“Aye, miss. Captain Birmingham has gained quite a reputation for his excellent taste in merchandise. The Charleston merchants would love to get their hands on the treasures he brings back so they could make a nice profit reselling them, but the bulk of the furniture is usually sold to private collectors who rush to meet our ship as soon as we dock. They wrangle over the pieces and try to outdo each other by offering the best price, leaving the captain nothing to do but accept the most generous proposal.”
“If the furniture he brings back is as fine as what he has in his cabin, I can understand why there is such a demand for it.”
“Aye,” Stephen Oaks agreed and then tipped his hat to her again. “Now, miss, if you’ll pardon me, I need to get back to work.”
“Of course.”
Cerynise’s sweeping gaze ended on the forecastle, for it was there she found Beau. He was garbed casually in a white, full-sleeved shirt and long, slender trousers that accentuated the muscular trimness of his hips. The shirt lay open to the middle of his muscular chest, revealing sun-bronzed skin and a light furring of black. No doubt he had brushed his thick mane back from his face during an earlier morning grooming, but curling wisps now tumbled carelessly onto his brow. He was wont to comb his fingers absently through those shining, coal-black locks as he argued with another man who was older, shorter, and nattily garbed. Cerynise guessed the stranger to be a merchant, but whatever his profession, it was apparent from the quality of his clothes that he was immensely successful at what he did. It was equally evident that Beau could stand on his own in his dealings with the man. Throughout their conversation Beau remained unyielding, firmly holding his position by shaking his head until his companion finally threw up his hands in exasperation. Then Beau smiled as he handed the man a receipt to sign, counted out a sizable sum from a purse he wore on his belt, and gave it over into the waiting hand of the other. A handshake ended the agreement, and the stranger beamed as he clamped his hat upon his head and took his leave, obviously satisfied that whatever bargain they had struck had been fair for them both.
His business concluded, Beau glanced toward the companionway, wondering what was keeping Mr. Oaks. It wasn’t that he needed the man for anything at that particular moment; he only wanted to see if he had brought Cerynise up from his cabin yet. He finally espied the mate approaching the forecastle through a maze of laboring men, but it was the bit of color behind Mr. Oaks that soon drew Beau’s eye, assuring him that his young guest was now gracing the deck of his ship with her uncommon beauty. That small wedge of pleated flounce, barely visible behind his second-in-command, held his gaze ensnared, but it was hardly enough.
Purposefully Beau strolled to a spot near the upper rail where he could view Cerynise without hindrance. It was a sight that nearly caused his heart to lurch in admiration. In some amazement he realized that he was no less affected by the way she looked in her ladylike finery than he had been when she had worn Billy’s ducks. Since she had come aboard the Audacious, he had been unable to thrust her from his mind. Indeed, his difficulty in finding a wench equally as winsome had caused him to regret ever seeing her again, for he had returned to his ship no better off than when he had left. And now, what nearly tore him apart inside was the fact that she looked simply delicious. For someone who had always been like an older brother to the girl, he was being brought up short by his growing infatuation with her.
“I brought Miss Kendall on deck, Captain,” Oaks informed him, as if there had been any need.
“I noticed.” Beau cast a quick glance around to gauge the reaction of his crew. Basically most of the sailors had one eye on the girl and the other on what they were doing. “And so have the men, ’twould seem.”
Stephen Oaks cleared his throat, repressing the urge to look back at her himself. “Miss Kendall was wondering if you’ll be taking her to the Mirage any time soon, sir. If you ask me, it seems a bloody shame to let her sail on that old washtub when we could just as well empty out a cabin and take her home in fine style. Besides, I’ve seen that scurvy lot of Sullivan’s in the alehouses, and I’m of a mind to think that they can’t be trusted with a lady, much less one as comely as Miss Kendall.”
Beau settled a chilly stare upon his second-in-command. It certainly didn’t help that he, too, was cognizant of the flaws associated with that particular ship, its skipper and crew, but he was crushingly aware of his own limitations. Having two genteel sisters and a mother who was the very epitome of a lady, he knew only too well the difference between gently bred women and the trollops from whom he sought easement for his manly needs and disposition. Having failed during the previous night to find comfort in the arms of the latter, he knew he’d have to face three months or more of acute torture if he allowed the most lovely, gracious and utterly tempting Cerynise Kendall to accompany them on their voyage home.
“Are you suggesting, Mr. Oaks, that I allow her to disrupt my whole crew for the duration of the voyage home? ’Twould be lucky if any of us reached safe port the way we’re wont to ogle her. Myself included.”
The mate looked back at his captain in sharp suspicion. “I take it you didn’t find what you went searching for last night.”
“Hell!” Beau muttered disagreeably. “I might as well have been a damned eunuch. After being around Miss Kendall, bedding a whore would’ve been the same as trying to down hardtack after feasting on Philippe’s fare. The idea left me…shall we say…uninspired.”
Oaks curbed a smile. “I rather gathered as much, the way you came back snorting like a rutting stag.”
“And you think she’d be safer here than on Sullivan’s ship?” Beau asked curtly, fixing an incredulous squint upon the mate. “Hell, the way she looks now, I might as well forget I’m captain of this damned frigate.”
“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable if I escorted Miss Kendall back to your cabin.”
“No!” Beau barked.
Once again Oaks fought to squelch his amusement. “But I thought only to ease your pli—”
“Don’t think!” Beau advised tersely with an angry slash of his hand. “I’m not in the mood for any of your coolheaded logic, Mr. Oaks. If you must know, I happen to enjoy watching the lady, and with my men observing us both, it may well be the only way I can safely indulge that propensity.”
“Perhaps if you’d allow her to sail with us, Miss Kendall would be content to remain in her cabin for most of the voyage.…”
Beau scoffed at the idea. “Being kept a prisoner doesn’t strike me as a situation suitable for any woman.”
“Then you’re willing to subject her to the dangers that Captain Sullivan’s crew might force upon her.”
“That’s merely a conjecture, Mr. Oaks. On the Audacious ’twould be a certainty.” Beau waved a hand, dismissing his first officer. “We’ve work to do. We’d better get on with it.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, Beau strode down to the main deck and crossed to the rail to see how the work was progressing on the quay. Noticing fibers snapping apart in a rope that a handful of crewmen were straining against in order to steady a large crate presently being hoisted toward the deck, he thrust out an arm to bring the bosun’s attention to bear upon the cable. “Watch that guy, Mr. McDurmett. There’s a bad flaw in it.”
A tall, sandy-haired man with a weathered face glanced up to inspect the cordage and, upon seeing the difficulty, gave his superior a casual salute. “Aye, Cap’n. I’ll take care of it right away, sir.”
No sooner had Beau turned from the rail than an audible snap was heard and the stabling line whipped free. Startled cries erupted from the loading crew, who spilled backward to the dock. From another sector came warning shouts as the now-spinning, armoire-sized crate swung forward toward the ship. Beau whirled and, catching a glimpse of a lofty shadow rapidly approaching, glanced up with a start. The heavy box passed overhead with the stabling rope whipping wildly behind. Beau hardly paused. Leaping upward, he seized the guy, only
to realize that the weight of one man wasn’t enough to halt the ponderous load. The crate never paused as it sailed toward the crowded deck, hauling him along with it.
The shouts had drawn Cerynise’s attention to bear upon the dangerously careening crate, but when she espied Beau dangling under it, her heart was stricken by fear. The risk of the weighty thing plummeting to the deck and crushing him beneath it was too great for her peace of mind. Clasping a hand over her mouth to smother a frightened scream, she watched in paralyzed awe as he began clambering up the rope.
The powerful muscles of his back and shoulders bulged as Beau swung intentionally outward away from the crate. Upon the return, he reversed his direction, extending his legs toward the load. He hit the cumbersome dervish with feet braced wide apart, stabilizing it enough to allow Oaks and several others to seize the rope. As they did, Beau clasped hold of the box and, climbing upon it, released the guy, giving his men full control of it as they sought to bring the wayward load in line. Gradually the crate slowed its swaying, and a command sounded to start lowering it into the hold. Beau jumped free and landed on his feet on the far side of the hatch. Then he turned, dusting off his hands as if concluding an everyday occurrence. Only then did Cerynise find her breath, which had been frozen in a hard lump in her throat.
When the crate came to rest on the lower deck, an audible sigh slipped from the crew. They soon broke into relieved laughter and engaged each other in a flurry of back-slapping as they showed their appreciation for a disaster successfully averted. Beau gave no evidence of begrudging his men this familiarity, but it was not long before he gave a signal for the loading to resume.
Stephen Oaks lifted his cap and wiped his forehead in relief as he came back to Cerynise. “Bit close, that one.”
Cerynise’s heart still felt a bit wobbly in its rhythm. The only thing she could think of at the moment was what might have happened if the crate had come loose and plummeted down upon Beau. The vision of him lying lifeless beneath the cumbersome box made her shudder. Weakly she murmured, “’Tis fortunate Captain Birmingham is so perceptive.”
“Aye, ’tis that, miss,” Mr. Oaks eagerly agreed. “There isn’t much that gets past him. He always seems to be a step ahead of the rest of us. Why, he’s just as quick of mind as he is of foot.”
Cerynise was too deeply shaken by the incident to make further comment on Beau’s feat. The fact that he had ignored the danger to himself in his quest to subdue the crate was perhaps all well and good. But as far as she was concerned, she had serious doubts that she’d ever be able to watch another heroic, life-threatening deed of his without fainting dead away.
Some moments passed before the tingling fright that had assailed Cerynise ebbed to a more tolerable level. Once again she found her gaze drawn to Beau. With unwilling fascination, she observed him as he moved with comfortable ease among his men and the constant stream of visitors. Wherever he was needed, he was there, listening, observing, directing or explaining. At times, he stood back in an attitude of approval as he watched his men performing their tasks adeptly, but whenever a need arose, he stepped in, giving curt orders here, suggestions there. Cerynise could fully understand why he was always speedily obeyed. The merest thought of those eyes, which seemed to flame with a green fire of their own, staring at her in cool displeasure was enough to make her tremble. Yet there was nothing dictatorial or arrogant about his manner. He simply exuded confidence and a firm command that other men were bound to follow.
A growing desire to sketch Beau amid the activity of the ship and the ruddy, weathered faces of his men began to flourish. If she could have foreseen the possibility of completing even a rough sketch before she had to leave, she would have asked Mr. Oaks to find her a place on deck where she’d be able to draw without hindering their work. But it seemed the only one who could give her a definite answer about her departure was Beau, and she couldn’t work up enough courage to approach him while he was absorbed in his work.
Several moments elapsed before a carriage veered onto the dock, passing close enough to a six-in-hand to make the lead pair of drays bolt upright. Behind them, the other four steeds grew skittish and shied away. Turning the air nigh blue with loud curses, the teamster sawed frantically on the reins as he tried to bring his animals in line. His huge steeds calmed to some degree, allowing him to rail obscenities and shake a clenched fist at the other driver, who seemed to deliberately ignore the disturbance he had caused.
The new arrival continued on a destructive path, sending startled peddlers scattering in screaming panic and eliciting outraged screeches as other vendors saw their baskets of produce flying helter-skelter. A young boy, after surveying the squashed remains of his vegetables, picked up a tomato and flung it against the conveyance, leaving a reddened blotch adhering to its black door.
Finally the carriage came to a halt near a stack of crates that had been heaped up beyond the gangplank of the Audacious. Immediately the carriage door was flung open, and two men moved simultaneously to make their descent. For a moment they struggled to squeeze past each other and succeeded only in drawing derisive hoots from the vendors. Finally, the rounder of the two relented and sat back, allowing his companion to precede him. That worthy stepped to the ground just as the squashed tomato slid from the door and plopped onto the top of his shoe. Feeling a sudden splat, the man cast a curious glance downward. The slow turning of wide, flaccid lips conveyed the depth of his disgust. He kicked the seedy pulp off and then, glowering toward the chortling peddlers, flipped a coin to the coachman, who immediately raised an angry protest. When his demands were ignored in lofty arrogance, the driver swore and began to rein his horses about, causing the remaining occupant to hastily execute an escape from the turning coach. His ungainly departure left him teetering on the ground with arms flailing wildly as he struggled to regain his footing. His lank-bodied, black-haired companion muttered a curse and relented enough to toss another coin to the driver. Evidently it was enough to mollify him this time, for a self-satisfied smirk compressed one side of his rough-featured face. With an air of one who had all the time in the world, he folded his arms across his chest and relaxed back upon the seat to await the pair.
The reckless arrival of the carriage had alerted nearly everybody aboard the Audacious, including Mr. Oaks, who eyed the two passengers curiously as they strode toward the gangplank. If they were merchants at all, then they were none he had been made aware of. Even so, he went to meet them.
Cerynise followed more slowly, at least until she was able to see the men clearly. Then she gasped in shock, recognizing Alistair Winthrop and Howard Rudd. “Oh, my…”
Stephen Oaks recognized the anguish in the lady’s tone and, glancing back, grew concerned at her sudden pallor. “Is something wrong, miss?” he asked, returning to her side. “Here, you’d better sit down.” Without waiting for a reply, he guided her solicitously to several smaller crates and held her hand as she sank listlessly to one of the wooden boxes. “I’ll go and fetch the captain.…”
It was too late. Alistair Winthrop and Howard Rudd were already coming up the plank, demanding to see the one in charge. Cerynise watched in mute horror as Beau turned to face them. Frowning in bemusement, he approached them.
“May I help you?”
“You certainly may!” Alistair answered haughtily. “We’re looking for a runaway girl, and from what we’ve learned from Captain Sullivan down the river a piece, she’s here on your ship.”
“A runaway girl?” Beau cocked a curious brow as he sized up the pair. He quickly decided he didn’t like what he saw or smelt. They both reeked of stale brandy or some other strong intoxicant. “I’m not aware that we have a runaway girl aboard the Audacious. You must be mistaken.”
“Oh, you have her all right,” Alistair insisted, his lips turning in a sneer as his dark eyes glinted with anger. “And I’m going to find her! Even if I have to search this damned barge to the depths of her stinking hold.”
The cruel talons of
dread clawed at Cerynise. She had no idea what the two men were about, but she could only assume that after kicking her out of the Winthrop house, they needed her to return for some malicious purpose of their own. Perhaps they had even found out about all of the clothes and things that Bridget and Jasper had managed to bring to her and intended to accuse her of thievery. She had come so close to leaving England. Another few days and she would have been sailing home.
“Do you have names?” Beau queried brusquely, surreptitiously flicking a hand toward Oaks, who promptly motioned several sailors to form a human wall in front of Cerynise.
“Alistair Winthrop,” that one announced.
“Howard Rudd, Solicitor,” the other volunteered apprehensively, noticing at least half a dozen tars edging closer.
“Well, Alistair Winthrop and Howard Rudd, Solicitor,” Beau replied tartly, “this happens to be my ship, and anyone who thinks they can search it without my permission is in danger of being thrown into the river headfirst. Now, suppose you tell me what this is all about, and perhaps I might consider delaying your icy dip.”
Rudd bobbed his head in eager agreement. “Must explain.”
Alistair cast a livid glare over his shoulder at his companion, who seemed suddenly afflicted by a nervous rolling of his eyes and a sharp twitch that made his head jerk in the same direction. The warning signals fairly flew over Alistair’s own head, for he was far more intent upon getting what he wanted from this uncouth Yankee. “We’ve come for Miss Cerynise Kendall, and we have every reason to believe that she has acquired passage on this vessel since Captain Sullivan has vigorously denied that she has done so on his.”
Beau was totally unmoved by the man’s statement. “Why do you wish to see Miss Kendall?”
“She was a ward of the Winthrop estate and, as such, has become my responsibility.”
“You don’t say.” Beau’s eyes were as cold as his terse smile. “Well, I have it on good authority that Miss Kendall is from the Carolinas and not an English subject. Therefore I fail to see how you can make any legal claim to her.”
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