Captain of My Heart (26 page)

He suddenly realized that he didn’t give a
damn if she had or hadn’t.

Grinning wolfishly, he followed her into the
great dining room.

###

There was hot turkey and squash baked in
maple syrup. Com pudding, codfish cakes, and skillet cranberries,
frosty with sugar. Chestnut flummery with sweet sauce, Abigail’s
chewy molasses cookies, gingerbread and eggnog and whipped
syllabub. Hot buttered rum and plates of glazed almonds, raisins,
cheese. As usual, Abigail had put on a feast, this time using
Kestrel
’s success as an excuse to engage in her favorite
pastime—cooking up a storm for her very appreciative menfolk.

Unlike Eveleen, Mira didn’t do the meal much
justice. She was too aware of the man who sat beside her.
Brendan.
His arm was near enough to lean against, his long
thigh was heating up the space next to hers, and he was so close,
she could smell his clean, masculine scent: spicy shaving soap, wet
wool and damp cotton, fresh air and melted snow. He grinned a lot,
complimented Abigail on the meal, caused the housekeeper to blush,
and talked with his hands. His laughter was pure as the sea wind
and as Irish as that whiskey Liam had nearly poisoned her with last
night. He seemed unaware of the fact she sat beside him, never
turning her way, never talking to her, and being very, very careful
not to let his arm or thigh accidentally brush hers. But his
skittish attitude didn’t deter her. Every time she looked at him,
she saw him again as he’d been on
Kestrel
’s decks, laughing
and gallant and quite full of himself as he’d put the schooner
through her paces.

“You’re in love with him,” Matt had taunted,
grinning devilishly as earlier she’d paced the house, eagerly
peering out the windows and glancing at the nearest clock as she’d
waited for him to arrive.

“Am not.”

“Are, too.” He’d tweaked her nose, and she’d
kicked him in the shin. “I know the signs.”

“I ain’t in love with him. The man’s a
blasted lunatic. Any captain who stands on his deck and draws
pictures of the enemy’s ship during battle’s gotta have rocks in
his head!”

“Our Captain from Connaught hasn’t rocks in
his head, dear sister, and you know it. But I do think he’s got
something in his heart for you.”

“You’re full of crap, you know that, Matt?
Full of crap!” To which Matt had responded with hearty laughter and
a careless wave of his freckled hand.

Heck, she hoped Matt was right and Brendan
did feel something for her. Yet why was he taking pains to avoid
her? She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and picked at
her food, too tense, too flustered, and far too excited to eat. Her
stomach felt as though someone had tied a double reef in it. Her
lips were dry and she had to keep wetting them; during one of these
times Brendan happened to glance at her, and his eyes had darkened
perceptibly, making her lips go drier and her stomach even more
jumpy.

And of course, there was the very real danger
that he’d find out just where she’d been these past several days .
. .

Following
Kestrel
’s triumphant return
to port, she’d darted through the throngs, scooted home, and
managed to get halfway up the stairs before she was set upon by
Ephraim, who’d spent a good ten minutes bawling at the very top of
his lungs.

“I told ye I don’t want ye out on that damned
ship of Matt’s! I told ye I want ye to start actin’ like a proper
female! And here ye are, defyin’ me again! What’ll Merrick think
when he finds out?! He don’t know, does he? Tripes ’n guts, that’s
all I need is fer
him
t’ hear o’ this! You an’ yer
unladylike behavior’s gonna be the bleedin’ death of me!”

Of course, it wouldn’t be long before he
did
know, Mira had flippantly predicted, for not only had
the household staff heard every word—but so had every neighbor
within a half-mile radius.

It was a good thing that Father didn’t know
what ship she’d really been out on!

Brendan’s voice brought her back to the
present. “So,
Moyrrra,
how did the riding lessons go,
eh?”

“Riding lessons?”

Surprisingly, it was Eveleen who came to her
rescue. “They’ve been going very well, Brendan.”

Mira shot the other woman a look of
gratitude, but Eveleen was too busy staring at Matt from above a
pile of gravy-soaked turkey some three inches high, averting her
eyes only when Matt, who was launching into some plan to attack a
convoy of merchant ships on its way to New York, swung his
bespectacled face away from Brendan long enough to choke down a
spoonful of Mira’s own fish chowder before going at it once more.
Before the main dessert was even served—a rich bread pudding
dripping maple syrup and brandy and topped with clouds of cream,
which Brendan didn’t touch and Eveleen devoured like a starving
child—Mira was determined that she would see the two of them
together if it was the last thing she did.

Matt wasn’t helping the matter any. Mira
cursed him under her breath. As usual, he tended toward
exaggeration—sometimes wildly so—when he had an attentive audience.
Brendan, who was familiar with the tavern boasts of fellow sea
captains, merely raised a brow and reached for a piece of fruit,
the little smile playing about his mouth indicating he believed
only half of what Matt was saying. Eveleen was another story
altogether. She listened with rapt attention, finally abandoning
even her dessert and staring at Matt in fascination.

Mira frowned. She needed to get Eveleen’s
attention on something other than food and her brother. Very aware
of Brendan’s leg, which had drifted slightly toward hers, she
dabbed her lips with her napkin and said brightly, “So, Eveleen.
Are you looking forward to your riding lesson tomorrow?”

Eveleen’s head jerked up, as though she
hadn’t heard Mira’s question. “I’m sorry?”

“Your riding lesson,” Mira chirped, flushing
a bit when she felt Brendan’s gaze upon her. “Ten o’clock,
remember?”

Eveleen gave her a sour look. “Oh . . . yes.
I’d forgotten.” But she remembered her half-finished dessert, and
attacked it with renewed vigor. “I do hope it’s after breakfast. I
get positively faint if I exert myself before eating.”

“Breakfast’s at precisely eight o’clock,”
Ephraim announced, as though it wasn’t already a well-known
fact.

“So there, you see?” Mira said cheerfully.
“You’ll be full, but not too full to ride—”

“Of course . . . More pudding, please,
Captain Ashton?”

Matt, still going on about the convoy, passed
it without even glancing at her.

And so the evening went, with Eveleen staring
at Matt, and he ignoring her, and Mira staring at Brendan, and he
ignoring her, until Mira boldly reached beneath the tablecloth and
placed her hand on Brendan’s thigh just as pretty as you please, at
which point he shot out of his chair and knocked over the fine
bottle of Madeira that Ephraim had just brought out. A red stain
raced across the white linen, and Brendan colored with
mortification.

“Nervous there, boy?” Ephraim asked, bushy
white brows drawn close in a frown.

“Er, no . . . just—”

“Don’t fret, Merrick, happens to the best of
us. Sometimes the fear and reya-ly-zay-shun of how close ye come t’
gittin’ yer head blown off in a sea battle don’t hit until yer
safely back on land.” He glanced at his prized Willard clock and
cleared his throat importantly. “I think it’s about time we go
retire fer a swig or two, eh, boys? We don’t want to talk about
killin’ and blood and guts in front of the womenfolk. Let’s go to
the library and do it there.”

He cackled at his own joke and dragged
Matthew up from his chair.

Brendan paused and glanced ruefully at the
ruined tablecloth. His thigh seemed to throb where she’d touched
it. Pins and needles danced up his leg. And he was tired, dead
tired. If only he could get away, get back to
Kestrel
without offending the old man. They could all discuss this convoy
tomorrow. But Ephraim was already headed down the hall, bellowing
for a bottle of brandy and more of Abigail’s cookies. Brendan felt
Mira’s green-eyed stare on his back, and resigned himself to
joining the old sea captain. He’d stay just long enough to be
polite, and then he’d leave. Get himself out of this house before
Miss Mira’s charms did him in.

Yet despite himself, he happened to glance at
her as he pushed in his chair. She was still sitting there, chewing
her lip until it was delightfully red and swollen, her little hand
stroking that gray dockyard cat, and her eyes glinting with a
secretiveness that belied her apparent demureness. He wondered what
mischief she was plotting now. And then she happened to glance up,
and their eyes met. A current of electricity sizzled between them,
one that had been crackling and sparking all night. Brendan’s chest
tightened and his heart fluttered and jumped, the way it often did
when he’d had too much coffee in the morning.

With a rigid elegance that did his English
side proud, he nodded stiffly and followed his host into the
library.

Mira, her eyes dreamy, watched him go. A
little smile lifted the corner of her mouth, and she sat gazing at
the closed door long after the servants arrived and began to clear
the table.

Brendan.

Her Captain from Connaught.

She stuck her finger in her mouth and
thoughtfully bit off a hangnail. He’d passed the Test with flying
colors, proving himself more than competent as a seaman—and a
commander.

Matt was right. She was in love with him.

Chapter 15

Mira was so deep in thought that she’d all
but forgotten that she wasn’t alone at the table. Eveleen was still
there, eating up the last of the bread pudding and maintaining a
sulky silence. So quiet was she that Mira jumped when the girl
heaved herself out of her chair and ambled off toward the stairs,
her step heavy and her eyes, so like Brendan’s but lacking their
carefree mirth, downcast and miserable.

Mira’s heart went out to her.

As usual, Eveleen had been wearing a pink
silk gown, which did nothing whatsoever to flatter a figure that
needed all the flattering it could get. Perhaps tomorrow—after her
riding lesson—she’d haul the girl down to Patrick Tracy’s store in
Market Square and coerce her into finding a more attractive—and
patriotic—fabric from which to sew a new gown. Of course, as one
who spent half her time in shirt and trousers, she probably wasn’t
the best choice to make suggestions, but she
did
know that
pink silk was the last thing that Eveleen Merrick ought to be
wearing.

That resolution made, Mira returned to her
scheming.

Aye, she was in love with Brendan. And she
couldn’t deny it. She should never have sneaked aboard
Kestrel
and seen the schooner’s dashing captain in action.
His courage, his wily cleverness, his competence . . . her heart
hadn’t stood a chance. She was hopelessly smitten, and she was
determined to do something about it.

She gazed at the library door, idly playing
with a lock of hair that had tumbled loose from her coif and
winding it absently around her finger. She’d caught him watching
her at supper. Seen the way his eyes had warmed when he looked at
her. She might be innocent where men were concerned, but given a
roving brother, a seaman’s upbringing, and a town full of male
friends in whose eyes she could do no wrong, she was far less so
than most women of her age and marital status. She recognized
desire in a man when she saw it, no matter how hard he tried to
hide it.

Maybe she ought to stop wearing Matt’s
clothes altogether and go around dressed in pretty gowns more
often.

And, maybe, she thought with a frown, it
wouldn’t hurt to learn how to cook, either.

Sighing, she plucked a limp chunk of fish out
of her chowder and tossed it to the floor, where no fewer than
twelve prowling felines fell upon it like there was no
tomorrow.

The library was close enough that she could
hear the musical lilt of his voice and his decidedly Irish
laughter, if she sat very still and strained her ears. Oh, to be in
that room right now, smelling the old books and leather, the
beeswax and fine cherry rum that Father would be serving . . . She
could picture the flames crackling in the hearth, and Brendan
sprawled carelessly in one of the big, overstuffed wing chairs, the
firelight gleaming off the gold buttons of his waistcoat, finding
the depths of his eyes, bringing out the honey-colored highlights
of his rich chestnut hair. . . .

The chowder went cold. The fire in the hearth
began to die, taking its light with it. The candles burned low, and
shadows danced along the wainscoted walls. Father’s great Willard
clock banged out the hour, and the library door blasted open and
crashed against the wall.

“Nonsense, Merrick! East room’s all made up
fer ye. Fire’s already laid in the hearth, bed’s all turned down,
and there’s a brick heatin’ in the flames to warm yer toes. Ain’t
no need fer ye to go back to that damned ship; she’ll be there
a-waitin’ fer ye in the mornin’.”

“Thank you for the invitation, but honestly,
sir, I’d feel far more comfortable back on the schooner,” Brendan
protested, remembering the
last
sleepless night he’d spent
in this house. Cats, clocks—and Mira Ashton.

Especially Mira Ashton.

“You young captains and yer blasted ships! Ye
think I don’t remember how it is? I told ye, she’ll be there in the
mornin’. Now don’t be a-snubbin’ my hos-pit-ality, ye hear?”

Muttering, he stormed into the dining room,
grabbed a plate off the table, and seeing his daughter still
sitting there, gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Any more lip outta
this young Adonis here and I’ll sic Luff after him. Tripes, where
the hell is that blasted dog, anyhow? Luff? Luff!” He gave a
piercing whistle that almost shattered the window glass and rapped
his fork against the plate hard enough to crack it. “Luff? Here,
boy! He-e-e-e-e-re, boy!”