Andrea Kane (8 page)

“Over who will get her down, sir.”

“Over who will …” Drake’s voice trailed off as he followed Thomas’s gaze up the length of the towering mast. Three-quarters of the way to the top platform, Alexandria clung to the windward rigging, looking down at the faraway deck with terrified eyes.

Drake’s heart tightened with fear.

“Alexandria … don’t panic!” he heard himself call in a hoarse voice. He moved directly below her, his arms extended. “Jump,” he commanded.

“I can’t,” she whispered in a horrified voice.

“I’ll catch you,” he promised quietly.

“I … just … can’t.”

With a muttered oath he moved to the base of the rigging and, with lightning speed, shinned aloft until he reached her.

“Give me your hand.” He reached out for her.

She wanted to, but she was frozen with fear, glued to the spot. She stared at him, wild-eyed.

“All right, sweetheart,” he soothed. “Just hold on.” Working his way over, he wrapped a strong arm around her waist. “Now just let go, Alexandria. I have you.”

She hesitated, then slowly unwound her fingers from their death grip. Drake could see the deep gashes the rope had made on her delicate hands, so tightly had she clung. Gently he eased her against him, thankful for her slight weight. “Now wrap your arms around me,” he told her, in that same soothing voice. “That’s right … like that. Good girl. Just hold on, princess.” Continuing to murmur words of encouragement, Drake moved cautiously, slowly, back down the rigging to the deck.

Alex kept her eyes closed throughout their descent and forced herself to concentrate on Drake’s deep, caressing voice. This was the man she had glimpsed last night in the cabin during their moments alone together, this gentle, passionate man. She would be fine; he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Suddenly she heard the men cheer, felt Drake release his hold on the ropes. There was a brief rush of air, then the welcome sound of Drake’s booted feet hitting the deck.

Alex slid weakly down his body. Her feet touched the deck, and she sagged against Drake, feeling his powerful arms holding her up. She wanted to thank him, to tell him she was sorry, to let him know how foolish she felt. The compassionate man who had just tenderly rescued her from certain death would understand. Of this she had no doubt.

Slowly Alex opened her eyes, simultaneously raising her face to look up at Drake.

He was shaking with fury, his jaw clenched so tightly he could barely speak.

“I am going to murder you.”

It was one-thirty in the morning, and a still-seething Alexandria slammed her fist into the mattress. Murder her? If anyone deserved to be murdered it was he! How dare he humiliate her in front of the entire crew!

Alex buried her head in the pillow, trying yet again to soothe herself to sleep. Time and again the ship’s bells had sounded, indicating the passage of night. And still she could not free her mind from its turbulent thoughts. Relentlessly it sought answers it could not find.

Why had Drake rescued her from the rigging, so warm and caring, only to lambaste her for her innocuous attempts to assist his men—attempts that he called her “list of sins”? The man was a monster!

Yet … even in anger, there was a spark between them, Alex mused. She was drawn to him like a small child to a forbidden sweet.

Sighing, Alexandria threw off the covers and rose from the bed. She crossed the room and turned up the wick of the oil lamp, instantly bathing the cabin in a soft glow. Slowly, and not for the first time, Alex brought her fingers to her lips, touching the place where, last night, Drake’s mouth had been. The memory of his kiss still made her tingle—not only her mouth but her breasts, her stomach … and lower.

Alex knew she should not have such feelings. She should be repelled at the thought of his wanton advances, grateful for his decision to leave her alone.

And yet she was neither repelled nor grateful. Instead, she was restless, aching, and filled with unanswered questions.

Having always yearned for things that other women of her class seemed not to require, Alex was used to being unique. She had no doubt that one day, when she knew just what the craving in her soul was all about, she would find her heart’s desire.

But her uniqueness had never taken such an unacceptable form. Reading, sailing, and longing to be valued by another human being were certainly unusual priorities for a noblewoman. Unusual, but not scandalous. Being unorthodox was one thing; being a trollop was entirely another.

Exasperated, Alex slid out of Drake’s shirt and pulled on her discarded breeches and soiled shirt. If she could not rest, at least she could enjoy the night air.

The seas were calm, the undulations of the great brig slow and steady. Gentle waves ebbed and flowed against the hull, making soft splashing sounds as they lapped up, then receded into the starless night. Alex slipped past the few sailors who were responsible for nighttime surveillance.

The forecastle was deserted. She walked to the railing and inhaled the cool air, allowing the sea to work its magic. Soon her melancholy was replaced by anticipation and hope for the future.

“Couldn’t sleep, princess?”

Alex started, but didn’t turn around; she could feel his presence without looking.

“No.” Her voice sounded breathless, even to her ears.

Drake walked up beside her and stared into the hypnotic water. “I seem to be suffering from insomnia as well.”

Alex allowed herself to glance up at him. He looked strained, tired, magnificent.

“You did not have to don the same clothing,” he said without looking at her. “I can arrange for more of Thomas’s clean clothes to be brought to my … your cabin.”

“Thank you.” She gave him an uncertain look. “It was very kind of you to forfeit your cabin …”

“Kindness had nothing to do with it.”

Alex swallowed, falling silent.

“Tell me, princess,” he resumed after a moment, “do you enjoy driving men to the brink of madness and then pulling away?”

He heard her gasp. He had hurt her with his ugly reference to last night, but damn it, he was hurting, too. The moment he had left her his body had been cast into hell. The dousing of cold water from Smitty’s pitcher had not helped, nor had the hours of pacing the cabin.

Drake had spent countless hours thinking of Alexandria, cursing himself for all kinds a fool. Yet now, even after her unforgivable behavior today, seeing her standing small and alone on deck, garbed in men’s clothes, he was drawn to her again like a moth to a flame. An irresistible, lethal attraction.

Alex recoiled from the anger in Drake’s voice, but she also sensed his frustration. Before last night that emotion would have escaped her notice. But having experienced a newly awakened restlessness and an irrepressible longing, she was now able to understand some of what Drake was feeling. From his perspective, she must look not only like a trollop but like a tease as well.

“Captain—” she began.

He gave a harsh laugh. “Aren’t we a little beyond the formalities, princess?”

Alex nodded. “Yes, Drake, I suppose we are.” She ignored his surprised look. “I can neither explain nor excuse what happened last night. But I never meant for it to happen, nor did I mean to … hurt you in any way.”

Hurt him? Did she have any idea how much, even now, he wanted her? How desperately he wanted to drag her to his cabin and bury himself inside her?

Drake turned to face her, ready to verbalize his anger. Until he looked into her eyes. Even in the blackness of night they shone, as clear and gray as polished jewels. Open, remorseful, waiting for his response.

His anger evaporated as if it had never been there.

Alex smiled. “Could we try to be friends?”

“Friends?” The dark brows went up.

She giggled. “All right, then. Not enemies, at least.”

He smiled back, in spite of himself. “I suppose we could try that.”

“And could we sit and talk for a while as well?” Her voice was so hopeful, her eyes so appealing. Drake’s resolve slipped one notch further.

“Since we can’t seem to sleep, why not?” He gestured toward a spot where they could sit and lean back against the foremast.

Without hesitation Alex sat, watching quietly as Drake lowered his tall frame beside her.

“When must you relieve your man at the helm?” she asked, attempting to fill the uncomfortable void of silence that hung between them.

“Not until the morning watch begins at eight bells.” He saw her puzzled expression and explained, “Four o’clock in the morning.”

“Oh.” Alex waited patiently for him to continue talking. When he did not, she succumbed to her natural curiosity. “Do you have a family?” She could see that her question surprised him. He stiffened slightly.

“Doesn’t everybody?”

Alex shrugged. “That depends on what one calls a family.”

It was Drake’s turn to be curious. “What does that mean?”

Alex rested her head against the solid mast. “Only that it must be lovely to be part of a real family, with sisters and brothers and a dog that sleeps by the fire.”

He was struck by the wistfulness in her voice. “Is that so farfetched?”

She sighed. “For me it is impossible. I am an only child, and my parents forbid animals in our house. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“Yes.”

“Yes … what?”

“Yes, one of each.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up, gleaming silver in the darkness. “How old are they? What are their names? Are you very close to them?”

Drake chuckled. Her enthusiasm was endearing; her naïveté was hopeless. “My sister’s name is Samantha. She is fifteen and a joy. She is rather like a frisky puppy, noisy and inquisitive and always following me about.” He warmed to his subject. “She will grow to be quite lovely in a few years.”

“Does she resemble you?”

He considered. “Yes, I suppose she does. She is tall with dark hair, several shades lighter than mine, and her eyes are as green as a meadow.”

“She sounds wonderful. And your brother?”

Drake’s smile vanished. “Sebastian is thirty years old, two years younger than I. We are nothing alike.”

Alex could hear the hardness of his tone, but she wished she could see him better. All she could make out was the outline of his features.

“Does he captain a ship, as well?”

Drake laughed bitterly. “Hardly. Honest work has never been Sebastian’s forte. He much prefers to play.”

Knowing how devoted Drake was to
La Belle Illusion
and how proud he was to captain her, Alex understood his disgust for someone’s idleness and lack of purpose. She thought of the frivolous members of the
ton
who constituted her acquaintanceship back at Sudsbury. Yes, she understood Drake’s scorn, for she had felt it countless times herself.

She voiced her thoughts. “Your brother is but one of many who prefer to reap life’s pleasures with no thought to the contrary, no need for something more.”

Drake stared down at the shadow of her profile, hearing the derisive note in her tone.

“You sound as if you speak from experience.”

She locked her arms around her knees, drawing them up to her body. “I do. In my world, all people are such as you describe. Our gowns, the balls we attend, the appropriate men we meet—such is our shallow existence.”

“Shallow but entertaining, princess. Surely you are an avid participant in the festive life you have just depicted.” She couldn’t mean a word she had said. So why, then, was he awaiting her reply with bated breath and a pounding heart?

Alex settled her chin atop her raised knees. “As a sea captain you have never been part of my ‘aristocratic upbringing,’ as you call it. It is natural that in your mind my life is enviable. It is true that I have never had to concern myself with money; wealth has been mine since birth.”

She paused. “But I have paid a high price for my affluence. I live within rigid constraints. There is judgment attached to everything I do. Noblewomen simply
do not
enjoy or long to do certain things. They meekly
do
and comply with other things. This is well and good if your nature enables you to be happy this way. But what if your life feels hollow? What if there is an ache inside you that you do not know how to fill … are not permitted to fill?”

Unbeknownst to Alex, her voice trembled. “In truth, I would gladly trade my gowns, my servants, and my cold, aloof suitors for a simpler life, a life with meaning, with a person who loves me and whom I love in return.”

She turned to Drake. “I envy
you,
Drake. I know that you are not rich. But you go to bed each night feeling whole, knowing where you belong. You know what you need and have found it.” She drew in an unsteady breath. “I long to find that same sense of purpose.”

Drake had not spoken once during Alex’s emotional talk. In truth he was moved. It was ironic. She thought he was poor and that his bitterness was based on envy when in fact he had been born into the very world of which she spoke, and he shared her scorn, for he knew only too well how vapid and restricted a life it was.

She was such a puzzling dichotomy. On the one hand she was haughty and arrogant. On the other hand she was a lonely and searching little girl, needing to love and to be loved. Which one was real? More important, which one did he
want
to be real?

Moving to safer ground, he asked gently, “Is your life really so dismal, Alexandria? What about your parents? I know that your father is the governor of York in Canada, but what of your mother?”

“She is beautiful, an excellent hostess, and a diligent mother. Of course I don’t see her very often. She is terribly busy overseeing Sudsbury, not to mention the numerous balls in London during the Season. I was well educated as a child, taught all the social graces, and instilled with all the traditional values. My mother has done her job well.” Alex fell silent.

Even as she defended her, Drake could hear the hurt in Alex’s voice. He suddenly wanted to shake Lady Sudsbury for neglecting to see that Alexandria needed more than an overseer as a mother.

“She must enjoy her freedom while your father is away.”

Alex started at the grimness of his tone.