Castaway Dreams (35 page)

Alexander made that noncommittal noise which sometimes passed for conversation, and turned to Daphne.

"Return to the cabin to see to your animal, Daphne. I will join you shortly."

"Will you come with me when I take Pompom for his walk? He likes it better when both of us are there."

"A pasha with his entourage?"

Daphne blinked, then smiled.

"That is exactly the way he is! See, you do care for my little puppy."

Alexander opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and simply said, "I will see you in the cabin."

Daphne left the two men there and returned to her Pompom, but as she stood at the cabin door she glanced back over her shoulder. The men were watching her, and she couldn't help but contrast the two of them. Tall, lithesome, toothsome Captain St. Armand, his windblown piratical looks enhanced by his stylish attire. Then there was her rumpled, crumpled, worn-down surgeon in his hideous cast-off garments.

She smiled to herself as she closed the cabin door.

* * * *

It was awkward accepting the captain's invitation to dine with him and not having the proper attire. Daphne fretted to herself, thinking of the perfect outfits now at the bottom of the sea with the
Magpie.
A particular favorite was a lilac crepe with long sleeves laced with silver ribbons, with the most cunning silver
lamé
trimming at the hemline and neck. It had a matching lace cap with silver tassels and Mrs. Cowper would arrange her hair in a knot
a lá grecque
to show it off.

Mrs. Cowper had not been a pleasant person, but she had been good with hair.

Daphne tapped her finger against her lips as she thought about her limited options for dressing for supper with the captain. Very limited. There was the pink satin, but she hesitated as she reached for the shimmering fabric.

No. She would not wear that for dinner with the captain. That dress was for Alexander. Captain St. Armand would just have to bear looking at her dressed in her too-tight sailor's shirt and trousers. It couldn't be helped.

Alexander was still wearing his own ragged coat, and his trousers from the island were washed so he wasn't forced into the sailors' ragbag wardrobe, and she thought he looked just fine and told him so. This appeared to amuse him, or at least relax the lines around his jaw.

"Thank you for the compliment, Daphne."

"It is true, Alexander. You are a striking man no matter what you are wearing. Or not wearing."

He paused, his hand on the latch and turned to look at her.

"You called me Alexander."

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all. I don't often hear my own name. Usually it's 'Mr. Murray, come quickly!' or 'Mr. Murray, I'm bleeding!'"

"Or 'Dr. Murray, you are being an old grump!'"

"That, too," he acknowledged. "I enjoy hearing my name on your lips, Daphne."

The look he gave her as he said this was quite warm, and Daphne felt the color rise in her cheeks. He'd better not argue with her when they went to bed, not after leaving her so...so twitchy after their session in the sick bay earlier!

Daphne tugged down the hem of her shirt and said, "Shall we join the captain?"

Alexander kept his hand on her lower back, the passageway being too narrow for him to offer her his arm. It was a short walk to the captain's cabin, but she appreciated the comfort of his touch. When other escorts offered their arms while walking, it was largely impersonal, a polite gesture of a polite society. When Alexander touched her, it meant something. He was not a man who wasted effort on social niceties, therefore every one of his gestures meant more to her.

Captain St. Armand rose to his feet when they stepped into his cabin. His new ensemble again evoked images of a bad boy at sea. Trousers hugged his legs and drew the eye down to high-topped boots gleaming with a careful polishing. He wore no jacket, but had a leather vest over his shirt, gold scrollwork in a Turkish motif covering the front. The shirt beneath it was a deep blue silk that made his eyes glow like Ceylon sapphires in the lamplight. A gold and sapphire earring looped through his ear, the perfect accent for his exotic looks.

"Our cook was pleased to hear you would join us for supper and promised a memorable meal," he said.

"Us?" Alexander asked.

"Mr. Fuller will keep the numbers even."

The table was laid with elegant linen and an array of silver and dinnerware that would look at home gracing a Mayfair dinner party.

"My! You certainly know how to do things with style, Captain St. Armand."

He gave her a smile that seemed more genuine and unrehearsed than his other efforts.

"I believe one should grasp every bit of pleasure from life Miss--Mrs. Murray. Fine china and good silver showcase excellent food, as much as fine tailoring shows off a man."

"On our island we were content with eating off of leaves and drinking water," Daphne said as he poured her a glass of claret. "After being in the boat at sea it tasted heavenly."

"Having been forced to abandon ship myself on occasion, I cannot argue with you on that point, Mrs. Murray."

Daphne frowned a little. When Captain St. Armand called her Mrs. Murray it did not sit well with her, because she knew it was a lie. But if he called her Miss Farnham, or Daphne, it would upset Alexander. Little lies can cause big problems, something she'd heard her nanny say too often while she was growing up.

There was nothing to be done until the ship docked, and Daphne saw the wisdom in their pretense. Having made up her mind to push her problems aside and enjoy the meal, she looked around the cabin, marveling again at its lush appointments.

"Is your home decorated so vibrantly, Captain St. Armand?"

"Yes, where is your home, Captain?"

The question was asked mildly, but Alexander's eyes were sharp as he waited for their host's response.

Captain St. Armand poured himself some claret. He took a swallow and his eyes closed in pleasure as he savored the excellent vintage.

"My home, Mr. Murray? I consider myself a citizen of the world, or the world's oceans. With a fine ship and a fair wind I can go anywhere, see everything. Why tie myself down?"

"But you speak like an Englishman, Captain," Daphne said.

"
Quand je parle français, je parle comme un Français,
" he said.

Alexander watched him as he spoke, and the surgeon took only a half-glass of wine. "Everybody comes from somewhere, Captain," Alexander said. "They start out in life owing allegiance to a king or ruler, or a nation. We just completed fighting a war over that, you may recall."

Captain St. Armand looked at him, and it was hard for Daphne to read his expression in the evening light.

"Allegiances can change, Mr. Murray. You are a Scotsman. Not so long ago your allegiance might have been to a Stuart king. The Americans will tell you changing allegiances can be a right and necessary act. As for me, my allegiance is to my men and my ship. If I find a land where I wish to settle, then I will determine to whom my allegiance is owed. Other than myself, of course."

"But what of your family, Captain St. Armand?" Daphne said. "Surely you owe them your allegiance. Your father? Your mother?"

He topped off his wineglass and drank before flashing her a brilliant smile.

"A rover such as myself does not claim ties to family, Miss Farnham--pardon, Mrs. Murray. Nor would they necessarily wish to acknowledge a scapegrace sea merchant."

Daphne dropped the topic, though she felt sorry for the poor man. Everyone needed family. Even when her own father looked disappointed in her, he was still her papa. She was not looking forward to the lecture she would receive when she returned from her adventure with George. And Dr. Murray. And pirates.

"Why the long face, Mrs. Murray?"

"I am thinking of what awaits me in England, Captain St. Armand. You are correct, sometimes families can be difficult when it comes to, as you say, scapegrace behavior."

Mr. Fuller joined them then, apologizing for his lateness. The supper was served, and it lived up to Captain St. Armand's promise, as the cook sent out dishes ranging from stewed chicken with rice to a squash pudding, fried yams, and a brandied fig cake.

Captain St. Armand kept Daphne's wineglass filled and Alexander frowned at her as she giggled at the pirate's tale of climbing for coconuts on an island where they'd been short of supplies.

"I know how to climb, but Dr. Murray doesn't approve. He's afraid of falling," Daphne said with a small hiccup. She covered her mouth and apologized, but another giggle leaked out. "Uh oh, I wasn't supposed to say that again, was I, Alexander?"

"It doesn't matter, Daphne, but perhaps you've had enough wine? You don't want to awaken with a pounding head, do you?"

Daphne frowned and looked at her glass. He was right, of course, because he was almost always right, which was very annoying and the wine truly was delightful. It must be magical wine because even Mr. Fuller was looking better.

A call from outside the door interrupted these soggy thoughts.

"Captain? That idiot Nash took a fall and broke something. Can Mr. Murray come take a look?"

Mr. Fuller rose, as did Alexander.

"We'll be right there, Conroy," Fuller said. Alexander paused and looked at Daphne.

"I must go, Daphne. Let me escort you to the cabin."

"No need for that, Mr. Murray," Captain St. Armand said smoothly, pouring more wine into Daphne's glass. "Let the lady enjoy the rest of her meal, and I will be sure to take care of her."

Alexander looked like he wanted to say something to this, but Mr. Fuller said, "Coming, Mr. Murray?"

He just said, "I will see you later then, Mrs. Murray."

It was quiet after the men closed the door, and Daphne looked around again, her eyes coming to rest on the main piece of furniture in the cabin. The captain's bunk looked far more comfortable than theirs, and it was certainly larger.

That same captain was watching her now, and she was reminded of the kitchen cat at Rawlings who used to sit just so, waiting for an unwary mouse to poke its head out and be snatched up.

He smiled at her, his eyes half-lidded, a look on his face making her feel decidedly mouse-like. If the wine was making even Mr. Fuller look good, it was making Captain St. Armand look absolutely scrumptious, so she did what came naturally. She smiled back at him.

* * * *

Alexander hurried back to the cabin after wrapping Nash's wrist. He opened the door without knocking and found a glum Captain St. Armand sitting in his chair, his feet propped up on his bunk.

It is not a prudent thing to tweak the man who holds your safety in his hands, but Alexander couldn't resist.

"Bored her to sleep, did you?"

Alone in the bunk, spread out like an offering to a pagan god, Daphne lay fully clothed and softly snoring.

"That's droll, you witty fellow. It was the wine, I suspect. She took a swallow and I barely caught her before she keeled over into the pudding. Your wife, Mr. Murray, does not appear to have a head for strong drink. Or even moderately weak drink."

He stood.

"How is Nash?"

"Only a bad sprain. He'll do, but I told Mr. Fuller to keep him on light duty for a few days. If there's nothing else, I'll take Daphne back to our cabin."

"Do you need assistance, Mr. Murray?"

Alexander looked down at the woman asleep with a smile playing about her lips in some wine-soaked dream.

"I'll manage. Goodnight, Captain."

He lifted Daphne into his arms and she mumbled something and went back to sleep. He maneuvered sideways down the passage, and a passing sailor opened the door to their cabin. Pompom jumped around and yipped, but settled back down when he saw his mistress was asleep, jumping into the bunk beside her and watching her.

Alexander looked down at her, then sat beside her on the bunk. His rough hand hovered over her hair, then stroked down the braid with its curls insisting on coming loose and flying free, just as Daphne insisted on seeing the world in her own special way, complete with illustrations of rainbows and puppy dogs.

She opened her eyes.

"Doctor," she said owlishly, blinking at him. "Wine makes me drowsy. Did you know that?"

"I do now. How do you feel?"

"Thirsty." She yawned. "And sleepy."

He poured her a drink from the carafe in their cabin, and helped her sit up.

"Slowly, Daphne. You do not want to make yourself sick."

She drained the cup and then let him tuck her into the bunk, watching him with a look on her face that was hard to interpret.

"I may fall asleep again, Alexander, so lovemaking will have to..."

The last words slurred away as her eyes closed and she was out again. He watched her sleep, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. When they arrived and he returned her to her father's care, would her father be forgiving of her scapegrace behavior? Would he find a man for her to marry who would care as much for her as Alexander did? Would he try to mold her into something she was not or let her be uniquely Daphne? There was little room in the world for people who were out of lockstep with the rest of society.

The very thought of another man putting his hands on her, a man who would not treasure her, made Alexander's fists clench. The idea now of marrying a woman who would give him a stable, quiet, colorless life held no appeal. She would not fill the empty space in his heart with flowers and seashells and heart-dotted
i's
and ridiculous dogs. She would not be Daphne Farnham.

Alexander sighed. His life was so orderly only a few weeks ago. He'd return to England. He'd take care of unfinished business. He'd set up his surgery, and he'd find himself a wife. Orderly, stable, predictable. No butterflies, no rainbows, no Daphne.

He rose and adjusted the lantern and settled in to work on his notes, keeping an eye on the woman in his bunk. She needed him. For now, she needed him more than she needed any other man in the world. The question was, what would happen when Daphne no longer needed him?