Chapter 17
The winds resumed.
Following the night he’d made love to Cassia, they’d picked up once more to the jubilant cheers of the crew.
And with Carlisle and Turner in the brig, there’d not been a single incident since. An incident which Nathaniel couldn’t even give more of a name to because of the memories it stirred, the ones that threatened to drive him mad.
Nay, there’d been no conflicts or trouble.
Everything had gone smoothly since.
By his navigational estimations, they were just a handful of days from the Renard, which was what all his attention and energy should be focused on. Every sea battle required a man to have his wits about him. Failure to do so saw a crew killed and a ship seized. Or worse, downed.
So what accounted for this restlessness?
Standing at the side of the ship, Nathaniel stared out at the vast azure skies that met the darker blue of an equally vast ocean. The rocking of the ship and the briny sea air didn’t provide their usual calming effect.
This was the last of his journeys until he returned and saw to his father’s bidding.
That’s what he told himself anyway.
Only, he knew he lied to himself. Nathaniel couldn’t go through with the arrangement the duke wished him to make.
He knew that.
Hell, he’d known that the minute he’d laid Cassia down in his bed and made love to her.
Each of the half dozen times he’d made love to her over these past three days.
Yes, in making love to Cassia McQuoid, honor dictated that Nathaniel do right by her. His father would be furious. Outraged. Outraged enough to finally put an end to Nathaniel’s time at sea—as he’d been vowing for three years.
That was the source of his discontent.
Wasn’t it?
The fact that he knew honor dictated he marry Cassia, and in so doing, the future he craved at sea would come to an official end at his father’s hand.
Unbidden, his gaze moved over to that spot Cassia had settled into as hers. She sat while Shorty stood, and whatever she’d said to the big sailor caused him to bellow with laughter.
Cassia joined in, her mirth bathing her cheeks in a soft color, those cheeks which had developed a tannish hue in her time outside.
It suited her.
That color.
The sea.
Being here with him and his crew.
Goddamn it.
He cared about her. He’d known just how much the moment she went over the side of his ship and he saw her disappearing from his life forever.
But hell, he didn’t want a woman in his life whom he could care about. Not when that could be used against him . . . and worse, against her. And more . . . there was the expectation his parents had for him, a requirement that he fulfill the familial duty and marry his late brother’s betrothed.
A marriage of convenience to a woman he was linked to in name only, with the world knowing it was a match born of duty and necessity, would be forever different from a match he’d willingly entered into with a woman who held sway over his heart.
Sway over his heart?
His mind balked and shied, and he recoiled. And yet, there it was. He loved her. Against logic and reason and knowing the responsibilities and the expectations the duke had for him. And more, knowing that a failure to do as his father wished would result in the end of his career. Because his father would not countenance this disobedience. And all the men who depended upon him, the work he did for the Crown—
Everything inside seized up as the same sense of helplessness that had gripped him when Cassia had been flung overboard gripped him once more.
When his mind should be on overtaking the French squadron and intercepting Boney’s plans in the Adriatic, Nathaniel could think of nothing but her.
As if she felt his stare, Cassia glanced over.
She smiled back widely, her cheeks dimpling.
She lifted those fingers holding the always-in-her-grip charcoal and gave a little wave before returning her attention to her drawing.
Nathaniel continued to watch her.
In the whole of his sailing career, he’d always been focused on his work.
It was how he’d convinced himself he could take on an enemy ship with Cassia aboard.
That was what he’d told himself.
And yet, standing at the rail of his ship, unable to look away from her, he made himself face truths he’d not acknowledged before now.
Out on the ocean, he’d faced any number of risks before.
In fact, before any and every battle, he’d found a thrill of anticipation. He’d never doubted his ability, and he’d also known not so much as an iota of hesitation over boarding those enemy vessels and relieving those captains of their spoils. At that, spoils which would not aid them in their quest of hurting the Crown. Nay, he’d never faltered or felt so much as a frisson of unease.
Until now.
The ship rolled gently under his feet, and yet, instead of finding any calm in that light, familiar rocking, his stomach continued to roil. Twisted up in a thousand knots, his gut churned worse than it had when he’d first climbed aboard a ship.
Fear.
It was a first for the whole of his damned life.
He was bloody afraid.
Nay, not just afraid. He was out of his mind with terror; it lapped against his mind and soul and chest with the same incessant beat of the waves that crashed against the Flying Dragon.
In the past, when he’d engaged in those sea battles, there’d been confidence in his ability to win and a lack of fear in what should happen to him if he lost. Oh, he’d thought of his crew. But he’d also known the best way to serve his crew was to develop an unwavering confidence in his own abilities.
Nor did he attempt to delude himself into not believing this new, unwanted, gripping emotion had anything to do with one thing.
That was, one person.
Cassia.
Because before there’d been no Cassia aboard to think about.
Cassia, with her bright sunny smile and her ability to prattle on from sunrise to sundown.
Had he ever really found it annoying? How could he have found it—and her—anything less than endearing?
A wistful smile stole across his lips . . . and then slowly faded as he looked out.
“Captain, you wished to see us?”
Nathaniel tensed as his two most loyal crew members joined him.
He’d been expecting them. He’d called for them.
A ledger containing the ship’s coordinates in hand, Albion didn’t waste any time. “By my estimation, even with the delay in travel, we’ve made up nearly all the time between us and the French ship,” his navigator said. “Traveling the same waters, they were undoubtedly impacted by the same wind and currents—”
“That isn’t why I’ve called you,” Nathaniel said quietly, interrupting the other man midsentence. Albion looked up from his notes, his expression more than slightly stunned.
Hayes, however, watched Nathaniel through hooded eyes.
“I”—Nathaniel lowered his voice—“wanted to discuss Cassia.”
His navigator lowered his books, and both men stared solemnly back.
“If anything happens to me,” he began quietly, “I’d ask that you look after her. That you see she is safe, and that you escort her back to her family.” There was no one he trusted more. He knew either man would lay down his own life if it meant seeing her safe. “You’ll . . . guard her well.”