Calypso Magic

by Catherine Coulter

  Blick chuckled and walked away to ask for the bread.

  "Do you sail, Diana?"

  She turned at the sound of Lyon's voice. "Of course. Living on an island doesn't give one much opportunity to ride for miles in carriages, you know. In fact, I have my own sailboat. Her name is Bilbo."

  "Wherever did you get that appellation?"

  She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "I haven't thought of that in years. My father told me that when I was three years old, I was fascinated at his talk of bilges and boats. I put the two words together, so he and Dido told me."

  "Dido?"

  "My nurse, nanny, and a fiery old woman who tells me what to think and what to do, if I let her. She took over running the plantation house after my mother died. Now she does allow me to assist, if I am polite about it and properly serious."

  "A slave?"

  She stiffened, just a bit, at his tone. "Yes, she is."

  "I doubt she is running the plantation house now."

  "Why, of course she is. My father has the greatest respect for her." She chuckled. "She also intimidates him a bit, I think."

  Lyon realized he'd let his mouth run ahead of his mind. Oh, well, she would find out soon enough. Better for her to have time to accustom herself. "Your father has remarried."

  Diana slapped a tendril of hair from her face. "That is not a very funny jest, Lyon."

  "It isn't a jest. Lucia received a letter from your father just before we left."

  "But she said nothing of it to me."

  "She didn't want you made unhappy. Also it appears you have a stepbrother, evidently grown."

  "Good morning, my lord. Diana, your bread."

  They both turned, each taking bread from Blick. Diana, her face a study in confusion and chock, walked toward the poop deck. She began flinging bits of bread upward.

  The birds squawked loudly and flew closer. She heard a curse from a sailor and saw that one of the gulls had relieved himself on the hapless man's head. She wished it had been Lyon, then she could laugh. From the crew she had met, they were dressed well enough and were clean. Of course, if there were not much rain during the voyage, all of them would be as smelly as cow's ears before they reached St. Thomas. She'd heard stories all her life about the cruelty aboard his majesty's ships in the royal navy. These men, however, did not look at all abused.

  Lyon tossed his own bread, his eyes on Diana. It didn't really matter now that her father had taken another wife. After all, Diana would be married to him and be herself a wife and no longer a daughter attached to her father's house. I am amazing myself, he thought. I am already used to the idea.

  Diana continued tossing bread bits, her mind in a whirl. Her father married! To whom? Why hadn't he written to her to explain? And a stepbrother! The last of the bread gone, she wiped her hands on her skirts. She saw that Lyon was talking to Blick. She moved away, careful of the coiled hemp rope just ahead. She raised her face to the sun, looking at the billowing sails.

  "We'll not get rid of the blighters easily now," said Rafael, coming to a halt, his feet planted wide apart on the deck.

  "They will not come out much farther from land," Diana said.

  The rigging creaked overhead and Rafael, out of long habit, cast an expert eye upward. He called out to Rollo, who was at the wheel, "A bit higher in the wind!" He grinned down at Diana. "You're right, of course. What do you think of the Seawitch?"

  "She is beautiful, save for all the gun ports and cannons. Am I correct? You have ten cannons? Six swivel guns?"

  "You've an accurate eye. England is at war, you know. I am not so foolish to venture out without protection."

  "I remember my father telling me of the English taking St. Thomas in 1807. Not a shot fired."

  "Not a one. The Dutch folded their proverbial tents and left."

  Diana smiled. "He also told me the story of the Dutch commander who asked for verification that the English did indeed have overwhelming odds."

  "An honorable surrender," said Rafael. "When Napoleon is at last beaten, we will give St. Thomas back. Ah, your husband." He grinned at Lyon. "I suggest you, Lyon, take care with the sun. You'll need at least a week to accustom yourself."

  "You're already quite red, Lyon," Diana said, frowning a bit. "I suppose it is better than your previous pallor."

  Sharing a small cabin had further disadvantages, Diana discovered that evening. She wasn't at all tired, and as was her habit, she fetched the novel she'd been reading from the armoire.

  "Douse the lamp, Diana," said Lyon from the bunk not five minutes later.

  As he had the night before, he had kept his eyes closed when she had undressed and bathed. Unfortunately he'd said nothing about sharing the floor. She decided to give him another night to recover from his injury.

  "I wish to read awhile. I will move the lamp down here on the floor beside me."

  He grunted. Another five minutes later, Diana was enthralled with a particularly exciting scene when he said irritably, "Enough. I can't sleep with that bloody light."

  She looked up to see him on his side, looking down at her. "In a bit," she said absently. "Not yet."

  "Diana ---"

  "I shall when I have finished this chapter."

  "What are you reading?"

  "The Adventures of Count Milano."

  He groaned.

  "Hush, the hero is in an awful position at this moment."

  "Do you call it awful because he is making love to the heroine?"

  "Of course not! She is pure and innocent and he wants only to protect her."

  "The man sounds like an idiot and a fool. There is no such breed of woman."

  "That reeks of Charlotte's Disease, Lyon. One would wish that you would strive for a cure."

  "I suppose your count writes bad poetry to the heroine's plucked eyebrows."

  "Be quiet."

  "You know something," he said after a few more minutes, "I find myself wondering if you didn't arrange this particular plot to suit your fancy."

  That caught her attention. "What do you mean? Or will I hate myself for asking?"

  "It just occurs to me --- since I am still suffering from Charlotte's Disease --- that you have neatly engineered me into a corner. You, through your actions, took all choice out of my hands. Perhaps you planned it so you could trap me into marrying you."

  Her first reaction to this outrageous nonsense was to hurl her novel at him. She didn't. Instead, she drew a deep breath and said nothing.

  "Hit a nerve, did I?"

  Her lips tightened, but still she kept silent.

  "If you wanted me so very much, my dear Diana, couldn't you at least be honest about it? Was it my hand caressing your quite acceptable bottom? Or perhaps my brilliant dancing that enthralled you? Since you don't yet know anything about my skill as a lover, it can't be that. More likely, it is my wealth."

  Very well, she thought. "It was your wealth. Certainly you have nothing else to recommend you."

  "You know, I could simply leave you in St. Thomas and sail immediately for England. Leave you to face the music, as it were."

  "That, my dear Lyon, would be my fondest hope."

  "If I were a bounder that is what I would do."

  Diana returned to her novel. She heard him chuckle. She'd let him lave his fun. She stopped reading suddenly and dropped her book to the floor beside her. "This is most odd, Lyon," she said thoughtfully.

  He grinned. "Indeed it is. We're acting like an old married couple, whereas we could be acting like a young married couple. Would you like to share the bunk with me?"

  "I wish you would keep yourself covered."

  "You like what you see, Diana?"

  He did look splendid, but she wouldn't admit that to him. "You are passable, I suppose." She turned to see his wide, very smug grin. She quickly doused the lamp.

  "Tell me, Diana, since we are at least skirting the subject, where did the name Virgin Islands come from?"

  "From Columbus, way back toward the end o
f the fifteenth century. He saw this mass of islands, more than he could or wanted to count. He named them after St. Ursula, who was a virgin, I suppose, and the thousands of maidens who followed her to a martyr's death."

  "My God, how awful for the men of Europe! How many thousand are we talking about?"

  "Over ten thousand, I believe."

  "That probably resulted in dynastic illegitimacies in the thousands."

  "Whatever do you mean by that?"

  "Well, a man wants to marry a virgin. When she is with his first child, he can be fairly certain that it is his, that his heir carries his blood and not another man's. With the destruction of so many innocents, men would have to make do with what was left. I would imagine that a lot of cuckolding went on."

  "Perhaps you're really not Lord Saint Leven, after all!"

  "Hopefully things straightened out in the centuries following the maidens' demise."

  She was silent a long moment, and he could easily imagine her agile mind working quickly. "You know, that is another reason why I don't wish to marry you."

  "Oh?" He drew out the single word, aware of anticipation.

  "Indeed. I have remarked upon your antecedents before. Perhaps because of St. Ursula and the demise of all the virgins, you are truly a bastard. I shouldn't like my children's blood tainted."

  He laughed. "An excellent shot, for a female."

  "Good night, Lyon."

  "Sleep well, Diana." He was grinning into the darkness some minutes later. She was right. This was most odd.

  And at least for the moment, quite enjoyable.

  12

  Men are but children of a larger growth.

  —JOHN DRYDEN

  Lyon was impossible, and she wouldn't think about him. He was a cad, a bounderNo, she wouldn't think about him.

  She breathed in the clean morning air. There was a stiff breeze and the Seawitch was slicing through the water, her graceful bow falling and rising in even cadence. Even during her long voyage to England, she hadn't accustomed herself to the endless stretch of ocean. No small islands, barren, lush, flat, or hilly, anywhere in sight, not like at home. It made her feel unbearably alone and quite insignificant. She was standing on the poop deck next to Rollo, who had the wheel. She said, "Is your home port in St. Thomas?"

  "No, Montego Bay, Jamaica."

  "Then why are we sailing to St. Thomas?"

  Rollo looked briefly uncomfortable. "The captain has business there. Actually, well, yes, business, my lady."

  Most odd, she thought, seeing his discomfort.

  "Please, Rollo, call me Diana."

  "Well, yes, Diana. I say, his lordship seems quite recovered now."

  Too recovered, she thought, but just nodded. Damned man! They'd been at sea for nearly a week now and the night she'd finally asked Lyon to take his turn on the floor, he'd grabbed his head and begun to moan dramatically.

  "That's quite enough," she'd said sharply, frowning at his performance.

  He weaved a bit where he stood, then collapsed on the bunk, arms flopping over his head.

  "Perhaps I should call Blick. He could dose you with a bottle of laudanum."

  He cocked an eye open. "Ah, no, I am a stoic."

  "You bear your suffering in noble silence?"

  "Yes, and now I must have my well-deserved rest." He sat up, grinning at her. His fingers went to the buttons on his shirt, but his eyes remained on her face, mocking, drawing.

  And she'd left, of course, standing in the companionway outside the cabin while he undressed.

  She still wasn't used to that wretched floor, she thought now, stretching to ease her stiff muscles.

  "I've never been to Jamaica," she said to Rollo.

  "If you are unfortunate enough to be attacked by ruffians in St. Thomas, perhaps the captain will take you aboard again."

  "I suppose I can smile about it now, just a bit," she said. "We were very lucky that you were there and willing to assist us."

  "The capt'n is a fair man," was all Rollo said.

  But none of them was smiling toward evening. A storm was blowing up. She was with Lyon when they heard Rafael curse in at least two different languages. Then he gave a series of sharp orders. Several sailors scrambled up the rigging, agile as monkeys, to reef the sails and secure all the lines.

  "We will have a night of it, I'm afraid," Rafael said to Diana and Lyon. "I suggest you fasten down any loose items in your cabin, and please, stay below."

  And that includes me, Diana thought. She looked at the angry waves slapping against the ship, the darkening sky overhead.

  The storm hit at eight o'clock. Diana was sitting on the floor on her nest of blankets when the ship lurched suddenly and she was tossed sideways.

  "Diana, are you all right?"

  She was grumbling to herself and rubbing her bruised elbow. "No! Should you like to trade places with me?"

  "I am not a fool. I think you'd best douse the lamp. I don't want us to set the ship on fire."

  She did and stretched out, trying to get comfortable. She wasn't particularly worried about the storm. Living on an island had accustomed her to them. She remembered very clearly the only time she'd been terrified. It was the great hurricane in 1799, so fierce that it had destroyed nearly all their sugarcane, demolished part of the plantation house and killed fourteen slaves. She shuddered, remembering it, and herself, small and frightened, huddled against Dido's stiff skirts, Dido's soft voice soothing her.

  Lyon, misunderstanding that shudder, said in an effort to distract her from the storm, "So what happened to the count? The hero of your novel?"

  "Oh, him. The brave Count of Milano saved the heroine, saved her father, saved her fortune, and butchered the villain, in a fair fight, of course."

  "And clasped her to his manly bosom on the last page?"

  "Something like that. Ouch!"

  Lyon said after a moment, his voice as bland as the stewed vegetables they'd eaten for dinner, "Perhaps you'd best join me tonight."

  "Don't be absurd!"

  "If you like, I will sleep under the covers and you can arrange yourself on top, with your own blankets for cover, naturally."

  "Be careful, Lyon, else your true lecherous colors might come to the fore."

  "Diana, do not be a twit. I do not wish you to show yourself on the morrow covered with bruises. The captain and his crew will believe that I beat you."

  "You could always take the floor."

  "Not I. I didn't get us into this impossible mess."

  "You are not at all honorable. You are a ---"

  "Bastard? Arrogant fool? Selfish rake?"

  The ship hit a deep trough and she was hurled a good three feet toward the cabin door.

  "Enough, come here."

  He heard her moving about in the darkness.

  "Diana, if I swear I will not touch you, will you please share the bunk with me tonight?"

  "I don't trust you."

  You're probably very wise not to. "Don't be a missish fool. We will be married, you know. You have already been living in close proximity with me for a week."

  She was thinking about it, he knew it. He waited, saying no more.

  "I am not going to marry you, Lyon."

  That reply was not really unexpected. It came to him suddenly that he'd already accepted the fact that she would be his wife. Strangely, he no longer was fighting the notion. She made him laugh when he didn't want to thrash her. She never bored him and, he admitted, she was lovely. He said mildly, "Very well. All I am asking you to do is keep yourself from being hurt. I swear to keep my hands away from your, er, womanly parts. Come here."

  He heard her snort, then say, "And I promise to keep my hands away from your manly parts."

  He laughed. "You have the last word this time. Why don't you take the inside? That way you won't roll off onto the floor. Besides, Diana, I am scared to death of this storm and need your soothing presence beside me."

  "Ha! I don't believe that, butvery well."
/>   She crawled over him, dragging three blankets with her. He didn't move. "There isn't enough room," she said.

  He inched closer to the edge of the bunk.

  Finally, she was lying on her side, her back to him, wrapped securely in her blankets. She realized after just a few minutes that she was quite used to the even tempo of his breathing. Then the ship lurched again and she felt his arms fly out. He grabbed her about her waist and she struggled to a sitting position.

  "Sorry," he said. "I didn't want to end up on the floor. Then the captain and crew just might believe that you beat me."

  "It is a thought," she said. "Would you please remove your hands now?"

  "Certainly."

  They settled themselves again.

  "Diana?"

  "Yes?"

  "I don't mean to revolt your finest feelings, but I must turn on my side, else I won't be safe."

  "And you're nearly speechless with fright?"

  "Exactly." He curled against her back, lightly placing his arm about her waist. She felt his warm breath against her neck. She wished she hadn't braided her hair. At least it would have been some kind of cover.

  I won't think about this, she thought, and forced herself to take deep, slow breaths.

  As for Lyon, he was sternly informing his lower body not to respond.

  Diana awoke several times during the night when the ship heaved in a particularly violent movement. Lyon had her held securely. For the first time in a week, she felt warm enough, and she knew it was from the heat of his body. I will not think about it. I won't let himdo what?

  Lyon awoke very early the following morning. The ship had returned to its gentle rocking motion. The storm, thank God, had blown itself out and the ship was still in one piece. He realized suddenly that his right hand was beneath the three blankets and was cupping Diana's breast. He could feel the slow upward rise and fall of her breathing. His fingers itched. Her breast filled his hand. His breathing quickened. She felt so soft, her flesh so very warm and inviting even through her linen nightgown. She will be my wife, he thought, staving off the guilt he immediately felt. His fingers curled, just a bit. She moved in her sleep, her body shifting slightly so that her breast eased more fully against his palm.