Part 18 (1/2)

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.

179.

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.

181.

”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.