My Timeswept Heart Page 4

  "You are well?" Dane demanded impatiently, se­curing the drape without looking away.

  She blinked, startled by his harsh tone. "Ah, yes. Thank you." She paused to swallow dryly. "Where am I?"

  "You are aboard my ship, the Sea Witch.'

  "Ship?" He nodded sharply.

  So, that's why we're moving, she thought, examin­ing the richly appointed room once more. The Nas­sau Queen was a very stable floating four-star hotel, each cabin complete with small refrigerator and a wet bar, but this place, though filled with expensive an­tiques, was spared any convenience. It didn't even have a T.V. or intercom system that she could see. In

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  fact, it lacked outlets or switches of any kind, not to mention electric lamps, only sconces and small oil lamps anchored to the wall. Dangerous. Certainly doesn't look like any ship I've ever seen before, she added thoughtfully, returning her gaze to him.

  "What happened?"

  His eyes gazed over her bare shoulders. "I had hoped you could enlighten me to your circum­stances."

  Tess pulled the sheet up to her throat, but it didn't seem to do much good. He was looking at her as though he could see beneath it. "Do you have a robe or a shirt I can borrow?"

  Rebuked for his gawking, Dane nodded once, then went to the wardrobe. After sliding back three evenly spaced bolts, he withdrew a black velvet robe. He hoped it cloaked her to her throat. Recovering in his bed was one matter, awake and tempting him to mad­ness was quite another. He breathed deeply, excite­ment spinning through him. How long had he waited for this moment?

  He has a ponytail, she thought with a bit of shock as he tossed the garment over his arm and returned to her side of the bed.

  "Do you need assistance?"

  "Ah, no, I can manage. Thank you." Tess accepted the robe, frowning at his manner, stiff and aloof like some highclass maitre d', and hadn't expected him to turn his back while she shrugged into the robe. A soft groan escaped her lips as she tried to tug it beneath her.

  He turned sharply at the sound, treated with the sight of a pale, bare thigh.

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  "I guess that'll have to do," she muttered, annoyed at her lack of strength and falling back onto the pil­lows.

  He cleared his throat uneasily. "May I?" Jess's brow wrinkled, not knowing what he wanted. "By all means."

  Dane bent over her, slipping an arm behind her back and lifting, while the other arm swiped the robe beneath her legs before he set her down. Solicitously he plumped pillows, then eased her back onto the mound.

  "Th-thank you." She'd never been treated like this before and found she enjoyed it, especially from a babe like him.

  "Are you feeling well enough for a little conversa­tion?" Please say aye, he hoped, pouring her a glass of water from the pitcher perched on the commode beside the bed.

  "Sure. Fire away," she said, accepting the glass, ea­ger to know about where she was and with whom.

  His brows shot up; then he shook his head, lifting a chair and positioning it beside the bed. "I believe in­troductions are the first order."

  "Tess. Tess Renfrew," she said, holding out her hand before he could speak.

  The name befitted her, he thought, grasping her hand and bending slightly as he drew it to his lips.

  "A pleasure, Mistress Renfrew," he murmured huskily, his gaze never wavering as he placed a soft kiss to the back. "I am Captain Dane Alexander Blackwell, at your service." His heels clicked once be­fore he straightened and gestured to the chair, asking permission to join her.

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  Tess nodded mutely, clamping her gaping mouth shut and slowly drawing her hand back. Good gravy, what an oddball, she thought, feeling like a queen granting an audience as he took his seat.

  "Now, how did you come to be floating in the sea?"

  Those eyes demanded the truth. "I jumped off the Nassau Queen."

  He relaxed back into the chair, frowning, stroking the stubble on his chin. "I've never heard of such a vessel, but—no matter." He shrugged, and Tess couldn't help but notice the play of muscle beneath the billowy white shirt opened at the throat. And laced? "Might I ask what possessed you to do such a thing?"

  His deep voice intrigued her, and she settled more comfortably in the bed. "Two men were trying to kill me."

  His eyes narrowed a fraction, his only response. So much for shocking him.

  "Would you care to start from the beginning?"

  "No."

  So, she has secrets. "Are you aware a dolphin kept you afloat?"

  Her smile was blinding, and Dane felt he'd just taken a blow to his middle.

  "Yes, I am. And that's Richmond." A black brow arched questioningly. "I felt I had to call him some­thing after he'd saved my life. The ship's propeller backwash was pulling me into the blades, and before I was chopped into shark bait, Richmond caught the strap of my bag and dragged me to the surface." When she glanced around, he gestured absently to the bright yellow sack in the corner. "How come you just

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  didn't look inside it? My identification is in there. You'd have known who I was then."

  "Madame." He sat up straighten "Be assured I would never rifle through a lady's belongings unless given leave to do so." Did that mean not without my permission, she wondered as he added, "And as you were unable to disembark on your own power, I saw no urgency in the matter.'

  Good Lord! What's with this guy? He actually looks insulted!

  "And if I may ask—" his voice tightened a frac­tion— "what is a propeller?"

  She blinked owlishly. "A propeller." She made little circles in the air with her finger. "You know, the thing at the back of a boat that makes it go in the water."

  He braced his hands on his knees. "Mistress Ren­frew." Dane drew on his patience. "Wind," he enunci­ated, "fills a sail to move a ship."

  "Sure, clippers, Hobe Cats, Catamarans, sailboats, but not a four hundred-something-foot steel cruise liner. Why am I telling you this? You're the captain."

  His expression went suddenly blank, unreadable. "That I am," he said, standing abruptly. "I suggest you rest now, mistress. I shall have a dinner tray sent in, post haste. Good evening,"

  He bowed curtly, then spun away, and Tess noticed for the first time that suspended from a belt around his waist was a gleaming silver cutlass.

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  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dane stared at the closed door for a moment be­fore his posture slackened, and he rubbed the back of his neck. Peculiar woman. He'd expected a weeping, frightened little flower, not that seductive bundle of spirit. What an odd clipped manner of speech she possessed. And he wondered further about this pro­peller thing she seemed convinced would sail a ship. Shaking his head, he turned away and found his path blocked.

  "The lady has awakened, sir?"

  "She has."

  "What is she like? Her name? Was she frightened? Did she-"

  Dane put a hand up, irritated at Duncan's eager­ness. "Our guest is Mistress Tess Renfrew, and no, she was not frightened." Dane decided to keep her strange statements to himself, especially the notion of a four-hundred-foot steel ship. Any sane person would know such a vessel would sink.

  "Renfrew, you say?" Duncan mused aloud, scratch­ing his chin.

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  "Aye, and have a light repast prepared for the lady."

  Duncan responded absently to the request, en­grossed in his thoughts.

  "What troubles you, McPete?"

  The use of his last name told him the captain was out of patience. " Tis her surname, Capt'n, Renfrew. It be familiar somehow, but-" He shrugged. " 'Twill come to me in time, sir." Duncan moved away.

  "Keep her recovery to yourself, man," Dane called when the servant reached the companionway. "I don't need a mutiny on my hands." He paused. "And Dun-can-"

  "Aye, sir?"

  "I suggest you knock next time."

  Duncan grinned, descending the ladder. "Aye-aye, Capt'n."

  Tess thought of herself as a sensible person
, a real­ist, and after living by her wits until she was eight, then all over the world because of her father's mili­tary career, sampling different cultures, she'd learned not to give the odd too much consideration. All it took was someone to shove a plate of raw squid in front of you, assume you were delighted to eat the spongy stuff, insulted if you didn't, and you had the sudden tendency not to expect anything else to ever be quite so peculiar. But this stateroom was incredible. Strange and quaint, she allowed, yet the absence of electricity, cellular phones, and engine noise made her wonder what it looked like above deck. But then, what did she know about pleasure yachts. She'd never

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  actually been on any ship, other than the Queen, and that was designed for a week-long celebration of fun, flirting, and vacation sex.

  Tess propped herself on both elbows when a knock sounded. After calling for whomever to come in, she watched as a robust little old man carrying a tray nudged his way inside. Interesting-looking character, Tess thought as she sat up, the delicious aroma of fresh-baked bread teasing her taste buds.

  "Good evenin', miss." His shaggy gray head bobbed. "I be Duncan McPete, the captn's manser­vant," he introduced, and with one beefy hand lit an old-fashioned oil lamp.

  Manservant, huh? She studied his every move, amazed one so bulky was that dexterous. "Hello, Mr. McPete. I'm Tess."

  He glanced over his shoulder. "Aye, that you are, lassie." His smile was warm and friendly as he re­placed the glass globe and faced her. " 'Twould please an old salt if you be callin' me Duncan, miss."

  Her gaze slipped over his baggy brown knee pants, dark shirt, and worn silk vest. "Sure. If you call me Tess."

  He froze. "Oh, nay, miss! I cannot!" Duncan's face clearly displayed his shock. "The capt'n would have me head for takin' such a liberty!"

  "Calm down, Duncan, okay." Criminey, what's with these men? "Call me whatever you want," she told him, and his stout body sagged with relief.

  Bandy legs shuffled to the side of the bed, and he placed the tray on the mattress, then drew back a cloth. "Hungry, miss?"

  Tess's mouth watered at the appetizing meal. "Oh

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  yes, Duncan, starved."

  His wrinkled leathery face lit up, and his smile broadened, making his single gold earring wink in the lamplight. "Enjoy the. fare."

  Tess folded her legs Indian style beneath the sheet, popping a berry in her mouth. "There's plenty. Join me, Duncan?"

  "Oh, no, miss! Tis not proper!"

  Her head jerked back. "Proper? Good grief. It's only dinner."

  Fearing he'd insulted her somehow, he explained, "I've duties to tend before the next watch."

  Marines had the duty; Navy had the—"Watch?" Tess heard herself say. No, they couldn't be U.S. Navy. They didn't live this good. And with that accent and those clothes? British yachters, maybe?

  "Aye, the crew takes turns keepin' watch for the en­emy, miss."

  "Enemy?" She swallowed the banana slice, her eyes narrowing. "You're joking, right?"

  " 'Tis no jest, but do not worry yourself, lass. Yer safe now."

  Tess munched on a crust of bread, staring but not seeing. "Where are we?"

  "Atlantic waters, miss. South of the Tropic of Can­cer."

  That wasn't any help. "Is that near Cuba?"

  "Nearly three hundred miles to the east," he said carefully. "In the West Indies, miss." To Duncan she appeared ready to bolt.

  Besides Castro, what enemies are there around here? she wondered. The British and American au­thorities took care of that, so who were they watching

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  for? "This ship, Duncan. What kind is it? Exactly." Tess was afraid of the answer.

  The old fellow's pale blue gaze examined her con­fused face, and for a moment he debated whether or not to tell the poor lass. "The Sea Witch is a twenty-four-gun frigate, miss."

  "Oh." Flat, stunned. So much for her yacht theory. And twenfy-four guns? Weren't frigates made of steel with giant howitzers or something? The mullion-paned window and roomful of antiques contradicted any outside image she could conjure.

  Duncan felt a gentle stir in his chest at the sight of her bowed head and wringing hands. "Enjoy the meal, lass. Dine slowly. If you be needin' anything, I'll see to it."

  She nodded. "Thanks, Duncan."

  He departed quickly, at a loss as how to ease what­ever troubled her.

  The minute the door shut, Tess scooted to the edge of the bed, her appetite gone. Her feet tingled as they touched the rough carpet, and she had to grasp the post to stand. She hated being this weak, but she had to investigate this room. Clamping a hand onto the nightstand, Tess worked her way around the room to the desk. She plopped into the chair, her head reeling. God, it's hot in here, she thought.

  Taking a moment to rest, she swiped the back of her hand across her forehead, then began sifting through a stack of papers. She paused, fingers rasp­ing over the thick quality paper of a hand-drawn map. Parchment? She continued looking through the desk drawers, not at all ashamed of snooping; this place was too bizarre not to.

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  No ballpoint pens or pencils, only sticks of graph­ite, a quill, inkstand, and a box of sand? She shook her head and sighed back into the chair. Not even a paper clip. This was getting weirder by the moment. Forced to hold on to trie desk ledge to make her way to the wardrobe, Tess moved cautiously, drawing the line at looking in the dresser. Have to do it some­where, she mused. Opening the closet, she discovered men's clothes in rich fabrics: velvet and brocade jack­ets, fine lawn and silk shirts, suede and satin knee pants, along with coarse-feeling trousers. She blinked. No zippers, no snaps, just wood or ceramic buttons and crude hooks. She closed the door, relax­ing back against it, then moved to the door she as­sumed was the bathroom. Her hand on the brass latch, Tess tried to open the door, but her equilibrium shifted abruptly, her brain spinning, and she felt queasy and weak. I'm not going to make it back to the bed, she thought, her arm reaching across the ex­panse. The door opened and when she snapped a look, her ears rang, her legs buckling beneath her.

  "Ohh-noo," she whispered, and strong hands caught her before she hit the floor.

  Dane swept Tess up in his arms, holding her high against his chest. "You should not have tried to walk, Mistress Renfrew," he scolded gently.

  "Gee, woulda never guessed," she slurred, dropping her head to his shoulder.

  He smiled, enjoying the solid feel of her in his arms for the few steps to his bed. Reluctantly he laid her on the mattress, then stood back, hands on his hips. "Madame. Have you eaten?"

  "Some." Why do I feel like a little kid about to be

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  grounded? she wondered.

  "Then I suggest you finish that." He nodded to the meal, then turned away.

  "That sounds like an 'or else,' Captain Blackwell."

  He spun back around, frowning. "I beg your par­don?"

  "Or else you'll stuff it down my throat if I don't?" He smiled, and if she thought he was handsome be­fore, nothing prepared her for the impact of those dimples.

  "If I must."

  "Not unless you join me." When he looked sur­prised at the offer, she added, "Please. I'm bored to tears," telling herself that was the only reason she wanted him to stay.

  Dane felt weak in the knees at her soft plea and nodded agreement, knowing 'twas unwise to be so close to her. She did something to him no other woman had. Tess Renfrew fascinated him. He pulled a chair to the side of the bed as she scooted back, moving the tray between them.

  "Dig in." She tasted a chunk of mango, then drained the cup of herbal tea.

  "You have not sampled the beef as yet, mistress?"

  Mistress? Madame? Awful formal for a man dining on a bed. "I don't eat red meat," she told him, pop­ping a slice of melon in her mouth. She hated to think what chemicals were in that underdone carcass.

  "Fresh beef is rare on a ship, Mistress Renfrew." Dane tore off a chunk of bread and stuffed it with the juicy slices
.

  Her brows wrinkled. "How is that possible?"

  His gaze flew up. Was she that sheltered? "Live

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  stock of that size take up valuable cargo space and, when butchered, it spoils quickly," he said, then took a bite.

  "So freeze it."

  His chewing slowed. "In this heat?" He gestured to the room as he swallowed. "Mistress Renfrew," he said patiently. "It is impossible to keep anything even slightly cool in the tropics, let alone blocks of ice."

  Tess eyed him. Was he dense? "Why do you need blocks of ice? There is such a thing as refrigeration, you know."

  His gaze sharpened. "Nay, I do not know."

  "Rapid cooling, electric? Freon moving through coils?" She waited for him to nod agreement. He didn't. "A box that keeps things cold constantly, any­where?" He looked at her as if she'd blown a gasket. "Skip it," she mumbled.

  Tess kept her gaze on the plates of food. Who was he fooling? How could he not admit to knowing about refrigeration? And live animals on ship? The possibility was unnecessary and, if anything, revolt­ing. They'd have to kill them on—she shook her head. This place was like a trip to the twilight zone, she thought, bracing herself on one locked arm and leaning over the tray just as he did, unaware that the velvet robe sagged open.

  Dane's gaze dropped to the skin exposed, and his pulse quickened. The soft swells were pale, round, and he gnashed his teeth against the urge to brush the velvet aside and sample the creamy flesh.

  Tess looked up. He was inches from her, and those eyes, they'd changed. Black pearls on pale jade. God, he was sexy. She sketched his features, her gaze end-

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  ing on his lips. Her head reeled—from lack of food or from him?

  "Mistress Renfrew," he warned softly. God*s teeth, did she have to say so much with that look!

  Raven lashes swept up. "It's Tess."

  "Tess," he murmured, his gaze drifting over her face. Something drew him closer, against his will, he insisted as his knuckles grazed her cheek. She was so lovely, her beauty vivid. He knew this was wrong but couldn't seem to help it. Like the delicate flutter of a butterfly wing, his lips brushed hers, and he heard her sigh.