Virginia Henley (27 page)

In her cabin Tony removed her dress coat and hung it in the wardrobe. It seemed oppressively warm belowdecks tonight, so she donned a pair of white cotton pants John Bull had provided and wondered idly who aboard would do her wash. Then she laughed at herself. She’d have to wash her own shirts and undergarments and think herself lucky she didn’t have to do everyone’s laundry.

She took her water jug up on deck to fill it from a cask. She saw Adam Savage leave the ship. Again he was dressed in the rough garb of a seaman. His size made him look totally menacing. Without a snowy shirt, stock, and coat of superfine he looked like a cutthroat. Whatever he was up to was obviously dangerous, illegal, and probably criminal. Savage had a sinister side and she admitted to herself that he was just as capable of committing a crime as he was of breaking the law, if he saw advantage and opportunity. She chided herself that she, too, was involved in something quite illegal, impersonating her brother, but she knew it wasn’t the same.

She was making excuses for Savage because she was infatuated with him. Tony cursed herself for a fool. He would deceive any woman who was witless enough to love him.

A frown creased her brow. Hadn’t he said France wasn’t safe at the moment? Why was he so fearless, so damned reckless? He loved risk for its own sake! She knew all too well that risk was seductive, luring you on to abandon all caution. It was addictive, and both of them were tainted with the damned disease.

The only way to hold her fear for him at bay was to keep busy. After she did her washing, she took a lantern into the hold to look at some of the garments she had purchased. She opened one box after another, admiring the exquisite fashions. Tony’s glance fell upon a gown that was particularly spectacular. It was designed in two pieces, the skirt separate from the tiny bodice. It was made of gold tissue so delicate, she sighed as her fingers caressed it. The skirt was yards and yards of froth; the bodice, embroidered with tiny golden crowns, was also cut in the shape of a crown, whose points were cleverly designed to conceal and reveal the breasts.

Tony couldn’t resist it. She took the gown to her cabin and tried it on. Suddenly she was transformed from a slim youth to a curvaceous woman. She took the leather thong from her hair and noticed for the first time just how much it had grown since Roz had sheared it. Tony posed in the mirrored door of the wardrobe, then began to twirl about the cabin.

She closed her eyes and imagined herself being whirled about a ballroom by Adam Savage. What fun it would be to flirt and tease if he had no idea who she was. All her daydreams and fantasies centered about one man, even though she knew they were impossible. She couldn’t get enough of looking at herself. It had been so long since she had worn a dress, she had forgotten how delicious and special it was to feel feminine.

She hated being a man. She wanted to be a woman, a real woman. She longed for it with all her heart. With reluctant hands she removed the tissue gown and hung it in the wardrobe. There was no way she would part with it.
The moment her fingers touched the exquisite material she had decided it was hers.

As Tony swung in her hammock, pictures filled her mind, then spilled over into her dreams. There was her mother receiving guests, looking absolutely ravishing, more beautiful than she had ever seen her. Everyone lavished compliments upon Eve, then looked at Antonia and shook their heads in pity. She went to her mirror and saw the shorn-off hair, the male attire that camouflaged her femininity. But, like Cinderella, Roz found her a mask and a gold tissue gown and Tony was transformed into a princess with a golden crown.

When she awoke the ship was moving. She had no idea when Savage had returned to weigh anchor. Idly she wondered when the man slept. Like a leopard he seemed to be a nocturnal creature, out hunting all night, yet his boundless energy allowed him to sail the clipper, and spend hours buying cargo. There was something not quite human about a man who needed no sleep.

When she glimpsed herself in the mirror, last night flooded back to her. The gown had transformed her into another person. The kernel of an idea took root at that instant. At first it was just a glimmer, but gradually it took form and shape. They were going to the Carnival of Venice. What better place for Adam to meet Antonia for the first time? What better place for two strangers to indulge in a liaison?

Doubts assailed her. How would she ever be able to pull it off? Then hope would arise again. Somehow, some way, she must arrange an accidental meeting. The Carnival of Venice was only celebrated for one purpose, sheer pleasure. It was a make-believe world of magic where your wildest fantasies could become reality.

At Bordeaux, Savage bought fine French wines and cases of the very fashionable champagne for his cellars at Edenwood. Tony asked him if she could make a decent profit by buying champagne and selling it in England. Adam told her it was a good idea, since it was the height of snobbery to drink imported wine rather than the good old domestic variety. Civil unrest would bring a temporary halt to the production of French wine if it got any worse, and that, of course, would make the price soar.

Crossing from Bordeaux to Portugal proved most unsettling to Tony. She stayed in her cabin, fighting mal de mer for two days until they arrived at the beautifully sunny port of Lisbon. Tony found it hard to believe it was still winter in England. They took on two hundred crates of rich, dark Madeira, the only wine that kept well in the heat of the tropics.

Tony learned exactly how intense heat could be as they sailed to Cádiz, Spain, where they bought fine Spanish and Morrocan leather boots and Savage purchased a pair of black tooled saddles. The
Flying Dragon
skimmed through the Straits of Gibraltar, stopped briefly to stock the galley with dates, figs, and sweet, juicy oranges, then sailed on to Cartegena to purchase knives and swords made from the finest Toledo steel.

Tony could hardly believe that only a week had gone by. In that week she had visited the port cities of France, Portugal, and Spain and experienced their people, cultures, language, food, and climate, all so very diverse.

Tony made herself useful by helping McSwine prepare the food, but whenever she went up on deck she kept to
herself and avoided the rough, dirty-mouthed sailors. She had no desire to be the butt of their cruel humor. She also gave Savage a wide berth. She feared that he might order her up the rigging or issue some other order to complete a task that was too arduous for a female’s strength.

Though she kept out of his way, she was still very much aware of him. When he issued an order it was followed immediately. Command came naturally to him, and it was clear to see there was a healthy dose of fear mixed in with the crew’s respect. Although she knew the sailors drank grog, she never saw one of them drunk, nor did she see anyone shirk his duty. Savage was a hard taskmaster, demanding a clean ship above all else, and they scrubbed until the decking was bleached white and smelling of nothing more sinister than sea and salt.

Savage’s mahogany skin tanned darker with each sunny day. As a consequence his blue eyes seemed as pale as ice and he could freeze a crew member with a contemptuous glance from across the ship.

On Sardinia they went sightseeing. The buildings were a blinding white with red tiled roofs in the Mediterranean style. The hills stretching back from the azure sea abounded with brilliant, exotic wildflowers. They sat smoking companionably, overlooking a breathtaking bay. Tony could feel the hot sun on her shoulders beneath the stiff cambric shirt. It heated her blood and made her think sensuous thoughts.

Whenever she glanced at Adam Savage her mouth went dry with longing for his touch. Yet she knew if he touched her she would scream. What she really would like to do was touch him. She wanted to feel the texture of his swarthy skin, trace a finger along the slant of his jaw where the shadow of his beard made his face even darker. Her fingers itched to undo the buttons of his lawn shirt and peel it from his rippling shoulders. She ached to run her hands over the hard slabs of muscle on his impossibly wide chest. She burned to press her lips to his mouth and
kiss him. She blushed at her boldness, for secretly she longed to lick him and taste the salt upon his tempting flesh.

The next time she stole a glance at him he was leering with appreciation at a couple of peasant girls with dark, slumberous eyes. They were barefoot and carried baskets of oysters. He beckoned them over. They came apprehensively at first, afraid of the powerful man with the sinister, scarred face, but he teased and winked and with sign language managed to buy some oysters. Soon they were laughing, flirting, and splashing water at the men in a most playful and inviting manner.

“Fancy a swim?” Savage asked Tony, peeling off his shirt and not even trying to disguise the bulge between his legs.

“No, thanks,” Tony said stiffly. “What the hell do you do when a woman is unwilling?” he demanded primly. “Or has that situation never arisen?”

“Many times,” Adam admitted. “I simply resort to the fine art of seduction.”

“How the hell can you seduce a woman when you don’t even speak her language?”

“Sex is a universal language, Tony. Did you ever look at those books I gave you?”

Tony’s cheeks flooded with color.

“I can see that you did,” Savage said, grinning. “Christ, try not to be so bloody narrow minded and circumspect. Your cock’s for more than pissing through, you know. You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced a Mediterranean woman’s hot mouth and quick little tongue all over your prick.”

Tony’s mouth fell open.

“Here, have some oysters, if they don’t make you randy, there’s no hope for you, boy.”

Tony picked up the crustaceans and left Savage to his señoritas. He was a bloody rake, rouè whoremaster, and ravisher of anything in skirts. When she got back to the
ship she was going to toss the gold gown into the bloody Tyrrhenian Sea! She didn’t, of course.

The sky was cloudless, the sea a smooth aquamarine, as the
Flying Dragon
glided through the Straits of Messina that divided Sicily from Italy. Paddy McSwine had procured lovely soft cheeses and luscious black olives, as well as a supply of spices brought from far-off ports.

Tony helped him prepare bouillabaisse flavored with fennel and he told her which meats tasted better with marjoram and oregano. She recalled the delicious paella he’d made when they were anchored in Spain and he told her the yellow color and unique flavor was saffron, which was reputed to make you mirthful.

Tony picked up a handful of bay leaves. Simply touching them released their piquant fragrance. McSwine told her they were from a tree native to the Mediterranean.

“Cap’ns partial to curry.”

“His man from India, John Bull, told me it’s addictive. He said the first taste of mild curry leads on to the
vindaloo,
that’s the hottest.”

“Curry more than any other substance is responsible for increasing the world’s population.” Paddy winked suggestively. “Take it from me, ’tis the best aphrodisiac in the world. Forget yer ‘Wine of Egypt’ with its cantharides, curry will make ye stiff as a bloody poker.”

Tony decided to retire from the galley.

“If ye feed it to a female, she’ll be so hot, she’ll beg ye for it.”

Tony was beginning to believe men thought of nothing but sex. Then she blushed. An inordinate number of her own thoughts were preoccupied by the subject these days!

Savage brought treasures aboard for Edenwood at every port they made. He bought marble sculptures from Italy and statues of ancient Roman soldiers that were so lifelike, you expected them to blink their, eyes and speak. On Corfu he discovered a small Greek temple and had it
dismantled. Then he had the graceful, fluted columns carefully wrapped to take back to his garden.

When they returned to the ship, the crew was diving and swimming about in the tropical waters of the Adriatic, all naked as the day they’d been born. Savage agreed to join them, but Tony declined all invitations.

The Scot called, “Ye’ll no catcha fish wi’ yer shrunken worm.”

Tony replied by thumbing her nose. She took one last look before she went below. Corfu, Greece, was an emerald isle on a turquoise sea. It was one of the most beautiful places Tony had ever seen. Flowering shrubs cloaked the rolling landscape while the knotted, gnarled trunks of the olive trees formed wreaths of silver leaves. The peasants rode mules, the women carried bundles of firewood. Surely this was the spot where Ulysses was washed ashore.

Adam couldn’t understand how anyone preferred the stifling belly of a clipper ship to the sybaritic lure of a blue lagoon. He knew that Lord Lamb was a bit of a snob and understood that the uncouth seamen with their cruel humor were not easy to tolerate. He concluded Tony was unused to male rough-and-tumble and had likely never taken his clothes off outdoors. He might even be concerned about the size of his genitals, afraid that he might not measure up before other males.

Belowdecks, Tony discovered that the storage room that had been padlocked now stood open. In fact it now held the Greek Temple, carefully packed in crates. She was certain that Savage no longer left the ship in the dead of night and hadn’t done so in fact since they’d left France. She wondered if this hold had been emptied in that country where unrest was visible in the street. What had he smuggled into France? The most obvious answer was guns, and ammunition.

She shrank from the idea. It was corrupt, like selling death and destruction. She whirled about at a noise behind her. It was McSwine. He seemed to be forever creeping
up on her, slinking about just like a ferret. “I—I thought you were swimming.”

“No, sor! I toldt ye before, I never touch water. Water’s fer drownin’.”

“What was in this locked hold?” she asked outright.

“I’m blind an’ deaf. I toldt ye that before too.”

“That strange smell that lingered about doesn’t seem so noticeable now. What caused it?”

“That would be opium, sor.”

“Opium?!” Tony was staggered.

“Once opium’s been smuggled on a ship, the stink lingers forever. Ye can’t smell it now because we’ve had lots of hot, sunny days, but let the damp return, let it rain fer a couple o’ days, an’ the stink returns like that on a corpse.”

“A corpse?” Tony repeated, feeling for all the world like Savage’s mynah bird.

“Ye’ve no idea what stink is until ye’ve sailed on a slaver,”

Tony gulped and backed away. “From now on I’m blind and deaf, McSwine. I don’t want to hear these things.”

As she swung back and forth in her hammock her mind darted about like quicksilver. Adam Savage’s words came back to her. “Your soul isn’t black enough to take advantage of the weak and helpless, Lord Lamb.”

Tony shuddered. Surely he’d not blacken his soul with such unspeakable abominations? Smuggling was not a game of hiding a bit of tobacco or wool to avoid paying revenue tax, it was an abhorrent evil, an obscenity that left its foul taint on whoever stooped to such filth. Her mind refused to explore further. She would not—could not— believe it of him.

The next day she was surprised to find Mr. Baines knocking upon her cabin door. “The captain would like you to join him on the deck.”

“Thank you, Mr. Baines,” Tony said politely. He was the only member of the crew who seemed civilized. She
smoothed back her dark hair and secured it with a thong, then made her way abovedecks.

Savage stood relaxed with his hands on the ship’s wheel. The sun bronzed him more each day.

“We’ll be in Venice tomorrow. This voyage up the Adriatic between Italy and the Dalmation Islands is one of the loveliest in the world. I didn’t want you to miss it.”

Suddenly she felt shy of him and averted her eyes to the beautiful shoreline. “The weather’s been exceeding good to us; no storms.”

Savage frowned. Was Tony still afraid of storms? “We are bound to run into a summer storm or two before our voyage is over, but there won’t be any gales. Nothing to be apprehensive about.”

Tony sensed he was trying to reassure her. She searched her mind for small talk. “We’ve made very good time.”

He nodded. “The
Flying Dragon
was a sound investment.” He changed the subject. “Venice is the sort of city you will love. It will simply take your breath away. It’s a city of splendor, steeped in antiquity; over a thousand years of antiquity. Venice is unique, you’ll not find its equal anywhere else on earth. It’s made up of hundreds of islands, crisscrossed by canals. The architecture is magnificent, all centuries old, some decaying, but each and every building is a gem, encrusted with carvings or mosaics.

“The ancient squares are called piazzas and there are hundreds of bridges, so you can explore the city on foot. The afternoons are long and languid, perfect for strolling down medieval alleyways and the stone courtyards of her Gothic houses and palazzos. Some of the businesses close in the afternoon for a siesta, but the streets endlessly fascinate. They are narrow, winding, and crowded, then suddenly a magnificent spacious square opens up before you with a church or a palazzo designed by Palladio. The fourteenth-century Redentore, derived from the Pantheon, is considered his masterpiece.”

“Wasn’t it built in gratitude for the end of the black
plague?” Tony asked, caught up in the subject. “I’ve a book at home about some of the art treasures in the museums.”

“There’s a museum near San Barnaba with sumptuous trompe l’oeil ceilings, depicting gorgeous creatures in acts of love. There are paintings and frescoes of lovers and centaurs and mythological sculptures.”

“Are you going to buy paintings for Edenwood?”

“Christ, yes. I lust for a Canaletto or a Correggio.”

“I like Titian and Bellini,” Tony said dreamily.