Sea of Desire (33 page)

They’d all three been thirteen when Aunt Rose
died. Jared and John’s parents were in Charles Town. Aunt Rose
never went to town. She claimed not to like the people. And she was
still in mourning. She’d been in mourning for near fourteen years,
ever since her husband had died.

She must have loved him very much. Jared
remembered once hearing his mother and father talk about it. They
didn’t know he was in the library as they stood beneath the open
window. The story was bittersweet. Rose had gone to Newport for the
summer season, as was the custom among wealthy Carolina planters.
While there she met Alexander Wallis. Met and married him before
the family knew a thing about it. She was afraid they wouldn’t
approve, Rose said when she returned to Royal Oak, pregnant, her
husband dead. Alexander was only a tradesman. But she had loved him
and she mourned. His mother had shaken her head sadly. “ ‘Tis such
a shame that it affected her mind so.”

They all grew up—John, Jared, and her son,
Daniel—knowing Rose wasn’t quite right. But no one ever doubted the
truth of Rose’s story until the day she didn’t come back from her
ride across the lowlands. Riding was the one thing Rose enjoyed, so
there was never a thought of confining her. But John especially was
concerned when twilight darkened the sky and she wasn’t safely
ensconced in her room.

The cousins saddled horses and went to look,
following her path through the frost-covered grass. They found her
horse first, calmly munching grass. Then they saw Rose, looking
like a spilled ink blotch on the ground. Her black veil fluttered
as they bent to lift her up.

“He’s after me. He came back to get me.” A
crimson stream trailed from the side of her mouth.

The boys tried to tell her she was safe.
There was no one else about, but she wouldn’t believe them. In
agitation she clutched her son’s hand. And that’s when she bared
her soul. When she told of the rape those many years ago and the
lie she’d lived since. The rape that had been Daniel’s
conception.

“Be that as it may...” Daniel’s words brought
Jared back to the present. “I realized yesterday when you called me
a bastard that you—”

“I called you a bastard as I would call
anyone who’d lied to me as you did.”

“I explained my reasons.”

“Dammit, John was my brother. I had a right
to know what happened to him, and why.”

“And by whom.”

Jared dragged his fingers back through his
hair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come now, Jared. We’re both thinking the
same thing. A woman who looks like an angel. Who else could the
mysterious Lady Sinclair be but Merideth Banistar?”

Jared’s fists clenched. “I don’t think she
is.”

“You don’t want to think she is.” Daniel
stood. “Is she
that
good in bed?”

Jared’s fingers were clutching the front of
his cousin’s waistcoat before either of them realized what was
happening.

“Look at you,” Daniel said. “You’re as
foolish as your brother was, letting a pretty face fog your
reason.” Jared let go and Daniel straightened his clothing. “Am I
the only one who can keep his wits? You curse me for not giving the
lady the rope. Why should I? She’s English, for God’s sake, and
most likely a spy to boot. Or have you forgotten?”

“Nay.” Jared turned away. “I haven’t
forgotten.” He took a deep breath. “And if she had anything to do
with John’s death... I’ll find out about it.”

“And you’ll tell me?”

“And I’ll take care of her myself.”

It was midafternoon before Merideth decided
to go on deck—and then only at Tim’s insistence.

“Come on, yer Ladyship. ‘Tis a lovely day it
is. Sunny and bright, a pleasure after last night.”

“I’m comfortable here... really.” Merideth
settled back further on the cushioned window seat. She had washed
and dressed earlier. All her clothes the captain packed at Land’s
End were lost, presumably sent to a watery grave along with the
deserted longboat. But luckily the gowns she’d brought with her
from France were still in the cabin. She wore a simple frock of
blue with roses embroidered on the underpetticoat. Her hair was
brushed, and tied back in a matching blue ribbon.

She was presentable.

She had no excuse to stay below in the stuffy
cabin. Except... she was hiding.

From Captain Blackstone.

When the reality of what she was doing hit
her she stood, calling out to Tim as he was taking her dinner
dishes from the cabin.

“I think I shall take a stroll above deck.”
She was going to have to face the captain sooner or later. And she
might as well get it over with. Besides, though she’d thought to
discuss... things with him privately, she now decided it better to
confront him in public.

After patting her hair and straightening her
skirt, she marched over toward the door. “I’m ready,” she
announced, and followed a bewildered looking Tim into the
passageway.

The sun was warm, the wind crisp, as she
stuck her head up through the hatch. Merideth had accompanied Tim
to the galley with the tray, and now finished climbing the ladder
so he could come up too. She tried to glance about casually—the
captain wasn’t up on the quarterdeck—but apparently Tim noticed her
surveillance.

“There he is,” he shouted, and pointed toward
the rigging.

Shading her eyes with the back of her hand,
Merideth looked in the direction Tim indicated. The sails shone
blindingly white in the sun. Squinting, Merideth tried to figure
out why Tim had pointed her in that direction.

Then she saw him.

High in the rigging, perhaps twenty feet up,
bare feet tangled in ropes, one hand holding onto a spar, he stood.
His hair, cast blue-black in the light, whipped in the wind. He was
shirtless, which explained the sun-darkened skin of his upper torso
that Merideth had noticed this morn.

“What... what is he doing up there?” Merideth
pressed her palm to her chest. He looked so vulnerable with nothing
but hard deck and endless sea beneath him.

Tim had grabbed up a long stick and was
pushing a brick-shaped stone around the deck, scrubbing the wood.
He glanced up and shrugged. “Looks like he’s fishin’ a spar.”

“Fishing?” Merideth knew something of the
sport, and it wasn’t usually done from such an altitude.

“Fishin’, aye. He be fixin’ it. Musta cracked
last night durin’ the storm. He’s usin’ an old oar as a splint.”
Tim leaned into the handle and surveyed the rigging. “Look yonder.
Chet’s doin’ the same.”

Merideth spared a glance toward the other
seaman before her attention returned to the captain. “Isn’t that...
dangerous?”

“Aw, not when yor a seafarin’ man like Cap’n
Blackstone. Could do it in his sleep, if’n he’d a mind to, I
reckon.”

Merideth didn’t care if he could do it in his
sleep; watching him move around that high up was frightening. She
moved toward the capstan, closer to the captain, and called up to
him. “Captain Blackstone.” The wind caught her words and carried
them aft, away from him. The next time she yelled.

“Aye.” Jared hung onto the spar and looked
down to the deck. Lady Merideth, her skirts flapping in the breeze,
stood staring up at him. Her expression was anxious, which
surprised him almost as much as her seeking him out. He thought
after this morning she’d be avoiding him like the plague.

“I’d like a word with you, if you don’t
mind.”

“About what?”

Merideth glanced around to see if anyone was
listening. All the crew members on deck seemed busy with some chore
or another. Many of them seemed to be making repairs to the ship.
“It’s rather private, if you don’t mind.”

“Private, huh?” With the heel of his hand
Jared shoved a wooden wedge beneath the lashings to tighten them.
Then he swung down the shrouds, hand over hand, landing on the deck
directly in front of Merideth. “Perhaps we should go below if
you’ve something private to discuss.”

Merideth took a step back. He stood before
her, big and broad-chested, smelling of sun and sea air and sweat.
She swallowed, trying to ignore the tangle of damp curls that
spread from armpit to armpit and arrowed down to his breeches. And,
Lord help her, she knew how the hair thatched out, forming a nest
for his manhood.

“No,” she said, then cleared her throat
because her voice sounded husky. “I think our discussion can be had
here, above deck.”

Jared shrugged. “ ‘Tis all the same to
me.”

“Fine.” Merideth crossed her arms. “I wish to
go back to Land’s End. I can’t imagine what came over me last night
to leave so readily, but I—”

“Nay.”

“What...?” The captain strode to the rail and
Merideth followed. “What do you mean, nay? Surely you can’t be
serious about taking me to the New World.”

“I am.”

“But why? And don’t give me that poppycock
about someone trying to kill me. That simply isn’t true.” At least
she hoped it wasn’t. Granted, she’d had a run of accidents in
France—but they were certainly not the result of someone trying to
murder her. Who would want to see her dead? Regardless, those
incidents were behind her now. A haunting memory of her foot
tangling with the underbrush—the frightening moment when she knew
she was falling—came back to her. But she pushed it aside to
concentrate on what the captain was saying. He turned to face her
and Merideth was struck again by the unexpected clarity of his
green eyes, so light compared to the thick fringe of black
lashes.

“All right,” he said, agreeing quickly with
her assertion that there was no killer after her. “What of the fact
that your home is deserted. You have no money. Nothing.”

“I can manage.” Merideth watched as he
shifted his stance to look out over the sea. “I can.” She had felt
less sure the previous night when surrounded by the hauntingly
empty manor. But now she recalled that except for the servants
she’d been alone at Banistar Hall most of her life. Surely she
could handle everything if she could just get him to take her back.
But his next words made her grip the polished railing.

“It makes no difference. We’ve cleared the
channel and are on our way across the Atlantic. I couldn’t take you
back now even if I wanted to.” He swept her with a green-eyed gaze
that sent heat curling through her stomach and lower, before
adding, “And believe me, I don’t want to.”

Merideth swallowed and took a deep breath to
bolster her resistance. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Her voice lowered,
although a quick glance about showed that no one was within hearing
distance of them. The crew moved about busily, too occupied to care
about their captain and his... Merideth couldn’t imagine what word
they would use to describe her.

Jared’s dark brow arched. “What is it?”

“You’re keeping me because of... because of
what we do,” she finished in a rush.

“What we do?” Now both brows were raised.

“Don’t play stupid with me. You know very
well what we’ve been doing.” She moved closer, and though her tone
was irritated, her words came out as barely a whisper. “In Passy...
last night in my bedroom...”

“Ah, that.” Jared’s lips turned up in a
sardonic smile. His long, thin finger centered on his chin and he
tapped the indentation there several times. “Correct me if I’m
wrong, but I believe there were other times we made love. In my
cabin this morning. We very nearly did in the coach and—”

“Would you be quiet?” Merideth grabbed hold
of his arm, pulling his hand away from his face and causing his
smile to deepen. She swept the deck with her gaze. “Do you think I
want everyone to know? Besides, we did
not
make love.”

“Really?” Again Jared turned to study the
vast expanse of glistening white-capped waves. “What would you call
it?”

“Madness,” Merideth answered without
hesitation. “Madness, and it has to stop.” For several long
minutes, while Merideth contemplated the harsh lines of his
handsome face profiled against the backdrop of sea and sky, Jared
said nothing. When she could stand it no more, Merideth continued.
“Well, don’t you agree?”

“Nay.”

That single word, softly spoken, sent
Merideth’s heart pounding. She dug her nails into the railing. “I
refuse to allow you to continue your—”

“My what? Ravishment? Rape?” Each word hung
on the air like a raindrop, crystal clear and open for examination.
They both knew neither described what he’d done.

“I won’t force you, Merideth.” His eyes
searched hers. “But I won’t make any ill-advised promises
either.”

“What of your contention that I’m a traitor?
Surely you find that repugnant enough to cool your ardor.”

“I find where my
ardor
is concerned,
who you are or what you are makes very little difference.”

She couldn’t look away. Merideth swallowed
and tried to concentrate upon her breathing rather than the desire
she saw in the green depths, but it did no good. She wanted to lean
into him, to melt into the hardness of his body. Even here. Right
on deck, surrounded by his crew of privateers. Why had she thought
herself safe from him as long as they weren’t alone?