Falling for the Pirate (9 page)

No one shouted, “
You there, stop!”
No one noticed her at all.

The boys had spread out to various stations on the ship, most of them well clear of the gangway. Only a couple of boys were here, working together on the rail.

Then someone
did
shout. “Stupid boy! What are you doing?”

A man smacked a boy in the face. The boy staggered back, hand over his face, glaring at the man. It was the boy from last night, the one who had allowed her onto the ship. He was not a small child, but she flashed back to another night…when a child had been younger, and female, and she had been hit by a shopkeeper at a bazaar.

Oh God, the shopkeeper.

It all came back to her in a chaotic tumble of memories. Her desperate gamble, traversing the slums of London. And before that, the visit from the solicitor, informing her that her father was missing, that all the money was gone. That she must vacate the premises—her childhood home—within the hour. All possessions would be retained to pay her father’s debts.

She had walked away with nothing but the clothes she wore.

Juliana Hargate
.

That was her name. She remembered everything.
A blast of freezing water. Dark, wavy shadows. Sinking, drowning. A large hand grasping her.

“Stop,” she whispered.

The man was still yelling and waving his arms, threatening. The boy kept enough distance not to be hit…in fact, he could probably hit back. The man was older than the boy, but not by too many years. Despite the difference in their sizes, the boy looked strong—and fierce. Not cowed.

His expression was full of resentment, but he didn’t fight back. Juliana understood that with an empathy born of experience. A few weeks ago, the situation would have seemed foreign to her. But she knew now what it meant to trade one’s dignity for a hot meal and a soft place to sleep.

The boy ducked and skirted around her. The man charged after, blinded by rage, and this was her opportunity to escape. All she had to do was step aside. Walk down the gangway. Let a boy be hurt because she wasn’t brave enough to help.

Simple, really.

When the man pushed past her, she pushed back. She hadn’t planned it. God, no, she didn’t
want
to confront him, but she stood there anyway, blocking the path while his eyes widened in shock and fury.

“Who do you think you are?” He said something else, a string of cockney curse words she couldn’t quite understand—but she figured out the main point. He was angry at her.

He puffed up. Like an animal, his chest actually grew larger and taller right before her eyes. His lips twisted into a sneer. “New here, eh? You must be, but you’ll learn quick.”

His arm lifted, slashing the sunlight. As she watched his thick arm curve toward her, the voices of her schoolmaster rang in her ear.
Willful. Impetuous.
They were right, she thought grimly. Her hands formed a weak shield, yielding immediately to the force of his blow. His fist landed on her temple—the pain radiating outward until her vision blurred.

She crumpled onto the deck.

Footsteps landed closer and closer. She was too dizzy to get up. All she could do was cover her head with her hands. A
whoosh
of air brushed her hands, as if he had pulled back, as if he had swung at her…and then—

Nothing.

She peeked. The young man was still standing over her, but he wasn’t looking at her. She followed his line of sight to see a large silhouette near the ladder leading up to the deck.
Nate.
He must have come up after her.

The light surrounding him cast a shadow on his expression. However, judging by the wary looks of the boys who had paused in their work, she suspected Nate wasn’t pleased.

His pace seemed almost leisurely as he walked toward them. When he spoke, his voice was low. “Did you hit a crewman, Wilson?”

The younger man—Wilson—appeared nervous, such a marked change from his previous aggression that he looked like someone else entirely.

Wilson shook his head. “It was Bennett, sir. He weren’t paying attention, and I had to…had to teach him a lesson, sir.”

He didn’t say the words in a threatening manner. In fact, the way he said them was almost heartbreaking. As if he’d heard them used as an excuse before, for the times when he had been hit.

Nate spoke low and firm. “Get off my ship.”

Wilson’s eyes widened. “But Captain—”

“If I see you again, I’ll call the constable. Are we clear?”

Dark emotions passed over Wilson’s face. He looked ready to argue, to fight. But in the end, he obeyed his captain. The air simmered with anger and violence, but underneath, she could feel the vibrations of sadness. Wilson’s despair at having to leave. Nate’s for sending him away.

Juliana’s hair had fallen loose of the cap. She forced herself to stand, but the world tilted until a pair of strong arms caught her.

“Easy now,” he said.

“Nate? I’m sorry.”

“Not right now, love. We’re going to have a visit with the ship’s doctor. Then you can tell me why the hell you were sneaking off my ship.”

Chapter Nine

“Leave us,” Dr. Richards said.

Nate raised an eyebrow and remained right where he was. He could admit he was hovering. He just couldn’t make himself stop. Carrying Juliana to his cabin over her protests that she could walk, she was fine, and bellowing for the doctor. He hadn’t been able to stop himself doing those things, either.

“Nate,” she said, sitting on the side of the bed. He didn’t like her upright. Should she be upright? What sort of hack doctor was Richards, anyway?

“
Nate,
” she said. “I’m fine. But please, do as he says. You’re making me nervous.”

“Yes, Captain. Please.” Dr. Richards’ voice was wry, a subtle censure for having a woman on board his ship, the kind of reprimand only someone he’d known a long time could make.

Well, hell,
Nate
hadn’t invited her. Though he’d certainly taken advantage of her presence.

She and Dr. Richards were both watching him.

Maybe he was taking this a little too seriously. And, of course, Dr. Richards wasn’t a hack. Nate hadn’t been satisfied with having a sawbones onboard. He had demanded the best, a certified London physician, and Dr. Richards had worked under him for years now. They’d never quite seen eye to eye as men, but Richards was as sharp as they came in terms of medicine.

Still, Nate had to force himself to leave the room and shut the door behind. He’d seen plenty of injuries, plenty of fights, and he knew that she’d be fine. She had survived a fall off the docks, for Christ’s sake. She would be fine.

She had to be.

He found Bennett in the mess hall. Bennett wouldn’t look at him. He had a sullen expression, almost defiant, but he wouldn’t meet Nate’s eyes. That told him all he needed to know.

“How long has Wilson been hitting you?”

“What does it matter?”

Guilt simmered in his gut, but he tamped it down. He’d seen what happened this time with his own eyes, at least the tail end of it. But it still hurt to admit that the young man he’d taken under his wing as a boy, one he’d defended, had become a bully. Had always been one. No amount of time or money or good honest work had changed that. Nate had been lying to himself about the extent of Wilson’s anger, and Bennett had paid the price.

“It matters.”

“I can take care of myself,” the boy muttered.

The words felt like a scrape over an old scar, surprisingly sensitive, leaving Nate raw. He remembered feeling like that once. It had become a point of pride with him. He refused to ask for help. And not only because no one was there to listen.

He knelt in front of Bennett. The boy sat on one of the dining benches, but the room was empty and scrubbed to a shine. Bennett turned his face away, but Nate was patient—and silently insistent. He had failed both boys—Wilson and Bennett. He couldn’t protect a grown man anymore, especially not from his own violent tendencies. But he had to make sure Bennett understood.

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, the boy met his gaze. The side of his face was slightly red. That was the only sign of his injury. Nate suspected it wouldn’t bruise, either. Which was how Wilson had kept his behavior a secret. He had learned not to leave a mark. The tutors and sailors aboard
Nightingale
would have put a stop to it, but the boys had kept quiet. They came from the street, from orphanages—they had learned to stay quiet when they needed help.

“If anyone ever hurts you again, you tell me.”

Silence. Bennett’s eyes were dull with a kind of jaded wisdom, making him look eighty years old instead of nine.

“I will never punish you for telling me the truth, Bennett.”

Still nothing. Fancy words meant nothing when cold reality had already been beaten into his flesh, well before Nate had found him.

“And I will always help you.”

Bennett swallowed audibly. “
She
stood up to him.”

Nate nodded, unable to speak. His chest seized as it had when he’d seen her fall to the deck. His brain had calculated the seconds it would take him to clear the ladder and reach her. Too long. And Wilson had
gone after her.

For a blinding second, rage had overtaken him. He had managed to stop Wilson’s advance with only a word, but in that moment he’d wanted to do more, to hurt him back, to punish him—which only proved Nate was no better. He and Wilson were of a kind. They were baited dogs, bred to fight. An animal like that could never really be tamed.

“And she was wearing men’s clothes,” Bennett said.

Nate gritted his teeth. Yes, she had been. He’d woken up to find her gone and her gown folded in his trunk. In his waking delirium he’d imagined her traipsing around his ship naked, but the reality was somehow worse.

His clothes. She’d been wearing
his
clothes. Where other people could see her. It was obscene. Only he could see her like that.

Bennett frowned. “She’s not like other ladies.”

“No, she’s not,” he agreed. “But Bennett, I need you to promise to come to me. If something is wrong. If someone is hurting you. Can you do that for me?”

It took him a long time, but finally the boy answered, “I can try.”

“That will have to do. Go up and finish your chores.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Nate listened to his footsteps patter away. So light. For all his bravado, he was still a child. One insightful enough to understand Juliana in only two meetings. She was brave. Beautiful.

And yes, completely unlike any other lady Nate had ever met.

Though, he had to wonder how much of that was due to her memory loss. Would she have turned her nose up at him if she had known her origins? He pictured her sitting atop him, breasts pale, expression tortured by pleasure. Would she still have let him touch her if she knew how far beneath her he really was?

…

She missed him as soon as he left. Captain Bowen. Though, if there were ever a man she could call by his given name, it would be him. Nate. After the intimacy they had shared last night, she deserved that privilege.

“Does this hurt?’ Dr. Richards asked, feeling lightly along her jawbone.

“No,” she said, then winced. “A little.”

“And any lingering pain from your fall? No fever?”

Fever. The word brought back the full rush of horrible sensation—her fear, her father’s abandonment. Still, he might not have left her deliberately. Maybe he’d been forced away. Maybe he’d been arrested. But she couldn’t wish it true. Even if it meant her father had left her to starve—or worse—she hoped he was safe, wherever he was.

“No fever,” she said quietly.

His gaze met hers. “Any other problems I can help you with?”

She had a feeling he wasn’t simply asking about her health. “How long have you worked with Captain Bowen?” she asked.

“If you’re asking for my opinion, he’s not someone for you to rely on,” he said bluntly.

Well, then.

“He looks out for himself first. His own interests. Understand? There’s nothing wrong with that. But he’ll use you up and leave behind whatever is left.”

“Don’t hesitate to speak openly, Doctor,” she said wryly.

He gave her a grim smile. “I apologize if I’ve offended you. I simply have no desire to clean up his mess.”

“Have you done it before? Cleaned up his messes, I mean.”

Dr. Richards was silent, and she could tell he wanted to scare her away. “No,” he admitted. “But I know him too well. He’ll help you, but there will be a price.”

Yes, there would be. She’d already gotten a taste of that last night in his cabin. Carnal knowledge of his body. Full access to her own.

He was hardly the first man to pay for that sort of privilege. In fact, a loveless marriage could be construed the same way—and society had plenty of those.

“I appreciate your candor,” she finally said.

“But it won’t matter,” he predicted.

“It does matter. At least now I know what to expect.”

She’d told Nate the truth last night. She wanted to be able to choose her fate. Even if her choices were few and far between. Even if she had to choose between thievery and starvation.

Even if she chose prostitution. And called it protection.

It was a cold comfort—the ability to decide one’s fate. Her only luxury, now.

Once her life had been full of new gowns and theater trips. That had all changed six weeks ago. The invitations had slowed as soon as the rumors started circulating. But Juliana hadn’t understood the severity of her situation until she was turned away from a party she’d been invited to months before. Right at the door, they had denied her entry to a home she’d visited many times. Her response had been indignation. How dare they assume the worst of her father?

He wasn’t a criminal. She had been so sure of it.

Then the creditors had begun calling in their notes. They couldn’t buy anything without cash, and the cash had run low. Servants had to be let go. And still, Juliana remained steadfast in her defense of him.

Even when the investigators had visited her father and interrogated him for hours. When they’d left with boxes full of his company papers, she’d still believed in him. Things would get better. People would accept the truth of his innocence. Society would welcome them back.

Until one evening.

After a light supper, they’d been sitting together in the parlor. He had been silent over dinner. He had grown more and more quiet over the weeks, but this was an extreme. Suddenly, he had slumped over.

She ran to him. “Papa!” His eyes were glassy. His skin was hot to the touch. A fever? He had worked himself ill! “We have to get you to bed. I’ll call a doctor.”

“Don’t need one,” he mumbled.

But she’d helped him up anyway, propelling him upstairs. He’d felt alarmingly lax, as if he would go any direction she pushed him. She got him upstairs and then faltered. What to do next? She had no experience in tending to ill patients.

She’d stammered, embarrassed at the thought of helping him undress. “Perhaps you could…prepare for bed. I’ll leave you to do so.”

He hadn’t heard her. “Ah, Juliana. You understand, don’t you? You understand why I can’t give them what they want.”

She knelt at his side. “Of course, Papa. You would never steal from your own company. You’re too honorable to do that. You care about the company too much.”

“I
made
the company,” he muttered, suddenly angry. “I own it.”

“I know,” she said soothingly.

“They want to take it from me. I won’t let them.”

“We won’t let them. Papa, please. You’ll overtax yourself.”

“She looks so much like you, Juliana.”

Realization dawned. He thought she was her mother. “Papa,” she whispered.

“I can’t take her with me!” he’d cried. “She’ll be alone, Juliana.”

She hadn’t known at the time what he meant, but the words had imprinted themselves on her mind. Cryptic. Ominous. As she removed his shoes and helped him into bed, fully dressed. As she shut the curtains and blew out the candles. Terror rose like bile when she thought he might have been predicting his own death. That he couldn’t take her with him. She’d kept a vigil at his bedside.

In the morning his bed had been empty and the authorities were knocking on the front door with an arrest warrant.

…

Dr. Richards stepped into the hallway. Nate went to meet him, a strange feeling inside his chest, as if he had a loose cannon rolling around his hull, haphazard and bound to break something.

“Well?” he demanded.

“She has some swelling on her cheek, a slight soreness about her hip, and minor scrapes on the palm of her hand. In short, I think she’ll live.”

Nate scowled. “Thank you for your expert opinion, Doctor. However, did it occur to you she might be weakened after her twenty foot fall into freezing water less than a week ago?”

The doctor sobered. “Yes, it did. However, she seems to have recovered well. Her reflexes are strong. She’s speaking clearly.”

“Yes,” he said impatiently, “But she can’t remember anything. Did she tell you that?”

Dr. Richards looked at him strangely. “No.”

“So? Is that a sign of serious damage? Should she be seen by a specialist?”

The other man spoke slowly. “If memory loss is the only symptom, I expect there’s not much a surgeon could do. It will most likely return as she recovers.”

Nate narrowed his eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Out with it.”

A shrug. “Who knows the way the mind works?”

“I thought
you
were supposed to,” Nate muttered.

“Not about this. There’s been research that shows even if a physical event triggered the memory loss, the actual source could be mental ill-humors. Severe anxiety. That sort of thing.”

The canon ball inside Nate broke through, leaving him gaping, sucking in water, unable to breathe. His crimes against her kept stacking up. He’d chased her off a bridge, he’d held her captive. And apparently, he had frightened her so much she’d lost her memory.

She should hate him.

Why should that bother him? Everyone had always hated him. They’d tried to have him killed, to imprison him. But he wouldn’t die. Inside, though, it felt a little like he was suffocating. She would hate him, and as soon as she regained her memory, she would leave.

“Captain,” the doctor said. “Clothes aside, she’s gently bred. You only have to listen to her speak to know that. She’s not—”

“I know that,” Nate snapped, unwilling and unable to hear the rest of that sentence. She’s not a commoner. She’s not a courtesan.
She’s not for you.

He already knew that.

The doctor nodded. “I’ll return tomorrow to check on her.”

“Thank you.”

“Not that I’m not enjoying my leave, but when do you think we’ll set sail?”

They should already have departed. Nate was supposed to have found Hargate by now. He should have run him to ground and killed him. And then returned to captain the
Nightingale
, because why should he care about Hargate’s blood on his hands? He wouldn’t. He didn’t.

She would care.

If her father died, if Nate was the one to kill him, Juliana would be heartbroken. And he wasn’t sure he could live with that. Even if he’d already ruined his chance to be with her.