If the rain had not interrupted, she might have succumbed to Dominic’s promise of delight. What scared her more than even the thunderstorm was how undecided she was if falling in love with her father’s most hated enemy was right or wrong.
Chapter Twelve
Watching Clarissa arrange the flowers in a bowl on the table in the sitting room, Abigail tried not to let her boredom show. She was accustomed to the busy life in her aunt’s house where there were always chores to be done. Even on the ship, she had helped her father with some of the tasks he despised.
She made some excuse to Clarissa and went outside. The fine house seemed too close, although she had expected to delight in the comfort of four strong walls and a roof after days of sleeping in the thin shadows and nights of walking along a country lane.
“Escaped?”
Abigail whirled to see Dominic rising from a chair on the terrace. She smiled when he walked more easily than he had since the Republic was sunk.
“I should not say yes.” She laughed.
“But that is the answer.”
She nodded, admiring how the sun danced with blue fire off his hair. In the fine clothes that Lady Sudley had taken from her husband’s dressing room, he could have been a country squire himself, enjoying this sunny day as he kept an eye on his estate.
Walking to the edge of the terrace, Abigail leaned her hands on the stone rail. She was silly to have such thoughts. There would be only one place where Dominic St. Clair belonged, and that was on his ship.
“You seem aimless,” Dominic said as he sat on the rail beside her.
“I am.”
“Mayhap it is wiser to look at this time and this place as an opportunity to give ourselves a chance to catch our breaths before …”
She faced him. “My breath is well caught. Several days ago. Now I am at wits’ end trying to keep from losing them.”
Dominic laughed. “Is that your very polite way of saying you are suffering from ennui?”
“You are assuming the vocabulary of the Polite World with incredible speed.”
“As you are.” He laughed again. “A few days ago, you would not have known what the term Polite World meant. Now listen to you. You could be a miss about to enjoy her first Season.”
“I fear I am too old.”
“You?”
“When her mother is not about, Clarissa laments endlessly that she will be left on the shelf because Lord Sudley insists that she wait another year before she is fired-off.” Abigail sat next to him and let her feet rock against the wall. “You are right. Listen to me.”
“I am, and I am glad you have such a quick ear for the language that may be our best guise in London.” He paused as a bird shrieked overhead, then added, “Such skulduggery is not easy for an honest man like me.”
“You seem to be as quick at learning that as I am with the cant of the ton.”
“Fortunately for both of us.”
Abigail gazed up at the trees where two birds seemed to be having an argument. She listened to their squawks, which ended when they flew away in opposite directions. With a sigh, she ran her fingers along the uneven stones.
Dominic’s hand lightly settled over hers, following the sinuous motion her fingers made across the edges of the stones. She looked at him and knew she did not want to look away. The enticing curve of his mouth, the heated sparks in his eyes, the gentle caress of his rough skin on her hand, all offered an invitation that echoed within her heart.
His other hand came up to cup her cheek as he whispered, “I could not ask for a better partner in this adventure.”
Abruptly he stood and looked toward the road that wound from the gate to the house. Several riders were coming at top speed in front of a carriage.
“Who do you think that is?” Abigail asked, coming to her feet, too.
“I have no idea, and I shall not complicate matters by jumping to conclusions.” He chuckled. “We have enough to do without making matters worse.”
“Mayhap you have enough to do.”
Dominic turned back to Abigail. Although she was watching the riders, her fingers were clenched by her sides. He recognized that pose. She was distressed about something that she feared she could not escape.
Putting his hands on her shoulders, he asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I am bored.” She shrugged off his hands and walked along the wall to where the rosebushes framed a view of the pond. “It is a hateful feeling for someone accustomed to being busy.”
“I do recall you mentioning that you were bored on the ship.”
“When you were captaining it, yes.”
“Do you mean your father gave you work to do?” His laugh was terse. “None of his crew mentioned that you had been climbing the sheets or raising the sails.”
Facing him, she scowled. “Of course not, but there were things I could help with. I kept his log for him.”
“His log?” He closed the distance between them and saw her face grow gray. “I thought you said you did not know where it was.”
“I lied.”
“That is clear. Did you lie as well about not knowing where the Republic was bound for and what was in its holds?” He ignored the sensation that reminded him of a fist in the gut. He had not trusted this American woman when he first took control of her father’s ship, but that distrust had been eroded away by her concern for his well-being … and her kisses. Had he been the greatest fool to be seduced by those luscious kisses and her tentative touch?
She shook her head, her eyes wide with dismay, as he stepped even closer. He caught her face between his hands, keeping her from edging away.
“I did not know what was in the holds or where we sailed,” she whispered. “I swear that, Dominic. The information Father gave me for the log was usually only numbers. I had no idea what they meant, but I could copy them neatly into his log.”
“Which you kept safe for him when the ship came under attack?”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes, but opened them to meet his gaze evenly as she whispered, “The log book was in the drawer under my bed.”
“He left his daughter to guard over the ship’s most vital information?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” She squared her shoulders. “Mayhap that is why he left me behind.”
Dominic snorted. “I do not believe that, and neither do you.”
Abigail wanted to retort that she did, but she would not lie to Dominic again about this. If Father had truly worried about the log books being discovered, he would have destroyed them as soon as La Chanson de la Mer came over the horizon and it was clear the Republic would be forced to surrender.
“Can we speak of something else?” she asked.
“Whatever you wish, chérie.”
A quiver rippled through her at the name that softened his voice to a husky yearning. Her fingers rose to frame his face as his did hers. His smile broadened as she brought his mouth toward hers. She tasted its warmth while his arms enfolded her to him.
“Sometimes not talking about anything else,” he murmured against her ear, “is what we do best.”
She laughed in the moment before he captured her lips again. Sifting her fingers up into his hair, she pressed closer to him. She wanted to savor him with every inch of herself. Her uneven breath rang in her ears as his mouth glided along her neck even as his fingers were sweeping up over her breast. The quivers became a storm within her.
Whispering his name with the insistent craving, she steered his mouth back to hers. Her lips were jealous of any other part of her, wanting all of his kisses for themselves.
He released her.
Abigail stared at him as she banged a hip against the stone wall. Was he out of his mind? He never had treated her so roughly before.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to cause you harm, chérie,” Dominic said, then turned away.
Her answer dried up in her throat when she saw at least a half-dozen strange men crossing the terrace
toward them. Only because Lady Sudley was with them could Abigail keep her feet from fleeing.
Lady Sudley smiled warmly as she came forward and took Abigail’s hand. “My dear friends, these gentlemen from the admiralty would like to ask you some questions about your interrupted voyage.”
One man stepped forward. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he bowed and said, “Good afternoon. I am Harold Kiley, and it is my duty to investigate the sinking of what appears to be an American ship along the shore south of Dartmoor.”
“An American ship?” Lady Sudley asked, glancing at Dominic with a baffled expression.
“My lady,” he replied with the gracious tone he always used with her, “any captain from North America would be proud to set sail in a ship constructed by the Americans. They have some of the finest oak that has ever been found.”
Mr. Kiley smiled coolly. “That is a lament heard often in the halls of the Admiralty since the end of the Americans’ war for independence. You seem very familiar with the ways of ships, Mr.—”
“Dominic St. Clair.” As he held out his hand to shake the other man’s, Abigail saw no sign of anything but curiosity and goodwill on Dominic’s face. Again she wished he had given the Sudleys a name other than his own.
Mayhap her worries were groundless, because Mr. Kiley shook his hand and motioned for them all to sit in the chairs the other men gathered from the sunnier sections of the terrace. When refreshments were brought while Dominic and Mr. Kiley discussed the ship design, Abigail hoped no one took note of how she clutched on to her glass of lemonade to conceal her shaking hands.
“We would be glad to help in any way we can,” Dominic said after taking a sip of his lemonade. “However, you must understand that my knowledge of shipbuilding comes from what I have read and what I have observed on my own voyages before this first opportunity to sail on an American-made ship. I do not know how much we can tell you, because Abigail and I were quite lost at sea, if you will pardon the pun.”
“Of course. You must have been witness to whomever attacked the ship.” Mr. Kiley motioned to one of his companions, who pulled out a lap desk and writing materials and poised to take down their answers.
“It would be difficult … no, I would say it would be impossible not to take note of a battle at sea when one is on board one of the ships involved.” He glanced at Abigail. Although he did not jostle her elbow, she knew he wanted her to take part in this conversation, because he thought it would draw more attention to her if she remained silent.
Her voice shook, but she did not try to calm it as she said, “The attack on our ship was horrible, Mr. Kiley. The noise, the screams of the wounded men, the clatter of swords as well as guns firing. I will never forget one moment of it.”
“You speak only of sounds,” Mr. Kiley said. “Can you tell me what you were able to see, madam?”
“Nothing.” She put her glass on the table and wrapped her arms around herself. She quickly folded her icy hands in her lap, because she was already shivering as she recalled those horrible hours on the Republic when she had been unsure if her father was dead or alive. “I could see nothing. I was told to remain in my quarters, Mr. Kiley. I did. Mayhap it would have been less horrendous if I had seen the actual battle instead of allowing my imagination to paint such a wretched picture of what must have happened on deck. Now, I fear, those scenes from my imagination will remain imprinted on my mind forever.”
Dominic’s hand slid over hers, his fingers closing gently. “I had no idea,” he said softly.
“I know.” Again she found herself lost in his eyes. The sympathy in them was as solacing as an embrace, but she wanted his arms around her. She did not want them giving her compassion, but passion.
Mr. Kiley cleared his throat as a flush climbed his thin cheeks. “A few more questions, if we may.”
“Of course,” Dominic replied, but continued to hold Abigail’s hand.
She held tightly to his fingers, glad to let him answer Mr. Kiley’s questions. Listening in growing amazement, she realized Dominic had not been jesting when he said he tried always to speak the truth. Not a word that he told Mr. Kiley was false, but allowed no hint that Dominic had been commanding a French ship that had halted an American ship trying to slip through the blockade.
Mr. Kiley seemed pleased with the information that Dominic had provided, because he pumped Dominic’s hand heartily and thanked both of them when he rose to take his leave. Lady Sudley stood to escort them to the door.
Dominic sat again when the others had gone into the house. Folding Abigail’s cold fingers between his hands, he sighed. “I am so sorry, chérie.”
“You already apologized.” She set herself on her feet and went to stand by the wall again.
“I did? When?”
“When you bumped me against this wall when Mr. Kiley arrived.”
His smile was gentle as he limped toward her. “I was not speaking of that, chérie, but of the fear I instilled in you during the attack on the ship.”
“You had no idea I was on the ship when …” She glanced anxiously toward the house.
He tipped her face back toward him. “I was not speaking of that, either. I was speaking of when I found you in your quarters.”
“You enjoyed taunting me!” She pulled herself away from him.
His hand on her arm halted her. She knew, if she shook it off, he would not hold her against her will. If she had an ounce of sense, she would end this conversation now and recall that they were enemies, that he had captured her father’s ship and had sent her father to hang, that he could betray her in an effort to save himself and his ship.
But her heart thudded as she faced him again. His fingers stroked her cheek, luring her back to him without a single word. When her hand rose, he caught it by the wrist and pressed his mouth against her palm. A thrill pierced her, fiery hot and unrelenting.
Not letting her hand go, he raised his head and whispered, “Mayhap I did, but there is one thing I would enjoy with you more now, chérie. One very dangerous thing that could rip your very soul from you as you give yourself to me.”
“You should not speak so. If someone were to hear—”
“We are alone.”
A shout contradicted him, and footsteps pounded the stones as Newton rushed up to them. Somehow the boy inveigled his way between them, squirming like the snake he carried in his hands. Holding it up for Dominic to see, he chattered like one of the birds scolding them from the trees.
Abigail backed away, knowing she must make her escape now before her lack of sense betrayed her into Dominic’s arms. She had not gone more than two steps before her elbows were grasped and she was spun back to face the fierce fires in his eyes.
“Chérie?”
“I think I should go now while you and Newton enjoy his snake.”
“That is not what I wish to enjoy,” he growled lowly so the boy would not hear. “This house is too crowded. Even in our private rooms, there is always a parade of maids and footmen passing through.”
“Mayhap that is for the best, Dominic.”
His kiss was deep and hard, leaving her breathless.
“If you think so,” he whispered, “then it is my duty to change your mind for you as soon as possible.”
She slid out of his grip and backed away one step, then another. She whirled and ran into the house, but she knew there was no escape from the truth. She wanted the rapture he could give her, even if that desire made her a traitor to everything she had ever believed in.
Chapter Thirteen
“We never go inside this building.” Clarissa gave a shiver as she pointed with her parasol toward the stone barn that was set along the edge of the pond in the very center of the garden.
“Why not?” Abigail asked, coming down the garden steps to stand beside the younger woman.
Abigail hid a yawn behind her hand. She was not bored, just sleepy. For the past two nights, there had been thunderstorms rumbling overhead. She had huddled benea
th her blankets, biting her lip to keep from crying out in horror. If she did, Dominic might come into her room. She knew she would not be strong enough to ignore again her desire to be in his arms. But that desire frightened her even more than the storms crashing overhead.
“Mama says it is dangerous. There is a spring inside it, and someone might have drowned there.” Clarissa’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Do you want to see inside?”
“I thought you said—”
“Mama says not to go inside. She said nothing about looking inside.”
“And,” Dominic’s voice interjected, “it is too tempting not to peek into.”
Clarissa’s cheeks flushed an enticing pink. When she fluttered her eyelashes at Dominic, Abigail did not smile. She was not bothered by Clarissa’s childlike flirting with him, but by the thought of how Lady Sudley would react if she discovered the truth about Dominic St. Clair. He might look elegant in his fashionably cut coat and unpatched breeches, so Clarissa could be excused for practicing her fascinating arts on him. Yet, even when he was dressed like this, Abigail always saw him as the pirate, standing with arrogant pride on the ship, looking into the wind and past the horizon.
“Yes, it is most tempting, although I am sure it is dangerous within,” Clarissa said, her voice softening. “Of course, Mama would not mind us going in if you were with us, Mr. St. Clair.”
Newton popped out from behind a tree, a piece of long grass hanging from his mouth like a country bumpkin’s pipe. “Mama said no one was supposed to go in there. Not even Mr. St. Clair.” He giggled as he squinted at his sister. “You need not worry. Clarissa won’t go in there anyhow, because it is full of spiders.”
“I will too go in there,” Clarissa argued.
Abigail now had to struggle to hide her smile. Seeing how Dominic’s eyes twinkled, she fought that impulse even harder. Clarissa might be close to her own age, but her pampered life as an earl’s daughter made her seem much younger. The only worry she had was which dress to pick for tea. Had Abigail been so immature before Dominic and his pirates were thrust into her life? Mayhap she had, because, then, she could not have imagined her father abandoning her on the Republic.
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