He watched her climb the stairs to the deck. Aye, she was the one. The Duke's daughter. He pulled the small oval canvas from his pocket and double checked her likeness. Aye, he had found her.
It had all seemed too easy. He had been hired on with this crew in the Caribbean, a short two days after receiving the missive. He had thought he would have to find her in the Americas, but as luck would have it, she had been delivered right into his hands.
He watched as the captain peered down at her from the crow's nest. The captain may be a problem. The man was besotted with the beauty, and may attempt a heroic rescue were he to make his move too quickly. No, he would not act until the captain was out of the picture. He would simply observe her in the meantime. It would make it much more enjoyable, once he actually had her, if he could learn her fears before then.
Harry George, the crewman in the bunk below him, had told him that they were to follow the Seahawk to port in New York, before meeting back up with the ship in James Town. His lordship might not be pleased with the delay, but it might just be safer to follow her after they reached the Americas, and grab her unawares then.
She was close now, about to pass within his reach. It took everything he had not to reach out and grab her now, but they were on a ship in the middle of the ocean. There was nowhere to hide her or get her away to. There was also nowhere she could go to get away from him either. He dropped his eyes as she passed, and breathed in the rose scent she wore, as it drifted on the breeze to his nose. Aye, he would bide his time. It was well worth the reward.
He watched her slip down the hallway to the mess hall. The guest's dinner was to be served before the crew's. That meant he only had an hour to finish scrubbing the deck. He had better get moving. It wouldn't do any good to bring attention his way.
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Derek sat in the crow's nest, the British flag flapped above him, attached to the mast that rose through the bucket-like platform between his outstretched legs. The wind, the setting sun, his bottle of brandy and a fine Cuban cigar were his only companions. He was tired of berating himself when it came to the lovely lady passenger he couldn't keep his mind, or his hands, off of.
He felt like a cad. He had never taken advantage of an unconscious woman before, much less an unconscious lady. He had to get himself under control. The sea could do strange things to a man, that was for certain. Months without seeing a pretty face or a shapely waist, could turn a man into a rutting animal in a matter of moments, at the mere sight of an attractive female.
He would take the night, spend it with his bottle and his memories of the last thirty-six hours, and dismiss her from his thoughts. Hopefully he could let her poison run its course, so to speak, and then purge it from his blood.
It sure had a bloody firm hold after seeing such perfection through that soapy water.
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Arianna reached the mess hall and joined the other passengers at the centermost table. There were nine tables in the room, in rows of three. All of the tables were made up of stained oak and all were well oiled. The grain was beautiful, so unadorned, that it was raw and functional, masculine, and yet elegant and clean all at once. There were two sets of full swinging doors on the back wall of the room. Cabin boys were pushing through the doors from the kitchens, with three courses, all to be served at once.
The men at the table stood, as she approached, and a young man only a few years her senior, pulled back one of the remaining chairs at the table for her. Arianna smiled her thanks, and took the seat, allowing him to scoot her in to the table. The men followed her lead, and once they had resumed their seats, Arianna smiled at the group around her.
Alejandro was seated at the right of the suspiciously empty chair at the head of the table, he smiled down its length at her. "Señora White, would you allow me to introduce you to Gage Spencer, Viscount Whitmore," Alejandro indicated the elderly gentleman to his left who smiled and nodded, Arianna responded in kind. "The honorable George Spencer, the viscount's brother," he indicated the slightly younger man next to the viscount, she shared a nod with him as well.
"The honorable Joseph Spencer, the viscount's son and heir," Alejandro now indicated the young man who had held her chair. She smiled and extended her hand to him, and he placed a sloppy wet kiss across the back of it, his tongue touching her bare skin. It was everything Arianna could do to keep her expression impassive, though she felt her lips compress into a straight thin line, and knew that anger burned in her eyes. Mr. Spencer lifted his eyes to hers, but once he noted the green fire burning in their depths, his own widened, and he hastily released her hand.
A giggle sounded to her left, before it disappeared into a startled gasp.
Arianna turned her head in time to see a pretty young girl, still young enough to be in the schoolroom, clasp a hand over her mouth and flush at her faux pas. A plain looking woman in her mid-thirties, two seats up, glared down the table at the young girl from the corner of her eyes. The young girl flushed even darker under her mother's stare.
"Miss Jessica and Jolene Bridger, and their parents, Dr. and Mrs. Bridger." Alejandro hurriedly finished the introductions, and Arianna smiled at the two young girls, before speaking to their parents.
"Your daughters are very lovely indeed. You must be very proud, Dr. and Mrs. Bridger."
Mrs. Bridger stared crossly at her daughter for a moment more, before turning a too bright smile Arianna's way, "Why, thank you, my lady, we are."
Arianna laughed softly and gave the woman an indulgent smile, "I am no lady, Mrs. Bridger. Although I do thank you for the compliment."
The older woman pursed her lips as she searched out hidden insult in Arianna's reply. Alejandro brought his hand to his mouth to cover a cough, or chuckle. Arianna was not sure which.
"You seem familiar to me, Mrs. White. Have we by chance met before?" Viscount Whitmore was leaning forward in his chair, his looking glass magnifying one squinted eye, as he took a closer look at her.
Suddenly it hit her.
She had met Viscount Whitmore before.
The lord did business with her father and he had attended a few of the dinner parties she had hosted.
Silence had fallen over the dining party, and all eyes were turned her way. No one seemed to notice the cabin boys, as they placed dishes around the table or filled wineglasses. The viscount was still staring at her down the table, his one, squinted, knowing eye, magnified. Arianna felt as if that stare could see through her and read every thought that crossed her mind.
Arianna composed an expression, of what she hoped looked like a quizzical evaluation of the viscount, before she smiled and shook her head, "I am sure that I would have remembered meeting a distinguished Lord of the Realm such as you, my lord. Do forgive me, but I do not believe we have met."
The viscount nodded good naturedly, but his stare remained challengingly upon her a few moments more. Then, he dropped his quizzing glass, letting it dangle from its chain down the front of his coat. Arianna exhaled the breath she had not realized she had been holding.
Mr. Joseph Spencer, the forward young man to her left, attempted to draw her into conversation, a smile split his wide lips and enunciated the squareness of his cheek bones and jowls. The man looked as if his face had been constructed from children's blocks, no curves to it, all hard angles. Even his eyes seemed rectangular under the extra skin of his lids. He reminded Arianna of her aunt's bulldog. She was unable to stifle the laugh that thought invoked.
She is laughing at me! Arianna watched the thought flash through his eyes. The indignation that filled his features caused another giggle to pass her lips.
Thats right, Ruffles, she thought, borrowing the nickname from her aunt's pet. It certainly fit. She managed to curb her mirth under a bright smile.
Turning to her meal, Arianna began to converse with the young girl next to her in hushed tones. Joseph Spencer never lost the redness of complexion, or the surly frown, though that only added to her amusement. The remainder of the meal was passed without further incident. The viscount had sent a few sly glances her way, but had not attempted to broach the subject of familiarity again.
Arianna excused herself with the other ladies, but rather than join them in the cabin the captain had assured them they could use as a parlor, she made her way back to the cabin she shared with Betsy.
Knocking softly, Arianna pushed the door open and peeked her head around it. The Jamaican woman, Shaw, peered over her shoulder at the intrusion, but seeing Arianna she waved her in and turned back to her patient.
"How is she?" Arianna whispered, as she pushed the door closed and moved to the doctor's side. Shaw bit on the knuckle of her index finger and shook her head slowly from side to side.
"The little one is running warm. Not yet fever, but soon?" She shrugged her shoulders, and shook her head again, setting the graying, springy black curls to bouncing. "Maybe." She finished with another shrug before she closed her eyes and moved her hand through the air directly over Betsy. She began at her head, and moved all the way down to her feet, before she returned to the injured thigh. Her other hand joined the first, they now moved in circles, spinning in opposite directions but never coming in contact with the other. The doctor began to bounce and mutter in a language Arianna did not understand.
No, it was not muttering, it was more of a chant. The woman's claim to be a witch surfaced in Arianna's mind and she paused over it for a moment. She did not believe in such things. Or did she?
Well, she decided, she did not see how it could hurt. If the doctor had magic, hopefully it worked.
"How can I help?" Arianna reached out a hand to Betsy's brow. The skin was damp with sweat and cold to the touch. Arianna glanced back at the doctor. "You said she was running warm."
The woman nodded. "She is, here." Shaw lifted the blanket from the unconscious girl and placed her fingers over Betsy's underarm. Her face lifted to Arianna's. Her eyes were a pretty brown flecked with gold. "The face holds lies."
Arianna once again paused for a moment, wondering if the words meant something more than just a means to tell ones temperature accurately. And if they did, was the comment pointed at Betsy? Or Arianna herself?
Or maybe Arianna was finding insult where there was none. Perhaps it was simply the language barrier.
That must be it.. Although, she had not seemed to have had any trouble getting her point across the last time they had spoken, when she had bid Arianna to mark her words.
"Go find the Spaniard. ‘Ave him to bring the da fer fevers. He know what to do." It was an order if Arianna had ever heard one.
And she had. Nearly every time a matter of any importance had been discussed with her father, an order from him would always cut short any diplomatic approach she took. Arianna smiled at the memory. She supposed it was true, there was no diplomacy when dealing with a tyrant.
Arianna turned to the door. She hated being ordered about, but only Betsy would suffer were she to refuse. Arianna slipped out the door and into the dark hallway.
Dark?
Why was it so dark?
She had just walked this way a few minutes before and, aye, it may have been described as dim, but it had not been anywhere near this inky black.
She realized the wall sconces had been extinguished. And it was as if the moonlight from the clear night above could not penetrate the depth of the hallway without the sconces guiding light.
The darkness felt heavy.
Almost as if.. As if she were not alone.
Arianna drew in a deep breath, and held it, as she listened to the darkness around her. There was no breathing in the dark, no sound of movement. Arianna slowly exhaled the breath and began to back toward the stairs that led to the deck. She kept her eyes wide open, and focused on the darkness around her, attempting to identify any threats. Her feet came in contact with the bottom stair, and still, there was no sound or shifting of shadows giving any presence away.
She lifted her foot and stepped backwards up the stairs, never taking her eyes off the threatening shadows. It was a slow process but Arianna finally gained the deck.
Once she had, she turned from the ominous corridor at a run, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the hallway as possible. The dark had left a creepy feeling in her stomach, and caused goose flesh to cover her skin. She was stopped short, however, when she collided with what felt like a brick wall.
The wall’s arm reached around her waist to steady her and warm breath with a light hint of liquor caressed her ear.
“Are you alright, my lady? You seem startled.”
Arianna lifted her face to her obstacle as she centered her feet below her once more.
“I…” Arianna stammered, not quite sure how to answer his question. “Why, Captain, are you drunk?”
Derek’s brow furrowed as he lifted one arm from around her to reveal his half empty bottle.
“Perhaps slightly.” He replied, shifting his gaze from the swirling amber liquid to meet her perusal. A cheeky grin revealed his straight white teeth for a moment before he stepped back and left a more appropriate amount of space between them.
Arianna straightened her dress and remembered the mission the doctor had set her upon. “I was hoping to speak with Alejandro. Do you know where I might find him?”
Derek glanced around his ship and spotted his first mate at the helm. He relayed the information and watched as she slipped away from him.
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Jonathan Hensley slipped out from the dark corridor. He was lucky not to have been discovered. It had nolt been wise to follow Lady Kent.
He had meant to catch her unawares, maybe frighten her a little. This job would be so much more fun if he knew she feared him. Or if she simply knew about him. If she was watching over her shoulder, fearful of what was to come, he knew that the game would then be tangible, the stakes heightened, his pleasure in the chase multiplied.
It was not the smart thing to do, that was for certain. But it wasn't as if he had lost the job as a runner for no reason. He had always been over zealous when his prey was in sight, within his reach. He could not help it. The smell of fear aroused his senses.
He needed to be smarter next time though. This girl was no ordinary damsel. She had known he had been in that hallway with her, she was not stupid or oblivious. He rather looked forward to the challenge of besting the clever lady.
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