Virgin Star (21 page)

Antipathy shimmered in the duke's dark gaze. Very slowly, he said, "This is an outrage."

"Aye," Seanessy completely agreed. "And so are the deaths of two dearly loved servants, so carefully positioned in Joy's garden walk, and then the explosion on her husband's ship as she passed down the plank with my young nephews in arm. Mind my words: an intolerable outrage."

The duke's jeweled fingers clenched at his sides. The men behind him, even those who could not comprehend English, understood the nature of the insults. They stepped forward to answer them. By this point every man in the hall not only held a pistole but aimed it at someone. The tall dark man closest to the duke said, "Damme comme un Anglais!"

The duke snapped an order in rapid French and Shalyn gasped as she heard the warning: "Easy! This is not the place." The admiral, acting for Seanessy, motioned with his hand. Pistoles lowered reluctantly. Butcher kept two queerly curved daggers positioned in his hand.

The duke turned back to Seanessy, who watched with what seemed like mild interest.

Slowly, with mounting fury, the duke demanded, "How is it you are so certain I had something to do with an explosion—"

"Quite the contrary, Your Grace," Seanessy interrupted him. "You misunderstood me. I assure you, I am not at all certain. For if I were certain," he said with sudden soft viciousness that reached across the space to act like a hard slap on the face. "My hands would be dripping in a French duke's hot blood as I hung his head, like those of so many French noblemen before him, from the very Tower of London."

Whispered gasps of shock raced through the French side and Shalyn alone spotted the movement: "Third behind!"

Butcher's eyes whipped to the raised dagger a split second before it flew at Seanessy’s neck. With a flick of his wrist, his own blade sailed through the air. Across the room the man's startled scream sounded loud and unnatural. All eyes turned to the arresting sight of the man's hand pinned to the wall by Butcher's knife. The man's dagger dropped to the carpeted floor, followed by a bright stream of red blood. Shalyn instantly ducked out of sight as all gazes returned to Butcher.

Two men rushed to aid the injured man, while simultaneously the duke halted all motions of retribution before a bloodbath started. Admiration rose in her amber eyes as she peeked from behind her hat to see this. The courage necessary to stop the waiting

violence in this roomful of fury and warring factions seemed both noble and grand, every bit as large as Seanessy7 s reckless boldness.

Once the men seemed to settle, the duke turned back to Seanessy, and in a voice made strong with control, he said, "This impressive little charade, Captain Seanessy, would be amusing if it were not so terribly deadly. And because of the deadly nature of this outrageous game you play with me, I will condescend to protest my innocence. I assure you I had nothing to do with any explosion on board any of Lord Barrington's ships."

"Indeed," Seanessy said, noticeably without interest or conviction, unwilling to give the man any quarter. "I am so glad to hear this, Your Grace. Now that I can count on your prayers for Lord and Lady Barrington's continued good health, I am left with the awesome task of trying to discover the real culprit to cast in my little drama. You wouldn't have any educated guesses, now would you?"

The duke laughed as if the affair was now becoming a bad joke. "I care to aid you on this difficult task only insofar as it also aids me and mine. But I find this situation"—he looked at the men and the table— "your company in particular, increasingly taxing; I must take leave. If you could temper your impertinence and these outlandish insults, I might be willing to entertain a notion of another, perhaps more fruitful discussion of your perplexing difficulties. Until then, Captain Seanessy ..." Without further word, he turned and left the room.

The twelve men followed him out. The remaining French guards slowly returned to their seats.

The men at the captain's table watched in silence. Admiral Kingston sighed and asked, "What say you, Seanessy: guilty or no?"

Seanessy considered the question. "I wish I knew.

For I've never met anyone I would like to think deserving of my animosity more than that grand bag of hot pretensions. Like a self-declared king, he is. My hands are trembling with their restraint."

"A self-declared king indeed! Reminds me of someone," the admiral said, and the laughter dissipated the tension. "And, Seanessy, I have never known you to exercise restraint." Nodding at the remaining tables of Frenchmen, he ventured, "I wager fifty pounds sterling it takes less than a quarter of an hour to clear the room of those foul smelling frogs."

Sean laughed, but Richards had approached and now leaned over the table, whispering something to him. "What? The duke is—!?"

Richards nodded, grinning.

A dark brow rose over Seanessy's laughing eyes.

"Kingston," he said, "You have a bet. Double if my boys do the dirty business in less than ten minutes."

Butcher sighed and took Shalyn's arm to lead her away.

Wagers were made even as Admiral Kingston's fine loud voice crossed the short distance separating the French from the English: "Well, I say! French dukes are like their farts: always making a lot of noise and raising stink and never wanting to go back where they came from!"

The insult was quickly translated for those who did not speak the English tongue. An outraged Frenchman tossed a drink; the toss was answered by the nearest Englishman's fist. The fight was on ...

*****

Chapter 6

“
Shalyn, Shalyn."

"My name is Shalyn."

"There is an Irish myth ..."

"Is it a happy story?"

A haunting sadness sprang in his hazel eyes.

She needed to find the treasure to make it a happy story. A gray sky melted into a grayer sea. She felt the warm sea breeze against her hot cheeks as it blew across the crescent bay and lifted her long, loosened hair around her face. She drew the rich silk of her dressing gown over her ankles and climbed down the cliff to the water's edge.

The sand felt cool on her bare feet. She walked along the shoreline, watching the gentle swell of waves licking the shore. She began looking for seashells, treasure.

An occasional wave washed warm water over feet, tickling. The treasure was hidden. She searched and searched, but there was nothing but white sand. She turned suddenly to see the pink silk kimono draped across the cliff. She screamed. She started to run. Someone was chasing her. A dark shadow.

She looked behind. The shadow was so close! She ran faster and faster, still searching the white sand for the treasure. The clouds gathered, darkening. The shadow grew and grew. She heard its breathing. She needed that treasure!

The tide was coming in!

Something stuck out of the sand ahead. Her heart pounded harder still. She looked closer. A round object rose from the wet sand at the shoreline. She held her breath as she cautiously approached it. Then suddenly it turned toward her and she screamed again.

A human skull washed in the tide....

He was hot and hard and filled with lust for the girl. He was chasing her laughter. Like a siren's song, the musical sound drove him half-crazed as he chased her. Shalyn, Shalyn!

He caught her. Carefully he cushioned her fall. Her laughter stopped as he came over her slim form. Her eyes darkened as he parted her gown. His hands slid impatiently over the soft rise of her breasts. Oh, Lord. The scent of her. He took her mouth beneath his, a kiss without end. He let his lips travel over the petal-soft skin to finally reach the tempting peak. His hand raised her skirts, parting her slim thighs to feel the welcoming moist sheath. Oh, Lord, he would not last-

Richards pounded on the door. Seanessy woke to the impatient pounding perfectly matched to his heart. For a long moment he suffered a disorientation, simply because he heeded that time to realize the carnal dream was just that—a dream. Not since he was thirteen and had discovered just what chasing that cotter's wench led to. "My God!" He swung his bare feet to the floor and moved quickly to the door. "It had better be good," he mumbled as he opened it. "What?"

"Shalyn, Sean. You better have a look."

Seanessy followed Richards through the sitting room into the hall. A single lamp lit the space above Richards's chair, just alongside the green room. Richards's discarded book sat on the floor. The door was open. Seanessy heard the sound before he saw. He stepped quickly through the door. The bed was empty, the bedclothes rumpled.

"In the closet," Richards said behind him.

The closet doors opened to reveal the startling sight. Shalyn sat curled up in the farthest corner of the empty closet. She squeezed her eyes shut. Trembling like a leaf caught in an autumn wind, she shook her head back and forth with a weak choking cry, a doomed child's last plea.

"Shalyn!"

He swept down to lift her out.

She woke from her nightmare to feel strong arms around her. She cried weakly against him, her clenched fists hitting his rock-hard chest as he lifted her up. "No, no, Shalyn," he said in an urgent whisper as he brought her feverish form against his strength. "If s me, Seanessy. Seanessy!"

She cried out, her cry stopping as she realized the fact. She collapsed against him all at once. He held her tightly against his body, her arms clinging to his neck as if her life depended on it, and it did, it did. "Seanessy."

His name was a magic powerful enough to pull her from the dark world of night terrors into a safe world of mercy and sunshine. "Seanessy," she kept repeating over and over again, part of the incantation that saved her. All she knew was that she wanted never to let him go. In the dark place of dreams, where truth supersedes lies, she knew she was safe. Seanessy made the world safe. Seanessy would not hurt her.

The shock of her slender form on his felt like a lightning bolt, the all-too-real answer to his carnal lust. Dear Lord. He closed his eyes, trying to temper the sudden racing of his thick blood, feeling her slim soft curves pressed against his hot skin. Every breath pressed her breasts against his chest and—

He would have her backside to the bed in the next minute. He attempted to ease her feet to the floor. "No. Please," she whispered, "don't let me go."

She heard his soft vicious curse. He swept her back up in his arms. She buried her face in his chest, hardly aware as he carried her through the doors and down the hall into his sitting room, lastly into his bedchamber. He set her on the bed. There was a brief moment of separation. A muted cry sounded in the cool night air before he drew her back against the warmth of his body.

Raw and frightened emotions melted like ice beneath a warm summer sun. She took sweet deep breaths. She closed her eyes, feeling the tender stroke of his hands through her hair

"You are trembling still," he said as he drew the comforter over them both. Her shuddering form pressed against his hot length. He felt her toes on his shins, her hips against his heat, pounding with feverish desire. His hands combed through the tousled mass of her gold hair. He wondered if he had ever felt anything more tempting than the tease of her warm breaths on his neck. He desperately needed a distraction.

"Shalyn mine, a nightmare?"

"Aye ..."

Lightly, in a whisper, he asked, "Were you chased by phantom shapes?"

"Aye!" She buried her face against his chest, unaware of the effect of this. "I am looking for a treasure, seashells on a beach. I feel like I know this beach. It is so beautiful... and I feel as if, as if I have found solace there. Then suddenly I realize someone is chasing me. The dark phantom. I start running and running. And then—"

Her voice choked, her fear palpable.

"Yes?"

"Then suddenly I see skulls, human skulls stuck in the sand. People buried alive! And I, I—"

She could not finish. Somehow she felt as if she had caused the hideous deaths, that it was her fault. Seanessy tightened his arms around her. "Shalyn." He brushed his lips tenderly against her forehead. "Shalyn, my poor, poor waif.. There are times when I am as grateful as a rich heir for your lost memory."

Gratitude was the last thing she felt. She had to find her missing memory. Because they were coming for her. She would find this beach in the South China Seas. Somehow she knew it was real. As real as the fear it inspired. When she knew what had happened to her, and who was chasing her, and why, then she would know how to fight them.

She had to convince Seanessy to help her get there. Seanessy shifted away slightly, desperate to relieve the tension alighting on every nerve, muscle, and piece of flesh in his body. Her each breath came at a cost, an ever-increasing cost as he felt the tips of her breasts brush light as a feather against his chest, an unbearable tease.