Pleased with the effect, bizarre though it might have seemed to fashionable London and to Canfield, Rhea shook her head, enjoying the feel of the swinging braids. She was slipping her feet into the sandals and winding the straps around her silk-stockinged calves when she heard the ship’s bell announcing the change of the watch, the chime coinciding with the dinner hour in the captain’s cabin.
Rhea took a deep breath and stepped from the safety of her cabin, feeling a nervous excitement about being seen for the first time in her new clothes, a strange sensation for one who was well accustomed to changing her gown several times a day to suit the occasion. Never before had she been overly conscious of her appearance, but now she almost dreaded the moment when those penetrating eyes would settle on her with embarrassing thoroughness.
But armed with what she thought was a fuller understanding of her feelings for the captain of the Sea Dragon, Rhea felt she could face anything or anyone. Her heart, however, was not paying heed to her mind’s arrogant assumption that Dante Leighton’s sensuality could be so easily dismissed; indeed, it fluttered wildly as she neared the door to the captain’s cabin and heard the sounds of tinkling glass and low laughter. Swallowing her trepidation, Rhea knocked softly on the door, almost hoping that no one would hear it. After an endless second, though, she heard feet approaching, then the door was opened, and she found herself staring into the stunned face of Alastair Marlowe.
“Lady Rhea?” he spoke, finally finding his tongue, but he felt at a loss for words as he stared at the breathtaking transformation of the girl whom he’d seen on deck hardly two hours earlier.
“Mr. Marlowe?” Rhea responded, her head tilted to one side as she stared up at him with growing amusement and feminine satisfaction at the obvious response she was eliciting. “May I come in and join you, sir?”
Alastair turned a dull mottled red as he quickly stepped aside to allow this stunning creature access to the captain’s cabin. Then he hurriedly closed the door behind her extraordinary figure and turned around to catch the captain’s reaction to his guest.
Dressed in a dove-colored cloth suit with gold buttons, a gold brocaded waistcoat, and a pair of gray silk stockings and round-toed shoes with golden buckles, the captain looked like any slightly bored, aristocratic gentleman engaged in casual conversation before sitting down to dine. His chestnut curls, usually windblown, had been brushed off his wide forehead and tied with a black velvet ribbon in a neat queue. As he took a sip of wine from a silver goblet, the delicate lace of his shirt sleeve fell in deep folds around a finely shaped hand that seemed to belie its great strength. Rhea, glancing down instinctively at the lace edging on her bodice, realized rather belatedly the origin of part of her clothing, and wondered if the captain had yet missed one of his shirts of finest holland.
Dante became aware of Fitzsimmons’s sudden lack of attention to their conversation, and noting that gallant’s widening eyes and slow grin of appreciation, he turned, fully expecting to see the Sea Dragon’s female passenger. But her captain was not prepared for what met his gaze.
“Ah,” Fitzsimmons breathed, his eyes lifted heavenward and his hands folded as if in prayer, “’tis true, then. I was knowin’ if I kept me faith, I’d be havin’ me prayers answered one day.”
“What is true?” Alastair asked, watching with interest the different emotions playing across certain faces in the highly charged atmosphere of the captain’s cabin.
“Why, that there be Nereids, after all. To be sure, I’ve always been fond of the story about sea nymphs, but until now I was havin’ no idea of the deadly enchantment of such a creature, for me heart is close to breakin’ at the very sight of ye, m’lady,” Fitzsimmons proclaimed, his hand pressed above his heart as he stepped across the cabin and came to a halt before her, bowing most elegantly before bringing her hand to his lips in a most gentlemanly manner.
As he straightened, he caught sight of the colorful ribbons adorning her golden braids, and he sighed audibly. “Ah, ye be a grand lady indeed to be takin’ pity on a poor Irishman’s gift. If I could only be tellin ye, m’lady, what it does to a man to see ye wearin’ his ribbons, well, ’tis—”
“—’tis certain ye’ll be makin’ an attempt to be tellin’ her, Seumus Fitzsimmons,” Alastair remarked in fair imitation of the glib Irishman. His purpose, however, was to interrupt the flow of words before they completely embarrassed Lady Rhea, who was blushing slightly, or managed to irritate the captain, whose gaze was narrowed in a manner which usually boded ill for someone.
“—’tis a sight that warms me heart, it does,” Fitzsimmons continued as if never interrupted, his black eyes twinkling with pleasure. There was another emotion too, when his roving glance spied a particular patch of leather riding against Rhea’s thigh. “Ah, ’tis almost too much fer me Irish soul to be seein’. To know a piece of me own dear breeches is touching so fair and soft a skin as yours, m’lady, well, ’tis enough to—”
“It might be wise, Mr. Fitzsimmons, if you went on deck and got a breath of fresh air,” Dante remarked lazily as he came forward, his gaze never leaving Rhea’s face. “You seem to be suffering the effects of too much wine and it has gone to your head.”
“Ah, Cap’n, ’tis a hard man ye be, for ’tis the warming of me Celtic blood by unsurpassed beauty, and a fair bit of dreamin’, that has me actin’ the fool,” the irrepressible Irishman responded, gazing almost with regret at that soft patch of buff-colored leather. “And, I might be addin’,” he said with an unrepentant grin for what he was about to say, “that as I’m recognizin’ that fine piece of lace flutterin’ ever so softly at m’lady’s breast, I’m wonderin’ if ye might not be doin’ a fair bit of manly speculation yerself, Cap’n, sir?”
“I think a glass of Madeira might be in order for Lady Rhea.” Alastair’s friendly voice intruded into a silence which had grown suddenly tense. The Irishman’s ill-advised words seemed to be hanging like an ax over his own head, which was unfortunate, Alastair thought, for there was not a man on board more loyal to Dante Leighton than Seumus Fitzsimmons. But this time the Irishman may have gone too far with his biting wit, which in the past had spared no man, including himself. Usually his stinging witticisms had met with equally devastating rejoinders; it was all done with good humor, though, for everyone understood the Irishman’s brand of repartee.
Fitzsimmons may have felt a similar sense of impending doom, for he prudently withdrew to pour the requested Madeira for Lady Rhea, a wry look on his handsome face as he eyed his captain, for it was common knowledge on board the Sea Dragon that the captain was having a devil of a time with the young lady. Houston Kirby wasn’t the only one who suspected there might be more between the two than met the eye, and speculation was rife amongst the crew on exactly how long it would take their captain to claim the prize.
And, aye, that was the problem, and not only for the captain and the Lady Rhea Claire, but for the crew as well, for angry words had been exchanged, as well as threatened fisticuffs, when it came to the young lady’s reputation and protection thereof. After all, it wasn’t as if the young lady were a courtesan of questionable virtue off the docks in Charles Town. Fitzsimmons liked to think that the crew of the Sea Dragon was made up of decent blokes and that their morals weren’t completely piratical; thus, he, as well as many others, had found himself affected by Lady Rhea Claire’s misadventures.
MacDonald showed another fine example of the enraptured state which seemed to be possessing the crew, for the Scotsman was seldom ever disturbed by anything. He’d certainly been a stranger to anger for as long as Fitzsimmons had known him. He remembered wondering how these clannish Highlanders had come to have such a fierce reputation, and if there really was anything to all these stories of blood feuds between the clans. Well, no longer would he doubt the truth of those stories, for to hear MacDonald speak, one would have thought he himself was about to be violated, or at least a daughter of his, but certa
inly not a young woman he’d only met close to a fortnight ago.
Fitzsimmons smiled in self-disgust, for he himself had made an attempt to bridle his own tongue, lest he hear the deadly whisper of a claymore over his glib Irish head. Aye, that was where the trouble lay, for MacDonald would swing that claymore on behalf of the captain as well, for he was loyal to the master of the Sea Dragon and would sooner betray his own clan than Dante Leighton.
’Twas a difficult situation, for the crew would have liked to see a match between their captain and the lady, but ’twas the circumstances under which such a coupling would be consummated that concerned them. In the crew’s estimation, the captain couldn’t have found a finer young woman to take as wife, nor could the young lady have found a finer gentleman. Aye, ’twould have been nice to have attended the nuptials, but with Antigua just off the starboard bow, and Lady Rhea Claire anxious to return home to England, and the captain acting like a caged tiger, it just didn’t look as if ’twould come to anything. Time was running out on the captain if he intended to make the lady his own, which, upon seeing the captain’s expression as he gazed at the girl, was exactly what he had in his mind. Thinking this, the Irishman sighed with a mixture of envy and concern.
“Actually, Mr. Fitzsimmons, I was thinking that m’lady has very fine taste in lace.” Dante startled the Irishman with these softly spoken words, causing Fitzsimmons a moment’s discomfort as he imagined the captain reading his mind.
“Aye, to be sure, she does, Cap’n,” he replied with a wide grin as he handed Rhea her Madeira. He was pleased to find that the captain hadn’t taken undue offense to his earlier indiscretion.
“I wish to thank you, Mr. Fitzsimmons, for the ribbons. Conny told me you had wanted me to have them. They’re quite beautiful,” Rhea told him, as sincere as if he’d given her a precious jewel. “I do not know quite what to say to you, and to the rest of the crew for these clothes. It was a great kindness by all of you, and from what I have learned from Conny, quite a sacrifice. I will not forget your generosity,” she said as she ran her hand over the soft leather patches of her skirt, glancing between Fitzsimmons and Alastair, both of whom wore very pleased expressions.
“Young Conny talks too much,” Alastair said with an indulgent grin for the cabin boy’s loquaciousness.
“I, on the other hand, would have said he had talked not enough,” the captain murmured, his narrowed gaze missing nothing of Rhea’s appearance, including a certain finely tanned cinnamon patch of leather curving around her slight hip, “for I seem to be the only person on board my ship who knew nothing of this enterprise, which is quite extraordinary, considering I seem to have contributed more than my fair share to m’lady’s garments.”
“Ah, now ’tis the cap’n’s privilege, that, and we all be green with envy, sir.” Fitzsimmons spoke with a twinkle in his black Irish eyes as he watched the captain reach out and touch the heavy lace on Rhea’s bodice, his hand just grazing her breast.
“No doubt Kirby played a major role in this affair?” Dante asked, although he needed no answer. He knew his steward too well to think anything could occur on board the Sea Dragon without the little man’s personal knowledge.
And as if he had been standing just beyond the door, listening for his cue to enter, Kirby suddenly came bustling in, a heavy tray balanced before him, while Conny followed in his footsteps, his eyes glued to the lighter tray he was so carefully carrying. Thus, he didn’t see the little steward come to an abrupt halt at the sight of Rhea, or the way in which his face split wide with a grin of satisfaction at his creation. Conny walked right smack into Kirby’s back, almost causing a tureen of soup to upend against the little steward. But Dante’s hands grasped hold of the deep dish and steadied it before it could crash to the deck.
Kirby was busy steadying his own tray of food as several boiled potatoes escaped from a dish and rolled onto the floor, but it didn’t hinder his tongue as he glared over his shoulder at a scarlet-faced Conny. “Master Brady! What the devil d’ye think ye be doin’? Haven’t ye got eyes to be seein’ where ye be walkin’?”
“I suspect, Kirby, that ’twas your eyes that went astray,” Dante commented as he set the tureen in a safe spot on the table. “No harm done, Conny,” Dante told him, for the little boy looked close to tears.
“Aye, s’pose ye be right about that, Cap’n,” Kirby admitted with a sniff and a wink at Conny, for he wasn’t one to blame a person unjustly. His eyes strayed once again to Rhea, his expression almost cherubic as he examined the stunning results of his efforts.
“You might as well look your fill,” Dante told him, taking the shifting tray from the steward’s hands, “since you seem to be responsible for our guest’s transformation.”
“Thank you, Kirby,” Rhea said, the golden braids swinging around her shoulders as she gave the beaming little steward a hug that left him as scarlet as Conny. “You really shouldn’t have gone to all of this trouble.”
“’Twasn’t any trouble a’tall, m’lady,” Kirby said, forgetting the late nights spent sewing by a flickering light and the hours on deck at dawn working with needle and thread.
“It fits perfectly,” Rhea was saying as she turned around for him, allowing him to fully admire his work. “But how on earth did you do it without proper measurements?” she demanded curiously.
“Yes, please do enlighten us, Kirby,” Dante said, his eyes lingering on the soft curve of breast revealed by the décolletage.
“Nothin’ to it, m’lord,” Kirby replied, refusing to be baited by the captain, for he wasn’t quite certain of his master’s mood. “I just took me measurements when I was groomin’ Lady Rhea’s clothes. Simple as that, although I had to hurry a bit in order to finish them before we reached Antigua. Wanted to see ye in them before ye left the Sea Dragon,” Kirby said, his eyes meeting the captain’s eyes meaningfully.
“Aye, ’twas worth the loss of a fine pair of breeches to have had the pleasure of servin’ ye, m’lady,” Fitzsimmons said, lifting his drink in toast to her. “To your safe return home to England, Lady Rhea Claire. Although,” he added with a mournful look at her, “we shall miss your beauty on board the Sea Dragon when we depart Antigua.”
Alastair lifted his drink in agreement, although on his part it may well have been wishful thinking, for he thought he knew his captain’s mind on that score. And indeed, the captain was slow to respond to the toast.
“To a safe journey home, Lady Rhea,” Dante finally murmured before emptying his goblet of its contents.
As Rhea lifted her glass to her lips, her eyes met his over the rim, and she realized that she was the only one aware that he had not proposed a time for that safe journey home. Rhea sipped her Madeira, and although she did not care for the slightly burnt taste of it, it sent a fire through her blood that warmed her spirit and made her recklessly courageous as she met that pale-eyed stare of the captain of the Sea Dragon. Feeling full of unreasonable confidence in her ability to resist him, Rhea allowed a small, enticing smile to curve her lips as she continued to stare boldly across at him, her chin set in almost a challenging tilt. Meanwhile, the expression in her eyes was one he had not seen before, and it intrigued him.
Dante lifted his refilled goblet in a silent, private toast, as if in acceptance of her challenge. And whatever that challenge might be, he felt certain he would soon find out.
Kirby, noticing the locked glances, hurriedly sent a bemused Conny—whose eyes had never left Rhea’s figure—back to the galley for another course of the meal, thinking it far wiser to occupy Dante and Rhea with something else for the next few hours, and if there was anything that would serve for that, it was his cooking. Of course, he supposed he was worrying unnecessarily, for what could possibly happen over the dinner table, especially with Alastair and Fitzsimmons present? Fortunately for the little steward’s peace of mind he had little inkling of the dangerous mood that Rhea was in, and he would hav
e been struck dumb had he the least suspicion of what she was about. Even a person of only slight acquaintance with the captain would know better than to bait the man, or try to make him look the fool, for Dante was not a man to play games with.
As it was, Alastair and Fitzsimmons soon realized that they were unwitting participants in a game in which they knew not the rules. In uneasy silence, Alastair watched Rhea flirt with Fitzsimmons, feeling like a helpless spectator to a blood sport, for he could feel the tension rising at the table like a tangible presence. Dante seemed to know exactly what the rules of the game were, and was even creating a few new ones of his own. Alastair watched with growing alarm as the captain poured more wine into Lady Rhea’s already brimming goblet, something he had taken care to do since they had sat down for their first course.
Alastair wasn’t even certain that Lady Rhea was aware of the captain’s ploy, so interested did she seem in hearing Fitzsimmons’s story about the leprechaun he had once encountered. The Irishman’s audience was not uninformed about legends, however, and Lady Rhea demanded to know if the little old man had led Fitzsimmons to his cache of treasure.
“Ah, to be sure he has, mo mhurnin,” Fitzsimmons declared grandly, the Gaelic endearment slipping out naturally as he gazed amorously into her violet eyes, “for here am I sittin’ with the fairest treasure in all o’ the land, includin’ Erin itself, and them golden braids of yours couldn’t be any less golden than a treasure chest full o’ golden doubloons,” he said softly. One of the beribboned braids touched his cheek as Rhea tipped her head sideways to catch his words, but her eyes were on Dante’s gray-clad figure sitting so quietly across the table.
Chance the Winds of Fortune Page 47
