Captain's Bride (12 page)

Sipping a licorice cordial, Glory smiled sweetly and
batted her thick dark lashes. “Tell me, Mr. Pintassle, how did a
gentleman of your obvious breeding happen to end up in Captain
Blackwell’s employ?” The way she said the words implied a man like
Joshua Pintassle deserved a far better master than the roguish sea
captain he worked for. Glory felt a thrill of satisfaction when
Nicholas’s gray eyes darkened. Her barb had not gone unnoticed.

“Mind if I smoke?” he asked, reaching into his
waistcoat to extract a thin cigar.

Glory arched an eyebrow. At home after supper, a
gentleman would retire to the drawing room for his brandy and
cigars. But then, shipboard etiquette might be altogether
different. “Not in the least,” she said, not really meaning it.

Nicholas made a grand show of offering one to Joshua,
who declined, then lit the end and inhaled deeply, releasing a
cloud of thick gray smoke into the room. It was all Glory could do
to keep from coughing, though she found the aroma not unpleasant
after all.

Joshua seemed oblivious to the exchange. Instead he
warmed to his subject. “I’ve always loved the sea. I’ve probably
spent more time on the ocean than I have on land. My father was a
captain for nearly twenty years. Now he owns a fleet of passenger
ships that sail from New York to Liverpool. Eventually I’ll take
over the company, but in the meantime, I wanted to be on my own.
I’ve been with Captain Blackwell for the past three years. He’s
taught me a great deal.”

“I’m certain he has,” she said sweetly. Then,
thinking of the young
lady
ensconced in her cabin, she
suddenly wondered exactly what Nicholas Blackwell
had
taught
the young officer. “I just feel fortunate that the captain was kind
enough to look after me in my time of need,” she said, not meaning
a word of it. So far, the captain’s hospitality had been thin at
best.

“It’s a pleasure to have such a beautiful woman on
board,” Joshua said.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Pintassle, you’re only too
kind.”

“Quite the contrary, Miss Summerfield. There are few
words that testify to beauty such as yours.” His eyes traced the
line of her neck, and Glory noticed the heat in his gaze. Nicholas
glowered at them both. As if sensing his captain’s disdain, Joshua
turned his attention to Nicholas. “Don’t you agree, Captain?”

“I assure you, Joshua, I’m well aware of Miss
Summerfield’s charms . . . and so is she.”

Glory stiffened. This was the man she remembered,
with his backhanded compliments and arrogant attitude.

Joshua seemed embarrassed. “I only meant to express
our pleasure in her company.”

“I’m sure you did, Josh.” The captain’s gray eyes
hardened even more. If Glory hadn’t known better, she might have
thought he was jealous.

“Well, I hate to break up a party,” Madame LaFarge
put in. “It never pays!” She chuckled, the sound a throaty rumble.
“But I for one could use a little rest. Won’t get near enough sleep
once we reach the Cape.” She winked and grinned broadly. “If you
gentlemen—and the pretty miss—will excuse me . . .” Her words
trailed off as she hefted her ample body from the chair.

Glory wholeheartedly agreed. She’d had just about
enough of Captain Blackwell. His obvious lack of interest in her
disturbed her more than a little. Was it just her vanity that
smarted, as the captain once said?

“I believe I’ll retire as well,” she told her dinner
companions.

Joshua Pintassle rushed to pull out her chair, which
scraped against the heavy plank floors. “I’d be honored to
accompany you to your door, Miss Summerfield,” he said, his gentle
voice husky with anticipation.

“Miss Summerfield and I have a few things to
discuss,” Nicholas broke in, giving the younger man a hard look
that made it clear the remark was an order and not just a
statement.

“Of course, Captain.” Joshua glanced at Glory a bit
sheepishly. “Have a good evening, Miss Summerfield.”

“I’d be pleased if you’d call me Glory,” she said,
sugar-sweetness dripping from her lips. The captain would clearly
not
be pleased, and Glory felt an inner thrill of
satisfaction.

“Why, thank you, Glory,” Joshua said. “And you’ll
call me Josh?”

“Why, of course.” Fighting the pull of a smile, she
felt Nicholas’s none-too-gentle grip on her arm. It was only a
small victory, but a victory just the same. If Nicholas Blackwell
wasn’t interested in her, Joshua Pintassle was. She meant to enjoy
his attention whether the captain liked it or not!

Nicholas guided her up on deck in silence. Jago Dodd
passed them, and Glory smiled at him warmly. Nicholas scowled and
tugged her toward an isolated spot by the rail.

“I thought you understood. I don’t want you getting
too friendly with the crew.”

“Does that include Mr. Pintassle? He certainly seems
trustworthy enough.”

“As a matter of fact, it does. Joshua is a fine
officer and a gentleman. But the others might not understand. Need
I remind you”—he lifted her chin, forcing her to face him
squarely—“that you agreed to follow my orders?”

Glory stiffened. “Being courteous is hardly going
against your orders, Captain.”

Nicholas felt his temper flare. She was willful and
spoiled, he reminded himself, and an outrageous tease. Not only was
he positive she had lied to him about her reason for wanting to go
north, but now she was determined to make trouble along the way—to
say nothing of the trouble she was causing him just by her
presence. Nicholas groaned inwardly. Why in God’s name had he let
her stay aboard?

“You’re my responsibility now, Miss Summerfield,” he
said. “These men have been at sea for weeks. Our short stay in
Charleston only whetted their appetites. Look around you.” He
indicated several tough-looking men who worked near the main mast.
“Most of these men are used to taking what they want. If they
decide they want
you,
there’ll only be Josh, Mac, and me to
stop them. You keep flirting with Josh and we’ll have to count him
out.”

“Flirting! How dare you accuse me of flirting. I was
merely making conversation.
You
hardly spoke to me, and I
haven’t much in common with Madame LaFarge.”

His eyes bored into her; then he released a long slow
breath. “I almost wish you did.”

Glory’s eyes widened at his words, but it was the
tone in which he said them that sent warm color to her cheeks. For
the first time she noticed the heat in his storm-gray eyes, the
heavy pulse, fueled by his anger, throbbing at the base of his
throat. Though his mouth was set, his lips curved invitingly, and
Glory recalled the feel of them, warm and firm against her own. Her
heart thudded uncomfortably, and she cursed herself for her
weakness.

Nicholas Blackwell was a rogue and a bounder. Women
meant nothing to him—he’d made that perfectly clear. Her fingers
gripped the hard wooden rail, and she was grateful for something on
which to vent her temper. “You are just as despicable as you were
at the manor!”

“And you, Miss Summerfield, are just as spoiled and
willful.” He glowered down at her, his face only inches away. For a
moment they stared at each other. Then, unable to stand the
tension, Glory nervously licked her lips. Nicholas Blackwell
groaned.

Heavy male voices, whispering and laughing just a few
feet away, drew his attention. The men were watching her, and he
knew what they were thinking—he was thinking the same damned thing.
Glaring down at her, he settled a firm hand at her waist and led
her away.

They descended the aft ladder into the passageway.
Only a dim whale-oil lantern lit the corridor. Nicholas stopped
outside the door to her cabin and turned her to face him.

“I don’t want any trouble, Miss Summerfield, and
whether you mean to or not, you seem determined to stir it up. From
now on you’ll do as I say, or you’ll spend the rest of this voyage
in your cabin.”

Glory’s eyes widened. Drawing herself up, she tilted
her chin defiantly. “How dare you threaten me?” Her ramrod-stiff
posture made her seem inches taller than she had been only moments
before. “Why are you treating me this way?”

“Because, you little vixen, I’m trying to make you
understand. The
Black Spider
is not a passenger ship. These
men aren’t used to having a woman on board—especially a beautiful
woman. You’re putting yourself in danger.” Nicholas watched her
face. Her expression clearly said she didn’t believe him. Ready to
continue their contest of wills, she parted her lips, and he could
see her delicate pink tongue. Lamplight glistened on her milky
skin, gleamed against the flaxen ringlets of her hair.

Furious at the tempting picture she made, Nicholas
cursed beneath his breath and hauled her against him. “This,” he
said, his voice cold, “is what I’m trying to make you see.”
Brutally, his mouth claimed hers. He felt her stiffen in surprise,
her lips part in protest, and he deepened the kiss, thrusting his
tongue violently between her teeth. Her slender fists beat at his
chest, and she fought to pull away, but he only held her tighter.
She tasted of the licorice cordial she’d enjoyed after supper, and
the heady sensation only hardened his resolve. He’d demonstrate in
no uncertain terms the consequences of her actions!

Mercilessly, he shoved her against the bulkhead,
pinning her wrists above her head. One hand slid up her thigh to
cup her bottom, pressing her against the hard length of him. He
kissed her fiercely, savagely, without a thought for her
pleasure—just as one of his men would. His hand moved from her hip
to her breast and he kneaded the fullness roughly. When the
thrusting peak stiffened against his hand, his own masculinity
hardened in response. For a moment he had trouble remembering just
why he was kissing her so cruelly when what he wanted to do was
gentle his assault and make her respond as she had that night on
the road.

His hand molded the heavy weight it caressed, and his
thumb gently teased the peak. Then the sound of her tiny whimper
returned him to his senses. Forcing himself to be brutal, he
crushed her soft lips against his mouth until he tasted the
metallic flavor of blood. Then he pulled away.

“Now do you understand?” he asked, his voice ragged,
his face a cold taut mask. “That’s what will happen to you if you
don’t do what I say.”

Tom between humiliation and rage, trembling all over,
Glory swallowed the bitter, angry lump in her throat. Her bosom
heaved against the fabric of her dress, and her eyes flashed bright
blue flame. “How dare you?” she snapped, playing the offended
well-bred lady, but tears glistened on her cheeks. “How dare you
treat me that way!” She hauled back her hand to slap him, but he
caught her wrist midway. “I’m not one of your harlots!” she flung
at him. “I am not your whore!”

“What I did was a suitor’s touch compared to what my
men would do to you. I don’t want you to get hurt, Glory. Maybe now
you’ll understand.”

With a shaky finger, Glory brushed at her tears. She
bit back the angry retort curled on her tongue and summoned all the
dignity she could muster. “You’ve made your point, Captain
Blackwell. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

Moving blindly, Glory stepped into the narrow
con-fines of her room and closed the door behind her. For a moment
she just leaned against the heavy wooden planks, her eyes shut
against the terrible pain in her heart. She could hear Nicholas’s
footfalls receding as he stalked down the passageway.

Stumbling across the room in the darkness, Glory
could just make out Rosabelle’s bulky figure curled up in the
bottom bunk and was careful not to wake her. Though her fingers
shook so hard she could scarcely unbutton her garments, Glory
didn’t ask for help. She didn’t want to face the younger woman, at
least not yet. Not until she came to grips with her raging
emotions.

As she thought of Nicholas, she felt sick and
betrayed, battered and discarded—so unlike the time before. She
remembered a brisk spring evening, a carriage ride down a
cloud-covered, tree-lined lane. The man who had kissed her that
night, her gray-eyed champion, no longer existed, and Glory
suddenly felt lost without him. With a flash of clarity, she
discovered that the man her father had admired and respected meant
more to her than she could have guessed—more than Eric Dixon, more
than any man she had ever known. If only he’d been real.

Even her father had been fooled. He’d always believed
Nicholas to be a man among men, a man he could trust and rely on.
How disappointed he would have been to discover the captain was
nothing more than the rake he appeared to be.

Struggling free of her garments at last, Glory pulled
a cotton nightdress over her head and climbed into her berth.
Though she tried to hold them at bay, warm tears rolled down her
cheeks. How could she have been such a fool? The man was a
libertine, a rake, and a rogue. Everyone in Charleston knew it. Why
hadn’t she believed them?

For a while she conjured images of the tall sea
captain who had come to her rescue on the road. Of the way he had
kissed her, the way he’d made her feel. Then the image changed to
one of the cruel, arrogant, devil of a man who had brutally taken
liberties with her tonight.

Lying in the darkness, thinking of the way he’d
touched her, Glory felt her cheeks burn—because even as she
struggled in his arms, even as he bruised her tender lips and
roughly caressed her body, she had desired him. Wanted him as she
hadn’t known she could want any man. As she never wished to desire
a man again. Nicholas Blackwell was a devil. A callous, unfeeling
brute—and Glory was bound and determined to hate him.

After tossing for what seemed like hours, she drifted
into a fitful sleep. Storm-gray eyes, dark with passion, hovered in
her dreams.