The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance Read online

  There were shadows in his blue eyes, a weariness and deep grief. Yet when he spoke of sailing she glimpsed a man who commanded authority and demanded respect. No doubt he was a very good captain.

  No doubt she had her work cut out for her.

  Kenmar had picked his spy well.

  Chapter Two

  Nicholas spun away from the sight of yet another ship leaving port, only to come face-to-face with his motley crew.

  Bumbling fools, the lot of them.

  Apparently word had spread that Blackwell ships were being targeted by pirates. No competent sailor would set foot on the Pride. And no amount of walking the wharf and entering the lowliest of taverns to unearth better men helped.

  He feared these drunken louts didn’t know the difference between a spanker sail and a foresail.

  This was not at all going to plan.

  His hope was that this would be the first voyage of many. That success on this sailing would resurrect his career so that he would later captain larger ships. But that hope was slowly disintegrating.

  He ran a hand through his hair, feeling his dreams slip away with the ships leaving port. They were far behind schedule but, surprisingly, their tardiness had nothing to do with his crew. Rather, their lone passenger hadn’t arrived.

  A passenger. He hadn’t expected a passenger on this voyage, but apparently this person paid quite a sum of money to sail on the Pride. It wasn’t unheard of, but it was an unexpected wrinkle in what was quickly becoming a mess.

  Damn.

  Nicholas glanced at the sun high above his head. If they didn’t leave soon, they’d be far behind the other vessels. The first ship to make port always received the better prices.

  Not that Nicholas needed to make a profit—that wasn’t the point of this voyage—but the sailor in him still strained at the bit, wanting to be the first in port.

  “Passenger’s here, Cap’n.” A young, fresh-faced boy of about fifteen bounded up the companionway like an unbroken colt, all spindly legs and arms and endless energy. A pleasing contrast to the others.

  “Make sail, Samuel.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Samuel cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned back to yell, “Away aloft!”

  Men scurried up ratlines to the rigging. At the command “Let fall” they loosened the ropes holding the sails. Nicholas kept a keen eye on the topmen, ensuring they released each sail in the designated order, first at the yardarm, then at the bunt. To release them any other way would cause the sail to fill too soon, knocking the man off the yardarm, causing him to fall to his death.

  Much to his relief, no one fell and the sails quickly filled.

  The ship jumped forward and Nicholas’s heart jumped with it. With the sun beating down on his head and the screeching gulls circling the ship, he’d almost forgotten the horror of the hospital and the paralyzing fear that he might never walk again, let alone sail a ship.

  He smiled for the first time in days. If those doctors could see him now.

  “Good day, Captain.”

  Nicholas’s head snapped around to the husky, very female voice behind him. Emmaline Sutherland stood in a shaft of sunlight, absolutely beautiful and sensuous in deep green, her hair precariously piled on top of her head, the sun beating down on her golden skin.

  “Mrs. Sutherland.” How he managed to execute a bow without falling on his face was beyond him. Much to his chagrin, he hadn’t been able to erase her image from his mind since the night of the ball. And now, suddenly, she was standing before him. On his ship.

  “Shocked to see me, Captain?”

  “Very. I wasn’t expecting our lone passenger to be …”

  She raised a brow, her lips curling into a smile. “A woman?”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, yes.”

  And damn it, why a woman? Why this particular woman? In his experience women were notoriously bad passengers, prone to seasickness and frightening easily. Exactly what he didn’t need. Of course, in hindsight, he should have known. Only a woman wouldn’t understand the concept of being on time.

  Boldly, almost daringly, she stared at him. Her eyes were more green than blue today, matching her shimmering gown. At any other time, in other circumstances, he would have admired her beauty, but his frustration wouldn’t allow it. Not when she was an interloper on his ship.

  “You are aware we are sailing to Boston?” he asked. “Boston is nowhere near Barbados.”

  Her smile didn’t dim. In fact it appeared to brighten, as if she knew he was irritated and it pleased her. Which only served to drive his irritation straight into anger. Emmaline Sutherland was a distraction he could ill afford. Good God, they would spend five weeks together on this ship.

  Impossible. He simply could not take her to Boston.

  Except they’d already left port and if he was to stay on schedule, he couldn’t possibly drop anchor now.

  “I am aware of the location of Boston on the map, Captain.”

  “And what business have you in Boston, Mrs. Sutherland?”

  He swore her jaw muscles tensed, but more than likely it was the shadow cast by the sails.

  “Personal business, sir.”

  What possible “personal business” did a woman have in Boston? If her husband were any sort of man, he wouldn’t allow his wife to gallivant around the world unprotected, on some mysterious “personal business.” His irritation now encompassed Mr. Sutherland. For allowing his wife to travel alone, for not protecting her. For not being here. Because if he were here, Nicholas wouldn’t be responsible for her.

  “I admit to being away from society for some time. I wasn’t aware that the best dressmakers are now in the colonies rather than England and France.” What the hell happened to him when he was around this woman? His tongue had a mind of its own, it seemed. He was about to apologize for his lack of manners, but her narrowed eyes stayed the words and suddenly he wanted to see that back straighten again, and those eyes flash fire at him. Because she was exquisitely beautiful when angry.

  “Not all women are concerned with fashion,” she said between clenched teeth.

  He barely stopped himself from grinning. Damn but she was beautiful. “I can’t imagine what other personal business a woman alone would have in Boston.”

  Did she bare her teeth at him?

  “That’s why it’s called personal business, sir. It’s personal. I wasn’t aware a sea captain need be informed of a paying passenger’s reason for travel.”

  As much as he enjoyed their conversation, she was correct. It wasn’t his business, nor did he want it to be. His job was to get her to Boston. Period. “I trust your cabins are adequate for you and your companion, Mrs. Sutherland?”

  “I travel alone, Captain.”

  His gaze flew to hers. “You travel without a companion?”

  She raised her arms out at her sides, her smile now full-blown. “Only me.”

  “But …” Such a thing was unheard of.

  She stepped back. “I’ll leave you to whatever it is captains of ships do. If you’re not too busy later, would you do me the honor of showing me around your fine ship?”

  His jaw muscle worked. The last thing he wanted to do was escort her around his ship. “I would be delighted, Mrs. Sutherland. However, it might be a day or two.” Because he had to whip his sorry crew into shape.

  He paused, disliking what he had to say next, but ’twas only proper and expected of a captain. “Won’t you join me for dinner tonight?” His mother, God rest her soul, would be ashamed of him. While the words were correct, his tone conveyed his annoyance.

  She was an unwanted distraction, with that mass of ebony hair threatening to fall loose, those eyes that mocked him and appraised him at the same time and the quick wit he admired despite his resolve to stay impartial to her.

  Leave it be, Addison. She’s married.

  “Thank you for the offer, Captain, but I prefer to dine in my cabin.”

  He fought to conceal his relief. As m
uch as he enjoyed their dueling conversation, he didn’t want the distraction. “Of course. If there is anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask. As always, I am at your service.” He steadfastly ignored the images that sprang to his mind of services he would like to render.

  Late that night Emmaline woke with a strangled cry, her heart pounding and the blood racing through her. She reached for her cutlass before remembering she hadn’t brought it on this voyage. For eleven years her cutlass had been as much a part of her as her arm. To be without it was unthinkable, yet a woman with a cutlass was a bit conspicuous.

  She scooted up in bed and stared out the small porthole, her arms wrapped around her knees.

  The full moon bathed the ocean in shades of silver and gray, calming her racing heart as it always did. She pulled her braid over her shoulder and ran it through her hands in an old habit of comfort.

  Roughly she rubbed the tears from her cheeks.

  Men’s laughter echoed outside her cabin. Quickly, silently, she slid off the bed and padded to the door, pressing her ear against the wood. The laughter slowly died and the footsteps receded. She breathed a sigh of relief. Something strange was going on with this ship. These sailors weren’t the normal Blackwell Shipping crew. Due to the pirate rumors, poor Captain Addison was left with the sailors the other ships passed up. Drunks and criminals.

  She snorted. Poor Captain Addison? The man was impossible. Sailing to Boston for a dress fitting. The nerve of him to think all women were only concerned with fashion. Her blood boiled just thinking of the absurd conversation. She had half a mind to tell him what her personal business was. But no, that would be disadvantageous, and possibly suicidal. Instead she ground her teeth together and kept silent.

  He would believe what he wanted about her. In fact, the more he believed she was a feckless woman, the better for her plans.

  She returned to the bed and looked down at it. She’d had enough nightmares to know she would not be going back to sleep tonight.

  With a sigh, she pulled on the gown she’d worn during the day, wishing for her breeches instead. She yearned to climb to the crow’s nest, hundreds of yards above the deck with the wind in her hair and no one to answer to, no role to play, nothing but her thoughts. Instead she would have to content herself with a walk around the deck.

  By the time she made it to the forecastle, dawn was quickly approaching, bathing the sky in pinks and oranges.

  The Pride rode at a good clip, the ship’s bow slicing through the whitecaps. Emmaline glanced up at the sails. Pristine, no rips or tears, nor sign of wear. For some perverse reason, she wanted to find something wrong with Captain Addison’s ship but she couldn’t.

  She took in the small details of the shiny, polished brass work, the clean deck boards, the coiled ropes and the well-oiled, organized belaying pins with their ropes tightly secured.

  “Well, well, look whot we ’ave ’ere.”

  Her steps faltered, then stopped. Slowly she turned, her hand once again reaching for a weapon only to find it not there. She wasn’t completely defenseless, however. She’d watched Addison’s men. They were second-rate sailors at best, criminals at worst. She’d attached a dagger to her leg beneath her skirts, but it wasn’t easily accessible.

  The sailor raised a bushy, tangled, eyebrow. His beard covered half his face and was matted with substances she didn’t even want to contemplate. One eye closed as he swayed with the movement of the ship.

  Her hands balled into fists in the folds of her skirt. Her heart pounded in anticipation. Even from the distance of a few feet the odor of rum rose off him. He grinned, revealing a mouth full of holes where teeth should have been and black stubs where others hadn’t yet fallen out.

  She cursed and the other bushy eyebrow shot up.

  “A lady what curses?” He chuckled and staggered as the ship rolled to port.

  He was slightly shorter than her, with stringy brown hair falling to his shoulders in clumps. He was thin, but beneath the dirty clothes muscles roped his wiry frame.

  She moved to go around him, careful not to turn her back to him. He took an agile step to the side and blocked her. He was a nimble little bugger, considering he was filled to his eyeballs with drink.

  He laughed and his putrid, alcohol-soaked breath almost knocked her over. “Care t’dance?” He reached for her.

  Emmaline quickly took a step back, not wanting his filthy hands on her. She lifted her nose in the air like she’d seen all those debutantes do. “Really, sir, I must insist you let me pass.” She moved to the side, and so did he.

  “I must insist you let me pass.” He mimicked her upper-crust British accent to such perfection that she smiled.

  A dagger suddenly glinted from the man’s hand and her smile faded. So, this was going to be more than a friendly mocking of the lady. Every sense on alert, she kept her gaze on the knife.

  Her drunken friend stepped closer. Emmaline held her ground and looked at him in disdain.

  “Whot does a lady wear under all those fancy skirts, eh?” He reached for the skirts.

  She grabbed his wrist and squeezed, her fingers digging between bones and into the vulnerable tendons. He cried out and the knife fell to the deck from powerless fingers.

  Leaning close, risking the stench of his breath, she whispered, “The lady does not wish for you to know what is under her skirts.”

  He blinked, his eyes unfocused from drink and pain.

  A scrape of a boot brought her attention around.

  “Mrs. Sutherland?”

  Emmaline released the sailor and stepped back as Captain Addison rushed to her side. Her foot kicked the knife and she picked it up.

  The crewman began to sputter. “Pulled a knife on me, she did.”

  Nicholas grabbed the man by the lapels of his tattered waistcoat. “Mrs. Sutherland would never pull a knife on you, Donell.”

  Donell’s eyes, now more panicked than befuddled, rolled to Emmaline. She winked at him, suppressing a grin.

  Keeping a firm grip on the man, Nicholas turned to Emmaline. “Are you injured?” He looked her over critically.

  “I’m fine.” She held the dagger out to him, hilt first. “I believe your crewman has had too much to drink.”

  Addison took the weapon and shot Donell a furious glare. “I apologize for his untoward behavior. It was entirely inappropriate. Let me call the night watchman and have him escort you back to your cabin.”

  “Truly, Captain, I’m fine and am quite capable of returning to my cabin on my own.”

  Addison looked from her to Donell, in apparent indecision, warring emotions in his eyes. “If you are certain, Mrs. Sutherland. I will take this piece of refuse”—he shook Donell—“to the brig.”

  Addison set off toward the brig with a moaning Donell still clutched in his hands, but Emmaline hesitated. Now would be the perfect time to search his cabin, since he would be occupied. Undecided, she bit her lip and watched the captain walk away, occasionally shaking poor Donell and lecturing him the whole way. No, better to head back to her own cabin. Knowing Addison, he would check that she made it safely back and she didn’t want him to discover her roaming the ship. Frustrated and angry, she marched back to her cabin and slammed the door shut.

  It could have been worse. At least Captain Addison hadn’t witnessed her disarming Donell. That would have created a host of questions she couldn’t possibly answer.

  Chapter Three

  Nicholas hesitated before knocking on Mrs. Sutherland’s cabin door. The poor woman had been so frightened after Donell’s attack her hands had been shaking. He certainly didn’t want to cause more grief by barging into her bedchamber late at night, but he wouldn’t rest easy until he was assured she wasn’t injured.

  He knocked and a soft “Who is it?” followed.

  “Captain Addison, Mrs. Sutherland.”

  “One moment.” A latch clicked and the door opened, slowly revealing Emmaline Sutherland. Her hands were no longer shaking but
her eyes were wide and her face flushed. Again, he felt a moment of pity before his anger resurfaced. If she had an escort or chaperone, none of this would have happened. Now he not only had to discover who was sabotaging Blackwell’s ships, but he was forced to play nanny to an unwanted passenger who didn’t have enough brains to know she shouldn’t be walking the deck alone in the middle of the night.

  “I wanted to make certain you arrived at your cabin safely.” He firmly remained on one side of the door while she stayed on the other. Her braid fell over her shoulder, dropping to the tip of her breast. Black as sin, that braid was. Nicholas jerked his gaze back to her eyes, wide with fright, reminding him of how vulnerable she was and how much danger she’d been in.

  “As you can see, I arrived unharmed,” she said.

  “And Donell? He truly did not hurt you?” He kept himself from curling his hands into fists. If Donell hurt her in any way, Nicholas would march back to the brig and unleash his fury on the man.

  She shook her head. Her braid dipped into her bodice. “Merely frightened me.”

  Nicholas cleared his throat, barely stopping himself from fishing the errant braid out of her bodice. She was a slight woman, with no excess to her and barely any curves to speak of. Not the type of woman he was accustomed to. And yet, he enjoyed looking at her.

  Angry at the direction of his thoughts, he snapped out the first thing that came to his mind. “What were you doing on the deck at this time of night?”

  For a moment she appeared taken aback, but damn it, she needed to realize she wasn’t safe wandering alone on a merchant vessel. Especially with this questionable crew.