My Timeswept Heart Page 6

  A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Are you mar­ried, Captain Blackwell?"

  "Nay." The reply was curt, not inviting any ques­tions.

  • Tess ignored it. "How come?"

  "I could ask the same of you."

  "I suppose you could."

  A black brow shot up, and Tess's insides tumbled at the seductive look. "Are you wed, Lady Renfrew?" Dane felt his entire body clench.

  "No."

  "I find it difficult to believe there is no betrothed anxiously awaiting your return."

  Her gaze clung to the floor. Why did she open up this subject? "No, Captain Blackwell." Her voice

  70

  dropped to a whisper. "There is no one."

  At the pain in her tone, Dane wished his words back. Duncan was right. No one had wanted her around to tarnish the family's reputation with her dis­turbed mind, and the captain found it all rather hard to stomach.

  "Are you through yet?" she muttered tightly.

  He stepped back. "Aye."

  "Good." Without looking at him, she gathered up the heavy skirts. "Let's see this ship you're so damn proud of." She didn't wait for him and headed for the door.

  He was there in an instant, reaching around her to grasp the latch.

  "The Sea Witch awaits your presence, m'lady." He opened the door a crack.

  Tess forced her eyes to meet his. His smile was faint, somehow sympathetic, and the sudden tension weighing her mood vanished.

  "I'll have you know I want the grand tour." She fi­nally smiled.

  "You, Lady Renfrew, may have anything you de­sire."

  Her gaze dropped to his chiseled mouth, and she unconsciously licked her lips. "Careful, Blackwell. You may regret those words."

  Winter mint eyes drifted slowly over her bare shoulders, healed and smooth and golden, then to the blossoming fullness of her bosom before he forced himself to meet those haunting smoke-soft eyes.

  "Nay, Lady Witch," he murmured huskily, "I truly doubt that."

  Tess was trying to grab on to what was left of her

  71

  composure when he thrust open the door and cau­tioned her as she stepped over the high threshold. I'm playing with fire, she thought crazily, way, way out of my league. The corridor was damp, narrow, her skirts taking up most of the space. The closeness of his warm body seemed to intoxicate her further, and she grasped his arm as the ship lurched.

  He stared, his palm spanning the small of her back, her body pressed lightly to the length of his own, scented and yielding. Dane didn't think there was another time in his life when a woman affected him like this.

  "This way." He gestured down the passageway, and Tess preceded him, her legs easily adjusting to the sway of the vessel. He reached around her, warned her to shield her eyes, then opened the wide oval door and helped her onto the deck.

  Bright sunlight drenched over her, and Tess closed her eyes against its brilliance, tilting her face to the sky and soaking in the warm rays. She breathed deeply of the clean salty air, filling her lungs over and over, unaware of the thoroughly feminine sight she portrayed to Dane.

  A soft wind teased the short, deep copper wisps surrounding her face, and a delicate hand floated up to brush them back, golden beams shimmering over her complexion. Her gown rustled enticingly, and Dane dragged his gaze from the gentle rise and fall of her lush bosom, up the slender column of her throat to her serene features. Bewitching. The transforma­tion from the spirited ragamuffin in his robe to this alluring creature hit him all at once. An odd sensa­tion swept over him, and he fought the selfish desire

  72

  to escort her back to his cabin and lock her inside. With him.

  "It feels wonderful to be outside. Thank you," she whispered happily, then before she opened her eyes, Tess prepared herself for her first look at his eight­eenth-century warship. She was awed.

  It was massive.

  The scene was a flurry of activity. Nearly a hun­dred bare-chested men of varying colors and sizes were scattered around the deck, twining rope, stitch­ing sails, polishing, adjusting rigging, some even pull­ing up nets, their burly muscled torsos gleaming with sweat. Not a man she could see wore shoes. Most had long hair pulled back in a ponytail like Blackwell's, yet regardless of its color, the crews' little tails ap­peared to be black and slick. Tarred? Talk about an eye for detail. The wind shifted, and her nose twitched as the pungent odor of unwashed bodies as­saulted her nostrils. Aw, come on! This was too much. Ever heard of soap, guys? she wondered, turn­ing her face from the smell. They seemed oblivious to her and their captain. Until he spoke.

  "The grand tour, m'lady?"

  Heads snapped around, and Tess didn't mistake the hatred directed solely at her. Several dozen pairs of eyes narrowed, and some men turned abruptly away from the sight of her. Others stared, mouths open, looking her up and down, making her feel like some sort of freak. One man dropped his mop and moved back, obviously terrified.

  Did they resent her intrusion on their little game that much? But to be afraid of her?

  Tess never saw the maiming glare the captain shot

  73

  his crew.

  "Lady Renfrew?"

  Tess jolted, looking down to see that he was hold­ing out his arm. She was about to tell him she was quite capable, then decided against it. When in Rome, she decided, slipping her hand into the curve of his elbow.

  They strolled slowly, Dane naming each towering mast and snapping sail, its purpose, pointing out the quarterdeck, capstan, helm, where a very attractive blond man was manning the huge wheel. The ship was majestic, wood and brass gleaming in the bright sun, proof of hard work and diligence to keep the reproduction in perfect condition. Good Lord, she marveled, he must have sunk a fortune to play out his whims with such realism. Nevertheless, she absorbed it all, including the pride in his tone.

  "It's beautiful, Captain, magnificent. I never imag­ined it to be this large."

  "It must seem rather puny compared to your myste­rious four-hundred-foot vessel," he whispered with a crooked smile.

  "There really is no mystery, Captain," she began until she saw the look on his face. "Honestly, why do I even bother?" she muttered under her breath and for an instant thought he'd pat her on the head and say, "Yes dear, I understand, dear," so condescending was his expression.

  "A word of warning, Lady Renfrew." She nodded, waiting. "You are forbidden to venture belowdecks."

  She cast him a side glance. "And why is that?"

  His lips quirked at her sudden rebelliousness. "There is no need."

  74

  "So you say."

  "Duncan will see to anything you desire."

  "So, I'm to be dumped on the poor unsuspecting McPete, is that it?" Laughter danced in her eyes.

  "A job he would relish, I assure you." He sounded annoyed.

  "I'm really a nuisance here, aren't I?" she said after a few steps.

  "I apologize if I've given you that impression."

  "You didn't, but I realize it now." She nodded to the men working, wondering how long they trained to be so good at their jobs. "You certainly have no need of inexperienced workers on your ship."

  "I did not pull you out of the sea to put you to work, Lady Renfrew."

  "I've never accepted charity."

  Dane felt her stiffen beside him, saw indignation leap into her eyes. Proud wench. "You are a guest." He put up a hand to halt her protest. "Please, m'lady," he said tiredly, a teasing light sprinkling his tanned features. "Indulge the captain in his whims. He has so very few these days."

  Tess tilted her head, smiling. "Well, if you're going to be a pest about it, sure."

  "I am truly honored," he quipped dryly, pausing to give her a mocking bow.

  She couldn't suppress a short laugh at his dramat­ics. "Duncan said this ship had twenty-four guns. So where are they?"

  "Second deck." He gestured toward the fat quartz prisms set flush with the wood deck to catch sunlight and cast it be
low. "When I commissioned William Hacket with her construction, I made a few adjust-

  75

  ments. Cannons, rods, balls, and powder take up valuable space when a battle is being waged."

  That brought her up short. She stared into his eyes, failing to decipher the joke hidden within. He hon­estly believed he'd do battle with a cutlass and flint­lock pistols and his twenty-four cannons! Impossible. There had to be a law against actually arming a vessel like this. There had to be.

  Frightened? he wondered, for she was looking at him as if he'd magically lost his ears.

  "Wha-what other changes did you make?" she asked, trying to forget he was nuts. A confrontation? Nah, never happen.

  Unconsciously Dane gave the small hand tucked at his elbow a reassuring pat. "My cabin for one. The ceiling on a ship is usually so low one must constantly stoop."

  That statement answered itself, Tess decided, look­ing him up and down and enjoying every second of it. He had to be well over six feet, splendidly packed with enough tanned muscle to keep a girl occupied for days, eccentric or not.

  Sweet Neptune save me from those blatant eyes, Dane thought, his body suddenly challenging his con­trol. It was refreshing to discover a female who hid nothing of her emotions and, ah God, her desires. "I also had some other personal items added," he said, slighty strained.

  "Duncan mentioned that it was unusual to have a bathroom, tub, and—"

  "My bed," he finished in an intimate tone, a devil­ish smile playing on his lips, and Tess felt her knees instantly liquify. "Usually there's a bunk built into the

  76

  wall, but I find little comfort in being squeezed into a drawer when I need rest."

  She frowned thoughtfully up at him. "You've been sleeping out here, haven't you?" His expression re­mained impassive. "You have!" She twisted away. "Oh, now I really feel like an intruder." She'd been shoved out into the cold once too often as a child and didn't care to do it to anyone else.

  He caught her shoulders and spun her back around, mint eyes demanding her full attention. "In this weather I usually sleep on deck, Lady Renfrew. To be honest, I wonder if you are not suffocating in that airless room."

  "Cabin," she corrected.

  He grinned crookedly, and those dimples made her insides jingle. "Do not fret over something so insig­nificant. And I shan't—"

  His words stopped when her eyes suddenly went round as saucers. He heard her breath catch in her throat an instant before her head whipped to one side. As if some force willed it, she tore from his grasp and ran to the bow, lacy skirts hiked up to her calves. Her mind has snapped, he thought with hor­ror, momentarily stunned. Then his heart slammed against the wall of his chest as she agilely climbed out on the bowsprit. Dane raced after her, unaware that all activity on the vessel had ceased.

  77

  CHAPTER Seven

  Dane grabbed Tess around the waist and yanked her back onto the deck, then roughly spun her about to face him.

  "God's teeth, woman!" His fingers dug into her shoulders. "What the ruddy hell were you trying to do?" he shouted, his expression sharp and harsh.

  Breathless, Tess blinked at the rage directed at her. "I-I —why on earth did you do that?" His eyes bored into hers, and she was touched, suddenly remember­ing that all he knew of her was that she'd jumped off the Nassau Queen. "No one is trying to kill me now, Captain. I wasn't going to jump. I only wanted to see the dolphin."

  Dane searched her upturned face, the openness clear on her delicate features. She was telling the truth. Or was she? With a demented mind one could never be certain. Damn! It was bloody unfair.

  "Captain? You're hurting me." She spoke softly, laying a hand on his arm. Her touch burned through the fabric of his sleeve, jarring him, -his expression softening slightly while callused hands gently rubbed

  78

  her shoulders.

  "I fear you shall have bruises because of my — my — " He sighed, dropping his arms. Christ, his heart was still pounding like a thoroughbred's at full speed.

  "Your what, Captain?" Her smile was impish. "Concern? Rage? What is it?"

  That this slip of a woman could twist his carefully controlled emotions so profoundly tore at his vitals. His crew had witnessed this, he realized at the omi­nous silence. When had he become so lax, so easily maneuvered by her smiles and frankness? He'd al­ways preferred quieter women, certainly ones with a bit more flesh to their bones. Blast it! He'd lost sight of his purpose the instant he'd dragged the woman aboard. Foes were going unvanquished while he chased after a female with half a brain in her skull.

  Tess saw the change in him, like the dawning of a new idea.

  "As captain of this ship, Lady Renfrew," his tone was brisk, cold, "I demand that in the future you re­frain from being quite so exuberant in public."

  She planted her hands on her hips. "Demand all you want, Blackwell. And see how far that gets you," she said, matching his sudden change of mood. "And I might suggest you do the same. You were the one making a spectacle of yourself."

  "And what, pray tell, do you call exposing your— your—" he waved at her skirts, "person to my crew, running across the deck and—God save us—climbing onto the bowsprit like a God-rotten street urchin?"

  It was the way he'd said "street urchin" with such disgust that Tess felt it like the burn of a slap. It was

  79

  what she was. A survivor. And the look on his face was painfully familiar, like the people who saw her digging through garbage cans for scraps of food and discarded clothing or shoved her away because she stank for lack of washing; she would have, had she known even the essentials of decent hygiene. She was only four years old then. Tess was proud she'd sur­vived long enough for the Sergeant Major to rescue her from that ugly world. And in Captain Blackwell's eccentric brain, he chose to believe she was someone worthy of his attention, calling her lady and ma-dame, because if he didn't, he'd feel uncomfortable around her. Like those faceless strangers. Whether it was just his attempt to make the game more real or not, she could never be certain. Damn him! Oh, he made her body and heart do all sorts of nice, warm things, but his snotty lord-of-the-manor attitude just trashed it. Probably regretted ever pulling her out of the ocean, she thought, hurt beyond reason.

  "Just because I'm dressed in this," she plucked at her skirt, "doesn't change who I am, Captain Black-well. I'm quite comfortable with that, but if you aren't, then put me ashore, a.s.a.p."

  He scowled. "A.S.A.P.?"

  "As soon as possible."

  "Be assured I will."

  "Good!"

  "Fine!"

  "Pardon the intrusion, Captain."

  Dane's head snapped to the side. "What now, Mr. Thorpe?"

  Gaelan pointed. "There, sir."

  They all turned to see the gray beast skimming the

  80

  water on his flukes. Tess ran to the rail, waving at the dolphin's antics.

  "Hello, sweet baby," she called out. "I'm fine, see?" The dolphin leapt, plunged into the sea, then broke the surface in a smooth arch and dove again beneath the waves. Over and over he popped up and down, chittering wildly, moving closer. "Did you miss me?" Richmond squeaked, his entire body nodding in agreement. "I missed you, too. It was nice of you to stick around."

  Dane stared, shocked that the lass seemed to have command of the grampus, and it appeared they could actually communicate. Dear God! What kind of woman was this?

  Then the air was suddenly punctured with sharp demands and fearful cries.

  "God save us, she ken talk to the grampus! I tol' you she be a bloody witch!"

  "Aye! A sorceress! Send her over, Capt'n. Be rid of her now!"

  "We're doomed if she stays. Cursed, I tell you!"

  "Aye. Damned pretty clothes ain't changin' what she is!"

  Tess turned slowly, struck numb with what she heard, then saw. Captain Blackwell stood a few feet from her, silent, hands braced on his hips, his expres­sion more than leery. Not so f
or the rest of his crew, their faces depicting a bizarre mix of terror and anger, swords and vicious-looking knives, spikes, and hooks drawn and primed for attack. On her.

  This was definitely not the Welcome Wagon.

  No one moved. Her heart ricocheted in her chest. And in a split second, she remembered a visit to Fort

  81

  Wayne where everyone in the wood structure spoke and acted as if they were living back hundreds of years. They'd labored at shores, making everything by hand, even cooking over an open hearth, and the people refused to be swayed into speaking of the twentieth century. Was this truly the same? Like those men who reenacted the battles of the Civil War? Were they all so engulfed in the fantasy they'd forgotten it was fake? Tess examined each face, the fingers flexing weapons, and could find no hint of reality in anyone. This is ludicrous, she thought wildly, her gaze locking with Blackwell's. She took a step, lifting a hand to the captain.

  "Come on now. A witch? Be serious, Blackwell. Tell me you—" A movement beyond him caught her attention.

  Tess froze, her arm outstretched, eyes rounding, unable to move as a huge hook winch dangling at the end of a taut rope came singing through the air to­ward her head.

  Dane whirled about and without a moment's hesi­tation flung himself into the path of the razor-sharp sickle, grabbing Tess around the waist, shielding her as he dropped to the deck just as the brass hook im­bedded itself in the bowsprit.

  The breath knocked out of her at the impact, she gasped, sucking deeply to refill her lungs, wincing as stinging pain shot up her body from her knees. Press­ing her forehead to the deck, she waited for every­thing to come back into focus.

  "Are you injured?"

  "No," she muttered to the wood. "How about you?"