by Unknown
She also watched Yvette at every opportunity (and there were many of those since the maid seemed determined to promote a friendship whether welcomed graciously or not). She thought she need only emulate the ways of such as she to win Lord Beaumont's approval. Although she knew, once they made landfall, she wouldn't be allowed to continue as his personal servant since it seemed doubtful Lord Beaumont would allow her to continue her charade. And, truth to tell, she was beginning to find it somewhat trying.
Plainly, it would soon be difficult to disguise her femininity in any case since the food that was now readily available, and in astonishing abundance to one who'd spent so much of her life in want, was already producing changes in her body that she viewed with a mixture of trepidation and pride.
She knew if she continued to fill out as she was, it would soon be readily apparent to all that she was certainly no boy. And the thought of her charade becoming known was alarming to say the least. And yet she took a perverse pride in her new shape for all that, even while she wondered with growing anxiety what to do about her bosom. It had never shown any inclination whatsoever of developing and now began to blossom at an alarming rate.
There were only two solutions to that particular problem as far as she could see, and neither appealed to her to any great degree. She could either begin to starve herself again and protect her disguise in that way. Or she must torture herself with some sort of bindings to hide it, but hide it she must. Otherwise, she very much feared that the peace she'd enjoyed since being taken under Adrian's protection was bound to disappear.
Chapter Eight
Danielle dragged her eyes from the table and swallowed convulsively at the saliva that puddled in her mouth. Tightening her stomach muscles in a vain attempt to control its angry rumbling, she wondered how she could be so perverse as to feel that she was starving. She'd had far more food in the past weeks than she was accustomed to. And, before, she'd been capable of going for days on end without food without feeling such ill effects as she now felt only when she was obliged to eat a little later than had become her habit. It was perverse, really perverse of her stomach to embarrass her like this.
Fortunately, the growl, instead of a roar, came out as a low snarl, and, as Mrs. Johnson chose that moment to utter one of her neighing laughs, it went unnoticed by the other occupants of the room. Or she thought it did until she caught the pitying glance Yvette sent her. She favored Yvette with a lifted brow and a glance of haughty disdain, then flushed and glared at her when Yvette bit her lip to hide a smile.
She turned to discover Adrian's gray eyes resting upon her and knew a moment of panic as one black brow lifted questioningly. Casting about anxiously, she realized that his glass was empty and moved hurriedly to refill it. Noting that Mrs. Johnson had drained her glass, she decided to refill that also.
Mrs. Johnson ignored her, as anyone of breeding considered proper. And Danielle was tempted to make a face at her just to see if she would notice. It occurred to her, however, that while Lord Beaumont seemed as oblivious to her as his dinner companion, he had an uncanny (and most unpleasant) knack of seeing what one least wished for him to see, even when one thought oneself safe from his scrutiny. So she suppressed the urge almost as quickly as it had come to her and, when she finished filling the glasses, retreated into the background once more, trying to ignore the abundance of food on the table and the yearning grumble of her stomach by turning her thoughts in another direction.
Yvette caught her eye again, smiling shyly, and she rolled her eyes, wondering if the nodcock had taken a fancy to her.
With a dismissive sniff, she turned her attention from the maid to her mistress, studying the older woman as she flirted with Lord Beaumont over her after dinner wine.
She was a handsome woman, sumptuously molded despite her diminutive size (for she wasn't quite as tall as Danielle, and Danielle wasn't amazingly tall herself), an attribute she seemed inordinately pleased with; with pale blond hair and mild blue eyes that gave her the outward appearance of a fragile china doll.
There was a hint of steel in the set of her jaw and willful chin, however, and petulance in the set of her lips that belied her overall appearance of sweet vulnerability. Moreover, Danielle had had ample opportunity to discover some of her more undesirable traits during her days in hiding, and since that time in her observation of the woman that made her step warily around the widow and made her wonder what Lord Beaumont saw in her.
She must be every bit of thirty, if she was a day, at least as old as he and probably older. And, aside from a good figure and a prettiness that was already fading, Danielle couldn't see that she had anything else at all to recommend her; not youth, great beauty, intelligence, wit, or even a good disposition.
She shrugged mentally and allowed a cynical smile to curl her lips. Of course, she knew what Lord Beaumont saw in the woman. She was available, blatantly so, despite her pains to appear the respectable widow. She'd been Lord Beaumont's mistress almost from the beginning of the voyage.
It was common knowledge. She'd heard it even before she actually knew either one of them. Not that she'd needed to hear the talk. She'd heard them at it on more than one occasion when she'd crept along the passage late at night in search of food or new hiding places.
She bit her lip to contain a smile as she studied the older woman. At least, she'd heard the respectable Mrs. Johnson at it. Small wonder if everyone aboard ship hadn't. She sounded, Danielle thought, like a cat with his tail caught in a wringer when Lord Beaumont was having a go at her. Coo! What a racket the woman put up! It was a wonder she hadn't deafened the poor man, screeching in his ear like that. One thing was for certain. Either Beaumont was a hell of a lover, or Mrs. Johnson was a hell of an actress.
With that thought, Danielle allowed her gaze to move from Lavinia to her lover. She felt then the same, inexplicable warmth budding inside her that she felt each time she covertly studied him, allowing her eyes to wander over his broad chest speculatively while her knees went from bone to the consistency of pudding.
She'd interrupted him at his bath tonight. She hadn't intended to, hadn't expected to. But he'd been irritated with her because she hadn't pressed the clothes he wanted to wear, and she'd rushed out to do it and rushed back to get them to him quickly, so he wouldn't have to wait. And he hadn't, for he had just stood up to step from the tub. She hadn't meant to stare at him, but she'd been caught off guard, they both had, and both had been frozen in shocked dismay, too paralyzed to think properly or move.
And, to her consternation, as she studied him, she recalled very vividly how he'd looked when he'd stepped from his bath earlier, the water running in rivulets down the banded muscles of his chest and his hard, flat abdomen. Her eyes wandered lower, examining his muscular thighs with interest, then moved up to the crotch of his breeches as she remembered what that bit of him had looked like. He certainly had the right equipment, she thought then, if that was what it took to be a grand lover. And it wasn't as if she'd never seen one of those things before and had no basis for comparison. Proud as a young stallion, he was.
The bulge grew to a hard ridge beneath her steady gaze, and her eyes flew up in surprise to his face, encountered narrowed, steely gray eyes, and faltered as a blush mounted her cheeks. Their eyes locked for several moments, and Danielle felt that queer trembling deep down inside of her again, and a constriction in her chest that made it suddenly difficult to breathe properly. Her breath quickened, rushing between her parted lips and making them go dry. She moistened them self-consciously when she noticed Adrian's eyes had dropped to her mouth, dragging her eyes away from his face only as she realized that the widow Johnson had turned to see what had drawn Lord Beaumont's attention.
She realized then the source of Lord Beaumont's irritation. Yvette was already clearing away the dishes, while she stood staring like a booby. She rushed forward to help clear the table with hands that shook noticeably as she realized that Lord Beaumont still watched her, w
ishing he wouldn't stare at her so. She was doing her best to show him that she could be a good servant, even if she'd never had a burning desire to be one. Could she help it if her mind wandered from such a boring job from time to time? Particularly when . . . .
But she cut that thought off, biting her lip. It was far better, she reminded herself, to be a servant than to be nothing. And though he'd shown no disposition yet of changing his mind, she still hoped that if she got to be good at it, Lord Beaumont might yet decide to keep her when they reached the colonies.
Only, she wasn't going to be able to prove anything if she didn't learn to keep her mind on what she was supposed to be doing instead of on her master.
"I must say you've done wonders with the boy," Lavinia remarked.
Adrian returned his attention to her with an effort, lifting one dark brow inquiringly while he fought to bring his heated body under control. It was difficult when he could sense each time Danielle's eyes rested upon him, difficult to subdue his arousal when he couldn't put that earlier perusal from his mind, when her soft brown eyes had wandered over him with such probing intensity that he'd felt it almost like a caress.
"He was such a nasty, smelly little thing too. I'd never have believed he could be made half so presentable," Lavinia continued with studied sweetness, realizing that it was ridiculous to be jealous of Adrian's distraction when he was undoubtedly only watching the boy because of his ineptitude. Still, she was quite unable to shake the irritation that gripped her each time Adrian responded absently to her conversation simply because his attention was focused on the wretched boy. Her last statement caught his undivided attention however, and, despite the fact that he was frowning at her in a way she could not like, she was relieved to have his attention at any cost and allowed her lips to form a provocative pout. A quiver of anticipation flooded her as she recalled the first time he'd kissed her. Kissing away her 'delicious pout', he'd called it.
Danielle bit down hard on a sharp retort. Though an angry flush mounted her cheeks, she did her best to ignore the woman, relieving her anger by mentally favoring the woman with a few of the more choice epithets she'd garnered from the streets.
She felt Adrian's eyes upon her again, and a shiver of apprehension went through her, chilling her. Was he angry with her for her inattention? Had she bungled her job so badly that he would consider her hopeless? A waste of time?
"I can't think what you wanted with the wretch though," Lavinia continued petulantly, blithely ignorant of her mortal danger as Danielle gathered the cutlery in a whitened fist and favored her with a narrow eyed glare.
"Can't you?" Adrian queried, his voice deceptively pleasant. "But then, it really isn't your concern one way or the other, is it, my dear?"
Lavinia flushed at the rebuke but continued doggedly, "Of course, I can see that he's quite devoted to you already. And I must admit that it quite wrung my heart that day to see him gazing up at you so beseechingly with those melting brown eyes of his. I expect you couldn't resist the little beggar?"
She forced a laugh, and both Danielle and Adrian winced at the grating sound. "He reminds me of the darling spaniel I lost, if you must know. Such soulful eyes. I found it hard to resist him, too, when he looked at me in just that way. You know, as if begging for a little affection. Of course, Pierre's lines were impeccable, and I expect your find is something of a mongrel," she added with a braying laugh, and Danielle felt hot color surge into her cheeks once more and glanced quickly at Lord Beaumont.
His face had hardened into an angry mask, and Danielle felt another stab of apprehension. Fear and anger, hurt and resentment mingled inside her, wreaking havoc with her nerves as Lavinia continued, wondering aloud where the boy had inherited his lovely big brown eyes from, and his odd coloring. So strange, the black brows and lashes with such garish red hair! She'd only ever saw that particular combination once, though she couldn't recall the name. Not that it mattered, for there couldn't possibly be a connection. It was only by sheer will that Danielle refrained from throwing their dishes back into their laps.
At that moment, she wished desperately that she could somehow be magically transported back to the security and homely surroundings of her favorite cellar. She yearned for familiar surroundings, where, despite the dangers and the hardships that must be faced daily, she was treated as an equal and not some lowly creature without thoughts or feelings.
Her hands trembled with the effort to remain calm, shook so badly that the bowl she lifted tilted, and a great glob of gravy splattered on Lavinia's pale bosom and rolled down her bodice. Danielle's mouth dropped open in dismay. Recovering, she dropped the bowl to the table with a clatter and grabbed up a napkin to dab at the spot. Unfortunately, Lavinia's glass sat on the edge of the napkin, and, when Danielle snatched it up, the glass toppled and champagne rolled across the table to drip into Lavinia's lap.
Lavinia, who'd been too stunned to react to the first mishap, surged to her feet with an angry gasp and slapped Danielle so hard the sound echoed around the suddenly silent cabin.
Tears welled in Danielle's eyes as her hand flew to her stinging cheek, but she was too surprised by the sudden assault to react in any way, to retaliate or to try to excuse herself.
"Wretched boy!" Lavinia exclaimed, snatching the napkin from her hand and brushing hurriedly at the front of her gown. "You've ruined my gown!" she snapped furiously, and, on noting the discolored stain that had formed a large circle and left a trail down the front of her skirts when she'd leapt to her feet, she raised her hand to strike the culprit again, sorely tempted to find a weapon and beat the boy senseless for his carelessness and more than a little indignant that Adrian had not seen fit to chastise the boy himself.
Adrian surged to his feet in one fluid movement, interposing himself between her and the object of her wrath, and Lavinia's blow struck his cheek instead, leaving the mark of each finger in livid red. She gaped, falling back a step as her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh Adrian!" she gasped in very real horror. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it! I'm quite distraught!" she exclaimed and covered her face with her hands.
Tears, she thought, might well be in order, and she sniffed, dabbing surreptitiously at her eye with the rough cloth to generate an affecting tear or two. Unfortunately, the cloth was saturated with champagne, and it stung so that her eyes filled generously with quite genuine tears that streamed down her cheeks and left trails through her carefully applied rice powder.
"Undoubtedly, Madam," Adrian replied chillingly. "Otherwise, it might have occurred to you that I prefer to deal with my servants in my own way."
Lavinia gaped at him in stunned amazement, unable to comprehend for several moments that he'd actually rebuked her when he'd shown absolutely no inclination to chastise that horrible boy for ruining her gown. If that wasn't bad enough, he showed not the slightest inclination to console her. Which, now that she thought on it, didn't surprise her in the least.
He'd become increasingly difficult for some time, starting, she decided furiously, with the day he'd dragged that miserable spawn of satan from the taffrail. They'd had words in the companionway afterwards, only because she'd suggested the boy would be more usefully employed in the galley or perhaps disposed with the sailors below decks. For anyone could see that he was too puny and too low bred to be of any use to a gentleman.
Unfortunately, Lord Beaumont hadn't seemed to see it that way at all. He'd told her not to worry her head over it, and she'd thought he meant to get rid of the nasty wretch. Instead, it seemed he'd taken the creature up like some sort of mongrel pet. And it had been that very same night that he'd informed her that she was no more to him than a temporary amusement, which was a remarkably cruel thing even for him to say. Never mind that it was only a reminder of the terms she'd accepted to begin with in their relationship. He'd made such cruelly deflating remarks, in fact, that it had almost, but not quite, driven her to give up.
He'd been politely distant ever since, since she'd stupidl
y informed him that she had no desire to be nothing more than a temporary amusement. And she'd begun to think she would have to give up. But then it had seemed the cold treatment she'd been giving him had worked and that she might yet have a chance to recoup her losses. Dinner was to have been that chance, even if she had had to persuade him that she was willing to continue as they were before only to get him to come.
Instead of making things better, however, it had become an even greater disaster, beginning with Adrian's inattention and ending with the ruin of one of her best gowns and the makeup she'd so carefully applied. And it was all the fault of that retch!
She was strongly tempted to indulge in hysterics, but one look at Lord Beaumont's stony countenance served to convince her that that would be very poorly received, and she swallowed her chagrin sufficiently. "You will stroll with me this evening, won't you, Adrian?" she said hopefully, attempting a smile. "I don't think I could endure this cabin if it weren't for the walks on the deck with you in the evenings, and I'm frightened of walking alone with so many rough sailors about."
Adrian paused in the doorway and turned to study her for several moments while she held her breath, but finally chivalry and good-breeding won out, and he nodded acceptance, albeit reluctantly. "I have a matter to attend to first," he added, then turned and strode towards his own cabin, leaving Danielle to follow in his wake with lagging steps, and Lavinia with the uplifting conviction that Adrian wasn't nearly so oblivious to her plight as she'd supposed if he intended to punish the wretched boy after all.
Chapter Nine
Danielle jumped despite her effort to appear indifferent when the cabin door slammed behind her with slightly more violence than was strictly necessary. Lord Beaumont, she realized, was indeed very angry to display that sort of temper, and she wondered with a sinking of dread just what form his punishment would take, even while a strong sense of injustice raged inside her.
