Sea Mistress (16 page)

He scowled. “Yes,” he said. “I'm the captain of this ship, and my word here is law. Unless you and your Mr. Reeves wish to enjoy an extended stay at Pernambuco, you will marry me and you will act as though you're happy about it.”

“You're actually threatening to throw us off this ship?” He nodded. “Even though you made a deal with m-my cousin?” He inclined his head a second time, and Bess was outraged. “Why that's blackmail!”

Seth stifled the twinge of guilt he felt at resorting to such tactics. “Call it what you will, but I believe it's sound logic and good sense.” It was, after all, for her own good that he was doing this. Didn't she realize this? How could he make her understand?

And as for his motives, fear for her safety was number one, but at the same time a small part of him wanted to return to the past, forget what had happened between them, and be free to call her his wife, even if it was just for a short while. Even if it was just pretend.

“Blackmail or not, I'm dead serious about my threat. So the choice is yours, dear Bess. Marry me or
enjoy
your stay in Pernambuco—indefinitely.”

“Bastard!” she cried. Bess lunged at him with raised fists.

Only one of her blows struck him, in the shoulder, before he caught her wrists, effectively stopping her from hitting him again.

The tension between them sizzled in the air as they glared at each other. Seth could feel her slender wrists within his hands, and he wanted to slide his fingers up her arms, along the hollow of her neck then down . . .

Cursing him, Bess began to struggle anew. “I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth! Not if you were the only thing keeping me from a sure death!”

She kicked him in the shin, and he grunted with pain. Furious, Seth changed his grasp. It was a fight but he finally secured her within his arms, her back to his chest, her arms locked across her breasts and belly, her hands pinned at opposite sides.

“Bess, stop it!” he commanded.

She continued to fight, butting herself back against him, kicking him with her heels. In her position, she couldn't cause Seth much damage, but that didn't mean he wasn't more than a little annoyed with her.

“Elisabeth Mary Metcalfe! Stop it this instant! Fighting like this will get you nowhere.
Do you hear me?
Nowhere!”

Exhausted from her efforts to break away, Bess slumped within Seth's arms. He was right, she admitted to herself. Fighting him would get her nowhere. But it had given her immense satisfaction to strike him, for it was a way to get back at him for all the heartbreak he'd caused her years ago.

She stood still, her breathing ragged, conscious of his firm grip on her arms and of the pressing weight of his lithe form against her back. His clean masculine scent reached out to tantalize her. She closed her eyes, and silently willed away the confusion, the faint stirring of desire.

Why? Why was this happening to her? Nothing was going as planned. Marriage to Seth Garret! Once the idea would have delighted her to no end. She had never been happier than when she was planning to be his wife, but now . . . she was frightened.

She could lose everything if they married and the truth became known. Everything—including her very soul.

She'd sworn never again to love or feel anything for a man. But most especially this man. Seth Garret.

“Please release me,” she said coldly.

“You'll not bodily attack me again?”

Bess nodded, astonished and slightly ashamed of her violent outburst and behavior. She'd never hit a person in anger before, only in jest. But she had wanted to hit Seth, to hurt him, and she was shaken that she could so easily lose control.

Seth let her go, and she moved away quickly, her head bowed low. She could sense his regard, but refused to acknowledge it by looking at him. What was she going to do? Bess didn't doubt that Seth meant business when he threatened to put her and John Reeves off the
Sea Mistress.
He'd said that Pernambuco was unsafe for her, yet he'd leave her there with only Reeves to protect her from harm.

Anger warmed her insides. Nothing Seth had said made sense to her. He was just trying to manipulate her so that she'd go along with his desires.

“You said you wanted to marry me to protect me, yet you'd leave me here with only Reeves?”

“I said marriage to me would protect you, yes,” Seth said, “but that's not the only reason I think it's a good idea. I have my men to think about. My decision was made to avoid trouble among my crew.”

She blinked. “I see.” And she did. That did make sense to her. And it seemed to properly define his motives.

No, I think not,
Seth thought.
But it doesn't matter, because I'll not admit the truth to you. That I'm still attracted to you, despite the past, and I'll not lay a hand on your lovely body, although God knows it won't be easy for me to keep from touching you.

She thought he'd professed desire to convince her to agree to the marriage. Good, he decided. Let her think it. It would make things easier that way.

Bess appeared to be battling with indecision. “You'll not touch me.”

His mouth tightened. “Except when necessary.” He heard his own teeth grind. “Listen here, Bess, and listen well. When we marry, we may not be man and wife in the true physical sense of a marriage, but no one must know that. Every man on board this ship must believe that our marriage is genuine. Marriage to me will offer you little protection if they don't.”

He grabbed her chin, raising it until his blue eyes captured her gaze. “You will act the happy bride. I will be your devoted bridegroom. Now, do you think you can do that?”

She jerked away from him, stepping back to glare at him. “Act happy as your wife?”

Seth narrowed his eyes at her scathing tone. Then, he nodded.

“Fortunately for you, dear Captain, I know how to playact, and I can do so well.

“Indeed, Miss Metcalfe,” he said curtly. “I think perhaps I've experienced this acting before.”

The painful past hovered in the air between them.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” she said.

“It means, dear future wife,” he replied with an ingratiating smile, “that you and I will make a wonderfully convincing couple in the throes of newly wedded bliss.”

“Marry him? Are you crazy?” John Reeves exclaimed. “You can't marry the man!” He ran a hand through his graying hair, tugging the ends until they stood up straight like a porcupine's quills, as he paced about Bess's cabin.

“He says it's the only way,” Bess said with a calmness she hadn't felt earlier. “Marriage to the captain will keep me safe.” She averted her eyes from Reeves's probing gaze, conscious of the way her face heated at the thought of marrying Seth Garret.

“You can marry me.” His words were quiet, but no less startling.

Bess's eyes glistened. “Oh, John, that's sweet, and I appreciate the offer—I really do, but—”

“Yes?” He seemed overly anxious for her to explain herself.

“Do you honestly believe that as your wife I would be protected against Garret's crew? But as the wife of the captain . . .”

Pain flashed briefly across Reeves's expression. “I suppose you're right.”

“You know I'm right.” Her smile was affectionate. “The arrangement will be a temporary one only. As soon as we reach California, we'll have the marriage annulled.”

Reeves's brow furrowed with astonishment. “Annulled, he says?”

She nodded, hoping that he couldn't read her own doubts, her fears.

“You trust this man that much?”

Bess swallowed before answering. “I don't know, but what other choice do I have?” It was either marry Seth Garret or be put off the ship in a foreign, perhaps hostile land. She didn't tell Reeves of Seth's threats: Her friend would be furious, and he and the captain might come to blows. Then she and Reeves would most certainly be put off the
Sea Mistress.

“Don't marry him.”

She raised her eyebrows at his persistence. “See this bruise on my cheek,” she said, pointing toward the sore area on the right side of her face. “You can stand there and clearly see this, yet still promise me I'll be safe?” Bess sighed. “John, I'm tired of spending most of my time below in this cabin. I want to be able to come and go as I please.” She paused. “Seth has assured me that, as his wife, I'll be able to do so.”

Without a word, Reeves stared at her, his expression mirroring his pain and anger.

“John?” She needed his support in this. She didn't know what she'd do if she didn't have John Reeves to help her at a time when she was going to need a friend the most.

He shook his head as if shaking himself from his somber mood. He gave her a forced smile. “I'm sorry,” he said huskily. “You're right, of course. It's just that I can't help feeling that somehow Garret has ulterior motives for asking you to be his wife. A motive other than what he claims.”

Bess had to silently agree.

“I only wish it could have been me,” he said. “That marrying me would protect you. I still wonder—”

“Why, John Reeves, what a lovely thing to say!”

He flushed. “Yes, well . . . I've got to go below to check on the condition of our goods.” He seemed anxious to be gone, and quit the cabin.

Bess was, in fact, more than a little nervous about the situation. Marriage to Seth! Once the idea of marrying Seth had been her greatest desire, but that had been before he'd left—before she'd learned his true nature.

Relax. It's not as if things will change much after you're married,
an inner voice said.
You'll still be in your cabin while he'll be in the captain's quarters across the way
. . .

Bess relaxed. It was true. What did she have to be concerned about? As long as the marriage wasn't consummated, then they would have no trouble getting it annulled. The key was in not allowing Seth to touch her—to ignore the physical attraction between them and keep the man at a distance.

And as long as Seth didn't learn of her position in the E. Metcalfe Company . . .

Seth had gone back to Pernambuco to make arrangements for their wedding. Soon he'd return and bring the missionary with him, the man who was to perform the wedding ceremony. Would this George Dunnon be willing to marry them with no questions asked? She knew little of the laws of marriage, but she was aware of the posting of the banns. Were things different here in Brazil? Would the man accept the unusual circumstances of this union and go ahead with ceremony? Or would he refuse to marry them until the proper time passed for the banns? How ironic that she should be marrying Seth now, hastily, under these strange circumstances!

Bess examined her mannish clothes. She didn't look like a bride-to-be. Seth said that they would be playacting, that it was important that everyone on board ship believed that they were in love. A happy bride-to-be would want to look her best for her intended; the shirt and trousers would never do for the wedding ceremony. It was then that Bess thought of the gown that Reeves had unearthed from the goods in the cargo hold.

She felt a moment's alarm. Had Conrad made a mess of the simple, but pretty gown? She pictured the dress as a crumpled ball inside the trunk, touched by the former second mate's hands.

Bess hurried to the trunk and threw open the lid. She hadn't looked inside since her encounter with Geoff Conrad, but someone else had, and she suspected that it had been Reeves. Or Seth's steward, young Mark Hawke, who was the brother of one of the other crew men.

All the clothes had been refolded and arranged neatly. Bess's blue gown was on the top, and she lifted it out carefully, shaking the garment so that the skirts fell freely. She inspected the gown with a critical eye and was satisfied that, except for a few minor wrinkles, it appeared presentable. She had already repaired the garment, stitching on all the buttons she'd accidentally torn off when she'd taken the gown off. If she could hang it somewhere until the ceremony, the weight of the skirts would remove most of the wrinkles. She took the lantern down from its hook and hung the gown in its place.

Eyeing the dress, Bess found that she was anxious to don feminine apparel again and to arrange her hair differently so that the style was less severe. She wanted to look like a woman for a change and not a girlish-looking young man. She thought longingly of the oil-scented baths she used to take in the privacy of her bedchamber, and the desire for such a soak overwhelmed her now.

The
Sea Mistress
was in port. Why couldn't someone arrange to have a bath brought for her? A real bath with fresh water, not salt water from the sea.

Bess decided to ask James Kelley. She was going to be Seth's wife; surely, they could accommodate this one wish of hers. It was the least they could do since she wasn't allowed to go ashore like everyone else on board.

Bess felt relatively safe stepping outside her cabin to search for the first mate. Geoff Conrad had been permanently put off the ship, gone in the dinghy that had taken Seth back to shore and most of the men but for the anchor crew were in Pernambuco. She didn't think anyone would bother her. She went to the ladder and climbed to the upper deck, certain she'd find James Kelley.

Bess became instantly aware of the intense heat of the tropical air as she surfaced from below. It was so hot she decided she would surely suffocate if not for the gentle stirring of a breeze that blew in from over the land. All thoughts of the first mate fled for a moment as Bess sought a relief from the heat. She grabbed her shirt front, pulling the collar and fabric away from her neck and skin.

Bess searched the deck for James Kelley, but she couldn't find him anywhere. Either he was in the galley or the fo'c'sle where he had slept with the crew since they had left the Port of Wilmington. Perhaps he too had gone ashore, but Bess thought it was highly unlikely that Seth would allow all the officers off his ship.

“Miss Metcalfe,” a male voice said from directly behind her. “Can I help you with something?”

Bess spun, startled. “Oh, Mr. Hawke! Mark, isn't it?”

The sixteen-year-old steward beamed. “Yes, miss. Yes, it is.”

“I'm looking for Mr. Kelley. I thought he'd be about the main deck, but . . .”

“He's in the galley, miss, helping cook store some fresh supplies,” he said. “Is there anything I can do?”

Bess blushed, suddenly embarrassed by her intended request. “The captain . . . he's gone ashore to . . .” She stopped, uncertain whether or not she should mention the wedding.

“Aye, miss,” Mark said. “I heard.” He grinned. “Congratulations, miss. The captain is a lucky man.”

“Thank you,” she said. She paused before continuing. “Mark, I'd like to have a bath. Do you think it would be too much trouble? I want a real bath with fresh water.”

“For the captain's missus, it would be no bother at all,” the young man replied. “I'll have it sent to your cabin as soon as the water's ready.”

She nodded and then wondered if she should wait below.

“It's all right to wait topside, miss,” Mark said, accurately interpreting her thoughts. “There's no one on board to bother a lady.”

She smiled with relief and told him she would do that. While she waited for Mark's return, Bess studied the shoreline and wished she could visit the foreign community. From this distance, it was difficult to see much of anything but rooftops and sandy beaches, but the land was beautiful.

She walked the main deck, taking note of the length and breadth of the
Sea Mistress.
She had seen the vessel many times over the years when it had been captained by Joel Johnson, but she'd never before been on her deck. Behind her was the quarter-deck, where the ship's helm was located. It was here, she thought, that Seth must spend a great deal of his time.

Her gaze followed one of the ship's tall masts, the center in a line of three, which was the main mast, according to Mr. Kelley. Bess had learned that the two other masts were the foremast, which was the one up front, and the mizzenmast, which was the one in the rear. Whatever they were called, Bess mused, they appeared as tall, straight tree trunks with their sails furled, the vessel's yardarms their branches.

The sky was a bright azure. The only clouds this day were a few white fluffy clusters in the far distance over the sea. The breeze she'd noted earlier was pleasant, but not enough of a stir to take away the day's humidity. She could feel the dampness of her shirt and trousers, and wished she could take off her clothes to cool herself.

A half-hour later, Bess stood by the tin tub that some of the crew had brought to her cabin. The bath water was warm, not hot, and she was anxious to wash away the sweat and grime and wear something truly feminine again.

Now, as Bess eyed the small tub, she recalled her life in Wilmington and longed for the happy times she'd spent there. She stripped off her clothes, remembering the long, leisurely soaks she'd enjoyed at Metcalfe Manor, and her maid Mary, who had washed and fixed her hair. Mary had left years before, after her Uncle Edward had first become ill. What was Mary doing now, she wondered. She hoped the servant was happy in her new position, wherever that was.

The tub was only a hip bath, and when Bess sat down, she had to sit with her knees raised against her breasts. Although it wasn't as nice as her tub at the manor, Bess was grateful for the bath anyway, and the thoughtful crew members who had prepared it for her.

Bess glanced down at her naked body, saw the changes that had occurred since she'd carried the child. Tears filled her eyes as she remembered how her breasts had swelled and her stomach had filled out as the babe had grown within her.

She no longer had the body of a girl. Her hips were more rounded, and there were small almost indistinguishable marks left from the growing babe, but she noticed them—there, on the underside of her breasts, and tiny threadlike ones on her abdomen.

She chose not to linger in her bath as she would normally have done at home, but enjoyed fifteen minutes in the water. Then, she got out, dried herself with a coarse towel, and leaned over the tub to wash and rinse her hair. As she towel-dried her hair, she smiled, recalling Mark Hawke's apology regarding the roughness of the towels he'd provided her with. As if she cared how soft the towel was!

While she allowed her hair to finish drying naturally, she dressed in a chemise of soft cotton, put on a petticoat, and then sat in a chair to comb out the snarls from her wet blonde tresses. She donned the blue gown.

Would Seth be surprised to see her in a gown? Would he be angry or glad that she'd considered her appearance for their wedding? Farce or not, the wedding must look real; the crew must believe that she and Seth were in love . . . were happily bonded together for life.

If only this wedding was for real. If only the past five years had never been and Seth had never gone away . . .

Bess still couldn't believe she was marrying Seth. Was it all a dream?

But the knock that resounded on the cabin door late that afternoon told her that the wedding to take place was real enough, as was the man who stepped inside at Bess's invitation.

“Bess,” he greeted her casually. He looked very tall and extremely masculine in a stark-white linen shirt with full sleeves, and tight black breeches that hugged his thighs and calves, tapering down to tuck into snug black boots.

His eyes gleamed with appreciation as he took note of what she was wearing. “A gown? It's very becoming.”

She flushed. “Thank you. Reeves found it among the goods in the cargo hold.”

Seth glanced down at his hand, and Bess realized for the first time that he was carrying a parcel.

“I guess you won't be needing this then,” he said, unable to stifle a wave of disappointment. “I bought you a gown.” She looked lovely in what she wore, but he wanted to give her something special, and he had gone to a great deal of trouble to find a gown in Pernambuco that was appropriate. What good was a surprise gift that wasn't needed?