The Captain of All Pleasures (Sutherland Brothers 1)

"Then why does the crew want him dead?"

She pursed her lips, because he had a point. Then rallied. "You must trust me in this matter--he will take care of her."

Jason shook his head firmly. "I've got to go get her."

"If you're going, I'm going," she said resolutely. "But I think you're making a mistake. If Chancey left weeks ago, they should be on their way back here to pick up the crew. What if we miss them?"

Sometimes she couldn't understand this man. She was certain they would pass by Nicole and Chancey in this big ocean. It would be a miracle if they did meet them. She loved Jason, but she could see that often he was far too impatient, and it overruled his better sense.

"Be reasonable, Jason. You know Chancey will protect her with his life. And think of how terrible it would be for her if you weren't here when she arrived. You know she would wait here for you to return from Australia."

She sensed she'd won with that argument. Truly, it would be awful to be stranded at the Cape. Nicknamed the Tavern of the Seas, it contained the worst sorts of people--transients, thieves, even pirates. The only nice thing she could say about Cape Town was that it was a good place to do business. There were hordes of the newly rich from the African mines who didn't know what to do with all their wealth--

Maria's eyes widened behind her spectacles. Distantly, she heard Jason saying, "I should never have pressured her to go to her grandmother's. Pressure certainly didn't work with her mother. And she's so like Laurel. If Nicole doesn't want that life, then she doesn't have to live it. I'll have to find a way to provide better for her."

Like a flash, the idea came to her. Cape Town had an abundance of capital, if you knew where to look. Sadly, Jason didn't.

But Maria did.

"Can't this thing go any faster?" Nicole asked irritably as she looked around the deck of their unwieldy steamer. Irritability had seeped into her personality until it, and sadness, defined her. This wasn't just because they hadn't been able to find a sailing vessel leaving Sydney for Cape Town and had been forced to settle on this coal-hungry monster. It wasn't even that she felt awkward and useless at sea when she couldn't work.

It was because the man she'd fallen in love with had abandoned her.

No one will ever hurt you again. Lies! He'd said the words, said them like a solemn vow. Then clawed open her chest and ripped out her heart himself.

She'd found herself able to go about four or five days without talking about him before the words clamored for release, threatening to strangle her if she didn't let them out. As always, Chancey was a patient listener. They'd been over this again and again, but she still sounded baffled when she whispered, "He didn't even say good-bye. Waited until I went to town without you, then...left."

The tears began, and her chin automatically rose in a futile gesture to forestall them. "Heartless...but he's a selfish man. I foolishly thought he'd changed."

Chancey shifted his craggy face from one sympathetic look to another.

"Looking back, it's as if he wanted to make me fall in love with him. Always trying to get under my skin and to get my attention. To get me to open up to him." She didn't bother hiding her confusion. "Then for him to do this? I was just a game for him."

Chancey looked strange, as if her suggestion had startled him. "No, no, then, that couldn't be it. He probably woke up and realized that ye deserved more than a drunken wretch," he said fervently. He'd been acting so odd lately, Nicole thought. Anytime she mentioned that she was merely Sutherland's cast-off, he defended him.

Chancey frowned and was about to say something. She waited with raised eyebrows, but he coughed and hastily pulled himself up, excusing himself to go to work. He'd signed on as a hand so he could learn as much as possible about steam-propelled ships. He and her father both recognized they were the ships of the future. She didn't begrudge him the work, but she had nothing to take her mind off those bedeviling memories.

Those crushing memories. She might deserve more than a "drunken wretch," but she'd sensed the real man under all the pain. And loved him.

Now he'd given her pain of her own.

But she would survive. All she had to do was bluster and swagger her way through this. That's what she'd done all her life.

Yet some part of her questioned whether she was strong enough to rebound from the last few months. The home she'd wanted so badly was at the bottom of the South Atlantic Ocean, along with the life it could provide. Thanks to losing the race, her father's shipping line was dying. To cap it all, she'd been left behind like rubbish by the man she had loved. Still loved, fool that she was.

At night she would cry, her mouth open from the force of her silent weeping.

Every now and then, a man came across a woman he could look at for hours, Derek drunkenly mused. Less frequently, a woman he could listen to for hours. The odds of finding these qualities combined in a woman who also gave boundless pleasure in bed was so rare it was fabled.

He'd found this woman and left her, while wondering every day when his natural selfishness would surface and he could return for her.

Yet Chancey had made it clear that they were sailing on the morning's tide after Derek left. When he'd asked where the man was taking her, he'd answered only, "Where ye won't find her if ye change yer mind." Oh, he'd changed it all right....

As he sat in his cabin, drinking as he hadn't done in months, his eyes moved over the scenes on the walls, the scenes Nicole had altered and completed while in Sydney, which he'd long since memorized. He'd never thought he would admit it, but he missed her things surrounding his own. Missed a stocking thrown over his chair. Missed the scent of almond oil or paint. Absently he fingered the case of sapphires he'd bought for her in Sydney.

He'd never taken the chance to give them to her. He would never have another.

His surroundings grew unfocused, as his hollow feelings, his want of Nicole, dredged up memories. He recalled a time when, as a boy, he had walked in on a conversation among his mother, his aunt, and their friends. They were all a little tipsy, and he'd been amused.

"My firstborn," his mother had grandly begun, "shall have trouble governing his passions. His marriage will probably be one where husband and wife love and hate with equal intensity."

"Oh, dear," Aunt Serena had responded. "Sadly, I can see it."

His mother noticed Derek and smilingly beckoned him beside her. "I am talking about your and your brothers' futures. Would you like to hear about Grant?"

He'd nodded. "Well, Grant shall marry a woman completely opposite from him. As much as he is a prankster and rapscallion, she shall be a picture of virtue--a good girl with manners and money."

"Sounds stale, Amanda," one of her friends had remarked over her raised glass.

"Possibly," she hedged. "But they'll find their love in the differences. And for this one"--she'd smoothed a lock from Derek's forehead, embarrassing him--"you, son, will have a wife and family you treasure above all else. You shall love them, and they will be your strength."

"Well, he's not the heir," someone had observed. "A love match is certainly possible."

"Not just possible. Derek, you remember this. My middle boy shall be a family man."

How utterly wrong she'd been.

He was married to a woman he hated. Shortly after their farcical marriage, his friends' pity had humiliated and angered him. He'd cut them off first. Then his family, especially when they'd recognized what they had done to a man who'd always wanted a wife and children.

He'd stopped attending functions because always the bloody questions about Lydia, about when an heir would be forthcoming, surrounded him. Or, worse, the pitying looks that circulated with rumors about her latest lover.

His anger compounded itself with each adjustment he made in his life. He gambled and drank far too much. His businesses went to hell, as did his estates. He'd come to relish the freedom that attended one so far gone. No one expected anything from him. No one depended on him. For the first time i

n his life, he was absolutely free. And absolutely miserable, but too entrenched to bother to change.

On the rare occasions when he interacted with his family, he'd vaguely comprehended his mother's regret. As well as the fact that the lower Derek sank, the more upright and responsible the fun-loving Grant grew.

He thought about his dead brother, William. He'd been like a weight around Derek's neck for years. Then to be chained to a female version of his petty, malicious brother forever. No wonder those two had been so drawn to each other.

He remembered hearing the servants whispering about William being spoiled. But they didn't mean overindulged or cosseted, though he certainly was that.

They meant ruined.

Derek couldn't stand being in this room any longer. He snatched up the jewel case, shoved it in his pocket. The bottle slipped from his other hand as he slammed out the door.

Looking out over the sea, he took a shuddering breath. His knuckles were white on the railing.

"Captain?" came a voice behind him.

He turned to see Bigsby, waiting with a sour expression on his face. The man wasted no pleasantries and said only, "A word with you." The doctor sounded surprised by his own tone, but he didn't back down.

"What's this? Is a member of my crew voluntarily speaking to me?" No one approached him any longer. Sometimes he thought Jeb called him a snob behind his back, and others might add "bastard" to the list.

"We want to know why you left her. Why we were ordered to steal away while she went to town. You just...abandoned her," he added in a bewildered tone.

"You make it sound as if she was helpless when you know damn well she isn't. And that Irisher was there to take her home, wherever that might be."

"I know you are a peer, but she was good enough to be your wife even if her family didn't have a title."