She counted eight settings, which meant she would not have to dine alone with the privateer. It would also serve to curb Michael's seemingly endless questions and requests for Wade to regale them with stories of his adventures at sea.
Since there was no sign of anyone inside the room, she carried on past the open double doors. The room next to it was dimly lit by contrast, with only two small lamps casting light on the enormous chart table and wall full of rolled maps. There were no soft chairs, no frills to stand in the way of wood and leather and practicality. Nothing to distract Wade from plotting his raids and counting the profits from his smuggling ventures. On a side table, she noticed four model ships, each standing perhaps three feet high. One bore a striking resemblance to the graceful schooner anchored out in the harbor alongside the Chimera. Another might have been the Chimera itself, save that it was painted black with gilding on the rails and across the stern gallery.
Summer turned and walked back to the railing, gazing up at the sky as the stars began to twinkle into sight. All along the inner slope of the island were tiny cocoons of light to indicate where there were huts built among the trees. Farther out on the beach, someone had lit a huge bonfire in anticipation of an evening of celebration, welcoming the crew of the Chimera home. She could hear sounds of shouting and laughter and music in the distance; the scent of roasting meat and spices carried up on the breezes set her tongue watering.
How she knew, suddenly, that he was there, she could not have said. It was just the sensation, once again, of intangible hands running lightly up and down her body that bade her slowly turn around.
Morgan Wade was less than a dozen paces away, standing just on the edge of shadow and light. He had shed the familiar cambric shirt and salt-stained breeches, and had scraped his jaw clean of thick stubble. His ebony hair had been trimmed neatly to the starched white points of his collar. His coat was deep blue velvet, cut away over a richly embroidered silk waistcoat and dove gray breeches. The black silk cravat he wore was tied to within an inch of fashionable fullness, pinned in precise folds by a sapphire the size of a robin's egg.
No amount of silk or velvet could conceal the breadth of his shoulders, and no amount of mellow lantern light could take away the rakish effects of sea and sun from his complexion, and it was this combination of elegance and savagery that left Summer as speechless as she had been the first time she had seen Wade aboard the Chimera.
CHAPTER NINE
The cigar that smoldered between his long fingers was momentarily forgotten as the dark eyes savored the surprisingly lovely vision standing at the rail. The dress she wore caught just enough of the light to glow softly against the darkness behind her. Her hair was swept up off her neck, emphasising the swan-like curve and the smooth, sloping shoulders. Her face was scrubbed clean, the bruise barely noticeable; her eyes seemed inordinately large and bright. Accustomed to seeing her in the oversized shirt and saggy breeches, he had almost been able to put the image of the slender, lithe creature he had rescued from the sea out of his mind.
Almost.
"My God," Wade murmured, moving in and out of a shadow as he walked across the porch to join her at the rail. "What a truly lovely woman you are. Sack cloth did not do you justice, Governess."
Summer blushed to the roots of her hair, feeling suddenly as awkward and tongue-tied as a young girl at her first soiree. "Thank you, Captain Wade," she murmured haltingly. "And thank you for the hospitality you have shown thus far. The dress...everything is wonderful."
"I can see that. And it is my pleasure, I assure you." He stopped within arm's reach, and she had no choice but to look up into his face. Her lips were parted slightly, and her eyes remained locked to his as if by a physical bond. The fluttering sensation that had begun in her belly spread down into her knees and upward into her chest.
The hard line of Wade's jaw softened with a smile, the first she had seen that totally removed the threatening, guarded expression that had seemed permanently etched around his mouth and eyes.
"I believe I would have planned this evening differently had I had my full wits about me," he said quietly. "And I doubt I would have insisted that Mr. Roarke take you back to Bridgetown before week's end."
Summer thought quickly, but the days had run one into the other and she had no idea which day of the week it was. She covered her ignorance with what she hoped was a knowing half-smile. "So soon?"
"Aye. You did express a wish for haste, did you not? Besides, I have a cargo to retrieve and a delivery of my own to make. I'm afraid I would make for impatient company for the next few weeks while the Chimera is careened and repaired properly. Stuart is a good man. He'll see you home safely."
Summer was as yet unable to break out of his visual embrace. "What of the ransom? Will he collect that as well?"
Wade's grin widened as he tilted his head slightly. "There will be no ransom, Governess."
"No ransom?"
"There was never any intention on my part to demand one."
She frowned. "But you said—"
"No. You said, madam. I merely listened. It was your assumption that all men who sail under a particular flag are barbarians and pirates. I, however, never once mentioned kidnapping or ransom demands."
"That first day...when you recognized Michael—"
"What did I do?" He arched an eyebrow.
"You...you..."
"I put the pair of you in a cabin—my own, to be precise—and endeavored to make you both as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. It was no fault of mine that your imaginations carried you off in twenty different directions at once. Your young ward, in particular, fancied himself quite the little spy, on a mission to chart every crate and barrel in my holds. He was almost as subtle as you going through my desk and my papers."
Summer felt her cheeks burning but there was little she could say in her brother's defence, and she, for one, had been caught at it red-handed.
He saw her expression and chuckled. "Come now, Governess. In your position I would have done exactly the same thing. I might even have been tempted to take some papers and hide them."
"I took nothing," she said indignantly. "I am not a thief, sir."
Wade chuckled again. He extended his arm and bowed. "Shall we join the others? They are waiting in the main salon."
She squared her shoulders and looked down her nose at his arm. "I am not very hungry. Please make my excuses, I think I prefer to return to my room."
Wade easily caught her elbow as she tried to brush past him. "Whereas I prefer your company beside me at the dinner table, Governess. Just as I preferred it beside me in bed each night."
Summer gasped, and for a moment her eyes blazed with the affront. The urge was there to slap the arrogant smile from his face, to wrench free and carry on back to her room...but she knew the gesture would be wasted and only make her look like more of a fool than she felt already.
"I was not there by my choice," she managed to hiss out between her teeth.
"No. It was by mine. Then...as now. Unless of course, you require some persuading?"
He drew her closer and started to bow his head toward hers, but Summer pulled back, her eyes flaring with panic. "Thank you, Captain Wade. Indeed, it would be my pleasure to dine with you."
He redirected his movement, taking up her hand and lightly brushing his lips across the knuckles. "I thought as much, Governess."
She allowed him to guide her along the wide veranda and through another set of sparkling glass doors into a brightly lit room. It was a formal salon, furnished in rich brocades and plush velvet. The walls glittered with gold sconces and there were at least a dozen elegant candelabra perched on various small tables about the room. In one corner there were two divans and three exquisitely carved chairs forming an intimate arrangement for conversation. Michael was there, scrubbed and combed, looking quite gentlemanly in navy breeches and jacket, with a starched white collar rising in points under his chin.
He jumped to hi
s feet as soon as he saw her. "There you are. I was just about to run up the stairs and fetch you. We've all been sitting here and smelling supper for absolutely hours! God's word, you look jolly wonderful."
Wade released her to Michael's care then moved to the sideboard to pour himself a drink. "Dinner, I am told, will be in a few minutes. You know everyone here, I believe?"
Summer refrained from rubbing the tender flesh of her elbow as she glanced around the room. Stuart Roarke was standing near the sideboard and nodded politely as her gaze swept past. He was dressed just as elegantly as Morgan Wade in a formal frockcoat and trousers.
Mr. Thorntree looked stiff and starched in a clean shirt and dark peacoat. His few threads of hair had been slicked flat with pomade, but his chin still bristled with gray stubble. Apparently there were limits as to how much he would clean up.
Jamie Phillips, the Chimera's young second mate, was there as well, his smile genuine as he admired Summer's transformation. The only face that remained stonily indifferent, in fact, was Mr. Monday. The tall negro wore a startlingly white shirt and black breeches, and the only time the dark eyes became animated was when Reeny appeared at the door and brought in a small platter of delicacies to whet their appetites.
"Traditionally," Wade said, dragging Summer's attention away from the little puffed pastries and steaming pile of shrimp—both of which Michael dove into like a vulture— "I enjoy the first dinner ashore with my officers. They expressed no objections to including young Master Cambridge, and promised to be on their best behavior."
A few smiles appeared and the men took their seats again.
"It shouldn't be too difficult," Wade continued, "since the main source of ribaldry happens to be absent for a few days. Which reminds me, Roarke: How did your son's arrival affect Treloggan's disposition?"
Stuart Roarke reddened slightly beneath his tan and adjusted his spectacles. Before he could answer, Michael sat up so sharply, a shrimp fell from his mouth to his lap.
"Treloggan?" he exclaimed. "Captain Bull Treloggan?"
"You have heard of him, I presume?" Wade asked, amused.
"Everyone knows about Bull Treloggan," Michael said in awe. "He's an honest-to-goodness pirate, is he not, sir? I mean, he and Jean Lafitte...why they practically own New Orleans. Barataria is the biggest pirate stronghold in all of the Caribbean. My gosh...I've heard that Bull Treloggan wrestles with lions and bears and even has his teeth filed into points so that he can chew his enemies to pieces. You know him? You honestly know him?"
"We have shared the occasional meal together," Morgan said wryly.
"Gosh," Michael breathed. "And are all the stories true, sir?"
"In all honesty lad, I would have to say that his tongue is sharper than his teeth. Mind you, I must admit he did do a rather gruesome job on a Dutch slaver last year. Tore him to shreds, did he not, Roarke?"
"Without batting an eye," Roarke nodded, pursing his lips.
"And Stuart is the man who would know best," Wade added with a chuckle. "He's dealt with Bull's temper once or twice himself."
Michael gaped at Stuart Roarke. "Have you, sir? Have you actually fought with Bull Treloggan?"
Stuart's finely shaped mouth twitched at the corners. "Well, ah, verbally, yes. We have had several warm discussions."
Thorny spluttered over a mouthful of rum, and Mr. Monday's teeth appeared in a grin.
"Oh." Michael's face fell a little. "That isn't quite the same thing though, is it?"
"Depends on 'ow ye look on it, lad," Thorny snorted. "Bull's growl is ripe enough ter shrink yer ballocks up into yer belly, an' rare's the man 'oo walks away with dry britches. Roarke 'ere not only walked away, but 'ee walked away wi' the man's only daughter. Eloped they did, an' both still alive ter enjoy it."
Michael regarded Stuart Roarke with renewed awe. "Bull Treloggan is your father-in-law, sir?"
"That he is," Roarke nodded. "He was not at all pleased in the beginning," he added with a small twitch under his eye, "but he seems to be mellowing a tad."
"He can hardly help it now that you've made him a grandfather." Wade laughed and lifted his glass. "To that end, I propose the first toast of the evening: to Alexander Roarke. May he grow to be as fine a man as his father."
The men rose and toasted heartily. "To Alexander."
"Your wife is not here?" Summer ventured to ask when they had settled again.
"She is," Roarke said. "But it was a difficult birth and she has been confined to her bed. Bett sends her apologies and her regrets. She would have liked to hear all the news from England."
Jonas appeared in the doorway then to announce dinner.
Wade loomed before her again and Summer had no choice but to accept his arm as he offered it. He led her along the hall to the dining room and held out her chair, seating her on his right hand side at the dinner table.
Enormous quantities of food was brought in on huge platters. There was roasted duck and mutton, two kinds of fish drowning in sweet butter. Some of the varieties of fruit and vegetables she had not seen since leaving Bridgetown six years ago, and while she had thought her appetite deserted her out on the veranda, it came back in full force as soon as the delicious aromas assaulted her.
The flow of small talk was steady and Wade seemed content, for the most part, to ignore her. She was able to relax and enjoy the food, and even to some extent the company, for Roarke and Phillips and Thorny kept up a steady flow of banter. Jonas hovered by her elbow, maintaining an equally steady flow of excellent red wine which helped considerably to ease her through the two hour meal.
When the last course of cakes and spiced almond frumenty had been served and devoured, the men retired to the salon again for cigars and brandy. Summer declined the offer to join them, pleading a slight headache and a wish to retire early to her room. The men seemed relieved, and she could imagine the cravats and collars being loosened, the language becoming freer, and the room filling with cigar smoke as soon as she departed.
She returned the way she had come, strolling back along the veranda. The last of the scudding clouds had cleared away and it was a clear night sky, blanketed with millions upon millions of glittering stars. There was still the sound of music and laughter drifting up from the beach, and a brighter halo of light glowed over the rise, indicating where the bonfire was ablaze.
The doors to the library were still ajar as she strolled past and on a whim, she walked inside. As impressive as Wade's collection of books had been on board the Chimera, the shelves upon shelves filled with leather-bound volumes here made her stand in the middle of the room and turn slowly in a full circle to take them all in. She took a sip of wine from the glass she had brought away from the dinner table and walked over to one of the shelves, running her fingertips across the bindings.
"Have you read all of these, Captain?" she inquired without turning.
"Sad to say, no. I have always had the honorable intentions of doing so, however."
Summer glanced over her shoulder. It had been the smell of his cigar this time that had given away his presence and as she watched, he took a slow, deep drag, making tip glow red.
"I trust the meal was to your liking and the company not too barbaric?"
"The meal was delicious," she said, refusing to rise to the bait. "And the company was enjoyable."
"Enjoyable? I am flattered."
"Indeed." She took another sip of wine. "Mr. Roarke is quite charming and Mr. Phillips' manners were impeccable."
"Ah. Then it was only my own brutish conduct that failed to please?"
"I did not say that, Captain. You were...are...a genial host."
"Genial? Damnation, madam, you must be a good influence. Have a care I am not tempted to keep you here long enough to turn me into a complete gentleman."
"Keep me here? But you said—"
"I said you were leaving before week's end, and I meant it. Remaining longer would be your choice to make, not mine."
Summer felt a rush of dry, cool
shivers flow down her spine, and when she spoke, her voice came out a whisper. "Why on earth would I choose to stay?"
"You enjoy being a governess, do you?"
"It...has its rewards."
"And is your duty to Sir Lionel the only reason you are so hell-bent on returning to Bridgetown?"
"The only reason?"
Wade exhaled another bluish-white streamer of smoke. "You don't have some eager, love-struck valet or bank clerk waiting anxiously for your return?"
"If I did, what possible concern would that be of yours?"
Wade laughed softly. "Absolutely none. Will noon tomorrow suit your purposes? Roarke tells me his schooner, the Vigilant, can be ready to weigh anchor when the tide clears the bay."
"Noon? Yes. Yes, noon will be fine."
"She isn't as large as the Chimera, and there are not nearly as many corners to snoop into, but she's light and fast. You will be back in the arms of your bank clerk soon enough."
Summer flushed under his steady gaze. Her temper bristled at the use of the word snoop and the equally sarcastic reiteration of the term bank clerk, but she took another sip of wine and turned her back on the brigand, feigning interest in some of the book titles on the shelf.
"Is he a tolerant lout?"
"Who?"
"This bank clerk of yours. Will he forgive and forget?"
She stiffened and frowned. "There is nothing to forgive. I have done nothing that would warrant the need for forgiveness."
"Perhaps not in the physical sense, Governess, but your spirit is plainly impatient to be set free."
"I don't know what would make you say that, Captain," she said, turning to face him. For a moment she could not see him, for his great dark silhouette had moved out of the doorway. She nearly stumbled into a nearby table when she realized he was standing, not a pace away, by her side.
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