Andrea Kane (4 page)

Alex gave him a smile that could have melted a heart of ice. “Thank you, sir,” she replied. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

Was this beautiful angel with the soft voice the overindulged, willful brat that the captain had just described?

“It was no trouble, my lady. I hope it is to your liking.”

“It looks heavenly!” Alex’s mouth watered as she realized she hadn’t eaten in nearly a day.

Smitty grinned at her open enthusiasm. “Is there anything else I can bring to make you more comfortable?”

She turned wide gray eyes up to him. “Oh, no. I have no intention of getting underfoot, really. But I do thank you. Captain Barrett is most fortunate to have such a fine man as you working for him.”

Smitty beamed, captivated by the delightful and unspoiled young woman before him. She was too guileless to harm anyone, too special to leave anyone unaffected, even his captain. Feeling suddenly quite jovial, Smitty added, “My name is Smitty, my lady, and should you think of anything—”

“Lady Alexandria has everything she needs, thank you, Smitty.” Drake’s cold voice came from the open doorway. He wasn’t sure why, but it infuriated him to see this beautiful and undoubtedly lethal young woman completely spellbind Smitty. He strode across the room, a small bundle of clothes beneath his arm. “You may go, Smitty,” he stated flatly.

Smitty looked up in surprise. “Very good, Captain.” He gave Alex a supportive smile and headed toward the door.

“Thank you again, Smitty,” she called after him. “You’ve been very kind.”

“My pleasure, my lady.” And he was gone.

“Have you finished charming my crew, princess?” There was an angry gleam in Drake’s eyes as he stood before her, formidable and strong.

Alex looked puzzled. “I don’t know what you mean, Captain Barrett.”

Drake snorted. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Lady Alexandria. You may have fooled Smitty, as you probably have the rest of the world, but I am not so easily deceived. Therefore, kindly save your coyness and your shy smiles, for they would be wasted on me. And never let me see you use your charms on my men, or you will be off this ship before you can catch your breath. Understood?”

Alex studied his blazing eyes in total bewilderment. “I don’t know why you dislike me so,” she said at last. “I have no intention of seducing your crew, Captain.” She gave him a frosty look. “So you can rest easy. All I want is to reach York as soon as possible. Then you and I will be rid of each other forever. You see, I don’t particularly like you either.”

An explosive silence filled the room. Finally Drake tossed her the parcel of clothes. “Change. Now.”

“I don’t take orders, Captain.” She lifted her chin defiantly.

“On my ship you do.”

Alex took a deep breath and swallowed her pride. “Very well, Captain Barrett. If you will be so kind as to leave the room I shall be happy to comply with your
request.”

Drake cocked his head. “Leave the room? Princess, I have no intention of leaving the room. This cabin is mine.”

“Very well, then. If you will show me to my quarters I shall be happy to be out of your way.”

“You are looking at them.”

“Pardon me?”

“I said you are looking at your quarters.”

“Here?” Her tone was incredulous.

“Here.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said.”

“That is impossible.” Alex’s hold on her temper snapped. “If you think I would share a room with you, then you are sadly mistaken.”

“Am I? Then suppose you tell me just where you are going to sleep. There is not one empty cabin on this ship.” Triumph gleamed in his eyes.

“But I can’t … I never—”

“Oh, I’m sure you can, and I doubt you’ve ‘never.’ But fear not. I have no intention of sharing my bed with you.”

“But you said—”

“I said that these are your …
our
quarters. I will arrange for a cot to be brought in here for you.”

“Surely the cot could be placed elsewhere?” she tried in a small voice.

“Certainly. Which crewman would you like to sleep with?” Drake inquired smoothly.

Alex shuddered.

“Exactly,” Drake replied. “So, if there is no further discussion, change your clothes.”

Alex looked at the breeches and shirt she now held in her hands. “Turn your back,” she demanded.

Drake grinned, leaning against the wall. “I see that you insist on continuing this virginal pretense with me. Princess, I know what your world is like and how little importance is placed on virginity—except by vehement fathers and ignorant bridegrooms, that is.”

Alex stared at him for one last moment and realized that she would never win. Slowly she reached behind her for the buttons of her gown, opening them all the way down the back. With shaking hands, she pulled her arms out of the sleeves until the dusty gown dropped to the floor. The petticoat followed shortly thereafter. In her lacy chemise and pantalets, she stared at the floor, praying for courage.

Drake watched her disrobe, his reaction mixed. On the one hand he felt the need to break her, to force her to admit to what she was. He had learned very young, and firsthand, just how hypocritical most noblewomen actually were, beginning with the deceitful bitch who had borne him. And this one could be no different.

On the other hand she looked so very fragile, trembling as she undressed, that he almost believed she was just what she seemed to be—innocent, untouched, and terribly frightened.

In short he felt like a bastard.

Now, as she stood before him, head bowed, so very vulnerable, a third reaction set in. Desire. It exploded through his loins like wildfire, igniting everything in its path. So intense and sudden was this physical craving that it took every ounce of self-control for Drake to remain where he stood and not go to her.

But he found that control.

Cursing himself and the whole situation, he spun around and strode to the door. “I’m needed on deck.”

He slammed the door behind him, leaving a shocked and dazed Alexandria standing in the middle of the cabin.

“T
HESE BLASTED SLEEVES ARE
endless!” Alex swore under her breath. Impatiently she cuffed them for the fifth time, at last revealing her hands and wrists. Fortified by her excellent meal, she was itching to explore the ship. But her borrowed clothing, it seemed, had other ideas. Putting on the damned shirt had taken forever, and she had yet to attack the problem of the breeches.

At that thought she glared over at the crumpled garment in question. The breeches lay in a disheveled heap on the floor, where she had thrown them moments ago in a fit of rage. Never again would she complain about the layers of feminine attire that Lucy assisted her with each day! They had never given her as much trouble as these simple men’s clothes had.

Well, her initial optimism had been squelched, but grim determination remained in its stead. Alex strode across the room and lifted Thomas’s breeches from the cabin floor. Come hell or high water, these were going on … now. With one purposeful tug the breeches were up. And just as quickly they were down, landing in a black pool on the floor.

So much for the pleasures of a tiny waist. Alex frowned, considering her options. At last a solution occurred to her. With lightning speed she pulled the pins and ribbons out of her once carefully curled hair, which badly needed to be combed out anyway. Then she tied the ribbons together into a crude but serviceable belt.

Now for the breeches. Holding them up to her waist, she looped the makeshift belt around and bound it securely in front. Then with a disgusted sigh she leaned over and rolled the bottoms up again and again until she could walk without tripping.

Boots would be an impossibility, she decided. No man, no matter how young, would have such diminutive feet. Shrugging, Alex slid her bare feet back into her slippers. If she followed form she would be barefoot shortly anyway. She always was when she sailed. It was one of the freedoms she allowed herself when she was alone on her beloved skiff, unchaperoned and unhindered by convention.

Her hair. She needed no one to tell her of its appearance. A quick appraisal of the cabin revealed no comb. Ah, well. There was a solution to everything. Her fingers were the closest thing she had to a comb. Using them, she carefully untangled the thick waves until they cascaded in moderate disarray and total freedom to her waist. She longed for a mirror to tell her the results of her handiwork. There was none. Actually, she amended with a wry grin, that was probably a blessing, considering her state of dress.

Well, for good or for ill, she was ready. Alex moved along the deserted passageway leading to the stairs. She could hear voices coming from the deck above, as the men engaged in cheerful banter with one another. The ship’s movement was brisk and steady as it cut cleanly through the slapping waters of the river.

Alex felt relief wash through her.
The crewmen are too busy to notice me,
she told herself as she climbed the steps.
My presence won’t affect them in the least,
she assured herself, strolling onto the deck.

You could have heard a pin drop on the main deck.

Twenty pairs of male eyes stared, unblinking and unbelieving, as the shockingly dressed young woman walked calmly to the railing to inhale deeply of the cold air.

They are appalled by my atrocious attire.

They were stunned by her unconcealable beauty.

No amount of effort could diminish Alexandria’s regal presence. The ill-fitting garments she wore hid some of her feminine curves, but they did little to detract from her fine-boned, delicate features or from the graceful sway of her hips, emphasized by the breeches that clung to them.

Embarrassed by what she construed as disapproval, Alex tried to ignore the men’s stares. She gazed around her with genuine pleasure, noting every detail of the magnificent ship. Although still not allowed full freedom, the sails snapped proudly in the crisp wind, the heavy masts gleamed in the thin sunlight, and the decks shone, polished and clean. Alex ran her hand appreciatively over the timbers. She had never seen a ship of this size up close and had only dreamed of sailing on one. Like a child opening her Christmas presents, she wanted to take it all in at once—the smells, the sounds, the very essence of the three-hundred-ton merchant brig. The enthrallment of discovery glowed in her eyes and spoke volumes to the two men who watched from their lofty positions on the quarterdeck.

“That child is a rare treasure,” Smitty commented. “I cannot blame the men for staring.”

Drake gave the wheel a vicious turn. “That is shock you are seeing, Smitty. Total, utter disbelief. I should never have agreed to this insanity.”

Smitty fought back his smile and his taunting retort as well. “Not merely shock, Captain,” he disagreed mildly. “Admiration. Lady Alexandria is a beauty.”

Drake’s jaw tightened. “That’s lust, Smitty, not admiration. Most people are ruled by lust—unless, of course, they are ruled by greed or power. In this case, it is lust.” He gave a snort of disgust. “The fools cannot take their eyes off her. Do they realize how ridiculous they look?”

“I suppose not, Captain.” Smitty again refrained from mentioning that, whatever the men’s affliction, Drake seemed also to be suffering from it.

Drake could not tear his gaze from her. Damn it, he had thought the clothes would do a better job of disguising her charms. Instead, they clung in all the right places and made her look even smaller and more vulnerable, dwarfed within them. He wanted to wring her neck.

He hadn’t noticed the color of her hair before; the cabin had been too dimly lit. It was like honey, rich and golden brown with droplets of sunlight drizzling through it. Loose and unbound, it was thick and silky, and Drake had an uncontrollable urge to wrap handfuls of it around his fingers, to feel its texture against his mouth. God damn her. She had to be doing this on purpose; no woman could be as oblivious as she to the impact her presence made. Yet she hadn’t even looked at him—or at any of his men, for that matter. She couldn’t seem to stop admiring the ship.

He watched her stroke the polished wood of the hull in a sensual caress that Drake could almost feel. His loins tightened so painfully that he nearly groaned aloud. He closed his eyes, struggling for control.

“You have an exquisite ship, Captain.”

Drake’s eyes flew open as Alexandria addressed him. He looked down to where she stood on the main deck, her clear gray eyes regarding him without a trace of guile.

Damn her.

“And you have excellent taste, my lady.” His aloof tone gave no indication of the internal struggle that raged within him. “She is indeed a beauty.”

“And she has a great deal of spirit,” Alex noted.

Drake relaxed a bit. “Yes, she does.”

“Of course, she should be allowed more freedom.”

“Pardon me?” His brows rose in disbelief.

“We will soon be in open waters,” Alex explained calmly. “Can you not feel the increase in motion? There is a fine breeze from the northeast, so it is unnecessary to keep her so tightly in check. She should be allowed to pick up speed, to move more rapidly with the wind.”

Drake’s eyes had darkened to a forest green, a warning light flaring within them. How dare she criticize the way he ran his ship. Not even Smitty, who knew as much about sailing as Drake did, would be so bold.

“Before long it will be night,” she continued, oblivious to the tempest brewing before her. “You will be reducing sail by taking in the staysails, royals, and flying jib. Why not gain as much distance as possible prior to darkness? Then we can pick up speed when we set the canvas again at daybreak. That way—”

“Enough!” The eruption was expected—in fact, considered long overdue—by all those cringing sailors within earshot. But Alexandria looked stunned by the outburst.

Drake was blazing with rage. Hastily Smitty hurried to the helm, anticipating the confrontation that was about to occur. Drake swung his long body down to the main deck, taking slow, threatening steps toward a startled Alexandria.

“You neglected to include one small detail in your eloquent discourse.” His tone was scathing as he stopped, his eyes burning down into hers. “And that is that the fair wind of which you speak will become a foul one when we reach the Strait of Dover, in which case we would have to wait in the Downs until nature chooses to reverse the winds and allow us access to the Channel. Should this be necessary, it would increase our risk in the Goodwins, the treacherous sandbanks that could mean our destruction. Therefore it is infinitely more prudent to move at a more cautious pace, hoping that the wind will change as we reach the strait and thus ensure our swift journey down the Channel.” He drew in a slow breath, striving for control.