Captain's Bride by Kat Martin Page A

could
see that it wasn’t. When they got out of earshot, Nicholas told her
the older man was a rarity among men of the sea.
    “In a way, the second mate holds the most difficult
position on the ship,” he explained. “He’s neither an officer nor a
member of the crew. He gets double a sailor’s pay for walking the
fine line between the two. Mac is one of the few men able to bridge
the gap. He’s admired by officers and crew alike.”
    To Glory, it seemed Nicholas said the words almost
reverently, and it was obvious he felt more than a little attached
to the old Scottish sailor.
    Glory returned to her cabin in time to do a little
reading before the evening meal. Nicholas had given her strict
instructions not to be up on deck without Joshua Pintassle, Mac, or
himself.
    “I’ve got a lot of new men in the crew,” he said,
“and I’m not sure which of them I can trust.” His smoke-gray eyes
turned dark. “Where a woman like you is concerned, sometimes a man
can’t even trust himself.”
    As always with the captain, she wasn’t certain
whether she’d been complimented or insulted. She wondered if the
man he spoke of could be himself and found herself hoping it was
so. She wondered if the other two women had received the same
instructions. She hadn’t seen Rosabelle since she arrived, but
Nicholas said she’d meet Madame LaFarge, the other woman aboard, at
supper. The way he’d arched his brow and given her a mocking
half-smile, she wondered what he had in store.
    The ship creaked and rolled with a gentle rhythm
Glory at first found soothing, but after reading awhile in the
tight confines of the cabin, she found that her stomach had begun
to disagree. She needed some fresh air before things got out of
hand. Leaving the room, she headed toward the aft ladder, hoping to
find one of her three appointed protectors up on deck. The salt
breeze revived her the minute she climbed the stairs, and Glory
breathed deeply of the clean fresh air.
    Though her gaze searched the deck, she spotted none
of the three men she sought. Certain that one of them would be
along soon, she made her way to the rail.
    “Ain’t you a perty little thing,” came the husky
voice of a man behind her.
    Glory spun to face him. He was a big man, almost as
tall as Nicholas, barrel-chested, with a thatch of thick red hair.
Glory smiled up at him. “Have you seen Mr. Pin-tassle or the
captain?” she asked, but he didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes were
locked on the peaks of her breasts, and Glory felt herself color
beneath his lengthy, too-bold gaze. “I said, have you seen Mr.
Pintass—”
    “I heard what you said, angel. Name’s Jago. Jago
Dodd, what’s yours?”
    “I really need to find Mr. Pintassle,” Glory
said.
    He wasn’t surprised at her evasion: He hadn’t
expected any words at all. He was surprised she hadn’t turned tail
and run. With a scar across his cheek and a three-day growth of
beard, Jago Dodd was not exactly your parlor gentleman.
    “My name’s Gloria Summerfield,” she told him,
extending her slender hand. “I’m from Charleston.”
    Jago Dodd had never been more surprised in his life.
His homely face split into a wide grin, and he took a second, even
more appreciative look at the elegantly garbed woman in front of
him. He had never conversed with a real lady before, and the fact
that this one would speak to him at all changed his attitude toward
her completely. He had planned to get an eyeful, maybe even a feel
or two as he brushed past her somewhere on deck. Now he felt a
surge of protectiveness for the trusting young woman who smiled
into his knife-scarred, beetle-browed face as if he were just as
good as the next man.
    “I’ll help you find him,” he said, knowing he
shouldn’t leave his oakum-picking task. But the next sailor she
smiled at might not be so understanding.
    They walked toward the bow of the ship, Jago Dodd
beside her, looking to his right and left as they passed more
sailors at work along