The Pirate and the Puritan (9 page)

He brushed strands of hair from
her face and cupped her cheek, then her forehead. His touch was gentle, but she
couldn’t stop herself from stiffening. She should tell him to leave. He’d taken
too many liberties already. Though she appreciated his kind intent, he was a
man and she a woman and the devil lurked in such innocent situations. At least
she’d been told so enough times to make her think of it now.

To her shock, she enjoyed his
touch. She needed the warmth of his physical support, his help. She needed him.
Unaccustomed tears stung her eyes. She turned her face against her pillow,
confused by her weakness. Instead of pulling away, he caressed her cheek. His
thumb captured the tear clinging to her lashes.

“Please, don’t,” she whispered
hoarsely. She couldn’t remember the last time she had wept. To have someone
wipe away her tears had been an eternity.

He removed his hands obediently at
her croaked command.

“I’m sorry. You’ve been so kind.”
She wiped her tears and sniffed. Even in her worst bouts of seasickness aboard
the
Queen Elizabeth
, she’d not felt this awful. “What’s wrong with me?”

She forced herself to finally
look at him and instantly wished she hadn’t. His face was tanned and rough, yet
undeniably appealing. Eyes the color of warm tropical waters simmered in
angular contours. Against her will she had the urge to compare her rescuer to
Drew. She urgently pushed the thought away. This was a kind stranger, not
another handsome man for her to ogle. What was wrong with her? Was she being
tested? The good Lord should have known by now she’d surely fail.

He stared at her in sincere
confusion, as if she spoke a language foreign to him. “You hit your head.”

His voice sounded peppered with
loose gravel, not like the smooth, comforting tone she remembered from her
blurred hours of illness. Felicity studied his features. As he met her gaze
without the slightest wavering, she was forced to look away to stop the heat
that crept up her neck.

“How did I hit my head? I recall
being trapped in the…” She let her words trail off. The awkwardness of her
position rattled her all over again. She tensed, but couldn’t sit up even if an
armed assassin had marched through the door. Her very presence proved she’d
been lurking where she shouldn’t. And then there was the box. Too many memories
flooded back to her at once. Picking the lock to enter the
Sea Mistress
before Drew slipped away. Hastily skimming bills of sale for a man and a boy.

If Lord Christian Andrews dealt
in slaves—as she now knew he did—perhaps he would sell her as well. She’d heard
of such things, and it would suit him nicely to have her out of the way
forever. This sailor could be nursing her back to health on his orders.

“My father is Benjamin Kendall.
Perhaps he’s your employer?” When he continued to stare without expression, she
rushed to fill up the space left by his apparent desire not to reveal himself
to her. “My presence here was a mistake. I assure you, it’s not what you might
think.”

Trying to figure out what he
might think while coming up with a plausible excuse for it proved too much for
her. Her thoughts became more muddled than they were already. She again gave up
the struggle with her eyelids, bringing up her hand to gently massage her
temples.

She slid her hand into her hair
to find the source of her pain. Her fingers grazed an enormous knot. Examining
its size was too painful, but she imagined it swelled the better part of her skull.
Blasted box.

“Rest,” her benefactor commanded
in his previous half-growl. When he removed himself from her bed, Felicity had
to force herself to be relieved.

“You should eat,” he said. “I
brought you some broth and crackers.” He enunciated every word slowly and
carefully, as if it strained him. His perfect English led her to believe the
language was not foreign to him.

A whiff of what he’d brought on
his tray reached her nose.

“No. I don’t want anything.” She
covered her mouth. The idea alone almost made her retch.

“I’ll feed you. You won’t have to
lift your head.” He answered more easily and smoothly this time, and his voice
grew more familiar, like the soft words from last night. Though she had no idea
what Drew looked like without wig and makeup, and she didn’t even know the
color of his hair, she tried to assure herself this stranger wasn’t he.

She strained to look at him from
the corner of her eye. “What’s your name? I owe you so much.”

He turned his back on her in
answer to her question, proving he was purposely avoiding her request for
information. She truly was grateful, but she’d need more from him than he had
already given. He was her only ally at the moment.

Before she realized what he had
tucked in his hand, he lifted a brown chipped mug to her lips. “Drink. We’ll
talk later.”

“No!” Her sharp answer startled
both of them. The closer he brought the concoction to her nose, the more
violently her stomach reacted. “Please, I’d rather sleep.”

He nodded, then disappeared from
her view again.

When his boots sounded his
return, she forced her eyes open. Before she could return to the sleep she
desperately needed, she had to have the answer to the question that had haunted
her since she’d come to her senses.

“Does your employer know I’m
here?”

He shrugged. “Of course.”

Felicity bolted to a sitting
position. Splinters of pain penetrated the back of her eyes and the room spun,
but she refused to give in to her weakness or her fear.

If this man was Drew devoid of
powdered hair and skin, surely he’d not miss the opportunity to gloat at her
misfortune. She forced herself to study his features with all the intensity her
fuzzy mind could muster. Unfortunately, the effort brought another wave of
wicked nausea.

“I’m the captain of this ship,”
the man said. “I answer only to myself, and you’ve nothing to fear from me.”

His words swept away some of her
panic, but confusion swiftly followed Felicity’s moment of relief. Had she
sneaked aboard the wrong ship?

“Sleep,” her benefactor
commanded. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll make you eat some
soup if you don’t slow that mischievous mind of yours.”

She pretended to follow his
request, but his crooked grin burned behind her eyelids. Another face danced
through the misty meadow separating dream and reality. A brass gong banged
beside her aching head couldn’t have been more unpleasantly shocking. The
unusual color of his eyes, the lean, tall build, even the arrogant smirk—they
were hauntingly similar. Yet it couldn’t be. Even if they were twins, the sheer
kindness, the long hours of unselfish caring starkly separated the two men.
This was not Drew. She refused to believe otherwise or she’d go mad.

Calmed by her rationalization,
she allowed her eyes to flutter shut. A healing sleep crawled over her and
swept her away in spite of the man lingering in the half-open doorway.

***

Drew indulged his desire to watch
Felicity sleep.

When she’d failed to instantly
recognize him, he’d almost believed that his bad luck had turned, but the
calculating gleam in her suddenly wide eyes had dashed any hope he could whisk
her back to Barbados without her knowing his identity. Her gratitude shocked
him. Her vulnerability unnerved him, even more so with her fully awake. The
hissing wet cat he’d faced on every other meeting protected a childlike heart,
raw and ripe for the plucking. Her prickly facade hid what she thought of as
weakness. She craved the touch of another human being, just like everyone else.

Of course, acting on his
attraction for her could only cause them both harm. He turned and left the
room, denying himself the pleasure of pressing his palm against her cheek.
Checking for fever could no longer be used as an excuse to touch her.

He climbed the steps to the main
deck to relieve the helmsman. Much of his time had been spent nursing Felicity,
leaving his small crew exhausted. The severity of her condition had justified
his actions. Her return to consciousness stole his excuse to linger by her
side. Besides, now that she could, she’d probably slap him for the liberties
he’d taken.

At Drew’s approach, Smythe
relinquished the wheel without a word and stumbled below in a bleary-eyed daze.
The rhythmic sloshing of the calm sea warned Drew the simple act of steering
the ship would not serve as the distraction he needed. Thoughts of his
uninvited guest would consume him.

Felicity’s frosty exterior
protected a woman eager to burn with her pent-up desire, he realized. She was
powder waiting to be ignited. Yet, no matter how much he’d like to see her bum
with lust, he’d have to settle for only setting ablaze her anger. He wished
curtailing his appetite had been one of his virtues.

Drew forcibly reminded himself
that Felicity was a friend’s daughter and normally not a woman easily dabbled
with. She’d see him hang if she knew who he was and had the chance. Yet despite
her past animosity toward him, he must continue to act as her protector—even if
it meant taming a shrew while playing the tedious part of gentleman. How ironic
that that was the one disguise he’d never truly mastered.

The morning sun awakened the old
Felicity. Drew walked into his cabin to find her poised in front of the
armoire, balanced on her tiptoes, searching the top shelf for something that
wasn’t there.

Last night he’d oiled the squeaky
door, partly out of an inherent need for stealth and partly for her comfort. As
always, his devious nature proved advantageous. A tray bearing a breakfast of
weak broth, rainwater flavored with a pinch of tea, and a few crackers occupied
his hands, forcing him to kick the door shut with a resounding boom.

Felicity’s gaze jerked over her
shoulder. She froze in her guilty pose, like a child caught misbehaving. Drew
also found himself taken by surprise, staring as wide-eyed as she. His
reaction, however, had more to do with the transparency of her chemise in the
morning light than the discovery of her snooping.

Recovering first, Drew sauntered
across the room and set down the tray. He faced her, arms folded across his
chest, feet braced. “Looking for something?”

Felicity thawed from her
position, her arms slowly melting to hang by her sides. Waves of wild curls
shimmered with a hint of gold in the sun spilling from the cabin’s window. His
gaze drifted hungrily from her hair to the veil of her chemise. The white
garment left her arms bare and exposed her legs, knee to feet. What it did to
her ample curves forced him to drag his perusal back to the glint in her
green-brown eyes.

He corrected his earlier
observation. Ice appropriately described Miss Kendall at their first meeting,
but flame came to mind at the moment. The annoying ache in his empty stomach
slithered lower due to hunger pains of a different kind.

“I...” began Felicity. Her
explanation appeared to evaporate with the questions that drifted across her
features. Her eyes narrowed into feral aggression. The answers she found on her
own obviously stirred her temper. The meek and mild Felicity of the night
before transformed into the adversary he’d come to admire.

“You!” she said in a whispered
curse.

“I’m so pleased you’re feeling
better.” With the shrew back in his helpless patient, he allowed the desire
coiled in his belly to claw its way into his gaze. His vow to protect the
vulnerability he’d discovered in her two nights before wavered when faced with
her venom-filled glare.

But alas, his little Puritan
didn’t appear to notice her state of undress or the wanting in his warning
leer.

Shoulders back, she boldly
stalked him, thrusting her breasts against the white cotton of her chemise.
When she planted her hands on her well-rounded hips, perfect rose nipples
strained against the thin material.

“What is your game?”

As always, the woman’s audacity
pushed Drew past his good intentions. He erased the space between them. His
towering stance forced her to turn her face up to his. He wanted her to feel
his presence, his dominance. The veneer of civility no longer held him in check
and she needed to understand that right from the start.

“Felicity.” He curled her name
around his tongue like a sugar-dipped confection. “No game, love.” He placed a
finger underneath her chin, forcing her to tilt her head even farther, laying
open her soft, pale throat. “But I will be needing an explanation for your
presence aboard
my
ship.”

She slapped away his hand. Her
glare declared her refusal to be intimidated as much as her physical blow. “I
insist you take me back to Barbados this instant. I know you’re a fraud, so
don’t even attempt to taunt me.”

He wanted to laugh at her
audacity and wring her arrogant neck at the same time. “That’s right, Felicity.
I’m no aristocrat. I’m not even considered a gentleman. I’m just a lowly
commoner they would cross the street to avoid.”

His sarcastic comment pricked at
his own raw wound he’d sworn had closed. No matter what he did or became, or
how much money he accumulated, the truth in the statement always haunted him
when he least expected it.

“Don’t flatter yourself. You
sully the name of good common men by lumping yourself with them. You’re nothing
but a criminal.”

As she vehemently flung her
insult, she discreetly backed away from him. He closed the gap in two
determined strides.

“My point exactly, though you
express it more eloquently. You are in no position to make demands.” With the
pad of his index finger, he caressed her shoulder to elbow. “I’ll be the one
doing the demanding.”

Instead of betraying the
slightest alarm at his blatant sexual threat, her pupils flared with indignant
rage. She jerked away from him, but out of obvious disgust rather than
distress.