Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast) (4 page)

And although he had kept her off balance with his unconventional seduction, the remainder of their lives aboard ship had fallen into a reassuring routine.

They shared every meal, sometimes hosting Mr. Loman, and the irrepressible captain played a wicked game of poker, in which they bartered kisses most often claimed in his lap, because she had yet to win a single round.  In the morning hours, while she bathed, he never interrupted her toilette, giving her complete privacy.  And while he insisted she share his bunk every night, he had not once taken advantage of her when she was most vulnerable.  When they climbed between his soft, silk sheets, he gave her his back, and she gave hers to him.

So why was she frustrated?

Two hands appeared on either side of hers, and she stiffened her spine before she could stop herself.

“Relax,” Trevor said, with a rush of warm breath against the crook of her neck.  Slowly, maddeningly, he trailed feathery kisses up the back of her ear.

Merciful heavens, the man could make a babe surrender its favorite rattle.

“What are you doing, Captain?”

“Why, I am fulfilling our bargain, mistress mine.”

“Yes, but, are you sure you should be doing that--there?” she inquired as he retraced the searing path he’d blazed.

“If memory serves, we agreed to begin our liaison with kissing.”  He licked and then suckled her flesh in a delicate suggestion of more intimate entanglements.  “Or are you simply finding fault with my placement?”

“I had thought that on the mouth was the usual custom,” she said as she exhaled.  “As it has been, thus far.”

“Usual custom?” he said with a hint of good humor.  “You make it sound like a chore, my dear.”

“Well, it is my profession, as you are so fond of reminding me.”

“Point taken.”  He lifted his head and turned her to face him.  “But I would count it the height of insult were you not to enjoy my attention.”

She searched for something, anything, to say.

“You do enjoy my attention, do you not?” the infernal man had the nerve to ask.

Deny.  Deny.  Deny.

“Yes.”

Blast her lack of intestinal fortitude.

But the charming smile with which her admission was rewarded ceased all internal rebuke.

“Well, then, by your command.”

And then his lips covered hers, his tongue flicking a sinful entreaty that she answered without hesitation, drawing her in to that elusive realm she had only visited in her dreams.  But her dreams had been the stuff of girlish fantasy.  Reality was far more intriguing.  Did he know how he made her feel?  He was fire and ice at once, searing intensity and swirling sensation--

Catcalls and hoots brought them up short.

“Mind your stations!” Trevor shouted over his shoulder.

Oh, how her cheeks burned.

“Captain, I have a small request.”

“My lady, I am at your service.”

“Make and mend day seems grossly insufficient to fill the needs of your crew.  While I do not consider myself an expert tailor, I am rather handy with a needle and thread.”

Trevor opened his mouth, and then closed it.  “Am I to understand...that is to say...you wish to sew togs for my men?”

“Well, yes, I do.”  It was nice to addle him for a change.  “I am unaccustomed to being idle.”

“You know, for a kept woman, you seem awfully familiar with sea life.  Where is your father, at present?”

“Dead.”  So much for her newfound confidence.

“Any other relations?  A brother?”

Would die from the shock if he could see her now.

Caroline pretended to find the hem of her cuff infinitely fascinating.  While she was willing to confess a growing fondness for her captain, she was unwilling to do more.

Men could not be trusted.

Bells sounded the noon watch.

“Mistress mine, I will consider your generous offer.”

#

Just what was Mistress Caroline about?

Later that evening, at his station on the quarterdeck, Trevor stood mesmerized by the sight of his radiant captive.  Well past the yardarm, the setting sun illuminated her hair as a halo, and what an angel was she.  Dressed in an oversized jacket, breeches, and boots, with her hair tied in the back, she could pass for a member of the crew to the casual observer.  He caught his breath as she raised her face to the sky.  For some reason he could not begin to understand, her obvious delight touched him in ways he had not previously known, probably because she confounded his every attempt to understand her.

So she wanted to mend clothes for his crew?

Whoever heard of a ladybird with a work ethic?  Now that had to be an enigma.

He knew captains who took their wives or mistresses to sea.  That was nothing new or out of the ordinary.  Personally, he had thought the idea one of sheer lunacy.  Sharing his ship, much less his cabin, with a woman was something he had never before considered, and he did not normally act in such a rash manner.  Bringing Caroline to his domain was in retaliation for the theft of his mistress, nothing more.  Well, there was the fact that he wanted the lovely young courtesan.

He knew it the moment he found her naked, in a bath, in Randolph’s cabin.  Waking every morning to her guileless face was heaven on earth, because his sweet Caroline was quite fetching when she was sleep-tousled.  Unlike most courtesans who often had a worldly, somewhat worn look around the edges, she was wholly...unspoiled.

Indeed, nothing about her made any sense.

How in bloody hell had she come to be in service to a man?  Her continued devotion to her protector was unusual for a woman of her profession.  Most mistresses would toss aside one benefactor for another, without so much as a by-your-leave, if the price were right.

Yet this one rebuffed his advances.  He had felt the subtle flinch, the hesitation in her response when he kissed her earlier.  It was obvious she considered herself bound to another man, Trevor’s nemesis. Her loyalty was a barrier he would have to overcome, but not by force, to achieve his revenge.

He could tell her who he was, in truth.  If she knew he was an English lord, she might look on him more favorably.  She might be willing to negotiate a more lucrative arrangement if she knew he had sufficient wealth.  But that could be a double-edged sword.

If she knew he was a man of means and title, she could try to take him for a fortune.  Or worse, she could attempt to trap him into marriage.  A marriage he didn’t want.  No, he would not enlighten her.

Women could not be trusted.

Consulting his charts, he confirmed their course.  “Mr. Todd, steady as she goes.”

The helmsman nodded.  “Steady as she goes, sir.”

“George?”

“Aye, Cap’n?”

Trevor paused and scanned the horizon.  What he was about to set in motion, not to mention his motives, perplexed him more than the beautiful demirep.  If he let her, the woman would be his death.

“I need you to do something for me.  No bloody questions.  Not one bloody word.  Just get it done.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“And if you wish to retain your teeth, I suggest you wipe that smirk off your face.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Check with the officers.  If any should have need of mending services, gather their garments and have them delivered to Mistress Caroline.”

CHAPTER THREE

Two days later, Caroline returned to the cabin as Billy was dishing out the noon meal.  Timid as a mouse, he excused himself and made a hasty exit.  She was easing into her seat at the dining table when she spied another, smaller table, a basket perched atop, with a matching chair, positioned in a corner near the stern windows.  Inside the basket, she found a pair of scissors, a dented thimble, a collection of needles, and various colored threads.  And on the floor, just to the left, was a mound of garments sporting all manner of rips and tears.

“Oh, my,” she declared, as the door to the cabin opened.

“Well, well.  What have we here?”  Trevor laughed, as he assessed her predicament.  “Your offer of sewing skills seems to have caused quite a stir, my dear.  Perhaps it is a good thing that I limited your overture to the officers.”

“No worries, Captain.  I am stronger than I look.”  She indicated the ambitious stack of garments.  “Make and mend is not for another few days, but I do not believe the allotted afternoon to repair their uniforms ever truly suffices.”

At the washstand, Trevor stripped a soiled shirt, baring his impressive chest, and although she knew better than to risk a glance, she simply could not stop herself from staring.

“Please, Caroline, this is becoming quite tedious.”

She met his too knowing gaze.  “What is tedious?”

“Why must you gawk when I welcome your touch?”

Mortified, she could only shrug.

“Come here.”

“No.”

“Come here,” he repeated in a low voice that dared her to defy him.

Placing one foot in front of the other, she obeyed without complaint.

Why?

Caroline could not say.

Though she appeared calm on the outside, inside she was a mass of emotions.  She wanted to flee, but she wanted to stay.  She wanted to ignore, but she wanted to explore.  Fear battled with desire, hesitation with wanton abandon, in a lethal struggle for control of her senses and conscience.  Fire burned in the pit of her belly, its warmth suffusing her with a hint of derring-do.

“Go ahead,” he said with a shameless grin.  “As I said before, I will not bite...yet.”

Now she was positive she’d melt through the floor.  “But, what about our bargain?”

“Consider it a boon, as you’ve been such a gracious loser at poker.”

“How cruel you are to mock me so.”  Oh, how she wanted to accept his offer.  “I told you I’ve never been good at cards.”

“Then I suggest you keep your night job.”

That one rejoinder, innocuously uttered, was enough to send her careening into reality.  “I should sort the clothes, Captain.”

“Coward.”

Caroline was many things, but she was no coward.

With nary a thought, she set her open palms to his chest, splaying her fingers wide, marveling as his nipples hardened.  How powerful she felt, but that was not all.  The passion singing in her veins was new and thrilling to a degree she had heretofore not known existed.  Strong muscles flexed as she traced the sinewy valleys and ridges, sketching a naughty path to his belly button.  Had she considered him dangerous?  Slowly, very slowly, she kissed a single spot, somewhere between his erect nipples, which she silently claimed as her own, and Trevor rewarded her with a heartfelt groan.

“Your skin is so hot,” she whispered.

“And you unman me, mistress mine.  Clutching her wrists, he gently pushed her away.  “Any more, and I will break our bargain, here and now.”

#

He was never going to have her.

Despite his plan, despite his measured success with the coy courtesan, Trevor told himself it was sufficient that Dalton Randolph thought his chief rival was tutoring the shy ladybird in the sensual arts, during their journey to London.

That was revenge enough.

Standing on the quarterdeck, Trevor ignored the cool winds whipping through the sails, because his mind filled with images that had haunted his dreams for the past week, ever since he carried a chestnut-haired doxy aboard his ship.

Of late he had changed his tack with the resistant demirep.  Instead of coming at her overtly, as he had done from the first, he lured her with soft caresses and teasing kisses.  He took time to talk with her, to invest himself in her affairs as he had done with no other woman, and his plan had been a brilliant triumph.

Not for a second could he mistake the subtle glances Caroline cast in his direction, the way she studied him when she thought he was not looking.  Or how she arched into him when he took her in his arms and claimed her mouth.  Problem was he feared his new strategy had worked on him more than it had worked on her.

Because Trevor had discovered he was fond of the demure mistress.

She was helpful.

Cook had at first resisted Caroline’s presence in the galley, until she shared a few recipes that left the crew begging for more.

She was productive.

Her mending skills had the officers of the watch gushing effusive praise like a cargo hold of greenhorns.

She was...nice.

From an irreparable tunic, she had created a vest with numerous pockets for the many tools of the first mate’s trade, and poor George blushed like a giddy virgin when Caroline gave him the custom-made garment.

In a week’s time, the arresting young woman had earned a measure of respect from his men and, though he would deny it to his death, from Trevor, too.

No matter how he tried to rationalize his motive for bringing her aboard ship, the truth was he could not bear using her in so cruel a fashion, regardless of her profession.  It was an unfamiliar sense of decency that bloody well scared the hell out of him.  So he contented himself in the knowledge that her former protector was now suffering the torment of her loss.

“Cap’n!”

“What?”  He blinked.  “What is it, George?”

“Are ya deaf, man?  I’ve called to ya three times.”  The first mate huffed.  “Blast it all, Cap’n, pull yerself out of the clouds and take a long look at ‘em!  We’re headed for foul winds.”

Scanning the sky ahead of them, Trevor realized what had his first mate up in arms.

A dark cloud stretched low across the horizon, and they were steering straight toward it.  There was no use altering their course; the storm would be upon them before they could outrun it.  The only option was to re-trim the sails, batten down, and hold the
Hera
steady.

“Where is Mistress Caroline?”

“She has yet to show a leg.”

“Assemble the watch.  I want the rigging inspected at once.”  Trevor perched at the top of the companion ladder.  “And find out which members of the crew have helm experience.  We could use an extra hand.”

George inclined his head.  “Where are you going?”

“To check on my bunkmate.”  He descended to the main deck and turned to the corridor leading to his cabin.  As he passed the galley, he waved to the cook.  “Serve an early lunch, and tell every man to eat his fill.  I want the oven fires doused in two hours.”