Sea Scoundrel

CHAPTER ONE

  Fists opening and clenching at her sides, looking up one road and down the next, Patience Kendall strode in and out of the shadow of the ship bobbing in the water—the ship that would sail her home to England.

  Filled with anticipation, even dread, her stride as uneven as the cobbles beneath her feet, one rude sailor burning a hole in her back with his bold interest, Patience stumbled. And the ground rose up to greet her.

  Flat on her face, knowing the sailor witnessed her disgrace; Patience wished the waves battering the sea-wall would boil over and claim her.She heard them retreat instead.

  Wishing she might vanish, aware she could not, Patience flexed a limb, tested another, surprised to note that nothing hurt. She found the sun-warmed cobbles against her cheek smooth, soothing. Before her eyes, an ant, arms akimbo, stood atop a purple shell fragment examining her . . .probably wondering how in Hades he would scale so large an object.

  Patience knew exactly how the little fellow felt.

  Pressing the flat of her hands against the stones, Patience raised her head and looked about.

  As Gulls calmed and returned to earth, the sound of a man’s laughter grew.

  She could be injured, or even dead,—would that she had been so lucky—so if he were coming to her rescue, he was taking his sweet time about it.

  Tangled in her petticoats, Patience struggled awkwardly to her knees as a chuckling sailor stopped before her.

  She looked up, way up, the reflection of the sun masking his features.

  He offered a strong, bronzed hand.

  She ignored it.

  Swathed in dignity, she rose unaided . . .and caught her heel in her skirt.

  Scrambling for a handhold, she grasped the sailor’s shirt—to the cost of three bone buttons—and stood herself erect, the top of her head nearly reaching his chin.

  For a moment, he stared at his shirt, then, brows raised, he regarded her with astonishment. Despite his pirate’s jaw covered with dark stubble, long wind-blown hair, and thick unmatched brows, a look of wry amusement softened his angular features. Was he her bold watcher?

  Holding his gaze, Patience attempted a discreet search for her missing slipper with the toes of her unshod foot.

  Her rescuer bowed. “Allow me.” He bent on his haunches to find it.

  Patience groaned inwardly, and squeaked when he took her foot in his palm, his touch disconcerting but gentle, his cradling hold nearly a caress.

  When he replaced the slipper, her balance wavered and Patience found her hands wrist-deep in the dark silk of his hair. She teetered, and pulled his head forward with the strength of her grasp, until she smothered him, neck-deep, in two skirts and three petticoats.

  At his muffled chuckle, she squealed and released him.

  The scoundrel stood, grin broad, hair charmingly mussed.

  The heat in her face threatened to ignite, and despite an odd physical reaction to his throaty chuckle—or perhaps because of it—Patience had the remarkable urge to erase his smile with the flat of her hand. “That wasn’t the least amusing,” she said. “I might have been injured.”

  “What? Did you think I’d bite your leg?”

  Her inner thigh, to be exact. Patience set her jaw, ignoring a new wash of warmth. “I mean that I might have been injured when I stumbled.”

  “Fell flat on your face, more like.” One side of his sculpted mouth curved up as he combed a hand through his overlong hair, and made her think of a pup in a laundry basket—mussed and adorable.

  Adorable? She must have hit her head.

  “You weren’t in danger,” he said. “Not an inch of you took the least little blow. You went down like a gazelle.” He winked, causing an absurd jumble of flutters in her wayward breast. “You trip and fall in a most graceful manner,” said he, “though I’m afraid I cannot say the same for your method of rising again.” The knave’s smile grew, his chuckle swelling to full-bodied laughter.

  “Go to the devil!” Patience snapped.

  His black eyes twinkled and held a promise Patience did not understand, and chose to ignore. “At your service,” he said, sketching a bow worthy of a gallant in his lady’s chamber. Lord and what made her think of that? With a last, mocking grin, the handsome sailor turned on his heel and sauntered toward his ship, whistling a jaunty tune.

  Patience searched the ground, itching to grab a stone and aim it in his general direction. How bloodthirsty of her. In the end, she counted to one hundred and twenty three, at which point, the urge to do him harm had nearly passed.

  Rude man, acting as if going to the devil would be his pleasure, fawning like some . . .mindless dandy, when his wits were every bit as sharp as . . .what? She turned, walked a distance, and stopped. Did she care how sharp his wits? Certainly not.

  Patience sat on her trunk in the midst of the bustling dock and attempted to turn her mind to her girls’ arrivals.

  Despite an attempt to banish her rescuer from her thoughts, she could not. He had confused her so completely; she must appear clumsy and witless.

  Patience groaned. Lord, she couldn’t stand on her own feet, how in holy Hannah was she to manage four naive, even spoiled, young ladies?

  If Aunt Harriette ever heard that the man she’d sailed from England to wed had died two weeks before her arrival, her aunt would make Patience commit the Old Testament to memory, and all those begats would addle her brain.

  Except that she was free of Aunt Harriette. Forever.She’d wanted her independence. And now she had it. By all that was holy, she’d become so independent, she had dependents.

  Patience sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound, as Papa always said. She bit her lip. He usually said that in reference to his gambling and drinking, however. Oh dear. Perhaps she was more like Papa than she thought. She did suppose that finding titled English husbands for four flighty colonials might be considered a gamble, by some stretch of the imagination.

  No. Those girls depended on her, and she would not fail them. No, it was Mama she was more like. Papa always said Mama could accomplish anything she set her pretty little head to do. So mama did. And so too would her daughter . . .despite Aunt Harriette’s thoughts to the contrary.

  Patience looked beyond looming masts and furled sails, toward a heaven rife with cotton clouds in an azure sky.

  Sighing, hoping her prayer had been heard, she smoothed the unruly wind-whipped curls from her face and gazed toward the ship, up and up higher, to the top of the tallest mast. And there he stood securing a sail, the knave who’d come to her rescue—if rescue it could be called—looking down at her with half a salute and a full, mocking smile.

  Patience turned quickly away. A scoundrel, she confirmed, with a face chiseled by a master—just like her father. Succumbing to the charm of a man like that could be perilous.

  Seagulls seemed to squawk louder and soar faster, as if in keeping with the wild new beat of her heart, and trepidation squeezed the breath from her chest with a mighty fist. Oh Lord, what had she got herself into?

  In that turbulent moment, Patience wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run. But her practical nature took command and she reined in her panic. “No time for foolishness,” she told herself. “Well begun is nearly done.” She stood, straightened her spine and raised her chin, prepared to face whatever, whomever, she must for her girls.

  The endless, silver sea before her made her smile, the scent of brine sharp, the breeze gentling. She inhaled deeply, once, twice, three slow times . . .and calmed. She’d always found sea-air soothing, perhaps because of the times she and Papa walked the shore together. Right now, she could almost feel him squeeze her hand.

  She’d adored the handsome devil. He’d smelled of spice, smoke and brandy—too much brandy, but he was a most wonderful father. He once said they’d made a grave error naming her Patience. It was a long time before she understood what he meant by that.

  She was twelve when she lost him. He had gambled away their money, saw a
way to win it back and bet on a horse he was to race. Riding drunk, Papa broke his neck.

  A week later, her twin brothers were born. Next morning, nurse said Mama and her brothers had gone to be with papa. Patience wondered for a long time why they hadn’t taken her.

  It still didn’t bear thinking about.

  Then she went to live with Aunt Harriette who said Papa had killed himself, and mama and her brothers as well. Patience would never forgive her aunt for that.

  “Yoo-hoo! Patience! Patience Kendall!” Sophie, a vision in yellow, like an overturned buttercup, had finally arrived. Except for the fact that, unlike her, Sophie had a bosom, everything about her was petite, her height, her waist, and her delicate features. But what she lacked in size, Sophie made up for in enthusiasm.

  But as if Sophie cast a spell, Patience’s rescuer soon approached.

  “Patience,” Sophie said eyes wide and eager. “I couldn’t wait, so I came ahead.” She stood on her toes to scan the ship. “Where are the sailors?” She held her hat, looked up, and shaded her eyes. “I see some, Patience, in the rigging, and—”

  “Sophie. Mind now, we are not looking to find sailors for husbands. Your mama would not appreciate—”

  “There’s Mama’s carriage, now,” Sophie said, to interrupt the scold, and Patience’s rescuer, sun-dark arms crossed, settled himself against a nearby piling.

  Mrs. Kane heaved her imposing rose-silk and lace bosom through the carriage door first, and stepped down with a victorious smile. “My dear Patience,” she shouted. “The happy day at last!”

  Mr. Kane must be deaf, Patience thought, or wish he was. His wife spoke like an actress on a stage. With the woman’s embrace, Patience’s face smothered in bosoms, she wondered what the scoundrel must think.

  “Soon you will be back in your own beloved homeland,” the matron said, removing bank notes from her reticule. “Here is the money for your passage, rent on a house and wardrobes for you both. Don’t skimp now. It’s costly to make a good match.” She looked to the heavens. “To think, the Marquess of Andover might be my son-in-law! He’ll thank you for this, you know.”

  Patience’s rescuer straightened so fast, he nearly distracted Patience from her dilemma; Mrs. Kane thought she knew the Marquess of Andover . . .well enough to introduce Sophie? Patience heard about the man forever. He might be ninety; he might even be dead. But to address the misunderstanding now, when plans were made and money spent, would be useless. No, she would seek an introduction to the doddering rake when they arrived in London. He would be too old; the girls would lose interest. Everything would be fine.

  Mrs. Kane beamed and clasped her hands in delight. “Don’t forget, a bonus if Sophie weds a title. The bigger the title, the bigger the bonus.”

  “Hah!” came her rescuer’s singular comment.

  Mrs. Kane wept upon departing as if she were leaving Sophie to the sodden earth for eternity.

  The next of Patience’s charges arrived. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown dress . . .Grace. Spectacles slipping down her nose, she clutched a basket to her breast, as if it held all her worldly possessions.

  Patience had charged the same for each girl with the exception of Grace. Now the Parson named each expense, much as Sophie’s parent had done, and settled accounts. Patience consoled Grace’s father, and the girl followed a trunk-hauling seaman aboard, in complete control of her emotions.

  Patience’s were in turmoil. Her rescuer’s interest infuriated her. She must send him on his way.

  Brows rising, he unfolded his arms and straightened as she approached. “It would be nice if your captain put in an appearance, Mister...?”

  He bowed. “St. Benedict.”

  Warmth crept up her neck. “Not, Captain St. Benedict?”

  He gave her the devil’s own smile. “At your service.”

  Now, she understood his arrogance. “So, you are the Captain.”

  “And you are a fraud, Miss Kendall.”

  Patience looked about to see if anyone heard. “That’s Lady Patience to you,” she snapped.

  Eyes ablaze, the man slapped the piling. “A bloody English Aristocrat. And haughty as all hell, to boot. I should have known.”

  Patience’s own fire blazed. “And you are a rude colonial, not fit to associate with your own kind, much less mine.”

  Stormy eyes dark, the captain angled his head. “As you say.”

  Patience turned away, amid confusion and regret. Why had she made such an appalling statement? Colonials were honest and refreshing. And in a way, she was a fraud. She only used her title because circumstances demanded it and threw it in his face because of his insult. She turned back. “Captain, please I—”

  “Don’t bother to apologize, Lady Patience, your words mean less than nothing. For a child, though, you play at dangerous games. Perhaps someday, when you grow up a bit, you’ll realize—”

  “Child? What a preposterous—”

  “Oh, you play the adult well enough, but—”

  “How old do you think I am?”

  He examined her person, slowly, thoroughly, tangled curls to dusty slippers, his gaze a caress so alive, Patience shivered. “Not a day over sixteen,” he said.

  “I’ll have you know I am four and twenty.”

  Patience realized she’d stammered like the child he took her for and cringed.

  The Captain’s skeptical gaze lowered, almost, but not quite, against his volition, to her nonexistent bosom. And he grinned. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Oh! You are such a . . .such a . . .man! You think a woman’s brains are in her bosom!”

  The Captain’s eyes widened and he laughed so hard, sailors on ship and dock stopped to watch.

  Mortified, Patience turned away, but her tormentor stepped before her and she walked into his rock-hard chest.

  He took her arms to steady her; someone on the ship whistled, and his devil’s eyes danced. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Patience’s urge to do him harm doubled, and she wondered at her bloodlust. His mocking smile returned, and her anger blazed anew. “Take your hands off me.”

  He raised them to show they were no longer connected to her person. “I’m trying to apologize, Lady Patience.”

  Drat him for that spark of sincerity. “You didn’t want to hear mine. Now I don’t want to hear yours.”

  “Touché,” he whispered, leaning close. “But let me clear a misconception for you. I do not, nor does any man to my knowledge, think a woman’s brains are . . .ah....” He glanced at her lack of endowment. “There.”

  Patience fisted her hands to keep from slapping the smile off his face.

  The knave cleared his throat, coughed, and leaned closer still. “Believe me, Lady Patience; men are more likely to think that the size of a woman’s brain decreases as the size of her bosom increases.”

  “Then, why do men like women with large bosoms?” Patience slapped a hand to her mouth. As ever, words spilled from her mouth before her brain became engaged. It must be difficult to shock this pirate, but judging by the look on his face, she had just managed it.

  A need to correct her blunder overtook her. “No doubt, that is one of the great mysteries of the universe.”

  Interest lit his features. “A mystery I would be happy to solve for you when you grow up, Lady Kendall, should you wish it.”

  “I tell you, I am four and twenty.”

  The glint in his eyes leapt. “Then you wish it now?”

  Waves lapped at pilings. A gull shrieked and swooped. The sun throbbed in the sky blistering Patience’s skin; she could feel the burn. “I do not believe this conversation is proper,” she said on a thready whisper, her words ridiculous in their tardiness.

  “I did not open the subject,” said he.

  Patience’s stomach fluttered with some new malady, like a swarm of butterflies trapped there, and she wished with every breath that it would stop. “Nor should you have continued it.” She stepped back.

 
He nodded, his eyes, his demeanor that of the brusque Captain once more. “Your pardon. Are you nearly ready to board? We sail with the tide.”

  “All the girls have not arrived.”

  “All? How many are you taking?”

  “I settled arrangements with your agent. Why should you care? I am paying their fare.”

  “Accommodations, for one thing. What do you mean you’re paying their fare? Or your own for that matter? I distinctly heard two people say they were paying yours.”

  “Why do you care who pays? Your task is to see us safely across the ocean, nothing more. I trust that can be accomplished with as little personal contact as possible.”

  The Captain combed a hand through his hair, adding to his disreputable appearance. “I’ll send my first mate, Shane, to escort the rest of you. As to personal contact, I heartily agree. Keep yourself and your sweet beauties away from me and my men. Good day, Lady Patience.”

  Patience observed the strength in his strong hands and the play of muscles along his sun-bronzed arms as he grasped the rail and hauled himself up the plank in three long, graceful strides. Hot prickles assaulted her as he did. From the memory of his hands cradling her foot, she supposed, or her own foolish words.

  This was either going to be the longest month of her life, or it would be the death of her.