The Hawk and the Dove (31 page)

She opened the two portholes in the cabin and took a deep breath of the sea air. It was not in the least cool or refreshing, and this brought home to her the fact that soon they would again have to cross the Bay of Biscay and the return of her seasickness was inevitable. She felt so sorry for herself that the tears began to slip down her cheeks again.

It was some time before she saw herself in the mirror, but when she did she was so shocked by her appearance that she was suddenly galvanized into action. She stripped off the grimy white pantaloons and busk and poured water to bathe herself all over. She searched through Shane’s wardrobe of clothing, looking for an item of apparel that she could borrow. The only things cool enough that would give her a measure of cover were his shirts. She chose a frilled white lawn and rolled up the sleeves to her elbows. Then she opened his drawers until she located a brush and comb and set to work on the disheveled mass of copper tangles.

When no one came to the cabin door by midday, a little of her apprehension started to evaporate, and after two more hours elapsed she was annoyed, then angered. She was highly indignant to be ignored in such a fashion. Rather she would welcome an angry confrontation in which she ducked his blows and he ducked objects she threw at his head. She knew captain and crew would be celebrating the great victory of destroying the Spanish fleet right on its own doorstep, but surely to God someone aboard could spare her a moment’s thought.

It was late afternoon before a young cabin boy knocked on the door with a cool lime drink for her. “Thank you,” she said diffidently. “Does the captain intend to ignore me and keep me locked up until we reach England?” she demanded.

The boy looked shamefaced. “He’s powerful angry, ma’am. If I was you, I’d be glad he was keepin’ ’is distance! ’Twer the baron sent this drink, an’ he wrote cook a note orderin’ a tray fer yer supper an’ some wine.” The boy touched his forelock and was about to depart when Sabre grabbed his arm. “Wait!” she cried, incensed that Shane didn’t intend to come. She’d do something about that or her name wasn’t Lady Devonport! She grabbed the white pantaloons and shoved them into the startled boy’s hand. “Here! Hoist these up the flagpole. He may have defeated the Spanish, but he hasn’t defeated me! If you haven’t the guts, tell the baron to do it for me.”

The boy grinned and flushed. “I’ll do it when nobody’s lookin’,” he promised.

Hawk wondered what was amusing the men so much. They’d tried to hide their laughter behind their hands, but every time one of them looked his way, the hard-bitten sailors were grinning from ear to ear. Finally he caught one of them pointing and a couple more splitting their sides at his expense. His gaze traveled upward and he could hardly believe what he saw flying at half-mast. They looked suspiciously like Sabre’s begrimed drawers, offering him her challenge.

He stared in disbelief for a minute, then he found himself grinning. Finally his roar of laughter could be heard all over the ship. Once he had his mirth under control, he ran down to the cabin and threw open the door. She’d heard his booted step approaching and stood with hands
on hips, not knowing what to expect, but more than ready for anything.

Formally he asked, “Are you flying the white flag of surrender, madam?”

“Surrender?” she cried angrily. “Never! Your ship is named
Defiant
… you must have named her after me, sir!” She sat in his own captain’s chair and as he watched she deliberately lifted one bare leg and hooked it over the arm. She wore nothing beneath the fine lawn shirt and he caught a glimpse of tight coppery curls each time she nonchalantly swung her leg.

He laughed with pure joy. “Sabre Wilde, you’re one hell of a woman!” He took only one great step to close the distance between them, and she stopped him with an imperious hand held high and green fire in her eyes.

“Don’t think to vanquish me, sir, as easily as you did Cadiz. Don’t think you can toss me about like a sack of grain, ignore me and starve me, then stride in here and make love to me!”

He knew he could breach her walls by force, but she deserved better. He would use subtler means, knowing his reward would be the sweeter for it. He bowed to her gallantly; the mocking light was gone from his eyes. He said very formally, “Sabre, would you do me the honor of dining with me? I intend to celebrate our victory and I would like to celebrate it with you.”

With equal formality she inclined her head and said, “I should like that above all things, Lord Devonport. I only wish I had something to wear.”

He strode over to a trunk in the corner of the cabin and lifted the lid. “There is material in here. I am sorry I have no gown for you, Sabre.” He took fresh clothing for
himself from his wardrobe and departed with it over his arm. “Dinner will be served at six bells.”

She discovered the bottom of the sea chest to be layered with the most exquisite, fragile material of so many hues, she was torn which to select. Finally she chose cloth that was almost transparent with silken ribbons of turquoise and golden thread running through it to make stripes. She cut a piece about a yard square, wrapped it about her, and knotted it on one shoulder. When she viewed herself from the right she was completely covered; when she viewed herself from the left the gown was open from her shoulder to her ankle and displayed her nakedness.

A knock upon the door revealed the baron, who silently and efficiently set an elegant table. He spread a white damask cloth and napkins along with Italian silver forks and matching knives. The plates were of heavy gold, each stamped with a dragon at its center, and the wine and water goblets were Venetian crystal bowls set on stems of carved gold and jade. The baron always treated her with respect, but his looks seemed to have a special reverence this evening, and she wondered if perhaps Georgiana had told him that she was Lady Devonport. She had no time to discover the truth, for as six bells were struck, Shane formally presented himself at the doorway. He knocked politely and waited for her to invite him in. He wore tropical cream linen, which emphasized the dark mahogany of his deep tan. He took her hand and drew it to his lips, then allowed his intense blue eyes to lick over her like a candle flame. As a slow smile of appreciation transformed his mouth, the white teeth flashed in startling contrast to his dark skin.

Sabre’s heart turned over in her breast at the handsome
figure he presented. His lion’s mane of hair fell to his shoulders, its tips bleached golden red from the sun. His masculinity stunned her and her knees were like water for a moment as his presence in the small cabin overwhelmed her.

The baron returned with hot covered dishes and with a large epergne filled with fruit, some of which were unknown to Sabre. When the baron departed and left them to be private, Shane held her chair and murmured, “You are the loveliest woman who ever graced my table.” Sabre sat down gracefully and draped her gown modestly to conceal rather than reveal her nakedness. “Something smells delicious, though I cannot name it,” she said with relish.

“We have the Spaniards to thank for our supper tonight.” He lifted the heavy silver cover from the tureen. “This is paella, a famous specialty of Spain. It is made with chicken and shelled shrimp and spiced with garlic and Spanish saffron. It is served upon a bed of rice and hot peppers.” He poured a pale chablis into the goblets and served her a heaping plate of the fragrant paella.

“Whatever are these?” she asked curiously.

“Artichokes with ripe olives at their heart. You break off a leaf and dip it into the melted butter, like this,” he instructed. He smiled as she enthusiastically tried each new dish. “An acquired taste, like most foreign dishes. I find the English too ready to turn their noses up at anything different, but I believe in the adage that variety is the spice of life.”

“Indeed, my lord?” she challenged with sparkling eyes, wondering if he were using a double entendre.

“However, there are some things that, once tasted, are never forgotten,” he added, desire roughening his voice.

She blushed and her lashes fluttered to her cheeks. “What are these fruits?” she asked rather breathlessly, trying to dispel the ardor that was burning deeply in his eyes.

Shane sighed. “Well, I think you know oranges and lemons. These green fruit are limes, and these are grapes and melons. The brown things are dates, very sticky and sweet, and these are figs, delicious but filled with seeds.”

She placed a delicate finger on the hard shell of a strange red fruit and raised her eyebrows.

“Pomegranates, an ancient symbol of fertility. The baron, ever perceptive, laid the pomegranates upon a palm leaf. These are phallic symbols; pomegranate female, the palm male.”

The corners of her mouth went up mischievously. “I would have to ask, wouldn’t I?”

“Sabre, I want to make love to you.”

Their eyes met, and in that moment she knew she had accomplished everything she had set out to do. She had bound him to her so that she was a madness in his blood. He wanted her, needed her, and to survive he must have her. She could get away with anything and he would still love her. He was a man of extraordinary strength and she was his one weakness. She had enslaved him.

She moved from the table, carrying the delicate goblet with her. Implicit in their tryst was the understanding that he would not fall upon her, but would await her permission. She sipped her wine, tantalizing him with the slowness of her invitation. Finally, when she had made him wait beyond his endurance, she undid the knot on her shoulder to let the sheath slip from her body, then with a wickedly suggestive finger she dipped into the Chablis and wet each nipple with the tempting wine.

With a growl of triumph he snatched her up and tasted each nipple. His strong hands held her high against his chest and then slowly he slid her naked body down his. The cream linen was rough-textured against her satin smoothness and she gasped with sudden desire as her thighs, belly, and breasts rubbed against his hardness. He kissed the corners of her mouth, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and, finally, the tempting little beauty spot. Her head fell back sensually as tremors began to shoot through her body and his lips devoured her throat.

Her scented mane of hair intoxicated his senses, making his pulse race. She reached down with avid fingers to delicately trace his thick shaft, then her hand closed over it possessively, making him quiver with anticipation.

She cried softly, “Please, Shane!”

He looked deeply into her eyes. “Please what, Sabre?”

“Please,” she begged.

“Tell me, darling … say the words.”

“I want you now … if you
don’t
take me, I’ll die,” she sobbed.

He filled her deeply, his own excitement spurred on by her wild and frenzied gyrations to take more and more of him deeper inside her. She bit into his shoulder, where she knew the dragon breathed his fire, and tasted the delicious salt tang of his bronzed flesh.

He used her furiously, pushing his great shaft upward, drawing it all the way out, then thrusting the full length in again. She clawed at him, drawing blood, then licked and sucked the tiny crescent-shaped wounds her nails left behind. He was so hungered he feared he might tear her asunder, but she drew him farther inside, then held him viselike while she pulsated and throbbed until their cries of pleasure could be heard up on deck.

They made love in every way it was possible for a man and woman to mate. He took her against the wall, across a low table, upon the floor, then cradled her in the bunk, holding her fast between his legs until she slept, totally exhausted from his pleasuring. She did not awake when he left her to go up on deck to see to his ship.

Three hours later, when he returned to their bed, they could not speak for the first few minutes. They were overwhelmed by the great passion they had shared and relived it in their minds. He touched her cheek with wonder until she came out of her love trance and propped herself against him to talk.

“I would like to throw a masquerade ball at Thames View to celebrate. I shall make it bigger and better than any the queen has ever given.”

He kissed the top of her head. “We may get thrown in the Tower for what we did back there. First we ignored her orders to abort the mission, then Drake plunged in without consulting with the vice-admiral. I backed him all the way and will have to take the consequences of my actions. Make no mistake about it, the Navy will make a formal protest and bring charges against Drake and me.”

“Pugh!” said Sabre, doing a fair imitation of the queen. “You can charm Bessie Tudor, for you are far handsomer than fat old Borough.”

“Poor Bess,” he lamented, “she’s losing all her favorites. I’m in love with you and now Essex has lost his heart to Frances.”

“To say nothing of his fortune,” she said, giggling.

He was still for a minute. “Don’t you think Frances loves him?”

“Mmmm … let’s say she loves him with her head, but I don’t think her heart is much involved. Anyway,
they shall come to the party and you can see for yourself. And I shall invite your friend Charles Blount and Penelope.‭

“Next you’ll be telling me Penelope doesn’t love Charles,” he teased.

“Oh, of course she does. She makes herself ridiculous over the damned fellow. I think she’s actually going to leave her husband and children to go and live with him.”

He wanted to ask her if she loved him, but afraid of the answer, he kissed her hair again and said tenderly, “I love you, Sabre.”

She turned her green gaze upon him and said softly, “I know you do.”

He was to prove his words over and over in the next few days as they entered the infamous Bay of Biscay. Sabre lifted her head from his arm and moaned pitifully.

“My love, what is it?” he asked anxiously.

“Ooh, I’m soo ill,” she whispered.

He was on his feet in an instant, cradling her in his arms. “Whatever is amiss? Was it the food we had last night?”

At the word
food
her gorge rose uncontrollably and she was indelicately sick. “Ooh, I’m seasick,” she moaned, “please don’t look at me.”