Caution to the Wind (21 page)

Amanda shook her head when Captain Stoakes bowed to the other captain before signaling for Buck to escort their guest to the ladder. She found it hard to believe that just minutes after they were trying to kill each other these two captains could have a genial conversation and agree to dine together that very evening. She knew women who held a grudge for years after the smallest slight. Men could be so simple at times.

Buck steadied the Englishman at the elbow and assisted the portly man over the side.

The captain turned toward Amanda, and she held her breath. How long he had been aware of her presence? The glow in his eyes suggested he had known the moment she stepped onto the deck. Perhaps she was the partridge.

His gaze softened as though he had called a momentary truce. For whatever reason, he needed her assistance.

“We’re going to have guests tonight. Do you think you’re up for cooking a meal for eight?”

“Yes, sir. Anything in particular you would like to serve?” she asked, trying to sound more like a ship’s cook than a woman with a supper party to plan.

Captain Stoakes pursed his lips and considered. “No, you choose. I don’t think you’ve served me a bad dish yet.”

Amanda’s insides melted like butter. She would prepare the best meal he had ever tasted—within the limits of his larder, of course. His unexpected praise emboldened her.

“Captain, is it usual for a privateer to entertain…his prisoners?”

She had been uncertain what word to use for the captured ship’s crew. Buck had always called them prisoners, but she didn’t suppose one invited prisoners to supper.

“Not unusual,” he replied, not appearing put off by her choice of words. “At least not on a privateer, anyway. The code a privateer sails under requires us to treat the crew of any captured ship with the utmost dignity and respect. Some privateers make a regular habit out of entertaining their ‘guests,’ sometimes lavishly, although often raiding the stores of the captured ship to do so.” His words ended with a chuckle.

“Have you ever done that?” Amanda asked.

“That
would
be illegal,” he replied with a mischievous grin and a slight wink that told her he wasn’t denying anything.

Amanda heart raced.

“But no matter. Before you became my cook, I’m afraid I didn’t have a choice. I would have been violating the privateer’s code of honor if I subjected them to Cookie’s fare.”

Although true, Amanda wondered if that was a joke. Then the captain’s eyes crinkled at the corners and she laughed.

“There will be eight?” she asked.

“Yes. Three of our people, four of their officers and a guest.”

“A guest?”

“Hmmm,” the captain murmured. “A young lady apparently.”

A young lady? Now that was interesting. She searched his face to see if he thought so too, but his smile had dissolved, and he stared off at the horizon. A dark cloud shadowed his features, and Amanda rubbed her hands over her arms to warm herself. She guessed the idea of two women on his ship didn’t sit well with the captain.

****

Captain Stoakes watched his crew haul a young woman on deck in a contraption that looked much like a tree swing. Apparently, she had claimed to be too weak to climb the ladder. More than likely, she enjoyed the attention of the men watching her carefully perched backside on the makeshift hoist. She swung her silk-slippered feet and swayed above the deck, all while proclaiming the experience to be “most frightening.”

Women don’t belong on ships
, Will thought for at least the tenth time that morning. Judging from the way she mesmerized his crew, this woman in particular did not belong on a ship, especially not
his
ship. He noted with disgust the slack-jawed faces of several of his crew. He would have to talk with Bull and Buck about increasing their workload to keep them out of trouble.

He must safeguard her even though she was his “prisoner” as Amanda had called her. He smiled at that. The woman hardly seemed to mind being a prisoner. Even so, as his prisoner, his duty required him to make her as comfortable as possible.

“Oh dear,” the woman said when her feet touched the solid planking. She spoke to no one in particular but to any man willing to listen, which at that moment seemed to be any man within earshot. “I didn’t think I would make it through that. I can’t swim, you see.” Her eyelashes fluttered, and her gaze dropped to her expensive satin skirt made full by the numerous petticoats beneath. “At least, not with this dress on.”

Will ignored the hint of suggestiveness in her tone and stepped forward to assist her.

“Do not fear, miss.” He bowed, taking her small, white-gloved hand and kissing the air just above her knuckles. “I am certain more than one of my men would have jumped in to save you before you even hit the water.”

The girl blushed. Up close, Will could see she was no more than a girl. Maybe seventeen. Possibly eighteen, but certainly no older. Her wide-set blue eyes complimented her ivory-complexion. She must have spent much of the crossing from England below deck, lounging in her hammock and complaining of seasickness. If she hadn’t, her complexion would have been marred with freckles or at the very least sport an unfashionable sun-bronzing.

Thoughts of Amanda’s glowing skin, dotted with freckles across a pert nose sprang to mind and he pushed them away, forcing himself to concentrate on the preening, sallow-skinned woman before him.

The wind tugged at her large straw bonnet and threatened to shred the flimsy parasol she carried. She straightened her delicate lace over gown with elaborate fastidiousness, the breeze unmaking her every effort.

Why would a father send his daughter to a country in the midst of a war? She clearly hadn’t been bred for the frontier, and although the North Carolina territory didn’t classify as wilderness, she would have her share of hardships. Did she realize just how hard plantation owners, including the women, had to work to make a plantation profitable?

Although he couldn’t tamp down his immediate dislike for the girl, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her at the same time. If he guessed correctly, her aristocratic family in England had fallen on hard times. This girl had drawn the short straw when they decided which of the children they would ship off to the rich uncle in America. Undoubtedly, they hoped the rich uncle’s connections would help restore the family fortunes. She would be expected to make a match with a wealthy man as soon as possible, the wealthier the better. He had his own experience with more than one such unfortunate sniffing around his bank accounts.

The girl stumbled and took a halting step forward. Buck reached out to steady her. She assessed him from beneath the sweep of her dark lashes, and Buck flashed his most disarming grin.

Will cleared his throat before the girl had time to take in Buck’s velvet coat and silk shirt. He needed his second in command on his ship, not tied down to a demanding aristocratic wife who refused to accept that her blue blood meant nothing in America.

“You must be the pirate captain.” She tucked back an ebony curl that had escaped from beneath her bonnet and let her fingertips linger at the side of her cheek while she raked him with her dark eyes.

The girl knew her part in the scheme.

“Privateer, miss. Welcome aboard the
Amanda
. I am at your service.” He made another elegant bow.

“There’s a difference?” she asked, a small frown of disappointment on her delicate features.

“Most definitely, miss,” replied Will.

There was, of course, but he’d be damned if he would take the time to explain it to this little chit.

“Well, I’m happy to be on your boat, sir.” She curtsied.

A suspiciously feminine gasp came from somewhere near the steps. Someone, and Will had a good idea who, watched from the safety of the hatch. He checked his grin just in time. Amanda had made the same mistake, calling his ship a boat, on her first day at sea. He had threatened to toss her overboard at the time. The blood had drained from her face, and he had felt contrite over the harsh treatment of a new recruit, but the fault did not lie entirely with him. Cookie had served him a haggis that morning and it lay in his stomach like a rock.

He had been well fed this morning, so the Captain’s Curse couldn’t be blamed for the desire to grab this woman by her laces and toss her back over the side to see if she really couldn’t swim. He distracted himself from the urge by estimating how long it would be before he could get her off his ship and away from his men.

Perhaps being a woman herself, Amanda might enjoy the opportunity to spend time with their guest. At the very least, she could keep the chit away from his men. Had he been alone, Will might have snorted. Given the vast dissimilarities between the two, he had the uncomfortable feeling he would be handing Amanda a duty worse than scrubbing decks.

“Hmm,” the girl said, looking around, then she gave the captain a pointed up and down perusal. “I had rather expected a pirate ship to be larger.”

Had she just insulted his ship, his person, or both? Will wanted to laugh. Given the girl’s own lack of charms, he doubted she wanted to start that battle.

Keeping a tight rein on his expressions, he offered her his arm and said, “Shall we go below? My cook is putting the finishing touches on a meal you are sure to enjoy. While we wait, perhaps you would care for a glass of sherry?”

“Oh, that would be delightful,” she cooed. Instead of resting her hand on the arm he proffered, she slid her dainty fingers between his arm and torso, latched on to his bicep and squeezed. Apparently, she hadn’t finished assessing him. “Do excuse me, Captain, but I’m afraid I’ve still not got my sea legs.”

Will looked down at her oval face, and forced a polite smile on his unwilling lips. After more than a month at sea, she most certainly would either have her sea legs or be dead from nausea. At the very least, her ample curves wouldn’t be quite so well-rounded.

He also couldn’t help but notice that the way she clung to him forced her generous breasts upward and to their best advantage. Her stays already pressed her breasts so far upward that they threatened to spill out over the top of her bodice. He only hoped her barely restrained flesh would wait until he had her out of sight.

With the girl clinging to him and tittering like a sparrow, Will’s irritation intensified. It would be a long night, but at least he could look forward to the pleasure of watching Amanda while she served their supper. He immersed himself in the thought of having her near until the sound of the girl’s voice melted away, and his impatience eased.

Chapter Sixteen

Amanda set a steaming tureen of turtle soup on the table. Later, she would have to admit she had outdone herself with dinner, but right now, she was too amazed at the transformation that had taken place to pay much heed to the visiting officers’ keen interest in the succulent aromas wafting from the stone tureen.

She had been stunned to learn a dining room existed on the ship. Actually, it didn’t normally. The
Amanda
was too small to have a permanent dining room, but like many ships refitted for battle, certain walls were removable. From somewhere the crew had produced a large, mahogany dining table, a linen tablecloth edged with lace, and china decorated with delicate blue flowers inlaid with a silver filigree. She wondered if the captain had borrowed the finery from his English guests.

Captain Stoakes had told her she could cook whatever she pleased. There were plenty of chickens on board, and her sense of humor got the best of her. While she had to improvise a bit with the ingredients, she made a passable
coq au vin
for his guests.

She hoped serving a well-known French dish to English guests didn’t go against the privateer’s code, but with the chicken simmering in the pot, it was too late to turn back. Perhaps no one would notice the subtle jab at English pride. But, whether or not they caught it, these were Captain Stoakes’s guests, and she really had no right to be rude. She would make up for her thoughtlessness by serving a fabulous desert.

Maybe a
crème brulee
? Amanda cringed. Apparently, her dark sense of humor went even deeper than she knew.

Now, she and Cookie brought out one perfectly prepared, although somewhat improvised, dish after another, and she watched their guests attack each with gusto.

The captain’s table seated eight that evening; Captain Stoakes, Buck Smythe, Doctor Miller, and four of the officers of the captured merchantman, including the captain whom she had seen earlier and his ship’s surgeon. To Captain’s Stoakes left, a woman of stunning beauty hung on his every word, and when she could manage it, his person. Amanda couldn’t help but stare, both at the girl’s beauty and her boldness.

Seated next to the captain’s tall, powerful frame, she appeared almost fairy-like, something to be seen yet not quite believed. She had dark blue eyes set in porcelain skin. Her rosebud lips smiled demurely at everything the captain said, and she often cast sideways glances at him from beneath her long dark lashes. Unlike her own complexion, this woman had no freckles and certainly no sun-bronzing. Amanda raised her hand and trailed her fingertips across her wind-roughened cheek to settle for a moment on her chapped lips. She let the hand drop.

Tearing her gaze from the woman’s face, she ladled the soup into elegant, sculpted soup bowls then handed them to Cookie so he could set them before the guests. She was no one’s idea of a beauty, and never would be, so what did she care? Still, the graceful appeal of this woman made her all the more conscious of her own shortcomings.

Amanda served the last of the soup, enraptured by the woman’s voice. She said very little to anyone but the captain, but when she spoke to him, her soft English accent tinkled like little bells. Dimples danced in her cheeks whenever she laughed at something the captain said. In Amanda’s opinion, she laughed more often than necessary, since the captain said little that could be taken to be humorous.