His step lighter than it had been for many a day, Dante walked past the stables to the arch, which led to another, smaller courtyard. He stopped for a moment, gathering his courage, then entered the small chapel where his mother and father were entombed. Until that moment, he had not been able to step into the cool darkness. He had been shamed by the past and what had happened to Merdraco because of his weaknesses. Because he had run away from his responsibilities and had failed to protect what was trusted to him, he had lost all that had been held sacred by his forebears.
But now he could face all of that and face the memory of his parents. He could make his peace with them without shame, for he had returned to Merdraco victorious. He had reassembled his father’s beloved collection of fine objets d’art and regained the Leighton lands. And he had, he hoped, become a man his mother would be proud to call her son.
He had cheated Sir Miles of his revenge. And by doing that, he had avenged the crimes committed by Sir Miles against his parents.
Standing before their sepulchre, Dante, his head bowed, stared at their effigies. He reached out and touched the cold stone of his mother’s cheek. “Too late,” he whispered. Then he abruptly turned away from the gloomy, damp, airless chamber.
Outside the air was thick with smoke which burned his eyes, and as Dante walked toward the fire, his eyes were luminous with tears. He breathed deeply of the smoky air, reveling in it, for it signaled the end of misfortune. Soon the winds from his beloved sea would catch the smoke and scatter the ashes.
Blinking away the tears, Dante glanced around the courtyard. He was seeing the great house, the stables, and the gardens as they had once been and how they would look one day soon.
Tomorrow the floors and walls would be scraped and scoured. A week later would be heard throughout the great house and across the courtyard the sound of saws and hammers as carpenters set to work replacing the rotten timbers and the shingles in the roof. The gaping holes in the floorboards and walls would be patched, sealing off the drafts that swept through the house. Then the windows would be repaired and new glass fitted into the countless panes. The blacksmith would forge new hinges and a lock so the iron gates would once again bar entry to trespassers. Merdraco would soon know again the sound of its master’s voice echoing along the corridors and resounding throughout the great hall.
From London would come the finest architect to redesign many of the rooms, his specially trained artisans carving a new balustrade for the great staircase; putting in paneling and mantelpieces; creating elegant plaster ceilings to bring an airy lightness to the rooms of Merdraco; replacing the cracked and scarred marquetry floors. And from the most exclusive shops in the land would be chosen wallpaper and materials for chairs, settees, carpets, and draperies. And then, when all was as it should be, the treasured possessions that had graced the halls of Merdraco long ago would be sent for. And from the windows, with their sparkling panes of leaded glass, would be an expansive view of the gardens and arbors and terraced walks, the emerald green stretches of lawn and parkland, all brought back to life by a veritable army of gardeners who would weed and prune and plant.
As Dante began to see change taking place in his beloved Merdraco, that first day of beginnings passed. It gave way to another day and then another. The sun retreated against the fall of darkness, which in turn gave way to the moon’s rising. The pale, silvery light spread across the black landscape, where shadows took on a life of their own.
And it was on such a night as that, when an ivory crescent of light traveled across the sky, that those shadows first began to threaten the peaceful existence that Rhea and Dante had established at the lodge. The day’s activities were examined and discussed over a finely prepared meal served on the great banqueting table. Flickering light from several silver candelabra reflected the gleam of fine china and crystal. Lively conversation was punctuated by laughter while the diners lingered over dessert.
“Tell me more about this Charles Town smuggler called Bertie Mackay. Did he really wear black velvet breeches all the time?” Francis asked.
“Oh, aye, that he did,” Kirby confirmed, eyeing his dessert suspiciously because he hadn’t been the one to prepare it. “But that wasn’t the worst of it. ’Twas mostly the size of them breeches which caused so much concern among the townspeople. Just to make one pair took several yards of material. Seein’ how he fancied wearin’ a fresh pair every day, there never was so much as a black velvet ribband to be found in all the Carolinas. All the black velvet went into makin’ breeches and jackets for Bertie Mackay. In fact, some said that half of what he smuggled into the Carolinas was black velvet cloth just to keep himself in breeches.”
Francis laughed. “I am not certain I believe you, Kirby.”
“Kirby is prejudiced, for he never cared much for our smuggling rival,” said Alastair.
“Aye, right ye are, Mr. Marlowe, for Bertie Mackay would have slit your throat from ear to ear as soon as smile at ye,” Kirby reminded his former mate. “Doesn’t ever pay to let your guard down. There be folks out there just waitin’ to catch ye dozin’, mark my words,” Kirby pronounced with a worried glance at the captain, who, with a fine show of indolence, was slowly swirling brandy in a glass. Receiving no acknowledgment, Kirby sent a disgusted glance at Jamaica, who lay curled up before the hearth. “Reckon some folks and critters might be gettin’ a bit soft nowadays. Reckon ol’ Jamaica couldn’t catch himself a fat old mouse even if it were sittin’ before him on a platter.”
“Coooeee, that’d sure look funny,” Conny said with a wide grin. One of the maids grimaced with dismay, and Conny exchanged knowing glances with Robin, but before ideas could take root in their minds, Rhea coughed, drawing their attention.
“I think it is well past your bedtime, boys,” Rhea suggested, much to their displeasure despite the fact that both had been yawning widely.
But Rhea was adamant. She was beginning to remind Robin more and more of their mother. With a shrug of defeat, snatching a tart to be split between them later, Conny and Robin said good night. Their steps, interrupted by an occasional scuffling noise, faded up the stairs.
“I wonder what the big secret is that they’ve been keeping?” Francis asked as soon as they were out of earshot.
“You think they’ve been up to something?” Dante asked while he toyed with the dessert in front of him, most of which he had left uneaten.
“I know my brother too well not to be suspicious when things go too smoothly. I have been expecting to find something slimy and crawling in my bed each night, but as yet I have managed to escape their pranks,” Francis said.
“I think Conny must be a very good influence on Robin,” Rhea commented, much to the amusement of the captain and two of the crew.
“How did the stallion do when you took him back to Seawyck?” Dante startled Alastair by asking. Under those penetrating gray eyes Alastair found himself becoming flustered.
“Didn’t limp at all. In fact, I had a devil of a time keeping him from racing most of the way there. I don’t know how that woman controls him. I hate to admit it, but he was almost too much horse for me,” Alastair said with a shake of his light brown curls. He hoped that would end the subject, but the captain’s eyes were too sharp, and Alastair heard him ask the question he dreaded hearing.
“Did you happen to see the lady of the manor? And, perhaps, her lovely daughter?” Dante’s quiet tones always held a wealth of meaning.
Alastair actually blushed while stuttering out what he thought sounded like a reasonably intelligent reply. “Uh, yes.”
“And how were they?” Dante asked, enjoying teasing him. Alastair had been rather too eager in his offer to return Bristol Boy to Seawyck Manor, and had Dante not caught a certain look in Alastair’s eyes when he gazed at Anne Seacombe the other day, he would have suspected his former supercargo of having a penchant for Bess.
But it was her daughter Ala
stair Marlowe was interested in, and that fact would be enough to set Bess off on another tirade, Dante thought. It was too obvious that she was becoming concerned about her age. As Dante thought of the possibility of Bess Seacombe becoming Alastair Marlowe’s mother-in-law, he stared at Alastair with both amusement and pity. But that was years away, if at all. Still, Dante was pleased to see Alastair show an interest in courting. He was becoming annoyed by Alastair’s constant attentions to Rhea.
“Quite well. Invited me in for tea,” Alastair finally admitted, much to Dante’s and Francis’s amusement. But Rhea was frowning slightly, for it sounded to her as if Dante were trying to elicit information about Bess from Alastair. In his next breath, Alastair confirmed the fact that Bess was trying to learn more about Dante’s recent life.
“I felt as if I were being questioned by the Inquisition, so curious was Lady Bess about everything you’ve done, Captain,” Alastair said with a grin, getting even with his friend for putting him on the spot. Too late, he realized how that sounded to Rhea, and he glanced at her apologetically, but she was smiling politely.
“I am sure that Anne was impressed to hear of our privateering days. You did tell her, did you not, about finding that sunken Dutch merchantman?” Dante asked.
Alastair looked embarrassed. “Well, as a matter of fact, the subject did come up.”
“Don’t suppose, though, that you told her about how we met the cap’n?” Kirby asked with a sly grin.
But Alastair surprised Kirby and his captain by his answer. “Why, yes, I did, much to the amusement of Lady Bess. She enjoyed hearing about your caped figure coming out of the gloom, the torches smoking and flickering in the rain,” Alastair said. It was a situation few men trying to impress a woman would have admitted to, since he had been drunk at the time and was being chased by a press-gang.
“I am sure the ladies were quite concerned to hear about the danger you were in,” Francis remarked with an understanding smile that should have warned Alastair.
“Yes, do you know, I believe they were, especially Anne. I really wasn’t certain if I should continue with any more stories about our bloody battles,” Alastair said. If it had been anyone besides Alastair, they would have found his concern for the ladies’ sensibilities quite suspect.
“But you did?” Dante asked.
“Well, yes, but only at Lady Bess’s insistence. Rather bloodthirsty woman,” Alastair muttered, remembering how those dark eyes had shone with excitement.
“It struck me that Anne Seacombe seemed a very sensible girl. Rather subdued, yet I suspect there is a bit of Bess lying beneath that gentle exterior,” Dante said, guessing that one day Anne would possess the same dark sensuality that her mother did.
“Yes, I thought much the same myself,” Alastair agreed readily, although wondered if the captain had intended that as a compliment. “She appears less high-strung, certainly,” Alastair said quickly.
Rhea stared at her friend in amazement, realizing for the first time that Alastair Marlowe was interested in Anne Seacombe.
“Hmmmm, Anne Seacombe. Yes, she is quite a beauty, isn’t she?” Francis said, a speculative look in his blue-gray eyes. “Next time you call on the Seacombes, perhaps I shall accompany you,” Francis said, much to Alastair’s dismay. Francis was a handsome young man, and Alastair knew he could never compete against a duke’s son for a woman’s hand.
Seeing Alastair’s uneasy look, Francis took pity on him and added, “But, of course, I shall probably be returning to Camareigh before I have a chance to pursue that friendship.”
Francis nearly laughed aloud, for Alastair quite visibly relaxed. “I shall be sorry to leave here, for I have enjoyed your company, Alastair,” Francis said, and Rhea could have hit him. Poor Alastair was no match for Francis’s jesting.
Alastair looked ashamed. He truly liked Francis, who seemed at times far older than his years. “I shall miss our conversations too. But, of course, you will be returning often.”
“Yes, but will you be here when I do?” Francis asked.
Alastair remained silent, as if that thought had never occurred to him. Suddenly it caused him concern, for he had come to think of this as his home, and the thought that he might have overstayed his welcome caused him great consternation.
Reading his mind, Rhea said, “I hope you are not planning to leave while we are in the midst of rebuilding. You have been so much help to us. I really don’t know what we should do without you. Why, Dante was telling me just the other day how much easier he is, knowing that if he isn’t at Merdraco supervising the work, then you are. He trusts you to see that his wishes are carried out. Of course, we cannot be selfish and expect you to stay here forever. I do know you are interested in finding an estate, and we shouldn’t wish to keep you from doing that. But since you haven’t found anything suitable yet, why not stay here with us? Unless, of course, you must leave us,” Rhea concluded sadly, not meeting either Francis’s or Dante’s eyes.
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t abandon you! Especially if I can be of service to you,” Alastair reassured Rhea, suddenly feeling much lighter of heart. It seemed he’d just been given an open invitation to stay at the lodge until he wished to leave, as if he were a member of the family. The captain apparently agreed, and he was even smiling.
Dante was eyeing his wife in wonder. He had always known how very charming she could be, but he hadn’t realized exactly how conniving she could be until he listened to her adroit maneuvering of Alastair. The gentlemanly Alastair had never had a chance against Rhea.
“Oh, I’d almost forgotten,” Alastair said suddenly, looking sheepish. “When I was returning from Seawyck, someone came up to me and gave me this note for you. I am sorry I forgot about it until now,” Alastair apologized.
With apparent lack of concern, Dante took the note from Alastair and pocketed it without a glance, and also without satisfying the curiosity of the others.
Alastair’s future was still in Rhea’s mind later in the evening while she sat before her mirror and brushed out the tangles from her unbound hair. Crowded across the surface of the small rosewood and gilt dressing table which had survived the journey from Camareigh were crystal and porcelain bottles of delicate scents, a silver patch box inlaid with precious stones, the silver comb that matched the brush in Rhea’s hands, a pastille burner filling the room with a fragrant blend of honeysuckle and roses, and other things necessary for a lady’s proper toilette.
While she brushed the long, golden strands of hair, Rhea hummed the melody coming from the tinkling music box which occupied some of that precious space on her dressing table. Humming, she smiled at Dante’s reflection in the mirror. He was taking of his shirt and stretching his tired muscles.
“We shall have to make certain that Alastair and Anne Seacombe come to regard one another as more than friends during the next few years and when she’s older. ’Twould be a good way of making certain that Alastair stays here in Devonshire. I would miss him terribly if he were to leave and go to live in York, or some other out of the way place.”
“Many consider Devonshire a wild, unsettled place,” Dante reminded her.
“That is because they are not here with us. Why, if we were in York with Alastair, then I shouldn’t think it an inhospitable place at all, because I would be there,” Rhea stated with a last long brush.
“To my dismay, I am actually beginning to understand you at times,” Dante complained. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he began to remove his shoes while watching Rhea, who left the dressing table and began tucking in the blankets round their son. The baby’s hands were reaching out to her and he chuckled, gazing up at her with big wondering eyes.
“I cannot believe how fast he is growing. Every day he seems an inch or two taller,” Rhea said, pressing a kiss into each tiny hand.
As she moved away from his cradle, she passed in front of the fire and paused a moment to
warm herself. In the glowing light, Dante could see the contours of her body outlined through her thin lawn nightdress. His gaze traveled along the slender line of calf and thigh to the womanly curving of hips, to the small waist. Once again he could encircle it with his hands. The uptilted outline of her small breasts caught his eye, and he felt that tightening in his loins that would find relief only in a slow, sensual exploration of every scented inch of that body, the body he had come to know better than his own.
His expression must have given him away, for when Rhea met his gaze, she blushed. But she didn’t look away. She came toward him, pausing just before she reached him to drop her nightdress from her shoulders, leaving it rumpled at her feet.
Dante stared at Rhea, thinking she had never seemed quite so stunningly beautiful as she did just then, standing before him, revealing all her womanly secrets, giving of herself so naturally and so completely.
“You are so lovely,” he whispered, his hands reaching out to pull her close, his lips caressing hers with lingering sweetness as he sought to taste of what she offered so temptingly.
Rhea wound her arms around his neck, moving against him, the heat of his bare chest burning her breasts as they pressed against him. When his hands moved along her spine, she felt a melting pleasure inside her. He caressed her soft buttocks while he held her closer against his hips, and soon the physical needs of his love for her could no longer be controlled.
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