The Captain of All Pleasures (Sutherland Brothers 1)

He strode through water to the next cabin, his legs making wakes. As he scanned the room, obviously Nicole's, he took in the polished desk and the carved mahogany bed with its gilt and satin wood trimmings. Several compasses, broken barometers, and thermometers floated just above the floor. A pair of extraordinary painted landscapes and pastoral scenes attached to the panels struck him in particular.

Where Lassiter's cabin was bare, extravagances filled hers. Lassiter had spared no expense on the decor, Derek thought, taking in the rich lace on her window. He wasn't unfamiliar with the expense of the items, nor with the cost of the landscapes. No wonder Lassiter was in financial straits.

Maps floated everywhere. He didn't know if even he owned that many maps. She had a spare sail in the corner and probably made herself useful occasionally by sewing. He walked over to her sea chests, somehow feminine, and began rifling through them.

What he found in the first one surprised him. Lacy, silky underthings filled it. Womanly underthings. He'd never seen her dressed in anything other than men's clothes. But if he'd paid more attention when he hurriedly snatched her clothes off that night, would he have noticed what lay underneath? Maybe he should bring her clothes for the long journey. He remembered her skin was unusually soft and fine. What if regular cloth was too rough on her?

That was what he wanted--to punish her--wasn't it? But he'd be enjoying that skin shortly and didn't see any reason to mar something he found so attractive. At the door, he called to two nearby sailors and ordered them to unbolt the trunks and haul them to his ship.

"Cap'n, it won't be long now afore the ole girl goes down," one of his crewmen yelled.

"Make sure all the men are off this ship--I'm right behind you." A heaving motion churned beneath his feet, skidding him sideways. The death roll of the ship. He shook his head sadly and ran across the deck.

Back on the Southern Cross, he found Chancey and, with the help of two others, tore the seemingly lifeless girl from him. Derek considered himself a brave man, but the hair on the back of his neck stood up when he heard Chancey's inhuman growl. Derek turned with the girl in his arms to look at him, but immediately regretted it.

Because, before he could be restrained again, the man yanked his bound arm away from one sailor's grasp. Running a finger across his throat, he glared at Derek with a killing promise in his eyes.

In answer, Derek smiled, more a baring of his teeth, until like a shot, a splintering sound exploded from the dying ship.

Both men turned to watch the Bella Nicola rupture into huge sections as she finally broke apart just above the surface. It disturbed him to see the meticulously painted hull crack, the boards screaming as they parted. The noise was haunting. Yet even this was better than the eerie quiet as she surrendered to the greedy, bubbling waters.

Derek realized that the unconscious girl hadn't moved during the piercing rending sounds. Yet tears streamed down her face, and a desperate moan escaped her lips at the silence.

Chapter 15

A n anxious Dr. Bigsby doggedly followed him as he carried Nicole to his cabin, though not close enough, because Derek slammed the door in his face.

"But, Captain Sutherland! She needs medical attention. She could be gravely injured."

Derek paid him no heed; he was certain she would awaken soon, and he could begin grilling her on what she'd put in their water. He placed her on his bed, not exactly dumping her, but close to it. She cried out in pain, and he felt his first jolt of alarm.

Working quickly, he removed her boots and oilskins. Her skin was icy--he'd never felt another human being so cold. At the sight of her abraded neck and wrists, he choked out a call to Bigsby. With his black medical case in hand, the man entered at once, since he'd never moved.

"What can you do for that?" Derek asked, holding up her wrist. Salt had collected on her oilskins and rubbed against her skin like sandpaper.

"I have a salve, but that is the least of our concerns. I've completed a preliminary examination of her crewmates, and many suffered serious injuries. This one appears so fragile that I fear she could have internal damage. And she must be warmed without delay."

When Derek simply stood there, shaken at the anxious sound of the doctor's voice, Bigsby maneuvered him out of the way and started cutting through her shirt.

He'd only managed a small part when he said, "What the devil...?"

It was the mehndi that still lightly decorated Nicole's skin. "I'll do that!" Derek snatched the scissors from the doctor's hands. He didn't like the idea of another man seeing that painted skin. Painted for him.

Bigsby stared at him with an incredulous look on his face. "If she's...tattooed, it makes little difference to me. I was just surprised."

With scissors in hand, Derek stood unmoving, frowning down at her.

The doctor asked in a baffled tone, "What had you planned to do with her?"

"I'm a little short on plans where she's concerned," he said as he impatiently raked a hand through his hair.

"Obviously," the doctor muttered. Then in a louder voice, he declared, "If you won't let me help her, then you must get her out of her wet clothes and get her warm."

Derek resumed cutting her shirt. But what he revealed of her body made his breath whistle out. Angry bruises ran across her chest. Without thought, his hand dipped to her skin, his fingers brushing over the livid marks.

"Captain Sutherland," Bigsby said sharply, "you shouldn't be in here when I'm examining her. She'll be distressed when she awakens."

"I don't give a damn about that," Derek snapped. "I'm responsible for her now. She's...mine. I'm not leaving her alone."

Bigsby shook his head, then marched to the door to call for a bucket of hot water. When he returned and began his examination, he clucked over the girl like a mother hen. Derek could find no fault with the man's professional behavior. He removed all of her clothing, but kept a woolen blanket covering every part of her body that he wasn't currently examining.

Finished at last, Bigsby said, "She has a nasty lump on her head. I'm most concerned about that. You never know how head injuries will react. I'm also worried that she was probably in wet clothes for at least the duration of the storm. I'd be surprised if she doesn't develop a fever."

"What are you doing now?" Derek asked when the doctor directed the sailor with the hot water to set it beside the bed.

"I'm bathing her wounds," he answered.

"The hell you are! You're needed by other crew members more than you are here, and my crew comes first." At the doctor's troubled look, he gruffly said, "I'll do it."

Bigsby nodded. "Please be quick about it. She needs to be dry and warm as soon as possible. Captain Sutherland, I am not exaggerating when I say it could be life or death if you don't keep her warm. And you have to be gentle with her. Even if she's unconscious, her body registers the pain. You mustn't hurt her any more than she is."

Before he left, he added, "Since I'm not certain if she has sustained internal injuries, she absolutely cannot be moved from that bed."

Derek impatiently shoved the doctor out the door.

He turned back to his chore, grabbing a cloth out of the bucket of steaming water, and lifted it to her body. The task of caring for her proved to be punishing for him, because with every movement, she cried out in pain. Although he hated her for what she'd done, he couldn't help flinching.

Her legs and her slightly jutting hipbones were bruised even blacker than her chest. He could clearly make out where the rope had wrapped around her tiny waist, damaging the delicate skin. The lump on her head hadn't receded, and her skin was raw in several places. All in all, he'd never seen a woman in such bad shape. It scared the hell out of him.

He strove to treat her objectively but, brute that he was, he had to keep himself from imagining her skin and beautifully shaped body as they were the last time he'd enjoyed them. He was sweating when he finally finished washing the salt from her skin and wounds. He'd never tended a sick or injured person in

his life, much less a sick or injured woman. He felt clumsy and inept every time he placed his rough hands on her small body.

After drying her, he looked in one of her trunks for something to dress her in, but wasn't able to solve the conundrum that was her undergarments--scraps of lacy confections, too imaginative for him to figure out. Worse was the pleasure he found imagining her in all those silks and sheer materials; he was a guilty voyeur, an interloper.

Furious with himself, he stuffed everything back in the trunk and slammed the lid in frustration. He didn't even bother with the second chest, but hastily dressed her in one of his own shirts before bundling her with every blanket he could lay hands on.

"Her bruises are worse," he informed Bigsby later that night. "And she hasn't awakened yet."

"Captain, please allow me to say for the fifth time that I am fairly confident nothing is broken or permanently injured. And sleep is her body's way of coping with the trauma of her injuries."

Derek stalked off again. He trusted Bigsby. Hell, he'd let him examine her even though the thought of the doctor touching her infuriated him. But it hadn't escaped Derek's notice that every time he'd approached the doctor since they'd brought Nicole aboard, Bigsby would get this ridiculously knowing look. Sometimes he appeared to feel sorry for Derek.

Still, if Nicole showed no signs of improvement by tomorrow, he'd have to find her another doctor when they arrived at Cape Town. And a magistrate. Even as the thought arose, he dismissed it. He wouldn't surrender her to Cape Town's corrupt justice system, and not just because he could guess how a girl like her would be abused. It was, he told himself, because she was his to do with as he pleased now.