A
ubrey didn’t awaken until midmorning. By then the
Chameleon
had been under sail for at least four hours. Eliza had lain awake the entire time, relieved that the captain had not put her ashore as he’d threatened, yet nonetheless alternating between fury and hopelessness. That man. That awful, wicked … pirate, she decided he was. She’d read all about pirates, both real ones and fictional ones, and she fancied he must be the epitome of them all. Completely immoral and without a shred of compassion in his heart.
Oh, yes, his heart which Xavier insisted was filled with pain. Ha! In her opinion, he probably had no heart.
“Mother?” Aubrey murmured, trying to roll over in the hammock he’d been placed in. “Mother?” Before Eliza could reach him, the hammock flipped over and with a thud, poor Aubrey landed on the bare floor—a thud followed by a howl of pain.
Eliza gathered the sobbing boy to her, and once she ascertained that he was not actually injured, she tried to comfort him. But it seemed an impossible task, and equally impossible for her not to be affected by his tears of fright once she explained their abrupt change of circumstances.
“I want my mother.”
I want my mother
, Eliza echoed, sniffing back the threat of her own tears. “We’ll get home eventually, Aubrey. Just see if we don’t. These awful men are just trying to scare your father. That’s all. But Uncle Lloyd will come to our rescue. I
know
he will.”
They were a rather pitiful sight when a key turned in the lock and Oliver poked his face into the cabin. “Are you decent?” he asked, sweeping Eliza with a gaze that would have called for a sound slap had they been in London. But they weren’t in London, nor in any civilized society whatsoever. They were at the mercy of a rogue captain and his rogue crew. And Oliver needed a proper set down by someone who knew how to do it.
“What do you want?” Eliza snapped, scooting between Aubrey and the young sailor.
“D’you want the whole truth?” he answered, grinning and waggling his thick brown eyebrows at her.
“Oh, do be quiet, Oliver. This is all your fault.”
“Are you a pirate, then?” Aubrey asked, peering around Eliza’s back at the man whom he’d simply thought a particularly entertaining manservant.
“A pirate? Why, never think it, mate. I’m just a happy sailor who delivers goods to people, goods that make them happy too.”
“Well, why’d you steal me out of my very own bed if you’re not a pirate?”
For a moment Oliver’s ebullient spirits faltered and he looked more like he had last night when he and Xavier had responded to her furious call once she’d stormed from their captain’s cabin: ashamed of himself. It hadn’t stopped him from locking her in with Aubrey, of course. But at least she knew he still retained the smallest bit of conscience—unlike his vile captain. Eliza meant to use that bit of conscience to torture the young sailor as much as possible.
“Yes, Oliver. Explain to poor Aubrey why you stole
him from his bed. Explain why you lied to him. Why you drugged him and brought him here.”
Oliver bit the side of his lower lip and his no longer merry gaze flitted back and forth between the two of them. “It’s like this, my boy … that is …” He trailed off, then turned back to the door. “Xavier! Where in the blazes are you?”
Aubrey stiffened when the tall African stooped to enter past the low frame. But what Eliza felt was relief. She shouldn’t, of course. Xavier was as much a party to this crime as any of them. But there was something in his bearing that reassured her nonetheless.
“Good morning, miss. Ah, so this is young Master Aubrey.” He gave the boy a gleamingly white smile and extended his hand in greeting. “I’m Xavier, first mate of the
Chameleon
. Ever slept in a hammock before?”
Aubrey glanced at Eliza, but at her nod of approval, hesitantly took the man’s hand. “No, I never did. If I had known it was a hammock I was in, however, I wouldn’t have fallen out.”
The sight of his pale childish hand resting in that giant black grip gave Eliza even more confidence that Xavier was an ally, not an enemy. Not like Oliver, she thought, sending that traitor a scathing look.
Oliver had been staring at her—at her rumpled dishabille, no doubt. But he averted his eyes at her contemptuous glare. “I thought you might like something to eat,” he murmured sheepishly.
Eliza tilted her chin at a pugnacious angle and tried to remember how their housekeeper at home dealt with recalcitrant servants. “First bring us water to clean ourselves with. And I’ll need a brush and comb as well. This chamber,” she added, really warming to her role, “will never do. We’ll need an adjoining suite with separate rooms for each of us. We’ll have our breakfast there, though you can bring the water here,” she finished.
“Well?” She gave him an arch look, quite satisfied with his suitably cowed expression. “Get on with it.”
Oliver backed from the room, cracking his head against the top of the short door frame in the process. Once he was gone, Xavier began to laugh.
“Ah, Miss Eliza. I see you have determined how best to deal with our young Oliver.”
She tossed a hopelessly tangled length of hair behind her shoulder. “You mean order him about like the lowly worm that he is?”
Again the man laughed, a deep rumbling chuckle that brought a reluctant half-smile to her lips too. “Oliver likes women,” he explained. “Very much. And women like him too. They’re always falling at the lad’s feet and he prides himself on how well he pleases them—” Xavier broke off and cleared his throat. “If you know what I mean,” he added a little awkwardly.
Eliza wrinkled her nose. She feared she knew exactly what he meant. But Oliver Spencer—if that was his real name—would never find
her
at his feet. “I can handle Oliver,” she stated. “But …”
“But Cyprian?” he finished for her when she trailed off. He sighed. “Cyprian will be a little longer coming around. You’ll need much patience.”
“Who is Cyprian?” Aubrey asked.
A heartless wretch, Eliza wanted to say. But instead she forced a taut smile to her lips. “He’s the captain of this ship. I imagine you’ll be meeting him later today.”
“Actually,” Xavier said. “He wishes to speak to you now, miss.”
A jolt of pure panic lifted the hairs on Eliza’s nape and raised her pulse to a rapid tatoo. She’d been dreading their next confrontation since the moment she’d stormed out of his cabin last night. “Me? Now? But why?”
Xavier shrugged. “He didn’t say. However, I think
you should view this as another opportunity to win him over.”
“Win him over?” Eliza frowned and chewed on her lower lip. “I doubt I shall ever sway that man from his vile plan to use—”
She broke off before she could frighten Aubrey with the true facts of their abduction. But the boy obviously sensed her fears.
“Don’t leave me, Eliza. Stay with me. Say you will,” he pleaded.
“You mustn’t worry, Aubrey, for I have no intention of leaving you. No, none at all.” She sent Xavier a speaking look. “When our new quarters are ready and we’ve had our breakfast, I’ll be happy to entertain your captain. You will make sure that Oliver attends to those matters, won’t you?”
Xavier stared at her as if she were just a little bit mad. And indeed, she must be, she realized. That awful captain would not like her demands at all, or her refusal of his summons. But then, what precisely did she have to lose? His good will? Inwardly she scoffed. Hauteur had cowed Oliver. Maybe it would work on Cyprian Dare as well.
In less than an hour they had been transferred to a pair of outside cabins. The two chambers were connected by a skinny door, and neither of them was either spacious or particularly comfortable. But Xavier brought cushions while Oliver brought breakfast. By the time she and Aubrey were cleaned and fed, the rooms were nearly as pleasant as the ones on the Lady
Haberton
had been.
But there had been no grim shadow hovering over them on the
Lady Haberton
. No threat in the form of a vengeful sea captain. When he summoned her again it was via a sailor she did not know.
“I’m Mick,” the man said in a broad Yorkshire accent.
“The cap’n, he says yer to come wi’ me now. If you please,” he added, bobbing his slightly balding head.
“If I please,” she muttered to herself. “If
he
pleases, you mean.” But to the weathered-looking fellow she only said, “I refuse to leave Aubrey alone, so your captain will have to come—”
“Ollie!” the man cut her off with a bellowing cry. “Ollie, you gots to wait in here wi’ the lad!”
“Kindly use a little restraint!” Eliza scolded, clapping her hands over her ears.
“Sorry, miss.” He backed away a step, just as cowed as Oliver had been when she used her coolest, most well-bred tones. Could it be that these sailors—common men all—were intimidated by a titled noblewoman? It seemed more than ludicrous—but then, so did everything else associated with this misbegotten voyage.
“Well, just see that it doesn’t happen again,” she ordered, mollified by his behavior. If he’d known how to properly bow and scrape, she realized, he would have done so. Oliver, too, crept into the room like a dog fearing to be scolded. It boosted her confidence enormously.
“Stay with Aubrey while I’m gone,” she instructed the younger sailor. “You already know how to exercise his foot, so do it. Once I’m finished with your captain we will wish to sit on deck for awhile.” She glanced at the other man. “Be sure to have two comfortable chairs ready. And Mick,” she added, enjoying the dismay on both their faces. “Don’t forget blankets.”
Then, not waiting for a reply, she gave Aubrey a reassuring smile and stalked majestically into the companionway.
Her triumph did not last long. She peered to the left and then to the right, only to be met by a deflating sight. Not twenty feet away, the door to the captain’s chamber stood open. Just beyond the door, behind his handsome desk, sat Cyprian Dare, his feet crossed upon the edge
of the desk as he stared straight at her. He gave her a faint smile, just the mocking curve of one side of his mouth. But it was enough to take all the wind out of her sails. The ship rocked smoothly along, creaking its unique rhythm as the muffled calls of the crew wafted down to them. But in the dark passageway, her world seemed to narrow down to that brief, smug smile.
She could order his crew around, but Cyprian Dare? Eliza feared she was no match for him at all. It occurred to her that she’d once felt the same way about Michael. Inadequate. Overwhelmed. But that seemed so inconsequential now. Only her self-esteem had been at stake then. Now her very existence hung in the balance. Hers
and
Aubrey’s.
She steeled herself as best she could, and bracing herself on the rough plank wall, made her way toward him. Not once in those long seconds did he take his eyes from her, and that finished off completely what little there was left of her composure.
“Close the door.”
Eliza stopped just inside the portal. “Why?” she managed, despite her fear.
One of his straight black brows raised in mild surprise. “Why? Because I told you to. I’m captain of this ship, Eliza. What I say goes, and no one questions me about why. We’ll get along much better once you accept that.” He paused. “Now, close the door. Please.” He smiled again.
Despite her unreasoning terror, Eliza nonetheless deemed it wiser to comply. She swung the door closed with trembling hands, then stood before it, close enough to flee should that prove necessary.
But Cyprian Dare did not look inclined toward grabbing her as he had at their previous meeting—previous two meetings, she amended. He’d grabbed
and
touched
and
kissed her that very first time. Now as he studied
her with his dark enigmatic eyes, she feared he might be remembering that same incident.
“Sit down.” He gestured to one of the chairs, then went back to studying her, one fingertip idly rubbing a small scar on his chin.
Eliza sat down, but warily. He was dressed almost like a gentleman today, with a crisp shirt of white lawn that looked every bit as fine a garment as her brother LeClere might choose. His boots too, were from the finest London shoeworks, for she saw the distinctive mark of Pickerings on the instep. Was he pirate or nobleman? she wondered. Could it be her Uncle Lloyd had ruined him in some business venture and now he sought to even the score?
She cleared her throat, growing more nervous by the moment with his silence. If he meant to terrify her he was succeeding awfully well.
“It’s been so long since anyone has requested passage on the
Chameleon
that I’ve almost forgotten my duties. And you did request passage, as I recall.” He stretched back a little and rested his folded hands across his flat stomach, all the while smiling at her. Once again she was reminded of a coiled spring, a seething inferno, restrained—but barely—beneath a facade of deceptive idleness and casual banter.
Eliza worried her lower lip with her teeth. She
had
insisted that she be allowed to stay to protect her young cousin from this vengeful man, and she would not change her actions at this late date. Yet that was hardly the same thing as requesting passage. Still, she had the troubling feeling that he was well pleased that she had elected to stay. What game did he mean to play with her now?