As Rhea listened to their less than complimentary comments about the other captain, she gradually remembered where she had heard the name of Bertie Mackay before. With a feeling of dread, she realized that the captain would most likely, being the unreasonable man he was, eye her more suspiciously than ever, thinking she was in league with the rival smuggler.
“Aye, and there ain’t many still alive who can claim to be Mackay’s enemy,” Longacres said, spitting another stream of tobacco juice over the railing, despite Fitzsimmons’s look of disgust.
“Reckon the cap’n’s been his enemy fer a fair piece of time,” Conny said proudly. “Got the best of him in the straits, we did.”
“Aye, did I ever tell ye about that time, m’lady?” Longacres asked, clearing his throat to better tell his tale. “Ol’ Bertie Mackay thought to do us in, the good lads o’ the Sea Dragon, but I reckon he sailed too close to the wind that time, the cur. Planted a spy on board, he did. Thought to find all o’ our secret coves, then turn traitor on us with the King’s man,” Longacres said with a scowl, obviously still feeling wrathful indignation at such a trick. “But we showed him, and his man, eh, young Conny?”
“Aye, the cap’n made quick work o’ that scoundrel,” Conny recalled with satisfaction.
“What happened?” Rhea asked reluctantly, for the look in Longacres’s eye must surely be reminiscent of his pirate days.
“Caught the spy who was on board, we did, then set him adrift in the straits. Put a signal light on board too, just so Bertie Mackay wouldn’t get lost,” the coxswain wheezed, choking on his quid of tobacco and turning a purplish color until MacDonald whacked him hard on the back.
“What happened to the man?” Rhea asked faintly. She was finally beginning to see the wisdom of the captain’s advice about not mentioning the incidents of that evening when she had come on board the Sea Dragon, for if he had believed she was associated with Bertie Mackay, what then might these men believe?
“Could still be out there in the straits, I reckon,” Longacres said huskily—and a trifle hopefully.
“Well, if he is, then ’twas a ghost I was seein’ in St. Eustatius the last time we was there,” Fitzsimmons recalled, causing a look of almost comical disappointment to appear on Longacres’s face.
“Bet he wished he were still adrift in that gig when Mackay overtook him and brought him aboard,” Conny said, wondering what that confrontation had been like.
Rhea glanced across the shimmering stretch of water that was crowded with shipping, first spying a Union Jack fluttering at the jackstaff of one ship, then the red, blue, and white of the Union Flag in the canton of several flags flying at the main of ships anchored nearby. English ships, Rhea thought on a rising tide of hope, as well as a king’s ship. And Antigua was a British colony; surely she would be able to find someone to assist her—if only she could get ashore.
“Reckon the lads will be lookin’ forward to gettin’ ashore,” Longacres commented, leering at the crew members who were hanging over the bulwarks, looking toward the town of St. John’s sitting snugly in the curving of the bay. The town’s narrow lanes and rows of shops and taverns opened onto an expansive view of the harbor, and were positioned to take full advantage of the cooling trades. Part of the town, however, had recently suffered a fire, for there were still several blackened buildings standing in proof of the conflagration.
“Reckon ye be just as anxious yeself,” Fitzsimmons remarked.
“Aye, s’pose so, but don’t be knockin’ me down this time, mate, as ye hurry there yeself,” Longacres retorted, not a man to be bested, and especially not by this smooth-tongued Paddy.
“Soon enough fer that, mates,” MacDonald commented. “Reckon the cap’n’ll be goin’ ashore soon to enter the ship at the customhouse. Figure ye got time to spruce yeself up a bit, Mr. Fitzsimmons,” he added offhandedly, his lips twitching beneath his thick moustache.
For what must surely have been the first time in his life, Seumus Fitzsimmons felt uncomfortable. Rhea’s violet eyes had turned on him in curiosity, and he knew she was thinking of those ribbons he had given to her, and that he now would be empty-handed when he visited his paramour.
Rhea sighed, wondering what her next move should be. Since the captain had not told his crew of his suspicions of her, and since they were obviously in sympathy with her predicament, perhaps she could convince one of them to take her ashore after the captain had left.
As Rhea stood there in thought, a sudden cheer went up from the seamen grouped together in the waist of the ship. Their waving arms and whistles signaled the small boats that had gradually approached from the lee side and finally closed the distance from shore.
Feeling familiar soft fur against her legs, Rhea reached down, without even bothering to look, and picked up Jamaica. She held him cradled in her arms as she leaned closer to the taffrail to see what the commotion below was about.
She glanced into the small boats floating close to the Sea Dragon’s hull. They were loaded down with fruits and vegetables, fish, shells, and even colorful bouquets of flowers. Several of the black boatmen kept their oars propped against the Sea Dragon’s planking in order to keep at a safe distance.
“Lady! Lady! You want some pritty flowers, yes! Pritty flowers for pritty lady!” called out a woman who was sitting in the bow of one of the boats, after she’d caught sight of Rhea’s golden head peering over the taffrail.
Surrounded by an incredible display of exotic blooms, clusters of lavender bougainvillea, dusty pink frangipani, and scarlet hibiscus, she held up an armful of yet more beautiful and fragrant blossoms. Rhea could breathe heavy perfume in the balmy air drifting around her.
“Jessamine,” Rhea murmured sadly as she caught sight of the delicate, cream-colored flowers of her favorite scent. She had a crystal bottle of it on her dressing table at Camareigh.
Fitzsimmons saw the sadness in her eyes as she stared down at the flowers, and tossing a coin down to the woman in the boat, he caught the bouquet of jessamine that she sent floating to them through the air.
“M’lady,” Fitzsimmons said, presenting it with a flourish to a pale Rhea. “Beautiful they are, but not half as lovely as ye be, m’lady,” he said softly, and for once his black eyes were not full of malicious amusement.
Rhea buried her face in the mass of fragrant blooms, breathing so deeply of the perfumed petals that she felt almost faint. “Thank you, Seumus,” she said, her violet eyes warm with friendship.
And Fitzsimmons knew that was all that would ever be in her eyes for him. It was, however, better than nothing, he thought with an almost casual acceptance of what fate had meted out for him, which was not to be a life with the fine Lady Rhea Claire Dominick by his side.
Jamaica, however, did not care overly much for the sweet scent of jessamine, preferring that tantalizing odor of freshly caught fish that was drifting his way, not to mention the pails of milk being offered for consumption.
Feeling his hind legs stiffening, Rhea released the orange tom, who knew exactly where to go to attract the attention of a softhearted, generous islander who might enjoy seeing a cat catching a piece of fish on a port sill.
With a shrug, Fitzsimmons nodded below at the group of seamen laughing and calling out friendly, though suggestive remarks at several young women in the boats. “Reckon I oughta see what they be up to and keep an eye on them,” he told her with a wicked grin. Then he was hustling after Longacres down the companion ladder.
MacDonald was contentedly smoking his pipe and staring at the island, his thoughts elsewhere, which left Conny and Rhea standing together near the taffrail.
“How come those flowers Mr. Fitzsimmons bought fer ye are makin’ ye sad, Lady Rhea?” Conny wanted to know, his wide blue eyes full of confusion, for either a person was happy or they weren’t, but Lady Rhea seemed to be both—and at the strangest times. “You seemed so happy a minute ago when ye was smelli
n’ them.”
“I suppose they brought back memories to me of another time,” Rhea confided, walking to the starboard rail and staring out at the water that held her prisoner on board the Sea Dragon.
“At Camareigh?” Conny questioned, sensing his lady was lonely for her family. He didn’t like to see her unhappy.
“Yes, I miss them so much, Conny. I want to go home. I have to return to England, to Camareigh,” she told him, for the memory of what nearly had happened last night made her feel more of a stranger to herself than ever before. She needed to return home, to become the Rhea Claire that she had once been.
“Hey! Lady! Want some more pritty flowers for your hair? Have many to choose from. Pritty colors, for pritty lady! How ’bout some sweet oranges? Got banana, real good too!” a voice called to her from a single boat floating close to the Sea Dragon.
Rhea stared down into the boat, wishing she were in it and being rowed to shore. Suddenly a thought struck her. It was so simple that she shook her head in disbelief. Turning away from the taffrail, she glanced over at MacDonald, who was still lost in his thoughts, oblivious to what was going on around him. And the rest of the crew, well, Rhea thought with growing confidence, they were fully occupied flirting and bartering with the boats on the larboard side of the ship. They had their backs to the starboard side, as well as to the ladder leading down to whatever might be alongside.
Rhea waved to the black man in the boat below, signaling him toward the entry port and side steps of the ship. Then she turned to a puzzled Conny Brady, her expression sad as she gazed into his wide, innocent eyes, feeling almost as if she were bidding farewell to Robin.
“Conny, I am going to get in that boat, and go ashore. I cannot wait any longer, Conny. You must try and understand what this chance means to me. If you care at all for me, then you’ll not tell anyone. Please, Conny, can I trust you?” Rhea pleaded.
“But the cap’n, he would’ve taken ye ashore, m’lady,” Conny protested.
“No, Conny. This is a far better way, believe me, it is. This will save the captain having to bother about me. Will you say good-bye to everyone for me? Oh, and, Conny,” Rhea added, hesitating in embarrassment for what she was about to ask, “I haven’t any money. Do you have anything you can spare? Just so I can pay the boatman for taking him away from his profit on board.”
Conny nodded, reached down into his pocket, and withdrew a couple of coins. “Here.”
“Thank you, Conny. I will never forget you. You will come and visit me at Camareigh, won’t you, Conny?” she asked as she gave him a hard hug and pressed a soft kiss against his flushed cheek.
Conny Brady’s eyes became blurred with tears, and when he cleared them, she was gone. She had disappeared, just as he’d always feared she would. Conny stood frozen to the spot. What was he to do? It didn’t seem right not to tell anyone, especially the captain. He glanced over at Mr. MacDonald, but he was gazing far off to port. She should not have just gone off like that, without saying good-bye to anyone. Nor did it seem right her going into St. John’s unaccompanied. Where would she go? he wondered worriedly, having been in enough port towns to know they were no place for a proper lady by herself.
Conny bit his trembling lip and glanced below at the boatman, who was pulling away from the Sea Dragon, a wide grin on his face as he pocketed the money given to him by the lady sitting in the prow.
* * *
“Well, Captain? What are you planning on doing about Lady Rhea Claire?” Alastair was facing Dante in the captain’s quarters, a determined glint in his usually mild hazel eyes, since he’d decided to march up to the cannon’s mouth.
The captain in question took his time slipping into his bluish gray frock coat, straightening the lace around his sleeves with irritating slowness. “What am I going to do about Lady Rhea Claire, Mr. Marlowe?” Dante repeated. “I should think you’d be so occupied with seeing to the cargo that you’d not have much time to worry about matters which do not concern you,” Dante told him silkily as he turned away from the desk, closing the logbook he had been checking.
“I would not ordinarily question you, sir,” Alastair began, swallowing nervously as those piercing eyes turned on him. He was beginning to feel some of the strain Rhea must have experienced when subjected to that steely stare. “But I feel it my duty to bring this subject up, not only because I am concerned on your behalf, Captain, but because I feel it is the only decent and gentlemanly thing to do where Lady Rhea Claire is concerned. I cannot believe that you still suspect her of working for Bertie Mackay, nor that you think her some strumpet off the docks in Charles Town. I think you believe she is exactly what she says she is,” Alastair concluded, breathless after his brave effort on behalf of Rhea.
“My, my,” Dante said with a smile that was not at all pleasant, “it seems Lady Rhea Claire has quite a champion in you, Alastair. I have always suspected that you had missed your calling. You really should have become a barrister, since you plead on her behalf most eloquently. Did she, perhaps, tutor you?”
Alastair’s lips tightened, for the lashing of his captain’s tongue was something he seldom experienced. But stand by his guns he would. “Captain,” Alastair began haltingly, not certain of what he was going to say, but knowing he would say something. “This is not like you, to act this way. To the best of my knowledge, you have never taken unfair advantage of anyone, and yet, forgive me, but you seem hell-bent on treating Lady Rhea in this callous, this…this…”
“Ungentlemanly manner?” Dante supplied, his eyes glinting.
“Aye, Captain,” Alastair agreed uneasily. “She is a fine, gentle-born lady, and she has been through hell enough without us adding to it.”
“Us?”
Alastair cleared his throat. “This voyage we are about to set out upon could be dangerous. Is it fair to jeopardize her life because of some strange fascination she seems to hold for you? Aye,” Alastair said more firmly as the captain raised a slightly curved brow, “you cannot deny it, Captain, for I’ve seen the way you watch her. She’s bewitched you, but that is not her fault, is it? She does not belong on board the Sea Dragon, nor with us.” Alastair paused, as if what he had to say was painful to him, then continued, “We are not the proper people for her to be associating with. To see her, so gentle and refined, sitting in her bare feet, trying to tie knots with the help of an old pirate, a honey-tongued Irishman, and other assorted rough seamen, well, ’tisn’t right,” Alastair concluded lamely.
“What you are so tactfully trying to say,” Dante said softly, “is that I am not the sort she should be associating with. You think the lady objects to keeping company with a smuggler and his band of cutthroats?” Dante demanded. But his thoughts returned to the night before and the passionate response he had finally coaxed from Lady Rhea Claire Dominick. He remembered the soft sweetness of her lips, and the way she had teased him with their butterfly touch before surrendering them to him. He was uneasy about the way he had left her last night and did not like that wounded look that had been in her violet eyes, eyes which only moments before had been dark with passion for him. But he would not worry about it overmuch, for if he had got her to respond to him once, he could do it again, Dante vowed, turning toward the light streaming from the stern windows and beginning to count the coins he had picked up from his desk.
“You can be most persuasive, Captain, and Lady Rhea is, after all, just an innocent young lady, certainly no match for your mastery in the arts of seduction,” Alastair said bluntly. He’d wanted to sound reasonable as well, but as soon as he had uttered those unfortunate words and seen the captain’s narrowed gaze, he realized that he had said the very worst thing he could have.
As Dante stood staring out the stern windows, his back and broad shoulders suddenly seemed stiffer than ever to a worried, saddened Alastair; he had served with the captain for too many years now—respecting the man, calling him friend—to see that
friendship destroyed because of a woman. But there seemed nothing else for it. Alastair would never be able to live with himself if Rhea Claire came to grief, either physically, or spiritually, nor could he have the same high regard for Dante Leighton that he’d had once if that happened at the captain’s hands.
“It seems to me, at least I like to think so, that we have been of some invaluable service to Lady Rhea Claire. When she was in desperate need of help, we were there and lent a hand. But I fear, as fond as we are of her, that it is time that we went our separate ways. Fate put us in her path for this one act of kindness, nothing more. She belongs back in England, with her family. We don’t have the right to deny her that, Captain,” Alastair said earnestly, trying to reach his friend. But it seemed to Alastair that Dante had not heard a word he had spoken.
But he was mistaken. Dante had heard every word, had listened thoughtfully, in fact. Alastair was right, of course. Leave it to Alastair to see clearly when another might stumble, blinded by…by what? The desire to possess something uncommonly lovely and pure? Was that so very damning of him? Why should some other man take what he, Dante Leighton, captain of the Sea Dragon, had nurtured and was beginning to cherish? Why should Rhea be allowed to give to another man the passion that she would ultimately give to him? Why should he be denied this happiness?
“But have we any control over our feelings, Alastair?” Dante asked him suddenly. “Are we thinking with cold-blooded logic, Alastair, when we fall in love?”
“Love?” Alastair said, feeling numb at the captain’s startling words, unsure if he should be ecstatic or alarmed at the prospect of Dante being in love with Lady Rhea Claire. Lord help us if it’s true, he thought suddenly, seeing the situation in a completely new light. There might now be a whole round of different troubles for Dante, and for Rhea Claire.
“You sound surprised, my friend, that I should be so frail as to fall in love, and especially with one such as Rhea Claire, who is so different. We are like night and day, are we not? Devil and angel? Saint and sinner? We began on a note of mistrust, which still exists, but perhaps now it is because of our vulnerability to one another. I have been cruel to her, frightened her intentionally, played with her, seduced her.” Then Dante added softly, “But the game has been well met, Alastair, for she has the power to hurt me far more than I have ever hurt her. I am in love with her.” Dante was voicing now what so far he had only dared to think. Last night, though, with the taste of her on his lips, the fragrance of her lingering on his skin, he had known that nothing like this had ever happened to him before. The realization had left him shaken.
Chance the Winds of Fortune Page 50
