by Unknown
"Well, how am I supposed to get over there?" she muttered irritably in an effort to hide her anxiety.
"You can always crawl over," he suggested provocatively. "I assure you I wouldn't mind in the least."
She swallowed convulsively. "I don't think so," she snapped and made an about face, intending to scurry for the safety of her nook beneath the table.
He chuckled, one hand shooting out to grasp the loose fabric of the shirt and giving a sharp tug so that she toppled sideways, falling half atop him. In the next moment, he had flipped her to her back on the opposite side of the bunk. She went rigid with panic and sheer terror, certain in that moment that she'd fallen a willing victim into his trap. She brought her fists up defensively against her chest, squeezing her eyes shut as the blood drained from her face in a dizzying rush that brought with it a wave of nausea, too frightened for thought or words as she waited in petrified silence for the brutal assault to begin as he rose up on his elbows to tower above her.
Adrian gazed down at her ashen face and felt his amusement leave him in a rush. A hard, painful knot formed in his chest, choking him, and he swallowed convulsively, trying to dislodge it. Anger, pain, compassion, and tenderness swept through him in such rapid succession that he couldn't grasp the thoughts that had engendered them; fury at those who'd done this to her; pain that her trust in him was so fragile a thing; and compassion and tenderness for all that she'd suffered, for her fears, and for that fragile trust that had brought her to him despite those fears. And withal, a surge of protectiveness so strong that he ached with it. He gathered her into his arms roughly, pulling her unresponsive body against his length as he brushed a light kiss across her lips and tucked her head against his shoulder, burying his face against her neck. "Don't," he whispered hoarsely against her hair. "Don't do this to me, Danielle."
A whimper escaped her, and he pulled away, cupping his hand along her cheek as he nudged her chin up with his thumb and bent his head to brush light, caressing kisses across her lips, her eyes, and brow before he pulled her against him once more. "Christ, poppet! I didn't mean to frighten you. I was only teasing you, sweetheart," he murmured raggedly, allowing his hands to roam her shaking form while he tried to soothe her fears.
A wrenching sob shook her, followed by another and still another until she was sobbing brokenly against his shoulder, great wrenching sobs that shook her all over. He held her tightly against him, feeling a constricting ache in his chest as he renewed his efforts to soothe her. "Don't cry, poppet. I only wanted to hold you, to touch you. I won't hurt you. I swear it. I won't even hold you if you don't want me to."
It didn't have the desired effect. If anything, she cried harder as he cradled her against him, rocking her gently, but some of the tension left her. And as she relaxed against him, he allowed his hands to roam her back in a slow, restless caress, soothing as he kneaded the tension from her stiff muscles. He lifted his hand to brush the tears from her cheek and bent his head to kiss her shoulder, burying his face against her neck. "Please, sweetheart. I can't bear your tears. I could stand it from anyone but you. Not you, Danielle. Not my brave girl," he murmured softly.
"I . . . I thought . . . I thought . . . ," she stammered brokenly.
He hugged her to him fiercely. "I know, sweetheart," he said hoarsely, filled with remorse for frightening her so badly. Only he hadn't known how deep her terrors were. He would've been more careful if he'd known.
"You won't hurt me?" she got out on a broken sob.
"Never, poppet," he said quietly. And with that, she seemed content, her tears gradually diminishing until she fell into an exhausted slumber, still cradled in his arms.
Chapter Eleven
Adrian woke as Danielle let herself out of the cabin and frowned thoughtfully at the closed door. Sleeping with her had not been unalloyed joy. Considering his highly aroused state, it had been more like sweet torment to have her so temptingly close and not be able to possess her. Despite that discomfort, however, he realized with a touch of surprise that it had been enjoyable, for all that, to feel her cuddled warm and confidently against him. He rather thought, impatience aside, that he would thoroughly enjoy her seduction. He closed his eyes once more, with that thought, deciding that there wasn't really much point in rising early when he had nothing in particular to do.
He woke again some time later to discover that Danielle had brought his breakfast and shaving water, straightened the cabin, and had disappeared once more. He thought little of it, but when she pulled a similar disappearing act at the noon meal and managed to be so deeply engrossed in conversation with the sailors each time he appeared on deck as to be oblivious to him, he was piqued.
He mentally shrugged it aside, concentrating instead on fending off Lavinia's increasingly persistent demands for attention. But it nagged at the back of his mind with irritating persistence, despite his efforts to ignore it.
He was relieved that she understood that what they shared in private could have no bearing on their day to day relationship. Wasn't he?
He was. And he certainly couldn't pursue her openly, even had he wished to do so (which of course he didn't since one did not socialize with one's servants as equals), since it might arouse unwanted attention. All the same, he couldn't forebear a certain amount of pique that she didn't seek him out at any time, even when it would've been perfectly discreet to do so. She seemed, in fact, perfectly content to go her own way as she had always done before.
She was in the cabin when he went down to change for dinner but headed for the door as soon as he entered, not quite with the air of one fleeing, but in a hurry to shake the dust of the cabin from her heels nonetheless. And despite Adrian's resolve not to question her, to act as if he were as unconcerned as she, and quite oblivious of her movements, he stopped her as she reached the door.
"A moment of your time, if you please, Danny," he said coolly. "I can see you have pressing business to attend to so I won't keep you long," he added sardonically.
She paused and turned back to him questioningly.
He studied her in frowning silence for several moments, not quite certain how best to phrase the question uppermost in his mind and finally moved to stand before her, stifling the urge to touch her. "Are you still . . . upset?" he asked finally, feeling foolish that it mattered to him if she was, foolish in letting her know it by asking, but determined to have an answer.
Danielle was a little surprised to discover he cared enough to ask, and briefly it showed, but only briefly. It was replaced almost instantly with a look of feigned incomprehension, belied only by a very faint blush. She averted her gaze as the faint color stole into her cheeks, flicking at an imaginary speck of lint on her shirt. "The kiss?" she asked finally, giving Adrian a steady look then that he found impossible to interpret.
He hadn't expected her to bring that up or intended to question her about it. His main thought had been to discover if he'd allayed her fears and if she was distressed and embarrassed about having given away her fears to him. However, since she brought it up and he found he had a burning desire to know just how she felt about it, he said nothing, merely nodding.
At that, she shrugged off-handedly. "Not particularly. I mean," she added, flashing him an impish grin only slightly forced, "you ain't the first randy young lord that snatched a quick feel and a buss on the lips, and I expect you won't be the last neither. And there ain't much point in worryin' over it now, is there?"
"I see," he said evenly, his lips tightening into a thin line. And indeed, he thought as he eyed her dispassionately and fought the urge to throttle her, he was almost certain he did. She had decided to put it behind her the way she put unpleasant incidents behind her, by pretending it had never happened. "And the other?" he asked, wondering wryly if he was a glutton for punishment.
She didn't pretend to misunderstand him that time. "Well, it was right nice of course, but I ain't really used to sleepin' on anything quite so soft. And I figure, there ai
n't much point in gettin' used to it now, is there?" she said questioningly, then grinned mischievously. "Besides, there was this big, hard stick a pokin' me in the back most of the night, an' it's hard as hell to sleep when you don't know if you might get stuck on it by chance, if you know what I mean."
Adrian discovered, much to his immense vexation, that his color was considerably heightened at this last remark, and his eyes narrowed angrily. In the next moment, however, he realized that she'd done it for expressly that purpose, intended to shock, hoped to provoke his anger for some reason that escaped him at the moment, and he, in his turn, shrugged with feigned indifference. "You're right, of course. It wasn't very comfortable. And there must have been a number of sharp objects in the bed since I distinctly remember being jabbed rather painfully several times myself," he replied coolly, reacting instinctively, and without thought, to inflict pain for pain, though he wasn't quite certain why it had caused him pain to realize that she intended to shrug him off in the same manner she shrugged off unpleasant experiences.
Danielle blushed fierily, and, for a fraction of a second, Adrian saw, with a mixture of satisfaction and discomfort, that he'd scored a direct hit. But then she shrugged and grinned. "Well, there you are! Wasn't neither one of us too happy, was we? No sense in makin' a habit out of it. Makin' each other miserable, don't you know?" And with that, she ducked out the door and was gone, leaving Adrian to stare furiously at the closed door, struggling with an intense desire to wring her lovely neck.
He shrugged it off after a time. She was right, he assured himself. She wasn't irresistible, and he sure as hell had no intention of asking her again to share his bed, something he realized with a feeling of immense discomfort that he'd never done before with so little finesse. Lavinia Johnson was adequate for his needs, and certainly willing, so there was no point at all in dwelling on Danielle's indifference. At any rate, they couldn't be much more than a week away from their destination, and he had other matters of much more importance to worry about.
It wasn't easy to ignore her, for all his resolve, however, since they had to continue to occupy the same cabin. Still, Danielle made herself scarce unless she had some duty to perform for him, and, as much as he would've liked to, he couldn't accuse her of throwing herself in his way. He was, in fact, more than a little piqued that she seemed to have dismissed the incident so easily, particularly when he realized that he could not.
Chapter Twelve
"Sail ho!"
It was shortly before dusk, perhaps five days out from the port of Charles Town in the colony of Carolina, that the warning shout rang out. As one, those above decks tensed and gazed up at the seaman high above them in the crow's nest. Adrian turned from his contemplation of the frothy, gray swells in the ship's wake, shrugging off his pensive thoughts as he, too, glanced up, waiting.
Captain Tyler motioned the quartermaster back to his station at the wheel and stepped away, shielding his eyes with his hand as he gazed up at the seaman aloft. "Where away?" he shouted back, then turned to follow the direction of the sailor's pointing finger and lifted his glass, studying the horizon. He cursed under his breath. "I make it three." He paused. "No. Four sails."
Adrian, who'd sauntered up to the bridge after the first call, turned his eyes also to the far horizon, studying the barely discernable black specks that rode the waves, disappearing now and then behind a swell of silvery sea. "What colors are they flying?"
The captain lowered his glass and glanced towards him, studying him for several moments before he answered. "Looks to be Spanish," he replied finally. "Can't be certain at this distance," he added, raising his glass once more. "But they have the look of the Spanish man-o'-war. Hulking beasts," he added dispassionately. "I shouldn't think we've much to worry about. We're badly out-gunned, of course, but we have speed in our favor, and I should think we can make port quite easily before they can pose a threat. Even if they're interested, which there's no saying they will be."
"I should think they would be as we're at war," Adrian replied dryly, drawing the captain's eyes once more. "A British East Indiaman would be a fair prize."
The captain glared at him a moment but finally shrugged. "Happen, you're right, but it's of no consequence. We've got a good lead on them, and I intend to keep it. I've no mind to engage the enemy when we're so badly out-gunned, rest assured."
By dawn the following morning, there was no longer any doubt about the ships or their intentions. Their eagerness to capture such a prize was also readily apparent since they'd gained considerably on the Lady Dorinda in the course of the night, resembling toy sailing ships in the distance. They continued to gain upon the British ship throughout the interminable day, despite the captain's efforts, while the passengers and crew watched their steady approach with mixed emotions.
Tension ran high, tempers flared, and fights broke out among the crew. For they were of the opinion that one Englishman was more than a match for any five Spaniards. And grumbled under their breath over what they considered the captain's craven attitude, disgusted that they'd been ordered to turn tail and run before such swine.
It was Lavinia's considered opinion that the captain wasn't running before the swine fast enough. She felt certain the captain could make more speed if only he put his mind to it. And she harassed the poor man and berated him, despite his attempts to pacify her, till he lost his temper and informed her that he would have her confined below decks if she didn't cease and desist.
Thereafter, she did so of her own accord, chaffing at the confinement while she berated first the captain for speaking so disrespectfully and then Adrian for not supporting her. Both were oblivious to her insults and recriminations, since they remained above decks, but Yvette, who was every bit as terrified as her mistress, bore the full brunt of her mistress's sharp tongue and was strongly tempted to toss her overboard.
Danielle spent most of her time above decks, as did Adrian, staring pensively at the distant sails as they moved inexorably closer. She did her utmost to appear blithely oblivious to Adrian's disapproval, since she knew very well that he would've preferred for her to remain below decks with the other women. She couldn't bear the suspense of not knowing from one moment to the next how great was their danger, or how imminent was the attack everyone fully expected to come, however, and Adrian quelled a strong desire to simply order her below.
There was no danger, as yet, and it might seem remarkable for him to do so under the circumstances. She was never far from his sight, however, or his thoughts, for all that.
He'd been right about her withdrawal, he discovered without much surprise, but it wasn't so marked as before. In any case, they were all entirely too tense with the waiting and watching for him to worry overmuch that Danielle showed no disposition to come to his bed again. He would have liked, however, to have been in a position to soothe her fears and his own anxieties over their fate with the comforting nearness of their bodies throughout the interminable hours of the nights.
Danielle watched him covertly. She didn't fear him as she had before. She knew now with absolute certainty that she had no reason whatsoever to fear that he would take her if she showed herself to be unwilling or hurt her if she displeased him. She was afraid of herself, however. She was afraid of the strong feelings he evoked in her, and distrustful, particularly when she found herself dwelling rather dreamily and entirely too frequently on his gentle caresses and endearments.
She took herself severely to task for such idiocy. She knew it meant nothing to him. She knew that he was adept at such things and that he'd probably uttered those same endearments to every woman who had ever shared his bed, however fleetingly. But she found that she couldn't receive them in the same light-hearted manner that they'd been bestowed. She ached when she thought of him uttering those same endearments to other women, each time she pictured Lavinia in his arms listening to the same love words he'd given her and responding to the magic of his kisses and caresses. Though she did her best to
simply blot it from her mind.
She, too, watched the approach of the Spanish fleet, but with very little interest. In fact, had it not been that she feared what they might do to Lord Beaumont should they capture the ship, entertaining morbid visions of him dying by inches in the stinking dungeons of some Spanish prison, she would almost have welcomed them in the hopes that they would put her out of her misery.
She waged a constant battle within herself, hoping one moment that Adrian would respect her wishes and keep his distance. In the next, she wished that he would brush aside her objections and take her to his bed and teach her all the wonderful things she knew he was capable of teaching her.
Fear, too, warred with desire. Her experiences had taught her to fear the intimacy between men and women. And yet she couldn't forget the strange yearnings that Adrian had evoked in her when he kissed her and held her close.
It was at times like that that a different fear would seize her, the fear that she'd turned him away one time too many. She was afraid then that he'd lost interest altogether, and she would never have another opportunity to find out whether his touch could give her joy. Then she would draw herself up short, consumed by an aching emptiness, knowing that it would be far more painful to leave him after discovering such happiness in his arms.
And he would leave her, without a backward glance, once they reached the colonies. She knew that, for he'd never indicated by word or deed that he'd changed his mind about that.
Which would be worse? she asked herself. Never knowing? Or knowing and then losing? Allowing herself a brief taste of happiness? Or keeping her distance with the thought that one never missed what one never had?
She could really expect nothing more than the possibility of supplanting Lavinia as a temporary amusement. Even the dubious security of being set up as his mistress was too much for one of her origins to expect. And there was so little time left, so very little time. Was so brief a taste of happiness worth it in the long run, supposing she succumbed to her inclination? Or would a few days in a whole lifetime of misery make having to live that life worth it? And what if they never made it to the colonies? What if they couldn't escape the Spanish?
