Windswept (26 page)

“Then who is acting captain?”

The sailor snatched a wool stocking cap from his head, causing strands of greasy gray hair to stand on end. “You’re lookin’ at him. Reggie Smythe.” He emitted a belly laugh and punched at Jacob’s arm. “What’re you so surprised for? This bucket’s still afloat, ain’t she?”

Jacob turned around, expecting to have to coax a look of pure terror off Nora’s countenance. But what he saw was an odd little twist to her pink lips, and a purely astonishing twinkle in her eyes. She wasn’t doing it openly, but inside, Nora was smiling.

If she wasn’t afraid or offended by this ramshackle crew, then maybe he was jumping to unwarranted conclusions. Truly, appearances weren’t always an important indication of a man’s character. And Vasquez was on board, and no doubt still had his finger on the pulse of everything that happened on his ship. Perhaps Nora could sail safely with this crew after all.

“I’m seeking passage for this woman,” Jacob said. “She needs to return to Key West as soon as possible, and the
Dover Cloud
is sailing south. Would you have any objection to delivering her to that destination?”

Smythe looked around at his companions who, during Jacob’s request, had drawn into a tight circle around the threesome from the
Dover Cloud
. The grins on their faces left no doubt of their answer, but Smythe confirmed it with a cackle and a decisive nod of his head. “I don’t think ‘objection’ is the word that comes to mind, Captain, and since we’d already planned to stop at Key West, I’d be mighty glad to have the lady on board.”

The sailors of the
Sea Hound
expressed their anticipation with overtly bawdy mannerisms that stopped just short of drooling. Jacob looked at Nora again, expecting a squeal of protest from the Richmond born debutante. “You heard the men, Miss Seabrook. What do you say?”

She thrust her little chin out as though sheer determination was enough to protect her in this den of lechers. “The arrangements are fine with me, Captain,” she said, “…as long as they suit you. I know you only have my best interests at heart.”

Jacob longed to see her knees once more, but not for the seductive pleasure of ogling her bare calves, but because he was quite sure her joints were knocking together in trepidation under all that fussy yellow material. But, damnation, she was playing her bluff like a New Orleans card sharp. It was a long shot, but maybe she would be delivered safely by this crew of reprobates. But Jacob wouldn’t bet on it. The only factor that would convince him otherwise was if the
Sea Hound’s
passenger list included women. If Nora would be sailing with ladies like herself, he might consider leaving her. Ultimately it would be a far better situation for her than going to Belle Isle.

“Tell me, Mr. Smythe,” he said, “have you any passengers on board?”

“Yes, Captain. We have seven paying customers, all bound for New Orleans.”

“I’d like to meet them if you don’t mind,” Jacob said.

“Don’t mind a’tall.” Smythe pointed to a group of young men peering at the commotion from several feet away. “That’s them sittin’ over there.”

Jacob had noticed the youths when he came on board, but had taken them for cabin boys. Learning they were passengers, he gave them a stern scrutiny now. They were scarcely out of their adolescence. Not one of them could even have attained Nora’s age, though now that he regarded their dress, they appeared to be of equal social status as the Seabrooks.

“These boys are your only passengers?” he asked.

“That they be,” Smythe assured. “All seven of them sent by their rich pappys to some fancy university in New Orleans. A fairly worthless lot of lazy puffs if you ask me, but for what they paid for their passage, I ain’t one to criticize.”

Any number of criticisms came to Jacob’s mind. Like why did their jaws practically hit their chests when they stared at Nora? And why did they whisper and chuckle behind their lily white hands? Did they think social position entitled them to liberties not afforded to more common folk? If Jacob had hoped to find comfort in the
Sea Hound’s
passenger list, he was sorely disappointed. And his mind was made up.

“Thank you just the same, Mr. Smythe, but I’ve changed my mind.” He pivoted around to take Nora’s elbow and practically propelled her to the ship’s deck rail before issuing a command in her ear. “We’re going back to the
Dover Cloud
.” Then in a gruff whisper, he added, “and you can just wait a minute to hike up your skirt!”

She came to an abrupt stop inches from the rail and gently but firmly pried his fingers off her elbow. “That’s fine, Jacob, but first I have something to do and you can just wait a minute.”

She went back to Smythe leaving Jacob to follow the yellow flounce of her hips with his eyes. He strained to hear what she had to say. “Mr. Smythe, would you be so kind as to get me a paper and pen?”

Paper and pen? Now what was she doing? When Smythe returned with the requested items, she quickly scrawled a note across the page, folded the sheet and wrote several lines on the outside. “If you wouldn’t mind seeing that this gets to the proper party…” she looked over her shoulder at Jacob. “Captain Proctor will see that you are compensated for your efforts.”

He stood dumbstruck for seconds. What? She expected him to pay Smythe to do her bidding? A slight tilt of her head and a pointed widening of her eyes warned him that he’d better do just that. He took a few coins from his pocket and delivered them to Smythe’s hand. Only then did Nora proceed to the rail to wait for him to start down the ladder.

Not a word was spoken all the way back to the
Dover Cloud
. Nora stared straight out to sea as if the men in front and behind her didn’t exist. And what was there for Jacob to say? It had been his decision to return her to his ship, and he had to live with it.

As the
Sea Hound
hoisted sail and began a northwest heading, Jacob watched his last efforts to keep Nora from Belle Isle sail with her. The die was cast. He couldn’t let her go. So he’d just have to do what he could to protect her.

Once back on board the
Cloud
, Nora went immediately to Will’s cabin. When Jacob realized she still wasn’t going to talk to him, he followed her. She allowed him entrance, most probably because his large frame prevented her from shutting the door. He crossed the threshold and kicked the door closed with the heel of his boot. Then he paced, though in Will’s smaller quarters there really wasn’t far to go, and the effort did little to relieve his frustration.

Nora waited, watching him.

“Well,” he finally said, “aren’t you going to say something?”

“Like what?”

“Like admitting what you really felt about staying on that ship?”

“I’ll readily admit to knowing how
you
felt about me staying on the ship.”

“Is that so? You know how I felt?”

She smiled with the confidence of a sparrow who’d just found the worm in the apple. “Jacob, when we boarded the
Sea Hound
and I looked at the expression on your face, my only real concern was how I’d manage those blasted ladders again

Chapter Sixteen

Jacob had to admire her mettle. It was equal to that of the Key West wreckers who risked life and limb to reach stranded ships. Nora’s pluck was more subtle than theirs, but just as effective. And like most sailors, she didn’t hold back saying what was on her mind.

Hell, it wasn’t just her grit he admired. It was everything about her, and it was getting more difficult with each passing moment to ignore every tense impulse in his body which urged him to act on his baser, manly instincts.

He’d never known a woman like her. She’d rendered him speechless more than once with a well-aimed dart of truth. And she’d snared him on several occasions in the shimmering nets of her eyes. He turned away from her now before she realized the power she wielded over him with a word and a look.

“What was in the note you gave Smythe?” he demanded as his gaze remained fixed on a small porthole.

“Nothing important,” she said. “Just the very words that could keep you from becoming the next exhibit on the Key West gallows.”

Her words intrigued him. He turned to look at her. “Oh really? Would you care to explain?”

“I wrote to my father telling him I boarded the
Dover Cloud
of my own free will and have chosen to stay because it is the best way to secure my safety. I told him not to worry. That you would deliver me home unharmed.”

He allowed her words to sink in, along with the surge of gratitude he suddenly felt for her admission. It couldn’t have been easy for her to tell her father that she had ventured on board Jacob Proctor’s ship voluntarily.

After a moment, she said, “That is true, isn’t it?”

“That I will deliver you unharmed? Certainly. I’ll do my best. That your father will believe it, I doubt very much.”

“The proof of the pudding is in the eating, Jacob. Even for my father’s stubborn tastebuds. There is, however, one thing which would make me feel more confident about the outcome of this voyage.”

“If it’s within our power, I will see that my crew accommodates you.”

“They’ve already proven that they’re unwilling to accommodate me on this matter.” She pulled out the chair under Will’s simple trestle desk and sat down. When she looked up at Jacob her eyes shone with cobalt intensity. “I want to know where we’re headed. And since I’m here for the long journey, I think I have a right to know.”

Of course she did. And he had to tell her enough to satisfy her curiosity…for now. He sat on Will’s narrow bed. His knees were mere inches from hers. “We’re going to an island in the southern Caribbean, Nora. It’s located between Barbados and Trinidad, though compared to those islands, this one is barely a speck on the map.”

“And what is this island called?”

“Belle Isle.”

“A beautiful name,” she said. “Is it truly as beautiful as its name implies?”

He nodded. “It’s remote, unspoiled. Raw beauty I would call it. Very private. Chances are the only vessels you will see in the simple harbor are single masted sailboats, fishing smacks and dories.”

“Then why…?”

Since she left her question unasked, he finished it for her. “Then why is a schooner the size of the
Dover Cloud
venturing into its secluded port? Why are we welcome there?”

“Yes.”

“Because the island is the property of Harrison Proctor, my father.”

“Your family
owns
the island?”

He shrugged an affirmative response. “My father is the second generation caretaker of the property. It, and the title of Lordship, was originally bestowed upon my grandfather, Charles Proctor by the Duke of Wellington in 1815.”

“1815?” she repeated. “The Battle of Waterloo.”

Jacob cast her an admiring look. “Exactly. You know your history. Though you French must not like to be reminded of this episode from your past.”

She smiled. “I was born in America, Jacob. Long after the Napoleonic Wars ended.”

“So…since there are no ill feelings, I can tell you that my grandfather was somewhat of a military genius. The Duke of Wellington convinced King George to reward Charles for his efforts on the continent by doling out a small estate near Dover which included all Lord of Manorial Rights. With Braxton Manor came a small island in the Caribbean, one which had been claimed for the British flag some hundred years previously.”

“How interesting,” Nora said. “Tell me, how did the island come to have a French name?”

Jacob chuckled. “That, I was told, is strictly the result of my grandmother Lydia’s fanciful sense of humor. The first time she visited the island, she was struck with its majesty, and the fact that it was hers only because the French lost the Battle of Waterloo. She thought it ironically appropriate to attach a French name to her newfound paradise. Lyme Island became Belle Isle. It’s a fitting title and it stuck.”

“Do they live on the island, your grandparents?”

How different Jacob’s life would have been if they had lived there. Their presence wouldn’t have changed his future, but their cheery demeanor would have done much to alter the gloomy aspects of his past.

Nora’s question brought back memories of the day just after Jacob’s ninth birthday -- the day his grandparents were killed in a carriage accident near Dover. He could still remember his grandmother’s bright laughter and her hand gently ruffling his hair. And he recalled nights by a warm fire in the library of Braxton Manor when he sat at his grandfather’s knee listening to exploits of campaigns and military heroism. “No,” he said. “They’ve been dead over twenty years.”

“How sad they didn’t have more years to enjoy their island. But your father and mother? They are at Belle Isle?”

He remembered his mother in nightmares when her pale face and cold, dark eyes came back to haunt him. Memories of the night she died still plagued him. He shivered even now when he recalled her that next morning, her body misshapen, the translucent skin battered and scarred by jagged rocks, her many cuts and abrasions bleached white by salt water. “My mother died when I was twelve,” he said.