Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3) (15 page)

“You find this amusing, Ramirez?” he quipped. He’d taken to calling her by her father’s name within a few moments of the lesson, perhaps in an attempt to make her a man in his mind, as he taught her the rudiments of swordplay.

“I find you amusing, Captain.” She called him by his title, a little tit for tat, but it worked, and both of them seemed to enjoy it.

“You won’t, not when I’ve instructed you to practice in your cabin for hours. It is the only way to become proficient, continual practice until you have mastered the steps.”

“I am not planning to become a pirate,” she said, deliberately letting her arm dip too low so he might come close again to correct her grip. “Or join the army in Spain. I just wanted to be distracted. And this is an excellent distraction, Captain.”

“Don’t hold it like that.” Jack moved in, sidling up against her from behind as she hoped. He placed his hand on her wrist. “Your sword must be an extension of your arm. You don’t drop your arm, do you?”

It was too much to bear. Chloe wanted the game to be over. Enough of swords and proper stance; she wanted him to
kiss
her again. She had her opponent close. She must not lose him again. She leaned forward slightly so her backside was more pronounced. She lifted her sword arm, making him have to lean in to reach up and follow her arm’s unsteady movement. When he was in place, she did that terrible, wicked thing. She wiggled her backside against him.

It was a small movement. A subtle movement. One that would change the game between them significantly.

“
Chloe
,” he murmured, his voice gritty and coarse. His hands moved to her waist. He was holding her about the belly, his hands palmed against her flesh. 

She straightened and leaned back against his frame. “Jack.”

“What are you doing?”

“Surely, a man of your years knows the answer to that?”

His breath caressed her neck when he answered her, raising gooseflesh and anticipation as she waited for him to kiss the back of her neck. “You know what I mean, woman. This isn’t a game.”

“I am a woman. You are a man, an attractive man.”

“You’ll regret it in the morning. This is not like you.’

“How do you know if this is or isn’t like me?” she asked, lowering the sword and putting her free arm across his as it bracketed her waistline. “I am not a maid unacquainted with the lover’s dance.”

Jack’s lips were close to her ear as he pressed against her in the way she intended. “It’s the brandy, darling. Lowers the drawbridge over the moat, drops the guard. You’ll be sorry in the morning, and I will not be responsible for causing you more grief.” His arms dropped from about her waist as he backed away.

Chloe turned. She almost conked him with the flat of the sword in her clumsy movement.

“Lesson’s over.” Jack pried her fingers from the sword grip. “You should turn in for the night, Mrs. O’Donovan.”

“Ramirez,” she countered. He was right. She was drunk and giddy. Still, would it be so horrible to make love with this magnificent golden man, this gilded god of the seas? 

“Ramirez--O’Donovan, take yourself back to your cabin. You can keep the shirt.” He was leading her by the arm to the door.

Chloe hardly blinked through it all. He slammed the door in her face. Without warning she was standing outside his cabin, in his shirt, all alone in the dimly lit narrow corridor.

The door opened. He shoved her balled up bed gown into her hands and then piled her shawl on top of it. His arm went around her again, but not to embrace her. She was being herded across the hall, to her door. He stopped at the door, opened it, shoved her inside, and closed it.

Chapter Thirteen

The skies were overcast. It was cold and windy.

Chloe stood on the deck with her arms tight about her as the shawl she wore faced a continual assault from the wind. Such a change in the weather. She hadn’t anticipated it.

Was it a sign from the gods?

After last night’s clash, she dreaded meeting the captain face-to-face. He rejected her. He pushed her away when she was willing in his arms. The sobering reality of being walked out of his cabin and then pushed into her own was humiliating. She’d like to slap him, or worse, kick him in the shins like little Cherie would do to one of her brothers when they bullied her. The man was exasperating, warm and welcoming one moment and cool as ice the next.

“Afternoon, ma’am.” Mr. Jenkins, Jinx, strolled up to her as she stood near the main mast. Chloe was uncertain about standing at the rail in this strong wind. She feared she might tumble overboard. “A blustery day, this. A sign we are nearing England’s shores.” Jinx continued as his gaze swept over her with mixture of concern and amusement. “You might prefer a cloak or a thick jacket in the coming days, Mrs. O’Donovan.”

Her teeth were on edge. Her skin had gooseflesh. Chloe had heard Elizabeth’s family talk of a colder climate in England over the years, of snow in winter and dampness and fog in the summer. She did not realize she would encounter cold weather on her journey. She had a thick, wool pelisse in her trunks given to her by the countess, but up until now she did not believe she would need the heavy garment. England, if it were like this, was less than appealing in her estimation. Spain was a warm country; at least she’d been told it was by her papa.

“Mrs. O’Donovan, how kind of you to grace us with your presence.”

That voice, ripe with sarcasm, grated on Chloe. She did not need to turn about to discern its owner.  Yet, to keep her back to the captain would not be polite. She managed a tight lipped smile as she turned to greet him. “Good day, Captain. Are we expecting a storm?”

His visage tipped upward as he considered the leaden skies with a somber mien. “I do not discern a storm in these clouds, but heavy rain will mark our progress today. We approach England. We’ll dock in London in a matter of days.” His gaze dropped from the skies to study her. He looked her up and down with disdain. “Do you not possess a coat, woman?”

Chloe held her head up and challenged him. “It was much warmer yesterday.”

“We’ve covered a fair distance since yesterday.” Jack’s tone was still belligerent. “A change in the wind can send a ship off course quickly. I’ve a weather eye on the sky and I tend to keep a firm hand on the rudder to steer the ship to more favorable seas.”

Oh, yes, she’d had enough of his firm hand steering her out his cabin door last night when things grew more intimate between them. Chloe felt her cheeks redden at his words.

“Aye, ma’am.” Mr. Jinx seemed apologetic for his captain’s brusque tone. “The cap’n’s a natural born seaman. If anyone knows when to tighten the sails and batten down the hatches it’s our Jack." He glanced at her bosom, and quickly looked away.

Chloe felt her face burn with color. Her nipples were tight, poking through her dress. The captain's sharp remark about a coat suddenly made perfect sense.

"Would you like a small heater in your cabin? I can have one the men set one up.” The first mate was careful to peer past her shoulders as he spoke.

“No. Thank you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and held on to her billowing shawl. Her dress did little to ward off the cooler winds or the dampness in the air. “Will there be snow in London when we arrive?” The countess and her brothers talked of snow with a sense of wonder. Chloe wouldn’t mind viewing it, just once, as a novelty. She was under the assumption that snow came at Christmastide, not in late February.

“No.” Captain Rawlings' tone had changed from annoyance to consideration. “It may linger still in the north, but London is on the cusp of springtime with March just days away. A few squalls bring cold wind and rain, but snow is not as likely now.”

Disappointment came, as she realized she would not get her wish to see this odd phenomenon that was talked about in her home but never experienced. She would just have to observe paintings of snow.

“Mrs. O’Donovan, I believe you may have cause to be cross with me,” Captain Rawlings continued. His voice had gentled considerably.

Chloe glanced up at him, surprised by the abrupt change in his temperament. He went from gruff to factual and then pacifying. The tenderness of his features almost made her weak at the knees. So, he was affected by their kiss last night, just as she was.

“I have not been the best host during this voyage. From now until we reach London, I would have you dine each night at my table. The crew does so enjoy your presence. Will you favor us this evening?”

The crew enjoyed her company? Insufferable oaf!
After their scorching kiss last night and his subsequent retreat—or rather his firm hand on the rudder, steering her back to her quarters—the best Jack could come up with was a reference to his crew’s fondness for her?

“We rarely are given the opportunity of dining with a woman of your charm and wit, Mrs. O'Donovan. Not to mention your startling beauty.”

The compliment came from Jinx.
Why was the first mate telling her she was charming, witty and beautiful? 
She contemplated the humble school-master turned sailor.

Jinx was smiling at her, holding his hat in his hands, attempting to appear cautious and respectful. He held her gaze for a moment. He looked to his captain, and back to her again. “We languish without your kind attentions, ma’am. It affects our disposition. Isn’t that true, Captain?”

“Huh?” Jack pulled his attention from the sails above to consider Chloe. “Aye. we’ll expect you at dinner this evening, Mrs. O’Donovan. Carry on, Mr. Jinx.” With that, the big oaf marched away from them, his back straight and his step quick.

Chloe glared at his retreating form. It sounded as if he were ordering her to appear at his table this evening. If there was one thing she disliked above all, it was being ordered to do something by an arrogant man.

Dinner with the Captain,
Jack mused, gritting his teeth at the notion.

It was supposed to be a special occasion for the passengers. An event Jack held a few times during a voyage to amuse them to offset restlessness and anxiety on a long journey with little activity. Jack typically did not plan more than three such dinners with his guests during a voyage if he could help it.

This time, he craved the company of a certain Spanish beauty. He found the habitual attendees at his table, Jinx, Lt. Morgan, Harris, Roberts and Dr. Lewis dull. Why was it he never found them dull before?

He wanted to dine exclusively with her. Doing so would be like leaving an open flame unattended on a ship. They would be in his bunk within minutes, devouring each other as the food grew cold. He could invite her officially to dine with his men. As her protector, he must guard her reputation, even from his own raging lusts. The count commissioned him with the task of delivering her safely to Spain. Jack could ill afford to trifle with his friend’s relation. 

So, it was a grudging peace that emerged between the Spanish beauty and himself. Chloe came to his cabin to dine with his men each night for the remainder of the voyage. She enchanted them all. Her Spanish accent seemed to enthrall them. They asked her questions--odd questions more often than not--merely to hear her sultry voice than any real interest in the subject matter. It was amusing to watch them fawn over her.

Chloe deserved to be admired. It must have been difficult for her, being in Lady Elizabeth’s shadow, always the companion of the regal countess. Now, she had her own audience to worship her and bask in her loveliness.

Tonight, she was dressed in a deep green silk frock. The recent change to wearing colors after her mourning garb was a relief. Jack was amazed at the transformation that seemed to be taking place in her on this journey. Her deep melancholy had been replaced by the vivaciousness she was known for before her husband’s death. It was as if she’d shed more than her black clothing upon leaving the island. It was as if she had been released from a dark prison.

“And what would you suggest, Captain?” she asked, singling him out and taking him out of his relaxed stupor as he basked in her presence.

“Pardon, ma’am. I was not listening,” he replied, mindful that he mustn’t call her by her first name in front of his men, even if in his mind she would ever be Chloe to him.

“And you call yourself a lady’s man?” Jinx teased. “Blimey, Cap’n, you do bring the game down considerably with your inattention.”

The rest of the men guffawed at Jack’s expense. Chloe smiled, but it wasn’t a genuine article, it was a polite mask. He knew his words must seem rude, but only because these nodcocks and the sparkling jewel among them did not realize the turn of his thoughts.

“Allow me to rephrase that, Mrs. O’Donovan. I found myself so mesmerized by your feminine charms I fear I lost the thread of conversation. That headpiece alone is enough to bedazzle a man. A net of diamonds cast over a sea of jet black silk.” He gestured to her intricately-styled hair. “It reminds me of the sky at night, with stars glittering above to guide a sailor home.”

“There’s the Black Jack I know,” Jinx howled and slapped the table. “A charmer, he is, Mrs. O’Donovan, when he makes the proper effort.”

“
Black Jack
? I heard that man was dead, along with his ferocious partner, The Raven.”

“Yes. It’s true.” Jack raised his glass to her with a wink, saluting Chloe for her quick wit. Sometimes the men became too chatty when they were in their cups. Chloe was well aware that Jack and her esteemed nephew preferred to keep their pirating days a secret. “Black Jack is no more, although there are some here who tend to forget that fact, to their own detriment.”

“So, while you were all agog over my lovely hairpiece, you didn’t hear me telling the men about Mr. O’Donovan’s writings? I’ve brought them along in the hope that I might find a publisher for his works. He wrote extensively. Poems, plays, philosophical essays. I was wondering if England would be the place to accomplish this?”

Jack blinked and pursed his lips. He was hardly the fellow to ask such a thing. Perhaps she was forgetting where she was, on a ship full of uneducated sailors. Donovan, her husband’s nephew was the smart one, not Jack and his wily crew. After her life at Ravencrest, where philosophy flowed freely and intellectual debate was welcomed, she must find them all dull as paint. “I cannot say,” he murmured, sorry he did not have an opinion to give her.