Till Dawn Tames the Night (24 page)

Her gaze darted to the ports. It was late. Sometime between her search for a pin and now, darkness had descended, and she still didn't have her own cabin.

"Vashon, I have to insist upon my own . . ." Her voice faltered. As if she weren't even there, he readied himself for bed, which for him meant immodestly stripping off every piece of clothing on him. And this time he didn't protect her delicate sensibilities by keeping on his trousers. Ignoring her, he slid the black fabric of his trousers down over his hips and past the line of dark hair that dipped below his navel. Just as he was about to reveal every last inch of the dragon on his back, she turned away. Her gaze desperately sought escape, and though it was a futile effort, she couldn't stop herself from going to the door to see if it was latched.

"Good night, Miss Dayne."

From behind her she could hear him chuckle and slide beneath the covers of his decadent bed. In one breath he blew out the candles in the
bouillotte
lamp and they were thrust into complete darkness.

Her entire body stiffened. She was alone in the darkness with this naked man, and the floor of his cabin was littered with glass. Terrified of cutting herself again, she wasn't even sure if she could make the necessary movements to take herself over to the mahogany chair. Blinded, she stumbled over his boots and bumped into his writing table. She clutched one of the lion
monopode
legs for support,
then
thankfully eased herself into the chair. She didn't even want to speak for fear that her words might force him out of bed.

"Comfortable, Miss
Dayne
?"

Her mouth went dry. Even his voice sounded
naked.

"I'm quite well, thank you."

"You may have your own cabin tonight if you but speak the words."

She was the closest yet to giving him a confession. But to go to her own cabin now would mean he would have to relight the
bouillotte
lamp, and at this moment the thought of seeing him in the altogether seemed more terrifying than just staying where she was. "I'll not give you a thing until I have my freedom," she whispered.

"I see." The slats of the bed groaned as he turned over. "I suspect that chair will get rather uncomfortable by the second or third night."

"The chair will serve."

"But not as nicely as the bed."

"The bed is . . . occupied."

"I'm more than willing to share."

She choked. "No—no, thank you!"

He laughed. "All right, then.
Until the morning."
_
Her
brows knitted with worry. She hadn't thought of that. In the brilliant light of morning he would be getting out of that bed. And if it took him only a matter of seconds to take those clothes off, God only knew how long he might take to put them back on. Groaning in defeat, she crossed her arms on the table and laid her head on it to rest for the next battle.

The instant the knock sounded on the door, Vashon awoke. Like a cat that can see in the darkness, he reached for his trousers, stood, and pulled them on without hesitation. Avoiding the glass shards glittering in the starlight from the ports, he was at the cabin door before the knock could sound again.

"What is it?" he demanded, seeing Isaac standing on the threshold with a lantern.

"A problem," Isaac replied
,
his face lined with sleep. "Benny has just informed me one of our water caskets has leaked. We haven't enough left to make it to San Juan."

Vashon looked vaguely annoyed. "Is that what has you up at this ungodly hour? That's no tragedy, man. We'll simply stop at the next port—"

"That's what I came to discuss. The next port is Grand
Talimen
Island."

Vashon paused. Realization crossed his face. "I see," he said slowly.

"Shall we stop there?"

"Have we another choice?"

It was Isaac's turn to pause. "The choice is up to you, Vashon. It's your head they want there, not mine. I'm perfectly willing to see if we can make it to St. Kitts."

Vashon shook his head. "If it
were
just the crew, perhaps, but we've two women on board. We can't risk their lives if we run out of water. I'll take a look at the map and see if there's another route." He turned and went to retrieve his shirt.

Left alone, Isaac seemed reluctant to turn his eyes to Vashon's bed. But when he did, he looked almost dismayed to find it empty. As if to be sure, he held up his lamp and let the light spill into the corner.

"Do you think I tossed her overboard?" Vashon gave a cursory smile when he returned to the door.

"Of course not," Isaac replied grumpily and lowered the lamp. "But where is she?"

Vashon nodded to the dark recess of his cabin where his bureau sat. Aurora was slumped over it, her red-gilt head delicately resting on her forearms.

Seeing her, Isaac almost roared with laughter. When he took in Vashon's scowl, he looked as if he might burst.

"Are you ready?" Vashon commented dryly.

"By all means."
Isaac coughed, giving Aurora's sleeping figure a last glance.

"I'll join you in the
fo'c'sle
in a minute."

Isaac nodded with mock solemnity. He chuckled and left the cabin.

Once more in darkness, Vashon turned to Aurora. The shadowy luminescence of moonlight poured over her like fairy dust and gave her figure an ethereal quality. She breathed softly, deeply, in the pagan rhythm of sleep, and he appeared drawn to her as a child is drawn to the dark of the woods in hope of finding magic.

He walked over to the bureau and bent to her still form. Without waking her, he gently lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bed.

"This is becoming a habit, little wren," he murmured before he placed her on the mattress. In response to his voice, she restlessly rolled to her side and grasped the counterpane. He bent down and pulled a lock of her hair away from her face. Then, slowly, he kissed her lips.

The kiss was brief and chaste, but still it seemed to surprise him. He looked as if he done it much against his will, and worse, his better judgment. His face hardened and he looked pensive. Standing, he gazed down at her for a long moment, not caring that it was dark and that she was in shadows.

"What kind of woman are you, Aurora Dayne?" he whispered. Appearing as if he did not like the answer, he took a deep breath and ran his hand agitatedly over his jaw. He quit the cabin, looking almost relieved to be going.

In the darkness Aurora briefly opened her eyes and saw the shadowy retreating back. She heard the thump of the closing door and once more drifted back into slumber, her dreams calling to her like angels.

Again she dreamed of Vashon. But this time the details took her breath away. She saw long black hair barely tamed by a queue and a small silver ear hoop that gleamed wickedly in the hot Caribbean sun. She saw teeth that flashed white in a fleeting and rare smile, and a face that was as tragic as it was stunningly handsome.

She dreamed he was the dragon.

From his expression it was clear he didn't trust people; he didn't trust her. But that didn't stop her from imagining what it would be like to touch him, to smell him, to feel him beside her. In her dream she desperately sought what she knew she couldn't have in real life. She wanted his every physical detail, and what she couldn't or wouldn't allow herself to picture, she didn't miss, because as if dreams had a sixth sense, she knew without a doubt those details were there anyway and as tangible as if she held them in her hands.

She was the slayer.

It was an impossible task. The dragon held Vashon so tightly she couldn't tell him from the serpent. Her insides warred to keep her from killing, but she was compelled to save him. The beast had him by the throat, and if she didn't rid him of this raging monster, he'd be destroyed.

She took her broadsword and aimed it at the dragon's back. Yet when she thrust, the dragon disappeared.

She searched everywhere for it, but it was gone. Her dream shifted and Vashon appeared, but in terror she wasn't sure how to tell him from the dragon. Instinctively she moved back from his reach; he took her anyway. His arms came around her like hot-tempered steel, and though she pushed against them, there was no escape. She was his.

He kissed her.

As if his tongue were flames, his kiss burned clear to her toes. She fought valiantly, but already her body had begun a traitorous surrender. She longed to be set free, yet everywhere she turned, his scent, like the damp scent of the wind before a storm, beckoned her back into his embrace. His touch, his nearness, his very masculinity brought her nerves to a singing, fevered pitch. Against her will her body responded in ways she hadn't even known it could. The promise of pleasure built and built until it seemed impossible to deny. Finally when his warm, strong hand scorched her breast, she could endure it no more. She cried out his name; he melted her in one sweet breathless moan. Her release came with such exquisite force, she awoke nearly weeping.

The dragon had won.

Sobbing and panicking, Aurora sat bolt upright. In the first few seconds of wakefulness she could barely comprehend what had happened to her. Never before had she had a dream so vivid that her entire body had participated against her will. In dismay she could feel
a wetness
between her thighs, and when her hand moved to her forehead, it was covered with perspiration. Unnerved and disoriented, she brushed the clinging red-gold tendrils of hair out of her eyes and looked down. Her hand was twisting a sheet and Vashon's scent was everywhere. Somehow during her sleep she'd been brought to his bed. The cabin was empty now, but the pillow next to her was still warm. He hadn't been gone long.

She looked down at her dress and nervously adjusted the apron front. Her hands were shaking, so she had a difficult time
repinning
her pins. Had he slept next to her? Had he touched her during the night? Was that why she had had the dream?

Her face paled and she thought again about the dream. While she calmed herself she became even more appalled. What was wrong with her that just dreaming of Vashon could elicit such a strong response from her? Thinking about it again, she could already feel her cheeks grow red. She wasn't quite sure what had happened to her, but she was terribly glad she was alone.

A knock sounded on the door and she leaped from the bed. She ran her fingers through the tangles in her hair,
then
sheepishly said, "Come in."

Benny popped his head through the door with
Koonga
hanging on to him like a necklace. Aurora was amazed that she'd been so deep in her thoughts that she hadn't even heard the telltale scrape of his peg leg coming down the passage.

"I've your breakfast, miss." He watched her warily as if he'd heard her and Vashon fighting last evening. With a stab of shame she looked over to where the shattered
foo
lion and crystal goblets lay in the corner. He looked there too and became even more wary. Nervously he placed the heavy silver tray down on the writing desk where she had begun her sleep.
Koonga
, sensing her master's nervousness, sent out a shrill scream.

"Vashon says you may venture
abovedecks
this morning, miss. Whenever you choose to go," he said above the din.

Distracted, she only nodded.

"Is everything all right,
miss
?"

A look of concern came over the boy's pleasant features. Already she could feel the color rising in her cheeks. It was impossible for him to know what had happened to her in her sleep, but somehow she felt he did know. In fact, the way she felt at the moment, she was sure the entire world knew, including the villain who owned the accursed ship.

"I'm just fine, Benny. You mustn't worry about me. How is Flossie?" Anxious for him to depart, she walked him to the door.

"The widow's as angry as a hornet. But you'll see how she fares yourself, miss, if you go
abovedecks
today. She's already taking the air on the quarterdeck."

"That's wonderful. I'm anxious to be off then."

"When shall I bring you your bath, miss?"

"My bath?"
She looked down at her hopelessly rumpled blue dress. She most definitely looked like a street urchin now. She didn't even know if a bath would do much good, but it might wash away the lingering cobwebs of her dream, and that would surely do her good. "I suppose you could bring it now, if it isn't too much trouble."

"No
trouble at all, miss
."

"Thank you, Benny." She suddenly smiled at him and his whole face brightened.
Koonga
ceased her screams, and when he shuffled to the door, Benny's step seemed much lighter.

"Aurora, my God, what has that vile man done to
you!
Are you all right,
love
? . . . Love! Where on earth are your shoes?" Flossie sailed toward Aurora, her face a mask of outrage and concern. When she reached Aurora's side, she held out her arms and gave Aurora a bone-crushing hug.
"That ignoble pirate!
That freeboot-
ing
villain! Is he the one who's taken your shoes?"