Chapter 14
April 15-19, 1814
Natalya awoke to a strange assortment of sounds. Gradually she recognized the high-pitched squawk of sea gulls, the slap of waves against creaking oak, and the clatter of footsteps above her. She looked around groggily to find herself tucked into a cozy bunk built into the corner of a teak-paneled cabin that smelled faintly of lemon oil. Sunlight streamed through a narrow transom overhead. There was a writing desk against the far bulkhead, a Windsor chair, and braced shelves lined with books. After noting that her trunk was within reach, she nestled into the softness of down-filled linen pillows and closed her eyes again.
“Miss Beauvisage?” a timid voice spoke a short time later.
Her lids were so heavy that she could scarcely open them. “Yes?”
A plump, rosy-cheeked girl with curly brown hair swayed in the doorway, trying to keep her balance as the ship rolled and the contents of the tray she held nearly slid off. “You’re awake!” Hurriedly the girl staggered over and pulled down the folding table built in next to the bunk. With a sigh of relief, she set the tray on it. The edges of the table were ridged upward to prevent objects from falling off. “I’ll never get used to this ship,” the girl cried. “I’m forever bashing into walls, falling down, and dropping things.”
Natalya felt light-headed. Should she know this person? Vaguely it seemed that she did, but—
“How are you feeling?” The girl straightened her mobcap, then reached for a steaming mug of tea. “Doesn’t this smell grand? It’ll be so much easier to get you to take a bit of nourishment now that you’re truly awake. Mind you don’t nod off again, Miss Natalya. Not until you’ve had some tea and a bit of soup and fruit.” She plumped the pillows behind Natalya and boosted her up against them.
“I’m afraid... I’m not quite certain...”
“Oh mistress, you’ve been very, very ill. Do you remember me? Charlotte Timkins? His lordship brought me along as your new maid when we sailed from London, but you were feeling poorly that very first morning, sniffling and all. You insisted you’d only caught a bit of a chill and wanted to stay up on deck, but his lordship would have none of that and sent you below to lie down.”
“Yes...” Natalya nodded, sipping the tea laced with lemon and honey. “I do remember now. I felt very warm, and dizzy, and I lay down here...”
“And you’ve scarcely moved since. I’ve managed to get a bit of tea or soup down you, and kept you in clean nightgowns, and we’ve all just prayed for your fever to break. Oh, there were moments when you opened your eyes and spoke, but it was all nonsense. Just between us, you called for his lordship on more than one occasion. Since I knew it was all just dream talk, I didn’t see any point in disturbing him.”
“This soup is delicious. I’m simply famished!” Natalya sat up straighter, noticing that she wore a soft lawn nightgown edged with Belgian lace that had been a gift from her Aunt Lisette. Her hair was twisted into a relatively neat braid that hung over her shoulder and down over her right breast. “I must look a sight!” She turned the bowl to get the last drops of soup onto her spoon. “I do hope that you haven’t let anyone else in here, Charlotte.”
“Lord Altburne tried to come in, but I made him peek from the doorway, just so he could see that you were breathing and such,” Charlotte confessed. “I mean, Mr. St. James. He says he wants no part of titles, but it’s difficult to change.”
“Charlotte,” Natalya said between spoonfuls of custard, “how long have I been ill?”
“Oh, ten days, I’d wager, mistress. I never really feared that you wouldn’t recover, for I’ve nursed people who have died and I know the look when death is near, but you were frightfully ill.”
“Ten days!” Natalya murmured, stunned. “Have we been at sea all this time?”
“Yes’m. His lordsh—I mean, Mr. St. James has a lovely, trim ship and the wind’s been with us. There was a squall two days ago that frightened me badly, but he brought us through it splendidly.” Smiles wreathed her plump face.
“Why, we might be halfway to Philadelphia! How could I have missed so much? Charlotte, where have you been sleeping? Has it been very awful for you, the only woman among so many men?” Questions raced through her mind, and she heard herself exclaiming them aloud. “Is there more food? Who has been cooking it?”
The young maid patted her mistress’s pale hand. “Yes, I believe that we may be more than half the way to America, Miss Natalya, as long as some ship doesn’t take it into its mind to attack us. The captain’s managed to outwit them all so far. I’ll own I’ve never seen a more magnificent man than Mr. St. James. I like that word, don’t you? Magnificent.”
“Well, I rather think that it tends to denote royalty or a true work of art or something of that sort,” Natalya replied dryly, “and Mr. St. James does seem to fall rather short in my opinion.”
Charlotte shrugged philosophically. “Each to his own taste, as my mum would say. To answer your other questions, I’ve been sleeping in a hammock that fastens to those hooks.” She pointed to large brass hooks attached to beams in the cabin’s far corner. “I had to be nearby at all times. As for all the men, I don’t mind them a bit. It’s a small crew, and they’re nice boys—all except for Mr. Fedbusk, who is rather unpleasant and full of himself. Acts as if it’s his ship when the captain’s not about, but as I understand it, Fedbusk oversaw the Wild Rover while Mr. St. James was off at war, so—”
“Is there more food?” Natalya interrupted. Every dish on her tray was scraped clean and she was ravenous.
“Indeed, mistress. How good it is to see you eat! There’s a proper cook on board, name of George, and I know he’ll be delighted to fix you anything your heart desires.”
“Anything at all would be welcome. Do you think you might ask him?”
“Right away! But it will have to be food that will go down gently, and not too much all at once.”
“Whatever you think is best, Charlotte,” Natalya said, with a smile. “I am indebted to you for caring for me so diligently these past days. I may well owe you my life.”
The girl blushed with pleasure. “It was an honor, Mistress Natalya. I’ll go and speak to George now, and you just rest.” Charlotte took the tray and stumbled right and left as she crossed the cabin, nearly losing the dishes again. Then, with a bright smile of parting, she went out into the gangway and managed to pull the door closed behind her.
* * *
The weather was exquisite. Clouds as soft and light as stretched cotton drifted across a cornflower-blue sky, while the Wild Rover sliced through the Atlantic Ocean, her sails filled with a warm west wind. The Rover was light, with sharp, clean lines, made for speed and beauty. After his years aboard giant ships of war, it was pure joy for Grey to stand on this polished deck and bask in the sunlight as they sailed nearly effortlessly toward America. He felt freer and happier than he had in a very long time, except for the constant worry about Natalya Beauvisage. After their first day at sea, when it had become clear that she was afflicted with something far more serious than a simple cold, he had nearly turned back. Charlotte Timkins had persuaded him that she had nursed many through similar illnesses, having learned the duties of a sickmaid from her mother. It did seem that Natalya was now out of danger, but—
“Captain?”
He turned from the polished rail to find Charlotte weaving before him. Putting out a hand to steady her, he immediately inquired about Natalya’s condition. “She’s not worse, is she? Dear God, if anything were to happen to her, I’d never forgive myself!”
Charlotte blinked at this sudden exclamation of apparent emotion. “Rest easy, sir. Didn’t I tell you that I would see her through? I could tell in the night that Miss Natalya was better by her breathing. The cough had gone and her brow was much cooler. Now she is awake and alert for the first time, sir. Hungry as a horse, she is, and in fine spirits!”
“I’m going below to see her,” Grey said immediately.
Charlotte caught his sleeve as he started past her. “Oh, no, sir, that wouldn’t be proper.”
“The devil take propriety,” he shot back angrily. “You’ve kept me from her these last ten days, and I abided by your rules, but no more.”
Fedbusk, a wiry, balding, sun-weathered man, had been standing nearby and looked on with interest as St. James stalked across the deck toward the companionway leading to the cabins. Only a few years older than Grey, he had grown up as a stable boy for the Earl of Hartford, son of the head coachman. It had been he who had taught Grey to ride and fish and had imparted the secrets of mating. Because the earl disapproved so strongly of their friendship, Grey had clung to it even more stubbornly, installing Fedbusk as his first officer when he purchased the Wild Rover. Now, as Fedbusk watched St. James disappear belowdeck, he scratched his head and chuckled. “Wonder what that’s all about,” he murmured.
Charlotte’s mouth puckered and she hurried after the captain, determined to chaperone her mistress.
* * *
Grey opened the door to Natalya’s cabin silently and looked inside, afraid that he would find her a ghostly shadow of her former self. But his first glimpse flooded him with relief. Natalya looked like an angel lying against the snowy pillows. Her molten-honey braid flowed down over the front of a prim white nightgown edged with lace, and he could see that there was color in her fine-boned cheeks.
When he approached the bunk and whispered her name, Natalya opened her eyes and nearly gasped aloud. “Grey?”
A disarming smile lit his face. “The same, my sweet.”
Her aqua eyes were huge with surprise. “How... well you look!”
It was an understatement of epic proportions, for Grey had been transformed during his ten days at sea. A few of his lost pounds had returned before they left London, but the remainder had been added quickly on board the Rover. George had delighted in cooking his captain’s favorite dishes, and the brisk salt air had completely restored Grey’s appetite. The sun and outdoor activity had done the rest, and now the man who stood before Natalya was utterly magnificent, just as Charlotte had said.
His ebony hair with its gleaming strands of silver was windswept, framing a bronzed face with the same rakishly familiar features she recognized... yet somehow his brows seemed to arch more recklessly, his smile seemed whiter, his jawline stronger. And there was an added light in his steely eyes. Grey’s physique was now truly powerful. He wore a loose white linen shirt, open halfway to his waist to reveal a light mat of black hair covering his tanned chest. The shirt was tucked into fawn breeches that clung to the long muscles of his thighs and disappeared into topboots. Natalya could feel the aura of male potency surrounding him.
“I am feeling more myself again, thank you,” he said, with a grin. “But it is your health that concerns me at the moment. Charlotte tells me that you are better?”
“I never really knew I was ill,” she confessed. When he reached out to take her hand, Natalya felt herself flush. “It’s all a blur to me, from the time I came on board ship in London until this morning. I knew I wasn’t feeling well, even the day we took Adrienne and Venetia back to school, but I thought I had simply caught a chill.”
When Grey perched on the edge of the bunk, still holding her hand, Charlotte made her presence known in the doorway by clearing her throat. Instantly his head turned and he gave her a piercing glance. “Leave us.”
The girl pressed her lips together. “I’ll just fetch Mistress Natalya’s tray from the galley, then, and be back in a trice.”
There was an undercurrent of amusement in Grey’s voice as he remarked, “It would seem that I have chosen, completely by chance, the two least submissive servants in all of London for your maid and my valet.”
“I should think that Charlotte would be eager for a respite now that I am feeling better. She must be quite bored by the sight of me.”
“She fears that I will try to take advantage of you in your weakened state,” Grey whispered, with mock gravity. “Obviously she does not understand our relationship.”
“No. Obviously not,” Natalya replied in a small voice, feeling vaguely alarmed by her response to his physical presence. “I will have to inform her of the facts on that score.”
“Yes. Tell her that you are merely tolerating my company until we reach Philadelphia.” There was a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Yes, and I’ll explain that you are only taking me there out of obligation.”
They nodded together, solemnly. After a moment’s silence, during which Natalya felt her cheeks growing pinker as she fully felt his intoxicating presence, she said, “Now that I am so much better, I believe I’ll resume work on my book. My manuscript is packed in my trunk. I have missed writing, and it seems to be the perfect way to pass the remainder of our voyage.”
Charlotte entered with another tray, and Grey stood up, releasing Natalya’s hand. “A splendid idea, Miss Beauvisage. There’s nothing like romance at sea, especially from the safe distance afforded by fantasy, hmm? I’ll have Speed bring you pens and paper.” As he watched as Charlotte settle the tray onto her mistress’s lap, he neatly caught the dish of pudding that slid off one side. “I perceive that Charlotte’s sea legs are a cause for concern,” he observed wryly, replacing it. “We’ll have one of the crew give you lessons, all right, Charlotte? In the meantime, keep a close eye on Miss Beauvisage. She’s a tempting morsel on a shipful of ravening men, and there’s no telling who might try to sneak a taste!”
* * *
For four days Natalya remained obediently in her bunk and allowed Charlotte to nurse her back to health. She napped, ate, and wrote her book on a lap desk that Grey’s valet brought with a supply of quills, ink, and paper.
Soon, however, she began to grow restless. The plot of her story was fraught with drama and romance, but instead of distracting her, it only intensified her boredom. On the fourth afternoon, Grey poked his head into Natalya’s cabin and found her biting the end of her quill and scowling at the sheets of paper scattered across the bunk.
“Would you care for an apple?” he inquired affably.
Her heart skipped at the sight of him, and when he came over to sit down beside her, she could smell the freshness of the sun and sea breeze on him. Was it possible that she had once been held in those arms, kissed by those lips, touched by his strong hands?...
“Are you all right?” he asked, brow furrowing.
“Yes—yes, of course!”
“You were shivering for a moment. Shall I get you another quilt?”
“No, I’m fine. And you have the apple. Charlotte has just removed my luncheon tray and I couldn’t eat another bite.” Dragging her eyes from his face, Natalya gestured at the papers on her lap. “I’m just struggling with the next scene in my book. I can’t decide quite how to do it.”
“Will you tell me the plot of your novel, or is it a secret?”
She peered at him from under her thick lashes, wondering if he would laugh. “Well, my heroine, Eloise, has been sent to an Italian convent by her father because he fears that she will be seduced by Charles, the charming but mysterious hero, who appears to be penniless but is actually a duke. Eloise’s father means to keep her pure until he can find a wealthy husband for her—”
“But, of course, the forces of passion conspire to thwart Father’s plans?” Grey supplied. “I take it that Eloise is a heroine of the hot-blooded, reckless variety?”
Natalya nodded, looking down and straightening the pages of her manuscript. Suddenly she heard Adrienne’s voice in her mind, taunting, How can you write about love and passion if you’ve never experienced it yourself? I begin to fear that you’ll die a maiden, untouched and unawakened!
Noting the flush that crept into her cheeks, Grey refrained from inquiring himself about Natalya’s source of knowledge regarding romantic relations between men and women. Again he reminded himself that she was twenty-six years old; she had to have some experience in her past. They were silent for a moment, and Grey’s eyes strayed to the curves of her breasts, soft and full under the fine cotton of her nightgown. The sharp response in his loins alarmed him and he nearly reached for her.
“I ought to leave you,” he said abruptly, standing up, “before Charlotte returns and accuses me of prurient intentions. I’m certain, given your fertile imagination, that you will be able to overcome this temporary barrier in your story. How fortunate you are to be able to invent stories of love rather than live them out. It must be much more satisfying to be able to control the outcome.”
Natalya was confused by his tone. Was he mocking her, or did she detect a note of bitterness behind his light words? She watched him cross the cabin, admiring the set of his wide shoulders and the lean lines of his hips. Grey paused in the doorway, then turned back with a kind smile. “You mustn’t allow Charlotte to keep you prisoner down here. If you feel well enough, venture up on deck. The sunshine would doubtless do you good, and I’ll see to it that the crew behaves.”
Natalya beamed like a little girl who had been promised an unexpected treat. “Thank you!”
Charlotte appeared then, wearing an expression of flustered alarm as she squeezed past Grey in the narrow doorway. He bit into his apple, glanced back over one broad shoulder to give Natalya a brief wink, and then he was gone.