Master of My Dreams (11 page)

Then she thought of the English captain,
strong, virile and dangerous.

She swallowed hard. Next time, he would not
go easy on her. But getting to America was worth the risk. And in
the meantime, this rebellious crew would protect her.

“Can I go back to the cabin so I can get me
belongin’s?”

“Don’t need to.” Milton Lee stood there,
holding up her bag of Irish mementos. “It’s already been done.”

“And you can borrow one of my gowns,
cherie
,” Delight offered.

Deirdre raised her chin. “Well, then, just
lead the way,” she said and, hugging her arms around her breasts to
preserve her modesty, followed her escorts below.

Chapter 9

Given the ship’s history, the brig of HMS
Bold Marauder
had never been used for its intended purposes,
and indeed, if the vessel’s builders could have seen what it was
being used for now, they would have fainted dead away in shock.

A floor-length mirror was set up against one
bulkhead, bottles of fragrance covered the top of an ornate
dresser, and a beautiful Oriental screen of black lacquer portioned
off a corner of the small room. The cloying scent of exotic French
perfumes choked the air, and a light dusting of powder coated the
deck planking, imbuing it with the scent of lilac, lavender and
rose.

The room was dominated by a
beautifully-dressed bed.

Deirdre wanted nothing more than to flee this
chamber of sin, but she’d gotten herself into this predicament, and
now she could only stand helplessly as Delight, her hands on her
voluptuously curving hips, eyed her up and down while thoughtfully
tapping a nail against the corner of her mouth. Finally, she
nodded, turned, and pulled a stunning velvet gown from the trunk at
the foot of the bed. It had a beauty and elegance about it that the
Irish girl had never before seen in her life.

It was also of a color that Deirdre had never
before
worn
in her life—deep, shocking, blood-red
scarlet.

The shade alone was enough to make her
blush.

“You like,
cherie?"
Delight asked,
tilting her head to one side and smiling.

“I—I can’t be wearin’
that
!”

“Lo, you have the most
delightful
brogue! You’ll just
have
to teach it to me, no? Ah, yes, the
gown. Let’s see what else I have.” Delight tossed the rich garment
over the bed, pawed through her trunk once more, and with an
exclamation of triumph, lifted another, her eyes dancing.

“Aha!”

The blood drained from Deirdre’s face. “I
can’t be wearin’
that,
either,” she cried, shocked. ‘There’s
. . . there’s no
bodice
on it!”

“Oh, there’s a bodice. See? It’s
just—transparent.”

Deirdre hugged her arms to herself. In
comparison, the red gown didn’t look so bad after all. Echoing her
thoughts, Delight tossed the second dress back into the trunk and
grinned. “These two are my most . . . modest, honey. Personally,
with that black hair and white skin of yours, I think you’d look
devastating in the scarlet.”

The scarlet it was. Moments later, Deirdre
found herself wrapped in the sinful, wickedly seductive gown as
Delight, with a needle and thread, took in the bodice to
accommodate Deirdre’s significantly smaller bosom. At last she
stood back, and clapped her hands in glee. “Aah, you look
magnifique
—here, have a look!” she cried, and hauled Deirdre
to the mirror.

Deirdre’s mouth gaped open. Never had she
worn, or expected to wear, such a beautiful gown in her life. Its
color was a striking complement to her black, wildly curling hair,
setting off the fine translucency of her skin just as Delight had
predicted it would. The neckline was cut shockingly low, lifting
and flaunting her breasts; the waist was tightly nipped, flattering
her already tiny waist. In style, design, and color, it was not a
dress that any respectable woman would wear, and thoughts of being
seen in it brought the blood flooding back to Deirdre’s cheeks.

Thoughts of the Lord and Master seeing her in
it deepened that blush to a scalding crimson.

“Aah, you will melt our handsome Ice Captain
for sure with this,
cherie!
Perhaps your hair should be up .
. . no, no, let’s leave it down. Oh, this is great fun. I never
dreamed such a dreary passage might have such wonderful
possibilities! And look at you.” She lifted one of Deirdre’s
spiraling curls. “Aah, to have hair like that! And that cross you
wear is the
perfect
complement to your loveliness, rather
pagan, just like you, no? Wherever did you get it?”

“It belonged to my grandmother,” Deirdre
said, “who lived some two hundred years ago. She was a pirate
queen.”

“A pirate queen?”

“Aye. Grace O’Malley,” Deirdre said
proudly.

“Do forgive me, sweetie, but I’ve never heard
of her. The only pirate queen
we’ve
ever had is Anne
Bonney.”

“Where in France was she from?”

“France?” The vivacious Delight threw back
her head and laughed, her voice full-throated and gleeful.
“Sweetie, I’m
American.
French by marriage, and a short and
unhappy one at that, but widowed now these many months and now, on
my way back home to live once again”—she gave a theatrical sigh—
“with my parents.”

Deirdre stared at her, confused.

“Ye’re not French?”

“Nay, and I’m no courtesan, either, though I
am
trying to hone my skills as one. Don’t look so shocked,
cherie
! The French are the world’s greatest lovers—where
else would I learn the best ways to pleasure a man? It’s all in the
technique, sweetie, getting a man’s body to harden with passion and
respond to you with all the lust of an untamed stallion.”

Deirdre was shocked into speechlessness.

“My parents expected me to sail home to
America months ago, but you see, I wanted to stay in France for a
while longer to further my
education
.” Delight touched her
generous bosom and affected a stern look that was totally out of
character with her vivacious behavior. “Such scandalous ambitions
would never be tolerated back home, and certainly not by
my
papa! In fact, if he had known what I’ve been up to these past many
months, he would’ve moved heaven and earth to drag me back!”

“And what were you up to?” Deirdre asked,
certain that she didn’t want to know.

“Why, learning how to seduce and net me the
Irish Pirate.”

“The . . . Irish Pirate?”

Delight cast her eyes heavenward and touched
her heart. “Aah,
there
is a
man!
A hero back home,
you know, and the sooner I can get him into my bed, the better
chance I have of winning him for myself! Hair as black as yours and
a face to die for . . . like our Lord and Master’s, no? Once, when
I was a girl of eighteen, he kissed me . . . but I was
inexperienced, clumsy, and not enough woman for him. Well, no more!
Now, he won’t be able to resist me! I went to Paris to learn my
skills as a
woman,
to London to learn my skills as a
lady,
and to Portsmouth to practice everything I’d learned
on some of the most notoriously wicked and wonderfully lusty seamen
on the planet! And we all
know
that there is no one more
lusty than a sailor, no? Aah, it sets my hot blood on fire just to
think about it!”

Deirdre’s head was reeling.

“Lo, I simply can’t
wait
for this
voyage to begin! Just think, Deirdre, I’ve a whole ship of sailors
to practice my new skills on before I get home.
This
time,
when I get my claws into the Irish Pirate, he won’t be able to
resist me. And these past years of living in France have given me a
perfect accent. Do you like it? I’ve worked so hard at perfecting
it. Men just
love
this throaty, nasal sound, and if you
lower your voice to a whisper—like
this
—and touch your man a
lot while talking to him and stripping him with your eyes, why,
it’ll just set him on fire! The combination is lethal!”

Deirdre was at a loss for words. Her
thoughts, unfortunately, were not so impaired. Unbidden, Captain
Lord’s handsome face flashed before her eyes and she found herself
blushing once more. Then she thought of Delight, practicing her
skills
on him, and she felt a stab of something that was
dark, ugly, and not at all pleasant.

That
something
dismayed her greatly,
for she instantly recognized it for what it was.

Jealousy.

Totally unwarranted, of course, but there it
was.

“What are ye goin’ to do when the captain . .
. finds out ye’re aboard?”

Delight laughed, her voice rich and sultry.
“Oh, I have a few things in mind,
cherie!
But till then, I
doubt I’ll have a problem hiding myself away from him . . . Ah, too
involved in his own affairs is our handsome commander, no?”
Laughing gaily, she hooked her arm through Deirdre’s and guided her
to the door. “Now, you go find one of the lieutenants and get
yourself hidden away somewhere. We’ll be weighing soon, and you
need to be out of sight!”

###

Topside, Captain Lord was just coming on deck
to take command of His Majesty’s frigate
Bold Marauder.

Dawn was a new visitor to the day, touching
the harbor with pale salmon light. It reflected itself in a million
little diamonds over the water’s surface as the cold wind arrived
with it. But the frigate’s crew was heedless of the dawn. They were
too busy staring at the Lord and Master.

With no outward sign of the injury that had
felled him earlier, he looked terribly proper, well groomed, and
the epitome of what a naval officer should be. His uniform was
meticulously clean, the gold buttons and gilded lace bright in the
early sunlight. His periwig was carefully rolled and tied beneath
his cocked hat, and his face was freshly shaved. His coat was as
blue as the ocean, and his waistcoat, breeches, and stockings were
whiter than sea foam.

“
Holy Moses,
” Skunk muttered,
exchanging puzzled glances with Rhodes.

No emotion touched the hard set of the
captain’s mouth, nor softened the harsh lines of his face, and the
expression in his eyes was guardedly aloof. He made a quick tour of
the decks, checking the rigging, the furled sails, the guns lashed
in double rows along the frigate’s sides. Mounting the stairs to
the quarterdeck, he solemnly doffed his hat, then strode abruptly
to the helm, where Wenham stood beside the wheel, the tips of his
jutting ears already red with cold.

Wenham’s shocked gaze roved his captain’s
face. “Er, how ye feeling this morning, sir?”

“Fine and proper, thank you, Mr. Wenham. We
shall be getting under way shortly, so please see to it that
Bold Marauder
does us proud this day.”

On the gun deck below, Skunk and Rhodes
swapped puzzled glances. Aside from a tiredness around his eyes and
a slight swelling on his cheek, their commanding officer looked
right as rain.

“Now what?” Elwin hissed from the rail.

“Shut up and look busy, else ye rouse his
suspicions. He’ll be lookin’ for the girl soon enough,” snapped
Rhodes.

“Why would he? He gave the order for you to
put her ashore.”

Rhodes just smirked and caught the eye of
several nearby seamen, who also were hard pressed to contain their
guffaws.

But the Lord and Master seemed more concerned
about his frigate than he did about the hellion who’d laid him out
cold on the deck of his own cabin. He glanced up at the
wind-whipped pennant, then at the feral-faced midshipman, Hibbert,
standing faithfully beside Wenham.

The middie’s uniform was stained and filthy,
as if it had never been washed. Christian eyed it flatly, then
pulled out a chart tucked near the binnacle.

“I trust you have another uniform, Mr.
Hibbert?”

“Several.” The youth’s tone was impertinent,
his eyes challenging, for he hadn’t recognized the dangerous, silky
tone of his captain’s words. “Down in my sea chest . . .
sir
.”

The tone in which he said the last word was
as insulting as if he hadn’t used the respectful form of address at
all, and the boy, snickering, glanced slyly at Skunk for
approval.

Christian was still unrolling the chart, his
gaze moving over it. “Then pray, go change out of those rags and
into something clean, and report back to me immediately.” He looked
up, his eyes now cold and angry. “By God, this is a king’s ship,
damn you. Take some pride in that fact—and in yourself, for that
matter!”

He looked back down at the chart. “Mr.
Rhodes? A moment, please.”

The second lieutenant, very aware of the
suddenly anxious looks of his shipmates, strode to the helm. He
touched his hat. “Sir?”

“That—
Irishwoman
.” The Lord and Master
did not look up. “Did you see her safely ashore this morning?”

“Aye, sir,” Rhodes lied, without the
slightest twitch of an eyelid.

“Very well, then.” The captain ran his finger
over the chart, his hat casting the paper in shadow. “Go forward
and take charge of the capstan, please. And, Mr. MacDuff? I would
like you to man the mizzenmast with those who are the least
nimble—the older fellows, the new recruits, and, of course”—he
grinned fleetingly—“the terrified. There is also a sloppily coiled
line on the gun deck that is sure to foul itself. See to it,
please.”

Ian bobbed his head and rushed away, but his
companions were not so genial. Out of the corner of his eye
Christian could see them gathering in groups, muttering amongst
themselves and casting rebellious glances his way. Towering over
the lot of the buggers was Arthur Teach.

Christian marked his place on the chart and
glanced up, his gaze steady and unwavering as he met the hostile
eyes of the big seaman. “Mr. Teach? We are not in engagement with
an enemy. Therefore, I see no need for three pistols, five knives,
a cutlass, and”—his eyes narrowed and he lost his place on the
chart—“pray, what
is
that ghastly thing you are
carrying?”

Without warning, that “ghastly thing” came
hurtling through the air with vicious intent. The Lord and Master
ducked a moment before the tomahawk would’ve taken off his head,
and the weapon slammed into the mizzenmast behind him.

The ship went dangerously, ominously, still.
Even the gulls overhead fell silent.

“Jesus,” someone whispered.