Almost a Lady Read online

  His assessing gaze swept his little floating empire and then fell upon Meg in the companionway. He raised a hand in greeting and then gestured imperatively that she should come to him.

  Meg obeyed the gesture and climbed up to the quarterdeck.

  “Come over here,” he called softly. She stepped up beside him at the wheel. He called to the fresh-faced young officer, “Mr. Fisher, summon all hands, if you please.”

  “Aye, Captain.” The young man left his position at the stern rail where he was directing the stowing of the mizzen topsail and came to the front of the quarterdeck. He took a whistle from his pocket and blew a shrill piercing note.

  Men poured onto the mid-deck in a jostling yet orderly throng. They fell silent looking up at their captain and the rest of the little group on the quarterdeck. It was a curious rather than an anxious silence, Meg felt. And there was a touch of anticipation in the air as if they were waiting to hear something that would please them.

  Cosimo spoke in what seemed like his ordinary voice but the words carried easily. “Gentlemen, as you know we’re waiting to make harbor on Sark. We shall be there a day or two. Miss Barratt will be our guest.” He put a hand on Meg’s shoulder and drew her in front of him. “You will, I know, do her every courtesy. Any questions? Yes, Bosun.” He pointed at a thickset man with a deeply lined face and a thick crop of iron gray hair.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n, but where will we be going after Sark?” A faint stir among the men greeted the question and their air of anticipation grew sharper.

  Cosimo laughed, the easy laugh of a man among trusted companions. “My friends, you will know that when I do.”

  A knowing chuckle greeted this and many of them shook their heads in resignation. The bosun grinned. “Didn’t expect nothin’ else, sir.”

  “No, I don’t expect you did,” Cosimo agreed. “We sail with the dawn tide, until then stand down. We’ve meat aplenty for a decent dinner, and a hogshead of ale.”

  A cheer went up, and a couple of caps waved in the air. Cosimo raised a hand in dismissal and turned to Mr. Fisher, who stood ready with another young man who could almost be his twin, Meg thought. The same pink cheeks, still with a hint of puppy fat, the same wide mouth and the same brown eyes. Cosimo said, “Post a crow’s nest watch, Mr. Fisher. Let’s not forget we’re in French waters. And Mr. Graves, check the navigation chart and plot me a course that will take us through those rocks and not onto them.”

  “Aye, sir.” It was said in unison.

  Cosimo smiled, “Miss Barratt, allow me to introduce my lieutenants. Mr. Fisher and Mr. Graves.”

  The two young men bowed. “Pleasure to have you aboard, ma’am,” Mr. Fisher said.

  “Yes, indeed, ma’am,” his companion agreed. “Yours to command, ma’am.”

  “Why, thank you . . . thank you both,” Meg said with a warm smile of her own. “I will endeavor not to get in your way.”

  Both young men blushed scarlet and were rendered mute. Cosimo rescued them with a wave of dismissal and they backed away.

  When they were out of earshot, Meg asked, half amused, half disapproving, “Shouldn’t they still be in school?”

  “They are,” Cosimo said easily. “The sea is both their school and their tutor. But they’re older than they look. Just not very experienced in the ways of the world outside this one.”

  “They could be brothers.”

  “In fact they’re cousins.” He moved away from the wheel as the helmsman came up. “Lash it well, Mike. There’s a touch of mischief in the wind.”

  “Aye, thought so meself, sir,” the man said, giving Meg a small nod. It seemed that now she’d been officially introduced, she could be noticed properly. She responded with a friendly nod of her own.

  “Let’s watch the moonrise,” Cosimo invited, steering her towards the stern rail. Meg was aware of a bustle of activity behind her as she rested her forearms on the rail and gazed out over the water. A thin river of silver flowed over the surface as the moon rose.

  “How do two nearly identical cousins come to be working on the same ship?” she inquired casually, enjoying the feel of the breeze rustling through her wonderfully clean hair.

  “Families often do. You’ll find brothers on the same frigates and men-of-war all through the navy. The sea runs in the blood.”

  Meg turned to look at him. “But this is not a naval ship. I suspect it’s a privateer, Captain Cosimo. Why would a family entrust their young men to a ship that has little if any legitimacy on the high seas?”

  He chuckled. “Are you talking of the ship or of its captain, ma’am?”

  “Its captain, of course.”

  “Then there, my dear, you have your answer.” He said nothing more, merely gazed out towards the invisible horizon.

  Meg contemplated this. He was, of course, telling her that he was the reason the families of his lieutenants had entrusted their scions to his ship. “Are they related to you in some way?” she asked.

  He turned his head lazily and regarded her with an unsettling gleam in his eye. “You are very inquisitive, Miss Meg.”

  “Why would it be a secret?” She raised her eyebrows and returned his look with a slightly sardonic air.

  “It’s not. They’re the sons of my sisters. Tell me how else I may satisfy your curiosity.”

  “Are they older or younger than you? Your sisters, I mean.”

  “They’re twins, and they’re four years younger than I am.”

  Meg nodded. That would explain the cousins’ physical resemblance. “So how old are your sisters?”

  “I think you mean how old am I,” he observed, that gleam intensifying. “It seems I interest you.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said acidly. “I’m merely trying to find out what kind of man has me imprisoned on his privateer. Purely in the interests of self-defense, you understand.”

  “Tell me honestly, Meg, have you felt threatened even for a second on my ship?”

  Honestly obliged her to say no. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that I’m here against my will and you refused to take me back once the mistake was realized,” she added.

  Cosimo drummed his fingers against the rail in what could only be called impatience. “If it had been possible, I would have taken you straight back. But it wasn’t, as I’ve explained, so can we have done with it, please.”

  Meg inhaled sharply at the asperity in his tone. She had been singing the same song, she knew, but it didn’t alter its truth or its relevance to her situation. She was silent and after a minute Cosimo said in a placatory tone, “My sisters are thirty-three.”

  Well, that was a droplet of information. “How old are the cousins?”

  “Seventeen.”

  Meg reflected that she had just celebrated her twenty-ninth birthday and Cosimo’s sisters, only four years older, had seventeen-year-old sons. She found it an unsettling thought although she hadn’t considered herself anxious to be married or even particularly maternal. She was on the shelf and content to be so. Or was she?

  Well, that was a question that might at some point require some soul-searching, but not at present. Her gaze fixed on Cosimo’s hands as they rested lightly on the deck rail. They were very brown and strong looking, the nails unmanicured, the knuckles rather knobbly. His fingers were long and his wrists surprisingly slender and supple. Their strength was taken for granted. Any man who could handle that great helm in the gale-force wind that had blown last night must have extraordinary strength in his hands, arms, and shoulders. Involuntarily her gaze ran up his body. He wore the cloak draped carelessly around his shoulders and the breadth of those shoulders was obvious to the most casual examination. She remembered her earlier covert scrutiny when he’d changed his shirt in the cabin, how she’d been so powerfully aware of the ripple of muscles along his back and in his arms.

  Oh, dear. This was not at all helpful, she thought, searching for a neutral topic that would give her some distance from the disturbing pro
ximity of his body. “What part of England are you from?”

  He turned his back to the rail and leaned against it, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes were narrowed and Meg had the absolute conviction that he’d been aware of every instant of her examination and her conclusions. “Dorset,” he said. “How about you, Miss Meg?”

  “Oh, please don’t call me that,” she begged. “I hate it so.”

  “Then let’s have a pact. If you never call me Captain Cosimo again, I will never call you Miss Meg. How’s that for a bargain.”

  “A good one,” she said, responding willy-nilly to his smile. “And I come from Kent.”

  He nodded, and the smile was still in his eyes as he said, “Now I’m a little stuck for a roundabout way to elicit the personal information you twisted out of me.”

  “Let me save you the trouble. I am twenty-nine,” Meg responded readily. “I don’t subscribe to the school of thought that women should never reveal their ages.”

  “No,” he said appreciatively. “I don’t imagine you do.” He had a slightly questioning look in his eye as he continued to look at her. Meg Barratt was a most unusual woman. Oddly attractive although not by any conventional standards; jolie-laide, as the French would say. But while the surface appeal interested him, he was intrigued by whatever lay beneath.

  So far he’d seen intelligence and wit. A strong composure as David Porter had noted. She was stubborn and very strong-willed, she’d shown him that much. And she appeared to have adapted to her situation readily if not willingly. What would Ana think of her?

  A shadow crossed his face. Ana was a good judge of character, and an expert when it came to assessing the necessary skills for the work she herself did.

  “Is something the matter?” Meg asked, chilled by the sudden change in his expression.

  He shook his head, saying curtly, “No, nothing at all.” He turned back to the rail and gazed out at the silver path of moonlight rippling on the black water. Ana was also expert at looking after herself, he told himself. She had been trained to withstand interrogation, to use information to her own advantage when under duress. He would hold on to that. And in the meantime, concentrate on the woman he had.

  When he spoke again his voice was once more light and humorous and the shadows had left his eyes. “So, permit me another personal question, Meg. You talked of your parents, of your friends, but is there no one else who would be concerned by your absence?”

  “A man, you mean?” She gave a slightly self-mocking laugh.

  “You wear no rings.”

  She looked at her bare hands. “No. So, no husband. A correct deduction, sir.”

  “A fiancé?”

  She shook her head. “No fiancé.”

  “A lover?”

  “This grows very personal, sir.”

  “My apologies, ma’am, if it’s too personal.”

  At that she laughed. “I have no secrets . . . and at present no lover.”

  “Ah.” He absorbed this, most particularly the at present. It seemed to imply that Meg Barratt was something of a woman of the world. And that would certainly fit with what he’d observed thus far of her personality.

  A cough came from behind them and they both turned. Biggins said, “Supper’s ready, Cap’n.”

  “Thank you.” Cosimo offered his arm to Meg. “Allow me to escort you to the table, ma’am.”

  It was absurd but she entered the game willingly enough. The quarterdeck had been transformed. Oil lamps hung from the yards, throwing a soft golden glow over a table laid with a checkered cloth, silverware, and glass. A wonderful rich aroma rose from a covered stewpot in the middle of the table. Meg realized she was famished. The sea air, she presumed.

  The table was set for two and as she took the chair Cosimo formally drew out for her, she said, “What about your nephews and the doctor? Will they not be joining us?”

  “The boys have work to do and they’ll mess with the men, it’s good for morale,” he said, taking his own seat opposite. “David has a permanent invitation at my table, but he rarely accepts it. He has a fondness for his books and his own company when at leisure.”

  “I see.” She shook out her napkin and lifted her face to the night sky, now a mass of stars with the three-quarter moon throwing its light across the water. “What a glorious night.” There was enough of a breeze for her to be glad of her cloak over her shoulders, but not enough to need to wrap herself up in it. Gus came to land on the deck rail beside the table, cocked his head intelligently, and uttered something that sounded remarkably like agreement.

  “Nights at sea usually are beautiful,” Cosimo observed, ladling stew into her bowl.

  He passed her a loaf of bread and she took it and broke into it hungrily. It was still warm. How did they bake bread on the open sea? She didn’t need to know the answer. There was a crock of golden butter that melted into the wheaten bread and the mingled scents were enough to make her light-headed.

  Cosimo poured wine and for a while they ate and drank in a silence that gradually, insidiously became charged. When he reached over to refill her glass his hand brushed hers and it happened as she had known all along that it would. A current of arousal crackled between them, jolting her belly and making her toes curl. It was not an unfamiliar sensation but always before she had been in control of the situation, had been able to play it according to her rules. With the exception of the gondolier, she amended. That had been way beyond her control and she hadn’t really understood what was happening.

  But this was different. She knew perfectly well what was happening, knew that Cosimo knew it too. And she was not in control of any part of this situation. Well, that was not entirely true, she reminded herself. She could control her own body. Not her reactions, her lust, her arousal, but what she did about them. The question quite simply was: what did she want to do?

  He leaned over and brushed an errant curl from her forehead. “I was afraid of that,” he said.

  It made it worse that he made no attempt to pretend he didn’t notice that charge of lust or to deny it. It was very ungentlemanly of him, Meg decided, but even as she thought that, she couldn’t help a soft laugh at her own hypocrisy. She didn’t fall into lust with gentlemen. Never had, and she suspected never would.

  “Why afraid?” she demanded.

  He leaned back in his chair again and cupped his wineglass between his hands. “Wrong choice of word, perhaps.”

  Meg twirled the stem of her wineglass. “Maybe not,” she said. “I suppose it could almost be inevitable when two people are thrown together in these unpredictable circumstances.”

  He shook his head with a soft laugh. “No, far from inevitable, ma’am, and you know it. Such sparks are few and far between in my experience.”

  Meg pursed her lips a little. “I’m always attracted to unsuitable men,” she confessed.

  At that he laughed outright. “And I’m unsuitable of course.”

  Gus produced a near perfect imitation of the captain’s laughter and hopped onto the table.

  “I’ve never met anyone more so, and I’ve met my share,” Meg responded, absently giving the macaw a crust of bread as she continued, “You’re a privateer who goes by one name only. You’re on some kind of secret mission of such urgency that you couldn’t put right a mistake that you called potentially disastrous. Your men don’t even know where they’re sailing to after Sark. David Porter said no one ever knows where they’re going when they’re with you, or why they’re going there. I’m beginning to wonder if even you know these things.” There was distinct challenge in her voice and eyes.

  “All that is true,” he replied calmly. “Except for the part about my not knowing why. Believe me, I know my mission.”

  Meg looked at him sharply and she glimpsed again that hard cool core beneath the careless, raffish manner. Cosimo knew exactly what he was doing and he had absolute confidence in his ability to succeed. She took a sip of wine.

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever me
t a woman quite like you,” Cosimo observed. “You certainly appear to be a lady of impeccable breeding, but I can’t help feeling that appearances in your case are deceptive.”

  Meg’s lips twitched into a grin. He was, of course, absolutely correct. She was no more a lady, as society understood the term, than Cosimo was a gentleman. “My parents wouldn’t care to believe that,” she said. “My breeding is certainly impeccable.”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment and then turned as Biggins’s step sounded on the deck behind them. “There’s rhubarb pie, sir, if you and the lady wish for it.” He set a brown-crusted pie on the table.

  “Lovely,” Meg said enthusiastically.

  “Lovely,” declared Gus, examining the pie with a beady eye.

  Biggins cleared away the stew bowls and left. Cosimo sliced the pie and placed a large piece on a plate for Meg.

  “You’re so skinny I can’t imagine where you put it all,” he commented, handing her the plate.

  Meg realized she’d had two laden bowls of stew, most of the loaf of bread, and was now about to eat close to half of a rhubarb pie. “I seem to be particularly hungry this evening,” she stated a mite defensively. “I’m not usually greedy.”

  “I didn’t say you were greedy,” he protested solemnly. “Merely blessed with a substantial appetite.” He took a forkful of pie.

  He had barely carried it to his lips before a shout came from somewhere above them. “Sail on the port bow.”

  Cosimo set down his fork very calmly, murmured, “Excuse me,” and pushed back his chair. He took up the telescope and went across to the port rail. In the silvery light of stars and moon, he could just make out the white shape on the horizon and then the dark bulk of a frigate looming against the night’s shadows. He had to assume that the Mary Rose had been visible to the frigate for no more than a few minutes.