Starlight & Promises (26 page)

Miggs flashed a greedy look from his one good eye. His hand snaked toward the pouch, but Steven was faster. He pinned Miggs’s splayed hand to the table with a fist and narrowed his eyes into slits. “Have you favorable news for me?” he asked again, his voice dropping to a soft, lethal level.

A ripple went through the pirate’s frame, and he pulled his hand away. “Nay. They wouldn’t give it up. Smythe near whipped one o’ ‘em ta death, but t’other still wouldn’t talk. Course by then, ‘e was ‘alf dead, too. We coulda got t’location eventually, but we was attacked by Jack Fallon on the
Rapier
. Barely got free wi’ our lives an’ ship. Lost ‘alf me crew, I did. Least we sent the
Rapier
ta a watery grave.”

With thumb and fingertips, Steven smoothed down his beard. “Where are you keeping Colchester and Truett now?”

“Ye see, that’s the strangest thing. When the fightin’ was over, we checked the ‘old, an’ they was gone.”

“Gone?” Every muscle in his body stiffened.

Miggs rocked back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah. ‘Tis right eerie. Truett was dead. Smythe swears ta it, an’ Colchester was nae much better. A cannonball punched through the ‘old. They musta washed out through the ‘ull. Only way I see they coulda left t’ship. They’re dead now. We was in the Tasman Sea, days from any landfall. Even if Colchester made it off t’ship alive, ‘e couldn’ta made it ta land. ‘E’s shark bait fer sure.”

Steven picked up the pouch and returned it to his pocket.

“‘Ey now!” Miggs shouted. The chair legs slammed against the floor. “We earned them guineas.”

Steven pushed back his chair, surged to his feet, and looked down coldly on the pirate. “I still don’t have that location. Your job is finished when I do. Let me know where you’re anchored, and I shall contact you when I sort out this mess. I may allow you another chance to redeem yourself. Then again, considering your incompetence, I may not.”

Steven returned to the present, and a faint smile pressed the corners of his mouth. He ground out the cheroot beneath his boot heel. Perhaps he would offer Miggs that second chance. And this time, he had better succeed. The fragile girl should be easier to deal with and persuade than her uncle.

When Garrett and Samantha boarded the ship, Samantha saw no evidence of Christian. Though Garrett had told her Christian went into town, Samantha trembled nonetheless. He could have returned without Garrett knowing, and she glanced about while Garrett propelled her across the deck. Her heart beat so rapidly she was certain to expire and save Christian the effort of taking her life.

Instead of escorting her to her cabin, Garrett pushed her into the brig and closed the door.

“Et tu, Brute?”
she called out when the bolt shot to.

“It’s for your own safety,” he replied.

Yes, she supposed it was. She engaged the inside bolt.

Later, the door rattling signaled that Christian had come for her. She struggled to shove his weighty chest of belongings in front of the portal. ‘Twould at least slow him down. She was in no mood for another dreadful confrontation.

The boards sighed, as though he had leaned up against them. “Have you any concept of a promise, Sam?” he said calmly.

At first, the words stuck in her throat. When he didn’t attempt to break down the door, she called herself a coward and rested her forehead on the wood. “I do,” she muttered.

“
The devil you do!”
The blast rocked her back on her heels. “You’re a
dishonest bitch!”

Stung to the core, she tightened her hands into fists. “I am not dishonest,” she managed to force out.

“Very well, I take that back. Not dishonest then. A conniving, manipulative bitch.”

“I am not!” Tears swam in her eyes. After her talk with Garrett, she now understood the basis for Christian’s assessment of her character, yet she still could not believe he would be so hateful.

“I have no earthly wish to listen to your defense this time,” he went on. “No excuse short of the ship catching fire could possibly explain your actions to my satisfaction. You’re manipulative. You give your word with no intention of keeping it. You connive and scheme, looking for a crack in the wall, any way to wiggle out of your responsibilities and have your own way. And in the process, you put your life and the lives of those around you in danger. If you were a man, I would have lashed you at the mast.”

If I were a man, I would not be in this predicament!

His fist struck the door.

She jumped away and hugged her arms around her waist. Goose bumps sprinted across her skin.

“You could have been killed!” he shouted. “You’re fortunate I haven’t taken my belt to you. The next time you cross me, I will. That’s a
promise
, and be aware
I
keep my promises. Furthermore, I shan’t be responsible for someone who refuses to follow orders. You won’t travel to the island with us.”

She rushed to the door and slammed her hands against it. “You cannot do that! You told me I could! This is
my
expedition! You cannot bar me from it!”

Silence came from the other side.

“You are a beast,” she whispered through her tears.

Samantha lay on her stomach on the bunk, chafing at her confinement, and counted the days slogging by. Though she suffered from Christian’s reneging on his promise to allow her to accompany the expedition, even that bleak development hurt less than his deliberate dismissal of her. How could he forget the intimacies they shared? She never could.

Throwing herself from the bed, she stormed about the cabin, making circuit after circuit, working the kinks from her stiff muscles. She cursed and screamed at the bulkheads. After tearing through Christian’s possessions, she tossed them around the room. Standing amid the destruction, fury vented at long last, she achieved some satisfaction and serenity.

A week passed, during which she examined and reexamined her feelings and began to see Christian’s actions in a more rational light. In hindsight, the only sight she seemed to have lately, she came to a reluctant deduction: she should have waited for him to take her ashore. True to her stubborn nature, she had forged ahead without thinking and deserved the consequences. Taking off alone had been a boneheaded, perilous act, not to mention unproductive. Where did that leave her?

She smiled ironically, spinning in place and opening her arms. “Here,” she said to the walls. “Stuffed away in a cabin barely wide enough to twirl a skirt.” Sinking onto the cot, she dropped her chin on her steepled hands and dwelled on an infinitely more important subject. Did Christian have feelings, other than exasperation, of course, for her? If he was only using her, would he not have taken her virginity at the first opportunity? She had offered him every occasion to do so. Did his pursuit have a purpose? Had it changed now that she had broken her trust with him and probably lost his respect forever?

That he might hate her brought a crushing weight to her chest and tears to her eyes. He was everything she believed she always wanted in a man: strong, intelligent, maddeningly handsome, tender, and sensual. Someone she could … love.

Love?

The notion struck her like a castle wall hit by a cannonball and drove the breath from her lungs. She had fallen in love with him, in love with that impossible, infuriating, intoxicating man. She sank to the deck, pulse racing like a steam engine. Her fingers went to her mouth, and she nibbled at her fingernails until only nubs remained, struggling to divine what the future held for her now and whether that future also held Christian Badia.

By the time Samantha gained her freedom, Christian had already amassed and organized the majority of the stores he required for the expedition. He had taken on local men to help with the equipment and a pilot familiar with the ocean through which they would sail. Aunt Delia, Chloe, and Gilly were settled in Talmadge House, a two-story Georgian brick dwelling Christian leased in a respectable area of Hobart, and Pettibone would remain in Hobart with the women.

When Samantha contemplated being escorted to Talmadge House and the ship departing before she could speak with Christian, her heart ached unbearably. During her confinement, a silent sailor showed up at her door daily with her meals. Christian’s absence, even in that small task, spoke volumes about his opinion of her.

Samantha emerged on deck to find Christian standing at the railing, his gaze rapt on the gulls diving for fish in the harbor water. She approached him with her feet dragging along the wooden boards. At the sound of her footsteps, he turned his head. A stone mask came down over his face, and he returned to the gulls in blatant dismissal.

Her heart plummeted to her knees. Now that she had finally accepted her heart’s message, she had lost him. Falling in love with Christian happened gradually, sneaking past her defenses with no warning during their months at sea. She loved the way his comingled blond and brown hair swept back from his face, a few shorter strands always escaping his queue and tossing in the wind. She loved how his eyes lit up at the sight of her, darkened during their love play, and crinkled at the corners when he laughed. She loved his mouth, soft and firm at the same time, tasting of pleasure and … Christian. She loved his voice, deep and sensual—when not shouting at her—and rough with passion. She could watch him forever, tall and hard, lithe and moving with inimitable masculine grace. Mostly, she loved his mind, his deep convictions, his sharp intellect, and his willingness to patiently answer her endless questions, to teach her about love, banish her ignorance, and take away her fears.

She wanted him more than anything. She wanted to be at his side …
forever
. But in taking one risky step too many in her normally heedless way, she feared she had thrown away whatever they might have had together.

Desperate to reach him, she came up behind him to slip her arms around his waist and press her cheek to his back. She soaked in his scent and heat and the feel of his body. She loved him with all her heart. Now she doubted he could ever love her.

“Please do not hate me,” she whispered against his shirt. “I’m genuinely sorry for the problems I caused.”

The muscles in his back grew rigid.

“I don’t hate you,” he replied, seeming to force out the words, his chest expanding with a deep breath. “I don’t hate you, but I cannot trust you, and I cannot spend all my time worrying about where you are and what trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Her heart shattered.

He released a short laugh devoid of humor. “I would have you know that for the first time in my life, I actually considered a long-term relationship. Perhaps even marriage. But how can I expect you to honor a contract as sacred as a marriage vow when you’re incapable of even delivering on a simple promise?”

Her world dissolved into dust carried away by the offshore breeze. Tears rained from her eyes, wetting his shirt. “I can,” she said in a tearful whisper.

“No, you cannot. And you know it as well as I. It’s too late, Sam, and best we keep our distance. I’m unwilling to take any more chances. Someone will get hurt or even killed, and I cannot be responsible for that happening.”