"Oh, Aurora," Mrs. Lindstrom burst out, "I am so glad you've arrived! Vashon was just telling me all sorts of hair-raising tales! Imagine! Even now a dreadful sea serpent could be swimming beneath us—ready to devour the entire ship!" Mrs. Lindstrom eagerly scooted over on the couch so that there was room for one more.
Aurora gave the widow a huge smile of relief and gladly let the captain seat her on the couch. She wondered how she would have gotten along at all on this strange voyage if it wasn't for the audacious Flossie Lindstrom.
"I can't imagine there are actually such things as sea serpents," Aurora lightly reassured her, thankful for the reprieve. "But nonetheless, surely the Royal Navy will be there to protect us should we encounter such nefarious creatures, isn't that right, Captain?"
The captain smiled and took an elbow seat next to the ladies. "Most definitely," he answered, giving Vashon a sly grin. "In fact, if you must know, the Royal Navy is quite fond of Vashon's ships. It seems wherever he goes, the Royal Navy is quick to follow—"
"Brandy?" Vashon asked, scowling.
The captain cheerfully accepted. "Why not? If we're to be attacked by sea serpents, then I should like to go happy."
Aurora smiled and took another sip of her sherry. It burned like fire down her throat. She wasn't sure she liked the stuff, but it did make her feel a bit more comfortable, which was certainly hard to do in Vashon's presence.
"Pooh!" Mrs. Lindstrom burst out. "All this talk of sea serpents! The only reason you gentlemen are not quivering in your boots is because that terrible figurehead wards off all the sea creatures!" The vivacious widow looked as if she were anxious to devour a really choice bit of gossip. "Now do tell, Vashon. Why is there a dragon affixed to the prow of this ship? I suspect it's for the same reason this supposed 'packet' has a gundeck right above my cabin. For shame, Vashon! Why, this is no packet at all but a readily armed warship!"
A slow smile turned up the corner of Vashon's mouth. "This is a packet, I assure you. The gundeck is rarely used—a vestige of times past. As for the dragon, every ship I own has a dragon for a figurehead, regardless of the ship's name. I'm partial to them."
Aurora watched him while he leaned casually against the bookcases. He did like dragons. There were dragons woven into the carpet beneath his booted feet. Behind him a black-lacquer coffer was painted with rampant dragons. Even as she looked down she saw a dragon etched into the crystal of her tiny sherry glass.
"And is that the only reason?" Mrs. Lindstrom prodded.
"I also find people remember them."
"And perhaps . . . stay clear of them?"
Vashon took a sip of his drink. His smile broadened. "That's one perspective, I suppose."
"Oh, this is fascinating. Just fascinating." The widow clapped her hands. "So that's why your ships have never been accosted—all the wicked ships simply sail away when they see that fearsome dragon."
Aurora looked down at her sherry glass. Fingering the lizard around her neck, she wondered if all the good ships sailed away in fear too. That thought didn't make her rest easy, especially when she knew all too well that Mrs. Lindstrom was disembarking in St. George's, not three quarters of the way to her own destination.
"Dinner is ready, sir," Benny announced.
Captain Corbeil jumped up to assist Mrs. Lindstrom. Aurora was just about to rise from the couch herself when Vashon offered his strong arm. She was reluctant to accept his help, but something inside her refused to show him how he intimidated her. Giving him a gracious smile, she lightly took his arm and though she found it shockingly hard and massive, she allowed him to lead her to the table.
When they were seated, conversation turned to such mundane topics as the dinner wine and the cook's prowess in the galley. The meal was served on elaborate Imari porcelain, and Aurora conceded the cook was nearly a genius to be able to serve seven delicious courses on shipboard provisions. The crowning glory to the meal was a pineapple that one of Vashon's ships had brought to Queenhithe the night they left. Aurora had certainly seen the costly fruit in shopkeepers' windows, but she had never imagined she'd ever taste one. As Benny cut it, the room filled with the exotic fruit's scent, and while she was overfull from dinner, she found herself eating every slice she'd been served.
When she was finally through, she placed aside her empty fruit dish and found her host's unsettling green gaze upon her. She wondered if he thought her a glutton, but something else seemed to be on his mind.
While the ladies were being served their tea, he finally said to her, "I understand you're off to Jamaica, Miss Dayne. What takes you there?"
"My new employer lives there, sir." She felt odd answering his question.
"And who is that, if I may be so presumptuous?"
"Lady Perkins of Roselawn Plantation."
"Vashon," Mrs. Lindstrom interrupted, "have you heard of Roselawn? I have not, and I do take pride in knowing everyone. But you are ever so much better traveled than I—can you tell us about this place where Aurora is going?"
Vashon leaned back in-his chair. He gave the captain a glance. "Yes, I've heard of Roselawn. I've heard of Lady Perkins too. I believe she's rather a tyrant. In the future I believe Miss Dayne would do well to reconsider the merits of rushing off to be in the employ of one she does not know."
"Oh, but you must be mistaken!" Aurora burst out, shocked that he could be saying such a thing about her wonderful new employer. "Lady Perkins could not possibly be as you describe. Her accommodations for me on this ship are alone enough evidence of her kindness."
"How else is she to lure a nice English girl from her home? In my experience, it's better to use honey than vinegar . . . at least at first."
"Her letter to me was nothing but gracious, and the pay she has offered is beyond generous. You must be mistaken, sir. It's not Lady Perkins of Roselawn of whom you speak."
"Your loyalty to an employer you've never seen before does you credit, Miss Dayne," Vashon said, an odd expression on his face. He seemed almost pleased by her defense of her employer, yet, too, disgruntled by her sudden show of spirit. "However, in the future if you come to realize the lack of merit in being a handmaiden to abusive old women, I hope you will acknowledge to me that I was correct."
Aurora tried to still the anger she found welling up in her breast. The man's arrogance knew no bounds! "I sincerely doubt that will occur, but even if it did, sir, I hardly think it likely you and I will ever cross paths again after this voyage. So there will be no opportunity to acknowledge such a thing to you."
"Oh, dear, Aurora," Mrs. Lindstrom interjected, pushing aside her plate. "What if Vashon is right about Lady Perkins?"
"But he is not right," Aurora assured her, feeling rather brazen.
"Come now, Miss Dayne," Vashon said, "You're hardly old enough to speak with such authority about what goes on in the great wide world. After all, what are you, a mere girl of eighteen?"
Aurora stiffened. How she hated questions about her age! "I may only be eighteen, sir, but I speak with the authority of good sense. And with that, I cannot believe Lady Perkins to be anything but a good and just woman."
"Eighteen?" Flossie burst out, "Good heavens, Aurora, how can you now be eighteen when you told me as we left Queenhithe you were nineteen?"
Dreadful silence filled the air as Aurora felt all eyes on her. A slow, painful crimson stained her cheeks and her gaze didn't dare stray from her fruit dish, as if it offered salvation.
"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Lindstrom," she began, her voice lowering with shame, "but being an orphan I was not privileged to be left with the date of my birth. So . . . I . . . must guess at my age."
Flossie closed her eyes as if unspeakably ashamed of herself. Isaac simply looked away, as if the whole display made him uncomfortable. The only one who dared stare at all was Vashon. But Aurora couldn't decide whether his fascination stemmed from delight over her humiliation or from a grudging respect for the manner in which she bore
it.
"How shockingly rude of me, Aurora. Do say you forgive me and I'll never ask such wretched questions again," Flossie finally prattled.
"Please, it's nothing," Aurora answered, wanting desperately for the conversation to change.
Flossie took a deep breath. "Well, do let's settle this Lady Perkins problem. The thing to do, love, is come with me to St. George's. Write this awful woman an apology and allow me to find you some suitable employment—"
Without warning Captain Corbeil started and knocked over his after-dinner Chartreuse. The yellow green liqueur sloshed off the edge of the table right onto Mrs. Lindstrom's bombazine skirts, interrupting all conversation.
"A thousand apologies! That was terribly clumsy of me!" the captain exclaimed.
"No, no, it's all right," the widow answered, dabbing her skirts with her napkin.
"You must let me pay for the gown."
"Heavens, no! My maid can take care of this in no time. You must put such thoughts out of your mind!"
"Then I shall escort you to your cabin at once so that the damage can be undone."
Without further pause, the captain held out his arm and seemed to rush the widow along. Aurora began a fleeting farewell, but in a flurry they were out the door.
To her dismay, she then found she was alone at the table with him.
"More tea, miss?" Startled, she looked up and found Benny at her side with the silver teapot. She practically swooned with relief.
"No, thank you. I really should be off too." She gave the boy a nervous smile and stood. She then summoned her courage and faced her host. "It really has been a lovely dinner. You were quite gracious to invite me."
Vashon rose from his chair. He looked as if there were some unfinished business that had yet to be taken care of satisfactorily.
"You needn't leave, Miss Dayne," he said.
Her gaze trailed to Benny who was ready to exit the cabin door with a trayful of dirty dishes.
"No, I really must say good night. . . ." The cabin door shut behind Benny with startling silence. Feeling a bit like a trapped pigeon, she glanced nervously about for her shawl. She had had it on when she had first entered the cabin, but at some point in the evening she had lost it.
She spied the gray wool draped on the dolphin-legged couch and quickly moved to retrieve it, but before she could get there, to her dismay she found her path blocked. She looked up and saw Vashon's brilliant green eyes twinkling with sardonic amusement.
"My cabin isn't Almack's, Miss Dayne. You needn't quit my company simply because we're alone. There are no disapproving matrons here to take away your voucher."
"Really, it's been a long evening and surely you look forward to retiring. I mustn't keep you." Ignoring his sarcasm, she tried to go around but he thwarted her every movement. Finally when she could see he was not going to let her fetch her shawl, a furrow of irritation appeared on her brow. He was almost laughing at her. As always, his easy intimidation seemed to please him enormously, and that only inflamed her ire.
"May I have my shawl—or do you possess no chivalry whatsoever?" she asked sharply. She hoped that was enough of a dressing down to make him let her pass, but she was quickly disappointed to find it wasn't. While her sudden show of temper seemed to surprise him, he also appeared to find her accusation wickedly amusing.
"I have to admit that question's never been bluntly put before me." He smiled and crossed his arms over his massive chest. "But now that it has, I do fear you won't like the answer."
Her eyes widened. The man didn't even have the grace to lie.
"I see," she said icily. "If that's the case, then surely you can see it is imperative I not stay a minute longer." She gave her shawl a parting glance, then made for the cabin door. Benny could fetch it for her tomorrow. There was no point in taking any risk now in trying to retrieve it.
She had just made it to the threshold when she heard him stride up behind her. The door was open barely six inches before his hand deftly pressed it closed once more.
"I can't allow you to leave like this. I would be remiss in my duties as host if I did."
She spun around and faced him. Her cheeks flamed; her temper flared.
"You allow me to leave, sir, or the captain shall hear about this! I'll not let you keep me prisoner here a moment more!"
"Prisoner? Is that what you think you are?" He leaned against the wall. It was an unnerving move for it only brought him closer to her. Her head tipped back to look up at him and he seemed to revel in her accusatory stare. Slowly he added, "You have a lot to learn about prisoners, Aurora."
Her name on his lips shocked her. It had a gentleness to it that she hadn't expected. In the deep, rich tones of his voice, he spoke it almost like a caress. An intimate, appreciative caress. She suddenly wanted to blush to her toes.
"I certainly know enough about prisoners not to want to learn about them from you," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Perhaps after what I said about Lady Perkins you think she can teach you better."
"As I told you before, your unfounded tales of my employer cannot turn me against her."
"Even after the Widow Lindstrom's offer? Come along, Aurora, that must seem rather attractive to you now. Tell me you have no thoughts at all of leaving the ship at St. George's." His demand hung heavy in the air, carrying much more weight than she would have supposed.
She clenched her fists at her side, then met that insolent emerald gaze. "I think very highly of Lady Perkins," she informed him. "And until I reach Kingston and my new employer proves me wrong, I shall continue to think highly of her. In the meantime, your opinions of my situation concern me not a whit. In fact, my only worry is why you've taken an interest in them. Surely you've grander things to occupy your mind than my welfare?"
She certainly expected to see annoyance on his face. He had clearly wanted her to be wary of Lady Perkins, but with this news* the tension left his face. He suddenly laughed.
"Your name suits you, Aurora. You're either fiery—or gray—just like the dawn. But I think I've seen too much gray. You definitely put too much stake in which way the winds of propriety might be blowing. But I dare say it now, the winds may be shifting."
With that enigmatic statement, he straightened and sauntered to the couch. She watched him as he scooped up her shawl. To her surprise, he held it out like a gentleman, waiting for her to allow him to place it upon her shoulders. But unlike a gentleman, when she stepped into it, he took a bit too long to relinquish it. His hands, strong and unimaginably warm, wrapped her slowly in its warmth, then they ran down her shawl-clad arms only to make her shiver at his touch.
She did not recoil as she thought she might. If anything, she almost longed for the caress again. She had never felt a man's caress. John Phipps had never touched her. Perhaps if he'd been consumed by hot, selfless passion, she might never have left him, but his passion had been a cold thing, wrought of his own greed and self-righteousness, and there had been no room in it to consider her desires. To John, she had been a thing to covet, not caress.
Now as she turned her head to glance at Vashon, she couldn't help feeling mildly disappointed that he had stepped aside. As dangerous and unexplored as it was, she almost wanted to experience his touch again. But he was already at the threshold. As if nailed to the floor, she stood watching him while he opened the cabin door and held it out wide for her to exit.
"Your bedchamber awaits, my lady," he said as if to nudge her from her spot.
"Vashon, the widow's snug in her cabin, but now what in God's name are we going to do about—?" The captain suddenly appeared at the door, yet the minute he saw Aurora his words died on his lips.
Aghast at the captain's shocked expression, Aurora colored right down to the swell of her breasts. She was making a spectacle of herself. By every appearance it looked as though Vashon was trying to get her to leave him for her own bedchamber—and that she was reluctant!
Mortified at what she supposed he thought of her character, she could hardly look the captain in the eye as she swept past him. With a swift murmuring of thanks to her host, she exited and desperately sought respite in her cabin.
After she had gone, the men exchanged few words. Vashon only said, "It's taken care of."
And the captain merely answered, "Thank God. For a moment there, I thought we were going to have to kidnap this entire shipload of passengers—starting with that damnable widow!"
Chapter Six
That caress bedeviled her for nights.
Even now as Aurora stood on the fo'c'sle deck warming her face in the sun, the memory of it possessed her. She had once thought if ever she would dream of a man he would be like those gallant, fair-haired princes in one of Perrault's fairy tales. But now, much to her chagrin, her dreams seemed captured by a totally different character—the shadowy, secretive, terrifying owner of the Seabravery.
It had only been a touch, but for some reason she couldn't put it out of her mind. When she was asleep in her little bed, over and over again she replayed the scene with Vashon as he helped her with her shawl. But in her version, he didn't step back as he had actually done. His hand didn't leave her. Instead his large iron-strong hand swept down her arm and rode at her waist until she chanced to turn her head. Then when her eyes met his, he kissed her, kissed her as deeply as her chaste little mind could imagine.
She should have been having nightmares, especially after what she believed Captain Corbeil thought of her. But when she awoke, she was much too concerned about her dreams of Vashon and what those dreams meant for her to begin worrying about the captain.
"The captain has said we may have a storm by this evening."
Frowning, Aurora suddenly snapped out of her dark musings to look at Miss Gideon, who had spoken. She, Mrs. Lindstrom, and Miss Gideon were spending the afternoon together watching Hester. Aurora realized she must have missed some of the conversation because she couldn't remember when their idle talk had turned to the weather.
Till Dawn Tames the Night Page 7