Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga (66 page)

He walked toward her. Moving gingerly, he settled into the bed, resting on an elbow. Drawing back a little, she raised up on her side, and with one of his dexterous hands, he pulled the net from her hair. Her careful coil came loose, and the brown tresses tumbled down over her shoulders, ending just above her breasts. As he had done that morning, he touched the hair above her bruised temple. As before, his hand felt too good.

“Liza. You have cut your hair. I want you to let it grow again. Long, like my lady’s.”

She barely moved. Only enough to nod.

“As much as it pains me to say so, in these last few days, you have behaved like a harlot. You belong to me. Legally and morally, you are my responsibility until such time as I establish a suitable situation for you. But the interest your flirtations have provoked force upon me the realization that you are now a young woman.”

Liza kept still, her eyes fixed on her father. He settled his smarting body more comfortably in the bed. And slightly nearer.

“I admit that, as your father, I have been remiss. I seem to be a man who has little indulgence for children. But I assure you. I won’t neglect you again. Liza, I must explain to you…some things. About men.”

He had studied her appearance as closely as she studied his. He didn’t have to reach far to take her hand. Filtering her fingers through his own, he pulled the ring from them. “This is the ring I chose for your mother upon our union. When we have come to an understanding, it will be yours.” He tucked it under his pillow, and his signet shone in the lanternlight. Orange, like the pearls.

“In regard to your conduct, you must be made to comprehend what you are doing.” His voice slowed, and he considered each of his words before he spoke them. “Liza. When a man is captivated by a woman— any woman— her allure may cause…certain things to happen to that man. Any of these ruffians who surround us will naturally succumb to his urges.”

As her eyes indicated, the lecture held interest for Liza. It held interest, also, for the man lying directly above her, feigning insensibility. Both listened, intently.

“But even an educated man, a gentleman, when aroused, may lose control. His intellect may be overcome by his passion. This passion can bring on certain regrettable actions. Actions such as…murder…rape….”

Their two sets of gray eyes locked together. His voice softened.

“Seduction.”

Liza waited, too bashful to breathe, as her father beheld her face.

“Your lips, Liza. They are so like mine. Full, lush. Any man would want to touch your lips— you need not shy from me, I am your father— A woman must be prepared for a man to want to touch her mouth. He may begin with his finger, gently. And he may wish to trace it round…or simply caress it, from side to side. Then he may desire you to open your lips— as you have just done— so that he may push past them, into the moisture of your mouth.…Yes, any man would wish for this. You must prepare for this. But know that, always, his lips will follow his touch, and he will kiss you. Any man would desire to kiss you, Liza.”

Urged by his passions— like any man— Doctor Hanover leaned toward his daughter and gifted her with a rare prize. His attention.

Their hearer, though chained and wasting and weak, knew himself at this moment to be a powerful man. Vengeance, sweet and terrible, impended like a sword above his enemies’ heads, poised in the lethargy of his famished hand. A thin smile etched his withered lips. One chink of a chain could stop the progress of young Miss’ lesson.

It never sounded.

The lower bunk in the aft starboard cabin of the
Jolly Roger
cradled a man and his daughter. She was an intelligent woman. She understood the virtue of silence. As her pulse battered against every inch of her skin, she responded to her father’s teachings. Without a word, she accepted him as the authority. She acquired the knowledge he imparted, and when the night wore itself out and the lesson was over, there was no part of her father she didn’t understand.

As she lapsed into sleep, she felt his ring slide onto her finger— the same finger on which her mother had worn it— and his full, lush lips pressed her palm.

Chapter 28

Genuine Insincerity

F
rom his perch aloft, Tom spotted trouble coming. Guillaume’s tight-fitting uniform issued from the captain’s quarters, with Guillaume in it, and headed down the companionway. His brass buttons gleamed with an air of self-importance. Equally bright, the young officer’s eyes scanned the rigging. His boots halted, seeming barely to resist the urge to click together, and he issued an order to the sailing master. His voice was low, but Tom knew what he was saying. The master’s grizzled head snapped up, and he bellowed.

“You there,
Monsieur
Tootles! Avast, and hit the deck!”

“Oui,
Monsieur
.
”
Automatically, Tom felt for his knife first. Then he shuffled his bare feet along the yard. His new mates stared as he climbed down the shrouds, but his own eyes never left Guillaume, who stood upright, with his hands primly behind his waist and his smirk secure.

“
Bonjour, Monsieur
Tootles. I regret to greet you so early with bad tidings.” The smirk made a liar of him. “But the
commandant
has ordered you to his quarters.”

“Oui, Monsieur
.
”

“You do not look surprised.”

“
Non, Monsieur
. Nor do you.”

Guillaume shook his head. “Your insolence will one day get you in trouble.”

“Aye, Sir, mayhap. But not with you.”

“You think you know this? Put it to the test!”

“That’s why we’re on the way to see the captain— Sir.”

Guillaume’s shiny boots came to a standstill at the base of the steps. “Then you admit you took it?”

“Are you asking?”

The mate’s slender face frowned, and his bright eyes studied Tom. “
Non
. I leave that to the
commandant
.”

“Good. I’ve found the perfect spot to share it with you.” Tom pounded up the steps, but hearing no boots behind him, he turned to look back. LeCorbeau’s second officer hadn’t moved. “Well, come on, then, if you’re coming.”

Guillaume stood scrutinizing him, his head to one side. “What game do you play,
Monsieur
Tootles?”

“No game, mate. This is life or death.” Tom pivoted and charged the rest of the way up the steps. The officer had to hustle to catch up with him, and he seized Tom’s fist just before he could annoy the captain with a hearty knock.

“
Non!
I see I have much to teach you,
Monsieur
Tootles. One must never bang on the door of the
commandant!
Especially after a late night. One must tap, like so.”

“All right, Mr. Guillaume. I see we have a lot to teach each other. We’ll drink to it this evening, shall we?” And to the mate’s surprise, Tom buttoned up his new blue jacket, opened the door for him, and dropped all trace of cockiness. Like a lamb, he followed Guillaume into the captain’s presence. Touching his hand to his forehead, he looked neither left nor right, but stood straight as a soldier, waiting to be spoken to.

He held his position while Renaud fussed about with what Tom took to be a silver teapot. Tom had been a guest in this room on his very first visit, and he felt its oppressiveness again as the plush, ornamental hangings closed in on him. LeCorbeau himself slumped as if under some burden, his arms limp and his eyes masked by a damp towel. At last Guillaume announced Tom. On the proper cue, Tom addressed the paneled wall behind his captain’s velvet-cushioned chair.

“
Bonjour, mon Commandant
. It is an honor to attend you.”

Renaud was pouring his master’s chocolate into a bone china cup resplendent with fleurs-de-lis. At Tom’s entrance he had looked up. At Tom’s words, he slopped a milky-brown stream onto the crisp napkin. Guillaume, apparently, had already gone to work on this English oaf. But the rich, sweet smell of chocolate made Tom’s stomach growl, and although both officers remained silent, they sniggered.

“Good morning,
Monsieur
Tootles.” LeCorbeau emerged, pulling the towel from his forehead to inspect his new sailor. His eyes were edged with a delicate shade of lilac. “At least, I hope it will become so.” His fingers motioned toward his cocoa, gave up the cloth and received the drink from Renaud. The gathered cuffs of LeCorbeau’s nightshirt surrounded his hands, nearly hiding the cup as he sipped. His hair was tousled, reminiscent of a cock’s comb, and lace bunched like wattles under his neck, furthering the likeness. His dressing gown flowed from his shoulders to his ankles, one long swirl of paisley. Renaud relieved him of the cup and stepped back to stand beside him.

Tom gave a brisk nod. “I hope I can be of service to you, Sir.”

Guillaume maneuvered around the table to position himself behind LeCorbeau. His captain, he knew, had little interest in Tom Tootles. The young man grinned too much, and his body was bulky. Nor did he possess the dark, brooding features of his brother. But Guillaume found this facile sailor to be intriguing— in body, robust, in character, a chameleon— and he gravitated to a spot from which his eager eyes could watch Tom, unobserved by either LeCorbeau or Renaud.

LeCorbeau accepted Tom’s servility, barely raising his fingers from his lap, then roused himself to lift his head from the chair back. “Eh,
Monsieur
Tootles….When I agreed to take you on, I had not thought I should have cause to speak to you personally, and so soon.”

“
Monsieur,
I’m pleased to have earned the privilege.”

“Well, eh, we shall see. An unfortunate incident has occurred, on which I hope you will be able to shed some light.”

“I’ll do my best,
Monsieur
. I aim to please.”

LeCorbeau opened his heavy lids a bit wider. “
Mon Dieu
, my boy, are you always so cheerful in the mornings?”

“Well, Sir, you could ask my brother Nibs about that. There’s been a morning or two I was a mite short with him, come time to show a leg. But I’m a fairly cheerful sort, yes. Nibs isn’t the one to complain, mind. He’s quiet most of the time, but I’ve seen him surly as a serpent on occasion. Once, when Mr. Cecco— I’m sorry! I mean
Captain
Cecco, of course— once Captain Cecco— leastways, he wasn’t captain then, yet, but Captain Cecco as
was
Mr. Cecco, once he—”

Tom broke off, sensible that the men in front of him were staring. LeCorbeau appeared wide awake now, and his mates’ mouths hung open. Tom’s eyes rolled from one officer to another. “I’m sorry,
Monsieurs
. Am I talking too much?”

“I should say so, yes.” LeCorbeau’s manner was dry as a desert. He reached out a hand to Renaud for his chocolate.

Tom produced a crooked grin. “It’s a failing of mine, Sir. Mr. Cecco’s said as much, time and again. I mean
Captain
Cecco,
Captain—
”

“Enough of this absurdity!
Monsieur
Tootles, you will kindly curb your tongue—”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

At Tom’s interruption, LeCorbeau cleared his throat to signify displeasure, then proceeded, “…so that I may get on with the business at hand.” He glared at Tom, as if daring him to open his mouth again. When silence reigned, he settled back. “Now, eh, where was I?
Ah, oui
. It has come to my attention that an item of value is missing from my quarters.” LeCorbeau watched Tom for a reaction. Tom waited, then interpreted LeCorbeau’s pause as an opening to answer. He kept it short.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“It would seem that my finest bottle of cognac has been purloined. What might you know of this?”

“Sir, I might know all about it.”

All three of the men facing Tom registered surprise.

“But as it happens— I don’t.”

LeCorbeau snapped, “It is too early in the morning,
Monsieur
, for riddles. The bottle disappeared while I and my officers attended the festivities aboard the
Jolly Roger
. You were seen on deck last evening, according to the night watch.”

“I
was
the night watch, Sir.”

LeCorbeau tossed his head. His head regretted the motion. He sighed. “Yes, yes, I know it. The other men report that when your shift expired, your brother went below.”

“The lads are dead-on, Sir. That’s just how it happened.”

“And you were remarked loitering in the vicinity of my door.”

“I don’t doubt it, Sir. I
was
in the vicinity.”

“And?”

“And if I was of a mind to pinch a bottle, I could easily have done it, Sir.”

LeCorbeau raised his eyes to the heavens. “Of course. But, eh,” his cuff agitated impatiently, “did you?”

“No, Sir.”

“And you have no inkling what might have become of this bottle?”

“None at all, Sir.”

“Ah.”

“Unless you mean the bottle behind
Monsieur
Guillaume’s pillow, Sir.”

For a frozen moment, stillness ruled. Then Guillaume blushed, stuttered, and sputtered a protest. “
Mon
Commandant!
I— I—”

LeCorbeau threw up his arm, lace and all, to silence him. He leaned toward Tom. “Young man, what do you indicate?”

“Oh, nothing Sir. It’s just that you asked me, and—”

“
Mon Dieu, quel imbécile!
Tell me what you mean by this insinuation!”

“I surely don’t mean to insinuate anything,
Monsieur
.”

“Do you accuse your superior? Or do you not?”

“No, Sir! I’d never accuse an officer.”

“Very well, then—”

“Any more than I’d expect an officer to accuse me.”

The look emanating from above the captain’s beaky nose waxed shrewd. LeCorbeau studied Tom, memorizing every line of his face. Lazily, he raised his finger to point at Tom’s head. When he spoke, his words were not those Tom expected.