Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast) (6 page)

A new truth dawned.

If she gave herself to Trevor, she would be ruined--unmarriageable.  And her brother would never force her to wed.  From where she stood, indulging in the physical delights her captain offered seemed the perfect answer to her quandary, not to mention the man was gorgeous and willing to cooperate.

If she were smart, she would seize this gift of fate.

These weeks at sea would carry her into the twilight of her life.  When she was old and gray, she could recall a time when she was desired above all else, when one man wanted her, and her, alone.

But she had to act fast.

At the very least, she surmised she had three weeks to give herself to Trevor.  Three weeks to accept what he offered.  On the thought, a wicked shiver coursed her spine.

Caroline strolled to the stern windows.  The storm had eased but the ocean still churned.  The turbulent weather matched her mood: tumultuous, hedonistic, and wildly unpredictable.  No, she would not turn away from this virgin taste of passion.  With unflinching determination, she placed a damp palm to the cold glass, but it did nothing to cool the heat simmering within her.  Staring at her reflection, barely visible, she smiled.

“I’ll do it.”

CHAPTER FOUR

As the storm ebbed and flowed, the following days passed in a fog of frustration.  Trevor rose early and returned late, trudging into the cabin with a scarce glance in her direction.  Sometimes he ate, and sometimes he merely flung himself, fully clothed, on the bunk. Just when they thought they had escaped the tempest, it would gather steam and rage again.  But that wasn’t the only thing raging.

Just how did one launch a full-scale seduction?

While Caroline remained entrenched in the belief that her tack was true and equally certain her most intimate gift was destined to be his, she had no real idea how to entice a man.  So she did the things she was positive would make her desirable under the present circumstances.

Every meal was served with care, awaiting only his arrival and his appetite; she mended his clothes, and kept their quarters neat and tidy.  In short, Caroline did what she could to prove to her captain how useful she could be in every way--except one.

Must she do everything herself?

She had thought it a simple matter of kissing, which would lead to more intense relations.  It seemed a sensible, logical conclusion.  She had kissed his forehead, his cheeks, and had even kissed Trevor on the mouth as he fell asleep.  Her reward had been an impressive snore.

How did one go about initiating a seduction?

As the tempest wailed for the fourth day, Trevor stumbled through the door.  Soaked, eyes bloodshot, and face pale as a ghost, he collapsed in a coughing fit.  After stripping the wet clothing from his skin, Caroline hurried to dry him.

“I am so c-cold.”  He shuddered violently.

“I know, and I am sorry.  I wish there was something more I could do.”

Instead of leading him to the table to eat, she steered him toward the bed and tucked blankets around him.  Trevor accepted her fussing without a word, which heightened her worry.  After fluffing the pillows, she brought him some food and was alarmed when he ignored her.

“You have to eat, Captain.”

“I am not hungry,” he said, pushing away the tray.

As he turned on his side, she pulled the blanket to his chin and realized he was shivering.  When she placed the back of her hand to his forehead, her concern grew in epic proportions.

“Trevor, I think you have a fever.”

“What of it?”

“You’re ill.”

“It does not signify.”

“I beg to differ.”  If a chill took hold, he could be in grave condition by morning.  “Have you a doctor aboard?”

“He quit on the last run to Jamaica.  Got leg-shackled.”

“Have you any medical supplies?”

“None that I know of.”

“Then you will have to make do with me.”

Perched at the edge of the mattress, she massaged his scalp, hoping a good rest would go far to allay a serious infection.  Yes, it was only a hope, but hope was all she had without a physician or medicine.  Hot liquids would help, but it was not yet safe to light the ovens.

Once she was certain her captain had drifted off, his still quivering form chagrined Caroline.  A thorough search of the cabin yielded one additional blanket and a Garrick coat, which she draped over him.  And yet he shook.

It was not enough.  Somehow, she had to get him warm.  Her mind raced.  Suddenly, it came to her.  Looking to the heavens, she whispered, “Thank you.”

In a flash, Caroline undressed.  For two seconds, she considered getting into his bed without benefit of clothing.  Perhaps that might prompt Trevor to do the deed.  Her cheeks burned as she envisioned her bare skin pressed to his.  Just as fast, she quashed the image.  If the man wanted her naked, he could do the job himself.

She had her pride.

After pulling on her silk robe, the same one she claimed the night Trevor had taken her from Dalton’s cabin, Caroline slid between the covers.

Curling up to his back, she wrapped her arms around his sinewy mass, bending her knees and tucking her legs to his buttocks.  Using her body heat, she comforted him.  Yet what she offered exacted a high price, as the green-eyed dragon seduced her with no effort.

That Trevor could lie innocent as a babe in her embrace and evoke such sensations seemed the height of unfairness.  If only the blasted storm would end.  With one last look at her captain, Caroline settled amid the pillows and soon surrendered to the realm of fantasy.

And was brought awake in the early morning hours by a blustery gale of a different sort.

“What in bloody hell are you doing?”

“Ho-hum.”  She yawned and rubbed her tired eyes.  He could not be serious.  “I would think it quite obvious.  And if you recall, you brought me here, against my will, to be your mistress.”

“Did you...did I...did we--”  With an expression of sheer horror, Trevor shot from the mattress as if he had been scalded.

“Did we--what?”

“Did we do what you do in trade?”

“I beg your pardon, no such thing occurred, as I am not in the habit of assaulting unconscious men.”  Caroline folded her arms and snorted in disgust.  “You were cold, and I sought to warm you.  Nothing more happened.”  And she was not happy about it, but she was not going to tell him.

Tense seconds ticked past.

“I must say I am perplexed by your reaction.”  She swallowed her trepidation and pressed her suit.  “We have a mutually agreed upon bargain, which you have promised, on more than one occasion, would lead to mutual pleasure.”

“I-I said that, and I m-meant it.”  He did not sound too convincing, and he looked uncharacteristically nervous.  “But I am needed on deck.”

“You are not leaving this room.”

“Duty calls.”

“But you had a fever.”

“Perhaps, but I am fine now.”

“Get back in your bunk.  You need rest.”

“I beg your pardon.  You are neither my wife nor my mother, and I am not a child to be ordered about.”

“Delighted to hear it, because only a child would take such unnecessary risks, when we need you healthy and at the helm.  Now, shall I fetch your breakfast?”

“I don’t want any damn breakfast.”

Caroline managed to muffle her giggle as he marched toward the door.  What was she to make of his odd behavior?  That aside, she had to admit the man had a superb backside.  But she did not think the crew would share her opinion.

“Captain?”

“What?”

“May I suggest you put on some clothes before you report for duty?”

#

Two days later, the wind in his hair, Trevor assumed his station and assessed the damage to the
Hera
.  On occasion, the sun filtered through the clouds bathing the ship in warm, golden light.  The tempest had passed.

On the main deck, the boatswain was busy directing the crew in a thorough inspection of the canvas and rigging.  Seated on a chair in the middle of the action was Caroline.  Small tears in the main upper topsail required darning.  Quick to volunteer, she all but danced a jig when, after a nod of approval from Trevor, the leader of the watch accepted her offer of help.

Turning his attention to the charts laid before him, he plotted their current position.  The storm had blown them off course, but was no cause for alarm; he would make the necessary adjustments and have them navigating the Channel in no time.  After consulting his compass, he affixed small notations to the maps.

“Hoist the topsail,” the boatswain bellowed.

“Merciful heavens, Cap’n, will ya look at that?”

With a hand at the small of his back, Trevor stretched.  “What is it, George?”

The forenoon watch had run up the repaired canvas and was positioning it on the mainmast.  There was nothing out of the ordinary about that, yet his first mate seemed transfixed, facing skyward, hands shielding his eyes from the glare of sunlight.

Mirroring his stance, Trevor followed his gaze.  Jaw clenched, breath seized, chest tightened, gut wrenched, he couldn’t move.  High atop the mast perched Mistress Caroline.  Balanced on the footropes, she laced the sail to the yard.

Did the damn fool woman not recognize the danger?

She could be killed.

Summoning every ounce of control within him, he descended the companion ladder and stomped toward the boatswain.  It took a Herculean effort to suppress the urge to shout his displeasure, because he was afraid she might fall if he yelled.

Unable to contain the fury in his voice, he barked, “Bo’sun.”

“Cap’n, let me handle this.”  Grabbing hold of his elbow, George halted him.  “Mr. Boyle, bring the lady down--now.”

The crewman peered at Trevor, flinched, and nodded once.  “Ma’am, the men can finish from there.”

“Are you sure?” the ladybird asked from above, as she pulled taut a stitch and then looped another.

That did it.

“Mistress Caroline, present yourself this instant.”

A single misstep was all it would take.  Did she expect to sprout wings and fly?

“Aye, Captain.”

On a final inspection of her work, she nodded, and then shimmied through the shrouds, clutching the ratlines for balance.  As soon as her feet touched the deck, Trevor grasped her arm, giving her no warning of the tumult twisting his insides.

“What--”  She emitted a strangled cry.

The knowledge that his courtesan was safe should have appeased him.  It did not.  The fear, the sheer terror coiling in the pit of his belly found a convenient outlet in his hand, which he let fly with a resounding
smack
on her bottom.  The impact stung his palm and buckled her knees, and she would’ve fallen forward had he not still been holding her.

Yanking her upright, fingers digging into her shoulders, Trevor shook her hard, and the emotions welling inside him roared at once.  “What in bloody hell do you think you are about?”

Shock and humiliation eclipsing her expression, Caroline reached for him.  “I was only--”

“Hie yourself below.”  Trevor pushed her away with sufficient force that she tripped.  “If I so much as see your face on deck, I will blister your hide.”

With head held high, she walked to the steps leading to his quarters and descended.

Her absence should have made him feel better.

It did not.

For a long while he stood there, second-guessing the weight of his actions and the implication of the emotions that held him captive in some invisible, but nonetheless real, prison.

Trevor could not move.

Until he surveyed the angry, almost mutinous, faces surrounding him.  “Carry on,” was all he could say.

At his station, he noticed for the first time the sweat on his brow.  A vision of Caroline’s lifeless form, prostrate on the deck, flashed before him, and he shuddered.  As if teetering on a precarious precipice, he leaned forward and placed his hands on the rail for support.  Closing his eyes, he desperately tried to regain control and composure.

“Do ya want to tell me what that was about?”  George chucked his shoulder.  “Trevor, for God sake, what’s the matter with ya?”

“There is nothing wrong.”  He bit back the bile rising in his throat.  “Everything is fine.”

“And who the hell do ya think yer foolin’ with that, old friend?  Ya ought to look at yerself.  Yer as white as a sheet, not to mention the death grip ya got on that rail.”

Opening his eyes, Trevor cursed his white knuckles.  “Mr. Todd, I will take the wheel.  You are relieved.”

The helmsman abandoned the quarterdeck quicker than normal.

“Cap’n, what’s goin’ on with the chit?”  The first mate inclined his head.  “I’ve never seen ya lose yer mind over a woman.  That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Let it go, George, and make yourself scarce.”  Compressing his lips, he focused on the horizon.  “I will take the watch until dinner.”

Although the sun blazed a wide arc in the sky, time stood still as Trevor reran the earlier scene through his mind, over and over again.  In each instance, his chest pounded, his throat tightened, and he labored to breathe.  Gazing at nothing, he wondered what was happening to him.  But he would rather face a court martial than explore the possibilities.

Fate had to be laughing.

When he plotted to kidnap Dalton’s mistress, his only consideration had been the punishment exacted in recompense for young Randolph’s prior slight.  The scamp had levied the first shot, and honor demanded Trevor respond, in kind.  But he was no greenhorn in the games men play.  He should have recognized the threat the minute he actually saw Caroline.  What in the hell had possessed him to take her?  And how fast could he get rid of her?  One thing was certain; he wasn’t ready to face her.  Not yet.  Not after his uncharacteristic outburst.

So Trevor ate lunch with the crew, thinking it best to give the dangerous doxy time to calm down before he returned to his cabin.  He was in no mood to dice with a weepy female, but it was his unpredictable reaction to her tears that truly frightened him.  When he joined her for dinner, he would have himself in hand, and she would be ready to accept his explanation, whatever that was, for what had transpired on deck.