Calypso Magic

Chapter 11

A lion's skin is never cheap.

SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY PROVERB

The conscious Lord Saint Leven was vastly different from the unconscious man Rafael had slung over his shoulder. Rafael saw the intelligence in his eyes, the strength, the character. This man wouldn't like to be in another man's debt. He knew well his own value, but he would accord the same value to another. He wondered what saving this man would cost him. Inevitably something. Rafael shook away his philosophizing, and stepped forward.

He said, extending his hand, "My lord, I am delighted to see you awake and your wits no longer scattered to the winds. I am Rafael Carstairs, captain of the Seawitch."

Lyon, who was now leaning back against the pillows of the bunk, clothed in his burgundy dressing gown, nodded as he took the captain's darkly tanned hand. "I understand from Diana that you saved our respective hides. My thanks, Captain."

"He also saved us from a drunk doctor."

"It was fortunate that I was on hand. As for the doctor, he was so foxed I'm surprised he could even speak. It is also fortunate that our destination is St. Thomas."

"So Diana told me. I trust we are not discommoding you overly?" "Not at all," said Rafael easily. He smiled at Diana.

"You see, Diana, all your fretting for naught. I knew your husband would be back to excellent health very quickly. You are looking vastly relieved. It becomes you."

"Yes, vastly, and thank you."

Lyon wasn't blind. He saw the gleaming look of approval in the captain's eyes when he gazed at Diana. Lord, if he did tell him the truth, would he try to seduce her? He imagined that Captain Carstairs had quite a way with the ladies and he would see Diana as fair game were he to discover that he and Diana weren't husband and wife. What to do? And Diana was such an unpredictable chit and so naïve that she made him grit his teeth. Would she succumb to the captain?

He cursed softly.

"Lyon?"

" 'Tis nothing, Diana. Just a slight pain." And you're the source of the pain, damn you. He saw, however, that her look was one of intense worry for him, but again, on a voyage of six weeks, anything could happen between her and that captain. Pity the fellow wasn't at least sixty years old, or was blessed with rotten teeth and a crude manner. But Carstairs wasn't blessed with any of those things. He was about Lyon's age, muscular, lean, and very self-assured. The damned bastard was also handsome. He cursed again, this time silently. It made him feel no better. Perhaps he had a wife tucked away somewhere? No, not likely. After all, Carstairs could have left them; he could have taken all their money. But he hadn't.

Rafael was quite aware of being weighed by Lord Saint Leven, and wondered what conclusion he had reached. He grinned a bit, wondering if the man were also weighing his intentions toward his wife.

"Blick tells me you will be up and about by tomorrow. Indeed, should you wish some fresh air, I can ready a snug spot for you on deck."

"I should like that, Lyon, if you feel up to it," said Diana, unconsciously moving to the bunk. She laid her hand gently on his shoulder. He wanted to give her a look that bespoke his knowledge of her act, but he couldn't, at least not yet. Instead, he laid his own hand over hers and squeezed gently. Her eyes widened, and she gave him a shy, tentative smile.

"Unfortunately, your wife lost her wedding ring," said Rafael. "Did the thugs take anything of yours, my lord?"

"Only my dignity," said Lyon. He gave Diana's suddenly tense hand another squeeze.

Rafael chuckled. "Mine also has known occasional reversals. I try to forget those occasions as quickly as possible."

Damn, Lyon thought again, the captain was likable. He wondered if he were also honorable. Time enough to determine that. He would simply have to keep Diana close. He closed his eyes a moment.

Rafael said quickly, concern evident in his voice, "You are tired, and no wonder. All of us have been trooping in and out of here all morning. I will leave you to rest, my lord. Diana, inform Neddie when you and your husband wish to come up on deck."

"Yes, I shall. Thank you, Rafael."

Rafael!

Lyon added his thanks, in a less-than-enthusiastic voice, to be sure, but the captain didn't appear to notice anything amiss.

Once they were alone again, Lyon said, "You will stay away from that man. He is dangerous."

Diana removed her hand and backed away from the bunk. "Dangerous? Why, that is absurd. He saved us—you!"

"I mean," Lyon said between clenched teeth, "that he is likely a very charming seducer of females. That, unfortunately, includes you."

"You are ridiculous. He is a gentleman."

"I imagine he will remain mostly a gentleman so long as he believes me to be your husband."

"Ah, so that is why you held your tongue. You are worried about my virtue."

He gave her a sour look. "I don't want you to have your skirts tossed over your head, my dear girl. And you are so silly it is a profound possibility."

Diana looked at him thoughtfully. His face was slightly flushed. Did he think so little of her moral fiber? Her ability to discern when men were honest and when they were not? "So, he is like Monsieur DuPres?"

"No! Well, perhaps, if given the proper opportunity—"

"I did not allow Monsieur DuPres to toss up my skirts. Indeed, I dealt quite well with his pretensions. Why should I allow Rafael to do it? Or any other man, for that matter? And that, unfortunately, includes you."

"I have no intention of seducing you, Diana." He clamped his teeth together and again closed his eyes. "At least until we are married, which we will have to be, somehow."

"Lyon," she said very calmly, "I have no intention of accompanying you to the altar. Most of the time, I want nothing more than to box your ears. I never saw myself married to a man I wanted to kick in the dust."

"I thought it was my manhood that held your interest—at least when it came to kicking."

She just looked at him.

"Listen to me, my girl. You have played the wrong tune this time. When we arrive in St. Thomas do you possibly believe that Captain Carstairs or any of his crew will not bruit it about that Lord and Lady Saint Leven sailed aboard the Seawitch?"

"We could bribe them."

"And," he continued, ignoring that nitwit observation, "if it is known that we are not married—indeed known that we traveled together without a proper chaperone for you for six weeks—your name will be dragged through the mud. And no father would allow that. He would insist that I make an honest woman of you. I would were I your father."

"Oh."

"God save me from foolish women. Do you now understand?"

"I am not without sense, Lyon!"

"That is indeed a surprise to my poor ears."

"Nor do I believe that you are correct in your assumptions. My father would never insist that I wed a man who couldn't bear my company."

"What about your bearing my company? Now, I should like to shave and dress. Fetch my gear and some fresh water."

She gave him a mutinous look.

"You think you would like to bear the title of Trollop of Tortola? Slut of Savarol? And have every sort of man sniffing after you?"

"What would you be called? The Vile Seducer of an Innocent?"

"Not up to alliteration, are you? All right, you're not, then. Diana, men are usually forgiven for their, ah, pессаdillos, if they can escape the wrath of fathers. However, I have the misfortune of being an honorable man. I will accept the consequences of your foolishness, as will you. There is no choice. I trust that you now understand fully. I dislike having to repeat myself. Now, would you please fetch my things for me?"

"I would prefer kicking you in your teeth."

"It is a pleasure to be denied to you."

"I do not like you at all, Lyon."

"It is a pity. For the next six weeks you will have to pretend adoration for your husband, at least in front of others."

"And will you pretend adoration for me?"

He gave her a lecherous grin. "We will see, won't we? Who knows? By the time we reach St. Thomas perhaps you will be with child. Because of you, Diana, we will be sleeping in this cabin. I fully intend to sleep in this bunk. If you don't decide to sleep on the floor, you will be next to me. Who knows what will happen?"

"You are disgusting. You also said you are a gentleman."

"People change when circumstances dictate. Fetch my shaving gear."

"Go to the devil!"

He laughed. "I shall enjoy educating you, my dear. A submissive wife, a gentle helpmeet, a lady who holds her tongue and does not disagree with her lord and master." He paused. "I do hope it will be partially an enjoyable project. In some areas, you certainly are blessed with abundant raw material." His eyes settled on her bosom.

"If you touch me, my lord, I will unman you."

"You tried once and failed."

"I wish Kenworthy were here."

"I told you before we left London that my valet gets vilely ill when he gets within three feet of the water. I shall simply have to make do with you."

"Lucia wouldn't get ill."

"Ah, you wish for her presence now, do you? Let me tell you something, Diana. Lucia, if she knew our situation, would probably be dancing a jig. A union between us was her wish. Now, fetch my shaving gear."

At ten o'clock that evening, Lyonel decided he wanted nothing more than oblivion. He again refused laudanum from Blick, for he felt more fatigue than pain. He and Diana had shared a dinner of boiled beef and potatoes in their cabin, and the conversation had dwindled rapidly to tense silence. He knew she was thinking about the single, very narrow bunk, with him in it.

He said nothing, frankly too weary to worry about her missish problems. After Blick took his leave, Lyon very calmly rose and began shrugging out of his dressing gown. He paused a moment at Diana's gasp.

He arched a brow at her over his shoulder, keeping the dressing gown at his waist.

"Excuse me," she said, and quickly let herself out of the cabin.

He was lying on his back, a sheet to his chest, his eyes closed when he heard her come in again.

"I shall sleep on the floor."

"Fine."

"Will you keep your eyes closed while I disrobe?"

"Yes."

He was surprising himself, he thought. He was too tired to bait her. He heard the rustle of clothes. He heard a splash of water and imagined her washing her face.

"You may open your eyes now."

"I don't want to."

"I will need your blankets."

"If I get cold during the night, do you expect me to join

you on the floor for warmth?"

"I will ask Neddie for more on the morrow. You will simply have to make do tonight."

He opened his eyes at that. She was on her hands and knees, smoothing out blankets for a makeshift pallet beside the bunk. She was wearing a dressing gown, a pink bit of froth, over her nightgown. Her hair was long and loose down her back. She looked delicious. He closed his eyes again.

He was relieved when she doused the lamp, plunging the cabin into darkness.

He slept soundly. As for Diana, she lay on her back on the dreadful floor, turning first one way and then another, counting the number of nights this would be her bed. When Lyon was well again, she would convince him to take turns. She wondered if that was even a remote possibility. He was the most contrary man.

Lyon awoke early, as was his habit. At first he was disoriented, particularly with the gentle rocking and the sound of breathing very close to him. He gathered his wits, queried his head, found no pain, and leaned up on his elbow. Diana was sprawled on her back, one arm flung over her head, her hair fanned out about her. Six weeks of this, he thought, wanting to groan. His body had already responded to the sight of her and he was cursedly uncomfortable.

He lay quietly for a few minutes longer, then discovered that he needed to relieve himself. He shrugged, hoping for her sake that she stayed asleep for a while longer. She did.

He bathed in the water in the basin. It was cold but he didn't mind that. He welcomed it. Every few minutes, he looked over his shoulder. She slept on, unaware of his predicament. The sleep of the innocent, he thought.

He was dressed and was pulling on his boots when Diana yawned and stretched.

"Good morning," he said, and grinned at the myriad of expressions that crossed her face as she ventured into reality.

She blinked at him, and for a brief instant she gave him the sweetest smile before she got a hold of herself.

"You may have the bunk for a while, if you wish," he said, rising. "I am going up on deck."

He stepped over her and left the cabin.

"Well, that is a relief," she said aloud. "Perhaps he will be a gentleman about this."

The instant the cabin door closed behind him, she scrambled into the bunk. She pulled the sheet to her chin and snuggled down. Her muscles were sore and stiff. The bunk felt like heaven. And the bedclothes smelled like him. She breathed in deeply before she caught herself.

Stop it, you ninny. Sleep was far away, so she forced herself to think about what she would do once they reached St. Thomas. Marry Lyon? She allowed that thought to linger, with all its complexities. Unbidden, she saw herself held over his thighs, her skirts up, his hand on her hips. She began shaking her head. His scent filled her nostrils gain, and angry at herself, she rose.

She was brushing her hair when a tap came on the cabin door.

"Yes?"

" 'Tis Blick, Diana. Would you like some breakfast?" She quickly tied a ribbon about her hair and opened the door, a smile on her lips. "You, sir, are a most versatile man."

"So I've been told, many times. I've already seen your husband. He is sound again. If you would like to come with me now, I'll see that you're fed. I think old Harmon—our cook, you know—is outdoing himself since there is a lady on board to impress. Then, if you like, I'll give you a tour of the ship."

Diana found no fault with that program.

"Do you know much about sailing ships?" Blick asked as they made their way to the poop deck.

She smiled at that. "I have lived all my life in the West Indies, Blick. A schooner is my favorite vessel, so fast and so easily maneuverable. Indeed, a favorite of the pirates some hundred years ago."

He grinned, just a bit uncomfortably. "Well, yes. We can attain speeds of up to fourteen knots, you know, with a fair breeze at our backs."

Diana looked up at the forward wooden mast and the three foresails. "She is beautiful. How many crew?"

"At the present, we have forty men. Her length is ninety feet, so we are not all stumbling over one another. Before Rafael, er, acquired this ship, we were cramped in a much smaller vessel."

What did he mean by that slip? she wondered, but she said nothing.

She saw little of Lyon for the next several hours. Blick introduced her a good dozen of the sailors. The day was bright and warm, sea birds still following them. "Would you like some bread to toss to them?"

"I should enjoy that, yes," she said. "It is one of my favorite pastimes at home. The pelicans, however, become very testy when I exhaust my supply."

Blick chuckled and walked away to ask for the bread.

"Do you sail, Diana?"

She turned at the sound of Lyon's voice. "Of course. Living on an island doesn't give one much opportunity to ride for miles in carriages, you know. In fact, I have my own sailboat. Her name is Bilbo."

"Wherever did you get that appellation?"

She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "I haven't thought of that in years. My father told me that when I was three years old, I was fascinated at his talk of bilges and boats. I put the two words together, so he and Dido told me."

"Dido?"

"My nurse, nanny, and a fiery old woman who tells me what to think and what to do, if I let her. She took over running the plantation house after my mother died. Now she does allow me to assist, if I am polite about it and properly serious."

"A slave?"

She stiffened, just a bit, at his tone. "Yes, she is."

"I doubt she is running the plantation house now."

"Why, of course she is. My father has the greatest respect for her." She chuckled. "She also intimidates him a bit, I think."

Lyon realized he'd let his mouth run ahead of his mind. Oh, well, she would find out soon enough. Better for her to have time to accustom herself. "Your father has remarried."

Diana slapped a tendril of hair from her face. "That is not a very funny jest, Lyon."

"It isn't a jest. Lucia received a letter from your father just before we left."

"But she said nothing of it to me."

"She didn't want you made unhappy. Also it appears you have a stepbrother, evidently grown."

"Good morning, my lord. Diana, your bread."

They both turned, each taking bread from Blick. Diana, her face a study in confusion and shock, walked toward the poop deck. She began flinging bits of bread upward.

The birds squawked loudly and flew closer. She heard a curse from a sailor and saw that one of the gulls had relieved himself on the hapless man's head. She wished it had been Lyon, then she could laugh. From the crew she had met, they were dressed well enough and were clean. Of course, if there were not much rain during the voyage, all of them would be as smelly as cow's ears before they reached St. Thomas. She'd heard stories all her life about the cruelty aboard his majesty's ships in the royal navy. These men, however, did not look at all abused.

Lyon tossed his own bread, his eyes on Diana. It didn't really matter now that her father had taken another wife. After all, Diana would be married to him and be herself a wife and no longer a daughter attached to her father's house. I am amazing myself, he thought. I am already used to the idea.

Diana continued tossing bread bits, her mind in a whirl. Her father married! To whom? Why hadn't he written to her to explain? And a stepbrother! The last of the bread gone, she wiped her hands on her skirts. She saw that Lyon was talking to Blick. She moved away, careful of the coiled hemp rope just ahead. She raised her face to the sun, looking at the billowing sails.

"We'll not get rid of the blighters easily now," said Rafael, coming to a halt, his feet planted wide apart on the deck.

"They will not come out much farther from land," Diana said.

The rigging creaked overhead and Rafael, out of long habit, cast an expert eye upward. He called out to Rollo, who was at the wheel, "A bit higher in the wind!" He grinned down at Diana. "You're right, of course. What do you think of the Seawitch?"

"She is beautiful, save for all the gun ports and cannons. Am I correct? You have ten cannon? Six swivel guns?"

"You've an accurate eye. England is at war, you know. I am not so foolish to venture out without protection."

"I remember my father telling me of the English taking St. Thomas in 1807. Not a shot fired."

"Not a one. The Dutch folded their proverbial tents and left."

Diana smiled. "He also told me the story of the Dutch commander who asked for verification that the English did indeed have overwhelming odds."

"An honorable surrender," said Rafael. "When Napoleon is at last beaten, we will give St. Thomas back. Ah, your husband." He grinned at Lyon. "I suggest you, Lyon, take care with the sun. You'll need at least a week to accustom yourself."

"You're already quite red, Lyon," Diana said, frowning a bit. "I suppose it is better than your previous pallor."

Sharing a small cabin had further disadvantages, Diana discovered that evening. She wasn't at all tired, and as was her habit, she fetched the novel she'd been reading from the armoire.

"Douse the lamp, Diana," said Lyon from the bunk not five minutes later.

As he had the night before, he had kept his eyes closed when she had undressed and bathed. Unfortunately he'd said nothing about sharing the floor. She decided to give him another night to recover from his injury.

"I wish to read awhile. I will move the lamp down here on the floor beside me."

He grunted. Another five minutes later, Diana was enthralled with a particularly exciting scene when he said irritably, "Enough. I can't sleep with that bloody light."

She looked up to see him on his side, looking down at her. "In a bit," she said absently. "Not yet."

"Diana—"

"I shall when I have finished this chapter."

"What are you reading?"

"The Adventures of Count Milano."

He groaned.

"Hush, the hero is in an awful position at this moment."

"Do you call it awful because he is making love to the heroine?''

"Of course not! She is pure and innocent and he wants only to protect her."

"The man sounds like an i***t and a fool. There is no such breed of woman."

"That reeks of Charlotte's Disease, Lyon. One would wish that you would strive for a cure."

"I suppose your count writes bad poetry to the heroine's plucked eyebrows."

"Be quiet."

"You know something," he said after a few more minutes, "I find myself wondering if you didn't arrange this particular plot to suit your fancy."

That caught her attention. "What do you mean? Or will I hate myself for asking?"

"It just occurs to me—since I am still suffering from Charlotte's Disease—that you have neatly engineered me into a corner. You, through your actions, took all choice out of my hands. Perhaps you planned it so you could trap me into marrying you."

Her first reaction to this outrageous nonsense was to hurl her novel at him. She didn't. Instead, she drew a deep breath and said nothing.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

Her lips tightened, but still she kept silent.

"If you wanted me so very much, my dear Diana, couldn't you at least be honest about it? Was it my hand caressing your quite acceptable bottom? Or perhaps my brilliant dancing that enthralled you? Since you don't yet know anything about my skill as a lover, it can't be that. More likely, it is my wealth."

Very well, she thought. "It was your wealth. Certainly you have nothing else to recommend you."

"You know, I could simply leave you in St. Thomas and sail immediately for England. Leave you to face the music, as it were."

"That, my dear Lyon, would be my fondest hope."

"If I were a bounder that is what I would do."

Diana returned to her novel. She heard him chuckle. She'd let him have his fun. She stopped reading suddenly and dropped her book to the floor beside her. "This is most odd, Lyon," she said thoughtfully.

He grinned. "Indeed it is. We're acting like an old married couple, whereas we could be acting like a young married couple. Would you like to share the bunk with me?"

"I wish you would keep yourself covered."

"You like what you see, Diana?"

He did look splendid, but she wouldn't admit that to him. "You are passable, I suppose." She turned to see his wide, very smug grin. She quickly doused the lamp.

"Tell me, Diana, since we are at least skirting the subject, where did the name Virgin Islands come from?"

"From Columbus, way back toward the end of the fifteenth century. He saw this mass of islands, more than he could or wanted to count. He named them after St. Ursula, who was a virgin, I suppose, and the thousands of maidens who followed her to a martyr's death."

"My God, how awful for the men of Europe! How many thousand are we talking about?"

"Over ten thousand, I believe."

"That probably resulted in dynastic illegitimacies in the thousands."

"Whatever do you mean by that?"

"Well, a man wants to marry a virgin. When she is with his first child, he can be fairly certain that it is his, that his heir carries his blood and not another man's. With the destruction of so many innocents, men would have to make do with what was left. I would imagine that a lot of cuckolding went on."

"Perhaps you're really not Lord Saint Leven, after all!"

"Hopefully things straightened out in the centuries following the maidens' demise."

She was silent a long moment, and he could easily imagine her agile mind working quickly. "You know, that is another reason why I don't wish to marry you."

"Oh?" He drew out the single word, aware of anticipation.

"Indeed. I have remarked upon your antecedents before. Perhaps because of St. Ursula and the demise of all the virgins, you are truly a bastard. I shouldn't like my children's blood tainted."

He laughed. "An excellent shot, for a female."

"Good night, Lyon."

"Sleep well, Diana." He was grinning into the darkness some minutes later. She was right. This was most odd.

And at least for the moment, quite enjoyable.