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“Over who will …” Drake’s voice trailed off as he followed Thomas
’s gaze up the length of the towering mast. Three-quarters of the way to the top platform, Alexandria clung to the windward rigging, looking down at the faraway deck with terrified eyes.
Drake’s heart tightened with fear.
“Alexandria … don’t panic!” he heard himself call in a hoarse voice. He moved directly below her, his arms extended. “Jump,” he commanded.
“I can’t,” she whispered in a horrified voice.
“I’ll catch you,” he promised quietly.
“I … just … can’t.”
With a muttered oath he moved to the base of the rigging and, with lightning speed, shinned aloft until he reached her.
“Give me your hand.” He reached out for her.
She wanted to, but she was frozen with fear, glued to the spot. She stared at him, wild-eyed.
“All right, sweetheart,” he soothed. “Just hold on.” Working his way over, he wrapped a strong arm around her waist. “Now just let go, Alexandria. I have you.”
She hesitated, then slowly unwound her fingers from their death grip. Drake could see the deep gashes the rope had made on her delicate hands, so tightly had she clung. Gently he eased her against him, thankful for her slight weight. “Now wrap your arms around me,” he told her, in that same soothing voice. “That’s right … like that. Good girl. Just hold on, princess.” Continuing to murmur words of encouragement, Drake moved cautiously, slowly, back down the rigging to the deck.
Alex kept her eyes closed throughout their descent and forced herself to concentrate on Drake’s deep, caressing voice. This was the man she had glimpsed last night in the cabin during their moments alone together, this gentle, passionate man. She would be fine; he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Suddenly she heard the men cheer, felt Drake release his hold on the ropes. There was a brief rush of air, then the welcome sound of Drake’s booted feet hitting the deck.
Alex slid weakly down his body. Her feet touched the deck, and she sagged against Drake, feeling his powerful arms holding her up. She wanted to thank him, to tell him she was sorry, to let him know how foolish she felt. The compassionate man who had just tenderly rescued her from certain death would understand. Of this she had no doubt.
Slowly Alex opened her eyes, simultaneously raising her face to look up at Drake.
He was shaking with fury, his jaw clenched so tightly he could barely speak.
“I am going to murder you.”
It was one-thirty in the morning, and a still-seething Alexandria slammed her fist into the mattress. Murder her? If anyone deserved to be murdered it was he! How dare he humiliate her in front of the entire crew!
Alex buried her head in the pillow, trying yet again to soothe herself to sleep. Time and again the ship’s bells had sounded, indicating the passage of night. And still she could not free her mind from its turbulent thoughts. Relentlessly it sought answers it could not find.
Why had Drake rescued her from the rigging, so warm and caring, only to lambaste her for her innocuous attempts to assist his men—attempts that he called her “list of sins”? The man was a monster!
Yet … even in anger, there was a spark between them, Alex mused. She was drawn to him like a small child to a forbidden sweet.
Sighing, Alexandria threw off the covers and rose from the bed. She crossed the room and turned up the wick of the oil lamp, instantly bathing the cabin in a soft glow. Slowly, and not for the first time, Alex brought her fingers to her lips, touching the place where, last night, Drake’s mouth had been. The memory of his kiss still made her tingle—not only her mouth but her breasts, her stomach … and lower.
Alex knew she should not have such feelings. She should be repelled at the thought of his wanton advances, grateful for his decision to leave her alone.
And yet she was neither repelled nor grateful. Instead, she was restless, aching, and filled with unanswered questions.
Having always yearned for things that other women of her class seemed not to require, Alex was used to being unique. She had no doubt that one day, when she knew just what the craving in her soul was all about, she would find her heart’s desire.
But her uniqueness had never taken such an unacceptable form. Reading, sailing, and longing to be valued by another human being were certainly unusual priorities for a noblewoman. Unusual, but not scandalous. Being unorthodox was one thing; being a trollop was entirely another.
Exasperated, Alex slid out of Drake’s shirt and pulled on her discarded breeches and soiled shirt. If she could not rest, at least she could enjoy the night air.
The seas were calm, the undulations of the great brig slow and steady. Gentle waves ebbed and flowed against the hull, making soft splashing sounds as they lapped up, then receded into the starless night. Alex slipped past the few sailors who were responsible for nighttime surveillance.
The forecastle was deserted. She walked to the railing and inhaled the cool air, allowing the sea to work its magic. Soon her melancholy was replaced by anticipation and hope for the future.
“Couldn’t sleep, princess?”
