The Duchess and the Dragon (9 page)

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Authors: Jamie Carie

BOOK: The Duchess and the Dragon
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Mischief sparkled in her mother’s eyes at the faintly alarmed expression on Serena’s father’s face.
“What is it, girls? Did something happen at the ship this afternoon?”
It took them both, with frequent interruptions and questions from the rest of the family, the length of the meal to tell the tale. At its end their father sighed heavily. “Those soul-drivers will reap their own reward and we will not spend valuable time discussing them and their evil practices. However, God has used thee, Serena, of that I have no doubt. Today, a wealthy gentleman came in and ordered a tea service. I was surprised that he paid in advance, but now I see that God has provided. We shall use the money to pay for the indentures.” He stood and told Serena to get her cloak. “We will start with the Isaacs and the Tromleys. I am sure we can find families to take in the sick and help them find work when they are recovered. Come, Serena.”
Mary Ann bobbed up behind Serena. “Might I go too, Father?”
He wrapped his other daughter in a hug and kissed her forehead. “Please stay behind and help thy mother put the girls down. We shall be late and thy mother looks tired.”
No one argued with him; rather, the younger girls crowded around to get their good-night hugs.
Serena and her father walked silently, side by side in the frosty air, to the homes of some of the other Friends. Philadelphia was peaceful at night, and Serena treasured any time alone with her father.
“Tell me about the people and their conditions. I should like to know how best to place them.”
Serena twisted her fingers together inside her warm wool muff trying to give an accurate picture of the pitiful plights she had seen. “There are seven women, but Beatrice took one home with her—the one expecting, which was so kind of her—so that leaves six.”
Her father nodded, his face reflecting the white light of the moon. Serena couldn’t help thinking she’d like to paint him at this moment—the way the light of the winter moon made his face bright and pale, his blue eyes glowing with solemn purpose, the thin beard circling his chin. But she turned her mind back to his question.
“One of the women has a son, Harry, who is three. They were mostly weak from starvation and lack of good water, though the child has dysentery and is quite thin. The other women should recover soon and be able to enter into their indenture. None require more than simple nourishment, I think.” She hesitated. Why didn’t she want to mention the duke? She ducked her head, watching her brown shoes slough through the snow as she thought of him and the name she had given him. It was so unlike her not to want to tell her father something.
“And the others? There were men?”
“Um, yes. Three. There was a fourth, but as I told you at dinner he was dead. Of the three, only one was very sick. He was delirious with fever. I did believe him close to death, and yet he showed a certain strength.” Shaking her head at her wistful tone, she looked up to her father who had stopped in front of the Tromley’s house.
“The other two were sound, then?”
“I believe so. They were all very grateful for the provisions we brought them.”
“We should have no trouble placing them.” And yet, for all his confidence, there was disquiet on his face. And a look she’d never seen before.
THE DREAMS CHANGED. Dark swirling voices tormented him; hot, sulfurous breath enveloping, melting his skin. His father’s laugh grew closer, gained ground upon his mind. It was so dark where his father now was . . . and hungry . . . hungry to grasp Drake’s coattails and pull him down into the pit. Drake floated in darkness, had been floating thus for as long as he could remember. Time ceased—there was only this suspended nightmarish dream.
Then there was a voice. Soft and feminine, but with strength behind it. The voice beckoned him out of the darkness, calling, making him want to reach out for it. It too had a laugh, light and full of light. His father’s hateful cackle faded in that laughter’s easy victory. For the first time since the murder, he wanted swim to the top and live. He would see the owner of that voice . . . he would live in the reflection of its light and laughter.
The darkness melted away into a bright nothingness.
“OVER HERE.” SERENA brought the lantern around and held it up so her father could look at Drake’s face. At her father’s slight intake of breath, Serena swung around to look at his face, but it was hidden in the shadows of the dark hold.
“What is it?” Never had she known her father to be shaken.
“Him.”
“Him?”
They were speaking in low-toned voices, as the other occupants slept. Serena had already pointed out the other men, leaving the “duke” for last.
“Last meeting, during silent worship, while my eyes were closed, I saw a man’s face.”
A chill crept down Serena’s spine. “
This
man?”
Her father nodded. “I am sure of it.”
“What dost thou think it means?”
Josiah shook his head, only asking, “Is he very ill?”
Serena reached out and touched his forehead. It was still hot, but he was breathing deep and regular. “Yes, but he seems more at ease. I will give him more water.” She had left an extra flask of water and a tin cup beside the man’s bed in case he woke. Her father watched as she filled the cup and then helped her lift the man’s head so that she could coax him into swallowing.
“We will take him home with us.”
Serena turned her head to stare at her father. They had found more than enough volunteers to take in all the sick in the hold. Her father was paying for their indenture papers, and no one expected the Winters to bear this burden also. But something inside her soared, said this was right. “Yes, he will improve with our care.”
Her father nodded. “I do believe he will. Now, stay with him while I go hire a carriage to take him home with us tonight. The others will be helped in the morning, but I will not leave here without him.” He nodded at her and left.
Serena turned back to the man on the cot. He hadn’t swallowed much of the water so she tried to give him more. She shifted, sliding him so that his head lay on her lap. He didn’t seem interested in drinking and finally, after a few more attempts, she gave up. Stroking his hair back from his warm brow, she spoke to him in a soft, quiet voice, yearning for a response.
The ship swayed and creaked beneath her feet, lulling her into a world of water and shadows. She stared into the darkness, something deep within her straining to find the shadow’s edges . . . places she’d never known existed. It called to her, making every nerve alive as Serena sensed something here with the two of them.
Something incomprehensible.
She looked down at the man. His face appeared different than the first time she had seen him, as if he’d fought some battle and won. A peacefulness stole over her, causing her to take a deep breath. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. His scent filled her mind and her fingers began to glide through his hair, exploring the shape of his head, then his temples, then down to the sharp plain of his cheekbones. “Come back, my duke,” she whispered. “I have need to see thee fattened up and shouting orders.”
Suddenly she felt a touch on her cheek. Caught in the dreamlike spell, she turned into the hand without opening her eyes. As she had done, he caressed her cheek. Now his thumb ran along the line of her jaw. When fingers touched her lips, her eyes fluttered open.
“Your voice saved me.”
His own was raspy and deep, but gratitude glowed in the dark pools that were his eyes. And he was even more devastatingly attractive with them open.
Serena drew a sharp breath, wanting to get up, both trapped beneath his weight and that of his words. “Thou hast been very sick.” She strained to right her senses. When she started to slide out from under his head, he grasped her hand with surprising strength.
“Stay.”
“I must not. My father will be back soon.”
“Have we reached Philadelphia then?”
“Yes. The others have already been sold. ’Tis fortunate thee wert so ill and escaped the soul-drivers, sir.” As she spoke, she slid out from beneath his head and refilled his cup. “Here, have another drink, and thou wilt hear the tale.”
He smiled at her with such a look that she thought she might melt into the wood of the floor.
“A long story, I hope. I would listen to your voice forever.”
Heat surged to her cheeks, her gaze dropping to the floor. Her mind told her how inappropriate it was to behave like this with a complete stranger. And yet, it was as if other parts of her—her heart, her soul, her very skin—knew him as deeply as she knew herself.
She told him about the soul-drivers, the others that were ill in the hold and the Society of Friends who were to take care of them. She told him about her conversation with the captain. He laughed, then, a deep rumbling sound that reached into her and then down to her toes.
“And what shall become of me,
ma petit chevalier
? You said your father is coming with a carriage?”
She blushed again and looked down at the lantern at her feet. She knew just enough French to understand he’d called her his
little knight
. “Yes. We will take thee home with us tonight, where thou wilt stay until thou art well. I would see thee well, sir duke.”
The duke part had slipped out, as that is how she had been thinking of him in her mind, but the sudden glower on his face startled her.
“Why would you call me that?” His voice was imperious and demanding.
“Th-thou said’st it in thy fever while sleeping.”
“Said what . . . exactly.”
Serena took a deep breath. “I asked thy name and thou said’st it was Drake Weston, the fifth Duke of Northumberland.”
Drake laughed, but this time it wasn’t the deep chuckle that made her knees weak. This was a wicked, scathing laugh. “You believed me, did you?” One dark brow arched over his eye.
“I–I, no. I did not believe thee.”
“Of course not. How could the Duke of Northumberland number among the white slaves on this piece of God-forsaken wreckage? Impossible. Ludicrous. Am I right?” His voice shook.
Serena felt his anger and was afraid. “Tell me the truth and I will believe thee.”
Drake chuckled. “Such a pretty speech from such a—” he sighed and shook his head, his eyes growing hot—“spell-binding woman. I am no duke so you may take the stars from your eyes, my dear. I am Drake Winslow, indentured slave.” The bitterness was unmistakable.

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