2
Tom dragged his gaze from the gorgeous woman in the aft cabin window of the dismasted barque. He had business to attend to, and it didn’t include gawking at pretty ladies. The crew of the Justinian had not lowered a ladder. Either they intended to refuse pilotage, or they feared him. Regardless, protocol required he make vocal contact and show his credentials to the master. By his estimation, that would be the older gentleman in the fine wool uniform.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Do you require assistance, Captain?”
“We do not,” a rangy crewman, likely one of the mates, shot back.
“You’re dismasted.” It always helped to point out the obvious. “And soon to sail onto the reef.”
That drew the master to the rail of the quarterdeck. “I am well aware of our condition and course.”
“Then you know how treacherous the reefs are.”
The master scowled. “As you can see, we’re making good progress on the fore and mizzen sail. With winds light, I foresee no difficulties.”
Reluctance to accept assistance was usual. Tom seldom found an eager master unless the ship was in dire straits. That was not the case with the Justinian. The barque could limp into Key West on her own, but maneuverability would be lessened with the reduction in sail. One small miscalculation could send the ship onto the reef, but no master liked to be told what to do, especially from a man half his age.
So Tom tried an approach that appealed more to the man’s heart than his skills. “Are any of the passengers or crew ill or injured? I can take them speedily ashore. Key West has fine physicians and a marine hospital.”
As anticipated, that gave the master pause. After stiffening slightly, he consulted with the rangy mate. Perhaps someone aboard was ill.
Tom waited.
The response came as predicted. “We need no assistance.”
Tom was down to his last ploy—helpfulness. Coupled with a broad grin, it generally disarmed the most suspicious master. “Closest port to your position is Key West. Shipwrights there can replace your mast. The best channel for a ship your size lies beyond a narrow gap in the shoal, unmarked. Sail past Sand Key lighthouse on a northeast bearing, avoid the reef, and search for the opening.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
“If you later decide you need a pilot . . .” Movement along the rail drew Tom’s attention. The pretty lady had appeared, bareheaded, on deck. The sun lit her auburn hair on fire. Unlike the usual fashion, pulled up under a bonnet or hat so no one could see it, she let the thick mane of curling locks flow around her shoulders. The sight took every thought from his mind.
“You’re a pilot?” the master shouted. “Licensed?”
Tom refocused on the man. “Licensed by the federal court in Key West, Judge Marvin presiding. You may examine my credentials if you wish.”
The captain still looked wary, but he ordered the ladder thrown out.
While Tom waited for the crew aboard the Justinian to secure the rope ladder, he glanced again at the lady. She was still looking at him. He smiled. She cocked her head, a rare assurance in her manner, as if she was in full command of the situation.
“Ready, mister,” the rangy mate called out.
Again Tom had to draw his attention to the task at hand. Gazing at a pretty woman had best wait until port, though he wouldn’t mind learning who she might be. A gentlewoman surely, maybe even a duchess. This was a British vessel. The thrill of possibility increased at each rung of the ladder.
The rangy crewman held out a hand to help him over the bulwark and onto deck. “Welcome aboard, sir. I’m Mr. Lightwater, first mate, and this is Captain Durning.”
Tom tugged his coat into place and stuck out his hand. “Tom Worthington, master of the James Patrick and licensed pilot.” Seeing as the Justinian did not require salvage, he didn’t mention his wrecking license. “Pleased to meet you, Captain. Mr. Lightwater.”
Captain Durning did not crack a smile. “Your papers.”
Tom reached in his inner coat pocket for his leather wallet. Once more his gaze landed on the pretty woman, who had drifted near. This time she gave him an impertinent little grin.
The captain cleared his throat.
Tom opened his wallet and withdrew the pilot license and handed it to Captain Durning. The man read it with care before handing it back.
“It appears to be in order. If you are who you say you are.”
That carried suspicion to a new level. Tom merely nodded, smiling. “You may certainly proceed without a pilot. If you do happen upon the reef, I am also licensed as a wrecker.”
The woman laughed.
The master’s complexion darkened. “I am fully capable of handling this ship.”
Again Tom nodded, keeping the pleasant smile. “Indeed you are. Only a highly skilled master could come out of that storm with his vessel still afloat.”
As expected, the master’s outrage eased.
“As pilot, I am simply aboard to offer navigational counsel, which you may accept or reject.” Tom named his fee. “You will find it the lowest rate out of Key West.”
“That seems reasonable,” the woman interjected, her melodic voice as captivating as her fiery hair.
The master’s attention snapped away from Tom to land on her. She could not have known how ill-timed her comment was. “Mr. Lightwater, please escort Miss Haynes to her quarters.”
Her eyes widened, and Tom suspected a protest was about to be unleashed, but then an elderly woman stepped to her side. The woman’s stout carriage and confidence placed her as someone with authority, definitely not the pretty lady’s maid.
“I happen to agree with Catherine. I, for one, do not care to end up wrecked on a reef.”
Catherine. So that was the lovely woman’s given name. Since she bore no physical resemblance to the older woman, Tom surmised they were friends rather than relations.
The master blanched and stammered that they were never in danger.
The matron was not appeased.
Tom stifled a snicker. That explained the woman’s authoritative manner. She was the master’s wife. A wife often held command, especially where the family’s safety was concerned. His mother certainly had, even before Pa lost his ship.
Tom bowed before the women. Perhaps this time away from wrecking the Isaac Allerton would prove worthwhile after all. “Tom Worthington at your service, ladies. Pilot, captain, and wrecker.”
Though the master muttered something about modern-day pirates, Mrs. Durning warbled about his fine manners.
Catherine Haynes, on the other hand, jutted out her perfectly proportioned chin. “Did you not leave off the superlative, Mr. Worthington?”
He cocked his head, keeping that grin in place. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”
“Ship pilot extraordinaire. As well as the least expensive and most mannered.”
“I can’t challenge that assessment.”
“Pride goeth before a fall.”
Ordinarily Tom would take offense, but he’d never enjoyed such delightful sparring. “I assume you know that from experience?”
As anticipated, that drew a scowl. Before she could level another barb, Captain Durning’s bark of laughter stilled her tongue.
“I’ll give you this, Worthington. You’re the first man to match Miss Haynes in conversation. If you’re half as skilled at piloting as you are at crafting words, you’ll be worth the fee.”
Tom grinned and stuck out his hand. “Agreed?”
Captain Durning shook on it.
Tom had been hired. Best of all, that would give him more time to get acquainted with the intriguing Catherine Haynes.
“Match me?” Catherine stormed into her cabin after being escorted from the deck along with Mrs. Durning. “That arrogant man, who knows nothing about me, had the audacity to suggest that I suffer from pride.”
“Now, now, that nice Mr. Worthington didn’t mean any such thing.” Mrs. Durning closed the door to the cabin.
“Of course he did.”
“In jest, perhaps.”
Catherine’s pique eased as she recalled the merriment in his eyes. “Perhaps, but it is not the way one ought to treat a lady and a stranger.” Yet she longed to go right back on deck to parry words with him again. If Captain Durning had not insisted they retire, she would still be there.
Mrs. Durning failed to notice Catherine’s conflicted emotions. “Then you will be much relieved to learn that he is not likely to join us for the midday meal.”
“Oh.” Disappointment crashed over her. “He would not eat?”
“He will be much occupied with directing the helmsman, I imagine.”
“Yes, I suppose you are correct.” Then why this unaccountable dissatisfaction? She tossed her head. “That is a good thing. After all, I cannot be distracted from my purpose, even by a handsome man.”
“Indeed not, as Mr. Lightwater must have learned by now.”
“One can only hope.” Catherine wrinkled her nose. “But he is not handsome by any measure.” The mate had been too attentive from the moment they left Liverpool and refused to take a single hint that she was not at all interested. She’d had to enlist Mrs. Durning’s help. “At least I shall soon be rid of him.”
“A blessing.”
“Indeed.” Catherine gazed out the window. “Once ashore, I must find passage to New Orleans as soon as possible.”
“Oh dear. I hadn’t counted on losing your companionship so soon. You could wait for the Justinian to be repaired.”
Poor woman. She had come on this journey at Catherine’s request and must have expected her company until they arrived in Jamaica. She might even have hoped Catherine would lose interest in her quest and return to England with her. That would not happen.
“You said that repairs could take months.”
“Perhaps not. You heard Mr. Worthington’s assurance that Key West had shipwrights ready and able to replace the mast.”
That was not the point. Even quick repairs would take too long.
“I cannot . . .” Catherine floundered for words. There was no way around the truth. “That is, my funds cannot provide for a long delay. Assuming this outpost will even accept English currency.”
“Why wouldn’t they? British sterling sets the standard throughout the world. And we will stay aboard ship.”
“I must still provide my own food.”
“You will dine with us. It’s the least Mr. Durning can do, given the inconvenience.”
Captain Durning was not to be faulted for foul weather. Catherine would not rely on others to feed her. Now that this leg of the journey had been truncated far short of their original destination, she could well find her funds short. Aside from the cost of provisions, the passage to New Orleans could demand a higher fee.
She tried to recall the maps of the West Indies in Papa’s atlas, now part of cousin Roger’s library. “Key West is farther from New Orleans than Jamaica, is it not?”
“I have no idea, dear. Mr. Durning insists I have no head for navigation.”
Frustrated, Catherine strode to the window. Through the opening, the sea stretched as far as she could see. Nothing but azure blue. She heaved a sigh. This storm had cost more than a sleepless night. It could jeopardize her entire future.
Mrs. Durning yawned. “I do believe I shall rest a spell. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. You will be all right?”
“Of course.” Catherine’s attention was drawn to the shouts of men outside the window. She was vaguely aware of Mrs. Durning’s departure but more concerned by the obvious sound of activity.
“Raise the jib,” came the shout.
One of the vessels was raising sail, but how much more canvas could the Justinian carry? She was missing the tallest mast. This shout must have come from the black ship, Tom Worthington’s ship.
Tom. An able name. But it was the eyes and grin that captivated her. What woman would not be impressed with such confidence and ease of manner? Tom Worthington acted as if he commanded the world.
“Aye, Captain,” returned the response.
Captain? Mr. Worthington was the captain of the black ship. Why would he leave? Had Captain Durning changed his mind? Had he gone back on his word and dismissed Mr. Worthington’s services? Foolishness. No captain could know these waters more than a local sea captain. Tom Worthington had said they must cross a dangerous reef. Catherine had not endured the terrors of the storm just to end up tossed into the sea due to masculine pride.
She tore out of the cabin, flew down the short hallway, and skittered up the few steps to the main deck. A sixty-day voyage was not going to end up with the ship wrecked on a reef.
Tom sent off Rander and the crew. “I’ll join you when you return to Key West.”
No small part of him wished he was heading with them on the James Patrick to claim his portion of the fortune to be made off a fully laden wreck. If George Alderslade was calling for help, there must be a huge and expensive cargo to be salvaged. That meant money in every man’s pocket.
Except his.
Half the piloting fee would go to Rourke to pay the costs imposed on him as owner of the shipping company and Tom’s boss. Normally the split wouldn’t be that even, but Tom had given Captain Durning a low quote in order to get the business. He would have to give more to Rourke. Maybe he should have let the master have his way. The barque would end up lodged on the reef and require salvage.
Tom shook his head. No Christian man could place a ship and its passengers in danger. One passenger in particular might have swayed him to settle for a lower fee. Her fiery hair and mischievous smile still danced in his mind.
The sail of the James Patrick shrank as she hurried northeast toward Washerwoman Shoal. Tom pressed the spyglass to his eye. Even from here he could pick out the cluster of wrecking vessels. Once the swells calmed, divers would be sent down and the work would begin.
He sighed. As disappointed as he had been to receive the piloting assignment, deep down he understood Rourke’s reasoning. The company owner had to send someone to pilot the barque. Naturally he’d chosen the least experienced captain in the fleet. As much as Tom wanted to salvage the wreck, Rourke couldn’t delay an entire ship to wait for him. Salvage priority was given to those wreckers who arrived first. Delay cost money.
“Course, sir?” the helmsman inquired.
Soon after the ladies disappeared into the great cabin, the master followed. That left Tom alone on the quarterdeck with Lightwater and the helmsman.
“Yes, do give us the proper heading,” the mate sneered.
Tom ignored the jab. Mates were as distrusting as masters.
“Northeast,” Tom barked to the helmsman. To ensure accuracy, he pointed in the correct direction. “Head on the Sand Key lighthouse for now.”
“And later?” Lightwater asked.
“We’ll keep the light a quarter mile to larboard. I’ll give a new point of reference when we’re in range.”
This day had been a challenge. First, Ma’s letter put him in a foul mood. Then, at the cost of a doubloon, he’d come one step closer to finding the scoundrel who’d destroyed his father. Finally, this unwanted piloting job had gotten a lot more intriguing at the appearance of Catherine Haynes.
The clatter of rapid footsteps behind him coupled with Lightwater’s sudden jerk to attention told him someone important had ascended to the quarterdeck.
Tom swung around, prepared to greet the captain, only to find Miss Haynes facing him. Fire sparkled in her eyes.
“You’re still here,” she said.
“Stating the obvious?”
She tossed off the barb. “I heard your ship cast off and one of the men call out to the captain. I assumed you were on it. You did say you were the captain.”
Lightwater snickered.
If he had been one of Tom’s crew, Tom would have let the man know exactly who was in charge.
“I am captain when I’m aboard.” At least some of the time, but he wasn’t about to let Lightwater know that.
“Then who’s sailing it now?”
“Oh.” Her superior attitude thawed. “Then you are taking us to safe harbor.”
“That is my job.”
“Which you will, no doubt, complete without incident.”
Tom had to smile. Catherine Haynes wasn’t as tough as she let people think. After spending what was doubtless a sleepless night battered by the storm, she wanted assurance that she would reach land.
“That is my intent.” In spite of every effort to suppress his mirth, the corner of his mouth tugged upward.
Her gaze narrowed. “Are you always this impertinent with passengers?”
“Only with female passengers who mistakenly believe they are allowed on the quarterdeck.”
Her jaw dropped. She looked at the edge of the quarterdeck and then at Lightwater before swallowing. “I was not aware. I beg your pardon.” She backed away.
This quieter, humbler Miss Haynes didn’t stir him like the feisty one. “That doesn’t mean your presence is unwelcome.”
Her eyebrows jerked upward.
“It doesn’t?” Lightwater exclaimed.
Tom couldn’t care less about the ship’s mate. He held out the spyglass to Miss Haynes. “Take a look. You can see the lighthouse on Key West from here.”
She glanced at Lightwater before advancing to take the glass. “How do I use it?”
Lightwater hurried forward. “Here, let me show you.”
Tom brushed the man aside. “It’s my glass. I will show the lady.”
Her lips curved into a coy smile, as if she had intended to drag just that sort of reaction out of both men. What a minx! Tom wanted to fire back a retort, but at present he preferred leaning over her shoulder, almost cheek to cheek, showing her how to adjust the lens until the shore came into focus. Her hair smelled faintly of roses, in spite of enduring a long night at sea. He breathed in deeply.
“The course, Mr. Worthington,” the mate snapped.
Miss Haynes handed the spyglass back to Tom. “I don’t want to distract you from your duties.”
Curses on that mate! He’d said that just to disrupt Tom’s moment with Catherine Haynes. They were nowhere near the point when they must change course.
“Steady as she goes,” he growled.
“Steady as she goes,” repeated the helmsman with a snicker.
Tom glared at Lightwater, but the man clearly hadn’t a caring bone in his body.
“Don’t want to run aground,” the mate said. “Do we, Miss Haynes?”
Lightwater had the audacity to tip his hat at her.
A smile teased her lips. “Indeed, Mr. Lightwater. Mr. Worthington. I will leave you to your navigation.”
Lightwater stepped forward. “Allow me to escort you, Miss Haynes.”
She shot the man a withering glare. “I am fully capable of descending a few steps, Mr. Lightwater, without anyone’s assistance.”
Tom choked back a chuckle. She had no use for the gallantry of either man. Catherine Haynes was capable of standing on her own. Lightwater looked affronted, but Tom admired that characteristic in a woman. This journey had just gotten promising.