The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance (5 page)

With a deep breath for courage, she opened the door. And exhaled in surprise. Captain Addison was leaning against the opposite wall. Arms crossed, white shirt open at the throat to
reveal tanned skin, tight breeches, old and worn and faded by the sun. One knee was bent, his booted foot pressed against the wall behind him. His black hair was mussed, his blue eyes hooded, revealing no emotion other than, possibly, impatience.

Emmaline’s mouth dried up for the second time that morning. She’d witnessed men in every stage of undress. Nursed them when they were injured, sick and dying, but none of them inspired the feelings in her that this man did. For the first time ever, she wished she were a different person. A better person. A person Captain Addison would respect. Someone he would look on as suitable to court.

Court? She scoffed at such a silly idea. She was not a person someone would court, and it was best she remembered it.

Captain Addison was not of her world and never would be. Neither was she of his world. Not unless she was willing to give up everything she’d fought hard for over the past eleven years. And she wasn’t willing to do that. Not for Addison. Not for anyone.

“You look tired.” He pushed away from the wall to stand beside her.

“I have a headache,” she snapped, more angry at herself for thinking such ridiculous thoughts than at him for waking her so early.

“Then let’s be off to the upper decks where you can take in the clean air. There’s nothing like ocean air to clear your head.”

She grimaced at his jovial mood, at her reaction to him and at the heat that was in his eyes moments ago but was conspicuously absent now.

“What would you like to see?” he asked once they reached the top deck.

She shrugged, not needing the tour anymore but forced to maintain the farce.

“Very well, let’s begin with the bow.”

With an inward groan, Emmaline followed. Her pretend headache was turning into the real thing. She needed a few hours of sleep in order to keep up with Addison, but it looked as if she wasn’t going to get that anytime soon.

“The front of the ship is called the bow. The back is called the stern. If you get confused
as to which is which, remember
B
comes before
S
in the alphabet.” He hesitated. “Forgive me, I assume you are able to read?”

“I can read.” Surely he didn’t believe she was so dense that she didn’t know the difference between the bow and the stern.

He shrugged. “Most people can’t. It’s rare for a woman to be able to.”

What was it with this man that he lumped all women together as empty-headed? “I assure you, Captain, I can read, and quite well. I also know the difference between the bow and the stern.”

He moved forward, forcing her to follow. “As you can see, there are three masts.” He pointed to the foremast. “The masts are the poles sticking up from the deck.”

She closed her eyes to keep from circling his neck with her hands. How had she thought him attractive? What had she been thinking when she fought to keep herself from tumbling him to her bunk? The man was insufferable. This was
not
what she’d meant when she requested a tour of the ship.

“Each rope serves a purpose other than merely holding the sail to the mast.”

Oh, please, do not go into the function of the rigging
. If he did, she feared she would jump overboard. Her head was pounding and the bright sun didn’t help matters.

“What is that over there?” she asked.

“Where?” He peered in the direction her finger was pointing.

“Over there. At the other end of the boat. By the … what did you call it? The stern?”

Some inner perverseness sprang forth. If he thought she was some ninny-headed debutante with nothing but fabric samples on her mind, then that was how she would act.

He drew himself upright and gave her a severe look. “Mrs. Sutherland, we do not refer to these vessels as
boats
. They are ships. And I do not see what you are pointing at.”

Because she wasn’t pointing at anything except toward the stern, where she desperately wanted to be in order to avoid the rest of what was proving to be a very boring tour.

He took her elbow and guided her forward. He droned on and on about mundane information
she already knew. Eventually, she turned her thoughts away from him and studied the men trimming the sails. A few more were scouring the deck and two were coiling rope. For the most part, they were a blundering, half-witted lot. However, Captain Addison had managed to corral them into some semblance of a crew. They were still filthy and shifty eyed, but they did their jobs. Maybe not in the way she would have preferred if she were captain, but they were sailing smoothly and the ship was clean. ’Twas more than she expected when she first boarded.

She looked at Captain Addison with, damn it, new admiration. It took a fine leader to instill such discipline in men like this.

They finally made it to the stern, Captain Addison still pointing out various irrelevant things along the way. Saying much, but imparting no useful information.

“What about that deck?” She pointed to the deck in question.

“That’s the orlop deck. Short for overlap deck because it overlaps the hold.”

“And what is in the hold?”

“Our cargo.”

She turned wide eyes to him. “Are we carrying much cargo?”

“Loaded to the gills, Mrs. Sutherland.”

“And what are we carrying?” She wanted to get a look at the cargo merely out of curiosity. Before leaving London she hadn’t been able to determine what exactly the
Pride
was carrying. Not that it mattered. Her plan was to acquire the information on which ship of Blackwell’s was carrying the gold, then she would sail to Boston to meet up with Phin. But still, the pirate in her wanted to know. If the price was worth it, she was open to changing her plans.

“Spices from the Orient, fabric and various other sundries the colonies need from us.”

Quickly she calculated the value, allowing for which spices they might be carrying, and the quality of the fabric. Oh, yes, she knew fine fabric when she saw it—she simply refused to wear it.

Before she could ask if he would take her to the hold, he firmly grasped her elbow and steered her toward the quarterdeck. The steps here were more like a ladder and Captain Addison
ascended first, leaving Emmaline to stare up at his very tight arse—er, backside.
Lord have mercy
. The breeches were old, forming tightly to his muscular buttocks. Emmaline licked her lips.

He turned and offered his hand down to her. She hesitated, never having had the need for assistance up these steps and on the verge of telling him so. Then she saw the challenge in his eyes, daring her to put her hand in his and she couldn’t refuse. She’d never been able to refuse a dare.

The minute their fingers touched, her gaze flew to his as shock waves traveled up her arm.

His stern features didn’t alter, didn’t suggest he felt anything other than another set of fingers in his.

She gathered her skirts in her other hand, ascending as best she could in the blasted gown. Gently, he tugged, and she landed on her feet. Off balance, she swayed, her body colliding with his. His arms went around her to keep her steady and suddenly they were toe-to-toe, chest to chest.

“Oh.” She looked up into his hooded eyes, startled by his strength and the breadth of his hard chest.

Emmaline’s gaze traveled to his firm lips. An uncontrollable urge to press her lips against his nearly chased away all logical thought.

His hand moved to her back, bringing her fully against him. He lowered his head toward hers and she lifted hers automatically, as if her body knew what it wanted even if her mind didn’t. Their lips touched, collided. Her hands, caught between them, folded into the fabric of his coat. She was surprised at how warm his lips were. How firm.

Before she could even fully contemplate exactly what they were doing, he stepped away, leaving her swaying, her eyes half-closed, her head tilted up.

Addison’s lips thinned and he looked away, running a hand through all that black hair. Hair she’d wanted desperately to touch.

“I believe that concludes your tour of the ship,” he said, his voice husky, with a bit of a
tremor.

Emmaline opened her eyes and cleared her throat. “You, uh, never showed me the orlop deck.” Her voice was shaky, strained, but it was nothing compared to how shaky and strained she felt inside.

“Nothing to see. The orlop deck consists of my office and those of a few of the officers.”

“Your office?”

His heated gaze met hers. “And my cabin.”

She straightened her shoulders, shaking off the remnants of his kiss.
Don’t be a fool, Emmaline. ’Twas nothing but a kiss
.

She shook her head to clear it. Damn it, how could she forget? She needed to get into that office, but not now. Desperate for a distraction, she looked around.

“And what is belowdecks?”

Addison squinted against the bright sun. He smelled of fresh ocean breezes and man, a combination she desperately tried to ignore. She’d never been intrigued by a man’s scent before, or the way his hand felt in hers.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, forcing her mind back to a somewhat normal state, even if she feared normal wasn’t normal any longer. “Am I too delicate for such things?” She purposely made her voice sound shrewish to put herself on an even keel.

“Ah.” He hesitated as if he knew he was treading on uneven ground. “I wouldn’t consider you … delicate.”

Her shoulders went back. What did he mean, he didn’t consider her delicate? Was she coarse? Of course, she was coarse, but she thought she’d hid it well.

He held his hand up, as if to ward off the words she was fighting to keep inside. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant was, though you are stronger than most women, the lower decks aren’t for any type of woman.”

“And why is that?”

“Sailors are a superstitious lot, Mrs. Sutherland. They believe women are unlucky on ships and this bunch of characters I’ve been given—” He cut his words off as if he’d said too much.

She’d witnessed his crew and he was correct. They were much more than a “bunch of characters,” as he so nobly put it. Even though he’d coerced and intimidated them into working together, they were still louts, vandals and criminals. They would sooner stab you in the back than face you.

Still, she couldn’t let the subject go. “Surely I’m safe in your care, Captain.”

Something hot passed through his eyes. Hot and delectable and, oh, how she wanted hot and delectable. “Of course, but I wouldn’t want to test them. Leave them to do their work.”

“Very well. What about the cannons? Can I see the cannons?”

He frowned. “They’re called guns and, no, you cannot see them.”

“The kitchen?” She was pushing, poking, prodding, because she needed to put them back on the same footing they’d been on yesterday. As adversaries.

“It’s called the galley and Slushy would be livid if I brought a lady down there.”

“Slushy?”

“The name of our cook, and he’s a crusty sailor on the best of days.”

She forced her lower lip out in what she hoped would be a pout. Unless she counted her toddling years, she’d never pouted before, but had seen many a girl do it. “Well, then, what else is there?”

Addison looked her up and down, as if he wanted to answer but couldn’t. For a wonderful, terrifying moment she thought he was going to suggest something that would surely make a lady run away in haste. Instead he said, “There is nothing else for us, Mrs. Sutherland.”

Nicholas had a problem. Other than Emmaline Sutherland and his obsession with her.

Sitting at his desk, he rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers. The farther the
Pride
sailed from London, the stranger the crew behaved. They still went about their tasks and accomplished what needed to be done. There had been no dissension since his talk with Oliver and the threat of flogging, which should relieve him, yet high tension hummed in the air.

It was almost as if they were in fear.

He massaged his aching thigh and stretched his leg in an attempt to unknot the muscle. Someone knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

The door opened, the wood creaking on leather hinges. Oliver stood in the opening.

“You wanted t’see me, Cap’n?” His gaze darted around Nicholas’s office, resting on nothing.

Nicholas beckoned him closer. “Come in. Please close the door behind you.”

Oliver closed the door and shuffled to stand in front of the desk. From the trembling of his hands to the ready-to-flee look in his eyes, his demeanor screamed his nervousness. It could still be the threat of flogging, but Nicholas didn’t think so.

“Sit down. Please.”

Oliver perched on the edge of the chair, his bony shoulders squared, and licked his lips.

“I’m concerned about the men,” Nicholas said.

Oliver clutched the arms of the chair. “Sir?”

“The farther we sail from London, the more … nervous … the men appear. What’s the talk amongst them?”

Oliver cleared his throat. “Well … uh …”

Nicholas sighed at Oliver’s furtive look and his futile attempt to gain time. “Out with it,
man. I can’t address their fears if I don’t know what they are afraid of.”

“Pirates.”

“Pirates?”

Oliver nodded.

“What about pirates?”

“Blackwell Shipping ’as problems with pirates,” the man said, as if explaining the obvious to a child.

“Do the men think we’ll be attacked?”

Oliver nodded.

“And do you believe this?”

He nodded again.

“What makes you believe we’ll be attacked by pirates?”

“The last three of Blackwell’s ships was attacked. By pirates. Lady Anne.”

Nicholas blinked and tried to control the twitching of his lips. “You don’t honestly believe that woman exists, do you?”

Oliver nodded vigorously this time.

“Have you seen her?”

“Nay. But I’ve ’eard stories. She’s mean and nasty and she steals your soul when she looks at ye wit’ those strange eyes.”