Capture The Wind (26 page)

“Emily would swoon with ecstasy at hearing this.”

Kit smiled. “Then you’ll have to tell her. If Dylan hasn’t already.”

Angela frowned slightly. “Emily and Dylan spend a great deal of time together, I’ve noticed.”

“And you disapprove?”

She looked startled. “Actually, I don’t approve or disapprove. I don’t know what to think.”

“I thought you liked Dylan.”

“Oh, I do. I do. He’s been wonderful to me and to Emily. I can’t think how I would have survived if not for him.”

Kit struggled against a surge of jealousy that astonished him as much as it annoyed him. Jealous? Of her affection for Dylan? He’d thought himself beyond such an emotion. Obviously, he gave himself too much credit for having any sense. He managed a careless shrug.

“Dylan should have been given a pet a long time ago. He’s adopted you two for now.”

Leaning back against the rail, Angela smiled. “Meaning that we are only temporary amusements, I take it.”

Kit scowled. “I didn’t say that.”

“But it’s what you meant.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

She laughed, and he realized that it had been a long time since he’d heard her do so. He couldn’t help a grin.

When Angela said, “You’re very handsome when you aren’t wearing that terrible scowl, you know,” he felt his throat tighten. He kept his voice light with an effort.

“I always assumed you considered me in league with the devil.”

“Oh, certainly. I haven’t really changed
that
opinion. But I would have to be blind not to notice how handsome you are.”

“I see. A man could never grow too vain with you around, I perceive.”

“My nanny used to tell me that beauty is as beauty does. One’s acts can make them more beautiful or turn beauty into ugliness. I believe that must be true.” She turned to stare back over the water that shimmered bluegreen in the sunlight, her gaze focused on the shore line growing steadily larger.

“Angela.”

She turned back to look at him, and he reached out to pull her close. She looked startled, her eyes widening to huge green pools and her lips parting. He smoothed her wind-blown hair with one hand and gently stroked her cheek with the other, as he would a frightened kitten.

“You’ll get over all this,” he heard himself say, and knew that he was stepping out on a ledge that may have no retreat. He wanted to stop, to keep the distance between them, but found it impossible not to offer some sort of comfort, however clumsy. When she shook her head in obvious distress, he said softly, “Yes, you will. A woman as beautiful as you will have many men at her feet.”

Her lashes lowered to hide her eyes, and her bottom lip trembled. “Even if that were true, only one man would be enough.”

He ignored the implications, teasing, “You can’t be that blind. Are there no mirrors in the world you live in?”

“Of course. But different people see different things when they look into a mirror.” She looked back up at him. “You say you see beauty when you look at me. When I look into my mirror, I see a credulous fool.”

“Maybe you’re looking into the wrong mirror. Listen, angel,” he said, grasping her hands when she started to turn away from him, “your only mistake was believing in someone who wasn’t worthy of you. People do it all the time. Do you think you’re the first to trust someone who didn’t deserve it? You’re not. And you won’t be the last. God knows, I’ve been a fool often enough.”

“And you have no intention of being one again,” she said, startling him. He shrugged.

“True. But I don’t put the blame on myself for trusting people I shouldn’t have. I place the blame where it belongs—on their shoulders.”

“That’s a very nice solution, but unfortunately it doesn’t work for everyone,” she said bitterly. “I think of the years I wasted, the qualities I thought Philippe had when he didn’t, and then I recall Papa trying to tell me the truth. I wouldn’t listen to him. And I didn’t listen to Emily when she tried to tell me, either. And bless her, she has not once said ‘I told you so,’ when she certainly could. And should.”

“Angela, you’re not being fair to yourself. Didn’t Dylan tell you that? If you won’t believe me—believe him.”

“It has nothing to do with believing one person over another.” She hesitated, then said, “But maybe that’s wrong. I
did
believe in one person, one person I thought was very special. And he wasn’t.”

Kit fought the urge to shake her. Why did she have to look so damn miserable? She shouldn’t waste an instant of regret for du Plessis. But Kit knew better than to tell her that. Few women would welcome the suggestion that the man they had loved was anything but worthy of it, even when he wasn’t. Unless, of course, it was their idea. He had seen enough to know that, and knew that listening was the wisest course.

Taking a deep breath, he said merely, “We’ll slip into a cove under cover of dusk. Of course, we can’t sail right up to town for obvious reasons, but if you like, once we’re ashore, I’ll take you into Charlotte Amalie. The governor doesn’t particularly like pirates in town, but the merchants certainly don’t mind doing business with us, I’ve noticed. Their full warehouses attest to that.”

Her eyes widened. “They trade with pirates? Willingly?”

“Most willingly. And would also be the first to see us hung or thrown into the deepest cell of Fort Christian once they’d made a tidy profit, I might add.”

“Do I detect a note of bitterness in your voice?”

“Probably. I find it rather amusing in one way, but hypocrisy has always annoyed me. I usually avoid St. Thomas. But the ship has to be careened—I don’t know if you know what that means, but—”

“Yes. I do. Turk told me. The barnacles must be scraped from the ship’s hull so it will move more swiftly through the water. That way you can attack innocent ships much more efficiently.”

He grinned. “Right. At any rate, with the ship beached, we’ll be here for a while. The crew works hard during the day, but at night we seek other amusements.”

“I shudder to think what those might be.”

“Oh, more harmless than you might imagine. In fact, I’ll take you to a place that might interest you.”

She looked uncertain, and the shadows in her eyes deepened until he was determined to banish them.

“What kind of place is it?” she asked.

“Horrible. Laughter. Entertainment. Dancing. I’m certain you’ll hate it.”

Some of the shadows in her eyes faded, and the suggestion of a smile worked the corners of her mouth. “I probably will. You must realize that I detest all forms of amusement.”

“Do you? Then what I have planned should be sheer torture.” He caught both her hands and held them. “Stop wallowing in self-pity, and forget everything for a while. There will be time enough later to face what must be faced.”

“Self-pity!”

“Yes. That’s what you’re doing. No, don’t try to pull away again. Think about it. I’m right, and you know it. You may have plenty of reason to feel sorry for yourself, but that won’t get you a damn thing.”

She looked away, but did not try to step back from him. He watched her, noting the play of emotions that shimmered like tiny stars beneath the creamy surface of her skin. Circles smudged the skin beneath her eyes, looking like faint bruises in the sharp, clear sunlight, and he fought another wave of anger toward du Plessis. He felt no regret at having beaten the Frenchman before leaving New Orleans, though he knew that if Angela learned of it, she would never understand why he had done so.

“My return to England,” she said slowly, “will not be exactly what I had envisioned.”

“Nothing ever is.”

Sighing, Angela looked back up at him. “True. Tell me. Why are you being so nice? For weeks, I saw nothing of you. If I did see you, you made a point of being nasty to me. Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Damned if I know. Maybe it has something to do with disillusionment. I’ve had enough of that to know how to deal with it.”

“And your method is—”

“Distractions. It doesn’t take long to focus on something else in your life, and soon, whatever happened to upset you fades away to a vague memory.”

“Really.” She pulled her hands from his and leaned back against the rail, her arms spread out on the smooth wood. “Like you’ve done, I suppose you’ll tell me. Somehow, I think you’re better at giving advice than taking it.”

For a moment, Kit didn’t say anything. She was more perceptive than he’d thought she would be. Dylan must have told her about Vivian, though it seemed unlikely. Or was his obsession with finding her that obvious? He shook his head slowly, smiling.

“Probably so. I’m getting to be like Turk. He loves to give advice, but is quite offended if one attempts to tell him anything. He’s of the opinion that he knows all.”

“I’ve found him to be quite wise in his way.”

“Yes. At times. And annoying as hell, too.”

Angela laughed. “Well, I wasn’t going to say that, but he can be rather—
forceful
with his opinions.”

“A tidy way of putting it.” Kit shifted slightly to get the sun out of his eyes. Despite his better judgment, he was liking her more and more by the moment. Turk had been right, damn his hide. And Dylan—he didn’t even want to think about what that young man had found the nerve to say to him just the day before. It had bordered on outright insult as well as insolence.

“You’re just too stubborn and stupid to see what’s obvious to anyone else who has any sense,”
Dylan had snarled at him. Then, apparently unsure as to whether he’d been blunt enough, he’d added,
“You might as well
get it over with and admit that you feel a lot more for Angela than you want to
 . . .
”

Only great restraint had kept Kit from knocking Dylan to the deck. If anyone had overheard, he would have felt compelled to do so anyway. Fortunately for both of them, they had been alone on the poop deck. Kit had been content with a cold, “You’re overstepping the boundaries of friendship as well as good sense.” Dylan must have agreed, for he had turned and walked off and they had not spoken since.

And now here he was, feeling slightly foolish and very awkward, trying to charm Angela into a better mood. There was probably some divine justice in this particular whim of fate—as well as a certain macabre humor.

“So,” Angela was saying, drawing his attention back to her, “what sort of infamous entertainment could you possibly provide that would not horrify me too much?”

“You’ll see. Wait until we’re anchored. Tonight will be a celebration for the crew, since they’ve been at sea so long without one. Tomorrow is soon enough to start work.”

“I suppose the entire crew will be ashore?”

“Except the watch shift.” Kit paused, not really wanting to remind her how precarious a situation they would be in while the ship was anchored. Once the
Sea Tiger
was beached, they were almost completely helpless until she was afloat again. If a roving man-o’-war happened by, they would be especially vulnerable to capture. To stave off that possibility, he intended to anchor in a secluded cove with plenty of trees and mount his guns atop earthworks. Not only government ships, but other pirates might take advantage of any ship found in that condition, and he knew as well as they did that to depend upon luck was to invite disaster. He’d almost been trapped that way once before, and he had no intention of it happening again.

“So here you are,” a resonant voice said behind him, and Kit turned to see Turk approaching. Dark, almond-shaped eyes moved from Kit to Angela, then back. “I should have divined that the pair of you would find a peaceful locality in which to converse without interruption.”

“Of course,” Kit pointed out, “we’re being interrupted now.”

“Ah, and so you are.” Turk’s smile flashed. “How dismaying for you. Do I dare inquire as to the nature of the conversation? You both seem rather calm, and I can detect no blood spilled upon the decks.”

“I hope you haven’t come to rectify that situation. Lately your conversation has drawn enough blood.”

“Testy again, Kit? Can it be that my opinion is of interest to you at last?”

Turk was well aware that their recent conversations had all concerned Angela and ended in impasses that neither could resolve. He had stated this very fact to Kit only that morning, and their disagreement on what should be done with the girl still rankled. He gave an impatient shrug.

“Your opinion is always of interest to me, Turk. You know that. I rarely agree with it, but at least you manage to be entertaining most of the time.”

“I’m devastated. Not all the time?”

“One can’t be perfect.”