond hair. He smiled at Bess's offer of help.

“I'll be all right,” he assured her, his brown eyes studying her with frank admiration. He hesitated and then said, “I didn't know there would be women on board.”

Bess raised an eyebrow. “Does it matter? Would it have made a difference if you'd known? Perhaps you would have preferred to float forever in your dinghy?”

He blinked at her caustic tone. She wasn't sure why she'd spoken in so surly a tone, unless, she thought, it had something to do with the fact that the last of the victims was being hoisted on board ship and Seth himself had come to assist her onto the deck.

“Sorry,” she murmured, smiling to show him her apology was genuine. “I'm not usually so rude.”

His grin told her she was easily forgiven. “My fault, I'm sure. But I assure you, I meant no insult. In fact, I'm pleasantly surprised to find such loveliness amidst all these men.”

His gaze asked questions that she wasn't prepared to answer at the moment. Bess led him to sit beside the girl's aunt, and then swung back to the rail to see James Kelley take the girl from Richard Reilly, who was cradling her gently within his arms.