Velvet Chains (Historical Romance) (10 page)

Season walked over to the desk and stared down at the food. Her eyes were drawn to the roast chicken, which had been served in a fruit sauce. As she eyed the thinly sliced baked potatoes, she could feel her stomach react in protest.

Crossing the cabin, she stood beneath the porthole. It was too high for her to look directly through it, so she watched the sunlight shining through its crystal panes and shrugged her shoulders, wishing she had something to do to make the hours pass more quickly.

Glancing at the shelves where the maps were kept, she crossed the room and removed one of them. Dropping to her knees, she spread the map and studied it for a moment, but knowing next to nothing about geography, Season soon tired of looking at the charts which made no sense to her.

Irritated, Season rolled up the map and shoved it back on the shelf. That was when she spotted the book. Someone had placed the book at the back of the shelf as if wanting to hide it away. When she turned it over in her hands, Season was shocked to find it was her favorite volume of French poetry! She climbed onto the bed and began to read. Before long she was caught up in the haunting poems of love and honor. She couldn't help but reflect on how strange it was for an American pirate to have a book of poetry, even stranger that he would be able to read French. This discovery only served to deepen the mystery that surrounded The Raven!

Season soon became drowsy, and the book slipped from her hand and dropped onto the bed. She laid her head back and fell into a deep sleep.

8

The Raven unlocked his cabin door while balancing a tray of food in one hand. When he entered the cabin he saw Lady Season asleep on his bed. Setting the tray aside he stood over her sleeping form and studied every detail of her lovely face.

He had somehow known that her hair would be blond, but he hadn't expected the mass of golden curls that tumbled across the pillow. As the dying rays of the sun filtered through the window, her hair seemed to come alive with flaming red highlights. She looked so young and childlike that The Raven felt his heart contract.

Had he been wrong to believe the stories he had heard about her escapades in England? He stared at the long silky lashes resting against her pale cheeks. Then his eyes were drawn to her breasts which rose and fell with each breath she took. Her bosom was full and rounded and the bodice of her gown was stretched tightly across the soft mounds. Her mouth was soft and full, tempting him to see if it would taste as sweet as it promised.

The Raven felt desire stir in him, and he knew he wanted this temptress as he had never wanted any woman before. Was she a devil that could drive a man mad with her sweetly curved body, or was she an enchantress who could lure men to their deaths for want of the touch of her lips?

He watched, spellbound, as her lashes fluttered and she looked at him with her emerald-colored eyes.

Season quickly scrambled to her knees and moved to the far side of the bed, trying to get as far away from the hooded man as she could. When The Raven saw that she was frightened of him, he felt a pang of sorrow.

"Why are you here?" she asked in a choked voice as her eyes moved over the man dressed in black. Last night he had blended into the shadows, but now she could see him only too clearly. He appeared more frightening than she could have imagined, and she couldn't control the shudder that shook her body. The black hood he wore had slits where his eyes and mouth should have been. His black shirt was tucked inside black tight-fitting breeches. Shiny black boots reached to his knees, and his overall appearance was frightening and sinister.

“I have come to personally see that you eat a proper meal," came the deep, raspy reply.

Season pressed her back against the cabin wall. "I... told your man Briggs that I had no intention of eating your food," she said in a small voice. Season was surprised that she could speak at all with The Raven hovering over her like some awesome bird of prey.

The Raven picked up the tray and sat down on the bed beside Season. Her heart was pounding loudly and she couldn't seem to move. Her deepest instinct warned her not to defy this man.

"I think you will eat, my lady, if I have to spoon-feed you every bite."

"You wouldn't dare," she exclaimed with indignation.

"Would I not? Come, eat like a good girl, and if you clean your plate, I will take you for a stroll on deck so you can get some fresh air," he cajoled, as if speaking to a wayward child.

Season considered his proposal. She was tired of the inside of this cabin. It would be wonderful to walk on deck and breathe in the fresh sea air. "Are you saying if I don't eat you will not allow me to walk on deck?" she asked, not knowing how childlike she appeared at that moment.

He nodded his head affirmatively. "I believe we understand one another, my lady."

"Give me the tray," she said with ill grace. "I just want you to know I am eating because you forced me to and not because I want to."

The Raven placed the tray within her reach and smiled behind his mask. Season watched him stand up, and her eyes followed him across the room. He picked up a chair, turned it around, and then straddled it. Season doubted she would be able to swallow a bite of food while he was watching her so closely.

"Must you stay here while I eat?" she asked with a toss of her head. She had no notion how lovely she looked as her golden hair swirled about her.

"Yes, I must. You see, I don't trust you. Besides I would not want to hand a malnourished bride over to her intended bridegroom."

Season's heart lightened when she sensed the man's good humor. "You are going to release me?"

"You don't think I want to keep you indefinitely—do you?"

Season took a bite of what appeared to be chicken, but actually tasted nothing like it at all—in fact, it was like nothing she had ever tasted before.

"What is this?" she asked, spearing a piece of meat with her fork.

"Do you like it?"

"I don't know. You tell me what it is, and then I'll tell you if I like it or not. I have heard it said that you colonists have been known to eat very strange things."

"It is called turkey—a fowl that is native to the United States," he answered in an amused voice.

"You mean the Colonies, don't you?"

"No, my lady, I mean the thirteen United States of America."

Season decided to let that pass. The last thing she wanted to do was antagonize the man since he had hinted that he would be releasing her. "Is this a meat-eating bird? I can assure you if it is, I will not eat another bite."

"No. The turkey is not a predatory bird. In the wilds it feeds on grains and berries. Many farmers raise the turkey very much the same as one would the chicken. I am told that the turkey is the least intelligent of God's creatures. It is said they will often drown in a rainstorm, simply by looking toward the sky."

"You are making that up, are you not?"

"No, I can assure you it's the truth, my lady. Your neighbors, the French, have added the turkey to their diet. It is said that the king and queen serve it often at Versailles." The Raven noticed that Lady Chatsworth had begun to relax and had lost much of her apprehension.

"Ugh, the French," she said, making a face.

"Let me see if I have this right: you don't like us Americans, and you are not overly fond of the French—who do you like?" he asked, watching her take a bite of the turkey.

"I did not say I do not like the Americans, although I have met only one of you."

"Not so, my lady. You have met myself and Briggs," he reminded her.

"But there you are wrong, sir. I was never formally introduced to you, and Briggs is most probably a pirate and a cutthroat, the same as you," she dared to say.

Season took another bite of fowl and found it to be indeed delectable. She wondered if she really liked the meat or whether the lure of a walk on deck—and her hunger—made the turkey taste so good.

"If the American you spoke of meeting is not myself or Briggs, who is it? Perhaps the person will be an acquaintance of mine."

"I doubt that you and I travel in the same circles. It is not likely that you would have met any of my cousin Edmund's friends."

The Raven watched her bite into a slice of apple and smiled. "I am intrigued, my lady. Tell me of whom you speak."

"You wouldn't know him. He is a gentleman by the name of Lucas Carrington. I don't think he would associate himself with you," she stated, taking a bite of sweet golden corn which was seasoned with melted butter.

"I know Lucas Carrington as well as anyone, my lady. He is a planter from Virginia. I have found him to be a most disagreeable fellow."

"Tell me what you know about Mr. Carrington," Season urged, raising her eyes to his.

Deep laughter shook The Raven's tall frame. "Lucas Carrington is a man without a purpose. He neither stands for one side, nor the other, but leans more toward the middle. Most probably he is a coward. I have heard it said that he sells his crops to the British. In my way of thinking that goes under the heading of aiding and abetting the enemy."

"I don't believe him to be a coward. You are just jealous of him because he is a gentleman and you are not," she stated flatly.

"So, the lady defends the American. I wonder why you are so quick to come to his defense. I would venture to guess that Edmund Kensworthy doesn't know about your attachment to Mr. Carrington."

Season's face became flushed. She devoured the last bite of turkey and then lowered her head so the curtain of golden hair would hide her embarrassment. "I am not interested in Mr. Carrington as a man. I am merely curious because he is the first colonist I have met."

"I could tell you about your cousin, Edmund, if you wish," The Raven offered.

“I don’t wish to hear what you have to say about him. You would only present a distorted picture."

"You might be surprised by my assessment of your intended bridegroom. I know him to be an honorable man; unlike Lucas Carrington, he has his loyalties. If you don't know him very well, let me warn you that you cannot always judge him at face value. Give him a chance, my lady, for I'm sure he will make you a good husband. Do not always judge a man by your first impression. Edmund is impulsive sometimes, but he is always sorry when he acts unwisely."

Season glanced at the slashes in the black hood and knew The Raven was watching her closely. Why was he defending Edmund to her? He spoke as if he knew what had transpired between her and Edmund in the morning room on the night of the ball.

"I do not think what takes place between my cousin and myself is any of your affair," she said with as much dignity as she could manage. "All I want from you is to know when you will let me go."

The black-clad shoulders shrugged indifferently. "I will let you go, my lady, when—and only when—I have what I want."

"What do you want—money?" she asked in a contemptuous voice.

The Raven was silent for several moments. Finally he stood up. "I see you have cleaned up your plate like a good little girl. I will take you for a stroll on deck as I promised. I would suggest you bring a cloak since it is bitterly cold topside."

Season scrambled off the bed, showing a flurry of white petticoats in the process.

The Raven saw the eager look on her face, and was once more reminded of her youth. She didn't look at all like the
femme fatale
she had been accused of being, but rather like a frightened young girl who was unsure of her future. He somehow wanted to assure her that he would do her no harm, but he remained silent.

Picking up her cloak, with the intention of placing it about her shoulders, he noticed her reluctance to come too near him so he tossed the cloak to her. Crossing to the door, he waited for her to join him.

Season quickly pulled the blue velvet, fur-lined cape about her shoulders and hurriedly walked toward The Raven, fearing he might change his mind and not take her for a walk on deck. She followed him through the companionway and then up onto the deck.

Season took a deep breath of invigorating salt air. The wind was cold, but it felt good against her face. It is wonderful to be alive, she thought, turning around in a circle.

She watched with interest as the crew scurried about tying off ropes and working on the riggings. Some of the men smiled at her and doffed their hats. Season remembered how much she had enjoyed the voyage to the Colonies, and she decided that if she had been born her father's son, instead of his daughter, she would have sailed the world.

Season had completely forgotten that The Raven stood just behind her until she felt his hand on her shoulder. She flinched as he took her arm and would have pulled away, had his grip not been so firm. She made no objections as he led her to the ship's railing.

Glancing at the horizon, Season noticed that the sun had gone down, leaving a bright red glow in the sky which made it appear that the sea was being swallowed up by the sun.

Season's hood had fallen from her head, and the rosy glow in the sky seemed to cast its light on her golden hair, making it appear as though it were on fire.

The Raven resisted the sudden urge to push a stray wisp of golden hair from Season's face. Where is the seductress? he wondered. Where is the woman who is supposed to have shared her charms so readily with a stable boy? Could an enchantress be locked inside the innocent face of this angel? The Raven was confused. Could this girl have two personalities—could she change her face as easily as she changed the color of her gown?

"How old are you?" The Raven asked bluntly, staring at the lovely childlike face.

Season turned her face away from the sunset and gazed at the hooded man beside her. "A gentleman should never ask a lady her age, sir," she said indignantly.

"I thought we had already established the fact that I am no gentleman."

"That's the one thing we are in agreement on," Season spat out.

Amused laughter came from behind the black mask. The Raven had never been so charmed by a woman before. She amused him and she made him laugh. She was witty and brave; she would fight him at every turn. He began to feel a deep admiration for this girl who hardly came up to his shoulder.

"No matter. I have always been a good judge of a woman's age. I would say you will never see twenty-five again."

Season bristled instantly. "How dare you insult me, sir. I have but celebrated my nineteenth birthday this last November."

The Raven's deep laughter seemed to dance on the night air. "It is as I thought," he said in his disturbing, raspy voice, "Although I would have placed your age more at the sixteen-year mark. You look hardly more than a child, my lady."