Читать книгу The Devil's Necklace - Kat Martin - Страница 7

Grace stood rooted to the deck of the Sea Devil, fear a living thing inside her. She could hear the thunder of her heart, feel the tightness in her chest that made it hard to breathe. The captain stood in front of her, long legs braced against the roll of the sea, a cold, triumphant smile on his lips. It took sheer force of will not to let him know how terrified she truly was.

Dear God, she should have fought him! She should have refused to leave the ship, should have shouted for help, begged the passengers and crew to come to her aid. But there was Captain Chambers to consider and she didn’t want him harmed, perhaps even killed because of her.

She was guilty of a terrible crime, and in that brief, terrifying instant when the raven-haired captain had walked into the salon, it was obvious he knew what she had done.

Who was he? The devil, he had said, and Grace believed him. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the revulsion in his face as he had looked at her. And the hatred. She had never seen eyes such an icy shade of blue, never seen a jaw so hard it appeared carved in stone.

He was tall, his legs long and sinewy, the shoulder pressing into her stomach as he had carried her down the rope ladder wide and solid. There was no extra fat over the lean muscles in his back, she knew, her face growing warm at the memory of the intimate contact.

His skin was dark, has face tanned, little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Sun lines, not laugh lines, she was sure. She couldn’t image the devil captain ever laughing at any thing except, perhaps, someone else’s pain. Instead, his features were hard and unforgiving, brutal, even cruel.

And yet he was handsome. With his wavy black hair, winged black brows, and well-formed lips, he was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen.

“Follow me.”

The words sliced through her, breaking into her trance. Sweet God, why had she ever let him force her off the Lady Anne?

She mustered her courage. “Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll need a place to sleep. You’ll be staying in my cabin.”

She stopped dead still, the deck rolling just then, causing her to stumble. “And where, exactly, do you intend to sleep?”

His mouth barely curved. “This ship isn’t all that big. I’m afraid you’ll have to share the cabin with me.”

Grace shook her head, unconsciously took a step backward. “Oh, no. There is no way you are sleeping in the same room with me.”

One of his black eyebrows went up. “Then perhaps you would rather sleep on deck. I can arrange it, if that is your wish. Or you can bunk in with the crew. I’m sure there isn’t a one of them who would mind sharing his bed with you. What will it be, Miss Chastain?”

She stared at those unforgiving features and a wave of nausea hit her. She was completely at this man’s mercy. What in God’s name could she do?

She glanced frantically around the deck. There was no where to go, no place to run. Half a dozen crewmen stood in a semicircle around them. One man smiled and she noticed the black stumps of his teeth. One of them had a wooden leg, another man was big and dark and covered with tattoos.

“Miss Chastain?”

Surely the captain was the lesser evil, though she wasn’t completely certain. At the nod she barely managed, he turned and started walking. Grace forced her feet to move, her legs shaking as she followed him down the ladder that led to his quarters in the stern of the ship. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned and reached for her hand, helping her down with a chivalry that was more mocking than gallant.

He opened his cabin door to let her pass and she stepped into luxurious quarters far more impressive than the tiny space she had occupied with Phoebe aboard the Lady Anne.

“I gather you approve.”

How could she not? The walls were fashioned of polished mahogany, as were the table and chairs, the desk and the bookshelves. A wide built-in mahogany berth stretched beneath a spread of small square windows looking out the stern, and a warm fire burned in a tiny hearth in the corner. The glossy wooden floor, covered with a thick Persian carpet, gleamed in the light of freshly polished brass lamps.

She forced her gaze to his face. “Your taste in furnishings is quite splendid, Captain Sharpe. One might almost say refined.” She couldn’t keep a trace of sarcasm out of her voice.

“Unlike my manners, is that it, Miss Chastain?”

“Your words, Captain, not mine.”

He picked up a silver letter opener on his desk and turned it over with long, tapered fingers. “I’m intrigued, Miss Chastain. Earlier, when we first met, you seemed only mildly surprised by my arrival. I presume that is be cause you were aware there might be consequences to the actions you took in London.”

She kept her expression bland and prayed he wouldn’t notice that her hands were trembling. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I came with you because you made it clear your men would shoot Captain Chambers if I did not.”

“So you were concerned for the captain’s welfare, not your own.”

“That is correct.”

“Why do you think I came for you?”

“I have no idea.”

“Really.”

“None whatsoever.”

“Perhaps you thought I meant to solicit a ransom for your return.” He strolled toward her, tall and dark, a panther on the prowl.

“Do you?” Hoping her numb fingers would work, she reached up to work the clasp on her necklace. “If that is the case, perhaps you will take this in lieu of money. I as sure you the necklace is quite valuable.” And difficult as blazes to unfasten, as if the pearls had a will of their own.

The captain walked toward her. “Perhaps I can assist you.” The clasp unfastened almost instantly, the necklace falling gently into the captain’s hand. “Lovely.” His fingers smoothed over the pearls. “I wonder how you got them.”

“The pearls were a gift. Take them as payment and return me to the Lady Anne.”

He laughed, a harsh, unpleasant sound. “A gift. From an admirer, no doubt.” He rolled them from palm to palm, testing their weight, feeling their creamy texture, then dropping them carelessly onto his desk.

“I’m not interested in your money, Miss Chastain.” Cold blue eyes swept her from head to foot, and a chilling smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “There are, however, other forms of payment I might consider.” His pale blue gaze came to rest on the curve of her breast, barely visible above the top of her aqua silk gown. “I’ll be busy for a while. I suggest you make yourself comfortable while I’m gone.”

He plucked the necklace up off the desk, his long fingers curling around it. “Until later, Miss Chastain.”

Grace watched him cross the cabin and close the door behind him. At sound of the latch falling into place, she re leased the breath she had been holding. The tears she had been fighting welled up and began to roll down her cheeks. Grace hurriedly wiped them away, determined no one would see them and especially not him.

She had thought he meant to take her back to London, that he intended to return her to the magistrates to face charges for aiding a traitor’s escape. She had known it could happen, that she could be caught and imprisoned for what she had done.

But she couldn’t abandon her father. Though she barely knew him and didn’t know if he were innocent or guilty, she simply could not stand by and let him hang.

Ethan stood with his legs braced apart and his hands curved round the rail. He stared out at the inky water, his mind filled with images of Grace Chastain. Thoughts of her mingled with memories of the men in his crew, brave men, some of them married with families, men who had fought beside him over the years.

He could still hear their screams through the walls of the prison.

“The girl is no’ what I imagined.” He hadn’t heard Angus walk up beside him. “Just a lass, is all, no’ much more than three-and-twenty, maybe even less.”

“Her age is hardly important. She set a murderer free. It is possible she was in collusion with him from the start. And there is a chance she may know where to find him.”

Angus nodded. “Aye, that seems ta be the way of it.”

Ethan stared back out at the water. A thin trickle of moonlight speared toward them as the ship cut through the sea. An icy wind whipped across the deck, slicing through his breeches, his heavy woolen coat and the full-sleeved shirt he wore underneath.

“Perhaps she loved him.”

Ethan’s jaw hardened. “The man had a wife and children. The girl is a whore.”

Angus leaned his thick body against the rail. “I suppose that’s true, as well.” He fiddled with a bit of lint on the front of his heavy wool coat. “Now that ye’ve got her, what will ye do with her?”

Ethan turned. “She was Jeffries’s whore. Tonight she’ll whore for me.”

Angus said nothing, but Ethan didn’t miss the look of disapproval in his eyes. “Will ye force her?”

He shook his head. “I won’t have to. She’s for sale, isn’t she?”

Angus tugged his stocking cap a little lower over his wide forehead. “If she pays yer price, will ye set her free?”

Ethan stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “Set her free?” He scoffed. “When I’ve had my fill—when I’m satisfied she can be no help in finding him—I’ll take her back to London and turn her over to the authorities. She’s committed a crime, Angus. She deserves to be punished for what she’s done.”

The older man grunted. “I’ve a feeling the lass will be punished well and good before she ever gets back ta London.” Angus turned away and ambled toward the ladder leading down to his quarters.

Ethan softly cursed. Angus hadn’t been with them on that last, fateful journey. Only Ethan and Long-boned Ned had fought alongside the crew of the Sea Witch against the thirty-five-gun frigate that had been hiding in wait off the foggy banks of France. The warship had known exactly where to find them. Her captain had been provided with secret information that would result in the capture of the Sea Witch’s captain and crew.

Harmon Jeffries had sold out his country, and his mistress had arranged his escape.

Ethan thought of the woman in his cabin. It was well after midnight. She would probably be sleeping. He imagined her lying naked in his bed, spread like an offering beneath him, and his body stirred to life. Desire pulsed through him and his shaft went hard.

He would have her. He would bargain for her favors and pleasure himself until she begged him to stop.

Until this night, he had never behaved as anything but a gentleman where a woman was concerned. The mistresses he had kept over the years had been treated well and fairly.

But Grace Chastain was different. She deserved to pay and he intended to see it done.

Frightened and uncertain and exhausted clear to her bones, Grace fought to stay awake. After the captain’s departure, she had curled up in a chair near the door and listened to every sound, certain her enemy would return any moment.

The devil had made his intentions clear. He meant to take her innocence, to ravage her like the barbarian he was. But she would not make it easy. He was tall and strong, but she was smart and determined. She would fight him to the last, resist him with the last breath in her body.

The hours ticked past. She could hear the chiming of the ship’s clock, marking every half hour, still he did not return. The roll and sway of the ship began to lull her, the soft rush of the waves against the hull. She tried to keep her eyes open, pinched herself to keep from falling asleep.

But time crept past and sleep beckoned like a siren calling to an unwary sailor. Her eyes slowly closed. She never heard the door swing quietly open, never heard the sound of the captain’s tall black boots as he walked through the door.

Ethan stood in the center of his cabin. If he had expected to find Grace Chastain undressed and comfortably settled in his bed he was sorely mistaken.

Instead the girl huddled in the hard wooden chair in front of his desk, his silver-handled letter opener gripped defensively in her hand. Her head slumped forward onto her chest and the blanket around her shoulders had slid off onto the floor. Her hair was slightly mussed, her lips softly parted in slumber. She looked young and innocent and more enticing than any woman he had ever seen.

He told himself to wake her, to strike a bargain for the use of her luscious body, but something held him back. That she was exhausted was written in every line of her face. That she was frightened, though she had done her best not to show it, seemed more than clear.

He should be happy that she suffered, he told himself. It was what he wanted, the reason he had brought her aboard his ship. He meant for her to pay and he would not be satisfied until she did.

And yet he found himself crossing the room, slipping the letter opener out of her hand, lifting her into his arms and carrying her over to the bed. He tossed back the covers, set her down on the mattress still fully clothed and pulled the blanket up over her.

He was nearly as tired as she. Perhaps it was better to wait, he told himself. Tomorrow they would strike their bargain and he could take what he wanted. Quietly undressing down to his smallclothes, bare-chested, he blew out the lamp and lay down on the opposite side of the bed, plumping the pillow behind his head.

Tomorrow, he thought, the image returning of her naked body spread beneath him. Anticipation mingled with fatigue as he drifted off to sleep.

Tomorrow came earlier than he expected. The sun was not yet up when Ethan’s eyes cracked open and the feeling that something was out of place trickled through him. It took only an instant to remember that his lovely prisoner slept beside him, the soft, warm feel of a woman’s body pressing against him not something that happened all that often.

Though she still slept like the dead, Grace Chastain’s bottom nestled snugly into his groin, her soft heat penetrating the thin layer of her aqua silk gown and his smallclothes. He was hard, he realized, aching with the need to be inside her. What would she do, he wondered, if he lifted her wrinkled dress and began to gently caress her? The woman had a temper as fiery as her hair. He wondered if he could arouse that same sort of passion in bed.

She wasn’t new to the game, which could help his cause or hinder it, depending on the sort of lovers she had known over the years. He skimmed a hand lightly over her hip, enjoying the sweetly feminine curves, the roundness of her bottom. He ran a hand along her thigh, down her calf, reached for the hem of her gown—

The shriek of outrage that erupted from the opposite side of the bed made his ears start to ring. She leaped out of the bunk as if it were on fire and whirled to face him, slim feet braced apart, hands out in front of her as if she faced a monster from hell. He almost found himself smiling.

“Don’t you touch me!”

“I believe you’ve made your dislike of touching more than clear.” He rolled to the side of the bed and reached for his breeches, dragged them on over his hips and began to work the buttons up the front.

She raced over to the desk and began a mad search for the letter opener. He cursed himself as she snatched it up and held it protectively in front of her.

“You don’t need that. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You were…you were…trying to…to…”

“Take it easy. The way you were curled up against me, I thought we both might enjoy ourselves.” God, she was beautiful. With her auburn hair tumbled around her shoulders and her cheeks flushed with anger…Christ, just looking at her made him hard all over again.

He moved a little closer but not enough to frighten her. “Actually, I was hoping we could come to some sort of an arrangement.”

She eyed him warily, the letter opener still gripped in her hand. “What kind of arrangement?”

“I’m a man, Miss Chastain. Men have certain needs. I’m sure you’re well aware of that.”

The letter opener trembled in her fingers. “Are you…are you saying you expect me to service your…your needs?”

His mouth faintly curved. “I wouldn’t put it exactly that way. As I said, I think it could be pleasurable for both of us. And beneficial for you, as well.”

Her eyebrows drew warily together. “You’re talking about some sort of deal.”

“I am. If you agree and I’m satisfied with your performance, I might be willing to intercede on your behalf with the authorities when we get back to London.”

She swallowed. For the first time he realized she was fighting not to cry. Why that bothered him he could not say.

She moistened her lips and he noticed that they trembled. “No.”

“That’s it? Just no?”

She simply shook her head. She looked innocent and vulnerable, and seeing her that way made his chest feel oddly tight.

“If you try to force me, I’ll fight you with every ounce of my strength.”

She would. He could see it in her face. The determination was there, behind the faint shimmer of tears.

“I won’t force you,” he said softly. “That was never my intention.” But neither would he let her off so easily. She was Harmon Jeffries’s mistress and he wanted her. Badly. Sooner or later, he would have her.

“How…how do I know you are telling me the truth?”

“I’m many things, Miss Chastain, but a liar isn’t one of them. Put the letter opener down.”

Her fingers merely tightened around the handle.

“I said put it down.” He moved closer, beginning to get annoyed. He wasn’t used to people disobeying his orders. He wasn’t about to tolerate it from Grace Chastain.

“Stay back—I’m warning you.”

“And I am warning you. Put the letter opener down or suffer the consequences.”

She bit her plump bottom lip and it made him want to kiss her. Christ, he couldn’t remember feeling such lust for a woman. That she belonged to Harmon Jeffries made him want her even more.

He circled to the left and Grace circled right, the blade still gripped in her hand.

“You are begging for trouble, Miss Chastain.”

“Perhaps you are the one in trouble.”

He did smile then. A rare, sincere smile that felt odd on his face. He feigned left, dove right, caught her wrist and snatched the letter opener from her hand. He tossed it across the room at the same instant he hauled her hard against his chest, buried his fingers in her heavy auburn hair, and dragged her mouth up to his for a deep, plundering kiss.

Heat washed through him in a powerful sweep of lust. He kissed her a moment more, then let her go and stepped away, saw that her wide green eyes were huge with surprise and disbelief. His heart was pumping, his erection throbbing. He was pleased to note from the rise and fall of her breasts and the high color in her cheeks that he wasn’t the only one who had been affected.

“Think about what I said,” he told her softly. “Perhaps a bargain with the devil wouldn’t be so bad.” Turning away from her, he snatched up the rest of his clothes, picked up the letter opener and headed out the door, closing it softly behind him.

Grace stared at the door where her captor had disappeared. He was a savage. A barbarian. She didn’t trust him to keep his word, had no reason to believe he would.

Dear God, how she wished she were back on board the Lady Anne.

Unconsciously, her fingers came up to her lips. Though his kiss had been brief, it had been extremely thorough, a hard, punishing kiss that should have repulsed her. Instead, her heart pounded and her head swam until she feared she might swoon. There had been no gentleness, nothing sweet or tender. Still, it was a kiss she would never forget.

How could that be?

She thought of the bargain the captain had proposed. It was obvious he knew of the escape from Newgate that she had engineered and yet they sailed not toward London but away. She knew she should be frightened—and she was. But there was something inside her that refused to cower before him.

Her stomach growled. Grace shoved back her tangled mass of hair and walked over to the cheval glass in the corner. Heavy auburn curls hung limply around her shoulders and her aqua gown was a dreary, wrinkled mess. She lifted her gown, tore a length of lace from the hem of her chemise, and used it to tie back her hair. She longed for a bath and something to eat and wondered if Captain Sharpe intended to punish her by starving her to death.

As if her thoughts had been transported, a soft knock sounded at the door. Thinking of the protection offered by the letter opener, she cast a wishful glance at the desk but the weapon was gone.

She sighed and started toward the door. If the captain or his men had wanted to hurt her, they could have done so last night. Pausing for an instant, she took a steadying breath and pulled the door open.

The last thing she expected was the sight of a young blond boy standing in the corridor, holding a breakfast tray in his hands.

“Mornin’, miss. Capt’n thought ye might be hungry. He sent this down for yer breakfast.” The smell of freshly cooked porridge drifted up from the bowl in the center of the tray. A large round orange, nicely sliced into manageable pieces, sat next to the bowl, along with a steaming mug of tea, a pitcher of cream and a jar of molasses for the porridge. She could hardly believe it.

Her mouth watered. “Well, the captain was entirely correct—I am hungry. It was generous of him to think of sending the tray.” Generous—unless it was merely a ploy to secure her agreement to his proposal. In which case, his strategy would fail.

“What is your name?” Grace asked the boy, no more than twelve years old and small for his age, with eyes as green as her own. For the first time she noticed the carved wooden crutch tucked under his left arm.

“Freddie, miss. Me name’s Freddie Barton.”

Grace ignored the disturbing crutch and pasted on a smile. “Well, Freddie, you may set the tray down right over there.” She pointed to a small round Sheraton table with two matching chairs, thinking how odd it was that the devil captain would employ a crippled cabin boy.

“Yes, miss.” Freddie started for the table and Grace frowned as she noticed the bent, twisted shape of his left leg. Then a noise sounded in the passage behind him and something shot into the cabin through the crack left in the door, brushing so close to the boy’s malformed limb he nearly toppled over.

“Blast ye, Schooner!” He set the tray on the table a bit unsteadily and Grace followed his gaze to the yellow-striped tabby that had settled under the chair.

“Ye like cats?” he asked, his glance sliding toward the animal who was hidden out of sight except for its tail.

“Why, yes, I do.”

Freddie looked relieved. “Schooner won’t bother ye none. And ’e’s a very good mouser.”

She bit back a smile. “Then I suppose I won’t have to worry about mice in the cabin.”

“No, miss.” He looked over at the orange-striped tail, swishing back and forth beneath the chair. “Schooner’ll let ye know when he’s ready to go back out.”

“I’m sure he will.”

“Capt’n says I’m to look out for ye. If there’s anything ye need, ye just need to tell me.”

There was plenty she needed—like getting off the ship—but she didn’t think Freddie would be able to manage the trick. She walked over to the table and surveyed the tray of food, her stomach growling again. She was hungry, but she needed information more than food and the boy could be a well of knowledge.

“How long have you worked for Captain Sharpe?”

“Not long a’tall, miss. Capt’n only just got hisself another ship. Me pap sailed with him, though. Got hisself kilt along with the rest o’ the crew sometime back.”

“I’m sorry, Freddie. What happened?”

“Well, ye see, miss, they was fightin’ the Frenchies. The bloody bastards captured the ship and tossed the capt’n, me pap and the rest into prison.” He reddened as he realized he had used several colorful swear words. “Beg pardon, miss.”

“That’s all right, Freddie. It sounds like they were bad men, indeed.”

The boy leaned on his crutch. “Capt’n lost the Sea Witch and his men—all but Angus and Long-boned Ned. Ye should hear the tales Ned tells. Ned says Capt’n Sharpe fought like a demon. He says the capt’n—”

“I think the lady knows as much as she cares to about the captain,” said a deep voice from the doorway. “Run along, Freddie. Angus has need of you.”

The boy flushed guiltily, turned and stumped on his crutch out of the room, working the long wooden device so skillfully it seemed attached to his body. Freddie closed the cabin door and Grace forced herself to face the tall man standing just inside the threshold.

“Your porridge is getting cold.”

She flicked a glance that way. “Yes…thank you for sending it.”

His dark look said he wished he hadn’t. “I thought you should keep up your strength. I can tell you firsthand, the food in prison is less than palatable.”

Her stomach twisted. She had to remember this man was her enemy. She had committed a crime, yes, but Ethan Sharpe wasn’t a magistrate. He had no right to sit in judgment.

Her appetite now gone, she walked over to the table and sat down to eat. Ignoring the sound of his footfalls moving about the cabin, she managed to finish the porridge, but her stomach rebelled at the thought of eating the orange.

The captain walked over to the table, stopped right be side her. “Eat the orange. You wouldn’t want to get scurvy and lose all those pretty white teeth.”

Her lips thinned at the effort to hold back a nasty retort. It was none of his business what she did or did not eat. On the other hand, she had heard about the perils of scurvy. She devoted herself to the orange.

It was sweet and wet and delicious. With a sigh of pleasure, she wiped her mouth with the linen napkin on the tray and shoved back her chair. The captain was seated at his desk, writing in some sort of ledger.

Grace walked up behind him. “I want to know why you brought me here. I want to know what you are planning to do with me.”

He turned, unfolded his tall frame from the chair, and stood towering above her. She felt as if she had goaded a panther while standing in its cage.

His pale blue eyes bored into her. “And I want to know why you helped a traitor escape the gallows.”

There it was, out in the open at last. “What makes you so certain I did?”

“I have my sources…very reliable sources. Just as Harmon Jeffries had his.”

The sound of her father’s name, spoken with such venom, tightened the knot in her stomach. She had only recently discovered her father’s existence, only come to know him through the letters he had sent her over the years, letters her mother had hidden away. The letters had touched her; they’d proven that instead of abandoning her as she had believed, he had never truly forgotten her.

She had helped him escape, committed a heinous crime in the eyes of the law, and now she couldn’t afford to be goaded into any sort of admission. She had no idea who the man really was or what his intentions might be.

She ignored his question as flatly as he had ignored hers. “I demand you take me to Scarborough. That is where I was headed when you so vilely abducted me. That is where I still wish to go.”

He laughed without humor. “You are quite an amazing young woman, Miss Chastain. Surprisingly resourceful and infinitely entertaining. I find I am beginning to enjoy our little cat and mouse game.”

“Well, I am not enjoying it—not one bit.”

“No?” His eyes ran over her, icy as the sea, yet she could feel the heat in them, the hunger. “Perhaps in time…”

Her breathing hitched. She turned away from him, suddenly conscious of her dishevel. She smoothed an errant strand of hair, wishing desperately for a bath and fresh clothes.

The gesture must have betrayed her thoughts.

“In a day or two, we’ll be stopping for supplies. I’ll see what I can do about finding you something to wear.”

She raised her chin and looked into his face. “I have all the clothes I need—in my cabin on the Lady Anne.”

The captain’s jaw hardened. “Unfortunately for you, you are no longer aboard the Lady Anne.”