Dreaming (15 page)

’
Twas
hard to believe that someone benevolent had turned her loose in the world, this woman who could innocently change absolute calm into a disaster. Yet a woman who was so vulnerable that he felt an overpowering urge to protect her when he should have been running the bloody hell away from her.

Running away before he suffered another kind of wound—a crippling kind that threatened to render him helpless should he ever give in to it, for that might mean he needed someone.

Richard needed no one. He deserved no one. He wanted no one.

He had always felt his lot in life was already ordained by God or fate or whatever grim fortune guided mankind. But now he steeled himself against an urgent emotion he didn’t understand, and in his ignorance of heart, he just stood there, watching her as warily as if she were the one in control of his destiny.

Reverently she turned his hand over and ran hers along his knuckles, then laid her palm flat against his.

He stared down at their hands positioned so and realized how very fragile and small her hand was. Despite the fine, feminine bones, the thin veins and soft skin, this was a hand that could, more often than not, turn a scene into utter chaos with one innocent motion.

But instead of looking destructive, it appeared pale and fragile. The thought crossed his mind that he could crush it in his own should he have wished to.

“This is the hand that saved my life,” she whispered. “Again.”

Those words, whispered with such awe, had the warning power of a cannon blast.

“No,” he said gruffly and pulled his hand from hers, waving it in front of her dreamy face. “
This
is the hand that’s going to do you great harm should you ever again lift your skirts higher than an ankle.”

She was silent. Her arms had slipped back around his waist and her head was slowly drifting toward his chest.

“Do you understand?”

Silence. Dreamy silence.

“
Letty
!”

“
Hmmmm
?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard you bluster, but I almost always ignore that. You don’t really mean those things.”

He unwrapped her hands from about his waist and gripped her wrists, giving them a small shake. “Open your eyes!”

She stared up at him through misty eyes that asked him for the impossible. Then they drifted closed again.

“
Letty
!”

“Yes?” she said on a heavy sigh.

“
Open
your eyes.” He gave her a small shake.

“Yes, Richard.”

“
Grrrrrrrrr
.”

Richard released her and slowly his gaze shifted to the hellish dog, who still had a muzzle clamped around his boot. A pair of bloodshot eyes frowned up at him, challenging, and too intelligent for a mere animal.

“Let go!” He shook his foot.

Gus growled and kept his teeth clamped around Richard’s boot.

“I said. Let. Go!”

Gus hung on tightly.

“Now, Gus,”
Letty
scolded, shaking a finger at him, “be sweet.”

Those sly canine eyes darted back toward him, narrowed in a message of power that was unmistakable, then the beast bit down just a little harder before he looked back to his mistress and grudgingly released the boot. He sat there, hanging his head, his eyes cast downward—the image of contrition.

“Good boy . . . ” she said, giving him a light pat on his big droopy head.

Richard would have liked to give him a pat on his head with the anchor.

Gus sat there, his canine face in a half grin, half pant, and his tail beating a gay tattoo on the planking of the deck.

“That animal bites too often.”

“He was acting instinctively.”

“He should consider himself fortunate that I didn’t act instinctively.”

“You wouldn’t harm Gus,” she said in a tone that sounded as if she was going to call him “silly” again. She looked up at him. “You wouldn’t. I know that. You two just like irritating each other. The Pringle sisters do the same thing.”

“Who?”

“The Pringle sisters. Surely you—oh . . . ” She paused thoughtfully. “I forgot. They moved to the parish after you left. Now wasn’t that—”

“Silly,” he finished.

She cocked her head. “How did you know I was going to say that?”

“Instinct.”

“We’re becoming kindred spirits,” she said with a touch of excitement. “You are actually beginning to think as I do.”

Only if God has a morbid sense of humor.

“You look as if you want to say something.”

“Nothing vital.”

“Well, where was I? Ah yes, they, the Pringle sisters, came to live at
Crestmoor
cottage, on the north end of the village green? I’m certain you know where that is because it’s not too far from the
Boarhouse
Tavern, and you seem to have an affinity for taverns, gaming halls, and the like, being a rake, and since that’s the closest tavern to Lockett Manor I’m certain you know of it,” she ran on. “Not that it’s the type of place one should go to, but the Reverend Mrs.
Poppit
says that men are fickle creatures, especially influenced by those with whom they associate themselves, and since you’ve been with rakes and smugglers I suppose it’s more than understandable in your case.”

She looked at him then, her face bright and smiling. “Besides, I did ask God to forgive you.”

“I heard.”

She laid a hand on his chest, near his heart, and she gave him a pat. “Now, you needn’t worry about your past. I’ll wager that God has forgiven you already. Perhaps as we speak. Which reminds me . . . Weren’t we talking about the Pringle sisters?”

“You were.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the skiff.
Here we go again
.

“Well of course it was I. They moved to the village after you had left. I was certain we had established that fact. That you didn’t know them, that is. I must tell you that they are the most humorous ladies I’ve ever met. Well, almost the most humorous. I suppose one could argue that Matilda Kenner and Lady Emily Harding were similar to the Pringle sisters. But then they weren’t sisters, were they?”

“Why are they called the Pringle sisters if they’re not sisters?”

“Not them.”

He frowned.

“Lady Emily Harding and Matilda Kenner. The Pringle sisters are sisters, of course. Otherwise they wouldn’t be referred to as sisters. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if anything will ever make sense again.”

“Life can be so confusing, can’t it? Take the Pringle sisters. They are sisters, so one can refer to them as the Pringle sisters. But sometimes things are not always called by what they are. Did you know that a cucumber isn’t a vegetable at all? In actuality, it is a fruit. And squash also.

“Now one would think by looking at a summer squash that it was surely a vegetable. Why, even the flavor isn’t particularly sweet, and most fruits are sweet, like cherries and peaches and apples. But it isn’t a vegetable.”

Sisters. Squash. Cucumbers. Cherries. Peaches and apples. A mental string of things unconnected, not unlike the thoughts of someone who had just arisen from being conked on the head, he thought.

“And, speaking of fruits, I’m sure you do know of them. One had a bright shade of hair, the color of ripe persimmons. That’s a fruit too, which is why I spoke of fruits. And the other one had titian hair.”

She sighed. “Surely if you think very hard you can remember. I don’t believe any man would forget someone with titian hair. Don’t you think so?”

“The fruits with titian hair,” he repeated.

“No, silly. I was speaking of the women.”

“The Pringle sisters.”

“Lady Emily Harding and Matilda Kenner.”

“I don’t know what the devil you are talking about.”

“Oh. Weren’t you listening?”

He waited a long time before answering. The count of ten slowly, three times. “What do Lady Harding, Matilda Kenner, and these infamous Pringle sisters have to do with what I was talking about?”

“Oh, you’re confused again.
I
was speaking of the Pringle sisters. You don’t know them.”

“I knew I was talking about something,” he muttered.

“You were blustering.”

“I was not blustering.”

She gave him a maternal look of understanding that did nothing to lighten his mood. “You’re just a bit out of humor because you’re still hungry.”

“I am not hungry.”

“Well of course you are. Gus ate your food. I understand how the lack of sustenance can affect one.”

“If you’ll remember, I said nothing about being hungry.”

“Certainly I remember. I’m not the party who has trouble remembering who said what.”

“I am not hungry.” His look must have shown he was ready to wring her neck. He moved toward her.

She took step backward. “Now Richard . . . ”

The growl came loud and clear and expected.

They both looked at Gus.

“
Now
I remember what you were talking about. You were talking about Gus. You shouted ‘let go’ and I told him to be sweet.”

“A keg of molasses . . . ” he gritted, following her anxious steps backward. “A hundred loaves of sugar . . . ”

He stalked her for a change, and he had the satisfaction of watching her eyes grow wide as she kept backing up. He took another longer step. She scurried back.

“And all the honey in
Devonshire
couldn’t make that bloody pet of yours
sweet
!”

She bumped into the rail. “He can be very sweet. You just don’t understand him. Come here, Gus! Here, boy!”

Gus trotted over to his mistress’s side, then sat, that stupid grin on his face as he looked up at them.

She patted the top of a storage hatch. “Up, Gus!” He leapt up and sat, waiting with eager expectation.

Letty
gave Richard a look that had just enough I-told-you-so to make his jaw tense.

“Roll over!”

Gus rolled over, his long gangly legs flailing in the air and his ears flopping. Then he was sitting again, his haunches bowed and his big paws flat on the hatch.

“This is a wonderful trick. Watch: Play dead, Gus.”

“Let’s not play, shall we?”

“Just ignore him, Gus, and we’ll show him how perfectly sweet you can be. Now play dead.”

Gus rolled over onto his back, his paws held limply in the air, then he flopped his big head to one side, his lips loose and lazy. The beast lay still as stone.

“You were right, hellion, that is very good. Leave him that way. Permanently.”

A sudden shout broke the air. As quickly as the ship had righted, it listed again.

Richard grabbed
Letty
before she could slide away. He pressed her to the bulwark and gripped tight. His body kept her pinned. There was a deafening howl.

“Gus!”
Letty
screamed.

The howl faded in the distance. And Gus hit the water.

Chapter 9

“What in the hell do you mean,
I
must save him? He’s a hound. He can swim.” Richard ignored the plea in
Letty’s
eyes and scanned the deck. The men had righted the ship and were trying to secure the sail lines and lower Harry.

“I can’t see him. Oh dear God, I can’t see him!” She gripped the railing and stood on her tiptoes, straining over the rail.

Reluctantly, Richard shaded his eyes against the glaring sun and searched the water.

She gripped his arm. “Do you see him?”