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* * * * *
Jessie hailed a passing seaman. “Sir?” She waited for him to stop by her horse’s flank and look up at her. “Could you tell me if there is a Spanish yacht docked in our harbor?”
“Spanish, is it?” he asked, and attempted to consider the question while he scratched his grey-stubbled chin. “Aye, could it be the Amistad ye be wanting?”
“Thank you. Do you think you could point it out to me?” she pursued.
“Aye, take the quay ’til ye see the Old Bell Tavern. Last I looked, she was sitting there.”
She took out a coin and flipped it to him with a smile. “Your breakfast on me, sailor.”
He tipped his hat to her, wonderingly, for her voice was that of a gentry mort, yet what was she doing at the docks alone and dressed in a lad’s clothing? He settled it in his mind that it was an affair of the heart, and with a shake of his head, he went about his business.
Just as Lady Jessie was urging her horse forward, Rodrigo spied his youthful first mate somewhat overburdened with packages. He laughed and called out to the lad in Spanish, teasing him as the boy balanced his load and made his way on board. “What is this? Have you bought out all of England?” Rodrigo touched one particular box wrapped in a pretty fashion and took it up. “Oh-ho! Now, I see, Antonio. For a sweetheart, no doubt. Could it be you still remember your Carmella?” He chuckled and added, “As I recall, you had done with her when we set sail. Hmm, I seem to remember you saying something about unfaithfulness of women, about the duplicity of a dark, rolling eye. Very poetic on the subject, you were.”
“My captain,” Antonio returned with a wide grin, then with great respect, “go to the devil.”
This set all the crew within hearing into ribald laughter and brought down Rodrigo’s hand onto Antonio’s curly, dark hair.
“So, I shall, but not, I hope, before we see Buenos Aires once more. Dispose of your purchases and meet me in my salon. I want to have one last look at the charts I drew up before we set sail.”
* * * * *
Something inside Jessie’s stomach quivered as her violet eyes found the Amistad. She could see the crew, brightly clad, merry, and preparing to depart. “My word...” Jessie breathed out loud. “He is all ready to leave. I am just in time.”
Hurriedly, she called to a passing urchin who ambled to her. He was no more than twelve, with a shock of unruly hair beneath his dark wool cap. His sailor’s jacket was two sizes too large for him, and he looked at Jessie with some surprise as she placed a coin in his dirty hand and asked that he hold her horse. “Coo...” he murmured as he noted the lady was dressed in boy’s clothing.
Unnoticed, Jessie made her way on board, for the nine men working the rigging had no opportunity to pay heed to a small lad crossing the deck of their vessel. It was no doubt, thought one of these men, something to do with their captain.
Jessie didn’t see Rodrigo anywhere on deck and assumed he would be in his cabin belowdecks, and made her way in what she hoped was its general direction. She gave no thought to the propriety of her situation. She rarely gave any thought to such things. She only knew she had to get there—and she knew she had to see him before he left England. Pauly had asked her to prevent Rodrigo from leaving. She had to keep him in England until Pauly arrived and explained.
Rodrigo had rolled up the chart he had just surveyed with his first mate, clapped him on the back, and with silent resignation, gave the order to set sail.
“Do you not come above to say adiós to the English soil you love so much?” Antonio bantered, eyeing him with some concern.
“Not this time, my friend. I leave it to you to make my farewells as quickly as may be. Full sails, full sails, lad,” Rodrigo said quietly.
A frown marked Antonio’s cherubic countenance. He had been working for Don Rodrigo since he was sixteen—four wonderful years. He had been starving in the streets of Buenos Aires when Rodrigo found him. He loved the man, and it disturbed him to see, for he could, that his captain was laboring under some certain unhappiness. He bowed his head and started to leave the room.
Jessica heard the door opening and dodged behind a door to her right. This proved to be a closet, and she stood, holding her breath, until she heard the sound of footsteps on the companion stairs she had just descended. She opened the door and peeped around before breathing a sigh of relief and making her way to the captain’s salon, so designated by the elegance of the heavily molded and richly stained oak door. She forced herself to knock.
“Come in,” Rodrigo invited.
The sensation his voice aroused in her breast nearly made her turn and run. However, she stood transfixed, unable to enter, unable to leave.
“Come in,” Rodrigo repeated.
With her head lowered, she entered, closed the door at her back, and turned to see Rodrigo staring out his porthole.
Rodrigo looked around as a whiff of fresh scent triggered a feeling of disbelief, and he turned fully to stare into violet eyes! Hell and brimstone! Was he dreaming?
His hand brushed his forehead. He was going mad. He was...or did she, his spitfire, stand there before him in a wool cap hiding her flaming locks? Was that Jessie... in britches and boots?
He stood before her, and Jessie’s heart threatened to burst. His black eyes burned, and there was a haunted look in them that drew her to him in a sympathy she did not understand. In that moment, June Keenen did not exist. In that moment, she was with him again, her mind full with the memories of laughing, driving, dancing, and falling in love. There was no Pauly sending her to Rodrigo’s vessel. There was no one but this wild-eyed man who set her to trembling.
He crossed the room in two purposeful strides. Without a word, he whipped off her wool cap, and her long tresses fell all around her shoulders and back. He groaned and scooped up her hair in his hands as he set his head on hers and whispered, “My spitfire.”
She sighed, and without another word, he took her into his powerful embrace. His mouth closed on hers with a desperation he had never felt before. Here was the woman of his dreams, asking, yes, damn it, asking to be taken by him. Why else would she come, dressed as she was? Still...he must not. She was an innocent child. She was here because she fancied herself in love. She did not have the experience to ignore such a strong emotion. He should, he must...turn her away, and yet he couldn’t. The last days without her, thinking he would never see her again, had been torturous. His mouth closed on hers, and his kiss evolved into another.
