by Ava Bradley
* * *
Adriana found sleep impossible, but not because Mrs. Bailey, lying beside her, moaned pitifully at every rise and fall of the ship on the sea's swells. She clutched at the blankets, and before long had gathered them all into a ball, leaving Adriana shivering in the chilly night.
She could have gotten up to retrieve another blanket from her wardrobe, but the cold helped clear her mind.
Her gaze slid through the murky gray light of the cabin to the wardrobe doors, and her memory drifted to the instant she'd pulled them open and found Christian inside.
When she'd heard the noise inside she'd expected...she didn't know what she'd expected, but it certainly hadn't been a handsome young man with beguiling eyes and a princely grin. Her instant of shock passed when his gaze fell to the necklace, and she identified him immediately. Not a stowaway, but a jewel thief. And not just any jewel thief.
The Nighthawk.
The moment he'd opened his mouth, she'd known. His French accent was thicker than Henri's and he pronounced words with the inflection she had been delighted to encounter during her years in London. Too bad he put it to shame. This man was a no-good brigand. Knowing he slept in the next cabin made her skin crawl.
How he was connected to her father, she didn't know, but she refused to believe his preposterous tale. Her father was no jewel thief.
Yet something inside Adriana wouldn't let her believe her father was completely faultless. Mrs. Bailey also refused to believe the man's despicable lies, but she had only been with them since the death of Adriana's mother. No one else had known her father as long as Henri, and he hadn't denied Christian's wretched story.
Adriana shrugged the thought away. Mr. Dupree had proved himself untrustworthy. Father was a wonderful man who had always been generous with his money and his efforts. When he learned one of his master architects' children was gravely ill he'd immediately commissioned the children's hospital. This was a kidnapping for ransom, as simple as that. Her captor had simply lied about putting her ashore.
But there had been other instances that caused Adriana now to be wary, even early in her childhood. She knew her father liked to gamble but hadn't considered it a problem because he was both very lucky, and knew moderation.
She turned over on the mattress and stared at the sliver of yellow light under the door where it hit the glossy wooden floor. Had Father truly been a careful gambler, or had he merely hidden his losses? As she'd grown older, she noticed more and more often he returned from late night escapades silly drunk and stinking of illicit odors, but it had not been her place to mention it.
But neither did that make him a jewel thief. The mere notion was outrageous.
Adriana sighed heavily. In the darkness, Chauncey raised his head from his bassinet and whined. Adriana thrust out a hand. "Come here, boy," she whispered, careful not to wake Mrs. Bailey.
Chauncey jumped onto the bed and curled up next to her, giving Adriana a loving lick to the chin.
"You don't believe it, do you?" She stroked his soft head. "Father would never do such a thing."
Chauncey licked her face again and thumped his tail happily on the mattress, as if to say he agreed with her entirely.
"No, he certainly wouldn't," she said softly. "And no thieving scoundrel is ever going to convince me otherwise."
Chapter Four
Dust motes swirled on the narrow beams of morning sunshine slipping into Lady Luck's fore section. Adriana gently twisted Starry Night into three small coils and tucked it into her chosen hiding spot. She hummed happily along, pleased with her mischief. She replaced the items on top of the compartment and moved the supplies back in front, then closed the cupboard doors. Let that arrogant thief try his luck. He would never find it. Never!
She dusted off her hands. "I'd like to see him try," she said aloud.
At her feet, Chauncy yipped. He thumped his tail eagerly as she looked down at him, as if happy to be in on her prank.
"Threaten to burn my ship, will he? Not without a fight." She picked up her little dog and held him close as she left the hold. "And I will certainly be happy to give him one."
She returned to the main section to the sound of voices in the cabin hall. Mrs. Ling, and her captor.
"How does one work the bath?" he asked. "Do you speak English? Parlez-vous Francais?"
"Here," Mrs. Ling responded. "You push in. Turn. Pump."
Adriana peered through the doorway to find Christian watching over Mrs. Ling's shoulder as she explained the valve on the brass piping. She had delivered Christian a breakfast tray.
"You cannot fill the tub while at sea," Adriana stated with gruff authority.
Christian turned around and delivered a rakish grin. "I merely wish to take a bath. Surely the lady does not object to that?"
Mrs. Ling pushed past, smiling at Adriana. "Porridge and biscuit and ham for breakfast," she said.
"Thank you, Mrs. Ling. I shall be along in a moment."
Christian had dressed in her father's clothes. The breeches were too tight, showing the broad muscles of his thighs and narrow planes of his hips, and everything in between, in perfect detail. He'd donned one of her father's finest silk shirts, but couldn't close the top button. In the cleft of his shirt she glimpsed a tousle of dark hair and remembered the sight of his bared chest. It had burned itself on her mind like a hot brand.
He was not only handsome, but superbly proportioned. Such a combination equaled a dangerous weapon in a rake. She forced her eyes to meet his and ignored his obvious delight.
"We save our water for drinking. You may wash from your basin like everyone else."
He frowned. "We are fully stocked."
"While at sea, we ration," she returned firmly. So much was true, a sailor's rule, but still it gave her satisfaction to be the one to deliver it. Since awaking this morning, she'd thought of a thousand ways to make him miserable at sea. She would do her best to see this was no pleasure sail. "Even when fully stocked," she finished.
"We are within sight of land." He watched her with that devilish smirk as he buttoned the cuff of her father's shirt.
"It doesn't matter," she insisted. He is daring me to say something of his theft of Father's clothes, she realized. Well I won't. "I'll thank you not to use my staff at your whim."
He took a step nearer and opened his mouth to speak.
"Forgive me," she said quickly. "Your staff." She scowled. "But Mr. and Mrs. Ling are both very old. You've already upset them–"
"Mrs. Ling didn't appear upset." He continued his slow saunter towards her. His eyes glittered with merriment. How could he possibly know he'd set her on edge? Was it because she couldn't stop glancing over him, or that her cheeks were burning as though on fire?
"You may take your meals in the galley with everyone else."
He stopped before her, sweeping over her with a challenging glance. His pale green eyes lingered on her bosom, then her lips, before slowly traveling back to meet her gaze. "Very well."
Was it that he noticed she no longer wore the necklace, or was he staring at her body? Adriana squared her shoulders and ignored his roaming eyes.
"I trust you slept well?" His brows rose in a mocking expression.
"Better at sea than anywhere else," she returned.
"Sea water flows through your veins?" He smiled devilishly.
"As ice water flows through yours." She didn't smile back. Adriana turned and started away.
"Miss Montague."
She stopped and slowly swiveled back to face him.
"I believe you are forgetting something."
"Oh?" She placed a finger to her chin and pretended to ponder it. "No...I do not believe I am."
His contemptuous smile disappeared as he thrust out his hand. "Starry Night. Turn it over, now."
"Oh yes, now I remember." She gave him back his own devilish smile. "I already have."
The lines in his brow deepened. "Miss Montague."
"Yes, Mr. Nighthawk?"
"Perhaps you don't understand how serious I am."
She forced herself to match his cold glare, even though her insides trembled with fear. "I understand perfectly. I have merely taken a small precaution. Your necklace is securely stowed upon your ship. Burn her, and you burn Starry Night. Now if you'll excuse me, my breakfast is getting cold."
"Why you little vixen." He grabbed her arm and spun her back to face him. In one step, he had her pinned against the wall. She gasped, drawing in the decidedly masculine scent of him. He'd used her father's shaving cream this morning, but on him the mint and sandalwood lotion had taken an entirely new and more powerful aroma.
He held her arm firmly as he stared into her eyes for a long, silent moment. She stared back, mapping the silver flecks that made his eyes such a unique sea-foam green. It reminded her of the water off Jamaica she'd seen only once. It also reminded her that unless she did something to save herself, she'd be back in the Caribbean in mere weeks.
"You try my patience."
She smiled wickedly. "You are most welcome." Adriana tugged her arm away and his hand slowly released its grip.
"I thought ladies were supposed to be soft spoken, docile, and polite."
"And I thought gentlemen were supposed to be kind, accommodating, and affable."
The rakish grin returned, full of danger but oh, so enchanting. Laugh lines crinkled around his eyes and a shadow of a dimple appeared in one cheek.
"I never said I was a gentleman."
She looked away, refusing to acknowledge how truly handsome he was. "Nor does your behavior suggest you are."
Adriana slipped away and traveled quickly down the hall to the galley. She heard his footsteps behind her but didn't turn around to acknowledge him.
Mrs. Bailey sat in a heap at the galley table, still as green as ever. "Oh Adriana, thank goodness. I worried when I awoke this morning and you were gone."
"I didn't wish to wake you, you seemed finally to be at rest."
She groaned. "I did not sleep a wink last night. Why, this ship never stops rocking. Honestly, I do not understand how you can tolerate sailing." She stopped abruptly when she saw Christian enter the galley.
Mrs. Ling poured a steaming cup of sweet smelling brew. "Ginseng tea. Make you feel better."
"No thank you, I could not possibly swallow a drop." The elderly woman glared at Christian. "This is your fault, you devil. I hope you are satisfied."
"Why yes, thank you, Madame."
"Do not get fresh with me, you nasty piece of work."
"You drink," Mrs. Ling insisted. "Feel better." She placed a bowl of porridge in front of Adriana and hurried back to the stove for the cooked ham. "We not go to Baltimore today?"
Adriana gave her porridge a fine dusting of cinnamon and slathered a biscuit with butter. "I do not know. You will have to ask our host, Mr..." She glanced at the young man who'd seated himself across the table. He'd carried his tray back from her father's cabin. "What is your name, or do you prefer I merely call you Mr. Nighthawk?"
He shot a nervous glance at Mrs. Ling, but she had her back to them, busily flipping slices of ham in the pan at the stove. Adriana marked herself another invisible point in the battle of mischief she refused to lose.
He kept his anger in check, but she could see it, bubbling just below the surface. "I am Christian De la Croix."
Mrs. Ling spun around. In the doorway, Mr. Ling stopped so suddenly he spilled over a cup on the tray he carried. She looked up at him and uttered something in rapid Chinese that ended with "Croix."
"What did she say?" Christian demanded.
Adriana pursed her lips innocently. "I do not speak Chinese."
Mr. Ling smiled nervously. He stammered for a moment, then managed, "St. Croix is one leeward island."
Adriana recognized the tension in her long time friend's face.
"We go there to collect herbs?"
"We are going to South America," Christian declared. "You will know more when it becomes necessary."
Mrs. Bailey moaned and covered her mouth as her pallor went from green to gray.
"South America." Mrs. Ling nodded. "By way of Cuba?"
"Would you like to stop and visit your sister?" Adriana asked her.
"There will be no stopping," Christian interjected. "Please make her understand that."
Adriana mustered her most resentful stare. "Tell her yourself."
"On the way back, Mrs. Ling." Christian gave the old woman a smile that sent Adriana's heart leaping. She couldn't understand the strange power he held over her. It is because he is my kidnapper, nothing more. She threw down her napkin and stood, disgusted with herself.
"I shall return to my cabin. Mr. De la Croix, as the new owner of Lady Luck, you may take next watch. I am certain Mr. Dupree is ready to be relieved." She turned away, ignoring his furious glower.
"I don't sail."
Adriana froze and slowly turned back. Had she heard him correctly? "Surely you jest."
"No." He stood from the table, matching her height. "I do not sail."
Mrs. Bailey burst out with a shriek of outrage. "You mean to tell us you commandeered a ship that you do not know how to operate?"
"Had it been possible to walk there by myself, I'm certain the company would have been better," he growled in return.
"This is preposterous! You shall be the death of us all, young man."
Adriana crossed her arms over her chest. Had it not been so pathetic, the irony of the situation would have been funny. She hashed off another point in her favor. When she and Mrs. Bailey escaped, he would be in trouble deeper than he ever might have imagined. He and Henri would have no choice but to put into port for a crew, where the authorities would warmly greet them.
Adriana turned her attention away. The best thing she could do was ignore him. "Mrs. Ling, would you please prepare a tray for Henri? I will take it up to him."
Without looking at Christian again, Adriana went to the small cupboard containing Chauncy's food and scooped a bowl of nuggets for him. The only sound in the stretching silence was the tinkle of China as Mrs. Ling prepared Henri's breakfast.
A glorious sunny morning greeted Adriana as she stepped topside. Not a cloud marred the crystal clear sky. A brisk north-easterly breeze carried Lady Luck along at a leisurely pace across a placid sea.
"Bonjour," she said. "How is the sea this morning?"
"Like a coy mistress." Henri fastened a leather lanyard around the flywheel and sat beside her at the bench to eat. "The storm blew onto the shore in the night."
"As you said it would." She glanced at her old friend. He no longer looked like the same man. Was it because she no longer trusted him?
After her father had been shot last fall, it seemed he suddenly raced toward old age, leaving Henri behind. But today, with his sagging shoulders and tired eyes, Henri appeared to have caught up with Father.
"Are you really going to try and reach South America without a crew?"
"We've done it before," he reminded her. "We had only Ollie, your father and Mr. Hollingsworth when we sailed to Jamaica."
"You were a younger man then," Adriana reminded him back. "And you had willing hands in us."
"Oui, but I know you won't let us or the ship go down. And there is no one I'd rather have sailing her as I sleep than you, chéri."
Adriana's guilt sat like a stone in her stomach. "If we do indeed arrive safely, what becomes of us then?"
Henri stopped eating. "Christian will not harm you. I know that is not what he wants."
"You have a stake in this, or you wouldn't go along with him. Tell me what it is." As soon as she'd made the demand, she felt guilty for the harshness in her voice.
Adriana knew the old man must have an important reason for doing what he did, but it made her furious that he kept it from her. She stood and p
aced the forecastle when he remained silent. "This is madness. I cannot sail her alone and you know it." Adriana threw her hands in the air. "How is it you will risk your own wellbeing for this man? How are you so certain he is not the man who attacked Father?"
Henri's spoon dropped to the tray with a clatter. "He is not the man who shot your father. He was still in France at the time."
Adriana considered him carefully. "I want to believe you, Mr. Dupree, because I cannot bear that you would lie to me about such a thing." But try as she might, the trust would not come.
Henri regarded her levelly. "Christian does not want your father dead, Adriana. He wants him to suffer. For that, he needs him alive."
She closed her eyes as the cold northern wind slipped through her clothes and gripped her bones.
"And you are right, I have a stake in this. But what, I cannot tell you. Not yet."
"Do you too wish him to suffer?" she asked softly, almost afraid of his response. "Your recalcitrance is the same as a lie."
"No, never. Nor do I wish you to suffer. But this is Christian's quest, and I must do this for him."
"Why? Tell me how you know him, I demand it."
"I raised him when he lost his father. I have known him since he was a child, and I know he is not capable of murder."
"I have yet to see proof of that." She was even more confused. How could Henri have raised Christian from a child? He'd spent the last twenty-five years working for her father. Even Ollie knew Christian, and was comfortable around him as if he were family. Like she had been with Henri.
The old sea captain must have read the puzzlement in her face. "Do you not remember my many trips to France?"
Christian's words from the previous night echoed. If your father ever returns to France, he'll be arrested the moment his feet touch the soil.
"The story is not mine to tell," Henri stated. "Christian will tell you, when he is ready."
"What will I tell the lady?" He emerged on deck, his black hair glossy in the morning sunshine. "I take it she wishes to know more about why she finds herself in this particular situation."
