Till Dawn Tames the Night Page 8

  "We've had terribly fine sailing. I'm not surprised our luck is about to change," Aurora commented, hiding her discomposure as she stared out at the blue horizon. They had had fine weather in the weeks they'd been at sea. The days were now even getting balmy and no longer did they need their pelisses to walk about abovedecks.

  "Our luck won't change, my dears," Mrs. Lindstrom assured them. "Captain Corbeil is more than a capable seaman. He is driven to get us to St. George's."

  "And how much farther have we to go?" Miss Gideon asked. "I shouldn't like to have to endure more than one storm on this voyage."

  "Isaac—ah—our captain told me that we should be there within the week." Mrs. Lindstrom had the grace to look flustered by her mistake. To cover herself, she chat­ted on. "You know, I've never seen a ship make such extraordinary time. Captain Corbeil doesn't even furl a portion of the canvas at sunset—none of that lallygagging around for him! No indeed!"

  Aurora couldn't help smiling at Flossie. Ever since the night the captain had spilled his Chartreuse on Flossie's skirts, the widow had been unable'to speak of anything but their fine, upstanding captain. Mrs. Lindstrom had even asked her once, on the sly, if Aurora thought it too bold to invite the captain to afternoon tea in her cabin. In spite of her age, Flossie had developed a grand, school-girlish infatuation for the captain, and Aurora thought it charming. She was just glad the voyage wouldn't be over too soon. At least for Mrs. Lindstrom.

  Not having missed a thing, Miss Gideon gave the widow a disapproving stare. "Our captain may be ex­traordinary but he'd have to be God to will away a storm. The best I hope for is that it doesn't keep the child awake. I don't abide indulging a child's terrors, and I must say it's quite difficult to get one's sleep when there's wailing in the cabin."

  How charitable, Aurora thought bitterly as she looked at the woman. Hardly able to keep her tongue still, she instead turned her attention to Hester. The child was staring up at the crow's nest as if she had just discovered for the first time that there was a man up there, and Aurora's heart once more went out to her. She fervently hoped the storm wouldn't be too bad, for there obviously would be no comfort for the little girl if it were.

  "Miss Dayne?" Miss Gideon paused as if for effect.

  Aurora turned her attention back to Hester's nanny.

  "I've been meaning to speak with you about some­thing, Miss Dayne," Miss Gideon continued. "With your permission, may I broach the subject now?"

  "Of course you may. What is on your mind?" Aurora answered, a bit too tersely.

  "Do you realize you're the only one continuing on to Jamaica? I just spoke with the Wainwrights this morning, and I've now tallied all nine passengers."

  "Surely the Seabravery will be taking more passengers on in St. George's. I doubt I shall be the lone passenger."

  "But what if you are? Have you thought of the possi­bility?" Miss Gideon narrowed her eyes. "I certainly wouldn't want to be in your situation. I could not ever travel alone with such heathens." The woman's gaze slid down the companionway to the weather deck below. There Vashon stood speaking with the Moroccan sailmaker. Even from the fo'c'sle they could hear him slip easily into French as he pointed out a rip in one of the royals.

  "Vashon is no heathen, Miss Gideon," Mrs. Lindstrom spoke up. "He is more accurately portrayed as an eccen­tric."

  "Eccentric or not, I don't believe it is right that a young woman should sail across the Caribbean with him as her only company. A lady of high morals would ada­mantly refuse. Don't you agree, Miss Dayne?"

  Irritated, Aurora chose her words carefully. She longed to put Miss Gideon in her place, but even more than that she wanted to deny the woman's accusation in the hope that by doing so it might erase that wicked dream—and her own unbidden reaction to it.

  "On the contrary," Aurora began passionately, "it is the woman of high morals who need not refuse. What has she to fear? I still believe there will be other passengers brought aboard at St. George's. However, if there are not, I can assure you that my behavior always is and always has been beyond reproach. So I don't see how it would matter a whit if I were sailing with heathens or eccentrics, for I, unlike some, cannot be led astray."

  "Bravo, Aurora!" Mrs. Lindstrom burst out.

  "What shocking cheek!" Miss Gideon gave them both a baleful glare. She snatched up her charge and heaved herself down the companionway.

  "That is an utterly disagreeable woman! To even ques­tion your respectability is beyond the pale! I only hope the poor child's uncle is not so frightful!" Mrs. Lind­strom snapped closed her parasol as if to reinforce the point.

  "Yes, so do I," Aurora agreed uncomfortably, watch­ing the woman charge past the deckhouse.

  Vashon had finished his conversation and was now leaning against the weather deck's railing. She saw that he too was watching the indignant Miss Gideon's flight.

  As soon as she disappeared, he looked across the ship to Aurora, and with that one penetrating emerald glance he shook Aurora's self-righteous moral indignation to its core. Aghast, she averted her eyes and refused to be fur­ther seduced, but not before she was beset with renewed doubt. Only a moment ago she'd been utterly convinced that she could withstand any sort of treachery and keep her respectability intact. But was she being a fool? After ' all, there were such things as dragons—even if just in the imagination. Was she really up to taking one on all by herself?

  "Do you really think we won't be taking any more passengers on at St. George's?" she suddenly asked Mrs. Lindstrom, a frown furrowing her smooth brow.

  "Of course not, love. Besides, you needn't worry. There's always Captain Corbeil to look out for you."

  Aurora looked across the decks once more. The cap­tain had joined Vashon at the railing. The two men were laughing and it was obvious they were sharing some kind of joke.

  Suddenly, inexplicably, she wasn't reassured.

  By early that evening the captain's prediction came true. Though it had yet to rain, ominous rumbling clouds appeared on the horizon and the sea had become rough, easily tossing the ship across its churning surface. By din­nertime Aurora found it difficult to make herself present­able, for every time she tried to pour some water from her ewer, the ship would lurch and she'd miss the bowl entirely. When her face was finally washed, her cabin looked as if it had experienced a minor flood.

  Dinner was quiet. Most of the passengers had either requested dinner in their cabins or were too sick to eat from all the tossing about. Only Mrs. Lindstrom and the Magoun brothers were in the roundhouse when she ar­rived, and that company was fleeting, for though Alex and Lee Magoun obviously considered themselves, at sev­enteen, quite manly, even they were not able to abide their dinners amid the roiling action of the ship. Before the meal was finished, they had already made their ex­cuses, and Mrs. Lindstrom also soon took her leave to see to her seasick maid, leaving Aurora alone to return to her cabin.

  For some reason she was a little depressed about facing that empty cabin for yet another evening. After the con­stant companionship at the Home, Aurora found it dis­heartening to spend so much time alone. Even within the confines of the ship, she felt isolated from the rest of the passengers, especially since all their cabins were below the vestigial gundeck and hers was aft, right off the weather deck.

  She lingered in the galley as long as she could, but finally made her way to her cabin. Though the turbulence had yet to affect her constitution, she still found it diffi­cult walking down the. passageway to her room. She swayed from side to side, clutching the mahogany panel­ing whenever a roll became too fierce. She practically staggered like a drunkard the last few steps to her door, but before she could get there, a great roll knocked her sideways and propelled her against the opposite cabin's door. She would have been all right except for the fact that Vashon's door was not securely latched. It swung open with her weight and she was hurled onto the carpet right inside his quarters.

  Shocked by what had happened, she quickly got to her knees and pra
yed that the cabin was empty. Yet as she looked up a terrifying sight met her eyes. A fiery green dragon, more ruthless and lifelike than the one on the prow, loomed above her, ready for attack. With the rock­ing motion of the ship, it actually seemed to move. As she knelt on the carpet transfixed, it took her a moment even to begin to comprehend that the dragon was not real, much less make the connection that it was a painting—a painting done on the flesh of a man's naked back.

  Before she could even tear her eyes away, Vashon turned and suddenly the dragon was gone from her view, to be replaced by the scowling face of the cabin's occu­pant.

  "Shouldn't you knock first, Miss Dayne?" Vashon commented before he grasped her wrists and pulled her to her feet. The vessel dipped then, and though she sus­pected he possessed quite enough strength to steady the both of them, he let the ship toss them against the door, which closed with a thud.

  "Your—your back—" she stammered, unnerved by his closeness and by what she had seen.

  "Yes, it's called a tattoo," he commented dryly.

  "But how could you have painted such a thing on yourself? It's on your back," she whispered.

  "I didn't paint it—a pretty Chinese maiden put it on my back. In Peking. In the Forbidden City." He looked down at her and suddenly seemed quite pleased with what he saw. A ghost of a smile played on his lips.

  "In China?" she asked, looking up at him with bewil­dered aqua eyes. "But if you got it in China, wouldn't it have come off by now?"

  "It doesn't come off." He turned slightly and presented part of the dragon to her. "Touch it and you'll see for yourself."

  She had never touched a man's back, but this one de­manded she do it. The dragon was so ferocious and de­tailed, she could hardly believe it was on his skin. Tim­idly she reached out her hand. Her fingertips met with the creature's scaly tail. The thing whipped down his lower back serpentine fashion, only to disappear beneath the waist of his trousers. But though the dragon seemed much too real, all she felt was warm, smoothly muscled flesh. If she'd had her eyes closed, she would never have known the dragon was there at all.

  "But why doesn't it come off?" she asked in a hushed voice.

  He turned back to her. The ship lurched and he held fast to the door, steadying her between his arms. "It doesn't come off because it's not on my skin, it's in my skin. It was put there with a needle and dye."

  "Then it must have hurt terribly . . ."

  He suddenly laughed, and she was struck by how white and even his teeth were, and how fascinatingly handsome he was when he smiled. If he wasn't so barbarously "ec­centric," as Mrs. Lindstrom put it, he would surely have women swooning at his feet. As she watched him from such close proximity, she wondered if there weren't a few swooning anyway.

  "It did hurt. A great deal, in fact," he said as he looked down at her. "But this little Chinese wench was skillful with the needle . . . and when she was through I recall quite clearly her unusual methods to take my mind off the pain."

  Aurora stared at him. She wasn't even sure what he was implying, but somehow she knew instinctively a proper gentleman would never speak such things to her.

  The ship rolled and she was thrust against his hard, naked chest. Once more his scent—so wild and mysteri­ous—assailed her. She didn't want to touch him again, but with her back to the cabin door he was the only thing to grab. Her one hand wrapped around his steely upper arm while her other hand met with his hair-covered torso. It was a deep roll, so deep that the one dim lantern in the room was doused by its own fuel. In the darkness she held on to him. The only illumination in the cabin was from a distant flash of lightning.

  "You amaze me, Aurora," he suddenly whispered down to her.

  Another flash of lightning and she looked up. His ex­pression in the darkness was almost terrifying. He looked like the quintessential predator and she, the vulnerable prey.

  "You appear to be such a timid little wren," he com­mented, "and yet now in this storm when the other pas­sengers are groaning in their cabins, you've proved to have as much fortitude as you claim. I must say it should carry you through the future quite well."

  "You act as if you know what is in my future," she said in a hushed voice, hardly able to keep it from shaking.

  Another bolt of lightning and another roll, and he moved closer. The silver ring in his ear glinted in the flash. "I can't always tell what the future holds. It still surprises me. After all, just look what we have here." He touched her cheek and whispered, "Isaac was right. Who would have ever guessed such an unadorned little Lon­don miss such as yourself could actually be so winsome?"

  His head bent down and her hand curled against his chest, but whether it was a welcoming gesture or one of despair she was never to be sure. One thing she was sure of was that he was going to kiss her. Just .like in her dream. And though they were certainly ill-honed, all her womanly instincts couldn't be wrong.

  His head bent farther and his hand slid lower along the wall. Propriety told her she should pull away, but there was nowhere to go. Too, his lips held such a promise, she didn't want to refuse—didn't know how to refuse. This was no dream that would melt into obscurity the instant his lips touched hers. This was really happening, and she longed to discover all the nuances of feeling she'd been missing.

  He was so close she could feel his breath warm and enticing on her cheek. As her fingers uncurled against his chest, she rediscovered the pleasure of caressing him. She explored his front, textured with hair and rigid with mus­cle, and she never imagined mere flesh could be so hard and implacable. Beneath her hand she felt his heart drumming against his ribs, and she was amazed to find it quicken as he drew her to him. Her own heart beat wildly as his arm encircled her waist. At last the moment seemed to come when they would meet, and even the ship seemed to steady for their encounter. But before it could even begin, it was over.

  Vashon's head shot up and Aurora realized belatedly that someone was knocking at the cabin door. The ship lurched and his hand rested on her waist to steady her. In the dimness of the cabin, she could still make out an irritated scowl on his face as he snapped, "What is it?" to the door.

  "Vashon!" Benny's voice rang out from behind the door. "The captain is having a time of it in this storm! He sent me to see if you could help!"

  Reluctantly Vashon dropped his hold on her and went to a nearby chair. She could barely see the flash of white as he donned his shirt. "Tell Isaac to keep that anchor weighed and that I'll be right there," he called.

  "Very good, sir!" Benny shouted before they heard the telltale scrape of his peg leg as he left the afterhouse.

  In the silence that followed as Vashon pulled on his boots, Aurora didn't know whether to flee or remain rooted where she was. Her mortification at what almost happened grew by the second; the only thing that hid it was the darkness of the cabin and the impending doom of the storm. As the ship made a precarious roll, she heard him mutter a curse. Grim-featured, he reached for her and pulled her aside of the door.

  "Stay here and wait for me until I get back," he or­dered.

  "I most certainly will not," she whispered, unable even to look at him. It galled her that he would even ask such a thing. What kind of a woman did he think she was?

  He nodded and released a mirthless chuckle. "Then I suggest you get to your cabin while you still have one." With that, he slammed the door behind him, and she listened as he made his way forward until the thud of his boots gave way to the howl of the wind.

  The night was spent in abject misery. The storm didn't abate until well after dawn, and though the Seabravery seemed to have survived with no great damage, Aurora suspected there wasn't a soul on board ship who had slept through the turbulent night.

  She most certainly had not. In fact she was up and dressed by the time Vashon returned from the decks. Amid the now gentle rocking of the ship, she heard his weary footfalls as he made his way past her door. She'd almost been tempted to speak to him, to open her door and say something about their enco
unter the night be­fore. But she quickly stopped herself. There were no ap­propriate words. After all, she admonished herself, what was there to say? Nothing had happened, really, and the worst was not what he had done at all. The worst was what she had wanted to happen. She'd spent the night wondering if deep down she hadn't truly wanted him to kiss her, wanted that exotic, dangerous man to put his lips on her own and show her just what she would have missed if she had married John. But, as she told herself now, that certainly required no comment or apology from him.

  When he was secluded in his cabin, she collected her­self, then ventured forth to see to Mrs. Lindstrom's wel­fare. The widow's maid was prostrate with seasickness when she arrived, but Aurora was happy to find Flossie up and making herself tea on the porcelain stove with no apparent ill effects herself.

  They had just sat down to take some refreshment when Captain Corbeil knocked on the cabin door. He seemed pleased to see them both so well, though he did take note of the moans of Mrs. Lindstrom's maid from her tiny bed in the corner. The captain, looking spent and aged from his ordeal with the weather, didn't stay long, but before he left, he gave them some news at which Aurora didn't know whether to be happy or horrified.

  It seemed that the storm had purchased them some luck and driven them farther west than they thought. They were now only two days away from St. George's.

  Chapter Seven

  Their early arrival at St. George's caused some confusion. Messengers had to be sent all through the island to notify the relatives of passengers that the Seabravery had docked. Though it took most of the day, Aurora watched as one by one the passengers left for their homes. The Wainwrights with their three-month-old baby were the first to depart in a curricle. The Magoun brothers, practi­cally falling over each other, said a lingering, wistful fare­well to Aurora until their phaeton arrived from their fa­ther's plantation near Hamilton.

  The best farewell, however, came inadvertently from Miss Gideon. From the weather deck Aurora watched as the carriage pulled up to the dock for the governess and her charge. Aurora was loath to see little Hester go, until she saw a man spring from the carriage and eagerly assist his wife's descent. When they finally caught sight of Hes­ter, the couple paused as if they weren't sure how to proceed, but before another moment passed, the man bent down and scooped Hester into his arms while his wife laughed and wiped the tears from her eyes. Suddenly Aurora knew Hester was going to be all right; she would indeed be one of the lucky ones. She was even more con­vinced of it when the carriage made ready to depart and Miss Gideon was hoisted up top to sit with the driver. After the voyage, the woman was now put back in the position of servant, and her influence on Hester's life would be lessened. And this didn't seem to suit the woman at all. She looked as disagreeable as ever when she was forced to hold on for dear life while the driver sped away to parts unknown.