Dante settled himself more comfortably in the bunk, the girl’s body so light that he hardly felt her pressing against his chest and thighs. He sighed as he thought over the events of the evening, wondering what more could happen before dawn came to Charles Town and brought this long night to an end. Closing his eyes, he cradled the girl against his chest, resting his chin on top of her golden head. He opened a wary eye as he felt something land on his feet; then he watched curiously as Jamaica curled up against the girl’s side, for all the world like an old friend.
For the first time since waking up in her own bed at Camareigh, Rhea awoke feeling warm. But suddenly she was too hot. Irritably, she tried to kick off some of the heavy blankets. But her legs felt leaden, and as she tried to sit up, the room began to spin alarmingly.
Rhea felt something hard slide around her waist, preventing her from falling sideways against the wall. She turned her head slightly and stared down with heavy-lidded eyes at the man lying next to her in the bunk. He was watching her carefully, almost suspiciously.
She had only a vague memory of that first unfortunate meeting with the less-than-friendly captain of the Sea Dragon, and now, halfway between sleep and consciousness, her memory was fragmented and confused. For an instant, as she openly met his gaze, Rhea felt none of the antagonism she should have.
His long-lashed eyes were extraordinarily beautiful—like quicksilver in a sun-bronzed face. They subtly reflected light and shadow; they were chiaroscuro eyes, reminding Rhea one moment of the clear streams that wended down from the hills around Camareigh, and in the next moment, assuming the muted softness of a gray-winged dove.
Rhea was captivated by the touch of his eyes, then by the touch of his mouth against hers, but she felt something was wrong as she fought off the feverish haze that was clouding her thoughts. For the exquisitely molded lips were hard and demanding, and the gray eyes were crystalline with malice as they stared into hers, not softened by love as they should have been.
Rhea gasped as the bronzed face with the silver eyes became the devilishly grinning face of the captain of the Sea Dragon. This man holding her against his bare chest was the madman who had humiliated her and subjected her to ridicule when she had been in desperate need of help.
“Yes, none other. After all, you are in my bed,” Dante reminded her, “and wearing my shirt,” he added, his eyes lingering on the rounded curve of her breasts.
Rhea glanced down in growing dismay, for until now some of the finer details of the previous night had escaped her. She glanced back up, only to encounter a muscular expanse of bronzed chest. She looked away in embarrassment and confusion, this time to encounter a pair of damp, wrinkled breeches and a shirt looking much like the one she had on. They had been left in a disorderly pile on the floor, as if little thought had been given to them at the time.
Dante, following Rhea’s glance, raised a questioning eyebrow. “You hardly expected me to sleep in wet breeches?” he asked with a look of feigned surprise. “I’d have caught my death of cold, and you wouldn’t have wanted that, would you?”
“I would have rejoiced at the news,” Rhea declared, her cheeks flushed with anger and fever.
“Ah, now that would not have done at all,” Dante said with a grin, his hand straying to a long strand of golden hair clinging to his chest. “I am afraid that they would hold you solely responsible for my untimely death. After all, ’twas you who soaked me through to the skin last night when I was trying to bathe you. They would not think kindly about so cruel an end for an act of kindness.” Dante’s lips twitched with laughter while he waited for her response to his bait.
“Kindness?” Rhea’s voice was choked with anger.
“Now, now, you really should be grateful to me,” Dante interrupted in a soothing voice, ignoring her look of incredulity. “I have abetted you in your cause, for you are in my bed and in my arms, and,” he said, pressing his mouth against her slightly parted lips before continuing, “you are very close to achieving your goal of seducing me.”
And lest she be in any doubt about the truth of his words, Dante slid his arms around her warm body, easing her closer to him as his hands slid beneath the shirt and moved slowly upward along her thighs. The shirt moved upward too, baring her flesh to him; his hands easily cupped her small buttocks and he brought her hips gently against his.
Rhea Claire Dominick was in no doubt about his passion, nor the truth of his words, for a burning heat was growing harder against her, touching her intimately, insinuating itself closer to the vulnerable softness between her legs.
In shame Rhea closed her eyes, for she couldn’t seem to escape the hard hands that were molding her ever closer against that relentless pressure. She drew in her breath in surprise when she felt his mouth against her breasts and then the soft touch of his tongue; opening her eyes, she gazed down at the head of wavy, chestnut hair lying heavy against her. Every inch of the man’s hot flesh was like a brand burning into her, marking her with his scent and feel.
As his mouth caressed the taut arch of throat, Dante tasted hot, salty tears, and, startled, he glanced up, caught off guard by her unexpected response to his lovemaking. He stared at her, confused not only by her reaction to him, but by his equally strange reaction to her. He glanced down at his trembling hand with contemptuous disbelief. With the back of his hand, he wiped away the beads of perspiration lining his upper lip. He felt disgusted with himself for wanting this girl so badly that he would forget all else in the taking of her.
The violet eyes were so close to his that he could see a primrose ring encircling the widening pupils. And the unpleasant fact that they were widening with fear and revulsion, not ardor, left him feeling strangely uncomfortable. But despite her obvious dislike of his touch, he found himself experiencing the same fascination he had felt when he had awakened to find his trespasser snuggled into the curve of his chest, her soft backside riding against his hips so trustingly and innocently.
His senses had filled with the warm scent of her. The soap he had used on her the night before smelled both familiar and foreign as it wafted to him from her skin. He had noticed the incredible loveliness of her hair, and burying his face in the deep golden tresses, he had breathed the heady fragrance of the sea and sandalwood.
She had rolled over suddenly, pushing restlessly at the covers, and Dante had found himself staring into her face. Her expression was angelic in her sleep, and her cheeks were stained a wild rose color that contrasted startlingly with the ashen cast of the skin of her body.
She had seemed so guileless in her sleep that Dante had to force himself to remember her lies and actions of the night before. He had hardened his heart against the appeal of her seraphic appearance.
But when she had opened those limpid violet eyes, and he found himself staring into them, all of his fine reasoning had been banished by the abrupt tightening in his loins. All he could think to do was to press his mouth against hers and elicit a response from their softness. He wanted to feel her lips seeking his, her hands caressing him, her hips moving rhythmically against his. But none of this happened; instead, she shrunk away from him, as if she could not endure his touch. For one brief moment, when she gazed into his eyes, he thought… But no, a look of fearfulness replaced her expression of sensuality.
Dante was rudely jolted from his thoughts by the painful impact of the top of her head meeting the curve of his chin. That this was no accident but a carefully planned assault, he soon realized as he struggled to free his shoulder from the teeth sinking into them, while at the same time avoiding the sharp nails trying to shred his skin. He managed to evade the knee that would have done considerable damage to his self-esteem had it connected with a very vulnerable spot, but the small fist speeding toward his nose could not be eluded entirely, and it smacked a glancing blow to his cheekbone.
Making quick use of his greater weight, Dante rolled the squirming little hellcat benea
th him, pinning her flat against the bunk, rendering her swinging fists useless for the moment. Then he tried to catch his breath. With the taste of blood still warm in his mouth from the blow she had dealt him, Dante stared into her now very frightened face. They were both panting, and Dante could feel every breath she drew against his own chest and belly.
And it was upon this intimate scene that a furious Helene Jordane, eyes flashing with temper, Gallic blood on the boil, stumbled unannounced. There had been a heated argument outside the cabin door, but neither Dante or Rhea had heard the commotion.
“I told ye the cap’n was otherwise occupied,” Kirby reminded her, standing firm against a look from Helene’s eyes that should have put him six feet under. He hid well his own surprise, for he hadn’t quite expected to be greeted by this scene, but then, Dante was not a predictable man. And that was probably why they were all alive today.
“Damn you, Dante Leighton! Damn you to hell!” Helene Jordane cried in mortification as she stared at Dante and the golden-haired girl in his bed. Her eyes were mesmerized by that ivory-skinned leg entwined with Dante’s deeply tanned one; it was quite obvious to her, in her wrathful indignation, that they had been coupling. The girl’s beautiful face was flushed from his kisses, and even she, from where she stood across the room, could hear the ragged breathing of the two lovers.
Dante had humiliated her and was no doubt laughing silently at this very moment, while his whore snuggled up to him beneath the covers. She would never forgive him for this affront. She had planned last night so carefully. If she could have gotten him into her bed, she knew she’d have been able to conceive. After all, she’d done it before. That would have assured her of the Marquis of Jacqobi’s ring on her finger. And this time she would have made certain that nothing happened to the baby.
“Helene,” Dante murmured and sat up, the coverlet wrapping around his hips as he propped himself against the pillows. He held Rhea in the circle of his arm as he stared mockingly at his onetime paramour. “This is most unexpected. I have never known you to go calling before noon. You must have had a quiet evening and retired early. ’Tis a pity.” He spoke casually, as if there were nothing out of the ordinary about the predicament he now found himself in.
Rhea, however, was so flushed and trembling with embarrassment that she felt ill. And the woman confronting them was almost convulsed with rage, leaving Rhea in little doubt that she bore some grievance against the grinning captain of the Sea Dragon. A sudden disquieting thought came to Rhea. What if this woman was his wife? This stunningly beautiful woman would certainly have reason to be infuriated at the discovery of her husband compromising another woman, but even given those sordid circumstances, Rhea still could not believe the vituperative language that was spilling from the woman’s sneering mouth. Never before had Rhea heard anyone, much less a gentlewoman, speak with so befouled a tongue.
“…and you could have been in my arms, but instead you choose to consort with some common whore off the docks. Well, the pox on both of you!” Helene spat, her narrowed gaze not missing the way Dante’s hand strayed to a golden curl on the girl’s temple. The unconscious gentleness of the gesture blackened her spirit even more.
Dante looked at her pityingly, and only Kirby saw the gleam enter the captain’s eye. The little steward knew him well enough to take the precaution of settling his feet firmer to the deck, for they were in for some stormy seas now. But even Kirby found himself reeling at the captain’s startling words.
“My dear Helene, you really do my betrothed an injustice, and you owe her an apology,” he said silkily, remaining unmoved by the shocked expressions on the two women’s faces.
“Betrothed?” Helene laughed harshly. “By God, but you are mad, Dante. I ought to call your bluff and announce the glad tidings all over Charles Town. Let me see, how shall I introduce you?” she asked coyly. “May I introduce to you Dante Leighton, captain of the Sea Dragon and Marquis of Jacqobi, and this sweet thing is his wife, the former whore… Oh, I am sorry,” Helene apologized, her eyes sliding over the golden-haired girl with insulting thoroughness, “I did not quite catch your name. You do have one, do you not? Even a first name will suffice, and that is perhaps all you are known by?”
“Her name is Lady Rhea Claire Dominick,” Dante informed her. “And you thought I would not remember your name,” he whispered in Rhea’s ear. “You do not mind if I make use of your subterfuge, do you?”
“Be my guest, please,” Rhea responded, thinking that the more people who learned of her identity, the better her chances were of escaping.
But to Helene Jordane’s jealous eye, it seemed as if they were sharing secrets and exchanging words of love, especially when Dante pressed a light kiss against the girl’s forehead.
“Lady?” she snorted in derision. “More likely m’lady strumpet.”
“You’re making yourself look the fool. For this is indeed Lady Rhea Claire Dominick, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Camareigh, and my betrothed. Surely you must have heard of the family while you were visiting in London?” Dante asked, smiling as he saw the look of doubt spreading across her face.
And, indeed, Helene was having serious qualms as she stared at Dante and the girl. She was definitely uneasy, for the name he had spoken so casually was not unknown to her. While in London she had listened avidly to all of the gossip, and although not invited to many of the more important parties, she had remained inordinately interested in every facet of their privileged lives.
She had heard of Lady Rhea Claire Dominick, and had been filled with envy for the beautiful heiress who had taken London by storm. She had glimpsed the girl only once, when she’d been pointed out by a friend, but she’d been at the opposite side of the theater and all she had been able to see was the exquisite style of the girl’s dress. Now, as Helene gazed at the golden hair, she remembered that Lady Rhea had golden hair, and was reputed to be quite beautiful.
Helene bit her lip in vexation, uncertain of what to do, and feeling suddenly quite foolish, as Dante had predicted. But still she was doubtful. “I thought you were supposed to wed an earl?” she asked now, thinking to entrap this creature if she were an impostor.
“As you can see,” Dante answered, thinking to smooth over a difficult situation, “she did not.”
“Are you speaking of Wesley Lawton, Earl of Rendale?” Rhea asked politely, grasping her chance to prove her identity. “Wesley and I are longtime friends. He has often stayed at Camareigh. Are you an acquaintance of his? I shall have to ask him…” Rhea broke off abruptly, with the painful memory that Wesley was dead.
But Helene did not notice the odd silence, for the beautifully accented words left little doubt in her mind that this was the real Lady Rhea Claire Dominick, wealthy heiress, and, most likely, the betrothed of Dante Leighton.
Seeming to read her mind, Dante added, “Did I never mention Rhea to you? I have known her since she was just a little girl. But I thought that I had lost her when I left England. I had promised her that I would come back for her one day, but as you can plainly see”—he laughed softly, pulling Rhea closer against his chest, startled momentarily by the heat of her body—“she became impatient for me and sought me out. I must admit that I was stunned to see her. She seemed almost a stranger to me, but not for long.”
“I am surprised you even recognized her,” Helene said tightly, wishing this ship and its captain on the bottom of the sea.
“I very nearly did not, but true love never dies, does it?” he murmured softly against Rhea’s cheek. His eyes met Helene’s, though, and their message was only too clear to her.
“May I be the first to give you my congratulations,” Helene said. Unable to resist the temptation to plant a seed of doubt in her rival’s mind, she added, “And to wish you luck. You will certainly need it, for Dante Leighton is a bastard, and you will live to regret the day you crossed his path again. You do know that he is only ma
rrying you for your fortune. He is not capable of love and loyalty. He will destroy you, just like everyone else he has ever touched.” Then, with a rustling of her skirts, she hurried from the cabin, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.
Kirby breathed a deep sigh of relief to have her off the Sea Dragon, for she was bad luck. “Lord love us, but she’s a wicked woman,” he said.
“Where did she go? I wanted her to help me escape. I’ve got to get away from this ship and her captain,” Rhea muttered fretfully. “I want to go home. I feel so tired. I can’t seem to think anymore.” Then she wept, muffling her tears against the pillow as she curled up beneath the covers. Her aching body refused to stop shaking.
“That don’t look good, Cap’n,” Kirby said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully as he walked over to the bunk. “Reckon ye might have done her some harm by bathing her. Got her cold, ye did. Funny, she reminds me a bit of Jamaica when you brought him on board ship in Port Royal. He was just a poor, wee kitten, half-starvin’, and lookin’ fer a home, he was. Reckon I’m a mite confused, Cap’n,” Kirby added, watching the stony-faced man cradling the girl. “Is she really this Lady Rhea Claire Dominick?”
Dante shrugged. “It does not matter who she is. Her future has been decided. She is sailing to the Indies on the Sea Dragon.”
“Well,” the little steward said with no outward sign of surprise, “reckon ye be responsible fer her now. This cold weather ain’t helpin’ her any. Reckon the warm trades in the Indies would put her back on her feet right quick. That, and a few bowls of my special broth.”
Dante smiled strangely. “Aye, Kirby, I was thinking that very same thing. She is my responsibility now.”
Jamaica, seemed to understand his captain’s words and hopped back up on the bunk, finding his special spot at the feet of Rhea Claire Dominick, latest crew member on board the Sea Dragon.
Chance the Winds of Fortune Page 34
