Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3) Page 12

  Her teeth were on edge. Her skin had gooseflesh. Chloe had heard Elizabeth’s family talk of a colder climate in England over the years, of snow in winter and dampness and fog in the summer. She did not realize she would encounter cold weather on her journey. She had a thick, wool pelisse in her trunks given to her by the countess, but up until now she did not believe she would need the heavy garment. England, if it were like this, was less than appealing in her estimation. Spain was a warm country; at least she’d been told it was by her papa.

  “Mrs. O’Donovan, how kind of you to grace us with your presence.”

  That voice, ripe with sarcasm, grated on Chloe. She did not need to turn about to discern its owner. Yet, to keep her back to the captain would not be polite. She managed a tight lipped smile as she turned to greet him. “Good day, Captain. Are we expecting a storm?”

  His visage tipped upward as he considered the leaden skies with a somber mien. “I do not discern a storm in these clouds, but heavy rain will mark our progress today. We approach England. We’ll dock in London in a matter of days.” His gaze dropped from the skies to study her. He looked her up and down with disdain. “Do you not possess a coat, woman?”

  Chloe held her head up and challenged him. “It was much warmer yesterday.”

  “We’ve covered a fair distance since yesterday.” Jack’s tone was still belligerent. “A change in the wind can send a ship off course quickly. I’ve a weather eye on the sky and I tend to keep a firm hand on the rudder to steer the ship to more favorable seas.”

  Oh, yes, she’d had enough of his firm hand steering her out his cabin door last night when things grew more intimate between them. Chloe felt her cheeks redden at his words.

  “Aye, ma’am.” Mr. Jinx seemed apologetic for his captain’s brusque tone. “The cap’n’s a natural born seaman. If anyone knows when to tighten the sails and batten down the hatches it’s our Jack.” He glanced at her bosom, and quickly looked away.

  Chloe felt her face burn with color. Her nipples were tight, poking through her dress. The captain’s sharp remark about a coat suddenly made perfect sense.

  “Would you like a small heater in your cabin? I can have one the men set one up.” The first mate was careful to peer past her shoulders as he spoke.

  “No. Thank you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and held on to her billowing shawl. Her dress did little to ward off the cooler winds or the dampness in the air. “Will there be snow in London when we arrive?” The countess and her brothers talked of snow with a sense of wonder. Chloe wouldn’t mind viewing it, just once, as a novelty. She was under the assumption that snow came at Christmastide, not in late February.

  “No.” Captain Rawlings’ tone had changed from annoyance to consideration. “It may linger still in the north, but London is on the cusp of springtime with March just days away. A few squalls bring cold wind and rain, but snow is not as likely now.”

  Disappointment came, as she realized she would not get her wish to see this odd phenomenon that was talked about in her home but never experienced. She would just have to observe paintings of snow.

  “Mrs. O’Donovan, I believe you may have cause to be cross with me,” Captain Rawlings continued. His voice had gentled considerably.

  Chloe glanced up at him, surprised by the abrupt change in his temperament. He went from gruff to factual and then pacifying. The tenderness of his features almost made her weak at the knees. So, he was affected by their kiss last night, just as she was.

  “I have not been the best host during this voyage. From now until we reach London, I would have you dine each night at my table. The crew does so enjoy your presence. Will you favor us this evening?”

  The crew enjoyed her company? Insufferable oaf! After their scorching kiss last night and his subsequent retreat—or rather his firm hand on the rudder, steering her back to her quarters—the best Jack could come up with was a reference to his crew’s fondness for her?

  “We rarely are given the opportunity of dining with a woman of your charm and wit, Mrs. O’Donovan. Not to mention your startling beauty.”

  The compliment came from Jinx. Why was the first mate telling her she was charming, witty and beautiful? She contemplated the humble schoolmaster turned sailor.

  Jinx was smiling at her, holding his hat in his hands, attempting to appear cautious and respectful. He held her gaze for a moment. He looked to his captain, and back to her again. “We languish without your kind attentions, ma’am. It affects our disposition. Isn’t that true, Captain?”

  “Huh?” Jack pulled his attention from the sails above to consider Chloe. “Aye. we’ll expect you at dinner this evening, Mrs. O’Donovan. Carry on, Mr. Jinx.” With that, the big oaf marched away from them, his back straight and his step quick.

  Chloe glared at his retreating form. It sounded as if he were ordering her to appear at his table this evening. If there was one thing she disliked above all, it was being ordered to do something by an arrogant man.

  Dinner with the Captain, Jack mused, gritting his teeth at the notion.

  It was supposed to be a special occasion for the passengers. An event Jack held a few times during a voyage to amuse them to offset restlessness and anxiety on a long journey with little activity. Jack typically did not plan more than three such dinners with his guests during a voyage if he could help it.

  This time, he craved the company of a certain Spanish beauty. He found the habitual attendees at his table, Jinx, Lt. Morgan, Harris, Roberts and Dr. Lewis dull. Why was it he never found them dull before?

  He wanted to dine exclusively with her. Doing so would be like leaving an open flame unattended on a ship. They would be in his bunk within minutes, devouring each other as the food grew cold. He could invite her officially to dine with his men. As her protector, he must guard her reputation, even from his own raging lusts. The count commissioned him with the task of delivering her safely to Spain. Jack could ill afford to trifle with his friend’s relation.

  So, it was a grudging peace that emerged between the Spanish beauty and himself. Chloe came to his cabin to dine with his men each night for the remainder of the voyage. She enchanted them all. Her Spanish accent seemed to enthrall them. They asked her questions—odd questions more often than not—merely to hear her sultry voice than any real interest in the subject matter. It was amusing to watch them fawn over her.

  Chloe deserved to be admired. It must have been difficult for her, being in Lady Elizabeth’s shadow, always the companion of the regal countess. Now, she had her own audience to worship her and bask in her loveliness.

  Tonight, she was dressed in a deep green silk frock. The recent change to wearing colors after her mourning garb was a relief. Jack was amazed at the transformation that seemed to be taking place in her on this journey. Her deep melancholy had been replaced by the vivaciousness she was known for before her husband’s death. It was as if she’d shed more than her black clothing upon leaving the island. It was as if she had been released from a dark prison.

  “And what would you suggest, Captain?” she asked, singling him out and taking him out of his relaxed stupor as he basked in her presence.

  “Pardon, ma’am. I was not listening,” he replied, mindful that he mustn’t call her by her first name in front of his men, even if in his mind she would ever be Chloe to him.

  “And you call yourself a lady’s man?” Jinx teased. “Blimey, Cap’n, you do bring the game down considerably with your inattention.”

  The rest of the men guffawed at Jack’s expense. Chloe smiled, but it wasn’t a genuine article, it was a polite mask. He knew his words must seem rude, but only because these nodcocks and the sparkling jewel among them did not realize the turn of his thoughts.

  “Allow me to rephrase that, Mrs. O’Donovan. I found myself so mesmerized by your feminine charms I fear I lost the thread of conversation. That headpiece alone is enough to bedazzle a man. A net of diamonds cast over a sea of jet black silk.” He gestured to her intricatel
y-styled hair. “It reminds me of the sky at night, with stars glittering above to guide a sailor home.”

  “There’s the Black Jack I know,” Jinx howled and slapped the table. “A charmer, he is, Mrs. O’Donovan, when he makes the proper effort.”

  “Black Jack? I heard that man was dead, along with his ferocious partner, The Raven.”

  “Yes. It’s true.” Jack raised his glass to her with a wink, saluting Chloe for her quick wit. Sometimes the men became too chatty when they were in their cups. Chloe was well aware that Jack and her esteemed nephew preferred to keep their pirating days a secret. “Black Jack is no more, although there are some here who tend to forget that fact, to their own detriment.”

  “So, while you were all agog over my lovely hairpiece, you didn’t hear me telling the men about Mr. O’Donovan’s writings? I’ve brought them along in the hope that I might find a publisher for his works. He wrote extensively. Poems, plays, philosophical essays. I was wondering if England would be the place to accomplish this?”

  Jack blinked and pursed his lips. He was hardly the fellow to ask such a thing. Perhaps she was forgetting where she was, on a ship full of uneducated sailors. Donovan, her husband’s nephew was the smart one, not Jack and his wily crew. After her life at Ravencrest, where philosophy flowed freely and intellectual debate was welcomed, she must find them all dull as paint. “I cannot say,” he murmured, sorry he did not have an opinion to give her.

  “Mr. Paine was English. He went to America, but his work was first printed in England. Gareth’s thoughts are of a similar tone. I thought the publisher in London who accepted Mr. Paine’s works would also be interested in Gareth’s writings. But there is a problem, you see.”

  “Yes?” Jack leaned closer, feeling a strong sense of concern as she spoke. He noted that the other men were leaning forward in their seats as well, waiting on baited breath for the divine goddess named Chloe to enlighten them. “What sort of problem, my dear?”

  “So much time has passed. The Age of Reason, Common Sense, and The Vindication for the Rights of Man were all written more than twenty years ago. I’m wondering if it is still the fashion to write challenging essays in Paine’s tradition. Perhaps Gareth’s writing is outdated.”

  “I couldn’t say,” Jack repeated, feeling inadequate in his inability to advise her. “We’ll be in London soon. Perhaps you and I might make an appointment to meet with someone who can help us. Mr. Jamison, perhaps? He is the count’s solicitor.”

  “Yes…but,” Chloe’s lovely face lost some of its glow. “I don’t wish Gareth’s writings to be lost or misplaced. I’ll be in Spain. How am I to be assured the work will be published intact, not in bits and pieces? Mr. Jinx suggested America might be better, as we could contract with a printer such as your Mr. Franklin, whom he says would surely print the work as it stands. Jinx tells me Mr. Franklin has always been a remarkably free-thinking person.”

  “Mr. Benjamin Franklin?” Jack glared at Jinx with vexation. “Tell me, Jinx, have you met Mr. Franklin?” Jinx was a former school teacher. He liked to think himself witty, and so it stood to reason the man would try to set himself up as an authority on the question in Chloe’s mind.

  “No, sir.” Jinx bristled a little at his implication. “Yet, I don’t think it would be hard to write the fellow, seeing he’s so famous for being open-minded and all.”

  “That might be difficult,” Jack responded, tired of being the butt of Mr. Jinx’s jokes for the duration of the voyage, be it in private or in front of the esteemed Mrs. O’Donovan. “Mr. Franklin died several years ago, Jinx. The count knew him and was grieved to hear of his death. And as for Mr. Paine?” He shrugged. “He’s ill I hear, as his lordship also exchanges letters with the man. So, I would not advise trusting such an important set of documents with an aged man living in obscurity in rural New York State. An established London publisher would probably be the place to start.”

  Chloe was watching him with amazement. She appeared to be impressed by his words.

  He wished for once that he were an educated fellow, like her beloved Gareth. All these years, he’d imagined what it might be like having Chloe for his wife; he’d imagined living an unpretentious life together as a sailor and a simple maid. Well, she was not a simple maid any longer. She was a quick intelligent woman who had been tutored by her intellectual spouse and by the wealthy family who had embraced her as one of their own. Chloe was more like the Beaumonts and Mr. O’Donovan now.

  Ten years ago, they may have suited. Today, she was completely out of his orbit, as far above him as the moon was above the ocean swells.

  Chloe returned to her cabin after dinner and stood at the window gazing out at the stars.

  Jack’s image appeared in her mind as he sat across from her at dinner. “That headpiece alone is enough to bedazzle a man. A net of diamonds cast over jet-black silk. It reminds me of sky at night, a velvety black above the sea, with stars glittering to guide a sailor home.”

  She placed her palm on the cool glass pane. “Jack. Oh, Jack.”

  Their kiss last week was but a memory. He obviously regretted his lapse, as he made certain they were never alone again.

  Perhaps it was for the best. She was destined to settle in Spain. He would sail back to the Indies. They would have an ocean between them.

  Her mind was swept back to that night years ago, in a tropical garden lit by the moon and stars. The garden scented with late blooming roses, frangipani and spicy hibiscus flowers. She thought of Jack, so wisely taking her away from the heat and the overwhelming crowd. Of Jack, trying to help her find a measure of calm. He rescued her from her own folly. She cast a spell in foolishness and had men tripping over each other to dance with her. It was horrible. Her only design had been to get Gareth to fall under her sway and he ended up being the only man immune to her magic—Gareth—and Jack Rawlings.

  In the days following that fiasco, Barnaby helped her reverse her ill-conceived spell by creating another potion. She had to chase down each man who ate those little biscuits to give them the potion that would make them fall out of love with her.

  There had been Mr. O’Leary, Mr. Duchamp, and that dreadful old tutor Marceau. The head footman, Rupert, had snatched up a biscuit—and there was a fifth man, she couldn’t recall his name now. All in all, she had managed to un-enchant each of them. Mr. Barnaby, the old apothecary, had taken charge of the three remaining biscuits after all those men kept stealing her treasured pastries. Barnaby told her he’d see they were given to the proper fellow.

  Was that why Gareth proposed to her that night and they wed in secret the following morning? It had been such a rushed affair. She assumed her magic affected the man she intended it for. She’d never asked Barnaby if he gave those last three biscuits to Gareth. She’d been swept away in Gareth’s devotion and all seemed right in the world.

  Ah, but that moment in the garden alone with Jack–would he have kissed her?

  “Jack,” she whispered, savoring his name on her lips. “Jack, my golden fellow, I would like to know more of your kisses. If only we weren’t destined for separate shores.”

  “Ma’am?” Marta rolled over in her small pallet in the corner. “Did you need something?”

  “Go back to sleep. What I need, I cannot have.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  London. Chloe had heard the countess talk of the place wistfully for years, in a tone that implied the entire world revolved around the mysterious city of her ladyship’s birth. A place where the rich flocked for the seasons. Where balls were held weekly, musicales, plays and every form of entertainment imaginable. A person could buy anything in London, the countess oft complained when she had to wait months for a special item to arrive in the Indies.

  London. Chloe could feel the energy of the city. She watched from the ship’s forecastle deck as the throng of people moved past the wharf. Basseterre, the capital of St. Kitts, was nothing like this. It was much colder here than in the Caribbean. It was the last day o
f February, and grey skies seemed to threaten more rain.

  Chloe wanted to leave the ship and walk about. She was informed it was impossible by the captain. A woman could not walk alone without being accosted here on the wharf, he said. She would be considered a prostitute if she walked alone on the wharf. Jack offered to escort her through the rough streets to the more civilized part of town later today, after lunch.

  She felt like a child, impatient to be set free to explore her surroundings.

  “Did you see that one, ma’am?” Red, the cabin boy was perched on the ship rail like a bird. He pointed toward a strange fellow with long black braids and odd facial markings that resembled ink drawings. He looked like a wild man described in a children’s book on the American wilderness. Gray and white feathers were sticking up out of his hair. He wore an animal skin cape over his tan seaman’s shirt, elaborate chains of colorful beads swinging over his chest as he walked. His unusual attire made him stand out among the English sailors. His trousers were made of leather. Leather slippers on his feet that seemed more comfortable than the hob-nail boots most men wore.

  Sensing her curiosity, the bizarre man stopped and gazed directly up at her and Red. He lifted his arm in a somber salute.

  “Did you see that, Mrs. O!” Red said with excitement. “I love coming into the docks. I tell me sisters about the strange sights and they think I’m making it up. Just see if I ain’t.”

  “Those men are fighting.” Marta pointed further down the wharf, where several rough fellows tussled like boys but with more fury. Chloe was accustomed to the brawls between the Beaumont twins and the O’Reilly boys; the children were fast friends one day and bitter opponents the next. It was amusing to see grown men squabbling and arguing like little boys.

  “Oh, ho!” Red leaned over the rail to get a better view. “The little one’s got a good aim. He struck the fat man clean in the nose. I bet he broke it, too.”

  “What’s this?” Captain Rawlings came up behind them. “Watching the savages?”