Sea Mistress (14 page)

Reilly suffered a jolt of alarm. There wasn't one item of Geoff Conrad's left in the officers' cabin. He'd been ordered to remove all of his things when he'd been stripped of his right to the cabin and his position as second mate.

He recalled Conrad's earlier avowal to get even with the Metcalfe woman, and guessed what the man had gone to the lower deck for—which didn't bode well for Bess Metcalfe.

Geoff Conrad blamed Bess for his punishment, which could mean real trouble for her. The woman seemed a nice lady. He wouldn't like to see anything bad happen to her.

Richard Reilly decided that Mr. Kelley needed to know about this.

Seth viewed the
Sea Mistress
from the dinghy as the boat neared the clipper ship. He felt emotion swell within his breast at her magnificence. The vessel had been good to him for the past three years. He'd taken her from Boston to China and from New York to California, as well as many other ports of call. She was a beauty, every inch of her sleek hull and enormous amount of sail.

A cry went out over the ship, heralding the captain's return. A crewman tossed a rope over the side for his commander to climb back onto the ship.

“Captain Garret!” Mr. Kelley grinned down at his commander over the rail. “Come aboard.”

Seth raised his eyebrows with sardonic amusement. “Thank you, mate, for permission to board my own vessel.”

He grabbed hold of the end of the rope and climbed agilely over the ship's side. Two men remained below in the dinghy, waiting to take a few other men for a short leave on shore.

“James,” Seth said, “Mr. Reeves purchased a couple of crates of sugar. Could you please see that they are properly stowed on board?”

“Aye, captain.” The mate barked the order that would see that Seth's wishes were fulfilled. Seth watched the proceedings with satisfaction. The men hoisted up each crate by rope, setting it on the top deck. From there, several men would struggle with the heavy crates, carrying them down to the cargo hold.

Three men then joined the two waiting in the dinghy, and he could hear their expressions of excitement as they began to row toward shore.

“Mr. Jacob,” Seth yelled down to them. “I want all the men back by nightfall. Anyone not back will be left behind. Do you understand?”

The man nodded. “Aye, aye, captain.” The increased merriment on board the small boat told Seth that the men were pleased with the amount of time during which they could enjoy Pernambuco, Brazil.

Seth knew how many of the men would spend much of their time in the arms of a woman, be she Indian or black, for a white woman here was a rare sight. It wouldn't matter to these men with whom they found their pleasure, as long as she had soft bosoms and thighs, and a readiness to please a man.

As the dinghy headed farther toward shore, Seth turned to his mate. “Any problems while I was gone?” During the short time he'd been on land, he'd thought of nothing else but Bess Metcalfe and the problem of her safety around his men.

Before the mate could answer, Seth tensed, for he had seen Bess Metcalfe a few yards away, standing at the rail. His mouth tightened, for she'd openly defied him once again.

James Kelley followed the direction of his captain's gaze. “Aye, captain, I'm afraid we had an incident concerning Miss Metcalfe.”

Seth's blue gaze was fierce as he faced the mate. “Curse the woman,” he muttered. “What did she do now?” Without waiting for an explanation, he started in her direction, until Kelley caught his arm.

“Treat her kindly, Seth.”

Seth's attention was captured by the mate's use of his first name. “Why?”

“The trouble was not her fault. She did nothing wrong, staying below as you'd ordered, and the abuse came to her.”

The captain's heart stopped, and he paled. “Abuse? What do you mean? By whom and how?
My God, is she all right?
”

The fear that had gripped him at Kelley's words took him by surprise, for he'd never expected to be so concerned over Bess Metcalfe.

“She'll survive, sir,” Kelley said. “She just needed to come topside for a while. I let her, for it's easier to keep an eye on her up here.”

“Who?” Seth was angry and anxious for the details. While in port, he'd pondered greatly on the problem of Bess Metcalfe, and he didn't care for the solution. But it looked as if he no longer had a choice, for they had the greatest part of the voyage ahead, the most dangerous part that required the full concentration of his crew.

“Who, James?” He had visions of her being manhandled, even raped, by any one of his men. “Who hurt her?”

“Geoff Conrad. He blamed her for the flogging.”

Seth felt a flicker of guilt, for he knew what Bess must be feeling—that she blamed herself. Hadn't he suggested that very idea to her? He cursed his wicked tongue and the urge to pay her back for the painful past.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

“Perhaps, sir, it would be best if it came from Miss Metcalfe. She alone knows exactly what came about.”

“Aye,” Seth said softly, already striding toward the woman in question. He felt a jolt as he studied her. She leaned against the rail, huddled within a red velvet cape. That she did so in warm weather told him just how vulnerable and distraught she was. He paused in his strides. “Conrad,” he asked the mate, “is he secure?”

“Aye, bound, in the steerage.”

“Good,” Seth said, feeling anger knot up his stomach and momentarily cloud his vision. “I'll deal with the sorry bastard later.”

 

 

She felt his presence before he spoke. Trembling from her recent experience with Geoff Conrad, Bess wanted to turn into Seth's arms and burrow against his shirt front. Despite the past, the breakup of their relationship, Seth was someone familiar, someone who might make her feel like she was something other than a vile object.

But she didn't turn to him. Her eyes filled with tears and she needed to speak, but couldn't. Would he rant and rave and condemn her for Conrad's actions? Would she want to crawl up and die from the shame?

“Bess.” Her name sounded harsh and unfeeling on his lips.

She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. So, he was angry, she thought. Well, then, it wouldn't do to show him tears. It wouldn't do to display weakness.

“I apologize, captain, for being topside,” she said without looking at him. Her throat was so raw and tight, her words sounded strangled. “I know I disobeyed your orders.”

She heard his low, muffled curse, and then felt herself swung about in his direction.

“Damn it, woman!” he growled. “Are you all right?”

Bess was stunned by his expression. He looked concerned, tormented, even furious, but clearly not with her.

She nodded, and was unable to control her tears. A drop escaped one dark eye then several followed until soon she was sobbing quietly, the tears spilling freely down both of her cheeks.

Seth grabbed her arm. “Come with me.”

Startled, Bess could only stumble along in his wake. He pulled her to the ladder, and she balked, unwilling to go below.

“No, Seth, please . . .” she pleaded. “Don't make me go down there yet. Let me stay up here— please.”

There was a desperation to her tone that ate at Seth's heart. “We'll go down just for a little while, Bess. In my cabin.” He spoke to her gently as if she were fragile and likely to break at any harsh words. “I need to find out exactly what happened. I know it will be difficult for you, but I need to know. I promise you that you'll be safe down there with me.”

She held his gaze, and he could sense the private war that raged within her.
My God,
he thought,
just what did Conrad do to her?

And it was then that Seth saw the faint bruise on her left cheek. He reached out as if to touch it and stopped when she flinched away from his hand. Such an expression of fear seemed unlike her, and he wanted to strangle the man who had done this to her.

“Come, Bess,” he said softly. “I'll not hurt you. You know I won't.”

After a moment she sighed and then nodded. She followed him down to the captain's quarters. Seth opened the hatch and gently urged Bess inside his cabin, closing the door and securing it behind him so that they wouldn't be disturbed. When he turned back to her, however, he saw the stark fear in her dark eyes, and he realized his mistake.

“Bess? It's all right,” he said, going to her with open arms. “I locked it so no one can bother us— so you'll be safe.”

The fright slowly faded from her expression. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm not usually so . . . weak.” She didn't come closer, so he lowered his arms.

He gave her an encouraging smile. “You've never been weak in your entire life, Bess Metcalfe.”

He gestured toward the bench built into the wall behind the chart table. “Please sit down,” he invited. Then he went to a cabinet and pulled out a brown bottle. “Would you like a brandy?”

Bess felt her breath catch with a certain memory: of a night long ago when she'd had Mary bring Seth a glass of brandy . . . of the day that followed when she'd found out he had guessed that it had been her and not Uncle Edward who had sent the brandy to his room.

“Yes, thank you,” she murmured, thinking she needed something to fortify her, for she was feeling off kilter. She averted her gaze from his intense blue eyes. She was rapidly forgetting her encounter with Conrad, her thoughts focusing on her attraction to Seth Garret instead. And she wasn't sure which had proved the most disturbing to her—her attraction to Seth or her near rape by the former second mate.

She heard Seth take something out from the cabinet, and her gaze moved back to study him as he withdrew a second cup and then poured out two measures of brandy. He carefully replaced the bottle and then approached her with both cups.

Seth handed her one of the cups before taking a tentative sip from the other one. He seemed tense all of sudden, watchful, until she sipped from the cup, and then he relaxed.

The liquid burned down Bess's throat, making her eyes water, but it tasted and felt good to her. Her hand shook slightly as she raised the cup to her lips a second time.

“Slowly,” Seth said, his expression serious.

She nodded and sipped just a little more. Soon, she felt the liquid heat that had burned her throat warm the rest of her, flowing through her veins, making the tension within her ease away.

“Now,” he said after a short silence. “Tell me what happened.” He stood above her, and she felt intimidated by his towering presence until he sat down beside her on the bench. “Mr. Kelley told me it was Geoff Conrad.”

Bess saw the way Seth's jaw clenched and was amazed by how upset he was. For her? Or for having to again punish one of his men?

She nodded in answer to his question. “He knocked and when I asked who was there, he claimed to be Mr. Kelley.” The horror she'd felt upon opening the door and finding not the first mate but Geoff Conrad came back to her, making her fingers clench about the tin cup. She stared down into the amber liquid.

“When I opened the hatch and saw who it was,” she continued, “I was frightened. But then he said he only wanted to get something of his from the trunk.” She paused a moment to swallow against a suddenly dry throat, and then she took a drink from the tin cup.

“And he forced his way in,” Seth said.

She shook her head. “No. I believed him, or I was afraid not to, I guess. And he did look through the trunk for a while.” She felt her face heat at the memory of him holding up her thin linen night gown. “He said he must be mistaken, that Reilly must have his extra shirt, and I was glad because he was finally leaving.”

Her voice dropped and became barely audible. “I had my hands on the hatch, ready to close it behind him. He was outside, I think.” She stared ahead blankly, and Seth sensed her inner terror.

“And then he shoved me inside . . . and he locked the hatch. Or I thought he had. Then he was coming after me and I was trying to get away from him.”

Seth experienced a burning rage at the mental picture Bess had effectively created for him. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he was afraid of frightening her in her present state. Her ebony eyes flickered closed and then focused on him, the dark orbs glistening with tears.

“Oh, Seth, I was so frightened! I prayed for James to come.” She caught his arm, squeezing the muscled flesh as she mentally relived the experience.

Jealousy clawed at Seth's insides at her easy use of the mate's first name. “I know,” he said softly. “I can imagine.” He was anxious to hear the rest, to know the full extent of what she'd suffered.

“Finally,” she gasped, “he came. Mr. Kelley came. Conrad had hit me and knocked me down. I tried to fight him off of me, but he was so strong . . .”

Seth captured her chin to study her face. “Did he . . . did he rape you?” He shuddered with relief when she shook her head. “Thank God,” he murmured beneath his breath.

“But he grabbed me . . . hurt me, and I heard my trousers tear. I knew what he had in mind.”

Giving in to the urge, Seth pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “Mr. Kelley and Reilly came just when I thought Conrad would succeed. I thought Conrad had locked the cabin door, but I was wrong—thank God!”

She started to shiver, and Seth tightened his arms about her. “I've never been the object of such hate before, such violence.” She pulled back slightly to meet his gaze.

“Bess, it's all right. You're safe now. Conrad's secured. He'll be put off the ship before we leave port.”

“You would do that?”

He nodded, his face grave. “Conrad's been nothing but trouble since he first signed on. ”The flogging was a just punishment for a pattern of insubordination.”

“Oh.” She settled her head back on his chest. She felt warm and protected within Seth's arms. His chest was a solid wall of heat and his scent was pleasantly familiar, stirring up memories of passion-filled trysts and stolen kisses by the pond.

What would it have been like if they'd married as they'd planned?

Bess had wanted to marry before he'd left Wilmington to finish his stint at sea. But Seth had refused, wanting to wait until his return when they could have a big wedding with all the fancy finery and a large number of guests.