Chance the Winds of Fortune (39 page)

“Now,” the captain's voice continued, “shall we consider your first explanation, since it is the simpler of the two? Most likely you heard, during your wanderings along the docks, that I had discovered a treasure map, which you thought you would like to have a look at yourself. Maybe you had even planned to sell it to the highest bidder?” he asked conversationally. “Thought you would make a tidy little fortune, did you? But you miscalculated, because I returned to the
Sea Dragon
unexpectedly. I hardly thought at the time that I would be thankful for the circumstances that sent me here, but now I am most grateful to a certain young woman.”

Rhea stared at him as if he were out of his mind, for nothing he was saying made any sense to her. “I do not know what you are talking about,” she told him nervously, thinking the man might be crazed. “Let me go, please. I will not trouble you any longer.”

“Oh, no, we still have far too much to discuss, haven't we?” he asked in a dangerous tone, his eyes glowing with malice.

Rhea stared up at his chiseled face and shuddered, for he looked like the devil himself. “I-I haven't done anything wrong, despite the lies you may have heard about me. I do not know who you are, except that you say you are the captain of this ship, but that does not give you the right to accost me in this manner. I am trespassing, I admit it. So take me to the authorities. I demand it!” Rhea challenged him, deciding suddenly that she would far prefer to face their condemnation than this madman's.

“Yes, you would like that,” Dante responded sarcastically. “Then your cohorts could waylay me while I was escorting you to gaol. I would most likely end up with a knife in my back for my efforts. Odds are you work with a gang of petty thieves, and the disturbance my man mentioned to me was merely a diversion to get you on board the
Sea Dragon
and give you a chance to find that treasure map.”

Rhea frowned over these words and his constant talk of a treasure map. Then, as she involuntarily glanced at the table where the unrolled parchment lay, her eyes widened as she guiltily remembered the taste of that drumstick.

“I did not damage your map, if that is what has angered you so,” she retorted, her own anger beginning to simmer. “I only took that bottle of wine because I was thirsty,” she said, but was hardly prepared for his sudden burst of disbelieving laughter.

“You were thirsty?” he repeated incredulously. “God, but that is rich!” he exclaimed, laughing again and missing nothing about her shabby appearance. “You ought to spare a little more liquid to the outside of your body,” he commented. Then, with a strange gleam in his eye, he reached for the thick braid hanging over her shoulder. When he grasped the greasy rope of hair, a disdainful look passed over his face.

Rhea jerked her hair free, her face burning with mortification as she stared at this grinning devil. “I do not know anything about your map! I was frightened, that is the only reason I came on board your ship. I am terribly sorry that I trespassed, please do forgive me.” She spoke with haughty sarcasm, her voice trembling with anger and pride. “To me your ship looks like any other ship,” she continued, oblivious to her unintentional insult.

“Does it indeed?” Dante demanded. “And what of its captain? Does he resemble every other man?” Now his voice sounded too courteous. “Which brings me to the merits of your second explanation. It's one that involves a bit of self-sacrifice on your part, doesn't it? No doubt you have heard about my title,” he commented casually, but with a watchful quality in his eyes that belied his easy manner. “What a challenge I must present to the skirts of Charles Town, from well-bred ladies of untarnished reputation, to nameless whores. I have never been such a popular fellow,” Dante said, his lips twisting with contempt, although Rhea could not be certain at whom it was directed.

“What an enticement I must be for a dirty little street beggar like yourself,” he said callously, eyeing Rhea's pathetic figure. “Especially as titled gentlemen are none too plentiful this side of the Atlantic. 'Tis a pity a flesh-and-blood man must accompany the title at all. However, should you fancy yourself a prospective mistress of mine, then I am afraid that you will have to suffer my presence. Or,” he added, with an eyebrow arched quizzically, “do you actually enjoy a man's company—if the price is right?”

Rhea felt a burning tide of embarrassment spreading across her face, for never before in her sheltered life had she been subjected to such insulting remarks and blatant contempt.

“Of course,” Dante continued, enjoying her obvious discomfiture, “I should warn you now that most titled gentlemen of my acquaintance, including myself, are dirt-poor. Ofttimes, due to these most unfortunate circumstances, they are forced into the same, demeaning trade that you yourself are in, that of selling oneself to the richest customer. It is truly a shame the extremes a man is forced into sometimes in order to keep clean linen on his back. And unless my course continues to run smoothly, I shall have to find myself a very wealthy heiress, perhaps even a duke's daughter. That would suit my ambitions nicely, although, as luck would have it, she would probably have a forbidding countenance. Too often, my dear, the wealthier and more influential the heiress, the more ill-favored. That is why they are forced into buying what they want and,” Dante added with a derisive grin, “why there are people like you and me in the world.”

There was a satisfied gleam in Dante's eye as he noted her paling cheeks, but he was not quite prepared for the caustic words that flew from her trembling lips.

“You flatter yourself,
my lord
,” Rhea responded in a voice so insolent that the arrogantly confident captain of the
Sea Dragon
was momentarily stunned. “If indeed you are what you claim to be. A circumstance I would find particularly deplorable. Of course, titles can be bought,
if
the price is right,” she said, mimicking his earlier insult. Meanwhile, her casual perusal of his person was so insultingly brief that her doubts about his laying claim to an aristocratic heritage were quite obvious.

“You, sir, are beneath contempt. You are not fit to wallow with swine.” Rhea thought these words would be the coup de grâce for this insufferable man, but she did not know her enemy. Dante Leighton was not a man to be bested by some gutter-bred halfling.

“I am impressed,” Dante complimented her. His eyes, though, showed antagonism instead of admiration as he stared at this disdainful creature whose reactions were totally different from what he had expected. “I have seldom heard better mimicry in Drury Lane,” he continued. “You present more of a puzzle than I had at first thought. I am curious where you learned to speak in so refined a manner. Were you, perhaps, a kitchen maid, or milady's personal maid?” he questioned softly, then moved with a suddenness that caught Rhea off guard.

He held her chin firmly while he stared down into her face with an intentness that made her uneasy. There was little she could do except try to brave that pale-eyed gaze that seemed to miss nothing.

Dante was, in fact, experiencing a strange sensation of déjà vu. A vague memory of another woman with eyes of a similar, extraordinary shade of violet was insinuating itself into his thoughts. He remembered now, with a sense of loss, how long ago that had been. He had been so incredibly young and naive that year in London. What an idealistic fool he had been to believe in anyone other than himself. How pungent still was the taste of bitterness in his mouth from that season of betrayal.

And now the memory of violet eyes was bringing back too vividly all the regrets from that time. It was ironic how the memory of that woman could lash into fury all of the old hatreds. He did not even know her name, nor had he then, for it had been just a casual glance, a meeting of eyes across a room, a shared moment, nothing more. But in that instant of suspended time, she had been the embodiment of a young man's dreams. The image of her had remained untarnished after all else had been defiled.

His nameless woman had entered and left his life in that one night; yet here he was wondering about her and what her life had been like in the years since. He'd like to believe she'd found happiness, but too many women were little more than commodities bartered into marriage for titles and wealth.

She had stood apart from the throng, aloof and almost contemptuous of her surroundings. Holding her slight frame stiffly erect, her head tilted at an imperious angle, she had seemed to be daring anyone to approach her. Her proud bearing reminded him oddly of this young creature standing before him now—and yet they were nothing alike. One was in rags, the other had worn silk. One was fair, the other had been dark. But despite the physical differences, the image of the other woman seemed stamped on this one. It went deeper even than the elusive quality of dignity that both possessed.

Dante shook his head, freeing himself from that clinging memory. It had been the romantic fancy of a callow youth, and his gilded paragon was wed to a wealthy, titled gentleman and had become a well-fed matron, whose only concerns were her children, and whether to serve leg of mutton with caper sauce, or boiled beef and pudding.

A look of self-disgust settled over Dante's already grim face during his speculations on the all too probable and mundane fate of his ideal. Rhea misinterpreted this glowering look as one of loathing for her and was filled with an ill-advised, yet overpowering urge to escape from yet another tormentor. Without stopping to think about the consequences of such an action, she sidestepped the brooding captain of the
Sea Dragon
and grabbed the offending map before he could make a move to stop her.

As Dante watched unbelievingly, the girl held it precariously close to the lantern's flame, for fool that he was, he had, in his surprise at discovering a trespasser on board, forgotten to close the lantern after lighting it.

“It will become nothing more than cinders,” Rhea warned him as he stepped toward her. His barely restrained fury made her more frightened of him than she had ever been of Daniel Lewis. “Let me go! Or I swear to you, Captain, that I will destroy this map you seem to prize so highly.”

Dante measured the distance between himself and the girl, wondering if he dared call her bluff, for he knew that the parchment would go up like a torch if it touched the flame.

“Don't, Captain,” the girl cautioned, reading his intent in the unnatural stillness of his body. “You speak in riddles, Captain, but I shall be very frank. Allow me to leave your ship unmolested, and in return I shall restore your map to you, intact,” she said. “
Otherwise…
” She allowed the sentence to trail off, but her meaning was in little doubt as she held the priceless treasure map closer to the heat of the flame, until its edges began to curl and blacken.

Fortunately for Dante and the crew of the
Sea Dragon
, as well as for Rhea Claire herself had she known it, there was at that moment a disturbance, because the daughter of the Duke of Camareigh was desperate, and certainly not bluffing.

In that instant, when Rhea's attention was distracted by the sound of pots clanging together, Dante made his move. Rhea cried out in pain as her wrist was caught between punishing fingers that tightened until she was forced to release the map. It floated slowly to the deck, and it lay there forgotten while they glared into each other's angry eyes.

“I give you fair warning now,” Dante said softly, which made his words all the more menacing. “Never threaten me again.”

“If you had been sensible enough to listen to my explanation instead of acting like a maddened animal,” Rhea accused in a shaking voice, “then this unfortunate episode need never have occurred.”

Dante's unamused laughter jarred in her ears, and she tried to turn her flushed face away from the cruel sound. His fingers still grasped her face, though, and forced her eyes to remain locked with his.

“My God, but you are the brazen-faced chit, aren't you? This fine show of being the wronged party will serve for naught. You are carrying too much sail, and the seas are just beginning to roughen for you,” he predicted, a look of anticipatory pleasure on his face at the thought. “So you do not care for my attitude? You think me less than civilized, do you?” he asked, and Rhea could sense that he had been stung by her hastily spoken words.

Dante Leighton, captain of the
Sea Dragon
, Marquis of Jacqobi, and master of Merdraco, grinned. “What exactly
did
you expect to find on board the
Sea Dragon
, my intrepid little trespasser?” he demanded. Then he answered his own question. “A titled gentleman? A marquis, perhaps?”

Dante shook his head in pity, and his grin widened. “What a disappointment you must have suffered to find me when you awakened from your sweet dreams of future riches. You were, no doubt, hoping for a perfumed exquisite, who would kiss your hand and discuss the merits of current fashion. Unfortunately, you have sadly miscalculated, for as you can plainly see, I am no pale-skinned dandy in silks.

“You have the captain of the
Sea Dragon
to deal with, not a pampered marquis, and he is a very different sort of fellow indeed. And certainly no gentleman, although he does bathe regularly, which should be quite a breathtaking change from your usual admirers.”

Rhea blinked in disbelief. “What an insufferable man you are. And whether you are, as you would have me believe, a marquis, or whether you are a tinker, I would still find you the rudest, most vulgar individual I have ever had the misfortune to encounter.”

“I am impressed by this splendid show of ladylike disdain, feigned though it be, but well done nonetheless. But the light of truth has revealed you in my cabin. Now, how do you explain yourself out of that?”

Dante glanced down at the map, which was lying at his feet. “Since the map is still here, I must deduce
that
was not your intended object in stealing on board the
Sea Dragon
. Rather, you wanted to make my acquaintance. Perhaps you imagined that a marquis makes love differently from other men you have known. I assure you, except for my own personal preferences, I am no different from any other man.”