He let himself inside to confront the same chilly rush of air flowing from his windows as before.
India
huddled on the floor, her back against his bed. He stalked across the room. “God’s teeth, you’ll give us all the sickness. We have yet to reach warm waters.”
A soft moan answered his lecture.
He glanced down at her with a frown. She pulled the sodden blanket about her tighter and shivered. So she sought to feign illness, did she? Another trick that wouldn’t work. “I warned you not to play me for a fool.” He closed a second window. “You’ve been raised with ships. I don’t believe this game of illness. Have you gained your memory?”
“Please…” She wet her lips with a tantalizing sweep of her tongue. “I don’t know.”
Cain turned from the closed windows, leaned a hip against his desk, and folded his arms across his chest. “I grow weary of this constant circle. Tell me now,
India
, else I’ll find those ropes.”
She answered with a shake of her head. “The windows. Please…” Another shudder rolled down her spine, and she sh
runk back against the heavy bed
frame
.
It was then Cain noticed the lingering stench in the air. He sniffed, wrinkled his nose. His gaze slid down
India
’s slender shoulders to the floor. There, tucked beside his bed, sat the chamber pot he’d dumped the night before. The odor came from the greenish bile within. Blast it all, she wasn’t fooling.
351
Bound By Decency
4
A
foreign pang of guilt tugged at Cain. He hadn’t even considered sea travel might not sit well with
India
. With her upbringing, he’d assumed
t
hat at some point in her life she’d traveled on the vessels her father owned. Damn it all, she
should
have developed a stomach for the ocean. And he should have put more thought into this rapidly crumbling plan.
He rushed to
India
’s soggy, crumpled form and peeled the blanket away. A low groan passed through her parted lips as he slipped his hands beneath her and lifted her into his arms. Her palm flattened against his chest. In a hoarse whisper, she protested, “Put me down.”
“Hush,” he grumbled.
She sank against him as if the last of whatever energy she possessed drained away. Her head lolled into his shoulder. Through his light shirt, the heat of her skin burned into his. A frown pulled at his brows as he slid her into the bed and pressed the back of his hand to her cheek. “Hell’s toenails, you’ve gone and given yourself the fever with those windows.”
Or he had, by not offering her dry clothing.
He clenched his teeth. This was yet another reason he had not fallen into Drake’s habit of keeping women aboard his ship. While they might not be the harbingers of disaster other men proclaimed, they were simply too much damn trouble.
His frown intensified as he stepped back and surveyed her pale features, her trembling limbs. Were she a man, he’d stow her below decks with Stuart as her nurse. But below decks left her unprotected, and though the bosun attended his responsibilities well, he was quick of hand and slick with words. Cain would no more allow Stuart in his cabin with his possessions than he would willingly stand before a firing cannon.
Reggie would have to do. As Drake’s most valued seaman, Reggie could be trusted. Not to mention the gunner’s slight build made Reggie’s footlocker the perfect place to find
India
a set of clothes.
Cain tossed a light coverlet over
India
and strode from the room. He stormed onto the main decks and scanned the rugged men for Drake. Spying him near the rigging at the main mast, Cain wove his way to Drake’s side. “We have a problem.”
“Aye, I do so say.” Drake bent over and picked up a length of frayed rope. With a knife, he cut away the worthless bits and stuffed the clean end into a jug of tar. “Have you heard the rumblings from below as well?”
Rumblings from below? Cain cocked an eyebrow. “No.”
Drake’s solitary earring glinted as he laughed. “Probably best. Reggie has your gunners in a fit. It seems your cannons are full of grime.”
Cain resisted the urge to groan. He had wondered how replacing his former master gunner with Reggie would be received. Though Drake supplied the majority of the crew, the gunners remained Cain’s, and his men were not accustomed to spotless muzzles and neat stacks of ammunition. Reggie, on the contrary, demanded order.
“Well, they will have a respite. I need Reggie in the cabin. Miss Prescott has taken ill.”
Drake’s laughter grew louder. He shook his head, grey eyes agleam with amusement. “You’ll not get Reggie to act as nursemaid.”
“
India
will need fresh clothes, a tonic to ease her nausea, and an attendant. Tell Reggie it is not a request, but an order.”
A smirk tugged at Drake’s mouth. “
Defiance
is the scamp’s best quality. I’ll bring your clothes. You’ll not get a maid.” Still chuckling to himself, Drake shouldered past Cain.
Cain clenched one hand into a fist and once again cursed the decision to join forces with Drake. If it weren’t for the necessity to possess a crew unaffected by the superstitions of women aboard a ship, he would have pulled men off the docks and demanded their service at gunpoint to fill the holes in his usual crew. But men who felt no loyalty were apt to munity, and Cain could not chance being marooned by his own mates.
On a harassed sigh, he stalked toward the doors to his hallway and leaned against the wall. A low bell marked the beginning of another shift, and a herd of feet echoed up the adjoining stairs. Men pushed onto the decks to relieve those who toiled through the morning. Hearty greetings rang out. Laughter rumbled on the heels of brotherly insults.
As the retreating crew disappeared into the stairwell, grumbling about empty bellies and parched throats, Drake reappeared. He thrust a pair of trousers and a loose white shirt into Cain’s hands. “Reggie has but one pair of boots and refuses to part with them.”
“Did you relay my order?”
“Aye.” Drake grinned. “As I expected, it was refused. The state of your cannons is of greater concern.”
“Tell that belligerent scoundrel, the next time I see slight shoulders on my decks, I’ll string them from the yardarms.” Cain backed through the door to the sound of Drake’s rich laughter.
He kicked the door shut with his heel. How he was to manage the crew and attend a sickly woman, he couldn’t imagine. Yet with no alternative present, he had no choice but to assume the duty.
India
was the key to finding Richard. If he lost her to illness, God only knew how long he might search the sea. As it was, every passing day gave Richard time to plan another strike and take Cain by surprise.
Which was, quite frankly, the driving factor that pushed him into accepting Drake’s offer of aid. All the coves Cain would choose for refuge, Richard too would know. Drake favored different hideaways. Places Cain and Richard had not ventured in their years together. Places Richard wouldn’t think to look.
With a harassed sigh, Cain dropped the clothing at the foot of the bed and peeled the cover away from
India
’s body. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her thin sleeping gown and the curves it hugged. For too long he had fought his base desires in the name of decency, taking pleasure in discreet locations with even more discreet women. Now, as he gazed down at the one woman who embodied the very life he had yearned for, something deep inside Cain slowly twisted into a knot.
She murmured something unintelligible and turned her head to the side. Dark hair tangled about her face and shoulders, and as another shiver rolled through her, Cain bit back a frustrated oath.
He understood the windows now, but in relieving herself from the stench of her upturned belly, she’d only doomed herself to a worse fate. He swallowed hard and reached for the fragile tie that secured the gathered neck of her loose sleeping gown. There was but one thing he must do—get her warm.
He tugged, and the material fell open. Ivory skin slipped free of the ruined muslin. It prickled with goose bumps. In the wake of her shiver, full pert breasts tightened, and her rosy nipples pebbled.
Cain sucked in a sharp breath. Hell’s teeth.
He forced his gaze to her slender shoulder, determined to ignore the wicked temptation of her exposed flesh. But the slide of the cloth, as he pushed it down her arms, disturbed him as well. She bore no weakness in her arms, despite their trim appearance. Every inch he uncovered, down to the delicate bones of her wrists, taunted his fingers to stroke and caress. To discover whether her
skin
held the smoothness of the silk it resembled.
The prospect of removing the rest of her nightgown tripped his pulse into a staccato beat. Against his thigh, his cock shifted. He swallowed hard, stunned that such a simple act could have such a profound effect on him. Blast it all, he had undressed many women, yet his body was behaving as if he were a boy of fourteen standing before the whore who would introduce him to the ways of men.
Cain ground his teeth together so hard his jaw ached and forced the belligerent imaginings of his mind aside.
She is a liar.
With one swift yank, he pulled the gathered cloth at
India
’s waist down to her ankles. He swore he would not look, but as he tossed the soiled garment aside, his eyes disobeyed his will. His gaze swept over lithe legs and toned thighs, not the bony limbs he had convinced himself he would find. Her belly was as flat as a tranquil sea. Her hips held a gentle slope his palm could naturally curve around. And the dark thatch of curls between her legs spoke of promises he dared not consider.
With a muttered oath, Cain
drew
the heavy covers over her body and turned away. Eyes shut tight, he pulled in several deep breaths to calm the heavy beat of his heart. Breathtaking. He could not remember a time when he’d glimpsed such true perfection. It was as if the creator had selected a portion from every beautiful woman and molded them into one temptation more damning than the sirens.
Small
wonder Richard gloated over his pending nuptials.
Another thought occurred, and Cain’s gut coiled against an uncomfortable feeling he could not remember ever experiencing. Had
India
treated Richard to a husband’s rights? To hear Richard speak of her, she shared his anxiousness to marry.
Perturbed by a sudden, unexplainable, rush of anger, Cain yanked hard on the door and stormed down the hall. Whether Richard and
India
had shared a lovers’ bed mattered little. She belonged to Richard. That very fact was why Cain brought her aboard. Not because he had a fondness for the blue-blooded chit.
Ignoring the men gathered at the mess hall tables, he stalked to Cleaver’s kitchen. “A bowl of broth, Cleaver.”
The cook startled, nearly chopping off another knuckle. “Damn ye, Cap’n. ‘Ow many times must I tell ye
,
knock afore ye speak?” He set his knife down and pushed aside a chunk of pork. “A bowl of broth, ye say?”
“Aye. And a mug of gingered tea.”
“Someone be sick so soon?”
Cain pursed his lips as he nodded. “The girl.” Aye, the girl. If he refused to acknowledge her name, he wouldn’t have to confront the rest of what she stirred inside him.
Behind a bushy beard, Cleaver’s mouth twitched with a grin. He wasn’t fool enough to laugh aloud, but as he turned to retrieve what Cain requested, his shoulders shook in silent mirth. When he turned around and offered Cain the bowl and mug, Cain ignored the sparkle in Cleaver’s bloodshot eyes.
“Best o’ luck to ye, Cap’n. I know no woman who would tolerate a man as nursemaid. When she wakes, may she save ye the slice of her tongue.”
Cain didn’t bother with a reply. He accepted the broth and drink, wound his way around the tables, and returned to his cabin. At the bed once more, he set the items on the floor and picked up the chamber pot. Holding his breath, he
placed
it outside the door for the man assigned to mess duty.
He went to the corner of his cabin and pulled a rag from the basin he used for shaving. A nearby jug held precious fresh water, and Cain filled the wide mouthed bowl. He took the cloth back to
India
, folded it in a neat square, dunked it in the bowl, then pressed it to her lips. In her tormented sleep, she jerked away.
“Easy, Miss Prescott,” he murmured.
Whether she heard him or not, he couldn’t say. But she relaxed against the pillows and offered no further protest as he squeezed a bit of water onto her mouth, then wiped her face and neck.
“Your headstrong nature will get you killed,” he scolded more to keep his mind off thoughts of her nakedness than for any real attempt at a lecture. “If you’d merely told me what I wished to know, I would have offered you dry garments.”
Diligently, he washed her exposed arms, then pushed the covers to her waist and glided the cloth across her breasts. Her skin glistened in the fading sunlight, like copper painted on the cresting waves. The faint sheen called to him, urging him to cast off the chains of decency and yield to who he really was, to surrender to the pirate he had tried to bury under the guise of
gentleman
.
The fight was too much. Hungry for something he couldn’t make sense of, Cain eased the multi-colored quilt off her slender legs and washed her down to one ankle. There, he cupped her heel in the palm of his hand, slid his fingers up to the back of her calf. She murmured in her sleep and shifted position, twisting her leg free.
Cain groaned inwardly. What he was doing was inconceivable. She would insure he dangled from the gallows if she ever returned to her father. He possessed better sense than this.
He set her foot on the bed once more and covered her, then picked up the rag and tossed it to the floor. Hesitantly, he slipped a hand behind her back and eased her into an upright position. The blankets tumbled to her lap. Determined to ignore the tantalizing sight of her exposed breasts, Cain forced his gaze to remain on her face. “Miss Prescott.”
She murmured something unintelligible but made no attempt to open her eyes.
Cain gave her a slight shake. “
India
, I need you to drink this gingered tea. It will cure the rolling of your belly.” And he needed to relieve himself of her presence, before it became impossible to leave this room.