Sea Mistress (12 page)

Seth came to her cabin a short time later. Reilly must have gone to the captain despite her protest. Why else would Seth have come when he'd done nothing but avoid her these past few days?

Her encounter with Reilly had upset her. After his departure, she had locked herself in her cabin. Heart pounding with the knowledge of what could have occurred, Bess had hurriedly undone the gown, ripping off the buttons in her haste to take the garment off, scattering the porcelain fasteners about the floor in all directions. She'd dressed in shirt and trousers and then spent the next several minutes looking for all of the buttons. She'd just found the last one when Seth's steward, Mr. Hawke, came to inform her that the captain wanted to see her in his cabin.

As she crossed the passageway between his cabin and hers, Bess told herself to be firm in her quest to go ashore. Perhaps Mr. Kelley had been mistaken and she was worrying for nothing. Perhaps Seth would allow her to leave the ship.

She heard the thunder of her own heart echo the steward's knock on the captain's hatch. Hawke waited a few seconds before entering the cabin with the ease of long-time familiarity that came with being the captain's man.

Bess, standing just outside the door, barely heard the brief exchange between the steward and Seth. Her attention was held by the dark-haired man standing by his chart table, the furrow on his forehead displaying the deep concentration of his thoughts. The sight of Seth Garret still fascinated her.

“Go on in, miss,” Hawke told her. “He's waiting to speak with you.”

It didn't look that way to her, but she didn't comment on it. Instead, she followed the direction of his gesturing hand and saw that the steward was suggesting that she sit down.

Bess moved toward the bench fastened against the bulkhead, aware that Seth's attention was on his maps and not her. She glanced back toward the hatch to see Mark Hawke silently slip from the cabin.

“So.” Seth's deep voice startled her, drawing her gaze back to where he now regarded her through glistening cerulean-blue eyes.

She drew her mouth into a firm line. “Is there a reason for this summons, Captain, other than to remind me who is in authority on this ship?”

His lips curved with mild amusement. “Are you feeling intimidated, Bess? That hardly seems like you.”

She jerked her head upward, her gaze defiant. “Do I appear intimidated?”

“You look . . . lovely” was his surprising reply.

Bess blinked. What was he up to in beginning their discussion with flattery? The captain she'd come to know since coming on board didn't say nice things—to anyone. “Get to the point of this meeting, Seth.”

“You will not be leaving the
Sea Mistress.”

She bristled. “Like hell I won't!”

He scolded her with the click of his tongue. “Cussing will not convince me otherwise, sweet.” He gave the appearance of being patient, but somehow she could sense that there was anger simmering below the surface. She'd dared to stand up to him. Something members of his crew rarely did, she was sure . . . and here she was a woman. And his former lover.

Bess realized that if she were to change his mind she'd have to change her tactics a bit. “Please, Seth, this is my first major voyage. I need to see the sun and feel the ground beneath my feet for a time.”

“I'll take you up to see the sun—although you've seen it often enough these past days. As for walking on solid earth, I'm afraid that you're going to have to wait a while. Perhaps until we reach San Francisco.”

“But that's over two months away!”

“If we make good time,” he said. His face had become a portrait of strict authority. “I'll not jeopardize your life—nor those of any of the crew—be-cause you refuse to listen to reason!”

“How can my leaving the
Sea Mistress
put your men's lives in danger?”

“When you're assaulted on the streets, who do you think will come to your rescue? Spare me the fuss, Bess. I know what we're dealing with here, while you don't. Defy me on this, and I'll have to punish you.”

Seth's words sounded menacing within the confines of the cabin. Bess had a mental image of being tied to the rail and flogged before the men.

He wouldn't dare,
she thought. She studied his hard features.
Or would he?

She felt her shoulders slump with defeat. “How long?” she whispered. “How long will we be here in port?”

His expression seemed to soften. “A few hours-nothing more.”

Bess fought back tears. She had so wanted to go ashore, to feel the cool grass beneath her bare feet, to find a hotel and take a regular bath—a long hot one. She turned blindly to leave.

“Bess.” His husky call stopped her.

She became aware that he'd moved from his chart table when she felt his overpowering presence directly behind her. She could feel the faint wispy curls of his warm breath on her nape, but she didn't turn. She was afraid to.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

Obediently, she faced him. She heard his sharp inhalation of breath. “What are these? Tears?”

She swallowed, angry with herself for showing him any weakness, for letting him know the extent of her disappointment. When she met his gaze, she felt the most absurd urge to slide into his embrace for comfort. Which was ridiculous, considering that this man had caused her more pain than anyone else on the face of the earth.

But although his nearness was like a caress, he didn't actually touch her. She looked away.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

An apology from the captain? She glanced up, startled. She had waited years to hear him say those words . . . but then he wasn't apologizing for abandoning her. Her heartbeat resumed its normal cadence, and her pulse, which had sped up at his words, slowed to a steady rhythm, a hum rather than a roar.

“For what are you apologizing, Captain?” Her tone had become sharp. “For protecting me? Isn't that what you claim you're doing by keeping me a prisoner?”
For leaving me . . . and never coming back?

She could see him struggling to contain his temper. “I'm concerned for your welfare.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

“Brat.”

“Bastard,” she hissed.

“I think, Miss Metcalfe, that you should go back to your cabin and lie down. Obviously, you're distraught. When you've had time to ponder this situation, you'll see that I'm right.”

“Not bloody likely.”

He grabbed her arm. “Since when have you become such a foul-mouthed shrew?”

“Since the day you left Wilmington.”
And me.
She closed her eyes and felt a fresh wave of pain. In her mind, she heard a baby's wail . . . and then that horrible, deathlike silence. Her lashes flickered open, and she blinked against the haze that blinded her.

Seth released her, feeling as if he'd touched fire. So she'd been punishing him when she'd written the letter, he thought. My God, what kind of spoiled child would resort to such a thing! When he'd left, she'd seemed to understand . . .

Tension crackled in the air between them. “You knew I had to go,” he said.

“I knew all right, only—damn, but you shouldn't have left me!” She spun away, apparently unwilling to speak of it further. As if it didn't matter now—as if it were too late.

And it was, Seth decided.

“I can't change the past,” he said.

“Damn right, you can't!”

He growled. “Your uncle failed you in not disciplining that crude mouth of yours.”

Bess stiffened her spine, but her eyes glistened with tears. “I'll not hear a bad word about Uncle Edward! He was there when I needed him. He— unlike you, Seth Garret—was an honorable man. A good man!”

Seth studied her face and felt his chest tighten. “I'm sorry. Edward Metcalfe was a good man. I never meant—”

“No! You never mean what you say, do you?” she cried. She flew at him with raised fists, and struck at the solid wall of his chest. “Why couldn't you have been more like him?” she sobbed. “Why? Why? Why?”

Seth caught her wrists to keep her from hitting him. She was crying hard now, unable to control her deep sobs. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help feeling for her pain. Obviously, she missed her dead uncle deeply. First, her parents when she was nine, and then her loving guardian . . . so much sadness in such a young life.

She could have had me, but she chose to seek wealth instead.
Seth's sympathy for her died abruptly.

“I can't bring your uncle back,” he said. “Neither can I allow you to leave this ship. Now, please . . . go back to your cabin. If you'd like, I'll see that someone is available to take you topside during our stop. But for God's sake, try to be inconspicuous.”

She didn't respond.

“Come. I'll take you back.”

Remaining inconspicuous would be a nearly impossible task for Bess Metcalfe, he thought as he escorted her back to her own cabin.

When he left her alone there, Bess still hadn't said a word.

The port of Pernambuco in the state of Pernambuco, Brazil, was beautiful, its shore awash with the bluest water that Bess had ever seen. The sky overhead was a brilliant azure, a perfect backdrop for the distant roofs of the buildings in the town of Olinda, including the steeple of a church.

Clothed in white trousers, cap, and sailor's shirt, Bess stood at the rail and looked longingly toward land. She had come up without the captain's permission, without escort, but she wasn't concerned. The men were too busy to notice her. Seamen scurried about the deck, preparing to drop anchor, taking in sail, and performing all the other duties that prepared them to go ashore, then dropped anchor several hundred yards from the shoreline. Bess frowned, wondering why, until she heard a sailor mention the shallow areas of these waters, the reefs that could be dangerous to an unsuspecting ship. It wasn't that there weren't ships at the dock, but there were apparently too many to chance moving the
Sea Mistress
closer.

“Mr. Kelley,” Seth said from close behind, and Bess froze. “Find me John Reeves.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” the mate said. “I believe he's gone down to check on Miss Metcalfe.”

Bess felt a moment's panic. Reeves had gone down to check on her! Seth was practically beside her. How was she going to get by him and return to the cabin before Reeves came charging topside to search for her.

A hand clamped on her shoulder. “An idler?” Seth's voice boomed in her ear. A tense silence followed. “Bess!” he said with an exasperated sigh. “What are you doing topside? You know the rules—my rules.”

She spun to face him. “And what do you intend to do about my breaking them, Captain? Flog me?” Her heart fluttered wildly within her breast as she gazed up into his stern countenance. His blue eyes glittered with fire, and a muscle ticked along the side of his rugged jaw.

He raised his hand and touched her cheek, caressing it with gentle fingertips. “Flog you?” he murmured. “No. . .. I'd not want to harm an inch of this lovely white skin.”

He dropped his hand to her shoulder and squeezed, his head bending toward her ear. “There are ways to make a recalcitrant female see reason.” His breath tantalized her neck and earlobe. “Shall I list them for you?”

She gasped and jerked back, but he had placed his arms on either side of her, effectively pinning her to the rail. She was virtually a prisoner of his embrace.

“Captain!” John Reeves came up from behind. Seth lowered his arms and stepped back, as the other Metcalfe employee reached them, panting with the exertion of rushing up the ladder from the lower deck. “I can't find her, and I—”

Reeves halted upon seeing her. “Elisabeth Metcalfe!” he scolded her.

She raised her eyebrows at his sharp tone. “Mr. Reeves, do you have a problem?”

Seth snorted, and Bess wanted to hit him.

“Have you forgotten your place?” she said to Reeves, and she saw the flash of warning in the man's eyes. She felt the captain stiffen beside her, and noticed he was studying them both with a speculative frown.

Bess realized she'd spoken to John Reeves with authority, as an employer would to an employee. She thought quickly how to rectify things. “I'm sorry, John. But all this exciting activity—I heard it from my cabin, and wanted to see what was about.”

Reeves' expression softened. “Why couldn't you have waited? I'm sure the captain wouldn't have minded as long as you had an escort.”

“Indeed,” Seth said. He sighed. “You'll be the bane of all of us before the end of this voyage.” He addressed Reeves. “Take her below.”

“No!” she cried. Bess grabbed Seth's arm, releasing him abruptly when he stared down at her hand. “Please, Seth,” she said more softly. “Don't make me return to that dark cabin.”

The desperation in her tone hung for a moment in the air between them. Seth looked into her pleading eyes and saw again the child of light who had burst into her uncle's living room and into his life. He agreed. She was a creature of sunshine who didn't belong in the dark cabin. He decided to allow her a little more time in the sun.

“All right,” he said, much to Bess's surprise. “You may stay up for a while longer, but only until it's time for us to go ashore. Mr. Reeves, stay with her and keep her out of the men's way. I'll let you know when it's time to go. You said you wanted to see about buying some Brazilian goods. I'm afraid she'll have to go below again when we go ashore.”

“You can address me directly, Captain Garret,” the woman in question quipped. “I do have some intelligence.”

Bess was mad. Just when she'd seen something good in Seth, he became his arrogant self again.

His mouth twisted. “Miss Metcalfe, your intelligence is a topic for a lengthy discussion, for which I've no time at present. So enjoy your sunshine, but
please
stay out of my way!”

Bess gave a snort, and Seth grabbed her arm. “I am the captain of this ship,” he snarled. “I'll speak to whom I choose without comment or sass from you. Do you understand?”

She glared at him, and felt the angry tension growing between them. The air was heated, charged with a physical awareness of the man that made her draw back as if burned.

“I have never, for one moment, thought you otherwise than the captain, Seth Garret!”

“Perhaps you'd care to go below after all? I have no time for this petty nonsense.”

Bess was alarmed. “No! I mean . . .” She bowed her head, feeling defeated and suddenly drained of energy. “I'm sorry.” The last thing she wanted was to return to the cabin and miss the action on the upper deck—the warmth of the tropical sun and the soft breeze caressing her skin.

Seth sighed, as if he, too, were weary of the fight. “Be a sport, Bess. We have a long journey ahead of us. Let's try to get along, shall we? Start over, or at least forget for a while what happened in the past.”

Bess thought for a second, and then nodded.

“Good girl!” he murmured for her ears alone, and for some odd reason, she felt a thrill at those two little words of praise.

Seth is right,
she thought.
We have a long trip ahead.
There would be time enough to even the score. Why antagonize the man and jeopardize all her plans?

Seth left her at the rail with Reeves.

“Miss Metcalfe—Bess,” the man said. “He's right, you know.”

Bess shot him a look of irritation. “I don't need you to tell me what's right or wrong, John Reeves. Nor do I need you to condemn my every action!” Her tone softened at his expression of dismay. “What I need, John, is your friendship . . . and your help.”

“Damn broad thinks she's got Garret wrapped about her little finger,” Geoff Conrad grumbled to the man beside him. “Well, she's in for an awa-kenin'. Princess Bess. Do you doubt I can tame her?”

Frowning, Richard Reilly paused in the act of coiling a rope. “You'd best leave her alone, Conrad. Remember those stripes on yer back.”

Conrad scowled. “It's not likely I'd forget.” The welts were healing, but he felt the stretching of the damaged skin each time he moved. He met the other man's gaze with a fierceness of expression that brought little bumps of fear to Reilly's flesh.

“I can handle the woman,” the former second mate said. “As soon as the captain leaves the ship, that is.” His mouth formed a wicked grin. “And she'll not say a word. Not if she wants to see San Francisco alive.” Geoff Conrad thought of all the things he'd do to Bess Metcalfe, and his shaft strained against his trousers' front.

Her breasts would feel firm, yet soft, within his hard, calloused hands, he mused. He would squeeze those twin mounds of feminine flesh, biting and licking them Until she screamed for mercy and then, finally, with pleasure. And then he would strip the pants from her lovely legs and thrust hard between her thighs until she cried out and whimpered. When the tears ran down her silken cheeks from his abuse, he'd come with a heady rush that came from conquering her, and then he'd laugh in the face of her humiliation.

 

 

“Joel, come to bed,” the woman said. “I'm lonely for you.”

Joel Johnson closed his ledger book and smiled with affection at the lovely middle-aged woman who stood, poised, at the threshold of his study. “Can't sleep?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “I need you,” she purred. “Come to bed.” And with that remark, she moved into the room and stopped within a few feet of his desk chair. She lifted her breasts with her hands so that the heavy tops swelled over the open neckline of her linen night gown. “Please . . .”

With a flame in his eyes and a bulge in his trousers, Joel got up from his desk and came to her. He ran a finger over the one lush mound, before he dipped it into the valley between her breasts. He watched as her eyes closed and she shivered with pleasure and desire.

Kate Blanchard had been not only his lover but his friend for the past three years, ever since the day he'd come to her home for orphaned children looking for help. Since that day, when he'd brought the child who'd been in his sister's care, he and Kate had taken to seeing each other. From friends, they became lovers within one week of knowing each other, and then, after two wild and wonderful years in Kate's bed, learning what love was all about . . . and what new and inventive ways there were to make love, Joel asked Kate to be his wife. She accepted, and they'd been together ever since.

Joel Johnson, who had decided to retire from his position as captain of the
Sea Mistress
because of an accident on board which had taken his right leg from below the knee, had finally found a new life. If not for the child who had been his sister's charge, he would have given up completely, for he had mourned the loss of his leg deeply. But his sister's death had left a little babe who needed someone to take care of him. Joel had tried for a while on his own, until he'd realized that the child needed more care than an old sea captain could give him.

He had taken the babe with him to California, for it had been vital to stay away from the East . . . and the dark secret of the child's birth. He'd done well with the boy, but a two-year-old took a great deal of energy to raise.

Then he'd heard of the Blanchard Home for Young Orphaned Children. If anyone could help him, it would be Miss Kate Blanchard, the mistress of the home. A fellow from the Horsehair Saloon had told him. “Any woman who can handle fifteen young'ns beneath one roof is a saint and an expert on child rearing,” the man had said. Perhaps she could advise Joel on what was best for the child— perhaps it would be better if he simply left the babe in her care.

Joel called on Miss Blanchard and was immediately encouraged by her warm nature. What old Karl Jenkins had said was right. As he watched her effectively handle several small children who played in the same room with them, Kate Blanchard was most definitely a saint, he'd decided.

A saint with the body of a temptress.

Now, as he stroked her right breast, cupping the mound and rubbing her nipple, Joel recalled his shock upon first seeing her. He'd expected a prim and proper spinster, but the woman who had stood before him had the face of an angel and the warmth of a roaring fire on a cold winter's night.

She'd been instantly attracted to him, he could tell. He'd stood on his one good leg and she'd smiled an alluring smile and then her eyes had dropped down to inspect him . . . to see the wooden post attached to his right knee. He recalled the flicker of her soft black lashes against her cheeks, but to her credit, her smile never faltered when she saw that he wasn't a whole man. He'd seen the sympathy in her brown gaze; but it was gone before the look became pity. He'd begun to fall in love with her right then.

Kate had invited him into her house that day, and he nodded, then reached to one side to scoop up Matthew where he'd left the child playing in the grass.

“Come on, Mattie,” he'd crooned to the toddler. “Uncle Joeson wants you to meet a nice lady.” Somehow it had seemed right to have Bess Metcalfe's child call him by her pet name for him.

The boy looked so much like Bess it was eerie at times, but his eyes were a clear blue, like the sky on a sunny spring day. He had Seth's eyes.

Joel loved Matt, but he hadn't been certain at the time that being in his care was best for the child. He thought again of his first meeting with Kate. He recalled how her eyes had widened as he'd carried Matt into her home.

“My, my, who do we have here?” she had crooned, her finger stroking the baby's soft cheek.