“I was walking through the companionway and heard your cries. I came in to make sure you were all right. I see that you are.” Coming to his feet, he walked to the small window. Rain pelted it, preventing any sort of view. Ceressa wondered how near to dawn it was.
Taking advantage of his absence, she wrapped the coverlet about her. When he remained standing at the window, she rose, making sure she could stand without falling, then dared to walk over to where he stood. She wasn’t sure what to say—how to let him know she really did appreciate all he’d done. Despite her aggravation with his assumptions and condemnations, she knew she owed him much.
He turned to face her, his brows lifted inquisitively.
“Thank you for your help. I may have seemed ungrateful earlier, but I’m really glad you found me at the Red Rose Inn, though I have no idea how you came to be there.”
“There’s no mystery to that—I followed when you left Geoffrey’s. I was in the carriage courtyard and observed you with Herrington’s man. I was suspicious.”
“God must have been looking out for me,” she murmured softly.
Latimer’s expression was unreadable, and after several seconds passed, he finally spoke. “I believe you could be right.” His words surprised her. “Yet, you think Geoffrey is the answer to your dilemma—you were calling his name in your sleep.”
“Sir Geoffrey is like a second father. I’ve come to rely and depend on him. And if he knew about my parents, he could help—”
“If I know Herrington as I think I do, no one can help them. That’s difficult for you to hear, but it’s very likely they are dead. You can’t return to London. You have to trust me, because I am the only one who can help whether you like it or not.”
Ceressa’s lips trembled, and she backed away from Latimer, chilled by his harsh words. She refused to give in to the tears that threatened. “Thank you for the use of Heloise’s things.”
Latimer’s gaze dropped lower, and she clutched the coverlet then chastised herself for silliness. He couldn’t see through the blanket and her nightrail.
“You needn’t thank me. Someone should make use of them. I believe you will find two cloaks. Be sure to wear one in the future.”
“I found a Bible among the garments. Might I make use of it?”
“Certainly,” he replied gruffly. “I had planned to present it to Heloise as a wedding present. I thought she might wish to hold it during the ceremony.” He looked away from her as though struggling with his emotions.
“Were you in love with her?” Ceressa asked softly.
Latimer’s angry laughter startled her. “In love with her? Hardly. Why is love so important to a woman? It brings nothing but disillusionment and disappointment. There’s no logical reason to seek love.”
“Surely you love Constance’s child.”
“That’s different. I don’t have to worry about April hurting or betraying me. She is completely dependent upon me. In her eyes, I can do no wrong.”
“So you would have been content marrying any woman who agreed to return with you to Virginia to help raise your niece?”
“Exactly.” His voice was cold and hard. “It’s growing chilly. You should return to bed.”
“I hope you’ve found somewhere warm and comfortable to pass the night.”
“Don’t concern yourself with my welfare. Good night.” Turning away, he walked to the door and let himself out. Ceressa dropped down upon the bunk, weary beyond reason and so very tired. Too tired to shed one tear.
Slowly, she lowered herself further and shut her eyes, praying that sleep would come so she could face another day. Another day that would take her farther from her parents and home.
****
The cabin door emitted a squeaky groan, and immediately Ceressa’s eyes flew open, heart racing, breathing painful. When had she fallen asleep? Where was Latimer? What should she do? What choices did she have? Sitting up, she was momentarily blinded by the light that streamed through the high, small window. She groped blindly for the coverlet in the event it was Latimer who’d entered.
“Good morning, Lady Kirkleigh,” came the sweet feminine voice that Ceressa recognized as belonging to Mariette Jones. Shaking her head to clear her vision, Ceressa looked up at the young girl who’d been so kind and concerned for her welfare the night before. Mariette smiled shyly, tiny dimples appearing, her blue eyes filled with compassion. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. As it was getting so late, Lord Kirkleigh asked me to come have a look at you.”
Ceressa drew in a deep, steadying breath and focused on her hands that grasped the coverlet as she absorbed her new title. How odd to be addressed as Lady Kirkleigh. And frightening. It would take time to adjust, she thought, as Mariette turned and shut the door gently. “I hope you slept well last night.”
“Well enough. Thank you for asking.”
“I know Lord Kirkleigh had a restless night. I had difficulty sleeping and came up on deck for some air—it’s stifling below.”
Ceressa feared that the girl’s and her grandfather’s accommodations were horrid, at best. She’d heard terrifying tales of how those who took on an indenture fared during the Atlantic crossing. Many never made it to their destination.
“I saw him pacing the deck, out in the rain without a cloak or hat. I hope he doesn’t take ill.”
Guilt assailed Ceressa. She was the reason he had no bed to sleep in last night.
“With your hand injured, would you like some help dressing?”
“Yes, please, if it isn’t any trouble,” Ceressa said gratefully. “I might have difficulty fastening all those little buttons and hooks.”
“Shall I open the trunks?” Mariette asked as she gestured. “I know we were only seeking a night garment last eve, but there are ever so many other things. I’m afraid, though, they are all a little large on you.” Mariette’s expression was so comical, Ceressa almost laughed. She couldn’t help but recall the girl’s comment about Latimer’s poor judgment of her size. Swinging her legs to the side, Ceressa released the coverlet and came to her feet. She was much steadier this morning and walked easily to where Mariette now knelt as she unfastened the latches on a trunk.
She raised the lid and as the sunlight fell upon the contents, the girl gasped. Ceressa did as well. The darkness of night had hidden the true beauty of the trunk’s contents. But now the colors glowed brilliantly in the light of day.
“My word,” Mariette gasped. “These gowns are fit for a queen. How lovely.”
Ceressa dropped to her knees beside Mariette, fingering the delicate silk of a smock; the froth of Belgian lace banding the neckline and sleeves, exquisite. Latimer hadn’t spared a pound in having clothes made for the fickle Heloise. Ceressa wondered if Heloise’s baron would provide her such a trousseau.
“Let me help you on with this,” Mariette said, pointing to a blue velvet dressing gown, “and then I could work on your hair. It could stand a good brushing.”
Ceressa laughed, the sound strange to her ears but freeing her of the terror that had clamped her soul since entering the inn where Charles Herrington had lain in wait.
Lifting the dressing gown, Mariette held it so Ceressa could slip it on. After sliding her arms within the slightly oversized garment, she luxuriated in the softness and warmth. Wrapping it, Ceressa took a seat before a table that was meant to function as a vanity in the cramped cabin. Mariette rummaged until she found a brush, its gold handle inlaid with mother of pearl. Such expensive items indicated Latimer’s determination to lure Heloise into wedded bliss. Yet, if what he said was true, he hadn’t been in love. Sir Geoffrey had driven Latimer to strange lengths in his efforts to find a mother for his niece.
Ceressa sighed as Mariette ran the brush, with some difficulty, through her snarled tresses. Clenching her good hand in her lap as Mariette worked, Ceressa shut her eyes and tried to numb her mind.
“Pardon my saying so, milady, but you seem so troubled. I couldn’t help but remember what you said to me
last night—that your parents needed you. Are they ill?”
Tears sprang to Ceressa’s eyes, and even though she knew the girl meant well, the mere mention of her parents completely unraveled her shaky composure. But what harm could there be in telling this kind, gentle girl what had happened? If Mariette believed her to be a criminal and deserving of punishment, then so be it. Yet, something about the girl’s manner and sweet nature urged her to unburden her soul.
“I may have killed a man.”
Fire Dragon's Angel
12
Ceressa’s words dropped like lead, the ensuing silence broken only by wind rattling the panes of glass in the window and the creaking of the ship’s timbers. Mariette ceased brushing.
“Milady, you can’t be serious.”
“But I am. My parents were betrayed by a man they’d treated with only kindness and respect. When I tried to discover the truth, this same man attacked me. I stabbed him while trying to save myself.”
“But that’s no crime.”
“He’s a man with important connections. Latimer—Lord Kirkleigh—came to my aid and helped me escape before I could be taken away by a murderous mob who’d already decided I was guilty. I am here on this ship bound for Virginia because I couldn’t remain in London.” Ceressa turned to look at Mariette, who was speechless.
Unexpectedly, the girl smiled. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve been accused of. But I am sorry about your parents. I know what it is to have no mother or father.”
Impulsively, Ceressa reached out and took Mariette’s hand. “Thank you for not judging me.” Ceressa was deeply moved by the girl’s loyalty.
“I would never do that.” Mariette resumed brushing her hair. “Tell me one thing, though, for I am truly puzzled. Do these clothes belong to you?”
“No, they do not.” Ceressa laughed. The thought of silly Heloise was actually funny now. “They belong to the woman who jilted Lord Kirkleigh. She ran off with a baron, and I took her place.”
“Was this baron handsomer than Lord Kirkleigh?”
“I heard that he’s ancient and is plagued by gout.”
“The woman must be daft. But better for you.” Suddenly, the door flew open, and Ceressa came off the seat, her hands pressed to her wildly racing heart.
Latimer filled the space, and Mariette dropped a curtsy. He wore a soft linen shirt loosely tied at the neck with a leather string that provided glimpses of his muscled, darkly furred chest. Plain taupe breeches were tucked into worn boots that reached his knees. He looked more like a peasant than an English nobleman, but even so, his presence was commanding. His unbound auburn hair fell to his broad shoulders, and his eyes were a dark gold as his gaze rested upon Mariette. “You may leave us.”
Mariette bobbed another curtsy then hurried out of the cabin, closing the door. Ceressa knew that she blushed for she had stared overlong at him. She looked terrible, her hair still a snarl of knots and tangles. She actually jumped when Latimer laughed.
“The young Mistress Jones must think me some sort of sea monster given her hasty departure. Or have you been telling her what an ogre I am?”
“Dragon,” Ceressa corrected, having regained a bit of her composure. “I describe you as a dragon rather than an ogre.”
“Should I be flattered or insulted?” He was teasing, and Ceressa took a closer look, aware that he seemed in better spirits than he’d been the evening before. Amazing, considering he must have been awake a good deal of the night.
“You choose.” She turned and picked up the brush Mariette had abandoned. Catching her wrist, Latimer lowered her arm, leaning uncomfortably close; so close she could feel his breath.
“I took the liberty of requesting that you be brought a tub and hot water for bathing. And assuming you would be hungry, I asked that breakfast be delivered to us, as well.”
“Why have you gone to such trouble?” Ceressa asked, her voice strangely pitched, even though she could have hugged him when he mentioned a bath. He shrugged, then straightened.
“I won’t have it said I mistreat my wife.”
“Latimer,” she began as she faced him. “There are things we need to settle.”
“We’ve settled everything that needs to be settled.”
“When you came to my aid, you didn’t realize I was the child you knew, now grown.”
“Who now possesses a flapping tongue and little sense. It hardly matters who I thought you were. My actions would have been the same.”
“My intention was never to dupe you. If you take me to Virginia—”
“I am taking you to Virginia,” he corrected.
Ceressa refused to let him intimidate. ”What will become of me?”
“You’ll take up residence at Tidelands and be a mother to April.” His cool tone told her he was annoyed.
“Will I live in your house?” As soon as she asked the question, she realized how silly it sounded.
“I had intended such unless you prefer to live with the Indians. There are some close by, but they have a tendency to behave improperly.”
“You make light of this. I’m being serious.”
Latimer expelled a breath through gritted teeth. He’d been gritting them so frequently she feared they might grind down to his gums. “Tidelands is a large place with many rooms. I’m sure I can fit you in somewhere.”
His sarcasm angered her, and she was ready to battle. This man certainly brought out the worst in her. “What I’m trying to ask….” Again, she hesitated.
“Will I present you as my wife? What other logical explanation would I give for your presence? Just be certain you don’t interfere with my life.” His words served to stiffen her spine.
“Heaven forbid that I disrupt your peaceful existence. You know perfectly well I’m inquiring as to, ah, sleeping arrangements.”
“Rest assured, madam, I have no intention of installing you in my room. After taking the vows of marriage with you last evening, I have given you my name and pledged my protection. However, I don’t plan to make anything more of this marriage than two names signed on a legal document.”
As Ceressa met his frigid gaze, she was possessed of a wild urge to trample his heart of ice and pound him senseless until he begged for mercy. “I can do without your protection,” she snapped. “I’m not without options.” She folded her arms and lifted her chin.
Latimer infuriated her by chuckling. “Is that so? Let me think; if Herrington is dead, you could hang or waste away in prison. Both alternatives have merit, if you can see past having your neck in a noose or rotting in a rat-infested cell. I can see how you would prefer that to being part of a marriage in name only. Perhaps I should leave you to enjoy your breakfast alone so you can contemplate your ‘options.’ I’ve suddenly developed an aversion to a certain spoiled, ungrateful child.”
“I am not a child!” How could he speak in this manner? She wished a storm would descend upon the ship and sweep him from the deck so he could be swallowed by a whale just like Jonah and spewed out when he learned to be nice.
“No, you’re not a child. But I wish you were. I liked you the child much more than I like you the termagant.”
Furious, she caught up the brush with every intention of striking him. Latimer’s reaction was swift and decisive as he grasped it and wrested it from her hand. She stood there staring with mouth agape. He tossed it to the bunk. Before she could verbally lash him, a knock sounded.
Latimer opened the door to reveal the cabin boy, who bore a tray containing the promised breakfast. The aroma of porridge and honey mingled with biscuits and jam. And Ceressa was certain she caught a whiff of bacon. She no longer wanted to continue the argument; she wanted to eat. As the lad placed the tray on the table, Ceressa followed the drifting scents, mesmerized as she inhaled the wonderful smells. Before the cabin boy could exit, she’d taken up a piece of bacon and was eagerly chewing it.
“Perhaps, if the cook has any leftovers, you might bring them as well,” Latimer instructed the
lad. Ceressa didn’t give a whit if he was making fun. She was starved, and she would eat. I’ve never been more grateful for food than I am at this moment, Lord, she sent heavenward. And I’m not even upset that I have to share it with Latimer Kirkleigh.
****
When Ceressa finally put in an appearance on deck around midday, Latimer knew with an indisputable finality that his ill thought and ill spoken assurances their marriage was to be in name only was ridiculous. How could he hope to spend a minute alone with Ceressa and not envision her as more than a platonic companion? It was much easier to say he would ignore her than it was to stay away from her.
He was drawn to her, his steps taking him closer to where she had settled upon a crate, the Bible open on her lap. He purposefully took up a position not far from where she sat. The thought that she could be so composed was irritating when she’d turned his world upside down. He was also aggravated she was reading. A worthwhile life was one spent doing—accomplishing, producing—not idling away hours with a nose in a book, even if that nose was pert and kissable. And after the verbal sparring they’d engaged in that morning, he was determined to put an end to her quietude.
Stopping before her, fisted hands on his hips, he stared down as the wind whipped back his cloak. His feet were braced firmly on the unsteady deck, and the scent of an approaching storm was carried by the wind. Latimer awaited her acknowledgement, but none came as she kept her head lowered, reading. Latimer remained there, determined that she should look up.
The stiffening breeze tugged at the escaped curls of the loosely twisted coil pinned at her neck. She was wearing one of the new capes—the one of dark green velvet lined with mink. The russet satin of her skirt peeked beneath it. He couldn’t help but think how much better these clothes looked on Ceressa than they would have looked on Heloise. And for the first time since Heloise’s desertion, he admitted Geoffrey had done a tremendous favor. Latimer was certain he must have been out of his mind to ask Heloise to marry him.
Fire Dragon's Angel Page 9
