The Far Horizon

by Marsha Canham

  A knock on the door, rattling against the back of her head, sent her jumping half out of her skin.

  It was Young Pitt. He snatched the cap off his head and recited the words he had delivered every night for the past ten days only to have Bella send him away each time with an unladylike rebuke ringing in his ears.

  "The captain requests the pleasure of your company at supper tonight. Eight bells at captain's table."

  Bella opened her mouth to reject the invitation but something made her hesitate. Regardless where this ship sailed or how long it took her to return to England, she could not let Jonas Dante think himself so superior as to turn her into a weak, addle-witted schoolgirl who fell apart at the sight of a naked man. Granted, she had never seen a naked man quite like Jonas Dante. Lord Harper's body had been bone-thin and so pale it was easy to lose him in the bedsheets. Dante's body… his entire body, was made of hard muscle, tanned dark by the years spent in the tropical sun and would make her own look as white as candle wax if laid side by side.

  She blinked, but the image had presented itself unbidden and it remained, sending more of the tiny, spiralling shivers down her spine. Naked, in a bed with Jonas Dante. The breath was caught in her throat and it took a moment for her to realize that Young Pitt was standing there, already anticipating her usual reply.

  "Tell the Captain that I would be delighted to join him."

  "Aye, my lady, I… beg pardon, what? Delighted?" The lad was plainly startled by the change in response.

  "Tell him I accept the invitation to dine."

  "Oh! Oh, aye!" He slammed the cap back on his head and scampered away.

  Bella closed the door and almost instantly regretted her decision. There was no mirror in which to judge her appearance but she suspected she resembled a dockside fishwife. Molly had acquired a coarse brush from somewhere so her hair was reasonably free of tangles, but it needed a good wash—and so did she. Or at the very least a change of clothing.

  She glanced at the berth and frowned. Young Pitt had dragged an enormous leather chest into the cabin the first or second day, when she and Molly were too busy retching into a bucket to care. He had been told to shove it under the berth, which he had, and where it had promptly been forgotten.

  Bella bent over at the waist and peered beneath the wooden frame. The chest was there, untouched. After debating a moment, she hauled it out and unbuckled the leather straps. Inside she found a pair of black moleskin breeches and a linen shirt far more suited to her smaller frame. The sleeves had lace at the cuffs and a ruffled eyelet placard at the throat suggesting it had been purchased with another female in mind. There was also a corset-shaped vest made of rich burgundy brocade fastened down the front with twelve pewter frogs threaded through leather points. There was a matching belt with pewter inlays and a pair of tall goatskin boots, so soft she could fold the soles in her hand.

  Bella sat back on her heels but was almost immediately bumped upright again as Molly opened the door and nearly tripped over her.

  "Beg pardon, mistress. I went down to the galley to fetch some fresh drinking water." Her gaze strayed to the open sea chest. "Gracious! What have you found?"

  Before Bella could stop her, Molly shook the creases out of the new garments and laid them on the berth. There was a second set of clothes beneath the first, which brought on a tiny squeal of delight for she was still wearing the plain gray frock she'd had been wearing the night of the attack. Washing it had faded the blood stains, needle and thread had repaired the tears, but not the memories of how either had come to be there.

  "Oh mistress, are these for us?" She clutched a fistful of black skirting. "Can I truly throw this horrid frock over the side?"

  Bella smiled. "You certainly can. And please, Molly, I think it far past time for you to stop addressing me as mistress or my lady. We are equals on board this ship and I need you to be a friend now more than a maid."

  Molly sank down onto her knees. "But I am that proud being your maid, my lady. I were born beneath the eaves and like as not would have died in a far worse place if you hadn't taken me with you to Truro."

  "We are not in Truro anymore, and have little hope of returning there in the foreseeable future. We are stuck on board this ship and must remain strong. We must support each other in every way possible and… and not allow a handsome smile to sway us."

  Bella was referring to the way some of the crew made excuses to touch their caps or offer up a friendly greeting whenever they saw the women on deck. More so Molly than her, likely because they thought the maid was of more common blood and less apt to snap their heads off for being forward. Young Pitt was clearly smitten and blushed through a stuttered greeting each time he saw her.

  Molly giggled. "Young Master Pitt's smile is, indeed, handsome. I warrant he will grow up to be quite the fine-looking man."

  Bella refrained from blowing out an exasperated breath. "Do not forget he serves at the pleasure of his captain, as do they all. Think you he would smile so handsomely if he was ordered to toss us overboard? I have seen the captain glaring when Young Pitt is distracted and I think he would not need much encouragement to give such an order."

  "Well I have seen the captain staring at you, mistress, when he believes you are not looking, and I warrant he has thoughts on his mind other than having you tossed overboard. 'Tis for certain, he seemed genuinely concerned each time he stopped by the cabin when you were fevering."

  "What? He was in here?"

  "Several times. Mostly he just stood in the doorway and glared like you say he does, but once or twice, when I looked over, he nodded."

  "And you call that being concerned?"

  "Compared to the way he carries on above deck, aye. He is usually shouting and stomping like a brute from one end of the ship to the other. Young Pitt says he is just impatient to get home but that's hardly a fair reason to have a man lashed for lighting a pipe on deck."

  Bella was still mulling over what Molly had said about Jonas Dante stealing looks at her when he thought no one was watching. She was far away from any familiar surroundings and she had all but lost complete control over her immediate future, but hearing this brought a faint smile to her lips, for this was something she knew, something she could possibly manipulate in her favor as she had done so many times in the past.

  Men were all single-minded when it came to women and Bella was nothing if not well-versed in the art of seduction. Up to this very moment, with Dante more or less forcing them into his world, she had felt detached and adrift in a realm she knew nothing about and had no control over. But this… this was something familiar she could sink her teeth into if for no other reason than to relieve the forecast of four more weeks of utter boredom on board the ship.

  She had taken lovers in the past, but she never encouraged them to stay long enough to see anything more than what she wanted them to see. Love had never entered into any arrangement, not even in her marriage to Lord Harper. He had been kind and generous and she had regarded him with some affection, but she hadn't loved him or been in love with him. Seduction, lust, desire she understood. Love was for fairytales, not pick-a-pockets and guttersnipes. Or pirates.

  While it was true that Dante seemed to go out of his way to avoid her, it was also true that at the ball he had not followed her out onto the terrace just to view the moonlight. In truth, she might have found his boldness vaguely appealing had it not been for the encounter with Liam that set her on edge.

  Was he avoiding her… or avoiding the possibility that he might not be as impervious to her charms as he claimed to be.

  It could be interesting to find out.

  She pushed to her feet and reached a hand down to help Molly stand.

  "Come, my girl. I have accepted the captain's invitation to dine tonight and we have some preparations to make before then."

  She dispatched Molly to fetch more water while she stripped out of the baggy clothing. She washed as best she could and let Molly work the tangles out of her hair befo
re dressing again in the new garments.

  "God save us all," Molly murmured, standing back to look at Bella when they were finished. "You look like a proper pirate wench."

  Bella glanced down. The moleskin breeches were as tight as her own skin, the boots came above the knee with a wide turned-down cuff. The shirt had flared sleeves that ended in a gathering of lace at the wrists and the brocade corset trimmed her waist into an hourglass shape.

  Before disposing of the hated gray dress, Molly tore some thin strips off the hem and braided them together to tie Bella's hair into a glossy tail at the nape of her neck.

  "All you need is a hat with a feather in it," Molly declared. "And perhaps a sash with a cutlass strapped to your hip."

  Bella could not help but laugh. "I doubt the captain's generosity would extend to giving us weapons."

  "Certainly not pistols. Not after he saw how you shot straight and true at those men who were chasing us."

  "I don't need a pistol." She lifted the edge of the mattress and showed Molly the dagger she had taken from Dante's cabin the first night. "We are, after all, on board a ship with over a hundred sailors. Pirates. Men who respect no laws but their own, and whose manners—" she paused, her mind flitting back to the sight of Jonas Dante standing naked and wet on deck—"leave much to be desired."

  With the faintest of blushes, Molly dug around in the folds of the discarded frock and brought forth a small dagger with a blade nearly as long and lethal-looking as the one Bella was holding. "Young Pitt gave it to me. He said the captain had spoken to the men about keeping their distance, but some of the blacks only know enough of the king's English to trim a sail. As to the rest of the crew, they are all thieves and scoundrels."

  Bella thought about that for a moment, realizing the irony was lost on Molly, for was she, the erstwhile Bella Baker, not a thief and scoundrel as well?

  Chapter Twelve

  When the muted clang of the ship's bell filtered down through the deck boards eight times, Bella was in the midst of paring away the ragged tips of her nails. Her hands in general were in a poor state and while there were no pockets to pick on board or jewels to snatch off a ruff or a bodice, she practised every day to keep her fingers nimble and her skills honed.

  "The bells, mistress," Molly said quietly.

  "I heard them." Bella looked up and smiled. She poured a dot of whale oil in her hands and massaged it in well, treating each finger and thumb with meticulous care.

  When she judged that twenty or so minutes had passed, making her look neither too eager or too indifferent, she set the dagger aside and jumped down off the edge of the berth. She smoothed her hands down the sides of the corset and adjusted the opening at the neck of her shirt to reveal a hint of the dusky cleft between her breasts. She tugged at the cuffs of her sleeves and tucked a few strands of errant black hairs behind her ears.

  Bella drew a final deep breath, won an encouraging smile from Molly, then left the cabin and walked the five steps along the corridor to knock on Dante's door.

  "Enter."

  She grasped the iron handle, noting for the first time that it was fashioned in the curving body of a salamander… the same salamander as the emerald brooch and the same salamander depicted on Jonas Dante's flag. Something fluttered awake in her belly but she ignored it and pushed the door open, not entirely certain what to expect on the other side. She'd not been inside the great cabin since leaving London and had surely never had occasion to dine with a pirate before. The penny sheets liked to portray pirate captains dressed in richly embossed velvet finery eating off gold plates and drinking out of goblets crusted in jewels, feasting on stuffed swans and whole suckling pigs.

  Thus far the only fare she had eaten besides the tasteless broth was salted fish, bland mutton clotted with grease, and flat biscuits hard enough to snap a tooth off at the gums. Moreover, she doubted Jonas Dante even owned a suit of brocaded silk much less that he should think there would be an affair worthy enough to wear it.

  She was pleasantly surprised, therefore, to see a table at one end of the large cabin laid with snowy white linen. There were only two places set, one at each end. The plates were unpolished pewter and the goblets made of mottled blue glass, but there were two ornate silver candelabra set in the middle offering a touch of elegance. Of more immediate interest was the haunch of beef sitting in a pool of thick gravy. Beside it were bowls of turnips and onions and a fat wheel of yellow cheese. Bella felt all the little glands under her tongue fire at once, flooding her mouth with water.

  At first she did not see anyone else in the cabin and the smell coming from the beef was too enticing to look away. But then she sensed movement in the shadows and glanced at the figure standing at the gallery windows. His dark silhouette was outlined by the view of starlit water behind him and she was about to offer up a witty address when Varian St. Clare stepped forward into the brighter candlelight.

  "Jonas has been delayed on deck," he said with an apologetic smile. "I have been asked to pour you a glass of wine and entertain you with scintillating conversation until he finishes the task at hand."

  She glanced at the two place settings. "You are not dining with us, Your Grace?"

  "Varian, please. And no, not tonight I'm afraid. The crew and officers from the first mate down always eat together on Sundays."

  "Today is Sunday?"

  "Absent sermons and choir music, yes."

  "I seem to have lost track of the days."

  "At sea each day looks like the last and promises to look the same as the next. Chedley—the cook—does his best to keep the days straight for the crew. Fresh beef on Sundays when we have it, pickled pork when we run out. The men can count forward or back on their fingers to figure out the other days if they have a burning need to know. We did have a priest on board once," Varian recalled as he stepped over to the sideboard to pour Bella a glass of wine. "A guest from one of the galleons we captured. He spouted nothing but fire and brimstone from dawn to dusk and the men eventually tossed him over the side to give their ears a rest."

  "You drowned a priest?"

  The duke grinned and handed her the wine. "It was shallow water. We could hear him praising God for his salvation as he waded ashore."

  They heard a husky laugh from the doorway. "Aye, and we heard the cannibals beating their drums, praising their own gods for providing a holy feast that evening."

  Bella turned. Jonas Dante was standing behind her, one shoulder propped against the door jamb in much the same manner as when she had first been introduced at the birthday celebration. Then he had caught her out as a nimble-fingered thief. Now he had caught her out at her own game by arriving late and making her wait.

  He pushed away from the door, hung his tricorn on a peg, and walked to the sideboard to pour himself a goblet of wine. He frowned slightly when he saw the linen and the candelabra on the table and Bella surmised it must have been either Varian St. Clare or Young Pitt who was responsible for the attempt at civility.

  "I had better get below," Varian said, "or the best bits will be gone."

  He finished his wine, offered up a polite bow, and exited the cabin, pulling the door closed behind him.

  When he was gone, Dante moved closer to the table. "Varian acts as my conscience where the crew is concerned. They feel less obliged to guard their tongues when he is playing the fiddle and singing ditties with them. That, and the fact it is wiser for a captain not to make too many friends belowdecks. They tend to die with some frequency." He paused a beat and added, "Sundays I usually eat alone, but if it makes you uncomfortable…?"

  "I am not uncomfortable in the least, Captain."

  "Good. I thought that perhaps, after what happened this afternoon, you might be a little hesitant."

  Once again the image of him standing naked and sparkling wet under the sunshine flitted across her mind, but she smiled and feigned ignorance. "What happened this afternoon?"

  Dante's eyes glittered and he matched her smile. "Please. Sit
. I'm hungry enough to slice up a whale and eat him raw."

  He did nothing quite so civilized as to hold the chair for her, but he did wait until she was seated before plunging his knife into the beef and carving off several thick slabs. He shared them equally between the two plates, along with heaping spoonfuls of turnips and onions, drowning the lot in gravy.

  Initially Bella had doubts as to whether she would be able to consume a tenth of what he put on the plate, but the meat was delicious and she soon found herself following his example and breaking up a hard biscuit to soak up the juices.

  Dante ate his portion and helped himself to another of equal size.

  "Goodness no," she said in answer to him holding up a slice of skewered meat. "Another morsel and I shall pop buttons for sure."

  The comment was meant to draw his gaze downward, which it did, and his eyes lingered on the deep, open vee of her shirt and the two soft half-moons of her breasts peeking through.

  He caught himself staring and brought the dripping slice of meat to his own plate, then reached for the wine. He was a couple of refills ahead of her, but the effect was negligible. She supposed, having tasted the strength of the rumbustion he consumed like water, that he would need to drink a barrel of the claret before it would have any effect… something she could not boast with any certainty.

  It was strong and hearty and after just two glasses, she could feel a welcome mellowness flowing through her limbs. Whatever tension she may have felt at the outset of the meal had begun to dissipate as her belly grew fuller.

  Their conversation thus far had been minimal, limited to trivialities like cannibals and sugar cane and the weather. As the duke had said, Dante made no effort at pretence or social graces—he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and belched when the need arose—but in spite of that, or perhaps because of it, she felt a peculiar level of rustic comfort in his company.

  Bella had not thought him to be particularly handsome before this night, and her opinion had not changed overmuch. Yet it could not be denied that there was something strangely appealing about him. He had not troubled to shave since leaving England and his jaw was shaded by an inch long stubble of beard. His eyes were unquestionably lethal, all browns and golds and shards of green, well-suited to candlelight. She could feel the tips of her breasts tingling whenever he held her gaze longer than a few seconds. It was disconcerting, to be sure, but she blamed any unexpected effects on the wine.