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“Where is Captain Barrett?” she asked.
“He is resting. He was at the helm most of the night.”
No, he wasn’t, Alex thought. He was on deck with me, talking. Their nightly talks had become almost a ritual, one that Alex had come to depend upon. Although by day a persistent tension still hung between them, by night they were able to share their thoughts openly and without anger. It made no sense at all, but Alex didn’t want to question it. She enjoyed the easy closeness they shared under cover of darkness.
“Well, if you will not rest, Smitty, at least allow me to keep you company.” She turned hopeful gray eyes to him.
He chuckled. She was an irresistible little thing. “My pleasure, my lady. You and I will steer the ship while Captain Barrett is resting.”
Captain Barrett was not resting. In fact he had just about given up the idea of ever sleeping again. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Alexandria’s face.
He had never experienced such wildly careening emotions. One minute he was determined to throttle her; the next minute he was frantic to make love to her.
He did neither. But restraining himself was wreaking havoc on his body and on his mind.
And then there were the nights. It was then that he glimpsed another Alexandria. Someone alone and searching, who needed something but knew not what. Someone very much like himself.
With a groan Drake propelled himself from the bed and headed topside. The brisk morning air had picked up considerably since he had gone below three hours earlier. Now the waves were choppy, slapping against the hull with greater force. All the signs were present. A storm would be upon them by four bells.
Drake frowned. Preparations needed to be made and precautions taken. His ship had weathered many a storm; she would manage this one as well. It did not look too threatening—at least not yet—but Drake planned to keep a close watch on the storm’s approach.
A sudden burst of musical laughter drew Drake’s attention toward the quarterdeck. Smitty was at the helm with Alex close behind. Alexandria’s eyes glowed with sparkling silver lights as she gazed up at Smitty’s face. Throughout the voyage she had never bothered to bind her hair, and now it whipped wildly around her, a cloud of molten honey. Patiently she brushed strands off her delicate face, her features tanned and healthy from exposure to the sun. The familiar white shirt was belted at her narrow waist, her tiny feet were bare, the oversize breeches rolled up into generous cuffs at her calves. It mattered not that, by the ton’s standards, an indecent amount of leg was showing. She seemed to defy convention more and more as she left England farther behind.
Drake’s breath caught in his throat. God, she was beautiful … so vibrant and alive.
“Based upon the stiff gale, I would suggest bringing La Belle farther alee, Smitty.” Alexandria’s advice threw a spray of cold water on Drake’s tender observation. “Else we shall soon be all in the wind. Why, the sails are already protesting their battle with the elements!” She smiled approvingly as Smitty veered farther alee, a course he had been intending long before he heard Alex’s bright words of advice. “Excellent,” Alex praised.
“Will you never cease ordering my men about, princess?” Drake’s furious voice boomed out, as he swung on the quarterdeck.
Alex jumped at the impact of his words and the fury in his glittering green eyes.
“Will you never cease attacking me for no purpose, Captain?” she fired back. “I was merely helping poor Smitty out of a difficult situation.”
Drake saw Smitty bite his lip to keep back the laughter that threatened to erupt from his chest.
“You were what?” Drake uttered in disbelief.
Alex sighed patiently. “Captain, even the best sailors need occasional assistance. Smitty has been laboring on deck for hours now, with no relief. He is exhausted. I had hoped—”
Smitty saw Drake’s thunderous expression and hastily intervened. “It’s quite all right, Captain,” he assured him with a placating look. “Lady Alexandria made an astute observation.”
Drake looked incredulous. Smitty was giving credit for a standard maneuver, known by any adequate sailor, to an arrogant little twit. A twit who now stood before her captain, hands on hips, annoyed at his seemingly unwarranted outburst. From his peripheral vision, Drake saw Smitty take a protective step closer to Alex, intending to ward off Drake’s forthcoming assault.
This was too ludicrous to be true.
Alex truly believed that Smitty needed her help, due to his fatigue. Actually, Drake noted, she wasn’t entirely wrong. Smitty did look exhausted.
“Smitty, go get some sleep.” Drake approached the helm. “I’ll take over.”
Smitty frowned. “But you’ve gotten no sleep, Captain.”
Drake shrugged. “I’m becoming used to it. Now go. It was an order.
Smitty tried not to look relieved as he relinquished the helm to his captain. In truth his fatigue was caused not by his advancing years but by the sleepless hours he spent listening to Drake pace the floor of the cabin, cursing and muttering under his breath. It was almost a relief when he would finally storm out and, Smitty assumed, go to the helm.
Smitty made his way below, recalling Alex’s belligerently beautiful face and Drake’s steely stance. Pity that one acquired wisdom and insight only as one got older, he mused. Ah, well, they would soon discover for themselves what he already knew.
Left alone, Alex turned toward Drake’s hard profile. “Do you feel the storm coming?”
