Chance the Winds of Fortune

by Laurie McBain

  Rhea quickly slipped out of her clothes, leaving them in a neat pile on the sand; then she waded into the warm waters of the lagoon, her bar of soap grasped firmly in her fingers. Soon, she was floating dreamily under the blue skies, her bare legs paddling her through the shallows.

  She closed her eyes and drifted, thinking of nothing, not even time, as she let the gently lapping waters soothe away all of her cares. She opened her eyes with a start when she felt a chill in the water, and glancing at the sky, was surprised to find it a dark golden color that became bronze at the horizon, where the sun, a molten ball of fire, was fast sinking. Rhea splashed in the shadowed waters, rubbing the soap into a lather as she cleansed her skin free of any remaining traces of grime. She dipped beneath the surface and wet all of her hair, then began the tedious operation of sudsing its long, heavy length. She would have to hurry, she thought, dunking beneath the surface, or the little steward might grow worried and come searching for her.

  * * *

  Dante followed the single trail of footprints around the bend in the beach. There was a concerned expression on his face as he traced Rhea’s path, for he had been waiting at the gig for well over fifteen minutes, and finally, when there had been no answer to his calls, he had decided to search for her.

  Eventually he came upon the neat pile of clothes stacked along the water’s edge. His hand lingered against the corset and chemise as he moved the pile to a safer distance from the rising tide, his eyes narrowed against the glare from the water as he searched for her in the stillness of the lagoon.

  Suddenly he saw a splash, then a flash of pale gold against the surface, and he automatically stepped back beneath some palms that stood guard over the pool. He didn’t have long to wait, for Rhea soon came walking out of the sea as if she had been born in it. Her slender body was glistening and she seemed an ethereal creature of gold and ivory; yet, at the same time, with the golden red sunset behind her, she seemed a natural part of this wild, primitive shore.

  She was beautiful, Dante thought, gazing at her exquisitely shaped, uptilted breasts. Their pink areolas surrounded erect nipples that were like the hearts of flowers, and her waist was so tiny that he knew his hands could easily encompass it. Her hips were narrow, framing a flat, taut belly, and his eyes caressed the small area nestling between thigh and hip. Her thighs were slender, with smooth, tapering lines.

  Like an amber cloak, her hair hung damply over one shoulder, the long strands curling down around her hips. He had not wanted to frighten her and had scarcely dared to breathe for fear of drawing her attention or causing her instinctively to cover herself when she caught him gazing at her naked body. Now, that same instinct warned her that she was not alone, for suddenly she halted, looking around warily. Her eyes widened as he stepped from the shadows, but instead of the angry, embarrassed reaction he had been expecting, she continued to stand there in the sand, the tide lapping around her bare feet.

  He felt stunned, for rather than covering herself up, she faced him boldly, her face flushed rosily and a shyness in her violet eyes. But there was no shame, no coyness, as her gaze began to mirror the yet-to-be-satisfied passions smoldering in his gray eyes.

  She remained still while he took his first few steps toward her. Then he was standing before her, his gaze roaming freely over her gold-tinted body. His heart was pounding so loudly that it sounded like the ocean’s roar racing through his veins.

  Tentatively, he stretched out his hand, giving her time to reject him if she so wished, but still she continued to stand there, unmoving, waiting.

  Dante’s hand touched her breast, his thumb rubbing against the taut nipple, teasing it into an even higher peak, while his other hand slid around her waist, fitting easily to its curve as he pulled her with gentle persuasion against his chest, folding her closer until their bodies met at hip and thigh.

  Rhea sighed in relief as Dante’s mouth closed over hers. She parted her lips, meeting his kiss completely as his tongue touched hers, felt it, tasted it.

  “Rhea, sweet, sweet Rhea,” Dante murmured, his voice husky and thick with passion as his hands caressed her soft, scented body, bared for him.

  With a groan he picked her up in his arms and carried her out of the water, touching her feet to the sand that was still warm from the sun’s kiss. And there, before her eyes, he undressed, baring himself to her, standing tall and muscularly lean. His wide chest, sculpted with sleek, sun-golden muscles, tapered to flat hips and a manhood bold with the passion that had yet to be met by her woman’s body.

  He spread his shirt over the sand, then took her in his arms, holding her against him, drowning in the feel of their flesh touching, warming with the contact, until he seemed to burn where his skin met hers. Cradling her in his arms, Dante knelt on his outspread shirt, laying her flat against the cushioned sand before he lay down beside her.

  His lips covered her delicate-boned face in feathery kisses, leaving no area untouched, for he wanted to possess her completely, with no secrets between them. His lips finally contented themselves with hers, licking at them, nibbling, seeking the response from her that was slowly burning deep inside of her.

  His mouth sought the lovely arching of her throat, while his hands fondled her boldly yet gently as they discovered anew the woman who had been haunting his dreams since first he’d met her.

  Now he felt her hands moving in a shy exploration of his body; encouraging her, he took her hand and guided it to him, letting her feel what power she had over him. He groaned with pleasure as he felt her touching him so intimately, and unable to bear it any longer he rolled her beneath him, his lips fastening on her breast as his tongue caressed the rising softness into hardness. Meanwhile, his hands moving over her body continued to fire her blood, until she was burning feverishly, kissing him hungrily, her small hands caressing him, until finally he pressed her into the sand with his hips hard against hers. Then her slender thighs had parted beneath the persistent pressure of his, and he was becoming a part of her flesh, feeling her close around him as he thrust deeply inside her. He felt her initial start of surprise, then the quiver of pain as he drove deeper, and slowing his passion, he waited, kissing her, fondling her, until he felt a throbbing desire against him, and her hips began to move of their own volition, no longer needing the guidance of his hands beneath her soft buttocks.

  Rhea cried out softly, feeling her senses turning into flame as Dante’s body moved against hers, his hips joining her to his heated flesh as he continued to carry her with him to unbelievable heights of sensual pleasure. The world exploded inside her head as she felt him move inside her, driving her wild with his hard touch as he planted his seed deep within a nurturing place and ignited an undying flame of desire and love for him that would guide the rest of her life.

  * * *

  The Sea Dragon’s sails had been loosed to catch the breeze and her anchor had been hoisted as her crew was sent aloft to trim the sails. There was, as well, a lookout keeping an ever-vigilant watch for a strange sail on the horizon. The ship had caught the Gulf Stream off the coast of Florida and had let that strong current carry her ever northward. They had dropped anchor only once, in New Providence, and that had been a brief overnight stay, allowing them to take on fresh water and provisions before continuing on their journey. This time it was to be a far longer journey, for they were London-bound.

  The crew of the Sea Dragon would stay with their captain until docking for that last time in the Thames; then each would go his own separate way, his share of the treasure carefully banked, or invested, or spent.

  Once, a set of sails had been sighted on the horizon, and MacDonald had sworn that her mainmast was flying a tartan flag, but the Sea Dragon was not to be outsailed by Bertie Mackay’s Annie Jeanne and her crew of cutthroats, and soon the genial smuggler’s brig had fallen well astern.

  Rhea Claire was standing beside Dante on the quarterdeck when they heard what t
hey had dreaded—a cry aloft.

  “Sail on the larboard bow!”

  Longacres was climbing like a monkey into the shrouds, a spyglass tucked like a cutlass in his wide belt. Positioning himself, he trained the glass on the horizon and tried to identify the ship beating to windward as she bore down on them. Her intention was clear as she maneuvered toward them.

  “’Tis a king’s ship flying English colors! A sloop by the looks o’ her.”

  “Can you make her?” Dante asked the Scotsman and handed him another glass.

  Endless minutes passed as the two vessels drew ever closer. “Aye, ’tis a king’s ship right enough. Looks like”—MacDonald’s words came slowly—“aye, ’tis HMS Portcullis, and she’s signaling us.”

  The captain of the Sea Dragon narrowed his gaze as he speculated on why the captain of HMS Portcullis should wish to come alongside. Had it been any other ship, under the command of any other captain, Dante would have sheered off and there would have been no crossing of bows. But he knew Sir Morgan Lloyd, and that was enough for him to give the order to bring-to the Sea Dragon and prepare for the captain of HMS Portcullis to come aboard.

  Captain Sir Morgan Lloyd boarded the Sea Dragon, feeling very much as if he had just walked into an enemy camp, for the eyes of the crew were trained on him as he made his way toward the companion steps, where Dante was awaiting him.

  “Captain?” Dante queried with unusual politeness, an alert wariness in his eyes as he stared at this fellow Englishman, who could very well turn out to be an enemy.

  “Captain Leighton,” Sir Morgan responded, not quite certain of what he should say next, for this was a most awkward situation, especially for a man more accustomed to facing his enemy while under fire. And, as of yet, he was not certain whether the captain of the Sea Dragon was to be friend or foe. But the next few minutes of conversation would surely decide.

  “What can I do for you, Captain?” Dante asked, descending the steps, his eyes glancing across the width of sea between the two ships, which were so close that they were almost yardarm and yardarm. He could see the worried expressions on the small complement of red-coated marines standing at the ready on the quarterdeck of HMS Portcullis. Their concern for her captain’s welfare was evident in the nervous way they fingered their muskets.

  “I believe you’ve quite a valuable treasure on board, Captain Leighton,” Sir Morgan said casually.

  Dante lifted a curious brow. “Indeed, Captain?” he commented thoughtfully, his glance casual as he measured the distance between the two ships should he have to train his cannon on her decks or rigging. “I’ve but a hold half-laden with casks of rum. Hardly a treasure to interest the captain of HMS Portcullis.”

  “’Tis not what, but whom, that I am concerned with, Captain,” Sir Morgan retorted with a grim smile, his words eliciting a start of surprise from the now slightly bemused captain of the Sea Dragon.

  “And which member of my crew is illustrious enough to command such an interest from a king’s ship?” he inquired softly.

  “Lady Rhea Claire Dominick.” Sir Morgan spoke the name, but it sounded more like a shout in Dante’s ears. “I also have a warrant for your arrest in kidnapping the lady from Charles Town,” he said and held out the document with its official seal.

  “I fear that this voyage of yours has been a waste of time, Sir Morgan,” Dante replied, not overly worried by the warrant.

  “That may well be, Captain, but if I might have a word with the lady, then I shall be able to ascertain that for myself. Not that I doubt your word, but orders are, after all, orders, and must be obeyed,” he said quietly as he saw the anger kindling in Dante’s eyes. “Of course, I am assuming that the lady is on board, but since I do remember quite vividly meeting her in Antigua and hearing her say that she could be found on board the Sea Dragon, naturally I supposed she was still sailing with you,” Sir Morgan said reasonably. But Dante received the distinct impression that the man would be most unreasonable about leaving the Sea Dragon’s quarterdeck until he had spoken with the lady in question.

  “By all means, Captain, speak with the lady,” Dante invited him, a slight smile curving his lips.

  Sir Morgan Lloyd had forgotten how incredibly beautiful Lady Rhea Claire Dominick was. Of course, their last meeting had hardly been under the best of circumstances, but now as he faced her in the captain’s cabin on board the Sea Dragon, he felt his breath catching in his throat.

  Dressed in her white muslin trimmed in lace, her hair caught up in thick waves and glinting like newly minted gold, her gaze was politely inquiring. The orange cat curled up on her lap, however, ignored the king’s officer with feline disdain. Rhea had hurried below when she had heard of Sir Morgan’s desire to come aboard, and had changed from her leather skirt into a more respectable garment in case she had reason to meet this English captain for the second time in her life.

  But she had not been prepared to hear that he had come looking for her intentionally. Having accepted the captain of the Sea Dragon’s offer of a brandy, he had settled down like an old friend to tell his tale, but there was a watchful quality in his eyes as he glanced between his attentive listeners.

  “My lady, you have become quite famous in the colonies. Every town and settlement has been flooded with handbills inquiring for information concerning your whereabouts, and carrying a description of you which, I might add, does not do you full justice,” Sir Morgan complimented her. “After what you must have been through, m’lady, being so brutally kidnapped from your home, I am very pleased to see you looking so well. I must say I was quite surprised, upon my return to Charles Town, to discover the unfortunate circumstances of your arrival. The experience must have been terrifying.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Rhea said softly, her eyes still shadowed with the memory of that voyage, “it was a nightmare that I shall not soon forget. It was fortunate for you, Captain, that you met me in St. John’s and discovered that I was on board the Sea Dragon. That has saved you quite a search. Otherwise, a suspected murderess might be hiding anywhere in the colonies,” Rhea told him bluntly as she remembered the murder of Captain Benjamin Haskell.

  “Rhea,” Dante said, his hand capturing hers as he shook his head to warn her against saying anything further.

  “You need have no fear, Captain, that I shall arrest Lady Rhea Claire,” Sir Morgan reassured him. “She should be more concerned about the warrant I have for yours.”

  “Warrant?” Rhea said in confusion, glancing between the two men with growing alarm. “Whatever for?”

  “For kidnapping, m’lady.”

  Rhea swallowed something painful in her throat, for at one time that would indeed have been the truth. “I am here of my own free will, Captain.”

  “Yes, I have come to believe that is the truth. But you see, that is not what the authorities in Charles Town were led to believe. You were wrong on both of your suppositions, for your presence on board the Sea Dragon in St. John’s only confirmed what had already been learned concerning your whereabouts,” Sir Morgan said, looking at Dante with a slightly mocking smile.

  “Helene Jordane?” As Dante supplied the name, he realized that she would have liked nothing better than to cause mischief for him by informing the authorities of Rhea’s presence on board his ship, thus branding him a kidnapper.

  “Yes, her rather vivid testimony was part of the reason for the warrant for your arrest. Only it seems that Mrs. Jordane was under the impression that the two of you were eloping. She seemed quite disbelieving, contemptuous even, of this kidnapping story, and content just to blacken your good names,” Sir Morgan told them, a smile lurking around his mouth. Then he added, “But, alas, she was made to look rather the fool when certain other testimonies came to light.”

  “What other testimonies?” Dante and Rhea demanded almost simultaneously.

  “The testimony of a certain young woman by the name
of Alys, I believe?” Sir Morgan said softly, watching Rhea’s expression with interest.

  “Alys?” Rhea whispered in disbelief. She had feared that even after she’d returned to England and got her father to help in the search, they would still be unable to find her friend from the London Lady. “You have seen Alys? She is well? What happened to her?” Rhea asked excitedly, her restlessness disturbing Jamaica, who opened a slightly irritated green eye to stare at Sir Morgan, the apparent cause of this interruption of his nap.

  “She came forward, frightened half to death of this Daniel Lewis and the retribution he’d promised should she have said anything. I suspect that the authorities were reluctant to believe her at first, but she had one, very important item which lent credence to her story.” Sir Morgan had spoken almost expectantly, but when Rhea remained blank-eyed, he said, “A locket.”

  “My locket!” Rhea exclaimed. “I lost it. I thought it had fallen somewhere along the docks.” Then Rhea began to think back to when Alys had thrown herself at her, but had been pulled roughly away. Alys had been grabbing at her neck, frantic to remain with her friend.

  “Yes, and that locket was described in the handbills as a piece of jewelry that you had been wearing. She apparently told a very touching story, m’lady, and also corroborated part of a sworn statement from someone else, which had exonerated you, although not by name, of the murder of Captain Benjamin Haskell,” Sir Morgan informed a bemused Rhea.

  “Whose statement could that possibly be?” Rhea asked, thinking that Daniel Lewis would hardly have admitted his guilt.

  “The victim’s.”

  “A dead man exonerated Rhea from the murder of this captain?” Dante asked disbelievingly. He took a sip of his brandy, thinking privately that Sir Morgan must have had his share before leaving his ship.