Elusive Flame

  A carriage rumbled to a halt in an open space nearby, and Cerynise’s heart leapt with excitement as she saw Beau alight. He paused at the door of the conveyance to gather what he had taken with him, laying a pair of long guns over his arm and then slinging a burlap bag over his shoulder. As he paid the driver, several of the strumpets pranced forward. When he turned, he was immediately beset by a variety of invitations, the boldest being a pretty wench who rubbed herself against him in a provocative manner as her hand dipped downward to boldly explore his loins. Beau seemed unabashed by her inspection as he casually scanned her and then the others who were vying for his attention, but when the winsome harlot stood on her tiptoes and tried to extract a kiss from his lips, he turned his face aside with a chuckle and shook his head. Waving the strumpets off with a smile, he strode toward the ship, leaving the comely one pouting with arms akimbo.

  Cerynise eased her constricted breath out in a long sigh of relief, knowing how distressed she would have been if Beau had taken one of the women under his arm and escorted her to some temporary haven. Indeed, she probably would have sulked more than the harlot.

  It had always been Beau for whom her heart had awakened whenever he had come into a classroom or ridden near. Cerynise listened just as intently for his footfalls to approach the cabin door. After a moment she heard the floor creak just beyond the portal. Then a light knock accompanied the announcement “Cerynise, it’s Beau. Can I come in?”

  “Yes,” she called, somewhat surprised by the nervous catch in her voice. Then, because she couldn’t bear to have him realized that she had witnessed his encounter with the strumpet, she fled the gallery. Espying the robe on the far side of the bunk, she suddenly recalled her need for its protective covering and scurried to fetch the velvet armor, but not quickly enough to avoid being caught in a most unladylike position.

  Beau swung open the door and then halted abruptly as he stepped within, for he found himself confronting a very fetching derriere clothed in ducks and stuck up in the air like a flag of truce. He would have gladly accepted the young lady’s surrender almost on any terms, yet he was prone to wonder if he was having another lewd fantasy involving her. He found his brain as well as his breathing ensnared, and it came as no surprise to him that she had acutely awakened his manly cravings when none of the harlots had succeeded.

  Cerynise backed off the bunk and nearly made her admirer groan with the sharp hunger she evoked within him. He was certain he had never seen anything quite as stimulating as those snugly bound crevices, for the tight trousers hardly left anything to his imagination. Where his eyes were fastened was unmistakably where he wanted to be.

  Turning quickly aside as she got to her feet, Beau made a pretense of washing his face and hands at the shaving stand. The cold water helped to some degree to cool his imagination, but it was a lengthy moment before he managed to regain control of himself and face the girl in any guise of control. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her attired in his robe again. At least with her in that all-consuming garment, he could look at her without fearing that in the very next moment he might forget all logic and sweep her down upon his bed.

  Cerynise dared a small, timid smile. “Billy’s clothes are surprisingly comfortable.”

  Beau could have cursed himself for having thought of the idea, which had come to him after breakfast. She had looked too damned appealing and accessible in his robe. Were she garbed as a boy, he had thought, he’d be able to ignore her better, but the lad’s breeches had deftly conspired to make her look all the more feminine and desirable. She was a child-woman of such beguiling beauty, he seriously doubted that he’d ever be stricken with such ravenous cravings while looking upon another, at least not until he managed to thrust this one’s image far into the realm of forgetfulness. Her hip-length hair swirled in shimmering tawny waves around her slender form, while her widened eyes, soft as the deep glen of a wooded copse, stared back at him in indecision. “’Tis best that you don’t let any of my men see you in Billy’s clothing. The sight might prove too much for them.”

  The intense scowl creasing Beau’s brows made Cerynise almost quail. She was unable to discern the cause of his anger and ventured forthrightly, “I sense that you are displeased because I’m wearing them. And yet Billy said you wanted me—”

  “Displeased hardly describes what I’m battling now, Cerynise,” Beau interrupted, striding across the room to put his desk safely between them. He faced the stern windows and frantically sought to divert his thoughts toward a different path. He cast a searching glance about, skimming the cushions that he never took time to sit upon. His eyes paused as he noticed a slight depression similar to the breadth of Cerynise’s slender hips near the far side of the bench. When he glanced outward toward the dock, he saw the young strumpet awaiting a customer near the spot where he had left her. Beau had no need to ask what his guest had witnessed, for it was evident to him where she had been ensconced just prior to his coming aboard.

  Beau turned his attention upon Cerynise, wondering if she might have been offended by the fact that he had allowed the wench to fondle him. No doubt to an innocent it might have seemed a rousing caress, but at the time, he had reluctantly had his mind on seeing Cerynise again and hadn’t been the least bit interested in taking the harlot up on her offer.

  Beau found Cerynise watching him with equal alertness. “Philippe has dinner prepared. Are you hungry?”

  “Immensely!” She managed a grin despite her misgivings. “Are you?”

  “Starved,” Beau replied, making an attempt to chuckle. He strode back through the door, rang the bell which Billy had told her about earlier, and then returned to his desk. While the cabin boy and the chef laid out the food on the table, Beau made notations in his ledger and sorted receipts. Philippe and Billy were both quietly restrained, as if they, too, sensed their captain’s dark mood, and with no more than a murmur the two made their departure. Cerynise approached the table, and in quick response Beau unfolded his long form from behind his desk, crossed the meager distance between them, and pulled out a chair for her. Graciously she accepted his assistance and folded her hands demurely in her lap to hide their trembling as he took a seat.

  In silence he poured her a goblet of wine, and she, in turn, addressed her attention to arranging food on his plate. Though the cuisine was just as delectable as it had been earlier that morning, Cerynise found that she had lost her appetite, for it was impossible for her to ignore the captain’s brooding vexation.

  There was definitely a strange unreality about sitting at a table with the man. She had imagined this moment for so many years that it might have become a trifle hackneyed after their lengthy separation…except that nothing about Beau Birmingham would ever seem trite or insincere to her. If he had been a god, she could not have adored him any more than she did now or had done during all the years she had known him. Even if they went their separate ways and married others, he would always remain her champion on a white charger.

  “I’m sure Billy informed you that I wanted you to stay in my cabin,” Beau said after an uncomfortable silence. “Were you able to enjoy the afternoon in spite of that?”

  “I rested for most of the afternoon,” she replied. “I couldn’t seem to sleep after Mrs. Winthrop’s death…it came so abruptly…and the suddenness of it was…well…rather devastating.” Cerynise took a tiny sip of the wine, hoping it would lend her courage, and wondered if she had been as timid and fearful of the younger Beau Birmingham as she was of the man. She lifted her eyes to him. “Did you have a pleasurable day?”

  “Actually, I did. I went hunting, which I haven’t been able to do much lately. I enjoy the sport while I’m in the Carolinas, but it’s not always easy to do in other parts of the world.”

  “I’ve missed not being home,” she murmured, reminiscing.

  “Your uncle has certainly missed not seeing you these last few years,” Beau surmised. “I’ve visited him from time to time when I’ve been in home
port, but most of our discussions have been about you.”

  Cerynise groaned softly. “I’m sure you couldn’t have found that very entertaining.”

  “Your uncle and I have been laboring under the misconception that you were nothing more than a child. He’ll no doubt be amazed when he sees you.”

  “My uncle was in good health when you last saw him?” she queried hopefully.

  “As hardy as he has always been.”

  She smiled in relief at the news. “Captain Sullivan suggested that Uncle Sterling may have died, and I began to worry that it was true.”

  Beau thought he needed to caution her about sailing on the Mirage and tried to do so without frightening her. “If you can at all manage it, Cerynise, try to stay in your cabin as much as possible during your voyage home. Captain Sullivan doesn’t always know what his crew is up to, so it may be best if you just keep out of sight. Moon is to be trusted and will see to your needs.”

  “You won’t change your mind about taking me home?”

  Beau sighed, knowing his limitations only too well. “I fear not, Cerynise.”

  That was all he said, and that was all he needed to say for her to accept his answer as final. Abruptly she changed the subject, for the thought of leaving him left her despondent. “If I use your cabin tonight, where will you sleep?”

  “I’ll string a hammock in my mate’s quarters. Mr. Oaks sleeps so soundly he won’t even know I’m there.”

  “I fear that my presence aboard your ship is putting you to a great deal of bother, Beau.”

  “You’re a friend. What are friends for if they cannot help one another?”

  Beau arose soon after the meal was concluded and took his leave, barely managing a smile for her. Cerynise quietly waited while Billy cleared the table, and then upon his departure, she braided her hair, doffed her clothes, and washed her chemise and pantalettes. Sliding naked into a bed was something that she had never done before. It seemed totally wicked, yet she didn’t have enough clothes to spare any to sleep in. She was totally surprised to find a rather thrilling experience awaiting her as she slid between the bedclothes. With the elusive scent of Beau drifting through her senses and the sheets caressing the soft peaks of her breasts, she could almost imagine him as her phantom lover. The idea aroused sensations she had never encountered before. They were quite titillating. Indeed, there flourished a strange yearning in her woman’s body that led her to stroke her breasts inquisitively while illusions of Beau hovered near. She imagined her hand caressing him much as the harlot had done and wondered what she would find if she were ever so bold.

  Stirring as it was, her fantasy gave her no ease, for it awakened a sharp hunger within her that made her toss and turn in discontent. Whatever she craved was not something she was cognizant of, but she had no doubt that Beau would have the answer. Someday, perhaps, he would instruct her as her husband.…

  “Foolishness,” she hissed in the dark, growing angry with herself. Beau didn’t even want to let her sail with him! How much less motivated would he be to take her to wife?

  Three

  ALISTAIR WAKEFIELD WINTHROP woke from a port-induced slumber to the harsh reality of a pounding head, a reeling stomach, and a mouth that tasted like the leavings of a passing horse. He rolled in the bed, came up against the leaden bulk of his mistress and then groaned. The sight of Sybil’s bloated face smeared with kohl and lip rouge hardly improved his disposition. He reversed his direction, left the bed and, holding his head as if leery of it toppling off, staggered stiltedly across the room to the garderobe. He just managed to reach the indoor convenience before his stomach rebelled and followed its natural course.

  Some moments later, Alistair emerged and donned his trousers and shirt. He couldn’t steady his fingers long enough to button the latter garment and, with a muttered curse, left it hanging open as he stumbled from the bedroom. Pausing on the landing above the stairs, he shielded his eyes from the light streaming in from the back windows and fumbled like a blind man toward the stairs. He gripped the balustrade with whitened knuckles and made his descent one jolting step at a time, arriving on the lower floor after a painstaking interval of time.

  The door of the dining room stood open, allowing him to see the housemaid who was setting out dishes under the close supervision of the dreaded Jasper. From beneath drooping lids, Alistair’s bloodshot eyes swept the spacious area. Nowhere could he see evidence of tea being brewed.

  His hackles rose in indignation. No matter how high in the hierarchy of servants Jasper might have ranked, his living depended no less than the others’ on his master’s goodwill. The butler had obviously forgotten his tenuous position, but Alistair was determined to bring the man up short with a reminder. He’d be damned before he’d put up with any long-nosed arrogance from an arrogant lackey!

  “What’s to be said of the way a house is run when the squire has to come in search of his own tea?” Alistair demanded sharply.

  The clatter of silverware falling on the table affirmed that the housemaid had been duly startled. She gaped at Alistair, looking suitably alarmed. Jasper scarcely blinked an eye.

  Alistair silently fumed. That ol’ sod is a cold one, curse his frigid heart!

  “I regret the inconvenience, sir,” Jasper apologized stoically. “If you would like to establish a regular schedule, I can assure you that it will be scrupulously respected forthwith.”

  “Get that clabber out of here!” Alistair railed, waving a hand in the general direction of the covered dishes now arraying the table. “Just get me a cup of tea, if that wouldn’t put you to too much bother!”

  “No bother at all, sir,” Jasper replied blandly and, with a flick of his fingers, directed the housemaid to the task of clearing away the dishes. The butler brought the tea himself and placed it at the end of the table where Alistair was now seated with his elbows braced on the polished surface and his head resting in his palms. Though no sound was made, the master started suddenly in surprise, having dozed off.

  “Oh, it’s you.” Alistair sighed in relief. He blinked his eyes, banishing the vision that had haunted him for the briefest moment. Shakily he raised the cup to his mouth, trying not to slosh the contents over the rim. His failure was keenly felt each and every time a scalding droplet plummeted to his lap and rapidly soaked into his trousers. No doubt his thighs would be liberally speckled with blisters by the time he managed to get enough tea into his system for his brain to start functioning.

  “Mr. Rudd is here, sir,” Jasper announced in a solemn tone. “Shall I show him in?”

  “Might as well,” Alistair muttered ungraciously. A moment later he frowned sharply as Rudd came stumbling through the dining room door. The man’s clothing was wrinkled, his eyes as bleary as his host’s. Above all of that, he seemed terribly distressed. The sot! Alistair mentally sneered, unaware that his own appearance closely mirrored the discombobulated demeanor of his companion. “I thought you were going home to sleep after you left here last night.”

  “Did eventually,” Howard Rudd mumbled, holding up a hand to shade his eyes from the light streaming in through the windows. He gestured feebly toward the drapes. “Close those damned things!”

  Obediently Jasper darkened the room and quietly placed a cup of tea before the barrister as the latter slid into a chair on Alistair’s right.

  “Send him away,” Rudd muttered in low tones, gesturing in the general direction of the butler’s back. “Got to talk to you in private.”

  A needling apprehension prickled Alistair’s nape. He snapped his fingers, wincing at the pain evoked by the action, but having gained Jasper’s attention, he pointed toward the door.

  Rudd listened to the butler’s footsteps fading toward another section of the house and finally took a deep breath, as if he were about to plunge into a dismal, dank pool. “Now, I don’t think there’s anything to be concerned about. Want to make that clear right from the start…”

  A sickening dread crept up from the dep
ths of Alistair’s dark soul. All along he had feared something would go wrong; now apparently it had. “Spit it out, man!”

  “Problem is I can’t find Mrs. Winthrop’s legal papers, deed to the house, list of investments and bank accounts, things like that. The papers ought to be in the house, but I’ve looked everywhere that I can think of, and so far nothing has turned up.”

  “They have to be here!” Alistair insisted. Bracing his hands against the table, he pushed himself to his feet and walked to the windows on limbs that seemed ready to slither out from under him. “She lived well enough on the annual proceeds. Why, there must’ve been at least thirty thousand pounds a year that came to her from her assets.”

  Rudd was suitably reverent at the mention of such an impressive sum, an amount exceedingly far beyond his own circumstance. “Always very prudent with her investments, she was, at least while I was still her solicitor. No reason to believe that has changed in the years following my last official visit here.”

  “Then where in the hell are her records?” Alistair demanded, ready to fly into a rage. How could he have possibly come so far only to be thwarted still? He snarled in frustration and then hotly asserted, “I’m rich, dammit! Richer than some of those titled highbrows! Nobody’s going to keep that money from me. Nobody!”

  “Easy now,” Rudd cautioned. “No sense getting yourself overwrought. Not good for the humors, you know. The records must be somewhere. If we have to, we’ll tear this house apart—”