CHAPTER 10

Palmer Reese worked over the ledgers sitting open on his wide mahogany desk. Besides the heavy leather-bound volume, an expensive crystal inkwell and matching sand shaker sat next to a silver-trimmed tortoiseshell pen with a snowy ostrich-plume quill.

A forest-green leather ink blotter protected the polished surface of his desk, and a small oval frame held an ivory scrimshaw of his most prized possession, his flagship of the line, the Fairwind.

Aside from those things, the desktop was empty and rubbed to a glossy sheen, each item sitting precisely in its place, as did each of the items in his immaculately clean, pristinely cared for office/warehouse on the embankment across from the London docks.

Palmer looked out the window, down at the tall row of masts bobbing along the quay. For a moment, all he saw was his reflection, a man with wavy dark brown hair and a handsome face, a well-built man, though in the past few years, with the money he had made, the expensive food and drink, he had turned a little fleshy.

His eyes finally pierced the glass and he saw the ships more clearly. Fairwind was still at sea, but the Windsong was in port, her holds being loaded with cargo for another voyage. Unfortunately when she sailed, her hull would not be nearly as full as it should be. They had lost their contract with Savannah Trading for the shipping of cotton and rice, a contract he’d had for years.

A nerve jumped in his cheek. He needed that cargo—deserved it. Instead it had gone to Hawksmoor Shipping, more of his profit siphoned away, and all because of Marcus Delaine.

Palmer scoffed. The Earl of Hawksmoor and his bloody aristocratic pedigree. It made Palmer’s blood boil to think of it. Just because the man had inherited a title and wealth didn’t mean he was better than anyone else, that he deserved the shipping contract Palmer had worked so hard to keep.

The fact he’d run into a few little problems while he was dealing with the company shouldn’t have mattered. A few late arrivals, a few lost kegs and crates. Every shipper had his problems now and again. He smiled grimly. Even Marcus Delaine.

A knock sounded at the door. “You may enter,” he called out, glancing up to see Stuart Washburn, vice president of Reese Enterprises, step into the office.

“I’ve news I thought you’d be pleased to hear.” Stuart was a thin man, tall and gaunt, with sharp pointed features and slightly sallow skin.

Palmer’s brow went up. “And what news might that be?”

“Peregrine has just limped into port.” He smiled, his thin lips barely curving. “It seems she’s had trouble with her anchor—some sort of faulty release, I gather. Seems to have caused her a good deal of trouble.”

Palmer’s own lips curved. “What a pity.”

“Isn’t it, though? Apparently she has returned with most of her cargo.”

“That ought to make the shippers extremely unhappy.”

“I’m sure we’ll hear them screaming all the way to the docks.”

“Perhaps we should offer to help them out, contract for part of the goods so at least some portion will remain on schedule.”

Stuart placed a pile of papers, bills of lading he had brought, on top of Palmer’s desk. “As a matter of fact, that is exactly what I was thinking. They need help and we are just the ones to give it to them. I’ll see to the matter myself.”

Palmer didn’t say more and neither did Stuart, but both of them wore smiles of satisfaction.

*   *   *

Hamish Bass watched his friend leaning against the rail. The captain’s jaw was set, his eyes intent. A course wind ruffled his hair. The captain didn’t notice. His thoughts were miles away and Hamish believed he knew exactly where they dwelled.

“Good mornin’ to ye, Cap’n.”

He looked up, for the first time aware of the first mate’s presence. “Good morning, my friend.”

“Ye’ve the look of a man far away with his thoughts. ’Tis the lass, I be thinkin’.”

“Aye, that it is.”

“Ye’ve taken her to ye bed.” Marcus frowned, but Hamish ignored him. “I’ve known ye too long and too well, lad. I know ’twas never yer intention. I think it were a fact afore it ever happened.”

Marcus didn’t answer, just raked a hand through his black, wind-tossed hair.

“So … now that ye’ve had her, is yer cravin’ for her gone? Can ye set her away and leave her be?”

A muscle leaped in the captain’s lean cheek. “I thought perhaps I could. In truth, I want her more than ever.” He sighed, the sound lost in the wind sweeping over the deck. “I’ve always been a man of moderation, Hamish, even when it came to women. I took one to my bed when I felt the need. It never went much further than that. This time it’s different. I can’t remember ever feeling such uncontrollable lust.”

Hamish nodded sagely. “’Tis the fire in her, I’ll wager. Ye can see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. She feels a grand passion for life—like a hot blaze, it is, burnin’ deep inside her. That kind of fire in a woman seeps into a man’s blood.”

Marcus’s fingers dug into the rail. “I don’t like it—I’ll tell you that. I don’t like it a bloody damn bit.”

“Ye’ll be takin’ her back home soon enough. Keep yer wits about ye until then, ye’ll be all right.”

The captain gave him the edge of a smile. “How is it you know so much about women, Hamish?”

“Fifty years of stayin’ out of their clutches. Man learns to be cagey, learns where the real dangers lay. Stay away from the fire, lad. Else ye might wind up gettin’ burned.”

Setting the stem of his pipe between his teeth, Hamish turned and walked away, thinking of his friend, thinking of the girl the captain had taken to his bed. Lass like that one—she was a danger to any man.

Hamish wondered, if he had met a woman like that when he was the captain’s age, would he have continued to run as he had for all of these years?

*   *   *

Brandy didn’t see Marcus all the next day. That night she was sure he would come, that he would invite her into his bed and they would make wild, passionate love, but when he returned, it was so late she was already sleeping.

The following day was much the same, just a few simple words before he left to go on deck, then listening for his footfalls in the darkness when he returned late to his cabin and finally fell asleep, alone in his big bed.

Something was wrong, she knew, but she wasn’t sure what it was. Even when they reached New Providence and he took her ashore as he had promised, he remained carefully aloof. Brandy was worried, uncertain what she might have done to displease him. She wanted to ask him but she was afraid.

Fortunately, as the day slipped past, a bright, golden sun overhead, lovely white sand beaches, warm spring breezes, incredibly clear blue skies and equally clear blue water, it was impossible not to enjoy herself. Eventually even Marcus began to relax, watching her excitement with a gentle, indulgent smile, renting a small black phaeton to drive her around the island.

The town itself was small and impossibly quaint. Most of the buildings were Georgian in design, made of wood or fashioned of stone. Many were hip-roofed with lovely open verandas, the windows covered by louvered wooden shutters.

Outside the small town itself, some of the houses were roofed with thatch, but Marcus explained that because of the danger of fire, people were no longer allowed to use such materials in the city. Earlier they had parked the phaeton near the center of town and walked through the square near the wharf. On Bay Street, the main street of the capital, handsome public buildings were being constructed and vendors lined the walk across from where boats were docked.

“It’s charming, Marcus, yet there is an exciting hum of activity.”

His gaze followed the workmen hammering on the building across the way. “I have always been partial to Nassau. I’ve been shipping goods here for the past six years and I’ve yet to grow tired of the place.”

They passed along a line of vendors in front of a covered market. Inside, tradesmen sold vegetables and fruits, conch and fish. Brandy wrinkled her nose at the pungent smells even as her eyes darted with undisguised excitement from one sight to another.

They walked between the rows of stalls: straw weavers, shell merchants, woodcarvers. At one of the booths, she paused, her interest caught by a display of brightly embroidered shawls. Smiling, Marcus draped a length of forest-green silk around her shoulders, the delicate fringe hanging well past her waist.

“Is this one to your liking?”

“It’s lovely.”

He smiled. “Then it is yours.”

“Are … are you certain?” Her fingers trembled as they smoothed the richly embroidered fabric. “It must be very expensive.”

“It’s only a small gift, Brianne. I would be pleased if you would accept it.”

She did so with genuine pleasure. “It’s beautiful, Marcus. I have never owned anything nearly so lovely.”

His smile slid away, replaced by a frown. Reaching down, he gently tilted her chin up. “You should have dozens of beautiful things. Perhaps one day you will.”

Brandy glanced away. “Mostly I just want to see new places, to learn about life, as we are doing today.”

They walked on down the street, passing a spot called Vendue House, an arcaded, open building where an auction was being held. Slaves, she saw, feeling an unwarranted chill. Black-skinned men and women shuffled forward, their dark heads drooping, their shoulders bowed as if they carried the weight of the world.

“I didn’t think Englishmen kept slaves,” she said.

“Only in some of the colonies.”

“I probably shouldn’t say this, since I am from the South, but I have never agreed with the notion that one man should own another.” That one man should bend another to his will, she thought. It came far too close to the life she was living at the White Horse Tavern.

“It’s not a sentiment I adhere to, either, yet for now it seems to be a fact of life.”

Brandy didn’t say more. It was too perfect a day to dwell on the unpleasantries of human nature. She would have plenty of time for that once she returned home.

“Are you hungry?”

“Now that you mention it, I’m starving.” They picnicked on the beach, drank wine and coconut milk. It was a wonderful day, a day of laughter and excitement, a day worth every hardship she’d been forced to endure on the trip. By the time they returned to the Seahawk just before sunset, she was filled with pleasant memories and a warm feeling of contentment. Pausing for a moment at the rail, she turned to look back at the island.

“It’s so lovely,” she said, studying the distant white cottages surrounded by trees and hedges. “Does it look anything at all like England?”

“There are sections of Nassau that have the same sort of homes you might find back home. We have thatched roofs in the country, just as they do here.”

She smiled wistfully. “I would love to see it. I have thought of going there many times. Perhaps one day I will.”

Marcus turned to look at her. Something moved across his features and his jaw seemed to tighten. “I won’t be there if you do. Most likely I’ll be at sea.”

Her bright smile faded. She hardly needed a reminder. “I’m certain you will. On the subject of your life, you have made yourself perfectly clear.” She smoothed back a long auburn curl that had come loose from the ringlets she had fashioned atop her head. “I, however, want no more restraints. If I wish to go to England, I shall. If I wish to go anywhere at all, I shall find a way to get there.”

Marcus scowled. “You and your foolish dreams. A woman is meant to marry, to give her husband sons. When the time comes, that is what you will do.”

Brandy arched a brow. “That is what you think? Do you think I would have made love to you if I meant to marry and settle down?”

His eyes seemed to darken. “You are telling me you do not intend to wed—that you would be content as some man’s mistress?”

She tossed her head. “I don’t know. Perhaps that is all I wish to be. If I were in London—”

He gripped her arm. “If you were in London, you’d be nothing but a pretty little bauble on some man’s arm. You would be at the mercy of your protector, completely his to command. You would have little of your precious freedom. In truth, your life would be just slightly better than it is at the White Horse Tavern.”

Brandy jerked free of his hold. “Once I’ve returned to Charleston, what I do will be none of your concern. If I wish to live as some man’s mistress…”

Her words died away at the hard look on his face. Brandy gasped as Marcus scooped her up in his arms.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He didn’t answer, just crossed the deck on those long legs of his, descended the ladder to the passage leading down to his cabin, opened the door, and strode in, kicking it closed behind him.

“You wish to be some man’s mistress?” He let go of her legs and she slid the length of his body. “Perhaps you have forgotten, sweeting—you already are.” With that he captured her mouth in a punishing kiss. She could feel his anger, his temper, the fury he barely contained.

She could feel his hardness pressing against her and, as angry as she was, her body infused with heat. His hard mouth plundered, fierce and wildly determined, and her insides began to quiver. He ravished her with his tongue, cupping the back of her head to hold her still for his greedy assault.

His hands came up to her breasts and he massaged them roughly through the gown, his fingers determindedly pebbling the ends. She whimpered as he cupped her bottom, dragging her more solidly against him, yet somehow maneuvering her backward till she pressed against the wall.

Then he was lifting her skirts, his hands sliding up her thighs, smoothing over her skin, teasing her with expert skill. He must have felt her trembling, for he parted the folds of her sex and began to stroke her. She was wet, she realized, her body throbbing with heat. The angry clash between them hadn’t lessened her desire for him. Sweet God, the power of his fury only seemed to heighten her growing need.

Marcus kissed her and Brandy moaned at the hot, hard feel of his mouth over hers. All day she had been watching him, laughing with him. Wanting him. Each night she had ached for him. She had missed his touch, missed his kiss. Now she was on fire for him.

Her fingers curled into the lapels of his coat. Beneath her skirt, his hand moved between her legs, caressing her flesh, preparing her to accept him, while the other popped the buttons at the front of his breeches. Then his rigid length was probing, finding entrance, and plunging deep inside.

Brandy gasped at the pulsing fullness, at the sharp pleasure spiraling through her limbs. She could feel the tension in his body, the fierce, driving need, but the moment he was buried inside her completely, he stopped.

With a sigh, his head tipped forward to rest against hers. “God, I’m sorry. I don’t know how this happened. I just couldn’t seem to help myself. Whenever I’m near you, I can’t seem to—”

Brandy dragged his mouth down to hers for a hot, needy kiss. “Don’t stop,” she pleaded. “God in heaven, Marcus, please don’t stop.”

Marcus blinked, then he groaned. He kissed her hard, his hands tightened on her bottom, lifting her up, and he began to thrust wildly inside her. He raised her legs and wrapped them around his waist, bunching her green muslin gown, pounding into her again and again. All the while, Brandy kissed him, twining her arms around his neck, the pins long gone from her hair, the heavy curls sliding down around her shoulders.

“God’s blood, you drive me insane,” he whispered, taking her mouth in another greedy kiss, sending little tongues of heat licking into her stomach.

In minutes, she reached a crashing release and Marcus followed. For long moments there was only the sound of their breathing and the thunderous roar of Brandy’s heart.

With great care, Marcus eased her legs from around his waist and set her gently on her feet, then stepped away to adjust his clothes. Across the room, her eyes found his but he glanced away, and it occurred to her that he was embarrassed. Surely not, she thought. Surely she was mistaken.

Marcus cleared his throat, his shoulders oddly rigid. “I realize you are new to all of this. I hope … I hope I didn’t hurt you.” He glanced toward the row of windows. “I assure you, I am not usually so … I am not generally so…”

Brandy closed the distance between them, pressed her fingers against his lips. “I liked what we did, Marcus. Do not apologize for giving us both so much pleasure.”

Penetrating midnight eyes locked on her face. Something hot flickered in their depths, then it was gone. A corner of his mouth edged up. “Once again, you surprise me. Perhaps this passage home will be even more interesting than I had imagined.”

Color crept into her cheeks. “Perhaps it shall, Captain Delaine.”