Chance the Winds of Fortune (66 page)

“Would you like to see our treasure?” he invited Rhea and guided her over to a chest that had been dragged free of the wreck, its warped wood having given way to the blade of an ax, which had freed its contents of gold and silver coins that now lay scattered in the sand.

“'Tis a fortune, m'lady!” Fitzsimmons chuckled, rubbing his hands together as he eyed the chest of coins that would change his future. “Ah, m'lady, I'm thinkin' them violet eyes of yours have brought us good fortune!”

“We have already found several gold ingots, and there are more chests full of these newly minted coins,” Dante said, his gaze narrowed as he watched his crew scrambling over the wreck. “As soon as their excitement levels off, we shall have to go about this in a bit more orderly fashion,” Dante told Alastair, who had approached with an armful of artifacts.

“Found these in the stern. Must be from some rich passenger's cabin, or maybe the captain's,” he told them, holding out a corroded pistol, its barrel eaten away by the sea. “Here's some silverware and a golden cross. 'Tis incredible to think that these once belonged to some Spanish captain, or grandee, perhaps,” Alastair said with a shake of his head, obviously awed by the wreck and the memories buried with it.

Conny came running up, his hands full of golden coins. “Lady Rhea! We're rich! We've found the treasure!” he cried, his face full of excitement and adventure as he raced off again to explore further treasures.

Rhea stood for a while watching the salvaging, which Dante had finally managed to make orderly. All of the chests were being disgorged from the ship's hold and placed in neat rows along the beach, while Alastair started to compile a list of the contents—anything that was tossed to shore. Later, there would be an equal division of the treasure from the sunken Spanish galleon.

As the day passed, noontime coming and going, early afternoon drifting into lengthening shadows, Rhea made herself useful by aiding Kirby in his preparations for supper; then she helped Alastair in the detailing of items, rinsing off crystal goblets and decanters that had somehow survived the destruction of the galleon in the hurricane. But most of her day was spent commenting on the different items brought to her for her inspection by each crew member, and listening to each man's dream of what he would do with his share of the recovered treasure.

Rhea saw little of Dante, for he supervised and worked alongside his men the whole day. Finally, when Kirby was returning to the
Sea Dragon
to pack a hamper to carry back to shore, Rhea returned with him. The crew would be celebrating on the shore tonight, cooking their food over open fires as they talked, laughed, sang, and danced in a nightlong celebration of their success as treasure hunters.

“Kirby,” Rhea said suddenly, glancing at her grubby hands as she pushed a straggling curl off her cheek.

“Yes, m'lady?” the little steward replied as he rowed toward the
Sea Dragon
, which was looming out of the water before them.

“I feel so grimy I can scarcely stand to touch myself. If we are going to have a proper celebration tonight, then I want to feel clean. Will you let me fetch my soap, then row me across the cove where I can bathe in privacy?” she asked.

“Aye, m'lady, 'twill be me pleasure, only wish some of them others were so inclined,” he said with a grin. “You wait here, and I'll get ye things fer ye, then ye'll be able to have a minute to yourself. Ye've worked like one o' the crew today, m'lady,” he said, having seen that day she'd never lazed around, and had always been willing to lend a helping hand to someone.

After collecting her toiletries for her and rowing her across the cove, Kirby beached the gig and told her, “I'll be back fer ye in about an hour, all right? 'Twill take me that long to get my preparations for the feast.”

“That will be perfect,” Rhea said. Then, as she turned away, she heard the gentle stroke of the oars splashing into the water as he made his way back to the
Sea Dragon
.

Rhea sighed in pleasure at having the beach to herself. The sun was still well above the horizon as she walked along the hot sands. The low-lying scrub and palms shielded her from the distant shore at the other end of the cove as she wandered around the gentle bend that formed a secluded little bathing lagoon, which had a sandy bottom that was visible through the still, crystal waters.

Rhea quickly slipped out of her clothes, leaving them in a neat pile on the sand; then she waded into the warm waters of the lagoon, her bar of soap grasped firmly in her fingers. Soon, she was floating dreamily under the blue skies, her bare legs paddling her through the shallows.

She closed her eyes and drifted, thinking of nothing, not even time, as she let the gently lapping waters soothe away all of her cares. She opened her eyes with a start when she felt a chill in the water, and glancing at the sky, was surprised to find it a dark golden color that became bronze at the horizon, where the sun, a molten ball of fire, was fast sinking. Rhea splashed in the shadowed waters, rubbing the soap into a lather as she cleansed her skin free of any remaining traces of grime. She dipped beneath the surface and wet all of her hair, then began the tedious operation of sudsing its long, heavy length. She would have to hurry, she thought, dunking beneath the surface, or the little steward might grow worried and come searching for her.

* * *

Dante followed the single trail of footprints around the bend in the beach. There was a concerned expression on his face as he traced Rhea's path, for he had been waiting at the gig for well over fifteen minutes, and finally, when there had been no answer to his calls, he had decided to search for her.

Eventually he came upon the neat pile of clothes stacked along the water's edge. His hand lingered against the corset and chemise as he moved the pile to a safer distance from the rising tide, his eyes narrowed against the glare from the water as he searched for her in the stillness of the lagoon.

Suddenly he saw a splash, then a flash of pale gold against the surface, and he automatically stepped back beneath some palms that stood guard over the pool. He didn't have long to wait, for Rhea soon came walking out of the sea as if she had been born in it. Her slender body was glistening and she seemed an ethereal creature of gold and ivory; yet, at the same time, with the golden red sunset behind her, she seemed a natural part of this wild, primitive shore.

She was beautiful, Dante thought, gazing at her exquisitely shaped, uptilted breasts. Their pink areolas surrounded erect nipples that were like the hearts of flowers, and her waist was so tiny that he knew his hands could easily encompass it. Her hips were narrow, framing a flat, taut belly, and his eyes caressed the small area nestling between thigh and hip. Her thighs were slender, with smooth, tapering lines.

Like an amber cloak, her hair hung damply over one shoulder, the long strands curling down around her hips. He had not wanted to frighten her and had scarcely dared to breathe for fear of drawing her attention or causing her instinctively to cover herself when she caught him gazing at her naked body. Now, that same instinct warned her that she was not alone, for suddenly she halted, looking around warily. Her eyes widened as he stepped from the shadows, but instead of the angry, embarrassed reaction he had been expecting, she continued to stand there in the sand, the tide lapping around her bare feet.

He felt stunned, for rather than covering herself up, she faced him boldly, her face flushed rosily and a shyness in her violet eyes. But there was no shame, no coyness, as her gaze began to mirror the yet-to-be-satisfied passions smoldering in his gray eyes.

She remained still while he took his first few steps toward her. Then he was standing before her, his gaze roaming freely over her gold-tinted body. His heart was pounding so loudly that it sounded like the ocean's roar racing through his veins.

Tentatively, he stretched out his hand, giving her time to reject him if she so wished, but still she continued to stand there, unmoving, waiting.

Dante's hand touched her breast, his thumb rubbing against the taut nipple, teasing it into an even higher peak, while his other hand slid around her waist, fitting easily to its curve as he pulled her with gentle persuasion against his chest, folding her closer until their bodies met at hip and thigh.

Rhea sighed in relief as Dante's mouth closed over hers. She parted her lips, meeting his kiss completely as his tongue touched hers, felt it, tasted it.

“Rhea, sweet, sweet Rhea,” Dante murmured, his voice husky and thick with passion as his hands caressed her soft, scented body, bared for him.

With a groan he picked her up in his arms and carried her out of the water, touching her feet to the sand that was still warm from the sun's kiss. And there, before her eyes, he undressed, baring himself to her, standing tall and muscularly lean. His wide chest, sculpted with sleek, sun-golden muscles, tapered to flat hips and a manhood bold with the passion that had yet to be met by her woman's body.

He spread his shirt over the sand, then took her in his arms, holding her against him, drowning in the feel of their flesh touching, warming with the contact, until he seemed to burn where his skin met hers. Cradling her in his arms, Dante knelt on his outspread shirt, laying her flat against the cushioned sand before he lay down beside her.

His lips covered her delicate-boned face in feathery kisses, leaving no area untouched, for he wanted to possess her completely, with no secrets between them. His lips finally contented themselves with hers, licking at them, nibbling, seeking the response from her that was slowly burning deep inside of her.

His mouth sought the lovely arching of her throat, while his hands fondled her boldly yet gently as they discovered anew the woman who had been haunting his dreams since first he'd met her.

Now he felt her hands moving in a shy exploration of his body; encouraging her, he took her hand and guided it to him, letting her feel what power she had over him. He groaned with pleasure as he felt her touching him so intimately, and unable to bear it any longer he rolled her beneath him, his lips fastening on her breast as his tongue caressed the rising softness into hardness. Meanwhile, his hands moving over her body continued to fire her blood, until she was burning feverishly, kissing him hungrily, her small hands caressing him, until finally he pressed her into the sand with his hips hard against hers. Then her slender thighs had parted beneath the persistent pressure of his, and he was becoming a part of her flesh, feeling her close around him as he thrust deeply inside her. He felt her initial start of surprise, then the quiver of pain as he drove deeper, and slowing his passion, he waited, kissing her, fondling her, until he felt a throbbing desire against him, and her hips began to move of their own volition, no longer needing the guidance of his hands beneath her soft buttocks.

Rhea cried out softly, feeling her senses turning into flame as Dante's body moved against hers, his hips joining her to his heated flesh as he continued to carry her with him to unbelievable heights of sensual pleasure. The world exploded inside her head as she felt him move inside her, driving her wild with his hard touch as he planted his seed deep within a nurturing place and ignited an undying flame of desire and love for him that would guide the rest of her life.

* * *

The
Sea Dragon
's sails had been loosed to catch the breeze and her anchor had been hoisted as her crew was sent aloft to trim the sails. There was, as well, a lookout keeping an ever-vigilant watch for a strange sail on the horizon. The ship had caught the Gulf Stream off the coast of Florida and had let that strong current carry her ever northward. They had dropped anchor only once, in New Providence, and that had been a brief overnight stay, allowing them to take on fresh water and provisions before continuing on their journey. This time it was to be a far longer journey, for they were London-bound.

The crew of the
Sea Dragon
would stay with their captain until docking for that last time in the Thames; then each would go his own separate way, his share of the treasure carefully banked, or invested, or spent.

Once, a set of sails had been sighted on the horizon, and MacDonald had sworn that her mainmast was flying a tartan flag, but the
Sea Dragon
was not to be outsailed by Bertie Mackay's
Annie Jeanne
and her crew of cutthroats, and soon the genial smuggler's brig had fallen well astern.

Rhea Claire was standing beside Dante on the quarterdeck when they heard what they had dreaded—a cry aloft.

“Sail on the larboard bow!”

Longacres was climbing like a monkey into the shrouds, a spyglass tucked like a cutlass in his wide belt. Positioning himself, he trained the glass on the horizon and tried to identify the ship beating to windward as she bore down on them. Her intention was clear as she maneuvered toward them.

“'Tis a king's ship flying English colors! A sloop by the looks o' her.”

“Can you make her?” Dante asked the Scotsman and handed him another glass.

Endless minutes passed as the two vessels drew ever closer. “Aye, 'tis a king's ship right enough. Looks like”—MacDonald's words came slowly—“aye, 'tis HMS
Portcullis
, and she's signaling us.”

The captain of the
Sea Dragon
narrowed his gaze as he speculated on why the captain of HMS
Portcullis
should wish to come alongside. Had it been any other ship, under the command of any other captain, Dante would have sheered off and there would have been no crossing of bows. But he knew Sir Morgan Lloyd, and that was enough for him to give the order to bring-to the
Sea Dragon
and prepare for the captain of HMS
Portcullis
to come aboard.

Captain Sir Morgan Lloyd boarded the
Sea Dragon
, feeling very much as if he had just walked into an enemy camp, for the eyes of the crew were trained on him as he made his way toward the companion steps, where Dante was awaiting him.