Captain's Bride (11 page)

“Don’t listen to a word this old sea dog says,”
Nicholas teased. “He’s got a barnacle for a heart and salt water in
his veins.”

Glory smiled at the old sailor who sat on the deck
braiding hemp into rope. His nimble fingers worked the line with
such speed and dexterity it made the task look easy. Glory could
see that it wasn’t. When they got out of earshot, Nicholas told her
the older man was a rarity among men of the sea.

“In a way, the second mate holds the most difficult
position on the ship,” he explained. “He’s neither an officer nor a
member of the crew. He gets double a sailor’s pay for walking the
fine line between the two. Mac is one of the few men able to bridge
the gap. He’s admired by officers and crew alike.”

To Glory, it seemed Nicholas said the words almost
reverently, and it was obvious he felt more than a little attached
to the old Scottish sailor.

Glory returned to her cabin in time to do a little
reading before the evening meal. Nicholas had given her strict
instructions not to be up on deck without Joshua Pintassle, Mac, or
himself.

“I’ve got a lot of new men in the crew,” he said,
“and I’m not sure which of them I can trust.” His smoke-gray eyes
turned dark. “Where a woman like you is concerned, sometimes a man
can’t even trust himself.”

As always with the captain, she wasn’t certain
whether she’d been complimented or insulted. She wondered if the
man he spoke of could be himself and found herself hoping it was
so. She wondered if the other two women had received the same
instructions. She hadn’t seen Rosabelle since she arrived, but
Nicholas said she’d meet Madame LaFarge, the other woman aboard, at
supper. The way he’d arched his brow and given her a mocking
half-smile, she wondered what he had in store.

The ship creaked and rolled with a gentle rhythm
Glory at first found soothing, but after reading awhile in the
tight confines of the cabin, she found that her stomach had begun
to disagree. She needed some fresh air before things got out of
hand. Leaving the room, she headed toward the aft ladder, hoping to
find one of her three appointed protectors up on deck. The salt
breeze revived her the minute she climbed the stairs, and Glory
breathed deeply of the clean fresh air.

Though her gaze searched the deck, she spotted none
of the three men she sought. Certain that one of them would be
along soon, she made her way to the rail.

“Ain’t you a perty little thing,” came the husky
voice of a man behind her.

Glory spun to face him. He was a big man, almost as
tall as Nicholas, barrel-chested, with a thatch of thick red hair.
Glory smiled up at him. “Have you seen Mr. Pin-tassle or the
captain?” she asked, but he didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes were
locked on the peaks of her breasts, and Glory felt herself color
beneath his lengthy, too-bold gaze. “I said, have you seen Mr.
Pintass—”

“I heard what you said, angel. Name’s Jago. Jago
Dodd, what’s yours?”

“I really need to find Mr. Pintassle,” Glory
said.

He wasn’t surprised at her evasion: He hadn’t
expected any words at all. He was surprised she hadn’t turned tail
and run. With a scar across his cheek and a three-day growth of
beard, Jago Dodd was not exactly your parlor gentleman.

“My name’s Gloria Summerfield,” she told him,
extending her slender hand. “I’m from Charleston.”

Jago Dodd had never been more surprised in his life.
His homely face split into a wide grin, and he took a second, even
more appreciative look at the elegantly garbed woman in front of
him. He had never conversed with a real lady before, and the fact
that this one would speak to him at all changed his attitude toward
her completely. He had planned to get an eyeful, maybe even a feel
or two as he brushed past her somewhere on deck. Now he felt a
surge of protectiveness for the trusting young woman who smiled
into his knife-scarred, beetle-browed face as if he were just as
good as the next man.

“I’ll help you find him,” he said, knowing he
shouldn’t leave his oakum-picking task. But the next sailor she
smiled at might not be so understanding.

They walked toward the bow of the ship, Jago Dodd
beside her, looking to his right and left as they passed more
sailors at work along the way. The hard look on his face dared any
man to look at her sideways. When they reached the bow, they found
the captain instead of the first mate, and his expression said he
was none too pleased.

Jago handed her over, a bit reluctantly it seemed to
Glory, then spun on his heel and returned to his post.

“I thought I told you not to come on deck alone,” he
snapped.

“I needed some air. I thought I’d find one of you on
deck and I did.”

Nicholas scowled, thinking of Jago Dodd. Of all the
men she could have asked for help, Jago was probably the most
dangerous. Would the woman never understand what these men were
thinking? He cursed beneath his breath and wished to God he’d never
brought her along. “I’m a little busy right now. Come on. We’ll
find Josh.” He gripped her arm none too gently and led her toward
the stem where Joshua Pintassle volunteered to escort her with
unabashed enthusiasm. Nicholas frowned and stalked away.

By the time they’d taken a turn around the deck,
Glory and Joshua were friends. “It feels good to be on my own,” she
told him, thinking about home for the first time since she’d left.
“I had no idea freedom could be so heady. I almost wish I didn’t
have to go back at all.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “It’s one of the
reasons I decided not to work for my father. At least not right
away. I wanted to be on my own for a while. I needed some time to
find out about myself.”

“Yes,” Glory agreed. “Now that Father is gone, it
just isn’t the same at the manor. Something’s missing. It doesn’t
hold the same appeal for me it did before.”

“I knew your father only briefly, but he seemed a
fine man, and I know the captain admired him.”

“I know.” Glory looked away. The sun was dropping
into the flat blue line of the horizon, turning the sky a burning
orange. “It’ll be dark soon,” she said, not wanting to dwell on a
subject that always made her sad. “I think I had better go below.”
They headed toward the aft ladder, and Glory spotted Nathan along
the way.

“Excuse me just a moment, Mr. Pintassle,” she said.
“I’d like a moment with my . . . servant.”

“Of course.”

Making certain no one was close enough to hear, Glory
pulled Nathan aside. “Is everything all right? Are they treating
you well?”

Nathan grinned, his teeth a flash of white against
his cocoa complexion. “Yassum, Miz Glory. Dey’s jes’ fine. Filled
me up wiff salt pork and gruel. Ain’t Virgini’ ham, but it’ll
do.”

Glory fought a grin herself. “Don’t get carried away,
all right?”

“Yassum, Miz Glory.”

Glory glanced over her shoulder, then poked him
squarely in the ribs. “Will you behave?”

“I’m fine, Glory, really I am. I’m bunking in with
the crew.” He glanced across the deck to where the handsome blond
first officer waited. “Another conquest?”

“Mr. Pintassle is a very nice man.”

“I’m sure he is, and I can see by the look on his
face, he’s already joined your flock of admirers.”

Glory looked askance. “Nathan, I swear, you’re
sounding more like Papa every day.”

Nathan smiled at her words, and Glory could have
sworn his chest puffed out a little. “I’d better not keep him
waiting,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yassum, Miz Glory.”

Shaking her head in vexation, Glory returned to the
first mate, who escorted her back to her cabin. She felt better now
that she’d seen Nathan; he certainly didn’t appear to be any the
worse for wear. And as long as he was fed and not mistreated, he
was far better off than he would have been back at Summerfield
Manor. Glory wondered what her mother had done when she discovered
the two of them missing. She’d be angry—furious, in fact. And
there’d be the devil to pay when Glory got home. But as long as
Nathan reached safety in the North, all the trouble would be
worthwhile. Glory was sure she could make her mother see reason,
once Nathan was off the plantation and out of Louise’s life for
good.

Nicholas came to her cabin a little after dark to
escort her in to supper. She was pleasantly surprised to see he’d
worn a tailored dark gray frock coat over a pair of navy blue
breeches. The earring was gone from his ear. She wondered if he’d
removed it in honor of her presence aboard the ship. He looked
exceedingly handsome, and she found herself suddenly a little
self-conscious. She wished she was wearing something that would
catch the captain’s eye instead of her drab mourning clothes. When
he turned to close the door, she settled the neckline of her dress
a little lower.

“Joshua will be joining us,” Nicholas said. “And of
course Madame LaFarge.” As they strolled amiably along the
companionway, the captain seemed a bit detached— except when he
thought she wasn’t looking. Then he either frowned or indulged
himself in one of his mocking halfsmiles.

“Good evening,” the captain said to the others as
they entered the cabin. The room was small and simply furnished
with a cloth-covered wooden table and stout oak chairs. The table
was set with heavy porcelain plates, and a brass whale oil lantern
lit the room. “Joshua, you’ve already met Miss Summerfield.”

“A pleasure to see you again.” The first mate gave
her a warm, appreciative smile.

Glory accepted the compliment with a smile of her
own. With a nod to Joshua, she turned her attention to the other
guest seated in the room. The smile froze on her lips.

“Miss Summerfield,” Nicholas said, his voice heavy
with amusement, “may I present Madame LaFarge?”

It was all Glory could do to choke out a polite
hello.

“Pleased to make yer acquaintance.” The full-figured
woman waved a perfumed handkerchief in the air, the scent so
overpowering that Glory had to fight to keep from sneezing. Glory
had worn another of her crisp black mourning dresses while the
broad-hipped Madame La-Farge was gowned outlandishly in bright red
satin. The neckline dipped so low Glory was sure the woman’s huge
bosom would spill onto the table at any moment. With her painted
face covered with a heavy layer of rice powder, she looked like a
grotesque caricature of the woman she was beneath her makeup.

Nicholas seated Glory across from the buxom woman,
and without ado, a simple supper of fish chowder and biscuits was
served.

“Captain says you’re headed north,” Madame LaFarge
said as Glory took a bite of flaky white cod.

She was surprised to find it delicious and suddenly
realized she hadn’t eaten since she left the plantation. “Yes. I’m
going to New York.”

“Me an’ Rosabelle is getting off at the Cape,” the
garishly dressed woman told her. “You need a job, girlie? You’re
welcome to come along.”

Glory’s head snapped up, her pewter fork poised
midway to her lips. “What . . . what kind of work do you do?” She
prayed her instincts were wrong. Surely Captain Blackwell wouldn’t
allow
that
kind of woman on board his ship! But when Joshua
Pintassle cleared his throat and glanced away red-faced, Glory
wasn’t so sure.

Madame LaFarge laughed heartily. “Now, ain’t she a
sweet one, Nicky boy? Fetch a high price on the Cape, she would.”
She turned her puffy, made-up face to Glory. “Me and Rosy work the
oldest profession in the world— we play the whorepipe, dearie.”
With a great guffaw, she slapped her fleshy thighs, and Glory
blushed to her toes. If she’d had a pistol she’d have shot Nicholas
Blackwell in a place where’d he’d have no more use for women of the
oldest profession—or any other woman for that matter!

For the second time since she’d known him, Nicholas
Blackwell really smiled. His gray eyes danced with suppressed
mirth, and Glory silently filmed. The man was infuriating! He’d
known all along the two women were . . . were ladies of the
evening, yet he hadn’t had the decency to tell her! A gentleman
would never have suggested she journey north with them, let alone
share a cabin with one. Then a tiny voice reminded her he’d hardly
suggested
anything. Traveling aboard the
Spider
had
been Glory’s idea, not his.

Determined to ignore him, and somehow gain the upper
hand, Glory deliberately turned her attention to the buxom Madame
LaFarge. “Where is Rosabelle this evening?” she asked, carefully
controlling her voice.

“She’s feeling a mite poorly, if you know what I
mean.” She grinned and looked conspiratorially down her long nose
at Glory, who pretended she knew exactly what the painted woman
meant—which she didn’t.

“She helped Cookie for a while this afternoon, but
now she’s back in her cabin.”

“Cookie?”

“That’s the shipboard name for cook,” Joshua told
her.

“I see.”

“She’s a good girl, Rosy is,” Madame LaFarge
continued. “Not real quick, but a good girl jus’ the same. Too bad
what happened to her, but it happens to the best of ’em. She’s just
lucky the captain’s the kind of man he is.”

Nicholas leaned back in his chair, watching the group
with detached amusement. Glory smiled inanely, wishing she knew
what in the world they were talking about. Everyone else seemed to
know, yet it was obvious by Joshua’s embarrassed expression that it
was not a subject she wanted to pursue.

“Weather’s warming up,” Glory said, and even Nicholas
seemed thankful for the turn in conversation.

“Yes, it is,” Joshua chimed in. “We’re due for a hot
spell.”

Nicholas added a few terse comments, and Madame
LaFarge launched into a discussion of how much tougher it was to
make a living on one’s back in the heat.

All in all, once she conquered her embarrassment,
Glory discovered she liked the buxom woman after all. Nicholas
graced her with only a few words throughout the meal, so after
dinner, still angry at being the butt of his joke, Glory focused
her attention on Joshua Pintassle. She was pleased to note that the
satisfied curve of the captain’s mouth quickly turned to a hard,
unpleasant line.