The Captain of All Pleasures (17 page)

On the fourth day, he was rewarded when her eyes fluttered open.

When she parted her pallid lips, he poured a glass of water for her and awaited her questions. After blinking several times, her eyes settled wide open. She looked as if she battled panic, so he was relieved when she was able to phrase a clear question.

“Where am I?” she rasped before she let him pull her up for a drink.

“You're aboard the
Southern Cross.”

She drank deeply, then sank back down in confusion. “My ship…?”

“Went down.”

At his answer, she brought a limp hand over her face as a broken sound burst from her lips. “C-Crew?” she whispered.

“Your
crew,”
—he skewered the word—“will be hauled off to the jail in Cape Town for attempted mutiny. It would seem that not knowing about your safety drove the bastards crazy.”

“Did you…harm them?” she asked, staring at him accusingly.

“Yes, of course they were hurt when we defended my ship!” Her face became even paler, if possible, and she looked as though she might be sick, so he added brusquely, “If you mean to ask if anyone was killed, then the answer is no.”

Such a look of relief crossed her face…. What were those men to her?

She reached out and gripped his wrist with a frantic strength in her small hand. “I must see Chancey.” Her touch was like lightning running through him. He rushed to assure himself that her skin was just hot—she might in fact be getting feverish. When her demand sank in, he became furious.

“That will not happen, princess,” he pronounced in clipped tones.

Abruptly she dropped his hand as her own fell by her side, all strength vanishing. She looked desolate, with such bleakness in her eyes that he came close to taking back what he'd said.

Inwardly, he cringed at his weakness where Lassiter's daughter was concerned. Was he losing his mind to even think about letting the woman who'd poisoned his crew see the man who'd tried to take his ship? The idea was ludicrous, and it wouldn't happen.

“I've attempted to get information on the poisoning from some of your crew, but they swear they don't know anything about it.” He pinned her with a flinty glare. “Now you'll tell me about the sabotage.”

Her eyes widened in surprise before she hissed,
“As if you don't know.”

“What the hell does that mean? How would I know?”

Although her whole body weakened before his eyes, she spoke with increasing fury. “You know because you're responsible.”

“I'm
responsible?” He bit back a laugh as he rose off the bed and walked across the cabin. “I have no reason to hurt anyone's ship,” he said with amusement, and poured a glass of brandy from the all-but-empty bottle on his desk.

“You hurt my ship,” she countered while he took a large drink.

“It was dead before I even got there because you'd gutted it in the straits,” he said. “You should be thanking me. If I hadn't plucked you off that sinking ship, odds are you would be dead by now.”

She was silent as she obviously sought to remember and decide whether he was correct. Finally, she replied, “It's true you saved my life. But I can assure you that I didn't hit anything.”

“I suppose the
Bella Nicola
just sank itself.”

She exhaled in impatience. In her condition, it sounded more like a sigh. “She sank because someone sabotaged her.”

“You're planning to stick to this ridiculous story? So be it.” He lifted his glass to her in a mocking salute. “Here's to veracity.”

She glared at him. “Will you let me go with my crew at the Cape?”

“No.” Another drink as he made his way back over to the bed.

“That's kidnapping,” she cried out hoarsely. She weakly moved farther away when he sat back down.

“No, it's justice, you conniving little witch.” He saw her aversion and shot off the bed again. “After what you did to my crew, I have every right to punish you.”

“What I did to your crew?” she asked in confusion. She feebly massaged her temples.

It was too easy to see her as an innocent young woman, alone after a tragedy. But he knew what she really was. She was the daughter of his most hated adversary, and he himself had dragged her out of his storage room right after she'd poisoned their water.

Disgusted, he turned to leave. Just before he reached the doorway, he looked back, angry and wanting to hurt her as he'd been hurt. But she appeared completely bewildered, and when a single tear trailed down her cheek, he cursed himself for a fool and stalked out. Though not before he heard her rasp, “And to think I was worried about
you!”

 

Nicole woke again hours after her confrontation with Sutherland, too weak to move. A cursory survey of her body told her that she was badly off. She had never thought she'd bruised easily, but there lay her body, black and blue. And though she seldom cried, when she thought of the
Bella Nicola
scattered along the bottom of the ocean, the tears spilled forth, easily and unimpeded. She told herself she'd broken down because of the shock and injuries. The truth was that she cried because the life she had always known, had always wanted, was lost to her and her father and Chancey forever.

For what seemed like hours, she lay conjuring up memories of her ship and trying to freeze them in her mind. Her reveries were interrupted when a slim man with a crop of light-blond hair and a cherubic expression entered the cabin.

“Oh, I'm so very sorry for not knocking. I thought you'd be asleep,” he said as he approached her bed. “I am Dr. Bigsby, the ship's surgeon, and I've been caring for your more serious injuries.”

“How bad am I?”

“You gave us a little scare when you didn't wake for the first three days. But now that you're up and speaking, I'm sure you'll do just fine.”

“Three days
…I was out for three days?”

“That's correct. The rest is helping you mend.” He took a small glass lens out of his medical bag and moved it to her eye. “Now, if you will look up…to the left, and right. Very good, with the other eye, please.”

When he'd put away the tool, she asked, “What's happened to my crew since we were taken?”

He answered reticently as he took her pulse, “Well, there was that, um, trying-to-take-the-ship incident, but none of them were gravely injured. I made sure they were given adequate water and food. When you woke, I was able to assure them that you were doing much better.”

“I can't believe they mutinied.”

“Yes, though close, the coup was not a success.”

“And Chancey? Is he all right?”

“He's prowling the hold like a caged tiger, but calmed a bit when I told him how well you're being treated.”

She grabbed the doctor's hand in an anxious grip. “Oh, thank you, Dr. Bigsby. Thank you so much for that.”

At that moment, Sutherland entered the room, his cold gaze settling on their hands like frost.

“Bigsby—outside.
Now,”
he barked. The doctor looked from Sutherland to her before bravely patting her hand in encouragement. “I'll be back,” he said, then followed the captain out.

She couldn't make out what they said, but Sutherland returned alone.

“You will not need the surgeon's help anymore.” He shut the door on the doctor still standing in the corridor.

She flinched. His voice was so severe and gravelly, so different from the placid voice of Dr. Bigsby. She eyed him warily as he started moving around the cabin gathering dry clothes. No matter how hard she fought it, how much she wanted to be on her guard with him in the room, sleep overcame her again.

Then wood crashed down against wood—her body jerked in response, but there was nowhere to run….

Her eyes flew open. She wasn't on her ship? She was warm, dry…safe?

The door to the cabin had been thrown open. A sickly boy with ashen skin brought in a food tray and plopped it on the floor, causing the contents to slosh out over the tray.

Through locks of straggly hair that fell over his eyes, he looked down at the spilled food, mumbling something about how she “shouldn't even be given a cursed crumb.”

At the doorway, he turned to give her a hostile glare with his sunken eyes before slamming the door. Then, just as Sutherland had done that morning, he locked it behind him.

What? Did they think she could escape the ship? Idiots!

After some time, she slowly levered herself up in the bed to determine whether she could bend down for the food without passing out. In the end, she decided she wouldn't even try, and not just because of her injuries. She couldn't eat when a boy she'd never seen had looked at her with such spite. She reasoned that, at worst, he would give as good as he thought he'd gotten and put something dangerous in the food. At best, the little cur would probably spit in it. The effort to raise herself was just too daunting, and her strength ebbed away as sleep returned.

They made Cape Town four days later. Nicole still suffered headaches and slept for most of the day. Derek had hoped she'd sleep through their docking and the jettisoning of her crew.

As he watched his men steering the tied-up sailors on the deck, he understood that wouldn't be happening.

Because Chancey began to yell.

“Nic, be strong—yer a Lassiter!”

As he drew breath to yell again, the sailor in charge of Chancey looked askance at Derek, who nodded in reply. So when Chancey began, “Get away from him in Sydney and I'll come for—” he was interrupted by several blows to his stomach.

Derek cast an uneasy glance at the companionway. The commotion might have woken her. She could hurt herself attempting to get up. Not a minute later he yanked open his cabin door; as he'd expected, she lay crumpled on the floor, just as she'd dropped.

He swiftly scooped her up and winced at how light she'd become. She'd lost weight in the last few days. He vowed that he would make her eat more.

His thoughts were distracted when she grabbed at his collar with both hands and whispered, “Don't do this, Sutherland. Please don't do this.” Her face was drawn, and it looked as if those words cost her a great deal of pain.

But he wouldn't be swayed. He couldn't. The sooner he had that crew off his ship, the safer his own men would feel. He had to think of them first.

“I have no choice.”

“Then please,
please,
don't let them be hurt.” Her gaze was fierce as she visibly put on a strong front, but he could see that she faded. The tension rapidly left her body, and she passed out again.

O
h, yes, yes. She's up and about,” Dr. Bigsby bragged a week later to anyone who would listen. “She has blooms in her cheeks again. Strong girl, that one.”

Derek marveled that the man could miss the threatening looks and harsh glares from the sailors, newly recovered themselves. They weren't exactly waiting on tenterhooks to hear about her rally.

“Captain Sutherland, there you are!”

Derek inwardly groaned when the surgeon turned his attention to him.

“How is our patient today?” Bigsby asked in a cheery tone.

“Fine.”

The doctor raised his eyebrows, waiting for more information. When none came, he asked, “And her bruises?”

“Fine.”

Bigsby frowned, then smiled again. “Just curious. Just curious. Since you won't allow me to talk to her any longer, let alone examine her. Curious, you understand, of course?”

The doctor had just hidden a rebuke in that spate of bubbly speech. Derek didn't need this. “She's healing…fine.” Really, he didn't know. She dressed and bathed herself, so he hadn't seen. Plus, he was the last person she'd tell if she was worried. He walked away from the doctor, eyebrows drawn together, and ended up wondering about her all day. Was she still sick? Was she healing readily enough? Healing at all?

He woke early the next morning, just at dawn, while she slept. Gently turning her on her back, he undid the buttons at her midriff. He held his breath as she lifted her arm above her head, tilting her face back to the pillow. When she settled, he bared her torso, noting that her bruises were fading. But so was the
mehndi.
He'd dreamed about tracing that pattern so often.

Why shouldn't he do it now? She was his to do with as he pleased.

With tentative fingers, he brushed along the design at her waist and up above her flat belly. The lines ran under her shirt, so he pulled it farther open. Heart thundering in his chest, he skimmed the pale undersides of her breasts. He'd been too long without a woman, damn it! That was the only reason for his sharp reaction to her. He wandered along the intricate tracing, following it up between her breasts.

Unfastening her shirt that far had also widened the bottom of the opening, and he could see her hips and the strip of skin just below her belly. His mouth watered to kiss her there. But under his hands, he could feel her body begin to shake from the cold. With regret, he caressed that newly bared spot with the backs of his fingers before reluctantly dressing and bundling her up again.

 

What had just happened?
She'd dreamed that Sutherland was running his hands all over her, the rough pads of his fingers contrasting with the gentleness of his touch. The dream had been vivid and confusing, even more so when she cracked open her eyes and spied him next to her. His gaze lingered over her with a possessive, relishing look that made her body go hot and languorous, even as her mind grew outraged at his liberties.

Her first instinct was to sit up and cover herself, but only after slapping him. Instead, she secretly watched his shaking hands lighting on her body.

Soon his touch became much more than simply pleasurable. She realized she
liked
being bared for him, especially when he looked at her with such a watchful intensity. Why? Did this mean she didn't hate him? Surely you had to at least like someone to feel what she did. She knew for certain that she despised him, but when she watched him skimming her skin with those blunt-tipped fingers that had stroked her so well, she wanted to reveal more.

He must have read her mind, because he opened the shirt farther up as he moved higher between her breasts. Afraid he would notice she was awake, Nicole closed her eyes. Which started a misery unlike any other she'd ever endured.

Each sensation was heightened. She didn't know where he would touch her next. He could take her breast in his hand or touch her even more intimately, as he had before. So why wasn't she stopping him? Her body began quivering. If he continued, would she reach that peak he'd introduced her to? Right when she became dazed with wanting, just when thoughts arose that she should take his hand and press it between her legs, he pulled her shirt closed and wrapped her up in his bed.

She had no control over herself where he was concerned, and that made her afraid of him. He held all the cards now. She hated the man in one instant and wanted to give him her virtue in the next.

 

The next few mornings, when Derek returned from giving out orders, he found her sitting in the window, her eyes vacantly taking in the sea. Each time, a stony silence greeted him. This morning was much the same except for finding her dressed for the first time in her own clothes with her curls braided atop her head. He noted with displeasure that her clothes, boys' trousers and a linen blouse, bagged on her small body.

“I heard you were awake,” he said gruffly as he closed the cabin door behind him.

She didn't answer, didn't move, just stood staring out the window. Dealing with a woman like this was disconcerting. For one thing, women always chattered around him, probably because he spoke so little. He'd never met one as eerily quiet as Nicole.

And women were usually attracted to him or, more accurately, to his money. With Nicole, it was obvious that he repelled her now. Had she ever really felt differently about him?

He didn't have the slightest clue how to deal with her. He'd wanted to punish her for what she'd done, but even he wasn't cruel enough to hurt her when she was injured. Plus, he was beginning to wonder if she would ever recover from the loss of her ship. She was being punished as it was. She was lethargic and incredibly still losing weight.

Bigsby had suggested he buy fruit at the Cape to reawaken her appetite, even outrageously suggesting a few exorbitant oranges. Amazingly, Derek had taken the suggestion. Today, the surgeon had given his blind opinion that Nicole should begin eating normally again.

“I, uh, I brought you some fresh fruit. I'll just set—”

He didn't have time to blink before she flew at him—or rather, at the fruit he'd placed on the table. She snatched three oranges and two apples, stuffing them in the crook of her bent elbow, under her chin, then attempting to take three more in a juggler's grip.

After scrambling into the corner of his bed, she apparently decided he wasn't coming to take them away. She relaxed and tore into an orange. She rolled her eyes in delight and dribbled juice down her chin.

Derek recognized what her behavior indicated, and a well of fury stoked inside him. “I take it you haven't been eating well since you've been on board.”

She raised her eyebrows and gave him a look that said,
However did you guess?

He struggled to contain his temper, and his next words sounded less harsh. “You've been brought food three times a day, every day.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he asked, “Why haven't you eaten more?”

She looked torn between answering him and eating the last section of an orange. As the orange prevailed, he had to wait for her to finish her slow, relishing chewing. Peeling another with quick, slender fingers, she asked, “You believe I poisoned your crew, correct?”

He could point out that there was no belief about it, only certainty. But she was speaking to him in whole sentences, so he nodded.

“And you sent my crew to jail because they were worried about my health?” He did not like the direction this conversation was taking.

In a patronizing tone, she said, “I'll take the absence of a denial to mean ‘Yes, Miss Lassiter.'”

Brazen chit. Still, he grunted, and she continued, “Your cabin boy made it clear that he doesn't think I deserve food after the dastardly thing I've allegedly done. I'm sure your whole crew is of the same opinion.”

She began shining an apple with the hem of her shirt. “Would
you
eat from the generous trays that keep coming if you were in my position?”

Put like that, he probably wouldn't have, but he'd be damned if he'd admit that to her.

She shook her head at the apple, then held it in two hands as she lovingly took a bite with her little white teeth.

Why hadn't he foreseen this problem? Hell, he didn't want to starve the wench. Exhaling loudly, he said, “I promise you that your food has not been tainted at my order. In the future, I'll make sure that no one alters your meals in any way.”

She inclined her head toward him as if in a regal acknowledgment. Irritated at his continual softening with her, he grabbed his hat and turned away.

“Sutherland?” she asked before he could leave.

“What?”

She ran her sleeve over her chin and took a deep breath. “Although I find it unspeakably difficult to ask you for anything, I find that I have to now that I finally have the energy.”

He expected she needed some type of luxury item that she didn't already possess, so her next question caught him completely off guard.

“How did you sink my ship?”

“What?”

She leapt off the bed. “I have to know!”

“I didn't have anything to do with sinking your ship. You and your crew took care of that all by yourselves!” Derek all but yelled.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It has to be you.”

“You're just trying to escape your own punishment by throwing me off the scent—”

She began to pace. “I know your motivation,” she continued as if not hearing him. “After all, my father was favored to win this race. And with your reputation, the loss would be devastating to your company.”

“You exaggerate.”

Returning her attention to him, she said, “You know this race will make or break captains and shipping lines. All of England is caught up in it. All our reputations are at stake.”

“I don't disagree with that. But, believe me, Peregrine Shipping is strong enough that a single race wouldn't run it into the ground.”

She gave him a pitying glance. “I know about the company. I'm well aware that you've been losing business steadily for the last few years. You might have had some success in camouflaging that fact. But anybody who looked closely would know you're killing Peregrine.”

What she'd said was only a variation of his brother's rebuke just weeks earlier but, damn, he didn't want this girl to think that.

“You can't bloody well talk, princess. You poisoned my crew so your father could win.”

“How can you think I'm responsible for your crew's sickness?” she asked in an astonished tone.

“Don't forget that I found you in my ship's storage hold sneaking around the water casks,” he replied just as heatedly. “And I heard you telling that Irishman that you could cross me off the list—that you'd been through my entire ship.”

“God, you are a fool. I swear the alcohol has pickled your brain.”

“I am indebted to my drinking. Staying on the bottle is the only thing that prevented me from succumbing to our
poisoned water,”
he thundered.

“I'll tell you again, someone else did this. Most likely the same person who crippled my ship.”

“Then what were you doing in the hold?”

“Well, spying, of course.”

She said it in such a matter-of-fact way, he was tempted to believe her. But he'd never had an enemy as bitter as Lassiter, and it would make sense that he would find a way to retaliate after their fight.

“I don't believe you. Your father was probably desperate to win to pay for all your frivolous luxuries.”

She answered with a strangely blank look, then explained, “My father was investigating the repeated accidents occurring with the larger lines. He was at the Mermaid that night to get information because he believes someone's sabotaging them. My vote was adamantly on you. My father and Chancey thought Tallywood—”

He let out a laugh.

“My sentiments exactly,” she agreed. “I also believed you had something to do with my father's continued imprisonment. We had a list of several suspects, but I was convinced you were cold enough to do it all. I wanted either to clear you or gather evidence against you.”

“And which did you accomplish?”

“At the time, I thought you had nothing to do with it. But now, after what you've done to me and my crew, there can be little doubt.”

“You're lying,” he said evenly. “One aspect of your tale rings false, princess. No one would suspect Tallywood over me for something like this.” With a last look, he stormed out the door.

 

Nicole was well enough to go about on deck, but there was no way Derek could allow her out, not with the crew fuming about her being on board. Although they understood why a man would want to keep a prisoner like her, they'd hoped he would send her to jail with the rest of her crew.