More Than You Know (9 page)

Cerberus
was ten days out of London before Macauley Stuart acquired his sea legs. “Perhaps you would like to take a turn on deck,” Claire suggested as he escorted her into the companionway. It was really very encouraging that the doctor had not bolted from the captain's table during the meal as he had on the occasion of every other dinner.

"A turn on deck,” he repeated, assessing the steadiness of his legs and his stomach. “Just the thing. Shall we get your cane from your cabin?"

Claire shook her head. “As long as you stay at my side, I'll be fine."

"Very well. Lead on."

"I believe it's you who should lead on,” she reminded him. She squeezed his elbow lightly to show that she was in position a half step behind him.

"Quite right, Miss Bancroft. You make it so easy to forget."

Claire accepted that as a compliment. She was also of the opinion that she had managed a confident transition from land to sea. It was something of a feather in her cap that she had accomplished most of it without the aid of Dr. Stuart. When he was not leaning over the rail in the choppy Atlantic waters, he had confined himself to his quarters, and Claire was largely left to her own devices.

When they rose from the companionway onto the deck Claire lifted her face eagerly into the rush of wind. “It's like flying, Doctor."

"You'll forgive me if I don't share your enthusiasm."

Claire laughed. In short order she had her bearings and pointed Stuart to the starboard side. “I believe we'll start in the weather,” she said, “and finish in the calm."

Stuart wondered what she meant by calm. “It's been my experience that there is no calm on these seas, only less weather."

Claire smiled. “You may be right."

From his position on the quarterdeck Cutch watched the doctor and Claire begin their turn. Moments later Rand appeared from the main companionway.

"Appears he survived his dinner this evening,” Cutch noted when Rand joined him. Out of the corner of his eye he watched his captain carefully. “Of course, the evening isn't over."

Rand's eyes followed the couple's progress. “Hmmm."

"That's what I thought. Why don't you send the good doctor off?"

"I can hardly make him walk the plank,” said Rand.

Cutch chuckled deeply. It occurred to him that Rand might not have realized he'd spoken aloud. Cutch seized the opportunity anyway. “I'll think of something.” He started off toward Claire and the doctor before Rand could call him back.

Watching him go, Rand shook his head. He had no choice but to follow. If Cutch succeeded in removing Stuart from Claire's side, then Claire would require some assistance. Not that she wouldn't have her pick of the crew as a companion. There wasn't a man on board
Cerberus
who wasn't willing to spend time with her. Had she been able to see, she would have witnessed men all but tripping over themselves to reach her when she arrived on deck alone. They practically formed a protective circle around her as she circumnavigated the ship. He had had to warn the men privately that if they continued in such a fashion, he would be forced to curtail Miss Bancroft's deck privileges.

He did not require Cutch to point out to him that he was no longer enjoying the same degree of popularity among the crew as he had in the past.

"Miss Bancroft,” Rand greeted her as Cutch led Stuart away. The doctor was making some protesting noises but Cutch, at seven feet, was insistent.

Claire's fingers eased their grip on the rail. “Captain."

Rand heard relief in her voice, but he suspected it had little to do with him and everything to do with the fact that she had not been abandoned. “You're not carrying your cane,” he said.

Claire made a face. She cocked her head in the direction of the departing doctor and first mate. “I thought I had an escort."

"And so you do. May I?” He took her hand when she nodded and placed it at his elbow. “What did Cutch say to Stuart that took him off in such a hurry?"

"You don't know?"

"I wouldn't have asked."

"Odd. I was under the impression that you and Cutch were standing together on the quarterdeck just before he approached us."

Rand knew her
impression
had been courtesy of Stuart. He wondered if the doctor had only been describing the activity on deck or whether she had specifically asked after him.

"I was inquiring into Mr. Cutch's whereabouts this evening,” Claire said.

Rand winced a little at this revelation but he took it on the chin. Cutch had clearly made himself a favorite with Claire. While the doctor was indisposed, Rand had lightened Cutch's duties so he could spend more time with her. “He tells me he's been reading to you,” said Rand.

"Yes.” A heavy lock of hair whipped across Claire's cheek as they made the turn at the quarter gallery. She pushed it back but didn't attempt to secure it. “I don't suppose he'll be able to do that this evening. He took Dr. Stuart off to examine him for stomach cramps."

So
that
was Cutch's diversion. Rand could only shake his head. “Perhaps the doctor will read to you. Now that he's recovered, it would seem to be his responsibility."

Claire was not successful in hiding her lack of enthusiasm. “Of course. You will want Mr. Cutch to return to his full duties. I understand. I don't think I've expressed my gratitude to you for allowing him to assist me."

Until now Rand hadn't thought she realized any of it was his doing.

"Mr. Cutch told me you made it possible,” she said. “It was kind of you. Before we left London you made your feelings clear about providing me with a nursemaid. I know it went against your grain."

"I felt some responsibility, Miss Bancroft. I had the final say in choosing Dr. Stuart. I thought that between the duke, Mrs. Webster, and me we had covered every important question in determining his suitability. None of us inquired into his fitness for sea travel."

Claire considered reminding him that she had not been allowed to interview the doctor, then let the opportunity to take him to task pass. She wouldn't have thought to ask the question either. Anyone signing on for months of sea travel should have taken some stock of their constitution to do so. “The waters have seemed unusually rough,” she said in mild defense of the doctor.

Rand's shrug was communicated to Claire. “It hasn't been so bad. They haven't bothered you."

Claire tugged on Rand's elbow, holding him back. She turned toward the open water and let her hand fall away. She laid her palms flat against the rail. “Is it dark yet?” she asked.

"No. Not yet. We're chasing sunset."

It took Claire's breath away. Rand had captured so perfectly the speed of the clipper and the sun's great orange arc balanced on the horizon. “How long can we stay like this?"

"A half hour,” he said. “Not much beyond that.
Cerberus
never quite catches her.” Rand saw Claire shiver slightly beneath her mantel. “You're cold. Perhaps I should escort you below."

"Oh no, not just now. Really, I'm fine.”
It was not that kind of shiver.
Claire pulled her mantel more closely about her shoulders. “There, it only takes a bit of adjustment."

Rand looked over her fine profile as she turned away again. The wind had beaten some roses into her cheeks, but he knew it didn't account for all of her favorable coloring. He had witnessed the pallor fading from Claire's complexion even before they left London, and on board
Cerberus
her health continued to improve. Rand came to realize the woman he had first seen in the duke's study was the shadow of this one. He had long ago dismissed the possibility that she would not be noticed in a sea of people. His eyes would invariably find her.

The wind pushed strands of Claire's dark hair forward again. This time she didn't bother to repair them. They tickled her cheeks and the sides of her throat. Rand could hear the soft hum of her pleasure above the chuckle of the water. “You left your hat behind,” he said.

"Hmmm,” she murmured. “I did. Shall I tell you why?"

"If you wish."

"They're impractical. The ones with no ribbons to secure them will simply be blown away. I would require pins the size of anchors to keep them on my head up here. The ones with ribbons will choke me.” She raised one hand to her throat to show him how the ribbons would catch her under the chin. “It's better that they remain in my cabin."

"Apparently so."

"Are you wearing a hat?"

"No."

Claire imagined the wind beating back his copper hair. “You don't have some sort of captain's hat?"

"I'm not that sort of captain.
Cerberus
is a research vessel, not a military ship."

"I understand that.” Cutch at her side, Claire had explored almost all of the ship these last ten days, including Rand Hamilton's workroom.
Cerberus
was equipped with microscopes and slides, chemicals for specimen preservation, and all the tools for probing and dissection. Cutch had allowed her to run her hands across the dozens of journals where Rand kept account of his studies, and he explained in some detail what the glass jars secured on the shelves contained. The older man was clearly proud of what the master of
Cerberus
had accomplished. Claire did not think she allowed her own discomfort at being in the room to show. “But you were a captain during your war, weren't you?"

"Actually, I was a lieutenant. In the army, not the navy. And I didn't keep the hat."

Claire heard the lightness Rand forced into his tone. His war experiences were not a subject for discussion. “How is it that you came to command
Cerberus?
Why not hire someone to do it for you?"

"I'm not especially good at taking orders."

Claire raised one hand to her lips to hide her smile. She could believe that. “But you've sailed before?"

"Only as a passenger before I bought this ship. I studied under some real salts while
Cerberus
was being repaired. They pronounced me fit to take a skiff out to Fort Sumter and back.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “I've done a little better than that."

"You haven't run her aground."

"I didn't say that.” He laughed outright at Claire's openmouthed surprise. “Once. In the shoals at Avarua. It took quite a feat of engineering and two hundred strong backs to pull her free. The natives extracted a high price for their help. Since then I've learned to read the charts better and exercise more caution around the islands."

"I should hope so."

"You have nothing to worry about, Miss Bancroft. At least on that account. Come, take my arm again and let's continue. It won't be long before you won't be able to stand the chill."

Claire found his elbow and fell into step. “You know how to guide me,” she observed. “Dr. Stuart is not quite as good at it."

The doctor hadn't had the benefit of Mrs. Webster's instruction, Rand reflected. “I suspect it comes naturally,” he said.

Claire laughed. “That is really too bad of you. Mrs. Webster told me you made some inquiries."

Rand tried to remember if he had asked the widow to keep it a secret. “She wasn't supposed to,” he said at last.

"Why?” she chided him. “Are you afraid I'll suspect some interest on your part? I think that's hardly likely. Save for a few dinners, this is the most time you've spent in my company since I came aboard. I'm not complaining, Captain. I told you before that I do not require entertaining."

Rand drew Claire around a large coil of rope and sail that was being repaired. “Are you satisfied with Stuart?” he asked.

"I hardly know him. I've learned a good deal about Mr. Cutch, though."

"Cutch."

"Pardon?"

"Just Cutch. No one calls him Mister."

"I do. He doesn't seem to mind. Besides, it confers respect."

"Cutch knows I respect him."

"I didn't mean that you don't. He's your friend, isn't he?"

Rand didn't answer immediately. To call Cutch his friend didn't do justice to the relationship that existed between them. Mentor, helper, pundit, sage, supporter ... father. “Yes,” he said. “He's my friend."

"He's a fascinating man."

"He likes to think so,” Rand said dryly.

Claire smiled. “He's reading
Around the World in 80 Days
to me."

"Our trip won't be that fast."

"That's all right. I brought lots of books."

"So I learned. I thought those last trunks that arrived with you were filled with more clothes."

"More clothes?” She shook her head, not quite able to credit that thinking. “I can't wear what I have now.” Claire paused a beat. “At least not all at once."

Rand recalled that under her dark mantel she was wearing a promenade dress of blue and white striped silk. It was a vast improvement on the dull gown she had worn at their first meeting. “Your godfather ordered you an entirely new wardrobe."

"He hated the things I had chosen before,” Claire admitted. “He said I was self-pitying and mourning the loss of my sight. I couldn't even argue that I was grieving for my father and brother. That would have meant I had abandoned all hope of finding them."

"Was he right about you being self-pitying?"

"Yes. And it's no pleasure to admit it."

"That he was right or that you were self-pitying?"

"Both."

Rand laughed. He stopped and pointed out that they had made another turn. “Would you like to take the wheel?"

Claire's eyes widened. “And be responsible for running us aground?” she asked. “I think not."

"This is very open sea, Miss Bancroft."

"An iceberg then."

"We're well south of them now."

"I could set us off course."

"Not so that it couldn't be set to rights."

"What if she heels? I could sink her."

Rand's dark brows lifted as he searched her features. Her eyes gave nothing away, but the small parenthetical lines around her mouth did. “Are you afraid, Claire?"

"Certainly not."

"Liar,” he said softly, goading her.

"You'd better put my hands on the wheel, Captain, else they're apt to find your throat."

"I suppose I should be lucky you have nothing to throw.” Rand motioned Paul Dodd to remove himself from the deck chair as he guided Claire toward the wheelbox. He placed her hands on the wheel and let her feel the power that ran through it. He stood behind her, palms lightly on her slender shoulders. “You don't have to do anything,” he told her. “She knows where to go. Easy and steady does it."

Sheltered by Rand's lean frame at her back, Claire's skirts beat against her legs less frantically. Overhead she could hear the pyramids of white canvas strain the rigging. The steady rush of wind filled the sails. They would be like blossoms on the seas, she thought, forever being opened and carried off by updrafts and cross breezes. If it were not for Rand's hands on her shoulders, Claire thought she might be carried away as well. The harnessing of so much energy, the power of it, the speed, all of it touched a chord in her. Her body fairly vibrated with it. She had never known the like of it before.