Captain's Bride by Kat Martin

mouth
said the captain had noticed the change in her mood, but he only
glanced out to sea. “The Black Witch , my flagship, is the
fastest ship in the fleet.” He led Glory toward the bow. “But she’s
been in dry dock for the past few months.” Nicholas waved to the
fair-haired man she’d seen before, and the man hurried toward them,
a broad whitetoothed smile on his face.
    “Miss Summerfield,” Nicholas said, “I’d like you to
meet Joshua Pintassle, our first mate.”
    “How do you do, Mr. Pintassle.”
    “I’m honored, Miss Summerfield.” Glory recognized the
familiar warmth in his cheeks, the wistful look she’d seen on her
suitors’ faces so many times before. Joshua Pintassle looked every
bit the gentleman, his hair and clothing immaculate, his handsome
face smooth-shaven. She smiled up at him. She could always use an
ally.
    “If there’s anything I can do,” he was saying,
“anything at all to make your trip more pleasant, just let me
know.”
    Glory smiled again and watched him through the thick
fringe of her lashes. “I’ll do that, Mr. Pintassle.”
    Nicholas scowled. “I’m sure Miss Summerfield will get
along just fine.” He glanced toward the two men who were unfurling
canvas. “That rigging looks a little slack,” he said to his first
mate. “Take care of it.”
    “Aye, Captain,” Joshua Pintassle said, his cheeks
coloring. With a slight bow to Glory, he beat a hasty retreat.
    “Maybe you’d like to take a turn at the wheel, Miss
Summerfield,” Nicholas suggested a bit curtly, returning his
attention to Glory.
    Her head came up. “Miss Summerfield? I thought we’d
dispensed with formality back at the manor.”
    With a narrow smile, Nicholas raked her with his
eyes, his slow perusal settling on the swell of her breasts, partly
exposed by the cut of her neckline, the rest oulined by the wind
against the fabric of her gown. “I think it would be in both your
best interest and mine if we weren’t too friendly in front of the
crew.” He glanced toward several men in duck pants. One wore a red
checked shirt, unbuttoned to expose his broad tattooed chest;
another, shorter man with a black patch over one eye lifted his
canvas hat in mock salute. Each watched Glory with bold interest.
“They’re a tough lot,” Nicholas warned. “Remember to keep your
distance.”
    Glory stiffened. His mild rebuke seemed a gentle way
of telling her just exactly what distance he intended
keeping, and Glory felt a flare of temper. Maybe she no longer held
his interest. But then, maybe she never had. They’d only shared a
single kiss—one that had left Glory breathless and more than a
little enamored of Nicholas Black-well. Obviously the kiss had
meant less than nothing to the roguish sea captain.
    “I’ll remember that, Captain.” She could have sworn
she saw his jaw tighten before he returned his attention to the
sea.
    Nicholas escorted her up the ladder to the massive
carved teakwood wheel on the aft deck and even allowed her to take
a turn at steering. Then he introduced her to the brig’s second
mate, a man named MacDougal. Mac, as his shipmates called him, was
a stocky red-faced Scotsman in his middle years. He’d known his
captain since Nicholas was a boy.
    “Me and the cap’n go back a long ways, lass,” he told
her. “Nicky signed on as a cabin boy aboard the Sovereign
Lady bound fer England. He was no more’n a boy. I took him
under my wing. Why, I taught the lad everythin’ he knows.”
    Glory was amazed at Nicholas’s indulgent smile, one
of the few she’d ever seen. He looked younger, almost boyish, and
Glory suddenly wished she could make him smile like
that.
    “Don’t listen to a word this old sea dog says,”
Nicholas teased. “He’s got a barnacle for a heart and salt water in
his veins.”
    Glory smiled at the old sailor who sat on the deck
braiding hemp into rope. His nimble fingers worked the line with
such speed and dexterity it made the task look easy. Glory