Calypso Magic

Chapter 12

Men are but children of a larger growth.

JOHN DRYDEN

Lyon was impossible, and she wouldn't think about him. He was a cad, a bounder... No, she wouldn't think about him.

She breathed in the clean morning air. There was a stiff breeze and the Seawitch was slicing through the water, her graceful bow falling and rising in even cadence. Even during her long voyage to England, she hadn't accustomed herself to the endless stretch of ocean. No small islands, barren, lush, flat, or hilly, anywhere in sight, not like at home. It made her feel unbearably alone and quite insignificant. She was standing on the poop deck next to Rollo, who had the wheel. She said, "Is your home port in St. Thomas?"

"No, Montego Bay, Jamaica."

"Then why are we sailing to St. Thomas?"

Rollo looked briefly uncomfortable. "The captain has business there. Actually, well, yes, business, my lady."

Most odd, she thought, seeing his discomfort.

"Please, Rollo, call me Diana."

"Well, yes, Diana. I say, his lordship seems quite recovered now."

Too recovered, she thought, but just nodded. Damned man! They'd been at sea for nearly a week now and the night she'd finally asked Lyon to take his turn on the floor, he'd grabbed his head and begun to moan dramatically.

"That's quite enough," she'd said sharply, frowning at his performance.

He weaved a bit where he stood, then collapsed on the bunk, arms flopping over his head.

"Perhaps I should call Blick. He could dose you with a bottle of laudanum."

He c****d an eye open. "Ah, no, I am a stoic."

"You bear your suffering in noble silence?"

"Yes, and now I must have my well-deserved rest." He sat up, grinning at her. His fingers went to the buttons on his shirt, but his eyes remained on her face, mocking, drawing.

And she'd left, of course, standing in the companionway outside the cabin while he undressed.

She still wasn't used to that wretched floor, she thought now, stretching to ease her stiff muscles.

"I've never been to Jamaica," she said to Rollo.

"If you are unfortunate enough to be attacked by ruffians in St. Thomas, perhaps the captain will take you aboard again."

"I suppose I can smile about it now, just a bit," she said. "We were very lucky that you were there and willing to assist us."

"The capt'n is a fair man," was all Rollo said.

But none of them was smiling toward evening. A storm was blowing up. She was with Lyon when they heard Rafael curse in at least two different languages. Then he gave a series of sharp orders. Several sailors scrambled up the rigging, agile as monkeys, to reef the sails and secure all the lines.

"We will have a night of it, I'm afraid," Rafael said to Diana and Lyon. "I suggest you fasten down any loose items in your cabin, and please, stay below."

And that includes me, Diana thought. She looked at the angry waves slapping against the ship, the darkening sky overhead.

The storm hit at eight o'clock. Diana was sitting on the floor on her nest of blankets when the ship lurched suddenly and she was tossed sideways.

"Diana, are you all right?"

She was grumbling to herself and rubbing her bruised elbow. "No! Should you like to trade places with me?"

"I am not a fool. I think you'd best douse the lamp. I don't want us to set the ship on fire."

She did and stretched out, trying to get comfortable. She wasn't particularly worried about the storm. Living on an island had accustomed her to them. She remembered very clearly the only time she'd been terrified. It was the great hurricane in 1799, so fierce that it had destroyed nearly all their sugarcane, demolished part of the plantation house and killed fourteen slaves. She shuddered, remembering it, and herself, small and frightened, huddled against Dido's stiff skirts, Dido's soft voice soothing her.

Lyon, misunderstanding that shudder, said in an effort to distract her from the storm, "So what happened to the count? The hero of your novel?"

"Oh, him. The brave Count of Milano saved the heroine, saved her father, saved her fortune, and butchered the villain, in a fair fight, of course."

"And clasped her to his manly bosom on the last page?"

"Something like that. Ouch!"

Lyon said after a moment, his voice as bland as the stewed vegetables they'd eaten for dinner, "Perhaps you'd best join me tonight."

"Don't be absurd!"

"If you like, I will sleep under the covers and you can arrange yourself on top, with your own blankets for cover, naturally."

"Be careful, Lyon, else your true lecherous colors might come to the fore."

"Diana, do not be a twit. I do not wish you to show yourself on the morrow covered with bruises. The captain and his crew will believe that I beat you."

"You could always take the floor."

"Not I. I didn't get us into this impossible mess."

"You are not at all honorable. You are a—"

"Bastard? Arrogant fool? Selfish rake?"

The ship hit a deep trough and she was hurled a good three feet toward the cabin door.

"Enough, come here."

He heard her moving about in the darkness.

"Diana, if I swear I will not touch you, will you please share the bunk with me tonight?"

"I don't trust you."

You're probably very wise not to. "Don't be a missish fool. We will be married, you know. You have already been living in close proximity with me for a week."

She was thinking about it, he knew it. He waited, saying no more.

"I am not going to marry you, Lyon."

That reply was not really unexpected. It came to him suddenly that he'd already accepted the fact that she would be his wife. Strangely, he no longer was fighting the notion. She made him laugh when he didn't want to thrash her. She never bored him and, he admitted, she was lovely. He said mildly, "Very well. All I am asking you to do is keep yourself from being hurt. I swear to keep my hands away from your, er, womanly parts. Come here."

He heard her snort, then say, "And I promise to keep my hands away from your manly parts."

He laughed. "You have the last word this time. Why don't you take the inside? That way you won't roll off onto the floor. Besides, Diana, I am scared to death of this storm and need your soothing presence beside me."

"Ha! I don't believe that, but... very well."

She crawled over him, dragging three blankets with her.

He didn't move. "There isn't enough room," she said.

He inched closer to the edge of the bunk.

Finally, she was lying on her side, her back to him, wrapped securely in her blankets. She realized after just a few minutes that she was quite used to the even tempo of his breathing. Then the ship lurched again and she felt his arms fly out. He grabbed her about her waist and she struggled to a sitting position.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't want to end up on the floor. Then the captain and crew just might believe that you beat me."

"It is a thought," she said. "Would you please remove your hands now?"

"Certainly."

They settled themselves again.

"Diana?"

"Yes?"

"I don't mean to revolt your finest feelings, but I must turn on my side, else I won't be safe."

"And you're nearly speechless with fright?"

"Exactly." He curled against her back, lightly placing his arm about her waist. She felt his warm breath against her neck. She wished she hadn't braided her hair. At least it would have been some kind of cover.

I won't think about this, she thought, and forced herself to take deep, slow breaths. As for Lyon, he was sternly informing his lower body not to respond.

Diana awoke several times during the night when the ship heaved in a particularly violent movement. Lyon had her held securely. For the first time in a week, she felt warm enough, and she knew it was from the heat of his body. I will not think about it. I won't let him... do what?

Lyon awoke very early the following morning. The ship had returned to its gentle rocking motion. The storm, thank God, had blown itself out and the ship was still in one piece. He realized suddenly that his right hand was beneath the three blankets and was cupping Diana's breast. He could feel the slow upward rise and fall of her breathing. His fingers itched. Her breast filled his hand. His breathing quickened. She felt so soft, her flesh so very warm and inviting even through her linen nightgown. She will be my wife, he thought, staving off the guilt he immediately felt. His fingers curled, just a bit. She moved in her sleep, her body shifting slightly so that her breast eased more fully against his palm.

The Spanish Inquisition should have had this torture, he thought. He felt her n****e respond without her volition. Her breast felt heavy, richly full, and he swallowed convulsively.

She moaned softly and he froze.

Diana felt marvelously warm. She moved slightly, onto her back, and felt the warmth increase. Slowly, she opened her eyes. She was two inches from Lyon's face. He looked as if he were in pain.

She brought her hand up to touch his cheek. "Lyon? Are you all right?"

Then she felt his hand on her breast. Her eyes widened. His face blocked out everything. He kissed her gently.

Oh, dear, she thought, and then she stopped thinking. The insidious warmth seemed to explode low in her belly. Her body arched against him. She wanted more. She wanted...

Lyon released her abruptly, cursing vilely. He quickly turned away from her and rose, only to realize that he was quite naked. He grabbed a blanket to cover himself. He was breathing hard, his manhood thrusting outward. He had to keep his back to her. He wouldn't allow her to see the evidence of his lust.

"Turn away, Diana, now."

She obeyed him, her mind in chaos. Was she that inept at kissing? That repellent to him? Stop it, you silly fool! What a perverse creature she was.

"Stay that way or you will have your maidenly sensibilities thoroughly lacerated."

"Why?"

Was that her voice? So high and thin as Harmon's chicken soup?

"Be silent."

Her breast throbbed. Not a hurt kind of throbbing, but a very nice sort of throbbing, and it sent waves of feeling to her belly. She remembered that time when he'd assisted her out of the carriage and carried her. Only this time, the feelings were stronger, more confusing. Her lips were still warm and tingly from his mouth.

Lyon shrugged into his dressing gown. Still, his rampant manhood was in extreme evidence. He quickly sat himself in the chair behind the small desk.

"You can turn over now if you like."

She did. She stared at him thoughtfully, seeing the tension in his eyes, the flush on his tanned cheeks, the rigid set of his shoulders. She didn't realize that her eyes were as soft-looking as creamy butter, vague and a bit dazed, but Lyon did.

"I think," he said very slowly, "that we should have Captain Carstairs marry us today."

All dreamy vagueness disappeared at his words.

"Why?"

"Don't be a fool, Diana! You wouldn't be a virgin if I hadn't fled the bunk."

"Just because you were feeling my womanly parts?"

"Just one womanly part. And, I might add, that one part was nearly enough to send me over the honorable edge. Now, I expect you to be reasonable about this."

He had caressed her breast and kissed her. Was that all that was needed for a man to lose his mind? His control? She discounted her own feelings. In any case, they were long gone. Perhaps she'd just imagined those very odd... spurts, or whatever one called them. She decided to feel sorry for him and his male weakness. After all, he'd left her because he'd wanted to be honorable, hadn't he?

"I will be reasonable," she said, easing deeply under her blankets. "You will probably regain your aplomb in a few minutes and regret your words. Now, I am still sleepy." With that dismissal, she turned away from him and closed her eyes.

"Diana, I am going to beat you. Again. Thoroughly."

"Ah, so you have your manly parts under control? Now you will resort to threats?"

He said nothing and she was beginning to relax when she felt him ease beside her on the bunk.

"Lyon!"

"Be quiet. Lie still. It's still very early and both of us might as well get some more sleep."

Small chance of that, he thought.

"Diana?"

"Hmmm?"

"I have large hands. Have you ever noticed?"

"Yes, very manly hands."

That sidetracked him for a moment. "Manly hands?"

She giggled. "Yes. That is a favorite word in my novels."

"Very well. Did you also realize that your breast overflows my manly hand?"

"Stop it! You are supposedly a gentleman, a—"

"Very true. And I will also be your husband."

"No!"

"I think I should accustom you to the idea. Accustom you to my touch. I think you much enjoyed my touching you."

She sat up, her fat braid slapping against the side of his face, the blankets held like armor against her chest. Her face was flushed, her expression uncertain.

"My God, you're not afraid of me, are you? My cocky, mouthy Diana? And I, but a mere man?" He paused a moment, then added, "Perhaps a manly man?"

"You are about as amusing as an attack of biliousness."

"That's more like it. Why don't you lie down and let me hold you? You will get used to it."

To his utter surprise, she said not another word, and in the next instant, she snuggled down and lay her cheek against his shoulder. Her hand, fisted, sat atop his chest.

His arm automatically came down and pulled her closer against him. He was smiling, triumph a sweet taste, when she began snoring, loudly, interspersed with equally loud snorts.

"I imagine you can't keep that up for very long," he said. He kissed her forehead and closed his eyes. No, he thought again. Diana would never bore him.

He was right, she thought, striving for another snore. Damn him anyway. Here she was bound against him, his arm firm about her back. She didn't know what to do with her hand. His flesh felt very warm beneath her fingers.

When she couldn't produce another obnoxious sound, she said, with sweet understanding, "I know what it is that troubles you. You miss your little amour. Men, I understand from your precious Charlotte, must relieve themselves in several ways."

He wouldn't let her rile him. Relieve?

"However, I refuse to let you relieve yourself with me."

"You sound like a chamber pot."

The mention of that particular item made her realize that she had a distressing problem of her own. She decided to ignore it.

A few minutes later, he was frowning at her squirming. "What's the matter? Can't you get comfortable?"

This is awful, she thought, but saw no hope for it. She'd managed during the past week to take care of this physical need when he wasn't in the cabin. As for Lyon, she imagined that he, like most the crew, relieved themselves away from the wind off the side of the ship. She sighed.

"Lyon, would you please leave the cabin for a while?"

"Be quiet. I'm sleepy."

"You don't understand. I need to... Oh, drat, please, just go, for a few minutes."

He began laughing, she felt the deep rumbling in his chest before the sound came from his throat. She lifted her hand from his chest and poked him hard in his stomach. He grunted.

"You tell me you're a gentleman. Prove it."

"All that talk about relieving, huh? When we're married I won't have to leave."

He saw from her face that this was an appalling thought. "Kiss me," he said, "and I'll leave you to the chamber pot."

"I'll bite you instead, you rotter!"

"Perhaps you'd best not yet. I shall have to teach you how to make bites pleasurable. Come now, Diana. You know I can hold out indefinitely. I don't imagine that you can."

"You are a bastard." She leaned down and kissed him quickly, her lips tightly closed.

"There is so much I shall have to teach you." He released her and rose from the bunk.

He gave her a wicked smile before he left the cabin, a blanket wrapped about his waist.

Lyon sat across from Rafael, his leg slung over the arm of his chair, a glass of excellent French brandy in his hand. Rafael, equally relaxed, tossed a card from his hand onto the top of the desk. They were alone in the captain's cabin, a very masculine lair, playing piquet.

"Sorry," said Lyon, and placed his queen of hearts on the ten of hearts.

"I wasn't counting," said Rafael as he frowned at the remaining cards in his hand. "I was never much of a gambler. My brother now, well, never mind about him." No, he didn't want to think about Damien, his twin brother.

Lyon played the jack of clubs, saying as he did so, "By any chance are you related to the Carstairs in Cornwall?"

Rafael looked bored.

"I believe their estates are near to St. Austell."

"I have no relatives, anywhere."

Their play continued in silence.

"It's odd, you know," Lyon said. "I remember meet- ing a Baron Drago some years ago. He was an older man, of course, but if my memory serves me, you have something of the look of him." Lyon, gazing at Rafael through his lowered lashes, saw him pale slightly. I've hit upon a mystery here, he thought, and because he liked Rafael Carstairs, he shrugged and said, "I fear if you keep playing me, you'll lose your ship."

"I'm sometimes a fool, but not that great a fool," said Rafael, relaxing now, knowing that Lord Saint Leven wouldn't touch that particular hornet's nest again. "What is Diana doing?"

"Last time I saw her, she was teaching one of your sailors a better way to make some sort of knot."

Rafael grinned and tossed out another card, only to see it gobbled up. "She is charming," he said. He watched Lyon thoughtfully study the remaining cards in his hand. "I should say, though, that you two should tie the proverbial knot before long."

Lyon dropped his cards.

"I am not a fool, Lyon," Rafael said quietly. "Nor do I wish to pry, but you have set yourself something of a problem."

"How did you know?" It didn't occur to Lyon to lie; as the captain had said, he wasn't a fool.

"Perhaps the wedding ring, or absence of one at first, then Neddie mentioned to Rollo about blankets piled on the floor. Also, you and Diana do not seem like lovers." He paused a moment, then added deliberately, "You are both quite aware of each other, but you are not lovers. At least not yet."

"You are observant," Lyon said at last. "I trust no one else knows of our predicament?"

"No, but Blick is a wily one, probably comes from the fact that he's the son of a Sussex vicar."

"Good God," Lyon said, distracted. "A vicar's son?"

"Yes, indeed. He and his father, well, they don't get along, you might say. In any case, he's said nothing to me about the two of you."

"Diana has been so careful about those wretched blankets of hers. Ah, well, 'tis done."

"No, nothing is done. I consider you a friend and Diana as well. As you know, I am acquainted with her father, Lucien Savarol. He may be a West Indian planter, but he is a gentleman and his daughter is a lady. I wish I could advise you, but—"

"You were quite right. I have already determined to marry the chit, but she is the one who refuses. I can't very well force her to wed me."

Rafael leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Seduce her," he said.

Lyon grinned, then winced. "She would try to unman me, she's already threatened as much. In fact, she tried it once, and thankfully missed, but that is another tale. Don't say it, Rafael, she understands the consequences of not marrying me, at least that's what she says. But she is a guileless creature, if that's possible for a woman to be."

Though sorely tempted, Rafael said nothing to that. "I have discovered, as I am certain you have also, that life is never simple. Unfortunately it is we ourselves who tend to complicate things. I don't suppose that you've noticed how she looks at you, particularly when you are not aware of it. She is not at all indifferent to you. Indeed, I would say that at the very least she desires you. Perhaps, my friend, if you did seduce her, she would come about." He gave Lyon a cocky grin. "I assume that you would be proficient at it."

"Who knows? The chit is driving me insane. Can you imagine living in such close proximity and trying to keep yourself... Well, enough. It is not your problem."

"We have about three and a half more weeks before we reach St. Thomas. If the weather holds, that is. Unfortunately on the islands society is so tight-knit, it would be well nigh impossible to wed her there, secretly, without everyone finding out about it. That was your plan, was it not?"

"Yes, if I could get Diana to agree, damn her." Lyon looked down at the cards on the desktop. He picked up an ace and stared at it a moment. "You say she is not indifferent to me?"

"No, she is not. I do know something about women, you know."

"That is what I was afraid of."

"Rest your mind, Lyon. It has never been my habit to poach on another man's preserves. She is yours, not mine."

"Hell," Lyon said, tossing the ace in the air, "I didn't want her to be mine. I didn't want any woman."

"A gentleman does not aspire to dishonor a lady. As I see it, old boy, you haven't a choice."

Lyon cursed.

"Seduce her," Rafael said once again. He saw Lyon tense and wondered if he was thinking about making love to that lovely young woman. "Another game, Lyon? I am feeling more lucky."

"You think I am that far gone, do you?"

Rafael laughed.