CHAPTER THREE
The Captain watched Shane speak with the weepy female passenger. Rose, she was called, and she was beautiful. But Grant mistrusted the way she looked at Shane, almost as much as he worried over the way his brother looked back.
Weepy Rose, spoiled Angel, rowdy Sophie, and mousy Grace. How had a vibrant woman like Lady Patience Kendall gathered such a raggle-taggle group of husband-hunters, when she herself was nothing but a new colt, herself, romping in the meadow? Unspoiled. Looking for adventure. Easy to . . .the bit? He scoffed. Not her. She wanted gentling, that red-head, lots of it.
By him?
God forbid.
Never mind gentling, caging, more like. To keep everyone around her safe. To keep her away from him . . .or to keep him away from her?
Grant ran his hand through his hair. This voyage spelled trouble, and it began with a P.
Patience watched the Captain watch Rose and Shane.
The Captain left his shirt unbuttoned, almost to his waist. She liked it that way and wondered what he would say if she told him so.
She guessed this wasn’t the time. Judging by his stiff-backed, narrow-eyed stance, he didn’t approve of the time Rose and Shane spent together, a displeasure that seemed to increase as each day passed.
Well, she had the perfect excuse to stop the discourse for the moment. With two-fold purpose, she approached Shane to ask for water and soap for laundry, disappointed and relieved to see that when Shane left, the Captain turned to other matters.
Patience examined Rose’s red-rimmed eyes. “Aren’t you feeling any better?”
“I am,” Rose said. “Shane is very understanding. I never met anyone like him.”
“He is nice, I know, but, likely, he should have been working just now.”
Rose’s eyes filled, and Patience touched her arm to pull her from her grief. “Do you think you’re up to seeing if Grace needs a bit of fresh air? Even a kind-hearted soul like her can take only so much of Angel when she’s sea sick.”
Rose’s attention turned outward, Patience had noticed, whenever someone needed her. “I’ll go right down.”
“Lady Patience,” the Captain snapped. “I would like to speak with you.”
Patience tried to ignore his roar and presented him with her sweetest smile. “Yes, Captain, what is it?”
“I give the orders around here!”
She nodded. “Now, even the fish in the sea know it.”
“You have no right to give my men orders. If you want something—anything—you see me. Is that clear?”
“Absolutely. Now, may I ask why you are angry?”
“You asked Shane for a bucket of water and soap. That is out of the question. You and your girls have had your ration of water for today.”
“Captain, the few inches allotted us were used by five of us to bathe, and the last dregs are being used to cool Angel’s brow. We need a full bucket of water with soap.” She took a breath to brace herself for his ire. “We will need one each and every day.”
“Impossible.”
Patience cursed her ill luck at having a fair complexion, and her worse luck at booking passage on this ship, with this man. “Captain, we are five women.”
“Nevertheless, you may reclaim your vanity when we reach land.”
Patience’s palms itched to wipe the arrogance from his face. “Vanity has nothing to do with it.”
“I don’t have time for parlor games. I have a ship to sail. Good day, Lady Patience.”
Desperate to make him understand, Patience caught his sleeve, and tried not to tremble over her brass.
Her captive looked pointedly at her offending hand. When she clasped the fabric tighter, he looked up at her with narrowed eyes, and, if she didn’t miss her guess, a hint of grudging respect.
She dragged him away from the curious sailors. “Captain, women have certain needs,” she whispered.
He mocked her with a smile so wide, so knowing, she released his sleeve and stepped back. He crossed his arms, enjoying her discomfort, and let the silence stretch. “When it comes to your . . .ah . . .needs, Lady Patience, I would be only too glad....”
Patience balled her hands into fists to keep her temper from getting the better of her. “We need to do our laundry.”
He looked affronted, and this time, his face turned red. “There’ll be no crinolines or corsets hanging on the deck of the Knave’s Secret, and you can bet all your titled husbands on that!”
“We don’t have to wash our clothes every day. We need,” she cast her eyes down, leaned closer and lowered her voice, “to wash our . . .our . . .personal....”
The vixen’s bent head and humble demeanor was so opposite the usual character of the Lady Patience, Grant’s attention was full and truly caught. When she fumbled over the word personal, there came a dawning light. With a finger, he lifted her chin to see her face clearly. A rosy hue tinged her cheeks in bold relief, and he ignored the slight skip of his heart that said he’d been too hard on her. “Personal needs for your time of month.”
Patience looked away, and nodded.
Finally, she looked at him.
Ignoring a strong urge to loosen a nonexistent noose from around his neck, the Captain broke eye contact first. “Five women. I apologize for taking so long to understand. You’ll have your water with soap every morning. We’ll set out extra rain barrels and hope our supply lasts. I’ll string some rope on one of the lower decks. When you go down, bring a sailor with you. It’s dangerous to wander those parts of the ship alone.”
Panicked eyes begged for mercy. “Don’t make me bring a sailor. I’ll be careful.”
She’d conquered her embarrassment with him, but she was ready to bolt at the thought of facing another sailor with so personal a task. Somehow, the notion pleased him. “I’ll go with you, then.”
“No! Please.”
He needed to calm her; he liked the thought of an easy association between them. “Patience, we have already discussed the monthlies and you haven’t perished. Surely we can spend a few minutes while you hang your . . .laundry . . .without making an issue of it.”
She sighed, examined his face, mistrust on her own, then finally, she nodded. “I’ll need to go down as soon as we may.”
“Fine. I’ll send Shane to you with the soap and water then I’ll string the rope and come back for you.
Less than an hour later, Patience followed the Captain into plummeting darkness. He held a lantern in one hand and her bucket of clean, wet laundry in his other. The lower into the ship they traveled, the more warm and pungent the air. The huge vessel creaked in an extended, sinister manner, and each step deeper into the black pitch reminded her of a childhood story that scared her witless. As she felt her way along the wooden beams, lantern oil and smoke wafted back, filling her nostrils to the point she feared she might choke. “Ouch!”
“Don’t run your hands along the planks, you’ll get splinters.”
Patience grimaced. “That warning could have come sooner.”
“Sorry. I’ll take them out for you later.”
She didn’t like that idea. “I’ll go see Doc.”
“I said I’ll take care of it. Damn, but you’re a stubborn one.”
And you’re not? “Thank you, Captain.”
“How’s this?” He indicated a clearing with a strong hemp line, as he’d promised, strung in several neat rows.
Patience didn’t think stringing rope was an accomplishment to merit such pride. Still, he’d done it for her girls and she was grateful. “I couldn’t ask for more. Thank you.” She set to work hanging the bedding as a barrier, then their more personal items out of sight.
As she hung each item, Patience could see the Captain out of the corner of her eye, his back against a thick wooden rib of his vessel, a strong, able-bodied seaman watching her hang clothes as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. But he made her jittery. She swiped the hair from her face and smoothed her apron, wishing he’d look somewhere e
lse.
The Captain was aware that he made the Lady Patience Kendall nervous. So aware, he wanted to smile. A vixen, she was, sleek and vibrant. That glorious hair hanging down her back and those big emerald eyes were beginning to haunt his dreams. Damned if he didn’t admire her for her spirit. Arriving in America to find that her intended was dead couldn’t have been easy. Then taking on those girls—not that she should be charging them all for the same things. But sometimes people are forced to act. No one knew that better than him. He wondered how badly she’d been hurt by her intended’s death. “Did you love him?”
She straightened, obviously surprised by his question. “Who?”
“Van Barten.”
“How did you know about him?”
“Shane.”
She nodded. “Rose.”
Yes, Rose, he thought frowning. “Of course, Rose.”
“He died before my ship ever arrived.”
“You don’t sound upset by your intended’s death.” He was strangely disturbed by her indifference.
“I didn’t know him.”
“Why were you going to marry him, then?”
“I needed—” She considered her answer. “A place to go,” she said. “He had money and needed a wife to save the estate for his mother—though I didn’t know that at the time. My father and Conrad’s planned the match years ago. They’re both dead now. My father’s memory was . . .tarnished; I thought keeping Papa’s word might improve it.
“I know it was calculated,” she added after a minute. “And perhaps insensitive, but I wanted to get away from my aunt, and she wanted to be rid of me. I thought even America might be better than spending the rest of my life in that stuffy old cottage. And Van Barten was rich. Money always makes a match easier, don’t you think?”
Grant couldn’t help his scowl and knew she’d seen it.
“Now you know what kind of a woman I am, Captain. Contriving, and a fraud, just as you say.”
What was she hiding? “So if you had wed, you’d be a rich married lady and the family would still have the estate.”
“Widowed, most likely.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “It seems Conrad was dying. They both, he and his mother, knew that. What they needed was an heir. I was to have . . .to be—”
“The mother of the heir?”
“Thank you.” She bristled despite her gratitude. “Yes.”
Why, he wondered, become disconcerted by the facts, if she were the heartless, schemer he’d imagined? It drove him daft, that innocence peeking through the indifferent shell she kept erected about herself—the shell he wanted both to tear down and fortify at the same time. “It doesn’t seem fair you didn’t realize the need for an heir ahead of time.”
“He was as fair as I. He required a wife; I needed to get away from my Aunt. I would have served his purpose just as I used him to serve mine. I would be settled in America now, had everything worked out.”
“You’re very practical.”
“I am that.”
“A widow expecting a child doesn’t sound practical.”
“There are worse things,” Patience said. “But I was unaware of the absolute necessity for an heir until I arrived. I might have decided differently had I known.” She tilted her head, and gazed at some faraway dream. “Still, to have a child would seem . . . ” She colored. “Lovely, I guess.” She turned to hang the next item and hide her embarrassment.
“What about emotion, Patience? Don’t you want to fall in love, marry, and live happily ever after?” Hell, he sounded like a fairy tale. And, despite his resolve, he was starting to like her. Damn. When had that happened? He’d best keep up his guard and remember, no matter how vulnerable she appeared, she was still the haughty aristocrat who promised to introduce those hoydens to the Marquess of Andover . . .and scheming and dishonest in the bargain, if her arrangement with those girls’ parents was any indication.
“Emotion, Captain, is an expensive commodity, one I can ill afford. I’m afraid I shall have to make do with practicality. It is something I have in plentiful supply.”
“You’re as emotional as the next woman. Look at what you’re taking on, trying to find husbands for those four, looking out for their best interests—”
“What?”
“You’re helping them. Having husbands will be good for them. Make them happy.”
He wanted to wipe the confusion from her face, and several pleasurable ways came readily to mind. “You know. Happiness?” he snapped. “It’s an emotion. You do understand emotion?”
As she was about to straighten an item on the line, Patience hands stilled and she laughed, then she went on with her chore. “Not a bit of it.” She shook the next item out and reached up. “I don’t think marriage is good for a woman. Marriage is only good for the man.”
He’d like to explore that further, in several directions.
“I never heard of a married woman who is happy, or the man, for that matter,” Patience said.
He certainly agreed with her on that score except it was the man who suffered in a marriage. “If you don’t think the girls will be happy, why find them husbands?”
“They want me to.”
“Their mothers want you to.”
“True,” she said, as if pondering a new concept. “But they seem to want it, too.”
“Have you actually asked them if they do?”
“It’s obvious by their excitement, they want husbands.”
“Suppose one of them wants freedom from marriage as much as you seem to. Would you find her a husband, anyway?”
“I never considered the possibility, but I won’t force any of them into a life they don’t wish. Believe it or not, I’ve become very fond of them. In these few days at sea, they’ve become special friends, despite a few annoying habits.”
“Of which you have none.”
Hers was a beautiful smile, one that would bring a poor benighted male to his knees one day. “Of which I have many, I know. Do you?” she asked. “Know it of yourself, that is?”
“I? Annoying habits?”
The Lady Patience laughed—not like an aristocrat, but free and easy. Grant was charmed despite himself, and laughed with her. “If you don’t want to marry, Lady Patience, what do you want from life?” He folded his hands behind his head, enjoying their chat prodigiously and found he really wanted to know her dreams.
She looked within herself. “I want a small cottage with a rose garden, in Arundel or Amberley. I like the South of England, especially Sussex. On the River Arun or perhaps further south, near the sea.” She looked straight at him, and her smile made him feel as if she were granting his greatest wish. “I want to be an independent woman, with a white kitten for my lap, and my old nurse, Martha, for my companion.”
“Exactly why, then, are you trying to find titled husbands for a bunch of flighty American women?”
“For the money, Captain. The money. They want husbands. Their mothers want them to have titled husbands. They are paying me and I’m providing a service. A service, I might add, that is best accomplished in a London drawing room by a titled woman of English Society. When those four young ladies are married, I will have my dream.”
“You’re every bit as young as they are.”
“I’m not, I told you. I’ll be five and twenty soon after we reach England. I’m on the shelf, Captain. And glad of it. There, now that’s finished for today. We can leave.”
Sudden anger burst within him, at her, at her practical heartlessness, but it made no sense. She wasn’t rejecting him. She didn’t want any man. And he was a fool to be disturbed by it.
“You’re a hard-hearted wench, Patience Kendall, and it’s a good thing you want a cold and empty house. You’ve a cold and empty heart to go with it. Do some poor beastie a favor and leave the kitten to someone who can love it.” He climbed toward the main deck, not caring if she followed.
Surprised at the Captain’s sudden ire, Patience picked up the bucket. They had
n’t known each other long, but this wasn’t the first time his actions confused her. She shrugged and followed. When they arrived on the upper deck, Rose and Shane were huddled together talking. Patience was glad Rose wasn’t crying, but she worried about what the Captain would say.
He turned to her. “Give me your hand.”
Glad he ignored Rose and Shane, Patience held one hand palm-up, but hid the other behind her back.
“The other one, dammit.”
With a moue of disgust, she complied.
“Devil take it, Patience, you must have half a dozen splinters here. How in Hades could you get so many in such a short time? I told you not to grab the beams.”
“I slipped and caught myself. You told me to be careful after I said, “Ouch.” It was your fault, not mine.”
He made a growling sound and clamped his hand around her upper arm. “Come along.”
Allowing that he actually meant to help her, Patience let herself be dragged behind him, but she entertained an overwhelming urge to trip him for his tactics.
The Captain’s cabin was as sunny and bright as Patience remembered. The multi-paned windows forming the farthest wall must be the windows along the aft of the ship whose beauty she had admired from the dock. From inside, with the sun shining, they were something to behold.
Below the wall of windows, a bench sat, one similar to a church pew, with soft, maroon velvet cushions. A person could rest, back to the window, or kneel on the seat, facing out. If this were her cabin, she would spend countless hours watching the sea. She knelt to look out now, resting her elbows on the wide sill, her chin in her hands.
A scrape, a crash and a grumble brought her back to her surroundings. She winced still not sure if coming here had been the smartest thing she’d ever done. All that noise, and all the annoyed scoundrel was doing was rummaging through his sea chest. She watched him for a bit then wandered about. She tested the softness of the mattress on a bunk. She sat for a minute at the large round table in the center of the room and ran her hand over the ornate carving on a matching chair. Then she wandered over to examine leather-bound books, decanters, and nautical instruments in the glass-fronted cabinet which occupied the only real wall in the cabin.
With a scowl, a vial, a cloth, and a knife, the Captain approached her.
She took a step back. “If you think I’ll let a man, who’s been furious since setting eyes on me, gouge me with a knife, you’re daft.”
“Shut up and give me your hand.”
“Will you give it back?”
“Patience. I’ve had about enough.”
“Hmm. I know exactly how you feel. Here then.” He took said hand and dragged it close to the window. “Ouch.”
“Blast it. I haven’t touched you yet.”
Patience liked the spark of humor in his eyes.
He probed for the largest of the slivers and dislodged it so quickly she hardly realized he’d moved until the pain of him ripping it out surprised her.
“Blast!” Patience pulled her hand away to suck at the sore spot. She watched him as her mouth soothed her stinging palm. He looked . . .surprised? Whatever his reaction, his expression gave her the fluttering jitters.
“Damnation, Patience, I’ve hardly got started. Now give me that hand and don’t move it again until I tell you.”
“Yes sir, Captain, sir.” She pulled her hand from his to salute. “Oh, sorry,” she said, when he snarled and pulled it back.
She was forced to kneel on the bench as he tugged her hand across the wide sill and closer to the window.
“Some of them are so small, I can hardly see them.”
Patience wasn’t sure if he was explaining to her or himself. By the time they were in a position that he seemed to find acceptable, her arm was stretched so far her fingers touched the window.
His height overwhelming, her would-be surgeon hunched behind and over her on the bench, one of his knees bent between hers, and she felt the hard contact to her toes. So immersed was he in his task, she was able to examine his face without detection. In his concentration he squinted, sketching deeper lines around his big, ink-black eyes and furrowing lines above his brows. In demon-like concentration, those eyes were the perfect foil to a tan face framed with waving ebony hair.
“You must be very old.”
She must have startled him, because his hand jerked and he nicked her.
“Ouch.” She attempted to move away but he pinned her in place with his muscled legs.
“I’m nearly finished. Quit squirming.” He re-bent to his task. “Why do you think I’m old?” He never looked at her with the question, but concentrated on her hand.
“Because you have gray in your hair. Aunt Harriette has gray in hers and she’s very old.”
“I didn’t have a single one until four days ago, Patience.”
She stiffened at the implication.
He chuckled at her frown. “I suspect your Aunt Harriette has so many because you gave her each and every one.”
Anger urged her hand from his.
“Don’t bloody move!”
With a sigh, she rested her head on her arm and closed her eyes. He shifted so that he was no longer above but beside her, her injured hand protected within his large capable one. He remained quiet.
She opened her eyes and lifted her head to view him better. With those little lines relaxed now around his eyes, he gazed into hers.
The center-hung lantern, creaking in rhythm with the moving ship, became the only sound.
From nowhere, a huge sense of elation, or contentment, or perhaps just relief that the Captain was finished, filled Patience.
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. Moving from one injury to the other, he soothed each with his mouth, as she had done.
Patience’s heart beat a cadence she did not recognize.
Prickles raced from her hand, up her arm, and throughout her body, coming to rest in the most ludicrous places. She conceived an absurd notion to explain what happened inside her, and then he smiled. He smiled as if he knew quite well what happened and where those feelings centered.
That horrible, revealing heat rising in her face, again, she pulled free and leapt to the floor. “Thank you. I’ll go up, out, wherever, and leave you to your work.”
The Captain made a strangled sound, one akin to a groan and growl at the same time.
She nearly laughed.
“Wait,” he said, with a brusqueness that forced her to obey.
Scowl in place, he poured an oily liquid from the vial onto a cloth and gently dabbed the sore spots. “If Doc took the splinters out, he would dunk this poor torn hand in salt brine when he finished. You’d be jumping from the sting.”
“I didn’t know.”
He nodded but the scowl remained. “I want you to put a stop to Rose and Shane.”
“What?” Confused at the quick change of subject, Patience felt, nonetheless, easier with judicious, reassuring fury.
“They are spending entirely too much time together,” he said.
“Captain we’ve only been at sea four days.”
“Precisely. In a few weeks, they’ll be . . .even friendlier. See to it that doesn’t happen.”
And what did he mean by that? “Are you so protective of all your men, Captain?”
“I’d protect any that needed it, yes. But Shane is my younger brother. He has no title and I don’t want to see him hurt.”
“I’d hardly classify Rose as a woman with claws, but I’ll speak with her.”
Patience left, outrage in every pore of her body. His final, “See that you do,” left her with a bitter taste in her mouth.
She seethed for some time after that, trying to find a valid excuse for denying his wishes. But he was right. Her girls weren’t there to find husbands among the seamen and Patience was sure Rose’s mother would agree with the Captain’s assessment, not that she was a recommendation.
Beaten, Patience finally went to the couple,
heads bent together in furtive discourse. “Rose, you should not be taking up Shane’s time like this. You keep him from his duties.” This was awkward, Patience thought, and she resolved to repay the arrogant Captain for placing this uncomfortable situation in her lap. She cleared her throat. “Will you go and look in on Angel for me?”
Head down, Rose stammered an apology to no one in particular, and left.
Patience was surprised when Shane touched her arm. “Ma’am, I mean, Lady Patience.”
Patience sighed. “Patience, please. I’m beginning to hate the sound of,” She scowled and lowered her voice, “Lady Patience!”
Shane chuckled and touched her arm. “Rose is suffering. You don’t understand about her. She needs someone to talk to.”
“Do you understand about her, Shane?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“You think she needs you to talk to, to help her through whatever is hurting her so?” How well Patience understood such a need, if not Rose’s particular one.
“She does. I’m good for her. I can make her smile.”
“Rose is looking for a titled husband. Your brother is worried you’ll get hurt.”
“Rose isn’t. Her mother just wants to be rid of her. Blackmail’s what it is. Rose doesn’t have a choice. And as far as my brother is concerned, well it’s time he learned I’m a big boy and can take care of myself.” He nodded. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Patience shook her head, even as she watched the first mate walk away. The next time she heard the Captain shout, ‘Lady Patience!’ she should probably jump overboard and save him the trouble. He wasn’t going to appreciate that she told Shane what he said.