Virgin Star (29 page)

The problem had kept her up all last night. It seemed everything hinged on it; yet there seemed little or no hope of succeeding. She had hardly closed her eyes when Tilly arrived with morning tea, and this last day in London-—she prayed!—had begun.

Seanessy mistook the worry in her eyes for pain. "You're not afraid anymore?"

"No." She forced a smile. "Not with Mister Kyler."

"That's my girl!" He looked pleased. He had not expected her to be so congenial at their parting. He supposed it was owing to her ailment; she just had nothing left with which to fight him. A bit of luck there. For the fiftieth time he said, "You will love my brother and sister-in-law."

"If they're anything like you..."

He grinned at her teasing.

"And I have always wanted to see America." She forced a smile, looking as if it had taxed her to do so. Magnanimously she added, "One hears so many stories about America ..."

"Few of which are true," he said, adding with boyish ease and levity, "The Indians almost never eat the Christians, unless of course they are of the Protestant flavor, and contrary to popular belief, there are more religious fanatics than criminals. By twelve."

The sweet girlish sound of her laughter made him realize again how much he loved the pleasure. He smiled down at her. Despite all, the parting and her monthly, what a fine humor she was in! He had never seen her so ... so agreeable.

Partings were sweet indeed.

He should have parted that first morning!

Shalyn realized she appeared too well and needed to be… indisposed. As if struck by a sudden pain, she closed her eyes and moaned again.

With concern: "Should I ask Tilly to fetch you a dram or—"

She shook her head and reached her hand out to touch his, and wanting this over before her excitement burst out, she squeezed it. "I don't know what to say Seanessy. I suppose I should thank you—"

"You? Thank me? You are ill! I was rather looking forward to a well-placed kick or punch—"

"I would if I thought it would do any good."

She smiled, a smile so endearing it made him want to take her into his arms. No, he realized, that was the last thing he should do.

"Well, goodbye, Shalyn." He suddenly stood, wanting away from the maddening appetite he had to fight constantly when he was near her. "I will no doubt see you again sometime." Not too soon, he prayed. Five years ought to do it. That would surely mean she would indeed be married to a Mr. American Bumpkin. No, don't think of that either—

"Goodbye, Seanessy. Be careful."

He leaned over and lightly, chastely kissed her forehead, catching a faint taste of the perfume of her skin. What was it? That sweet scent drove him mad, more when he imagined taking those soft lips beneath his as he felt the full softness of her breasts and—

He checked the impulse. "Here, this is for you."

He draped a gold chain over her head. The ruby star slid over the bedclothes. Shalyn stared at the piece. She had forgotten all about it.

"You left it on my bed,” he said by way of explanation.

He watched her inspect the spectacular jewel, saw the mistrustful look in the lovely eyes as she did so. He could hardly wait to be sailing beneath a blue sky with no more of her trouble. No more daily-—nay hourly—battles against his worst nature, against lying the girl backside to the bed and taking those sweet lips-—

Shalyn wanted to conclude the interview just as much, but for entirely different reasons. She grimaced as if struck with pain.

Not needing any more reason to leave, Seanessy leaned over to kiss her goodbye once again, whispering his last goodbye for five years. His lips lightly pressed hers, intending, the kind of kiss one might give one's mother. Yet his lips lingered and lingered, and in the long space of those moments, his heart and pulse leaped as he stiffened with the irresistible pull of her untried sensuality.

"Shalyn." He closed his eyes and said her name. He caught her gasped breath in his mouth. He swore softly as his hands came under her arms and lifted her out of the bed. She was suddenly kneeling on the bed as he held her, her back arched dramatically, her arms braced against his for support. Which she needed desperately as his mouth came over hers, and he was kissing her.

Warm, firm lips molded her mouth to his as he swept his tongue into the moist softness. It was like an avalanche breaking, this unexpected, unintended, madly ill-advised kiss. He only thought he would die, that he wanted her as he wanted his next breath, more; he wanted her more than anything past or present.

She felt a moment's utter surprise before all knowledge left her. All knowledge but the warm firm lips on hers and the oh-so-erotic probe of his tongue as he molded her against the hard outline of his body. The long tail of her hair swung back and forth in midair, a near-violent motion that mimicked perfectly the sudden rush of her heart and pulse. She didn't know her eyes were closed, and her arms lifted around his neck as she was suddenly clinging to him as if her life depended on it.

"Good heavens!"

Seanessy stopped the kiss but did not look to where Tilly stood in the doorway; she quickly turned around and left. He stared instead at Shalyn's lovely upturned face, flushed cheeks, and still-closed eyes, amazed by his body's reckless enthusiasm as it greeted the small form against him.

He never said anything. A thousand words could not express what that one kiss and her response said. He gently brought her arms away and lowered her to the bed. Confused dark eyes opened to him with a question, only to see his back.

He shut the door on the unspoken sentiment of that kiss. For nearly five minutes, Shalyn stared at the door as her heart slowly spiraled back to normal. She shook her head as if to rid herself of its spell, at least its effect. She tried to tell herself it didn't mean anything; he didn't mean anything by it, the kiss changed nothing.

She knew this was a lie, one of the lies she needed to embrace and believe in order to stay alive. She abruptly realized she was wasting precious time. Time that might separate her from her precious life. She leaped up. She fluffed the bedclothes to look like a person slept there before she tiptoed to the door.

The sound of Seanessy's boots rang down the hall, then the stairs. She had no time to waste. Men were coming for his trunks. The ship was leaving before noon. Quietly she opened the door, slipped through, and shut it. She rushed to his door and closed it behind her. She padded silently through the sitting room and into his bedchamber where two trunks sat on the floor.

A push told her which one held the books. She opened the lid. Three by three she shoved the books under his bed. She looked down to see more than a dozen rolled-up parchments. What were they? She decided to leave them, as they might provide some cushioning effect.

Breathing hard from the swiftness of her exertions, within ten minutes she had cleared over three-quarters of the space. It was just enough room.

She stepped back to make certain no books might be seen under the bed from the doorway. Then she climbed inside. She lay on her back, knees up. She could last inside perhaps five hours before getting cramps. Merciful heaven help me...

Tilly had promised to leave her alone all day as she had told the kindly woman she needed one day of rest to recover.

She had less than a half-hour ...

She carefully set the trunk lid down. Darkness engulfed her. The long journey to Malacca had begun. Begun with a fervent prayer that no one would bother to check the cargo.

A thunderous clamor moved down King's Highway; more than one interested servant peeked out stately windows to see hardened and terrifying-looking men racing horses down the cobblestone street. Like the Red Sea for Moses, the billowing fog seemed to part for them. The devil was full of tricks like that. For most all the servants guessed what house these men headed to.

Nine King's Highway. O'Connell and his band of Irish knights turned horses onto the gravel drive of Hanover House. Stallions felt the sudden cutting bits in their mouth and reared angrily in the air. All seven men kept their seats. O'Connell, wild to the core, withdrew a pistole and fired three shots into the air with an angry urgent curse.

Kyler and Richards sat in the garden room with supper, enjoying the new peace and quiet of the great old house. The sound of pistole fire outside reached them. Setting his paper down, Kyler looked across to Richards. "What the blazes?"

They rose, removing cocked pistoles from shoulder harnesses. The two men rushed through the halls into the entry way, heading for the windows just as the enormous front doors opened; there stood O'Connell, his men falling behind him—more guns than a well-equipped platoon.

"Seanessy? Pray tell the man has not left yet?"

"He's long gone, O'Connell." Kyler returned his pistole to its nesting place, folding his thick arms across his chest, bracing for this newest catastrophe, whatever it was. "The Wind Muse sailed out for the straits today."

Soft curses sounded. The Irishmen, all of them, looked alarmed. Then in a whisper of what sounded like fear, O'Connell asked, "And the pretty lass? Where is she now? With Sean?"

Kyler tensed. He almost did not want to hear what was coming. "Upstairs." A steely gaze riveted to the Irishman. "I gather you are about to tell me who she belongs to?"

"You won't believe it when I tell, my good man. For the who is a good deal worse than Pandora's own box ..."

First, she dreamed of beautiful picture books. Page after page of enchanting forests of green dancing elves and their charming little forest cottages...

The enchanting pictures turned to nightmarish images of heads in sand and terrifyingly cruel hands coming to hurt her—

The nightmare disappeared as she opened her eyes. Opened her eyes to complete, inexplicable darkness. She caught her scream in a loud gasp.

The trunk! She still sat in the trunk. She stiffened, afraid to breathe as she listened for a clue as to the situation. The last thing she remembered was the trunk being lifted onto a carriage, the men's curses at the weight, grumblings that the captain's "high-minded books would weigh the 'ole bloody ship down to a snail's pace..."

Distant sounds of shouting men reached her. She felt a strange rocking and abruptly realized what it was.

The ocean lifting the ship.

Dear Lord, she'd made it, she'd made it! She was sailing on board his ship to the Straits of Malacca! Hallelujah!

She felt an aching stiffness in her legs. She tried to stretch but there was no room. Yet that discomfort was nothing compared to the urgency with which she had to relieve herself.

She had to get out.

Where was she? On board, surely, but where? Probably right in the captain's quarters. The room sounded very quiet. She would risk a peek. Gently she pushed on the roof of her cage. Nothing gave, and she pushed harder. Still nothing gave. Her heart kicked in and she used all her strength.

Locked! Someone had locked it!

If someone found her now, she knew Seanessy would turn the ship back. It would be just like him! He would be mad too, fire-spitting mad—

Yet she had to relieve herself.

She squirmed in discomfort. There was just no way around it.

The door opened, and Seanessy and Butcher stepped inside.

"I am starved!" Seanessy combed long fingers through his wind-tousled hair. "What's our dear Mister Slops's poison?"

The chef was rather unaffectionately called Slops, the name deriving from the huge man's malicious torment, a torment that many crew members, including Seanessy, felt increased as the voyage stretched and supplies dwindled. Toward the end of every voyage Seanessy would ritualistically begin threatening to let Slops off at the very next deserted island they sailed past, while Slops replied with serious threats of more potent poisonings.

"Slops's stew," Butcher said, straight-faced.

"Very funny. Let me know when you tire of amusing me and decide to work—"

"Those be his words, Sean. I have nothin' to do with it."

"The maps are in my trunk."

The words were like an ice pack to her heart. She froze, just froze. 'Twas too soon! They probably had not yet said goodbye to the last green sliver of merry ole England. It could not have been more than an hour or two out to sea! He would turn the ship around. Why, he might even drop her off at the nearest land somewhere with a pocket of money—

She held her breath as Butcher fumbled with the lock.