She looked up to where he sat at his desk and felt herself blushing just remembering the force of his passion, the wild, uninhibited passion and love—
Love? Love? Dear Lord, could he have fallen in love with her? She knew he felt responsible for her and her situation, just as he felt protective of her—a thing that caused her so much grief. Like Leif and Gayle and so many of the men, she knew he cared for her, too, but love? Nay, not her . . . she was . . . well, she was noone. When she imagined the woman with whom he would fall in love she imagined a lady as he had described Lucinda, his wife: beautiful, vivacious, sophisticated, not at all like her. He could never fall in love with someone like her, she knew, she felt certain. Except—
Except when she thought of that night. She stood up and moved away, abruptly wringing her greasy hands
together, unconsciously tugging on the ring. Dear Lord, but what if he had? It would explain so much; it would explain his animosity toward Tbmas. . . .
Emotions rose to greet the idea: anxiety and guilt and heartfelt sympathy. Dear Lord, what should she do? Would he be hurt when she left?
"Garrett, Garrett?"
Garrett did not look up. "What?"
"I was wondering ... I need to know, I —H
The uncertainty and fear in her voice brought his gaze up and he saw apprehension. "What, love?"
The words caught in her throat and she swallowed. "Ah ... I was wondering ... if, if ... if you could please get this ring off?"
He looked confused for a moment, then irritated. "After Gayle wasted half his morning trying?" He got up to go to the door. "Leave it, love. It's probably just your monthly swelling, anyway. Kyle!" he shouted loudly out the door.
"Captain, sir?"
"Get those measurements in here now!"
He shut the door, returning to his desk.
She blushed at his reference to female physiology. Was there nothing he didn't know? She'd never forget the morning she woke to find herself in that situation. Her embarrassment could hardly be described, yet alone borne. She never would have guessed a man might know of a woman's curse. Stella had always acted as if it were a terrible secret; she had been embarrassed by the slightest reference to it. The idea of having to explain to Garrett, if only to ask for a sheet, felt as easy as slaying Goliath. Which was why he had awakened that morning to find her sitting rigid in a chair with her face buried in her hands. "I need a sheet."
"A sheet?" he repeated in a question, swinging his long legs over the bed. "You need a sheet," he repeated :o himself, as if to make certain he had heard right, studying her with confusion. "Jesus," he chuckled softly as he understood at last, rising to go into the dressing room. "I half thought you were bent on hanging yourself. You mean dowsing strips, is that it?"
To her shock, he returned and placed a neat white pile of already made dowsing strips on her lap. "Ah, love," he smiled still, raising her chin to make her face him. "How could you be embarrassed by the natural cycle of your body? It's a blessed sign of health and well-being, God's greatest gift to women, the ability to conceive life. What could be embarrassing about that?"
The warmth of his amusement made her blush more, but then he asked: "Do you feel poorly?"
She had shaken her head.
"Ah, a good sign." He rose and rang for breakfast. "Do you bleed heavily?"
Blushing crimson, she barely managed a nod. She did bleed heavily, but then who knows? Maybe all women bleed this heavily. How was she supposed to know?
"Another good sign. You'll have a much easier time in childbirth"
Presently Kyle came in with the figures and then left. Juliet watched as Garrett began working them into his formula, lost to his- task. She methodically soaped her hands to wash off the grease before drying them on the towel. Love, love, she had to know, that was all. Point blank, she'd just ask the question ....
Juliet came to stand in front of his desk and patiently waited for his attention. Finally Garrett looked up from his figures to notice. "What is it now?"
"I need to know if you've fallen in love with me."
Braced for the terrible news, she watched his reaction carefully, fully expecting to see a nod followed by a disquieting confession. This did not happen. Her confusion mounted as she noted his amusement, worsening as it mixed with a hint of some inexplicable anger.
"Am I in love with you?" he repeated, chuckling with unmistakable condescension. "No other woman I know would need to ask that question; it makes me see how young you are. Is not your birthday this month? Let us hope its passing brings you more wisdom, a little would help so much. But do tell," he paused with a cruel edge to his tone as he returned with indifference to his work, "What was it that inspired your curiosity? Something I've done? Something I said?" He looked briefly back at her. "Some trite poetic sentiment perhaps? The way I look at you? Something of that sort?"
She stood perfectly still in silence, a silence that became a roar in her mind, until she abruptly realized she had stopped breathing. A small shocked gasp of breath brought an avalanche of emotion crashing over her. She caught the slight tremble of her lips. "I'm sorry ... I was thinking—"
"Just what were you thinking, Juliet? That I'd drop to my knees and declare myself? Only to then endure your . . . your what? How were you planning to respond?" He studied her for but a moment. "I see. Condolences and sympathy. Be glad your little fantasy didn't travel that far. You would not like to know what I'd do with your sympathy."
She disappeared quickly into the dubious privacy of the dressing room, where she held her sides tightly as the waves of humiliation and horror washed over her. What a fool she was! What a fool he had made of her! What had she been imagining he'd say? Of course he didn't love her. The very idea was preposterous and laughable to him. Dear God, how that hurt! It hurt so badly she felt as if the life and air were being squeezed from her lungs —
Because if he didn't love her it meant he had used her. Used her terribly. Used her as nothing more than a convenient vehicle for a base kind of physical release ... as a man uses a ... a whore.
Darkness eventually crept into the small space and she heard Leif arrive for supper, then Gayle and Kyle, and she stayed there still, trying desperately to cling to the idea that Tomas loved her. Didn't he? What if 'twas a wholly laughable idea to him too? No, no, she closed her eyes to hear his words, "I love you, I love you. . . ." Dear Lord, please help me keep my faith. . . .
The Raven sailed with the wind to reach the British fleet waiting in the Gibraltar Straits. Garrett spent every waking hour pressing his men and his ship for all they were worth in the barest whispers of wind The Raven sailed beneath. The last dawn broke beneath the cloudless skies of yet another warm Mediterranean day, as at last the jagged cliffs of Sardinia rose on the horizon.
The innumerable white sails of the British fleet dotted the sea. The great ships were in a state of readiness, waiting only for The Raven to point out the direction of their destiny. To prevent anyone from spotting The Raven, long before flags could be seen, Garrett sailed her east to a rendezvous point on the other side of the island, where Garrett, Leif, and a handful of others left in a longshore boat, heading to an isolated spot around the bend. Once they were there, a trusted young sailor would get word to the Admiralty, and within the hour Admiral Nelson and his most trusted advisors would arrive to greet Garrett and whatever fate he brought.
A great commotion sounded with a thunderous clamor on the deck as The Raven dropped anchor three ship-lengths from the desolate shore. Juliet watched Garrett and his party move through the water in the longshore boat. She felt relief, simple and pure, and while the day filled with history in the making, it also meant to her she was one day closer to her own destiny. One day closer to her reunion with Tomas.
The tension Garrett put between them was unbearable; she had not the armor with which to deal with it. She felt torn between confusion and fear, not knowing exactly why, except she supposed life had taught her to question the idea she would eve
r feel safe, yet alone find her happiness.
Yet she would be with Tomas soon, she had to believe that. The things she had endured, the things that had happened between Garrett and herself, would not matter. For if it did matter, if Tomas abandoned her, she had nothing: no love, no means, nowhere to turn, no dream left to dream. Nothing but hopelessness . . .
Six seamen rowed in perfect rhythm across the water. Leif followed Garrett's gaze to where she stood standing at the rail. She looked so small and forlorn, as if she had lost her very soul. "What did you do to her?"
Garrett's gaze did not stray. "Nothing I could have helped, nothing I can change. I've only grown weary of our pretense."
Leif studied him thoughtfully, seeing for the first time the control Garrett placed on his emotions. A dangerous situation, and with the noted exception of Edric's death, one he had not seen in Garrett for any number of years now. Garrett did not often fall victim to emotions, far less to emotions he had to control. "Should I speak about it at last?"
"Just asking that question is enough."
"Nay, I don't know the whole of it, Garrett. She doesn't know, does she?"
"An interesting question. On some level she must know."
"Did you deceive her?"
"Only by pretending I didn't know. No more than you. It was Gayle. I've been waiting for him to tell her, but I see now he will make me force the issue."
A brief flash of anger quickly followed Leif s surprise. "My God, I never thought ... I will beat him myself. What will you do to him?"
"Leif, it was a move meant to change her. I let him; I wanted it to work. His only punishment will be seeing how badly he has made me hurt her again."
Juliet stared out as the last long arms of the sun sunk over the towering tips of Sardinia's cliffs. Shadows had fallen hours ago, like a great dark blanket, and only a handful of minutes remained before complete darkness arrived. The towering cliffs rose straight up at a sharp right angle as far as the eye could see, an awesome sight and one she never imagined she'd know. Manny ran along the deck, lighting lamps. The crew still bustled about in preparation to set sail, Garrett's last order sent over an hour ago now. The ship would sail in the cloak of darkness for England.
A freshwater stream had been found a mile or so around the bend and Pots ordered all barrels to be filled, causing groans from everybody, for it was not likely to be needed on the short return trip to England. Pots was ever cautious about his supplies. Presently the freshwater barrels were being noisily hoisted on the leeward side, while sails were raised and ballasters checked.
She waited to spot the return of Garrett and Leif in the longshore boat. Leif said they'd return long before nightfall. Still there was no sign of them on the darkening horizon. She turned to the small group of men fishing nearby. "Michael, why is it taking so long?"
"No doubt Nelson's pressin' Garrett for all he can give. He knows better than most what worth to assign Garrett's advice."
"Advice?"
"Battle plans, Juliet. More than anything else, the thing Garrett hates to put his mind to."
An hour passed before the light of the longshore boat finally appeared. She rushed back to quarters, where she waited for another hour as she heard Garrett address the crew, a long speech frequently broken by cheers. A call for the raising of the anchor sounded. Another half hour passed as Garrett and Leif remained topside, until at last she felt the motion of the ship on the sea, heading home to England.
The door burst open and she looked up to see Leif. Something went wrong, she could tell by his face, the way his gaze held her as he took a deep breath with a glance to the ceiling—as if in search of heaven-sent help—before he came to where she sat at the sofa. Garrett's creatures surrounded her: Vespa sat on her lap, Polly on her shoulder, while Tonali stretched out on the sofa along side her, resting his huge black head against her leg. The great cat sat up to stare at Leif too, apparently sensing something amiss. Polly bawked and chattered, spreading his wings and hopping restlessly from leg to leg. His claws hurt and she banished him as Leif settled into the chair opposite her. "Is something wrong? Did it not go well?" "Oh, aye, it went well enough. That is, if Garrett's purpose in life is to be a celebrated hero. Nelson did everything but drop to his knees to kiss Garrett's boots. You as well. Here," Leif handed her the envelope in his hand, "This is for you." Juliet took the envelope, examined its seal and opened it.
My dearest Lady Juliet Ramon Van Ness . . .
She quickly read the contents. Congratulations, expressions of gratitude and praise, gushes of warmth, and on and on. The great admiral made it sound as if she had single-handedly saved the British Empire. "And may I please take this opportunity to express my further congratulations on your recent marriage. . . . There is no finer man in all of England. . . ."
She read it twice over before looking back up. "I'm honored . . . flattered—"
"Ah, you deserve it, Juliet. I might add that with Garrett's permission, Nelson wants to personally introduce you to the court before Garrett's own position would put you there. Apparently Kingston—who by the way swore to Garrett to keep it a secret—told Nelson your beauty is unparalleled and your grace that of an angel. He was most eager to meet you." Then revealing his thoughts he said with profound solemnity and sadness, "And by God's fortune, may he live long enough to have the pleasure."
The solemn thought spawned another and she asked quietly, "Leif, will it matter if Garrett doesn't have a wife to show the world? What will he say?"
Leifs prolonged silence filled with tension, broken at last when he said, "Garrett has never concerned himself with such details. That's not the issue at hand."
She searched his face for meaning. "Leif, what's wrong?"
He only shook his head. "I don't know, Juliet. It's not my place anyway." He sighed, leaning back. "Garrett is sorely taxed right now, all the talk of war and glory and England's vulnerability and, well, you know how he struggles with that. Nelson is a madman right now, they all are. Garrett has never celebrated the glory of war. Not when he only sees some poor lad spread across deck with a burnt face and cinders where his eyes once were, hanging on to a severed limb as he screams for his mother—" Leif stopped, seeing the natural effect of the words appear not as horror but as pain in her eyes. She was one of the few women who understood Garrett's moral fortitude. "I'm sorry," he apologized.
Subdued, she shook her head. Garrett hated participating in the killing and destruction of war as much as she did, even if his participation changed nothing but the side of the victor. Garrett's religious beliefs had always affected her profoundly; she supposed they always would. Twenty years from now Garrett's words would echo through her thoughts as she listened to men talk of politics and the world and wars, the endless wars. She'd hear Garrett talk of national bigotry and racial hatred, of men dying for little more than a change on a line on a map.
"What will happen to him now? Did Nelson give him new orders?"
"Aye, they've been agreed upon. We have to wait until our network of spies can determine if the French suspect us or no."
"And if they do?"
He smiled with humor. "Ah, then Black Garrett will be a legend few people believe and Garrett will be free at last to resume his life."
"Which he wants?"
"Desperately. Yet it's not likely the French will suspect him. We might have another year or two yet." Leif ended the subject with a shrug,"We shall see." He paused to gain courage before leaning forward and taking her hand, a gesture of intimacy, underlying the importance of what he would now say. "There is something I want to say to you. I want you to remember something, a simple truth: men—most men—will do what's necessary to make a woman happy. They will lie, cheat, steal for a smile—"
The door opened as he spoke and Peters and Matt entered with the supper trays. Juliet stared with incomprehension, understanding what Leif said but not knowing why he said it before she rose to help set the table. The men's spirits were high, the result of their tri
umph and Garrett's speech, and the two men hurried away to join the celebration going on topside. She was about to question Leif but Gayle came through the doors, bursting into the quarters with unleashed excitement and enthusiasm, all of which was for the thousands of men heading to battle. She let him read her letter and told him how flattered she felt, "Imagine me—truly a bona fide nobody—being addressed by the great admiral—"
"Nobody?" he questioned. "Who on earth said you were a nobody?" He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Nobody but a young lady of the highest distinction! A beautiful, bright, courageous lady. Let's say I take you top side for the celebration. Would you like that?"
Juliet nodded with transparent eagerness. She would like anything that took her away from Garrett, the tension between them, even if for one night.
"I don't think you should."
Gayle looked at his father, who pretended to examine Garrett's volumes. "Why not? The sheets shouldn't be flying until the fourth or fifth cup and you know how well everyone behaves around her—"
"Tonight is about other things, son."
Gayle followed his father's gaze to the cat and Juliet watched sudden anxiety fill the bright blue eyes. Confused, she turned slowly around turning to discover the source of his anxiety. Tonali sat looking at the door, his long tail curled around his legs. Yet his agitation pushed him up, making him pace in a circle, before stopping to wait again.
Gayle knew well what Tonali's agitation signaled.
Gayle's hand tightened around hers and she turned back with the question, "Gayle, what's wrong?"
Those bright blue eyes shot to her with alarm, just as the door opened and with a gust of warm wind, Garrett stepped inside. Juliet felt a hundred tiny pinpricks on the back of her neck, a warning even before she turned to see Garrett there, seeing everything all at once. He wore rugged work clothes: a loose fitting beige vest and breeches, a black belt and tall black boots. A dagger hung from his belt and a thick leather shoulder harness held his pistol, hanging loosely under an arm, accented the blatant masculinity and danger radiating from his tall frame.
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