The Captain's Caress (12 page)

“That’s enough,” he said at last.

“Uh,” wheezed Summer. She was too miserable to talk.

“Stop complaining, or you’ll go to dinner as you are,” he threatened. “Now put your shoes on.”

“I can’t bend over,” Summer groaned. She couldn’t see-her feet or the high-heeled, embroidered satin shoes with pointed toes and silver buckles.

“I’ll put them on for you.” Brent laughed. “But you have to pay a forfeit.”

“What?” Summer asked suspiciously.

“I get to take your stockings off again.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“It’s too late,” Brent said. “Sit.”

She managed to lower herself onto the bed. The touch of Brent’s hands caused her whole body to tremble, but she controlled herself until he cruelly tickled the bottoms of her feet.

“You devil!” she shrieked, and managed to put her foot into his stomach even though she couldn’t break his grip. “That’s unfair and completely unworthy of a gentleman.”

“True, but I couldn’t resist,” Brent confessed, his smile making Summer forgive him instantly. “Sit still and I promise I won’t tickle you again.” He slipped the shoes on, then helped Summer to her feet.

“I’m not used to high heels,” Summer said, walking rather uncertainly across the floor.

“Then you’d better practice. I can’t have you falling on your face in front of my officers.”

“I’m not that bad,” she protested, indignantly.

“Good. You’ll need to be steady on your feet with the size of this petticoat.” He pulled out a stiff white garment that seemed to grow larger as it escaped the confines of the trunk.

“Do I have to wear all of that?” she asked startled.

“Of course.”

“Can’t I just wear one of my old dresses?” Summer was rapidly becoming disenchanted with her new clothes.

“Stop complaining.” Uncompromisingly, Brent placed the petticoat around her waist and tied it securely at the back.

“Don’t women ever get tired of all this stuff?” she asked, unhappy with the weight of the petticoat and the discomfort of the corset. After years of wearing light, loose clothing, Summer was utterly miserable.

“They get used to it. Now turn around so I can put on the bodice.” Summer meekly allowed him to spin her about, button up the bodice, and attach the sleeves. His hands did their work efficiently, but in her mind they lingered much too long over the buttons across her bosom.

“Don’t squirm so,” Brent commanded, but it was impossible for her to stand still under his touch. Her skin was alive, every nerve ending painfully sensitive. At last Brent released her, and she breathed as deeply as she could in that confining corset.

“Is that for me?” she asked in wonder when she saw the underskirt of white silk embroidered in a flower-like design copied from the French mode. She could hardly believe that anything so beautiful was meant for her.

“It takes forever to attach this thing,” Brent said gruffly, “so don’t move.”

Summer was acutely aware of his hands on her waist and hips even though she tried to peek over her shoulder at her reflection.

“Not until you’re completely dressed.” Brent gave her a playful slap on the behind, and Summer obediently stood still until the overdress of cobalt blue satin with silver trim and a flounced hem was in place. “Now you can look at yourself.” Brent stepped back and really saw her for the first time.

Summer almost raced to the mirror, but she came to an abrupt halt before the unfamiliar sight that met her eyes. She couldn’t believe that the vision staring back at her could possibly be her own self.

“I’m pretty,” she said, turning to Brent and bubbling with excitement. “Not even Mama would recognize me now.” In her own eyes, the transformation was nothing short of a miracle, and she looked at herself again, almost afraid her likeness would disappear if she turned away for too long. “I do look pretty, don’t I?” she asked excitedly.

“Much more than that,” Brent said, unprepared himself for such loveliness. The tension in his voice belied his calm exterior, as did the burning intensity of his eyes. “You’re really very beautiful.”

“Am I?” Summer flushed with pleasure.

“I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.”

“Now, I
know
you’re not telling me the truth,” she said, afraid to let herself believe his extravagant praise.

“You don’t have to rely on my word alone. At dinner, the men’s eyes will tell you the same thing.”

Summer realized with a sickening jolt that she wouldn’t care if the rest of the world thought her a veritable witch as long as Brent thought she was pretty. That realization was so momentous she could only mumble a reply.

“I have to go,” Brent said, striving to refocus his mind on his duties while his eyes traveled hungrily over Summer. “I’ve already stayed too long.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Summer sat down with a plop, the painful pinch of the corset all but unnoticed now. She tried to concentrate on the unfamiliar process of applying makeup to an already perfect complexion, but Brent’s image kept intruding on her mind and she snapped the case shut in disgust. She could no longer ignore the fact that she was falling in love with him.

How could she do such a thing? How could she even think of falling in love with a man who had kidnapped her and then forced himself upon her in an act of revenge? Brent had no qualms about using her to satisfy his own physical needs without showing any regard for her wishes. But she loved him….

She smiled to herself as she recalled the way his hair ruffled in the breeze, a stray lock always falling over his eyes. A little shudder of delight ran through her as she remembered the feel of his powerful arms around her and recalled every detail of his beloved face.

But the smile faded from her lips and the animation in her eyes dimmed. What possible chance did she have for happiness? He liked her well enough, but she wasn’t sure his attraction went beyond the pleasure he took in her body. Even this might not be enough to hold his attention once they reached Havana. She had no illusions about her lack of sophistication or her inability to compete with seasoned beauties of practiced charm, and she doubted her youthful allure would be enough to keep him at her side for very long.

Her spirits sagged. Much as she ached for his presence, she knew that physical love would not be enough for her. He had to love
her
, the person inside the softly curved body, the girl behind that pretty face. He had to cherish the impish spirit that hid behind the twinkling eyes and demure smiles.

But who was she? She hardly knew herself. She had been so overshadowed by her mother that she’d never had a chance to think for herself. The freedom she had enjoyed stemmed from the isolation of their plantation, not from any desire to help her develop her own personality. Why hadn’t she been taught to think? Why was it so important to know how to walk across a room, to speak to a man when she had nothing of importance to say?

There’s no use sitting here and feeling sorry for yourself, she thought. You’d better try to get him out of your mind before it’s too late. He probably won’t even remember you once he reaches Havana. She walked over to the porthole and looked out. The sky was a misty gray and the wind whipped the waves into white-capped peaks, but that wouldn’t last long. Yesterday’s breezes had borne the softness and warmth of the Caribbean; their time at sea was drawing to a close. Once on shore there would be so much work he wouldn’t have time for her.

And then there were all those women. Brent rarely mentioned them, but Summer knew they were there. It was impossible for her to believe that any woman could look at him and not feel as she did.

This thought made her so dejected that she felt like crying. You can’t possibly weep at dinner, she told herself. Her mother had once said that men didn’t know what to do with a crying female so they usually got angry. She doubted Brent would be any different.

She sniffed defiantly and dared even one tear to run down her cheeks. Only her glistening eyes hinted at the grief she resolutely held back. I will not become a sniveling miss, she thought, nor will I become a slave to a lot of muscles and a pair of blue-green eyes. I’ll just have to put him out of my mind. If Mother could endure life without the man she loved, then I can.

“I am able to take care of myself,” she said aloud. She knew it wasn’t so, but that was something she refused to admit, even to herself. Things would become too desperate then.

She heard those familiar steps coming down the passage and her chin went up. Hers was an old and aristocratic name; she would not disgrace her heritage. With eyes that glittered a little too brightly and a smile that was pinned too rigidly to her lips, she waited for Brent. She hoped he couldn’t see that her heart was breaking; yet she hoped he would care enough to sense her unhappiness.

Chapter 10

The men did notice the difference. An awestricken silence fell over the room when Summer walked though the door, her petticoats rustling and her rich silks making their clothes appear ordinary by comparison. Even phlegmatic, disapproving Smith agreed that the countess was a stunning young woman. He’s already lost, Smith said to himself, when he saw the smile curving Brent’s lips.

“I told you their eyes would pop out,” Brent said, his laugh not entirely hiding his jealousy. “Close your mouths, you gawking fools. You look like orphan boys in a pastry shop.”

At his stern words his men recovered their wits, but throughout the evening their eyes turned toward the foot of the table to enjoy looking at Summer, to imagine that she was somehow their own, or perhaps to convince themselves that she wasn’t an illusion conjured up out of the cold Atlantic mists to tease their senses. They included her in their conversation more often and listened politely to what she said; they were gradually beginning to accept her presence as a natural circumstance. But even Summer’s overwhelming transformation couldn’t keep their minds off the upcoming competitions.

Two years earlier Brent had inaugurated a series of contests to break the monotony of long sea voyages. In addition to being a much enjoyed break from the grinding routine of the ship, they provided a focus for the men’s time and energy during lengthy periods of waiting and they helped them maintain the skills on which their lives depended. Practicing and bragging went on sporadically during every voyage, but the serious competing was saved for the trip home when the hold was full and they were in the mood for celebrating.

“Horton has been practicing for a week,” Caspian said. “He’s determined to throw farther than you this year, Captain.”

“Trying to get a head start on me?” Brent chided.

“Not that, sir,” Horton muttered, fully intending to break Caspian’s neck when he got the chance. “Just trying to do my best.”

“And hoping his best will beat yours,” Caspian needled.

“Everybody is practicing this year. We’re determined that someone is going to defeat you in at least one event.”

“Are you going to enter all the events, sir?” asked a new crew member who was looking forward to participating in the games for the first time.

“I’m not a Hercules, no matter what Smith says.” Brent laughed.

“Which events do you favor?” asked the young man.

“I’ll have to decide who’s getting too big for his britches first.” They all laughed good-humoredly, each disclaiming that he was cocksure, but ready to point out a mate who could be taken down a notch.

“I think you ought to tell us,” said Lane.

“So you’d know which events to avoid?” quizzed Caspian.

“I know I can’t outrun the captain,” Lane admitted, unabashed. “There’s no disgrace in that. But I suspect he could lap me before he’d gone twice around the deck, and that would be a disgrace.” His frank admission was received with loud guffaws.”

“I appeal to you, ma’am.” Lane caught Summer by surprise. “Is there any disgrace in declining to fight when you know your opponent is sure to win?”

“I don’t think it is a disgrace,” she said thoughtfully, “but it’s no honor either.”

“What did I tell you,” crowed a delighted Caspian. “You can’t back out now.”

“Milady, look what you’ve done to me,” Lane cried in mock despair. “Now I’ll have to enter and prove the captain’s superiority. I’ll never be thought a man.”

“But that’s only part of it,” Summer insisted earnestly, “and sometimes not the most important part.”

“The captain’s probably better at all the other competitions, too,” sighed Lane, amid general hilarity.

“Maybe so,” Summer continued. Her smile threatened to cause Lane’s heart to leap into his throat. “But you can’t finish second to anyone in honor and integrity.”

“No one wants to be beaten out of sight,” contended Lane. He was too young to value honor above recognition.

“If you strive to improve yourself every time, then you’re just as much a winner as anyone else, even if you don’t come in first,” Summer asserted confidently.

“The countess has given you some excellent advice. You would do well to heed it,” said Brent. He gazed at her, his glance compounded of surprise and respect. “It’s unusual to find such wisdom in one so young.”

“I’m sure they know these things already,” she said self-consciously. The men attributed her nervousness to embarrassment, but she knew it was due to a strange new excitement that shook her like a tree in a hurricane. It had come over her when Brent had looked at her with admiration, maybe even pride. It made her bones turn soft and her tongue lie dead in her mouth.