With Dreams Only of You

by Kathryn Le Veque, Suzan Tisdale, Eliza Knight, Cynthia Wright, Christi Caldwell, Eva Devon

  * * *

  As Jean-Philippe jumped lightly onto the blood-smeared decks of Conquerer, rain lashed his face and a powerful surge of wind untied the black riband that bound his hair. All about, men continued to their hand-to-hand battles, but Beauvisage saw that, one by one, Ormond’s uninspired crewmen were giving up their weapons. Soon they would be invited to sail with the Sea Rogue if they chose, and the bloodshed would truly end, for clearly they had no loyalty to their captain.

  Yet, even as these thoughts ran through Beauvisage’s mind, his first concern was Antonia. Where the devil had Ormond put her?

  In the midst of the clash of arms and the heat of the struggling, grunting men’s bodies, Cruikshank loomed up beside him. Breathing hard and streaked with gunpowder, the first mate gave an exclamation of delight.

  “Ah, Captain, it’s good to see you! We have them on their backs, just as you foretold. It will be over soon.”

  “I know.” His grin faded at the sight of a deep gash in Cruikshank’s forearm. “Mon Dieu, you’re wounded!” Pulling off his once-immaculate coat, he used his dagger to cut a strip of cloth from his own linen shirtsleeve. Swiftly, he bandaged the injured arm. “There. At least the bleeding has slowed now.”

  “’Twas merely a scratch, sir!” cried the first mate. “And now, I await your orders.”

  “First I must have a little chat with the proud commander of this vessel,” Beauvisage said with a note of irony. He crooked his head toward the quarterdeck above them. “While I speak to Ormond, you must tell any of his crew who want to leave behind this drab existence, that they are welcome to come and sail with us on Pursuit.”

  “Aye, sir. Surely many will accept that invitation!”

  Beauvisage threw his sodden coat over a nearby yardarm. The rain was pouring from the three corners of his hat, so he drew that off as well and raked both hands through his dark, unbound hair. No doubt Ormond would take him for a savage. It gave him a moment of grim amusement to realize how little he resembled the satin-clad fop who had minced and posed at Rayne Hall just a few nights earlier. He almost wished he could introduce himself…

  “Perhaps you should stay near enough to provide a distraction, just in case he means to murder me,” he told Cruikshank with a grim smile. “And when we are finished, we shall rescue a damsel in distress.”

  Without waiting for the first mate’s response, Beauvisage started for the quarterdeck, his sword at the ready. The moment his boot touched the first step, a wild-eyed Tobias Ormond appeared above him. Rain poured from his white wig and dribbled white powder down his face and coat.

  “Get back, you cur!” he shouted and brandished his sword.

  “Do I hear an invitation?” laughed Beauvisage. As he recklessly climbed to the quarterdeck, he saw that Ormond now realized who he was dealing with.

  “You’re the one they call the Sea Rogue, aren’t you? Sounds very dashing, yet you are nothing more than a dirty, unscrupulous pirate! You can’t even bother to dress properly!”

  “Captain, all the fine uniforms and fancy wigs in Christendom will not save you now. Your crew cares nothing for you, so why should they die to protect your ship?”

  “I don’t need them!” Defiantly, Ormond brought up his sword.

  Beauvisage countered the attacking blade with his own, the fierce clash of swords drowning out all but his need to find his Tonie. In many ways, the two men were evenly matched, Jean-Philippe discovered. Too bad for Ormond that years as a pirate captain had honed in Beauvisage a graceful strength no mere fencing master could teach. He smiled as he came at Ormond, forcing him back with each thrust and parry, until they were nearly at the bulwarks.

  Every muscle in Beauvisage’s body was tense as he gave all his attention to the task of subduing his stubborn opponent. For once, he took little pleasure in the contest, for his goal was Antonia.

  They were both panting, soaked in a mixture of sweat and rain, and Jean-Philippe’s arms began to burn. Still, Ormond fought on. Was it possible that he might defeat him with greater endurance? Just as Beauvisage felt a twinge of alarm, Cruikshank came running toward them from the other side of the quarterdeck. He was waving his arms and yelling like a man possessed. It was just enough of a distraction to cause Ormond to glance over and make a momentary misstep on the slippery deck.

  In the next instant, Beauvisage’s blade was at his enemy’s throat. “Cruikshank, I am grateful for your timely intervention!” he called, laughing, to the first mate.

  “Honored to be of service, Captain!” the stocky seaman replied as he rushed over to relieve Ormond of his sword.

  Beauvisage pushed back his rain-soaked black hair and stared at his captive. “Now then, Ormond, tell me where I might find Antonia Varyshkova.”

  “You truly are mad!” shouted the Englishman. “I would rather die than let you defile that innocent maiden!”

  “No need for dramatics, sir. I have very different intentions toward the lady. Where have you put her?”

  “Do your worst to me if you must, but I will never tell! I have heard tales of the sort of torture you pirates inflict, but nothing you can do will make me reveal where Miss Varyshkova’s cabin is on this ship!”

  Beauvisage pretended to stifle a yawn. “This is becoming very tedious. I see that I shall have to seek assistance elsewhere.”

  The battle on deck was virtually at an end, so Jean-Philippe motioned for two of his blood-streaked crewmen to join them on the quarterdeck.

  “Are you both unhurt? Good. Hayes, take out your dagger and guard this prisoner while Fowler ties him up.” For good measure, he cut another strip of muslin from his shirt and used it to bind Ormond’s mouth, telling him, “Be quiet and rest. It will do you good.”

  As Beauvisage led the way into the waist of the ship, Cruikshank said, “I already met a good lad who I believe can help us. There he is!” Reaching out, he grabbed a pale, malnourished youth whose once-neat uniform was streaked with wet gunpowder. “It’s Barnes, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, sir!” the boy piped nervously.

  “You want to come with us to sail on a pirate ship, don’t you?”

  Barnes was wide-eyed. “I do!”

  Beauvisage took over then. He knew he was looking especially satanic with his wet, unbound hair, rakish face, and tattered shirt, and when he grasped the lad’s arm, he felt him begin to tremble. “I am Pursuit’s captain.”

  “Y-you’re the Sea Rogue!” gasped Barnes.

  “C’est vrai. The same!” He flashed a smile. “You are welcome to come with us, but first I need your help.”

  “D’you want to confiscate our cargo? I know that there is a great deal of tea…”

  “Oh, yes, well perhaps…” Beauvisage pretended to consider this. “But I have mainly come for a certain young lady I know to be on board.”

  “Young lady? Wh-what do you want to do with her?”

  Cruikshank impatiently broke in, “The captain may be a pirate, but he’s an honorable man! Just take us to the lady!”

  Barnes looked doubtful, but he turned toward the main hatch. “I hate this ship. I do want to go with you and I suppose you couldn’t treat her any worse than Captain Ormond has.”

  “Will we find a guard outside her door, to protect her against the attacking pirates?” asked Beauvisage.

  “I don’t think so,” the boy replied. “Captain Ormond wouldn’t have wanted to spare an able man for that sort of duty.”

  As the trio set off, Jean-Philippe picked up a boarding ax that had been discarded on the deck by one of his own crewmen. They descended into the dark bowels of the berth deck. He agonized about Tonie, hating to think about what she might have suffered at Ormond’s hands.

  “I should have killed the bastard when I had the chance,” he muttered, fire in his eyes.

  “I do think she’s been safe enough, sir, if that’s any consolation. It’s just that I wouldn’t put a lady like that in a place like this. I had the feeling she’s afraid of small spaces.” At length, B
arnes stopped in front of a narrow door. “That’s the Russian lady’s cabin. I know because I brought her to it when she first boarded the ship.”

  “Tell her to open the door,” Beauvisage said softly. He didn’t want to frighten her, but calling out to her in front of Barnes was impossible. His real identity was a secret, even to his own men.

  “She can’t open the door,” the boy replied. “It’s locked from the outside. Captain Ormond has the key.”

  A black rage coursed through Beauvisage’s veins. “We have no choice then; we’ll have to break down the door. Stand back!”

  He lifted the boarding ax and aimed it at Antonia’s cabin door.

  Chapter Six

  “Someone is out there!” Antonia whispered to Zoya as they huddled against the corner bulkhead beside her trunks. “It must be the pirates, perhaps even the one they call the Sea Rogue!”

  “Do not be afraid, my lady. For once we can be grateful that the door is locked!”

  Antonia’s heartbeat seemed to fill her body. Confinement in the tiny, dark space of her cabin had been bad enough, and then had come the sounds of battle raging on the decks above them. She couldn’t explain to Zoya that it wasn’t so much fear that paralyzed her, but a sort of suffocating panic when all her exits had been closed.

  There were men’s voices in gangway outside her cabin. Pirates! She had no place to hide, no escape. Like the night of the fire, she was trapped.

  “Don’t be afraid, we are coming in!” shouted a deep voice and then something heavy struck the door.

  Zoya couldn’t save her this time and Antonia went scrambling out of the corner. Her eyes had adjusted enough to the dark for her to make out the shape of the chamber pot, braced inside a shelf, and she reached for it. It was the only possible weapon in the cramped little cabin and she was pleased to realize that she wasn’t afraid to bring it down over her attacker’s head.

  Just then, the door splintered apart and a terrifying-looking man pushed it open. By the faint glow of a lantern hanging in the gangway, Antonia saw that he had wild, black hair, a powerful physique, a torn shirt that bared part of his chest, and an evil dagger at the ready.

  “Get back, you fiend!” she shouted and came at him with the chamber pot. One step, however, brought her foot in contact with an object on the floor. Her world tilted wildly as the weight of the heavy chamber pot yanked her feet out from under her. In the distance, as she fell, she heard Zoya shouting at the attackers. Crack! Her head struck a low hanging beam.

  Antonia struggled to stay upright, to remain conscious, but it was useless. Down she went and her world went completely black.

  * * *

  Tiny stars seemed to explode inside Antonia’s eyes. She was dreaming again. It was a deep winter night and she was in her family’s enchanting horse-drawn sleigh, skimming over the snowy road that led from St. Petersburg to their country house. The cozy sleigh, resembling a carriage box with runners, was lined with rich silk and illuminated by a wax candle lantern fastened to the ceiling.

  Antonia sat across from her smiling parents. All of them were wrapped in sable while hot stones warmed their feet. Through the frosty window, she could see the snow falling against a star-strewn sky of indigo blue.

  “There is someone I want you to meet, Myshka,” her father was saying to her. And then the sleigh glided to a stop and the door opened. To her shock, Jean-Philippe Beauvisage was standing there, his hand outstretched to her.

  “Come back to me, Tonie,” murmured a male voice that sounded eerily familiar.

  “No, not yet. I am dreaming,” she whispered.

  After a moment, warm breath touched her cheek. “What do you dream of?”

  “Of you… only of you.”

  “You don’t need to dream. I am right here.”

  Was it possible? His deep voice was arousingly near. Antonia left the sleigh, her parents, and the magical, snowy night behind as she forced her eyes to open. Expecting to see Jean-Philippe before her, she was shocked to find a stranger.

  She blinked. “Who are you?”

  The man who bent so near was the antithesis of the powdered, painted, and patched Macaroni who had kissed her at Rayne Hall in London. This was a pirate! His unbound, black hair was wind-tossed and his sinfully handsome face darkened by the sun. He smelled, not of expensive patchouli, but of sweat, rain, and even blood. Why was she not afraid?

  “Do you not know me?” he asked.

  Her heart jumped and she thought he must have heard it. “You are the Sea Rogue, yes? The one they warned me about.”

  “Did they? Ha! Well, you needn’t be afraid of me.” He carried her hand to his mouth and pressed a lingering kiss to her tender palm.

  An unexpected current of pleasure went to Antonia’s very core. She looked up in surprise and saw him watching her under his lashes. His eyes were a sparkling blue that could only be compared to the sea itself.

  “I could swear…” she whispered then closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the possibility.

  “Did I not promise that I would come for you?”

  “It can’t be. You are a pirate.”

  “Shall I prove it to you?” came his husky reply. “You have something of mine, I believe.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Her fingers felt damp inside his strong hand. “This is madness!”

  “Show me, Tonie.” He came closer, still holding her hand, and brushed his lips along her temple.

  When he said her name again, and spoke in just the way he had that night on the terrace, she felt the truth. Her hand, still held captive by his, went to her bodice and touched the delicate chain that wound between her breasts.

  As if reading her mind, Jean-Philippe used his fingertips to gently draw the chain upward, inch by inch. Antonia nearly gasped when his hand grazed the soft curve of her breast. He too drew a sharp breath and she realized that they were sharing the same frisson of arousal.

  When the plain gold signet ring emerged into the light after what seemed an eternity, Jean-Philippe held it between his thumb and forefinger, one brow arched as his eyes held hers in a meaningful stare.

  “Did I not give you my word?” He leaned forward and very gently touched her soft lips with his harder mouth, then withdrew.

  “How is this possible?” she whispered. “How can it be you?”

  “Believe me, my dove, it is no accident that you are here on my ship. Once I saw that Ormond had you, I was forced to attack, to pretend that I wanted his cargo of tea, when in truth all I wanted was you.”

  His ship! Suddenly aware of her surroundings, Antonia turned her head to look around a cabin that was surprisingly spacious and orderly. First, she noticed a bank of tall windows that traversed the ship’s stern and afforded her a view of the stormy, pewter-colored sky that continued to spit raindrops. She drew a deep breath, calmed by the sense of light-filled openness. What a change from the horrible cabin she’d been forced to endure on board Conquerer!

  There were braced shelves filled with rows of handsome books and a desk with nautical instruments arranged in a special rack. A small painting of a pastoral landscape bathed in golden light was affixed above the desk. Closer to the bunk, what appeared to be a washstand, complete with a burnished copper basin, was built into the bulkhead. A snowy linen towel was folded on a chest beside it.

  It wasn’t at all the sort of home she would have imagined for a wicked pirate captain.

  “Do you approve?” he asked, faintly amused.

  “I would like to sit up for a better look.” She started to push herself up against the pillows.

  “No, stay where you are.” Firmly, he held her down. “You struck your head on a low beam in that dark cell on Ormond’s ship. How do you feel?”

  For the first time, Antonia felt the throb on the back of her head. “My head hurts.”

  “You must rest.” He touched the tender area under her curls, which had long ago tumbled free from their pins. “Fortunately, there was no blood, but you suffered qui
te a blow. I’ve been very worried! Then, there was the matter of carrying your limp body off that ship. Many of Ormond’s crew doubtless thought that I had used my evil powers to render you insensible.”

  Antonia put her head back on the pillow and tried to think, but she felt dizzy and so very tired. “What do you mean to do with me?”

  “You should rest for now. Don’t worry about anything.” He smoothed back her curls with long fingers. “We’ll talk later.”

  She tried to reply, but sleep carried her away.

  * * *

  Jean-Philippe sighed as he disengaged from Antonia and stood, gazing down at her. In sleep, she had turned her face toward the bulkhead and the sight of her pale, exquisite profile took his breath away. There was so much he didn’t know about her, and yet a part of him felt that she revealed herself every time their eyes met.

  With an effort, he forced himself to return to all the matters that waited for his attention. Crossing the cabin, he opened the door and found Pierre standing there wearing an expression of intense readiness.

  “What are you doing lurking about?” Beauvisage demanded.

  “I am, of course, waiting to do your bidding, m’sieur! You will need clean clothing, a bath, hot food, and I would also see to the comfort of the young lady.”

  “Pray do not presume to do my thinking for me. Where is Lieutenant Malle? I must speak to him before I attend to anything else.”

  “I believe he is in the hold, seeing to the disposition of the new… ah, cargo, that we recently acquired.”

  “Stay right here and guard the door. Miss Varyshkova is sleeping. As you know, she has been injured and needs her rest. When I return, we’ll discuss matters of comfort.”

  Before the cabin boy could reply, Beauvisage strode off. He went up on deck first, where Cruikshank was overseeing their course. Strong, stormy winds filled the sails, pushing Pursuit through the ocean waves.

  The first mate perked up, saluting when he saw Beauvisage approach. “All’s well, Captain!”

  “I’m relieved to hear it. Merci. I see you’ve been attended to by the surgeon.” He touched Cruikshank’s freshly bandaged arm. “All of you who assisted me today will be rewarded. Do you know how many men we lost?”