Chance the Winds of Fortune (32 page)

“The difficulty, my dear, lies in the fact that
you
seem to think that I am different. The unpleasant truth for you, madam, is that I am still the same Dante Leighton, captain of the
Sea Dragon
, as I was when you sailed off to London. That has not changed, nor will it for quite some time. You seem to be laboring under the misguided assumption that my being a marquis in some way changes our relationship. It does not. We are finished,” Dante said emphatically, a cruel light entering his eyes as he added, “and 'twas you who took measures to insure that.”

Anguished anger began filling Helene's dark eyes as she realized that Dante was not going to forgive her, at least not tonight, and that unless she acted, her coveted title would slip out of reach forever.

“Dante, don't say that. I-I-I—” Helene began, only to have her words cut short by a sneeze. Reaching into her bodice, she produced a delicate lace handkerchief, which she held to her nose while she sneezed several more times. “As I was saying, I think we both need time to think more clearly about our feelings for each other. In fact, since we are being honest with one another, how do you think I felt to discover you were the Marquis of Jacqobi? I felt quite the fool, let me tell you. I think, under the circumstances, considering you had asked me to marry you, that you owed me the courtesy of confiding such information to me.” Now Helene was berating him, putting herself in the role of the injured party. After all, how different her situation would be today had she known the truth about Dante Leighton.

“You don't know what it means to a woman to know that she has a secure fortune. To know that her children will be well provided for is something she longs for, but seldom succeeds in attaining. You say that you are still a sea captain. Well, that is hardly a comforting thought for your wife to live with, never knowing if you will return from one of your journeys. You lead a very dangerous life, Dante; at times I've thought you thrive on danger. But it is quite a different story when you have to sit here and wait for someone to come home. I've had to take many things into consideration when planning my future. After all, Dante, my late husband's estate is not going to last forever. And I'm afraid Uncle Edward is going to live another fifty years. I've never seen a man of his age so disgustingly hearty. I have to think of myself. You do understand my reasoning?”

“Indeed I do, but if, as you claim, you love me so desperately, then shouldn't that love conquer all obstacles? I'm afraid yours is a bit fainthearted. That is why I suggest you look elsewhere for your future husband, for I shall not change my ways, nor do I suspect that you shall, either. We are too much alike,” Dante told her as he spread out his palms to the warmth of the fire. The flickering light danced across his chiseled features, which were, at this moment, expressionless as a statue's.

“I've been accused of being an opportunistic, fortune-hunting bastard, as well as a few less flattering descriptions,” Dante admitted. A sardonic gleam entered his eye as he added without hesitation, “and you, my dear, are a coldhearted bitch. We make quite a handsome pair, but hardly an honorable one. We have enjoyed the pleasure of each other's company in the past, but I fear we now know each other too well for either of us to be comfortable with the other, and certainly too well for further lies and pretenses. And since there is no longer any need for a marriage between us,” Dante told her indifferently, “I think it would be wisest for us to pursue our pleasures elsewhere.”

Nervously, Helene moistened her dry lips, her frustration showing itself in the tapping of her red satin slipper as she stared at an apparently inaccessible Dante Leighton. But Helene Jordane was not one to give up, or to admit defeat when she wanted something, and she wanted Dante Leighton.

“Your detractors are right, for you are a bastard at times,” she told him mockingly, making a concerted effort to appear unconcerned by his rejection. Hiding her fear and dismay, she continued almost conversationally. “I shan't even try and reason with you when you are in one of these stubborn moods of yours. 'Tis only your pride which is smarting, my love,” she accused him, with a short laugh that hung in the frigid air between them. “And, Dante,
mon cher
, you've lain in my bed far too long for you to find satisfaction with another,” she warned, a look of remembered passion flashing in her dark eyes as she tried to fan the flames of his memory as well. “You'll soon tire of playing the gentleman with these quivering Charles Town virgins, and since you are quite fastidious, I doubt you'll spend much time in the local bawdy houses. You'll come back to me, Dante,” Helene told him, her smile confidently provocative. “'Tis just a matter of time, and I have all the time in the world. In fact,” she added, her chin raised challengingly, “I shall be accompanying m-my uncle t-to the country. I-I'll be g-gone,” she tried to say as she fought off a sneeze. But she was unsuccessful and fell into a fit of sneezing.

“'Tis that damned cat! He's in here, isn't he? You know I can't abide those dirty creatures. Whenever they're around, I-I-I,” she said and sneezed again, “I go into a fit of sneezing. Oh, damn! I'll be breaking out into blotches soon,” she complained, worriedly examining her pale shoulders for a disfiguring rash.

“I would suggest then, Helene, that you'd best leave,” Dante suggested with solicitous concern. “Is your carriage nearby? If not, 'twill be my pleasure to provide mine,” he offered generously, his dark lashes masking the laughter in his eyes as he caught sight of Jamaica slinking through the shadows, seeking the warmth of the fire.

“Yes, I must l-leave at once, o-or 'twill take me days to get rid of these damned blotches,” Helene agreed readily, willing to end their conversation for the time being. “I'll wait in the courtyard for your coachman. I-I must g-get some fresh air,” she said huskily, on the verge of another fit of sneezing. Quickly, she retrieved her cloak from Dante's bed, and with a swishing of skirts, approached the man standing indolently in front of the fire. Although wearing only a brief towel slung carelessly about his hips, he seemed completely at his ease, an amused smile curving his lips as he watched her come toward him.

Helene halted before him, her eyes reflecting the burning flames of the fire as she stared at him longingly. Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her half-parted lips against his, and even when his lips remained unresponsive to her, she continued to kiss him, until finally she drew back with a look of heartsease. She alone knew how much effort it took to appear serene. “Something to remember me by, my love,” she whispered. Then, with a nonchalant laugh, she sauntered from the room.

Dante was fastening his breeches when Kirby quietly opened the door and entered the room. The steward had a rather self-satisfied expression on his face as he hurried to place the captain's slippers close at hand.

“Jamaica's arrival was well timed, Kirby,” Dante commented as he slipped his stockinged feet into the leather mules.

“Thank you, m'lord,” Kirby replied. “I thought he might expedite young madam's departure from the house. My apologies, but I never saw her enter, and I'm afraid I forgot about the broken latch.”

Dante glanced over at the tabby lazily grooming himself in front of the fire. Then he glanced back at the little steward. “I'm not sure which of you is the more pleased with himself.”

“Most likely Jamaica, m'lord,” Kirby responded knowledgeably. “He's just polished off a plate of giblets. And speaking of dinner, where would you like me to serve yours this evening, m'lord?” he asked, while he began collecting the damp towels, folding them neatly across his arm as he awaited his captain's pleasure.

“I'll have it in my study, Kirby. I have some charts I want to refresh my memory about.”

“You'll be dining alone then, m'lord?” Kirby questioned out of habit, even though he'd already set out the service for one.

“Yes, I'll be dining alone this evening, Kirby,” Dante answered absently, thinking back to his conversation with Bertie Mackay earlier in the evening. Already, the image of Helene Jordane was fading from his mind.

“You'll not be canceling the card game this evening then, m'lord?” Kirby asked.

“No, I am still expecting the gentlemen at the regular time. Oh, you might have an extra bottle or two of port on hand. Pomeroy complained that I took unfair advantage of him last time. Claimed we ran out of his favorite spirit on purpose, and that he was forced to switch to several bottles of claret instead. I swear the man is bottomless. Never seen him tipsy yet,” Dante complained as he brushed his curls dry and plaited the hair into a queue, which he then secured with a black riband.

Dante took the poker and pushed an unburned section of log closer to the blaze. When the hungry flames began to eat into the log, a surge of warmth was sent into the room. Dante stared unseeingly at the rivulets of rain water running down the windowpanes, his mind drifting several hundred leagues south of the Carolinas.

“It will be good to be at sea again, Kirby,” Dante said longingly, almost feeling the movement of the sea beneath the decks of the
Sea Dragon
. “I long to sail her home, Kirby. Home to Merdraco.”

“Aye, Captain,” Kirby replied. But whether or not he agreed with his captain he kept to himself.

Dante turned away from the cold draft seeping in through the window frame and held his chilled hands out to the bright flames licking at the half-consumed log, a smile of anticipation gently curving the corners of his mouth.

“Aye, Kirby,” he said softly, unconsciously mimicking the little steward, “within the month the
Sea Dragon
will once again be sailing the seas.”

* * *

Rhea Claire Dominick awoke to blackness. With a determined effort she lifted her heavy-lidded eyes, but still there was no light. She perceived only a cold, dark dampness surrounding her. Shivering uncontrollably, she huddled inside the cloak wrapped loosely around her body. Still dazed from the numbing effects of the drugging, she hugged the soft velvet cape closer, rubbing her icy cheek against the warmth of the fur lining. A hazy memory came drifting back to her as she buried her face against the thick pile and breathed in the scent of roses clinging to the fur.

A sudden lurch of the ship to port sent Rhea tumbling against a bulkhead, her cry of pain echoed over and over again by faceless voices in the dark. As she continued to lie sprawled against the partition, an unnatural stillness about her told her that she was not alone. She stared with wide, sightless eyes into the enveloping blackness, sensing the fear and desperation of the people crowded with her below deck as an almost tangible presence.

When she realized where she was, Rhea began to feel the terror rising like bile in her throat. The pungent odor of brine and bilge water, mingling with the souring remnants of seasickness, began to fill her senses, cutting through the grogginess of her mind, which had been the last barrier against the unpleasant reality. Overhead, she could hear the heavy creaking of the masts as they withstood the slapping and filling of the sails against a freshening wind.

Rhea tried to right herself, crawling onto her knees in an attempt to stand, but she was knocked off her feet by the heaving of the ship as it struggled through the roughening seas. Favoring her wrenched knee, Rhea withdrew into the protection of her cloak, retreating from the Cimmerian atmosphere in the bowels of the ship. Her teeth chattering from the combined effects of shock and cold, she crouched in stunned disbelief, suffering an agony of both mind and body.

Suddenly, she became aware of warmth on her skin, and when she raised a shaking hand, her stiff fingers encountered the wetness of hot tears falling down her cheeks. With her chin trembling, she held back the deep groan of despair she could feel filling the numb void of her mind. A small whimper was all that escaped her tightly compressed lips as she began remembering fragmented, nightmarish scenes.

She had been out riding with Francis and her cousins… No, she thought in confusion, that had been the day before. She had gone riding with Wesley and Caroline. Yes! That was it! She remembered now, for they had been on their way to Stone House-on-the-Hill. She was going to look at the pups she'd rescued, only…only they had never reached Stone House-on-the-Hill. Rhea pressed her cold fingertips against her throbbing temples as she recalled the carriage blocking the lane.

An involuntary cry of fear escaped her lips when she remembered seeing Wesley tumbling from his mount. She'd been kneeling beside an unconscious Caroline. Yes, she could remember all of that, but then what had happened? Rhea's breath caught in her throat as she saw again the man in the red coat coming purposefully toward her. She had tried to escape him, but she had fallen, and then… She could remember nothing but the suffocating blackness that had swept over her as a cloth soaked in something enervating had been held forcefully over her face.

When a thundering crack sounded overhead, Rhea was reminded of the loud report of the pistol that had felled Wesley. He was dead. She was almost certain of that, for she would never forget that look of disbelief and pain that had flashed across the Earl of Rendale's face as he fell into the mud at his horse's feet. Suddenly, Rhea wondered about the fate of Caroline Winters. Perhaps she had been kidnapped as well, and was on board ship at this very moment. It was with mixed emotions that Rhea blindly searched the darkness, for if Caroline were indeed on board, was her friend any better off than she was?

“Caroline?” Rhea whispered, her hopes of hearing a familiar voice winning out over her reluctance to discover Caroline in the same predicament as herself. “Caroline?”

“Are you all right?” a female voice asked from the gloom.

Rhea sucked in her breath, surprised, for she hadn't really been expecting a response. “Caroline? Is that you?” she asked, her voice husky from disuse.