by Linda Ladd
"Well, Mr. MacBride, why don't you tell me all about your courtesan lovers?” Alysson said after a time, bringing Donovan's eyes swiveling to her in stunned disbelief. She smiled with an utterly wicked sidelong glance from beneath her long black lashes.
Donovan grinned. She was not used to drinking, that was damned certain. “I'm surprised that you even know what a courtesan is, English. Most well-bred young ladies like you don't, and if they did, they wouldn't question a man about it."
"Who said I was well-bred?"
Donovan laughed then, but Alysson hardly noticed it. She felt good, very good, better than she had ever felt in her whole life.
"Of course I know what a courtesan is,” she went on, her speech slightly slurred, and she was no longer aware of the severe rocking of the ship. “Do you think me naïve?"
Donovan's grin widened further as she hiccuped, then covered her mouth quickly with her hand. He remained silent, watching as she drank more whisky, then leaned her head back against the wall.
"As a matter of fact,” she said dreamily, “I think I shall be a courtesan myself someday, after I become the most famous actress in New York."
Donovan smiled. “You'd be better off sticking to acting and leaving the other to those more suited for it."
Alysson's eyes flew open indignantly. “Such as your Countess Kinski?” she asked sarcastically.
Donovan frowned. “What do you know about Marina?"
"I know she is your lover and that you killed her husband in a duel and that you keep her in a house for your own pleasure."
Donovan gave a sardonic snort. “That just about covers it, I'd say."
"Then you admit it?"
"I don't admit anything."
Alysson drank again, watching him over the flask. “Odette and Milton said it was true, but despite what you say, I know I am as suited to it as your Russian lover."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, indeed, I do,” she insisted defensively. She paused to smother a hiccup. “Odette has been with many men, and she says it is quite nice lying with them, and it must be true, because even though I hate you so much, when we lay in your bed together before my father came, I had the most incredible feelings inside here.” She placed her hands on her stomach. “I cannot imagine how wonderful it must be with someone you don't hate."
Donovan stared at her, wondering if she were really so innocent. She talked and acted almost like a child at times, but after all, she was an actress. She could slip roles on and off as easily as a satin cape. He'd seen her do it. Nevertheless, he was intrigued by what she had said.
"What kind of feelings, English? Maybe it was something you ate."
He grinned, and Alysson found his remark funny. She laughed. “Oh, no, they were wondrous indeed. Didn't you feel them?"
Donovan wanted to laugh. He'd only felt them every damn day and night since he had met her. She went on, saving him a reply.
"Do you really want to know how I felt? I felt like Shylock."
"The Jewish moneylender in The Merchant of Venice?"
Alysson giggled. “No, silly, the dog I named after him. He was a beautiful white spaniel I once had; Freddie found him on the moor. He loved it when I scratched him on his belly.” She smiled at the memory. “He used to collapse on his back and stick his legs in the air and wait for me to do it, and that's how I felt when you were kissing me."
Donovan stared at her incredulously, then leaned back his head and laughed aloud. Alysson laughed with him, then drained the flask and gave it back to him.
"What happened to Shylock?” Donovan asked, and Alysson's face sobered.
"Papa shot him."
Donovan frowned, wondering what kind of childhood she had suffered.
"Why would he do that, Alysson?” he asked gently.
"Because I set Shylock on him when he was hurting Mama."
"Is he the one who tied you?” Donovan asked then, wondering if she was drank enough to tell him anything he wanted to know. She looked down and didn't answer, and he tried again. “You can tell me."
She still wouldn't look at him. “Yes."
"Why?"
"There wasn't any reason, only because he knew that I hated it.” She shivered. “He left me there all day and night until Mathilde and Freddie untied me.” She sighed deeply, closing sleepy eyes.
"Who are Mathilde and Freddie?"
"Why do you ask me so many questions?” she said, suddenly querulous, then, to Donovan's utter astonishment, she squirmed out from beneath his leg and cuddled herself against his left side, her cheek on his shoulder.
"I am so sleepy of a sudden,” she murmured, sighing again as her long lashes drifted together.
Donovan looked down at her as she settled into sleep, her breathing gradually becoming even and regular. After a moment, he transferred the small red-gold head gently into the crook of his arm where he could see her face while holding her secure against the periodic bucking of the ship. How innocent she looked while she slept, like a small child. She was so very young, certainly much younger than any woman with whom he had been involved. But the feel of her soft young body pressed so intimately against his side brought anything to mind but childlike thoughts of her and he was painfully aware of the devastating effect she had on him.
He sat very still for a very long time, holding her, wondering about her, wondering whether he could trust her, wondering what else she had suffered with a cruel tyrant of a father like Tyler. He looked down at her face again, brushing a soft golden tendril from her cheek. She was so fragile-looking, her skin so white and delicate and easily bruised. The idea of Daniel Tyler hurting her, tying her up, suddenly filled him with rage. His muscles went tight with it, and he wished he had been around then to protect her, and her mother too, by the sound of it. Tyler was a rotten coward, gutless, except around women and little children, and Donovan would have made him sorry he had ever been born.
Amazed at his own feelings, he stared down at Alysson. Perhaps he had been wrong about her. He felt differently now where she was concerned, an odd protectiveness that surprised him as much as it would have her if she knew about it. Any kind of attachment between them would be the worst possible thing, he told himself firmly. Even if she was innocent, and he was beginning to think maybe she was, she was still Daniel Tyler's daughter.
If he was smart, he thought, he would tie her in now while she slept and go to his own bed where he belonged. He looked at her then, so very small and peaceful in his arms, her long hair wrapped around her shoulders. He picked up a lock, caressing it absently, remembering vividly the terrible look in her eyes when she had thought he was going to tie her to the rail. He sighed in defeat, settling her more comfortably in the circle of his arms, before he leaned his head against the wall and closed weary eyes, trying all the while to forget the feel of her body against his own. It would be a very long night, in more ways than one. Alysson Tyler had been born with everything it took to tempt the saints themselves, and Donovan MacBride was no saint.
Chapter 6
"Are you feeling better now, Miss Tyler?"
Alysson nodded, giving Stephens a grateful smile. “Yes, thank you. The powders you brought stopped my headache."
"Mr. Donovan thought they might help you."
"Mr. MacBride sent them?"
"Yes, miss. Will you be wanting anything else? Your bath is ready now."
"No, thank you very much."
Alysson waited until he left the stateroom, then put her palm against her forehead. Never had she felt so ill, and never, ever would she touch another drop of whisky. Though she had slept well past noon, she had awakened with a pounding head and suffered the entire afternoon with a queasy stomach. Now, it was nearly dark outside, and she was just beginning to feel like herself again. A long soak did sound wonderful. Then she would go to the dining hall and try to eat something. Now that her stomach was settled, she was beginning to feel quite empty. Her stomach growled loudly as if to verify her thoughts, but she took time
to carefully arrange the silk screen around the small brass hipbath. She didn't expect either Donovan or Brace to return any time soon, but she was not about to chance one of them walking in on her toilette.
She moved behind the screen to undress and found it very dark there since the screen blocked even the dusky light from the portholes. A candle was affixed to the wall beside the tub, and she took a moment to light it, then hurriedly unlaced her bodice and slipped out of her gown and the silk chemise she wore under it. Sighing with pleasure, she sank to her shoulders. It was salt water, but it still felt warm and heavenly.
All her life, she had taken exceptional pleasure in the luxury of bathing, one of the few ways she had been able to relax by herself. Even in Cornwall, Mathilde had heated water for her daily baths. Those days seemed very long ago now, and a pang of sorrow pierced her heart as her mother's long-suffering face rose wraithlike in her mind.
"Poor Mama,” she murmured to herself. And Mathilde and Freddie. She missed them dreadfully. Not a day passed when she didn't think of them and wonder how they fared. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the padded tub. The water was very hot, raising steam around her until her face was beaded with perspiration, but it felt good. Whisky was indeed a wicked thing. “O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains!” she thought, quoting the lines from Othello. She understood them now as she had never understood them before.
An unsettling thought crept into her mind. She remembered little of her conversation with Donovan after she had begun to drink from his flask. Her brow furrowed in concentration. Had she asked him about his mistresses? She vaguely remembered something about that, but not his answer, which was most provoking. She wondered then if he had felt as bad as she had when he had awakened. Somehow she didn't think so, for she had roused enough at one point to hear him up early giving instructions to Stephens and then more to Lionel Roam.
She tried to remember what had passed between them while the storm had raged, finding herself very thankful that the day had dawned clear and the ship rode upon smooth seas. Just the thought of plunging and rolling made her stomach heave. And Donovan MacBride—he had been almost nice to her, at least she thought he had. She distinctly remembered him smiling at her, and could it be that he even laughed at one point? That was hard to believe, considering the somber, angry expression he always wore around her. She wished she could remember better. It was kind of him to sit with her as he had. Surprising, to be sure, but he had not tied her when she had asked him not to. And he hadn't looked at her with that terrible icy hatred in his black eyes.
Alysson's own eyes flew open as someone entered the door across the room. Dismayed, she sank deeper into the tub as masculine voices drifted to her. Donovan's deeply timbred voice was recognizable at once, and she did not move, realizing that Brace had entered with him. A moment later, she heard Lionel Roam and the voice of another man she could not place.
Her finely arched brows drew into a small frown. They had never entered when she was bathing before; Donovan was always busy with his business concerns in the small adjoining office, and Brace was usually on watch. Embarrassed, she sat still in the water, feeling like a fool. After a few tense moments during which they didn't appear to notice her presence, she continued with her bathing, careful not to splash the water. If she was very, very quiet, perhaps they would never even know she was in the room with them.
His mind on the business at hand, Donovan seated himself behind his desk while the other men took the velvet-cushioned chairs across from him.
"I believe we will be more comfortable in here since there are four of us,” he said crisply. “Do you have the proper documents for us to sign, Mr. Roam?"
"Yes, sir. Each is prepared in triplicate as you requested."
Lionel Roam set his small leather case upon his knees as he answered, opening the lid to retrieve the requested documents. He ceremoniously placed a copy in front of each of the other men, then sat back to wait, his part in the transaction finished.
"My brother will be my witness to your signature, Mr. Creighton. I trust you do not have an objection to that."
"Of course not, Mr. MacBride. Captain MacBride's reputation for honesty and integrity is certainly as well known as your own,” came Mr. Creighton's quick, flattering reply.
Lionel suppressed a smile. Creighton, along with every other merchant in New York, or any other American city, would agree to just about anything to enter into a partnership with MacBride Enterprises. Donovan MacBride was brilliant, a businessman and financier whose shrewd financial acumen in banking and real estate was well documented and respected. Why, even since Lionel himself had been in Donovan's employ, he had seen the MacBride wealth grow by the day, despite his employer's inclination to invest in any profit-promising deal, especially real estate on the island of Manhattan or the village Of Brooklyn across the East River. He was by most estimates one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in New York, or the whole country for that matter.
And from what Lionel had been able to ascertain from gossip around the MacBride offices, the vast fortune had been built single-handedly from what little was left of the shattered MacBride merchant enterprises after the war. Fierce patriots, the MacBrides had lost nearly everything they owned when the British had occupied the city during the revolution. He was proud to work for Mr. MacBride, and despite his keen business-oriented mind, MacBride paid his help well, very well. Lionel himself had been able to put back a sizable nest egg for his future.
Despite his wandering thoughts, Lionel was careful to keep one ear trained on the business conversation flowing around him, in case he was asked to verify a detail later on. His attention faltered momentarily at the sound of a low splash across the room. Engrossed in their dealings, his colleagues seemed not to have heard, but Lionel glanced curiously in the direction from which it came. He started violently in his chair, then felt his cheeks grow hot as an embarrassed flush rose to the roots of his hair. Nonetheless, he could not look away as he beheld the shadowy form of a very shapely lady obviously in the act of bathing. She took her toilette behind a silk privacy screen, but a dim light from somewhere behind her created the most revealing silhouette of her every movement. After a long, throat-drying moment of watching, he forced himself to avert his gaze. He knew the lady must surely be the most beautiful Miss Tyler, who shared the MacBride stateroom. Although his employer had made it clear in no uncertain terms that there was no attachment between them, Lionel had seen Donovan MacBride's eyes on her often when she was unaware of him, and Lionel thought it best not to be caught watching her bathe.
A nonchalant glance assured him that Donovan had not noticed the lovely vision on the screen, since Donovan sat half turned away from that side of the room. Lionel turned his regard to Captain MacBride and found the younger MacBride brother watching the sight with the utmost enjoyment. A moment later, Mr. Creighton became aware of the same tantalizing view, and Lionel almost chuckled at the way the older man's mouth gaped for an instant before he caught himself and hastily looked away.
Lionel made a valiant effort not to look in that direction again, but despite his good intentions, his eyes strayed back to the shadowy form to find it now standing upright, one arm outstretched as Alysson toweled herself dry. His breath caught, and he wet dry lips as he envisioned Miss Tyler's beauteous features and lovely young figure. Donovan MacBride was not the only man aboard aware of her most charming presence; Lionel had heard many comments from fellow male passengers about her.
"That should do it then, gentlemen,” Donovan murmured, laying aside his quill pen and sprinkling sand over his signature. He lifted his eyes to find his three companions looking elsewhere. All of them realized he watched them at approximately the same time, and all reacted quite differently. Mr. Creighton flushed a beet red, while Lionel Roam began a rather nervous clearing of his throat, of a sudden inordinately concerned with gathering together the signed documents and stowing them inside his
case. Only Brace met Donovan's questioning eyes, his own quite openly amused as he tipped his head toward the far side of the cabin.
Donovan frowned, twisting in his chair, and had no trouble finding the object of the three men's fascination. Alysson now stood with one foot poised on the side of the tub as she languorously dried a shapely shadowed thigh, and Donovan felt his loins tighten in a quick, powerful reaction that both amazed and appalled him. He turned back, and only Brace felt secure enough to meet his gaze. He grinned knowingly.
"If you'll excuse me for a moment, gentlemen?"
There was an immediate nodding and muttered words of agreement all around amidst more throat-clearing, Donovan rose and strode across the cabin, smiling to himself as he stopped beside Alysson's screen, intentionally blocking the enticing view from those still sitting before his desk.
"Miss Tyler?"
A startled splash came from behind the screen as the shadow froze in the process of stepping from the hipbath. Alysson's voice came, very low and uncertain.
"Yes?"
"I think it best if you extinguish that candle."
A short silence ensued, then came another tentative reply from her.
"But how will I see to dress?"
"Perhaps, Miss Tyler, you should be more concerned with how much the gentlemen with me can see."
He heard a shocked gasp, then the candle went out at once. Donovan smiled again as he rejoined his uneasy colleagues across the room.
Some time later, Alysson's face still burned with mortification as she sat motionlessly on the edge of her bed. She was fully dressed now in a high-waisted rose velvet gown, chosen intentionally for its modest cut and prim lace collar. It had never even occurred to her that they might be able to see her movements through the screen. Oh, how horribly humiliating! What if Donovan thought she had done it on purpose? She was sure that was exactly what he would think. Hadn't he accused her before of being wanton? He had even accused her of enticing the two men on the quay the day they had set sail!