Fifteen
Bess waited for Seth to join her. His invitation to dine had come as a shock to her, and she'd become so nervous that she could barely think straight. She knew she was being very foolish to look forward to being with him, especially given their past. Still . . . dining with Seth would be a welcome change from eating alone or with Reeves.
As she thought of John Reeves, Bess frowned. Her friend had barely spoken to her since her marriage to Seth. She knew he was angry, but what could she do? She'd been given no choice but to wed.
The few times she'd encountered John on the upper deck, she'd seen the hurt in his eyes, and she realized he had trouble understanding the whole situation, why she'd chosen to go to California at all.
Reeves knew that she and Seth planned to have the marriage annulled, yet he wasn't happy. Didn't he believe her? Was it because he feared losing his job?
There was nothing Bess could say or do that would alleviate Reeves's misgivings. Especially since she was concerned about her position herself! She'd never thought when they'd left Wilmington that she'd soon become Seth's wife!
And what was worse was that she almost
liked
the idea of being his wife . . . until she reminded herself of the true nature of the man and how much she had to lose if the marriage continued.
Mark Hawke had left only moments before. The steward had come to his captain's cabin to set up the dining table. Smiling, he had explained that he'd just seen Seth and that the captain had seemed anxious for the meal.
Bess's heart had raced until Mark told her of the special supper being prepared by Mr. Cookson for not only the captain and his missus but for the entire crew as well. The meat had been acquired in Pernambuco along with the ingredients used in the accompanying side dishes.
She decided that it must be the prospect of eating the special meal that appealed to Seth. It couldn't be an evening spent in her company.
She understood his delight. Since leaving Wilmington they'd eaten simple seamen's fare, mostly salt pork or fish and beans or rice and the unappetizing hard-tack biscuits. Occasionally, Cook would surprise them with some peas and gravy, but those were sometimes overcooked, and it was like eating paste.
Not that Bess ever complained to anyone of her meals. Each day by the time she'd heard the bells for dinner, Bess was usually so bored that eating was welcome simply as something to do . . . and she was often so hungry that it hadn't mattered what she ate.
But this night there would be fruit as well as fresh vegetables and meat . . . And Bess looked forward to eating not only because of the food, but because of her prospective dinner companion.
Bess studied the table Mark had set, and her lips curved upward at seeing the fancy snow-white linen tablecloth. Apparently, whether the others knew it or not, this was to be her wedding supper. Hers and Seth's.
“Dinner will be ready shortly, Captain.” Mark's voice filtered through the hatch, drawing Bess's attention.
She heard Seth's deep answering tones, and felt a tingle of anticipation. The door handle moved, and the hatch opened. Seth stood at the threshold a moment, his eyes searching about the cabin, his expression brightening as his gaze alighted on her.
He smiled and entered the room. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” He unbuttoned his shirt as he went to the trunk, and he opened the lid, fumbled through its contents, and pulled out a clean shirt, which he donned casually.
Bess's mouth went dry at the sight of him. It had been a long time since she'd seen him unclothed, and the broad, rippling expanse of his naked chest made her breasts swell and rise up against the bodice of her gown. A soft matte of dark hair covered his upper body from chest to stomach, tapering to a V, which disappeared into the waistband of his trousers.
“Hungry?” he asked, his attention on the buttons of his shirt.
She was sorry to see him covered again. “Starved.”
“Good,” he said, fixing her with his gaze. “Cook has prepared something special.”
“So I've heard,” she murmured, swallowing against a dry mouth and throat. Her gaze followed the trail of buttons as he bent his head again and continued fastening each one.
He looks good, she thought. Too good. His dark hair recently stirred by the wind was like tousled black strands of silk. Bess wanted to run her fingers through his midnight hair, the way she had done long ago, to draw his head down to her breasts . . .
He glanced up, catching her unaware. Seth's blue eyes gleamed with a strange light. His sensual mouth beckoned for her to kiss him, its hint of smile making her feel weak at the knees. Desire welled in her abdomen as she recalled what it had been like to kiss those masculine lips . . . the spark of fire that had flamed within her each time they'd made contact however lightly.
“If you keep looking at me that way, I won't be responsible for my actions.” His low, seductive pitch warmed her from head to toe.
She blushed and averted her glance.
“Bess.” He came to her and touched her shoulder. She gazed up at him with luminous ebony eyes, and his breath caught.
A knock on the hatch heralded the arrival of the expected steward. Grateful, Bess stared as Seth opened the door, and Mark entered bearing a tray of food. Mark flashed her a smile as he set the tray down in the center of their dining table.
The scents wafting from the dishes on the serving tray were appetizing, tantalizing. Bess sniffed the air and murmured her appreciation. Mark arranged the food on the captain's table and then after a smile in both Seth's and Bess's directions, he left the cabin to join the crew.
An air of intimacy settled in about them when the hatch closed, leaving Bess and Seth inside, alone. To Bess's discomfort, Seth stared at her, and she shifted uneasily under his regard.
“Shall we?” he asked softly.
Bess inclined her head, feeling the tiny bumps that rose on her flesh. A thrill coursed through her blood like wild fire, making all parts of her tingle. She moved cautiously to the nearest chair, not sure of his intentions.
Seth came around to her side of the table, gallantly pulling out her chair for her.
“Thank you.” Her words were whispered. Every nerve ending hummed to life at his nearness, and her head was buzzing as if she was drunk from sipping wine. She wanted nothing more than to turn, place her arms about his neck . . . touch her lips to his mouth . . .
Once she was seated, Seth took his place at the opposite side of the table. She saw him watching her with an intensity that caused shivers of delight to run down her neck and back. His look turned knowing, and she flushed, wondering how much of her expression he had accurately read.
“Mr. Cookson has been working all day to prepare this,” he said.
“It looks wonderful.” And it did, she thought. The meat, which she guessed was lamb, had been roasted to perfection in the galley's oven. In a small bowl, there was cooked corn in some kind of sauce. Small potatoes, browned and seasoned, had been artfully arranged on a separate plate, and the accompanying biscuits appeared light and airy, not at all like the usual hard tack fare she'd become so accustomed to eating during the sea voyage. Bess couldn't wait to taste the meal.
“So do you,” he said. “Look wonderful . . .”
Bess blinked as she realized that Seth had spoken and paid her a compliment. Embarrassed by the attention, she reached out and drew a biscuit from the plate. Hastily, she took a bite. As expected, the bun was soft and warm, and tasted delicious.
Seth smiled at her satisfied expression. Where only moments before Bess had looked uncomfortable, now she was lost in her enjoyment of the food. And he himself enjoyed watching her. “Mr. Cookson wanted to impress you.”
“Mr. Cookson was successful.” She grinned. “I'm impressed. This biscuit is wonderful.”
He experienced a surge of heat at the radiance of her smile. He had forgotten how intoxicating it could be just being in Bess's presence. And when she was happy and enjoying herself, her warmth and good humor affected him like a potent drug that dulled his brain but aroused his physical senses. At other times, she had the opposite effect on him, sharpening his wits when they sparred verbally. Either way, being with her was exciting.
“He says you've hardly been eating lately.” He paused to eye her with concern. “Haven't you?”
Her mind still fuzzy with the lingering pleasure of his compliment, Bess frowned in puzzlement. “Haven't I what?”
Amusement lurked in the gleam of Seth's blue eyes. “Been eating lately. You don't look as if you've lost weight.”
“I've been eating plenty,” she assured him, discomfited by the notion that he'd studied her form enough to make such a decision. “It's just that one can digest only so much fish, hard tack, rice, and beans.”
He laughed, and her lips curved in an answering smile. “I understand. I'm afraid I'm so used to eating that way that I never gave it much thought.”
He served her, placing a healthy helping of meat, corn, and potatoes on her plate. Her eyes widened at the amount of food, but she didn't object, for she didn't know when she'd get to enjoy a good meal again.
The food was delicious. The company, Bess thought, charming. Pleased by Seth's good humor, she offered up silent thanks for this pleasant change in what could be at times a monotonous life on board the ship. Tomorrow, the captain would probably return to his usual, irascible self. She would savor these moments and be grateful that given their past relationship they could find something good to share, even if it was only a meal.
They ate in peace, not saying much for a while, so great was their enjoyment. Then, over a bite of juicy lamb, Bess recalled Seth's talk with the Dunnons.
“How was your conversation with the minister and his wife?” she asked after delicately swallowing the piece of lamb.
Seth's brow darkened briefly. “It went as well as can be expected, considering,” he told her. “I simply reminded Mr. and Mrs. Dunnon that I am the commander of the
Sea Mistress,
not Mrs. Dunnon. And that although I had made an agreement to take them to California, the agreement could be changed.”
Bess couldn't control a smile of amusement. “How did she take it?”
His lips twitched slightly, before his expression grew serious again. “Actually, she took it quite well. They both did.”
“That's good,” Bess said, staring at his mouth.
There was also a dish of pudding on the table before them, and Seth had helped himself to some. He raised a spoonful to his lips. Bess watched, fascinated, the way his lips moved as he ate the pudding . . . the way his pink tongue caressed the utensil, licking the spoon clean, before darting back into his mouth. Did he know that his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed?
Startled by a shaft of physical desire, Bess averted her gaze. Did Seth notice her preoccupation with his mouth?
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Noânot at all.” And then she flushed and looked away, grasping blindly for the topic of conversation. “Only time will tell how much good it did for you to speak with the woman.”
“Aye.” The blue of his eyes darkened to almost black.
He knows,
she thought, horrified.
He knows I want him.
“Eat your supper, Bess,” Seth said quietly.
She shot him a surprised glance, but his attention was on cutting his meat. She relaxed and continued to eat.
They ate slowly in companionable silence. Bess was still mildly uncomfortable at first, for she was conscious of Seth's good looks and the way her body responded to him. Then, Seth began to talk about California, telling her about San Francisco and the way it had practically grown overnight. Bess, caught up in the conversation asked him questions about the people who lived there and about whether or not he thought a mercantile would profit there. She had heard many stories, but she wasn't sure how many of them were true.
“Is it true that the people there pay ridiculous prices for items like fresh eggs and a pack of cards?”
“Yes, it's true,” Seth said. “With the influx of those seeking gold, there is a need for goods. Items like eggs and sugar and coffee should sell well there.”
She smiled. Reeves had purchased a supply of sugar and coffee from Brazil.
Soon, their dinner plates were empty, and they leaned back in their chairs, replete.
Seth's chest strained the fabric of his white shirt. Bess stared at it until, suddenly, he shifted his chair back and then stood. She glanced up, saw the look in his eyes, and felt liquid heat rush through her veins like hot lava. She longed to kiss him, had been wanting to for so long.
“Lisabeth,” he said. “Come here.” But he came to her instead, extending his hand.
Without breaking eye contact, Bess placed her fingers within his firm grasp.
“Have I told you how lovely you look?” He pulled her up from her chair until they were standing only inches apart.
She shook her head.
“Well, you do,” he said softly. “So very lovely that you take my breath away.” He raised her hand to his lips, kissing it lightly. He then caressed the spot that still tingled from his lips. “I've been neglecting you, Lisabeth. I'm sorry.”
Surprised by his words, Bess was quick to defend him. “You were busy.” Her lips formed a half smile. “As you've told me so often, you're the captain of this ship and thus have responsibilities.”
His eyelashes flickered against his cheeks. “Woman, you are the most contradictory female I've ever met.”