Chapter Seven
Sounds of a grinding rudder, a squeaking lantern on its hinge, and a constant swish of water woke Selina from a deep sleep. Disoriented, she opened her eyes and discovered she was lying on her side, facing the hull. Fear gripped her, curdling inside her like spoiled milk. Was she back in the hold of a slave ship?
The blanket draped over her and the soft mattress beneath her body invalidated that thought. She’d never been given any consideration or comfort by kidnappers before. The first time she’d tried to escape, another prisoner had been killed right before her eyes as punishment, and she’d been told the man’s death was her fault. After that—during the entirety of her captivity—she’d kept to herself, sleeping in a corner, afraid to call attention to anyone else lest they be killed in her stead.
For days on end, she’d huddled inside a cage, away from the others, wary of every sound. Pirates had poked objects through the bars to antagonize them. She’d made certain not to become attached to the other unfortunate souls sharing the cage, especially while she slept. Seldom would the same people be there the next day, no matter how much she’d prayed they would be. And none of them had wanted to anger their captor, Captain Falchion, the large, menacing pirate who was missing a finger on his right hand.
She struggled to place herself as her thoughts began to clear and she realized, for the first time, there were no other sounds around her except the ship’s normal pitch and sway as it plowed through the troughs and swells of the sea. Gone were the moans of hunger and pain that plagued her memories.
Selina was on board a ship, but unlike the other times, she was in a cabin. And not just any cabin—the captain’s cabin. And she was blissfully alone.
She twisted in the bed and glanced over her shoulder, mindful not to make a sound. Confused and unsettled by everything that had happened to get her where she was, she stiffened. The captain—this Wolf—had seen her at her weakest, as her most vulnerable self. It was a risky mistake. There was no room for the weak, especially in Cornwall. There, men and women toiled a living out of granite, miners risked being buried alive, and fishermen sailed into gales knowing they may never return. It took an indomitable spirit to earn a living in Cornwall. She’d embraced the danger, clung to the old ways, and fought to learn as much as Owen until she was just as good as any man. That is, until their kidnapping put their lives in jeopardy and ruined all their plans.
As a corsair’s captive, she’d been forced into a vicious cycle of panic, hunger, and rest, never letting her guard down. Though it appeared she had done so with Wolf. And how long had she been asleep?
Stunned by her foolhardiness—slumbering in a man’s arms—she worried her bottom lip. Had the captain violated her in any way? She’d seen too much, heard enough to know that even the most trustworthy men cannot forgo temptations of the flesh. Taking stock of her body, she paid particular attention to her nether regions. Nothing felt out of the ordinary but the bruises she’d acquired at the Wasp.
Selina cut her gaze to the deck beams overhead. She blinked, holding back a sigh of contentment as she shifted on the mattress, turning completely over to gaze about the cabin. It had been ages since she’d felt something soft beneath her back.
Guilt struck her like a southwesterly wind. Was Owen receiving the same sort of kindness?
Humiliation gripped her, and tears threatened to blind her again. Damnation! She hated to cry and rarely did so, which made Wolf witnessing her breakdown even less palatable. Crying bitter tears was for the weak and pathetic, two things she could ill afford to be. Not when staying alive and retaining her health required all her strength. Now that she was headed back to Cornwall, had the shock of her captivity, her worry for Owen, and the stress of the events she’d endured finally taken their tolls?
She inhaled and exhaled deeply to calm her emotional upset, taking stock of her own body, discovering the cost of her activities in the tavern. The bed creaked beneath her as she moved. Recollections of lying in Wolf’s arms like a senseless lamb, her hand splayed over his chest as it rose and fell with each breath, inundated her. How easily she’d succumbed to a stranger’s warmth, absorbing his strength, his maleness. She’d been too weak, spent, and reckless to protest.
Selina rubbed her wrists, the skin there was raised, raw, and red, but it was scabbing over and beginning to heal. She turned her right hand over, inspecting the fading teeth marks between her thumb and forefinger where Cuvier had bitten her. The salve Wolf kindly had given her had begun its miraculous work, another fact that put the captain in her good graces.
Clever, powerful, and intriguing, Wolf could have left her in the Wasp, turning a blind eye and a deaf ear to her cries for help as so many other despicable men had done to her and to Jimmy. But Wolf hadn’t. And she owed him her life because of it. The extremes to which he’d gone to buy her freedom tugged on her heart with torturous fervor. She’d never acknowledge her thanks to him, but her gratitude far outweighed her mistrust just the same. Which was wrong. Nothing about the Sea Wolf, about her being on board a ship with a man like Wolf, should make her feel safe. He was a pirate, an unreliable thief. She felt it clean through to her bones as she rose to sit on the edge of the bunk and dangled her feet over the edge.
A nauseating ache pounded in Selina’s head with the sudden movement. The cabin moved in and out of focus, and then back again. Though Wolf wasn’t present in the room, his scent lingered—leather and all male, which was much preferable to the sickening, sweet-smelling cologne Lord Gariland donned.
Where had Wolf gone? Were they in danger of being followed by Robillard and his men? She’d done an abhorrent thing setting fire to the tavern, endangering the people within. There was no way to know how many had been killed in the resulting violence, but one thing was clear: Robillard would never forget it.
A shiver coursed down her spine. If she never saw Robillard and the men that idly followed him again, it would be too soon.
She got her bearings, lowered her feet to the deck, and inspected the cabin, from its mahogany-paneled bulkheads, partially hidden doorway, encased shelves, and sparse furniture to the stern windows. Drawn to light glinting through the panes, she padded toward the window, and opening it, filling her lungs with the fresh, salty air.
Eight bells chimed, the solemn cadence ethereal in the night.
A single lantern lit the inside of the cabin. Two more lanterns above the stern windows lent a slight reflection of the Sea Wolf on the frothy water in the vessel’s wake. The waves sloshed and roiled below like her tormented thoughts, making her feel connected with the ship. Like the Sea Wolf, her mind and body felt as if she sailed in a sea of darkness.
Startled by the similarities, Selina turned away from the windows, the walls of the cabin pressing inward. She still felt trapped, even if in a more civilized cage this time, until her gaze fell on a large half barrel filled with water in the middle of the room. A small table had been left next to it. There, she spied a bar of soap, a cloth, and a large towel, conveniences she’d been denied for the past several weeks.
The filth clung to her skin, suffocating her. She glanced down at herself, ashamed and demoralized. Why, she must look a sight, and she must smell like urine, beer, and pigs. Appalled, she began to wonder how the captain had allowed her to lie upon his bed.
No doubt, the rags she wore were infested with all manner of things. In her haste to escape her jailors in Cadiz, she’d bartered her gown to a beggar and quickly donned the beggar’s garments to complete her disguise. The trousers, shirt, and coat had helped her blend in with the crowd after escaping Captain Falchion, but that hadn’t prevented her from being found by Cuvier on board Le Serpent when she’d snuck aboard as a stowaway to sail north.
She raised her chin, determined not to focus on the things she’d been forced to do in order to survive aboard Le Serpent and in the Wasp. Without these clothes, she wouldn’t be on her way home to inform Papa what had happened to her brother. She was Owen’s only hope now.
Until that time, though, her life was in Wolf’s hands. He’d promised she didn’t have to hide anymore. And as an added gesture, he’d been industrious, supplying her with a bath. Humbled by the compassion the captain had shown her, she longed to lower her aching limbs into the water. She dipped her fingers in to judge the temperature. The water wasn’t hot, but it would wash away reminders of her time in Spain and France.
Butterfly wings took flight in her chest. She’d rarely bathed outside her bedroom before. The few times she had, she’d been a little girl swimming naked in a pond. But, oh, she couldn’t waste this opportunity to rid herself of a fortnight of filth and grime.
She walked to the bulkhead door and tested the handle; it was locked. She bit her lower lip and grimaced as pain shot through her. Not entirely free, she thought, as she gingerly tested her mouth. Or had the door been locked to ensure her privacy?
She hesitated to trust a man she barely knew, but based on Wolf’s actions thus far, he gave her no reason to doubt his intentions.
Settled on a course of action, Selina turned back to the tub, stripped off her coat, and removed her grubby trousers and stained shirt. Underneath them, she still wore her stays and shift because there hadn’t been enough concealment at the time to completely alter her appearance.
The shift’s extra fabric had been drawn up and over the corset to help hide her curves. Not one to take chances, she’d tied a thicker layer of material around her waist as added bulk to conceal its tiny size. She removed this covering next and tackled the long strips of fabric binding her shift to her breasts, letting the tail end coil in a pool at her feet. Lastly, she concentrated on unlacing her stays and discarding her shift.
A sigh escaped her lips as her breasts were finally freed of their entrapments. It had never been her desire to remain in a boy’s clothes for so long. Selina stepped into the half barrel and squealed with shock. The water hadn’t seemed so cold when she’d sampled it! Yet, the chill somehow felt soothing as it seeped over her skin, enveloping her aching muscles in a silent caress. She eased herself into the water slowly, managing to kneel, then squat so she could lean her head over the side of the barrel.
A shivering cold embraced her, but Selina gloried in her circumstances. Deciding this bath was the finest she’d ever had, she placed her hands in the water and washed her face, getting rid of the mud she’d used to disguise her features.
Click.
Selina blinked back the water she’d just splashed on her face. Another click sounded as she reached for her towel. She rubbed her eyes, then cut her gaze to the bulkhead door, focusing on the handle as it slowly began to turn.
Terrified and ashamed that she’d be caught in the bath without means of concealing her nakedness, she draped the towel over the barrel, glancing frantically at the door as it slowly inched forward.
Wolf stood in the doorway. Articles of clothing were draped over his arm, and he carried a tray laden with chicken and fresh bread. The aroma wafted into the room, and she swallowed back a sigh as her stomach coiled tightly in response.
“I thought you might be hungry,” Wolf said, closing the door behind him. He turned the key in the lock and spun around to look at her, securing the key in his belt. “You’ve been asleep all night.”
“What time is it?” she asked, flummoxed. Time had been an unending source of agony these many weeks. She hadn’t been able to keep up with the days and nights that passed. ’Twas hard to do that when every moment was a struggle to stay alive.
He peered down at her. Kindness and something deeper, feral, a kindling hunger she’d recognized in Lord Gariland’s eyes, sparked in Wolf. But Lord Gariland had never seen her naked, which made Wolf seem more wicked. A rush of embarrassment flooded through her. She sank deeper into the barrel, wishing with all of her might that she could disappear.
His gaze broke away. He cleared his throat, and moved to the desk, and set the tray down. “To answer your question, the dogwatch has just been posted.”
“Dogwatch?” she asked. She didn’t recall seeing any dogs when she’d boarded.
He rotated his body around and leaned his hip against the desk, grinning. “Aye. Time is set up in watches aboard a ship. Bells are sounded to alert the crew when these watches begin and end.”
She nodded, chewing the bottom of her lip to keep it from quivering against the chill. So that was why bells had sounded regularly on the corsairs’ ships.
His gaze traveled over her face, then moved slowly down her neck, caressing just as intimately as if he touched her until he could see nothing more. When his eyes met hers again, they smoldered with a heat that transfixed her. A fiery warmth rose to her cheeks in response.
“I’m glad you are finally awake,” he said.
The pit of Selina’s stomach tingled. She nodded, shivering slightly beneath his scrutiny, vulnerable to more than embarrassment. She wasn’t sure she wanted the sudden familiarity they were experiencing to continue.
Her heartbeat quickened beneath the unbridled heat of his stare, the intensity radiating between them making her believe any attraction she felt for the man would be a perilous choice indeed.
“I have not yet thanked you for saving my life,” she said, breaking the silence.
“No.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You haven’t.” For the first time, she noticed his coat, and the effective but deadly wrist guards were gone. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms. “And you don’t have to.”
“Oh, but I do,” she quickly added to cover her nervousness. He was ruggedly handsome, his body hard and strong, capable of so much violence, and yet the compassion she saw in his stare promised he’d never hurt her. “Thank you . . . for the bath.”
“It was for me.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink.
She gasped and clutched the sides of the tub. Water sloshed over the rim.
“It was the least I could do,” he said, cocking his brow and grinning before pushing away from the desk. “You smelled.”
“Oh!” He was teasing her. Selina reached for the wet towel draped over her, balled it up without ringing it out, and threw it at him.
Wolf caught the projectile with one hand. The excess moisture wet his shirt to his skin, defining the planes of his chest. He smirked, then walked toward her. “You cannot deny who you are any longer.”
“Shh.” Her face heated and tingled. She gasped again. “A gentleman would not point out such things.” She crossed her arms over her breasts.
He reached out a hand and stopped her. “I am not a gentleman.” His words struck a vibrant chord in her, and anger reared its ugly head. Her body had been manhandled and her feelings discounted long enough.
“And I am not a lady,” she said to even the score. For, in truth, no one would deem her so as she sat brazenly before him as naked as the day she was born.
“Selina,” he said, the bass of his voice worming its way deep into her core on a thread of delight. “There is no denying you, indeed, are a lady . . . not a boy.”
If she’d been born a boy, perhaps Papa would have loved her and wanted her in his life. He’d groomed her to marry a man of importance, providing her with the necessary skills to make that man happy for one reason only: to broker a marriage contract that benefited him monetarily.
Nothing she’d done on her own had won his approval. When he’d signed her life away to Lord Gariland, she’d resigned herself to her fate, telling herself that the sacrifice she made would finally please Papa.
Lord Gariland was a gentleman, but little good it did him. He was soft and kind, but she doubted he had the courage to sail to the ends of the earth to find her brother. Papa couldn’t even get the man into the pit mines! Rather, as the second son of a viscount struggling to live a life of ease, a lot of coin had been invested in the lord’s appearance. He couldn’t be pressed upon to sink low enough to dirty his hands.
Wolf came to a stop beside the half barrel, and a curious swoop tugged at her belly as his gaze raked over her. She did nothing to conceal her body from view, foolishly allowing the intimate familiarity to continue, behaving as if she was one of the strumpets who’d attempted to seduce Wolf at the docks. He’d saved her life. He’d provided her a bath. She saw in his eyes a mixture of longing and respect. And she felt the same way about him, deep in her marrow.
He’d ripped her out of hell and given her a taste of freedom. It connected them somehow. She sensed it. Almost tasted it. She wasn’t afraid, even though her behavior went against all she knew to be proper, moral, and good.
He slowly dropped to one knee. She dared not move, fearful of exposing more of herself than necessary. He said not a word but reached over her for the small cloth and dipped it into the bath, and then raised it to her arm, trickling water down its length.
Selina was hypnotized by his gentle strokes, powerless to deny Wolf’s gentle attentiveness to her needs. She’d been used for far too long, forced to give up her rights, and his selfless actions wove a spell over her she didn’t want to break. Ever so slowly, he raised the rag and rang it out, washing layers of guilt, despair, and agony away, and then he repeated the process.
Veins protruded in his powerful hands, hands she’d seen strangle the life out of men, as he reached up to rub mud off her face. “There are not many women in this world who can do what you have done.”
“Aren’t there?” she asked, a flush rising to her cheeks. In spite of herself, she enjoyed his ministrations. Like a brazen wanton, she prayed this moment would not end as he reached over her for the soap, lathered the cloth once more, and leaned her forward so he could wash her hair.
“How long has your hair been this short?” he asked, massaging her scalp like a mythical god sculpting clay.
“Not long,” she answered, squeezing her eyes closed to prevent suds from creeping in. “I had to cut it.”
“I’m sorry you were forced to go to such extremes.” He growled deeply. “How long was your hair?”
A tear trickled down her cheek.
Silly girl, it’s just hair. It will grow back.
But would she be able to get Owen back? What if he’d been killed trying to escape or was suffering imprisonment? Her heart fractured, and she fought back an onslaught of tears that threatened to break her composure. In an instant, her hair symbolized everything she’d lost. “It fell to my waist.”
“Bollocks.” He swore just loud enough for her to hear.
She’d heard worse the past few weeks.
“What did you say?” she asked, desiring to hear his deep, soothing baritone once more. It worked better than the balm he’d given her.
“I would liked to have seen it,” he said. “I’m imagining how beautiful the tresses must have been draped over your shoulders and down your back.” Her heart twinged at the underlying sensuality in his words.
The curling strands had been her crowning glory, the one thing about herself that had always helped her feel feminine and beautiful when Papa found her repugnant. But she’d done what needed to be done. “I had no other choice.”
“That’s what I admire about you, Selina.” He gently pulled at her hair, stimulating her scalp. “It’s not easy to make the hard choice. It takes a tremendous amount of strength to survive what life throws at us, strength people typically do not use.”
“Does it?” she asked, glorying in his rhythmic touch. Her heart thudded against her ribs, and her pulse throbbed in her neck. Her senses awakened as he rubbed her scalp and then rinsed the soap out of her hair. She swallowed tightly, knowing nothing good could come of this. But she was too enraptured in Wolf’s ministrations to put an end to them, as much as she knew she should. “I do not see myself as a particularly strong woman.”
Wolf lowered the cloth to her neck. When he squeezed it, water trickled down the channel between her breasts. His sensual ministrations chased away her qualms, kindling a strange longing in its place. The air thickened, and it became harder to breath.
“Only weak-willed people are sure of themselves, Selina. Convinced of their correctness, they are doomed to fail time and time again.” He leaned forward, his breath fanning her neck. “It takes a strong person to do the very thing that scares them.”
Selina twisted to look at him, blood coursing through her veins as her lips came within mere inches of his. His closeness, the sensations he aroused by simply being near, washing her body and her hair, filled her with a strange pulsing awareness.
Not knowing how she would react at any given moment in this man’s presence frightened her. Determined to turn the tide, she asked, “What scares you?”
She heard the harsh intake of his breath. He closed his eyes and tilted his head forward, his hand resting idly on her shoulder.
Another shudder coursed through her.
Wolf inhaled once more, as if struggling to tame something inside himself. He raised his head and looked into her eyes. “I fear only one thing.”
“What would that be?” She doubted this man had feared anything in his entire life.
“Never finding out who I really am.” His voice was harsh, raw, tinged with more than regret.
“What do you mean?” She shrank into the water, despising the speed with which she’d asked the question, loathing the lack of sympathy she’d heard in her own voice. “You’re the captain of the Sea Wolf. Isn’t that what ‘Wolf’ stands for?”
“No,” he said. “My name is Wolfgang, or at least that’s what I’ve been told. That is all I remember of my life before the accident.”
“The name Wolfgang is Germanic, and I can only claim to knowing one Wolfgang, besides yourself. Is it possible you are named after him?”
“Who?” His brows furrowed deeper, and she could see her desire to help him only increased his frustration.
“The renowned composer, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart,” she said, hoping the conversation would help Wolf remember something significant from his past. “He composed Piano Sonata in A. ‘Rondo alla Turca,’ is one of my favorite pianoforte pieces.”
“Do you play?” he asked, simply.
Selina looked down at her raw hands, unsure if she’d ever play again. She’d convinced herself that learning to play the instrument had only been to appease Papa’s demand that her education be fully rounded and pleasing to a prospective husband of note. In truth, she’d longed to become as skilled as her mother. Music helped her forget the loneliness and heartbreak that filled Trethewey House. “I am told that my mother—may she rest in peace—was proficient.”
“What was your mother like?” He reached out and brushed away a water droplet that was trickling down her forehead. “I cannot remember mine.”
Selina’s heart fell to her stomach as her feelings for Wolf grew. He could not remember his mother, and she had never known hers. The only parent she had left wanted nothing to do with her. “I’m told I look just like her . . . to Papa’s disgust.”
His eyes narrowed. He scowled. “Who told you this?”
“Papa,” she said candidly, trying to keep her voice even to hide how hurtful Papa’s indifference had been.
Wolf stroked her face, his touch a pleasant distraction. “Why would your father find you abhorrent? You are beautiful,” he said.
She gave him a sad smile “He cannot bear to look at me.”
“You are not the kind of woman anyone can ignore.”
That had not been her experience. “Papa has his reasons, I suppose. My birth took my mother’s life, just as purposefully as I torched the Wasp.” But it was more complicated than that.
“Fate conspires against us every day,” Wolf said, reaching out to stroke her cheek. “Who are we to tell the moon not to shine or the sun to hide behind the clouds? It is what we do with the burdens we’re given that matters most.”
His mouth was close enough that she could feel his heated breath on her cheek. She could see herself in the depths of his brown eyes, a pale creature destined for hardship and loneliness. “Some burdens are harder than others to carry, Wolf.”
“Aye. That is true. I will not deny it.” His finger grazed her lips, igniting sensations that shot straight to her belly. “And there are others,” he said, tilting her downturned face up to his, “that threaten to unravel a man’s soul.”