laces that secured her bodice. English fashions, which she found absurd
in sweltering Barbados, required all women of condition to wear this
heavy corset, which laced all the way up the back, over their shift.
This morning it had been two layers of whitest linen, with strips of
whalebone sewn between and dainty puffed sleeves attached, but now it
was soaked with salt water and brown from the sand and flotsam of the
bay. She tugged and wriggled until it was loose enough to draw over her
head.
She drew a breath of relief as her breasts came free beneath her shift,
and then she wadded the bodice into a soggy bundle and discarded it
onto the floor of the cabin. Her wet shift still clung to her and she
looked down for a moment, taking pleasure in the full curve of her
body. Next she began unpinning her skirt at the spot where it had been
looped up stylishly to display her petticoat.
The ship rolled again and the lid of the locker dropped shut. As the
floor tilted back to an even keel, she quickly stepped out of the
soaking dress and petticoats, letting them collapse onto the planking
in a dripping heap. In the light of the swinging lamp the once-blue
taffeta looked a muddy gray.
The ship suddenly pitched backward, followed by a low groan that
sounded through the timbers as it shuddered to a dead stop. The floor
of the cabin lay at a tilt, sloping down toward the stern.
She stepped to the locker and pried the lid back open. Inside were
several changes of canvas breeches, as well as a fine striped silk
pair. She laughed as she pulled them out to inspect them in the
flickering light. What would he say if I were to put these on, she
wondered? They're doubtless part of his vain pride.
Without hesitating she shook out the legs and drew them on under her
wet shift. There was no mirror, but as she tied the waiststring she
felt their sensuous snugness about her thighs. The legs were short,
intended to fit into hose or boots, and they revealed her fine turn of
ankle. Next she lifted out a velvet doublet, blue and embroidered, with
gold buttons down the front. She admired it a moment, mildly surprised
that he would own such a fine garment, then laid it on the table while
she pulled her dripping shift over her head.
The rush of air against her skin made her suddenly aware how hot and
sultry the cabin really was. Impulsively she walked back to the windows
aft and unlatched them. Outside the sea churned and pounded against the
stern, while dark rain still beat against the quartergallery. She took
a deep breath as she felt the cooling breeze wash over her clammy face
and breasts. She was wondering how her hair must look when she heard a
voice.
"You forgot your port."
She gasped quietly as she turned. Hugh Winston was standing beside her,
holding out a tankard. "Well, do you care to take it?" He smiled and
glanced down at her breasts.
"My, but that was no time at all." She reached for the tankard, then
looked back toward the table where her wet shift lay.
"Grounding a ship's no trick. You just weigh the anchor and pray she
comes about. Getting her afloat again's the difficulty." He leaned
against the window frame and lifted his tankard. "So here's to freedom
again someday, Katy. Mine, yours."
She started to drink, then remembered herself and turned toward the
table to retrieve her shift.
"I don't expect you'll be needing that."
She continued purposefully across the cabin. "Well, sir, I didn't
expect . . ."
"Oh, don't start now being a coquette. I like you too much the way you
are." A stroke of lightning split down the sky behind him. He drank
again, then set down his tankard and was moving toward her.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean."
"Take it as a compliment. I despise intriguing women." He seemed to
look through her. "Though you do always manage to get whatever you're
after, one way or other, going about it your own way." A clap of
thunder sounded through the open stern windows. "I'd also wager you've
had your share of experience in certain personal matters. For which I
suppose there's your royalist gallant to thank."
"That's scarcely your concern, is it? You've no claim over me." She
settled her tankard on the table, reached for his velvet doublet--at
least it was dry--and started draping it over her bare shoulders. "Nor
am I sure I relish bluntness as much as you appear to."
"It's my fashion. I've been out in the Caribbees too long, dodging
musket balls, to bother with a lot of fancy court chatter."
"There's bluntness, and there's good breeding. I trust you at least
haven't forgotten the difference."
"I suppose you think you can enlighten me."
"Well, since I'm wearing your breeches, which appear meant for a
gentleman, perhaps it'd not be amiss to teach you how to address a
lady." She stepped next to him, her eyes mischievous. "Try repeating
after me. 'Yours is a comely shape, Madam, on my life, that delights my
very heart. And your fine visage might shame a cherubim.'" She
suppressed a smile at his dumbfounded look, then continued. "'Those
eyes fire my thoughts with promised sweetness, and those lips are like
petals of the rose . . .' "
"God's blood!" He caught her open doublet and drew her toward him. "If
it's a fop you'd have me be, I suppose the rest could probably go
something like '. . . begging to be kissed. They seem fine and soft.
Are they kind as well?'" He slipped his arms about her and pulled her
against his wet jerkin.
After the first shock, she realized he tasted of salt and gunpowder. As
a sudden gust of rain from the window extinguished the sea lamp, she
felt herself being slowly lowered against the heavy oak table in the
center of the cabin.
Now his mouth had moved to her breasts, as he half-kissed,
half-bit her nipples--whether in desire or merely to tease she could
not tell. Finally she reached and drew his face up to hers.
"I'm not in love with you, Captain Winston. Never expect that. I could
never give any man that power over me." She laughed at his startled
eyes. "But I wouldn't mind if you wanted me."
"Katy, I've wanted you for a fortnight." He drew back and looked at
her. "I had half a mind not to let you away from this ship the last
time you were here. This time I don't plan to make the same mistake.
Except I don't like seeing you in my own silk breeches."
"I think they fit me very nicely."
"Maybe it's time I showed you what I think." He abruptly drew her up
and seized the string at her waist. In a single motion, he pulled it
open and slipped away the striped legs. Then he admired her a moment as
he drew his hands appreciatively down her long legs. "Now I'd like to
show you how one man who's forgot his London manners pays court to a
woman."
He pulled her to him and kissed her once more. Then without a word he
slipped his arms under her and cradled her against him. He carried her
across the cabin to the window, and gently seated her on its sill. Now
the lightning flashed again, shining against the scar on his cheek.
He lifted her legs and twined them around his shoulders, bringing her
against his mouth. A glow of sensation blossomed somewhere within her
as he began to tease her gently with his tongue. She tightened her
thighs around him, astonished at the swell of pleasure.
The cabin was dissolving, leaving nothing but a great, consuming
sensation that was engulfing her, readying to flood her body. As she
arched expectantly against him, he suddenly paused.
"Don't stop now . . ." She gazed at him, her vision blurred.
He smiled as he drew back. "If you want lovemaking from me, you'll have
to think of somebody besides yourself. I want you to be with me, Katy
Bedford. Not ahead."
He rose up and slipped away his jerkin. Then his rough, wet breeches.
He toyed with her sex, bringing her wide in readiness, then he entered
her quickly and forcefully.
She heard a gasp, and realized it was her own voice. It was as though
she had suddenly discovered some missing part of herself. For an
instant nothing else in the world existed. She clasped her legs about
his waist and moved against him, returning his own intensity.
Now the sensation was coming once more, and she clung to him as she
wrenched against his thighs. All at once he shoved against her
powerfully, then again, and she found herself wanting to thrust her
body into his, merge with him, as he lunged against her one last time.
Then the lightning flared and the cabin seemed to melt into white.
After a moment of quiet, he wordlessly took her in his arms. For the
first time she noticed the rain and the salt spray from the window
washing over them.
"God knows the last thing I need now is a woman to think about." He
smiled and kissed her. "I'd probably be wise to pitch you out to sea
this minute, while I still have enough sense to do it. But I don't
think I will."
"I wouldn't let you anyway. I'm not going to let you so much as move.
You can just stay precisely where you are." She gripped him tighter and
pulled his lips down to hers. "If anything, I should have done with
you, here and now."
"Then come on. We'll go outside together." He lifted her through the
open stern window, onto the quartergallery. The skies were an open
flood.
She looked at him and reached to gently caress his scarred cheek. "What
was that you were doing--at the first? I never knew men did such
things." Her hand traveled across his chest, downward. "Do . . . do
women ever do that too?"