Chapter 9

Alexandra was still recuperating in Nathaniel’s cabin, so Nathaniel led the way to Trenton’s, where they could afford themselves some privacy.

“What is it?” Trenton asked as soon as he closed the door behind them. “What just happened up there?”

Nathaniel didn’t speak. He paced the short expanse of floor while Trenton leaned against the wall, arms folded, waiting.

“Does the name Albert Jacob Kimbolten mean anything to you?” he asked at length. He stopped moving to stare out the porthole, where a meager amount of afternoon sunlight streamed in.

“The Kimbolten name always means something to me,” Trenton replied. “It’s the duke’s name. Why do you ask?”

“Because Jake is Albert Jacob Kimbolten, the duke’s son.”

A look of stunned surprise struck Trenton like a thunderbolt. “He can’t be.”

“He can, and he is. Think about it.” Nathaniel watched his friend’s face as Trenton tried to reconcile the boy Jake to his image of Nathaniel’s half brother.

Nathaniel knew it was hard to imagine. He could scarcely believe it himself.

“He’s the duke’s son? The Marquess of Clifton? Jake talks like a sailor, not some high-born aristocrat.”

“Aye, and under the circumstances, he’d be an idiot not to.”

“He’s a belligerent fool—”

“But who could my father trust to oversee the delivery of the guns more than his own son?”

“Still...” Trenton shook his head.

“He has a birthmark. Maybe you saw it. It’s in the shape of Italy.”

His first mate nodded.

“You remember when I was young, and Martha took me to see my father?”

“Aye. He called her a liar and insisted that his first child died at birth.”

Nathaniel nodded. “He also had the nursemaid bring his new son in to show us his heir. It was his moment of triumph. The baby had the same birthmark. “

Trenton rubbed his chin. “That was eighteen years ago.”

“Aye, and I’ll never forget it if I live to be a hundred. Do you think the day Martha died could ever fade from my memory?” Nathaniel flinched at the bitterness in his own voice.

“Nathaniel, you were only seven. Martha made the decision to go back to Bridlewood, not you. How could anyone have expected the duke to send his men after the two of you—”

“But I wanted to go,” Nathaniel replied softly, closing his eyes. “I was so hopeful that my father would—” Afraid his voice might crack, he fell silent.

“You hoped what every other young boy would have hoped in your situation. That your father would finally accept you. I’m not sure that’s the kind of thing a child ever outgrows.”

“Well, I’m not a child anymore, and I’m not a powerless woman, either, a mere servant who loved a deformed boy to distraction. I can fight back. Greystone killed Martha. I know that as surely as I’m standing here.”

Nathaniel pictured Martha’s broken body trapped beneath the carriage, remembered tugging on her arm with all the strength his seven-year-old body could muster. The agony that had gripped him as the one person who loved him, had always loved him, slowly died was the worst hell he could ever endure. He’d been careful not to love so deeply since, for fear of suffering the same kind of loss again. He owed the ugly scar that experience had left on his heart, as well as all the years of loneliness afterward, to his father. “How I long to punish him for that,” he whispered.

Trenton shifted away from the wall and crossed to sit at his small desk. “Did Martha really plan to go to a barrister and fight for your birthright?”

Nathaniel shrugged. “I can’t be certain. She talked about it a great deal. She knew by law I would inherit everything if she could prove who I was. But she was the only person who could testify to what happened on the day I was born.”

“That Greystone tried to kill you.”

“Aye, but fate doesn’t always follow a man’s will, even a duke’s.”

“It takes a great deal of money to run an empire like your father’s,” Trenton mused. “So he starts smuggling rifles to Russia, and here we are.”

Nathaniel closed his eyes, kneading his forehead with his fingertips. “Aye, here we are, with a beautiful, innocent woman lying in my bed, fighting for her life. And a bitter, injured half brother.” So many thoughts assailed his brain that he could scarcely sort them out, let alone deal with the emotions they provoked.

“What happened to Alexandra is my fault, not yours,” Trenton said, as though reading his mind. “I was certain she was the woman I had seen four years ago.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “It’s been my plan from the start. I’m responsible for Richard’s capture, for Alexandra, and now Jake, or rather Lord Clifton.”

“But your father deserves—”

“Therein lies the problem,” Nathaniel interrupted. Damn if he didn’t want to shout. “I know what my father deserves, and I bloody well want nothing more than to give it to him. But shouldn’t the lives of others—of innocents—mean more to me than destroying him? The marquess is young. He’s bitter and misguided perhaps, but he’s not to blame for Greystone’s actions any more than Alexandra deserves what has happened to her.” He sighed. “I know what I should do. I should salvage what I can of my future, forget my father, and move on.”

Trenton paused, as if trying to put sufficient thought into his next words. “Nathaniel, a couple of years spent picking the pockets of the unwary just to get a bite to eat numbed my conscience years ago. I have felt no guilt about stealing from the duke. And I’m not overly worried about Newgate or whatever our final punishment will be if we’re caught. I figure I’ll deserve it by then; I’ve always expected such an end anyway. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t know if I’m the best person to offer advice, but if living a pirate’s life is troubling you, there’s no reason you can’t change.”

“Aye. I wish it were so easy.” Nathaniel stared into space. “I can’t explain it or even understand it, but there’s a part of me that has ahold of this thing, and I can’t let it go.”

“What does that say for Alexandra?”

Nathaniel steeled himself against the pang of sadness that the thought of life without Alexandra provoked. “It says nothing. I’m taking her back, just like I planned.”

* * *

Nanchu was spooning clear broth into Alexandra’s mouth when Nathaniel entered. She glanced up as he shut the door, her eyes like saucers in her pale face, and Nathaniel felt a twinge of guilt. Despite Nanchu’s assurances that the bullet had passed cleanly through her shoulder without causing any major damage, Nathaniel worried that the wound would not heal well.

And he knew it should be he convalescing in that bed from a bullet wound, not some poor girl.

“This patient know what good for her,” Nanchu said as Alexandra continued to obediently sip soup from the spoon he held out to her. “Unlike young man.”

“The marquess still won’t allow the poultices?” Nathaniel asked in surprise.

Nanchu shook his head. “I cannot force a fool from his foolishness.”

Nathaniel frowned. He’d moved his half brother into the purser’s cabin where the boy could be more closely watched, but the knowledge of who Jake was didn’t help his popularity among the crew. The boy had as much pride and arrogance as their father, but very little wisdom. “Then there’s nothing we can do. Perhaps mettle alone will save his hand. It’s saved me on occasion.”

Nanchu gave a snort that let Nathaniel know he disagreed about the Marquess of Clifton possessing any such redeeming trait. “Come.” He motioned Nathaniel toward the bed. “If you please, finish here? Henry waiting in sick bay. Need to check arm before his watch.”

Henry was a member of the crew who had fallen from the rigging several days earlier and broken his arm. Nathaniel didn’t doubt that the man needed attention, but he hesitated to perform the task of feeding Alexandra. It was easier to keep up a shield of indifference when he wasn’t so close to her.

He glanced toward the bed, frowned, considered making some excuse, then chided himself for being weak-willed. Taking the bowl Nanchu held out to him, he moved irritably into the doctor’s place.

“See she eats to last drop.” Nanchu clasped his hands in a prayer-like attitude and bowed his head in Alexandra’s direction.

Alexandra gave the doctor a smile, and Nathaniel noticed how it made her face light up. The dark rings around her eyes became less conspicuous. Her cheeks bloomed with a bit of their usual color, and her hair, cascading onto the pillows in wild disarray, looked as soft as silk and more tempting to his hand than spun gold.

Nathaniel wondered what it would feel like to entwine his fingers in those golden tresses and pull, forcing her head back to receive his kiss. Then he wished he could pass the bowl back to Nanchu and head to the deck or to Trenton’s cabin—anywhere his heart was safe from melting. But the little doctor had already left the room.

Alexandra glanced up at him expectantly, long dark lashes making a perfect frame for her big green eyes.

Nathaniel let his scowl darken, hoping to discourage her from smiling again, or looking at him, or doing anything else that might make him want to touch her. She had complicated his life enough already. The revelations of the day had burdened him alternately with guilt, anger, and chagrin.

He filled the spoon and held it to her lips, but it was difficult to concentrate on the soup. She wore one of his own shirts, her dress no longer serviceable after the rigors it had been through, and the swell of her breasts beneath the cloth lured him to distraction. The thought of her naked beneath his clothes made the blood pound in his ears until suddenly he laughed, his voice ringing loud in the silence.

“What is it?” Alexandra asked.

Nathaniel didn’t answer; he just grinned, remembering how he had thought himself a pervert, a deviant, to be so attracted to his sister. Now he reveled in the knowledge that he was completely normal after all—and decided to seek a little revenge for the sleepless nights her impersonation of Anne had put him through.

“What is it?” Alexandra repeated, smiling with the contagion of his mirth.

“I was only thinking that you must feel very strongly about me, to have taken that bullet the way that you did.”

“I must?” Alexandra laughed herself. “I don’t know why I was foolish enough to jump in front of you, but I doubt it stemmed from anything more than impulse.”

Her color deepened, contradicting her words, and Nathaniel warmed to his game. Placing the soup on the table, he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his. “You wouldn’t have saved my life if you didn’t care for me.”

Alexandra snatched her hand away, looking uncomfortable, as though she didn’t know what to do at this odd turn in his behavior. “What I feel doesn’t matter.” She glanced at the bowl of soup. “Aren’t you going to feed me any more? Nanchu said I should eat it all—”

“You can try to change the subject,” Nathaniel replied, gently caressing her arm with his knuckles, “but I have a way of learning the truth.”

He admired the delicate arch of her brows as she raised them. “I think you must be well into your cups.”

Nathaniel had enjoyed more than his usual mug of rum for dinner. Everyone had. There was precious little to eat, and drink filled the belly. But he doubted the alcohol had half as much effect upon him as the softness of Alexandra’s skin. “I’m drunk only on desire,” he admitted.

Alexandra’s eyes flew wide, like those of a startled child, as he retrieved her hand and kissed the tip of each finger.

“What are you doing? I’m not well,” she said breathlessly.

Nathaniel smiled, enjoying her discomfiture. He let her go, but only to shift his position on the bed so he could hover over her.

“You’re beautiful.” He let his hand delve into her thick curls as he had longed to do. Twisting the shining tresses around each finger, he pulled gently until Alexandra’s head tilted back and her breath fanned his face.

Nathaniel expected her to object, but she didn’t. She merely closed her eyes, like someone savoring the feel of the sun on her cheeks.

He bowed closer. Alexandra wore no cologne—she had none—but her skin smelled slightly of soap. After the heavy perfumes many women wore to camouflage the reek of everyday perspiration and dirt, the mere absence of such appealed to him. He nuzzled her neck and ear, taking in the clean, sweet scent of her.

“I want you,” he said, longing to kiss her.

Alexandra’s lids fluttered opened. “Don’t,” she whispered, but the word held no conviction, and she didn’t resist or pull away. She waited, her mouth slightly parted, watching him beneath her lashes.

Nathaniel bent his head until his lips lightly touched hers. Velvety soft, full and promising, her mouth moved beneath his own until he could control himself no longer. His grip tightened on her hair as he parted her lips, then he groaned in pleasure when she allowed his tongue access to her own.

Alexandra’s hand climbed up his arm to circle his neck, and Nathaniel had to struggle to keep his passion in check. She was injured; he didn’t want to hurt her. Forcing himself to use some restraint, he left her lips to travel kisses across her cheek and nibble at her earlobe with his teeth.

“Wait...” She gasped as his tongue darted into her ear. He blew gently on the wetness it left behind, feeling a degree of satisfaction when her body quivered against him.

“Alexandra, sweet Alexandra, how you have plagued my dreams,” he whispered, alternating between sucking her earlobe and slipping his tongue into her ear again.

“Nathaniel—” Her hands reached for his hair and tugged him back for another kiss. As he drank from the wetness of her mouth, he feared he’d lose himself and simply drown. His body was making commitments his mind could not keep, yet he felt as powerless to resist as a leaf tossed against the wind.

It took all of his focus to pull away. When he did, Alexandra’s face was flushed, and he could hear the soft pant of her breathing.

Suddenly Nathaniel was angry—angry with Alexandra for complicating his life when he least needed it, angry with his father for filling his heart with hatred until he had no chance at love, but mostly angry with himself for walking too close to the flame of his attraction. He wanted Alexandra, so much that it rankled to deny himself. Yet he couldn’t take advantage of her innocence, especially after all she’d been through because of him. She wanted things he could not give her: a husband and a family. There was no place in his life for a woman. There was room only in his bed.

Quickly putting the distance of several feet between them, he moved away. “You’re a witch, fair maiden,” he murmured, admiring Alexandra’s stormy eyes and her hair, tousled by his own hand. Then, afraid her beauty would weaken his resolve, he turned and left.

Slamming the door behind him, Nathaniel strode briskly down the companionway, heading up on deck. He needed the chill night air to cool his body and his mind, but movement in the hall behind him made him turn. Rat approached, carrying a lantern and singing some bawdy song about a sailor and his woman as he hurried toward the hatch, no doubt intent upon gathering with some of the others to do more drinking.

The little man froze when he recognized Nathaniel. “Cap’n? Is somethin’ wrong?”

Even from several feet away, Nathaniel could smell alcohol on Rat’s breath and guessed he’d already had a great deal more than his daily share of rum. “Where are you coming from?”

“I just took my turn standin’ watch over the marquess. This voyage ‘as certainly turned into a family affair, eh?” Rat’s grin led Nathaniel to believe he knew, or at least suspected, Alexandra was not Anne. It looked more like a leer in the shifting light of the lantern.

Instantly alarmed, Nathaniel asked, “Who put you on the schedule?” He wanted to keep Rat as far away from Jake—from Clifton—as possible, and he’d thought he’d made that sufficiently clear to Trenton already.

“Daniel took sick, so I told ‘im I’d take ‘is watch.”

“He took sick, or he drank himself into a stupor?” Nathaniel asked.

Rat laughed. “Well, ‘tis not far from the same thing, aye?”

The knowledge that his orders had been undermined stoked Nathaniel’s wrath like a fresh log on a roaring fire. “Why didn’t you get Trenton’s approval first?”

“I was only doin’ the bloke a favor. Didn’t think it’d be necessary.”

“You were wrong. It’s very necessary. If someone can’t take their turn, I want you to come find me. Do you understand?”

“Aye, but—”

“Just follow orders,” Nathaniel ground out. “You got that?” Unable to abide Rat ever since the incident with Alexandra in his cabin, Nathaniel pounded his finger into the smaller man’s chest.

“What’d I say? What’d I do?” Rat cried in alarm, stepping back.

When he heard the defensiveness in Rat’s voice, Nathaniel dropped his hand. He was overwrought and probably just looking for a target, but it goaded him that Rat had been left in charge of his half brother. Nathaniel didn’t trust the little thief. Trenton and the others had to be more careful.

“Go below and get some sleep,” he admonished, and Rat fled.