In a particularly rough dive, she grasped his hand in one of hers and tucked them both against her chest. Moments later, her head fell against his shoulder and rested there. How long they stayed like this, he didn't know. But when her breathing grew soft and steady in sleep, he lowered her and drew a cover over her, then went to battle the storm, muttering to himself about promises to keep.
Tori rose, altered from the night before. Yet another storm had failed to harm her. And last night, the captain had shown that, at heart, he was a good man. She'd felt, for the first time in so long and in the middle of a tempest, safe. He was so big and strong and utterly confident in his ability to protect her that even she had begun to believe it.
Attacks, falls, storms--these calamities continued to happen to her, and she kept walking away with her life, lending proof to her suspicion that she was invincible. This time she walked away with a fresh resolve. She sank down before her new sea trunk and pulled the string from her neck. She kissed the ring, saying good-bye once more, then folded it in linen and tucked it deep into a corner, treating it like the treasure it was. Though her mother had wanted her to have the ring, it wasn't Tori's to wear.
She was about to rise when her teary gaze caught on the journal Sutherland had brought aboard and put with her things. It looked heavy--laden with memories.
When something weighed you down, it was best to cast it aside.
She plucked one of the prettier dresses out of the trunk, washed and dressed hurriedly, then set out to find the captain, journal under her arm. Though she was uneasy with the ship, she refused to be afraid. She climbed up to the bridge, and found Sutherland speaking with Traywick. "Captain," she said to his back.
He turned, obviously surprised to see her. "I didn't think you'd be up, much less out on deck."
"I wanted to thank you for last night."
He opened his mouth, then closed it. "You're...I..."
"That's all I wanted to say," she interrupted. "Just thank you."
She left them, with Traywick making some dig and the captain telling him to go to hell.
Her next stop was the side rail, where she stared at the white foam churning beside them, thinking about the incredible turn her life had taken. She'd been given a clean slate, to fill as she chose. When she returned to England, she could be anyone. She could be a terrified girl, cowed by the tragedies of her past, or she could be a dauntless woman, who'd taken everything thrown at her and was taunting Fate. Her lips curled up. Decision rendered.
With a lift of her chin, she scanned farther out. Last night, the ocean had boiled to fury. Today, smooth water stretched unbroken. And she stood unharmed. She smirked at the flaccid sea. "Was that all you could muster?" In one motion, she flung the journal to it.
Cammy's cabin was next. Her unsure walk became a march down the boards. Tori daringly skimmed her finger down the rail. At the cabin, she knocked, swung the door wide for air, and used one of her new, pinching shoes to wedge it there. "Good morning."
Cammy cracked open bleary eyes. She frowned and craned her neck to see behind Tori.
"You came alone?" At Tori's nod, she asked, "You walked here by yourself?"
Tori stood on the opposite bunk and opened a ceiling vent. "Uh-huh."
Cammy gaped. "So now you're roaming about the ship? I take it you feel better about things?"
Tori shrugged and sat. "I trust Sutherland to get us back. And I figure if I was meant to die in a shipwreck, the first one surely would've been it." She surveyed Cammy and found her looking less...green. "How're you feeling this morning?"
"I drank some tea and had some crackers. I feel better." With effort, she sat up in bed. "So you're not still angry at the captain for putting me aboard? You seemed to bridle around him."
She flushed, remembering how he'd held her hand the night before. He had such calloused and rough hands, but he'd touched her tenderly. "I thought it heartless at the time, but he had his reasons." She knew what it was like to see something you wanted and use every means at your disposal to get it. "I understand him better now."
"I want you to know he was very polite to me." Cammy's brow furrowed. "Well, except for yesterday, when he wouldn't cease coming by here. I've never seen a man more worried."
"Of course he's worried. If something happened to me, he wouldn't get paid."
"That's not it. Traywick's told me he's a very decent man." Cammy lowered her voice and said, "Sutherland has feelings for you."
"For me?" Tori asked warily. "What do you mean?"
Cammy smiled. "I saw him react to your faint on the deck. He's smitten." Over Tori's protests, she asked, "You haven't seen it yourself?"
He'd kissed her on the island. Kissed her with a desperation she'd never imagined, and touched her...as though reveling in her. She suppressed a shiver. "Most of the time, he's cold and distant to me."
"Traywick thinks the two of you would suit."
Changing the subject, Tori said, "You and Traywick seem to have gotten quite chummy." She gave Cammy a piqued eyebrow. "Quite chummy."
"We are friends. Yes, he is glorious to look at and utterly charming, but he's young." In a conspiratorial tone, she added, "I've always had a tendre for the older ones, truth be told." She smoothed the cover over her lap. "Besides, his heart's taken. Completely."
Tori leaned back against the paneled wall. "So, when can I return and stay here?"
Cammy eyed her as if she had to reveal a hard truth. "Well, this cabin is so very small. Small for two people, much less two women." She added in a rush, "And Traywick sits on your bunk when he reads to me."
Unbelievable. "I'm ousted by the tea peddler?"
As though they'd conjured him, Traywick appeared at the doorway. He smiled at Tori and kindly let the comment pass. "You certainly look better than yesterday."
"Tori adapts," Cammy said proudly. "It's her gift." She glanced at the book he held. "Were you going to read?"
When he nodded, Tori stood to leave, but Traywick said, "I wouldn't hear of it, Victoria. Please stay."
She shuffled her feet, then perched on the far edge of the bunk. As though sensing she was skittish, he sat at the foot. "So what were you two talking about?"
"Before we talked about you, we discussed Captain Sutherland's infatuation with Tori."
It was Tori's turn to gape. Cammy shrugged.
He leaned back and plopped his feet on Cammy's bunk. "A favorite subject of mine as well." He smiled at Tori. "You've got him not knowing up from down anymore."
"Why are you discussing him with us? He's your relative," Tori said in a disapproving tone, then added, "You should have more loyalty."
"Perhaps I'm not just idly gossiping," he said. "What if I had a purpose?"
"And what would that be?"
He hesitated, then said, "When Grant chased you--that was the first impulsive thing I've seen him do since he was a boy. It made no sense, it wasn't logical, yet I don't think anything could have stopped him." He boldly looked her over. "You would be good for him."
Embarrassed, she rushed to ask, "Why are you so concerned with this?"
His expression of casual indifference slipped. "Grant, my dear, is dying inside. He's already a cold man, and unless something changes, he's either going to snuff out whatever fire is left in him or he's going to snap." His eyes bored into hers. "I don't want to be shipbound with him for either."
He opened the book and cleared his throat to read, as if he hadn't just told her something that shook her to her very bones. Against their protests, she absently excused herself, her mind focused on Sutherland. Tori believed Traywick was exactly right. Simmering--that's what Sutherland was, like a volcano.
She thought about the night he'd kissed her, remembering the way his lips had seared hers, the way he'd clutched her shoulders, the savage promise in his eyes when she'd broken away. What did they promise?
She allowed herself to imagine what would have happened if she hadn't pulled away then, or if Traywick hadn't interrupted
them that morning in the hut. She'd lied when she'd said she half slept through touching him then. She'd been wide-awake, heart fluttering with each new touch, stifling gasps at each new texture, his kisses making her body ache....
Back in his cabin, Tori snooped through his belongings, craving more knowledge about him. Her nosiness was his fault, she reasoned. If he'd ever volunteered the tiniest detail about himself, she wouldn't be forced to take this action. Plus, he'd read her journal--turnabout was fair play.
For hours, she leisurely searched through his desk, scanning boring shipping documents, and reading from a cache of old letters stowed haphazardly in one drawer. One from his mother expressed her utter confidence in Grant on this voyage: "If they are alive, you above all men will find them and bring them safely back." Another one from his brother, Derek, provided an overview of the Keveral, detailing every quirk and distinct trait of the ship, with a closing that again conveyed a perfect confidence in his brother.
Did the man ever make mistakes? His family didn't think so.
She found notes and notes of indecipherable mathematical calculations, and turned them sideways, trying to read them. Each outcome was fixed with a pound symbol. Money. He was probably in dire straits to think about it so much. Wonder if his mother knows that?
She picked up his obligatory copy of Robinson Crusoe, and read through Crusoe's first days, when he lived like a parasite off that wrecked ship, hauling tool after tool, goods, and seeds for days. Would've been nice.
She set it back on the shelf, and the next book caught her attention. The Physical Geography of the Sea, by Matthew Fontaine Maury. Inside was a dedication: Godspeed, Grant. Love, Nicole.
Love? Who was this woman?
And why was Tori bristling? Because he had some woman at home, yet he'd kissed her and...touched her, that's why! Her stomach tightened. What if he was engaged?
Traywick would know. She heard him laughing with a sailor on deck. On deck among the sailors. Swallowing her disquiet, she marched across the sea-swept boards to where he sat and dumped the book on his bolted-down table. "Who is this?" She stabbed the name with her nail.
"You'll have to move your finger. Oh, that's just..." He trailed off and instead asked, "Why do you want to know?"
"I just find the idea that he has someone waiting at home surprising."
His amber eyes were fixed on her. "Don't you find it the least bit disappointing?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm outraged that he'd...he'd...Well, you were there! That he'd take liberties with me when he is in love with someone else."
"That's Nicole Sutherland--"
She gasped. "He's married!"
"--his brother Derek's wife. They're friends because he helped her and Derek reconcile."
Tori slumped in a chair beside him. Another mystery to solve--how could she be jealous? Because Sutherland was angering her less and fascinating her more?
She looked up to find the captain watching her and Traywick with sharp eyes. She darted her face away and was still flushed when Dooley tromped by. "Lady Victoria, I'm glad to see you about. Can I get you anything?"
Tori stiffened and sniffed, "That won't be necessary."
"We're fine, Dooley," Traywick added. "Thank you."
Dooley rushed off again like a dog who'd forgotten he'd just been kicked.
Traywick's face hardened. "You might want to give Grant's sailors a chance. I don't know what made you so wary, but his men are different."
"How so?" she asked disbelievingly.
"Working for Peregrine is a coveted position. They hire only the best men. No sailors are bought from the jail or lured by a doxy and then crimped."
"What's crimped?"
"It's when a gang of men trick or force some poor bastard aboard a ship to serve a term at sea. Grant goes out of his way to hire family men."
"All these men have families?"
"Except for Dooley--he's a widower--and maybe one or two more, yes. It's important to Grant and it's a lifesaver for some."
While Tori was reeling from the information, Traywick said, "Don't get me wrong--they're still boisterous and like their rum, but you should see the forecastle. It's wallpapered with old letters from wives and likenesses of their kids."
Tori's eyes followed Dooley bounding around deck, helping everyone, and guilt gripped her. A widower. She'd treated him like the worst sort of criminal. She sighed, deciding she'd be kinder to him. In fact, she stared around at all the men as though with new eyes. She'd always perceived they were surprisingly clean, both in language and clothing, but now she noticed they were generally pleased, not surly like the other sailors she'd known.
"Amazing." She turned to Sutherland, seeing him anew as well. The wind blew a lock of hair over his forehead. Why did that make her want to smile? He raked it back irritably.
"Now that you've made it out here, we might as well play cards," Traywick said to her back.
She didn't turn. "Yes, perhaps."
She was so busy staring at the captain, she barely heard Traywick say, "Round four to Grant."
Twelve
Grant might have been able to deny his attraction to Victoria when she was wary, arrogant, and angry, but self-sure and charming would make short work of him. Each day at sea, she became more accustomed to the ship, and her confidence rebounded to a staggering degree. It was as if she'd emerged from a shell, shucking off her old life and its fears like a skin. Apparently, she'd even gotten over her pique with him, and would thank or compliment him after each storm.
By the second week, she looked as though she'd been born on a ship. When Miss Scott slept, which was for most of the day, Victoria learned sea chanteys from Dooley and helped him mend damaged sails. When they fished, she'd go wild over all the new species.
"You never know what you'll pull up," she'd said to Dooley in breathless excitement.
She'd gotten used to her new clothes, making alterations when necessary, and she laughed often as Miss Scott showed improvement, flashing her smile unreservedly at the competing antics of the sailors. The crew adored her.
But while she flourished, Grant suffered from lack of sleep--he'd commandeered Ian's cramped cabin since his cousin usually passed out on deck anyway--and suffered more from the lack of...her.
He would give his right arm to be able to touch her again.
And yet she spent most of each day with Ian.
This morning, as they played cards on deck, Grant struggled with jealousy, an emotion he'd never given much credence to. Now he envied his young cousin spending time with her, envied him telling her old jokes she'd never heard.
Jealousy was a cuckold's emotion. Not at home in the heart of a detached man.
Grant scrutinized them, watching like one bent on finding something. Though they were near in age, and most women inexplicably found Ian irresistible, Grant could not detect the barest hint of attraction between the two. In fact, he often caught Victoria watching him on the bridge.
Yet it drove him mad to hear her laugh because of something Ian said.
"I don't want you spending any more time with her," he warned Ian when Tori strolled to the bow.
"It's either me or the crew. And I must confess, her language is colorful as it is..." At Grant's scowl, Ian added, "It's not like you think. Even if I weren't preoccupied with another woman, Tori reminds me of my sister."
"Which one?" Grant asked with suspicion. Ian had three sisters, none of whom reminded Grant of Victoria.
"Emma."
"Emma?" Grant scoffed. "She's just out of the schoolroom--"
"She's eighteen."
"Just stay away from Victoria," Grant ordered, his voice low. When Ian flashed him a devilish grin, Grant rose to his full height and moved to a menacing position in front of his chair. "She's the granddaughter of an earl. Surely even you would know better than to trifle with a peer's granddaughter."
Smiling to himself, he said, "I didn't know better than to trifle with a peer's daughter." Ian leaned forwar
d and lowered his voice. "Besides, that's the great thing about these out-of-country affairs--no one would ever know."
Grant yanked Ian from his seat with one hand, barely keeping his other fist from smashing his cousin's face.
"Don't look at me like that, Cuz. I'm not going to touch her." Ian tsked. "Just testing the waters."
Grant released him and exhaled loudly. "Do you think that's why I told you to leave her alone? Because I want her?"
"The point is--she's all yours. I feel protective of her. Like a brother. I don't want her that way."
Grant ran a hand down his face. "As if I do?" His tone sounded bewildered even to himself.
"Damn it, man. Open your eyes. I've never seen you like this." Ian slapped him on the back and turned to walk away. He faced Grant once more. "Why do you fight it?"
"Why?" His short laugh held no humor. "Because I don't want to be like this."
Dooley walked by then and found Grant's eyes locked on Victoria.
"That one, she's learning her charms and what she can do with them," Dooley said. "She's got the crew wrapped 'round her finger--all with a smile."
Grant muttered, "God help the men in England."
Ian gave him a pitying smile. "Cousin, pray for yourself first."
Throughout the previous night, Grant had labored against a weak but persistent squall. When it finally abated, he conducted himself as he did every morning--adjust the course, inspect the ship, toss out orders, and watch Victoria--and not necessarily in that order. She was pacing, scowling at Ian, who read instead of entertaining her. Boredom emanated from her.
Though clear, the day was chilled, so he returned to his cabin to change from his wet clothes. Inside, he hung his coat and was struggling to peel out of his drenched shirt as he turned to shut the door. But Victoria waltzed in right after him.
"What do you think you're doing?" he snapped. "If you want to thank me about the storm last night, there's no need. It's my job." She didn't respond, just studied his chest, making him uncomfortable. The look in her eyes said she wanted to touch what she stared at. "Get out of here," he commanded, his voice unaccountably rough.
"But I'm so bored. You said you'd protect me--well, I'm about to repeatedly butt my head against a wall."