Sea Mistress (11 page)

Bess stiffened, and then her belly contracted as his breath caressed the sensitive skin of her storm-ach. Tension sizzled in the air as memories of tender caresses and soft words flooded her consciousness . . . memories of fiery touches and wild passionate cries.

“Bess?” he gently prompted her.

She had closed her eyes, and now she opened them again. There was nothing in his expression that said he had read her thoughts. “I'm fine,” she insisted. She was too aware of his nearness, his scent . . . everything about him.

He stared at her appraisingly. “Don't move,” he commanded, and then he went to the hatch.

She didn't dare argue with him. She felt too vulnerable, too overwhelmed by the storm and then his sudden presence in her cabin.

“Mr. Kelley!” he bellowed through the open door.

“Aye, captain?”

“Bring me the medicine chest.” Knowing he'd be obeyed, Seth closed the hatch and came back to her bunk. “I have salve to ease the sting and keep away infection.”

The thought of Seth spreading salve on her bare belly made tiny bumps rise along her skin. Her neck tingled, and she felt her stomach flutter in nervous anticipation.

Mr. Kelley arrived soon afterward with a large medicine chest. “Shall I call Mr. Jacobs?” the mate asked.

“No,” Seth replied. “I'll handle it.”

Bess had tugged down her shirt to cover her rope burn and stomach from the men's gazes. The first mate left, and Seth and Bess were alone.

The air was charged with a strange energy as Seth opened the wooden chest and dug through its contents until he came up with what he was looking for. He pulled out the container of salve, opened it, and lowered his fingers to the ivory-colored cream. He bent over her, instructing her to lift her shirt once again.

Bess's heart jumped as she realized his intent. “I can do it,” she said in a strangled voice. She was afraid to allow him to touch her again.
How can I still desire a man I detest?

But did she detest him?

Seth stared at her a long moment. With a silent nod, he handed her the jar of salve. He didn't look away as she struggled with raising her shirt hem and holding the jar. With a mild oath, he grabbed the jar back and pulled up her shirt.

Bess gasped and then glared at him, jerking the garment hem away to shield herself from his regard.

“I can do it!” she insisted.

“Stop being so damned stubborn,” he growled. “You're hurt and need help. I'll have to do your back, anyway. You can't reach it! Just be still and let me put this salve on. I'm not going to ravish you, for God's sake!”

They glowered at one another for several seconds. Bess looked away first. Seth was angry, but then so was she. Still, he was right. He wanted to doctor her injury—nothing more.

“All right,” she said, meeting his gaze once again.

With unsteady hands, she lifted her shirt and watched as Seth's fingers made contact with the creamy salve. He bent over her belly and began to spread the cool ointment onto her reddened skin. As she felt some relief from the pain, Bess closed her eyes, enjoying the soothing sensation of his fingers and palm against her tender flesh. He carefully coated her stomach and side before he gruffly ordered her to turn over so that he could reach the rest.

Seth administered the salve to Bess's back. His breath caught as he touched her. Despite his avowal that there was nothing sexual about his actions, he found his thoughts returning to the past. The memory of their lovemaking was crystal clear, and he could feel himself responding as he continued to apply the cream. Once he had caressed the same area in passion. He had touched and fondled every breathing inch of Elisabeth Metcalfe, and she had responded with an intensity, a fervor, that paralleled his own.

His jaw clamped tight as he fought the image, but with Bess there before him, he couldn't fight it successfully. It had felt so good, so sweet, to be buried within her soft warmth. He closed his eyes and groaned inaudibly as he felt his shaft harden beneath his trousers.

“There. That should do it.” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. “I'll leave the jar and check back later. You'll need to keep a careful watch on that abrasion.” As he'd spoken, he'd avoided her glance in the pretense of closing the salve container and straightening the medicine chest.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He paused in the act of closing the chest. His blue eyes probed her lovely face. “This is a long voyage. No doubt we'll encounter more storms. I'll teach you how to tie yourself in without risking damage to that soft, white skin of yours.”

His gaze glowed with sudden fire. Bess looked away, unable to bear the sexual heat. She'd been aware of the growing tension within herself at his touch, but to see it reflected in Seth's eyes . . .

She forced herself to feel anger. This was Seth Garret, the man who had betrayed her. The seducer. The abuser of her affections. But she was unable to get angry.

“I must go up,” Seth said. “You'll be all right?”

Bess nodded her head. “I'll be fine.” She hesitated. “Thank you.”

He inclined his head abruptly, his face unreadable in the golden glow of the lantern. He picked up the medicine chest and turned to leave. He paused by the hatch. “Tell me—did you find what you were looking for?”

“Find?” she echoed dumbly.

His lips firmed. “Did you marry?”

She felt a jolt at the personal question. The bastard! Did he wish to rub salt in an old wound? She reined in her temper. It wouldn't do to let him see how much he had hurt her. “I'm not married.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I decided a husband wasn't worth the trouble,” she said. “And you?”

Something flickered in his blue eyes and was gone. “What do I need with a wife? The sea is my mistress. I'm content.” Seth turned from her and left.

Bess's eyes blurred as she stared at the closed hatch. The pain of feeling abandoned returned to torment her. She recalled all her hopes, her dreams, of sharing the man's life.

She stiffened. Dear God, did he still think she pined for him? Did he believe that she was here, because she still hoped to win his love?

She shuddered at the thought. How humiliating to be attracted to such a man! And Lord help her, she was still, after all these years, physically drawn to him . . . caught by the power of his touch.

Bess blinked away her tears. This was no time to indulge in self-pity over what had happened in the past. Seth might be a handsome man, but she would resist his charms. He claimed the sea was his mistress, but what of his physical needs? He was an intensely passionate man— she of all people knew just how passionate. Did he think to goad her into sleeping with him? He could think again. She would never give in to that magnetic pull. She would prove to Seth Garret that the attraction no longer existed.

You felt something when he touched you . . . an innocent touch, but you felt its fire,
the voice in her head reminded her.

“A moment of weakness. Nothing more,” she muttered. She'd been frightened by the storm, injured, vulnerable. His kindness had unnerved her.

Never again,
she vowed silently,
will I be taken off guard.
The man had abandoned her . . . and their child.

She imagined again the sound of a baby's cry. And the sudden stark quiet that followed. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away.

There was no baby. Born dead, he was gone, the only thing that had remained of their love.

Seth Garret was a dishonorable lout; better she'd known that before having married him, than to find out later, after they were linked for life.

Bess's waist burned from the scrape of the rope and her heart twisted with the pain of loss. But it was the lingering heat of Seth's touch that concerned her the most, for she didn't want to feel anything but the anger that she harbored over the man's betrayal. The last thing she wanted or needed was to feel physical desire for Seth Garret.

 

 

“Captain,” the mate greeted Seth as he emerged from the lower deck. “Miss Metcalfe—is she all right?”

Seth stifled the feeling of irritation brought on by Kelley's interest in Bess. Then he remembered that it had been the mate who'd brought him the medicine chest. “She'll live. She suffered a rope burn.”

To Seth's surprise, the mate flushed. “My fault, I'm afraid. I told her to secure herself on her bunk.”

“You told her right. How were you to know that she'd wrap the damn rope about her waist?”

“Oh, God!” Mr. Kelley said, imagining her injuries.

“Aye,” Seth said, recalling her abraded flesh. “Bad, but it could have been worse.”

“You're being kind.”

Seth smiled mockingly. “Mr. Kelley, I'm never kind. Just ask any one of the crew.”

For the next hour or so, Seth moved about the deck, overseeing clean-up, his presence a silent reminder of authority. His gaze searched for damage and the work that needed to be done to fix it. A soft word in the mate's ear and the chore was accomplished with rapid-fire speed.

All in all, Seth thought, they'd weathered the storm well. None of the crew had been lost over the rail, and they had had enough warning of the impending danger to have taken in sail to save canvas. He went to the quarter-deck and took out his spyglass, viewing the horizon. The sea was choppy but manageable. The
Sea Mistress
was on course, and they'd lost very little time.

The sooner they got to San Francisco, the better. There he'd be free of one Miss Elisabeth Mary Metcalfe, and the ghosts of an unhappy past . . .

He lowered his spyglass, narrowing his gaze on the water directly below on the port side.
She'd been looking to marry wealth. Couldn't she find it?

“I'm not married.”
The words remained in his thoughts, taunting him, tormenting him. The knowledge made a mockery of their passionate past, of the end of their relationship.

Why wasn't she somebody's wife?

And why, in God's name, should he give a damn?

The first two weeks of the voyage passed easily enough. Other than the few days of choppy seas following the storm, the
Sea Mistress
encountered little to throw her off course. Other storms had been spied in the distance, but they had remained miles away, no threat to the clipper ship and her crew and passengers. Still, the men had been prepared, and had kept a keen eye on the dark clouds on the horizon.

Bess managed to get topside often in the days following the storm. When she wasn't guarded by the brooding captain, she was escorted by Mr. Kelley, the first mate, a good-natured man whom the crew respected. She averaged three visits a day, an hour at a time, and she began to live for those moments above deck.

Bess had gained her “sea legs” and no longer felt sick. She enjoyed the clear sky overhead, the huge rippling expanse of the sea, the soft wind tugging the tendrils of her blonde hair, and the activity of a busy crew.

The men, she was amazed to learn, were never idle. The ship seemed to need constant upkeep and repair. If it wasn't the deck being scraped, varnished, or scrubbed, it was the rigging or sails that employed their talents.

The crew was divided into two watches. One, called the “larboard watch,” was overseen by Mr. Kelley, the first or chief mate, while the “starboard watch” was under the supervision of Reilly, the new second mate. Usually, she came topside when it was Mr. Kelley's watch, for she had decided it was best to steer clear of any of Conrad's men.

With the good luck of no lives lost in the storm, the men were more comfortable with having a female on board ship. Bess was no longer regarded with superstition. She, unlike other women, apparently posed no threat.

It was an afternoon during the
Sea Mistress'
s fifth week at sea when Bess was topside that she saw a black spot on the water off the starboard side. She thought it was another ship.

“Land ho!” a sailor hollered from the top of the main mast.

Surprised, Bess squinted to better see the dark mass as the seaman's cry was repeated throughout the ship. A flutter of anticipation rippled over the men on board ship, including the mate who was her escort on this occasion.

“That would be island of Fernando de Noronha,” he said. “We'll pass by her for the port of Pernambuco where we'll take on supplies.”

Bess continued to stare at the horizon and felt excitement and curiosity about the land ahead. Clouds cloaked the island, making it look mysterious. What was it like, that dark island? “At Perna—” She frowned. Both names sounded so foreign to her.

Kelley smiled. “Per-nam-buco.”

“South America?”

He nodded.

She was thoughtful. “We'll be taking on fresh water,” she said. “Fresh meat, too?” She sounded hopeful.

The first mate grinned. “Perhaps, but I'm not certain. I heard there is coffee, sugar, and rum. And I imagine there must be some vegetables and fruit.”

“You've not been there before?”

He shook his head. “The captain has, but I've only been with the
Sea Mistress
since twelve months past.”

“Seth must think a great deal of you,” she said, turning to study the man thoroughly. “You must be a good and well-respected seaman to be the first mate. How did you come to work for the captain?”

“We met in China. I'd been hired on the
Mary Jane,
but I wasn't happy. The captain was a cruel man, quick to anger and without conscience when it came to inflicting punishment and pain.” The young man's eyes glistened as he became lost in the memory. “We'd been allowed a day's liberty on shore, and I'd recently been flogged for breaking one of the captain's rules, something I didn't do. The last thing I wanted to do was return to the ship, and I must have spoken of it aloud in the tavern I was patronizing. Seth—ah, I mean, Captain Garret—was there, and he heard me. He was with the crew manning the
Sea Mistress,
and her captain was Joel Johnson.”

Bess nodded. “I know Captain Johnson. He was a good friend of my uncle's.” For a moment, her eyes grew moist with fond memories of Uncle Joeson's teasing, the way he could make her laugh. It had been so long since she'd seen him. In fact, it was from him that she'd learned about the riches that could be made in San Francisco.

She had heard from him months after Uncle Edward's death. Somehow the man had learned of her uncle's demise, and had immediately written to offer his condolences. She'd never questioned how Uncle Joeson had known that Uncle Edward had left everything he'd had to her. Uncle Edward and Joel Johnson had been close friends for years. Her uncle must have told his friend about his will.

Bess couldn't wait to see Uncle Joeson. She'd thought of him often during the past months, especially after receiving his letter. She'd longed to talk with him about her deceased uncle; no. one but Joel Johnson would mourn Edward Metcalfe as much as she.

Had he received her letter telling him that she was coming? It seemed like forever since she'd decided to go to California. She'd closed up the house in Wilmington and had left a long-time employee of Uncle Edward's in charge of the business. She planned to stay in California as long as it took to set up a mercantile before she headed back home to Delaware.

“You know Joel Johnson?” James Kelley asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She nodded. “Was he a good captain?” she asked, recalling those stories of cruelty about him that she never believed.

“I never sailed with him, I'm afraid. But Captain Garret thought him a good man, and if he believed it, then I do, too.”

“I don't understand,” Bess said. “I thought you said you met Seth in China. Didn't you sail back with them?”

James Kelley shook his head. “I try my best to be an honorable man, Miss Metcalfe. I hired on to work the
Mary Jane
from Boston to China and back, and even though I had regrets, I wasn't about to go back on my word and abandon her before she got back to Boston.” He caressed the rail as if he loved the ship and the life she offered him. “It was years later when I accidentally met up with Seth again. By then, Joel Johnson had retired, and Seth was at the helm of the
Sea Mistress.
We were at the Port of Wilmington. I was between jobs, seeking to hire on. Seth remembered me instantly and offered me the job of his chief mate.”

“Listening to your story, Mr. Kelley, I can understand why he hired you. You're a good man.”

To her surprise, the man blushed. “Yes . . . well,” he stammered. “I don't know about that—”

She took pity on him and changed the subject, although she was intrigued by what he'd told her, and she wanted to know more. “This Pernambuco—how long before we get there?”

“By first light is my guess,” Kelley said, looking relieved.

She was disappointed. “That long?”

Kelley smiled, his gaze on the obscure land. “ 'Fraid so, miss.”

“How long will we be in port?” she asked. As much as she had enjoyed the voyage, she longed to be on dry land for a while.

The mate met her sparkling dark eyes and frowned. “A day, if that.”

Her face fell. “Only a day? Oh, I was hoping—”

“It's doubtful the captain will allow you off the
Sea Mistress,
miss—”

“Bess,” she insisted without thought.

He nodded. “Bess,” he amended. “It may not be safe there for a lady such as yourself.”

Bess scowled. “I'm not safe on board this ship apparently, Mr. Kelley,” she said. “Or else why would I need an escort?”

“James,” he prompted, extending to her the same courtesy. “You've a point there, Bess. But if the captain says no . . .”

“Then I'll be a prisoner on board ship,” she muttered.

“Not a prisoner,” the mate said. “Merely a well-guarded guest.”

When she retired to her bed that night, Bess made a vow to speak to Seth about going ashore first thing in the morning. By hook or by crook, she would get off the ship. Somehow she would have to convince him.

She thought of Seth's strange behavior lately. Since he'd come to check on her after the storm, he'd become more withdrawn, more somber. It had made her realize just how little she knew Seth Garret.

Why did he come to check on her himself? Why didn't he send Reeves, or James Kelley? These questions had been bothering her for a while now, and she was no closer to knowing the answers. The only reason she could come up with was that she was the cousin of George Metcalfe, the new owner of E. Metcalfe Co. It was his responsibility as George's employee to see to the safety of his young relative. But if that were, indeed, the case and she was just a responsibility, then why did he appear to be avoiding her now? Would she ever understand Seth Garret?

Bess awoke after a restful night. Despite her anticipation of reaching land, despite the unpleasant prospect of confronting the captain, she slept well, better than she had since first coming on board.

Thinking to boost her confidence, Bess donned an outfit more befitting her own sex. Up until now, she'd worn only men's clothing, but yesterday, after returning from her afternoon visit to the upper deck, she'd beseeched Reeves to go down into the hold and find her trunks. She wanted to wear garments more suitable for a lady. When he couldn't find Bess's things, Reeves looked through the new merchandise and brought her up a gown, a red velvet cape, and a few other items of feminine apparel. The blue dress was nothing elaborate. There was no fancy lace on the sleeves or collar, no extra ribbons or bows to adorn the waist. But it had a full skirt and tiny buttons that fastened up the front. And the dress felt good to Bess, who hadn't felt feminine in a long time.

The garment had been slightly large for her, so she'd spent the rest of yesterday afternoon and part of the night altering the gown so that it would fit her. And she was satisfied with the results.

But as she fastened the tiny buttons that ran up the front of the blue gown, Bess began to have doubts about whether or not she should wear it. Would the sight of her in a dress increase Seth's misgivings about her safety? Perhaps she would be smarter to put on the man's shirt and trousers to avoid reminding the crew that she was a woman. If only she had a mirror. Then she could decide what to do.

Bess recalled the flame of desire in Seth's gaze when he'd nursed her injuries.
Wear the dress. Make yourself irresistible to him.
Why shouldn't she try to charm him into allowing her off the ship?

She took a moment to brush her long, blonde hair until it shone and fell loose past her shoulders. She rolled the golden strands and started to pin them up, but then she thought better of doing so. If she was going to successfully use her wiles to get what she wanted—which was to go ashore— then she had to go the whole length.

Bess allowed her hair to fall freely once more. She pinched her cheeks to give them color, and then she left her cabin for Seth's quarters across the passageway.

Bess knocked and waited. When Seth didn't answer her summons immediately, she rapped again.
Seth must be topside.
Disappointed, she turned back toward her own cabin.

A sailor appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, as she was about to open the hatch. “Why, if it isn't the little lady bird?” he drawled. “Dressed up mighty fine now, are we?”

She jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. Her heart pounded within her breast as she recalled Seth's earlier warning to her.
“Stay below unless escorted by me or Mr. Kelley. And for god's sake, avoid contact with any of the crew!

She recognized the man's face, but didn't know his name. And she didn't care for the way he ogled her.

She returned his stare, refusing to be afraid.
Stand up to. him and he'll leave,
she thought. She glared at him, hoping he'd get the message. “If you'll excuse me—” Bess turned away to dismiss him, fumbling with the latch.

But he blocked her with his arm. “What's yer hurry?”

His action seemed menacing. Bess was afraid to open the hatch. What if he shoved her inside? She'd be helpless until someone heard her screams, and by then it would be too late.

“I don't want to seem rude, Mr.—”

“Reilly, miss. Richard Reilly.” To her surprise, he unblocked her way to tug at his forelock in introduction.

The new second mate.
“Mr. Reilly, I really must go—”

“Why?” He studied her appearance, but his gaze no longer seemed wicked. Bess relaxed a bit. “As I says, what's yer hurry? You were looking for the captain, weren't ya?”

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded.

“Well, I know where he is. In the galley, talkin' to Cookson. Want me to get him fer ya?”

Bess shook her head vehemently. “No, thank you, Mr. Reilly.” She could imagine Seth's reaction should this man summon him for her. He wouldn't appreciate being disturbed, especially for her.

“If ye're sure . . .”

She inclined her head. “Yes, thank you.”

But then she stopped him as he was leaving. “Oh, Mr. Reilly, there is one thing you can help me with. Can you tell me if we've anchored yet?”

“Not yet. Will soon, though.” His bright expression told her he was looking forward to going ashore.

“The island,” she said, “. . . is it a dangerous place?”

“Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“If you're a lady like you or an old salt tar like me. No one is gonna bother this seaman.” Chuckling at her scowl, he left her with the truth of his disappointing answer.