Andrea Kane (2 page)

Drake paused, one foot in the carriage, then turned back toward the doorway where Sebastian stood impassively watching his departure. “Good-bye, Sebastian. I am certain we will continue this discussion upon my return. We always do.”

Sebastian did not reply, watching as the team of grays moved off, carrying Drake toward his destination.

On its heels a second carriage appeared, halting before the great house. Sebastian remained where he stood, his face expressionless, as an expensively clothed gentleman alighted from the carriage. Nodding to his coachman, the silver-haired man glanced nervously about before hurrying up to the entranceway where Sebastian waited.

“Has he departed?” the older man asked, his features taut, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Sebastian smiled slowly. “Mere moments ago, Reginald, my friend,” he replied. “Your timing is impeccable.”

The visitor nodded, shifting from one foot to the other. “Please … let us be done with it.”

Sebastian shrugged. “As you wish.” He stepped aside, allowing the man to precede him into the hallway. “Come.” He gestured toward the library. “We can speak privately in here.”

Once the door had closed behind them, the two men stood facing each other, neither bothering to sit down.

“Well?” Sebastian demanded.

“I did what you asked. It has been delivered.” The words were wrenched from his mouth, casting his soul into a hell of its own creation.

Relief was evident on Sebastian’s sharp features. “And without a moment to spare,” he muttered, half to himself.

“My debt has been repaid,” the elegant gentleman reminded him in an anguished voice.

Sebastian chuckled, the icy sound echoing throughout the room. “So it has,” he agreed. Turning, he strode over to the desk, reaching into the drawer that held the promissory note. He placed it in the man’s trembling hand. “Here is the document you are so impatient to receive.” His eyes were cold, his smile tight-lipped. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you.”

The other man did not smile, nor did he reply. As soon as the hated paper was in his possession he turned and fled, desperate to escape his torment.

“God, forgive me,” Reginald whispered as he hurried to his waiting carriage.

But he knew there could be no forgiveness, nor was there any escape. Men could die, and he was responsible.

The guilt would be with him forever.

“N
OT T’ WORRY; HERE’S THE
cap’n now, Smitty.” Thomas Greer, the youngest sailor on
La Belle Illusion,
stepped back from loading cargo into the hold of the ship and gestured toward the dock. In response, his portly companion pushed a thick shock of white hair off his face, his weathered features relaxing.

“Thank goodness,” Smitty muttered, half to himself, as the tall, raven-haired captain loped down the wharf and swung himself effortlessly onto the bustling ship.

Drake’s emerald eyes missed nothing as he quickly scrutinized the activity around him, then turned to the older man who now regarded him with a mixture of concern and annoyance. “Is everything under control, Smitty?” He didn’t wait for a reply. He already knew what the answer would be. Whether at home as Drake’s valet or at sea as his first mate, Smitty was the epitome of organization and capability. Drake cast an eye to the river. “Fortunately the fog lifted early this morning,” he continued, ignoring Smitty’s expectant stare. “Otherwise, we would never be able to sail.”

“I was beginning to wonder if we were going to sail.” There was no missing the meaning of Smitty’s pointed comment.

Drake grinned. “I apologize for being so late. I had no idea that the meeting with the War Department would take this long. It turned out to be rather important.”

Smitty’s expression changed. “Is there some problem, my lord?”

“I have a message to deliver to Major General Brock when we arrive in York.” Drake frowned. “At least I am not the only one who believes that a war with the Americans is imminent and that another war could cripple England. Regrettably, many of our politicians ignore these truths. I do not.”

“But it appears that others share your view,” Smitty put in.

Drake leaned back against the railing of the ship. “Yes, but not enough to form a majority. I fear it will be too late before enough people realize what a war in North America would mean for England. Napoleon is isolating us from our resources in Europe; therefore we badly need Canada’s timber. If, for any reason, we lose access to that as well, things will become quite bleak.”

“And your message to General Brock?”

Drake shrugged. “I, of course, am not privy to the contents. My guess would be that he is being urged to prepare the defense of Upper Canada in the event of an American attack.”

“And will he?”

Drake gave an emphatic nod. “Brock is quite astute. I believe he is taking the situation seriously. We will soon find out.” He stood abruptly, six feet one inch of commanding power. “Are we prepared to sail?”

Smitty felt the change immediately and snapped to attention. “At once, my lord.”

“We’re at sea now, Smitty,” Drake put in mildly. “Please cease to address me as ‘my lord.’”

Smitty chuckled. “A small slip, Captain. I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again.”

“See that you do.” Drake’s tone was severe, but Smitty recognized the spark of mischief in his eyes. “Else I’ll be forced to address you as Smithers. Imagine the reaction of the crew to that tidbit of information.”

“You’ve made your point, Captain,” was the dry response.

Drake’s grin widened. “I believe I have, Smitty.”

A short time later the hawsers were unbound and the large brig was maneuvered from the dock. Though the fog had lifted, the day was gray, with a brisk wind that would easily carry
La Belle
into open waters. The men moved quickly, each one knowing his job and doing it without question. Drake hand-picked only the finest, hardest working sailors to compose the crew of
La Belle Illusion,
He was a demanding yet unconventional captain who chose not to limit himself to barking orders and administering discipline. Instead, while accepting nothing short of perfection from his men, he worked equally as hard as each and every one of them. He offered excellent pay, fair treatment and, as a result, received the crew’s absolute loyalty and undying respect.

Drake watched from the quarterdeck as the mainsail was hoisted, listening to the men’s banter as they readied the ship for its long journey. He was not fooled by the calm onset of the voyage. There would be many weeks fraught with tension and impending danger before they reached their destination. Times were turbulent, the world situation grim, the odds for survival less than good. He would have to proceed with caution. His life and the lives of twenty other men were at stake.

Nevertheless, exhilaration surged through Drake’s blood. These moments were his happiest. His anticipation was heightened, his senses keen and alert. Here on his beloved
La Belle Illusion,
with its spotless decks, its immaculately cared for wood, he was home. At sea his purpose was clear, his challenges real. He belonged here far more than he belonged at Allonshire amid the life of shallow indulgence typical of the nobility. Indeed, it was not nobility that resulted in one’s inheriting great wealth and position, but luck. He thought of his father’s vast wealth, his enormous fleet of ships. The war could annihilate all of that in an instant, for what fate would await these grand vessels without the wood needed to build them? The timber that was so rich and plentiful in Canada’s woodlands was the very backbone of the great British navy. Without it, they would crumble.

A triumphant cheer interrupted Drake’s thoughts, and he looked up to see the billowing sails catch hold of the steady wind, propelling the ship down the Thames. He felt a renewed surge of purpose.
La Belle
was on her way.

Drake stretched, allowing the cold air to work its magic. His other life would disappear along with the receding shoreline. Lord Cairnham would, for the duration of the voyage, cease to exist.

As if reading Drake’s thoughts, Smitty looked up from the helm.

“Captain?” The sharp black eyes took in Drake’s stance, recognized his mental and emotional transition. The fact that Drake had relinquished control of the helm to him meant that his captain was satisfied with their position and speed. Not until they were cruising down the Thames at a brisk clip, did Drake relax and allow his rapt attention to wander.

“Yes, Smitty?”

“The waters are choppy, but not so that young Thomas couldn’t manage,” Smitty suggested.

Drake smiled. Diligent as always, his Smitty. “I agree.”

“Then perhaps you might want to change your clothes now?”

Drake glanced down at himself in surprise. He had completely forgotten his formal coat and pantaloons. Such elegant attire was most inappropriate for grueling weeks at sea, he thought with a grin.

In truth he looked forward to donning his proper sailing attire, for it completed his transition to this other, happier life. To the crew it mattered not how their captain was dressed. His identity was no secret to them. And it made no difference. For though their captain was a born nobleman whose family built and owned the very ship on which they sailed, he was, first and foremost, the proven and undisputed commander of the brig.

With a chuckle Drake agreed. “I believe you are right, my friend. I was in such a hurry to get here from my meeting that changing clothes was out of the question.” He strode across the deck. “I’ll see to it now.” He felt no need to ask if his trunks had been loaded. No doubt Smitty had overseen the task himself. Like his captain, Smitty considered no job on
La Belle
too menial. He relished the challenge offered by his diverse roles at sea, which were in sharp contrast to his rigid duties at Allonshire.

As Drake headed below, Smitty commanded Thomas to take the helm. Seconds later his heavy steps sounded close behind Drake’s as he followed him to the captain’s cabin. Drake smiled inwardly. A lifelong friend, a superb sailor, and first mate, Smitty would never cease to perform his duties as Drake’s valet. To allow his master to dress himself would be blasphemous in Smitty’s eyes. Though time and again Drake reminded him that this was not Allonshire, it was all for naught. Well, it would give them a chance to talk about the journey ahead.

Alexandria was distinctly unhappy. Her muscles ached, her extremities were numb, and she was convinced that her body would be forever frozen in a contorted position beneath the bed.

The earlier hours of the night had been part of the exciting adventure that awaited her. Alone in the deserted cabin, she had allowed her mind to drift, thinking of her mother’s face when she had come to Alex’s room that evening to collect her for the ball at Almack’s. Instead of her radiant daughter, prepared to meet the potential suitors of a first London Season, she had no doubt found a hysterical Lucy, Alexandria’s lady’s maid, and the note Alex had left. She would be furious but unsurprised. After all, Alex had pleaded for months to be allowed to join her father in Canada, but to no avail. As usual her parents were close-minded and rigid, cold and emotionless, as they had been all her life.

Alex could not change her past, but she intended to change her future. She was certain that this journey represented the opportunity to take matters into her own hands.

Certainty had become indecisiveness just after midnight and had deteriorated into doubt before dawn. When the huge trunks had been brought in and placed in the center of the cabin, doubt had exploded into panic. And as she had listened to the ship come to life, felt it move gracefully from the dock and down the river, she was forced to accept the fact that these quarters were not to remain exclusively hers. Then whose?

Masculine voices just outside the closed door alerted Alex to the fact that her answer was forthcoming. A surge of fear pulsed through her veins, and instinctively she moved farther beneath the bed, closer to the bulkhead, and waited.

The heavy door swung open, and two pairs of male legs entered the room. No doubt there were bodies atop the legs, but from Alex’s vantage point she could not see them.

“I wonder if this journey will be uneventful.” Smitty spoke while locating a pair of black breeches and a white shirt for his captain to wear.

Drake shrugged. “Soon enough we will see if Napoleon has any surprises in store for us. As long as his reign continues, anything is possible.” He sat down heavily on the bed, contemplating the situation. Unfortunately there was no way to know; he could only prepare for the worst.

Smitty tugged off Drake’s boots and placed them beside the bed. “Once we have loaded our timber, we ought to hasten our departure from Canada, should your suspicions of impending war be correct.”

Drake stood, tossing his coat and shirt aside and carelessly dropping his pantaloons. “I agree,” he replied, stretching.

Smitty was unbothered by Drake’s nakedness.

Alexandria was not.

Flat on her stomach, she had frozen at the sound of the bed slats as they groaned beneath Drake’s weight. Once she realized that she was not to be crushed, she remained still, listening to the conversation of the two men above her.

Smitty’s comments were lost to her. All she could focus on was the deep baritone that belonged to the other man. His voice was like rough silk—deep and shivery, yet so pleasing that she strained to hear more, happy to remain there forever.

Until he began to undress.

Although not overly modest, Alex had never seen a man clad in anything less than neck-to-foot attire. Oh, she had wondered from time to time what her reaction would be to an unclothed man. But never in her wildest dreams had she imagined the reaction she was having now, when confronted with the strong, hair-covered legs just inches away from her nose.

Taut muscles defined the well-shaped calves, tapering down to narrow ankles and large feet. He
looked
like rough silk. A blush suffused Alex’s body as she realized that, instead of closing her eyes and turning away from this forbidden sight, she had a dreadful urge to poke her head out and see just where the powerful hair-roughened limbs would lead. Or worse, to reach out and touch them, to see if they
felt
like rough silk as well.