Kissing Comfort (44 page)

“I told him not to say anything about that night. To anyone. Ever.”

“Then ask him privately. I wasn't here.”

Bram frowned. “So it was someone you sent instead. It doesn't matter. You made it plain what you were going to do with her.”

“Mm. If that's so, you made it plain you weren't going to do anything about it. I didn't receive anything from you, did I?”

“I don't have the money. I told you before that you would have to wait for it until Comfort and I were married.”

“Those terms were accepted on the condition of a prompt exchange of vows. You can't truly have believed anyone would wait a year. I received the message you sent about setting a date. You can't pay what you owe now; why would anyone suppose you could manage the interest at the end of a year? You really don't understand the men you're dealing with.”

“She's good for it,” Bram said defensively. “Her uncles are good for it.”

Crocker removed another lozenge from the tin and dropped it in his mouth. “Everyone knows they have money. Whether you'd be allowed access to it is something else entirely. Everyone was intrigued by the idea of Miss Kennedy as collateral on your debt, but I wonder now if that wasn't a mistake. When you could have raised money to prevent her abduction, you didn't. Instead of applying to your brother for help, you surrendered her instead, essentially counting on her family to pay what you owed.”

“They must have paid at least part of it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because she's home. You wouldn't have let her go if they hadn't paid something toward her release.”

Crocker regarded Bram with more suspicion. “Is it opium?” he asked. “Is that what you're using? Or cocaine?” He gently sniffed the air. “No trace of smoke. I'll wager it's laudanum you've been spooning down your throat. That would account for it.”

“Account for what?”

“The fact that your thinking is as cloudy as an opium den. In your right mind, you'd know I wouldn't accept a partial payment. We're long past that point. It was all or nothing. You have no idea how much could have been raised that night. As I said, I overstepped, but I think it gives you a taste of things to come.”

“But you let her go.”

He fell silent as he debated what, or if, he should tell Bram. He decided that Bram's reaction would not be so blunted by laudanum that he couldn't learn something from it. “No. Not exactly. The Rangers failed to control their house. She got away.”

Bram blinked owlishly, then he threw back his head and laughed. By the time he reined himself in, there were tears at the corners of his eyes. “Of course she did. My God, but she's one of a kind.”

Crocker grunted.

Bram wiped his eyes with one corner of the sheet. He sobered with difficulty, swallowing more laughter as it stirred in his chest. In Bram's experience, there was only so much Crocker would tolerate, and the limit had been reached.

Crocker waited for the full implication of Comfort's escape to hit Bram. He saw the moment clearly. Bram's jaw sagged. Crocker nodded. “Did you think I wasn't serious when I said your mother would be next? You really should stop taking the laudanum. Your judgment is never impressive, Bram, but it barely exists now.”

“How do you suppose threatening to harm my mother will get you your money? There
is
no money. Now that I'm bedridden, I can't even take my small stake and turn it around at the tables.”

Crocker didn't bother to point out that it was exactly that thinking that got Bram into trouble in the first place. “Your brother will pay for your mother.”

“He won't.” Bram hesitated. He'd held out as long as he reasonably could. Bode and his mother couldn't blame him for telling the truth. Wasn't that what Bode was always asking him to do? “He can't, and not because he's a cold-blooded bastard. How many ways can I say there's no money? What we have is debt. The house. The ships. The bank owns us. It has since my father mortgaged everything and bet it on the Confederacy to win the war. You think my judgment is less than impressive? Ask Bode about my father's. My brother has had his sights on repairing the family fortune since the end of the war. He can't see anything outside of that. He doesn't take a salary beyond what is required to keep him alive. He gives my mother and me an allowance. It is generous by any standard except for the one we were used to. He stopped advancing money better than a year ago. He's never wavered. When he thinks Mother is going to pressure him for funds, he stays away. She'd never tell you about that, but there's a better than even chance that's why he's ignoring her now.”

Crocker was thoughtful as he scratched his beard just under his chin. He wondered if he could believe Bram. “This isn't common knowledge.”

“God, no. It would ruin us. And if you let it get about, you'll never see your money. Black Crowne will collapse. The creditors will take everything first.”

“How do I know that you're telling me the truth?”

Bram shrugged. “You're the detective, but I'd advise caution in the event you decide to ask questions. You might raise suspicion, and in this city that would become fact before nightfall. The creditors would start sniffing around, and you'd still have nothing.”

“Who holds the lien against this house?” When Bram said nothing, Crocker sighed. He stood slowly, as though reluctant, and put a hand on Bram's broken leg just above the knee. “You think I can't make you feel pain past the laudanum? I'm warning you, I can. Tell me who holds the lien.”

Bram watched Crocker insinuate his hand between the bandages. The man's fingertips were warm against his skin. There was the slightest downward pressure as Crocker straightened his elbow and began to push. “Croft Federal,” Bram said. He felt the pressure ease immediately.

“Who would be the best person to speak to?”

Bram closed his eyes this time. He didn't try to hold out. “Mr. David Bancroft,” he whispered. “You can talk to David Bancroft.”

Crocker nodded, satisfied. “One last thing. Your mother said I should ask you about Samuel Travers. Who the hell is he?”

 

 

They were still a day out when Bode happened upon Comfort sitting on a large coil of rope on the foredeck. Her concentration was fixed on the tails of two ropes that she held in her hands. She didn't notice him standing beside her until he nudged the toe of her boot with his.

“I thought you were going to the lounge after breakfast,” he said when she looked up.

Comfort dropped one of the ropes so she could use a hand to shade her eyes from the sun. “I was there for a little while. I couldn't think of a thing to say when the women began discussing whether shaped undergarments were more flattering than shifts. It was all very serious and utterly boring. I would rather have been playing cards with the gentlemen. I'm very good at card games.”

Bode thought of Newt and Tuck and Comfort's early education at their hands. “I'll bet you are.” He pointed to the length of rope she was still holding. “Are you trying to make a bend?”

“Mm. Trying. I've been shown twice how to make a hunter's bend, and I still can't do it.”

“So many times? And you still can't do it? That's hard to believe.” He motioned her to make room for him, and when she did, he sat beside her and held out his hand for the ropes. He demonstrated how to twist them together, and then he let her try, guiding her hands when she hesitated. She joined the two ropes on her next attempt. “Very good. Now this one.” He showed her a double carrick bend that was only a little more elaborate than what she'd been trying. “We'll make a sailor out of you yet,” he said, handing over the finished bend so she could study it for herself.

“I'm coming to it rather late,” she said a trifle wistfully. “We'll wake up tomorrow morning in the bay.”

“Do you want me to delay our arrival? I'm sure there's something on board that I can sabotage.”

“After you worked so hard to repair the boiler? I don't think so. Anyway, I'm anxious to see Newt and Tuck, and I've been thinking about what you told me about Mr. Crocker. I want to meet him.”

Except to give her a sideways glance, Bode didn't react. “When did you decide that?”

“This morning. I had a lot of time to consider it once the conversation turned to undergarments.” She tried to work the ropes in her hands, but her fingers weren't as steady as they'd been moments before. “I want to know why I fainted, Bode.”

“I don't think Mr. Crocker's going to be able to explain that.”

“I don't either, but it would be interesting to find out if I can control it.”

“Interesting,” he said. “Yes, you'd think that.”

“If it were you, you'd want to know.”

He couldn't deny it. “We'll see.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and her fingers stilled. “I wasn't asking permission.”

Bode said nothing.

“Bode?”

“I heard you. I'm trying to decide what I think about it.”

“I want you to go with me,” she said. “I'm hoping you will.”

He clearly heard what she didn't say. She would arrange a meeting with Mr. Crocker with or without him. “Newt once offered me twenty dollars to be your keeper, and I refused.”

“You should have taken the money and kept the ring.”

He was tempted to kiss the sass right out of her smile. Later, he thought. He would wait until they were alone. They would both enjoy that. “All right,” he said. “But I want to arrange the meeting.”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” he repeated. “You don't care about that at all, do you?”

“Not a bit.” She wove one rope through the loop she'd made in the other and pulled tight. Grinning widely, she raised the double carrick to show him. “Hah! Now, point out someone I can hang from a yardarm.”

This time he gave in to temptation. He took the carrick bend out of her hand as though to examine it, and as quickly as either one of them could have said, “Bear away before the wind,” he used one of the ropes to make a bowline around her wrist.

Comfort stared from him, to her wrist, and back to the darkening centers of his blue-violet eyes. She felt a delicious shiver travel down her spine. “You're going to tie me to a yardarm?”

Bode couldn't hear any concern in her voice. In fact, she sounded a bit hopeful. He stood, drawing her to her feet by means of the bowline. She didn't resist. Stepping close enough to keep anyone from seeing that she was bound to him, Bode bent his head and whispered in her ear, “Let's start with a bedpost and see how that goes.”

 

 

The stool under John Farwell thudded to the floor as he leaped to his feet and grabbed the young runner who'd just come up from the wharf. “You're sure? The
Artemis Queen
?”

“She's here. I saw her comin' in and came straightaway, just like you asked. They'll be opening up the gangway by the time you get there.”

Farwell found a quarter, tossed it to the boy, and told him to leave. He went in the back, where the other clerks were doing inventory, and alerted them that he was leaving to meet the ship. He didn't ask any of them to come along.

Comfort saw John Farwell first. She stepped closer to Bode. This was her first encounter with the man since the concert saloon, and she was not quite as prepared to face him as she'd hoped to be.

Bode sensed her unease first and then found the source of it. “Think of something else,” he said. “If it helps, think of all the ways we found to use that rope.”

Comfort immediately stopped thinking about Mr. Farwell bouncing on the bed beside her and remembered Bode removing the lantern from the hook just inside their cabin and fastening her wrists there instead. She hadn't objected except to inquire about the bedpost. His answer was practical: during the walk back to their quarters, he'd realized their berth didn't have one. She would have smiled because, really, he was so excellent at revising a plan, but then he took a step back and studied her, grazing every part of her with his eyes as thoroughly as if he'd used his hands, and what might have been a smile was only the narrow parting of her mouth around a sharply indrawn breath.

She was wet by the time he blew out the lantern and plunged their tiny cabin into complete darkness. She was too excited to be afraid of anything except that he wouldn't touch her soon enough. The waiting was an agony. When she softly cried out, it was because he'd finally begun to lift her underskirt.

He pressed her back against the wall; his breath was hot on her neck. He worried her earlobe with his teeth and touched his tongue to the shell pink whorl. He used his body to keep her pinned while he fumbled with her drawers and the front of his trousers and, frustrated with the difficulty of keeping her flat to the wall, tugged at the fastenings to her bustle. When he finally yanked it out from under her skirt, she heard him grunt softly in triumph.

The next time he made a sound like that, it was because he was deep inside her, and her legs were clamped hard against his hips, and she was clenching him intimately with muscles that were sleek and slippery. It didn't matter that her wrists were bound. She had him in ways that mattered more.

Bode touched Comfort's elbow and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Perhaps you should think of something else,” he suggested quietly. “You're looking unnaturally flushed.”

Comfort raised a hand to her cheek. She could feel heat against her fingertips. “It's because of you,” she said, her glance accusing.