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Authors: Claire Ashgrove

Tags: #Romance, #Historical, #Fiction

Bound by Decency (21 page)

BOOK: Bound by Decency
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Tomorrow she’d explain. As embarrassing as it might be, she’d confess her fantasies about Teddy and her faulty memory of the times they had already lain together.

Or perhaps, come morning, he’d forget her
insolent
tongue. At the very least forgive.

Either way, she tired of the chore of thinking and refused to spend another moment in her head. She’d sleep for now. Solve the problem in the morning. If Cain refused to accept the truth, then when they docked at
Nassau
she’d hire someone to take her back to
England
.

 

 

20

 

 

 

 

“S
o the maid is still intact, I see.”

The goading humor in Drake’s observation snapped Cain from slumber like someone had stuffed a hot poker in his side. He yanked his head up from the tabletop, bolted upright in his chair, and blinked the sands from his eyes. When his bleary vision cleared enough that he could make out the amused twist of Drake’s mouth and his laughing eyes, Cain scowled.

“Leave off!” He winced as his bark set off drums inside his head. On a miserable groan, he buried his face in his hands and pressed his fingers to his closed eyelids to stop the racket behind his skull.

With his usual penchant for making Cain’s life miserable, Drake laughed. “Leave off? Now what way is that to greet the man who’s about to save your sorry arse from humiliation?”

Save him? Cain dragged his hands down his face and arched an eyebrow in reproach. “It’s you who
will
need the saving if you don’t close your trap and leave me be.”

Drake reached across the edge of the table, picked up Cain’s tankard, and turned it upside down. One fat drop of liquid clung to the lip, which Drake caught with his index finger and set upon his tongue. “Brandy? When I retired last night, you were three mugs into the rum.”

Vaguely Cain recalled breaking open the bumpkin with Cleaver after
the mess cleared. But how many mugs
he’d
enjoyed
, or what had become of the small cask, he couldn’t say. He glanced around in search of the container but found only empty tables and a handful of abandoned tankards. He assumed the cook had restored his private supply within the kitchens.

“Cleaver told me I might find you here. Woke me up to advise I should haul you out of the mess before the bells toll and the crew catches sight of your miserable state.”
Drake
set Cain’s mug back on the table. “I weren’t too keen on the interruption.”

He leaned a hip against the edge of the table and folded his arms across his chest. “Though he’s right. It wouldn’t be wise to have the men knowin’ a woman’s got the better of you.”

Cain dismissed the lecture in favor of filtering through the jumbled mess of memories and the thick haze that plagued his
mind
. “What time is it?”

“A bit past dawn. Four bells into morning watch.”

As Cain tried to fill in the gaps in his memory, Drake laughed once again. “Up with you. There’s work to be done. Treasure to log, shares to be assigned, and
Nassau
waits for us tonight.”

Work. As if he could think about work, when he couldn’t get his brain to send the right messages to his body. But nevertheless, Drake was right. Duty demanded his attention. He should have been in the hold recording shares last night, as opposed to drinking
India
off his mind.

An attempt which hadn’t worked in any meaningful manner. Her face rose in his memory at the mere thought of her, and her throaty murmurs of pleasure filled his ears. His body remained every bit as tight as it had been when he’d left her.

He groaned again and leaned forward to gain strength from the sturdy wooden table.

Drake laughed once more and mussed Cain’s hair. Yet before Cain could recoil and punish Drake’s insolence with another bitter insult, in a generous manner, quite uncustomary for Drake, he offered, “I’ll see to your rounds on the deck.”

Mistrusting the generosity, Cain
peered
through his fingers. “You’ll what?”

White teeth peeked through a wide grin, and Drake shook his head. “Go, Cain. My bed is empty, since you seem to be avoidin’ yours. Perhaps undistracted sleep will relieve you of your morose moods.” As an afterthought he added, “Though it seems unlikely, when you refuse to address the cause.”

Sleep. Sweet Merciful Mary, Cain hadn’t heard such a blissful offer in months. Though he knew he ought to protest, ought to force himself to labor, he couldn’t unravel his tongue enough to argue. Instead, he pushed to his feet.

The room swayed like a violent storm had set upon them, and Cain clutched at the table to prevent himself from toppling over. Drake grabbed his elbow, but Cain’s lack of faculties provoked his pride. He jerked his arm free with a disgusted mutter. Perhaps two years had passed since he’d indulged so thoroughly, but he hadn’t forgotten drunkenness enough to fail to remember how stand on his own legs.

He stumbled past Drake toward the stairs to the sound of hearty chuckl
ing
.

****

A
s the low, monotonous drone of six bells reverberated through the cabin’s walls,
India
gave up the notion of sleep. Not that she’d had much between the argument that replayed in her dreams and the occasional interruption of a man’s shout from the decks. The sounds didn’t usually bother her. Tonight, however, it seemed as if every creaky board jerked her into wakefulness and it
required
another intolerable span of time before she could close her eyes and try again.

She scooted to a sitting position in the great bed and rested her head on the headboard.
How had something so right gone so completely wrong?
She asked herself the question for the hundredth time. As it had each previous occurrence, the answer eluded her. Try as she might, she couldn’t understand how Cain could read so much into such a small slip of the tongue. Had she uttered another man’s name, yes, she could understand his coldness. But his
own
name?

With a shake of her head, she let out a sigh. No use sitting and stewing. Better to get up and do something. Let the morning take on another few hours and then track Cain down for answers.

As she swung her legs off the side of the bed, a knock sounded from the door. She froze, yesterday’s fear returning to clamp a vise around her chest.

Don’t be a goose. No one intent on hurting you would knock.

Not entirely convinced by logic, she stopped at the desk to palm the letter opener before she moved to the door and opened it a crack.

“Princess?” Drake asked with a warm smile. “I thought you might like to give the decks another try.”

“Oh.” Dumbfounded by the offer, she stumbled over her tongue.
Drake
had come to escort her? Her brows furrowed as she put two and two together and deduced Cain must still be angry.

Very well, she’d leave the cabin and put herself in his path
,
where he would have to confront her. If they must argue, and he wouldn’t give her the privacy of the cabin, she wouldn’t bother with holding her tongue in front of the crew.

She gave Drake a nod and fumbled for a smile. “Yes. I’d like that. Give me a moment to dress.”

As she eased the door shut, the impropriety of her clothing dawned on her fully. She’d just answered the door and talked to a man, all the while wearing only Cain’s oversized shirt. And she hadn’t cared. Hadn’t felt the least bit embarrassed.

A renegade giggle crept up her throat and slipped past her lips. Oh Dear Lord, what would her father say if he could see her now?

It occurred to her then, she no longer cared. For the first time in her life, she was free to do what she pleased, how she pleased, and when she pleased. All the social constraints she’d worked so hard to master and meant so much to her father, she’d don when she set foot in
England
. But until that date, she intended to sate her curiosity. If that meant throwing off the chains of respectability, then so be it.

Humming to herself, she donned her trousers, shucked the shirt she’d slept in and slid into the smaller one with bloodstains on the sleeve. She grabbed a clean bandana from a loop attached to the wall near Cain’s bed. With three quick turns of her wrists, she fastened it atop her head and tied her long hair into a knot to keep it from falling over her shoulders.

As ready as she’d ever be, she stepped into the hall. Drake met her with lifted eyebrows. His gaze swept from head to toe in less time than it took to blink, and he gave a slow nod of approval. “You’re beginnin’ to wear a seaman’s garb quite naturally.”

She accepted his offered arm with a chuckle. “My wardrobe is a bit sparse, I fear. It seems there wasn’t room for it aboard that tiny row boat.”

“Tiny?” Drake scoffed. “I’ll have you know that particular dinghy can seat twelve men.”

India
wrinkled her nose and flashed him a conspiratorial grin. “Perhaps if it sat fifteen it might be useful.”

Laughing, Drake set his hand atop the back of hers and gave her fingers a squeeze. “Ah, dear
India
, it’s no wonder you plague Cain so. I say, if I weren’t already bedfellows with another, you’d be in a great deal of trouble.”

At the mention of
Cain
,
India
’s heart tripped. She tried to cover the erratic nature of her pulse by focusing on the doors ahead. But the thought that Cain might be standing on the decks beyond, the morning sun on his bare back and his dark hair begging for her fingers to rake it into place, set off butterflies in her belly. She willed the nervousness from her voice, hoped Drake wouldn’t notice her eagerness. “Where is the good captain this morning?”

“I imagine he’s still sleepin’.” Drake ushered her through the door onto a deck far quieter than the one she’d set foot on the previous day.

Though
India
pretended to glance about with interest, she dwelled on the fact Cain was still abed. Had he too suffered the same disquiet she had? If so, did that mean he had come to care for her in some way? She kept her gaze fixed firmly on the tall sails as she asked, “He was up late then?”

Drake lowered his head closer to her ear. “It won’t work, princess. If you wish to know about Cain, you needn’t hide behind polite inquiries.”

Caught off guard, she forgot all the reasons she shouldn’t want Drake to know that Cain’s whereabouts concerned her. Her mouth dropped open in stunned surprise.

Smirking, Drake placed a finger beneath her chin and gently closed her jaw. “That look resembles a fish out of water. Shall we pitch you over to wet your gills?”

Hot color raced to her cheeks. Oh good heavens, she’d die of shame, had he been anyone else. “H-how did you know?”

“Your shoulders are as stiff as iron.” He guided her beneath the taut bowline and steered her to the larboard rail. “You need a lesson on pirate behavior.”

“I do?”

“Aye.” Drake released her hand and leaned his elbows on the rail. Facing the inner guts of the deck, he stretched out long legs and tossed one ankle over the other, lounging much like a king surveying his kingdom. After a few moments of contemplative silence, he casually pointed across the way to where two men knelt together over a large piece of canvas spread out on the deck. “Those men hate each other.”

India
squinted at the pair, trying to decipher what about their body language would give Drake the idea they didn’t get along. For all intents and purposes, they worked efficiently. No glowers passed between them. They didn’t avoid contact, or give each other a wide berth. Perplexed, she looked to Drake for an explanation.

“Both are master riggers. One belongs on my crew, the other on Cain’s. They work together out of necessity. One sets eyelets, the other affixes robands. Would you care to guess why they don’t bicker?”

“Because they fear punishment?”

Drake shook his head. “Neither gives a damn about punishment.”

“Then why?”

He looked down at her, a twinkle in his eyes. “Because pirates, princess, speak plain with each other. On meeting, Hatchet informed Two-Toes he wanted nothing else but to put a ball between his eyes. Two-Toes made it plain he’d prefer to slice Hatchet’s throat.”

India
choked on her surprise. She covered her mouth with her hand and stared at Drake wide-eyed.

Drake’s one-shoulder shrug spoke to his indifference. “We don’t bother with wonderin’ what our mates might do when we turn our backs. Makes for a far more peaceful crew. They don’t have to be polite. An’ wouldn’t think of doin’ so.”

She chewed on a fingernail, trying to process the information. In society, one never knew exactly what a peer thought. On at least two occasions that she could think of, the underlying tension between two rivals caused such discomfort at a garden party, no one dared to jest. The entire
afternoon
spoiled out of fear that if one man said the wrong word, issued an inadvertent insult, fists might fly. Had the men made their dislike plain, they could have avoided one another, or as was more common practice, resolved the matter privately. Here, the sailors had no choice. They depended on each other.

BOOK: Bound by Decency
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