Chapter 15 Destiny’s Dance
Montverre presided from the head of the table, every move elegant yet underlined with audacious power. He raised his glass. “To the sea that brings friends from afar.”
Something sour brewed in Caleb’s stomach.
He and his father may have considered Montverre an ally at one point, for he’d welcomed their family onto the island with much enthusiasm, donating food and supplies for their mission.
But friend? The man had not offered a finger to help Caleb when he needed it the most. Instead, when overwhelming odds swarmed the island, the marquis had hidden in his mansion.
Afterward, when Caleb and his family were sent away, he suspected much worse.
Nay, friend was not the term that came to mind.
Still, he sipped his wine while sharing a knowing glance with Alden.
Geneviève was not present. That fact did much to unwind his tight nerves. He wasn’t altogether sure he wouldn’t strangle her on the spot, daughter of their host or not. Yet, he wondered how much her father knew of her treachery. So many unanswered questions. Hence, the reason he was here.
The marquis seemed to read his thoughts, even as his gaze drifted once again over Caleb’s hands. “If you seek dear Geneviève, she has gone to St. Kitts to visit her cousin. I expect her to return soon.”
Not until Caleb was long gone, he hoped.
The strains of a violin and harpsichord drifted in from an adjoining room as servants moved between guests, refilling goblets and placing platters of steaming food on the table.
Beside him, Miss Starr remained quiet, sitting stiffly in her chair while examining the scene with an astonishment that could only be borne from lack of familiarity.
Did she even notice that every man’s eyes were upon her? But how could he blame them?
Though her gown was old and its ribbons frayed, she carried it with unstudied dignity and elegant beauty.
The lady could be wearing a burlap sack and still draw all eyes her way.
Save Montverre, who had been unable to hide the scowl when he’d examined her attire.
The man was a princock, had been two years ago, and apparently remained so.
Food was dished onto plates, and the feast began. The least Caleb could do was enjoy the fine repast, luxurious dishes he rarely enjoyed on a ship—roast suckling pig, sweet potatoes, and fried plantains. Conversation swelled, punctuated by Montverre’s low, cultivated laugh.
“A fine feast, monsieur.” Brandt raised a glass to Montverre. “The Cochon de lait r?ti is particularly delicious.” The doctor had consumed an entire plate and proceeded to gather second helpings of everything.
“Indeed, you are most welcome. I don’t often get the privilege of having guests.” Montverre’s gaze sped to Caleb. “You can well imagine not many ships dare make port here.”
No doubt the man referred to the militia attack. “Regarding that, Monsieur…”
“Monsieur le Marquis,” the man corrected with an imperious grin.
A grin Caleb would love to punch off his face at the moment. “I hoped to discuss the incident with you, discover the truth of what occurred.”
“What occurred has been stamped into the history of this island. Surely you remember?”
“Of a truth, I know what happened. My question lies in the reason for it, the events which preceded it.”
The marquis’s eyes darkened as they sped toward Miss Starr. “A tale which I doubt suitable for a lady’s ears.”
Liam poured himself more wine from a goblet, winked at Desi, and inquired of Montverre about the vintage.
“Aha, oui.” The man raised his chin in the air, “A Bordeaux vintage, a refinement worthy of royal tables, rare in these islands, but unequalled in taste.”
His dark eyes flicked toward Desi again, this time lingering. “And you bring a lady among such rough company. How unusual… how bold.” His smile curved, faintly mocking. “Pray, do tell Capitaine—how does one guard such a treasure upon a ship of restless men?”
Desi’s face reddened as she stared aghast at the man. Caleb’s hand tightened on the stem of his goblet. “With discipline,” he said curtly.
The Marquis chuckled, swirling his wine. “Discipline is much like loyalty. A most fragile thing, do you not agree? Easily lost… easily broken.” His glance flicked down the table where his guests shifted uncomfortably.
Montverre allowed a footman to take his empty plate. “I hear, my dear Capitaine Hyde, that miscreants have caused damage aboard your ship.”
“’Tis true enough,” Caleb replied, pushing aside his half-eaten meal.
Alden leaned back in his chair. “Aye, Monsieur le Marquis, someone snuck aboard during the night and although a few of the crew were awake, we did not see who it was or the damage they caused until it was too late.”
“Ah.” The man dabbed a serviette across his lips and shook his head.
“I fear there are far too many scoundrels lurking about the port. I have made every attempt to enforce the law and keep the vermin at bay, but they skitter away like cockroaches.” He flicked his hand in demonstration, his ring flashing in the light, then laughed at his clever analogy.
Liam snorted and continued drinking. Brandt shoved more food into his mouth, while Alden raised his brows
Caleb sensed a biting insincerity in the man’s tone. Or was it the devilish twinkle in his eyes?
“And they stole nothing?” Montverre asked.
Liam set down his glass. “By the saints, neither rope nor rum.”
“Most curious.” The marquis leaned back in his chair, a smile toying with his thin lips.
“It would be to my disgrace should any harm come to the Sentinel while she rests in my harbor.” He raised a finger as if about to make a declaration.
“I shall assign a company of the town’s militia to watch over your ship so that nary a soul will board her without leave. ”
Caleb’s jaw tightened. “You are most kind, Monsieur le Marquis. Yet my crew are quite capable of guarding the ship.”
Montverre chuckled. “Apparently not.” His dark eyes assessed Caleb. “But very well, as you wish.”
Caleb exchanged glances with his crewmen. “I assure you, we intend to make sail as soon as repairs are made.”
The marquis’s brows crossed. “No need to rush off, Capitaine Hyde. You are welcome here.” Once again, his gaze dipped to Caleb’s hands.
Was the man seeking the Ring? But how could he know it existed, let alone who might be in possession of it?
Caleb pressed fingers over his coat pocket.
Still there. He’d thought to lock it up in his cabin, but he no longer trusted either his crew or the blackguards who had raided his ship.
He sat back in his chair, his annoyance rising.
“Am I mistaken, Monsieur, or did you not order my family from this island?”
“Parbleu! That was years ago, my lad. In truth, I feared for your safety and thought it best you leave.”
’Twas not how Caleb remembered it.
Brandt leaned back in his chair and patted his belly. “Perhaps that’s why our ship was sabotaged. There are, no doubt, persons here who still hold a grudge.”
Miss Starr laid a hand on Caleb’s arm. “What happened?”
“A story for another time, Mademoiselle.” Montverre rose from his seat. “For now, n’en parlons plus, shall we?” He straightened his embroidered waistcoat and gestured toward a door to his right. “Dessert, port, and dancing await. Shall we?”
Caleb wasn’t in the mood for dancing, but perhaps ’twould give him an opportunity to corner the marquis and acquire the answers he sought.
Miss Starr rose from her seat beside him, her face flushed and eyes wide. He extended his arm, and she gripped it like a clamp as he led her through the door into a large dance hall.
?
The marquis swept open the doors, and golden light spilled into the dining hall.
Desi’s breath caught as Caleb led her inside a large room that stretched wide and high.
Polished mahogany floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers while sconces lined the walls, both reflecting their light off gilt mirrors on either side.
Dinner guests poured into the room, the silks, satins, and powdered wigs of their attire doubling the room’s glow until it seemed vibrant and alive.
Music drifted from a small dais at the far end—violins, a harpsichord, and the steady beat of a drum—while servants wove quietly among guests, carrying trays of wine and what appeared to be some sort of dessert.
Air, ripe with the heavy scent of wax and rum mingled with the scent of salt and tropical flowers wafting in through the open doors to her left.
She smiled, shaking her head, wondering if she had stepped into a painting of Versailles, unreal, dazzling, and far too vivid to be a dream.
Caleb leaned closer, his voice low. “Keep your wits, Miss Starr. All that glitters here is not gold.”
His warning tone only added to her uneasiness.
She was a foreigner in this place, an outsider looking in.
She didn’t know the rules, the etiquette, what to say, or even how to say it.
Of course, she’d been to fancy parties before, one or two at least, invited as a plus-one by a wealthy boyfriend.
But she knew the music, the food, the drinks.
The conversation was familiar and the dancing…
well, the dancing was nothing like it was in this century.
Two couples stepped into the center of the polished floor.
The band began to play, weaving a melody both pleasing and deliberate.
The dancers moved with such grace and precision; they must have practiced the dance a dozen times before.
With slow, pointed steps they moved forward, then back, hands brushing but never clutching.
Each bow and curtsy uniform, each glance intense.