Chance the Winds of Fortune (59 page)

“Coooee! How the devil did ye know what the treasure map looked like, Lady Rhea?” Conny's incredulous voice was demanding to know.

“Because that is the way all treasure maps are supposed to look,” Alastair explained smoothly, his lopsided grin twitching nervously as he noted the bemused expression on Lady Rhea's flushed face.

“Actually,” Dante remarked, helping him out, “I think I still have that map around here somewhere, and I may have shown it to Lady Rhea, but”—he paused, noticing her drooping lids as she tried to hide a wide yawn behind a casually raised hand—“as Lady Rhea seems to have grown fatigued, I suggest we postpone this conversation till the morrow. Lady Rhea?” Dante questioned softly, then was by her side and holding out his arm, leaving her little choice but to accept his assistance. “I shall escort you to your cabin, for the hour grows late, m'lady,” he added in an undertone filled with the promise of retribution.

“My apologies, gentlemen, but I truly cannot seem to keep my eyes open. The evening has been a pleasure and the dinner was superbly prepared, Mr. Kirby,” Rhea complimented the little steward. “Mrs. Peacham could not have done better. Gentlemen, I shall bid you a good night then,” Rhea said, hesitantly placing her hand in the crook of Dante's arm. But even so lightly touching him, she could still feel the hard muscles beneath her fingertips, especially when he placed his hand over hers, holding it trapped against him.

The door of the captain's cabin closed with a note of finality on the friendly replies from Alastair and Fitzsimmons, who were pouring themselves brandies as they settled down to await their captain's return. Conny and Kirby had already disappeared toward the galley with the last of the dinner dishes, and so the short corridor to Rhea's cabin suddenly seemed endless to her, and too quiet. The pressure against her hand became harder as they neared the door.

“Good night, Captain Leighton,” Rhea murmured softly as she risked a glance into those silvery eyes. But she was not prepared for the glint in them as they caught hold of hers.

“
Good night?
” he questioned. “The night could just be beginning for 'tis still early,” he said as he leaned past her shoulder and opened the narrow door, his movement forcing Rhea to step inside or be crushed against his broad chest.

She paused just inside, thinking to halt his progress, but he merely lifted her aside as he stepped in and closed the door; then he leaned his wide shoulders against it, his arms folded casually across his chest while he stared down at her with amusement.

“The game has not yet been won, Rhea Claire,” Dante said, his voice seeming to caress her name.

“What game?” Rhea asked, feigning bewilderment, reluctant to admit her complicity in such a venture, especially when her wits had been dulled too much by wine for her to be engaging in clever talk with him. “I have not the slightest idea of what you are speaking about,” she told him with an attempt at haughtiness that ended up sounding defensive.

“I am speaking about the game you have been playing all evening long, my dear little liar. Seumus Fitzsimmons enjoyed it, unsure though he was to its purpose, but I am afraid you had poor Alastair a nervous wreck wondering what you were going to do next. He is far too honest a fellow for this sort of trick, but I don't suppose you gave him much thought, did you, so intent were you on inveigling me with your charms,” Dante said, his glance encompassing her from the top of her head, with its coronet of golden braids, to her small feet encased in leather sandals. He noticed how the silk of her stockings contrasted oddly with the rawhide straps crossing over her instep and around her ankles.

His eyes lingered on her trembling lips, remembering the taste of them. Then he was looking deeply into her violet eyes, seeing the hidden depths of passion as yet unexplored by any man. On this he would have sworn. She was half-woman, half-child, half-tamed and half-wild, for the mystery of a man's body made her suspicious and wary of his touch, and he knew that he would have to curb his own impatient desire if he were to lure the passionate response from her that he wanted and that he suspected she was capable of giving.

“I fear you are deluding yourself, Captain,” Rhea said, her voice shaking slightly with the onrush of confusing emotions she was experiencing, for he was standing so close that she could feel the rising heat of his body and see the pulse beating so strongly in his throat.

“No, you are deluding yourself if you think that you have won this game, which you so foolishly started. You issued me a challenge, and now I am here to collect my winnings,” he murmured as he slid his arms around her small waist.

“Let me go!” Rhea warned, but her words came breathlessly.

“Oh, no, my sweet Rhea,” Dante told her as he pressed her shaking body against his, molding her pliant flesh to his muscular hardness. “You said earlier today that you would give anything to buy your freedom. Well, now is the chance to prove that your word, the word of a Dominick, is good. Is it?” he demanded, grasping her chin and raising her head so he could stare into her face.

Dante felt a tightening in his loins as he stared down at her exquisite face. She reminded him of an English garden, something he had missed during his travels, for she had the color of the damask rose in her cheeks and the deep purple of sweet violets in her eyes. Unconsciously, Dante raised his hand and lightly touched one of the golden braids that had an emerald ribbon entwined through its length. “Little daffadilly,” he murmured, the expression in his eyes suddenly gentle with remembrance.

Rhea noticed the softening in his hard face and seized her chance. “Let me go, Captain, please,” she pleaded. She thought she'd won a reprieve when his hand released her braid, but was startled from that thought as his arms pulled her roughly to him, curving her body even closer to his, as if he hungered for the constant contact of their flesh.

“No,” he said simply, a brooding look on his face. “You played the game well tonight, for I want you, and I intend to have you,” he told her, his softly spoken words promising her that he would have what he wanted. And, although her eyes were filled with trepidation rather than fear, he found he couldn't release her. “I believe those violet eyes of yours could tear a man's heart from his body, but I am blind to their enticement,” he told her, refusing to be moved by the soft pleading in their darkening depths.

“Do you know how you have tormented me this evening?” he demanded, and there was still a thread of anger vibrating in his deep voice, turning it harsh. “You played the coquette for Fitzsimmons while treating me like some fat eunuch, harmless in his emasculation as he sat nearby, watching. It was cruel how you leaned toward the Irishman with your gaping bodice revealing the ivory softness of your breasts, your golden braids teasing his cheek while you smiled so enticingly, for you both knew that it would come to naught, that he was not the man to awaken your desires. He gazed into your eyes and wanted you for himself. He looked at your soft lips and ached to claim them as his own, but you are mine, Rhea, and I shall be the one to take what you have so enchantingly offered. And you have offered yourself to me,” Dante reminded her, his breath warm against the top of her head as his lips traced a wandering path through her braids.

Dante felt her shiver in his arms and try to arch away from the branding contact of their bodies. “I was wrong,” she said, straining away from his seeking lips.

“It does no good to fight it this attraction between us. Be honest. You want me to kiss your lips, part them and taste them. You want me to caress your silken body. Your hungry eyes have been telling me that all night long. You want me to make love to you, Rhea. Perhaps not as much as I want you, but that is only because you do not know of the pleasures awaiting you. But when you do, you will seek out the touch of my hands, the feel of my lips, for only I will be able to satisfy the fire that will be burning so deep inside of you,” he promised, but somehow his words sounded more like a curse upon her head than any gift of love's pleasures.

“No,” Rhea said, but even as her lips formed the word, she knew it was a lie, and so did he, for his next words were roughly spoken against her fiery cheek.

“Do not lie to me,” Dante told her before his mouth closed over hers, parting her lips as he had promised, making her want to taste him as his tongue searched for hers, not allowing her to avoid intimate contact. Nor did she want to as she felt an almost suffocating feeling of languor spreading through her, leaving her limbs weak and trembling.

His lips lifted slowly, reluctantly, from her mouth and Rhea drew a ragged breath, the cabin spinning around her, but before she could seem to breathe again, she found her throbbing lips covered by his once more. His kisses were growing deeper, more demanding of a response from her, and one of his hands slid down over her hips, holding her to him, while his other hand cupped the nape of her neck while his mouth plundered her soft lips. Rhea was desperate to escape that smoldering contact, but he was too insistent, refusing to allow her to break free and quench the consuming fire growing between them.

Dante's breath was coming raggedly as he kissed her lips, unable to slake the thirst he felt for their sweet taste. He liked the feel of the soft leather she wore, for without the multitude of petticoats and a silk or satin overskirt, he could feel the natural curving of her small buttocks and slender thighs. She was so slight, yet so womanly to the touch, and Dante's heightened senses filled with the scent of her, his desires kindling anew as he remembered another time when he had lain with her and breathed the heady blend of the sea and sandalwood.

Rhea felt his hands on her body, leaving no part of her untouched as he fondled her, learned the feel of her. His hands seemed to be everywhere, and then Rhea gasped in surprise as her skirt fell to the decking between them and she felt the coolness of the cabin caressing her bare thighs. His hands lowered the décolletage of her bodice, pushing it from her shoulders and down around her waist. Then it fell past her hips to the floor, following the plaited belt that he had freed easily from her waist.

Dante stood back and stared down at her standing before him in her corset and chemise, her breasts temptingly revealed by the thin linen with its slight edging of delicate lace. And it barely reached to the top of her pale thighs, teasing him with what lay above.

Rhea heard his low groan as he lifted her into his arms, his bronzed face looking like a stranger's as he carried her to the bunk and laid her down gently, his hand straying to her bare thigh as if he needed to feel her warmth even as he stood beside the bunk gazing down at her.

Rhea's eyes were closed as she lay there, knowing he stared at her. Her breath was coming jerkily from her trembling lips and all she could seem to hear was the roaring in her ears.

“Look at me, Rhea,” Dante said softly. “Rhea,” he said again, more urgently this time when she refused to look at him or answer him. It seemed to Dante then that she was trying to escape his presence by retreating into her thoughts.

“Damn you, Rhea, look at me,” he demanded as he sat down beside her, his hands hard and hurting on her frail shoulders.

Rhea opened her eyes to see him bending over her. He had removed his coat and vest, and his stock had been loosened around his broad neck.

“Rhea, let me love you,” he said huskily as he buried his face in the warmth of her breasts, his mouth searching until he found the soft pink nipples. Then his tongue was licking at them, suckling, until with a start of surprise, Rhea felt them hardening against his lips.

“I cannot, or I'll be lost,” Rhea whispered as she felt his hard hands on her bare buttocks, guiding her closer to him. Then, through the material of his breeches, she could feel his hardening manhood pressing against her.

“We'll be as one, as we were meant to be,” he murmured as his mouth opened against hers and began to steal the breath from her body. Meanwhile, his hands were drifting ever lower, moving slowly and sensuously in an ever-widening circle across her hips, until lingering against the softest and most sensitive place in her now quivering flesh. He knew he was introducing her to an eroticism that she never had known before, but her body was responding whether she wished it to or not; she would never be able to forget the sensual pleasure he was arousing within her, as indeed he had promised her he could. He knew he was taking unfair advantage of her innocence, that his expertise made it easy for him to give her that all-consuming pleasure and ultimate satisfaction that would change forever her perception of herself. It would also alter how she perceived him, for he would be her first lover, which would make him special in her eyes and give him a power and influence over her that no other man ever would have. Dante pushed these conscience-ridden thoughts to the back of his mind when he suddenly thrilled to the feel of her lips seeking his, of her tongue sliding inside his mouth. He knew then that he had succeeded in awakening her desires.

Rhea felt him shivering in response as she shyly moved her hands over his back, then curved them around his chest as she caressed the sleek rippling of muscle. Rhea, too, was experiencing, though for the first time, that knowledge of the power that a woman could exert over a man. That she could by the mere touch of her lips against his cause him to react as if he couldn't live without the taste of her, gave her the heady feeling of being able to control him. And never before had she felt that sensation where Dante Leighton was concerned.

But Rhea had only a moment's enjoyment of this newly discovered power, for Dante's mouth once again was demanding of hers as his hands roamed her body in arrogant assurance of their invitation to explore her.

Suddenly the hard pressure of his body jerked away from hers, and Rhea heard a muffled imprecation. She opened her eyes, and in the yellow gloom of the flickering light from the lantern swinging from the overhead beam, she saw Dante standing beside the bunk, his shirt parted halfway down the front and hanging free outside his breeches. She could see the moist film of sweat gleaming across his muscular chest as he stared around him, searching the empty room.