Chance the Winds of Fortune

by Laurie McBain

  At first, upon finding the sunken ship, the crew of the Sea Dragon was ecstatic; then, after sending several men who could swim into the water, they had become downcast with the news that the ship was no treasure galleon. They hadn’t had much time to commiserate, though, because around the headland had come several rival smugglers, their purpose clear as they fired several warning shots from their guns.

  But Dante, unlike most of the crew, had not been caught off guard. His orders were given, the hemp anchor cable was severed, which freed the Sea Dragon from her mooring, and the lightly furled sails were cut loose to catch the wind. The Sea Dragon made her escape safely, leaving the Dutch merchantman and its unprofitable cargo to be fought over by the duped, would-be pirates.

  As the Sea Dragon had sailed away, they’d heard the roar of several more rounds of cannon-fire. Dante had wondered which of the scavengers would be unlucky enough to join the Dutch merchantman on the bottom of the cove.

  As far as most people in Charles Town were concerned, that had been the end of the Sea Dragon’s quest for sunken treasure; yet, just northwest of the Bahamas, somewhere in a scattering of small islands, sandbars, and jagged coral, there might be a sunken Spanish galleon with a cargo of treasure chests filled with enough pieces of eight to make a thousand fortunes.

  “Wanted in on our treasure, did he?” Kirby’s harshly uttered words cut through Dante’s reflections.

  Dante’s lips quirked slightly, for there had never been any point in trying to keep a secret from the little steward. As far as Houston Kirby was concerned, there was no such thing as a secret. With little or no trouble at all, he could root out the secret of a matronly widow’s age, a feat few could lay claim to accomplishing.

  “Either Bertie Mackay is to become a partner, or”—Dante paused meaningfully—“the captain and crew of the Sea Dragon will never get a chance to spend any of that treasure.”

  “Why, the blackguard,” Kirby muttered, still embarrassed for having looked the fool in front of that swine Bertie Mackay. “Who does he think he is, anyway?” the little steward demanded belligerently.

  “He happens to be a man who does not make idle threats. Nor is he a man who takes kindly to another man getting the better of him,” Dante stated, knowing the captain of the Annie Jeanne as well as any man could.

  “What’s he planning on doin’?” Kirby asked, some of his anger fading after he heard the seriousness in his captain’s voice.

  Dante remained silent for a moment as he puzzled over Kirby’s question, the flickering light in the fireplace playing across his unreadable features. “The captain of the Annie Jeanne is planning to join ranks in a rather uneasy alliance with several other captains who, most likely, harbor some grudge against me and would not mind settling a few old scores.”

  “Aye, Captain, we’ve made our share of enemies over the years, that we have,” Kirby agreed with a sinking of spirits, for he knew that his captain’s extraordinary good fortunes, as well as his ruthless pursuit of them, had encouraged little besides jealousy and resentment in less fortunate men.

  Dante Leighton was not a man to be crossed, for he could be a cruel and pitiless enemy, a man he would not care to be on the wrong side of, Kirby thought, remembering men foolish enough to have betrayed the captain of the Sea Dragon. As a privateer and smuggler, Dante had more than proven himself a match for any man. His rivals knew this and accorded him the proper respect, for none of them, no matter how fearless, was reckless enough to want to cross bows with him. However, if several of them joined ranks like the captain said, well… He didn’t even want to speculate on that, because they just might have the chance to catch the Sea Dragon after everybody else had failed.

  Kirby frowned thoughtfully as he stared at his captain; concern for the Sea Dragon’s master was uppermost in his mind as he thought about the dangerous predicament they would surely find themselves in if they went searching for that sunken Spanish galleon. Kirby gnawed at his lower lip, wondering if he dared to voice his thoughts. Even though he knew that he could get away with far more than most men could where Dante was concerned, there was still, even for him, a point beyond which it was wisest not to step. He had served Dante Leighton loyally throughout the years, watching, sometimes helplessly, as the young Marquis of Jacqobi grew into a hardened, vengeful man, who had only one goal in life—which was to seek retribution against the man who had destroyed his family.

  Kirby shook his head, for he could well understand the captain’s feelings. Dante Leighton’s mother, Elayne, had been a fine, beautiful woman, which perhaps was where the tragedy lay, for she had been so exquisite that everybody had loved her, some unwisely so.

  Aye, he too hated the bastard who had contributed to the marchioness’s tragic death, for he had served the Leighton family before the captain’s mother had married into it; he’d even had the privilege of being born at Merdraco Castle, so his loyalties to the family, and to its only heir, ran deep. A longing for Merdraco was as much in his blood as it was in the captain’s, and he wanted to spill the blood of that bastard as much as the captain did. But the bloodlust hadn’t completely clouded his vision, as it had Dante’s, and he knew that he might be the only one who could restrain the murderous intentions of the last Marquis of Jacqobi.

  “Cap’n,” began Kirby awkwardly. “M’lord,” he tried again, liking the sound of that better, “I was just wondering if perhaps it might not be wiser to let the treasure, if indeed there is one, which I doubt, rest in peace in the deep. ’Tisn’t worth gettin’ ourselves killed for, m’lord. Reckon the odds be a bit high this time,” Kirby concluded, on what he hoped was a persuasive note. He was quickly disabused of that idea, however, as he caught the sardonic gleam in the captain’s eye.

  “Do you indeed, Kirby?” Dante inquired softly, his steely-eyed glance reminding the little steward more than ever of the captain’s grandfather, an implacable old man who’d ruled Merdraco with an iron hand for close to half a century. He could still recall, too vividly for his peace of mind, standing with shaking knees before the old marquis, while those same pale gray eyes as his grandson’s burned a hole through him.

  “I suspect, Kirby,” Dante Leighton continued, a slight smile curving his lips, “that you actually fear that there will be a treasure to be found. I do not think you have truly lost faith in my abilities to sail the Sea Dragon out of danger, but fear more”—he paused as his eyes met the steward’s—“what shall happen afterwards.”

  Kirby lowered his bushy eyebrows, effectively hiding the expression in his eyes. Pursing his lips, he said, “Reckon we can only wait and see what happens. Might not be as either of us expect it to.”

  “But whatever it comes to, I can count on you,” Dante stated, knowing full well he had Houston Kirby’s loyalty, even if his steward sometimes disapproved of his actions.

  “Aye, you know you can, Captain,” Kirby replied. “For you and Merdraco, and for the marchioness, I’d follow you into hell, m’lord. Which is where I expect we’re headed. Besides,” Kirby added with a wry grin, looking over his shoulder as if someone might be standing behind him, “the old marquis wouldn’t let me rest in peace if I let you get into trouble.”

  Dante smiled, his eyes softening briefly and reflecting the genuine warmth he felt for the small man who’d always stood bravely at his side. He knew he could count himself lucky that he had Houston Kirby’s loyalty and affection. He was a funny little man, taken to instant likes and dislikes. Opinionated and bossy, he preferred to appear irascible, while in reality he was little better than a mother hen in his concerns for the captain and crew of the Sea Dragon.

  “What are we having for dinner, Kirby?” Dante asked. “I suddenly find that I am quite ravenous.”

  “Aye, thought as much when I saw Bertie Mackay come swaggering in. Went ahead and started that loin of veal turning over the fire and got a couple of ducks roasting nicely, not to mention an apple pie brow
ning in the oven,” Kirby informed him matter-of-factly. “You’ve always had a keen appetite when you’ve been planning mischief, only in the old days ’twas just your backside that was at stake. Now,” Kirby said with a shake of his grizzled head, “well, I don’t fancy having my neck stretched out like a turkey’s. Of course, with a wind filling her sails, the Sea Dragon can—” He broke off, cocking his head toward the street as he heard the jingling of a harness and the sound of carriage wheels rolling to a halt against the cobblestones.

  “Guests, Cap’n,” Kirby muttered, thinking of the china cups piled high in the kitchen from the last visit, which would surely have to be rinsed out if the visitors were female, in order for tea to be served.

  Kirby peered carefully around the edge of the velvet hangings, then gave an audible sniff of disdain which left Dante in little doubt about the sex of his visitors.

  “’Tis Helene Jordane and her aunt, the old biddy,” Kirby mumbled to the captain as he stepped back from the window. “Better be washing a couple of cups, for the two of them will be staying for tea. Hate cutting into my freshly baked trifle, that I do,” the little steward said, thinking about that lovely sponge cake soaked in wine and covered with cream and almonds.

  “Last time the two of them came to call they stayed past what was proper, and that aunt of hers ate a whole plateful of damson tarts,” Kirby grumbled as he made his way to the door. The heady scent of brandy lingered in the room behind him. “Uppity females, the two of them. Actin’ like they be royalty just because that old biddy’s husband is a well-heeled merchant. Think they be blue bloods, they do. Humph! Not likely,” Kirby snorted. “That young widow actin’ like she was some fine highbred lady, when she’s no better’n some wh—” Kirby’s unfinished word hung in the silence of the room like the blade of an ax, which he now could feel edging closer to his own neck. “Beggin’ your pardon, m’lord; I had no cause to be saying that,” he apologized nicely, although privately he was of the opinion that Helene Jordane was not good enough for the captain. That young woman had plenty of smiles when she wanted something, but as soon as a fellow’s back was turned she could be a vicious little guttersnipe. She hadn’t been so sweet and ladylike when the captain had been out of hearing. She’d tried to give Kirby orders in his own kitchen, which still made him smart with indignation when he thought of it.

  Aye, she had acted the fine lady, and now she was ruing the day she’d thought herself too good for the likes of Captain Dante Leighton. Kirby chuckled quietly. Aye, ’twas stuck good and tight in her craw, ’twas, finding out that her smuggler captain was really a marquis. Ah, pity ’twas he’d missed seeing young madam’s face when she’d found that out. She could’ve had the captain, at one time, that she could’ve. But young madam thought to do better for herself in London town, yes, sir. Well, ’twas the way of fortune, that it was. Kirby smiled inwardly, thinking that Helene Jordane deserved whatever she got out of life, but that her life would not include becoming the Marchioness of Jacqobi.

  “You needn’t worry about your trifle, Kirby,” said Dante Leighton, stopping the little steward in his tracks, “for I shan’t be receiving any more guests today. I’ve suddenly grown quite fatigued.”

  A wide grin of devilish amusement settled on Houston Kirby’s face, for he’d been a wee bit afraid the captain might be falling into young madam’s outstretched arms again, which was something he’d hate to see happen, yes, sir. “Aye, Captain. I’ll tell the ladies you’re not receiving visitors,” Kirby repeated with relish. “Of course, the ladies are rather determined, especially that aunt of hers. S’pose I could say you’re not feeling well?”

  “Say whatever you like, Kirby,” Dante told him. “But keep them out of here,” he ordered emphatically. “Tell them I’m in the tub. I really don’t give a damn, so long as they leave.”

  “Aye, Cap’n, that I will. You may leave it to my lack of discretion,” Kirby promised, his eyes twinkling with the anticipated pleasure of turning pesky females away from the door.

  Dante sat for a moment in continued contemplation of the fire; then, when he heard the carriage pull away, he stirred himself. He thought of that excuse of a bath and decided that a soak in a tub of hot water might not be so bad an idea after all.

  In less than half an hour, Dante was soaping the sweat from the wiry hairs covering his chest. While he was soaking in the hot water, his aching ribs seemed to ease and some of their tightness around his chest disappeared. Kirby had just poured another bucket of hot water into the tub and placed several towels before the fire to warm, before he’d disappeared to continue the preparations for dinner. But, as always, Houston Kirby was the ever-efficient, perfect valet; not only had he laid out breeches and shirt, but on a tea table within convenient reach of Dante’s outstretched arm, he had placed a glass of brandy.

  Dante sighed in satisfaction after he’d dipped his head beneath the surface of soapy water and rubbed his curls into a fragrant lather. Ducking under again, he rinsed them clean, shaking the dripping water from his face. When he heard the door open, then close, he held out an imperative hand.

  “Kirby, hand me that towel. I’ve got some of this damned soap in my eyes,” he said, squinting against the suds stinging his eyes.

  A soft towel, warmed by the fire, was placed in his outstretched hand. With a muffled thank you, Dante dried his face.

  “What the devil!” he swore, jerking upright when he felt a soft kiss pressed against his brow; then the soapy water slopped out of the tub as he abruptly sank back down. “Helene,” he said without surprise as he gazed up at the now-startled woman who, only moments before, had been smiling smugly at having outmaneuvered Dante’s officious little steward.

  “Dante! Now look what you’ve done!” she cried out with growing dismay as she stared down at her soap-stained gown. “I had this gown created especially for me in London. There isn’t another one like it in all of the colonies. And now ’tis ruined. I wore it just for you, my love,” she added as she ineffectually shook out the red satin material.

  “If you sneak up on a man while he is bathing,” Dante replied unsympathetically, “you are liable to get more than you bargained for.”

  “Is that a promise?” Helene asked with a seductive smile that Dante knew only too well.

  He eyed her thoughtfully, noticing not for the first time the new hairstyle she had affected since returning from London. Her naturally black hair was now hidden under a cascade of artificial, powdered curls that were styled in one of the highest coiffures he had ever had the misfortune of witnessing. He truly wondered how she managed to keep that haughty tilt to her chin under so much unaccustomed weight. Helene Jordane was of Huguenot ancestry; her grandparents had fled the religious persecution of Protestants in France during the late seventeenth century. She was a beautiful woman with ebony eyes and ivory-tinted skin. Her beauty was exotic and had served her well in this subtropical colony, where the summer’s heat made less colorful beauties wilt into insignificance beside her more flamboyant figure.

  Helene had blossomed like a dusky rose in this uniquely European-flavored city in the colonies. And, as a young widow, she was far removed from all of the reputation-saving restrictions placed on most unmarried young women of Charles Town. For if they desired a change in their status as single women, their reputations had to remain unsullied. Helene, however, could pursue her pleasures as she wished, as long as she went about her liaisons discreetly. She was not completely above reproach, and indeed, there were many in Charles Town who would have enjoyed seeing the arrogant Helene besmirched by scandal.

  “Well? How do you like it?” Helene inquired coyly as she spun around for Dante’s inspection, her satin skirt and petticoats billowing out to reveal slender, silk-clad calves. On her feet were red satin slippers, with diamond buckles that winked expensively at the man sitting in the tub.

  “Very nice,” Dante commented.

  “That is all
?” Helene asked with a tight laugh. “Do you know what this gown cost me? The prices in London are extortionate. I could have had my own seamstress here in Charles Town make me a hundred gowns for what this one cost me.”

  Dante smiled. “Yes, that may well be true, but none of those would have been made in London, which is what you are paying for, is it not? You want your friends to know that you are wearing a fashionable London gown. To see their envy makes it well worth the expense, does it not, my dear?”

  “How well you know me, Dante, my love,” Helene responded warily, not caring overmuch for the heavy sarcasm in his voice.

  “How did you get in? I’ll wager it wasn’t with Kirby’s assistance,” Dante said.

  “I came in through the garden gate. The latch is broken, but then you haven’t forgotten that I have used it before. That little busybody steward of yours never even saw me. Not that it would have mattered, for I hardly thought to find the doors barred to me. You were expecting me, were you not?” Helene laughingly demanded, her tone implying that there had never been any question in her mind about her welcome. “However, ’twas a good excuse to get rid of Tante Marguerite. If you hadn’t had the foresight to beg off, we’d still be sitting downstairs with Tante Marguerite acting as chaperone. This is far nicer, is it not, mon cher?” Helene asked, leaning closer to the tub. Her lace-edged décolletage gaped wide and revealed her pink breasts to Dante’s leisurely perusal.

  Staring deeply into his pale gray eyes, while her own eyes glittered with a variety of emotions, Helene whispered against his cool lips, “Why don’t you have that steward of yours bring our dinner up here where we shan’t be disturbed? You can’t know how much I’ve missed you, Dante,” she said huskily, her lips caressing his hard cheek, then lingering against his ear while her tongue tickled the sensitive skin. Her palms moved across his shoulders as she sought to draw him closer to her breast, but Dante was not aroused by her sudden display of passion. With little warning, he rose from the cooling water, forcing her arms to fall away from him.