Andrea Kane (7 page)

Damn her, why did he believe her? Why, despite his unyielding conviction that all women were treacherous, did his mind refuse to doubt this woman’s sincerity? What was it about her that touched some unknown part of his heart that he had never known existed?

Damn her.

Drake released her so abruptly that she almost fell. Without a word he strode over to the desk, scooped up his clothes, and started dressing.

Alex was numb. She wrapped her arms around her shaking body and listened to him thrashing about. What was he thinking? What was he feeling? Suddenly it had become important to her to know.

“Drake?” His name fell naturally from her lips. She couldn’t know the impact that single utterance had on his throbbing body, which still clamored for release.

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

Drake slammed into his boots, then stood and crossed the room.

“I’m leaving,” he shot back. “You’ve gotten your wish, princess. The cabin is yours.” He yanked open the door, allowing a weak shaft of light into the room.

To Alex he appeared furious, his jaw clenched, his eyes glittering as they studied her.

“I don’t understand.” She looked to him for clarification of his words. Even carelessly dressed, his black hair mussed, the shadow of a beard on his face, he was the most handsome and compelling man she had ever seen.

Drake took a deep, shuddering breath. In the dim light he could distinguish every one of Alex’s desirable curves beneath his billowy shirt. Her tawny hair was wildly tousled, her lips swollen from his kisses. She was positively bewitching. If he did not leave this minute he would go to her, take her to bed, and love her as she had never been loved before. And damn her protests to hell.

“The cabin is yours. For the duration of the trip I will share Smitty’s cabin.” He paused, wanting her, hating himself for wanting her. “Good night, princess.”

The door slammed and he was gone.

Alex stood where she was, feeling cold and alone. She had gotten her wish and her privacy—everything she had wanted.

She waited for relief to flood her senses, to ease her despair.

It did not surprise her that it was not forthcoming.

T
HE SAILS WERE BEING
hoisted into a dawning sky as Alex poked her head topside. Clad in clean clothes, her stomach filled with the cook’s delicious breakfast, she was ready to tackle
La Belle Illusion.

She watched, fascinated, as one hundred feet above her, two men hoisted the royals. With grace and precision they moved quickly from one line to the next, their muscles bulging from the strain. Minutes later a whoop of success signaled the unfurling of the final sail. Ahead the horizon promised sunshine and smooth seas.

A new day. Filled with new hope.

“Good morning, my lady.” Smitty came over to greet her.

A genuine smile of pleasure lit her face. “And a good morning to you, Smitty.”

“How was your first night aboard
La Belle?”
he asked without thinking.

A crimson stain spread across Alex’s face as she wondered how much Smitty knew of the previous night’s events. Perhaps her brazen behavior was now common knowledge aboard
La Belle Illusion.
The thought made her ill.

The moment the words had left his mouth, Smitty wanted to kick himself. Whatever had transpired between his captain and Lady Alexandria was none of his business. But her reaction to his question told him that she thought otherwise. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The motion of the sea is not easy to become accustomed to,” he qualified. “It is for this reason that I asked about your evening.”

Alex instantly relaxed. Whether he knew of her scandalous actions or not, this kindly older man was making it clear that the others were not privy to the details of her sleeping arrangements. “My night was fine, Smitty. And thank you for the clean clothes and the food you left outside my door this morning.”

“You are most welcome,” Smitty chuckled. “But just how did you know that it was I who left those things for you?”

She shrugged. “Who else would see to my comfort?”

The unspoken name lay between them.

“Lady Alexandria,” Smitty ventured, at last, “I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but, in time, I think you will find
all
the crew to be loyal and caring men.” He gave her a meaningful look. “I suggest you give them a chance.”

Alex sighed. “I will certainly try, Smitty.”

He nodded, content with her answer. “You seemed quite taken with
La Belle Illusion
last night,” he continued, brushing a shock of white hair off of his forehead. “Your knowledge of sailing is admirable. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask them.”

Realizing that he meant to leave her, Alex touched his arm in an unconscious appeal. “There is much that I want to learn, Smitty. Must you go?”

Smitty hesitated, glancing down at the small hand on his sleeve.

“Yes, my lady, he must.” Drake’s commanding voice pierced the silence. As his handsome, powerful figure strode toward them, Alex searched the brilliant green eyes for a hint of his mood. Would he be angry and manifest that anger in his treatment of her? She’d heard terrifying stories about the brutality of sea captains. And Drake certainly looked the part—so hard and formidable. Unconsciously Alex’s eyes strayed to his full, sensual mouth. Memories of that mouth on hers swept, unbidden, through her mind and body. Her heartbeat accelerated, her palms grew damp.

Drake watched her reaction, the bright color that stained her cheeks, her reluctant concentration on his mouth. He swallowed, deeply.

“Much as I would like to oblige you, I am afraid it is impossible right now, my lady.”

Her startled gaze met his. “Pardon me?” She was mortified that he could read her thoughts.

Drake treated her to a slow, devastating smile. “I would like to oblige you by providing Smitty as your guide, but I do require his skill at the helm.”

“Oh, of course … I understand.” Relief, overwhelming though it was, was short-lived, as Alex saw the triumphant gleam in Drake’s eye. She held her breath, expecting more taunting, but when he spoke again, his tone was aloof, businesslike. “Make yourself at home, princess. If you require something of importance, we will be at the helm.” Without waiting for a response, he turned to Smitty. “Is there anything I need to know?” At Smitty’s negative shake of the head Drake looked upward, his sharp gaze taking in every detail of the ship’s rigging and the clear skies around her. “Fine. I’m going to relieve Thomas.”

“Captain?” Alex spoke without thinking.

He turned to face her. “Yes?”

“Since I am going to be a passenger on
La Belle Illusion,
is there nothing I can do to assist your crew?”

He walked over slowly, his expression impassive. “And what would you suggest, my lady?”

Alex stood tall, ignoring the sarcasm in his voice. “I am quite skilled, sir, and I hate to be idle. Merely tell me what you wish of me.”

Drake folded his arms across his chest, tapping his chin thoughtfully with his forefinger. “Are you strong enough to lift cannonballs from the hold, should they be needed?” He shook his head in answer to his own question. “No, no, of course you’re not. Hmmm … I know. You can load the powder and assist the gunners in case of an attack. No, that won’t do. You’ve probably never even held a gun in your dainty hand. Any experience at swabbing a deck? No, of course not; you have servants to do your swabbing. Perhaps, with your vast knowledge of sailing, you could handle the rigging? No, I suppose a small skiff would not present a similar challenge. I know! You can assist the sailmaker. Surely you are a fine enough seamstress to mend canvas? No? Well, princess, I seem to be at a loss.”

“You’ve made your point, Captain,” she snapped. “I will not offend you with my offer again.”

He shrugged. “Why don’t you be a good girl and run off to your
… my
cabin. I have several good books that you might read.”

“A grand idea, Captain. Of course, being so delicate, I will ignore any literature that might prove too taxing. Perhaps I’ll find a sweet gothic romance? Surely that would not be too overwhelming for my inept female mind!” She turned on her heel and stalked off.

Smitty chuckled. “Rather bold-tongued, our Lady Alexandria is.”

“She is not
our
Lady Alexandria,” Drake growled. “She is a brazen little hellcat! Now let’s get to work!”

Smitty trailed behind Drake, grinning broadly.

Alex fumed quietly on deck for a short while. But as her anger subsided, her boredom resurfaced. She had no intention of spending weeks in a dark cabin with only a book for company. She would simply find a way to be useful.

Drake was distinctly uneasy. The sun had slowly worked its way to the west and, having done its job, was gradually setting over the horizon. The day had been uneventful, the waters calm, the weather cooperative. It was a captain’s dream—except for one thing: he had seen neither hide nor hair of Alexandria since she stormed off eight hours ago. In Drake’s opinion, that could only mean trouble.

He sat down to his midday meal, served late. Thus far he had been too involved in maneuvering the ship to eat. And now that he found himself in his spacious cabin, utterly famished, studying what resembled a plate of wet meat, he had but one question.

“What the hell is this?”

Smitty looked up from his mug of rum, startled. “Why, I believe it is stew, Captain.”

“Stew? Since when does Cook serve stew? I want to see him immediately!”

Moments later an ebullient, rotund Louis was ushered into the captain’s cabin. “You wish t’ see me, Cap’n?”

“I most assuredly do.” Drake lifted a forkful of meat, sloshing the surrounding juices over the side of his plate. “What is the explanation for this?”

The cook beamed. “Ye noticed me stew! I’m so pleased, Cap’n! The ‘hole crew has complimented me on it. Although, t’ be sure, ’tweren’t my idea but Lady Alexandria’s. This way I was able t’ use only ’alf the usual amount of meat and still serve the entire ship, with some left over for second ’elpings.” He looked chagrined. “O’course, since most of the crew wanted second ’elpings, I ’aven’t enough t’ offer ye more. ’Ad I known that ye would enjoy it as much as t’ others—”

“I hate stew.” Drake interrupted the stunned cook, his anger intensifying at the mention of Alexandria’s involvement. “And in the future make
no
changes in the menu without consulting me first.”

“Yes, Cap’n.” Poor Louis sheepishly inched his way toward the doorway.

Drake waved him away. “Now go!” He slammed his fork down on the table, raking his fingers through his hair. “First she tried to captain the ship; now she’s invaded the galley. What next?” He shook his head in disbelief. “And to think I was under the misconception that it was Napoleon I had to fear.”

Leaving Smitty below, Drake went topside to make his four o’clock check at the helm; the routine time when the afternoon crew was relieved by the first dogwatch. Fully expecting to see the rested men dutifully installed at their stations, Drake was astounded to find the same tired men he had left an hour earlier still on the starboard side.

“Cochran!” Drake’s angry voice rang out. “Where is your relief?”

The lanky sailor looked distinctly uncomfortable. “On the way, I’m sure, sir,” he said.

Drake was livid. He despised tardiness. He stormed below, heading for the crew’s quarters.

Huddled at a large wooden table were the missing crewmen, their heads bent low.

Drake’s first thought was that they were ill. “Jamison! Mannings! Warner! Parsons!” He strode forward to help.

At the sound of their names the men leapt to their feet. Handfuls of playing cards cascaded to the floor. “Yes, Cap’n!” They were, as one, at attention.

Drake stared from their guilty faces to the discarded cards at their feet. “What is the meaning of this? Eight bells were sounded ten minutes past!”

The men looked at one another blankly until finally Ezra Jamison replied, “We never ’eard them, Cap’n.”

“Apparently not.”

“We were just finishing our last ’and.”

“Your last
what?”

Realizing that nothing could make things worse, Jamison explained, “Lady Alexandria taught us t’ play whist, Cap’n. It was a little difficult t’ learn an’ I guess we were concentratin’ so ’ard that—”

“Never mind.” Drake was beyond words. “I will deal with each of you later. Now get topside at once! Your fellow crewmen are exhausted!”

With a flurry of motion and dutiful salutes the four men fairly flew from their quarters.

Drake pressed his fingers against his pounding temples. He had a sudden throbbing headache, and he knew just what its name was.

In less than twenty-four hours she had wreaked havoc on his ship, and now she was nowhere to be found. But he would find her, oh, yes, he would. And when he did, she had better run for cover.

Shouts from above reached Drake’s ears.
Now what?
He hurried to investigate. A perfectly pleasant day had deteriorated into a nightmare.

The nightmare continued. On the main deck five crewmen were engaged in a twilight scuffle, each pushing the other out of the way and attempting to lunge forward, only to be waylaid by the others in the group. Against the shadowy mainmast, young Thomas Greer stood, looking utterly miserable.

“Thomas! What is the meaning of this?” Drake demanded. The vein in his neck was pulsing wildly as he strode forward to break up the squabbling men.

Thomas looked relieved to see him. “It’s Lady Alexandria, Cap’n.”

“Of course it is. What has she done now?”

“Oh … nothin’, sir. She just wanted t’ know how we manage t’ climb t’ the royals and topgallants, an’—”

“And these fools are fighting over who will demonstrate this great skill to her?” Drake’s tone was incredulous.

“Not exactly, sir. She didn’t want a demonstration; thought she could do it ’erself.”

“And did she?” Drake debated whether to choke her or beat her senseless.

“Well … yes, sir, she did.”

“Then what the deuce are you men fighting over?” Drake raised his voice enough to be heard over the bickering. Aware that their captain had arrived on the scene, the crewmen ceased fighting.