The Captain of All Pleasures (Sutherland Brothers #1)(50)
Author: Kresley Cole

He’d thought she was a prostitute and a dangerous deceiver. Now he was no closer than he’d been before. Was she a woman who wanted to sail with her father and help him build a shipping line? Or was she serious about her incredible artistic talent? Was she only sailing while waiting to find the right man to settle down with and start a family?

The thought of her marrying another man brought on a raw surge of jealousy. And it was jealousy. He wouldn’t pretend any longer that she was merely someone he lusted after. He wanted to understand her; he wanted to know her.

Not that that would happen anytime soon. In the days that followed, she didn’t speak to him, and he wisely didn’t push the issue.

“You might as well be a gnat for ’ow easy she ignores you,” Jeb told him one morning when he came upon Derek staring at her.

He scowled at Jeb, uncomfortable with being caught. He hadn’t missed the fact that the crew felt sorry for him. If they spotted him looking at her, which he did for most of every day, they lowered their eyes. But not before he could see their sympathy.

“Thank you, Jeb, for your sage and unasked-for observation.”

“You wish she’d scream at you right about now, eh?” Jeb observed.

He gritted his teeth.

“But, no, that one won’t pour on the blame and cry.”

Strangely, she hadn’t done any of that to make him feel guilty. He would have, especially when he thought of all she’d lost and what she’d been through with no one to turn to. Then to be brought onto his ship, jailed, and starved, even if that last had been unintentional.

“She simply doesn’t want to have anything to do with me,” Derek said absently.

“I bet that bothers you like salt on an open wound,” the old man said in a kinder tone.

He found himself nodding. It did, as did the fact that the only person she’d speak to out of the whole crew was Bigsby.

Like Derek, the crew had changed their minds about her, but they hadn’t yet accepted her as one of their own. It didn’t appear that she wanted to have anything to do with them, either. With her full run of the ship, she used the space to avoid everyone.

Especially him.

She picked up chores, not asking anyone, but simply mending or cleaning anything she thought needed it. He had no illusions that her efforts were meant to help him or his crew in any way. She worked to alleviate her otherwise obvious boredom.

The distance Nicole put between herself and everyone else was loud and jarring, and no matter what anyone did—

“Good morning, Miss Lassiter.”

“Uh-huh.”

—it wouldn’t be breached.

Except in bed with him.

From the first night they’d slept together back in London, he’d found it nice with her, and he’d continued to each night, even after her outburst. Every morning, it became harder to leave her and their unspoken—and, on her side, unconscious—truce. When he folded her to his chest, she welcomed him, even unwittingly moving closer to him.

That night, when he returned to the cabin, he looked her over. Her small hands nestled the blanket under her chin, and her thick braid wound over her shoulder. Beautiful. She was beautiful to him. He wanted to make love to her for more than the pleasure he knew he’d find with her. He wanted to take her, to make this clever, brave woman his.

For some reason, the want of her that never left him was more powerful tonight. He was sick with it, sick with wanting her. Tonight he wouldn’t—couldn’t—sleep with her. He stayed in his chair, thinking about the girl in his bed, hard drinking in hope of oblivion. When he rose to get another bottle, she awakened and rubbed her eyes.

“What are you doing?”

She didn’t say, “What are you doing in here ?” Did she know he came in each night? Did she have any idea how she affected him?

“I’m pouring myself a drink. Care for one?”

She shook her head and pulled herself up, knees to chest, bundled in a cloud of blankets. “Why do you do it? Why drink so much?”

The glass he’d filled and raised to his lips stopped. This was the first personal question she’d ever asked him, the first interest she’d shown. Yet she’d targeted his greatest weakness.

He was just drunk enough to answer her honestly. “I drink to forget. To forget what I can’t change.”

She angled her head. “Does it help?”

“I don’t know,” he said, frowning down at his glass. “I used to think so.”

“I’m sad for you,” she said softly, and then eased down to sleep again.

Late into the night, he thought about their exchange. “I’m sad for you” sounded more and more like “I feel sorry for you.”

Damn it, he was a proud man. He wanted her to respect him, to want him. For Christ’s sake, he didn’t want her pity.

Even if he quit drinking—if he could—he was running out of time to win her. Each interminable night like this, they sailed closer to port, and there was more standing between them than he’d ever thought.

He could only imagine how badly she wanted to land. He himself wasn’t happily anticipating arriving in Sydney, because Nicole would leave him and never look back.

Chapter 18

For the next couple of nights, Jimmy brought her dinner in, setting the tray down with a flourish. The bratling had changed his behavior toward her so drastically that she suspected he had, in fact, spit in her food before and now felt guilty. He wouldn’t leave her alone, but peppered her with questions. He complimented her and brought her bathwater every day, as well as choice selections of food. In fact, she’d never eaten this well this far out.

The other crewman who weren’t friendly to her weren’t unfriendly either and mainly kept to themselves. Which was fine by her. She already had a crew, a good crew whom she loved. She didn’t need to be welcomed into the fold by this one.

Ignoring Jimmy’s chatter, she scooped up a handful of raisins and thought about her situation. She couldn’t continue with her grudge for much longer. She wasn’t the type to stay angry; she always blew up and then minutes later forgot what the fight was about. And she told herself that under the circumstances, she probably would have believed the same thing Sutherland and his crew had.

Sutherland especially made it difficult. He anticipated her every want. Yesterday when they’d passed a home-bound French steamer, he’d signaled them and rowed over with a crewman to board their ship even though he would lose time. He’d brought back a bag full of fruit for her—apples, oranges, these raisins—for which he must have paid a fortune. She’d had to hide her open-mouthed astonishment, because he’d also brought her a good supply of ink, saying she’d probably want to write her father .

If she had to walk past him, which seemed to be happening more often lately, he would brush by her and put his hand on the small of her back. If that wasn’t enough, he’d let it linger. She supposed that, in each of these ways, he asked for her forgiveness.