Chance the Winds of Fortune (58 page)

“I suspect, Kirby, that 'twas
your
eyes that went astray,” Dante commented as he set the tureen in a safe spot on the table. “No harm done, Conny,” Dante told him, for the little boy looked close to tears.

“Aye, s'pose ye be right about that, Cap'n,” Kirby admitted with a sniff and a wink at Conny, for he wasn't one to blame a person unjustly. His eyes strayed once again to Rhea, his expression almost cherubic as he examined the stunning results of his efforts.

“You might as well look your fill,” Dante told him, taking the shifting tray from the steward's hands, “since you seem to be responsible for our guest's transformation.”

“Thank you, Kirby,” Rhea said, the golden braids swinging around her shoulders as she gave the beaming little steward a hug that left him as scarlet as Conny. “You really shouldn't have gone to all of this trouble.”

“'Twasn't any trouble a'tall, m'lady,” Kirby said, forgetting the late nights spent sewing by a flickering light and the hours on deck at dawn working with needle and thread.

“It fits perfectly,” Rhea was saying as she turned around for him, allowing him to fully admire his work. “But how on earth did you do it without proper measurements?” she demanded curiously.

“Yes, please do enlighten us, Kirby,” Dante said, his eyes lingering on the soft curve of breast revealed by the décolletage.

“Nothin' to it, m'lord,” Kirby replied, refusing to be baited by the captain, for he wasn't quite certain of his master's mood. “I just took me measurements when I was groomin' Lady Rhea's clothes. Simple as that, although I had to hurry a bit in order to finish them before we reached Antigua. Wanted to see ye in them before ye left the
Sea Dragon
,” Kirby said, his eyes meeting the captain's eyes meaningfully.

“Aye, 'twas worth the loss of a fine pair of breeches to have had the pleasure of servin' ye, m'lady,” Fitzsimmons said, lifting his drink in toast to her. “To your safe return home to England, Lady Rhea Claire. Although,” he added with a mournful look at her, “we shall miss your beauty on board the
Sea Dragon
when we depart Antigua.”

Alastair lifted his drink in agreement, although on his part it may well have been wishful thinking, for he thought he knew his captain's mind on that score. And indeed, the captain was slow to respond to the toast.

“To a safe journey home, Lady Rhea,” Dante finally murmured before emptying his goblet of its contents.

As Rhea lifted her glass to her lips, her eyes met his over the rim, and she realized that she was the only one aware that he had not proposed a time for that safe journey home. Rhea sipped her Madeira, and although she did not care for the slightly burnt taste of it, it sent a fire through her blood that warmed her spirit and made her recklessly courageous as she met that pale-eyed stare of the captain of the
Sea Dragon
. Feeling full of unreasonable confidence in her ability to resist him, Rhea allowed a small, enticing smile to curve her lips as she continued to stare boldly across at him, her chin set in almost a challenging tilt. Meanwhile, the expression in her eyes was one he had not seen before, and it intrigued him.

Dante lifted his refilled goblet in a silent, private toast, as if in acceptance of her challenge. And whatever that challenge might be, he felt certain he would soon find out.

Kirby, noticing the locked glances, hurriedly sent a bemused Conny—whose eyes had never left Rhea's figure—back to the galley for another course of the meal, thinking it far wiser to occupy Dante and Rhea with something else for the next few hours, and if there was anything that would serve for that, it was his cooking. Of course, he supposed he was worrying unnecessarily, for what could possibly happen over the dinner table, especially with Alastair and Fitzsimmons present? Fortunately for the little steward's peace of mind he had little inkling of the dangerous mood that Rhea was in, and he would have been struck dumb had he the least suspicion of what she was about. Even a person of only slight acquaintance with the captain would know better than to bait the man, or try to make him look the fool, for Dante was not a man to play games with.

As it was, Alastair and Fitzsimmons soon realized that they were unwitting participants in a game in which they knew not the rules. In uneasy silence, Alastair watched Rhea flirt with Fitzsimmons, feeling like a helpless spectator to a blood sport, for he could feel the tension rising at the table like a tangible presence. Dante seemed to know exactly what the rules of the game were, and was even creating a few new ones of his own. Alastair watched with growing alarm as the captain poured more wine into Lady Rhea's already brimming goblet, something he had taken care to do since they had sat down for their first course.

Alastair wasn't even certain that Lady Rhea was aware of the captain's ploy, so interested did she seem in hearing Fitzsimmons's story about the leprechaun he had once encountered. The Irishman's audience was not uninformed about legends, however, and Lady Rhea demanded to know if the little old man had led Fitzsimmons to his cache of treasure.

“Ah, to be sure he has,
mo mhurnin
,” Fitzsimmons declared grandly, the Gaelic endearment slipping out naturally as he gazed amorously into her violet eyes, “for here am I sittin' with the fairest treasure in all o' the land, includin' Erin itself, and them golden braids of yours couldn't be any less golden than a treasure chest full o' golden doubloons,” he said softly. One of the beribboned braids touched his cheek as Rhea tipped her head sideways to catch his words, but her eyes were on Dante's gray-clad figure sitting so quietly across the table.

Dante seemed unconcerned as he watched them. A slight smile curved his lips and his gaze seldom strayed from the golden-haired beauty, but Alastair was not surprised to see the tightening of the captain's knuckles around the fragile stem of his crystal goblet when those primrose ropes of hair swung teasingly against the Irishman's tanned cheek.

“Ummm, ‘a treasure chest full o' golden doubloons,'” Rhea quoted as she propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her cupped hand. “Now that sounds exciting, don't you think so, Alastair?” Then she turned her wide violet eyes onto him, which was what he had been dreading, for the captain's jealous eye was sure to follow, and, as it was, his dinner was already sitting like a swivel block in his stomach.

“Well, yes, it certainly does, although one must find the treasure first,” Alastair answered with irritating practicality. “And that would be a rare find indeed,” he said, pleased with his easy reply to so touchy a subject, although he wondered what sort of sport this was that Lady Rhea was playing at.

“I beg to differ, Alastair,” Rhea returned sweetly, her expression one of total innocence, “for I have an ancestor who captured a Spanish galleon and looted it of its stolen gold. And”—she paused, drawing breath to continue, a sparkle in her eyes as she glanced around the table—“I have personal knowledge of another treasure map, and have even seen with my very own eyes the
X
marked in gold. The adventurous will be guided to a hidden treasure chest full of gold, jewels—”

“Good Lord!” Alastair exclaimed as his hand accidentally came in contact with his goblet of wine, sending the dark red liquid spreading across the tablecloth and sending everyone to their feet in a rush. “I am sorry, how clumsy of me,” Alastair apologized nicely, his eyes briefly meeting the captain's as he dabbed ineffectually at the wine dripping over the edge of the table. “I trust I did not spill any on you, Lady Rhea?” he asked concernedly as he stepped aside for a muttering Kirby, who had been standing in the opened doorway like a still life as he had listened to Lady Rhea's soft voice revealing secrets.

“No, none at all,” Rhea replied with a smile, unaware of what really had happened.

“The crew would most likely have hung me from the yardarm if I'd stained your skirt before they'd even had the chance to admire it,” Alastair said jokingly, feeling the danger past. His relief was short-lived when he heard young Conny Brady's piping voice.

“We had a treasure map, Lady Rhea,” he told her with pride. “The cap'n won it in a card game in St. Eustatius and we went lookin' fer the treasure, only 'twas a sunken Dutch merchantman we found instead.”

“Aye, for a couple of Paddies, we came mighty close to makin' our fortunes, eh, young Conny?” Fitzsimmons said with a bitter smile, for he was still feeling deeply the disappointment of that voyage that had come to naught, along with all of his hopes of becoming master of a schooner of his own.

“Cap'n, sir, what happened to that map?” Conny now asked, turning his wide blue eyes on his captain. “I wish we could show Lady Rhea the treasure map. Aye, fair 'twas to look at, even if it wasn't worth nothin'. It had birds and seashells and a ship with—”

—“with painted sails billowing eastward as it sailed in a sea full of dragons,” Rhea finished for him, somewhat startled herself at how vivid her memory of the map was. She shook her head, feeling slightly hazy, for she seemed to be seeing two maps instead of one. But the one she had been remembering earlier was not this one Conny was describing. Her map had to do with her great-grandfather, Ruaiseart MacDanavel, and her mother and Uncle Richard, but that map hadn't been in a bottle like this one had, she thought in growing confusion. Then she drew in her breath sharply as she remembered she was not supposed to mention that other map. Rhea swallowed painfully as she met the captain's inscrutable expression, and she worried he must think she had been deliberately defying him. But that was not so, she thought in desperation, for it was the unaccustomed amount of wine she had consumed during dinner that was making rational thoughts very difficult, indeed, near impossible. And now, as she stared at Dante Leighton, all she could think about was the feel of his hard mouth against hers and the unrelenting strength of those bronzed arms around her waist. It was madness, Rhea thought in growing panic as she stared around the captain's cabin at the rich mahogany paneling, the broad stern windows slanting into the blackness of sea and night, the big sea chest in the corner, the cabinet where the rolled-up charts were stacked so neatly, the other cabinet containing the bottles of wine, the desk where he penned his log, and, finally, the bunk, where she had lain with the captain of the
Sea Dragon
.

Ever since then, upon entering his cabin for her meals, she had studiously avoided looking at that corner of the cabin. She had known he was well aware of her reluctance to be reminded of that evening, and she also had known that the memory of that evening afforded him considerable amusement. Often, she had caught that intriguing smile on his lips as he'd purposely glanced at his bunk, as if he enjoyed certain memories that it held for him. But until this evening, when her defenses had been weakened by wine and by her own arrogance in dismissing her feelings for him, her disturbing memories of the cabin had been kept in abeyance. But now she found them rushing back on a rising tide of ungovernable emotions that left her trembling.

This was not the way she had planned the evening at all, Rhea thought in dismay. Now her cheeks were growing fiery with embarrassment as she remembered too vividly the feel of his hands touching her bare flesh and the heaviness of his head against her breast as his mouth had caressed her hot skin. She could recall the feeling of surprised pleasure when she had opened her eyes and stared into his, and how her first thought, before remembering who he was and how cruel he'd been the night before, had been of what a beautiful man he was.

Tonight she had wanted to prove to him that he had no power over her, that she was not affected by his almost overwhelming virility, that she could find Alastair Marlowe and Seumus Fitzsimmons to be just as fascinating as he was. And so it had come as a shock to find him unresponsive to her wiles. Dante, despite her every effort to draw him into the conversation, had silently watched, listened, and waited, but for what she was not certain. Rhea knew she had acted the flirt tonight, but thinking herself safe from scorching, she had willfully played with fire, despite the deep instinct warning her against such a dangerous act. She had taunted Dante, baited him, teased him, ridiculed him, and even tried to seduce him with alluring glances from her heavy-lidded violet eyes. And Rhea would have been alarmed had she realized how successful she had been, for the sweet witchery of her eyes and lips had captivated him, strengthening his resolve to make her his own.

She had not fooled him, and it was just as well that Rhea had no idea that there never had been any contest between them. She was no match for Dante Leighton, captain of the
Sea Dragon
, nor would she ever be, for despite her brief attempt at seduction, she was too gentle-blooded a creature to ever be other than herself. And despite all that she had been through since being kidnapped from Camareigh, she would continue to be the entrancingly lovely Rhea Claire who knew a generosity and kindness of heart and spirit. That was the essence of her being, and that innate gentleness would be the guiding force in her life. Rhea Claire was like the gold of her hair, malleable, but with an inner strength that would allow her to adapt or yield to a stronger force, yet remain faithful to what she believed in.

And perhaps that quality was what would keep safe Rhea's heart and soul, for Dante had lived too long giving no quarter. He had relied too often upon a measuring of swords to settle differences, and it was too late for him to change now, even had he so wished.

But as Rhea, still secure in her belief that she could ultimately control her destiny, drowsily met bold gaze of the captain of the
Sea Dragon
and believer in fate, she was blessedly unaware that her future was already being decided by the circumstances of chance.