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Through a haze of pain Drake g
lanced up at Smitty’s impassive expression. He was not fooled. Smitty was furious; his icy tone told Drake so. And his anger had little to do with the injury.
“Nothing happened, Smitty,” he heard himself say, with a wave of self-disgust. Why the hell was he explaining himself? What difference did it make what anyone thought? It never had before … but with Alex it was different.
Smitty gave him a cool, assessing look. “Apparently something happened, Captain. That child was visibly upset for some reason.”
“Damn it, Smitty, stop calling her a child! She’s a grown woman, for God’s sake!”
“So it would seem.”
Drake groaned at the censure in Smitty’s voice. “I was in pain. She got me some water and more laudanum. I asked her to sit with me. We must have fallen asleep. Obviously she was embarrassed by your appearance in the cabin.” He intentionally omitted the rest of the evening’s happenings. Smitty did not look convinced, but the older man said nothing further on the subject.
“You should eat something, Captain,” he suggested instead. “Food will help you regain your strength.”
Drake watched as Smitty made to leave. “Where are you going?”
Smitty turned. “To have a breakfast tray sent to your cabin.” Without hesitation he added, “And to check on Lady Alexandria. I want to see for myself that she is all right.”
Drake was suddenly and inexplicably furious. “I told you nothing happened!” he snapped, tossing the bedcovers off his naked body. “Would it satisfy you to check the sheets for proof of that child’s continued virginal state?”
Smitty was unmoved by the emerald fire blazing in Drake’s eyes. “There are ways, other than physical ones, for one person to hurt or heal another. Perhaps it is time you remembered that, my lord.” He, gave Drake a measured look and was gone.
Drake leaned back and sighed. He didn’t want to think about the meaning of Smitty’s words or dwell on the intentional use of his title. The sort of healing Smitty referred to was impossible for Drake to contemplate. Too many years had passed, too much had happened to reinforce his cynicism and lack of faith.
He could see Alexandria in his mind’s eye. Despite the dulling effects of the laudanum, the memory was clear— the feel of her skin beneath his hands, the taste of her mouth on his … but strangely, what he remembered most was the look of pain in her confused eyes. The pain … and the innocence.
There was no point in denying it any longer: Geoffrey Cassel’s beautiful, headstrong daughter was a virgin.
That knowledge cast a whole new light on the situation, Drake mused. He might be a bastard, but even bastards had some honor. Lust or not, he would deliver Alexandria to her father intact. And that was that. Or was it?
It would be weeks before La Belle Illusion reached York. Weeks before he could safely hand Alexandria over to her father and never see her again. Weeks during which he would want her, during which he would deny himself what he wanted.
Mastering his driving urge for her would be difficult. Difficult, but surmountable. What truly unnerved him was the emptiness that stirred inside him at the thought of saying good-bye.
He had no choice. His only alternative was to keep his distance from her. That was the only way to survive.
In Allonshire’s impressive library Sebastian Barrett read the unsettling headlines in the Times.
There was talk of another war with the colonies, this time involving Canada. Of course it was all speculation.
He folded the newspaper and glanced nonchalantly at the date atop page one: April 24, 1812. He tossed the newspaper onto the desk, folded his arms behind his head, and leaned back in the carved walnut chair.
Between the war with Napoleon and the threat of war with America, travel between England and the continents of Europe and North America would be terribly risky. There was no telling what disastrous fate might befall a merchant ship traversing the Atlantic Ocean.
A slow smile spread across Sebastian’s lean features.
Fate was a funny thing. Sometimes it just needed a little assistance.
Chapter 10
“SMITTY! THERE’S LAND AHEAD of us!” Alex fairly flew onto the quarterdeck, breathless with newly awakened excitement.
He chuckled. “Yes, my lady, Canada looms in the distance. Without incident we are little more than a fortnight from your father.” He saw the mixed emotions flash across her expressive face. “This has been an arduous journey for you, my lady,” he said gently. “You must be glad to see it end.” Alex stared out to sea. “Yes, Smitty, I suppose.” The weeks since the night of Drake’s injury had been strained and difficult ones for her. She had expected many things from him, but indifference had not been one of them. He no longer snapped at her or ordered her about, but he also no longer sat with her on deck at night, talking until dawn streaked the sky, nor did he look at her with that barely concealed desire that had once made her heart pound. He was polite, distant, self-absorbed … a stranger. And it hurt.
“It seems forever since we left London,” she resumed. “The winds have been unusually strong, but that fierce storm we encountered in April blew us off course, and …” She raised her eyes to the clear May sky. “Smitty, I am afraid,” she whispered in a small, shaken voice.
His expression was tender. “Of what, my lady?”
