Sea Mistress (26 page)

When the end came, it was with a suddenness that was startling as well as welcomed. The
Sea Mistress
continued to bob on choppy waters, but the wind had died down, and the rain and hail that had pelted the upper decks could no longer be heard.

Bess had spent most of the storm trying to soothe the women, and then when one by one they began to get sick, she saw to their needs, making sure the chamberpot or washbasin was available to catch the vomit. She was surprised that she herself didn't succumb, for the odor in the cabin was vile and the motion of the ship certainly encouraged nausea.

Exhausted from the ordeal, the women slept, and were grateful as well as eager to get away, Bess returned to her own cabin to lie down. Once there however, she found that she couldn't sleep or rest, not until she knew whether or not everyone on the top deck was safe.

Then, she heard Seth's booming voice and the answering shouts of glee, and knew that they wouldn't be celebrating the passing of the storm if anyone had been lost . . . had died.

And she lay down with a tired smile. Seth was unharmed. The man she loved had seen them all safely through the storm.

 

 

 

“Would you stop pacing like a caged animal?” Kate Johnson said to her husband, her tone gentle rather than scolding. She was concerned about him. Lately, he'd been preoccupied and upset. While she could guess the reason, she didn't know how to ease his mind.

Joel went to the parlor window and stared out into the night. It had been six months since he'd heard from Seth. Six months since he'd received the letter that told him he'd accepted the assignment of bringing to Johnson Blanchard a certain small varnished pine box that had been held in safe keeping at
Smith and Smith, Attorneys At Law.

The box had belonged to Edward Metcalfe, and Joel had been instructed to open the box and use whatever was inside to right the one major wrong the merchant had committed, something that had made him sorry until his death. Edward had given him the key years ago, before the man had died. Joel had almost forgotten until he'd found it among his dead sister's things. He had given Ruth the key for safekeeping. Now both Ruth and Edward were dead, and Joel was left with a mission entrusted to him by Edward. And the prospect was slowly killing him inside.

“How long?” he said in a broken voice. “How long before they finally come?”

“I know you've spoken of the both of them, but how do you know that both will come?” Kate asked. She went to him near the window, slipping her arm about his middle, snuggling against his side.

“Seth will come,” he said, “because, in a way, I've summoned him. I've commissioned him to bring me something that belonged to Edward. A pine box with something inside that could be considered a curse or something valuable, depending who you are and how you look at it.”

Kate pulled back with a frown. “I don't understand.”

And Joel told her about Edward's letter, explaining the box, how Edward's attorneys had contacted him after Edward had died. Edward himself had given Joel the key to the box years before, but Joel had never understood the significance until Edward had written him the letter months before he died. Edward explained to Joel that he wanted his friend to use the information in the box to explain things to Bess.

“You mean there is something in that box that would help Bess understand Edward's actions in taking the babe?” his wife asked.

Joel nodded. He only hoped that in learning the truth she forgave her Uncle Joeson for his silence in this matter all these years. And what of Seth? Would Seth then revile the man he'd once admired? Joel closed his eyes in pain.

“She'll forgive you,” Kate said. “They'll both forgive you. You've taken good care of their child.”

“A child I kept hidden from them.”

Kate dismissed that with a kiss on his cheek. “You've not a mean streak in your whole body,” she said, her tone seductive as her hands began to wander across his chest.

But Joel wondered if it were true. He recalled the times he'd been forced to wield the whip on his own men, the satisfaction it had given him when because of the beating the men obeyed him without question. He had once thought such discipline necessary, for without it he'd lose command of his ship. But what if he'd been wrong? What if he'd been too harsh, seduced by a lust for power?

As for Matthew . . . Had he subconsciously kept the child to himself, not because he worried about keeping his friend's secret safe but because he wanted the boy for his own?

Kate could tell that despite her bold caresses she'd lost Joel's attention. “I can tell by your face that I don't like the direction of your thoughts.”

He blinked and then blushed fiercely. “What do you mean?”

“It means, honey love, that you're a good, kind man with a conscience. The guilt in this situation belongs to Edward Metcalfe, not you.”

He kissed her hard. “Thank you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said—” He stopped, and his eyes took on a knowing gleam. Then, he took her fully into his arms and proceeded to display his gratitude.

 

 

After seven days of alternate fair and inclement weather, the
Sea Mistress
had rounded Cape Horn. Her sails were battered and in some places torn, her riggings frayed and in great need of repair. But all in all, the vessel had survived the storm in fair condition. She had made good time, considering she'd been under reduced sail. And for the most part, the men had remained in good spirits, having been warmed by a continual flow of hot tea and an occasional measure of grog.

Once used to the shift and change of the Cape's weather, the men had gone back to their watches, each taking his turn or
trick
at the helm. And the
Sea Mistress
had continued her way around Cape Horn.

Recently, Cook had outdone himself with the best batch of
scouse
ever created in a ship's galley. Bess had enjoyed the dish. Made with biscuits pounded into fine crumbs, small chunks of slate beef and potatoes, the meal was a hearty one in which the ingredients were boiled together and then seasoned with just the right amount of black pepper. The tea, the scouse, and an occasional measure of grog kept the men in relatively good humor, although their clothes were constantly wet. And when the sky was cloudy and the day was gray, they were more often than not shivering from the cold Cape winds.

The first inkling Bess had that the ship had finally completed the journey around the Cape was while she was enjoying a moment topside. Throughout the last seven days, she'd come up for air whenever the weather turned pleasant, which it was wont to do for a few hours or so at a time.

The sky looked particularly beautiful this day. The blue of the heavens was more vivid than ever before. The sun seemed brighter and more cheerful, as if it were celebrating life. But it was the sight of the sails that told Bess that they were now around the Cape and heading north. The
Sea Mistress
was under full sail again, and it was a magnificent sight with the winds filling out her canvas, and her hull slicing cleanly and quickly through the blue water.

“We've made it,” a male voice said.

She smiled at James Kelley as he came to her side. “Thank God,” she said. “We're heading north?”

He nodded. “To Juan Fernandez, an island off the coast of Chile. We'll stop there for repairs.”

Bess frowned. “Is the ship badly damaged?”

“Nothing that we can't fix in a day at port.”

Paul Halloran, the younger of the two male shipwreck survivors from the
Lady Grey,
approached. “Did I overhear something about land?” When the first mate confirmed this, Halloran said, “Thank the good Lord! I long for the sight of dry land. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've seen ground?”

“I can't imagine,” James said with sarcasm that went unheeded.

“Weeks,” the fair-haired man said theatrically. “Four. Perhaps even five!”

Bess and the first mate exchanged smiles, for they knew well what it was like to be at sea for that length of time and longer.

James Kelley touched her arm. “Your husband is looking this way and I can tell it's not me he wants.”

Bess's heart thumped as she followed the direction of James's gaze. Seth stood on the quarter deck, his visage brooding as he watched her. He was angry and his tension filled the distance between them.

“Perhaps I should see what he wants,” she suggested.

Paul Halloran grabbed her arm. “You're not leaving me? If the captain wants you, let him come here.”

Bess carefully withdrew from his grasp. “If I want to go to him, it's my business, isn't it?”

Annoyed, Bess headed for the ladder to the quarterdeck. She froze when she realized that Rebecca Montague had suddenly appeared at Seth's side. She must have been standing at the rail at the stern. Her hands tightened into fists when she saw Seth turn to Rebecca, his face relaxing in a soft smile.

Angry and jealous, Bess changed directions, heading toward the ladder to the berth deck instead. If Seth wants to make a fool of himself, then fine, but he wouldn't do so in her company. She wouldn't allow him to hurt her, to humiliate her!

When she got to their cabin, the tears that had blinded her on the way fell freely. The day, for her, no longer seemed pleasant.

 

 

“Captain Garret.”

Seth reluctantly dragged his gaze from the two men and his wife to find Rebecca Montague at his side. He had to smile at her delighted face. She looked healthy and full of life, a drastic change from the pale, unconscious young woman who had been rescued and brought on board. “How are you, Miss Montague?”

“Fine, thank you, Captain . . . now that I've learned we've rounded Cape Horn.”

“Aye. It's a good thing to know one's battled the elements and come out the victor.”

She nodded, her green eyes sparkling, a picture of youthful beauty that had garnered the attention of most of the crew.

Seth glanced back toward Bess, scowling when he saw that she'd gone. His gaze searched the deck for her, but she was nowhere to be found. Had she gone below? Damn, but it had bothered him to see her with Paul Halloran. Hell, it bothered him each time he saw her with James Kelley, and he trusted Kelley, for the man was not only his first mate, but his friend.

“What's it like in San Francisco?” Rebecca asked, demanding his attention once again.

He blinked and realigned his thoughts. “San Francisco? Well, I've been there only once, and it was well over a year ago. It was before gold was discovered, and the influx of people to the West. I'm sure it's changed a lot by now.”

“I see,” she said, clearly disappointed with his answer.

What was luring the two women to the West? Seth wondered. Surely, it wasn't for lack of opportunities in the East? Rebecca was an attractive lady; it couldn't be for want of beaus.

“Gold,” she said dreamily. “Is there lots of it, do you suppose?”

He smiled indulgently. “I wouldn't think so. Do you?”

Her face fell. “Ah, I suppose not.” She paused. “I had hoped to be able to live independently there. Aunt Clara is nice, but-” She abruptly closed her mouth as if regretting what she'd already said.

“I'm sure you'll make out fine,” Seth said with a hint of reservation.

She brightened. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

The image of Bess's face haunted Seth, and he found he needed to speak with her. Time was running out. Soon, they would be in California, and Bess would want her annulment. Unless he could change her mind.

He excused himself to Rebecca and started to go below to his cabin.
Their
cabin, he thought, enjoying the fact that it was Bess's, too. Unfortunately, he was stopped twice to deal with a problem, so a half hour or more had passed by the time he actually opened the hatch.

Seth found Bess sleeping, her beautiful blonde hair still fastened with hair pins, her lovely form still clothed in her blue gown. She was lying on her back, her eyes closed, her golden lashes dark against her cheeks. Her lips were full and slightly parted as she breathed delicately through her mouth; he could hear the little puffs of air.

Bess had removed her slippers, and her bare feet were white and small, very feminine. Seth had shut the hatch and now he locked it. Then, he turned toward the bunk and approached, aching to touch her . . . those small feet . . . her legs . . . her flat belly and full breasts. But it was the lure of her sweet mouth that won in the end. Seth stood at the head of the bunk, staring down at her, drinking his fill of her beauty. And then he kissed her.

Bess thought she was having a lovely dream. Seth was kissing her, his mouth warm and demanding, his calloused hands gentle upon her flesh. “Seth,” she moaned when he'd released her lips.

“Yes, Lisabeth, it's me.”

Her eyes flew open. “Is this a dream?” He stood before her in white linen shirt with billowing sleeves. His black breeches were tight on his muscular thighs, ending at the knees, before tucking into polished black boots.

Seth chuckled. “No, love. This is real. And we're alone, finally.”

“You were angry.” Tears filled her eyes at the memory of his scowling face. His beautiful face wavered before her gaze. His hair was mussed, tossed by the breeze blowing across the upper deck.

Leaning over the bunk, he caressed her cheek. He smelled of soap and the sea. “I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Aye. Of Paul Halloran. Of James Kelley. Of any man who is the object of your smile.”

Bess was startled by his admission. “You mean that—”

“That I want you,” he said, interrupting her. “That I'm being eaten up inside with want for you.” He got down on his knees beside the bunk until his face was only inches away from hers.

“I want to touch you, Lisabeth. To kiss those sweet lips of yours and fondle your breasts until your little nipples blossom into tiny, hard buds.”

He paused to draw a harsh breath, clearly aroused by the thought. “And then I want to capture those flowers into my mouth and suckle you . . .”

“Seth.” She reached up to stroke his face.

“I want to hear you cry out my name,” he continued in a hoarse voice, “begging me for more, pleading with me to take you.”

Seth's words sent a jolt of desire coursing through her body until she was trembling and hot. She felt her breasts straining against the bodice of her gown and the most secret feminine core of her moisten with liquid heat.

“I want us to start over, love. Pretend we were never separated. That I never left Wilmington—to forget all the pain and years in between.”

Could she do that? Bess knew she wanted him, desired him with a passion unequaled to anything she'd ever known. But was it enough? Could she forgive him enough to give love a second chance?

The mental image of him worshipping her with his lean, naked body made her shiver with tiny rippling pinpoints of desire. Yes, she wanted him. Yes, she could forget the pain of the lonely past for a new chance at love.

“Touch me, Seth,” she urged. “Love me. Here. Now.”

Seth groaned and captured her mouth, deepening the kiss by encouraging her to open her lips for him, then delving inside with his tongue. He loved the honey taste of her, and he told her so over and over both with words and kisses, coming up for air only briefly before lowering his head to her once again.

Bess clutched his head, her hands tangled in his dark hair, holding him fast to her mouth, loving him back with her lips and tongue. Seth pulled back, gasping, and then he stood and began to undress.

His actions were slow and provocative, designed to titillate her senses by prolonging the anticipation of what was to come. Bess watched as one by one he undid his shirt buttons, as the white fabric parted to reveal his muscular chest brushed with dark hair.

She observed the power behind the flex of his arm muscles as he removed his shirt, and then her gaze fastened on his broad chest, on the small dark nipples in the pelt of soft hair, moving down to follow the path of black that formed a triangle and disappeared into the waistband of his breeches. He knelt and his fingers began unfastening the small porcelain buttons on her gown.

Bess's breath caught as he undid one and then the next button. She tried to help him, but he wouldn't let her, gently grasping her hands and lowering them to her sides.

“Let me,” he said huskily. “I've been waiting so long to do this.”

She nodded, her eyes glistening with desire. Her breasts tingled and swelled as she waited with rapidly beating pulse for Seth to finish undoing her bodice.

A sound from above them infiltrated Bess's awareness. A loud rumble, as if someone was moving something heavy across the main deck. Bess experienced a flicker of alarm.

“What if someone comes?” she asked. She'd hate for them to be interrupted a second time, for if it occurred again she knew she'd have doubts again.

“They'll not bother us, I swear it,” Seth said. “I've been topside for hours. My men have orders not to disturb me unless it's an extreme emergency.”

She drew in a raspy breath. Seth had opened several buttons of her bodice and was untying the ribbon of her chemise.

He reached inside the undergarment, cupped her left breast, and drew it out for his inspection and loving attention. “So sweet . . .” he murmured, rubbing the pink tip. “So perfect.”

He took the crest into his mouth, his eyes closing as he sucked her, a strangled sound of pleasure rumbling deep in his throat. Bess felt her abdomen tighten, her womb contract in a plea to be filled, and she raised her hips in an instinctive quest to know him deep inside of her.

Seth lifted his head. His eyes were glowing like twin blue flames, and his lips appeared wet and red from his homage to her breast.

“My God,” he rasped. “I'd forgotten how beautiful you are.” He took hold of her other breast, shaping it with his hand. “Do you know how often I've remembered these breasts? Their taste? Their feel?”

She shook her head, shaken by the intensity of his words.

“I've dreamed of kissing them, Bess. Of burying my face between them and loving them with my mouth.” He laughed then, but his laughter rang false. “I even pictured a babe at your breast. My babe.”

Bess gave an incoherent cry and turned away. He released her breast and grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Why?” he asked. “Why did you do it?” Why had she spurned his love when she'd promised to wait for him?

“I don't know!” she cried. “It wasn't my fault— not really!”

Oh, God,
Bess thought.
He knows of the child. How he died because of me. But how? Who told him?

Heartbroken by his abandonment, she hadn't taken proper care of herself. So she had blamed herself when the baby was born dead. Perhaps he would have lived if she'd eaten better and slept more—if she'd wanted to be alive.

If Seth had returned to her as he'd said he would, she wouldn't have had cause for unhappiness. She would have taken good care of herself, although considering the way she felt, she'd thought she had looked after herself well.

But she must have been wrong, for the babe had died. Her fault, she'd decided. And his.

“You're to blame, too! It wasn't just me.”

Seth looked tortured, and his grip on her jaw tightened enough to make her wince. He released her immediately.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered in agony, his apology for hurting her genuine, “but don't you think I haven't thought of that? That I haven't regretted my decision?”

He closed his eyes, shuddering. “But God help me, how can I change the past?” His lashes opened and he fixed her with his gaze. “I can't. I can only influence the future.”

“Please,” she begged, grabbing his hand. She didn't want to talk of it anymore. She wanted to love him, to make love to him, to have him loving her.

“Yes, we can go on from here,” he said. “But I must explain why I left. Why I had to go.”

“You were honor-bound, I understand that.”

“But it was more,” he admitted. “Joel had advanced me my wages on the voyage. My sister was ill, and there were debts.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Seth gave her a twisted smile. “And confess that I was a penniless seaman with nothing to offer a lady of your position and wealth?” He shook his head. “No, I couldn't have done that.”

He lifted her hand, studying the smooth skin of her wrist, flipping it over to see the back. “Such dainty fingers—so much passion, so much power.” He took her hand then and placed it on the front of his breeches where his desire for her had formed a bulge of cloth and hard flesh.

“Feel the power, Lisabeth. Feel how you alone can move me like no other woman on this earth.”

Was it true? She was wide-eyed and full of awe as she touched him and watched the reaction on his face. Had he meant to come back, but couldn't because he'd felt himself unsuitable?

The hard pulsating heat of his manhood pushed against his breeches, stretching the fabric to its limit. He had released her hand, but she hadn't moved it. She kept it on his staff, cupping her fingers around the solid warmth, exploring its length from base to tip through the strained cloth.

Seth cried out with pleasure as she fondled him. She sat up, anxious to have him naked, to have him lying beside her unfettered by clothes.

“Take off your breeches,” she said.

“You,” he gasped. “You do it.”

Swinging her legs over the side of the bunk, Bess began unfastening his breeches. Soon his manhood burst free and into her hands. She glanced up to gauge his reaction as she stroked the pulsating evidence of his desire and encountered the searing fire of his blue gaze.

“Now it's my turn to undress you,” he said with a growl.

Her bodice was already open, her buttons freed by his hands earlier, her chemise half undone. Seth helped her to her feet and then eased the blue gown away from her shoulders. He tugged the garment down her body, pausing to caress and explore her as he went. He fondled her back, her belly, and her hips until he had traveled the whole length of her.

The gown pooled about her bare feet, and he assisted her in escaping its folds, then helped her from her petticoats. When she was naked but for her shift, he knelt before her and caressed her legs, stroking her calves and thighs, leaning forward to rest his head against her chemise-clad feminine cleft.

He looked up and then slowly, deliberately, placed his mouth to the area where cloth covered her curly woman's nest. He kissed there, breathing air into the linen until she could feel the moist caress.

“Oh, Seth,” she moaned, holding his head. “Don't—stop.”

He withdrew and gazed up at her with a smile. Cupping her breasts, he played with her gently until she thought she would die from the wild pleasure of his touch.

Then, Seth rose, resembling a naked Greek or Roman god, his man rod proudly evident and hard with desire. He took off her chemise carefully, tenderly, and with reverence for what the garment hid.

They stood, facing each other, nude but for the physical tension that cloaked them in passion. Seth kissed her lightly and then with demanding pressure. He bore her to the bunk, following her down to cover her with his hardened form.

“I'm going to love you like you've never been loved before,” he told her, thrilling her.

He began a journey of rediscovery, starting by a kiss on her forehead. His trail of kisses took him to each of her closed eyelids, her cheeks, her nose, and her mouth, where he paused to administer a great deal of loving attention, before moving to her chin.

Seth worshipped her neck next, the sides of the long slender column, her throat and the throbbing pulse at its base. Bess sighed as he licked and nuzzled her shoulders . . . one to the other, and then his mouth crested the upper swells of her breasts.

His lips took first one and then the second nipple, enjoying the twin peaks and her wild cries of abandonment and enjoyment. Desire spurred him to continue his path of lovemaking on her belly, her hips, passing her most private area, for her legs.

Bess whimpered with disappointment when he hesitated over her sensitive area, but then he was kissing her legs as if loving the firmness of her thighs and her smooth, shapely calves. She gasped and reached for him, captured him by the hair, dragging his head upward in her longing to feel him.

“Please, Seth, touch me.”

“Yes, I want to touch you,” he whispered, stroking her stomach, before parting her legs.

She waited with breathless anticipation for him to touch her between the legs, but he didn't. He caressed her everywhere else, instead. She lay with legs open while he touched her belly and her thighs, his hands hovering over her area of need before settling down somewhere else, but not the pulse point of her desire.

“All right, love,” he said, his voice sounding thick. And then she felt his fingers part her secret opening, his tender caress on her tingling woman's nub.

“Yes, Lisabeth, that's it,” he said, his voice strangled. “Blossom for me. Flower. Show me how much you want me.
Tell me how much you want me.
”

His face, she saw through a passionate haze, was taut, as if he were desperately trying to hold himself in check. She wanted to see that passion burst free, to feel the unleashed force of his desire.

“Seth,” she urged. “Come to me. Come inside me.”

His fingers on her stilled, and he closed his eyes, gathering his composure. “Not yet, love. I want it to be good, so good that you'll never be able to forget.”

And then he was dipping his finger into her moist passageway, rubbing her with a friction that threatened to send her over the edge.

“Seth, no!” she gasped.

“Yes, Lisabeth,” he said. “Yes.”

She cried out and then stiffened, her body convulsing as it sought and found mind-shattering release. She hung high on the cloud of passion, flying higher, shuddering with sensation, and then she was drifting, drifting down from the heavenly plateau.