The Devil's Luck Ch. 04

Blackburn could take a lesson from him, that fiend.

The interruption of her happiness with an inopportune thought of the captain brought her crashing the rest of the way back to reality. Why would her mind ruin this moment with reminders of the other man?

Because you burn for his touch just as badly, you shameless jade.

As if Till were reading her thoughts, he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand and spoke to her in a quiet voice, choosing his words carefully. "It could be like this...with him. He isn't the knave he seems, Mrs Collingwood. I...I just don't think he knows to act otherwise."

She couldn't believe what he was saying to her, much less attempt to entertain thoughts of the captain while his quartermaster was still nestled up inside her. Squirming back on the mattress in a move to end their intimate pairing, she shook her head in denial of his words, "Please...can we not speak of him now?"

"Of course," he said, and his face let her know he'd seen his error in broaching the topic. He leaned forward to place a tender kiss on her forehead and repeated, "Of course."

Hannah pulled her skirts down over her weakened knees and slid from the bed to stand beside a fully sated Mr Till. They spent several luxurious moments in a last embrace, his arms a comfort around her and a temporary security against the sea of uncertainty that faced her aboard a ship she was never meant to be on in the first place.

With a few more hungry kisses, Till made his apologies that he would need to return to his duties as he'd been gone far longer than expected. He collected the plate and pitcher he'd brought and made his way out of the cabin.

After watching the door close behind him, Hannah was left alone and confused again. The feeling was quickly becoming her normal state. How could Till claim her body one moment and then try to convince her to accept Blackburn the next? What sort of history did these two men have that they should be so casual about the idea of sharing a woman? And what sort of person was she that, despite the captain's monstrous treatment of her, she was not able to decide, between the two of them, which man set her aflame the most?

* * * *

Edmund stood at the wheel of The Devil's Luck, having taken over for the helmsman, sending the man off to secure his share of food from the galley while there was still any left. There were certainly other members of his crew who could have served as relief, but outside of his stateroom, the wheel was his favourite place to be on his ship. Particularly if he could be there alone; it gave him a quiet place to look upon the unending sea and think.

It probably said something about him, the amount time he liked to spend alone, but what that was, Edmund was not certain. He enjoyed the company of his quartermaster, and this made sense as he'd likely spent more of his adult life around the man than any one other person. But other people? No. Only in short spells could he tolerate them.

Now there was Mrs Collingwood, of course. He didn't mind being in her company. But that was no doubt a passing fancy, born out of the recent convenience of having some amusement on board, and the length of time that had passed since he'd involved himself with a woman without paying for the privilege. And that had been a very long time.

Respectable women, he'd concluded in the early years of his manhood, were simply too much work. He prided himself on being an efficient man, and the effort it took to woo a lady seemed all out of proportion to the return it earned him. He'd learnt early on that it was much easier to simply exchange his coin for the favours he needed and be on about his business.

Yes, business. He supposed that he'd learnt that way of thinking from his father if the man had taught him nothing else. Even the relationship between father and son had been boiled down to a transaction at this point.

Nathaniel Blackburn was an impenetrable tower on a cold and unscalable peak. In the same way that his son had done after him, Edmund's father shunned women and love for the time they wasted, and even eschewed any arrangements of marriage in his unwillingness for even a moment to focus on anything other than profits and power. He purchased the fulfilment of his male needs as he did any other service, and it was the undesired result of one such union that had brought Edmund wailing into this world.

His father could have left his illegitimate offspring to be raised by the whore who'd borne the babe. To this day, Edmund didn't understand why that had not been the case, and had never been brave enough to demand reasons from his father. He'd been raised in the man's household and that was that. The woman who'd given birth to him he'd never met, and he was truly thankful that he wasn't the sort of man who went in for women much older than himself, or a most unfortunate coincidence might have occurred during his time spent amusing himself among the prostitutes of Kingston.

Despite the small army of servants and slaves about the estate, the Blackburn household had been a lonely place to grow up. His father had the cane plantation to manage, and as Edmund was never given any siblings by the man, he'd been mostly left to entertain himself.

Certainly there were tutors around to contribute to his education, and so he was not literally alone every moment. Nathaniel Blackburn had hired the best that were available to instruct his bastard son, for all the sense it made. All except a Latin tutor, Edmund laughed to himself. His father had been forced to make do with whomever was available on the island, and at the time in question, that had not included anyone who was schooled to teach the language of Popes and dead emperors. Thus he'd found the Widow Collingwood's skill quite useful to make up for his lack in this area.

It was an odd set of affairs between Edmund and his father. On the one hand the man paid for expensive tutors, fine clothes, and the like. On the other hand, his father mostly avoided his company and was not timid about reminding his son of his lack of legitimacy.

He'd lost even the financial support shortly before his eighteenth birthday when a little too much attention had been raised around one of his and Benjamin's dishonest exploits down at the harbour. The old man had had no use at all for him after that. The ships of privateers, and then ultimately that of a pirate, had become Edmund's new household once he was cast from the old.

Dragging the front corner of his hat back down into place against the wind's incessant pull, he grimaced as his line of thought continued to whittle away at him. He'd thought that perhaps his attainment of a captaincy, which he'd earned as a privateer, even before his acquisition of The Devil's Luck, would have finally bought him some respect out of the man, but that had not been the case. Nathaniel Blackburn had simply laughed and asked whether Edmund's new title made his mother something other than a whore and went back to reviewing his ledgers.

The shining top of Benjamin Till's bald head coming up into view as the man mounted the stairs to the quarterdeck pulled Edmund away from his personal symphony of self pity. He nodded to his friend in greeting, taking note of the subtle spring in the man's step.

"What say you, Mr Till?" Always they were formal out where the rest of the crew could hear, or at least they tried to be.

"That's a fine prize you've got shut up down there in your cabin, Sir," the tattooed man said with a lopsided grin.

The reason behind his quartermaster's jaunty gait struck Edmund immediately. He didn't know whether to be proud or jealous of the man. He settled for a friendly jab.

"Fancy you, Seducer of Widows. How did you manage to pry her legs apart a second time? Some line and a series of pulleys?"

"Oh, it weren't me that set about lifting her skirts, Captain. No, she laid the first hand down herself. She's quite the treasure, that one." Benjamin lifted his eyebrows suggestively at this revelation.

"You jest with me, old friend," he said, adjusting his hands on the wheel as he spoke, "I've only been able to part those thighs with threats, and not easily then."

"Does it get under your skin then," the bald man goaded him, "that the orphan from the monastery was able to make way where you could not?" Benjamin leaned in so he could make his next friendly taunt in a lower voice. "She parted for me like the waves in front of this very ship, Edmund. And I did nothing but be only the least bit kind."

"Perhaps it does a bit," he shifted his weight uncomfortably as he answered Till's question. "But we both know you've always had an easier time of it with women. The whores all but give you a free ride in every port we visit."

"You could have her the same way, Captain," Benjamin said seriously now, stepping back.

"I very much doubt that, Mr Till," he replied with a dry smirk, "Our last encounter left her in a crying heap on the floor of my cabin. No, I doubt she'll be seeking out my attentions of her own accord any time soon, no matter how much I would prefer it."

"You'll think me out of line, my friend, but I believe you most certainly could have her willing and wet as the sea, if you'd only stop acting the beast."

The suggestion was both mildly insulting and novel, and he didn't know whether to be annoyed at his friend or curious. The former approach seemed pointless, so he settled for the latter and asked Benjamin then, "And how should I manage to do that?"

"Well you might try not to immediately demand her submission, for one thing," Till advised. "Speak to her of pleasant things, matters you hold in common. It needn't be that difficult."

Edmund sighed as his friend went on. Much as when they were boys, when the two years between them had made a far greater difference in experience, Benjamin was once again teaching him about practical matters that Edmund had not managed to learn as the lone bastard son in an unwelcoming household.

The helmsman returned only a short time later to retake his post, and the captain and his quartermaster made their way down to the main deck. Before moving off to his own cabin, Benjamin made his final point about the whole situation.

"You'd better try your hand at some other ways with this woman if you mean to see her come to you. And you'd best be about it before she figures out about her uncle and the letters. She's a bright girl, Edmund, you won't keep it from her for ever." His friend gave him an informal salute to show he'd meant no disrespect with his words and turned to move off, leaving Edmund alone with a new puzzle to worry at.

Could he get this woman to come to him of her own will? I've rejected no challenge yet, he thought, and surely I won't start with this one.

* * * *

Edmund had given her the two days as he'd promised, with freedom from his advances, but today they were up and he would wait no longer.

The first night he'd needed to ignore her in his bed had been difficult enough, but the true test of his discipline had come on the second evening. After learning that his closest friend had succeeded where he hadn't, and the widow had gone to Benjamin of her own accord, it was all Edmund could do not to plunder her charms again that very night.

But having her against her will was no longer his wish. His goals had changed.

It was not that he wanted sole claim on her. No, that was not the reason Till's bout with her had frustrated him. Edmund was happy enough to share with his closest friend, as they'd ever done. Hannah Collingwood was quite the treasure, as Benjamin had put it, and it would be quite greedy of him to hoard her to himself. What had bothered him about it was that Till had done practically nothing and she'd nearly leapt into the man's arms.

Why should it matter whether she wanted him or not? Her body was just as soft to squeeze, as tight to plunge into either way. Perhaps the example his friend had unintentionally shown him had illuminated a new possibility in his mind: perhaps there was something missing for Edmund Blackburn when it came to women.

Could he remember a time when a woman had asked for him or called his name without being paid? He wasn't sure. Did it imply some weakness in him that he might want to be desired? The uncomfortable thoughts had gone with the way he'd felt, lying upon the berth with her in the dark.

She'd already been asleep by the time he'd retired last night, her body huddled in her established pattern as far to the inner edge of the mattress as possible. When he'd slid into the bed himself he'd spent a tortuous time lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, and willing himself not fall upon her like a bird of prey. If he went back on his word before the two days were done he'd never have what he wanted out of her.

And what do you want out of her, Blackburn?

The closest thing he'd had in recent years that he might even begin to call a lover was that saucy Miss Charlotte he'd seen the last few times he'd anchoured at Nassau. True, her tongue was sweet, and she must have enjoyed him enough to not always ask him for coin. But if he wanted to converse with her after, her eyes would always glaze over as soon as he began to speak of anything less immediate than rum and fucking.

And yet he remembered at sixteen being completely enamored with the daughter of one of the other plantation owners, a dark eyed girl whose name he'd buried away and couldn't remember any more. At some point his father had figured out the reason he was mooning about, and had pulled him aside to gruffly remind him of his place. He heard the man's words in his head still.

That girl is going to be married off to someone with estates, titles. Stick to whores, Boy — no one of good breeding is going to be interested in a bastard with no prospects.

Yet there was no whore who intrigued him the way Hannah Collingwood did.

What did he want? There were no simple answers to that question, and so he'd pushed it away.

Edmund had allowed himself the thinnest sliver of indulgence as he lay there next to her sleeping form. He did so, he rationalised, only to prevent himself from going mad, although he was not entirely certain that it hadn't ended up adding to his frustrations rather than alleviating them.

Moving onto his side to face her, he'd brought his body to line up with hers. He didn't press himself fully against her, but only the space of mere inches separated them. In the dim light from the lanterns that hung outside the ship, he'd been able to watch her expand and contract in her sleep with her breath.

Despite having no access to soaps or perfumes, he was still aware of her pleasantly feminine scent. He'd brought his face to her hair and inhaled, luxuriating in his ability to take her in in some small way without having to still her struggles or restrain her panicked hands.

Why do you torment yourself so? Why not just have her now?

One hand. One careful hand he'd allowed himself to set atop her hip in the quiet darkness. His primal urges had keened and wailed for him to simply cast aside the layers of fabric between them and drive himself deep within her burning core. His rational mind knew, however, that if she was jarred awake in such a rapacious manner, all his hopes would be destroyed. One hand at her side would not wake her, but his need was achingly hard, and worse, beginning to press against her bottom.

She'd stirred in her sleep then and he'd gone incredibly still, not even daring to take his fingers away, lest the movement be the thing that brought her around. After a long intense moment of nothing, when he was sure she'd remained with her dreams, he'd let out a careful sigh and rolled back to stare at the ceiling again, his erection twitching in irritation at having been roused for no reason.

It was thumping against his thigh right now at the mere memory of Hannah Collingwood in his bed, and he hoped that today it would not be for nothing.

Edmund tried to cool himself into a more presentable state before he left his stateroom to go find her.

Acting on a piece of Benjamin's advice, he'd given her leave to roam more or less freely about the ship. His quartermaster had put the word out that Mrs Collingwood was still off limits to the crew, and that they were not to molest her if they saw her out on the decks. Rowland Graves was given an especially stern warning. Edmund didn't trust the man, and had resolved to start looking for a new surgeon once this whole Prometheus affair was brought to a close.

Till's reasoning had been that if she felt less like a prisoner, she would be more likely to react favourably to Edmund. He didn't like it, but he was willing to admit that it made sense. His friend had also given him the even tougher advice that Edmund should try to leave her be for as much of the entire day as possible, to give her some time with her new measure of freedom before he descended on her. This had been a bit more difficult, but he'd managed to only nod or exchange small greetings with her whenever their paths had crossed on the ship that day.

He'd been surprised at her return of his offered pleasantries. He thought she might have ignored him completely, but she was at the least polite, and there was perhaps once a smile on her lips. The sun had been in her eyes at the time, though, so he could not be sure she was not simply squinting into the light to look at him.

Edmund had waited long enough. It was well past full dark now, and she hadn't returned to the stateroom. Probably to continue avoiding you, he thought, ruefully. Other than the minimal evening watch, most of his tired crew would be asleep at this point, so his lovely widow should be simple enough to find.

Sliding his arms back into the sleeves of his coat, he made his way out of the cabin and council room, up onto the main deck.

The Devil's Luck was slicing away along her course. Her lanterns burned and the deck was lit here and there with warm light. A rumbling of male laughter came from somewhere deep below and the thin notes of a flute trailed out into the air in accompaniment. The tune probably came from Winters, the young sailor he always saw trailing along after Ellis George. Edmund shook his head.

He started at his end of the ship and worked his way forward, casting his eyes about for the widow. He was beginning to wonder if she'd gone below for some reason, perhaps to finally seek out the company of that maid of hers, when he spotted her.

Mrs Collingwood stood on the port side facing away from him, looking out over the gunwale into the night, only a few feet from the staircase that led to the top of the forecastle. His steps faltered and he stopped walking toward her altogether for a moment before chiding himself into motion again.

Will you hesitate before her now? A woman you've been inside of already? Are you a man, Blackburn? Do they not fear your name in every port? Move!

As he approached her now he thought he could hear her humming quietly along with the melody drifting from below decks. Edmund smiled to himself at her ability to find distraction in what must be, for her, unthinkable circumstances.

"A fine evening for a tune," he said, stepping up beside her and forcing his voice to be casual.

She started at his words and her fingers fluttered to her breast as she rounded on him with a gasp.

"Captain! What a fright you gave me! I thought I was alone up here."

"You are not alone, Mrs Collingwood," he tried to settle her with what he hoped was a friendly smile.

"Yes, I can see that," she replied, composing herself. She eyed him for a moment before setting her hands back to the gunwale to look out again over the sea and stars. What had he just seen on her face? Confusion? Frustration? A thought unsaid? He couldn't tell and flexed his knuckles in anxiety. One never had to operate this carefully with a crew full of men.