“Where are my clothes?” Cerynise blurted the question out in a rush, stricken with horror at the evidence surrounding her.
“You took a bad chill, Cerynise, and your clothes were too wet to leave on you. I had my cabin boy wash and dry your undergarments, but I fear your gown has been ruined beyond repair.”
Her mind raced. He had called her by name, and yet he was a stranger to her. “Do I know you?”
A smile tugged at his lips as he laid the quill across the ledger and rose from his chair. Though she pressed back warily against the wall behind her, he came forward with eyes glowing with amusement. Bracing an arm across the upper frame of the bunk, he leaned forward slightly and stretched out his other hand to capture a long, silken tress that had tumbled forward over the quilt.
“Though Moon was informative about your father, I’ve never known but one in my entire life who had this particular shade of hair. She was a young girl who sometimes sat in her father’s classes, taking notes as if she were every bit as old and advanced as the rest of his students. Whenever I’d tweak her nose, she’d be inclined to stick her tongue out at me and declare me a hopeless tease. Still, she seemed disposed to follow at my heels whenever she could.…”
Cerynise’s mind flew. There was only one of her father’s students whom she had ever looked up to with such devotion. He had left Charleston at the age of ten and six to find his future on sailing ships, but whenever he had returned to home port, he had always brought back gifts for her that he handed out during his visits with her father. “Beau?”
“The same, my girl.” Stepping back, Captain Beauregard Birmingham clicked his heels and swept an arm before his chest in a debonair bow. “A pleasure to see you again, Cerynise.”
“You’ve changed,” she breathed in awe. Indeed, he was very much a man now, and more handsome than she had once dared to imagine he would become. He was taller, heavier, with shoulders wide enough to make his waist and hips seem as narrow as any woman’s. In all, he was every bit the princely vision she had thought him to be when she had tagged along behind him yearning for a glance, a smile or a wink, any kind of recognition that would assure her that he was just as taken with her as she was with him.
“So have you,” he murmured, his lips curving into a lopsided smile as his blue eyes twinkled back at her. “You’ve become quite a woman, Cerynise…a very beautiful young woman.”
Cerynise could feel the heat rising to her scalp. Though unspoken, the insinuation was there, burning to be probed. “W-who undressed me?”
Beau’s gaze never wavered. “I fear I would have shirked my responsibilities as captain of this vessel had I let some member of my crew perform the service. And since I was once your protector when other boys were wont to badger you, I couldn’t very well allow any harm to come to you now.”
Cerynise groaned in abject misery. “Please tell me you kept your eyes closed.”
Beau met her searching gaze with an amused smile, momentarily awed by her eyes as they caught a shaft of light from the mirror. For the moment, they looked similar to dark green crystals, but he knew from experience gained years ago that they could change color in a shifting light or with the donning of another color. With some difficulty he dragged his mind to full attention. He knew she was upset and pondered how he might soothe her shock. “If it would make you feel any better…”
Cerynise glared up at him accusingly. “Are you going to tell me a lie, Beau Birmingham?”
His knuckle pressed against smiling lips as he struggled to contain his laughter. “My only concern was for your state of health, Cerynise,” he assured her, making every effort to present a gallant mien. “You were nigh frozen, and I feared for your life. You had to be warmed, which would have been difficult to do with all of your clothes on. They were thoroughly soaked. Believe me, I’m no lecher.…”
She groaned, thoroughly humiliated. “Neither are you blind!”
“Nay, I’m not blind,” he admitted with a chuckle. “And though under different circumstances I would have been pleasured by the sight of your perfection, I was deeply concerned for your welfare, Cerynise.” Having been delayed by an autumn ice storm in Russia several years ago, he had seen firsthand the ravages frostbite and shock could reap upon an unsuspecting man, even to the point of death. But he carefully avoided mentioning that, after stripping away her clothing, he had placed her in a tub of comfortably steaming water and left her to soak for some moments while he tried to spoon warm brandy between her blue lips. Failing for the most part in that endeavor, he had taken her to his bed and briskly toweled her body dry before gathering a blanket around her and holding her against his own warmth. She would never have understood the feelings that had washed through him when finally her trauma began to ebb and she nestled close against him. Even so simple a thing as her breath tickling his throat had been startling in its effect on him, and he had realized that he wouldn’t be able to trust himself with her if she accompanied him to Charleston. She was far too tempting for a man who’d been too busy trying to convince the local shipping authorities that he hadn’t broken any of their asinine laws with his weaving in and out of ports. An hour or two in the arms of a winsome wench might have done much to ease his manly vexation. At least, it would have made it easier for him to be around this one.
Cerynise turned her face toward the wall, allowing a lengthy silence to pass between them. Though the arguments were there to give testament to the appropriateness of his action, she was nevertheless mortified by the idea that he had been so bold with her.
“Would you like something to eat?” Beau asked, wisely changing the subject. “I was hoping you’d wake so we could dine together and perhaps talk a bit. The last time I saw you was at your parents’ funeral, shortly after I returned from a voyage. Before I knew what was happening, Mrs. Winthrop was whisking you away in a carriage. I didn’t even have a chance to offer my condolences. Then your uncle told me that you and the widow were making haste to catch a ship bound for England.” He paused briefly before continuing in somber tones. “Last night Moon informed me that you’ve been left very much out on the street by the Winthrop heirs and are wanting to go home. And that you’re hoping I will take you.”
Cerynise faced him again, anxious to know his answer. “Will you?”
Beau sighed heavily, knowing he dare not. As lovely and womanly as she had become, he knew he’d find it difficult to conduct himself with the sort of gallantry his mother might expect of him. He wished that he could still think of her as that scrawny little girl whose tongue had been as keen as her wit, but after viewing her in the altogether, he’d never again be able to return to that former way of thinking. She was very much a lady now, and the consequences of dallying with sweet innocents ensconced on his ship could affect his life in a most permanent fashion. At the very least, there would be hell to pay when he arrived home. “This is a merchant ship, Cerynise. There are no suitable accommodations for passengers.” He stretched the truth only by a slim margin, for the cabins had been filled to the hilt with the more precious cargo he was carrying. “I will, however, arrange for Captain Sullivan to see you safely home on the Mirage. He’ll be sailing before the week is out, but I’ll probably be leaving a bit sooner. Until I do, I give you leave to stay here and use my cabin.”
Disappointment overshadowed the surging hope that had first arisen within Cerynise. “I tried to explain to Captain Sullivan that Uncle Sterling would pay for my passage after I arrived,” she murmured dejectedly. “But he said his shipping company would expect an accounting.”
“You needn’t concern yourself about the fee,” Beau assured her. “I’ve already told Moon to make all the necessary arrangements for you. I’m sure you’ll have nothing to worry about with him watching over you. That old man is tenacious when his loyalties take root. I learned that when we sailed together years ago.” Beau leaned his head aslant as he looked down at her. “I rather gathered he now thinks of himself as your private paladin. He was nearly besi
de himself with worry after you passed out.”
“I couldn’t have made it this far without him,” Cerynise acknowledged quietly.
Beau stepped to one of two tall lockers neatly recessed in the wall at the far end of his bunk and pulled out a gentleman’s robe. Draping the garment over his arm, he paused beside a chair and gathered up a bundle of folded clothes that had been left there. Cerynise recognized them as the undergarments she had been wearing beneath her gown. Yet even at first glance she could tell that they had been badly stained with dark splotches.
“What happened to my clothes?”
“I’m afraid your gown faded on them after you got drenched in the rain,” Beau replied, handing the undergarments to her. “No one on the Audacious knew what to do to whiten such frilly things.”
“And my gown? Where is it?”
“The velvet was still damp as of a few moments ago, but even dry, I doubt that you’d find it serviceable.” He shrugged his shoulders at the sudden confusion she displayed. “A child might.”
“You mean it has shrunk in size?”
“Precisely.” Beau brushed the back of his hand across the robe draped over his arm. “For the moment this is the best I can offer as a replacement. I’ll try to find something more conventional for you to wear later this afternoon. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll have more time to purchase a gown for you. While you’re dressing, I’ll inform my chef that we’d like to eat.”
With that, he quit the cabin, allowing Cerynise the privacy she needed to collect her scattered thoughts. Struck by an awareness that she was now occupying the domain of a man with whom she had been infatuated since childhood, she rose from the bunk and looked around with a feeling of reverence as she slipped into the oversized garment he had left with her. A faint essence of a manly cologne claimed her attention, tantalizing her with images of one Beauregard Birmingham. The scent was subtle yet strangely stimulating to her womanly senses. Indeed, she found it rather amazing that she could be moved to such a degree by the presence of one whom she hadn’t seen since her departure from her parents’ funeral. Fearing at the time that she would never see him again, she had strained to watch him from the windows of the carriage. After a lengthy absence, his appearance had been well worth noting even then. It had certainly held her attention until they were out of sight, and thereafter she had suffered a deep regret that he hadn’t arrived in time to talk with her. But now, in his manly maturity, he was no less than magnificent.
An unquenchable grin flitted across Cerynise’s lips as an unusual blissful feeling filled her nigh to overflowing. With eyes glowing, she considered the tasteful interior and the fine furnishings that contributed to its masculine appeal. The quarters were like the man himself, handsome, polished, distinguished, yet comfortably open to the world and its adventures, like the spacious expanse of small-paned windows located above the stern gallery. The massive desk, hand-tooled with a leather top and solidly made of mahogany, was the most impressive piece in the room. Beau had looked quite imposing behind it, she had thought. For a moment she snuggled back into the leather confines of the chair and found to her surprise that only her toes reached the floor. The way he had loomed over the bunk, she could surmise that he had reached a height easily equal to his sire, a man whom she remembered standing at least a head taller than most women and a fair number of men as well.
Curiously Cerynise scanned the titles of books through the glass doors of a pair of bookcases located on either side of the windows and to her amazement found a fine collection of biographies, poems and fiction mixed in with those immediately more pertinent to sailing and navigation. Her lips curved in a smile, and she shook her head in wonder at the man. What had once seemed a bland indifference toward classical literature on his part as a student had undoubtedly been well contrived for the benefit of his male companions, who might have supposed that such inclinations were evidences of weaknesses in the male species, in spite of the fact that Beau had always ridden, raced, and swam better than most of them. It seemed her father was right after all, for he had always claimed the lad was far more mentally astute than he had cared to let on.
Across the room, a table and four chairs resided beneath a hanging lantern. Several low, curved-top chests sat here and there, no doubt containing the captain’s possessions. The shaving stand, upon which the sun had lit earlier, stood beside a paneled opening that had been left slightly ajar. Within the cabinet she glimpsed an oval tub hanging on a peg and tucked almost out of sight. Moving near, she smiled as she imagined the long-legged man trying to bathe with some comfort in such a compact receptacle. Then her eyes caught on a long tawny strand of hair that had been snared on the rim, and her breath was snatched inward with a shocked gasp, for she suffered no uncertainty that it was her own.
“He bathed me?” she cried in an astounded whisper. Full comprehension was only a fleeting breath away. “Good heavens, he bathed me! He bathed me!”
Her astonishment knew no end. The idea that Beau Birmingham had taken such liberties with her heightened her coloring to a vivid scarlet. She wanted to moan, weep in misery or do something to find relief for the overwhelming embarrassment that swept through her.
Opening the robe, Cerynise stared down at her naked body as if she had never seen it before. Indeed, she felt somehow foreign to it now that she knew that Beau had gazed upon it, too. Her breasts were full and delicately hued, her waist slender, her hips and thighs smooth and sleek. Had he been her husband, she would have gladly yielded him all the sights she had to offer, but since he was the one whose memory had never failed to quicken the beat of her heart all these many years, Cerynise could only wonder what he had thought about while he bathed her. He had meant it for her good, she assured herself, but had there been something about the incident that he had tried to hide from her? Was that why he hadn’t told her that he had bathed her? Or had he only meant to save her the anguish of humiliation that she was now suffering?
For the time being, Cerynise shunned the idea of wearing a corset, but she hurriedly donned the rest of her undergarments. Over them she wrapped the oversize robe around her and folded back the sleeves, trying not to think of how Beau’s long, lean fingers might have stumbled on the tiny buttons that had fastened her camisole between her breasts. A man would have had difficulty with anything so small. Or had he casually dismissed her nakedness and performed his charitable deed without dwelling on the fact that she was a woman now?
Cerynise faced the small mirror above his shaving stand and, managing to blank her mind for the present, proceeded to brush her teeth with a forefinger and a small amount of salt that she had found in a silver box wedged firmly in a groove on the table. She combed her fingers through her hair, raking out most of the snarls, and tore a bit of lace from the hem of her petticoat to tie it with. Deeming herself decidedly pale, she pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to bring forth a brighter hue. As she surveyed the results, it dawned on her that she had never taken such care to look her best when she had foreseen the likelihood of passing one of three young swains who, after taking close account of her customary strolls with Lydia through Hyde Park, had often waited for her somewhere along the path with the hope of gaining an introduction from her guardian. Lydia, however, had taken mischievous delight in thwarting their attempts, having been dedicated to the idea that her ward would become a famous artist or, at the very least, marry into the nobility.
A light rap of knuckles came upon the door. “Are you decent, Cerynise?” Beau called through the wood. “May I come in?”
“Yes, of course,” she answered quickly, making sure the collar of his robe was tucked securely around her neck. Her attempt at modesty, Cerynise thought wryly, was like closing the gate after the sheep had fled. It hardly served much purpose after Beau had seen her without a stitch of clothing.
Upon entering, Beau stood aside as he held the door open to admit a small, energetic, black-haired man with sparkling black eyes and a small black mustache that curved like a cherubic
bow above his upper lip. The curled ends extended upward in a cheery smile.
“Zee mademoiselle iz about to taste zee finest cuisine she has ever sampled in her life. Philippe has cooked zee food ’specially for her.…” the man announced. Then he paused in acute surprise as his eyes finally lit on her. Suddenly a-smile with appreciation for her beauty, he pressed a hand to his chest as he sought to make amends. “Mademoiselle, you must forgive le capitaine for not presenting us. I am Philippe Monét, Capitaine Birmingham’s chef de la cuisine.” Turning his hand with an elegant flourish, he halted any further introductions. “And you are zee Mademoiselle Kendall, whom le capitaine failed to mention is zee most ravishing creature in all zee world.”
Cerynise laughed with pleasure at the lighthearted exuberance of the wiry, little man, but when she glanced toward Beau whose brow had become slightly quirked, she had the distinct impression that he had grown rather perturbed with the chef. The reason was a mystery to her. Did he resent being chided for his failure to make a mannerly introduction? Or was he totally unappreciative of the fact that his cook was gushing over a guest with so much enthusiasm?
Unable to find any definite justification for his displeasure, Cerynise faced the chef and replied graciously, “Enchanté de faire votre connaissance, Monsieur Monét.”
Philippe’s mustache twitched with unquenchable delight as he heard his native tongue spoken with such elegance. It was obvious the lady had been schooled by an articulate Frenchman to pronounce the words so divinely. Eagerly Philippe began spouting off a stream of fluid French, but Beau quickly held up a hand to halt his verbosity. “Please! Converse in English for us poor unfortunates who are not fluent in a variety of languages.”
“Excusez-moi, Capitaine…” the cook began.
“Philippe, if you please!” Beau rebuked impatiently, his eyebrow now sharply peaked.
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