Chance the Winds of Fortune

by Laurie McBain

  Dante seemed unconcerned as he watched them. A slight smile curved his lips and his gaze seldom strayed from the golden-haired beauty, but Alastair was not surprised to see the tightening of the captain’s knuckles around the fragile stem of his crystal goblet when those primrose ropes of hair swung teasingly against the Irishman’s tanned cheek.

  “Ummm, ‘a treasure chest full o’ golden doubloons,’” Rhea quoted as she propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her cupped hand. “Now that sounds exciting, don’t you think so, Alastair?” Then she turned her wide violet eyes onto him, which was what he had been dreading, for the captain’s jealous eye was sure to follow, and, as it was, his dinner was already sitting like a swivel block in his stomach.

  “Well, yes, it certainly does, although one must find the treasure first,” Alastair answered with irritating practicality. “And that would be a rare find indeed,” he said, pleased with his easy reply to so touchy a subject, although he wondered what sort of sport this was that Lady Rhea was playing at.

  “I beg to differ, Alastair,” Rhea returned sweetly, her expression one of total innocence, “for I have an ancestor who captured a Spanish galleon and looted it of its stolen gold. And”—she paused, drawing breath to continue, a sparkle in her eyes as she glanced around the table—“I have personal knowledge of another treasure map, and have even seen with my very own eyes the X marked in gold. The adventurous will be guided to a hidden treasure chest full of gold, jewels—”

  “Good Lord!” Alastair exclaimed as his hand accidentally came in contact with his goblet of wine, sending the dark red liquid spreading across the tablecloth and sending everyone to their feet in a rush. “I am sorry, how clumsy of me,” Alastair apologized nicely, his eyes briefly meeting the captain’s as he dabbed ineffectually at the wine dripping over the edge of the table. “I trust I did not spill any on you, Lady Rhea?” he asked concernedly as he stepped aside for a muttering Kirby, who had been standing in the opened doorway like a still life as he had listened to Lady Rhea’s soft voice revealing secrets.

  “No, none at all,” Rhea replied with a smile, unaware of what really had happened.

  “The crew would most likely have hung me from the yardarm if I’d stained your skirt before they’d even had the chance to admire it,” Alastair said jokingly, feeling the danger past. His relief was short-lived when he heard young Conny Brady’s piping voice.

  “We had a treasure map, Lady Rhea,” he told her with pride. “The cap’n won it in a card game in St. Eustatius and we went lookin’ fer the treasure, only ’twas a sunken Dutch merchantman we found instead.”

  “Aye, for a couple of Paddies, we came mighty close to makin’ our fortunes, eh, young Conny?” Fitzsimmons said with a bitter smile, for he was still feeling deeply the disappointment of that voyage that had come to naught, along with all of his hopes of becoming master of a schooner of his own.

  “Cap’n, sir, what happened to that map?” Conny now asked, turning his wide blue eyes on his captain. “I wish we could show Lady Rhea the treasure map. Aye, fair ’twas to look at, even if it wasn’t worth nothin’. It had birds and seashells and a ship with—”

  —“with painted sails billowing eastward as it sailed in a sea full of dragons,” Rhea finished for him, somewhat startled herself at how vivid her memory of the map was. She shook her head, feeling slightly hazy, for she seemed to be seeing two maps instead of one. But the one she had been remembering earlier was not this one Conny was describing. Her map had to do with her great-grandfather, Ruaiseart MacDanavel, and her mother and Uncle Richard, but that map hadn’t been in a bottle like this one had, she thought in growing confusion. Then she drew in her breath sharply as she remembered she was not supposed to mention that other map. Rhea swallowed painfully as she met the captain’s inscrutable expression, and she worried he must think she had been deliberately defying him. But that was not so, she thought in desperation, for it was the unaccustomed amount of wine she had consumed during dinner that was making rational thoughts very difficult, indeed, near impossible. And now, as she stared at Dante Leighton, all she could think about was the feel of his hard mouth against hers and the unrelenting strength of those bronzed arms around her waist. It was madness, Rhea thought in growing panic as she stared around the captain’s cabin at the rich mahogany paneling, the broad stern windows slanting into the blackness of sea and night, the big sea chest in the corner, the cabinet where the rolled-up charts were stacked so neatly, the other cabinet containing the bottles of wine, the desk where he penned his log, and, finally, the bunk, where she had lain with the captain of the Sea Dragon.

  Ever since then, upon entering his cabin for her meals, she had studiously avoided looking at that corner of the cabin. She had known he was well aware of her reluctance to be reminded of that evening, and she also had known that the memory of that evening afforded him considerable amusement. Often, she had caught that intriguing smile on his lips as he’d purposely glanced at his bunk, as if he enjoyed certain memories that it held for him. But until this evening, when her defenses had been weakened by wine and by her own arrogance in dismissing her feelings for him, her disturbing memories of the cabin had been kept in abeyance. But now she found them rushing back on a rising tide of ungovernable emotions that left her trembling.

  This was not the way she had planned the evening at all, Rhea thought in dismay. Now her cheeks were growing fiery with embarrassment as she remembered too vividly the feel of his hands touching her bare flesh and the heaviness of his head against her breast as his mouth had caressed her hot skin. She could recall the feeling of surprised pleasure when she had opened her eyes and stared into his, and how her first thought, before remembering who he was and how cruel he’d been the night before, had been of what a beautiful man he was.

  Tonight she had wanted to prove to him that he had no power over her, that she was not affected by his almost overwhelming virility, that she could find Alastair Marlowe and Seumus Fitzsimmons to be just as fascinating as he was. And so it had come as a shock to find him unresponsive to her wiles. Dante, despite her every effort to draw him into the conversation, had silently watched, listened, and waited, but for what she was not certain. Rhea knew she had acted the flirt tonight, but thinking herself safe from scorching, she had willfully played with fire, despite the deep instinct warning her against such a dangerous act. She had taunted Dante, baited him, teased him, ridiculed him, and even tried to seduce him with alluring glances from her heavy-lidded violet eyes. And Rhea would have been alarmed had she realized how successful she had been, for the sweet witchery of her eyes and lips had captivated him, strengthening his resolve to make her his own.

  She had not fooled him, and it was just as well that Rhea had no idea that there never had been any contest between them. She was no match for Dante Leighton, captain of the Sea Dragon, nor would she ever be, for despite her brief attempt at seduction, she was too gentle-blooded a creature to ever be other than herself. And despite all that she had been through since being kidnapped from Camareigh, she would continue to be the entrancingly lovely Rhea Claire who knew a generosity and kindness of heart and spirit. That was the essence of her being, and that innate gentleness would be the guiding force in her life. Rhea Claire was like the gold of her hair, malleable, but with an inner strength that would allow her to adapt or yield to a stronger force, yet remain faithful to what she believed in.

  And perhaps that quality was what would keep safe Rhea’s heart and soul, for Dante had lived too long giving no quarter. He had relied too often upon a measuring of swords to settle differences, and it was too late for him to change now, even had he so wished.

  But as Rhea, still secure in her belief that she could ultimately control her destiny, drowsily met bold gaze of the captain of the Sea Dragon and believer in fate, she was blessedly unaware that her future was already being decided by the circumstances of chance.

  “Coooee! H
ow the devil did ye know what the treasure map looked like, Lady Rhea?” Conny’s incredulous voice was demanding to know.

  “Because that is the way all treasure maps are supposed to look,” Alastair explained smoothly, his lopsided grin twitching nervously as he noted the bemused expression on Lady Rhea’s flushed face.

  “Actually,” Dante remarked, helping him out, “I think I still have that map around here somewhere, and I may have shown it to Lady Rhea, but”—he paused, noticing her drooping lids as she tried to hide a wide yawn behind a casually raised hand—“as Lady Rhea seems to have grown fatigued, I suggest we postpone this conversation till the morrow. Lady Rhea?” Dante questioned softly, then was by her side and holding out his arm, leaving her little choice but to accept his assistance. “I shall escort you to your cabin, for the hour grows late, m’lady,” he added in an undertone filled with the promise of retribution.

  “My apologies, gentlemen, but I truly cannot seem to keep my eyes open. The evening has been a pleasure and the dinner was superbly prepared, Mr. Kirby,” Rhea complimented the little steward. “Mrs. Peacham could not have done better. Gentlemen, I shall bid you a good night then,” Rhea said, hesitantly placing her hand in the crook of Dante’s arm. But even so lightly touching him, she could still feel the hard muscles beneath her fingertips, especially when he placed his hand over hers, holding it trapped against him.

  The door of the captain’s cabin closed with a note of finality on the friendly replies from Alastair and Fitzsimmons, who were pouring themselves brandies as they settled down to await their captain’s return. Conny and Kirby had already disappeared toward the galley with the last of the dinner dishes, and so the short corridor to Rhea’s cabin suddenly seemed endless to her, and too quiet. The pressure against her hand became harder as they neared the door.

  “Good night, Captain Leighton,” Rhea murmured softly as she risked a glance into those silvery eyes. But she was not prepared for the glint in them as they caught hold of hers.

  “Good night?” he questioned. “The night could just be beginning for ’tis still early,” he said as he leaned past her shoulder and opened the narrow door, his movement forcing Rhea to step inside or be crushed against his broad chest.

  She paused just inside, thinking to halt his progress, but he merely lifted her aside as he stepped in and closed the door; then he leaned his wide shoulders against it, his arms folded casually across his chest while he stared down at her with amusement.

  “The game has not yet been won, Rhea Claire,” Dante said, his voice seeming to caress her name.

  “What game?” Rhea asked, feigning bewilderment, reluctant to admit her complicity in such a venture, especially when her wits had been dulled too much by wine for her to be engaging in clever talk with him. “I have not the slightest idea of what you are speaking about,” she told him with an attempt at haughtiness that ended up sounding defensive.

  “I am speaking about the game you have been playing all evening long, my dear little liar. Seumus Fitzsimmons enjoyed it, unsure though he was to its purpose, but I am afraid you had poor Alastair a nervous wreck wondering what you were going to do next. He is far too honest a fellow for this sort of trick, but I don’t suppose you gave him much thought, did you, so intent were you on inveigling me with your charms,” Dante said, his glance encompassing her from the top of her head, with its coronet of golden braids, to her small feet encased in leather sandals. He noticed how the silk of her stockings contrasted oddly with the rawhide straps crossing over her instep and around her ankles.

  His eyes lingered on her trembling lips, remembering the taste of them. Then he was looking deeply into her violet eyes, seeing the hidden depths of passion as yet unexplored by any man. On this he would have sworn. She was half-woman, half-child, half-tamed and half-wild, for the mystery of a man’s body made her suspicious and wary of his touch, and he knew that he would have to curb his own impatient desire if he were to lure the passionate response from her that he wanted and that he suspected she was capable of giving.

  “I fear you are deluding yourself, Captain,” Rhea said, her voice shaking slightly with the onrush of confusing emotions she was experiencing, for he was standing so close that she could feel the rising heat of his body and see the pulse beating so strongly in his throat.

  “No, you are deluding yourself if you think that you have won this game, which you so foolishly started. You issued me a challenge, and now I am here to collect my winnings,” he murmured as he slid his arms around her small waist.

  “Let me go!” Rhea warned, but her words came breathlessly.

  “Oh, no, my sweet Rhea,” Dante told her as he pressed her shaking body against his, molding her pliant flesh to his muscular hardness. “You said earlier today that you would give anything to buy your freedom. Well, now is the chance to prove that your word, the word of a Dominick, is good. Is it?” he demanded, grasping her chin and raising her head so he could stare into her face.

  Dante felt a tightening in his loins as he stared down at her exquisite face. She reminded him of an English garden, something he had missed during his travels, for she had the color of the damask rose in her cheeks and the deep purple of sweet violets in her eyes. Unconsciously, Dante raised his hand and lightly touched one of the golden braids that had an emerald ribbon entwined through its length. “Little daffadilly,” he murmured, the expression in his eyes suddenly gentle with remembrance.

  Rhea noticed the softening in his hard face and seized her chance. “Let me go, Captain, please,” she pleaded. She thought she’d won a reprieve when his hand released her braid, but was startled from that thought as his arms pulled her roughly to him, curving her body even closer to his, as if he hungered for the constant contact of their flesh.

  “No,” he said simply, a brooding look on his face. “You played the game well tonight, for I want you, and I intend to have you,” he told her, his softly spoken words promising her that he would have what he wanted. And, although her eyes were filled with trepidation rather than fear, he found he couldn’t release her. “I believe those violet eyes of yours could tear a man’s heart from his body, but I am blind to their enticement,” he told her, refusing to be moved by the soft pleading in their darkening depths.

  “Do you know how you have tormented me this evening?” he demanded, and there was still a thread of anger vibrating in his deep voice, turning it harsh. “You played the coquette for Fitzsimmons while treating me like some fat eunuch, harmless in his emasculation as he sat nearby, watching. It was cruel how you leaned toward the Irishman with your gaping bodice revealing the ivory softness of your breasts, your golden braids teasing his cheek while you smiled so enticingly, for you both knew that it would come to naught, that he was not the man to awaken your desires. He gazed into your eyes and wanted you for himself. He looked at your soft lips and ached to claim them as his own, but you are mine, Rhea, and I shall be the one to take what you have so enchantingly offered. And you have offered yourself to me,” Dante reminded her, his breath warm against the top of her head as his lips traced a wandering path through her braids.

  Dante felt her shiver in his arms and try to arch away from the branding contact of their bodies. “I was wrong,” she said, straining away from his seeking lips.

  “It does no good to fight it this attraction between us. Be honest. You want me to kiss your lips, part them and taste them. You want me to caress your silken body. Your hungry eyes have been telling me that all night long. You want me to make love to you, Rhea. Perhaps not as much as I want you, but that is only because you do not know of the pleasures awaiting you. But when you do, you will seek out the touch of my hands, the feel of my lips, for only I will be able to satisfy the fire that will be burning so deep inside of you,” he promised, but somehow his words sounded more like a curse upon her head than any gift of love’s pleasures.

  “No,” Rhea said, but even as her lips formed the w
ord, she knew it was a lie, and so did he, for his next words were roughly spoken against her fiery cheek.

  “Do not lie to me,” Dante told her before his mouth closed over hers, parting her lips as he had promised, making her want to taste him as his tongue searched for hers, not allowing her to avoid intimate contact. Nor did she want to as she felt an almost suffocating feeling of languor spreading through her, leaving her limbs weak and trembling.

  His lips lifted slowly, reluctantly, from her mouth and Rhea drew a ragged breath, the cabin spinning around her, but before she could seem to breathe again, she found her throbbing lips covered by his once more. His kisses were growing deeper, more demanding of a response from her, and one of his hands slid down over her hips, holding her to him, while his other hand cupped the nape of her neck while his mouth plundered her soft lips. Rhea was desperate to escape that smoldering contact, but he was too insistent, refusing to allow her to break free and quench the consuming fire growing between them.

  Dante’s breath was coming raggedly as he kissed her lips, unable to slake the thirst he felt for their sweet taste. He liked the feel of the soft leather she wore, for without the multitude of petticoats and a silk or satin overskirt, he could feel the natural curving of her small buttocks and slender thighs. She was so slight, yet so womanly to the touch, and Dante’s heightened senses filled with the scent of her, his desires kindling anew as he remembered another time when he had lain with her and breathed the heady blend of the sea and sandalwood.

  Rhea felt his hands on her body, leaving no part of her untouched as he fondled her, learned the feel of her. His hands seemed to be everywhere, and then Rhea gasped in surprise as her skirt fell to the decking between them and she felt the coolness of the cabin caressing her bare thighs. His hands lowered the décolletage of her bodice, pushing it from her shoulders and down around her waist. Then it fell past her hips to the floor, following the plaited belt that he had freed easily from her waist.