My Heart's Desire Page 6

  “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.

  “Over who will get her down, sir.”

  “Over who will …” Drake’s voice trailed off as he followed Thomas
’s gaze up the length of the towering mast. Three-quarters of the way to the top platform, Alexandria clung to the windward rigging, looking down at the faraway deck with terrified eyes.

  Drake’s heart tightened with fear.

  “Alexandria … don’t panic!” he heard himself call in a hoarse voice. He moved directly below her, his arms extended. “Jump,” he commanded.

  “I can’t,” she whispered in a horrified voice.

  “I’ll catch you,” he promised quietly.

  “I … just … can’t.”

  With a muttered oath he moved to the base of the rigging and, with lightning speed, shinned aloft until he reached her.

  “Give me your hand.” He reached out for her.

  She wanted to, but she was frozen with fear, glued to the spot. She stared at him, wild-eyed.

  “All right, sweetheart,” he soothed. “Just hold on.” Working his way over, he wrapped a strong arm around her waist. “Now just let go, Alexandria. I have you.”

  She hesitated, then slowly unwound her fingers from their death grip. Drake could see the deep gashes the rope had made on her delicate hands, so tightly had she clung. Gently he eased her against him, thankful for her slight weight. “Now wrap your arms around me,” he told her, in that same soothing voice. “That’s right … like that. Good girl. Just hold on, princess.” Continuing to murmur words of encouragement, Drake moved cautiously, slowly, back down the rigging to the deck.

  Alex kept her eyes closed throughout their descent and forced herself to concentrate on Drake’s deep, caressing voice. This was the man she had glimpsed last night in the cabin during their moments alone together, this gentle, passionate man. She would be fine; he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Suddenly she heard the men cheer, felt Drake release his hold on the ropes. There was a brief rush of air, then the welcome sound of Drake’s booted feet hitting the deck.

  Alex slid weakly down his body. Her feet touched the deck, and she sagged against Drake, feeling his powerful arms holding her up. She wanted to thank him, to tell him she was sorry, to let him know how foolish she felt. The compassionate man who had just tenderly rescued her from certain death would understand. Of this she had no doubt.

  Slowly Alex opened her eyes, simultaneously raising her face to look up at Drake.

  He was shaking with fury, his jaw clenched so tightly he could barely speak.

  “I am going to murder you.”

  It was one-thirty in the morning, and a still-seething Alexandria slammed her fist into the mattress. Murder her? If anyone deserved to be murdered it was he! How dare he humiliate her in front of the entire crew!

  Alex buried her head in the pillow, trying yet again to soothe herself to sleep. Time and again the ship’s bells had sounded, indicating the passage of night. And still she could not free her mind from its turbulent thoughts. Relentlessly it sought answers it could not find.

  Why had Drake rescued her from the rigging, so warm and caring, only to lambaste her for her innocuous attempts to assist his men—attempts that he called her “list of sins”? The man was a monster!

  Yet … even in anger, there was a spark between them, Alex mused. She was drawn to him like a small child to a forbidden sweet.

  Sighing, Alexandria threw off the covers and rose from the bed. She crossed the room and turned up the wick of the oil lamp, instantly bathing the cabin in a soft glow. Slowly, and not for the first time, Alex brought her fingers to her lips, touching the place where, last night, Drake’s mouth had been. The memory of his kiss still made her tingle—not only her mouth but her breasts, her stomach … and lower.

  Alex knew she should not have such feelings. She should be repelled at the thought of his wanton advances, grateful for his decision to leave her alone.

  And yet she was neither repelled nor grateful. Instead, she was restless, aching, and filled with unanswered questions.

  Having always yearned for things that other women of her class seemed not to require, Alex was used to being unique. She had no doubt that one day, when she knew just what the craving in her soul was all about, she would find her heart’s desire.

  But her uniqueness had never taken such an unacceptable form. Reading, sailing, and longing to be valued by another human being were certainly unusual priorities for a noblewoman. Unusual, but not scandalous. Being unorthodox was one thing; being a trollop was entirely another.

  Exasperated, Alex slid out of Drake’s shirt and pulled on her discarded breeches and soiled shirt. If she could not rest, at least she could enjoy the night air.

  The seas were calm, the undulations of the great brig slow and steady. Gentle waves ebbed and flowed against the hull, making soft splashing sounds as they lapped up, then receded into the starless night. Alex slipped past the few sailors who were responsible for nighttime surveillance.

  The forecastle was deserted. She walked to the railing and inhaled the cool air, allowing the sea to work its magic. Soon her melancholy was replaced by anticipation and hope for the future.

  “Couldn’t sleep, princess?”

  Alex started, but didn’t turn around; she could feel his presence without looking.

  “No.” Her voice sounded breathless, even to her ears.

  Drake walked up beside her and stared into the hypnotic water. “I seem to be suffering from insomnia as well.”

  Alex allowed herself to glance up at him. He looked strained, tired, magnificent.

  “You did not have to don the same clothing,” he said without looking at her. “I can arrange for more of Thomas’s clean clothes to be brought to my … your cabin.”

  “Thank you.” She gave him an uncertain look. “It was very kind of you to forfeit your cabin …”

  “Kindness had nothing to do with it.”

  Alex swallowed, falling silent.

  “Tell me, princess,” he resumed after a moment, “do you enjoy driving men to the brink of madness and then pulling away?”

  He heard her gasp. He had hurt her with his ugly reference to last night, but damn it, he was hurting, too. The moment he had left her his body had been cast into hell. The dousing of cold water from Smitty’s pitcher had not helped, nor had the hours of pacing the cabin.

  Drake had spent countless hours thinking of Alexandria, cursing himself for all kinds a fool. Yet now, even after her unforgivable behavior today, seeing her standing small and alone on deck, garbed in men’s clothes, he was drawn to her again like a moth to a flame. An irresistible, lethal attraction.

  Alex recoiled from the anger in Drake’s voice, but she also sensed his frustration. Before last night that emotion would have escaped her notice. But having experienced a newly awakened restlessness and an irrepressible longing, she was now able to understand some of what Drake was feeling. From his perspective, she must look not only like a trollop but like a tease as well.

  “Captain—” she began.

  He gave a harsh laugh. “Aren’t we a little beyond the formalities, princess?”

  Alex nodded. “Yes, Drake, I suppose we are.” She ignored his surprised look. “I can neither explain nor excuse what happened last night. But I never meant for it to happen, nor did I mean to … hurt you in any way.”

  Hurt him? Did she have any idea how much, even now, he wanted her? How desperately he wanted to drag her to his cabin and bury himself inside her?

  Drake turned to face her, ready to verbalize his anger. Until he looked into her eyes. Even in the blackness of night they shone, as clear and gray as polished jewels. Open, remorseful, waiting for his response.

  His anger evaporated as if it had never been there.

  Alex smiled. “Could we try to be friends?”

  “Friends?” The dark brows went up.

  She giggled. “All right, then. Not enemies, at least.”

  He smiled back, in spite of himself. “I suppose we could try that.”

  “And could we sit and talk for a while as well?” Her voice was so hopeful, her eyes so appealing. Drake’s resolve s
lipped one notch further.

  “Since we can’t seem to sleep, why not?” He gestured toward a spot where they could sit and lean back against the foremast.

  Without hesitation Alex sat, watching quietly as Drake lowered his tall frame beside her.

  “When must you relieve your man at the helm?” she asked, attempting to fill the uncomfortable void of silence that hung between them.

  “Not until the morning watch begins at eight bells.” He saw her puzzled expression and explained, “Four o’clock in the morning.”

  “Oh.” Alex waited patiently for him to continue talking. When he did not, she succumbed to her natural curiosity. “Do you have a family?” She could see that her question surprised him. He stiffened slightly.

  “Doesn’t everybody?”

  Alex shrugged. “That depends on what one calls a family.”

  It was Drake’s turn to be curious. “What does that mean?”

  Alex rested her head against the solid mast. “Only that it must be lovely to be part of a real family, with sisters and brothers and a dog that sleeps by the fire.”

  He was struck by the wistfulness in her voice. “Is that so farfetched?”

  She sighed. “For me it is impossible. I am an only child, and my parents forbid animals in our house. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes … what?”

  “Yes, one of each.”

  “Really?” Her eyes lit up, gleaming silver in the darkness. “How old are they? What are their names? Are you very close to them?”

  Drake chuckled. Her enthusiasm was endearing; her naïveté was hopeless. “My sister’s name is Samantha. She is fifteen and a joy. She is rather like a frisky puppy, noisy and inquisitive and always following me about.” He warmed to his subject. “She will grow to be quite lovely in a few years.”

  “Does she resemble you?”

  He considered. “Yes, I suppose she does. She is tall with dark hair, several shades lighter than mine, and her eyes are as green as a meadow.”

  “She sounds wonderful. And your brother?”

  Drake’s smile vanished. “Sebastian is thirty years old, two years younger than I. We are nothing alike.”