Heart of Fragile Stars (Rakes & Rebels: The Beauvisage Family Book 1)

by Cynthia Wright

  “Perhaps we should go back. I am feeling much better.”

  “Wait.” Slowly he drew her closer and she saw, beneath the powder and patches and rouge, that his features were chiseled and his eyes held a masculine fire that struck a chord deep in her bruised heart. “I don’t want to let you go.”

  “But you must.” Antonia felt flushed and her heart was beating fast.

  “I will see you again.”

  She felt his strong hands lifting her up, while some instinct drove her to wrap her arms around his shoulders. They were, she discovered, surprisingly broad and hard. His mouth was just inches from her own.

  “I think you are mad, m’sieur,” she whispered. “I shall soon leave London.”

  “That doesn’t matter.” His breath was warm. “I will find you, one day, Tonie.”

  Slowly, then, he began to kiss her with practiced lips, and Antonia was swept away on a tide of pleasure. The world with all its grief, regrets, uncertainty, and fear fell away and all that existed was this very moment, this man who held her with such gentle power, who called her “Tonie” and kissed her as if she were a precious treasure that he meant to possess.

  One of his hands found the small of her back and drew her closer still to his body, hard-muscled and quite male beneath the salmon-pink suit and froths of lace. Antonia opened her mouth to him. It seemed that her heart might burst if it beat any faster.

  “M’sieur!” someone hissed from the direction of the candlelit doorway. “Have you lost your senses? He comes, he comes!”

  Antonia’s knees nearly gave way when Beauvisage released her. She saw the Frenchman’s wiry, little page silhouetted in the doorway, the monkey on his shoulder, and realized that it was the boy who had spoken. Then, in the distance, she heard Captain Ormond’s voice, calling her name.

  “I must go,” she said urgently.

  Jean-Philippe Beauvisage drew a small, unadorned gold ring from his last finger, and pressed it into her trembling hand. “Keep this, to remember me until the day when we meet again.”

  “Truly, you are mad! I do not want this.” Antonia tried to push the ring back on him. “And I do not care if we ever meet again.”

  “Indulge me, Tonie.” There were devils dancing in his eyes, telling her that he didn’t believe her. Firmly, he took her elbow and led her back into the light. When Ormond rounded the corner, Beauvisage languidly raised his quizzing glass and struck an attitude. “Egad, Captain! What’s amiss?”

  “If you weren’t such a fool, m’sieur, I would believe that you meant to compromise this beautiful young woman. Release her this instant!”

  “But of course, Captain Opphand.” Beauvisage blinked at him as if confused and turned her over to the other man. “Your servant!”

  Moments later, the agitated Tobias Ormond was gripping Antonia’s arm, leading her back into the crowd. The dancing had begun. She felt trapped, but the ring was warm and hard inside her small fist. When she dared to glance back over one shoulder she clearly saw Jean-Philippe Beauvisage through the crush of guests.

  He didn’t look a bit foolish now. On the contrary, he lifted a brow at her, smiling as if they shared a wicked secret.

  Chapter 3

  South of the London Bridge, dawn had broken on the noisy River Thames, and the nimble vessel called Pursuit was a-swarm with men preparing to set sail as soon as their remaining cargo had been loaded.

  Captain Beauvisage stood on deck, watching with a mixture of trepidation and relief. “I’ll be glad to weigh anchor and escape this madness,” he muttered to the man standing beside him.

  First mate, Samuel Cruikshank, nodded. “Aye, sir, if we can navigate our way out of here. I’ve never seen it so crowded or chaotic.” He looked around at the thicket of masts. “I b’lieve there are twice the number of ships as we saw here last year.”

  “Time to find a new port, then. One with proper docks, so that our goods don’t have to be transported on lighters.” Beauvisage gestured toward the swarm of small boats that ferried cargo and passengers to and from the ships anchored in the Upper Pool.

  Cruikshank nodded. He was a stubby, ruddy-faced fellow, twice as old as his captain but completely devoted. “Just ten more chests of tea and two casks of the finest French brandy and we’ll have it all. I’ve seen to it that there’s room to spare in the hold, just as you instructed, sir, in case we should come upon some cargo in the ocean in need of a better home!”

  Beauvisage laughed. “You have a charitable heart, Cruikshank. I like that about you.” Glancing around for Pierre, he gestured for the cabin boy to bring his spyglass. Once the lad placed it in his hand, he lifted it and squinted into the eyepiece, focusing on the open wharves. There were treadwheel cranes loading the heaviest items onto waiting lighters, and a chaotic assortment of seamen, porters, customs officers, pickpockets, loose women, and wild children. Just as he was about to look away, Jean-Philippe saw a familiar sedan chair come into view. It was painted Chinese-red and heavily gilded, and its occupant was leaning out the window to shout at his chairmen.

  It was Sir Humphrey Rayne.

  In the next instant, Tobias Ormond climbed up from a lighter onto the docks and went to greet Sir Humphrey. Beauvisage watched in fascination as the shipping rivals conversed until Ormond drew what appeared to be a purse filled with money out of his coat and handed it over to Sir Humphrey.

  “What do you suppose those two are up to, Pierre?” he murmured. Before the cabin boy could reply, Beauvisage saw Sir Humphrey clamber out of his sedan chair. Glancing left and right, as if to be certain they were not being watched, he opened his brocade coat and drew out the gladius. Ormond received it with a broad, triumphant smile. He inserted it into a scabbard at his waist, shook the older man’s hand, and they parted.

  “What an entertaining scene,” Jean-Philippe laughed, turning to find Pierre looking up at him with open curiosity. “I believe that Ormond has just purchased the gladius from my cousin. No doubt he thinks he has scored a great coup over his rival and that the cursed thing will increase his luck and power.”

  “I perceive that you are amused, m’sieur. You don’t believe in curses?”

  “You must call me Captain when we are on board this ship, do you understand? Show some respect!” He attempted to look stern. “And no, I don’t believe in either curses or treasures, at least not unless they are a result of human actions. In this case, I cannot help thinking that the odious Captain Ormond may hope he has found a treasure, but he may create a curse for himself instead.”

  Just then, Cruikshank appeared before them. “Captain, would you mind surveying the cargo? I believe it’s all there, but you should have the final say.”

  Jean-Philippe nodded, but turned back for one more look through the spyglass. His cousin’s gaudy sedan chair was in retreat, soon swallowed by the crush of humanity on the busy, open wharves. Ormond, meanwhile, had disappeared completely. No doubt the pompous knave had gone off to board his own ship, believing that he had obtained a talisman that would assure him a safe and successful voyage beyond his wildest dreams.

  * * *

  As she was handed into the lighter, Antonia felt relieved to escape the jostling crowds on the docks. However, she was no sooner wedged into the boat between Captain Ormond and a bearded, black-robed Russian priest than she was beset by another strange wave of panic. Both men turned toward her, pinning her under their curious gazes.

  “My dear Antonia, are you feeling quite well? You are pale,” Ormond said.

  “Indeed,” Father Jozef murmured, nodding. “I too perceive that you are quite pale.”

  At a snail’s pace, the lighter was threading its way between countless other small boats and larger ships, en route toward Ormond’s magnificent Conquerer, which cast its shadow over them. Antonia tried to take a deep breath, tried to forget the smells of the men in the lighter, the screams and curses that filled the air, the feeling that they might be crushed by bigger ships.

  “I—I merely would like to r
each your ship, Captain, and become acquainted with my new quarters,” she managed to say with a tight smile.

  “You do know, I hope, how fortunate you are to be making this voyage?” Ormond replied. “Your uncle had to call in favors to win you a coveted place on my ship.”

  “But, didn’t Uncle Leonid also pay you?”

  His brow lowered. “Many others would have done so to sail with me, I can assure you.”

  “As I can attest,” chimed in Father Jozef.

  They were finally inching toward Conquerer’s towering hull as Antonia queried, “Captain, please tell me where I may find my trusted maid, Zoya.”

  He looked bored. “Who?”

  “My maid, who has looked after me since my birth. Zoya is an older woman with the scars from a fire on her face. She always wears a shawl around her head, with a veil to cover her scars. When the carriage came for me, the driver assured me that she would be transported to the ship separately.”

  “Oh, yes.” Ormond continued to look away from her, toward his ship, and spoke in a distracted tone. “Your maid will be sharing quarters with the other servants.”

  “But, that is not acceptable.” Antonia felt a rising sense of agitation. “I must have her near me! She has been my only source of comfort since the death of my mother.”

  “Not acceptable? My dear, I am the one who decides what is acceptable on board this ship.”

  Once they were on board Conquerer, Ormond stalked off imperiously to order his crew about while Antonia and Father Jozef were left standing together. She watched the activity as the frigate prepared to set sail, and noticed that, although the men behaved efficiently, there was an air of tension and even disharmony among them.

  Just as she was about to inquire if the priest felt unbearably warm in his cassock and stiff, black hat, a scrubbed, thin young man greeted them.

  “I’m Barnes, the sailmaker’s mate. Follow me and I’ll show you to your cabins.”

  Because the ornate ship was built on a grander scale than most, Antonia was able to negotiate the passageways easily enough, in spite of the panniers that extended her gown on either side of her hips. She was grateful now that she had listened to Zoya’s advice to dress as simply as possible.

  They arrived at her cabin first. “This is where you’ll stay during our voyage, mistress,” Barnes announced, as he threw open the narrow door.

  Antonia nearly gasped aloud. The windowless cabin was barely as wide as a man was tall, and it featured a low, sloping ceiling that led to a narrow bunk on the far bulkhead. Her trunks were stowed in a dark corner. The furnishings consisted of a couple of built-in shelves, a compartment that housed a chamber pot, and a tiny table.

  “Perhaps there’s been a mistake,” she ventured.

  “No mistake. This is a lot better than where I sleep,” Barnes told her grimly. “The mast drives straight through the center of my tiny cabin, down to the bowels of the ship.” He handed her a flickering oil lamp and departed with Father Jozef.

  Antonia’s heart was pounding in her ears and her chest hurt when she tried to breathe. Since the fire, increasing waves of panic plagued her whenever she was closed in a small space, especially one without windows or a clear path of escape. Echoes from the trauma of that night, when she had lost her mother and had nearly died herself.

  Where was Zoya? What if she had been left behind in London? Antonia’s breath constricted at the possibility. Did she dare leave the cabin alone and run to the sunlight on the deck?

  She paced in the tiny space, panic mounting. Clearly, Uncle Leonid had made a terrible mistake when he hired Tobias Ormond to take her to America. She should have stayed in Russia, even if it meant living with her uncle’s family. At the time, Antonia had wanted to leave Russia, to escape from her memories and grief, but now she realized that there was no escape. All the darkness inside her would follow wherever she went.

  A sharp knock sounded at her cabin door and she whirled around in relief. “Zoya?”

  The door opened to reveal the tall figure of Tobias Ormond, his head slightly bent in the low space. “It is I, my dear girl. I thought you would be grateful to me for coming to you in spite of the many demands of my position. You see, our departure has begun.”

  She was trapped. “What about Zoya?”

  “Your maid?” he replied, clearly annoyed. “She is on board, but surely you can see that there is no space for her in this cabin. I will make her available to you from time to time.”

  “From time to time? Sir, I had no idea that I would be confined in a compartment of this size. My uncle assured me—”

  “Your uncle is not here, as you must perceive,” he said with a note of finality. “I recommend that you lie down and indulge in a nice nap. Isn’t that what ladies like you do?”

  Antonia had to refrain from throwing herself at him, realizing that whatever happened, she must not beg, for clearly that would only fuel his thirst for power. Instead, she cast her eyes down and murmured, “I shall endeavor to do as you suggest, Captain.”

  He placed a hand on her slim shoulder. “That’s good. Very good.” At first his touch was an insinuating caress, but his fingers began to squeeze, harder and harder, and Antonia felt afraid.

  “Don’t worry, my dear. I am your protector.” His fingers moved to force her chin up until she met his piercing gaze. “Remember that.”

  “It would seem that I have little choice.”

  The small door closed behind him and she heard the key turn. Antonia sat down on the narrow bunk and tried to breathe slowly and deeply, but her heart thundered in her ears all the same. Just then, there was another thump at the door. A heavy-set, sullen-looking sailor opened it with the key and thrust Zoya into the cabin.

  As soon as he had left them alone, she rushed to her nurse and embraced her. “Oh, my dear Zoya, I feared that he had prevented you from boarding the ship. If you were not here, I don’t know what I should do.”

  “Nonsense, mistress. You would cope without me. Never doubt it. Do not forget: you have been brave and strong all your life.” The older woman held her away and nodded. “Believe me! That tragedy cannot destroy your inner core of strength.”

  “I hope you are right. I have fears that are completely new to me! I cannot bear to be closed into this small space and I don’t feel brave any longer.” She paused. “Forgive me. How can I speak of my own fears when you are forced to share quarters with all the servants, people you have never met? Is it terrible?”

  “It is not what I would choose, but all of this is temporary. We have faced worse challenges, my girl, and we shall persevere.” Zoya looked around and shook her head in disgust. “How can Captain Ormond expect the privileged daughter of a great Russian baron to live in such circumstances? I was quite wrong about the man. I should not have encouraged you to trust him.”

  “I confess that I have wondered if I should have counted my blessings and remained with Uncle Leonid in Russia.”

  “Such thoughts are wasted now.”

  Sighing, Antonia nodded. She opened the smallest of the trunks Ormond’s sailors had pushed against the far wall. Zoya found a rag folded beside the chamber pot and began to dust off the grimy shelves.

  “We shall do what we can,” the older woman said, “and be grateful for our time together, our health, and our…safety.”

  Antonia shivered slightly at that last word, realizing that they were at the mercy of a ship filled with discontented men. Tobias Ormond had called himself her “protector”, but she secretly feared he might be just the opposite.

  * * *

  At the end of Pursuit’s second day at sea, Jean-Philippe Beauvisage retired to his spacious, scrupulously neat cabin. He had removed his coat and had spread charts over a table when a familiar knock sounded at the door.

  “Captain?” called Pierre. “May I enter?”

  “When have you ever been one to stand on ceremony?” Beauvisage replied with a laugh.

  The door swung open just as the ship roll
ed with the motion of a wave and Pierre staggered across the threshold. He struggled to balance a tray laden with dishes while Roland, the monkey, clung to his shoulder.

  Taking pity on the boy, Beauvisage rose to relieve him of his burden. “Ah! I smell coq au vin,” he said appreciatively.

  “I suggested it to Cook,” Pierre confirmed. “He added young carrots, leeks, and parsnips, just the way it’s made at the château.”

  “You mean to prove yourself in more ways than one, I perceive,” Beauvisage said dryly.

  “I do indeed, m’sieur!” Warming to the subject, Pierre set the squirming monkey down, lit another lamp, and poured wine for his master. “I shall make myself indispensable.”

  “You must call me Captain, remember?” Jean-Philippe leaned back in his chair and stretched out his booted legs. “And do not become too intrusive. Soon enough I’ll have a wife.”

  “Indeed?” The boy was busy uncovering the fragrant dish of chicken and vegetables and shaking out his master’s napkin. “You have decided to follow your mother’s advice to marry, I surmise. Where shall we discover this fortunate lady?”

  “We? I can assure you that I need no assistance from you in this matter, lad.” Beauvisage paused to taste the chicken before adding casually, “My bride will be Antonia Varyshkova.”

  Roland the monkey had climbed into the other chair and watched expectantly until the cabin boy passed him a piece of crusty bread.

  “Captain,” Pierre said carefully, “are you referring to the Russian lady we met at Rayne Hall?”

  “You know that I am.”

  “But, I must protest! You have only a few minutes of acquaintance with her, and, unless I am mistaken, we do not know where she can be found. Furthermore, we are sailing a great distance to America, with a large cargo that you mean to smuggle under the noses of the customs officials. It could be months before you return to London. How do you intend to carry forth this courtship?”