Taming the Wilde (15 page)

I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and looked up at him with some measure of awe. “When did you become so wise, Master Roake?”

“I have always been wise, you have simply been too busy misbehaving to take notice,” he said, smiling down at me fondly.

“And I was too busy misbehaving to be with Lizzy when the angels came for her,” I said miserably. “She died alone.”

“She did not die alone. She died surrounded by women who cared for her as if she was one of their own. And she knew you loved her, you risked your life for her.” He paused to daub the tears from my face with his handkerchief. “The others were gathered about her
'til the very end,” Roake assured me. “She was as cared for as any woman could be.”

“Still, I should have been by her side.”

“You could not have known what would happen whilst you were held below.”

He was right. I could not have happened. But there was a man who had known, the man who had sent me down for a
minor infraction. “Morrow,” I said. “It is his fault. He sent me down.”

“He also allowed you to come out for her funeral,” Roake reminded me. “You still had several days to serve. Be grateful for small mercies, Jane.”

“He should have allowed me out when she went into labor,” I insisted. “He should never have put me away for so long. My crime was not so terrible, it was only to have earned his ire.”

“Do not make the captain the focus of your ire, it will end badly, I assure you that much.”

I did not listen to the warning, and it must have been apparent, for Roake took hold of me more firmly and made me look at him. “I will not have Morrow interceding in my discipline of you again, Miss Wilde,” he said with a quiet passion. “I will not see you sent to the brig again.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“I am glad you are glad, for I have resolved to ensure that you behave as a perfect lady,” he said. “I will not tolerate cheek, nor reckless behavior, nor the bubbling overflow of spirits that leads to leaping over the railing or climbing the rigging.” His eyes bored into mine. “Do you understand what I am saying, Miss Wilde?”

“Do not lecture me in my grief,” I sniffed.

“Do not think that your grief will earn you clemency,” he replied firmly. “I will still thrash you if you require it, Jane, but I would prefer it if you did us both a favor and did not make such measures necessary.”

Roake’s threats aside, I harbored
resentment for Morrow, a resentment borne of disproportionate punishments and his refusal to let me be with Lizzy before she died. I could not keep that anger out of my gaze when I looked upon him, but I was fortunate enough to be able to avoid his presence over the following days. We were drawing close to Australian shores and it was said that we would soon sight land. Lizzy’s demise seemed to be almost forgotten in all the excitement, so I extended my resentment to all those aboard the ship. How could they laugh? How could they so much as smile when one of our number was lost to the waves?

Growing bitter in my grief, I sought out quiet corners of the ship where I would not be disturbed by the others. Unfortunately those parts of the ship were the parts where the captain was free to roam. Not one week passed before I yet again encountered the devil
that sent me below.

“Miss Wilde,” Morrow greeted me. I had seen him coming a ways off and had endeavored to avoid his gaze, hoping he would pass by, but of course he had stopped and taken the opportunity to engage me in conversation. He was forever rubbing salt in my wounds, terrible man that he was.

“Captain,” I nodded, speaking stiffly.

“A pleasant day, is it not?”

“Very,” I agreed. “A pleasant day to be on the high seas - or under them if you happen to be less fortunate.”

He gave me a keen look with his piercing eyes. “You cannot mourn forever. Your friend would not have wanted that.”

My rage rose. He did not even know her name and yet he considered himself fit to speak of what she wanted? All of Roake’s threats and warnings went out of my head as a deep and twisted anger took hold of me, an anger that knew no bounds and feared no consequences. I turned to the captain most politely and made an inquiry. “You want me to do what Lizzy would have wanted me to do?”

“If it means a little levity, yes.”

What happened next was entirely his fault. If he had paid any attention at all to past events he would have known well enough to affix his headgear more firmly. Unfortunately for him, he seemed not to anticipate my intention as I reached up, took his hat, and threw it overboard, laughing as it sailed out over the ocean and was taken up by a wave some distance hence. “Fancy that! You were correct,” I said, turning to Morrow. “I do feel better for a little levity.”

I gave him a most defiant look, waiting for the inevitable order that would see me taken to the brig. I did not care if I went there again, at least in the brig I would have solitude to mourn Lizzy and not be forced to listen to the excited chatter of the other prisoners or be goaded into 'levity' by the idiot captain.

Unfortunately, Morrow did not react the way I had expected him to. Instead of giving a haughty order he laid hands on me. Sitting on a barrel, he drew me across his lap as best he could whilst I fought like a fresh caught fish. “You are far from being the youngest aboard this vessel,” he said as he lashed his palm against my rump, “but you are by far and away the most juvenile little wretch I have had to deal with.”

His words enraged me almost as much as the hard punishing thud of his palm did, but my swearing and screaming and fighting were completely useless against him. He was
a man, and much larger than me, he controlled me easily. “Ho there!” He called out to a sailor. “Bring me a strop!”

I was held in place as the required strop was bought, a thick leather beast that I knew
would leave welts even through the fabric of my dress. The punishment was to be both painful and humiliating, given as it was before every man on deck and a few wide-eyed women besides. “Let me go!” I cried. “Or you will regret it I promise you!”

Morrow renewed his grip about my waist and laughed down at me as he took the strop from the sailor's hand. “Threats will only earn you more punishment, Miss Wilde. You have already earned a lashing that will leave you standing at
dinnertime until we land. I strongly suggest you seal your lips and save your strength for what is to come.”

“You truly are a most undisciplined little minx,” Morrow said, bringing the belt down with a crack that echoed over the wave tops. I shrieked and swore, giving up all semblance of propriety as I was beaten. I felt none of the arousal that accompanied Roake’s punishments, only harsh pain as the captain held me in place with his superior strength and whipped me until his arm grew tired a long while later.

When he released me I was a shrieking, squalling mess, hopping about the deck with my hands pressed to my rear end in a frantic effort to rub the effects of the strop away. As I performed the traditional dance of the well-punished woman, Morrow stood with his legs braced shoulder width apart looking very satisfied with the results of his efforts.

The worst of the punishment was far from over
, however. I was still clutching my rear and rubbing furiously when I saw Roake standing at the hatchway, his arms folded over his chest, his expression so grim and dour that my stomach seemed to turn about on itself. He did not say a word, but I understood the message in his eyes. He was angry. More than angry. He was furious. I felt a trickle of real fear in my belly as he started forward and cringed when he walked right past me, approaching Morrow with a gait that I could only describe as aggressive. I stood at a distance so as not to overhear their conversation, which would surely have embarrassed me further. As Roake listened to his captain’s explanation of events, I saw some of the anger drain from his face. Perhaps the captain was reminding Roake of his place yet again. Or perhaps he was making me out to be a foolish criminal who had left him no choice in the matter.

All I knew was that when Roake turned and beckoned me over
, I crept forward, almost forgetting the pain in my bottom as I stood under his harsh gaze. “I cannot begin to fathom what possessed you to throw the captain’s hat overboard,” Roake said, taking hold of me by the arm. “But I can promise you that you have not felt the last of the consequences for your rashness.”

“But Morrow already thrashed me,” I pleaded as he gave my arm an impatient tug.

“And now I will reinforce the lesson.”

I cast my eye back over my shoulder as Roake drew me away and saw Morrow smirking quite broadly. He even went so far as to cast a rakish wink in my direction as Roake drew me into the privacy of his cabin. This was all in a day’s amusement to Morrow, he seemed to regard the women on his ship as a sort of floating harem to make free with as he saw fit. Unlike the others who were used to sate his lusts, I was not one of his bed girls, I was but a jester to be laughed at and scorned.

The door to Roake’s cabin slammed shut and I was jolted from my thoughts on Morrow as Roake removed his coat and began rolling up his shirtsleeves. “I told you Miss Wilde,” he said as he worked. “I told you I would not tolerate the captain intervening in your discipline again.”

“Then go undress yourself before the captain,” I said pertly, drawing myself up to my full height and tossing my head unrepentantly. “Your quarrel is with him.”

Roake did not seem to be listening. He made no reply until he had finished his preparations, his linen shirt pulled up around his elbows, exposing the muscular stretch of forearm. Had I been in an admiring mood I would have admired his fine physical form. As it was I was too busy fearing for my person. “Bend over the desk Miss Wilde,” Roake snapped. “And raise your skirts.”

“I will certainly not raise my skirts,” I said defiantly. “And I will not bend over any object. I have already been thrashed most unfairly and I will not consent to be thrashed again because you and the captain are engaged in some boyish game.”

He glowered at me with a fury I had not often seen in him. “You will do it or I will do it myself.”

Roake was intractable, but I thought it might sway him if I made a plea to his better nature, for I knew he had one. “I have already been punished! I am already welted and bruised and sore.”

“That does not please me, Miss Wilde.” He snarled the response, his anger only rising in the face of my argument.

I was puzzled at his behavior, which was quite out of character. Roake was a stern disciplinarian, and he could be a harsh one, but he was never angry about such matters. Usually he took an inordinate amount of pleasure in them. As I stared at him askance, the reason for his rage became clear to me. “You are jealous!”

“Jealous?” Roake barked with laughter and turned away from me, averting his eyes. “What a preposterous assertion.”

“It is not preposterous. You wish to beat me because Morrow did.”

He turned back his face ashen with emotion. “Because you provoked him into touching you.”

“I did not!” My offense matched his anger. “How dare you say such things! How dare you
, Master Roake!” His accusation was base and foul, with those seven little words he had damned me as a harlot. I would not stand for that, not from him, not from anybody.

“You have been flirting with the captain from the moment you set foot on this vessel.” He made his accusation plain and I felt my stomach turn with rage and hurt far beyond his. I had thought he understood me, I had thought he and I understood one another, but it seemed Roake was just another man who regarded the affections of women to be fickle and untrustworthy. He no more understood me than a lump of dead wood would have understood me.

I glared at him furiously. “Master Roake, go boil your head.” I made to sweep out of the room, but he caught me before I could get very far. His fingers curled about my wrist tightly and I had to push down a great surge of fear, for his face was very close to mine, the dark centers of his eyes contracted with primal feeling. In his eyes I saw my undoing and worse. “Unhand me!” I made the demand with the most formal propriety I could muster.

“I think I will not,” he said, drawing me hard against his body so I could feel the lines of his muscular frame taught against me. Every inch of him wanted to claim me, make me his. It would not have been such a terrible fate if I were not a convict woman to be set ashore in a few short days, and he a gentleman bound to sail the seas once more.

“Unhand me at once, Master Roake. You will surely regret it if you do not.”

“Are you threatening me, Miss Wilde?”

“I am.”

We glared at one another quite fiercely for long moments in which I watched Roake do battle, not with me, but with his own nature.
  Finally he let me go with a snarl. “Leave me now, Miss Wilde, before I do something I regret.”

“With pleasure.”

I retreated to the prison deck, where Lizzy’s empty bunk greeted me like a yawning grave. Sorrow welled from deep within me and I sank down in the small space behind the bunks, my flesh still aching and raw from Morrow’s treatment. Loneliness swamped me, and the sound of the other women chatting and laughing only served to make my pain deeper.

Nobody cared about Lizzy’s passing as I did and nobody was grieving as I grieved. I was surrounded by other people and yet entirely alone. Sleep did not come to me, though I tried to close my eyes to the world I found myself lying awake for long hours, my thoughts senseless and stupid. My body ached, the stripes from Morrow’s strap burning incessantly. I drifted into a restless slumber just before dawn, but was shrilly woken not long after.