Vanessa played with her nipples. She wanted Bressoff. A low moan escaped her, as she thought about the man who would soon be her lover.
In the next cabin, the gimbal mounted wall lamp flickered, almost dying. The girl in the bunk lay on her side, facing the wall. She slept heavily, her shallow breathing barely moving the cotton bodice of her nightgown. The small pool of light surrounding the lamp did not reach into the depths of the narrow bunk. The girl slept on, unaware of her surroundings.
Finally feeling capable of movement, Dmitri pushed himself clear of the lifeboat. There was a slight roaring in his ears, which he assumed was the sound of the Laurie's engine.
He kept a steady course down the narrow deck, with difficulty. Perhaps the sea was no longer as calm as it had been. He staggered slightly, as he rounded the stern of the ship. There were two doors set side by side facing him. A narrow beam of yellow lamplight could be seen beneath each one.
Which door was Vanessa's? The left! He hesitated. The left, facing which direction? He would not like to enter the wrong room. There was a soft moan from the door on his left. It was the sound of a woman already caught up in passionate fervor.
That could not be the correct cabin. Vanessa must have meant the door on the left, facing the railing. He turned the doorknob gently, testing to see if it were locked. The door swung inward without a sound.
Standing just inside the doorway to orient himself, Dmitri stared in the direction of the bunk. The woman lay on top of the bed covers, facing the wall. Vanessa must have gone to sleep while waiting for him. Dmitri closed the door. Her gown had ridden up over one hip, exposing her slim legs and pale thighs.
Dmitri turned to the lamp and blew it out. There would be time enough to satisfy his curiosity later. He would tease her awake by giving her a dream, which would become real. Dmitri stripped off his clothes, dropping them on the floor next to the bunk.
While climbing into the narrow bed, his legs brushed hers. His fingers found the soft skin on her bare hip. Dmitri pushed the nightgown away and slid his body close to hers. Her body responded to his touch, and she sighed. It had been some time since he was able to enjoy a woman in this fashion.
He must slow down, or everything would happen too quickly. Dmitri's searching fingers found Vanessa's cheek. He stroked the smooth skin, moving downward toward her throat, then her breast. Dmitri pushed the nightgown as far up as possible, before pulling her against him. He felt his body respond; Dmitri wanted more. The gown was definitely in the way. Gathering the cloth in both hands, he deftly pulled the nightdress up over her head.
Vanessa turned, her nipples brushed against his chest, causing him to throb in response. Dmitri put an arm under her neck and used his other arm to pull her tightly to him. His lips found hers. With an incoherent mumble, two soft lips fastened on his, returning his first gentle offering, full fold. One supple leg was thrown carelessly across his.
This moment with this woman was infinitely more rewarding than the verbal pursuit of gold presently going on in the main salon. Dmitri knew in his heart, any man there would gladly give up a large share of their loot, to be in his place at just this moment.
"Oh, cher'!" Vanessa breathed the word against his throat. Inflamed past reason, Dmitri took what the woman so willingly offered. Rolling her over onto her back, Dmitri caressed her legs, as he spread them. Soft, smooth skin seemed to welcome his touch. It had been too long; he could wait no longer. Dmitri slipped into position.
She moaned in pain and tried to wiggle away just as Dmitri felt the barrier give way. She was a virgin! Something was dreadfully wrong here. Passion dissolved, as quickly as it had formed and his foggy brain tried to throw off the effects of the brandy. Rising from the bed, Dmitri searched for a match for the lamp on the nightstand.
As his fingers groped for the matches, the door was thrust open. Dmitri stood stunned. Framed in the doorway was Captain Devins, along with his chief steward, who held a lamp aloft. Devins surveyed the scene calmly.
Abruptly sober, Dmitri hastily glanced at the Captain and his man. His suddenly alert gaze probed the shadows of the bunk. A dark haired girl lay moaning softly on the coverlet. Her body glowed in the lamplight. Camille Simpson, the Captain's niece, lay nude on the disarrayed bed covers. A dark stain could clearly be seen on the white bedspread. Silently, Dmitri turned back to the two men in the doorway. There was nothing to be said.
"When you are dressed Count, I would like you to join me here on deck." Devins’ tone was icy.
Dmitri nodded agreement. Before closing the door, the steward set the lamp on the floor. The shock began to wear off, as Dmitri pulled his clothing back on.
Curiously, he approached the bed. The girl appeared to be sleeping peacefully once again. This cannot be normal sleep! Dmitri thought as he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. Gripping one bare shoulder, he shook the silent girl. With a groan, she turned on her side and curled into a ball.
His mouth tightened into a thin line, as he stared at the girl. She had been drugged! With a sharp curse, he turned his attention to the nightstand beside the bunk. An empty glass, spoon, and a small bottle stood beside a tortoiseshell comb, on the polished surface. Dmitri lifted the bottle and removed the top. He sniffed the contents.
Laudanum! To the girl in the bed, the whole affair would be a hazy dream if she remembered the incident at all. Dmitri groaned. If only he could escape so easily. He glanced at the girl. The bloodstain on the bed mocked him. Dmitri rose, straightened his shoulders and walked toward the door. Captain Devins was waiting.
Samuel Devins was having a difficult time containing his elation. What incredible luck! Somehow the Count had made a dreadful miscalculation. Bressoff now lay in the palm of his hand.
Thankfully, Morrison saw the Count enter his niece's cabin. It had taken only a moment of thought for the captain to see how things unfolded. The Count must have made an arrangement with Miss O'Hare, whose cabin was next door to this one, the one in which his niece was staying.
The large quantity of brandy the Count consumed surely must have contributed to his error. The man had confused the tart's directions and entered the wrong room.
Bressoff was rich and possessed the contacts necessary to become even wealthier. Samuel Devins, as a relative, would have a share. Undoubtedly, the poor widowed child must be taken care of. With her convent upbringing, the girl would be a suitable wife for a count. Under the circumstances, the man could hardly demur.
Devins fingered the butt of the derringer in his pocket. Restraining Morrison, who was in a hurry to race back and rescue the girl, had been difficult. Detouring to his cabin for a firearm, provided a reason to delay action for a few precious moments. Devins had grasped the possibilities of the situation immediately.
Camille begged him for the opiate before the evening meal. Devins knew she would be unable to save herself from the Russian. The Count had sexually assaulted the wrong woman and was far too drunk to notice.
"How utterly marvelous," he muttered while leaning against the rail, waiting. Forming his features into a stern mask, Devins turned to face his ticket to wealth, as the cabin door opened.
"Well, man, what do you have to say for yourself?"
"Nothing Captain. As for your niece." Dmitri made a downward motion with one hand. "None of this is her fault."
"Of that, I am certain, Count. She had a headache. Camille asked me for laudanum earlier. Camille is a widow. Over a year ago, her bridegroom was killed before the marriage could be consummated. There are times when her grief becomes too great for the poor girl to bear."
The Captain's declaration answered many of the questions Dmitri was about to ask. Her listless demeanor, the circles beneath her eyes, he recalled observing at dinner, now made perfect sense. Dmitri involuntarily glanced back at the closed door of the cabin. The manner in which she responded to him, all was accounted for now.
How deeply involved with the drug was the young woman? Did he now have an opium addict on his hands, as
well as a young daughter? His fingers convulsively clenched into fists for an instant, before he forced his tense muscles to relax.
Devins allowed himself a slight smile, as he watched his quarry. Cornered, Bressoff possessed no way to back out. Honor alone would force him to do the right thing. Welcome to the family. Thought the captain. Samuel dearly wished he could voice the remark. But, this was not a time to gloat. However, it was time to make his position clear.
"I want you to do the right thing by my niece!" Devins drew the derringer and leveled it at Dmitri.
Without a sound, the Count lunged forward and wrenched the gun from Devins' fingers. "I intend to marry the girl, as soon as she can be brought to some semblance of consciousness."
With a snarl, Bressoff threw the gun overboard. "If you ever threaten me again, or cast any doubts on my honor, I shall kill you."
His face was twisted with anger and hatred, as he stared at Devins. The thin jagged scar extending down his cheek from beneath the eye patch stood out starkly in the lamplight. Dmitri turned to the steward.
"Bring a pot of coffee and two cups from the galley. On your way, stop by my cabin, send my man to me here."
Morrison responded immediately. Devins was infuriated. Bressoff had overpowered him and taken control of the situation in front of his crewman. He wanted to call for his First Mate and have Bressoff bound and thrown into the hold, where he would stay until they returned to Seattle.
But, there was too much at stake here. Revenge would put an end to his plans for the future. Worst of all, the Russian was well aware of what he was thinking. Knowledge of his plans stared back at him from the Count's one gray eye.
"I assume you will perform the ceremony tonight, as soon as we are ready?"
Devins managed to control himself. Forcing down his anger, he responded to the Count in a tight voice. "I am agreeable."
With a sharp nod, Dmitri turned toward the cabin door. Devins stepped forward, to join him at the door. Bressoff's large, lean fingered hand closed around the man's upper arm, gripping him tightly.
"I am going to make my fiancé presentable. You, sir, will stay the hell out until invited."
Bressoff quickly reentered the cabin, shutting the door in the captain's face. He made his way to the nightstand. Dmitri found the matches in the top drawer and lit the lamp. Camille lay in a ball, where he had left her.
Closing his eye, Bressoff stood there, fists clenched, shaking with anger. It was the first time he had let down his guard in years.
"Old fool!" Dmitri muttered, castigating himself for his stupidity. Had the girl been a part of some plot by Devins? He glanced at her, then shook his head. Perhaps not. Unless; she felt the need to be unconscious through it all.
"No! Stop it!" He told himself. Dmitri thought of Anya, his wife, of the love he had always seen in her eyes. The grief at her loss flooded him again. He missed her. Why had she left him alone? No, not alone.
There was the child. He recalled how just the sight of his daughter in the early years, brought his grief flooding to the surface, where it had threatened to engulf him. Dmitri learned to live for his baby's sake.
All the other women, over the years, simply eased the physical needs. He had not wanted another wife, Dmitri wanted his Anya.
No one wanted him to name the baby girl Anya. They shook their heads at him, telling him it was not right. He paid them no mind. She looked like her mother and naming her for her mother, somehow kept Anya alive.
Their daughter possessed the same wild free spirit, a blend of the Russian and Tlingit blood, which was her heritage. How would his baby feel about his bringing home a new wife? The entire situation was impossible. How would this child handle waking up a wife and mother tomorrow? He was an ass, an utter ass.
"Enough," he told himself sternly.
Clothing was the first order of business. He opened the wardrobe and stared at the meager contents. Everything there announced to the world the wearer was only recently out of the schoolroom. This situation would have to be remedied. He did not wish to broadcast to the entire world, along with everyone on the island, that his wife was merely a few years removed from childhood.
Only a romantic schoolgirl would drug herself into insensibility. For a fleeting moment, he recalled the first few months after his Anya's death. Hadn't he drugged himself night after night with brandy? No. It was not the same. He dismissed the thought immediately.
Rage coursed through him at the ridiculous predicament he was enmeshed in. He cursed fluently in Russian, English and French, as he jerked open drawers, searching for undergarments for the girl he must marry.
A pink dressing gown hung on the clotheshorse. That and the undergarments he located were tossed in a heap at the foot of the bed. Dmitri dampened a washcloth with tepid water from the china pitcher.
Camille moaned, as she tried to wiggle away from his ministrations. Dmitri forced himself to be gentle, soothing her with comforting words, as he finished the task. Her limp body resisted any efforts to imprison it in the underwear. With a sigh, he gave up the struggle. Dmitri resorted to wrapping her in the dressing gown.
A light scratching at the door disturbed the silence of the small room. "Dmitri? It is I, Gregor."
Dmitri picked up the girl and sat her in the overstuffed armchair, which took up a full quarter of the limited floor space. Hoping she would not slip out of the chair, he stripped the bed. Hurriedly rolling the soiled coverlet about the nightdress, he jerked open the door.
Dmitri pulled the small man who waited on deck into the cabin. "Come in here!" The Count slammed the door shut.
The little half breed stared at his master. "Nephew, what is happening here?"
Dmitri rubbed his hand down his shoulder, absently kneading the scars beneath the cloth. "I am to be married to this lady tonight. You must help me wake her."
"But...why?" Gregor looked around in amazement.
"When she is awake, I want you to be a witness to our marriage. Once it is accomplished, everything in this cabin must be moved into mine. Do you understand?"
"Dmitri, I understand none of this!"
"Damn you, Gregor!" Dmitri shook the little man savagely. Gregor muttered something in Tlingit, which caused Dmitri to release him abruptly.
"Please, Uncle, I am sorry. I will explain everything shortly. No more questions. I..I need your cooperation and your help. Will you help me?"
"Yes, Nephew." Gregor turned to the wardrobe. Removing garments, he began to pack everything into the trunk that stood next to it. There was a discrete knock on the door, and Gregor opened it.
The Tlingit man took the pot of coffee and cups from the chief steward; then he firmly closed the door in Morrison's face. Placing the pot on the nightstand, the small man poured coffee for Dmitri and handed it to him.
"The other cup is for the young lady?" Gregor asked.
Dmitri nodded. Sitting heavily on the edge of the bunk, he drained the cup. The hot liquid burned his mouth, but Dimitri did not care. Empty, the cup was placed on the nightstand. The Count scrubbed one hand over his face, as he watched his man pack the girl's things.
"I drank too much in the salon. Those men, most of them are planning to rip the land apart and leave. I will not be sorry to see them go, but I will be sorry to see our homeland abused in such a fashion. I wanted the woman, Uncle."
"The one with the red hair?" Gregor continued packing, without bothering to look at Dmitri.
"Yes." Dmitri poured another cup of coffee, which he drank in two swallows. He went over to the girl, lifted her from the chair and sat back down with her in his lap.
"Would you please hand me the other cup?" Gregor handed him the mug and watched as Dmitri began to pour small sips of the dark liquid into her mouth while encouraging her to swallow.
"This is the Captain's niece, the Simpson girl. The cook was telling me about her. Her problems are well known among the crew. They have been with Devins a long time."
"Then everyone will soon g
et wind of what happened here." Dmitri ground out.
"Perhaps not, Nephew. You were both at the party hosted by Devins in Mr. Barrow's honor. Mrs. Simpson kept to herself in the garden. You were absent for an hour or so on a walk. You could have met then. Perhaps you two had already developed a liking for each other." Gregor shrugged. "These things do happen."
"True. We could have spent time together the next day. A quarrel of some sort might have ensued." Dmitri held out the empty cup to Gregor, who promptly refilled it.
"I think it is the story we shall allow to get out. We became enamored of each other the night of the party. The following day we had a lover's quarrel. That would provide an answer for our treating each other as strangers at dinner last evening and tonight as well.
Then, after dinner, we settled our quarrel. In a moment of passion, we sealed the affair, with a marriage ceremony performed by the Captain in the middle of the night. If nothing else, it is a romantic fiction that should appeal to the gossips aboard."
Dmitri continued to force coffee down the girl, with help from Gregor once he packed the trunk. On the third cup, Camille began to struggle, writhing and trying to twist herself out of Dmitri's arms. He set her on her feet and started to walk her around the cabin.
When her protests became verbal, Dmitri put the cup in her hands. "Drink this."
"No! ..Leggo.....Need sleep."
"Not yet, Camille." Dmitri forced her to drink the remaining coffee. She sputtered, gagging slightly.
"Stop!" Camille pushed against his chest with both hands.
The mug fell to the floor. Dmitri picked it up, placed it on the nightstand and reached for Camille. Taking the dark haired girl by the shoulders, he shook her gently.
"Camille, if you do something for me, I will let you go back to sleep. I will leave you alone if you just reply 'yes' when I tell you to do so. Do you understand me, Camille?"
"Oui," she whispered.
"No, it must be in English. "Yes!" And you must say it louder. You need to speak up." He shook her again.
Behind the Raven Mask Page 2
