Claire Delacroix (103 page)

A sea voyage might indeed be the best way to win the lady’s confidence and serve all of his objectives. Intimacy,
few distractions, time they were compelled to be together. Perfect—if he did not spend all of the voyage with his head hanging over the rails.

Rowan refused to speculate on the possibility, though his innards churned at the very prospect of embarking on a ship so soon.

The vessel they sought was in the midst of activity. ’Twas not the most finely wrought ship in the port, and even more surprisingly, ’twas far from fastidiously maintained.

Rowan hesitated, unable to reconcile such a ship flying the Venetian insignia. The Venetians built their own vessels and were ferociously proud of them, so proud that he could not imagine they would acknowledge any lesser ship as their own.

Ibernia nudged him impatiently, and Rowan shook his head before he continued. Truly such details mattered naught—what mattered more was the manner of bargain he could make with this captain, if the ship was destined for Dublin.

Indeed, the only morsel of counsel his father had ever granted him was never to trust a Venetian, for their trust was bought and sold as readily as their goods.

’Twas an interesting accusation for a man like Gavin Fitzgerald—a mercenary devoid of trustworthiness himself—to make.

All the same, Rowan put one hand on his purse as he stepped forward, the other resting casually on the hilt of his sword. A man stood on the wharf, the foreign cut of his garb and his speech revealing that he was of the ship. He tallied and counted, obviously directing the loading of the vessel, and Rowan knew better than to trouble him.

Though the man’s speech made Rowan smile slightly. Ibernia could have understood the men only if she had been tutored in the Venetian dialect.

No one
, indeed.

He slanted her a telling glance. “How fortunate for you that when you passed earlier the men were not speaking their native dialect,” he commented in an undertone. “Otherwise you might not have understood.”

The lady, to her credit, flushed crimson. Her lips tightened though and she said naught.

Ha! Rowan would eat his
destrier
if she was not a merchant’s daughter!

There was a man on the gangplank who supervised the repair of the rigging while he kept one eye on the loading. He stood with the confidence of a man well assured of his fine appearance. His full-sleeved white chemise was of fine linen, his chausses were of deep green wool. His boots were more finely crafted than most, his laced heavy leather jerkin was adorned with more than one battle scar. He was of an age with Rowan, trim and perhaps slightly shorter.

He was dressed so finely and directed with such authority that he could be none other than the captain of the good vessel
Angelica.

Rowan hailed him with a wave and a shout. The man turned, revealing that he was ruggedly handsome, a fact that Rowan normally would not have noticed. In this moment, though, he was very aware of Ibernia beside him, no less her comments about the allure of Venetian men.

And how much did she knew of Venetian men? Or how well had she known them? Rowan found himself bristling at the unwelcome prospect of competition.

Was this captain the manner of man Ibernia found attractive? Rowan did not like the possibility of rivalry for her favors, not in the least, but he had taken her dare and would not back away from it now.

He stepped closer to the gangplank and raised his voice to call the captain again.

“I have no spices to sell,” that man said haughtily, his speech accented, then made to turn away.

“I am not interested in spice.” Rowan hastened on before the captain could dismiss him. “Indeed, I believe you sail for Dublin and would seek passage on your ship.”

That made the captain pause and turn. He surveyed Rowan, as if assessing his net worth on the spot. His eyes narrowed shrewdly and Rowan guessed he had put the value close to the truth.

For the captain took a step closer. “You must pay in advance, in gold coin.”

Rowan shrugged as if this were of no concern. Truly, ’twas not, for he always had a full purse, courtesy of his foster mother, Margaux. “Of course.”

His calm agreement snared the captain’s attention fully. That man waved to his sailors to continue their labor and descended to the wharf. The captain was tanned and well muscled, his stride revealing that he was a man of purpose who tolerated no foolery.

His flowing dark hair was tied back at his nape, his fathomless gaze danced assessingly over Ibernia. He shook out the lace at his cuffs until ’twas just so, then smoothed an errant strand of dark hair back from his brow.

Then he smiled slowly and solely for Ibernia.

Rowan stiffened but refused to look to see the lady’s response to this example of Venetian masculinity. No doubt any hint of his curiosity would amuse her overmuch.

No doubt she glared at the captain.

But the captain’s smile broadened, his own opinion of Ibernia’s charms more than clear. ’Twas as if he found welcome in the lady’s response. Before Rowan could look, the captain came to a halt before Rowan and met his gaze.

“For you and two others?” He rubbed his chin. “And a pair of steeds?” His gaze strayed to Ibernia once more,
drifting almost absently over her garb. Rowan waited for an indignant outburst from the lady, but it did not come.

“I am not certain we can accommodate all of you,” he mused, his smile becoming cold as he turned back to Rowan.

But he would take Ibernia, of that Rowan had no doubt! Rowan straightened with uncharacteristic indignation. “I suspect there is a price that will convince you to find the space.”

The man grinned outright then and inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Of course.”

“Not on the decks.”

“Nor in my hold,” the captain retorted. “ ’Tis too precious a space to waste upon travellers.”

“We would pay good coin.”

“And my hold is already put to better use,” he said crisply. “Travellers take considerably more room than other cargoes and fetch markedly less.”

Rowan had no doubt the hold was stuffed from stem to stern with fine goods for trade. Before he could ask further, the captain chose to argue over the destrier. “They are trouble from start to finish,” he claimed, walking around the steed.

Troubador tossed his mane and stamped his foot, as if that steed would persuade all that he was flighty. Rowan ground his teeth and glared at the stallion, who took no note of his response but fought the bit instead. The captain stood behind them all, his gaze straying rather obviously to Ibernia’s legs.

“A
fine feisty
specimen,” the captain murmured wryly, and Rowan disliked the glint in the man’s eye.

Rowan suspected the captain was commenting upon Ibernia and glared at him. “The steed is sedate, you have my word upon it.”

The captain shrugged. “Your word will be worth naught when the beast begins to kick.”

Rowan gritted his teeth. “I shall, of course, compensate you for any damages sustained.”

The captain looked up, his expression hardening. “You shall make a deposit.”

Rowan held his gaze. “You shall render a clearly annotated receipt for any such deposit.”

The men stared at each other, then the captain named a price. Rowan halved it, the captain laughed as if ’twas preposterous, and they argued good-naturedly. Both knew the deal would be made, both knew the price agreed upon would be in the vicinity of two-thirds the captain’s original one.

But when they agreed and Rowan would have shaken the other man’s hand, the captain instead captured Ibernia’s fingertips. She started, her eyes widening, but he smiled and lifted her hand to his lips. His eyes glowed as if he had just spied a fullsome meal, then he bowed low over her hand.

“Beauty unrivalled,” the captain purred. “Have we met,
ma bella
?”

Rowan was certain Ibernia would grant him a sample of her sharp tongue.

But she flushed scarlet and spoke quickly, almost breathlessly. “Never!”

The captain smiled, no one on the wharf in his eyes but the incomparable Ibernia. And ’twas clear enough that she was intrigued by the captain.

Rowan seethed.

He
was the one who should be capturing the lady’s eye.
He
was the one who had bought her freedom.
He
was the one who had offered her freedom, even from his own bargain.

And he knew he was possessed of greater charm than
some swarthy sailor. He would not pay for their passage and watch this man seduce her!

Ibernia, though, seemed to share no such conviction. She smiled for the captain, a fetchingly small, intimate, feminine smile that would have made Rowan’s toes curl.

Had that smile been directed at him. But Ibernia eyed the captain as if he were so wondrously handsome that she could look no where else.

“ ’Tis impossible that such a creature should be compelled to endure the hold, or even the chamber of one of my aides.” The captain smiled smoothly. “I insist,
ma bella
, that you share my quarters on this journey.”

That was enough! If Ibernia would not put the captain in his place, Rowan would!

“ ’Twould be a most inappropriate circumstance for my lady,” he retorted before even he guessed what he would say.

All eyes turned to him as one. The captain frowned momentarily, his gaze flying between Ibernia and Rowan, but Rowan was watching the lady. The color drained from her face, as if she could not imagine a more dire fate.

He was not that foul to look upon!

Ibernia opened her mouth, but Rowan glared at her and she frowned. Mercifully, she had the wisdom to say naught, and he was uncommonly relieved that she chose this moment to trust his choice.

He did not expect that impulse to last.

“Your lady
wife
?” the captain echoed with obvious skepticism. He scanned Ibernia’s clothing tellingly and Rowan cleared his throat.

“We were robbed in this filthy port,” he lied, summoning what he thought was a suitable measure of indignation. He took Ibernia’s elbow in his hand and drew her close to him in a proprietary fashion. The captain’s eyes narrowed and
Ibernia caught her breath, but Rowan pressed a chaste kiss to her brow.

“ ’Tis tragic that my lady’s fine garb and jewellery was the greater loss,” he declared, unsettled by the hint of Ibernia’s vulnerability. “As much as it troubled me, there was no choice but to grant her some of my own garb. As you can imagine, we would put this place behind us with all haste.”

“Indeed.” The captain did not appear to be deceived, his glance drifting over Rowan’s clothing.

It would have been helpful if Ibernia had said something in this moment to aid Rowan’s lie. She seemed, however, supremely disinclined to do so, apparently having been captured by this man’s so-called charm.

The captain brushed his lips across Ibernia’s knuckles once again—for she had not pulled her hand from his, even yet—his voice dropping confidentially. “It shows much of a man that he takes the finer things for himself,” he mused, then smiled for the lady as Rowan’s blood boiled. “On this voyage, perhaps I may be so bold as to show you the merit of a true gentleman.”

“I should be delighted,” Ibernia said with perfect composure.

Then she smiled anew at the wretch!

Rowan longed to speak his mind but did not want to jeopardize their passage. With an effort, he bit back his words, taking no consolation from Thomas, who clearly enjoyed himself overmuch.

“At the very least, let me see you garbed suitably,” the captain purred, his excuse for charm enough to make Rowan long to push him into the mire of the harbor.

Ibernia’s hand fluttered to her throat. “I could not so impose!” she declared, with the demure grace of a lady of the court.

“Ah, but ’twould be to my own delight to see such beauty suitably presented.” The captain bowed low. “If I may be so bold—Baldassare di Vilonte, at your service.”

“I will pay for my lady’s indulgences,” Rowan interjected coldly when this tender scene showed no signs of ending. “Of course.”

“Indulgences.” Baldassare clicked his tongue disapprovingly, then granted a consoling smile to Ibernia. “One would expect naught else from a man who does not truly understand women.”

Rowan let his tone turn frosty. “Though you do me great honor by flattering my lady’s many charms, there are those who could misinterpret your attentions.”

“Indeed.” The captain released Ibernia’s hand with evident reluctance, his gaze flickering over Rowan as if he saw no threat to his amorous intent. “If I can be of any assistance,
ma bella
, please do not hesitate to summon me.”

She smiled like a Madonna, her tranquil expression making Rowan’s blood boil.

Where had these fine manners been when he bought her freedom from that slave trader with hard coin?

“I thank you for your gallantry, Captain,” she said sweetly. “You are too kind.”

“Baldassare,” he insisted. “You must call me Baldassare.”

Ibernia caught her breath. “Baldassare,” she conceded softly. The captain blew a kiss to her, then returned to his post, a whistle on his lips.

And Rowan knew all too well why that whistle was there. He was doubly irked that Ibernia had been so charming to this rogue seaman and that he had not been able to think of a clever way to redirect the conversation.

It helped naught that Thomas was grinning hugely and that Ibernia still stared after the captain. Apparently she
could not tear her gaze away from that man’s retreating figure.

He was wrought too short, to Rowan’s thinking, and dressed too richly for his labor.

“Do not let me interrupt your interlude with
Baldassare
” Rowan said testily. “ ’Tis only the matter of paying for our passage and seeing us aboard that occupies me.”

Ibernia glanced coolly up at him. “ ’Twould have been less than wise to insult the man,” she replied. “Venetians are greatly proud of their courtly skills, and there is no telling what he might have done had I spurned his simple gesture—”

Her words halted, as she belatedly realized her mistake. She gasped and raised one hand to her lips, her quick glance to Rowan telling him that she wondered whether he had noticed.