Dane realized she was referring to her first lover's humiliation, and the thought made his chest tighten painfully. "Ah God, Tess, nay. I did not mean-"
She shot him a glare and a single tear spilled. "I'm tired. Go away, please." Discreetly she brushed at her cheek, then moved to Ramsey, extending her hand. "Good night, Captain O'Keefe. It was nice meeting you," she managed over the rock in her
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throat. "Maybe well see each other again?"
His smile was rakish and crooked. "You have my word on it, Lady Renfrew." He accepted her hand, raising it to his lips and giving it a soft kiss. "I, for one, will not let so rare a find slip from my grasp."
She offered a weak smile, pulling her hand free. He was certainly great for a girl's ego. "Have a safe voyage, Ramsey."
He frowned, his gaze shifting between Dane and the woman moving toward the window bench. Did she not know the Triton would be but a cannon's fire away? He strode to Dane. The man was examining the carpet's quality.
" Tis a bloody shame 'twas you who pulled her from the sea, man, instead of me."
Dane's head jerked up and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "You want naught with her as with every wench, Ram."
O'Keefe looked back over his shoulder at Tess. "Nay, not this one, Blackwell." He returned his gaze to Dane. "And I will confess I shall be most pleased if you fall from the lady's good graces."
"Get out, Ram," Dane growled softly. "And do not believe you have a chance with my lady."
O'Keefe arched a brow at the blatant claim. "Time will tell, my friend." The two captains fought a silent challenge; then Ramsey bowed shortly, spun on his heels, and left the room, his boot heels clicking in the heavy silence.
Tess picked at the loose threads of her hem, realizing her going barefoot did damage to the delicate fabric. Desiree's gown. Her throat swelled until it ached to breathe, to swallow. Damn! It shouldn't
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hurt this much.
After closing the door, Dane moved to stand behind her. "The clothing is yours, Tess."
"Now who's the liar, Blackwell?" She unpinned her hair. "I would have liked to think it was stolen than to know it actually belonged to one of your women." The last word came out bitter and hard.
"Desiree is—was my sister."
Her head came up. "Say again?"-
His shoulders drooped, and he settled his hip against the desk, talking to her back. "Desiree was but five and ten when I last saw her."
Tess could hear the pain in his voice. "When was that?"
"Two years past."
"Then she's only—"
"Dead, Tess, she is dead."
She dropped her forehead into the window frame, "Oh, God, I'm sorry, Dane. I didn't know."
"I did not see her before she died, Tess. Nay, I was off seeking my fortune, having adventures on the high seas." His chuckle was condemning, mocking himself. "I wasn't even aware of her death until a few months ago." Tess turned to face him. He was staring at the floor. "Events have occurred that you couldn't possibly understand, and I see no need to involve you in my personal affairs."
"That's hitting below the belt, Dane." He looked up, scowling. "Don't you think I care?" She stood and moved toward him. "I saved your sorry butt on that burning ship, Blackwell." She thumped his chest. "I nursed your crew, put up with your arrogance and your horny friend. I've tried to be accom-
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modating, Captain, told you stuff no one knows." She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes begging him to let her in. "I could have sworn we had something good going" here, Dane. Or was last night really just a roll in th — ?"
Abruptly he gathered her close, his mouth claiming hers in a silencing kiss. His fingers dug into her hips as he pressed her more firmly to him. She could feel his urgency as his tongue pushed between her lips. She moaned, greedily accepting the hot energy. A tingling raced down her spine, settling hotly between her thighs, and Tess slipped her hands inside his coat, feeling his silk-covered ribs. It's the same every time, she thought dizzily, burning, breathless, out of control.
"Do not belittle yourself, nor what has passed 'atween us, Tess," he murmured into her mouth. "Please. I cannot bear to hear the words again." She melted at his softly spoken plea as his lips slid to the warm flesh at her throat.
"What or who are you looking for?" she panted, tilting her head so he had better access.
He stilled, leaning back, his frosty gaze drilling her. "A murderer."
Her brows furrowed, pewter eyes sketching his features. "You're going to kill this person, aren't you?"
"Aye."
She gripped him close. "Dane, no, capture him maybe, take him back to America to stand trial, but don't kill him. You'll be as bad as he is."
"He deserves no less than a painfully slow death." She gasped at the coldness of his voice, the pale
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gleam in his eyes. Her arms dropped to her sides, and he moved away. "He courted Desiree like a fine gentleman, promising love and vows. He managed to fool my father and lure my sister into his lair, then after he'd embezzled her dowry, he brutally raped her!" Dane lifted his gaze to Tess, his expression a mask of torment. "When the beast was spent, he allowed his friends to have her." He smacked his hand into his fist and squeezed his eyes shut. "She attempted to take her own life, but he would not allow her even that small dignity and killed her himself." Dane shook his head and looked up at her. "Nay, Tess. The bastard must pay. He has shamed us, stolen our coin and our fairest life. He will die by my hand."
There was no convincing him otherwise, Tess thought. His face was closed, hard, and there was a cruel twist to his lips she'd seen once before—when he was fighting with Bennett. Tess wanted to shake him. But she couldn't stop thinking of the seventeen-year-old girl, and what she had gone through and how she'd died. Her stomach churned as her imagination formed the gruesome picture. This slime ball deserved the electric chair.
"Dane," Tess said softly. "You don't have to do this yourself."
He glared at her. "Aye, I do. 'Twas my fault." "No! It wasn't," She came to him and grabbed his arm. "How could it? You weren't there!"
"Do you not see, woman?" He shrugged off her touch. "If I had been there, this would not have occurred! Sweet Christ, she was but a babe, an innocent woman-child, coddled and kept safe all her
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life! Aye," he lashed a hand in the air, "while the grand Captain Blackwell was off a-pirating—"his lips twisted in disgust —"his sister found naught but disgrace and death."
He stared at Tess for a moment, his body rigid, white-knuckled fists clenching as he fought with the agonizing memories. Then he spun about and strode to the door. He paused, his hand on the latch, then glanced over his shoulder to see a single tear roll down her cheeks, her expression sympathetic.
"Don't leave like this, Dane. Let me help you." The words filtered to him over the creak of the ship, the splash of waves.
"Nay, lass. Tis my battle this time."
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dane stood outside the door like a stone wall, body rigid, jaw set, and teeth gnashing. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back. A hurricane raged inside him, a gale force blowing out of control. He turned toward the door, about to re-enter the cabin, but his hand fell away. He rested his forehead against the polished frame. Twas not the time to be near her. He wanted her, always wanted her. But he feared he'd abuse her kindness, release his anger on the innocent. His mind saw her tears, the silent plea to allow her to share his burdens. Tess would be willing to fight alongside him. Nay, he corrected with a weak smile, she would demand the opportunity. He rolled around and let his breath out with a deep sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. He desired nothing more at this moment than to gather her in his arms and hold her softness close, inhale the scent of her hair, feel her feminine warmth surrounding him. Ah, God, he thought, what a temptation you lay at my feet. Dane admitted he had never been more
confused over a woman.
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He battled over her outrageous behavior, her acid mouth, and her absurd claims, yet an instant in her arms, a brush of her skin, her lips, and it was easily cast aside to the stirring brought by her touch. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger.
"Sir?"
Dane's head jerked up.
"Will the lass be needin' anythin' this evenin'?" Duncan asked, a frown creasing his already-wrinkled face.
Dane glanced briefly at the buckets of steaming water the man held. "You may ask her yourself, Duncan. I have learned not to assume a thing about the lady."
Duncan grinned. "Aye, sir. Tis an amazing female."
"Aye," Dane answered without hesitation.
"Captain Ramsey seemed quite taken with the lass, too," he commented needlessly.
Dane's expression turned menacing. " Twas obvious, McPete," he ground out, straightening.
"Will the captain be dining with us tomorrow evenin', sir?" Duncan needled.
"Nay, he will not," Dane muttered tightly as he pushed away from the door. The Triton's master had sorely strained their friendship as it was this night.
Duncan grinned, watching Black well step through the passageway, then turned and rapped on the door. He heard her voice call from within and pushed the wood aside, placing the heavy buckets on the floor. She was sitting on the window bench, her back to him.
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"Lass," he called softly.
"Hey, Duncan. What's up?" Tess swiped at her cheeks before she turned to face him. "Oh, don't look at me like that. He didn't do anything to hurt me." Duncan sagged with relief. "Jeez, McPete, you're like a damned watchdog."
He smiled warmly. "I've grown rather fond of you, lass."
"Oh, yeah, then where were you when O'Keefe was around?"
"I wasn't aware you needed my aid then." His lips twitched as he straightened the chairs, then moved to the bed.
"A woman needs a suit of armor near that man."
He looked up from turning back the bedcovers. "Liked him, did you?"
She smiled back. "He's a ... a ... he's hard to describe."
"Has he captured your heart?" Duncan was still.
"Good God, no!" she said and the old man chuckled deeply.
"I knew you would see the rake for what he is, m'lady."
His reference to farm implements confused Tess, and it took a second to match it with the twentieth-century equivalent of a playboy.
"He is a bit transparent."
"Aye. Capt'n Ram does love the ladies."
She rolled her eyes. "Tell me something I don't know, McPete."
Duncan gathered up the pilot rudders and maps and put them away in the desk, then retrieved the buckets and disappeared into the bathroom. A sec-
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ond later she heard the slosh of water, and he appeared with the empty pails and asked if there was anything else she needed.
"No, thanks, Duncan. I appreciate your thought-fulness."
He smiled tenderly. "I know you do, lass."
He moved to the door, his hand reaching for the latch when she said, "He told me about Desiree and why he's here."
Duncan whirled about, his eyes wide. "Truly?"
She nodded. "Did you know her?"
His pale eyes grew sad. "Aye, since she was a babe."
"Then you have my sympathy, too."
Duncan nodded gravely, still unable to believe Dane had spoken of his mission to anyone. He looked at her. "She would have liked you, m'lady."
"Think so?" Tess glanced down at her skirt. "Maybe not after I ruined her clothes, though," Tess said for lack of anything better.
"The garments were not meant for Mistress Black-well, lass." Tess's eyes widened. "I recall the purchase. Twas like an obsession. The captain spent a great deal of coin and, I daresay, pleased the seamstress, for he departed with half her shop. Aye. Twas strange, m'lady, for he knew as well as I that they would have been too large for his sister. She was not a woman, as you are, but a child in more ways than her slight form." He adjusted the buckets, his brows drawn deep. At the time, Duncan had thought the captain was easing his conscience for not tending to Desiree for so long, but now, he was inclined to believe that the man had somehow felt
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Lady Renfrew's coming.
"Then why did O'Keefe say that?"
"To stir the seas, lass. He loves a good row."
"That's mean."
"Mayhaps." Duncan shrugged. "Yet because of this, has not the captain revealed what you wished to know?"
"Yeah, but he won't let me help, Duncan."
"Be patient, m'lady. If you've a mind to." He held his breath.
Tess sighed and stood. "Don't have any place else to be," she mumbled, plucking at her skirts.
He grinned, bidding her good night. 'Twas an admittance of caring, he thought happily, even if it was lacking a bit in heart.
Tess awoke and knew the minute her eyes opened, she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. It was still dark out. Naked, she slid from the bed, pulling the sheet with her as she lit a lamp, turning the fire low. She settled on the window bench, watching the moon glittering across the rolling ocean. Catching her lip between her teeth, she glanced over her shoulder at the desk. No, I can't, she thought, looking back to the sea. It was several moments later when she stood, discarded the sheet, and slid into a gold satin nightgown. She laughed to herself, realizing the clothes she'd frantically stuffed in her bag were nothing more than a bathing suit, a leotard, a couple of tee-shirts, one pair of cut-offs, and lacy lingerie of the wildest variety. A lousy packer under pressure, she thought, then stretched, pulling up the
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gown and lifting her leg until it was parallel with her body. I need to work out in the morning, she decided, then dropped into the chair behind the desk. She stared at the drawer, trying to justify snooping—again. It was the ledgers, those damn pilot rudders that nagged at her. How come all those intelligent men couldn't make any sense of them? She took a breath and opened the correct drawer. She'd seen Duncari put them there. The lump wrapped in oilcloth stared back at her as if daring her to remove it. With a shrug, she lifted it out, untied the laces, and carefully opened the leather-covered logbook. She turned the pages one by one, reading each entry. Dane was right, it was a mess. A half-hour later she still hadn't made sense of it. The letters were unevenly scrawled, and spatters of black ink littered the heavy parchment, making it harder to decipher the scribbling, Tess rubbed her forehead, then stood and walked to her bag, digging through the assorted junk for a Tylenol and a pen. She poured a glass of water and took the tablet, the pen poking her in the eye as she washed it down. She rubbed, then grabbed up the bag, searching for a notepad when a thought suddenly occurred to her. Code. It had to be a code.
With all of her father's military crap scattered around the house, she'd had a chance to look at one or two code books—outdated ones, that is. Hell, Marine kids used to send messages using simple forms of code. Every kid did it once in his or her life. She carried the glass, the pen, and pad to the desk, then settled cross-legged in the chair, ready to begin. She tried several versions she remembered
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from the books. None of them worked, but she kept at it, knowing she was on the right track.
"Pay dirt!" she said aloud, nearly an hour later, not really shocked that it was one of the simplest. The alphabet was split in half, then the letters reversed; the same was done with the remaining letters, which meant that the seventh and twentieth letters didn't change. Child's play. The numbers were coded in a nearly identical manner. They were longitudes and latitudes, and Tess didn't know that from beans, but she wrote it down just the same. There were symbols substituted for something that she didn't understand. So she skipped it, with just a small notation.
She stilled for a moment, thinking of Dane and what he'd do to her when he found out she'd snooped so deeply into his desk. Well, the
worst he could do was throw her overboard, she decided, and kept on.
What bothered her most was what else she discovered in the process. There were bits of Bennett's memoirs in the pilot rudders, which wasn't the norm, she knew. And Tess passed on writing down what she read. Dane didn't need to know the sicken-ingly graphic details of his sister's death or exactly how his father had been duped out of half his fortune. She slipped the decoded sheet between the parchment and moved to the next page. A stack of crumpled papers rose around her as she wrote. She took a break to use the facilities and refill her glass. Her eyes hurt and her back ached, but she shoved the pain and the paper mountain aside and continued, never noticing dawn breaking behind her.
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* * *
Gently Dane opened" the door and peered around the slab of polished wood. He frowned, stepping inside and closing it behind him. Tess was sound asleep, slumped over his desk top, paper littering the surface around her head. He walked toward her, his frown deepening when he saw the pilot rudders pillowed beneath her cheek. He stood over her, his hands on his hips, ready to chastise the lass for intruding in his private affairs. Until he noticed her hand. His tight muscles relaxed, and he reached for the instrument lying between her lax fingers. He stared at the slim cylinder, turning it over in his hand, then depressed the silver top. It clicked and from the bottom appeared a sharp point. What the bloody hell? he wondered, glancing to her, then back to the cylinder. He leaned over and scraped the tip and wasn't so shocked to see that it delivered ink onto the paper. He wrote his name, perplexed that the ink gave off no odor and, as he rubbed his finger over it, that it was already dry! He clicked the pen over and over, watching the tip disappear into the black tube. Property of the U.S. Government was inscribed in white on the side. His eyes snapped to Tess, and for one ridiculous second thought she was a spy. Nay, there is a logical explanation for this, he decided. His gaze drifted over the papers, and he unfolded a few, examining her writing, neat, small, precise. Like her.
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