He should have known better.
The moment she was free, Alex sprinted out into the woods, calling Blackbeard’s name frantically, pleading with him to return to safety.
“Damn you, Alexandria,” Drake exploded, tearing through the woods with the greatest of speed in the hope of overtaking his impulsive wife before she forfeited both their lives.
Blackbeard had reached the water’s edge and was barking furiously at the approaching ship. Alex was close behind, terrified as she saw that the ample-sized schooner was almost upon them. And all at once she stopped dead in her tracks just as Drake grabbed her from behind.
“Drake,” she breathed, “she’s flying a British flag! How is that possible?”
Drake stared over Alex’s head, and suddenly a huge smile broke out across his bearded face.
“There is only one person with enough nerve to fly the British flag this deep into American territory.”
Simultaneously Smitty’s voice reached them through his speaking trumpet. “Captain?” he politely inquired. “May I offer you a ride?”
Chapter 20
BLACKBEARD WAS HAILED A hero.
As a result of his reckless behavior there was much cause for celebration among La Belle Illusion’s re-united crew as their newly-acquired schooner cruised down the Saint Lawrence. Fortunately the pup retained his humility and was satisfied with a hearty beef dinner and free rein on his new moving domicile. It was soon obvious that Blackbeard was indeed a sea dog who had probably spent his entire young life aboard a ship.
Having completed his exploration, he sprang unceremoniously upon the quarterdeck, curled up beside the helm at Drake’s feet, and made himself at home.
Smitty began to laugh. “I see you have acquired a new admirer during your absence, Captain.”
“He much resembles Drake, does he not, Smitty?” Alex asked from the main deck. “Especially their bearded faces?”
Drake looked down in amazement as Blackbeard contentedly sniffed the sea air, then began nibbling at Drake’s boots. “His arrogance is staggering,” he muttered.
“Another startling similarity,” Alex agreed.
Drake shot her a dark look, and Smitty beamed.
“It is so good to have you both back again, alive and well,” he told them.
There was a moment of hesitation. “It is good we are all safe, Smitty,” Alex replied at last. “Thank God you and the crew were able to make your way to Kingston.”
She was relieved when Smitty turned to Drake and plunged into a full accounting of the past month’s events, for she needed a moment to herself. Walking over to the rail, she bade a silent farewell to the wondrous island that had been home for a brief, idyllic time. She had left a part of herself there, an innocence and joy that would remain forever amid the island’s magic. She only prayed that a bit of the enchantment had remained inside her as well, to guide her through the weeks to come.
Drake glanced over at her. He knew what she was feeling, for he was experiencing mixed emotions as well—grateful to be alive, elated to be reunited with his crew and to know for certain that they had all survived, yet poignantly saddened at leaving their very own Eden.
Life had no easy answers, only very complex questions.
“Princess? Why don’t you go below and get some rest?”
Alex turned to face him, nodding. “You and Smitty have much to discuss, no doubt. And I am already uncomfortable in Thomas’s breeches. I had become so used to not needing …” She blushed scarlet, realizing what she had been about to say. “I’ll go rest.” She ducked below with great haste.
Drake chuckled. “That was the fastest I have ever seen Alexandria obey me. I dare not hope it will continue.”
Smitty saw the softness in Drake’s gaze, just as he had seen the glow on Alex’s face. Perhaps, despite his own frantic worry about their well-being, the last month had served a good purpose.
“It feels wonderful to be back at the helm,” Drake commented, gripping the wheel and looking about him. “I hope you did not mind relinquishing it to me?”
“It was my pleasure, Captain. I only wish it could have been La Belle Illusion.”
Drake’s jaw tightened. “There will be other ships, Smitty. The American ship was simply too powerful for La Belle. We did not stand a chance.”
“No, we did not stand a chance,” Smitty agreed quietly. “But I do not believe that it was because of the American ship’s superiority.”
Drake scowled. “What does that mean?”
“The men and I have had much time to talk, to reconstruct the events of that day. All of them swear that the guns were targeted perfectly, the elevations well suited to our distance from the military brig.”
“Yet all our volleys fell short.”
“Yes.” Smitty was quiet for a moment, giving Drake time to absorb the information.
“You agree with their assessment?”
Smitty nodded. “I do.”
“Perhaps the wrong amount of powder was placed in the cartridges,” Drake suggested.
Smitty shook his head. “Mannings is skilled at filling the cartridges. It is possible that he could estimate incorrectly once, perhaps twice. But again and again? No, that I do not believe.”
“Nor do I.” Drake stared out to sea for a brief moment. “That leaves only one alternative. The gunpowder itself was not at full strength.”
“I would have to agree with you, Captain.”
“Do you suspect that it was tampered with?”
“I honestly do not know, Captain. It does seem to be a distinct possibility, although no one could have been certain that we would have need of our cannons.”
Drake looked grim. “No, but there was every likelihood, in light of the impending war with America, that we would have to defend ourselves. The odds were good that cutting the potency of our powder would prove successful. And I intend to discover the truth.” He paused. “Smitty, please do not mention this in front of Alexandria. I do not want to frighten her; she has endured a great deal these last months.”
“Of course, Captain.” Smitty studied Drake’s face. “You haven’t told her, have you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I believe that is obvious.”
“Do you perceive your wife to be so shallow that she would think less of you for who you are?”
Drake met Smitty’s gaze. “I think my wife would cheerfully murder me if she knew the truth.”
“She will find out soon enough, Captain.”
Drake nodded. “Yes. But I shall have weeks at sea to prepare her for the shock.”
“Her reaction will be more severe the longer you wait.”
“I do not need you to serve as my conscience, Smitty.” Drake didn’t know who he was angrier with, Smitty or himself. Suddenly all the doubts and the bitterness seemed to be resurfacing, reminding him of his vulnerability at Alex’s hands.
“As you wish, Captain.”
“Wishing is for romantics and fools.” Drake’s voice was hard.
“A man who chooses bitterness over joy could be considered a fool.”
“Or merely a man who has learned that there is no joy that does not end in bitterness.”
“Bitterness that was caused by another woman to another man; not your wife or yourself.”
Drake shot Smitty a look of smoldering anger and raw pain. “My mother was hardly unique in her indiscretions. The majority of the ton’s simpering females are cuckolding their husbands and have been doing so for years. Both you and I know that.”
“Lady Alexandria is different. You and I both know that as well.”
Drake slammed his hand down on the wheel. “All right, damn it, yes! Alexandria is different! She is beautiful and innocent and giving.”
“And?”
“And how long do you think she will remain that way once we return to Allonshire?”
“The world of the nobility is not new to her, Captain.”
“But de
ceit and the betrayal are. She has been sheltered, a child growing up on the fringes of reality. Hell, Smitty, she wants a loving home filled with warmth and caring.” He raised a sardonic brow. “Now, does that sound like Allonshire to you, my friend?”
“It sounds like something you could easily give to her, if you choose to, my lord.”
“I don’t know what I choose anymore, Smitty. But I will not forfeit my life or my pride for any woman.”
“The giving of warmth and love does not require the relinquishing of self or pride.”
“Why are you intent on pursuing this distasteful, unresolvable topic?” Drake demanded.
“Because you are behaving like a scoundrel,” Smitty shot back, an uncharacteristic flush of anger reddening his weathered face. “And because I care about you, Captain,” he added softly, gently. “Whether you know it or not, you are in love with your wife.”
Absolute silence followed Smitty’s quietly spoken words. Then Drake drew a slow breath.
“I do not believe in love and therefore cannot respond to your statement.” He stepped away from the wheel. “I am going below to rest. I will return to relieve you when I awaken.” He turned to go. “We will not speak of this again, Smitty. Ever. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly clear, Captain.”
“Fine.”
He left Smitty, and the conversation, behind. But, all the way to his cabin Smitty’s words kept resounding in his mind. And he was terrified that they were true.
The messenger paused at the foot of the steep stone steps to gape up at the immense Gothic mansion that sprawled endlessly over acres of flawless land. It was not an unusual reaction from a first time visitor to Allonshire. Few country homes in England could boast its size or brilliant architectural design.
Minutes passed before the thoroughly intimidated messenger remembered his missive and hurried up the steps to deliver it. With great relief he left it in the hands of the stiff-faced butler who answered the door. His job was done.
Within the cavernous marble hallways of Allonshire the butler’s footsteps echoed eerily as he marched to the dining room and approached one of the uniformed footmen who stood before it. Wordlessly he placed the message in his hands, then turned and disappeared.
The footman moved quickly through the arched doorway, past the antique statues, and over to the head of the intricately carved walnut table.
Sebastian Barrett looked up impatiently from his dinner.
“Yes? What is it?”
“Excuse me, my lord. A message has arrived for you.”
“Oh?” Calmly he lifted his napkin to his lips, then dropped it carelessly onto the table. He took the note, dismissing the servant with a curt nod of his head.
Sebastian read the contents three times. He was being regretfully informed that La Belle Illusion had been destroyed by an American military ship. There was no evidence of survivors.
Upstairs in his bed, Grayson Barrett lay ill, possibly dying. Sebastian was aware that he would have to tell his father of Drake’s demise. A most unpleasant task.
Replacing his napkin on his lap, Sebastian continued with his quite delicious meal. The news could wait until after dinner.
Unlike Drake, Alex had no doubt as to what she was feeling. She was totally and irrevocably in love with her husband. Her fears lay elsewhere.
She tossed onto her back in the cabin’s narrow berth, trying to come to grips with her trepidation. Drake had still not proclaimed his love for her, despite his tenderness and his passion, and that worried her. Now that he was back at sea where he belonged, Alex feared that the tenuous thread of their relationship would be broken.
And she had one other fear, one that she hated to admit, even to herself.
Was she strong enough to endure the censure she would receive when she returned to England married … to a sea captain? The gossip would be rampant, the snubs constant and cruel. She did not like those people, and yet they were all that she knew.
Alex felt like a hypocrite, denouncing the ton and their values, yet unable to withstand their scorn. And Drake was so proud, their relationship so fragile; she could never confide her fears to him. He already despised women, especially noblewomen. She had finally made some small progress in convincing him that she was different. She did not intend to undo all that she had done.
If only he loved her; if only he had said the words. That would have made all the difference in the world.
She closed her eyes, tired, drained, but not sleepy. Every roll of the ship bothered her; even the bed felt odd beneath her after weeks of sleeping on the ground. She felt so out of sorts.
The door swung open, and Drake entered the cabin, closing the door behind him. His thoughts were still in a turmoil from the conversation with Smitty. How he longed for the peace that had temporarily been his and now seemed lost and unattainable.
“Drake?” Alex met his troubled gaze.
Perhaps peace could be had … for a brief interval.
Drake tossed his clothing aside, climbed into bed, and seized his wife in his arms.
“Don’t ask me any questions,” he whispered. “For I have no answers to give.” He stared into her concerned face and was gripped with a sudden irrational need to lose himself in her. “Don’t talk at all,” he growled, silencing her reply with his mouth. “No words, none. Just the feeling of your body next to mine, my body inside yours.” He parted her lips with his, possessed the sweetness of her mouth with his tongue. “I need you. Alex …”
He never finished the thought. Nor was it necessary. For Alex, hearing the raw emotion in her husband’s voice, wrapped her arms around him and helplessly gave him everything he wanted and needed from her. And he took it all, greedily, desperately, tearing the shirt from her body and plunging into her softness with every ounce of strength and passion he possessed. Alex cried out, but he didn’t slow, couldn’t stop. And it didn’t matter. At this moment all that mattered to Alex was that she loved him and that he needed her.
The ache inside Drake built to excruciating proportions, and still he battered her with his frantic thrusts. The craving was bottomless, endless, consuming him in a white-hot blaze that raged on and on, built higher and higher. He was lost in a red haze of sensation, unaware of anything but his rampant need to find relief from the throbbing ache in his loins, in his heart. He caught his breath, poised on the edge of a feeling so stark, so intense, that it was unbearable. And then he erupted wildly inside her, calling out to her hoarsely again and again, burying himself so deep inside her that he could touch her soul.
Drake collapsed against Alex’s small, soft body, reality filtering, back to him in gradual stages of awareness. His first coherent thought was that he had all but raped his wife, and his heart contracted with fear.
“Alex?” He raised himself up on his elbows, searching her flushed, damp face. Her eyes were closed, her lips swollen from his brutal kisses, and scratches caused by his beard’s abrasive contact stood out against the golden tan of her cheeks and her chin. His gaze dropped lower. Red marks of his passion marred the honeyed perfection of her shoulders and her throat.
He had never felt like such a bastard in all his life.
“Sweetheart …” His voice was hoarse, his hand shaking as he raised it to touch her face. “Alex?”
Alex opened her eyes slowly, barely able to focus. Her body was still awash with the wondrous aftershocks of her climax. She had never imagined such a fiercely tender union, never dreamed she could merge so completely with another person. Awed by what had transpired between them, she stared up at her husband’s handsome face in wonder.
“Princess, are you all right?” As his words penetrated her sensual haze, Alex became aware of the concern in his voice, the harsh regret on his face. Why did he look so remorseful when she felt so utterly blissful?
“All right?” she repeated in a whisper, totally at sea.
“Did I hurt you?” He traced his fingers over the scratches on her face, then leaned down t
o kiss each one of them. “I didn’t mean to. I would never …” His voice broke, and he rolled off her, because he knew if he stayed inside her he would make love to her again. Make love? Hah! He had brutalized her. And still she looked up at him with innocent adoration in her eyes.
For the first time Drake felt ashamed. Ashamed and unworthy.
“You didn’t hurt me.” Her soft voice interrupted his self-chastisement. “It was beautiful.”
He turned toward her, seeking the truth in her eyes. She smiled, snuggled into his arms. “Actually, I feel wonderful. Quite a bit better than I was feeling before you arrived.”
He cradled her against him, relief flooding through him like a great tide. “I never intended to take you so violently. I don’t know what came over me.”
She kissed one powerful bronzed bicep, wisely remaining silent.
He grinned, still heady with relief. “I must say that it was a welcome change to make love to you on a real bed, though.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I rather liked our crude bed of grass on the island.” She laughed. “It made everything feel rather … primitive and exciting.”
“Princess,” he wound her hair around his fingers, “I don’t think it can get more primitive than it just did.”
He could actually feel her blush against his chest, and he chuckled, all the fear and confusion temporarily forgotten. But he knew that they remained, held at bay by emotions that superseded them.
He lifted her face, cupped it tenderly between his strong hands. There was so much he needed to tell her before they docked in London, so much she would have to absorb.
So much she would be unable to accept.
Gently he drew her mouth to his. “Let me love you again,” he murmured, his voice husky, seductive. “Slowly this time, the way you were meant to be loved.”
She paused, inches from his mouth. “Drake … we have much to discuss. You have to know what lies ahead of us when we arrive in England. We’ll have to go to Sudsbury, and my mother—”
“Shhh,” he whispered, enfolding her in his arms. “We have time … weeks before we reach England. Surely it can wait”—his eyes caressed her face—“an hour or two?”