Chapter 8 #3
“And I will be clearer,” Cliff said. While his son had never openly disobeyed him before, he knew how badly Alexi wanted to go on deck and witness the storm.
But he would be blown overboard before Cliff could react.
“I will take the rod to you if you disobey me.” He had never made such a threat before, but Alexi had to know he must not disobey him now.
Alexi’s eyes went wide. He was absolutely silent.
Cliff stared one more moment, to make certain his son understood that this time, he would pay dearly for any transgression. “Good.” He softened, walking over to Ariella and sweeping her into his arms. “What are you reading?”
“The Iliad,” she whispered.
“Is it a good book?”
She nodded. “Papa? Will we capsize?”
He laughed, hoping to reassure her. “Of course not! When has your papa ever capsized? Has your papa ever been shipwrecked? We have some strong winds, that is all. Later, there will be rain. But you,” he said, placing her back on the bunk, “will be sound asleep, as snug as a bug in your bed. You won’t even know we have sailed through a storm, because at dawn, the sun will be shining. ” He tweaked her chin lightly.
She nodded, not quite able to smile. “The ship is rocking so. It will be hard to sleep.”
“Anahid will make you tea, and the rocking will help you sleep, actually. I promise.”
She finally smiled at him.
He walked over to Anahid and Amanda, aware that Amanda’s rapt attention was devoted to his every word and action. “Anahid,” he said, lowering his voice so his children could not overhear. “In another hour, put some brandy in Ariella’s tea. It will be better if she sleeps through the night.”
Anahid nodded.
He returned to his son, clasping his shoulder. “You are to reassure your sister. You can play a game with her or read aloud, whatever, to distract her.”
“Yes, Papa,” Alexi said, sounding defiant and contrite, at once.
Cliff sighed. In a few more years, his son would be a rogue and difficult to handle, he was certain. He started from the cabin, pausing to look at Amanda. But she had gone over to his son.
“He isn’t being mean, Alexi,” she said. “The storm is dangerous—you are so small that a good wind could blow you overboard! And if that happened, your papa would dive in to save you and you would both drown in these seas.”
He nodded gravely. “Then I will take care of my sister,” he said.
Pleased, Cliff nodded at Anahid and left the cabin. Instantly he saw that the winds had heightened; foam was spraying from the waves and being whipped in the wind’s direction. He increased his stride, leaping to the deck. “Knots?”
Clark answered. “Twenty-four.”
They were in gale winds. “Furl the topgallants,” he said. “Double reef topsails and jibs.”
“Aye, sir!”
“Permission?”
He whirled in shock at the sound of Amanda’s voice.
She stood below him on the deck, fighting the winds, but her eyes flashed green with excitement.
He didn’t think; he reacted. He leaped to her side and seized her tightly.
“You are hardly any bigger than my son! Are you mad to come out on deck now?”
“We are hardly in a hurricane,” she shouted. “Twenty-four knots—that’s gale winds.”
“I want you below,” he shouted back.
“Please!” she cried, and their gazes locked.
Only a madman would give in. He took her with him to the quarterdeck, seizing a coil of rope and tying it to her waist and then to his.
“You may stay on deck for a half an hour. I wish to speak with you anyway,” he said, his voice raised in order to fight the winds. “A storm is no place for a lady.”
She lowered her lashes, clearly scheming. Then she sent him a sidelong smile. “But I am not a lady,” she murmured, but he heard her anyway.
“How perfect—the subject I wish to discuss!”
“What?” she asked, cupping her ear.
He seized her hand, pushing it down. “I know you can hear me,” he said, but he lowered his face to hers. “I am very pleased with your progress in learning decorum, Amanda. Anahid speaks in glowing terms of you.”
She was wide-eyed with surprise.
“If you continue as you have been, there is every chance that you will not only delight your mother, but you will have suitors lined up around the block, vying for your attention.” He sent her a promising smile.
She flushed, incredulous. “How can you think so? I almost fell on my face today!” she cried against the wind and the slapping seas.
“I am saying so because I have faith in you,” he said, and he realized he meant it. “But I know you are anxious. So if you are not ready when we get to London, we will delay what we must.”
Relief filled her eyes. She nodded, her gaze riveted to his.
Suddenly his mind played a trick on him.
He imagined her, not on the deck beside him, but in a ballroom, in a beautiful ball gown.
His heart turned over hard, then thundered.
Good God, she would be so beautiful…. For a moment, speech failed him.
She would have a dozen suitors, he realized, still stunned.
“Amanda,” he heard himself say, his gaze holding hers, “when you come out, I must insist on the first dance.”
“You want the first dance?” she gasped.
He tore his gaze away, shaken by the possessive desire that had arisen. “I do. In fact, I will make certain to be in London for your first ball—if you promise me that dance.”
She turned away, incredulous, but the rope between them went taut. “Of course,” she said breathlessly. Then she faced him, still surprised. “But why?”
“Are you not my protégée?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
But he knew that she would be too beautiful to resist in a ball gown, whirling about the floor in a gentleman’s arms. It flashed through his mind that he might not be that pleased when she was introduced into society, because no gentleman would be immune to her beauty.
And suddenly he wanted that first dance very badly—suddenly he ached for it.
He glanced at her through his lashes. “Is it not my right to dance with you before all others?” he asked softly, unable to help himself.
He could not control himself. They were standing near the helm in gale winds, the deck rocking heavily beneath their feet, and he was thinking of this woman, her beauty, her allure and his passion, not the storm.
He knew he would feel as intensely passionate dancing with her as he would if he allowed himself to take her to his bed.
She began to smile. “I am clumsy,” she warned.
He laughed, relieved by her absurd comment. “Impossible! You are light on your feet—we locked swords, remember? I know you will excel at dancing, just as you will excel at all of your current studies.”
She suddenly lowered her dark lashes. “Very well. I will allow you the first dance—if you allow me to ride the storm here with you.”
“Absolutely not!” he shouted, aghast. “I do not need you going overboard, either!”
She pulled on the rope binding them, then gave him a sidelong, seductive look. “I can hardly fall overboard now.”
He shook his head, furious with her for daring to use that dance against him, and glanced again at the high, white foam of the seas.
The horizon ahead was now pitch-black, a sight he did not care for.
He turned back to her. “I will not barter for that dance,” he warned.
He was going to have it, no matter what she now intended.
She gave him a look—one far too womanly for his comfort—as if she knew she had triumphed, but she suddenly cried out.
He whirled to follow her gaze. One of the topmen was dangling from the topsail yardarm.
And from the corner of his eye he saw Amanda’s dagger flash as she cut the rope binding them together.
Instinctively he moved to seize her, but she adeptly dodged his grasp, ducking beneath his arm and leaping to the deck below. “Amanda!” he shouted, leaping after her.
She jumped up into the main shrouds; his heart stopped. Was she thinking to save the sailor?
He ran forward, intending to seize her before she got too high up in the shrouds. But she was very agile and was rapidly outdistancing him.
She was already close to the topmast shrouds. Amanda was dangerously high up—high enough that a fall would kill her. He was torn. He could try to chase her up the rigging and force her back down, or he could return to the decks to catch her if she fell. Cliff leaped back to the decks.
He was instantly joined by midshipman Clark. “Catch her if she falls,” he said tersely.
He watched Amanda fight the winds, which were stronger so far above the deck.
The gale could easily blow her from the rigging.
She had stepped into the topmast shrouds but the lad was dangling from the main topsail yard above her, twirling like a puppet on a string.
Cliff did not think the boy could hold on for much longer.
Amanda had paused, clearly fighting for strength.
The dangling sailor shouted to her.
Then Amanda began to fight the winds, climbing higher.
Slowly she approached the sailor, her small body beginning to twist in the shrouds as the wind played her.
She extended one hand toward the lad and Cliff froze.
He was expecting her slender body to be torn free from the rigging and blown viciously away at any moment.
The sailor refused to let go of the yard.
Amanda was shouting at him, her words lost in the storm.
She had that dagger, Cliff thought fiercely. “Amanda!” He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Cut the line—send him a rope! Cut the line!”