by Dana Roquet
“He acts as though anxious to get back to a party.” Bridgett observed with a puzzled frown.
Desiree nibbled at a hard roll, “Well at least he seems at ease with the situation. I’m sure we have nothing to fear.” She said with conviction and then just as she uttered the words, the ship bucked, nearly tossing her from her chair to the tilting floor.
***
It was well into the night when Desiree awoke, unable to find reason for her waking. The ship moaned about her but she realized it was a bit calmer—the motion more even and the driving rain against the window had abated. She sat up, still fully clothed, and she felt refreshed although it was hours yet until dawn. Footsteps sounded in the hall and she moved quickly to the door, opening it abruptly.
Stephen stopped, turning back and frowning at Desiree, who leaned out the door with an impish grin.
“Hello Captain.” She sighed happily.
“What the devil are you doing up?” he whispered, unbuttoning his coat, while walking back to her, “Do you know how late it is?”
In the soft light from a single lantern swinging in the hall, Desiree saw his eyes were darkly circled and reddened from strain and water. His hair was in dark curls, gleaming with moisture and a day’s growth of beard shadowed his jaw. “You look exhausted, have you been at the helm this whole time?”
“Aye.” Stephen answered, rubbing wearily across his burning eyes.
“Is the storm over then?”
“We are going to have rough seas for a day or two but for the most part.” He nodded, leaning against the wall across from her; resting his back which was weary from hours of strain at the helm, “But tell me—what are you doing up? Couldn’t you sleep with the storm?”
“As a matter of fact, it didn’t bother me in the least. The calming of the sea brought me awake. Now I fear I am up for the night!” she confessed with a laugh.
Stephen chuckled with a shake of his head, “Well—you had better go back and try to sleep, for I have no intention of standing here and entertaining you luv—as much as I would like to.”
He pushed off the wall and standing before her with a gentle smile, reached out and touched her face with his hand, his thumb caressing her chin. He leaned forward and very gently kissed the corner of her mouth. “Good night Desiree.”
He walked off around the corner, his boots squeaking with a good measure of water sloshing within and Desiree watched him until he rounded the corner, then she closed the door, returning to her narrow bed. She relaxed with a heavy sigh, forcing her eyes shut but they opened once more and she looked about the blackness for something to focus on. Unable to discern any object, her gaze wandered to the small slit of light under the door and she watched it flash brighter and weaker with the movement of the lantern.
She had been hoping to see Stephen all through the long day and now that she had seen him for a brief moment, she was left wanting for him. She never seemed to grow tired of his presence, no matter how much time was spent in his company. Even as much as she had always cared for her friends at home, she had never, ever, yearned for their presence. She would go weeks at a time without seeing them and be unconcerned. So here she was, with this man, day after day and there was no reason for the want of his nearness.
Perhaps it was the boredom of the long voyage but then again, perhaps not. There was the slight fluttering of her heart when she would touch him or be touched by him. Such as the innocent kiss he had just bestowed upon her. Even to look up and find his eyes upon her as he would be going about his duties—a warm glow, transcending casual eye contact would fill her.
She had never been in love, not an inkling of what love felt like. She had loved many men in her life—had had an abundance of affectionate embraces, chaste kisses—this was not new to her; but never had her breath come to a trembling halt at a mere glance. Never had a touch set her heart to racing, nor had a kiss made her yearn for something more. Something she couldn’t even name or understand.
What would Rene’ or the others think of this Captain Colter as a possible suitor, she wondered? They had never, to date, approved of a single man as her mate. They always had a bit of lewd information on their character or would doubt their sincerity and their motives. It had been a thorn in her father’s side for some time. Although he had mellowed his stance on arranged marriages and had promised her the choice would be hers when she felt inclined to choose, he did not appreciate her friends dissuading her from possible suitors.
Once at a ball in Paris, she had been disenchanted with a very wealthy young son of a Baron, by Honore’; he insisting that the man had a deplorable roving eye and had most of the elegant courtesans of Paris as his companions. She had relayed this bit of information to her father upon their return to their rooms after the ball and as she had mounted the stairs to her suite, he had bellowed so loud that the crystal chandelier in the main hall fairly shook.
“Honore’ said such—eh? Well blast it then, why doesn’t he or one of those other so perfect young bucks stop dawdling and request your hand themselves?”
She had giggled at his ire, shaking her head as she continued up the steps, “Papa they are only looking out for my welfare.”
“Ha!” had been his reply.
Her mind began wandering now, down whimsical paths—imaging attending balls in Paris, with all the elite of French aristocracy. She would enter on the arm of her dashing sea captain and he would hold her in his strong embrace and they would float about the room to the music of the Royal Symphony playing softly in accompaniment. She could imagine sitting amid the wildflowers in the lush meadows on the upper plateau of her estate, with Stephen at her side, speaking softly their innermost thoughts or he reading her prose.
As her eyes closed, all of the sudden too heavy to remain open, her imaginings changed to the ridiculous and the obscure. He as a gallant knight on horseback, coming to her rescue from some menace with sword drawn; then holding her within his arms before him on his white charger, as he carried her to safety. He would take her hand and pledge his love to her. He would kiss her gently and Desiree drifted off to sleep—carried away by her romantic dreams.
Chapter Thirteen
Soft lamplight cast shadows about the cabin and the smell of scented soap permeated the room. Desiree reclined against the side of a round, makeshift tub, which until their arrival had been a cask. But the contents had been removed and the cask sawed in half, as a gift from the crew to the women.
For the men, bathing was a simple matter of dumping cold seawater over their bodies, washing and rinsing, right on deck; at which times, the ladies were asked to remain below. Desiree would listen to the whoops and hollers as the chill water doused them and would feel very thankful for this small tub.
Although the tub was small, with Desiree’s form draped across its expanse, it seemed extremely large. She languished in the heavenly feeling, for bathing usually consisted of a washstand and sea water which did much in the way of cleansing but left much to be desired as far as comfort. On this occasion the water was fresh; thanks to Ham and the barrels he had placed upon deck; that had reaped the harvest of a morning shower.
By the time Desiree dragged herself grudgingly from the exhilarating liquid, the sky had grown dark. Reaching beside the tub for a towel and wrapping it about her body, she stepped over the side, patting herself dry.
“Oh that felt wonderful! Shall I have warm water added for you?” she asked, patting an arm dry.
“Not this evening dear, I fear I may be coming down with a cold. I am a bit under the weather.” Bridgett replied. She sat at the table near a lamp with a book open upon her lap.
“Are you feeling terribly?” Desiree asked with concern, touching her cool hand to Bridgett’s brow and detecting slight warmth.
“I shall be fine—just a touch achy and tired. I am sure a good nights rest will do me wonders.”
“You won’t be feeling up to dining with the Captain, I take it?”
“I think not. I will tu
rn in early I believe.” Bridgett sighed with a weary smile.
“I shall see about having something sent in for us.” Desiree offered.
“No nothing for me. I simply have no appetite.”
Having bathed, Desiree felt too energetic to simply don her nightclothes and retire for the evening. She wanted to see Stephen and she wanted conversation.
“Bridgett—would you mind terribly if I were to dine with the Captain?” she ventured hesitantly, while she opened the armoire to select a gown. Her mind was already set.
“My dear, that would be most improper; yourself in a man's quarters—unchaperoned! I think it would be best if you stay in for the evening.” Bridgett firmly suggested.
“Oh Bridgett, you can not be serious! Stephen is my friend. I have nothing to fear from the good Captain.” She giggled in amusement at the absurdity of it.
In her mind, the man she had first met so long ago on the deck of this very ship, no longer existed. It was as if it had been a fluke that he had behaved so badly. The reality of anything unsavory happening was beyond her comprehension.
But Bridgett recognized the hungry look she had glimpsed in his eyes when he was unaware of her observance. Although he was a gentleman, to be sure, he was a lusty man and Bridgett could guess that after the long voyage, his baser needs were coming dangerously close to the surface. It was the way with all men of the sea, out for months at a time. But this situation held an added danger because he wanted Desiree and Desiree trusted him. Bridgett could not shake the likening of Desiree to a small rabbit, unknowingly about to be caught in a snare.
“Desiree I can not forbid you dining with the captain, of course. I simply ask that you reconsider. It is not proper.” She stressed.
“Bridgett—you rest and do not worry yourself. I will be fine—truly!” Desiree said brightly.
She had dressed as they spoke, in a gown of deep burgundy satin, trimmed about the bodice with glass beadwork. She pulled her gleaming black hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck held with a single comb and turned her back to Bridgett, for her assistance with the laces of her gown. Then with a light kiss upon the older woman’s pensive brow, she slipped on her shoes and scampered out of the room.
***
Stephen Colter sat at his desk with a strong drink of whiskey in his hand and his chair turned toward the window, staring out at the darkening sky. The ladies would be arriving soon he mused to himself. He had bathed and dressed for dinner in a brown velvet suit coat. Gold threading embellished the waistcoat over a cream shirt and stock. The knee breeches were tailored, with gold piping along the outer seams. His brown leather boots were buffed to a shiny luster. As always—these dinners were handled with a touch of decorum.
Turning his attention from the window, he looked about the roomy comfort of the cabin, until his eyes fell upon the large berth in the far corner and a black mood shadowed his features, settling upon him as it had often of late.
He was considered by some, a shrewd man. Taking his father’s shipping company from a means of supplying for their family comfortably, to a dominating force recognized in many parts of the world. He was never one to be satisfied or to stop moving forward in his endeavors. From expanding his enterprises to the Orient and the exotic riches that could be attained, to opening warehouse operations in the colonies at Jamestown to have a ready market, to outfitting their ships for speed, further cutting the competition. He was forever driven but never had stopped to ask himself—toward what.
His parents were unable to comprehend why he drove himself so hard. Dropping not so subtle hints that he should give up the travel end of his endeavors settle on the island—marry and furnish them with grandchildren for their golden years. They had even gone so far as to play matchmaker between himself and the daughter of good family friends. Vanessa Haines would be more than happy to wed if he would but pose the question and she was forever hoping. Little did his parents know that Vanessa had dallied with most of the male residents of the island, and he doubted that even marriage would ever stem the tide.
And although he hadn’t been above sampling her charms when the mood struck him, it was but a passing fancy for both of them and besides he had been on the sea for too many years. It was in his blood and he could find no distraction, which could hold him for more than a few weeks time. Then the sea would call to him again and he would have to go, finding all he needed in the way of feminine companionship readily at ports around the world.
He was familiar with women—all ages, temperaments and backgrounds. To him, women had always been an amusement—a means by which to satisfy his own needs and give pleasure. He could think of nothing he enjoyed more than a woman’s body—experiencing its wonders to the fullest and over the years a number had passed beneath him. More than he could name—more than he could remember.
He could possess a woman physically and leave her gasping—playing her body like a fine instrument; knowing exactly how to please, coax and cajole into ecstasy but unfortunately, his knowledge of women had never gone much further than that.
Now Desiree was playing havoc with him and for the first time in his life, he felt unsure. She made him feel as though—a young lad in love for the first time and perhaps he was. Never had he known a woman so well—to know all sides of her nature.
There was a coy, almost strategically planned naiveté about the lady. She could drive him to the brink of his endurance as he explained a game or the workings of the ship at her request. Leaving him exhausted with the effort and her giggling gleefully at his unrest. Then the next moment, she would rattle off the facts he had tried to explain, obviously having caught every detail and playing her befuddlement to the hilt, to witness his exasperation.
As with all the men on board, he found himself falling into some kind of odd brother and sister relationship with her. He had begun to catch himself watching the gentle swing of her trim hips as she flounced past on deck or becoming aroused when standing close inhaling the light scent of her perfume and would actually berate himself silently; shocked at himself for having lusty feelings toward her!
For the first time in his life, he was being forced to know a woman as a person. Charming, witty, caring, sensitive—and it was most perplexing to a man who had never considered women as more than a momentary distraction.
Desiree’s wit, intelligence, toying with him, spoke of anything but ignorance of the world and yet desire never seemed to enter into it. And the very lack of interest on her part brought home to him with gut wrenching urgency, his desperate need to possess her—which was becoming hard to deny. He had held his emotions in check, playing the gentleman, only to put her at ease to the point of—complacency. He could not, for the life of him, think of how to put an end to this torture—this role he had come to play in their little shipboard world. He wanted more than a brotherly position, much more.
***
At the light knock, Stephen put away his thoughts and his dark mood and rising from his desk, answered the door with a pleasant smile in place upon his lips.
“You look lovely Desiree.” He took her hand in his and ushered her into the cabin, then turned back to the door. He waited—then stuck his head out, looking down the passageway. Bridgett was nowhere in sight.
From behind him, Desiree lightly explained, “Bridgett isn’t feeling well this evening Stephen. She will not be joining us.” She said with a smile, taking a seat at the table as he turned to face her.
He stood near the still open door, uncertainty halting him in his tracks. His jaw flexed slightly and he felt sure his indecision was obvious upon his face. “Do you think you should be here—unchaperoned?” he asked quietly.
“Oh come now Stephen. We are not exactly strangers, are we? I feel at ease, why don’t you?” Desiree asked with a laugh.
In her mind this was very respectable, when remembering herself in the far from acceptable situation she had shared with Rene’ not so very long ago in his bedroom and the countless unchaperoned hours sh
e had spent with Honore’, Antoine and others without complication.
Stephen closed the door slowly. He had wondered if she might be giving him a sign of encouragement until her innocent remark brought that idea to a dead halt. She thought of him as some kind of saint—a trusted friend. It seemed impossible to him that she could not see the hunger in his eyes but he made his way to the table and took a seat opposite her.
“Might I have a glass of wine Stephen?” she requested, intertwining her fingers and placing her hands beneath her chin.
The violet depths stirred the fires within him to the point that he had to look away, to regain control of his emotions. “Of course.” He rose stiltedly and moved to his desk.
He poured a glass of white wine for each of them, thinking to himself bitterly as he poured, “This may well be the longest night of my entire life.” He turned back to the table as his eyes devoured her beauty and he prayed silently that he had the strength of will to endure this torment.
Within minutes dinner was brought in by Ham and as he served his young captain and Desiree, his eyes met Stephen’s and he raised a brow meaningfully but Stephen ignored his speechless query, turning his attention exclusively to Desiree. Ham tried several more times to regain his gaze, unsure of how to convey his concerns. He knew Stephen only too well and he didn’t approve of his taking advantage of such a sweet young woman as this. If it were anyone but Stephen, he would not feel so apprehensive, but this young buck was chomping at the bit for the lass—hot on her tail and Ham knew what Stephen wanted, Stephen would have.
