The Captain's Caress Read Free Page A

a rapid conversation with the Sea Otter’s first mate, a worried crease between his eyes. A quick conference with the Sea Otter’s captain did nothing to lighten his expression. He schooled his features to their accustomed passivity as he turned to Brent, but his eyes were wary.
    “Williams has gone over the cargo lists with their people and it seems that about all they’re carrying is a woman.”
    “Why would anybody be fool enough to waste a whole ship on one woman?” Brent demanded, angered to find his efforts wasted. “Who is this invaluable female?”
    “The Countess of Heatherstone.” Whatever response Smith may have been expecting, he was astonished to see his captain go deathly pale under his tan.
    “Are you sure?” Brent demanded in a dry whisper. “You’ve got to be sure.”
    “I spoke to Captain Bonner myself,” Smith assured him. He could not account for Brent’s unexpected response, but he was certain the countess’s name was not unknown to his captain.
    Brent didn’t hear Smith’s reply; his mind was awash with memories he had spent ten years trying to forget. He heard, once again, his father’s smiling promise to return with enough riches to pay their debts. He saw his mother, her eyes haunted, sitting by the parlor window, waiting for a letter from the husband she would never see again. He remembered every word of Ben Potter’s explanation of how the earl had robbed Brent of his future. He closed his eyes tightly, but he couldn’t block out the picture of Gowan lying in a pool of blood while a young boy stood over him, riding crop in hand.
    “Do you want to speak to their captain?” Smith asked tentatively.
    “Yes,” Brent said, with a visible effort forcing himself back into the present. “It’s time I met the leader of this fainthearted crew.”
    Smith looked keenly at him, but for the first time in many years a curtain was drawn between them. With an uneasy mind, he led Brent to where Captain Bonner waited.
    A middle-aged man of large stature, Captain Bonner carried surprisingly little weight on his tremendous frame, and the two men made an imposing picture as they faced each other. But Bonner’s eyes didn’t flash with Brent’s keen intelligence, nor did he move with restless energy.
    “I believe we are fellow countrymen,” Brent began easily.
    “You’re English!” exclaimed the scowling man.
    “No. I’m Scottish, but I doubt you’ll find that an adequate excuse,” Brent responded, smiling at the familiar reaction. “I’ll spare you the trouble of telling me what a disgrace I am to my country. That was what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”
    “That and a great deal more,” asserted the outraged man.
    “Save it for our next meeting. Right now I’m in a hurry and I need the answers to a few questions.”
    “Your man already has our bills of lading. He probably knows more about our cargo than I do. I don’t concern myself with freight,” Bonner concluded with a haughty sneer.
    “You should. It pays your wages.” A snicker from the ranks of his own men cut off Bonner’s intended reply and caused him to flush with impotent fury.
    “My first mate tells me that your cargo consists of a woman. That’s unusual. Is it also true?”
    “Of course it’s true,” Bonner replied, infuriated. “Do you think I’d lie about anything as easily verifiable as that?”
    “I should hope not,” Brent said with an ironic smile.
    “If you’ll take the trouble to locate a Mr. Brinklow, he’ll tell you that he’s the agent who hired the Sea Otter to convey the countess to Edinburgh.”
    “Find me this Brinklow at once,” barked Brent.
    “Here he is, sir.” Some of the hardness in Brent’s eyes dissolved as Smith motioned one of the crew to bring the man in question forward.
    “Am I correct in assuming that you have already sent someone to request the countess’s presence on deck?” he asked, and Smith nodded. “There are times when I’m not entirely sure I