The Captain's Caress Read online

  RELENTLESS PASSION

  “What are you going to do?” Summer asked fearfully as Brent held her immobile against his lean, muscular frame.

  “Ten years ago the earl took what was mine,” he said, and the years of hate and anger cut through his flaring desire. “Now I’m going to take something of his.”

  “No,” Summer moaned. “Please don’t!”

  Brent forced her to turn toward him. He cupped her face in his hands. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind all day,” he said in a voice husky with passion. “The thought of you has been driving me out of my senses.”

  He took her mouth in a hungry kiss, and the feel of his firm, warm lips on hers nearly paralyzed her. His hands roamed over her at will, going where no hands had ever gone, doing what she had never imagined hands were meant to do. She was stunned, but an answering chord sounded within her and she realized with a shudder of anticipation that she wouldn’t stop him now even if she could….

  The

  Captain’s

  Caress

  Leigh Greenwood

  To my family, who has given

  up so much so I may write.

  Copyright © 1988, 2011 Leigh Greenwood

  The

  Captain’s

  Caress

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Hurry up, or I’ll come in and drag you out myself,” Charles Ashton shouted through his daughter’s bedroom door. “Your trunks are already loaded, and that damned prig is standing at the door looking as though one more breath inside these walls will choke him.”

  Abraham Brinklow, agent in the proxy marriage of Gowan McConnel, the earl of Heatherstone, to Summer Ashton, was so anxious to leave he would have fetched Summer himself if doing so would have reduced by as much as one minute the time he had to spend in her father’s company. He hoped the girl took after her mother, for he shuddered to think of what would happen to the house of McConnel if any future earl should in the least resemble Ashton.

  Summer descended the broad staircase with a quiet dignity that was at variance with the slovenly impatience of her sire; it cast into even greater relief the differences between them. A fixed gravity that made her look older than her nineteen years had replaced the tears and despondency of the past week.

  “I’m ready,” she said in a soft voice in which resignation was the only discernible emotion.

  “You surely took your time, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. I’m never ever going to have to stand around waiting for you again,” Ashton said cruelly. “Good-bye, and good riddance.”

  “Aren’t you coming with us?” she asked, surprised into raising her eyes.

  “Hell no. I’m not going anywhere in this damned heat. She’s yours now,” Ashton barked at Brinklow, who couldn’t disguise his relief that Ashton would not accompany them to the ship. “If you lose her, the earl can take his money out of your hide.” Ashton gazed contentedly at the documents that put ten thousand pounds into his hands. “I’ve got all I want right here.”

  Summer turned and walked out to the waiting carriage without a parting word. Her father had heartlessly sold her into marriage, thereby stripping her of all feelings of love or belonging; his final brutal rejection had severed the last tendril of attachment. Nothing remained now but hurt and a profound feeling of betrayal.

  Firmly resisting the temptation to take one last look at the only home she’d ever known, Summer stared before her with vacant eyes as the carriage rolled down the long drive. She felt cornered, caught between a vindictive father and the censorious representative of a husband she’d never seen, but whose shadow loomed ominously over her.

  At times during the past week the whole scheme to marry her to the Earl of Heatherstone had seemed so fantastic she could almost believe she had dreamed it, but when she’d been dragged before a priest who’d solemnized the marriage despite her protests, she knew the nightmare was real. She had considered running away, but the marriages of all her friends had been arranged and no one thought her ill-treated.

  “Why should I feel sorry for you?” her closest friend had asked in a jealous pique. “I’d marry a leper if he were an earl and wealthy enough to take me off this island.” Only Summer’s mother could have understood why she looked upon her wedding day as an end rather than a beginning; but Constance Ashton was dead and Summer had no one to turn to.

  As the hired carriage lurched over the ruts and stones of the unkept driveway, Brinklow studied his new mistress in silence. To him, anyone from the Caribbean was unworthy to become the Countess of Heatherstone, but even his unyielding Calvinistic soul had to acknowledge that Summer was a vision to gladden any man’s heart. She sat upright in her seat, her long brown hair falling over slim shoulders bared by a deep neckline and sleeves pushed low on her arms to keep her cool. The simplicity of her gown outlined her slim figure, accentuated by the bright yellow ribbon at her waist. Soft brown eyes stared at him from under golden lashes, while the rich creamy color of her skin was heightened by the spots of color in her cheeks.

  “Does the earl hope for an heir?” Summer asked uneasily, breaking Brinklow’s rigid silence.

  “It is natural that a lord as wealthy and influential as the earl should hope for a son to carry on his ancient line,” intoned Brinklow, unbending slightly. The power, wealth, and grandeur of his employer was Brinklow’s favorite subject, and he readily expanded on the bright prospects of the young man fortunate enough to be the earl’s first-born son.

  Summer didn’t speak again until they neared the waiting ship. “Does the earl travel from home often?”

  “The earl is frequently called upon to advise persons of importance,” Brinklow announced, “and of course he undertakes a great amount of business in Edinburgh and London, but Glenstal is an excellently furnished castle and you may be assured that your comfort will be well attended to at all times.”

  Their arrival at the dock brought Summer to the final step that would cut her off from her home and irrevocably thrust her into the arms of a complete stranger, her husband. Unwilling to leave the carriage until the last minute, she hung back while Brinklow conferred with the captain of the ship which was to carry her to Scotland, but once she placed her feet on the deck, once she realized there was no possibility of turning back, her courage began to a
ssert itself, and she approached her fate with unsuspected courage.

  “Welcome, miss. Your maid is waiting in your cabin. You’ll find it down those steps at the end of the galley.” Captain Bonner’s greeting made it abundantly plain that he didn’t relish having women on board his ship.

  “I am the Countess of Heatherstone,” Summer informed him quietly. “I have no doubt my husband is paying you handsomely for the use of this vessel, so please have someone inform my maid that I await her attendance. And I would be pleased if you would accompany me to my cabin and see that I am provided with all I need for this journey.”

  Brinklow gaped in dumb surprise. He had assumed the new countess to be only the stunned, helpless creature he had known the past week. But Summer had decided to fight and to survive. The ship was her first battleground.

  “This is my vessel,” Captain Bonner blustered.

  “If the terms are not acceptable to you, inform Mr. Brinklow at once so that he may make other arrangements.” Bonner paused to gauge Summer’s determination, but she didn’t give him enough time. “Please make up your mind. I’m tired and wish to lie down.”

  Captain Bonner barked out an order, and a few minutes later a short, stout woman of middle age and sympathetic mien bustled on deck.

  “Lord ‘a mercy, milady, to think I never knew you’d arrived. And me trying to make something out of that cabin, which I never will because anybody knows you can’t make silk out of sack cloth.” She glared at Bonner.

  “I’m sure you’ve done quite well,” Summer replied, checking an overwhelming desire to throw herself into the arms of this big-hearted woman. “The captain has offered to provide us with anything we need. Can you give him a list?”

  “A list is no trouble, but finding a way to get the two of us settled in that little bitty hole is more than I can do.” She turned to the irate captain. “You can begin by finding a lantern that gives off more light than smoke, a chair without the canes broken, a bowl and pitcher, a table, and a wardrobe.”

  “Do you think to take over the whole ship?” Bonner asked angrily.

  “It’s paid for, so we might as well have the run of it; your nasty sailors do. And don’t go disappearing before I’ve had my say, or you’ll not find as much money waiting for you at the other end as you supposed.”

  “I always heard the Scots were tight-fisted.”

  “Don’t think to insult the earl by saying he’s fool enough to pay for more than he gets. Now you come along with me, milady, and I’ll settle you in for a nice rest before this hateful tub starts to rocking fit to make you queasy. If you think it’s a penance now, that’s nothing to what it’s like at sea.”

  Summer was all too ready to put herself into the capable hands of this dauntless woman who, needing only the presence of her mistress to buttress her commands, proceeded to spare neither captain nor crew. Before they set sail, Captain Bonner was thinking that a cargo of Spanish bulls might have been preferable to these two women.

  “My name’s Bridgit Barlow,” the spritely lady announced to Summer as she closed the cabin door in Bonner’s scowling face. “I’m not rightly a lady’s maid, I’m a housekeeper by training, but I’ll see you’re cared for until we get to Scotland and I can tend to you proper.”

  Able to restrain herself no longer, Summer sank down onto the bed with a sob. Instantly Bridgit was beside her, gathering her into her arms and rocking her gently.

  “Now, now, there’s no call to cry,” she said soothingly, patting Summer’s head all the while. “I know it’s hard to leave those you love, but we all have to leave our parents when we marry.” When Summer cried even harder, she told her, “Go ahead and get it out of your system if it’ll make you feel better. But when you’ve dried your eyes you’ll see what a wonderful future awaits you. It’s not every girl that’s able to marry a rich lord in a fret to have her with him. I can’t wait to see his face when he sees how pretty you are. You’ll soon have half the country at your feet. But don’t worry, I’ll be there to see that you aren’t bothered too much. After all, even a husband will get underfoot if you let him.”

  Chapter 2

  The man stood motionless and alone at the bow of the ship as she dipped and rose, cutting through the waves of the placid Atlantic with rhythmic ease. His tall, muscular frame was silhouetted against the morning sky, and cool breezes tossed his sun-bleached hair about and made his loosely tied shirt billow behind him like the sails of his ship. Trousers, short and threadbare, clung tightly to his powerful thighs, while his bare feet and legs glowed like burnished copper in the still-cool sun. There was about him a tautness, a sense of contained power that made him appear, even at rest, about to explode with vital energy. The powerful ship beneath him seemed but an extension of himself.

  All around him Nature did her best to draw his thoughts from the dark memories that troubled him. The sky, arched over limitless horizons, was the azure blue immortalized by poets, its enormous expanse broken by billowing clouds that rose like gigantic mountains disdaining earthly foundations. Huge sea birds, not yet hungry enough to dive, hovered with weightless ease on outstretched wings as they rode the powerful Atlantic drafts. A school of fish scattered before the ship as she knifed through the water, and the dolphin that had followed the large craft for days in search of food, darted playfully through the swells leaving all competition in their wake. The outstretched sails were filled by the brisk wind that bore the ship on her way. She was a pirate ship, speedy and efficiently designed.

  There was no thought of attack that day, so the decks of the Windswept were quiet. She was heading for home after long months at sea, her hold bursting with prizes taken from less swift vessels. Bolts of priceless silks and velvets were piled high in the hold. Indeed, every available space was so tightly packed with rare woods, thick furs, ingots of copper ore, and casks of wine that the crew was forced to sleep in shifts. Now, as the early afternoon sun warmed the decks, some of the men were enjoying a siesta.

  The lone sentry paused in his leisurely scanning of the horizon, his eyes focused on a tiny speck in the distance. He wondered whether to notify the captain immediately or to wait until he could identify the craft’s flag, but the sounds of vigorous steps on the wooden deck caused him to look up in time to see his captain heading toward him with ground-devouring strides.

  “You’d better keep a sharp eye out,” Captain Brent Douglas said, stepping over a slumbering sailor. “We’ll need lots of time to wake these sleeping beauties.” A volley of guttural snores reverberated over the deck.

  “They don’t look very lively,” Bates agreed, trying to smile despite the nervous excitement that filled him whenever the captain addressed him. “There’s something on the starboard side, sir, but she’s too far away to see more than the sails.”

  Brent’s keen eyes peered into the bright sunshine. “She doesn’t look like a large ship, but we should be able to tell something with the glass in half an hour.” Brent turned away, then wheeled back to study the tiny dot once more, unable to shake the feeling that the distant craft was no ordinary vessel straying across his path. He tried to ignore the unwelcome sense of foreboding, but it wouldn’t go away and that angered him. He had risen to his present position because of a cool head and careful judgment, not imagination and guesswork. “We don’t have room for anything else unless we store it in my cabin,” he said, showing his perturbation. “Keep your eye on her, but we’ll let her pass to the north.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bates was relieved to learn that they wouldn’t be taking another ship. He was anxious to get to Havana and start spending his share of the profits.

  “I’ll send Smith to check on her later,” Brent said. After leaving the quarter-deck, he stopped to talk with a seaman indulging in a leisurely stretch, but Bates noticed that he glanced out to sea several times before disappearing below.

  “I wonder what’s bothering the captain,” Bates commented, as much to himself as to the mate who had wandered up to join him. “It’
s not like him not to know his own mind.”

  “Maybe he’s trying to figure out how to pack more into the hold,” suggested his friend. “The captain isn’t greedy, but he doesn’t make a habit of passing ships by.”

  “It’s not that,” Bates mused after a pause.

  “Why don’t you ask him if it worries you so much?”

  “And get my head snapped off for my pains?” Bates demanded of his grinning companion. “I’m not such a fool. If you’re so brave, Sam, why don’t you ask him what he thinks about when he goes all glassy-eyed and starts staring out to sea, looking like he’s about to commit murder.”

  “Likely it’d be me that was murdered if I was to do a tomfool thing like that,” Sam replied with a shiver.

  “Then see you don’t go giving advice you don’t follow yourself,” admonished Bates.

  Thirty minutes later the captain, coated, booted, and armed with sword and pistol, gazed wordlessly at the approaching ship through a powerful telescope. “What can you make out?” he asked, handing the spyglass to Bates.

  Whatever is bothering the captain, Bates thought as he lifted the glass to his eye, is bothering him real bad. He examined the ship briefly. “She looks like a Scottish merchant vessel. Probably out of Edinburgh, and carrying a light load of tar and shingles.” He handed the glass back to Brent who studied the ship carefully once again.