The Pirate Captain (68 page)

He flashed a dazzling smile meant to charm. So reminiscent of Brian’s, Cate had to turn her head to keep from either laughing or crying, she wasn’t sure which.

“With all due respect, I’m not interested either way,” she said firmly.

“Hmm…you could have fooled me,” Thomas muttered falling into step next to her. He stopped again after only a few steps, fists braced on his hips. “How long did you say since you’ve shipped?”

“A little over a month.”

“And he never…once?”

“We’re friends.”

“Ouch!” Clapping a hand to his chest, he dramatically staggered backward. “Colder words were never spoken.” He shrugged and waved it away. “Well, if you ever find you’re no longer welcome on the
Morganse
, the
Griselle
will always be waiting.”

Like one of those feathery-antennaed creatures in the pools sensing every disturbance, she was acutely aware of Thomas beside her. With the creak of leather, the soft rush of his breathing, a mobile mouth that readily smiled, good-humored eyes, and a well-honed sense of irony, he was just like…

Cate clamped her lower lip between her teeth. Perhaps the walk had been a mistake; she wasn’t ready, not yet. She had thought Brian to be behind her, and yet there he was, right beside her.

“Were you with Nathan when he was shot?” she asked, determinedly taking a new line of thought.

Thomas stiffened, his step slowing. “He’s been shot?”

“Twice—at the same time—according to Pryce.” The story had haunted her, Pryce’s version being long on graphic and short on details.

“No reason to think Pryce would make up such things. Damn!” He swore again more vehemently, thumbing an errant strand of hair behind his ear. “Nathan’s had no kind of luck, has he? And yet, I swear he’s been charmed his whole life.”

“He’s alive,” Cate said, in the spirit of finding a positive.

Thomas nodded distractedly, leaving the obvious unspoken: at what price had that survival come?

“His mother was supposed to have been some kind of a seer, or some such; maybe she had something to do with that,” he said.

“What about his neck?” Cate touched hers in reference to Nathan’s gnarled scar.

“His…? Oh, that.” Thomas hunched his shoulders and looked to his feet. “No, no, I wouldn’t be knowing anything about that.”

It was obvious that was the farthest thing from the truth, and that he had no intention of saying otherwise.

They walked and talked of everything and nothing. From the islands interior came the chorus of nightjars and tree frogs. They paused to watch the waxen half-orb of the moon, finally high enough to pull free of the island’s jagged outline, and then strolled the now-illuminated shore. It was very late by the time they neared the camp once more, most of the bonfires down to glowing embers. The beach was dotted with low dark humps of sleeping men.

Thomas drew to a halt, doffed his tricorn hat and bowed. “It’s been a privilege, madam. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of such a lovely lady’s company on such a grand night.”

Cate smiled. His flattery was more than a little heart-quickening. It was a wonder why he had saved such charms for taking his leave. He pressed his lips firmly to her hand, his blue eyes intent on hers.

“And I do mean it. If that bloody fool over there ever turns you lose, you just pass the word. No matter where I am on the globe, I’ll come for you, and that’s a promise.” A wink punctuated Thomas' pledge. His eyes had a way of looking at someone and holding them, and for a moment, she actually believed him.

Cate watched as he strode away.

Her anger with Nathan surged anew. He had lied about Creswicke and the branding. He had looked her square on and lied.

She then chastised herself. It was her own fault, for poking her nose into matters that were obviously too sensitive. Not a lie, but a half-truth, under the glare of scrutiny. She couldn’t begrudge him. Half-truths weren’t unknown to her. She had told a number of them in order to protect a few of her own secrets that she harbored. It was hurt she suffered most, Nathan’s failure to trust her. She had gained his confidence enough not to be told “no,” but no further.

Thomas’ reaction to her inquiries regarding Nathan’s marriage status hadn’t been reassuring. More and more, it appeared Nathan’s rejection of her was as Pryce had represented: she reminded him of someone. Barring radical disfigurement, her prospects were dim.

Cate picked her way through the sleeping bodies, sprawled and softly snoring. Her pace slowed at seeing a man’s shape separate from the black void of a stack of casks. Fear surged when he moved to intersect her path. Then she gasped with relief at seeing it was Nathan, the rattle of the palms masking the tinkle of his bells.

Her heart warmed, as it did every time she saw him unexpected. Filled with a rush of emotions, her first urge was to throw her arms around him, and tell him all would be well. The impulse was cut short at seeing the irregularity in his step and a bottle in his fist. He halted and swayed, the smell of rum reaching well ahead of him. Then she caught a brooding spark in his eye, and her freshly warmed heart fell cold.

“Have a nice walk?” The biting edge in his voice hit a nerve. It was the same accusing and contemptuous tone she had heard on the road from Lady Bart’s and later on the
Morganse
.

“Yes, if you must know, we had a
very
nice walk,” she said coldly, brushing past. She didn’t appreciate being made to feel like a shepherded lass.

“I suppose you were properly kissed good night,” Nathan called to her back.

It was another well-aimed barb: first Harte, and now Thomas.

Annoyance brought Cate to a halt. She wheeled around and braced a hand on her hip. His shirt flared in the pool of moonlight in which he stood. He lifted the bottle with a defiant jerk and took a drink.

“Why would you assume the first time I’m alone with a man, I’d be kissed?” she demanded.

His bells sparked like fireflies as he took several unsteady steps toward her. “That’s what I would do. Beautiful night, stars, moon…” A hand lifted in illustration toward the night.

Nathan swayed again. With a bit of effort, he focused on her face, and then fixed on her mouth. “A woman should be kissed. ’Tis what they are suited for.”

Cate's heart tripped an odd beat, and then resumed as a dull thud in her ears. She wanted to be angry, but her heart prevailed again. For all his brashness, sometimes verging on ribaldry, he had never once made such a flirtatious comment. He had to have done a good deal of drinking in the time she was gone to be so inebriated, more so than ever witnessed, except for one night. Barely a week hence, he had appeared at her bedside, rambling a confusion of concerns and feelings, which had all faded with the effects of drink and daylight.

And now he was in drink again.

The thought of him entertaining such romantic notions made her a bit breathless; the stuff of trite romance novels, to be sure. Any woman knew flirtation when they saw it, but there was an oddness about it, verging on…sincerity or jealousy? Squinting into the moonlight, she tried to see his face—as if Nathan would ever reveal more than intended—but most of it was deep in the shadow of his hat.

He pressed closer as she inched back. She came up against a tree, thankfully, for her knees suddenly gone unreliable.

“You would force yourself on her?” Whether she willed it or no, she was drawn to him, a moth to a flame.

Nathan puffed with indignation. “Categorically not. I’ve never taken a woman unwilling in me life. Certainly shan’t start now.”

Cate swallowed. “And if, she were willing? What would you do?”

Nathan stood close enough now to smell the rum mingled with his spicy sharpness. His lids hooding his eyes, she felt his gaze travel the line of her shoulder and neck. Surely, he could hear her heart thumping, for it nearly deafened her. Bracing a hand against the tree, he leaned nearer, his braids brushing her chest.

“Persuade her,” he purred. The tease in his eyes was countered by a dangerous lilt in his voice.

Her head whirled. Cate held Nathan's eyes with hers, determined not to close them, lest it was a dream—one dreamt a hundred times. She didn’t dare think…She didn’t dare hope…It was almost as if he had somehow known. Had she cried out in her sleep? Dimly—for lucid thought was becoming nigh impossible—she wondered if he had been watching more closely than credited all these weeks, and had known her feelings all along.

Fine tremors coursed through her. Breathing became unnatural, jerky and only with effort. Her heart and body knew what they wanted, even if her mind disagreed. Her nails dug into the bark of the tree at her back. That and a fragile thread of doubt the only thing that kept her from flinging herself at him.

“Persuade her, how?” Damn! Her voice shook like she was a mere maiden.

“I’d move close.” The graveled voice had gone husky, words of sanded velvet. “And put me hand under her hair and touch her pulse just there.”

Cate flinched at the unexpected heat of Nathan's hand on her night-cooled flesh. The dark eyes, now mere inches from hers, flickered with uncertainty.

Damn him!
He knew he could melt her with a touch. His fingers skimmed her collarbone, her skin glowing in their path. Nathan pressed lightly on the vein just under her jaw. Surely, now he would feel her blood racing, all her best-kept secrets known. His grasp tightened and she grew dizzy, with a faint ring in her ears.

“Then, I would take her in me arms and put me hand just so.” He did so, his hand tracing the curve of her spine. His fingers splayed wide at the small of her back, and her belly tightened. “I’d hold her close, feel her breath come short, so warm.”

His eyes still holding hers, his mouth hovered so very near. The heat of his body radiated through his shirt. A heart drummed in her ears, hers or his?

His fingers brushed her cheek. “And then, I’d turn her face up to mine, touch me lips to hers—” Cae closed her eyes and parted her lips as his mustache brushed them. “And I’d—”

Nathan stiffened and jerked away as if seared. Blinking, he staggered back like a sleepwalker abruptly awakened. He glared as if she had somehow tricked him.

“That’s what I would do,
if
she were willing,” he said, with a curt wave.

Cate sagged against the tree, incensed and humiliated. She was no schoolgirl looking for her first kiss! Fury surged and the stars turned to pricks of red.

“Keep looking,
Captain
.” She pushed upright, praying her legs would support her. “Someday,
maybe
, you’ll find someone just that willing.”

The backs of her eyes stung, and she dashed at the wetness on her cheeks as she stalked away.

Damn him! Damn him!

Seething with mortification, Cate kicked sand at the glowing coals of their deserted fire. Sparks spiraled into the night’s sky. Sensing she was being watched, she whirled. Expecting to find Nathan, she was met with two golden eyes, instead. Roosted in a tree, Artemis’ flat owlish face stared back.

“You’ll find a nice huge rat just over there!” she snarled, with an angry swipe.

Swearing under her breath, she searched out her quilt from the piles of stores brought ashore. Pausing to dutifully stoke the fire, she threw the wood at it with far more force than was necessary. She knelt to scoop out a makeshift bed, sending the sand in curving spurts behind her, and threw herself into it.

Nathan could be brash and abrasive, but never had he been so cruel, and with pinpoint accuracy, alarmingly so.

The bastard.

Cate rebelled at the thought of being leashed. His presumption that she would be so wanton as to throw herself into the arms of the first man to come along was vexing. Once again, he sought to control her, watch-dog her every move. When she had agreed to stay, she had known such would be the case, but she hadn’t bargained for him asserting himself so soon.

“I managed years on my own—on the worst streets of London, mind—and did very well, thank you very much! I had a damned father and five damn brothers, and I don’t need a damned another of either.”

She squirmed and huffed.

Yes, but you went into the night with a man you barely met.

Thomas’ resemblance to Brian had caused her to throw all caution aside. That little oversight could have been disastrous.

But it wasn’t…

But it could have.

As she glared at the flames, cooler thoughts began to prevail and she settled her head more comfortably. There was a chance Nathan’s concerns were well founded. After all, he knew Thomas and what he was capable of far better than she.

“If he was so blessedly concerned, then why didn’t he come looking?” she grumbled to the fire.

Perhaps he did, but had gone in the wrong direction, and by the time realized…

“Bull! That was no excuse for being so cruel and taunting…”

Somewhere in that morass of thoughts, Cate slept.

Chapter 12: Hot Baths

S
ometime later, Cate woke. Eyes rolling, she lay wondering through a sleep-fogged mind what had woken her. Then she heard the soft rumble of male laughter very nearby. Moving her head slightly, she could see Nathan and Thomas through the flames, sitting amiably, a bottle of rum stuck in the sand between them. Their voices were loud enough to be identified, but not so much as to make out their words.

Moving her head a bit further, she could see Nathan more fully. His features gilded in a molten glow, his smile was a brilliant slash amid the ebony of mustache and beard. The darkness and distance sanded harsh lines and years from his face, providing a hint of what he might have looked like in his youth. Thomas’ presence had taken years off him. Nathan was always quick with a smile, but never had she seen him laugh with such sincerity or seem so at peace.

Still prickling from humiliation, she couldn’t help but smile. Their words weren’t important. At this hour, they would be speaking of matters that were meant only for the ears of a friend.