Sea Mistress (3 page)

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Authors: Candace McCarthy

BOOK: Sea Mistress
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After dinner, the four moved into the parlor where Edward and Captain Johnson began a business discussion, and Bess was forced to retrieve the chess game from a wall cupboard near the fire place, where Edward had stored it in a moment of frustration after losing to Bess yet again.
Seth found two ladder-back chairs and placed them at each side of a small game table. When Bess brought over the chess board, Seth silently helped her set up the game.
Bess found her attention wandering as she placed the playing pieces. Her gaze was drawn to Seth's hands. She noted their texture and color, and the long, slender fingers that carefully handled each ivory and onyx chess piece. His nails, she noticed, were neatly shaped and clean. Surprisingly well kept, she thought, for a working seaman.
Seth's hands moved with quiet strength that suggested he worked hard and could fight if needed, but that he could also be gentle.
Were the tips of his fingers smooth or calloused, she mused. And what about his palms?
Blushing at the intimate direction of her thoughts, she averted her gaze. She reminded herself that Seth Metcalfe was a mannerless, uncouth lout.
The chess set was one of Edward Metcalfe's most prized possessions. Imported from England, the ivory and onyx chessmen were beautifully sculpted, life-like figures with tiny, delicate facial features.
“My turn, I believe,” Seth said when they had set up the game.
Bess flashed him a look of annoyance. “A lady should go first, Mr. Garret. It is the right and
gentlemanly
thing to do.”
“Then may I suggest we switch seats, Miss Metcalfe?” he drawled. “You've given me the white.”
Seth was right. According to the rules, the white playing pieces went first. By the colors on the board, Seth should go before her.
“I see your point,” she conceded with a ingratiating smile. “By all means, begin.”
“Seth,” he said. “Call me Seth.”
“It's not necessary, Mr. Garret. After all, we hardly know each other.” She made a sweeping gesture toward the board. “Please—I'd appreciate it if you'd just go ahead and start the game.”
He narrowed his gaze. When she said no more, he moved his first pawn. The challenge was on.
The game was over in less than a half-hour. Bess won. She had been playing since age 9 when she first came to her uncle's care, and, as she'd confessed, she was proficient at the game.
Seth pushed back his chair and rose.
“Another go around, Mr. Garret?” she said, barely able to avoid being smug.
He gave her a slight smile. “Tomorrow night perhaps,
Miss Metcalfe.
I'm feeling a bit under the weather. I think I'll retire.” He hesitated, and then said, “If you have no objection.”
The man did look exhausted all of a sudden, Bess thought. Her heart thumped as he waited for her reply. “Of course not,” she assured him. “I hope it's nothing serious.”
Was the man ill? And why was she concerned?
“Nothing a good night's sleep wouldn't cure.”
“Haven't you been sleeping?” she asked, her voice gentle. And then she felt the urge to kick herself for being nice to him, when he'd been nothing but horrid to her.
Well, maybe not exactly horrid,
she thought.
“Don't tell me you care?” he said, showing his true colors once again.
She opened her mouth to give a retort, and then closed it. The man did look unwell. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and he no longer seemed to stand quite so tall. Why hadn't she noticed the obvious changes in him?
“Go to bed, Seth,” she said gently. “You look awful.”
He seemed startled by her concern. “Ah, thank you— I think.” He made his excuses to the two older gentlemen in the room and then returned to Bess.
“Good night, Bess.” Both his gaze and his voice were soft.
Her pulse quickened. She'd never encountered this side of him. It was both pleasant and disturbing to her.
When she retired to her room a short time later, Bess couldn't get Seth Garret's recent behavior out of her mind. He was no longer so arrogant. He seemed
human.
“Mary,” she said to her maid, “I want you to see that the young gentlemen guest in the second wing gets a glass of brandy. Make sure you hear movement inside his room before you disturb him. If he's awake and asks, tell him that Edward sent it up . . . to help him rest.”
The servant nodded. “In the blue room, Miss?”
“Yes.” Bess lifted her hairbrush and fingered the silver handle. “And please do it now. You can come back when you're done to help me with my hair.”
With a nod and a curtsy, Mary went to do Bess's bidding.
It seemed like forever that her maid was gone. Bess paced the room in agitation, wondering if she'd done the right thing in sending the brandy. As her qualms increased, she sat down at her vanity to work at her hair. She needed something— anything—to keep her mind off Seth Garret.
What if Seth didn't believe that Edward had sent it? Worse yet, what if he did and then mentioned it to her uncle the next day?
I'll have to speak privately with Uncle Edward to ensure that he doesn't tell.
Finally the servant girl returned from the second wing. Bess let her into the bedchamber, and saw Mary glance at her with surprise.
“You took so long,” Bess said, explaining why she'd gone ahead and brushed her own hair. “But it matters not, for I've managed very well myself.”
Mary nodded. “Sorry, Miss, but it took me a while to find the brandy.”
“I see.” Bess hesitated. “Then Mr. Garret was awake, I take it?”
A flicker of understanding crossed the maid's face. “Yes, indeed, Miss,” she said. “Seemed grateful for the brandy,” Mary continued. “Looked as if he needed it.”
Nodding, Bess hid her satisfaction “I thought as much,” she murmured.
“Excuse me, Miss?”
“I'm sure Mr. Garret does appreciate Uncle Edward's thoughtfulness,” Bess said. “It must be hard to sleep in a strange house.”
The excuse seemed lame, even to Bess's ears, for Seth Garret was a sailor, who must surely be used to sleeping in strange places. For a moment, she wondered why Seth couldn't sleep.
Bess thanked Mary for her services and then dismissed the girl for the night.
The next morning when Bess got up Seth Garret - was gone. As on the first full day after their arrival, the captain and his first officer disappeared from the house at an early hour to carry on their work at the dock. They arrived home shortly before the evening meal.
Descending the stairs to the main floor, Bess told herself that she wasn't glad that the day had gone by quickly, that she wasn't looking forward to seeing
him
again. But she was unable to convince herself.
Will Seth mention the thoughtfulness of the brandy?
she wondered as she neared the parlor where they gathered before dinner. And then she recalled her little deception. Seth thought Edward had sent the spirits. Seth Garret would never know that she'd been concerned for him, that the brandy had come from her, and she had spoken to Uncle Edward to protect that lie.
When she stepped into the parlor, Bess felt Seth's presence immediately. He was standing by the hearth, drinking a glass of sherry. Her heart started thundering within her breast. She felt the skin tingling on her neck and spine when he turned and met her gaze.
“Mr. Garret—Seth,” she corrected herself. She saw his astonishment, and was glad she'd greeted him first. Graciously.
Before he could respond, however, she turned her attention to the other two in the room. “Uncle Edward. Uncle Joeson. You're both looking handsome this evening. Did you dress especially for me?”
She could feel the heat of Seth Garret's gaze as she asked Uncle Joeson how his day had gone.
When the time came to go into dinner, Seth came to her side and offered to escort her.
Bess looked down at his extended arm. His clean, masculine scent reached out to tantalize her nose. He smelled of soap and sherry, and of the sea. “What?” she said. “Weapons put away? Is this a truce?”
He smiled. The flash of his white teeth effectively took her breath away. “Only until our chess game, Miss Metcalfe.”
She grinned back, feeling suddenly lighthearted. “Good enough, Mr. Garret. A truce only until our game.”
Seth Garret looked especially attractive this night. His coal-black hair shone under the lamplight. His cerulean eyes sparkled with good humor. He seemed relaxed and at ease.
After a pleasant dinner, as they had the night before, Bess and the three gentlemen retired to spend the remainder of the evening in the parlor. This time Bess was more aware of Seth's physical condition.
Because I'm curious to know if the brandy helped him,
she thought.
Seth looked more rested than he had the previous night. Because of her? Because of the brandy?
It seemed as if he'd read her thoughts, because it was only seconds later that he said, “It was kind of your uncle to send brandy to my room.” He paused, his gaze roaming her face. “Does he usually do that?”
. Bess felt her face heat. “Uncle Edward is a very thoughtful man,” she said, feeling somewhat flustered by the topic of conversation. “Perhaps he was concerned that you'd sleep badly in a strange room.”
She placed a knight on the playing board. Seth reached out and caught her fingers. She gasped. It was the first time they'd touched. The contact was electrifying.
“Thank you for the kindness,” he said softly.
“Excuse me?” She pretended to misunderstand.
“It was you who sent up the brandy, not Edward.”
“He told you!”
He smiled. “No, you just did.”
“A common courtesy is all, Mr. Garret,” she said, attempting to dispel the air of intimacy that had suddenly settled in around them.
“Then why hide the fact, Bess,” he said, raising his right eyebrow.
Why indeed?
Bess thought, feeling as if she'd been found out in some criminal scheme.
He released her hand then, and she let out a shaky breath. She could still feel the tingling warmth of his fingers.
That night, Bess lost at chess. She was flustered by Seth's presence, by their exchange about the brandy.
“Checkmate,” Seth said, watching her closely.
She blushed. “Lucky night for you, Mr. Metcalfe.”
“Is it?” He continued to stare at her, his expression intense. There was an undercurrent of tension in the air, which made Bess feel suddenly too warm.
She began to put away the chess men.
He caught her hand. “Bess.” They locked gazes, and Seth looked as if he were going to say something important. Then something changed in his expression. “Another game?”
She looked away. “No, not tonight. I'm rather tired.”
“Can't stand to lose?”
“No! That's not it at all!” Her dark eyes flashed fire as she met his gaze.
“Then why are you in such a hurry to leave.”
“I said I'm tired!”
“You slept to 9 a.m. How can you be tired?”
Bess was taken aback. “How do you know what time I got up?” Had he been questioning the servants?
Seth smiled. “I guessed.”
“Oh.” Ironically, she was disappointed that it hadn't been because he'd asked.
Why? Because I want him to be interested?
She was mortified by the thought.
Of course not! Why would I want him to be interested in me?
He didn't stop her again from putting away the chess game. And afterward when she'd said good-night to all three men, Seth didn't appear bothered that she was leaving him.
Bess was agitated when she got to her room. Her evening with Seth Garret had disturbed her. Knowing she'd never be able to relax without help, she called for her maid and requested a bath. While Mary went to arrange for a tub, Bess wrenched the hair pins from her hair and then proceeded to brush the blonde strands vigorously.
A half-hour later, Bess had dismissed her maid to enjoy her bath in privacy. As she eased herself into the tub, she felt the hot, scented water caress her, much as a lover would fondle flesh, and her thoughts returned to Seth Garret.
She remembered his touch, warm and firm, when he'd caught her hand. Her heartbeat quickened. She shifted in the tub and felt her breasts swell as the water stroked them. Her nipples hardened as she recalled Seth's searing gaze.
She'd never before experienced such a physical reaction to a man. What was it about Seth Garret that was so different?
By the time she was done with her bath, she was flushed not only from the hot water but, from the wanton direction of her thoughts. She kept wondering what it would be like to kiss Seth Garret . . . to touch him, stroke his bare chest.
She was rough as she rubbed herself dry with a towel. She wanted to scrub away the tingling sensation caused by her musings. She didn't like the feeling; it frightened her.
Bess donned her nightgown and slipped into bed. She closed her eyes and willed away the ache in her abdomen . . . the hardness of her nipples, but all she could think about was Seth Garret. She imagined him kissing her mouth, her breasts. She could almost feel his strong hands fondling her.
Her body responded to her mental images. She felt the liquid warmth invade her most private area, and she writhed against the bedclothes, trying to banish the throbbing ache between her legs.
The next morning she was more aware of her body, of her breasts and stomach and thighs. Blushing, she dressed quickly, and when she was done, she went downstairs, glad that she wouldn't have to face Seth just yet, that she had all day to gather her composure and put what had happened last night in her room into some kind of logical perspective.

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