Brazen Temptress (7 page)

"The Lord Admiral. Your good friend, your champion, your sponsor. Now, there's a fellow who could stand to see some justice."

"I don't know what you mean," she repeated, unwilling to say anything more, to give him any more information than what he had obviously already gathered.

"I don't suppose you do. Have you ever asked him about your father?"

"My father? What has he to do with the Lord Admiral?"

"They sailed together. As boys. And then in the same squadron as captains."

The music swelled, and they were separated by other couples. When they came back together, she shook her head at him. "My father never sailed with the British navy."

Julien studied her. "You don't know." His voice was a mixture of incredulity and wonder. "He never told you."

"Perhaps it was because you killed him before he had time to." For a second she could have sworn he flinched with something akin to guilt, but she told herself it was only a wild hope.

As if Julien de Ryes ever felt anything akin to guilt for his nefarious deeds.

"It's just that," he said, almost to himself, "I find it amazing no one ever told you."

She knew he was stalling, trying to distract her from carrying out her plans, but her curiosity prodded her to ask, "Told me what?"

"Your father was a captain in the British navy, long before you were born. He was betrayed by one of his fellow officers, charges were trumped up, and he was court-martialed."

Again she shook her head. "That isn't true. He would have told me."

"It is true. But what should concern you at the moment is who betrayed him."

She laughed, as if he'd just offered some outrageously flirtatious compliment. "First I'll deal with his murderer, then I'll worry about the minor offenses."

For a few more movements, they said nothing to each other. The dance was starting to wind down, and soon she would be rid of him.

In more ways than one.

Julien broke the silence by saying, "The Lord Admiral must have something on you. You wouldn't be in London for any other reason." His gaze searched her face with such intensity that she looked away.

"I think seeing you hang is reason enough."

"Must be, to get you into a dress," he joked. When she glanced back at him, he told her, "No, Reenie, you're lying. There's more to this than meets the eye. I saw you enter the room; I saw your face when you spotted him. He is no friend and no ally. Whatever he's promised you, don't trust him."

"You don't know what you are talking about. Do you think your lies will distract me?"

"Distract you? I'm trying to save you. If you turn me in now, I won't be able to help. Let me fix whatever is wrong, and then you can betray me. I owe you that much."

The sincerity of his words trailed along on the last notes of the dance, stopping her for a moment.

As the couples began milling apart, Julien faced her. "Don't trust him, Reenie. Your father did, and it nearly cost him his life. I won't have that happen to you."

"You're lying," she said.

"No, I can prove it." He ran his hand through his hair, a movement that used to tug at her heart. "Ask yourself, Reenie, how did an Irish-born pirate like your father meet an English lady like your mother? Don't look at me like that; I remember everything you told me about yourself, your family. You told me yourself your mother was highborn. Well, your father was as well, and English to boot, no matter what type of Irish malarkey he tried to pass off. Ask that aunt of yours, the one you lived with. She'll tell you the truth."

He glanced over to where the Lord Admiral was now approaching them like a frigate under full sail. "But whatever you do, don't trust that man. It won't prick his conscience to betray you any more than it did when he consigned your father to life on a prison hulk."

With that he bowed over her hand and then crossed the floor, cutting a smooth course directly for the door.

Her instincts clamored for her to stop him, to call out for the officers the Lord Admiral had planted throughout the room to catch him, but she couldn't.

Everything about him called to a place in her heart she'd thought safe from ever seeing the light of day again. His stance, the throw of his shoulders, his very gait ...

Maureen turned her gaze from de Ryes, torn between the past and the present and everything she loved.

How was it that no one else had seen or questioned the rolling movement in his motions? The commanding bearing he lent his fussy London clothes? Or the hawkish way he watched the horizon, even if it was only the far wall of Almack's? His very presence screamed of the sea, of a man who'd lived through battle and survived, who'd ridden through a hurricane, who knew how to chart a course with nothing more than his eyes and instincts.

But then again, she was surrounded by fools. Dancing, prancing, pretentious fools hiding behind their own fragile facades.

Herself included.

"Well, have you seen him?" the Lord Admiral demanded. "I'm not paying for all this for you to start husband-hunting. I want you to find de Ryes."

She glanced over at him. His disparaging tone did nothing to improve her humor. So instead of answering him directly, she said, "I thought I would be able to see more of the crowd from the dance floor."

"Harumph," he snorted, taking her by the arm and leading her back toward Lady Mary. "Your behavior out there looked more like that of a Thames-side doxy. Remember, you are supposed to be a lady, but I doubt even Lady Mary could instill that in the likes of you. That comes with breeding, and don't forget it."

"I won't," she said, bristling at his reproach.

"So is he here?" he repeated.

She turned around and faced the man who held her life and the lives of her crew in the balance and, against her better judgment, lied. "No, I haven't."

If at first she didn't regret lying to the Lord Admiral, as she turned and watched Julien meld into the departing crowd and then disappear from sight, she wondered how she'd let herself trust
him
once again, even after everything he'd done to her.

And as the evening progressed, her doubts about letting de Ryes go only grew. She should have known better than to trust him.

Just as she should have known not to fall in love with him in the first place all those years ago.

West Indies
1805

"How long are you going to moon over this railing like a lovesick calf, lassie?"

Maureen looked up to see her father walking toward her. "I'm not mooning," she told him, turning her back to the ship moored alongside them.

"You've been watching him for a fortnight now. And don't shake your pretty head at me; I've seen you. I've also noticed you've taken to washing your face and combing your hair when we have company for dinner."

The
Forgotten Lady
and the
Destiny
sat moored in the quiet bay of an unmapped cay. There had been too many British ships of the line prowling the waterways of late, so they'd taken to this hideaway to wait out the passing patrols. The extra days had given both ships time to make some repairs and time for the crews to get to know each other.

"I would bet that if you were to wear that dress he brought over for you, you would look quite fine tonight," her father said nonchalantly.

"I won't wear a dress for him or any man," she said, scuffing her bare foot across the decking. "If he can't like me for who I am, then I've no use for him."

"So, it's that way, is it?" her father asked, scratching his beard.

"What way is that?"

"You're afraid you'll look foolish in such a fine bit of rigging."

She closed her mouth tight and stalked down the deck away from him. She knew she looked like an indignant cat, but she didn't care.

Leave it to her father to get to the heart of the matter.

It was true, she would look foolish in that dress. She wished wholeheartedly that de Ryes had never given it to her.

Flopping down on a coil of rope, she scowled at the sailors who glanced in her direction. She'd not listen to their teasing. Why, the entire crew knew she had a dress now. It had been five years since she'd worn one. Ever since the damned thing had come aboard, there wasn't a man on the
Forgotten
who hadn't been pestering her to put it on.

As if she could. She'd carefully opened the tissue-wrapped bundle and laid the wretched thing out on her bunk, gawking at the expensive silk and delicate laces, afraid her callused and tar-stained hands would leave snags and smudges all over the fine fabric.

To get away from their amused looks, she climbed to her favorite perch in the rigging, where usually she found a strange peace. This time all she found was her gaze wistfully glancing over at the
Destiny.

Damn de Ryes. How had he gotten so thoroughly under her skin?

No, she corrected herself. Julien. His name was Julien. He'd asked her to call him that the day after they met, but as yet she'd only whispered the intimacy of his Christian name to the wind or in the quiet darkness of her cabin.

She could no more call him Julien to his face than wear the gown he'd chosen for her. She turned her face into the breeze and let the soft Caribbean wind wash over her cheeks and hair.

Oh, it was a terrible muddle.

The fact that the man left her tongue-tied and confused only added to her misery.

She'd sat mutely through most of the dinners her father had hosted for Julien and his officers. It hadn't taken but a few hours in his company to realize that Captain de Ryes was no average sailor. The man had all the telltale markings of a gentleman, the type used to the company of ladies.

Real ladies.

Still, she could have listened to him talk for hours about Paris before the Revolution, of Charleston society, of wealthy Virginia families, of the antics of the London
ton
— subjects that before had held little interest to her.

This was a man who straddled the sea and the ballroom.

She'd tried to do the same once, live in both worlds. At the age of ten her father had marooned her with her Aunt Pettigrew in Greenwich. Until she was fifteen, she'd lived with her aunt, studied music, learned the lessons a lady held dear. But every spare moment she could slip away from her aunt's neat and tidy house, she'd found herself donning her sailor's breeches and jacket and stealing down to the Thames to watch the ships sail past the busy Greenwich docks. Each flap of a sail, each creak of oak, every clank of an anchor left her longing to feel the wind in her hair, the hemp ropes twisting in her hands, and the stinging kiss of salt on her lips.

So when her father had come to visit her after nearly five years, she'd sneaked after him in the wee hours of the morning, climbing aboard the
Forgotten Lady
via the anchor line. And when she was discovered two days later, long after they were well away from the English shore, she'd told her irate parent she would never set foot in England again.

Her home was the sea.

But Julien's life was different. That she knew. And she couldn't help but think there was no room in it for her.

Still, she loved the little attentions he gave her, drawing her into the conversations, asking her questions about sailing, bringing her small presents.

Gifts a man brought a lady.

First it had been a tortoiseshell comb. To hold her hair out of her eyes when she was on lookout duty.

Next came a blue ribbon, which he claimed matched her eyes.

Why a man kept such trinkets about, Maureen could only speculate, but she was sure they were meant to entice a lady into doing unspeakable things.

She'd accepted his gifts and wondered how long she'd have to wait for the unspeakable part.

And a few nights ago, as he'd been about to leave the
Forgotten
after a long evening of dining, drinks, and tall tales, he'd caught her in the passageway, just the two of them.

She had thought, half-hoped, he was going to kiss her right there and then. For she'd spent most of the night staring at his lips and wondering how they would feel pressed to hers.

Instead, he'd grinned and leaned forward until his warm breath caressed her ear. "The next time I come over, I'll bring you a dress," he said. "A dress you can wear for me."

"I won't put it on," she'd told him. And for the first time in her life, she'd even batted her lashes.

He grinned at her, his gaze roaming from the top of her head down to her bare feet. "Yes, you will, Reenie."

"And why would I be doing that?" she'd asked, her heart hammering in her chest, her legs suddenly feeling like the cook's bread pudding — wobbly and not too set.

"Because it is what I want."

"And what about what I might be wanting?"

"Oh, that can be taken care of right now, you little sea witch," he whispered into her ear. And without a moment's hesitation, he'd done exactly what she'd wished and kissed her.

His lips had touched hers almost reverently, the gentle pressure sending shivers down her spine and arms. Her mouth sprang open in a soft sigh, and his arms wound around her neck and waist, pulling her closer to him.

She'd never been kissed before, not like this.

As if he knew, he kept his kiss contained, but she could feel the fire in his blood burning just beneath the surface. He wanted her, and not just for kissing.

The notion startled her, yet she felt her own body melting to his, answering for her untried heart, begging for his touch and kiss.

One of his hands slowly stroked the small of her back, while the other worked its magic at the nape of her neck. He'd pulled the ribbon from her hair, the blue one he'd given her. Her hair, which she'd so carefully arranged, came tumbling down in a wild mess.

She thought to protest but heard the sigh of delight in the back of his throat as he pulled his fingers through the long coils.

She swore right there and then to never tie her hair up again. Not if de Ryes was around.

And just when she thought she could no longer stand the torment of his touch, when she thought she would lose all reason and turn as wanton as any dockside baggage, the door to her father's cabin began to creak open.