Sea Mistress (24 page)

Bess moved closer and stared at the unconscious girl. The last of the victims was a young woman, not a girl, with incredibly angelic features framed by unbound auburn hair, which glistened with red fire under the setting sun. She looked pale and lifeless, and the men, Bess could see, were instantly attracted by her beauty and vulnerability. Even Seth, she saw, seemed mesmerized by the lovely, yet pitiful picture Rebecca presented. And Bess felt a prickle of jealousy as she observed Seth's changing face.

She sensed Seth's intention as he shifted on his feet and took the girl from James's arms. As he stared at the girl, transfixed, the jealousy that had begun to flame in Bess crawled outward, spreading its fingers of fire up her neck, making the little hairs on her nape stand up on end.

On impulse, Bess hurried to his side and grabbed his arm. Seth looked at her, and she was alarmed by his glazed expression of stark pain.

“Seth?” she breathed worriedly.

He blinked, and his gaze cleared. “Bess,” he murmured. “I'm glad you're here.”

She saw that he was sincere, and her heart started to beat faster.

“We'll have to put the women in with Mrs. Dunnon,” he said. “Mr. Dunnon, I'm afraid, will have to share quarters with Cook.”

His attention returned to the woman he held, but there was no sign of his earlier strange fascination. Bess was relieved.

The two women survivors of the schooner,
The Lady Grey,
were Clara and Rebecca Montague, aunt and niece from Boston, Massachusetts, where the ship had first set sail for California. The men, who were unrelated both to each other and either of the women, were Wendall Beaufort, middle aged cabinet-maker from Concord, and Paul Halloran, the young gambler with the fair hair and smiling brown eyes.

Halloran looked weak, but uninjured, while Beaufort, on the other hand, appeared to have a serious wound to his left arm. When questioned, Mr. Beaufort explained that he'd sustained the injury when he leaped over the ship's rail while abandoning the vessel. A fire that had started in the galley had spread quickly to other parts of the
Lady Grey
and had caught on to a keg of black powder, sending the whole vessel up in an explosion of wood and steel.

The women were taken to the Dunnons' cabin. George Dunnon, to his credit, was more than willing to give up sharing his wife's quarters. Mathilde, however, was far less enthusiastic about the change, but at her husband's insistence, she eventually came around.

There was a small cabin beside the galley, where Mr. Cookson and Mark Hawke, Seth's steward, slept. It was an unusual arrangement perhaps, Reeves had once told Bess, but one that had worked out well for both Mark and the cook.

Now that cabin would be cramped indeed, for Wendall Beaufort would share it, as well as the minister.

Paul Halloran was young and healthy enough, Seth proclaimed, to bunk down in the foc's'le with the crew. Halloran didn't say a word, but Bess could tell by his expression that he wasn't pleased. She, however, silently agreed with Seth's decision.

Bess was to help the women. There were only two bunks in the officers' cabin, and she wanted to make sure that Rebecca, if not both of the new women passengers, got to sleep in a bunk.

She hung back in the door as Seth set Rebecca gently onto the lower bunk. When he turned, she avoided his gaze, unwilling to read his thoughts, but he touched her arm as he passed by her to leave.

“Thank you,” he said for her ears alone.

She shot him a startled glance. “For what?”

Seth smiled. “For your concern and your help. I'm sure these ladies appreciate it.”

Bess frowned. “One perhaps. But the other one . . .” She paused. “Rebecca—she hasn't awakened.” Her jealousy toward the young woman eased in the wake of his genuine concern for her well-being.

Something odd flickered in his features. “Take care of her.” It was both a command and a request.

And she nodded, promising to do so.

Next, the captain addressed the minister's wife. “Mrs. Dunnon, I'm sure that given these ladies' condition,” he said, “you won't mind sleeping on a floor pallet?”

Mathilde opened her mouth, looking horrified, but she must have read something in Seth's expression that warned her to agree, for all she said was, “Of course, captain. I'll be happy to give up my bunk.” Her tone was sullen.

Seth flashed her a smile. “You're very kind, Mrs. Dunnon. A true Christian.”

And suddenly Mathilde was beaming at Seth as if he were an angel sent by God.

The captain left the women, then, to return to the upper deck.

“Such a nice young man,” Mathilde commented when the person in question was out of earshot, and Bess stifled a smile. “So commanding.” She fixed Bess with her beady gaze. “You're very fortunate to have married him, my dear.”

Unwilling to discuss her marriage with anyone, even if only briefly, Bess mumbled her agreement and then went to the bunk and Rebecca's side. Rebecca stirred slightly as Bess brushed a lock of red hair off the young woman's brow.

“How long has she been like this?” Bess asked Clara, the aunt.

“She was fine until a short while before you rescued us,” the older lady said. “She had seemed fine after she hit her head. I didn't think her injury was too serious . . .” She rubbed her sunburned nose, wincing when the action brought pain. “Oh, dear, will she be all right, do you think?”

Bess rose from the bunk and went to where Clara Montague had taken a seat in a chair. She patted the woman's arm. “We'll do all we can to help her. She's probably just sleeping. Exhaustion takes hold of people in different ways.”

Which was true, she thought, recalling a time when Uncle Edward had worked for hours on end, all through the night, and then when he'd reached his limit, had passed out, asleep, on his feet.

But Bess didn't truly believe her own words of reassurance to Aunt Clara. She, too, was worried about Rebecca's condition, and would continue to be until the young woman woke up and could discuss how she was feeling.

“Cook has prepared you some food,” Bess said, moving toward the hatch. “I'll see about getting it for you.”

“See if he has any more of those delicious biscuits, won't you?” Mathilde piped up.

Bess nodded and then quit the cabin for the galley, wondering with annoyance how the Dunnon woman could think of her own stomach when there were others who were more in need. She pitied the two new female passengers. They would be spending the next months until the
Sea Mistress
reached San Francisco in close company with Mathilde Dunnon.

 

 

That night as Bess crawled onto her bunk, her thoughts were a whirl of images of the day's events. Rebecca Montague had woken shortly after Bess had returned bringing a tray of food. The young woman seemed alert and happy to learn that she had been rescued, that she was on her way to California via the clipper ship, the
Sea Mistress.

When Bess questioned her about her condition, Rebecca was frank, telling Bess about how she had felt in the time before she'd blacked out or fallen asleep. She'd felt sick to her stomach and dizzy; her head had hurt a little, but not much. Later, much later, while the two older ladies were busy playing cards, Rebecca had confided how she'd come to be on a boat, far away from home, and her story had started Bess thinking.

Voices out in the passageway drew Bess's gaze to the hatch. Her thoughts flew to Seth then. It was late, and it had been a long day. Would he be to bed soon? And if so, would he try again to make love to her?

Her breasts ached, her nipples tingling, as she recalled the gentleness of his touch, the wild sensation he aroused within her when his fingers alternately plucked and caressed each rosy tip.

Liquid heat invaded between her thighs, and she wanted him to come into the cabin at that moment, to undress while she watched and then climb onto the bunk to lie next to her. Her imagination went wild as memories flooded her mind, of the past and her boldness during their lovemaking . . . of the time she'd been the aggressor while Seth had lain submissively, telling her to do with him what she pleased. And she had.

The lantern had been dimmed, and the golden glow of the muted light fell across the floor where he usually laid his sleeping pallet. She didn't want him to lie there anymore, she realized with a sense of shock. She wanted to insist upon his sleeping more comfortably, on the bunk, with his arms locked against her middle, his hands and fingers wandering at will.

Startled by the change in her feelings for him, Bess closed her eyes tightly, and tried to slow her racing heart. How could she stop her desire for him from threatening her sanity and the physical threads of her existence?

The handle of the door latch moved. Bess froze, feigning sleep as the hatch opened. She heard Seth step inside, shutting and locking the door. And she chanced a quick peek before closing her eyes again. In that second, she noticed many things about him, things that only a person who was both physically and mentally aware of another body would be able to glean.

Seth looked amazingly alert for someone who must have had a trying evening, seeing to the survivors' rescue and safety, calming down any of the crew who were distressed by the addition of more landlubbers. But then Seth himself, she thought, was amazing as both a captain and as a man.

She heard him stop near her bunk, and then the rustle of cloth, and she imagined him taking off his shirt. Bess chanced a peek at him and got a glimpse of his naked back—his broad shoulders, muscular and bronzed from going bare-chested under the sun.

She curled her fingers beneath the bedclothes. He turned, and she hurriedly closed her eyes lest he catch her studying him.

“Bess?” His voice was a soft ripple of sound. “Lisabeth, are you awake?”

Seth wanted to see her open her eyes, to gaze into those glistening ebony orbs and lose himself in their beautiful depths. Bess lay with eyes closed, for all the world looking asleep. But then he saw her lashes flutter slightly, noticed that her breathing didn't seem too steady, and he smiled. She was awake, he thought. He wondered how long she would pretend to be sleeping.

Seth's mind was full of images of her lying beneath him naked. His body tightened with his need for her. He stood staring down at her beautiful, restful countenance, and he wanted to rouse her with his mouth and hands, take her to new heights with his body.

“Lisabeth,” he whispered. Seth lowered himself onto the edge of the bunk next to her. Drawn by desire, he extended his hand and touched her hair, his fingers gentle, trembling.

He heard a muffled sound like strangled gasp and knew that it had come from Bess's throat. He slid his hand to her throat, to the pulsing hollow at the base. This time he detected a shuddering sigh, and he smiled and continued to caress her.

He traced up her neck to her ear, along her hairline, crossing her forehead. Then, he moved his finger down her cheek and back up again, over the smooth bridge of her pretty nose. “Lisabeth,” he whispered again.

Her eyelashes fluttered open, and she met his gaze with an alertness that confirmed he'd been right. She had been awake all this time. “Seth.”

His smile was tender as he stroked her cheek. “How are you feeling, love?”

She closed her eyes in the pleasure of his touch. “I'm fine . . .” She moaned softly. His hand had dropped to her throat again, delving down along the inside of her collar, soothing the soft skin beneath. She shifted, arching her neck to give him better access.

“How is Rebecca?” he asked.

Bess stiffened and opened her eyes. “She's doing better,” she replied carefully. “Awake, but a little light-headed. Only I think it's from something other than her head injury.”

He frowned and removed his hand from her throat. She felt the loss of his touch as surely as she experienced the cold chill brought on by Seth's continued interest in the new and lovely female passenger.

“What makes you believe that?” he asked.

She scowled at him. “Because her aunt said Rebecca had been nauseated lately, even before the shipwreck.”

“What do you think is wrong?”

“I don't know,” she admitted. After speaking with the young woman, Bess had a few suspicions, but she wasn't ready to discuss them with Seth or anyone just yet. For it would do more harm than good to speak of it if she were wrong. And besides, how could she make such an assumption based only on what she'd recently learned? That in leaving Boston, Rebecca had been running away from the man she loved?

“No guesses?” Seth asked.

Seth wouldn't drop the subject, and Bess was angry. “Does it matter?” she said testily. “As long as she's properly cared for?”

He seemed.surprised by her irritability. Then his face changed, and his eyes twinkled. “If I didn't know better, I might think you were jealous.”

“That's absurd!” she said, her pulse racing. “Why would I be jealous?”

Seth arched his eyebrow. “Yes, why?” he murmured.

Seth's amusement faded as it occurred to him that Bess was upset because she was no longer the center of male attention, something she had definitely been up to now. When he'd met her, when she was sixteen, she'd enjoyed the avid attention of many young men. During the two weeks of his stay at Metcalfe Manor, hadn't many a beau tried to pay court to her? They had tried, until Seth had made it clear to each and every one of them that Elisabeth Metcalfe belonged to him. He also recalled how angry she'd been when he hadn't immediately gone out of his way to try to please her.