“Fresh teams of horses await our arrival at several inns along the route, so we shall waste no time in seeing your mother. And, of course, Francis and Robin and the twins will be thrilled to see you, my dear,” the duke added, and Dante, who was a man not above suspecting another’s motives, received the distinct impression they were being cleverly manipulated by the duke.
“Do they know that I have returned?” Rhea asked eagerly.
“I am the only one who knows. I did not wish to raise their hopes unnecessarily. Until I arrived in London, and, indeed, actually saw you with my own eyes, I was not certain you had even returned to England aboard that ship. I was, however, quite prepared to question its captain concerning your whereabouts should you not have been aboard,” the duke explained, and he sounded almost sorry that he had not had that pleasure.
“I shall inform the coachman of our plans and have him send up a couple of footmen to carry down your trunks,” he said, changing the subject and apparently having thought out every detail except, perhaps, for one.
And that detail was making himself comfortable at the table, his plans very much his own as he contemplated the duke, wondering if next the duke would try and order him from the room, which wouldn’t come as a surprise, for it was more than obvious that the duke would enjoy nothing better than to send the captain of the Sea Dragon packing; and right out of his daughter’s life.
“I trust it shall not disturb your schedule, Your Grace, if I have a word in private with my wife?” Dante asked quietly, his sarcasm like the cutting edge of a knife.
Lucien would have liked to deny him, or so it seemed as he stared at the former privateer as if he had outrageously requested a piece of the moon.
“I am certain those footmen you’ll have sent up will be quite the strapping fellows, and more than happy to stand guard at the door should I be so foolish and try and leave, accompanied by my wife,” Dante said with bitter mockery. “You need have no fear on that score, Your Grace, for I shall always know where to find Rhea.”
“Father, please,” Rhea asked. “Dante is my husband and the father of my child. I would like to have a few minutes alone with him,” Rhea requested. “I have to change my clothes regardless, and you did wish to have a word with Sir Morgan, Father,” Rhea reminded him, exerting a certain subtle persuasion of her own.
“Very well, but I shall not be long in conversation,” the duke said, finally conceding temporary defeat. But he was obviously reluctant to leave the two of them alone together, which was only too insultingly clear to Dante. He knew the battles were not over yet and was not surprised to hear the duke add a parting shot. “Remember, my dear, the footmen will be right outside the door should you need assistance.”
Rhea’s eyes followed her father’s progress across the room, and not until the door closed on his tall, commanding figure did she glance away. And it was only when Dante saw her shoulders shaking that he realized that she was crying.
“Rhea?” he inquired, and there was a new note of tender concern in his voice. “Are you ill? Shall I call for a doctor? Or your father?” He was worried enough to offer even that.
“No,” Rhea answered huskily. “I am just happy. Until now, being back in England has felt like a dream. There was no reality to it until I saw my father standing at the door and heard his dear voice. Suddenly the horrible nightmare seemed truly over. I felt all my fears vanish and I knew that I had really come home,” Rhea explained, feeling an overwhelming contentment as she rested her head against Dante’s shoulder.
Her eyes were closed and she did not see the strange expression on Dante’s face. “You have felt safe and happy with me, haven’t you, Rhea?”
She glanced up in surprise. “Of course I have.”
“And you are still pleased to be my wife?”
“Of course I am.”
“And to be carrying my child?”
“More happy than I could ever tell you,” Rhea answered, her eyes holding his for a long moment while she searched that pale grayness for some hint of his feelings about the baby.
“Good. Although it would have changed little had you felt any regrets. You are the Marchioness of Jacqobi, and the child you will give birth to will be a Leighton. And that is the name of the family you have become part of, whether you like it or not. To call yourself a Dominick is no longer your right. Nor will your home ever again be Camareigh. Remember that, Rhea Claire,” Dante warned her, and the intensity of his gaze frightened her.
Yet she replied calmly. “I accepted that when I wed you, Dante. I love you and always shall, please remember that,” Rhea told him, and she began to feel some of the angry tension leave his body.
“I shall hold you to your word,” Dante promised her.
“Dante, you are pleased about the baby?” Rhea asked shyly.
But no words could have surpassed the look of tender passion which spread across Dante’s face, erasing the harshness that sometimes made him seem so remote.
“You will never escape me now,” he murmured, his mouth lowering to hers, and they both found comfort in that intimate touching.
“I wouldn’t be able to even if I so desired, for soon I shall be so big, ’twill be difficult for me to get to my feet, much less run away,” Rhea jested, yet the thought did give her cause for concern when she remembered how large her Uncle Richard’s wife, Sarah, had become when she was expecting her first child. And with that thought, Rhea found herself wondering if Sarah had had a girl or a boy. And what other events had occurred at Camareigh while she had been absent this past year. There would be so much for her father and her to discuss on the journey.
“I cannot persuade you to stay?” Dante asked softly, his teeth nibbling along her parted lips. “I promise I shall not be long about this business of the treasure, for the crew grows impatient to be about their new lives of leisure.”
“Please, Dante, do not make this any more difficult than it already is,” Rhea begged as she fought off the aching longing she always felt when in his arms. “I must go,” she said adamantly.
“I shall miss you,” Dante whispered against the fragrant softness of her hair. “I haven’t slept alone in many months. How shall I keep warm?”
“I shall instruct one of the serving girls to put an extra comforter on your bed, but that is all,” Rhea offered, a warning glint in her eyes, but she was quickly succumbing to the sensual pleasure of his touch, her resolve fading as she felt his hand caressing the tender curve of her breast.
There was silence in the room until the sound of approaching feet along the corridor beyond the closed door penetrated Rhea’s awareness and she freed her lips from Dante’s. “Dante, I think there is someone at—”
Dante sighed, thinking they’d had a damned sight too many interruptions at this inn. He reluctantly released Rhea from his embrace as the knocking continued. “No doubt one of your father’s eager watchdogs,” Dante commented with an unpleasant glance toward the door.
Dante stood in front of the fire, staring broodingly into the flames while the two serving girls bustled about, packing the colorful gowns they’d admired the night before. Dante kept his back to the room, unwilling to participate in Rhea’s departure, but when he heard the exclamations of pleasure from the girls as they helped Rhea dress, he couldn’t resist the temptation of a glance.
Dressed in the pale primrose gown with the wildflowers and butterflies dancing across the voluminous skirt, she brought all the warmth of springtime into the chilly room. The gold hair had been confined in a simple twist on the back of her head, and it was with a certain sadness that Dante watched the ivory smoothness of her shoulders disappear beneath a blue velvet cloak.
Dante returned his gaze to the flames. He felt none of the warmth of the hearth, for at the back of his mind was the worrisome thought that once the duke had Rhea back at Camareigh, he would do everything within his power to destroy thei
r marriage.
Dante felt a gentle touch on his arm and, glancing down, stared hard at the small hand with his ring on the third finger.
“You will come soon?” Rhea asked, understanding his fears.
“Very soon. I trust you will be on the lookout for me. I doubt whether your father will allow me through the gates of Camareigh,” Dante predicted. Lucien Dominick would not give up without a fight.
“I am sorry that your first meeting with my father was so unpleasant, but you must admit that the circumstances of our marriage are a bit unusual. And you must allow him a certain dismay at having discovered that I am wed to a man he thought may have kidnapped me.” Rhea was hoping desperately that Dante and her father would be more understanding of one another. “Just give my father time to accept you, Dante. When he comes to see how much in love we are, he will raise no further objections to our marriage. The rest of my family will be anxious to meet you, especially my mother. You will adore her, Dante. She is just as wonderful as my father, only less severe. In fact, she is the only one who can tease him, and she never fails to steal a smile from him,” Rhea told him. As she spoke of her family she became more anxious to see them again.
“Indeed?” Dante said with a smile. “Your mother must be a remarkable woman. I shall look forward to making her acquaintance.”
“I think you and she will get along quite well together. Unless, of course, you anger her. She does have a temper. But she does not stay mad for long. Why, even Robin—” Rhea was saying when she suddenly remembered something. “Conny!”
“You needn’t worry. He is downstairs listening to Longacres, so you will have a chance to say good-bye to him,” Dante reassured her, understandingly.
“Whatever shall I say to him? I did not expect to leave London without taking him with me to Camareigh. He so wanted to visit, and I did promise him. I hope he will understand,” Rhea fretted, worried both about his reaction to her sudden departure and leaving him alone in London.
“You worry about him too much, Rhea. He may still be a boy, but he is tough. However,” Dante continued, “you may rest assured that I shall be keeping an eye on him. And when I arrive at Camareigh, Conny will be with me. I give you my word that he will not be abandoned. I have been giving a great deal of thought to his future, so you need not worry. And, furthermore,” Dante added with a devilish grin reminiscent of their days aboard the Sea Dragon, “there is a room full of men downstairs who are waiting to pay their respects to you. Do you mind stopping and saying good-bye to them?”
Rhea’s smile was sad. “Of course not. They are my friends,” Rhea answered, suddenly recalling those languorous days aboard the Sea Dragon when the sun rode the yardarms and the sails billowed with the warm trades. And at night, under a black sky full of stars, the rising of a full moon turned the sea to shimmering silver. “I cannot believe it is over, Dante. It seems but a dream now, and soon those friends will be but names and barely remembered faces, but even then I shall always hold dear those days we shared aboard the Sea Dragon.”
“I know,” Dante said, and gently taking Rhea into his arms, he held her close, wishing that they were once again standing on the warm sands of their cove. Their love for one another had been found there. That love had found its beginnings in a savage wilderness, yet it would meet its greatest challenge in another wild shore, where it would either endure or be destroyed.
* * *
Kirby had continued to watch the door while nursing his third tankard of ale. He was merely curious when Sir Morgan descended the stairs, looking uneasy. Sir Morgan entered the taproom and, finding himself a table near the door, ordered a brandy, which he quickly emptied. Kirby wondered what Sir Morgan was waiting for with so little patience. He was not to wonder for long, for shortly thereafter a very distinguished-looking gentleman dressed in a flowered silk suit of the finest quality descended the stairs. But it was the scar on the man’s cheek that interested the little steward most. It reminded him of something, but the memory was elusive.
To Kirby’s surprise, only because the man seemed out of place in the taproom of Hawke’s Bell Inn, the scar-faced gentleman sat down at Sir Morgan’s table. The way Sir Morgan had bowed, one would have supposed the man to be King George himself.
Scowling, Kirby looked down at his ale. There was something going on that had the hairs on the back of his neck rising. It didn’t ease his mind any when the lordly gentleman, who was asking questions of Sir Morgan, continually glanced up and around the room, his narrowed gaze singling out individuals who had sailed aboard the Sea Dragon, including Houston Kirby. It was a gaze which did not invite introductions. In fact, it was insultingly assessing, even unfriendly.
“Arrogant bastard,” Kirby mumbled into his ale, beginning to feel as ill at ease as he had when just a young footman standing under the scrutiny of the old marquis. And he was speculating about just what the old marquis would have thought about the strange circumstances of his grandson and heir’s return to England, when his curiosity became even more aroused by the sight of Lady Rhea Claire’s trunks being carried down the stairs and out the door by two hulking footmen wearing livery he was not familiar with. And since he knew neither man, he was alarmed by their handling of Lady Rhea Claire’s possessions. Besides, no one had told him she was leaving, and he had yet to see the captain’s sea chest following the same route.
Kirby had reached the door of the taproom by the time the captain and Lady Rhea Claire had reached the bottom of the stairs, and to the little steward’s surprise, Lady Rhea Claire was wearing her cloak as if in preparation for a journey.
“Captain? M’lady?” Kirby questioned in growing concern, for her ladyship had been crying. And the captain, well, he didn’t look at all pleased.
“Rhea,” a voice caressed her ladyship’s name from somewhere behind Kirby’s shoulders and, glancing around, he looked up until his eyes came to rest on the scarred cheek of the gentleman dressed in the flowered silk.
“Father, I am almost ready to leave.”
Kirby felt his knees giving way. Oh, Lord, he thought, this was the Duke of Camareigh? He understood only too well the reason for the captain’s grim expression.
“I wish to say good-bye to my friends, Father. I will be but a few minutes,” Rhea explained with that sweet smile that always managed to warm his heart.
“Oh, Kirby! This is my father, Lucien Dominick, Duke of Camareigh. Father, this is Houston Kirby, steward aboard the Sea Dragon and one of the gentlest, kindest men I have ever known. He saved my life when I was so ill. He has a broth that rivals anything Rawley could come up with, even Mrs. Taylor’s Special Treat,” Rhea said, laughing at the private joke between them.
“Your Grace,” Kirby responded, bowing deeply, his face a bright red with the guilty embarrassment he was feeling as he remembered his uncomplimentary words of only moments before.
“Mr. Kirby.” The duke spoke to him graciously because Rhea would not have lied about the man’s character. “It seems I owe you my deepest gratitude for your conscientious treatment of my daughter,” the duke said, amazed still that he should be thanking one of the men he had expected to have arrested as common outlaws deserving of his condemnation.
Kirby mumbled some inane remark and suddenly remembered where he had seen the duke before. Nervous, he spoke without thinking. “If I may say so, Your Grace, you don’t look much different than when I saw you close to twenty-five years ago.”
At Lucien Dominick’s politely raised eyebrow, he elaborated quickly, lest the duke think him impertinent. “I was valet to Lord Jacqobi, the tenth marquis. Remember well, I do, him sayin’ that ye be a young buck to watch out for, ’cause ye had a temper, and ’cause the dowager had too tight a rein on ye. ’Twould lead to certain trouble one day for the person who dared get in your way.”
In the awkward silence that followed Kirby’s outrageous remark, the little steward wished the earth would
open up and swallow him. Lord help him, he’d been living in the colonies too long. It came, therefore, as an astonishing surprise when the duke’s laughter filled his ears. Even Dante and Rhea looked startled.
“Yes, I remember Merton Leighton only too well. He had much in common with my grandmother, the dowager. They were both tyrants.”
Lucien’s glance rested briefly on Leighton, as if seeing him through different eyes. Little did Kirby realize that his innocently spoken remarks had revived old memories for the duke, memories of the headstrong young man he once had been and of the slightly disreputable reputation he himself once had possessed.
But rather than lessening his concern where Dante was concerned, the realization of his own past caused him greater worry. To think that his daughter was now wed to a man who had equaled, if not surpassed, his own youthful follies. Remembering now how ruthless and unprincipled he had been as an ambitious young man, he couldn’t help but wonder further about Dante. He would not have let anything or anyone stand in his way of achieving his goals, Dante had stated. It was that single-minded determination which had Lucien worried, because Rhea was now caught up in Dante Leighton’s destiny.
“Lady Rhea Claire!”
Someone in the crowded taproom had spotted the small group standing in conversation just beyond the door and, recognizing Rhea, had called out to her.
Much to the Duke of Camareigh’s surprised disapproval, his daughter not only acknowledged the hail, but also intended to greet personally the uncouth fellow. Obviously he was a member of the crew of that cursed ship, for the man swaggered across the room as if still walking a slanting deck. And if that had not identified the man as a sailor, then his costume certainly would have, for the man looked like a pirate, the duke thought in growing dismay.
But before the man with the almost toothless grin and cackling laugh could reach Rhea, Alec MacDonald, on the strength of having fought beside her Scots great-grandfather at the Battle of Culloden, stepped forward toward Rhea. He at least looked civilized, thought the duke. But he continued to keep a watchful eye on the wizened gent with the knife protruding from his belt.
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