Chapter 5
“Sail O!”
Beth looked up at the deckhead as if she could see through it to the sudden burst of activity thundering above. “Lord, what’s the meaning of that?”
Jess set her book aside with a frown. It was midafternoon, and she had remained in her cabin to contemplate her growing fascination with Alistair Caulfield. It was rather frightening, this slow careful exploration of a man she was undeniably attracted to. A man so far removed from the life she had been raised to lead that she couldn’t see how he would ever fit into it beyond transient pleasure. This fascination could prove dangerous, considering her most valuable asset was her reputation.
Not that she could ever be any man’s mistress, even if she possessed the reckless nature required. Her experience with flirtation and seduction was limited to nonexistent. She’d been promised to Tarley before her presentation. She had no notion of how one managed clandestine sexual liaisons. How many were conducted while standing in gazebos? How many forbidden lovers passed one another at public events without a look or smile or modicum of affection? How could such an interaction be anything but tawdry? She couldn’t imagine not feeling cheapened by such careless experiences.
In the passageway, the stomping of feet and barked orders gave weight to the sense that something was amiss. The sound of a heavy object being rolled across a deck further raised her concerns.
“Cannons?” Beth asked, with eyes wide.
Jess stood. “Stay here.”
Opening the door, she discovered a ship in chaos. The passageway was clogged with sailors pushing past each other as some went above deck and others came below.
She shouted in an attempt to be heard. “What’s happening?”
“Pirates, milady.”
“Dear God,” Beth muttered while peering over Jess’s shoulder.
“The captain assured me he has never commanded a ship that has been boarded by pirates.”
“Then why the panic?”
“Being prepared is not a sign of defeat or fear,” she pointed out. “Would you not rather have the pirates see us willing and able to fight?”
“I’d rather they not see us at all.”
Jess gestured at the crate of claret. “Have a drink. I will return shortly.”
Thrusting herself into the swarm of seamen in the passageway, Jess moved with the upward tide of bodies until she reached the open deck. She spun about, looking for another ship, but saw nothing but sea. However, at the helm of the Acheron, she discovered a sight that took her breath away—Alistair steered the vessel, looking very much like a pirate himself. Sans coat and waistcoat, he stood on the quarterdeck with legs planted wide and a cutlass strapped around his lean hips.
She was riveted by the sight of him. The wind whipped through his dark hair and billowed through the voluminous linen of his shirtsleeves. The dangerous, reckless air about him caused her heart to race.
He saw her. Something fierce passed over his features. He shook his head, but he might as well have beckoned her to him.
Maneuvering through the roiling crush on the deck, Jess was breathless by the time she reached him. He caught her by the wrist when she came close enough, yanking her to him.
“It’s too dangerous up here.” Somehow, his voice carried over all the noise without his seeming to yell. “Go below and stay away from the portholes.”
Looking out across the ocean again, she shouted, “I do not see any pirates. Where are they?”
Before she knew what he was about, he had pulled her in front of him. She stood between the wheel and his body. “Too close,” he answered.
Yes, he was. “What are you doing?”
He spoke with his lips to her right ear. “Since you intend to converse with me under hazardous circumstances, I must shield you.”
“That isn’t necessary. I’ll go—”
A boom caused her to jump. A moment later, a cannonball hit the water behind them, sending water splashing high into the air.
“Too late.” His frame was rigid against her back, hard as stone but sun warmed. “I can’t risk you.”
Every breath he took gusted across her ear and sent tingles coursing down her spine. It seemed impossible that she should become aroused while on display for so many strangers, but there was no denying the tautness of her nipples, now aching from what seemed to be a sudden chill in the breeze sweeping over her muslin bodice.
Alistair’s arm hitched, pressing her more tightly against him. Her breasts spilled over his forearm. Behind her, she felt the undeniable evidence of his physical response to her.
All that stood between her and Alistair Caulfield—noted scapegrace and careless disregarder of Society’s esteem—were a few layers of material. She wished there was nothing between them at all. She missed the feel of a man’s larger, more powerful body over her, in her …
A year alone and a flirtatious, handsome man had made her a wanton.
Dear God … a year. The date. As the significance of the month and day struck her, her body stiffened. Only a year tomorrow since Tarley had passed. Yet here she was, pressing her derriere against a man who could have no honorable intentions toward her, and all the while she was thinking it had been seven years since she’d felt so … vibrant. Her desire felt like such a betrayal. She was the widow of a fine man who had given her the kind of peace and security she’d never dared to dream about. A man who had truly loved her. Why, then, did she feel so connected to the rakehell behind her? And fascinated in a way she’d never been with her darling husband.
Sensing the change in her bearing, Alistair queried, “Jessica?”
A sailor shouted directly to her right, jolting her. His coarse voice echoed through her one good ear, making her intensely aware of the chaos around them. Every yell and cry, every thud and crash reverberated through her.
Another boom followed by the splash of a too-near cannonball.
Panic welled. She struggled against Alistair’s restraining grip. “Release me.”
His grip slackened immediately.
She ran.
“Jessica!”
Her chest heaved as she darted around the industrious crew and protruding capstans. Not since before she’d wed Tarley had she been plagued with an attack of panic of such magnitude. She was bombarded with memories of her father shouting … her mother’s cries … shattered glass … the whistle of a switch … the report of a gun … her own whimpers of distress … Her recollections blended with the bustle around her into a barrage of sound and sensation she couldn’t absorb. The commotion pounded against the one ear that could process sound, leaving her unbalanced. Off-kilter.
Reckless in her haste, Jess stumbled through the seamen in her way and increased her pace, desperate to return to the safety of her cabin.