Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3) (11 page)

“And the lady below us, I must report the men do linger on deck hoping to encounter her.” Jinx continued. “She takes a walk at nine and again about three. Our Mrs. O’Donovan’s am exotic bird, sir. I suggest you and I keep an eye on the crew during her walks, so nothing untoward occurs. A single woman, the temptation is there, sir.”

Yes, Chloe was an exotic bird. She had that certain something Jinx was trying so hard to put into words . . . a fire in her eyes, a vivaciousness in her speech and manner that got under a man’s skin and settled deep in his blood, drawing him to her like steel to a magnet.

Was it magic? Was it those biscuits he’d eaten years ago laced with Voodoo? 

Damn Barnaby and his stupid confession. If not for Barnaby, and Amelia’s spirit pushing him at the woman, he’d just sail on ahead and engage in an all out battle for her heart. Jack didn't like being pushed, it made him leery, wary, made him dig in his heels and resist, just on principle.

Chapter Nine

Jack paced the confines of his cabin as he considered the situation from the perspective of a seasoned pirate leading an attack upon an unsuspecting ship.

The scheme was not well thought out.

Chloe O’Donovan was an innocent. In her early thirties she might be, and grieving the loss of a child as well as a husband, but she had been sheltered from the world and its harshness. She grew up on a tiny island in the West Indies. She had no true knowledge of the world beyond her home. How the hell was she supposed to navigate the narrow strictures of aristocratic society?

He had a bad feeling in his gut. After years of being a sea captain and pirate, he knew enough to trust his feelings. They were rarely wrong.

He glanced at the small table, set for a company of officers and Chloe--
Mrs. O’Donovan
.

A knock at the door signaled the arrival of his guests.  Red, the cabin boy went to the door to admit them. Mrs. O’Donovan was flanked by Jinx, Lt. Morgan, Dr. Lewis and two other men. Six in all. Jack had six guests to dine at his table tonight. There was only one he truly wished to spend the evening with. Propriety demanded a stricter assembly. He’d like nothing better than to dine alone with Chloe and sample delights that had nothing to do with food.

“Mrs. O’Donovan, you honor me with your presence.” Jack stepped forward to take her hand and lead her into the room in a courtly fashion. Chloe was stunning. There was no other word to adequately describe her regal transformation. He met her at social functions on the island over the years--from informal dinners to annual parties. She always dressed sensibly and plainly compared to her wealthier friend, Lady Elizabeth.

Tonight, Chloe was the shining jewel in the room. Her ebony hair was swept up into cascade of dark, shimmering waves. Tantalizing ringlets dripped down, framing her delicate face. Her claret silk gown complimented her voluptuous bosom. She wore long white gloves. A paisley silk shawl of gold and crimson was draped over her shoulders.

“Aye, Cap’n, and what of the rest of us, sir? Do you intend us to stand outside the door to watch you make calf’s eyes at our distinguished guest?”

It was Jinx. None other would be so bold. Jack glanced with irritation at the fellow, noting his daring smirk as he took in the scene of Jack lingering over Chloe and holding her white gloved hand longer than was necessary.

“Aye, I’m fagged, sir. That bird’s scent is clean carrying me away to ‘eaven, it is.” Roberts joined in, encouraged by Jinx to express more of himself than he should.

“I do hope you are referring to the chicken, Mr. Roberts, and not making any untoward suggestions regarding the lady.” Jack gave his officer a warning glare. He was surprised by the veracity of his anger in the double meaning of the man’s words. He had no claim to Mrs. O’Donovan, but just the same, it bothered him greatly to have another man noting her charms.

“Oh, no sir, not at all sir.” The cheeky bastard stood at attention. “Chicken’s me favorite, sir, me lady. Roasted Chicken.  And Stumpy’s done it up right this time, he has.”

Mrs. O’Donovan seemed amused rather than offended. “Stumpy?” She glanced up at Jack. “What kind of name is that? I assume you mean the galley cook?”

“Stumpy Ferguson, yes. He lost a leg below the knee. So, Stumpy seemed to suit the man.” Jack led her to a chair as he spoke, and moved it out for her so she could sit. With a wave of his hand, he gestured for the other men to enter and take their seats at the table.

“He’s not always accurate when it comes to the roasting time, ma’am.” Lt. Morgan explained, as if to make up for Robert’s impudence. “Sometimes we get the meat a little tough, or slightly blackened, if you capture my meaning. So we’re all pleased he didn’t muck it up.” The lad pulled out a chair and sat opposite the stunning beauty, and gave her a winsome smile.

“Aye,” Mr. Jinx agreed. “And it does smell like heaven.”

All the men were dressed in their finest, including Jack. He was wearing his blue superfine frock coat—or rather evening jacket as they were called in this new century. And he’d tied a cravat about his neck, just to show the woman he did have a genteel side, despite his rough and ready sea-hardened hide. He was forty-two, ancient in some circles. She was about thirty, as he figured it, having known the woman as a member of the count’s household for over a decade.

“How lovely,” she said in a quiet, subdued tone as she folded her napkin and placed it artfully over her lap, making Jack fear she was already bored by the dinner conversation with a bunch of rude sailors. “A chicken that is not scorched. We are fortunate indeed.”

It was like watching an exotic peacock land gracefully amid a flock of grey gulls on shore. She had gained a great deal of polish under Elizabeth Beaumont’s influence. When she initially came into the countess’s service, Chloe had been raw in her manners, outspoken and talkative. As a younger woman she tended to babble on nonsensically, making conversing with her tedious for men fortunate enough to be invited to dine at Count Rochembeau’s table. Today, she was as dignified and demure as a blue blooded princess, making him ashamed to even recall the callow young girl she had been when she first came into Lady Elizabeth’s service.

“Allow me.” Jack was quick to anticipate her needs. He started carving the first golden bird, intending to serve her the best piece as their guest of honor. Normally, he took the best cuts as was his privilege as captain. Jack wanted this evening to be delightful for the lovely woman gracing his table. “Do you prefer the front portion, here?” he asked, placing the blade on the top of the bird and being careful in her presence not to use the word "breast" as he might when alone with his men.  “Or do you prefer a drumstick,
Mrs. O'Donovan
?”

He remembered to call her by her formal name in front of his men.
Progress
.

“I likes the breast.” Roberts piped up unbidden, and received a hard punch in the shoulder from the first mate for his pains.

“Thank you, Mr. Jenkins,” Jack murmured with as much grace as he could muster, considering he wished to rise up in his chair and eject the man from his cabin forcibly. “Roberts, you may be excused. I’m certain you have duties to attend to out on deck.”

“But, sir?” The idiot stared at his captain for a moment of incomprehension.

“Aye, Captain,” Jinx agreed. “I think Roberts did offer to do the midnight watch, up in the crow’s nest, if I recall correctly.”

"I did not—"

Roberts, that unfortunate cur, was as dense as an oak between the ears. He was shushed once again by Lt. Morgan, at his right, as that one must have kicked the man beneath the table. “Omphf, oh,--Mrs. O’Donovan, forgive me. I must attend my duties on deck.” Roberts rose. His skin was flushed and mottled as he realized, too late, his ill manners had brought him to this point. He bowed to them and left the room.

“Well, then.” Morgan, a fine young man with good breeding rubbed his hands together and grinned at the gathering. “More roasted chicken for the rest of us, now, isn’t there?”

The men laughed. Chloe remained quiet as she surveyed the men and the empty chair.

“Mrs. O’Donovan,” Jack continued, picking up the conversation where it had dropped anchor. “What is your favorite part of the chicken? As our guest, you get first choice.”

“I would prefer the tender meat,
over the heart
.” The seductive timbre in her voice sizzled beneath Jack’s collar as she spoke in that exotic whisper.

He cleared his throat and obliged her by slicing a chunk of white meat and placing it on her plate. The men were quiet for several moments, all obviously trying to think of what to talk about with a woman present.

It was Lt. Morgan who saved them from listing into the doldrums. He began to talk about his sister, who married a merchant and moved to Portugal two years past. His story seemed to interest their guest as Chloe asked polite questions about Morgan’s sister’s progress.

“How did she find the change?” Chloe asked demurely. “And is she happy in Lisbon?”

“Oh, of a certainty. My sis is a far cry busier though, as you can well imagine. She now has four boys to manage,” Lt. Morgan informed the woman. "A boisterous bunch if ever there was one, so she writes to me. One is her own lad, Eddie. He’s just shy of two now. The other three were from her husband’s first marriage. She inherited a brood, so she tells me. Took to mothering fairly quick. I suppose one does, in that situation.”

Jack wanted to swear aloud. He saw Chloe’s mouth tighten at the lieutenant’s words. Was she remembering her own little son, buried in the family cemetery at Ravencrest?

“And what of you, Morgan? Have you a sweetheart waiting for you in Basseterre? Or do you have a darling tucked away at an English port?”  Jack knew the man was engaged to a girl in Bristol, England. He hoped to steer the conversation away from the subject of children for Chloe’s sake.

“Charlotte lives in Bristol, sir.” Morgan moved on without further prompting. “She’s agreed to become Mrs. Morgan and live with me in St. Kitts this autumn. I wonder . . . sir?” Morgan paused, looking sheepish as he held his fork in mid-air. “If her ladyship the countess might sponsor Abigail when she comes to the Indies? She’ll be lonely there while I’m at sea and, well, I don’t rightly know any women in the region, aside from the count’s wife. Could you ask her ladyship for me, sir, being you are in her circle of friends?”

Chloe’s countenance lightened at the mention of her longtime friend. “The countess is a kind woman. I’m sure she would be pleased to sponsor your lady. I could write to ask her on your behalf. In fact, she may be looking for another female companion to reside at Ravencrest. Your wife may be in a position to help her ladyship, if you don’t mind my suggesting the position. It would be beneficial to both women, Lieutenant.”

“I could suggest it to Lady Beaumont when I return as well.” Jack agreed, "I’m certain she will do her best to help your new bride acclimate to life in the Indies. She came from England as a new bride herself, many years ago.”

“Aye, and wasn’t that a harrowing adventure?” Jinx, who usually kept his tongue better, exhaled with sobering regret. “Kidnapped, from this very ship, she was. Struck on the head, left for dead. But his lordship, didn’t he hunt the bla’guards down and take her back now!”

“They say ‘hell hath no fury,’--but I say a woman’s fury is nothing compared that of our dark and terrible count,” another seaman put in with pride.

“How romantic.” Chloe was quick to pick up on the story where Jack would have let the clumsy thing sail on without further notice. “Did he kill the men who took her?”

“Aye.” Jinx glanced at Jack to gauge his response. “He killed each one of them, ma’am. And the last bloke, the captain . . . oh.” Jinx shuddered and said no more.

The men looked at each other. Jinx was right to shiver and go silent.

The sight of a man gone mad, determined to torture the one responsible his beloved's suffering, well, it was a grisly business.

“What did my lord do to the leader?” Morgan asked, unwilling to let the silence stand. Morgan was too young to be in the count’s service when it happened. He didn’t know the details, so naturally, he was fascinated to hear them now that the subject had been unearthed.  “Tell us. We’ve heard rumors—I know I have.” His eyes darted to Chloe anxiously. “As a family member, ma’am, I’m sure you’ve heard things that make you wonder, too.”

Chloe sat perfectly still. She looked a little scared. She should be. Jack was about to suggest they forget the subject, when she leaned forward, her voice low and throaty. “His lordship told me once he sliced up the body of the captain and fed it to the sharks. Is it true?”

“Holy Mother!” Morgan swore. “He wouldn’t. It’s savage. The heathen tribes might do that, but not a nobleman like Count Rochembeau. I won’t believe it.” Morgan continued in a tone that contradicted his claim, a tone fraught with ghoulish delight at such a horrible tale. “He’d have to be mad to slaughter a man in such a manner, wouldn’t he, Captain?”

“Aye.” Jinx said, relishing the lad’s morbid curiosity as he reached for his drink. “He was touched at the time, weren't he, Captain?”

“His bride was severely injured,” Jack put in, anxious to exonerate his friend lest they all think ill of the man. “Near death. He expected he’d be forced to bury his darling at sea in the coming days. Any man would be full of rage.”

“She was pretty bad off.” Jinx frowned and continued in that grave-digger tone he was good at parroting when spinning a dramatic yarn. “I helped carry her out of the hold, poor lady.”

“Yes, her memory loss was brought on by that frightful experience. The count told me his lady was unconscious and near death for six days,” Chloe added. “She still cannot remember anything from the time she was sixteen years old until she woke up in the count’s bed two years later. Imagine, having your world turned upside down so?”

“Frightening.” Morgan agreed. “It would set any man off, seeing his bride so abused.”

“Did he truly do
that
?” Chloe turned to Jack for verification of the story. “Did he really cut the leader to pieces and toss his parts over the railing?”