Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  “How is he?” she asked.

  Frazier threw a worried glance at the man on the bed. “About the same. I sponged him down with cold water, but it didn’t seem to help much. He hasn’t come to enough to take anything to drink.”

  “What about a doctor?” Peter asked.

  “We can send for one now that you have brought us a boat,” Slick answered. “Ours sort of got turned into kindling wood.”

  He swung, leaving the room to see to fetching a doctor. Frazier glanced after him. “I suppose it’s best, but I don’t think it’s necessary. The captain has been through worse than this before. He’ll mend just fine, now that he’s able to stop for a minute.”

  Lorna moved closer, dropping beside the bunk in a soft rustle and billow of skirts. “Do you think so?”

  “I know it, Ma’am. Takes more than this to get him down.”

  “He’s so hot,” she said, her hand on his forehead.

  “That he is. It’s my belief it’s natural, like the swelling, but I don’t know. Grape is a mean thing to catch, Ma’am. They load up the cannons with all manner of odds and ends, anything metal; rusty nuts and bolts and pieces of chain. Makes for ugly wounds, bad to fester.”

  “I don’t like his being unconscious like this.”

  “I’d say he was just plain exhausted,” the supercargo said with a shake of his head. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d as soon he stayed quiet. He’s been hell to be around, begging your pardon, Ma’am, though I can’t lay it to the holes in him. He had something on his mind on the trip up to Wilmington, and it didn’t help his temper. He near wore a trench in the deck from his pacing, until we could get reloaded and on our way again.”

  It seemed best not to attempt an answer. Carefully avoiding Peter’s gaze, she said to Frazier, “I expect you’re tired, too. If you would like to rest, I’ll stay with him.”

  “I appreciate the thought, Ma’am, but I’ll wait to see what the sawbones says, just the same.”

  The doctor came, a bleary-eyed Englishman with a puffy face made wider by enormous, graying muttonchops whiskers. He lifted Ramon’s eyelids, listened to his chest, and felt his forehead. He cut the bandages and stripped them off, tearing away the scabbing, so that the wounds began bleeding again, then sprinkled them with a white powder and wrapped him up again so tightly it was a source of wonder that Ramon could breathe.

  Lorna watched, nearly crying out at the callous way Ramon was being handled. The men who were gathered in the room, Peter and the ship’s officers, seemed to see nothing amiss however. She had no real knowledge of medicine, other than what she had learned helping her aunt tend the slaves her uncle had worked, and no right to question the doctor’s treatment. She remained silent, but could not wait for the medical man to leave the ship. Her contempt knew no bounds when he did so without even suggesting that his patient be made more comfortable.

  The moment he was gone, she threw off her shawl and directed Frazier to help her undress Ramon and get him under the covers. In the end, they had to cut the boots from his feet. He had worn them so long without removing them, and a large part of that time they had remained wet, that his feet had swollen and the leather shrunk, until the two had become almost inseparable.

  They sponged him down again from head to toe, and it seemed that he grew a little cooler. The doctor had left powders to be given to him, but, though they tried to rouse him to take them, it was no use. Frazier left them, finally. The boat returned from taking the doctor ashore. Lorna heard voices on deck, and once or twice men came and put their heads into the room, but she hardly noticed them as she knelt beside the bunk, holding Ramon’s hand in her own. It was Peter who spoke to them quietly, turning them away. After a time, quiet descended.

  “Lorna?”

  She turned her head at the sound, smiling a little at Peter, who was still leaning against the wall.

  “It’s getting late. Don’t you think you ought to go back to the hotel? You can return in the morning.”

  “I’m not sleepy.”

  “You should be.”

  “I … would really rather stay.”

  As if disturbed by the sound of their voices, Ramon turned his head on the pillow with a soft rustling.

  Lorna turned back instantly. Her voice low, but insistent, she said, “Ramon?”

  His lashes quivered, lifted. He stared at her for long moments, his dark eyes bright with fever; then, slowly, he smiled.

  “Ramon,” she whispered, tears in her voice.

  He moistened his lips with his tongue. She reached at once for the glass of water sitting beside her on the floor. Raising his head, she helped him drink the medicine it contained, then gave him more water. When he lay back down, his gaze remained on her face.

  “I saw you,” he said, his voice a rasp of sound.

  “Hush, don’t try to talk.”

  “I did. I saw your face in the storm, with your hair blowing around you.”

  He was delirious. Her gray eyes troubled, she reached out, taking his hand in hers again and placing a finger on his lips.

  He shook it away. “No. I did see you. And then I knew … knew we were going to make it.”

  The tears spilled from her eyes, creeping slowly down her face. Her mouth curved in a tremulous smile. Seeing it, his mouth twitched slightly in answer; then slowly, as if against his will, his eyes closed.

  She bent her head, pressing her lips to the hard ridge of his knuckles. She looked up then to where Peter had been standing, her eyes shining with the joy that Ramon was going to be all right. Peter was no longer standing against the wall. He had gone.

  The rain drummed overhead, lashing the ship. It poured with the splashing sound of a waterfall down the open companionway and mingled with the steady thump of the pumps that tried to rid the ship of both rainwater and seawater, keeping it afloat. Ramon’s breathing became deep and natural as he slept undisturbed.

  Lorna became stiff, crouching there on the floor. The stays of her corset cut into her, for she could not bend properly wearing it, and the stiffness of the tulle became scratchy. She thought of sending for a change of clothing, but knew at once it would not do. The men of the crew were as tired as their master, and those not manning the pump were probably asleep. Moreover, since Peter had gone, he had doubtless taken the boat, which was the only means of reaching shore at present.

  Pulling herself to her feet, she stretched the cramp from her muscles. Her gaze moved to the trunk at the foot of the bed. She considered it, lifting a brow, glancing from it to the gown she wore. With sudden decision, she stepped to lift the lid. She set the top drawer aside, reaching for a shirt and a pair of trousers, holding them up to her. They were large, but the sleeves and trouser legs could be rolled up. She would be more comfortable until morning, until her own things could be brought.

  A few moments later, her gown and petticoats and hooped crinoline lay like a giant lavender and white, many-petaled flower in the middle of the floor, while she stood trying to stuff what seemed like yards of shirt into the wide waist of the trousers. She had borrowed Ramon’s belt, but her waist was so small none of the holes in it were serviceable. Finally, she stripped it out of the loops and tossed it to one side. She picked up her shawl, wrapping it around her waist and looping the soft wool in a large knot. The trousers were lying in folds around her, and she grinned at the picture she must present. It didn’t matter. There was no one to see her, and no one to care.

  Her smile a little strained, she moved to place her hand on Ramon’s forehead. It seemed a little cooler, though not much. She swung away, her footsteps quiet in her dancing slippers as she stepped to the porthole to stand staring out at the few scattered spots of pale light where lamps glowed in the rain-lashed night. The ship rocked at anchor on the choppy waves, even in the quiet harbor. What must it have been like this last trip out on the ocean, beyond the protecting reefs and out-islands?

  She was tired. She had slept so little in the nights since Ramon had gone, f
earful for him, disturbed by the possibility of Nate Bacon’s paying a return visit, tormented by thoughts of the uncertain future. It was odd, but she felt safe, safer than in weeks, there on the crippled ship in the storm. She placed her hands on the sill beneath the glass and leaned her forehead against them.

  Peter. She supposed he cared what became of her. He must, since he had proposed to her. Remorse seeped through her as she thought of how little attention she had given his proposal, of how it had been shunted aside by the arrival of the Lorelei. Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with Peter? It would have been so much simpler. Or would it? No matter what he said, she could not think that his aristocratic family would have welcomed a daughter-in-law of such sullied reputation. And there was little hope that her notoriety would not precede her; Nate had made certain of that. Nassau was a small community and its ties to England close.

  What did it matter? She wasn’t going to marry Peter. She wasn’t going to marry anyone. She was going to earn her own keep and be beholden to no man.

  The wood beneath her hands felt damp as the mist from the falling rain wafted into the cabin, bringing coolness with it. Raising her head, she turned toward the bunk. The lamplight cast swaying shadows around the room, its moving beams slanting across the planes of Ramon’s face and chest above the sheet that covered him to the waist. As if drawn, she moved toward him, leaning to tug the sheet higher.

  He came awake in a single movement, his hand swooping to pin her waist as his eyelids flew open. His grip was like a hot vise, grinding the bones together. The expression in his eyes was that of a hunting hawk, black and predatory.

  She made a small sound of distress, and his gaze cleared, focusing on her face and hair, moving over the men’s clothing she wore, then back up to her gray eyes. His hold loosened. His mouth curved in a faint smile. The words little more than a whisper, he said, “You would have done better to have raided Chris’s trunk; he’s nearer your size.”

  “He might not have appreciated that.”

  “He would have been honored — as I am. How long have you been here?”

  “Not long,” she managed.

  “Come, lie with me.”

  “I can’t. Your wounds—”

  He smiled again, as if her objection were foolish, increasing the pressure on her wrist.

  “No, really,” she protested.

  “Come,” he insisted, shifting, grimacing a little as he drew her to him.

  “But Ramon, I should watch—”

  “For what? I promise you I’m not going to die.” He threw back the sheet.

  “I … shouldn’t,” she said, sitting on the bed to relieve the pull he was exerting.

  “But you will, to please me? Because without you I can’t rest, can’t think, may well cease to be?”

  How could she resist such an appeal, or the light that burned fever-bright in his eyes, or the needs of her own body and heart? She lay down, moving carefully, so as not to jar his injuries. He encircled her waist, drawing her nearer, fitting her to the contours of his body. Outside, the rain poured down in tropical abandon, and the lamp in the gimbals swung, playing its light over them until, near dawn, it sputtered out from lack of oil. Lorna did not know it.

  Ramon kept to his bunk for four days. After the first forty-eight hours, he was restless, especially as by then Slick had arranged for, and begun to oversee, the rebuilding of the ship. Edward Lansing came during that period to discuss the loss of the cargo and cost of repairs. He had had to put his foot down, so he said, to keep Elizabeth and Charlotte from coming with him; they were that anxious about Ramon’s health. They had heard, however, that he was being well taken care of by Miss Forrester.

  Lorna had been irritated by the smile Mr. Lansing had given her as he spoke the last words. It was entirely too man-of-the-world and indulgent of his friend and partner’s little peccadilloes. But, this could not be helped. It had been inevitable that her absence from the hotel, and presence on board, would be noticed. She had not given up her room at the Royal Victoria, but had gone herself to remove her most practical clothing, her habit and two muslin gowns, in her trunk of woven straw.

  To her and Cupid had fallen the task of nursing the none too cooperative patient. Together they planned meals, nourishing beef broths and chicken stews, that would tempt his appetite. While the trade winds drifted in at the portholes, along with the smells of fresh-sawn lumber and the sounds of saws and hammers, they had played chess and checkers and cards with him. Sometimes, Lorna read to him from books brought by first one and then another of the blockade captains. After the first two days, there was a constant stream of visitors in the afternoons, bringing small gifts, staying to talk until their numbers filled the cabin. That was after the ship had been towed to the dock and her parted seams patched and caulked, after it had begun to look as if the vessel might be salvaged after all.

  On the morning of the fifth day, Ramon woke Lorna by taking the end of one of her long tresses and brushing it lightly over her lips as she lay beside him. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her with melting adoration in his dark eyes and a smile of utter charm on his mouth. She reached up at once to feel his forehead. It was cool.

  He leaned to press a thorough, but gentle kiss to her parted lips, then drew back to see the effect. She smiled, and a look of droll hopefulness came to his face. “What are the chances,” he asked, “of steak and eggs for breakfast?”

  They were, of course, extremely good. When he had eaten, and, running a hand over his beard, announced his intention of shaving, Lorna left the cabin and went topside. She was in time to see a carriage pull up beside the dock. She recognized it, even before Charlotte and Elizabeth descended, decked in lace and ribbon, in yellow and blue silk, holding delicate lace parasols over their heads and carved-ivory scent bottles to their noses, to word off the smells of the wharf. They were followed by a liveried footman carrying a hamper with a napkin tucked into the top. They tripped up the gangway and sailed down to the cabin without so much as a glance at Lorna, who was standing, talking to Chris, not ten feet away.

  Lorna turned to follow them, when she was halted by a hail. It was Peter, striding toward the dock. He bounded lightly up the gangway and fell in beside her. “I see Papa has relented — or been defeated — and Charlotte and Elizabeth have come to call.”

  It was as if he had never left without saying goodbye, had not stayed away for these past four days. She smiled, moving once more toward the companionway. “Yes.”

  “Ramon will be overwhelmed.” His voice was dry.

  “Especially,” she said demurely, “since he is shaving — and has not dressed yet.”

  “Oh Lord. Shall we go and save him, or their modesty, whichever is in greatest need?”

  But, neither appeared in danger when Peter and Lorna arrived. Ramon must have heard the Lansing sisters coming, for he was in the bunk, with the sheet pulled up to his waist and a wisp of lather under his ear. He was doing his best to look the wounded hero, while at the same time eyeing the basket the footman had placed at his feet. Among the items that had been provided to refurbish the ship was a new set of chairs for the cabin. Charlotte and Elizabeth were seated in them, leaning back in elegant poses on the stiff, wooden seats.

  “…Shudder to think how close the Lorelei came to being lost,” Elizabeth was saying. “Charlotte and I prayed for your safe return, and of course for your recovery from your injuries.”

  Lorna had done the same, though one would think, she told herself, that it had been the Lansing prayers that had been solely responsible for the favorable outcome.

  “We were so worried when we heard you were hurt,” Charlotte said, her color high, her eyes bright as they rested on Ramon’s bare chest. She looked away, glancing at Lorna and Peter, then looking hastily at Ramon again.

  “We were concerned, too, at the treatment you might be receiving. It is impossible to be too careful with wounds in this climate.”

  Ramon was frowning as he noticed
the studied way the two women ignored Lorna. His voice had hardened as he said, “I had an excellent nurse.”

  “I’m sure,” Elizabeth said dismissingly. “We would have come earlier, had Papa not forbidden it. No matter our desires, it would not have done to give rise to talk.”

  The words were innocent enough, but the tone of her voice, its cool distaste, was not. Ramon’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you had better not linger then, for the sake of your … good names.”

  Elizabeth gave him an arch smile. “Yes, well, we are not quite alone; we chaperon each other, and we do have a servant in attendance. Besides, it isn’t night. I think our known repute as females of unblemished character will stand us in good stead.”

  Lorna knew very well that this comment had been flung directly at her. Her tone honeyed, she said, “Still, a lady can’t be too careful. If Ramon is joined by two other women, there is no telling what depravity people might say is taking place. Night, you know, isn’t the only time men feel amorous.”

  “My dear Miss Forrester,” Elizabeth began.

  “Whatever can you mean?” Charlotte said, frowning, though with a gleam of interest hidden by her lashes. As she glanced from one to the other, she met Peter’s ironic gaze and suddenly flushed fiery red. The look in Peter’s eyes sharpened.

  “Really, I think it would be best,” Lorna said, too angry to stop herself or to remember that these were Ramon’s guests and the daughters of his business partner, “if you would take your basket and run before you are contaminated.”

  “How dare you!” Elizabeth looked to Ramon for support, but he only stared at Lorna with a peculiar golden light in the dark depths of his eyes. The elder Lansing sister went on, gesturing at the basket they had brought. “There is nourishing food in there, food prepared under my own supervision. It cannot but be better for him than anything he might have been able to get on this ship.”

  Behind her, beyond the doorway that had not yet been fitted with a new panel, Lorna plainly heard Cupid’s snort of disdain. It spurred her on. She moved around the chairs to the foot of the bunk, lifting the napkin that covered the basket. “Food? Let me see, what have we here? Jellied consommé, I think,, and chipped beef.”