"Fine."
The doctor raised his eyebrows, waiting for more information. When none came, he asked, "And her bruises?"
"Fine."
Bigsby frowned, then smiled again. "Just curious. Just curious. Since you won't allow me to talk to her any longer, let alone examine her. Curious, you understand, of course?"
The doctor had just hidden a rebuke in that spate of bubbly speech. Derek didn't need this. "She's healing...fine." Really, he didn't know. She dressed and bathed herself, so he hadn't seen. Plus, he was the last person she'd tell if she was worried. He walked away from the doctor, eyebrows drawn together, and ended up wondering about her all day. Was she still sick? Was she healing readily enough? Healing at all?
He woke early the next morning, just at dawn, while she slept. Gently turning her on her back, he undid the buttons at her midriff. He held his breath as she lifted her arm above her head, tilting her face back to the pillow. When she settled, he bared her torso, noting that her bruises were fading. But so was the mehndi. He'd dreamed about tracing that pattern so often.
Why shouldn't he do it now? She was his to do with as he pleased.
With tentative fingers, he brushed along the design at her waist and up above her flat belly. The lines ran under her shirt, so he pulled it farther open. Heart thundering in his chest, he skimmed the pale undersides of her breasts. He'd been too long without a woman, damn it! That was the only reason for his sharp reaction to her. He wandered along the intricate tracing, following it up between her breasts.
Unfastening her shirt that far had also widened the bottom of the opening, and he could see her hips and the strip of skin just below her belly. His mouth watered to kiss her there. But under his hands, he could feel her body begin to shake from the cold. With regret, he caressed that newly bared spot with the backs of his fingers before reluctantly dressing and bundling her up again.
What had just happened? She'd dreamed that Sutherland was running his hands all over her, the rough pads of his fingers contrasting with the gentleness of his touch. The dream had been vivid and confusing, even more so when she cracked open her eyes and spied him next to her. His gaze lingered over her with a possessive, relishing look that made her body go hot and languorous, even as her mind grew outraged at his liberties.
Her first instinct was to sit up and cover herself, but only after slapping him. Instead, she secretly watched his shaking hands lighting on her body.
Soon his touch became much more than simply pleasurable. She realized she liked being bared for him, especially when he looked at her with such a watchful intensity. Why? Did this mean she didn't hate him? Surely you had to at least like someone to feel what she did. She knew for certain that she despised him, but when she watched him skimming her skin with those blunt-tipped fingers that had stroked her so well, she wanted to reveal more.
He must have read her mind, because he opened the shirt farther up as he moved higher between her breasts. Afraid he would notice she was awake, Nicole closed her eyes. Which started a misery unlike any other she'd ever endured.
Each sensation was heightened. She didn't know where he would touch her next. He could take her breast in his hand or touch her even more intimately, as he had before. So why wasn't she stopping him? Her body began quivering. If he continued, would she reach that peak he'd introduced her to? Right when she became dazed with wanting, just when thoughts arose that she should take his hand and press it between her legs, he pulled her shirt closed and wrapped her up in his bed.
She had no control over herself where he was concerned, and that made her afraid of him. He held all the cards now. She hated the man in one instant and wanted to give him her virtue in the next.
The next few mornings, when Derek returned from giving out orders, he found her sitting in the window, her eyes vacantly taking in the sea. Each time, a stony silence greeted him. This morning was much the same except for finding her dressed for the first time in her own clothes with her curls braided atop her head. He noted with displeasure that her clothes, boys' trousers and a linen blouse, bagged on her small body.
"I heard you were awake," he said gruffly as he closed the cabin door behind him.
She didn't answer, didn't move, just stood staring out the window. Dealing with a woman like this was disconcerting. For one thing, women always chattered around him, probably because he spoke so little. He'd never met one as eerily quiet as Nicole.
And women were usually attracted to him or, more accurately, to his money. With Nicole, it was obvious that he repelled her now. Had she ever really felt differently about him?
He didn't have the slightest clue how to deal with her. He'd wanted to punish her for what she'd done, but even he wasn't cruel enough to hurt her when she was injured. Plus, he was beginning to wonder if she would ever recover from the loss of her ship. She was being punished as it was. She was lethargic and incredibly still losing weight.
Bigsby had suggested he buy fruit at the Cape to reawaken her appetite, even outrageously suggesting a few exorbitant oranges. Amazingly, Derek had taken the suggestion. Today, the surgeon had given his blind opinion that Nicole should begin eating normally again.
"I, uh, I brought you some fresh fruit. I'll just set--"
He didn't have time to blink before she flew at him--or rather, at the fruit he'd placed on the table. She snatched three oranges and two apples, stuffing them in the crook of her bent elbow, under her chin, then attempting to take three more in a juggler's grip.
After scrambling into the corner of his bed, she apparently decided he wasn't coming to take them away. She relaxed and tore into an orange. She rolled her eyes in delight and dribbled juice down her chin.
Derek recognized what her behavior indicated, and a well of fury stoked inside him. "I take it you haven't been eating well since you've been on board."
She raised her eyebrows and gave him a look that said, However did you guess?
He struggled to contain his temper, and his next words sounded less harsh. "You've been brought food three times a day, every day." He pinched the bridge of his nose as he asked, "Why haven't you eaten more?"
She looked torn between answering him and eating the last section of an orange. As the orange prevailed, he had to wait for her to finish her slow, relishing chewing. Peeling another with quick, slender fingers, she asked, "You believe I poisoned your crew, correct?"
He could point out that there was no belief about it, only certainty. But she was speaking to him in whole sentences, so he nodded.
"And you sent my crew to jail because they were worried about my health?" He did not like the direction this conversation was taking.
In a patronizing tone, she said, "I'll take the absence of a denial to mean 'Yes, Miss Lassiter.'"
Brazen chit. Still, he grunted, and she continued, "Your cabin boy made it clear that he doesn't think I deserve food after the dastardly thing I've allegedly done. I'm sure your whole crew is of the same opinion."
She began shining an apple with the hem of her shirt. "Would you eat from the generous trays that keep coming if you were in my position?"
Put like that, he probably wouldn't have, but he'd be damned if he'd admit that to her.
She shook her head at the apple, then held it in two hands as she lovingly took a bite with her little white teeth.
Why hadn't he foreseen this problem? Hell, he didn't want to starve the wench. Exhaling loudly, he said, "I promise you that your food has not been tainted at my order
. In the future, I'll make sure that no one alters your meals in any way."
She inclined her head toward him as if in a regal acknowledgment. Irritated at his continual softening with her, he grabbed his hat and turned away.
"Sutherland?" she asked before he could leave.
"What?"
She ran her sleeve over her chin and took a deep breath. "Although I find it unspeakably difficult to ask you for anything, I find that I have to now that I finally have the energy."
He expected she needed some type of luxury item that she didn't already possess, so her next question caught him completely off guard.
"How did you sink my ship?"
"What?"
She leapt off the bed. "I have to know!"
"I didn't have anything to do with sinking your ship. You and your crew took care of that all by yourselves!" Derek all but yelled.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "It has to be you."
"You're just trying to escape your own punishment by throwing me off the scent--"
She began to pace. "I know your motivation," she continued as if not hearing him. "After all, my father was favored to win this race. And with your reputation, the loss would be devastating to your company."
"You exaggerate."
Returning her attention to him, she said, "You know this race will make or break captains and shipping lines. All of England is caught up in it. All our reputations are at stake."
"I don't disagree with that. But, believe me, Peregrine Shipping is strong enough that a single race wouldn't run it into the ground."
She gave him a pitying glance. "I know about the company. I'm well aware that you've been losing business steadily for the last few years. You might have had some success in camouflaging that fact. But anybody who looked closely would know you're killing Peregrine."
What she'd said was only a variation of his brother's rebuke just weeks earlier but, damn, he didn't want this girl to think that.
"You can't bloody well talk, princess. You poisoned my crew so your father could win."
"How can you think I'm responsible for your crew's sickness?" she asked in an astonished tone.
"Don't forget that I found you in my ship's storage hold sneaking around the water casks," he replied just as heatedly. "And I heard you telling that Irishman that you could cross me off the list--that you'd been through my entire ship."