by Andrea Kane
Drake watched from the quarterdeck as the mainsail was hoisted, listening to the men’s banter as they readied the ship for its long journey. He was not fooled by the calm onset of the voyage. There would be many weeks fraught with tension and impending danger before they reached their destination. Times were turbulent, the world situation grim, the odds for survival less than good. He would have to proceed with caution. His life and the lives of twenty other men were at stake.
Nevertheless, exhilaration surged through Drake’s blood. These moments were his happiest. His anticipation was heightened, his senses keen and alert. Here on his beloved La Belle Illusion, with its spotless decks, its immaculately cared for wood, he was home. At sea his purpose was clear, his challenges real. He belonged here far more than he belonged at Allonshire amid the life of shallow indulgence typical of the nobility. Indeed, it was not nobility that resulted in one’s inheriting great wealth and position, but luck. He thought of his father’s vast wealth, his enormous fleet of ships. The war could annihilate all of that in an instant, for what fate would await these grand vessels without the wood needed to build them? The timber that was so rich and plentiful in Canada’s woodlands was the very backbone of the great British navy. Without it, they would crumble.
A triumphant cheer interrupted Drake’s thoughts, and he looked up to see the billowing sails catch hold of the steady wind, propelling the ship down the Thames. He felt a renewed surge of purpose. La Belle was on her way.
Drake stretched, allowing the cold air to work its magic. His other life would disappear along with the receding shoreline. Lord Cairnham would, for the duration of the voyage, cease to exist.
As if reading Drake’s thoughts, Smitty looked up from the helm.
“Captain?” The sharp black eyes took in Drake’s stance, recognized his mental and emotional transition. The fact that Drake had relinquished control of the helm to him meant that his captain was satisfied with their position and speed. Not until they were cruising down the Thames at a brisk clip, did Drake relax and allow his rapt attention to wander.
“Yes, Smitty?”
“The waters are choppy, but not so that young Thomas couldn’t manage,” Smitty suggested.
Drake smiled. Diligent as always, his Smitty. “I agree.”
“Then perhaps you might want to change your clothes now?”
Drake glanced down at himself in surprise. He had completely forgotten his formal coat and pantaloons. Such elegant attire was most inappropriate for grueling weeks at sea, he thought with a grin.
In truth he looked forward to donning his proper sailing attire, for it completed his transition to this other, happier life. To the crew it mattered not how their captain was dressed. His identity was no secret to them. And it made no difference. For though their captain was a born nobleman whose family built and owned the very ship on which they sailed, he was, first and foremost, the proven and undisputed commander of the brig.
With a chuckle Drake agreed. “I believe you are right, my friend. I was in such a hurry to get here from my meeting that changing clothes was out of the question.” He strode across the deck. “I’ll see to it now.” He felt no need to ask if his trunks had been loaded. No doubt Smitty had overseen the task himself. Like his captain, Smitty considered no job on La Belle too menial. He relished the challenge offered by his diverse roles at sea, which were in sharp contrast to his rigid duties at Allonshire.
As Drake headed below, Smitty commanded Thomas to take the helm. Seconds later his heavy steps sounded close behind Drake’s as he followed him to the captain’s cabin. Drake smiled inwardly. A lifelong friend, a superb sailor, and first mate, Smitty would never cease to perform his duties as Drake’s valet. To allow his master to dress himself would be blasphemous in Smitty’s eyes. Though time and again Drake reminded him that this was not Allonshire, it was all for naught. Well, it would give them a chance to talk about the journey ahead.
Alexandria was distinctly unhappy. Her muscles ached, her extremities were numb, and she was convinced that her body would be forever frozen in a contorted position beneath the bed.
The earlier hours of the night had been part of the exciting adventure that awaited her. Alone in the deserted cabin, she had allowed her mind to drift, thinking of her mother’s face when she had come to Alex’s room that evening to collect her for the ball at Almack’s. Instead of her radiant daughter, prepared to meet the potential suitors of a first London Season, she had no doubt found a hysterical Lucy, Alexandria’s lady’s maid, and the note Alex had left. She would be furious but unsurprised. After all, Alex had pleaded for months to be allowed to join her father in Canada, but to no avail. As usual her parents were close-minded and rigid, cold and emotionless, as they had been all her life.
Alex could not change her past, but she intended to change her future. She was certain that this journey represented the opportunity to take matters into her own hands.
Certainty had become indecisiveness just after midnight and had deteriorated into doubt before dawn. When the huge trunks had been brought in and placed in the center of the cabin, doubt had exploded into panic. And as she had listened to the ship come to life, felt it move gracefully from the dock and down the river, she was forced to accept the fact that these quarters were not to remain exclusively hers. Then whose?
Masculine voices just outside the closed door alerted Alex to the fact that her answer was forthcoming. A surge of fear pulsed through her veins, and instinctively she moved farther beneath the bed, closer to the bulkhead, and waited.
The heavy door swung open, and two pairs of male legs entered the room. No doubt there were bodies atop the legs, but from Alex’s vantage point she could not see them.
“I wonder if this journey will be uneventful.” Smitty spoke while locating a pair of black breeches and a white shirt for his captain to wear.
Drake shrugged. “Soon enough we will see if Napoleon has any surprises in store for us. As long as his reign continues, anything is possible.” He sat down heavily on the bed, contemplating the situation. Unfortunately there was no way to know; he could only prepare for the worst.
Smitty tugged off Drake’s boots and placed them beside the bed. “Once we have loaded our timber, we ought to hasten our departure from Canada, should your suspicions of impending war be correct.”
Drake stood, tossing his coat and shirt aside and carelessly dropping his pantaloons. “I agree,” he replied, stretching.
Smitty was unbothered by Drake’s nakedness.
Alexandria was not.
Flat on her stomach, she had frozen at the sound of the bed slats as they groaned beneath Drake’s weight. Once she realized that she was not to be crushed, she remained still, listening to the conversation of the two men above her.
Smitty’s comments were lost to her. All she could focus on was the deep baritone that belonged to the other man. His voice was like rough silk—deep and shivery, yet so pleasing that she strained to hear more, happy to remain there forever.
Until he began to undress.
Although not overly modest, Alex had never seen a man clad in anything less than neck-to-foot attire. Oh, she had wondered from time to time what her reaction would be to an unclothed man. But never in her wildest dreams had she imagined the reaction she was having now, when confronted with the strong, hair-covered legs just inches away from her nose.
Taut muscles defined the well-shaped calves, tapering down to narrow ankles and large feet. He looked like rough silk. A blush suffused Alex’s body as she realized that, instead of closing her eyes and turning away from this forbidden sight, she had a dreadful urge to poke her head out and see just where the powerful hair-roughened limbs would lead. Or worse, to reach out and touch them, to see if they felt like rough silk as well.
And all the while that incredible voice continued to speak, commanding and sure. How could such a devastating voice and such an overpowering body belong to one man?
Alex’s mouth went dry.
&
nbsp; Unaware of the emotional turmoil transpiring beneath his bed, Drake finished dressing, waving away Smitty’s efforts. “Please, Smitty, I do believe I am capable of buttoning a shirt.” He grinned. But when it came to his boots, Smitty’s grumbling grew so loud that Drake relented, allowing his friend to help.
Moments later they exited the cabin, leaving a trembling Alex bewildered and alone.
Alex waited many minutes after their footsteps had faded. When she could bear the discomfort no longer, she wriggled out from her hiding place, whimpering as she flexed her cramped limbs. She was still shaking from the intensity of her physical reaction to the bare-legged stranger. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her raw nerves. Sanity returned, slowly. It’s just fatigue, she assured herself. Fatigue and tension are causing me to panic.
At last she felt her heart rate slow. Whoever the mysterious occupant of the cabin was, he was merely a man.
At five bells an exhausted Drake, satisfied with the ship’s progress, informed Smitty of his intention to go below to dine in his cabin. Upon opening his door, he expected to find one of cook’s fine meals and a hearty drink. What he found instead was a beautiful but disheveled woman clad in a somewhat dusty muslin gown, whose golden brown hair was tousled about her exquisite, delicate features and whose fathomless gray eyes gazed up at him with a mixture of apprehension and candor.
But the haughty words uttered by the unbearably sensual mouth were anything but meek.
“I’m quite hungry, sir. When will luncheon be served?”
Chapter 3
“WHO THE HELL ARE you?” Even as Drake’s furious voice boomed out, he realized that his first impression had been accurate. The fairy-tale creature sitting stiffly at his desk was terrified, the vein in her slender neck pulsing rapidly despite her bravado. At his angry words she swallowed and clutched her hands more tightly together, but she did not flinch or drop her wide gray gaze from his shocked, burning one.
She replied in a voice that rang with confidence, “Who am I? I am Lady Alexandria, daughter of Geoffrey Cassel, the Earl of Sudsbury and the newly appointed governor of York.”
“I don’t give a damn if you’re the queen,” Drake fired back, striding toward her. “What the hell are you doing on my ship?”
Alex blinked but held her ground. “There is no need for profanity, sir, nor is there cause for you to bellow like a wounded animal. If you will address me properly I shall be more than happy to answer your questions.”
Drake almost laughed out loud. Here she was, blatantly trespassing on his beloved ship, yet gazing up at him through those damned spellbinding eyes as though she expected an apology. And, worse, he felt like offering one. He shook his head in amazement.
“All right, Miss ……excuse me, Lady Alexandria.” He spoke in a mocking voice that was deadly quiet. “Now that we have established who you are, may I repeat my second question?” He paused. “What are you doing aboard my ship?”
“Traveling to York and to my father, of course,” she answered primly.
“Of course,” Drake muttered through clenched teeth. “And how, may I ask, did you gain access not only to my ship but to my cabin?”
Alex gave him a bright smile. “I stole in during the night and hid beneath your berth. I had no idea this particular cabin would be occupied.”
Drake counted slowly to ten, then took a deep breath. “Am I to understand that you stowed away aboard my ship without the knowledge of or permission from anyone, including your father?”
A veil of uncertainty momentarily clouded Alex’s clear eyes. “More or less,” she admitted in a small voice. “However,” she continued, regaining her composure, “I am quite certain that Father will welcome the visit.”
“Then why did he not provide you with proper passage and an appropriate chaperon?”
Alex was silent at Drake’s probing question.
He was not surprised.
An image of Geoffrey Cassel appeared in Drake’s mind. He did not know the cold, rigid man well—just well enough to know that the Earl would not care at all for this sort of disruption.
The realization suddenly struck Drake that Alexandria Cassel had no idea of his identity. Further, even if she did, his name would probably be meaningless to her, as it was highly unlikely that her father would discuss business in her presence. Therefore, as far as the nobly bred Lady Alexandria was concerned, Drake was merely a common sailor.
Drake studied the beauty before him, careful to keep his face impassive. So this was Lord Sudsbury’s daughter, this fiery, arrogant creature. She was not what Drake would have expected. Actually he gave her high marks for honesty and for audacity. She really expected him to take her to Canada. Obviously the spoiled little thing was used to getting everything she wanted. That would account for her colossal nerve and bold tongue.
Alexandria felt anything but bold. Her knees were knocking, and her hands felt like ice. Nothing had prepared her for this man who stood before her now, rage contorting his chiseled features. He looked like an avenging Greek god, bronzed and beautiful, with thick black hair and eyes like jade fire, eyes that burned straight into hers, turning her body to a quivering mass. Rather than succumb to her powerful reaction to him, Alex was trying to appear cool and unruffled. But it appeared that she was failing miserably. This sea captain was not impressed with her father’s title or position, and she had an uncomfortable feeling that her next plan, to offer him money, would be no more successful in persuading him to take her to York.
Panic seized her. If she could not persuade him to allow her passage on his ship, it was quite possible that he would dock at the nearest port and demand that she leave. She couldn’t have that. She had come too far to fail.
Moistening her lips, she stood, hoping to minimize the difference in their height, thus giving herself more confidence. Her ploy failed. Even standing tall, her shoulders back, he dwarfed her by more than a foot.
It was time to change tactics. Alex looked up at him pleadingly. “Please, sir,” she began, “I must get to Canada. I would be happy to pay my way.”
“This is not a passenger ship, my lady,” was the cool reply.
“I am aware of that. And therefore I would expect to pay considerably more for my passage. Also”—Alex smiled winningly—”I am an excellent sailor. I could help relieve your men.”
“The kind of relief you would provide would not be at the helm, princess.” The way his eyes raked her slender form left no doubt as to his meaning.
Alex blushed and lowered her lashes.
A nice touch, Drake thought to himself bitterly. The innocent maiden. She really belongs on the stage. Yet a vague feeling of guilt tugged at him. And when a tear slid down her cheek, that feeling intensified.
“Why is it so important for you to travel to York?” he asked in an even tone. “Are you running to something or from it?”
“Neither,” she told him truthfully. “I am just seeking something that I have yet to find.”
“Which is?”
“I cannot tell you until I have found it.”
Drake ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. He would be crazy even to consider allowing her passage. She was a woman and that meant trouble anywhere, but especially at sea, among men who would be without a woman for months. This exquisite little thing would be too tempting a morsel for any man to resist.
“The sea is no place for a woman.” He was stunned to hear his own voice, which sounded as if he was actually contemplating the idea of taking her to Canada.
Alex heard it, too. “I promise to stay out of everyone’s way,” she said eagerly. “I’ll do anything you ask, Captain. Please.” Once again the soft voice and the fathomless gray eyes beseeched him, and Drake felt himself weakening. The weakness infuriated him, and he tensed, staring down at her, wondering at the effect she had on him.
Alex saw him stiffen. I am not reaching him at all, she realized sadly. He must be made of stone.
Until that moment, Alex wo
uld have been correct. But she could not know of the war that now raged inside Drake. While his heart was indeed encased in stone, he could not resist the enchanting vision she made, so small and yet so determined, pleading for passage to York. A faint flicker of warmth sparked inside him. What choice was there really? a small voice in his head whispered. To leave her at some strange port would be barbaric; to turn back to London would be to lose precious time. Besides, he thought, a challenging light intensifying his emerald eyes, the little wench said she could hold her own. Let’s see her do so.
Drake folded his arms across his chest and stared down at her. “Your clothes will have to go.”
“Pardon me?” Alex’s fingers flew instinctively to the front of her gown.
“I said your clothes have to go. I can’t have you walking around the ship dressed so … er, provocatively. Instead of working, my men would be … attempting to enjoy your charms, shall we say?”
Alex’s blush told Drake she understood his meaning.
“I have no other clothes with me,” she protested weakly. “I left in rather a hurry.”
That much was true. Unwilling to risk discovery, Alex had decided against taking a traveling bag with her, for fear that it might hinder her undetected departure.
For the third time his gaze moved over her, slowly this time, taking in every detail of her modestly clad body.
“You are tiny,” he commented, almost to himself. “But I’m sure that young Thomas is not much bigger than you.” He nodded decisively. “I’ll arrange to have some clothes brought in at once.”
