Blackwells: My Timeswept Heart Part 18

Captain O'Keefe was a handsome man, Tess thought, and he d.a.m.n well knew it. On a scale of one to ten, Dane being her idea of a ten, O'Keefe was pus.h.i.+ng a strong eight. O'Keefe was ruggedly handsome, well-built, confident, almost too confident for those tight britches of his, but that's where the similarities between the men ended. Dane wasn't aware of his good looks, and when he looked in a mirror it was to check for food on his face or something like that. O'Keefe had a winning smile, oodles of charm, and used them to his advantage, mostly with women, she gathered. He was interested in the 177.

image he projected, which wasn't bad because it certainly was a fine, fine image. Dane watched as Tess let her gaze wander over Ramsey. He could recognize admiration when he saw it. And worse yet was that Ram returned the perusal.

I should have gone to the Triton, Dane thought, then chided himself for this sudden spurt of jealousy. Tess wasn't his, at least not in her eyes. And in yours? he silently asked. Do you want this woman? A woman who insists she's from the future?

"Dinner will be served in less than an hour," Dun-can spoke up in the hard silence.

"Come look over those pilot rudders, Ram, whilst I change for dinner," Dane said, drawing Ram's attention from Tess.

"Nay, I believe I'll stroll the deck with the lady, Captain. Get to know the la.s.s before you shove me overboard."

"Gee, sure was nice of you to ask, O'Keefe," Tess bit out sarcastically, then turned her back on the man and spoke to Gaelan. "How about a turn around the deck, Mr. Thorpe?"

Gaelan cleared his throat, his gaze shooting between his captain, who was desperately attempting to hold back his laughter, to Captain O'Keefe, whose mouth was hanging on its hinges.

"An honor, m'lady." Gaelan offered his arm, trying to hide a smug smile as she accepted it.

"Call me when chow's on," she tossed over her shoulder as she moved in a sedate pace with the first officer.

"Chow?" Ramsey asked curiously. Dane shrugged.

Ramsey folded his arms over his chest, admiring 178.

her slender curves, the gentle sway of her hips. He shook his head in self-recrimination. Any man could see she was not a bawd, and as his eyes touched on Dane's crew, Ram noted he wasn't the only one who'd come to that conclusion. Men admired her as one would a Rembrandt, from a distance, daring not to touch lest they destroy the masterpiece. Ram loved art, the kind you could fondle a bit.

Dane chuckled close at his side. "Your charms are sadly waning, old man. I dare say 'tis a first, Ramsey O'Keefe, denied the company of a lady and at her own choice." Dane's laughter was quiet and hearty.

Ram didn't take his eyes off her. "Is she yours, Dane? Have you bedded-?"

"Don't be crude," Dane growled softly. "And after that royal set-down, 'tis clear even to you, the lady belongs to no one."

Ramsey's lips split into a wide smile. "Then she's fair prey?"

"The woman's not a pheasant, Ram." When she glanced back over her shoulder, Ram nodded ever so slightly. "What is it about her, Dane?" Ramsey asked quietly, then looked at his friend. "Do not tell me you have not noticed this? Her clipped speech, that frosty independence? I don't believe I've ever encountered a woman quite like her."

Blackwell inclined his head to the pa.s.sageway, and Ram followed. "And in you entire life, O'Keefe, I doubt you ever will," Dane heard himself say.

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

"She has arrived, sir."

The blond man tensed, yet no one would know it, for his slender body remained draped across the delicate chair, a leg flung over the arm.

"Send her in," he ordered with a lazy wave, as if he really couldnt be bothered. He brought the crystal goblet to his lips and sipped, staring out the open veranda doors, the soft trade wind gently ruffling the sheer drapes.

A moment later the liveried servant reappeared in the doorway, eyes downcast.

"Mistress Cabrea, sir."

The man in the chair inspected the ocean view for another moment before he lifted his gaze to the woman.

"Yellow doesn't become you, Lizzie. You look as if you've been painted all one hideous shade."

She flushed at the insult. "A gentleman usually stands when a lady enters the room, Phillip."

"When a lady does, perhaps I might consider the absurd notion."

The corner of his mouth lifted, and Elizabeth's 180.

lips pressed tightly together in her effort not to snap at him. She busied herself with methodically removing her gloves, finger by finger, then slipped the small feathered hat from her head. She carelessly tossed the dusty articles on the polished table and moved into the room, the wide panniers swaying as she strolled to*the sideboard, Elizabeth lived for the moment when she could relay her news the instant she'd confirmed it. She allowed herself a small private smile as she filled a miniature goblet with the sweet orange liqueur.

"Lizzie."

His voice sliced the quiet, a note of warning in the tone. She jolted, spilling a tiny drop on the wood table. With a finger, she swiped at the spot, sucking the liqueur from her fingertip as she faced him.

"Must I force the information from you, my pet?" His tone implied he would enjoy the task. Her fingers tightened on the goblet, her perfect features marked with quick fear. She swallowed. Phillip Rothmere was not a man one should aggravate, she reminded herself.

"Oh, honestly, Phillip," she said, lifting her chin and nervously tucking in a stray blond curl. She adjusted her gown, tugged at her sleeve, then focused her attention on the lush scenery beyond the terrace, uncertain what he would actually do when he heard.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see him rise from his chair and move toward her. Then he was near, a long thin finger pus.h.i.+ng beneath her chin, forcing her to meet those Nordic blue eyes.

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"The Chatam. What's become of her and her captain?"

Elizabeth briefly considered why she a.s.sociated herself with a man who would send an unguarded woman to the most dangerous section of this island to do his bidding. It was the money, she finally decided, bringing the gla.s.s to her lips.

" Twas destroyed." He tensed beside her. "All but one are dead, and your precious brig is naught but a pile of kindling floating on the sea," she finished with some satisfaction.

His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing to mere slits as his heavily jeweled fingers tightened on the delicate goblet. It shattered, spraying them both with the blood red wine. Elizabeth didn't dare comment.

"How?" he breathed. He hadn't moved.

A pale, tapered brow arched. "Need you ask?"

He grabbed her by the hair. "Tell me!" he said softly, yanking her head back. His liquored breath was hot on her cheek, and Elizabeth lost her nerve, fearing he would strike her.

" Twas Blackwell-" She didn't get any more than that out when he shoved her to the floor, then strode to the bar. He sloshed wine into a fresh gla.s.s, tossed back the liquid, then refilled the crystal, lifting it to his lips. Suddenly he hurled it across the parlor. The fine gla.s.s crashed against the stucco wall, wine dripping like blood, the outburst sending inquisitive servants scurrying for cover.

He whirled about, his ice blue gaze skewering the woman. "You lie!"

"Nay. 'Twas he!" Elizabeth recoiled against the 182.

curtains as he stormed toward her. "A man was found yestereve on the sh.o.r.e. 'Twas Bennett's quartermaster." Her words rushed out as she came to her knees, her expression pleading for him to believe.

He loomed over her, his broad hands closing painfully over her arms. "Where is this sailor?" he said carefully.

"At the church. He is dying, Phillip. I tested his strength last eve with your questions until the friar bade me go."

His grip tightened, and she cried out. "What else, Lizzie?"

Tears wet her eyes; Elizabeth swallowed repeatedly, not daring to climb to her feet to ease his hold. "Blackwell has the pilot rudders." His glare sharpened and a muscle ticked beneath his eye. "The sailor saw him and a young boy go into the captain's cabin, Phillip. Blackwell has them! He will come for you!"

Phillips face suddenly cleared and he chuckled lowly, shoving her away as he straightened. "I so dislike the hope I am hearing in your voice, Liz. Rid yourself of it," he commanded with a wave of his hand.

Elizabeth tried with a little dignity to right herself amongst the c.u.mbersome layers of fabric and whalebone of her gown as he casually strolled to the open doors and rocked back on his heels.

"Nay. The honorable Captain Blackwell is driven by revenge. Such a useless emotion, that. So many mistakes can be made." He sighed tiredly, his gaze moving between the palm fronds to the young brown-skinned girl picking flowers in his garden.

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" Twill take the pompous braggart years to find me among these islands. "I was the sole reason I chose this bug-infested paradise." He turned his head. "Yet you can be most a.s.sured I will enjoy the confrontation, should it arise, Lizzie. Be most a.s.sured." His smile was thin, confident, and it made Elizabeth s.h.i.+ver. Phillip was pleasant to look upon, slim, fair-skinned, thick light hair neatly tied, yet it was those eyes that gave a person pause-shark-cold, merciless. And Elizabeth wanted naught to do with the secrets kept there.

Phillip held her gaze, enjoying the ripple of fright on her carefully painted face, the trembling of her hands. It made his body grow warm and hard. The little chit was far too transparent for her own good.

"No doubt Blackwell is aware of your duplicity," he reminded needlessly.

Elizabeth's gaze dropped to the spot before her skirts. Nay, Dane was unaware, she prayed. She was there when he'd discovered what had happened to Desiree. She'd witnessed his unG.o.dly fury, the way he tore through the city searching for Phillip. It was she who had brought Phillip to Desiree and her father, she who'd given her blessing of his worth. A delicate s.h.i.+ver pa.s.sed down her spine. Dane would not harm me, she insisted silently. If perchance she did meet with the dark captain, Elizabeth was positive she could convince him she'd been duped by Phillip, too. She absently fingered the string of topaz glittering against the milky skin above her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Truly, she couldn't give a care to what Phil-lip had actually done to the gullible child; her conscience would not allow such thoughts. Elizabeth 184.

would get her coin as soon as she was able, find a s.h.i.+p, and depart this wretched little sc.r.a.p of land. Before Dane found them.

"I must leave, Phillip," she said while looking at her ruined gown. "I need to change." When he didn't respond, she looked up. The air rushed into her lungs at his expression. "Nay!" she wailed, struggling to rise.

Phillip's lips twisted in a cruel smile as he slipped the ascot free from around his throat, then slowly unb.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt. Lace fluttered at his cuffs as he moved. Gemstones flashed, catching the light as he quickly stripped the fabric from his torso. He watched as she nervously licked her lips, and he was there when she managed to climb to her feet.

"Nay, Phillip, please. Not again." Regardless of her pleas, she stood frozen beneath his empty gaze. His palms roughly covered her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his fingertips catching in the neck of her gown. She gasped as he rent the fabric to her waist. He shoved her to the floor, then freed the b.u.t.tons of his breeches. Her eyes widened, and she choked on a sob, trying to move away.

He backhanded her, his ring slicing open her cheek. Then he grabbed her jaw, the vicious grip whitening the flesh around his fingers as he turned her face to him. "Never deny me, Lizzie. Tis a day you will regret."

Terrified, she nodded meekly, tears spilling from round, dark eyes. He chuckled at her dread, bending over her, his tongue snaking out to lick the trickle of blood moving toward his fingertips, delighting when his half sister cringed.

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

As Tess stepped into the cabin, several elegantly dressed men turned toward her. Heat warmed her cheeks, and she self-consciously brushed the stray hairs from her face, offering a small smile. The cabin, once seeming s.p.a.cious, was now cramped with officers.

She stepped back against the wall as ap.r.o.ned sailors filed in before her with garnished trays of poached fish and chicken, baked apples and sugared beets, pots of sauce-covered noodles and silver platters of hard crusty bread and churned b.u.t.ter. Real b.u.t.ter, Tess marveled, as a deckhand poured red wine into crystal goblets.

Her gaze danced around the dining area, softly lit with lanterns and candles. The long scarred table was covered with a pristine cloth and set with fine polished pewter, silver, and crystal, the aroma of food making her mouth water. Her eyes came to rest on Dane where he was standing before a mirror, tying a tie, of sorts. Dark green velvet stretched tight across his broad shoulders as he fiddled with 186.

the neckcloth, and Tess's heart jumped when he caught her gaze in the silver gla.s.s. d.a.m.n, he looked good.

His coat was long, the hem sweeping back almost like tails, the fabric unadorned, its standing collar stiff and high. Frothy cream silk spilled from his throat and cuffs, and Tess thought that any other man, in her time, would have looked ridiculous in that outfit, but Dane made her hot. His trousers were buff-colored, showing every contour of his powerful thighs, and, like O'Keefe, he wore knee boots instead of stockings and buckled shoes. His long hair was pulled back in his customary black ribbon, and unruly still damp curls framed his throat. He turned to face her, giving his green brocade vest a tug.

She took a slow breath to calm her pulse. "You look very nice this evening, Dane." Her eyes danced with mischief. "Who would have thought you'd clean up so well for a pirate?"

There was a soft chuckle from somewhere to her right, and Tess looked over to see O'Keefe reclined casually on the bed, his torso supported on a bent arm. "Ahh, Blackwell, she's enchanting. Such wit and left-handed compliments are succor to a man's self-esteem."

"I think you'll survive, O'Keefe. You have enough self-esteem for all of us." Several men choked on their drinks, but Ramsey merely grinned.

"You don't care for me very much, do you, la.s.s?" he said, agilely climbing off the high bed scented with her perfume.

"I don't know you well enough not to like you,"

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she replied as he moved toward her.

"Mayhaps this evening we shall change your poor opinion of my debauched soul?" He grasped her hand, giving her knuckles a quick kiss.

Tess craned her neck to look up at him. Oh boy, was he smooth. "We'll see, Captain O'Keefe. I reserve the right to withhold judgment until I'm ready. Now, if you're through with this." She pulled her 'hand free. "Excuse me, while I freshen up." Tess slipped into the bathroom, sighing against the closed door. Freshen up! G.o.d, she never thought she'd hear herself say that!

She looked down at the chamber pot and s.h.i.+vered with revulsion. Never in her life did she appreciate modern plumbing more than at that moment. Managing this is an art, she thought, making use of the crude facilities. She washed the thin sheen of salt from her face and hands, pulled the pins from her hair, and brushed the jet black ma.s.s until it shone, then swept the tresses into a soft chignon, leaving a few wisps to frame her face. Tess was glad her gown wasn't like the first one. This was more sedate with a higher neckline. She hated to think what O'Keefe would do if he had a look at some skin. Jeez, the man was a walking di-now, Renfrew, she scolded herself, that isn't very nice.

Tess had to remind herself where she was and the double standard that existed. The gentler s.e.x, they'd called her. Wonder what Amelia Earhart, Rachel McLeish, and Sally Ride would have to say about that. She'd never been in the company of so many men as she had in the past two weeks and still wasn't used to all the attention. This was going to 188.

be a challenge, and she knew she had to watch what she said or, rather, how it was delivered. Ramsey was Dane's good friend, probably his best friend, as well as the captain of one of his s.h.i.+ps, and she didn't want to be the cause of a rift between them, no matter how far-fetched the idea sounded. Checking to be certain nothing embarra.s.sing was showing, Tess braced herself for the evening ahead. Show no mercy, Renfrew. Cut no slack.

Dane kept a casual eye on the bathing-room door. When she finally appeared, he fought the urge to climb over the furniture to get to her. How in G.o.d's name was he supposed to function as a leader if all he could think about was this woman and what it was like to hold her, kiss her, make love to her? He set aside his drink and s.h.i.+fted around Ramsey, unaware that he'd ceased talking in mid-sentence. She was moving toward him. The burning memory of only last night, her muscled body, slick-hot and writhing beneath him, begging him to show her what she'd never known, filled his mind. All he could think of was this woman and how she'd given him the most pa.s.sionate night of his life!

They were moderately alone in the center of the room.

"Good G.o.d, Blackwell. What on earth are you thinking?" she asked softly. "That look on your face is positively obscene!"

He grinned a bit lopsidedly, making her pulse stagger as he grasped her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. He leaned close to whisper, "My thoughts are far too bold to be spoken aloud, love."

Tess nearly choked at the endearment, her senses 189.

reeling back to the first time he'd called her that, when he was buried inside her on the very spot they stood. Unable to help it, she glanced down at her feet, then lifted her gaze to his.

"Great minds think alike, eh, Blackwell," she murmured throatily.

He tossed his head back and laughed, the sound rich and hearty, bringing several heads around.