The boy, who was no taller than she, had an elfin face with black eyes snapping with wit and intelligence. “My name is Pierre DuBois. I am proud to say that I am the cabin boy to…our great captain!”
They met halfway across the cabin, next to the small table that had been nailed to the floor. Antonia wanted to laugh aloud at his ostentatious bearing. The boy behaved as if his master were a king and he were a trusted minister!
“Indeed? It seems that I should be honored to meet you, sir…?
“You may call me Pierre,” he allowed gravely.
“Ah, thank you! And just who is your great captain?”
“Do you not know?” The cabin boy seemed to consider his options before he said, “He is the one they call the Sea Rogue.”
Antonia sat down on the bench by the table and gave him her most charming smile. “Oh my, the famous pirate! Will you not enlighten me further? Is he very terrifying?”
He watched as she toyed casually with the spyglass. “I can tell you proudly that my master is not terrifying in the least, but blessed with charm and more wit than any other man in France or England.”
“Goodness!” She made a little O with her mouth to encourage him.
“Oh, it’s quite true! M’sieur is handsome and brave as well, and comes from the finest family who think that this is all a lark and one day he’ll come home to take his rightful place on their estate.”
“Are you a relative?”
He squinted and bit his lip. “Not exactly. I was raised on his family’s estate, mademoiselle, and the captain has known me since I was born.”
“Fascinating! But, if your captain is such a paragon of virtue, why should he aspire to become an evil pirate?”
“I take exception to that word, mademoiselle. He is not evil and we really don’t think that he is a proper pirate. He says it himself, that the jauntier term ‘sea rogue’ is more fitting! Even his enemies name him thus.” Warming to his subject, Pierre leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his neck. “His own maman has often said, ‘My son loves the chase, indeed he loves it to a fault!’ And Madame is correct. M’sieur is intoxicated by the thrill of pursuit. Even his ship is christened Pursuit!”
Antonia felt a little shadow darken her mood. If the Sea Rogue and Jean-Philippe Beauvisage were one and the same, that would explain his passionate interest in her, his insistence that he would find her and claim her at any cost. Was it all about the chase for him?
“Pierre, you can trust me. Will you not confide your captain’s true name to me?”
He took a deep breath, considering, clearly susceptible to her feminine charms. Leaning forward, the cabin boy gave her a confidential smile. “I do feel I can trust you. My captain—”
“Has a traitor for a cabin boy!” thundered a voice from the doorway.
In strode the Sea Rogue—or was it Jean-Philippe Beauvisage? Antonia felt hot blood rush to her cheeks. She watched in horror as he lifted Pierre DuBois out of the chair by his collar and shook him as if he were a misbehaving dog.
“You are very arrogant!” she cried before she could remember to be afraid of him herself. “But it is only what I would expect from a pirate.”
“Mademoiselle,” Pierre implored, “please do not defend me to him. It will only complicate matters!”
“Sang Dieu, do not speak of me as if I were not in the room! I perceive there has already been enough of that for one day!” He set Pierre on his feet and gave him a little shove. “Do something useful. Bring food and wine, and a hot bath for our…guest.”
Moments later, they were alone. He turned to Antonia and stared at her in a way that she found both frightening and thrilling. “You know the answer to your question already, do you not? I am Jean-Philippe Beauvisage!”
“The Sea Rogue,” she added, proud to hear the trace of defiance in her voice.
Chapter 7
“You must not go behind my back,” Beauvisage commanded. “If you want to know something, ask me. I will tell you the truth.”
“To be honest, sir—or should I call you Captain? Do pirates achieve so honored a rank?”
She sounded very innocent, but somehow he knew better. “You may call me Jean-Philippe. We are both hungry, I think. Let us share some wine and cheese before we order baths.” He crossed to the carved chest where he kept wine, cider, and a few edible items for those times when he didn’t want to ring for Pierre. Choosing a round of Brie cheese wrapped in a cloth, an apple, and a bottle of wine, he returned to the table and set them before her. “May I serve you?”
“You are too kind.”
“Do you mock me?”
“On the contrary, I do not want to arouse your wrath. I fear you might lift me into the air and shake me by my collar.”
Her boldness surprised and intrigued him. He wanted to tell her that it was not his wrath that she aroused, but instead he poured wine into cups, brought a knife, and joined her on the bench. “This wine is made from Chinon grapes grown by my family. If you close your eyes and sip, you may detect the essence of violets.”
“Does your family make this wine?”
Beauvisage nodded, watching her as she hesitantly closed her eyes and drank. There was a little pulse at the base of her creamy throat, and still that fragile chain with his ring on it, tucked inside her bodice. To distract himself from the urge to lift her onto his lap and kiss her into submission, he deftly cut the apple into wedges and spread cheese on one.
“For you, my lady.” Their fingers brushed as she accepted it from him. “When did you last eat?”
“Real food? Not since we left London. I did ingest some weak tea and a sort of gruel early this morning.” She gave a delicate shudder, smiling.
As captivated as Beauvisage had been by her aura of sadness the night they met at Rayne Hall, he was even more drawn to this beguiling lady. “If I feed you, will you tell me more about your life in Russia?”
A shadow passed over Antonia’s face and she seemed not to see the new portion of fruit he had placed before her. “I don’t have very much to say, I’m afraid. My father was a baron and we had very comfortable life in St. Petersburg, until Papa was killed in a duel when I was ten years old.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been a terrible loss.”
“Yes…Papa was charming, but very reckless. At least we were able to keep our home and estates, thanks to the edicts of Tsar Pyotr.” As if sensing his interest, she seemed to relax. “During my mother’s life, a woman’s lot in Russia changed dramatically because of the tsar. By the time Papa died, a wife could manage an estate without her husband. In fact, such independence was encouraged! Women began to dress and behave with the freedoms of women in the West.”
“And your mother was up to this challenge?”
Antonia finished her apples and cheese, nodding. “Oh, yes! It wasn’t easy for her to change from the sheltered, restricted existence women had been consigned to before, but Papa encouraged her. She went to court with him and entertained guests at our home.” Making a little moue, she added, “My grandmama thought it was all very scandalous, but the tsar insisted on these changes as part of his grander plan for Russia.”
“So, you and your family lived an enlightened life in St. Petersburg, even after your father’s death?” Jean-Philippe asked. He poured more wine and sat back to listen, fascinated.
“Enlightened, yes, but also quite wonderful.” She blinked back tears. “After Papa died and my brother, Misha, went away to university, Mama and I became very close. She was really my best friend, including me in everything, even the finances of our estate. We did needlework together every day, gardened and entertained together, and read aloud. She listened to all my dreams and helped me to believe that I could make of my life whatever I wanted.”
“And then there was a fire…Mon Dieu, an unspeakable tragedy. Am I to understand that it has only been a few months since you lost both your mother and your home?” Jean-Philippe wanted to put his arms around her, but he sen
sed that she was wary of him.
“Yes…it was just after the new year. I still can’t really believe that I will never see my mother again. I like to pretend that she is merely away, at our country house.” Antonia gave a deep sigh and shook her head. “Several of our beloved servants were killed in the fire as well…and our precious, little dog, Gleb.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I think he chose to stay with Mama rather than run below the smoke to safety.”
“I wish there was something I could do to ease your pain.” He was powerless, a feeling he hated. “No doubt you would like to be reunited with your maid. She is here, you know.”
“Oh, thank God! Yes, Zoya will be worried about me, especially knowing I am in the clutches of a wicked pirate.”
Seeing the spark of humor kindle again in Tonie’s green eyes, he smiled. “I’ll have Pierre fetch her to help you with your bath. Then we’ll have a proper meal.”
She nodded and took a last sip of wine. “That does sound lovely. I must confess to you that these quarters are vastly preferable to that horrid, airless cabin Ormond locked me in on his ship.”
“You must think of this as your home as long as you are on board Pursuit.”
“Thank you.” A smile lit her beautiful face. “And where will you sleep?”
Beauvisage rose and stretched his strong arms overhead, longing for a bath of his own. “Oh, I’ll sleep here, too. I really have no choice. But don’t worry, I won’t disturb you…” Pausing, he glanced back over one shoulder and arched an irrepressible eyebrow. “That is, unless you beg me to.”
* * *
Antonia’s bath turned out to be a modest affair, conducted in a small copper tub filled with warm water. Once Zoya had joined her and Pierre had assured them of privacy, she let her maid persuade her to undress.
Stepping into the shallow tub, she washed with the bar of French lavender soap Pierre had provided. Zoya brought a bucket of fresh water and scooped it over her with a giant ladle. They even soaped and rinsed her hair.
“Oh, it feels delicious!” Antonia heard herself exclaim happily. “Don’t you think this is the most surprising place, Zoya? Do you see, the pirate has a handsome washstand built into the wall, with a perfectly clean basin.”
“He seems to be quite civilized for a savage,” her nurse allowed. She brought the soft linen cloth Pierre had provided for Antonia to dry herself with.
“Yes, exactly! You have summed him up perfectly.”
“He has brought your trunks, I see.” Opening the one she knew to contain Antonia’s underclothing, Zoya brought out a clean shift. “It is nearly evening. What do you want to wear?”
She couldn’t help laughing. “Considering the wild appearance of my host, I don’t think I need to stand on ceremony. It is warm and I want to be comfortable! I will wear only my shift and a simple gown. Perhaps the yellow muslin with the ivory lacing.”
Zoya looked skeptical, but brought the garments and helped her dress. “And what does this pirate mean to do with you, my lady? I have been consumed with worry for your safety ever since he carried you off the ship!”
“I think—I hope—that he will take me to Misha. He seems to like me…”
“That does not surprise me,” murmured the old woman with heavy irony.
“I mean, I think he really likes me. You see, we met at the ball at Rayne Hall in London! He looked very different there. I think he was in disguise so no one would guess he was the notorious Sea Rogue! You should have seen him, Zoya, wearing satin and lace, powder and patches, like a true popinjay.” She sighed, beaming, even though she could see that Zoya thought she had lost her reason. “And he was very kind to me that night.”
“Perhaps you should rest. You took a quite a blow to your head.”
Antonia sat quietly, thinking, as Zoya dried and dressed her hair into soft curls, pinned up loosely. “It is true that I must guard my heart.”
“Guard your heart?” the servant repeated, outraged. “Against an uncivilized pirate? My lady, he is not worthy of the smallest moment of your regard.”
“Do you know,” she continued as if Zoya had not spoken, “this ship is called Pursuit? I have learned from the cabin boy that Captain Beauvisage loves the thrill of the chase. I can’t help wondering if I am merely another quarry for him, the fox to his hound, so to speak.”
“And I wonder if you’ve had too much wine, mistress! You should take a turn on the deck. The fresh air would do you good!” She brought out Antonia’s fetching country hat and tied it loosely under her chin. “Let us go.”
They were nearly to the door when it swung open and Beauvisage appeared. To the shock of both women, he was once again physically transformed.
“Is something amiss?” he asked, amused. “You are staring at me as if I’ve grown a horn.”
Antonia could scarcely breathe. “On the contrary, Captain, you are looking remarkably presentable!”
Clearly, he had found a bath of his own. All the grime of battle had been scrubbed away and Jean-Philippe’s freshly washed, raven hair was bound in a neat queue at his neck. His tanned face had been shaved, which seemed only to accentuate the careless charm of his smile. He wore a simple, full cambric shirt finished with a white, negligently-knotted stock at his neck and a tawny-brown coat with cuffs turned back and fastened with gold buttons.
Antonia smiled when she saw his jackboots of supple leather. “Those boots are exactly what I had imagined a pirate should wear.”
“Indeed?” His left eyebrow rose. “I wouldn’t have wanted to disappoint you, my dove. I have found that the shoes and stockings favored by London society are highly impractical on board ship.”
“We were about to go above and take in the fresh air,” she told him. “I believe the sun has made an appearance.”
Beauvisage stood still, regarding her for a long moment as if in deep thought. Antonia felt warm blood creep into her cheeks. Either he was imagining what she looked like without clothing or he was trying to read her mind, but to what purpose?
“I have an idea,” he said. “Pierre is about to serve dinner. Would you care to eat on the quarterdeck? I believe it could be arranged.”
“Oh, yes! That would be…perfect.”
Zoya looked suspicious. “Why do you want to do this m’sieur?” she asked in broken French.
“I am learning that your mistress feels more relaxed in open spaces and I wish to make her happy.”
A wave of something akin to joy swept over Antonia. How wonderful he was! She felt his gaze and tried to meet it, but could not, for the sudden promise of happiness was immediately followed by a shadow of foreboding.
* * *
They were seated on the quarterdeck at a little table brought up especially for the occasion. At Jean-Philippe’s behest, Zoya reluctantly joined them. Though Antonia suspected he would much rather be alone with her, it seemed he was willing to endure the old woman’s grim, suspicious stares if it pleased Antonia to have her there.
The sun was a fiery orb sliding toward the sea as they dined on a meal that was modest but delicious. Even Zoya seemed to relax as she savored a bite of stew that the cook had prepared with beef, potatoes, carrots, and other root vegetables. There was crusty, warm bread as well, baked for the captain in the French manner, and a garnet-red wine.
Pierre returned with a bowl of nuts and fruit to finish the meal, accompanied by Roland the monkey.
“Oh, Pierre,” exclaimed Antonia, “now I remember where I have seen you before! You were attending m’sieur at the ball at Rayne Hall and this monkey rode on your shoulder. How different you look without your gold suit and fine wig. And where is your monkey’s little coat and cravat?”
“Roland is a pirate monkey at heart,” Pierre said quite soberly, “and has no patience with a cravat.”
“How did this little rascal come to join your crew?” she asked Jean-Philippe.
“On a voyage to Barbados, our cook’s mate spent a few days on the island and brought him back as a sou
venir,” he replied. “I was certain that Roland was being held captive against his will, but when I ordered them to put him off the ship, he refused to go. He’s been a member of the crew ever since.”
“A born pirate,” Pierre agreed, and the monkey took a wild jump off his shoulder, headed for Zoya’s lap.
Jean-Philippe reached out and caught him in mid-air. “Perhaps Roland ought to be required to wear a cravat. I believe he was more civilized at Rayne Hall.”
“He may simply be hungry,” laughed Antonia. She handed the monkey a cluster of dusky-violet grapes, watching in delight as he neatly ate them. “I must say, this ship is a far cry from Conquerer! There, no one smiled or laughed or seemed to be enjoying the smallest aspect of their life.”
“Oh, my lady,” cried Pierre, “that’s not the case here! You’ll never find a happier crew than those who serve the Sea Rogue!”
Zoya looked on with an expression of renewed disapproval. After adjusting the little veil she habitually wore to conceal the scarred lower portion of her face, she pushed back her chair and spoke to her mistress in muffled Russian.
“Zoya thanks you for the lovely meal, but she finds that she is very tired and would like us to say goodnight and to go below,” Antonia explained with a faint blush.
“I see.” He looked amused. “I perceive that she will not succumb to my charms as easily as I had hoped. Will you remain with me for a short walk on the deck? I know how much you enjoy the open air.”
“I would love that!” she exclaimed impulsively. “It’s a beautiful night.”
“Yes, it certainly is.”
Blushing under his frank regard, Antonia turned to speak to Zoya in Russian. Although she took pains to reassure her, the old woman would not relent in her insistence that her mistress must accompany her.
“I don’t want to be the cause of a problem,” Jean-Philippe said as he watched them.
“No. It is not a problem.” She looked into Zoya’s eyes and said gently, “You must trust me to know what is right for myself. Isn’t it what you have wanted?”
Heart of Fragile Stars (Rakes & Rebels: The Beauvisage Family Book 1) Page 6
