Day Dreamer (9 page)

A particularly violent swell sent the room tilting at a sharp angle, forcing her to wait to slip into the nightgown. When she did, the gaping scooped neckline drooped off her shoulders. She tugged up the left side, only to have the right sag until it exposed nearly all of her breast. Finally, after much wriggling and adjusting, she gave up. She put her evening gown away and gingerly sat down on the edge of the bunk with her hands folded in her lap and her knees pressed tight together. She couldn’t take her eyes off the door.

As another rough swell hit the ship, a wave of discomfort forced her to lie down and draw her legs up. Curled up on her side, she tucked the hem of the nightgown over her toes and stared at the wall. The wool blanket felt rough beneath her cheek. She wished she could put off the inevitable, wished that Persa were still alive and they were both safe at home in their little cottage. She longed to wish away the ship’s incessant rocking, the disconcerting sound of creaking timbers and the cloying odor of cigars. Most of all, she wished she were on solid ground and that Cordero Moreau were miles away instead of lurking just outside the door.

At ease with the pitch and roll of the ship beneath him, Cord sat in silence at the dining table, staring up at the darkened skylight above it. Captain Thompson and the other men had long since left him to dwell on his future—not to mention his bride—alone. He had tired of wondering what to expect when they reached Dunstain Place. Nor did he particularly want to think about what he would do once he arrived on St. Stephen. His thoughts were occupied with his dark-haired beauty of a wife, who now claimed to have gypsy blood. If nothing else, she was proving to be highly entertaining. His gaze strayed to the door directly opposite his place at the table. Was she waiting inside with anticipation or dread?

There was only one way to find out.

Cord stood and stepped over the long bench. When he reached the door, he tried the knob and found it locked. He knocked softly. When there was no response, he scanned the saloon. All of the adjoining doors were closed and there was no one in sight.

“Celine. Open the door,” he whispered.

Still no response. He tried again, louder this time, his anger piqued. “Celine?”

Cord heard a slight sound on the other side of the door, and then the bolt snapped. The door swung inward to reveal his bride standing there with one bare foot atop the other, staring up at him with a pained expression on her lovely face. Her hair was in wild disarray, her nightgown drooping off one shoulder. He reached out and pulled the gown up. The opposite shoulder immediately fell.

Celine batted his hand away, reached up and grabbed both sides of the gown’s neckline. A wave of nausea hit her. She wanted nothing more than to lie down again, but with Cord framed in the doorway, his ice blue eyes assessing her as if she were a ripe peach ready for the picking, she decided against it.

“Are you going to let me in or not?” He thought she might be rooted to the spot, capable of little but staring.

Still clinging to the gown, she stepped back. As he moved past her, she was careful to keep her bare toes away from his heavy boots. He glanced at the bed and saw that it was still made up.

“I see you waited up for me,” he said.

She held on to the doorknob for dear life.

The ship listed to one side and quickly righted itself again.

“Are we going to sink?” she whimpered, not caring if he saw her fear. The recollection of her mother’s body disappearing beneath the waves flashed through her mind.

“Not before morning.”

Her face blanched. When he realized his answer had truly frightened her, Cord reached out for one of her thick, ebony curls and rubbed it between his fingers.

“I’m only teasing. We are in no danger of sinking.”

“How do you know that for certain?”

He let go and watched the curl tease the flesh over her collarbone.

“The captain has gone to bed. If there was any real problem, I’m sure he would be up on deck having the men bail water or something,” he said.

He shifted his weight with the roll of the ship, walked over to the bunk and sat down. Cord patted the blanket beside him.

“Come here.”

Celine took a step toward him. As she attempted to take another, the ship rocked, the floor went out from under her and she ended up sprawled across his lap. The nightgown gaped precariously low, giving him a tempting view of her breasts.

“I didn’t mean for you to throw yourself at me.” Cord righted her gently until she was seated beside him.

“When will it stop?” she moaned.

“We haven’t gotten started yet.”

“I meant the motion of the ship. Surely this isn’t normal.” She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything like this …”

“How old were you when you sailed before?” he managed to ask despite the inspiring view of her breasts which the ill-fitting gown afforded him.

“Five.”

“Then you were too young to remember exactly what that voyage was like, weren’t you.”

Celine pressed her palm to her forehead. “I don’t think I would have forgotten something this …
What
are you doing?”

While she was worrying about capsizing, Cord had slipped his hand into the gaping neckline and cupped a breast. When he did not withdraw his hand, Celine slapped it away.

He crossed his arms and watched her gather the front of the gown into a tight wad and then try to tie it in a knot. When the attempt failed, she pressed her fist between her breasts to hold the material there, effectively cutting off his view, then glared up at him.

“Do you intend to deny me my rights?”

“I really think I should lie down,” she said.

There was no way she could refuse him, not when the law declared a husband could resort to force if he had to.

“Don’t think you can get away with lying here with your eyes closed and your fists clinched like a virgin sacrifice—”

“I’m not thinking anything of the sort right now. I
need
to lie down.”

He stood up and began to pace the cabin. Three strides found him nose to nose with one wall. Cord started back the other way. By the stubborn set of her shoulders, he could see this was not going to be as easy as he had hoped.

“Go ahead and lie down then,” he snapped.

She was not doing a damned thing to arouse him, yet he found himself fully aroused. He probably had the damned oversized gown and the enticing view of her breasts to thank for that. After all, he
had
been celibate of late.

It didn’t help knowing that she was a virgin …

“You
are
a virgin, aren’t you?”

The startled look she shot him said more than words.

No help for it then, he thought. What a pity Alexandre was dead. Cord knew his cousin would have known exactly how to woo the girl, how to put her at ease, skillfully deflower her and even have her thinking it had been her idea. Alex had been faithful to his Juliette all those years, but he had also been a consummate flirt well adored by the ladies.

Cord couldn’t help but wonder now if it wouldn’t have been better for all concerned to have done the less honorable thing and to have refused to fulfill the marriage contract in the first place.

Celine lay down on the bunk and curled in on herself. From the moment Cord had walked into the cabin, the room seemed to have shrunk three times. He filled the place with his very maleness. Even now he stood there bigger than life, the top of his head nearly grazing the ceiling, his feet planted wide, his hands fisted on his hips as he stared down at her, his expression waffling between contempt and desire.

The ship creaked; the timbers groaned. Cord began to unbutton his jacket and strip it off. She quickly closed her eyes.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he warned.

He quickly unbuttoned the neck and first few buttons of his shirt, then pulled it over his head and tossed it aside.

“As if I could,” Celine mumbled to herself, certain that the next swell would send her rolling off the edge of the bunk.

“What’s going on now?” Edward whispered. He stood with one hand on his companion’s shoulder while Foster pressed his ear against the door to the adjoining room.

“They’re still talkin’,” Foster whispered back. “Cordero seems to be moving around. I can ’ear ’is footsteps.”

“You think they’ll do it?”

Foster put his finger to his lips and shook his head. Cord was moving closer to the door. Both men held their breath until they heard him walk away again.

“I noticed the miss was in a panic when she came in to change for dinner.”

“Oh, no,” Edward said. Behind him the cabin was crowded nearly floor to ceiling with their trunks plus some of Cord’s. “Do you think she’ll refuse ’im?”

“I don’t know. So far she’s everything ’er father warned ol’ ’Enre about.”

“What if she plans to run off once we reach St. Stephen? What if that’s why she agreed to leave New Orleans? It’d be a way to get away from ’er father. Is that window
leaking
?” Edward ended on a squeak.

Foster glanced at the window. “No. Now calm down, Eddie. We don’t need an imagined crisis when a real one might be ’appenin’ in the very next room.”

“I think they should ’ave separate cabins. I’d be just as happy to bunk on the ’tween deck, but I don’t like the way the bosun’s been lookin’ at me. He looks as if he’d like nothin’ better than to—”

“Would you please stop imaginin’ the worst? We ’ave to keep our wits about us. It’s best they been thrown together like this.”

There was a distinct thud on the other side of the door, and Edward’s hand tightened on Foster’s shoulder. “What was that?”

“A boot hittin’ the floor.”

There was a second, identical sound.

“Other boot. Good. Now we’re gettin’ someplace.” Foster rubbed his palms together.

“We can only ’ope. Wot if she does refuse?”

“They ’ave to consummate. Otherwise she can get ’erself an annulment.”

Edward sighed. “Cordero needs someone in ’is life. I’ll never forget ’ow much his father loved our Miss Alyce.”

“Cord don’t need just anyone, though,” Foster reminded him. “ ’E needs someone who’ll shower ’im with all the love ’e deserves.”

“Everyone the poor lad ever loved ’as died or abandoned ’im.”

“Everyone but us, Eddie.” Foster shifted and pressed his ear closer to the door. “Damn. I don’t ’ear anythin’ now. Maybe I should have opened a bottle of wine and ’ad it ready for them.”

Edward smiled. “You’re such a bloomin’ romantic, Fos.”

Cord stared down at Celine, certain there had never been a less enthusiastic bride. She wasn’t even looking at him. She was lying so damn still he thought she might have actually fallen asleep.

He felt like a fool standing there naked as the day he was born, fully aroused, debating what to do next. He could awaken her with gentle kisses, undress her, coax her with tenderness. He could whisper sweet words of love that he did not mean but knew most women loved to hear.

Or he could shake her awake, rip off her gown, ravage her and have done with it—but then Alex would probably haunt him forever. Besides, ravaging would require too much effort, especially if she put up a fight—one which everyone on board would undoubtedly hear.

As he stood there debating, the ship slammed down a swell.

The
Adelaide
shuddered. Celine’s eyes flew open. She shoved herself to a sitting position. The only lamp in the cabin was violently swinging from a hook on the wall. Cord stood in the wavering ring of light, hovering over her, buck naked.

“Oh, my God!” Celine slapped her palm across her mouth and held it there. Her eyes began to water.

“Look, there’s no need to get hysterical.” Cord’s erection started to wilt under the uninspiring look of sheer panic in the wide, beautiful eyes staring at him over an outstretched hand.

She shook her head violently.

He reached toward her. “Just calm down. I’ve already decided against ravaging you.”

She moaned behind her hand.

“Get ahold of yourself. You’re my wife, Celine. I have every right, you know.”

Celine pulled her hand away from her mouth and took a deep breath. She swallowed twice.

“I’m going to throw up.”

Before he could move, she grasped the edge of the bunk and vomited all over his bare feet.

“What’s going on now?” Edward said, nudging Foster between the ribs.

“I don’t—” Before he could finish, the bolt popped and the adjoining door flew open so hard it smacked into the wall. The support gone, Foster fell into Cord’s cabin, with Edward right behind him. Foster quickly regained his balance and found himself face-to-face with Cord, who appeared to be wearing nothing but vomit where his stockings should have been.

Foster adjusted the collar of his nightshirt and straightened his spine. “May I be of ’elp, sir?”

Edward reached up and smoothed the few wisps of hair left atop his bald head. “Ready to serve, sir.”

“I’m afraid, gentlemen,” Cord said with as much dignity as he could muster, “that my wife has exploded.”

Seven

L
ooking at her now, he thought she might up and die and leave him a widower. Cord hadn’t seen Celine for twelve hours, so it came as a shock to find her lying in her bunk in the same position in which he had last seen her. Her face was the color of watery split-pea soup.

“You look like death warmed over.” Unable to think of anything more encouraging to say, he stood there waiting for her to open her eyes.

She didn’t move, but did finally manage to croak, “Get out.”

Cord stayed as far away from her as he could in the confining space. He shoved his hands through his hair and then settled them on his hips. She looked like hell. Her hair was matted, the delicate skin beneath her eyes shadowed. Foster had expressed concern that she would become dehydrated and had instructed Cord to see that she took something.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

She moaned and rolled over to face the wall, presenting her back to him. As he stood rigid and at a complete loss, she mumbled, “What are you doing here? Have you come to torture me for last night? Surely you don’t expect me to … you know.”

“Edward has also taken ill and Foster is too busy seeing to him to tend to you.”

Cord had found it a bit suspicious that Edward professed to be ill, since the servant had not once suffered from seasickness on the voyage to New Orleans years ago. He had gone to see for himself and found Edward in his new bunk on the ’tween deck, refusing food, refusing to do anything but lie there with the covers up to his chin. Celine looked far worse than Edward. At least his servant was not the color of sheets tinged green.

Cord tried again. “If you’re hungry, I’m sure the cook still has some nice gray gruel left from breakfast.”

“Please stop.”

He almost smiled. The way she looked at the moment and the memory of last night made verbal torture far more appealing than the thought of bedding her.

“If that’s not to your liking there’s liver and onions.”

She rolled over and glared up at him with a jaundiced eye.

“I know what you’re trying to do. You married out of some twisted sense of honor and now you find yourself stuck with a wife you never really wanted, so you’ve decided to slowly torture me to death. Why don’t you just shoot me and get it over with?”

“You know me too well already, I see. Actually, putting you out of your misery is not a bad idea. I can’t say I’m looking forward to another night like the last.”

“Where did you sleep?”

“Did you long for me in the middle of the night?”

“Of course not.”

“I took Edward and Foster’s cabin. I’ll be staying there from now on. They have moved to the ’tween deck.”

“They were very kind to me last night, which is more than I can say for you. I’m sorry they were put out.”

“It’s their job to be kind. But it’s not mine, especially when I’m forced to wear used dinner. You need not worry about them, however. I’m not so heartless that I would make them stay in less than desirable accommodations. There are only three other passengers down there this trip. Aside from Edward’s sudden illness, they seem quite comfortable.”

“I wish I could say the same,” she said.

He sat down near her feet at the edge of the bunk.

“What are you doing?” She tried to see what he was up to.

“You don’t need to worry. Your virtue is quite safe for now. The way you look, I don’t think you could even tempt a shipwrecked sailor.”

“Thank you.” She wished he had not chosen this particular morning to find a sense of humor. “The motion seems to have lessened.”

“Becalmed.”

“I am calm.”

“The ship is becalmed. The winds have died.”

“So we’re forced to bob like a cork at the mercy of the wind?”

“I’m afraid so. Unless you can commune with nature. Are you sure you won’t even take a little water? Foster thinks you should.”

“If Foster had my stomach, he might think differently.”

He watched her try to swallow and grew concerned when he thought her eyes were about to roll up into her head.

“Celine?”

“At least you finally have the name right.” She closed her eyes and flopped back on the pillow.

Aside from frequent hangovers, he couldn’t recall ever being sick. Henre wouldn’t have allowed it. Cord had no idea how to deal with any ailing individual, let alone an ailing wife. He stood up and poured her a cup of water from a flask in a cupboard beneath the basin. When he was beside the bunk again, he held the water out to her.

“Here. Drink this.”

She gazed up at him as he stood holding the cup at arm’s length, very careful to keep his shining boots away from the bed.

“Your bedside manner is terrible,” she said.

“Let’s just say I’m far better
in
bed than standing alongside it.” Cord sat down beside her again, watching her closely so that he could jump out of the way if the need arose. He reached out and slipped his hand beneath her head, cradled her gently and held the cup of water to her lips.

“Drink it slowly,” he warned. “Just a few drops at a time.”

Celine did as he asked: took a sip of water, let the blessed moisture roll over her tongue and then swallowed. She waited until she was certain her stomach was not about to react violently and then took another sip.

“Better?” he asked when she had swallowed a few more drops.

“No. But not as miserable as before.”

“Would you like to try standing? Maybe a walk in the fresh air?”

“I would like to get off this boat.”

“Impossible.”

“Will it be much longer, do you think?”

“Not if the wind picks up and holds steady. Forever if it doesn’t.” He looked down and found her watching him closely. He hadn’t moved from her side, hadn’t even taken his arm from around her. When he realized he was still cradling her like a babe, he gently laid her back down.

“You seem to have acquired a sense of humor,” she noted.

“I am looking forward to going home.”

He was as happy as he dared let himself feel about anything. Home to St. Stephen. It had been a dream for so long that he knew he wouldn’t really believe it until he was standing on island soil. He never dreamed he would be returning with a wife, though. It was still too foreign a concept to consider for more than a few moments at a time, so when she shut her eyes, he began to dwell upon her looks instead.

She appeared younger, more vulnerable with her dark, wild hair spread out on the pillow. She seemed to have shrunk inside the lawn nightgown. It drooped off one of the smooth shoulders visible above the edge of the sheet. Her skin was soft as silk, and far too tempting a reminder that she was his to do with as he pleased.

“Are you feeling any better?”

She opened her eyes again and followed the direction of his gaze. He was staring at her bare shoulder. When their eyes met, she shook her head.

“If I said I thought I was feeling better, what would you say?”

“After last night I’d want to be very, very sure first.”

There was a shout from above and the sound of many footsteps running on the poop deck.

“What is it?” She took advantage of the opportunity to tug the sheet up to her neck.

Cord stood up and stretched. “Probably sighted another ship. I’ll come back later on and see if you’re ready for some food or a walk on the deck.”

He watched her flop back down on the bunk and cover her eyes with the crook of her arm. “Just ask Captain Thompson to get us there with as little movement as possible,” she requested.

The shouting had intensified. He hadn’t thought of taking a gun on deck, but by the time Cord had cleared the doorway and was standing on the main deck beneath the maze of sails and tangle of rigging, he wished he had. He found himself in the middle of a small invasion. A rugged schooner flying a flag he failed to recognize had come alongside and the ill-prepared crew of the
Adelaide
was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a shipload of unsavory-looking characters. Pandemonium had broken out everywhere.

He ducked back inside the double doors to the saloon and returned on the run to Celine’s cabin.

“We’re being attacked by pirates. Lock the door and for God’s sake, don’t be an idiot and go out on deck.” He raced through the adjoining door to his new cabin, slammed it behind him and pulled a pistol out of a small trunk. In less than three minutes he was back on deck.

Foster, armed with a pistol and a paring knife, was just clearing the ladder from ’tween decks. Edward, apparently having made a miraculous recovery, brandished an antique-looking pistol.

“This way!” Cord called out to them as he threaded his way around the masts and through the melee, pausing once to dispatch a pirate with his fist as he headed up the ladder to the poop deck, where the first mate was locked in hand-to-hand combat with a giant, toothless invader.

“
Pirates?
”

The noise overhead had become thunderous with shots and shouts and the unmistakable thud of men falling against the wooden deck. Celine jumped to her feet and shoved her hair out of her eyes.

Lock the door?
Was he mad? Did he think a locked door would keep out a band of brigands?

She heard a gun fire and spun around, leaned over the bunk and tried to see out of the minuscule porthole. Mile upon mile of water and the ever-shifting horizon were all she saw. When she felt her stomach quiver, she deemed it better not to look. The sounds overhead appeared to be dying out. She was not going to wait like one of the chickens in those cages on the deck to see who came to get her.

Celine cracked open the door and peered around the saloon. It was empty. The ship was no longer rocking, but blessedly still. All of the doors to the adjoining cabins were closed save the one to the pantry. She could see the tall cabinets against the wall and decided the room probably held nothing of value to a passel of pirates. She dashed across the saloon, opened the door to a lower cabinet, hurriedly pulled out three huge soup pots, set them on the shelf opposite and then climbed into the empty space.

Curled up with her arms locked around her knees, Celine pressed against the back of the cupboard, closed her eyes and listened, trying to distinguish Cord’s voice in the shouting overhead.

The confrontation was over.

Captain Thompson, being of sound mind and determined to live to see his precious wife again, surrendered before there was any loss of life on his side. Cord was of another mind as he stood alongside the crew of the
Adelaide
and his fellow passengers, all of whom were bound and lined up at the rail.

A burly, bearded fellow called Cookie, whose girth attested to his culinary skill, stood three men down from Cord. Before the truce he had been wielding a deadly-looking knife as well as a skillet. “We could have taken ’em,” the cook grumbled. “Now there’ll be hell to pay.”

Cord followed the man’s gaze. Across the deck, most of the motley pirate crew had gathered around a fallen comrade while the remaining four stood guard over the prisoners.

As Cord watched, their leader knelt down, felt for a pulse in the wounded man’s neck and then stood up. The pirate captain was no more than five foot three at the most, nearly as wide as he was tall and garbed in a mismatched assortment of clothing. He wore an oversized saffron shirt, an undersized brocade waistcoat, purple satin trousers cut off just below the knees and shoes that had absorbed so much saltwater in their day that the color was indistinguishable and the toes curled upward. A half dozen gold chains hung about his neck and two emerald earbobs dangled from one lobe. A saber was sheathed at his side.

The outlandish character shook his head. “Jimmy’s done for,” he said in a voice as rough as gravel beneath a buggy wheel. “May the Lord bless his soul. Now toss him overboard.”

Without a backward glance, the pirate marched across the deck, heading toward his captives. Each stride took him no more than a foot forward. His short arms and squarish hands swung back and forth at his sides with such purpose that he looked like a mechanical toy.

He walked up to Captain Thompson, forced by his diminutive height to crane his neck to stare up at the taller man.

“I see you’re a sensible man, Cap’n, surrenderin’ like that afore we were forced to cut all of your miserable throats.” He took a deep, sweeping bow. “They call me Captain Dundee. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

Someone near Cord choked back a laugh.

“Although I haven’t had occasion to hear of you, sir, we are at your mercy nonetheless.” Thompson spoke in such a humble, ingratiating tone that Cord wanted to close the captain’s mouth for him.

Thompson continued on in the same bent. “We’ve nothing of value aboard save food stores and household goods bound for St. Stephen. You’re welcome to take whatever you like in exchange for the life of my passengers and crew.”

Cord was relieved Thompson made no mention of Celine.

Captain Dundee puffed out his chest, which only added to his considerable girth. He squinted up at Thompson with a barking laugh.

“It don’t seem to me you be in a position to make any kind of a bargain with me, Captain. First thing we got to settle is the matter of poor Jimmy’s murder. His dear old mother was dependin’ upon me to keep him safe and now he’s dead. I can’t go back without assuring her someone paid for what happened to him. An eye for an eye, so to speak.”

He began to stroll past the line of prisoners, his head twisted back on his thick neck so that he could eye each of them. Cord didn’t even try to hide his contempt when Dundee halted in front of him.

“There something you got to say to me?” With his hands locked behind him, the pirate rocked up onto his toes and down again, waiting for Cord to answer.

Cord wanted to spit in his eye and tell Captain Dundee he was a poor excuse for a pirate. He had just begun to enjoy the recent skirmish when Thompson had waved a flag of surrender, and now he was spoiling for a fight. After the events of the past few weeks, some serious bloodletting was just what he needed, but it was hard to ignore Edward quaking on one side of him and Foster standing stubborn and proud, willing to die for him if necessary, on the other. And he was forced to remind himself that he had a wife hidden away in the main cabin.