Pirate Wolf Trilogy (15 page)

An odd look
came over his face and before she had a chance to respond to his
mockery, he stared back down, not at the painting so much as at the
precisely rendered depiction of a swan in the lower corner. The
first day, her father had referred to her as his little black swan,
but the significance of the endearment came clear to him only
now.

“
You,” he
said sharply, his eyes sparking with genuine astonishment. “You
are
the
Black Swan?”
He looked down again, cursing his own lack of perception, for he
had seen some of the other charts in her cabin and not made the
connection. It was some small consolation to know that few of the
other sea hawks would have guessed the Black Swan to be a woman,
for her charts and maps were highly sought after and graced the
cabins of many famous ships. He had himself been outbid on a chart
of the Azores, the shoals depicted with such an expert eye, he had
looked closer to see if there were fish in the water.

He would be
damned if he told her that, of course, but he allowed some grudging
interest in her training.

“Where did you
apprentice?”

“
I
didn’t. I used to copy maps from Father’s study. He had a copy
of
Theatrum
Orbis—”

“—
Terrarum”
he
finished for her. “Are you saying you learned how to do this from
copying paintings out of a book? No one stood over your shoulder to
guide your hand? No one taught you the techniques and
methods?”

Beau’s cheeks
were warming uncomfortably. “No. I had no time for such
frippery.”

“
Frippery,” he mused, and looked down again. “In that case,
’Tis a pity no one thought to salvage some of the master charts off
the
Virago.
Many of
them were works of art, painted by the hands of Mercator and
Wagenaer. You could have made good use of such … frippery—not that
I can see much room for improvement.”

Beau
experienced another rush of discomfort. “As it happens…”

“Yes?”

The silver-blue
eyes were penetratingly direct and they stalled the response in her
throat long enough for her to suffer a distinct, warming flutter in
the pit of her stomach.

“I—I did see
them crushed beneath a pile of books on the floor, and I
thought…”

The blue flecks
danced with an odd light. “And you thought it would be a waste to
leave them behind?”

“Well, it would
have. And you did tell me I could take anything I wanted.”

“I did indeed.
But I rather thought you had your sights set on the jewels.”

She
squared her shoulders. “I have no need for jewels. The maps were
more valuable to me, and I took them. I did not
steal
them, however. There was heavy damage to some and
I was intending to repair them, and perhaps copy them, before
giving them back to you.”

His attention,
which had begun to stray rather disarmingly over her hair, the
slender arch of her throat, the bloom of color in her cheeks,
focused intently on her eyes again. “How very honorable of you …
Beau. I, too, would have placed a higher value on the charts than I
would on a cask of jewels, although it would be my pleasure to make
you a gift of them anyway. Both the charts and the jewels.”

“I told you, I
have no need for jewels.”

“Then I shall
give them to your father, as payment for his hospitality.”

Standing so
close, she was more aware than ever of his imposing height and of
the shocking breadth of his shoulders. He wore the billowing white
shirt, still unlaced and left carelessly open over the solid
bronzed expanse of his chest. His hose were clean and made of wool
woven to so fine a fit, they looked as if they had been painted on,
and it did not require much strain to her imagination to remember
how he had appeared naked and sprawled on her bed. The sight of his
powerful physique had struck her with the chill of speechlessness
then; his nearness was having the same effect now, and she took a
precautionary step back, making it seem as casual as she could.

“Have you no
one of your own who would appreciate such a gift? A wife? Children?
Family?”

Dante regarded
her warily for a moment, wondering if she was genuinely ignorant or
just attempting to pry. There were times he did not think there was
a soul alive in all of England or France who did not know about his
personal life. About his wife. About the parade of lovers she had
taken to amuse her while he was away at sea.

“
I had an
older brother,” he said at length. “But Giles died before he could
have any heirs of his own to pass on the family name and fortune.
It was an unfortunate turn of fate, for he was much better suited
to assume the titles and responsibilities. As for a wife, I had one
once, when I was young and stupid and too blinded by my own
ignorance to see that all she wanted
was
the family titles and responsibilities. And perhaps a warm
body in her bed now and then … though God forbid that warm body
should necessarily be the
same
warm body each time. No, mam’selle, I am as you see me.
Accountable to no one but myself and quite content to remain this
way.”

It was not
difficult to understand how the staid, socially regimented life of
a nobleman could stifle a man like Simon Dante, although it was
somewhat more difficult to imagine a woman tossing him out of her
bed for another.

The abruptness
of the thought startled Beau and she reddened slightly. “So … you
are content living the life of a pirate?”

Dante gave his
shoulders a careless shrug. “I am content living a life that is my
own, being accountable to no one. I sincerely tried being the Comte
de Tourville for a while but it gave me very little pleasure. Even
now, I have a flock of gray-cloaked bankers and managers who chase
after me constantly with crates of documents, letters, and ledgers
to approve or disapprove—it drives the account-keepers apoplectic
when I am away at sea for any great length of time. But for the
most part they are all dry, cold men who do not understand the soul
of an adventurer, and I think they are quite content to serve me
from a distance.

“It was much
the same for my wife. She managed to spend my money well enough,
and act the part of regal chatelaine to an excess of praise, but
for all her charm and beauty—and I will admit she was an exquisite
creature— she had no soul whatsoever.”

“Surely you
must have felt affection for her at one time?”

More than
a hint of cynicism crept into the thin smile that curved his lips.
“Why would you suppose that? Marriages, especially those for whom
the proper bloodlines are considered paramount to all else, are
never based on affection,
ma pauvre innocente.
They are based on greed and power and ambition.
God save the man who expects love, passion, and
loyalty.”

He sounded
bitter enough to refute his own words and Beau suspected he must
have loved his wife very much indeed. So much so, he had not yet
recovered from her betrayal and used his anger against her as a
weapon against others. Or a shield. He was, in fact, proving to
have many shields and cloaks. He had the demeanor of an aristocrat
when he wanted to call on it, the character of a pirate when he
needed to use it, and a body that emanated a dangerous combination
of elegance and savagery—a combination that sent warning chills up
and down her spine even as he tilted his head to one side, trying
to read her thoughts.

“And you,
mam’selle? Have you no regrets for a path not taken? What brings
you to this point, this place in time? Why are you not swathed in
satins and silks, sipping chocolate from tiny porcelain cups, and
discussing the newest court scandal?”

Beau grimaced.
“Court scandals have never interested me. And one can hardly climb
rigging and set sails in a skirt and farthingale.”

His eyes
gleamed with shared amusement and he let his gaze drift downward,
seeming to measure every curve and indentation of her body,
lingering so long in places, Beau could have sworn it was his
hands, not his eyes, causing her skin to react so alarmingly.

“No,” he mused.
“I suppose one could not. But my question had to do with why you
were here climbing rigging and setting sails in the first place,
You have no brothers, no sisters? No … husband, or expectations
thereof?”

“It is doubtful
a husband would be content to sit at home by the hearth fire while
I sailed away to sea.”

“That would
depend a great deal on the husband, would it not? Have you given
any stout-hearted lads a fair chance?”

“I have no use
or need for a husband,” she insisted. “Therefore no use or need to
give any of them a chance.”

“Them? So there
have been candidates willing to attempt a breach in that formidable
armor you wear?”

Beau looked
down at her hands. She had no idea how the conversation had turned
to such things and even less idea why she was tolerating any of it.
Or him, for that matter, and she turned her attention back to her
charts.

“
There is
only my father and myself … and the
Egret
,” she said crisply. “And we are quite happy to keep it
that way. Now, if you don’t mind, Captain, I have work to do. You
will have to excuse me.”

“We seem to
making good speed,” he observed, ignoring her request.

“You sound
surprised.”

He brought his
gaze back from the horizon and weighed the depth of pride
tightening her features against his own dislike of making apologies
to anyone, deserving or not.

“Forgive me if
I have misjudged the character of your ship,” he said. “It was,
perhaps, a judgment made in haste.”

The tiger eyes
were waiting expectantly, but he only nodded at the astrolabe and
added, “You have taken your noon reading? I would be more than
pleased to assist.”

“Spit has
already done so, but … thank you anyway.”

“He seems like
an efficient fellow, despite his rather brusque habit of speaking
precisely what is on his mind.”

“You find
honesty disconcerting?”

“Not in the
least. Just unusual in that there appear to be a large percentage
of forthright-speaking members among your crew.”

“My father is
rarely so arrogant as to assume he has absolute knowledge of all
things,” she said, choosing her words with the same care he had
shown. “Most times, he encourages his crew to say what is on their
minds, thus avoiding sullenness and dissent.”

“An admirable
policy. Does it hold true in battle?”

She looked him
straight in the eye. “I said most times, Captain. In battle there
is no discussion, no room for arrogance or dissent. The men follow
Spence’s orders without question or hesitation or they know they
have earned themselves a dozen or so lashes of the cat.”

The muscles in
Dante’s jaw clenched noticeably. He knew the taunt was deliberate
and his eyes gleamed at her boldness. “In my case,” he said
quietly, “it was not my arrogance that won me my stripes, but my
misfortune in serving on a ship whose captain was too cowardly to
give any orders at all, and surrendered, without firing a single
shot, to a Spanish raider. Those of us who survived the trials of
the auto-da-fé—a warm little gathering hosted by members of the
Holy Inquisition—were then sentenced to serve out the rest of our
lives chained to the oars of a galleass.”

“You were a
galley slave?” she asked, startled.

“For nearly
seven months. Lashings were part of the daily routine, whether we
were sullen or not.”

“I’m … sorry. I
did not mean to pry.”

“Yes you did.
You just didn’t do it very well. In future, if you want to ask me
something, just ask.”

He turned and
was about to leave the deck when Beau blurted, “Very well: How did
you escape?”

He stopped and
took a moment to reset the rigid line of his jaw. When he glanced
back, it looked, at first, as if he were going to take off her head
instead of answering, but then he saw the cool defiance in her eyes
and had cause to remind himself again that she was not a woman
easily subjugated by authority. A challenge given was a challenge
accepted, however minor.

“As it
happened, the captain-general of the galleass was cruel and
incompetent and not very well liked by his officers. One of the
younger ones, on board for his first voyage, dared to challenge the
harshness of some of the punishments we received and, for his
trouble, spent a week chained to the oar beside me.”

“You befriended
him?”

“Hell, no. He
was weak and foolish; when he wasn’t weeping like a child, he was
praying incessantly for our salvation. I hated the bastard as much
at the end of the week as I had at the beginning and probably more
so because I knew, for all his bawling and keening, he would get to
see sunlight again, whereas all I could expect was death and
rats—with death being preferable. I must have conveyed my wishes in
some way, for they began to use me to demonstrate the proper method
of applying the lash to cause the most pain. The same foolish young
officer crept below one night, hoping to convert me to the One True
Faith while there was still time to save my soul. The man beside me
was able to hook an arm around his throat and choke him, and we
used his crucifix to break the lock on our chains. A dozen or so of
us managed to fight our way up on deck and jump over the side.
Luckily we were passing close enough to an island to swim for it,
but because I was in pretty bad shape, Lucifer had to haul me on
his back most of the way.”

“Lucifer?”

“Aye.” A black
eyebrow arched sardonically. “He is really a very likable fellow,
once you get to know him.”