His amber eyes were fixed on her. "Don't you find it the least bit disappointing?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm outraged that he'd...he'd...Well, you were there! That he'd take liberties with me when he is in love with someone else."
"That's Nicole Sutherland--"
She gasped. "He's married!"
"--his brother Derek's wife. They're friends because he helped her and Derek reconcile."
Tori slumped in a chair beside him. Another mystery to solve--how could she be jealous? Because Sutherland was angering her less and fascinating her more?
She looked up to find the captain watching her and Traywick with sharp eyes. She darted her face away and was still flushed when Dooley tromped by. "Lady Victoria, I'm glad to see you about. Can I get you anything?"
Tori stiffened and sniffed, "That won't be necessary."
"We're fine, Dooley," Traywick added. "Thank you."
Dooley rushed off again like a dog who'd forgotten he'd just been kicked.
Traywick's face hardened. "You might want to give Grant's sailors a chance. I don't know what made you so wary, but his men are different."
"How so?" she asked disbelievingly.
"Working for Peregrine is a coveted position. They hire only the best men. No sailors are bought from the jail or lured by a doxy and then crimped."
"What's crimped?"
"It's when a gang of men trick or force some poor bastard aboard a ship to serve a term at sea. Grant goes out of his way to hire family men."
"All these men have families?"
"Except for Dooley--he's a widower--and maybe one or two more, yes. It's important to Grant and it's a lifesaver for some."
While Tori was reeling from the information, Traywick said, "Don't get me wrong--they're still boisterous and like their rum, but you should see the forecastle. It's wallpapered with old letters from wives and likenesses of their kids."
Tori's eyes followed Dooley bounding around deck, helping everyone, and guilt gripped her. A widower. She'd treated him like the worst sort of criminal. She sighed, deciding she'd be kinder to him. In fact, she stared around at all the men as though with new eyes. She'd always perceived they were surprisingly clean, both in language and clothing, but now she noticed they were generally pleased, not surly like the other sailors she'd known.
"Amazing." She turned to Sutherland, seeing him anew as well. The wind blew a lock of hair over his forehead. Why did that make her want to smile? He raked it back irritably.
"Now that you've made it out here, we might as well play cards," Traywick said to her back.
She didn't turn. "Yes, perhaps."
She was so busy staring at the captain, she barely heard Traywick say, "Round four to Grant."
Twelve
Grant might have been able to deny his attraction to Victoria when she was wary, arrogant, and angry, but self-sure and charming would make short work of him. Each day at sea, she became more accustomed to the ship, and her confidence rebounded to a staggering degree. It was as if she'd emerged from a shell, shucking off her old life and its fears like a skin. Apparently, she'd even gotten over her pique with him, and would thank or compliment him after each storm.
By the second week, she looked as though she'd been born on a ship. When Miss Scott slept, which was for most of the day, Victoria learned sea chanteys from Dooley and helped him mend damaged sails. When they fished, she'd go wild over all the new species.
"You never know what you'll pull up," she'd said to Dooley in breathless excitement.
She'd gotten used to her new clothes, making alterations when necessary, and she laughed often as Miss Scott showed improvement, flashing her smile unreservedly at the competing antics of the sailors. The crew adored her.
But while she flourished, Grant suffered from lack of sleep--he'd commandeered Ian's cramped cabin since his cousin usually passed out on deck anyway--and suffered more from the lack of...her.
He would give his right arm to be able to touch her again.
And yet she spent most of each day with Ian.
This morning, as they played cards on deck, Grant struggled with jealousy, an emotion he'd never given much credence to. Now he envied his young cousin spending time with her, envied him telling her old jokes she'd never heard.
Jealousy was a cuckold's emotion. Not at home in the heart of a detached man.
Grant scrutinized them, watching like one bent on finding something. Though they were near in age, and most women inexplicably found Ian irresistible, Grant could not detect the barest hint of attraction between the two. In fact, he often caught Victoria watching him on the bridge.
Yet it drove him mad to hear her laugh because of something Ian said.
"I don't want you spending any more time with her," he warned Ian when Tori strolled to the bow.
"It's either me or the crew. And I must confess, her language is colorful as it is..." At Grant's scowl, Ian added, "It's not like you think. Even if I weren't preoccupied with another woman, Tori reminds me of my sister."
"Which one?" Grant asked with suspicion. Ian had three sisters, none of whom reminded Grant of Victoria.
"Emma."
"Emma?" Grant scoffed. "She's just out of the schoolroom--"
"She's eighteen."
"Just stay away from Victoria," Grant ordered, his voice low. When Ian flashed him a devilish grin, Grant rose to his full height and moved to a menacing position in front of his chair. "She's the granddaughter of an earl. Surely even you would know better than to trifle with a peer's granddaughter."
Smiling to himself, he said, "I didn't know better than to trifle with a peer's daughter." Ian leaned forwar
d and lowered his voice. "Besides, that's the great thing about these out-of-country affairs--no one would ever know."
Grant yanked Ian from his seat with one hand, barely keeping his other fist from smashing his cousin's face.
"Don't look at me like that, Cuz. I'm not going to touch her." Ian tsked. "Just testing the waters."
Grant released him and exhaled loudly. "Do you think that's why I told you to leave her alone? Because I want her?"
"The point is--she's all yours. I feel protective of her. Like a brother. I don't want her that way."
Grant ran a hand down his face. "As if I do?" His tone sounded bewildered even to himself.
"Damn it, man. Open your eyes. I've never seen you like this." Ian slapped him on the back and turned to walk away. He faced Grant once more. "Why do you fight it?"
"Why?" His short laugh held no humor. "Because I don't want to be like this."
Dooley walked by then and found Grant's eyes locked on Victoria.
"That one, she's learning her charms and what she can do with them," Dooley said. "She's got the crew wrapped 'round her finger--all with a smile."
Grant muttered, "God help the men in England."
Ian gave him a pitying smile. "Cousin, pray for yourself first."
Throughout the previous night, Grant had labored against a weak but persistent squall. When it finally abated, he conducted himself as he did every morning--adjust the course, inspect the ship, toss out orders, and watch Victoria--and not necessarily in that order. She was pacing, scowling at Ian, who read instead of entertaining her. Boredom emanated from her.
Though clear, the day was chilled, so he returned to his cabin to change from his wet clothes. Inside, he hung his coat and was struggling to peel out of his drenched shirt as he turned to shut the door. But Victoria waltzed in right after him.
"What do you think you're doing?" he snapped. "If you want to thank me about the storm last night, there's no need. It's my job." She didn't respond, just studied his chest, making him uncomfortable. The look in her eyes said she wanted to touch what she stared at. "Get out of here," he commanded, his voice unaccountably rough.
"But I'm so bored. You said you'd protect me--well, I'm about to repeatedly butt my head against a wall."