The Devil's Necklace (5 page)

She was studying his profile when he turned and looked down at her. For an instant their eyes met and held. Grace wondered at the turbulence she read there the instant before his mouth settled softly over hers.

Her entire body went rigid. She started to pull away, but instead of the hard, taking kiss she imagined, there was only the merest brush of his lips against hers before he ended the contact.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “It is time I took you back,” he said.

She hadn’t noticed how cold it was, hadn’t really felt the biting force of the wind that had begun to build as the evening progressed. “Thank you for bringing me up on deck.”

“I keep my word, Miss Chastain. That is something you will learn. From now on, you may come up whenever you wish, as long as Mr. McShane or myself accompanies you.”

A rush of relief swept through her. Her imprisonment, at least below deck, was over.

She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you.” It seemed a powerful concession. She was a criminal, after all. He could lock her up in the ship’s brig if he wanted.

He didn’t say more and neither did she. She steadied herself against him as he guided her down the ladder to the quarters they shared.

It wasn’t until well after midnight that she heard him enter the cabin. She was dressed in her borrowed night rail, lying on her side at the very edge of the bed. She heard him begin to remove his clothing and her heart started pounding at the thought of what he might do.

But he merely removed his outer garments and climbed into bed on the opposite side of the mattress as he had done before. She tried not to think of his feather-soft kiss, or wonder at its meaning.

But it wasn’t until just before dawn, after the captain was dressed and gone, that she finally fell into a troubled sleep.

Angus McShane ambled across the quarterdeck on his way to speak to the captain, who stood behind the big teak wood wheel. He had known Ethan for years, served with him aboard his first ship. Eight years later, they were still together, though the captain had become a far different man.

The months he had spent in France, beaten and tortured in a stinking French prison, had changed him, hardened him into the man he was today, made him seem far older than his years.

He was troubled now, Angus could see on this cold February morning, had been since he had brought the lass aboard.

Inwardly, Angus sighed. Revenge had a way of eating at a man. And it was never as satisfying as a man believed it would be.

“Ye wanted ta see me, Capt’n?”

“Aye. I wanted to let you know I told the girl she could come up on deck whenever she wished, as long as you or I came with her.”

Angus raised one of his bushy gray eyebrows. “I thought ye meant to punish her.”

He shrugged. “She hasn’t the disposition to stay cooped up. I suppose I understand that better than most.”

And treating a woman badly, no matter how much she might deserve it, just wasn’t in the captain’s nature, Angus thought.

“Ye did right, lad.” Angus turned to look out over the water. A flock of albatross winged overhead, heading for the coast. Sunlight glinted like jewels on the water and the sky was blue as the wildflowers in the highlands of a clear spring morning.

“Ye’ve been sore-tempered of late,” Angus said. “I’m thinkin’ ye haven’t yet bedded the lass.”

The captain raked a hand through his dark hair. “You said once, she is not what you imagined. Well, she is not what I imagined, either, Angus. She’s a good deal more naive. Jeffries must have seduced her. I’ll wager he’s the only man who’s ever touched her and not all that often.”

“So ye plan ta leave her be?”

The captain’s jaw hardened. “She owes me. She owes the dead men in my crew for aiding the traitor responsible for getting them killed. Her innocence is gone and I mean to have her. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Then what will ye do?”

He looked out over the water. A big silver fish arched into the air and splashed back into the sea. “I’ve got to find out if she knows where Jeffries is. And I need to know more about the woman herself. Then I’ll make up my mind.”

Angus just nodded. Ethan Sharpe was a good man. In time, he would make the right decision. But Angus was equally uncertain as to what that decision should be.

A week crawled past. As the captain had promised, Grace was given free access to the deck, as long as the first mate, Mr. McShane, or the captain himself accompanied her.

The brawny old Scot was sweet, she discovered, a longtime friend of the captain’s who wasn’t afraid to voice his opinions. Or ask probing questions.

“Why’d ye do it, lass? Didn’t ye know what would happen if ye helped the man escape?”

Grace sighed as they stood at the rail. “I had to help him. He was…a friend. I couldn’t just let him hang.”

“Did ye love him, then?”

She knew he was asking a far different question but the answer remained the same. “I suppose in a way I did.” It didn’t seem possible to love a father she had met only weeks before. But every year he had written a letter, telling her about his life, telling her how much he wished that they could be together.

Though her mother had hidden the letters away, three months ago the truth had finally come out. Her real father had cared about her, sent money for her education. He had wanted to raise her as his own. Though he was never part of her life, he hadn’t forgotten her.

How could she turn her back on him?

Captain Sharpe asked questions as well, though he usually went out of his way not to broach too volatile a subject. “Do your parents live in London?”

“Yes. My father’s a physician. We don’t really get on very well.”

“Why not?”

Because I’m not really his daughter and he hates me for it.
“He doesn’t approve of me. He thinks I’m too outspoken.” Among other things.

“You are outspoken. More than any woman I’ve ever met.”

Her cheeks went warm. “It’s a bad quality, I suppose.”

“Not necessarily.” He lifted her chin with his fingers. “I’m beginning to find I like a woman unafraid to speak her mind.”

She looked into his eyes, wondering if what he said was the truth, or if he was merely trying to win her confidence in order to gain information.

“You rarely mince words yourself,” she said, and he smiled. He seemed to be doing that a little more often, she thought, wondering at the cause.

“I don’t suppose I do.”

It wasn’t until the following afternoon that he brought up the subject of the prison escape. “We both know you’re guilty. You’ve admitted as much. If you would tell the authorities where to find Jeffries, they would be far more lenient in dealing with you.”

She arched an eyebrow in his direction. It was the question she had expected him to ask long ago. “Is that the reason you let me come up on deck, the reason you’ve been so agreeable lately? Because you want me to tell you where the viscount is hiding?”

He glanced away. “Part of the reason, perhaps.”

“At least you are honest.”

“Do you know where he is? If you do, for your own sake, you would be better off to divulge the information.”

“I don’t know where he is. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. The truth is I haven’t the slightest clue.”

He eyed her as if trying to decide whether or not to believe her. Then his expression subtly changed. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you? You have no idea where Jeffries is hiding.”

“I never spoke to him after he was arrested. He has probably left the country. That is what I would do. Why is finding him so important to you? You believe he is a traitor. I can understand why the government would want to find him, but this seems personal in some way. What did the viscount do to you?”

His jaw clenched so hard she almost wished she hadn’t asked. He took a steadying breath and released it slowly. “I had a ship before this one.
Sea Witch.
We were on a mission for the War Office. Jeffries had access to information that revealed exactly where the ship was headed. He sold that information to the French.”

“You don’t know that for certain!” She was shocked at the accusation.

“He was the only man who knew, the only one who could have betrayed us.
Sea Witch
was captured and sunk, my men killed or died in prison. Only one of them escaped.”

“Long-boned Ned—and you.”

“That’s right. The French kept me alive. They thought prison would be worse than dying and they were right. Fortunately, I had friends, people who refused to give up until I was free and they could bring me home. The rest of my men weren’t so lucky.”

She didn’t say more. She could see the anger seething beneath his surface calm, read the fury in the ice-blue of his eyes. “You must be mistaken about the viscount. I’m sorry about your crew but—”

He turned on her, halting her words with a frozen glare. “Are you? If you are truly sorry, you will tell me how to find Harmon Jeffries.”

“I told you, I have no idea where he is.”

He took her arm, none too gently. “Come, it’s time to
go in. Believe it or not, I have work to do, matters more important than entertaining my
guest.
”

She ignored the sarcasm dripping from his voice. He was angry that she wouldn’t help him. What little she knew of the viscount would probably be useless, even if she told him. Which she would not. Harmon Jeffries was her father. She had decided to aid him and she wouldn’t alter that decision.

Nothing could change what she had done or the captain’s contempt for her.

In a way she couldn’t blame him.

A
storm blew in. Great waves washed over the bow. The ship pitched and rolled, dropped into huge troughs and climbed up the opposite side. Sheets of water pummeled the decks and washed into the scuppers. The sky was so dark, day and night seemed to meld into one.

For three long days, the storm raged, tossing the schooner about like a bit of flotsam and forcing Grace to remain in the cabin.
Mal de mer
had threatened several times, but so far the crackers and beef broth Freddie brought her had kept the illness at bay.

Dear God, she needed to exercise her limbs and breathe in some clean sea air!

When a slight break came in the weather, Grace paced the room impatiently, waiting for Captain Sharpe or Angus McShane to come for her, but the hours slipped past and no one appeared. Disgruntled and sick unto death of being confined, she lifted her cloak off the brass hook next to the door and swept it round her shoulders. Surely she could find one of the two men and ask for his escort.

Though the wind had lessened, Grace discovered an
icy breeze still blew across the deck as she climbed the ladder leading up from below and poked her head through the hatch into the open air. The decks themselves were slippery and wet. She had tied her hair back with the scrap of lace, but the stiff breeze whipped long tendrils around her face.

She stopped the brawny second mate, a man named Willard Cox. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Cox. Have you seen Mr. McShane?”

“Aye, miss. He’s workin’ below.” His gaze skimmed over her in a way that was slightly too familiar. Except for the scar on his cheek, he wasn’t bad-looking. She thought that he saw himself as a bit of a lady’s man, which she found faintly amusing. “You shouldn’t be up here, miss. You’d best go back to your cabin.”

Her chin edged up. Who was he to be giving her orders? “Perhaps you have seen Captain Sharpe.”

“He’s just there, miss, comin’ up the ladder from the hold.”

She spotted him walking toward her, bearing down on her with a scowl on his face and his jaw clamped tight. At his angry expression, she took an unconscious step backward.

“Damnation!” he shouted as he approached, and she stepped back again. At the same instant, the ship dipped into a trough, and Grace struggled for balance. Her slipper caught on a coil of rope, and her foot went out from beneath her. She flailed her arms and tipped sideways as a great wave washed over the deck, the water scooping her up and sweeping her away.

“Grace!” she heard the captain shout. Then the massive wave carried her over the side of the ship into the sea.

Grace screamed as she hit the freezing water and
plunged beneath the surface. Her nose filled with brine, which started to burn her lungs, and it was all she could do not to open her mouth and gasp in a lungful of air. Instead, she held her breath and fought for the surface, but her hair had come unbound and long strands wrapped around her face. The gray skirt seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, and no matter how hard she swam, the surface grew farther away.

She was going to drown, she realized, and began to kick with all her strength. Unlike most women, she was a very good swimmer, having learned in secret along with her friend, Victoria, when they were away at boarding school. She could see faint light near the top of the water. If only she could reach it.

But the dress pulled her down, seemed to undo each small gain she made. The air in her lungs began to burn. She couldn’t hold her breath much longer. Dear God, she didn’t want to die! She gave another frantic set of kicks and for an instant her head broke the surface. She caught a breath of air before beginning to sink again. She thought she heard something swimming around in the water beside her, but her air supply was diminishing and she was growing dizzy.

She fought madly for the surface one final time, but couldn’t quite get her head above the water and the last of her strength began to wane. Something brushed against her. She felt the strength of a man’s hand at her waist, shoving her upward. Grace kicked with all of her strength and together their heads popped out of the sea.

One of the ship’s cork life rings floated nearby and the captain grabbed it and wrapped her arm around it.

“Hold on!” he shouted. “We’ve got to hang on until they can reach us!”

She gasped and sputtered, managed a nod, and hung
on with all of her strength. She could see the ship in the distance, one of the wooden dinghies being lowered over the side as the ship came about, trying to stop its forward momentum through the turbulent seas.

She could see the small boat pulling away from the hull, beginning to head their way, the men rowing with all of their might. It took a while for the dinghy to reach them, plowing through the whitecaps, disappearing into a trough, then reappearing again. The big second mate, Willard Cox, a sailor named Red Tinsley, and the thin sailor, Long-boned Ned, manned the oars.

They spotted her and the captain clinging to the life ring, and drew the boat up alongside. Working together, the three men hauled Grace into the boat, then reached down for the captain. He sprawled next to her in the bottom of the dinghy, both of them shivering uncontrollably.

Ned tossed a blanket over them. “We’ll ’ave ye back aboard the ship quick as we can,” he said to her. “Ol’ Angus backed the sails and hove to. He’ll slow ’er down and be waitin’ fer us to catch up ta him.”

She swallowed and nodded, the fear she had held back beginning to creep over her, clogging her throat with tears. But the minutes in the icy sea had sapped her strength and she was too frozen to make her lips work.

And grateful just to be alive.

It took a while for the dinghy to battle its way through the pounding waves and reach the ship. Angus paced near the rail, his rugged face lined with worry as the men helped her aboard.

He came to a stop just in front of her, reached out and touched her cheek. “So ye made it, did ye, lass?”

Her eyes welled with tears as she thought of how near death she had come, how Ethan Sharpe had risked himself to save her.

“Aye. The lad saved yer life. Coulda been the death o’ ye both.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know the seas were still so rough or the decks quite so slippery.”

“Ye need ta get out of those clothes,” Angus said, guiding her down the ladder to her cabin. She looked back for Ethan, saw him right behind her.

“I’ll take care of her,” he said, following her into the room. “Send down a hot bath. She needs to get warmed up.”

“And ye, as well, lad.”

“Soon,” Ethan said. He closed the door and turned to face her.

“I’m sorry,” Grace said again, tears burning.

Instead of the anger she expected, he simply reached out and swept her into his arms.

“Sweet God, Grace, I thought we’d lost you.”

She clung to him, grateful for his warmth, the solid feel of his body, the steady beat of his heart, holding him as tightly as he was holding her. “I’m so sorry. Oh, Ethan, you could have been killed.”

He tipped her chin up and saw the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Christ…” And then he was kissing her, taking possession of her mouth, and he crushed her against him. He molded his lips to hers, shaped them, tasted them, kissed her one way and then another, as heat washed over her. His tongue plunged in and fire seemed to scorch through her veins. She found herself clinging to his neck, kissing him back as wildly as he was kissing her.

She told herself it was just that she was alive. That he was a man and she was a woman and they had survived death by inches. Whatever it was, heat and need swept over her, unlike anything she had known. He was tall but
so was she, and they seemed to fit perfectly together. His chest was a hard wall pressing into her breasts and beneath her wet garments, her nipples tightened and began to throb.

She felt light-headed, almost giddy, and her heart was racing, pounding so hard she wondered if he could hear. Her fingers slid into his wet black hair and she could feel its silky texture, the soft wisps curling against the nape of his neck.

He kissed her and kissed her, and insane as it was, she didn’t want him to stop. “Dear God…Ethan…”

A noise sounded and awareness began to sink in. Some one was knocking at the door. He turned, his blue eyes full of emotion. For a moment, she thought he might send them away.

With his body heat gone, she began to shiver. Cursing, he walked over to the door and pulled it open.

“The lady’s bath,” one of the crewmen said.

He flicked her a glance, must have noticed how pale she was. “Set it in front of the hearth.”

The two crewmen set the steaming tub on the carpet and quietly left the room. Ethan walked over to where she stood shivering and pulled the string on the front of her blouse. “The bath will warm you,” he said softly, and she thought of the first time that she had undressed with him in the room.

He must have read her thoughts for he sighed. “All right, I’ll turn my back if it makes you feel better.”

Her fingers were cold and clumsy. When she didn’t manage to undress fast enough, he walked over to where she stood, caught the hem of the blouse and pulled it off over her head, leaving her in only the skirt and her wet lawn chemise. She covered her breasts as he unfastened
the but ton at the waist of the skirt and slid the clinging fabric down over her hips, leaving her in a garment so transparent he could see right through it, so short it barely covered her bottom.

His eyes were dark and hot. She had always thought them pale and glacial, but there was nothing cold about them now.

“I would advise you to get into that tub before I do what I am thinking.”

With his breeches wet and plastered to his body, she couldn’t miss the thick ridge that marked his desire. Cheeks flushed from more than just embarrassment, she climbed into the water quickly, leaving the chemise in place even after she was seated in the tub.

She looked up to see Ethan pulling fresh garments out of his wardrobe. He strode toward the door with the clothing draped over his arm. “If I had my way, I would lift you out of that tub and carry you over to the bed. I wouldn’t leave you until morning. But you have had a very bad experience and you need to rest. Sleep for a while and once you are feeling better, perhaps you will join me for supper.”

She looked up at him from the tub. She could still feel the lean strength of his body, taste his mouth as it moved over hers. He wanted her. He had made the fact no secret. She should be frightened. Somehow she was not.

“I would like that very much.”

Ethan seemed pleased. He made a slight bow and quit the room. Grace sat in the tub till the water turned cold, trying to understand what had just happened.

He was standing in the passageway, freshly bathed, his hair clean and neatly combed, when Grace answered his knock several hours later and opened the cabin door.

His eyes ran over her, taking in the sapphire gown she had altered to fit her, making it look almost respectable, though even with the black lace fichu, the bodice was extremely low. The gown was high-waisted, with an edge of black lace beneath her breasts and a slender skirt slit modestly up the side, thanks to her handiwork.

“You look lovely. I don’t believe the dresses were a waste, after all.”

She felt the pull of a smile. “Perhaps not. Thank you for the compliment.” She had washed and dried her hair but the fire was out, though the storm was beginning to lessen, and the strands were still slightly damp. She had used the mother-of-pearl inlaid combs she had been wearing the night she had been taken from the
Lady Anne
to sweep the heavy mass up into curls atop her head, and his gaze lingered there before moving back to her face.

“I usually dine in the salon.” He offered his arm and Grace rested her hand on the sleeve of his navy blue tailcoat. “Tonight, Cook has gone to extra trouble in honor of my
guest.
”

He was dressed as a gentleman, a white stock perfectly tied beneath his lean jaw, an expensively tailored coat fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders. His waistcoat gleamed with faint silver threads, and snug black breeches outlined his long legs and flat belly. He was incredibly handsome and yet he still looked every inch the pirate that he was.

A little shiver of awareness went through her as he settled a hand at her waist and led her toward the ladder leading up on deck. She had never been invited into the formal salon, a room that seemed to belong solely to him.

She found it even more elegant than his cabin. Lamplight flickered behind crystal chimneys in gilt sconces on the walls, which were paneled in smooth dark wood
halfway up then papered in watered silk. There was a built-in, marble-topped sideboard, and a lovely oval Queen Anne table and chairs. A dark green brocade sofa sat before the tiny hearth, which she noticed had been relit and flickered with low-burning flames.

“For a pirate, you certainly have expensive tastes.” She cast him a sideways glance. “Then again, perhaps that is the reason you are a pirate.”

His mouth faintly curved. “I don’t plunder enemy ships for treasure, if that is what you think. I collect information. In a way, I’m in the same business as your
friend,
Lord Forsythe. Except that I am loyal to my country.”

She blanched at the venom that had slipped into his voice. “Whether or not you believe it, I, too, am a loyal English citizen. Helping Lord Forsythe was a personal matter.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek.

“Please, you have invited me here to enjoy the evening. I have no wish to spoil it by speaking of unpleasant subjects. Could we not call a truce, Captain Sharpe, at least for tonight?”

There must have been something in her face. She didn’t want to fight with him; she owed him her life. Had she not vowed secrecy in the matter of her father, she would have told him why she had arranged the viscount’s escape. At least he might have understood her motives. But she simply could not break her word.

Some of the tension left his features. “A truce. I believe that is a very good idea. On one condition.”