Captured (33 page)

“Actually, there is something you can do.”

Relief coursed through him. “What?”

Devon pointed to her gowns, which lay spread over his trunk. “I’ll need a peg to hang those on or they’ll be nothing but wrinkles by tomorrow.”

Cole froze, feeling as though he’d just been struck by a pail of ice water. He nodded tightly and moved toward the door. “I’ll send a steward to see to it right away.” He gave her a brief, polite bow. “If you’ll excuse me, I can see that you’re busy—”

“Cole, wait,” Devon cried. She stood in the center of the room, clutching her skirts. She bit down hard on her lip, then blurted out, “Where did you sleep last night?”

“I didn’t.” He stared at her for a long second, then sighed. “I’ll need to tonight, however. I’ll try not to disturb you when I come in.”

Devon watched him leave, then sank onto the bed, swallowing past the fist-sized lump in her throat. Don’t do this to me, Cole. She wasn’t going to start crying. She’d already spent the better part of last night bawling, and she refused to give in to that wretched impulse again.

She clutched her hands tightly in her lap and drew in a shuddering breath. Last night she’d cried because he’d rejected her. Today she wanted to cry because she’d rejected him. The whole situation was hopeless. She felt in her pocket for a handkerchief and came up instead with the note Uncle Monty had enclosed with the flowers he’d sent.

She read it again, frowning as she did so. Trust me. I have a plan. He hadn’t even signed it, but the note had to be from him. No one but her uncle would be audacious enough to send that message, or to use her marriage as a means to an end for one of his schemes. She rose wearily from Cole’s bed, thankful to have something to distract her. Whatever Uncle Monty’s plan was, she was about to put a stop to it.

She found him on deck, deep in conversation with a man she’d never seen before. Judging by the fancy suit the man wore, he wasn’t a member of the crew. He was of medium height and build, with thinning brown hair and cool gray eyes. She guessed him to be somewhere in his early forties. He looked entirely out of place aboard ship. Devon pictured him seated at a desk with a book of ledgers spread open before him. Seeing her approach, the two men stepped apart, their conversation abruptly ended.

Monty smiled broadly. “Ah, there she is now, Mr. Finch, my lovely niece, Mrs. Smith.”

“Hello, Uncle,” Devon said cautiously, giving Monty a light kiss on the cheek. She turned to the stranger next. “How do you do, Mr. Finch.”

Finch nodded, clearly sizing her up. His gray eyes swept over her, cool and analytical. She saw him even glance at her finger to check for a ring, as if suspecting she was no more than the captain’s mistress. He bypassed all the usual social pleasantries and said, “It’s rather odd for a woman to want to run the blockade, isn’t it? If a battle erupts, we won’t have time to cater to your frail sensibilities. I hope your husband made that clear.”

Devon had perfected the art of the icy stare, and she used it now. “I believe I’ll manage, sir.”

“Newlyweds,” Monty broke in smoothly. “They couldn’t bear to be parted. Lovely, isn’t it?”

Finch sniffed disdainfully. “Quite.”

Devon ignored him. “If you don’t mind, Uncle, I should like to speak to you.” She paused and glanced at Finch, adding with deliberate rudeness, “Privately.”

Finch bowed stiffly. “You’ll pardon me then.” With that he took his leave, wandering off below decks.

“What a wretched little man,” Devon murmured absently, watching him go. “Who is he?”

Monty patted her hand approvingly. “You always were a fine judge of character, my girl. He’s our link in the chain that will lead us to Jonas Sharpe. Finch will either approve or disapprove of us. He knows where the ship is being routed, but wants to see us run the blockade before he’ll share that bit of news.”

Devon nodded, silently absorbing the information. “Who are you, by the way?”

“Reginald Teller.”

She smiled. “Uncle Reggie, is it? We haven’t seen him in ages.” She tilted her head to one side, considering. “Do I need to change my name?”

“That’s already been taken care of, my girl. There’s no reason for Sharpe or anybody else to connect Devon Blake to the wife of Captain Cole Smith.”

Devon was not yet accustomed to hearing herself referred to as Cole’s wife‌—‌regardless of the name he was using. She looked away and said hollowly, “I suppose so.”

Monty frowned. “That’s hardly the response I’d expect from a blushing bride.”

The image of herself as a happy, blushing bride was so opposite the reality of her situation that Devon found tears once again rushing to her eyes. She blinked them back, swallowing past the sudden ache in her throat as she shook her head. “Oh, Uncle Monty,” she choked out, “I think we made a dreadful mistake.”

Monty wrapped his arm around her, instantly concerned. “What is it, my girl?”

“Cole and I never should have married. Even if it’s only for a little while, it’s all wrong—”

“Who said it’s only for a little while?”

“I do. We forced him into it, and I have no intention of holding him to a promise he never wanted to make. It was nothing but blackmail. If he weren’t so desperate to capture Sharpe, he would have turned you down flat.”

“Is that a fact?” Monty countered. “Seems to me the man was here on the island to track you down, and capturing Sharpe was nothing but an afterthought.”

Devon accepted the handkerchief he offered her. With an embarrassed smile, she wiped away her tears and blew her nose. “That doesn’t mean anything. Cole has this absurd sense of honor. It was his duty to bring me to Washington; he came after me only because I escaped. Trust me, all he cares about is capturing Sharpe.”

“Suppose you tell your uncle why you feel that way.”

She nodded miserably. “Last night‌—‌what was supposed to have been our wedding night‌—‌well, it was awful, truly awful.”

“Ah, so that’s it.” Monty shifted, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Devon, I should have spoken to you about this sooner. Obviously I’ve neglected my duties in educating you about the ways of life.” He shook his head, his expression mournful. “Quite frankly, I had hoped you would just pick it up in the streets, but I suppose that was too much to ask.”

Devon stared at him, drawn out of her own misery for a moment. “Uncle Monty, you’ve done everything for me.”

“If that were true, my girl, you’d know that there are certain ways that a man will want to touch his wife. Now it might seem shocking to you at first, perhaps even vulgar, but—”

“Oh, Uncle Monty, that’s not it. Cole taught me all about that when—” She stopped abruptly, appalled at what she’d let slip out.

Monty’s eyes went dark. “Oh, he did, did he?”

“It was all my idea,” she rushed on, “but I convinced him to go along.”

“How generous of the man to oblige.”

Devon let out a deep sigh. “He thinks I’m a thief, Uncle. Last night, I gave him a wedding gift and he accused me of stealing it.”

“That doesn’t sound like the man,” Monty replied, studying her intently. “What exactly did he say to you?”

She took a shuddering breath as she remembered Cole’s words. “He told me that I never had to steal again, that he was going to take care of me, and that all I had to do was trust him.”

Monty smiled. “The bloody brute. No wonder you’re upset.”

“This isn’t funny,” she cried. “He had no reason to believe that of me, no reason at all.”

“No reason at all? I suppose you never dipped your fingers into his pockets while you were together?” Devon frowned. “Well, yes, but—”

“And he didn’t find you merrily back in business in that tavern in St. George?”

“Well, yes, but… Uncle Monty, you’re taking his side!”

Monty clucked his tongue. “Now, now, my girl, I’m just pointing out mat your captain has some justification. A fact you seem to have overlooked.” Her uncle lifted her hand and continued, “Besides, if he thought you were a thief, would he have given you a ring with stones the size of which would rival the royal jewels?”

“The ring doesn’t mean anything. It’s just so the marriage looks real. I’m going to give it back as soon as we’ve captured Sharpe.”

“In that case, my girl, might I suggest we return it with creative glass substitutes for the stones? Hardly detectable, except to the discerning eye…”

Devon gasped and pulled back her hand. “Uncle Monty, not my wedding ring!”

“I thought you said it didn’t mean anything.”

“It doesn’t,” she replied.

“Ah, I see. So that’s the way it is.” He nodded sagely, his gaze focused entirely on her. “You know, your captain and I had a little talk this morning, and I believe we were able to come to an understanding.”

Devon regarded him warily. “About what?”

“Oh, this and that. He’s not a bad man, my girl. A little too straight and narrow for my taste, of course. He also has a rather primitive way of phrasing things, very little sense of adventure, and I imagine he’s rather stubborn. Why, now that I think on it, he’s a most unpleasant chap. I can certainly see why you wouldn’t want to be married to someone like that.”

“No, Uncle Monty. Cole’s not like that at all. He’s… he’s perfect. That’s the problem,” she choked out.

Monty shuddered. “A perfect human being. What a ghastly thought. No wonder you can’t stand the man.”

Devon gave him a trembling smile. “It’s even worse than that. I love him, Uncle Monty,” she admitted miserably. “That’s why everything is such a wretched mess. I’ve been trying not to, but I can’t seem to help myself. I love him.”

“How does he feel about you?”

“He doesn’t love me.”

“Are you sure?”

Devon nodded as tears flooded her eyes once again. “Positive.”

“Hmmm.” Monty rubbed his fingers over his beard as he considered. “Perhaps he does, perhaps he doesn’t. But I saw him just a few minutes ago as he was leaving your cabin, and I’ve never seen a more miserable fellow in all my life.”

She let out a shaky breath. “You see? It’s impossible.”

Monty shook his head. “On the contrary,” he said, smiling brightly. “You should be damned proud of yourself. It takes a special woman to make a man that unhappy.”

Devon felt a surge of hope. “Really?”

“Absolutely. Now stay out of my way. Your Uncle Monty has some thinking to do.”

She blinked. “But what am I supposed to do now?”

“Have you ever seen a tree growing on the edge of a cliff, with what looks to be nothing but bare rock to support it? There it will stand, through fire and the fiercest storm, the roots digging in hard and deep to hold on. Yet another tree, one which is anchored in the finest, loose soil, will topple over if a breeze so much as blows the wrong way.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“The sturdiest of trees grows in rocky soil, my girl.” Devon sighed. “Uncle Monty, we’re talking about my marriage here, not planting trees.”

“The same principle applies. Go water the roots, my girl. Go water the roots.”

Devon wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to go about watering Cole’s roots, but wearing a cotton nightgown so sheer it was nearly diaphanous seemed a good place to start. She’d purchased it along with her gowns, undergarments, and other necessities when she’d arrived in Bermuda. At the time, she hadn’t thought about how sheer the shift was, her primary concern then being to find something cool in which to sleep. She glanced down at herself in nervous hesitation, then shrugged. If nothing else, she was fairly certain she would get his attention.

She wore nothing beneath the gown, allowing the smooth, cool cotton to flow softly over her body as she moved. She’d deliberately chosen to leave the satin ribbon that gathered around the yoke undone, as though she was ready to slip the garment off entirely. Not wearing any under things beneath the shift seemed a shocking indecency, but the pure naughtiness of the act helped to bolster her courage.

Devon had spent most of the afternoon primping and pampering, beginning with a steaming hot bath. Once her hair was squeaky clean, she brushed it until it shined with a rich sable gloss, then let it cascade over her shoulders and down her back. She rubbed lotion over her entire body, then dabbed her wrists and throat with the barest touch of scent.

It was a strange, almost sensual experience to know she was preparing herself for Cole. Touching herself in places he would soon‌—‌she hoped‌—‌be touching. Memories of the last time they’d made love caused a burning sensation to gather in her belly and spread through her like a slow heat. Knowing what she was going to do, she hadn’t been able to eat a bite of dinner. Her nerves were simply too heightened, her body too restless, to focus on anything as mundane as food.

Once she finished preparing herself, she turned her attention to the room. She lit the lamps and turned them down low, until the burning wicks gave off nothing but a soft golden glow. The bedding was pulled back and rumpled, the pillows tossed about in wanton disarray. She pushed the portholes open and let the ocean breeze slide through the room, filling the cabin with the fresh, salty scent of the sea. Finished, she selected a book from Cole’s desk and seated herself at the table. There was nothing more for her to do but wait.

It was nearly midnight when she heard a soft tap, followed by the sound of the door handle jangling. The door opened and Cole stood there, the light from the passageway framing his rugged form in dark silhouette. Her senses were so finely tuned to his that Devon felt connected in an almost animal sort of way. Cole’s presence changed the very air around her, filling it with currents and strange pulses.

There was a moment of silence between them, then Cole stepped into the room. His gaze moved directly to the chair where she sat. “You’re awake,” he said. He didn’t sound disappointed exactly, simply hesitant, as though unsure of his welcome.

“Yes.” Devon set down the book she’d been holding and rose to her feet. She watched his eyes widen with shock as his gaze traveled slowly over her. She summoned her courage and said, “I was hoping, if you’re not too tired, that we could talk for a few minutes.”