Sea Mistress (28 page)

She woke up as he captured her mouth. Bess responded without restraint, almost with desperation and Seth was exhilarated by the depth of her emotion. It was as if she clung to him because she too was worried about losing love and sought to hold on to it tight.

“Seth,” she breathed, her eyes filling with tears, when he'd raised his head. “You're here.”

He smiled. “Aye, love. I'm here.”

“Love me.”

“Aye, Bess, I do. I will . . . with pleasure.”

He kissed her again, while raising the hem of her nightgown so that he could touch her legs and her secret warmth. She moaned as he played her gently and Seth was aware of his throbbing staff and the hot tightening of his loins.

She was his and he would prove it to her, he thought. He stroked her thighs and her calves as well as her womanly nub of desire. And then when she was ready for him, he positioned himself above her, impaling her slowly with his hardened manhood.

He caught his breath. She felt so warm and moist and wonderfully tight as she took him inside and surrounded him with her flesh. Seth fought the feelings that threatened to make him lose control to bring her deeper pleasure, easing himself in and out of her, setting a rhythm designed to intensify her desire. He drove himself into her fully, until he was sure she could feel all of him.

Bess's response was wild. She couldn't keep her hands off him. And although he tried to stop it, he felt his body pulsate and heat with desire until he was forced to surrender to the power of his passion for her.

Their lovemaking was frantic, their gasps and soft moans like erotic music that filled the room urging them on.

Their release when it came was greater and higher than their unions before it. Seth thrust hard, groaning, and Bess clung to him, crying out.

“I love you,” Seth said as the fire became banked embers of shared sensation and warmth.

Bess beamed at him with dark eyes that glimmered. “And I love you.”

And they loved again, more slowly this time, to celebrate their new found happiness.

And the
Sea Mistress
continued its way toward California.

 

 

The days that followed were wonderful for Bess. She was married to Seth, and he loved her. It was like a dream.

She wasn't sure what they were going to do once they reached San Francisco. After all she had come on this voyage to open a mercantile. And he was the captain of a clipper ship. He loved the sea. She was disturbed by the thought of being separated from him again.

One thing she did decide was that she would sell Seth her shares in the ship. She loved him and no longer wanted revenge. Otherwise, she tried not to think too much of the future. Somehow they would work it out. Bess took pleasure in the present, in the wonderful nights they spent in each other's arms making passionate love.

Seth was a tender lover. During the day when he was topside, he was a powerful figure of authority. Bess enjoyed both sides of him. She was proud of the way he handled the men and the respect given to him by the crew.

Bess felt at home on the ship. She missed running free across an open field and digging in her vegetable garden, but she took comfort that she could do those things again in California.

“Mrs. Garret.” Rebecca Montague joined her on the quarter deck.

“Hello, Rebecca,” Bess said. She no longer felt threatened by the girl's presence. How could she when Seth had made it clear how much he loved her—his wife? And how could she be angry with a woman who kept calling her by her married name? Then Bess frowned, noting the girl's appearance. Rebecca looked at her wits' end. “How do you stand it? The long days . . . the hours at sea.”

“You get used to it,” Bess said with a smile. “I've learned to enjoy life on board ship.”
Loving the captain probably helped,
she thought.

The auburn-haired woman swallowed and looked suddenly ill. She clutched her stomach as if she were nauseous and closed her eyes.

“Are you all right?” Bess asked with genuine concern.

Rebecca opened her eyes and fixed Bess with her green gaze. She was on the verge of tears. “I'm with child.”

“Oh, no . . .” Bess had had a suspicion when the young woman had first come on board. But it had been just a feeling she'd had. Rebecca had never said anything more about feeling ill, had never complained once. “The father?” she asked gently.

“Back in Boston.” Rebecca bit her lip. “He's married.” She sniffed. “I didn't know. I loved him and believed he loved me. That's why I left, only Aunt Clara doesn't know about the baby.”

Bess touched the girl's arm. “I'm sorry.”

Rebecca looked at her with surprise. “I believe you are.” She sounded surprised that Bess hadn't condemned her.

But Bess knew what it was like to be in Rebecca's condition: alone, with child and without a man. “If there's anything I can do . . .”

The young woman blushed. “There might be.” She glanced away and stared at a point near the ship's bow.

Bess followed the direction of Rebecca's gaze and saw John Reeves. She knew that he and Rebecca had become friends.

“I'm afraid to tell him,” Rebecca confessed. “He's been so nice to me. I need his friendship.”

Bess's mouth formed an affectionate smile. “He's a good and loyal man,” she said, remembering all the times he'd been there when she needed him.

“Is he?” Rebecca said, sounding doubtful, almost bitter. “Will he still be my friend when he learns the truth?”

“He'll still be your friend,” Bess said with the confidence of having tested a friendship with the confession of a sin.

But the knowledge of Rebecca's condition created a maelstrom in Bess's mind, disturbing her with recollections of the past. How frightened she'd been when she'd discovered she was with child! And she'd been afraid to tell Uncle Edward, fearing his reaction to her wantonness.

Her stomach burned with the memory of her uncle's features when she'd told him she was carrying Seth's baby. His face had become white and then turned several varying shades of red. He had spun away from her, striding across the room, as if he couldn't bear to be near her. Bess had hugged herself with her arms, knowing that she had brought him shame, wondering if she'd be cast out, a fallen woman, onto the street.

But she hadn't taken into account the depth of Edward Metcalfe's love for her. It wasn't her he was angry with, he assured her when he'd heard her sobbing. He was angry with himself. He was the one who forced her to be nice to Seth. The situation was his fault.

Uncle Edward had taken Bess into his arms, stroked her hair and promised that everything would be all right. He would take care of her and the child.

At first, she'd hoped that Uncle Edward would find Seth for her. But her hope had died a quick death when she'd learned that Edward's solution was to send her away to his cousin's before the pregnancy was visibly evident. To protect her reputation, he'd said. But Bess hadn't been worried, because she'd known that Seth would come back for her.

Edward arranged for her to stay in New York until the time came when she could give birth to the baby in secrecy. Later, Edward promised, she and the baby would come back to Delaware, and everyone in Wilmington would believe her uncle's invented story of marriage and love and a husband who had been forced to travel to England. No one would know of Bess's shame; no one would know that she'd given herself wantonly to a sailor, who had never returned to marry her. They would alter their story as needed when time passed and the husband from England never came back. Bess had thought all this planning unnecessary. For months, Bess waited for Seth, believed that he'd return to her. But as time passed, she'd realized that he wasn't coming.

That night, on the ship, as she readied herself for bed, Bess recalled how despondent she'd become when she'd realized that Seth had failed her. Seth was up on the main deck, and the absence of his comforting presence allowed the pain of the past to resurface.

During the last months of her pregnancy, she'd written her uncle every day, and in each letter she'd asked about Seth. Had he come for her? Had he written? And every answer she'd received from her uncle had left her crying for hours in her bedchamber. No, Seth hadn't come. No, there had been no letters from the seaman.

Why hadn't Seth written to her? she wondered as she climbed into bed. She'd asked herself that question over and over again. He could at least have had the decency to tell her he'd changed his mind.

She and Seth had never discussed the past as they'd planned. She'd been afraid to broach the subject. He'd never said a word. Was he, too, afraid to talk about their history?

Bess knew it would have to be discussed eventually. They were in love and married, but in order to put the past where it rightfully belonged, there had to be forgiveness. And one had to know exactly what one was forgiving in order to forgive.

Later that night, Bess watched silently as Seth sat and took off his boots. She wanted to say something about what had happened between them years before, but she found she couldn't. The words had lodged in her throat.

“Seth.”

He looked over at her and smiled. “I thought you were sleeping.”

She shook her head.

“What's wrong?” he said with a sudden frown. He rose from his chair and came to the edge of the bunk where he sat down. He stroked her hair. “What's wrong, Lisabeth?”

Her eyes glistened as the tears came. She didn't want to erect walls between them, but she had to know. “We have to talk.”

Alarm flickered across Seth's features and then disappeared, replaced with a look of resignation. “I know.” He played with her hair, spreading the golden strands across her pillow, observing the change their position and the light made in her hair's color and shine.

“Rebecca is pregnant,” she burst out, and then wondered why she'd chosen this way to begin their discussion.

Seth's lashes fluttered. “Rebecca?” He seemed startled by her statement. “That's what you want to talk about?”

Bess stared at him. “No.”

Had he no idea of the connection? she wondered. She had thought he'd learned about their child. Surely, he was aware of the changes of her body. Had she been wrong? She experienced a new-kind of fear. “Why didn't you come back?” she said in a rush, before she could stop herself.

He gaped at her in astonishment. “You can ask me why? I thought I'd explained.” She had promised to wait forever. She must have waited three weeks before she'd changed her mind. Maybe less. And still he'd come to Wilmington after five months, hoping to see her again and that she'd regretted her decision and wanted him back. Unfortunately, the only one he'd been allowed to see was Bess's uncle, who told him Bess was no longer interested in a poor seaman.

The pain of her rejection had haunted him for years afterward, had made him turn to the sea for comfort. After Joel had his accident and had given Seth shares in the
Sea Mistress
as well as the command of the ship, Seth had allowed only the sea to be his mistress. The sea was safer. One could understand her, even in times of storm. A man could work with the sea, although she could be on occasion dangerous and unpredictable.

Bess had closed her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't want to talk about this, but if we're ever to forget what had happened to us . . . to have a future together . . .” Her eyes opened and she fixed him with her concerned gaze. “Seth, you want a future with me, don't you?”

The tension eased from his muscles. She was wondering if he'd ever forgive her. Well, he already had. “Of course, I do.” He kissed her. “I love you.”

She sighed with relief. “I was afraid.”

“You're sure you want this?” His voice was unsteady as he faced his own fears.

Bess smiled and reached up to encircle his neck with her arms. She pulled him down to her until their lips were nearly touching. “I'm sure,” she said. “Very sure.” And she kissed him, parting her lips to invite him inside, thrusting her tongue into his mouth when he groaned and the opportunity presented itself.

“God, Bess.” He was trembling as he untied the front of her nightgown; his hands were shaking. “I feel like this is our first time.”

“It is our first time,” she said softly. “The first time after forgiveness . . . the first in many times of love.”

And they sealed their silent promises by worshipping each other with their bodies and paying homage with murmured words.

The future looked bright, and the past, for now, was put behind them.

The nightmare came not long after Bess fell asleep in Seth's arms. She felt the wracking spasms of pain that crossed her abdomen, heard the whispers she couldn't understand and the midwife's urgent command for her to push.

She was giving birth. Something was wrong. The pain had been going on for too long, and she thought she detected a new note in Mrs. Worthy's tone. Concern.

“Mrs. Worthy, how is she?” It was Uncle Edward's worried voice Bess heard as the agonizing pain ripped across her belly, making her cry out and grip hard on the sheets.

“Not good,” the midwife admitted. “The babe's breech.”

“Breech?” Edward's fear was evident in his voice.

“The child's leaving his mama the wrong way,” Mrs. Worthy said.

“Oh, God.”

Unable to hear the midwife's reply, Bess struggled to open her eyes. Poor Uncle Edward, she thought. And then,
Am I going to die?

No, she wasn't going to die! Her baby would need her; she was going to live! She had to tell Uncle Edward that she was going to be all right.

“I'll kill Seth Garret. I'll kill the bastard who did this to her!” Edward said, his voice almost unrecognizable in his fury.

“Seth?” Bess queried weakly as the pain finally passed for a few minutes' rest. “He's here?” In her delirium, she'd only heard Seth's name. Joy filled her heart. Seth had finally returned for her, and in time for the baby's birth.

She felt a warm hand grasp her arm. “Lisabeth, it's all right. I'm here. I'll take good care of you.”

That wasn't Seth. It was Uncle Edward. Her eyes opened and she tried to focus. “Seth's not here?” she gasped as her muscles began to tighten again.

Edward's eyes filled with tears. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

Bess cried out with the pain of her contraction, and the knowledge that Seth still hadn't come.

“The babe's coming!” Mrs. Worthy exclaimed. “The babe's turned!” She patted the outside of Bess's right thigh. “Push now, dearie. Push your little one out into the world!”

The next several minutes were a confused blur of pain and the unintelligible mutters of the midwife and Uncle Edward. She couldn't hear their conversation, but she could feel the tension in the room as she fought to give birth.

Suddenly, she heard a woman's cry of joy, and Bess pushed hard. “That's it!” Mrs. Worthy exclaimed.

Bess felt something warm and slick slide out from inside of her.

“A boy! It's a boy!” Mrs. Worthy said.

Bess smiled, and the pain of Seth's abandonment was softened by the birth of her son. A healthy new son.

She lay there, exhausted, and then the midwife pressed on Bess's stomach, telling her to push once again.

“You're not done, dearie. You must bear down for the afterbirth.”

Bess frowned. Where was her baby? Why hadn't she heard him cry?

The pressure on her belly increased, and Bess grunted as she bore down once again until she expelled the afterbirth. Then she heard her new son cry, and her mouth curved upward in delight. He was all right. Everything was all right.

The crying stopped abruptly, and the sudden silence frightened Bess. Still foggy from her ordeal, Bess thought she detected the sound of concern ripple about her bedchamber.

“Uncle Edward?” she asked, barely able to keep her eyes open. “What's wrong?” She struggled to sit up, but fell back too tired.

Edward was immediately at her side, urging her to lie still. “Relax, Bess. Sleep. We'll talk later.”

But she couldn't rest. Something was wrong. She could feel it; she could hear it in her uncle's tone. “What's wrong?” She grabbed the lapel of her uncle's coat in a sudden burst of renewed energy. “My baby? Where is he?”

Uncle Edward's face was pale as he disengaged her hand from his coat. Bess lay back, noting how his mouth trembled slightly before he spoke. “He didn't make it, Bess.” His eyes were bright with tears. “Your baby was born dead.”

“But I heard a cry!”

“No,” he said in a choked voice. “That was Mrs. Worthy. She was upset that she couldn't do more to save your son.”

The moan started in her chest and was released as a mournful cry of denial.
“No!”
She began to sob. “Not my baby!” Not the only thing she had left of Seth!

She cried until she fell asleep an hour later, but then she woke up and the awful truth returned, making her cry again.

“Dead,” she sobbed. “My baby is dead.”

And then she sat up, and hate filled her heart for the man who was responsible. Things would have been different if Seth had come back. It was his fault that her son had been born dead.

Bess woke up from the nightmare, gasping and covered in sweat. Damn, she'd had that awful dream again. It had been a long time since she'd had it last, over a year at least. The nightmare had haunted her sleep often during the months following the baby's death.

She shivered and curled into a ball on her side, feeling the loss as if it had occurred only yesterday. The dream had been a reenactment of reality, and the memory of it still hurt.

Seth heard a soft sob and realized that it had come from his wife. “Lisabeth. Love, what is it?” He rose up on his elbow and saw her huddled form. She turned toward him, and he stroked her cheek, noting her tears. “You're crying.”

“I'm all right,” she said in a strangled voice.

“Tell me.”

The tears escaped to spill onto her smooth skin. “You—you won't leave me again, will you?” she asked.

“No, no, of course not.” He gathered her close, kissing her neck and ear, moving to caress each of her features with his lips. “I love you. I wouldn't leave you. Is that why you're crying, because you thought I would?”

She nodded. And it was the truth, she thought. But it was just one of the many things that concerned her.

“You're my wife. I want to be with you always. I want you to have my child.”

Bess drew a sharp breath. The air shuddered in a hiss as it escaped her lungs. She began to cry in earnest, for the child she'd lost, for the child she might never have. She'd never been certain that the birth of her first child hadn't caused her damage.

“What if I can't give you a child,” she asked, her heart beating loudly.
He doesn't know about our dead baby. I have to tell him.

Seth had never seen her hurt quite like this; it was a heartrending sight. “Then we'll still have each other.” He gave her a tender smile. “Now stop worrying, my love. Do you think I'd let you go now that I finally have you again?”

“I guess not,” she said. But as Bess nestled against his side, she had her doubts. She should tell him about their son, but she couldn't find the courage. Soon, she promised herself.

And she lay within his arms, seeking comfort, worrying about what the truth would do to their future and love.

 

 

 

“It's quite a sight,” Seth murmured into Bess's ear. She nodded, silently agreeing. They stood together on the upper deck, studying the bay and the shoreline.

The harbor at San Francisco was cluttered with ships, lots of them: tall-masted ships, smaller vessels, some looking to be on the point of ruin.

“I don't understand,” Bess said. “I thought San Francisco was a place to make riches. Why do some of the ships look abandoned?”

“They have been abandoned,” Seth told her. “I heard about this kind of thing here, but it startles me to see it.” He gestured toward the shore with his right arm, the left arm he kept firmly about Bess's middle, holding her to his side.

“See those vessels lined up along the shore?” She nodded. “Many have been renovated into shops or hotels.”

“Honestly?” Bess asked. She appeared skeptical, and disturbed.

He gave her a crooked grin. “Honestly,” he said.

“San Francisco doesn't look like a very . . . peaceful place.”

Seth agreed. “No, it doesn't.”

Once the
Sea Mistress
was anchored, the men, all but the four sailors who would make up the anchor watch, started to leave the ship. Seth stayed topside to oversee the disembarkation, while Bess went to their cabin to gather her belongings to take ashore. Someone came to the cabin door. Knowing it wasn't her husband, because he never bothered to knock before entering, Bess went to open the hatch, expecting to see James Kelley or Mark Hawke. But it was John Reeves, who asked if he could have a word with her.

She nodded and stepped aside to allow his entry.

Reeves stood for a moment, appearing uncomfortable with what he had to say. “Bess—”

“What is it, John?”

“About you and the captain . . .”

She frowned, for she had told him that the marriage would be annulled once they had reached San Francisco. But that was before Seth and she had fallen in love again.

“I love him,” she said. “And he loves me, John. We're going to stay married.”

To her surprise, Reeves appeared relieved. “Good. I was afraid.” He stopped and blushed. “Bess, Rebecca is with child.”

Ah, so it's Rebecca you're thinking of,
she thought. “I know.” She stifled a growing fear.

“You do?” He seemed shocked.

“She told me. I've known for some time. In fact, it was I who told her not to worry—that you would still consider her your friend.”

Reeves's mouth softened. “Thank you.” Bess nodded. “Then it's all right if I . . .”

He looked away. “I thought I'd stay with Rebecca. You have the captain now, while Rebecca has no one to take care of her.”

Except Aunt Clara,
Bess thought, and then felt guilty for the thought. She experienced a burning in her stomach, as it tightened and formed a knot.

“You don't need me anymore,” Reeves said.

“I don't know about that, John.” What would she do without Reeves when Seth went to sea again? She straightened her spine. She would manage, just as she'd always done. With or without John Reeves.

“I'll continue to work for you until you're settled and the shop is ready to open its doors.”

Bess waved aside his concerns. “Everything will work out, John. I'm not worried.” She thought of Rebecca and then made an offer. “Perhaps Rebecca would like to help out at the shop?”

Reeves's face lit up. “Do you think?”

She nodded, smiling.

“I'll ask her.” He headed for the hatch.

“John,” she called him back. He paused to regard her over his shoulder. “Don't get hurt. Don't allow her to hurt you like I did.”

He became flustered. “I won't,” he said, not denying that his love for her had caused him pain.

And he left, leaving Bess to wonder what the future would bring them.

 

 

The Willard Hotel was a pleasant establishment run by one Miss Priscilla Willard, a forty-year-old spinster from New York.

Seth arranged for their room, and then took Bess up to see her comfortable. “You'll be all right here. We'll dine when I get back. And if you need anything before then, James will be right downstairs on the first floor.”

Bess frowned. “Where are you going?” She couldn't help remembering the last time he'd left her and never come back.

“I have a delivery to make. A group of solicitors hired me to transport an item for them. And the man himself has offered an extra handsome reward for my efforts.” He encircled her with his arms. “Bess, love, I'll be back in an hour or so.” He caressed her cheek, before he bent to kiss her mouth.

“How will you get there?”

“I'll find a way.” He grinned. “Hire a mule if I have to.” He kissed her again, hard. “I'll have a bath sent up for you. Dress in that gown I bought you. When I get back, we'll have dinner—a real dinner and not that unpleasant sea fare we've been putting up with.”

“Cook's meals weren't so bad,” she said with a smile.

He laughed and kissed her one last time, and then he left her.

 

 

Seth wasn't too impressed with the new San Francisco. In fact, there were things about the city that alarmed him. He wasn't sure it was the safest place for Bess to open a mercantile. There were burned sections of San Francisco. When he'd inquired about those areas from a resident, he'd learned the fires were the work of looters, their victims local shop owners.

He found a livery stable not far from the hotel, and was able to hire a good horse to take him to the Blanchard home. It was a mile or so away from the wharf.

The item he carried with him was a mahogany box about six inches by five inches in size with a lock. Mr. Blanchard already had the key, one of the solicitors in Wilmington had informed him.

He was curious about the box's contents. It must be something valuable, because he'd already been paid by the lawyers to bring it, yet Mr. Blanchard also offered a reward.

The money he earned for its transport along with the monies he'd get from George Metcalfe was more than enough to pay off any debts, including buying the remaining shares in the
Sea Mistress.

The
Sea Mistress
would finally belong to him, and him alone. There would no longer be any other shareholders to worry about pleasing, to share in the profits. All future monies made would belong to him, except for wages to be paid to his crew.