When she knew he was on the bridge and couldn't easily leave, she would join him. She'd bring him coffee if he looked tired or water on the warmer days.
And if she ever faltered, doubted that she could get him to kiss her again, then the hours spent in his bed spurred her on. That first night she'd crushed his pillow to her breasts, yearning for him, his scent making her wild, and after that, not one night went by that she didn't relive what they'd done, how she'd touched him, what she wished she had another chance to do. Each hour, she felt enveloped by him. Something had to give....
Grant's voice broke her reverie as he tossed out orders to take advantage of the fresh wind. As usual, the crew responded with alacrity and precision. Grant didn't smile, but she knew he was pleased, like one who'd tilled and sowed and saw a field of sighing corn.
It was exciting but rough, so she checked on Cammy and found her awake.
Tori hopped on the free bunk, and said, "I thought I'd come in and read you something, since Ian's working."
Cammy chuckled. "No, really. Where is Ian?"
"I'm serious. He said now that we were better, he was going to apply his 'considerable genius' to learning the ship."
Cammy raised her eyebrows, then said, "And Sutherland. How is he?"
Tori looked down and smoothed a crease in her skirt. "Miffed with me as usual, I suppose," she mumbled.
"What do you mean?" Cammy asked slowly.
"I don't mean to anger him, but he's such a stuffed shirt, it's as if I must tease him. Provoking that choked-up look and making him sputter is all I look forward to these days."
Cammy gave her a censorious look. "And how do you go about that?"
Tori chuckled. "Yesterday I realized I could finally fill out the bust of a few of the dresses. So I bounded up to him to tell him the good news."
"Tori!"
"You sound like him. But really, he's the one who could appreciate the change since I catch him looking there all the time. I reasoned this out for him, but he just stared at my bodice, then scowled at me, until finally he called Dooley to the bridge to relieve him."
"You mustn't do that," Cammy scolded. "He's not your husband. And it's just not proper."
She debated telling Cammy the real reason she teased Grant, that she thought she might be falling for him, then decided against it. Not until she could sort through her muddled feelings. "You said before that you thought he felt something for me. Do you really believe so?"
"If I had to bet, then yes. But I don't know if this is a good turn. He's honorable, yes. But every man has his limits." Cammy wrung her hands. "Remember when we had the talk about what goes on between men and women? Well, he might try something like that with you."
Had they been leading up to making love in the cabin? Tori certainly hadn't wanted to stop. When he'd left her, an empty longing had suffused her. She understood that she wanted to know passion with Sutherland. She'd boiled the situation down to the facts. She wanted him; he did not want her.
Now Cammy believed he might.
"You think he wants to"--she looked around, then said in a lower voice--"make love to me?"
Cammy pursed her lips. "Don't sound so excited! You have to be married to do that."
Tori thought she might gladly pay that price...if only he would finish what they'd started.
"Just be careful, Tori. And remember--there's a difference between lust and love. It would be disastrous if you and Sutherland confuse them."
Fourteen
Like an amphitheater of rock, Table Mountain loomed behind Cape Town.
As the Keveral glided into the busy harbor and Grant gave out orders for their arrival, Victoria sidled up to him, her eyes snapping with excitement. When he finished, she said, "I thought you were a harsh taskmaster, but now I see why."
He knew she saw the other ships' crews looking haggard, their clothes slovenly. Grant's men carried themselves with pride.
"Ian said working for Peregrine Shipping is a coveted position."
Ian bloody said. "That's true. Even with a harsh taskmaster like me."
She smiled, choosing to think he teased with her. Hell, maybe he did.
"Your ship is the most impressive here. Against these hulks, it's like an...an imagined ideal."
He liked that she'd noticed; he hated that she noticed.
She sighed, turning her attention to the seals playing among the whitecaps and on the mammoth boulders circling the harbor. "It's breathtaking here, the way the mountain cradles the city. Do you think we should wake Cammy?"
"No more than we should wake Ian, I suppose. Camellia needs her sleep and I need time away from Ian."
She smiled and play-tapped his arm. "I want to buy candy while I'm here. Enough to stuff myself every day of the week."
Grant checked a grin.
She grabbed a rope overhead and used it to pirouette directly in front of him. "And while you're here, you can buy me flowers."
His amusement faded. "Victoria, there won't be any flowers," he promised, anger coloring his tone. "Whatever happened the other night was a mistake."
Still holding the rope, she skipped back a few steps. "I don't feel like it was a mistake."
He simply glared at her.
"Yes, one day you'll bring me flowers, and you'll tell me you think I'm pretty."
He would never call her pretty. He might not admit many things to himself, but there was no denying she was an exceedingly beautiful woman. He let out a breath. "Victoria, you are an odd, odd creature."
She smiled at him and let go of the rope. But under her breath, she assured him, "One day, Captain."
The nerve.
Yet as they closed in on the port, he saw her first look of uncertainty in over a month. The sights of civilization must be overwhelming for her. Surely everything was hard, jarring, and loud compared to the soft ease of her island, the colors faded. When they docked, the confusion registered more clearly on her face, as sounds and scents began to manifest.
He and his men were inured to the smells of the quay, but the odors must affect her so much more. The scent of pungent Malay cooking wafted over them, mixed with the smell of low tide and coffee. But as he should have predicted, Victoria's look of bewilderment soon turned to one of curiosity. He could feel how badly she wanted off the ship to explore her new surroundings, and as he needed to deal with the port master, he decided to let her shop in some of the nearby waterfront food stalls.
"You can go visit one of the first rows of the shops. But don't go far. Here's some money--"
She was fidgeting in her excitement, not even looking at him, no doubt trying to decide where to go first. Then his words sank in. "Oh, I can't take anything from you. You've done enough."
"Here," he insisted, grabbing her hand and forcing the money into it. "Your grandfather sent you this."
Her face lit up. "In that case...Do you know how long it's been since I bought something?" She looked around at all the stalls full of colorful wares. "I want to buy everything!" Turning back to him, she said, "But I don't remember money so well. How much is this?"
"I defy you to spend it all." She laughed and reached over to squeeze his hand, thinking he was jesting with her, when he'd said it in all seriousness.
Later when he met up with her, he noticed she was lugging a weighty bag of something very sweet and very sticky. She insisted he try some, and wouldn't budge until he did. He relented and choked back a laugh. It was a mix of sugared hard candy, crystallized ginger, and horehound drops. She must have cleaned out a shop's confectionary jar. At the rate Victoria was enjoying them, she'd be very sorry indeed.
Once she'd woken Camellia and helped her to get ready to move to lodging on firm land, the three took a hansom cab down the dusty streets toward a hotel Grant remembered from a past visit.
Without taking her eyes off the sights, Camellia asked, "So, you've been here before?"
"Yes, several times," Grant answered politely, stiffly.
Victoria said, "You
look like you don't like Cape Town."
"I don't. There's no order."
"Then I suspect I'll love it." He scowled at Victoria, which only seemed to delight her more.
"Oh, I like that hotel," Camellia said, pointing out a quaint Dutch Cape-style hotel with wildflowers growing all around. Whitewashed buildings were prevalent on the Cape, but English neoclassical structures were peppered among them.
"No, we'll go on."
"Why?" Victoria asked. "Not staunch enough for you?"
She and Camellia tittered, and he glowered at them. As if to make up for their teasing, Victoria solemnly handed him more candy. She'd already determined his favorite.
He settled them in an imposing, Regency-style hotel. Not as quaint, certainly lacking the atmosphere, but safer. He had to admit that "safe" was a relative term in Cape Town, especially after dark. The city wasn't known as the "tavern of the seas" for nothing. It could be an unruly, dangerous town, no matter how many proper Regency town homes dotted it.
As expected, Camellia didn't feel well enough to venture out, but insisted Victoria go see the city. Grant wanted to come up with some excuse not to spend the day with her, but knew he would end up looking like an ass denying a sick woman.
So he took Victoria to the city center and all along the foreshore, but noticed that her dress cut differed from those of other women her age and station. No wonder--the clothes he'd bought for her were a year old, and apparently fashion had leapfrogged them in the meantime. She needed new things, and he supposed it fell to him to provide them. Victoria was delighted to go shopping, dazzled by the exclusive boutiques, especially since he falsely assured her he would bill her grandfather for anything she purchased.
Later he would blame his spending on her. She wore everything well, and as he'd already determined, she was a woman who made her clothes instead of the clothes making her. Different fabrics, bold colors--she looked stunning in them all. She must have caught his look of appreciation as she modeled a low-cut evening dress, because she cocked a hip out, and said sarcastically, "I bet you can forget I was nearing savagehood when you found me."
His lips quirked into a grin that was wiped off his face when the shopkeeper related she'd just received from France the latest fashions in unmentionables. Just what he needed to be thinking about--Victoria in nothing but wisps of cloth. He'd already seen that and barely survived.
He could hear their conversation from the dressing room as the clothier helped Victoria into the "new Parisian delectables." Victoria's questions of "So I strap this across there and then under here?" and "You don't think that's too tight?" already had him sweating, but when she said, "You can see right through that!" his fingers went white on the chair arm.
The coup de grace came when Victoria worried that she wouldn't be able to get out of the lingerie. The shopkeeper said archly, "When you wear this one, it shouldn't be up to you." Grant suspected she said the last louder for his benefit.
Finally, Victoria emerged in a royal blue walking dress with a white woven hat. With a delighted smile, she closed her eyes and shimmied in the dress, as though getting used to what was under it. He shot from his chair to pay.
Day and evening dresses, kid gloves, warm cloaks for the trip north, hats, cashmere scarves, slippers, and copious boxes of things he couldn't remember were lined up for delivery. He arranged to have what she needed for the next day sent to the hotel and the rest, including tailored dresses, delivered to the ship within another two. He also arranged for a seamstress to visit Camellia the next day.
Victoria couldn't stop touching the intricately beaded bag he'd bought for her or opening and closing the painted linen fan, until the shopkeeper tugged them out of her hands. He was sorry to see that she was afraid to let them go. If this is how she reacts to Cape Town, she'll expire when I take her shopping in London. He frowned.
He wouldn't be seeing her, or taking her shopping, when they reached home. Strange how he felt so certain about that, when only moments ago he'd decided with perfect clarity that he was going to carry her to a hotel and rip off the "delectables" with his teeth.
When he returned her to the hotel, she said, "So this concludes my first venture into civilization. How'd I do?"
He leaned against the entrance. "You know very well how you did, and I'm not one to feed your startlingly high opinion of yourself."
She laughed and his lips crooked up, but the conversation soon turned uneasy. No, he was uneasy with her. He hurried through a good-bye, gave his best to Camellia, and returned to the ship.
That night, he endeavored to sleep in his cramped bunk in Ian's old cabin. He hadn't wanted to reclaim his own, knowing it would remind him of her, and he was having enough trouble keeping his hands off her as it was. But he couldn't sleep. If he had to say, he'd swear he missed the chit. When the bells chimed for the next watch, Grant moved into his own cabin.
A bad idea.
As soon as he sank into the bed, he smelled her soft, lingering scent on the sheets and instantly became aroused, pulsing and heavy. There'd be no sleep.
What did she dream of when here in his bed? With a woman as fiery as Victoria, she probably tossed and turned, dreaming of passion and fighting desire.
Or perhaps she didn't fight it....
He jumped from the bed as though burned. Victoria pleasuring herself. He shuddered at the image his mind conjured up, and his cock pulsed hungrily. What was he thinking? This was why he needed to be away from her. Because he'd already started imagining another wickedness that ought to stay trapped in his fantasies.
Moving to the washstand, he splashed water on his face, but when he looked in the mirror, he hardly recognized the man staring back at him. His hair was too long. His face was too tanned. And for the first time in nearly a decade, he hadn't shaved the entire day.
He needed a woman. The second the thought occurred, he shook it away. If he entertained that idea, he would charge over to Victoria's hotel and pull her away with him. Even a man starving to death wouldn't eat sand after he'd tasted the finest delicacy. He could fight it. He sat in a bolted-down chair to sleep, figuring he had as good a chance there as anywhere. After an endless span, he dozed off.
Early the next morning, a shout awakened him. "A message for Master Ian Traywick on HMS Keveral!"
"That's me," he heard Ian reply in a bleary tone.
Grant stomped into his boots to determine who was sending messages to Ian and found him just as he was penning a reply. Ian gave it to the messenger boy, but had to ask Grant for the coin to have it delivered.
"Let me see the letter." Grant snatched the missive he'd received and scanned it.
The doctor Sutherland arranged for is coming tomorrow and I don't want Tori here when I see him. Please come get her for the day. Camellia.
"What did you reply?"
"I wrote to tell Tori to arrange for a picnic."
"The hell you did." He crumpled the paper. "Don't you have some brothel to be in?"
"I've made it this long, I can wait until we return." He leaned forward and patted his chest proudly. "Saving it for a special lady."
Ian had been dropping hints about this mystery woman throughout the voyage. Grant sensed Ian wanted to speak about her, but he didn't pursue it. What help could Grant be? He was the last man who should give advice on women.
The thought of Ian and Victoria spending the day together made Grant's stomach twist. He could find something for Ian to do, but he knew why Camellia had a wish for privacy--so she could decide how best to break to Victoria whatever diagnosis the doctor gave.
Bloody hell. "I'll pick her up in the morning."
"Whatever you say. I'd promised to take her to the beach. You have to leave early."
The next morning when Grant arrived at the hotel, Victoria was just descending. She looked taking in the forest green dress he'd bought for her, with her blond hair piled above her head and capped by a jaunty matching hat.
He didn't know what he would do if she ap
peared disappointed that he'd showed up instead of Ian. Luckily, she didn't. She seemed to light up.
"Grant! Are you to take me out today?"
"I, uh, was supposed to tell you that Ian wasn't coming."
"But you'll take me out?"
He would feel like a bastard if he turned her down. He reminded himself that she probably missed the beach. "I'm to escort you, yes. To the beach."
She gave a little squeal and then settled on his arm. "Wonderful," she breathed.
He tried not to stiffen to her, not to enjoy her touch. She smelled delicious, like the scent that surrounded him in bed.
They walked to the stable where he'd secured two horses, and though Victoria did nothing consciously to draw attention, every male eye stayed on her as though taking a bead. She wasn't aware of it, but her sultry laugh and the sinuous movements of her body exuded sensuality. Victoria unwittingly gave men the impression that she was a woman who wanted to be made love to. And they responded to her.
Grant responded to her.
Victoria unleashed in London? He couldn't imagine the consequences.
Shaking away that thought, Grant untethered her horse, then moved to assist her into the saddle.
"I can do it myself," she said archly, as she snagged the reins from his hand to lead her horse to the mounting block.
He hesitated, but when she made a shooing motion with her hand, he mounted a strapping chestnut gelding. She did no more than stare at her horse. Hell, he should have thought of this. "You weren't taught to ride?"
"Of course I was!"
He gave her a disbelieving look.
She batted hair out of her face. "I just thought the horse would be smaller. With nicer eyes than this one."
Grant wanted to groan. "How are her eyes not--? Forget it. I don't want to know. If you can't ride, we can't get to the beach."
A panicked expression crossed her features. "No! I-I'll remember."
She soothed the horse and, after several attempts, made it into the saddle--leaning precariously to one side, with her skirt caught in something and bunching around one knee, but in the saddle. Her hands clenched on the reins, she shimmied into position, but the horse got edgy before going out of control altogether. The mare gave a half-jump, then advanced to the closest pole to scrape Victoria off.