Authors: Miranda Jarrett
She was weeping stupid, sloppy tears as she clutched the papers in her fists.
“I swear I didn’t know about the guns or the powder or any of the rest, or I would have told you. My poor father only did his best.
Can you understand that? He wasn’t lucky like you. This last cruise he was so ill that Tom Parr and the others had to carry him ashore. All he wanted then was to die in his own bed, and thank God he did. So if he let the wretched guns turn foul or whatever they did that’s offended you so mightily, well then, I’m sorry. Damn you, I’m sorry!
“
Gabriel crouched beside her, his hands resting loosely on his bent knees. Weeping women seldom disarmed him like this, perhaps because most of the women he knew had little real reason to cry. He felt sure this one did and, oddly, he cared.
“You loved the old man that much?” he asked quietly.
“Of course I did.” Mariah sniffed loudly.
“He was my father.”
“It doesn’t always follow like that.” He took her hand and gently began to pry her fingers open to free the crumpled papers, and to his surprise she let him. With great care he smoothed each one out across his knee before he put it back into the basket.
“At present I doubt my own father cares whether I’m alive or dead.”
“You can’t mean that!”
“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t. We’re too much alike, my father and I. The old Turk looks at me and sees himself, and he doesn’t much like what he finds.” He held her small hand in his a moment longer.
Her palm was slightly moist, like a child’s, and her fingertips were raw where she’d bitten her nails.
“I’m sorry I dishonored your father’s memory.”
She dipped her head in confused acknowledgment. Apologies wouldn’t come easily to a man like this. She drew back her hand, closing her fingers into a little fist in her lap. Overhead she heard the footsteps and shouts of threescore men at their work, but for her everything had narrowed to the single man before her.
She sat in the square of sunlight made by the open hatch. Her that had fallen back over her shoulders, the ribbon a black band across the white column of her neck. Strange how his eyes were drawn to the vulnerable little hollow there at the base of her throat. There he longed to press his lips and feel the quickening of her blood, and then trace lower, to the tantalizing fullness of her breasts. But he wouldn’t kiss her again. Not here, not yet.
“That color blue becomes you.” His voice was low, meant for her ears alone.
“I approve.”
“The gown, you mean.” She wasn’t comfortable with compliments, especially not for a gown that made her feel trussed up like a plump little hen for roasting.
“It’s Jenny’s. Blue becomes her more than me, on account of her eyes. She has blue eyes, too, you know, but brighter, blue eyes and pale gold hair, like Mama. The mantua makers all like Jenny because she knows what favors her and what will please Elisha, and she never shilly-shallies the way I do, or decides it’s better to do without. All those bills—from Madame Lambert’s and the other shops—those are Jenny’s, not mine. And Mama’s, too, of course.”
Miserably she knew she was chattering, but she couldn’t help it. He was listening, really listening, as if what she said was of the greatest importance, and that disconcerted her even more than the green eyes that never left her. She stood quickly, before he could offer his hand again, and brushed her skirts as she looped her wrist through the basket’s handle.
“If we’re going to review my father’s records, Captain Sparhawk, we should begin soon. I did my best but” — “So Jenny’s the pretty one, then.” As Gabriel rose before her, his wide shoulders blotted out the sunlight.
“Your parents’ favorite.”
“I didn’t say that,” said Mariah, shaken that he’d so easily put into words something she’d never dared think herself.
“You didn’t have to.” His smile spread slowly across his face, the warmth from it more intense than the sun behind him. Lightly he touched two fingers to her lips, and with a startled little gasp her lips parted, her breath warm on his fingertips.
“But without having met her, I can tell you your parents were wrong to prefer Jenny.”
She was certain he was going to kiss her, and even as she waited, the anticipation so sharp it was almost painful, she knew she shouldn’t let him do it. To kiss him again would make a lie of everything that she’d said to Mrs. Thomas and her mother.
His fingers slid slowly from her lip and around her chin, his touch lighter than a feather along her skin, down the length of her throat.
For an endless moment he paused there, and she felt her heartbeat wild beneath his fingers. He leaned closer, his eyes half-closed and his smile lazy, and foolishly she wondered how a man had come by such long eyelashes.
“Pretty poppet,” he said softly.
“Don’t forget it.”
He took the basket from her hands, turned and headed toward the cabin, leaving her to follow.
She closed her eyes, her mouth dry, her heart still pounding. They had all warned her against seduction, and she believed she could withstand it. His wealth and his well-practiced charm might entice other ladies but she’d sworn they meant nothing to her. She’d promised herself she’d stay true to Daniel, and after that one mistake at Crescent Hill she meant to stand firm.
But simple kindness could be her undoing.
Qsy^s^Q
“T
1 don’t care what you swear to, Talbot,” said Gabriel as he leaned across the counter, his temper barely held in check.
“That rum in the wagon out front is mine, bought and paid for, and the sooner you deliver it to my sloop, the better for you.”
“Nay, Cap’n, I told you it ain’t yours.” Although his words were belligerent, instinct still made the distiller shuffle back beyond Gabriel’s reach.
“That out front belongs to Cap’n Reed. War’s good for my business, same as yours. Like I told you, you ain’t the only shipmaster eager t’light off after the French.”
Gabriel swore and pounded his fist on the counter hard enough to rattle the tin lantern.
“And I tell you, Talbot, I mean to put to sea day after tomorrow, and I mean to have that rum with me!”
“And mebbe you won’t be first out o’ the harbor, Cap’n Sparhawk,” said the other man peevishly. He was fat, with breasts like a woman’s that quivered now with his indignation.
“Mebbe this once you won’t get what you want. Mebbe you’ll be thinking twice afore you go unbuttonin’ yourself.”
“I don’t see what the devil”
“Betty Millar, that’s what.
“Cepting now she’s Betty Talbot.” His eyes narrowed to mean-spirited slits in his doughy face as he jerked his thumb in Mariah’s direction.
“You don’t want me saying any more afore the lady, Cap’n, now do you?”
With both hands flat on the counter, Gabriel sighed with exasperation.
Without Talbot’s rum, the Revenge couldn’t clear Newport, at least not if Gabriel expected to get an ounce of work from his crew. He could barely remember Betty Millar beyond her name and a single inebriated night on a straw-filled mattress upstairs in a third-rate Greenwich tavern, it was so long past. Why hadn’t the silly strumpet been wise enough to keep her past to herself when she’d finally landed a husband?
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Cap’n,” said Talbot righteously.
“A fine gentleman like you, claiming a poor maid’s innocence for your own selfish pleasure!”
Gabriel choked on his disbelief. Betty’s innocence had been long gone before he’d met her, at least two times with his own acquaintances earlier that evening. But how much more flattering for her to lay her ruin on his well-used doorstep!
He heard the rustle of Mariah’s skirts beside him as she joined him at the worn wooden counter. God in heaven, why did all this have to come out in front of her?
“Mr. Talbot, you are, I know, a wise man,” she began, her voice so soft and gentle that Gabriel glanced at her sharply, wondering what was coming next. In the two weeks she’d been by his side, she’d reserved that voice for recalcitrant coopers and difficult chandlers, and each time that gentleness had gotten her what she’d wanted.
“My father always said so, and that was why he chose to bring his trade to you.”
Mariah smiled winningly, and the man leered in return.
No wonder Betty Talbot still thought of Gabriel Sparhawk if she had to lie with this awful man beside her in bed each night!
“You watch yourself, miss, and think on your poor father. My Betty can tell you the sorrow of trusting the likes of Cap’n Sparhawk.”
Mariah nodded primly and sighed.
“I’ve no complaints of my own about Captain Sparhawk, but I wouldn’t dare come between the two of you in your quarrel. If you say he’s not to have your rum, well, then, that is your right. Of course, my family must suffer, too, since the Revenge belongs to us, but that’s how it must be.”
She folded her hands neatly on the counter and studied them with what she hoped seemed like maidenly indecision. Her day had begun before dawn, and now it was after sunset, and she was hot and tired and she knew her hair needed repinning, and her dark woolen gown was filmed with dust. But she was determined not to leave until she had gotten the rum Talbot had promised for the Revenge, and she forced herself to smile at him again.
“I’ve heard your younger brother is seeking a berth on a privateer.
I’m certain a sailor of his gifts has many offers, but if he wishes to consider the Revenge, you might ask him to come to our mooring on Long Wharf and see Captain Sparhawk. You may fault this gentleman’s morals, but you can’t dispute his skills for privateering. ” She saw the greedy spark in Talbot’s eyes. No matter how—or even if—hrs wife had been dishonored, Mariah was certain he’d rather have his brother’s shares from the Revenge. She placed her fingertips on Gabriel’s arm, ready to leave. ” Good day to you. Master Talbot.
Forgive us for keeping you from your wife and your supper. ”” How bad is this brother? ” asked Gabriel as soon as the door closed behind them.
Mariah wrinkled her nose.
“He’s even fatter, and I doubt he’ll ever earn his keep on any crew, let alone be rated able.” She grinned at him.
“But I’ll wager you’ll have your rum in the morning.”
Gabriel groaned as he smoothed his hair from his forehead and settled his that.
“I’d rather have cudgeled the rascal’s head from his overstuffed shoulders, but it wouldn’t have brought that rum any closer to my hold. But you. Miss West—ah, once again you’ve shown me how to catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
“Or rum with greed instead of a cudgel.”
The laughter between them was comfortable, and Mariah let her fingers stay on the sleeve of his coat. The breeze from the water had cooled the summer evening just enough to make it pleasant, and though the first stars glittered overhead, the sky still kept the deep, velvety blue of twilight. She hadn’t meant to stay out this late, but nights like this were rate. Another day, another night, and then Gabriel-for that was how she’d come to call him in her thoughts, if not to his face—would be gone. Tonight, for once. Jenny could fix supper.
Her fingers tightened a tiny fraction on his arm, enough for her to be aware of the hard muscle beneath the soft wool. In the last two weeks he had involved her far more in the sloop’s preparations than she’d ever imagined. He’d argued that it was only proper for an owner to see how her investment stood, and though bewildered at first by all she didn’t know, she’d been thankful for the education that would keep her from being cheated the way her father too often had been.
At Gabriel’s side she had been able to go where women seldom went.
With him she’d haggled with chandlers, surveyed the length of a ropewalk and climbed the narrow steps to a sail maker’s loft to feel the different weights of canvas for different weather sails.
In the same process she’d learned as much about Gabriel, how he could talk as equals with journeymen carpenters and gentlemen in carriages alike, how he was as quick with figures as he was with a jest, how his two sisters were married with children and his two brothers weren’t.
She’d come to know the way he cleared his throat while considering a question, the cowlick on his crown that he hid beneath his that, and how pale his green eyes became in the sunlight.
And she’d learned how little he cared for her as a woman.
Oh, his manner with her was scrupulously respectful, and he teased her gently the way a brother might. But since that first night he hadn’t tried to kiss her again, and though she reminded herself over and over that this was how she wanted it to be between them, her conscience whispered otherwise, and fed her guilty disappointment.
Sometimes, when her back was turned to him, she felt certain she could feel his gaze upon her, and with it the hunger she remembered like another presence between them. But when she turned around, she’d find his expression no more than cordial, and chide herself for foolish imaginings. She’d tasted the brandy on his lips that first night when he kissed her; that was explanation enough. To him she was Miss West, owner of the privateering sloop Revenge, and nothing more.
Together they walked slowly, Mariah lost in her thoughts and Gabriel unwilling to disturb her. Crossing the empty marketplace, two well-dressed matrons pointedly turned their faces rather than acknowledge them, and Gabriel felt Mariah stiffen beside him.
“Has that happened to you before?” he asked, defensive anger in his voice.
“It’s not the first time,” she admitted forlornly.
“Most often it’s the wives of the tradesmen we hadn’t paid. When I was a child, they’d forbid their daughters to play with me until my father settled his accounts, though of course then I didn’t know why. It doesn’t hurt so much now, because I know the reason.”
“I don’t want to see you hurt at all,” he said gruffly. He hadn’t planned on caring what others thought of her, and it made him uncomfortable.
“I feared it was from your connection with me.”
She sighed and looked at the tips of her shoes, afraid to meet his eyes and let him see the truth.