Читать книгу The Devil's Necklace - Kat Martin - Страница 10

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. Someone 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 button 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.”

She arched a brow. “And what might that be?”

“From now on we dispense with formalities, at least while we are alone. You will call me Ethan, as you did this afternoon. And I will call you Grace.” As he had done that afternoon. Her skin prickled with heat at the memory of the fiery kisses they had shared. Even now, she found the recollection disturbing. There was something about Ethan Sharpe, something that attracted her as no man ever had.

The thought was as dangerous as it was intriguing. But then, Grace had never been afraid of danger.

“I suppose, considering I would not be standing here now if it weren’t for you, there is no longer a need for us to be formal.” And in truth, she had begun to think of him that way, as Ethan, not Captain Sharpe.

His eyes ran over her, came to rest on the soft swells of her breasts above the neckline of sapphire silk. Inside the bodice, her nipples tightened. She caught a glimpse of hunger before his gaze became shuttered once more.

“Would you like a glass of sherry?”

“Thank you, yes.” Anything that might help defuse these odd sensations just looking at him stirred in her body. She watched him walk over to the sideboard and pour the amber liquid into a glass for her, then a brandy for himself. The cuff of his white shirt appeared beneath the sleeve of his coat as he returned and handed her the drink.

Grace took a sip, praying it would help dissolve her building nerves. She didn’t know exactly what was happening, but she had a feeling she was experiencing her first physical desire for a man.

“As I said before, you look exceptionally lovely this evening, yet something seems to be missing.” He set down his brandy glass, walked over to a small ornately carved silver box on the top of the Queen Anne table, and opened the lid. When he turned, her beautiful pearl-and-diamond necklace dangled from his long dark fingers.

“The gown needs something. I think these will do.” He moved behind her, draped the necklace round her neck and fastened the clasp. His fingers brushed her nape, lingered a moment, and tiny goose bumps appeared on her skin.

As he stepped back to look at her, she reached up to touch the pearls, testing their smoothness, their familiar warmth as they absorbed the heat of her body.

“Yes…” he said, “much better.”

Her fingers traced the facets of the glittering diamonds, the single stones set between each of the pearls. There was something about the necklace, something strangely comforting in wearing it around her neck. And yet she knew the disturbing legend that accompanied the jewelry.

“They’re quite magnificent,” he continued. “A gift, you said.” A faint edge crept into his voice. “From Forsythe?”

She shook her head. “They came from my dearest chum. We went to academy together. She hoped it would bring me good fortune. There is a legend about it, you see. Per haps you would like to hear it.”

“I would, indeed.” He took a sip of brandy, his manner once more relaxed. He led her over to the dark green brocade sofa and both of them sat down.

Grace fingered the pearls. “The necklace—the Bride’s Necklace, it is called—was commissioned in the thirteenth century by a wealthy lord named Fallon. It was a gift for the woman he loved. The pearls were sent to his bride to be worn on the day they were wed. But that fateful day, on his way to the ceremony, Lord Fallon was set upon by brigands and he and his men were killed. When his bride, Lady Ariana, heard the news, she was so distraught she climbed the castle parapet and leaped to her death.”

“Not a pleasant tale.”

“She died wearing the necklace. It was later discovered she was enceinte.”

He sipped his drink. “And the legend that follows?”

“It is said that whoever shall own the necklace will receive great happiness—but only if his heart is pure. If not, great tragedy will befall him.”

One of his black eyebrows went up. “You own the necklace. You believe your heart is pure?”

Except for a few of the impure thoughts she had been entertaining that evening. “I hope that it is. Though I am certain you would disagree.”

He studied her with speculation, but made no further comment. “It’s getting late. Perhaps we should dine.”

Maintaining his polite facade, he helped her up from the sofa. Grace pasted on an equally polite veneer and let him guide her over to the table.

They supped on a table covered with fine white linen, ate off gold-rimmed porcelain plates, and drank expensive champagne. The conversation returned to less volatile subjects and little by little, both of them relaxed. They talked about his ship, obviously his most prized possession, and about her interest in astronomy.

“I have a friend named Mary who shares my passion,” she told him. “We met in school. One of the teachers sparked our interest in the constellations and helped us learn about them. Mary lives in the country. It is far easier to observe the night sky from her house than it is in the city. Of course out here, the sky seems to go on forever and the stars are like diamonds spread out on a cloak of black velvet.”

“They’re beautiful out here, aren’t they?” But he was looking at her as if the stars were in her eyes and not the sky, and her stomach floated up beneath her ribs.

The hours passed swiftly and she had to admit she enjoyed herself. Ethan Sharpe, she discovered, could be quite a charming man.

She found herself smiling at something he said and took another drink of expensive French champagne. “I suppose this is plunder?” She held up the crystal goblet, her gaze on the bubbles rising in the glass.

“Actually, it is.” He lifted his glass and flashed one of his rare, unguarded smiles. It was so beautiful it left her breathless. “I took it off a French brigantine and for that I enjoy it all the more.” His eyes slid down to her breasts and she couldn’t miss the hunger. Her heartbeat increased and her stomach fluttered and she thought that perhaps she was beginning to understand a little of what he felt.

“To pleasure,” he said softly.

She could almost feel where his hot gaze touched. “To life… Thank you for sparing mine.”

Ethan smiled, clinked his glass against hers, and both of them drank deeply.

One of the cook’s helpers, neatly dressed in dark breeches, a white shirt and a dark brown jacket, arrived to remove their dishes. He cleared away the last of a sophisticated meal of filet of freshly caught fish sautéed in butter and wine, scalloped potatoes, a mélange of seasoned vegetables, and camembert cheese and lemon tarts for dessert.

Grace had savored each bite. She couldn’t help wondering at her host’s elegant tastes, and what kind of man Ethan Sharpe really was.

Scarcely just a pirate. He was a man of intelligence and charm who wore a gentleman’s clothes with the same ease as those of a sea captain.

Who was he? She wondered if she would ever find out.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “I’ll walk you back to the cabin.”

Grace nodded. The evening had been long, occasionally tense and sometimes even taxing. She needed to escape Ethan’s overpowering presence and the mix of emotions he stirred. They strolled along the deck, her arm laced with his, until one of the crew stepped out of the main hatch way in front of them.

“Evenin’, Capt’n Sharpe…miss.”

“Mr. Cox,” Ethan returned the greeting.

The second mate moved out the way so that they might pass. Though Cox was always polite, there was something about him that made her uneasy. His eyes briefly touched her, roamed over her gown and the pearls at her throat, then he ducked his head, made a polite bow and moved away.

Ethan paid the man no heed. His attention remained fixed on her as he walked her to the ladder leading down to his cabin. In the dimly lit passage outside the door, he paused.

“I enjoyed the evening, Grace, very much. I hope you did, as well.”

She couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t remember a more interesting evening than the one she’d just had. “Yes…thank you for inviting me.”

He touched her cheek, bent his head and very softly kissed her. Her hands came up, fluttered helplessly for a moment, then flattened against his chest. Beneath his coat, she felt his muscles tighten. He deepened the kiss, drawing her closer against him, and she felt the hard length of his arousal.

She should have been frightened, and part of her was. He was still her enemy, the man determined to see her cast into prison. Another part reveled in the heat he stirred, the desire she had never experienced with another man.

“Invite me in,” he whispered softly, enticingly. “Let me make love to you.”

Her stomach contracted. It was one thing to experience physical desire. The notion of actually giving him her innocence, allowing him to make love to her, was another matter entirely.

Grace shook her head, feeling the unexpected burn of tears and an odd stab of regret. “I can’t. Please, Ethan. I’m not ready for that.” Why didn’t she just tell him no? That she had no interest in his lovemaking? She wasn’t his wife and she didn’t belong in his bed.

Instead, when he kissed her again, for an instant she pressed herself against him. She breathed in the scent of salt spray and man and tasted the depth of his hunger. An answering need arose, so strong she had to force herself to pull away.

“Thank you again…Captain Sharpe.”

His smile turned hard at her obvious attempt to put distance between them. “My pleasure…Miss Chastain.”

She started to turn and go into the room, but he caught her wrist. Turning her back to him, he reached for the clasp on the necklace.

“I’ll just take these.” He unfastened the clasp and the pearls slid into his palm. “For now…just for safekeeping.” He tucked the pearls into the pocket of his silver-threaded waistcoat, turned and walked away.

And what she would do if he did.

Ethan spent the night on the sofa in the salon, his makeshift berth more than a foot too short for him, worse even than the bunk in Angus’s cabin. Still, he didn’t dare return to his own.

Today he had saved Grace’s life and something indefinable had changed between them. For the past few nights, he had lain beside her, torturing himself with her nearness, aching with lust for her. Tonight he thought that if he went to her bed, perhaps he could have her, but something held him back.

Lying on the uncomfortable sofa, if he closed his eyes he could see her standing near the rail, beautiful and defiant, her fiery hair whipping around her face. Sensing his anger, she had moved away from him, a few unconscious steps, then been helplessly washed into the sea.

It was a moment that burned crystal clear in his mind, the sharp stab of fear, the absolute terror that she would drown in the raging waters. Nothing could have kept him from going in after her. She is mine, the insane thought had occurred. I can’t let her die.

Afterward, with Grace once more safely aboard, he had said a silent prayer of thanks that he had been able to save her.

Even then, he had never thought to allow her into his inner sanctum—she was a criminal, after all—yet he found himself inviting her to supper. The hours had been far more pleasant than he had imagined, a lively discussion of sailing and the sea, along with a bit of science. She was smart and full of life and he wanted her with a passion he hadn’t known he had.

He told himself that tonight he would have her. He would walk her down to his cabin, kiss her into submission and press her to give in to his wishes. Remembering her earlier responses, he’d believed that she would agree.

According to plan, he had kissed her in the corridor out side his cabin and then pressed his suit. But the look in her eyes, the innocent sweetness of her refusal, made anything less than obeying her wishes impossible for him to do.

Ethan sat up on the sofa, damning himself and women in general. He hadn’t pressed her because he didn’t want to destroy her trust. Why that seemed important, he couldn’t imagine. Still, he wouldn’t make love to her un less she invited him into her bed.

Christ.

She had aided the escape of a traitor. The man was responsible for the loss of his ship, his crew and a year of his life. He had brought her aboard to make her pay.

He must be losing his mind.