Читать книгу The Devil's Necklace - Kat Martin - Страница 8

Two more days passed. Grace sat on the captain’s wide bed in her rumpled aqua gown, Schooner nestled in her lap. The big orange tabby purred loudly, an oddly comforting sound. She was trapped aboard what could only be called a pirate ship, sailing God knew where, her fate as yet undetermined.

She couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t more afraid.

Grace sighed as she absently stroked Schooner’s fur. Perhaps it was because she had survived thus far unharmed and her treatment had not been too ill. Wearing the man’s cotton night rail that Freddie had brought her, still unwilling to trust her captor, Grace had fallen asleep each night as she had the first, sitting in the straight-back chair behind the captain’s desk. Each morning she had awakened in his bed, curled on her side beneath the covers. The only difference was, each of those mornings, she had awakened alone.

Grace knew he had been there, sleeping next to her as he had that first night. She could see the indentation of his head on the pillow, smell the faint, masculine scent of him, something that reminded her of the sea.

Her real fear lay not in what the captain might do, but what would happen if he returned her to London and handed her over to the authorities. So far, the ship continued a course that carried her away from the city and as long as they weren’t sailing to London, there was always a ray of hope.

At least he had been decent enough to loan her a brush and comb. It was an exquisite set, silver inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Probably a gift for one of his paramours. Grace was simply grateful to be able to brush and braid her hair.

In the past two days, she had rarely seen the devil captain. She was grateful for that, as well. With his hot glances and cool disdain, the man was hardly fit company. Still, even with Freddie and Schooner to help pass the time, she felt restless and confined. She paced the cabin, feeling as if the walls were closing in, her irritation building. The cabin wasn’t a prison cell and yet it felt like one.

The next time she saw him she was going to demand he take her up on deck. She was used to a good bit of exercise, walking along the shops on Bond Street or strolling in the park. During the day, she cracked open one of the portholes above the bed, but it wasn’t the same as being out of doors, feeling the salt spray against her face and filling her lungs with brisk sea air. If it weren’t for the motley crew aboard the ship, she would have gone up by herself.

Grace made a turn at the foot of the bed and started pacing back the other way. She heard the light knock, recognized Freddie’s small hand and went over to open the door. Surprise hit her at the sight of the steaming copper tub being carried by two men in the crew, one of them the dark man with all the tattoos.

“’Tis rainwater, miss.” Freddie stumped out of the way so the men could bring the tub into the cabin. “We hit a squall last night. Gave us a chance to refill the cisterns. Capt’n thought ye might like a bath.”

She nearly sighed at the notion.

“Where ye want it, miss?”

“In front of the fire would be nice.” She hurried that way, stood back while the men set the tub on the floor in front of the low-burning flames.

“There’s linen towels in the cupboard just there.” Freddie pointed. “Shall I get one for ye?”

“I’ll get it. Thank you, Freddie.” The boy and crewmen left the cabin and Grace turned her attention to the tub. In the evening, she had been forced to remove her clothing in order to put on the night rail and done the reverse in the mornings. But sitting naked in a tub in the middle of the captain’s cabin would take far more courage.

Grace eyed the small copper bathing tub. She could almost feel the heat shimmering up from the water, feel the steam against her skin. Her decision was made. Reaching behind her back, she began to unfasten the buttons closing up her dress, but the buttons were small and hard to reach.

“Damn thing,” she muttered, wishing Phoebe were there to help her. She twisted herself into a knot, trying to work the last few buttons.

“Perhaps I might be of assistance.” The deep voice reached her from across the cabin. She had been so preoccupied with her gown she hadn’t heard him come in.

He didn’t wait for her answer, just strode toward her in his gleaming knee-high boots. There was a faint hesitation in his stride that she had noticed before, an old wound per haps. Though he hid the slight limp well, when he got angry or upset it became more pronounced.

It didn’t seem to be bothering him now as he stripped away his woolen coat and tossed it onto the bed, leaving him in snug black breeches and a full-sleeved shirt. He looked like a pirate, a Black Bart or maybe Captain Kidd, and perhaps he was.

He had taken her by force, had he not? Abducted her against her will from the Lady Anne?

She felt his fingers on her gown, working the buttons with a skill that told her he was no stranger to the feminine wardrobe. The minute the gown fell open, she walked away from him, holding the dress up over her breasts.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “Now if you will excuse me, I should like to enjoy the bath you so thoughtfully sent down.”

He gave her one of his ruthless smiles. “Of course. I’ll just stand out of the way over here.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Surely you don’t intend to stay here while I disrobe?”

But one look into those hungry blue eyes said that was exactly his intention. “I’ve provided the bath. I want something in return. As a man who appreciates the beauty of the female form, I wish to watch you bathe.”

“You’re insane.”

“Actually, I think I’m being quite reasonable. We’re sharing this cabin. Sooner or later, we will both need to use that tub.” She blushed, thinking she needed to use it now. She had never been so unkempt in a gentleman’s presence. Of course, the captain was scarcely a gentleman. “And it isn’t as though you have never been naked in front of a man before.”

The blush deepened. How dare he think such a thing! She had been kissed by two different men—three including him. She had wanted to know what it felt like. But that was as far as her physical experience went.

She could tell him that, though he probably wouldn’t believe her. So far she had been holding her cards close to the vest. It was beginning to look as if he knew less about her than she had first thought. For the present, it might be to her advantage to keep it that way.

“Well, I have never been naked in front of you and that is the way I wish to keep it.”

He shrugged those wide shoulders. “As you wish. I’ll have the men remove the tub.” He started for the door.

“Wait!” She worried her bottom lip, eyeing the tub, yearning to be fresh and clean again. “Perhaps we could compromise.”

One dark eyebrow went up. “How so?”

“Well…if you turned round until I got into the tub, per haps I wouldn’t feel quite so exposed.”

He glanced from her to the water, looked at her and smiled. “All right, if it makes you feel better, I’ll turn my back till you get in the tub.”

He did so, crossing his arms over his chest. Grace closed her eyes, trying to summon her courage. She needed that bath. She wasn’t about to let the devil captain keep her from it.

Hurriedly stripping off her clothes, she climbed into the small copper tub, drawing her legs up beneath her chin. The splash of water alerted him. He waited a second more, giving her time to get settled, then turned.

The man made such a thorough inspection of her body her cheeks began to burn, then he walked over to the cupboard and drew out the towel she had forgotten, along with a bar of soap. It was lavender scented, certainly not meant for him.

“You’ll need this when you finish.” He draped the towel over the back of the chair. “And a little of this might be useful.” She reached up to catch the bar of soap he tossed her way and saw his eyes darken.

Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink as she realized that in reaching up, she had given him a glimpse of her naked breasts.

“You make quite a fetching picture, Miss Chastain.”

Grace eyed him warily as he approached the tub and went down on one knee beside it.

“You’ll want to wash you hair,” he said, his voice a little gruff.

Grace sat perfectly still as he pulled off the edge of torn lace that bound the single braid she had made of her hair. Using his fingers to separate the heavy strands, he spread them around her shoulders.

“You’ve beautiful hair,” he said softly. “The color of fire and soft as silk.”

She said nothing, but something warm filtered into her stomach. She could feel his hands, the long, tapered fingers brushing the nape of her neck, tugging gently on an auburn strand. Goose bumps crept over her skin and the warmth in her stomach filtered out through her limbs.

“Give me the soap,” he said, plucking it from her trembling hands before she could stop him. “I’ll wash your back for you.”

Oh, dear God! “You—you can’t possibly mean to do that!” More words of protest formed on her tongue but she couldn’t seem to force them out. And if she tried to move away from him, he would be able to see even more of her than he could already. She stiffened at the feel of his hand moving the bar of soap in slow circles over the skin on her back.

“Relax, Grace. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to…”

“I don’t want you to touch me.”

“…aside from helping you wash.” He soaped the linen rag again and the scent of lavender drifted over her. The heat of the water seeped into her stiff muscles, and against her will she began to relax. As if in some sort of trance, she closed her eyes and some of her tension began to fade.

The cloth moved gently down her neck and onto her back. He soaped her shoulders, moved the cloth down each of her arms. He trickled water over the soap on her back and arms then slowly reached around to soap her throat and chest.

Her eyes snapped open as the cloth moved lower, circled a breast, slid between her cleavage, circled the other breast, rubbed over her nipples. They peaked beneath the water, and heat and moisture slid into her core.

“Stop! You…you must stop this instant!” She was trembling. She crossed her arms over her breasts, embarrassed by her unexpected reaction, angry at him for taking advantage. “That wasn’t part of the bargain. I didn’t give you permission to take liberties.”

He shrugged. “I only wished to be useful.” But a faint smile curved his lips and his pale eyes were darker than she had ever seen them. As she studied him from the tub, her gaze lit on the heavy bulge in the crotch of his breeches. It happened when a man was aroused, she knew, and fear began to rise inside her.

“Please, I beg you. Let me finish my bath in peace.”

A long finger skimmed along her cheek. “Are you certain that’s what you want?”

Grace moistened her trembling lips. “Yes, very certain.”

For several long moments, he didn’t move, just stayed where he knelt next to the tub. Then with a sigh, he rose to his feet.

“I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed.”

She managed to force out the words. “Thank you.”

She watched him stride across the cabin. Relief came with a rush when the door closed behind him. Beneath the water, her nipples were still diamond-hard. Her stomach still quivered. It was frightening, what his brief caress had done.

The water was turning cold before she roused herself from her troubled thoughts, managed to finish bathing and wash her hair. All the while she kept asking herself how she could have allowed such a thing to happen.

But the answer did not come.

He couldn’t figure her out. In the past, Ethan had prided himself on his understanding of women. His older brother, Charles, had explained the facts of life when he was just a boy, and having a sister gave him insight into the workings of the female mind. As a youth, he had often spent time with his sister, Sarah, and her friends and he had grown to feel comfortable in the company of women. Over the years, he’d had a number of mistresses.

But Grace Chastain confused him. He believed her to be a whore, yet she played the innocent. Her bravado rose in contrast to the vulnerable expressions that sometimes appeared on her face, the glimmer of tears she fought to hide. She kept him constantly off balance and Ethan didn’t like it. Not one little bit.

Last night after the episode with Grace in the tub, he had shared his first mate’s cabin instead of retiring to his own. Angus knew better than to ask questions. Even if he had, Ethan wouldn’t have known the answers.

Perhaps he was afraid if he had slept beside Grace Chastain as he had the past few nights, the temptation to have her would have been too great. He knew now what lay beneath her borrowed night rail, knew the exact smoothness of her skin, exactly how full her breasts were. He knew the shape of each one and the weight, the rosy color of her nipples.

It had taken sheer force of will not to lift her out of the tub and take one of those heavy breasts into his mouth. He had wanted to run his hands over her belly, her hips, her thighs, wanted to spread those long, shapely legs and bury himself inside her.

Ethan took a steadying breath. The kiss he had stolen that first day had been torture enough. Now, just thinking about her slender, luscious curves made him hard, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Standing on the quarterdeck behind the big teakwood wheel, he looked out over the water. If he slept beside her, he might not be able to resist the temptation to take her. He might not be able to control his lust and it angered him to think she held that kind of power over him. It was never what he had intended.

And he was determined to take back control.

Tomorrow they would reach Odds Landing, the tiny seaport village south and east of Dover. He would buy the lady some clothes and use them to strike the bargain he had intended to make from the start—one he hoped would ease his disturbing need.

He almost smiled. By tomorrow night, Grace Chastain would be sharing her luscious body as well as his bed. “Capt’n?”

He looked up to see his second mate, Willard Cox, topping the ladder to the quarterdeck. Cox was a man in his forties, a big, beefy seaman, heavily muscled through the chest and shoulders. Apparently, the man had acquired a bit of schooling and the surprising ability to read, write and cipher. Cox had a scar across his cheek and one on the back of his hand, but otherwise he wasn’t a bad-looking man. Ethan had never sailed with Cox before and though he had done a good job so far, Ethan wasn’t ready to rush to judgment.

“We received the signal, sir. You can see the lantern, there, off the starboard bow.”

They were close enough to shore to see the glow of yellow light. He’d been expecting the signal. Tomorrow in Odds Landing he had a meeting with a man named Max Bradley. Bradley worked for the British War Office. Along with Ethan’s cousin, Cord Easton, earl of Brant, and another of his best friends, the duke of Sheffield, Bradley had been responsible for Ethan’s narrow escape, after nearly a year, from a filthy French prison.

“Return the signal, Mr. Cox. Tell them the meeting will take place as scheduled.”

“Aye, sir.” Cox made his way back down the ladder and Ethan thought about tomorrow’s rendezvous.

He had agreed to a final mission for the British government. For years, there had been concern about the strength of Napoleon’s naval forces, but lately that concern had in creased. The military believed the Little Corporal was amassing an even larger armada and that once the ships were completed, the fleet would be used to invade English shores.

It was Ethan’s job to prowl the coast, to search for information until he could discover the truth of the matter, one way or another.

He glanced toward the coastline, saw tiny lights flickering in the windows of the distant town of Odds Landing, and thought of Grace Chastain. For the second night in a row, he would sleep in his first mate’s cabin. He imagined the purchases he would make on the morrow and the con cession he intended to receive in return for them, and vowed it would be the last night he spent in a bed other than his own.

“I want to go with you.” Grace faced the captain as he collected his things and prepared to leave the ship. “I can’t stand another day confined to this cabin.”

He glanced her way. “You would prefer a prison cell, perhaps?”

She blanched but pulled herself together and held her ground. “I need some sort of exercise. I am unused to this kind of confinement.”

“I thought most women preferred to stay in out of the sun.”

“Yes, well, I am not most women.”

One of his black eyebrows went up. “That is more than clear.”

Grace ignored the note of sarcasm. “If I promise not to try to escape, will you let me go with you?”

He scoffed. “How much is the promise of a traitor worth?”

Her heart started pounding. “A traitor? That is what you think? That I am a traitor?” Dear God, she had never considered her crime would result in such a charge! For God’s sake, they hung traitors! As Grace knew only too well.

The captain frowned. “Your face has gone pale. You did not realize that helping a traitor escape might lead you, yourself, to be viewed as a traitor?”

She swallowed, shook her head. “No, I… He was…” She couldn’t tell him that Harmon Jeffries was her father, the man who had sired her, but not the one who had raised her. The viscount, her biological father, had a wife and children, and there was her mother and her husband to consider. The scandal would be unbearable for all of them. She had vowed to keep the secret to her grave and she intended to abide by her word.

“He was a friend,” she said. “I couldn’t stand by and let him hang.”

She couldn’t miss the hint of disdain. “He must have been a close friend, indeed, for you to take such a risk.”

For the first time it occurred to her that she had just admitted her crime. Dear God, what had she been thinking? Ethan Sharpe was hardly a man to trust.

She walked toward the row of windows above the bed, trying to calm her fears. The ship was anchored some distance offshore. She could see the tiny village on the hillside above the cove. “I should still like to come along. I am desperate for a little fresh air and a chance to stretch my legs.”

“I can’t take the risk. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. From now on, at least once a day, I’ll take you up on deck. Will that make you happy?”

She hadn’t really expected him to let her go ashore, not after the trouble he had gone to in order to get her aboard in the first place. She should be happy for the concession. “I suppose that is better than nothing.”

He finished loading his gear and left the cabin, and Grace looked back out the window. A handful of crewmen settled aboard a pair of wooden dinghies and began to row for shore, undoubtedly to refill the ship’s larders. The captain sat in the stern of one of the boats and Grace wished again that she could have gone with them.

Still, the fact that the ship was stopping gave her hope. Sea Devil had anchored in the cove to restock supplies. The vessel would certainly make other stops along the way to wherever it was headed. Eventually, the captain might agree to take her ashore. If he did, she might find some means of escape.

It was obvious she couldn’t go back to London, but Lady Humphrey knew her circumstances and had agreed to help her. Perhaps the baroness could arrange a way for Grace to leave the country.

Grace’s mother had explained that Lady Humphrey, Harmon Jeffries’s widowed aunt, had raised her father after his own mother and father had died. She loved him like a son, and though the viscount had never claimed Grace as his daughter, he had told his aunt about her. Grace wondered what the baroness would say when she discovered Grace had been taken from the Lady Anne.

She sank back down on the captain’s berth. Whatever happened, she had survived thus far and she refused to give up hope.

It simply wasn’t her nature.

A damp, chill wind blew across the water as the small boats drew up beside the dock at the end of High Street. A cloudy, gray, overcast sky hung over the tiny village that morning, keeping people indoors, out of the in clement weather.

With the collar of his woolen coat turned up against the wind, Ethan stepped out of the boat and left the men to complete their assigned duties. His first priority was his scheduled meeting with Max Bradley and he started walking up the hill toward their rendezvous spot, a tavern near the end of the main road called the Pig and Slipper.

As he shoved through the tavern door, entering the smoke-blackened, low-ceilinged taproom, he spotted Bradley sitting at a battered wooden table in a corner near the hearth, finishing the last of his breakfast.

Ethan crossed the room, pulled off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair next to one he pulled out for himself.

“Good to see you, Max.”

“You, as well, my friend. I see you have finally put some meat on your bones. Have you had breakfast? The steak-and-kidney pie is excellent.” Max was as tall as Ethan, with the same black hair, though Bradley’s was straight, not wavy, and grew well over his collar. He was perhaps ten years older, somewhere near forty, his face weathered, his features harsh and gaunt. All in all, he had the look of a man other men avoided.

“No, thanks, I ate before I left the ship. What news do you bring?”

“Not much. No word of Jeffries, if that is what you are asking.” Max worked mostly on the Continent. His French was flawless and he moved like a wraith through the taverns, gaming halls and brothels of the French underworld, collecting information useful against Napoleon’s army.

“The man’s a clever bastard,” Ethan said. “Probably tucked away, leading the good life in some château somewhere.” He considered mentioning Jeffries’s mistress, a prisoner aboard his ship, but Bradley was a government man, and the matter of Grace Chastain was personal, and not yet resolved to Ethan’s satisfaction.

“What about you?” Max asked. “Have you run across anything new in regard to the growing French fleet?”

“Nothing so far. I’m heading toward Brest. Rumor has it there is some shipbuilding going on down there.”

“Word also has it there are ships moving toward the south, possibly as far as Cadiz.”

“I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Be careful, Ethan. Jeffries may no longer be a threat, but that doesn’t mean the French are uninformed. They have their spies, just as we have ours. You’ve enemies in France. Your escape made them look like fools. If they catch you again, they won’t let you live till sunrise.”

“Sea Devil is the fastest ship I’ve ever sailed. She’s light and incredibly maneuverable. Still, I’ll not ignore your warning.”

Max rose from his chair and clapped Ethan on the shoulder. “If you need me, leave word here. The owner is a friend and completely trustworthy. I check for messages as often as I can.”

Ethan just nodded. He watched Max Bradley slip quietly out the door and disappear into the street as if he had never been there. Though Ethan would heed his friend’s warning, he needed to discover how many ships were being built and where they were headed.

Once his mission was complete, he would return to London to take up his duties as marquess of Belford, and Grace Chastain would face judgment for what she had done. In the meantime, he had his own personal score to settle with Grace, one that required a different sort of mission than the one he was currently involved in with Max.

Walking down High Street, he surveyed the row of shops along the lane, Dalton’s Meat Market, Emory’s Bakery, a hatmaker’s shop with the sign, Blue Bonnet, on the other side of the street. At last he spotted the dressmaker’s abode, The Apparel Shop. Ethan strode in that direction.

The bell rang above the door as he stepped up to the counter in the tiny receiving room and a buxom woman with too much rouge on her cheeks waddled out to greet him.

“Good morning, sir. How might I be of service?”

“I’m looking to outfit a lady. Her trunk was lost and she has only the dress she was wearing. I was hoping you might be able to help me.”

“Well, of course. If you bring the lady in, we can have her outfitted in no time. In a couple of weeks—”

“I’m afraid that won’t do. We’re sailing this afternoon. I need the dresses by then.”

The pink circles in her cheeks turned a bright rose. “Why, that’s impossible! I couldn’t possibly fashion even a single gown in such a short time.”

“I realize it’s a good deal to ask, but I’m willing to pay for the inconvenience. I’ll give you double what you usually charge.”

“It isn’t a matter of money, Mr…?”

“Captain Sharpe. My ship, Sea Devil, is anchored just offshore.” He still wasn’t used to using his title, marquess of Belford, though it occurred to him it might come in handy right now.

“Well, Captain Sharpe, such a sum would certainly be useful…” She cast a glance toward the curtained room be hind her. “I’m sure the lady must be frantic, without even a change of clothes.”

“She is quite unhappy about it, as you have rightly guessed.” He held his hand up to demonstrate Grace’s height. “The lady is fairly tall, about this high, and slender—except for her breasts.”

The dressmaker blushed, making the pink circles brighten again. She smiled knowingly. “I see. Well, I sup pose any sort of clothing would be better than doing with out.” She leaned over the counter, shoving her pendulous bosom nearly out of the top of her gown.

“I sew for an assortment of different patrons,” she said confidentially. “There is a lady of the evening who purchased a number of items several months back, but ran short of the funds necessary to pay for them.”

A lady of the evening. A hard smile curved his lips. Grace was Jeffries’s mistress. It seemed perfectly fitting.

“The gowns won’t be exactly her size, but with a little alteration, she might make do.”

“I’ll take them.”

He sat down on a damask-covered settee to wait until his purchases could be readied, and a few minutes later, the dressmaker pushed back through the curtains and walked in carrying a stack of boxes. Ethan paid the bill, noting the double amount as he stacked the boxes against his chest.

“It’s been a pleasure,” she beamed at him. “Do come back any time, Captain.”

“I’ll do that.” Though he doubted he would ever again have use for the clothes of a whore.

It was late afternoon by the time the crew had finished transporting fresh kegs of water, salted herring, ale and myriad other foodstuffs back aboard the ship. Ethan was tired but eager to get there. Eager to see what Grace’s reaction would be to the clothes he had brought her.

Thinking of the red satin gown trimmed with black lace he had glimpsed in one of the boxes, somehow he didn’t think the bargain he’d had in mind was going to be as easy to strike as he had hoped.