Kresley Cole: The Captain of All Pleasures

“I see you’ve noticed Captain Sutherland,” her father cut in dryly.

Nicole jerked her eyes away, her face heating furiously. But then the name sank into her muddled mind: Sutherland, the dissolute captain of the Southern Cross, the owner of the now failing Peregrine Shipping line—and her father’s most bitter enemy.

“That’s Derek Sutherland?” she asked in hushed amazement, staring at her father in wonder. The idea that he continually crossed this lethal-looking man was cause to make her alternately cheer his bravery and question his sanity.

“The one and only,” he said as he stood. Bidding his doxy good night, he motioned impatiently for Nicole to follow him. “Looks as though we’ll be leaving.” Her father’s face turned fierce. “Because if he keeps staring at you like that, I’ll have to make good on my threats and kill the bastard.”

As she followed him through the crowd, some urge goaded her to glance back at Sutherland. She gave in to the temptation, only to find his eyes on her.

Watch was too tame a word for what he did—his gaze roamed over her in a proprietary manner that defied her to walk away from him.

But she would.

Such an intriguing-looking man, despite his deeply lined countenance. What a waste, she mused acidly as she turned away.

Seconds later, long, strong fingers encircled her wrist. She knew it was Sutherland even before she turned and their eyes locked. His flesh was hot on hers—his hand was callused.

“Stay,” he said simply.

From his manner, she got the impression he expected her to do just that. Did he think all he had to do was command her? The arrogance! So why did she find herself fighting a very real desire to remain?

“Take your hand off me, Captain.”

When he didn’t, she twisted her arm out of his grasp. In response, he gave her a mocking half-bow. How could he be so unconcerned? How could he seem bored when attraction fired hot and swift within her? Angered, she gave him a forbidding glare. “Nonchalance, Captain? How indifferent will you be when you lose the Great Circle Race by, say…” she tapped her cheek, “…a thousand miles?”

She could have sworn she saw the corners of his lips curl up before her father returned to yank her away.

“Damn it, Nicole, when will you learn?” he demanded before the toe of her boot had touched the refuse-strewn street. “Walking into the Mermaid as if you owned it! Hell, it’s because of men like Sutherland that you shouldn’t be in a place like that.”

“I’ve been in worse,” she countered as he anxiously led her away.

“But to attract Sutherland ’s attention and then antagonize him?” He threw another look over his shoulder. “It’s as if you’re drawn to trouble.”

“Well, trouble and I do go way back,” she said between short breaths as she struggled to keep up with her father. He twisted around and frowned at her before slowing his progress down the quay. “If he’s such a bad man, then for God’s sake, why do you go out of your way to cross him?”

“I have my reasons for plaguing Sutherland. Good reasons. Besides, he’s British.” The look Lassiter gave her said he’d explained what should be obvious to anyone with American blood in them.

“Mama was British,” Nicole pointed out, even though they’d been through this again and again.

“She was the only one of this whole lot I ever respected.” His eyes betrayed much more than simple respect for his late wife. Laurel Banning Lassiter had been a noblewoman of English birth, whose memory was never far from their minds.

His voice hardened again as he looked at her. “That man is a wastrel and a brute and you’re to have nothing to do with him. He’d use you and throw you away without so much as a good-bye. Especially since he knows I’m connected to you in some way.” He paused, then added starkly, “If he realizes you’re my daughter, I can’t imagine what the cold-blooded bastard will do.”

They walked on in silence, Nicole quiet as she thought about Sutherland. She didn’t think it likely he’d recognize her since she took after her mother and bore little resemblance to her father—except perhaps a reddish tint to her hair. And, of course, in attitude.

“I don’t think he’ll even remember me in the morning,” she finally assured him, though secretly, perversely, the idea displeased her. “After all, he’ll most likely get drunk tonight.”

Her father grunted. “Not so drunk that he’d forget you.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, steering her around the ship debris speckling the docks. “But enough of that devil. Why aren’t you in school?”

When she looked away, he asked in a voice laced with resignation, “You got thrown out again, didn’t you?”

Nicole gave a delicate cough. “My leaving was mutually agreed upon.” He scowled, striding on, and she added under her breath, “To the great glee of my headmistress.”

When they approached the dockside that berthed her father’s ship, the Bella Nicola, a rush of emotion brought the sting of tears to her eyes. A striking clipper with a sharp navy hull and jaunty white and red accents, it stood out among the hulks in the harbor as a diamond would amidst coal.

This is my home. She’d longed to be back aboard and had missed the ship as though she were a friend. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t want her father to notice her missish reaction. To mask it, she commented in an airy tone, “Really, Father, I don’t understand why you’re still fuming at me.”

“Don’t understand?” he asked. “How did you expect me to react when you’ve been dismissed from the finest finishing school on the Continent? Pleased?”

“It really wasn’t a dismissal like the other schools,” she replied, warming to the subject. “I choose to call it a ‘conclusion.’ ”

“Well, if this is you after your conclusion,” —he turned her to survey her hair-stuffed cap and boys’ trousers—“your grandmother should demand her money back.”

“Pssh. When I first got there, they told me I had to master seven subjects out of nine, which—I—did.” He’d never know it had taken everything in her power to do so. She found it difficult to acquire graces designed to snag a rich, titled husband. Because at twenty and with her quirky looks, she was not just firmly on the shelf. She was on the top shelf—the one it took a ladder to get to.

“And I suppose it’s only coincidence that you finished seven with enough time to travel back here just days before the Great Circle Race.”

Nicole looked away again. She’d been planning to sail the race for the past two years, ever since reading about Queen Victoria’s decree for a global contest open to sailors of any nationality. She’d decided then that nothing would stand in her way. Not slapped hands when she chose the wrong utensil nor ridiculing dance masters, and not the constant teasing about her being too old for school. Especially not a hard-as-iron headmistress bent on cramming her into a proper-lady mold and chopping off anything that remained outside.

This race would be the greatest in history—a win could catapult their line to worldwide recognition—and she wanted nothing more than to be a part of it.

When she didn’t respond, he teasingly pulled her cap down, then asked in a conciliatory tone, “So tell me, what were the two subjects you failed?”

Popping her hat back up, she feigned a grave look. “Alas, I fear that floral arrangement and playing the harpsichord are forever out of my grasp. As you can imagine, the knowledge of my deficiencies is crushing,” she added as she checked an imaginary tear.

Lassiter looked to chuckle in response, his stifled smile showing her that he was happy to see her. But he made his features stern again. “Listen to me, Nicole. I want to enjoy our time together before I sail, so let’s get one thing straight about the race.”