Till Dawn Tames the Night (8 page)

Aurora stared back into the fiery red eyes. The dragon mesmerized her. She had wandered to the front of the ship only to discover the ship's handsome yet fearful figurehead—a green Chinese dragon—lashed to the prow. She marveled at it for a long while, admiring its intricate details. Each green scale seemed to ripple with movement; even its painted vermilion mouth seemed to breathe fire. It stared back with a malevolent gaze, and it appeared so real that she thought if she should touch it, it would writhe beneath its lashings. The figurehead seemed to have nothing at all to do with the name
Seabravery,
but for some reason it reminded her of the ship's owner. He too was handsome yet fear-inspiring.

A week had passed and Aurora had yet to see the ship's mysterious owner again. It was quite a feat to avoid a person in the confines of the
Seabravery,
yet somehow she had managed to do it. Her trips to the decks were rare simply because the weather had turned stormy, and she found even her pelisse was hardly enough protection against the cold blasts of Atlantic winds.

So she had mostly stayed in her cabin or visited with Mrs. Lindstrom. She had eaten with the other passengers in the roundhouse while the captain and the ship's owner had been served in the owner's cabin. In many ways it had been easy to avoid the dark, dangerous-looking man across the passage from her. And avoiding him certainly seemed the safe thing to do, even if it was rather cowardly.

"Quite skillfully carved, isn't it, Miss Dayne?"

Aurora turned around and found Miss
Cordelia
Gideon standing next to her. Miss Gideon was the nanny of a child, Hester Rune, who had been orphaned. Hester, she had found out, was to go live with her uncle in St. George's, and Miss Gideon was taking her there. Despite the child's good prospects, Aurora had found Hester a sad little thing, much like the children who first entered the Home. Her pity only grew more with each passing day for she discovered the child's nanny was sore compensation for Hester's loss. Miss Gideon was a haughty and cool woman who ordered Hester about as if she were a half-wit. The woman seemed to possess no patience at all, and she was a poor choice for governess for a frightened young girl. Aurora's heart went out to Hester every time she saw her.

"Why, good afternoon, Miss Gideon, Hester," Aurora finally said. "I was just exploring the ship and just now discovered the dragon."

"The dragon scares Hester," Miss Gideon stated sourly. "But every day I bring the child to it so she will no longer succumb to these ridiculous fears."

Aurora burned with suppressed ire. She looked down at Hester, and the child was desperately trying not to look up at the dragon. Instead Hester's gaze was riveted to the deck, her face frozen in a terrified frown.

"The child is only five, Miss Gideon," Aurora reminded her. "Surely you don't expect her to behave as an adult? Why, even I felt a shiver or two run down my spine when I first saw the carved dragon—"

"The girl is an orphan, Miss Dayne," Miss Gideon answered brusquely. "And being such, Hester cannot afford such childish whims. She's alone in the world now. She must expect no coddling."

Aurora stared at the woman. How well she knew statements like that. A retort was just on the tip of her tongue but she bit it back. She knew firsthand what an orphan could or could not afford, and unfortunately the answer was always, not much. They were the castaways of society, these abandoned children, and in reality Hester was far more fortunate than most. Hester, at least, had an uncle she could live with, and perhaps, later in life, earn her board as a companion to his wife. Most others were tossed to the street, only to find an end not nearly as auspicious as their beginnings.

Gently Aurora bent to Hester and touched her frock. The child was dressed solemnly in lavender today, the color of half mourning, and Aurora was glad to see it. She found nothing more dreadful than seeing a little girl swathed in black.

"Aren't you pretty today, Hester," she said. "Now tell me, how do you like this big ship? Much better without the dragon, I wager."

Hester tentatively looked up but she still did not speak.

"Tell me, Hester, do you like nursery rhymes?" Aurora continued, determined to see the child smile once before the voyage was over. "I do," she added, "and I know scores of them. Would you like to hear one? My father taught me this one and it's my favorite."

Slowly Hester nodded. Her eyes grew wide and she waited in anticipation.

Aurora smiled. "Now you have to follow everything I do. Can you do that?"

Awestruck, Hester nodded again.

" 'An
angel from heaven came tumbling down.'
" Aurora
fluttered her hands downward. When Hester hesitantly imitated her, Aurora smiled her encouragement.

" 'And
asked the way to
Aran
.'
" She
pointed north. Hester followed, pointing her tiny finger in the direction of Aurora's.

" '
"I've come to find my long lost star!"
' "
She put her hand to her eyes as if shielding them from the sun. Hester did likewise.

" '
"Can you help me with my errand?"
' "
She put her hands together and rested her cheek on them as a cherub would. Hester followed,
then
began to giggle.

Aurora clapped her hands and hugged her. It was probably the first time the child had laughed since her parents had died, and the sound was delightful. "Oh, you're terribly quick, Hester! I can see you're going to be an apt pupil!"

"That's enough of this silliness, Miss Dayne," Miss Gideon remarked, rather rudely. For some reason she looked rather uncomfortable, and her gaze kept darting to a spot behind Aurora. "It will only excite the child, and then she'll be impossible to deal with. Come along, Hester, it's time for tea." With that Miss Gideon took Hester's hand and began dragging her away.

"But—but—" Aurora stammered helplessly, looking at Hester's forlorn backward glance.
There's another verse!
she
wanted to say, yet it was too late. Before she could utter a sound, the sour-faced Miss Gideon and her melancholy charge were gone.

Slowly Aurora got to her feet. Irritated, she brushed the wrinkles from her pelisse. She released a huge sigh. The woman was impossible, and the worst part of it was that Hester was the one to pay for it in the long run. Feeling almost depressed, she turned back to the dragon. To her dismay, less than three feet from her the ship's owner stood by the
the
far rail. He was staring at her, an odd expression on his face that looked strangely like triumph.

He smiled then, and for some reason that smile made her fingers instinctively reach for the comfort of her locket, but she couldn't find it, hidden as it was under her woolen pelisse.

"Mr. Vashon," she began uneasily.

"Miss Dayne." He nodded his head, another ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Must we be so formal?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Simply that I'm called Vashon. I've no other name. So it's absurd for you to pin a title upon it."

She looked at him. He had no other name. She knew perfectly well what
that
meant. Yet it was no surprise that this barely civilized man was born on the wrong side of the blanket. The only amazing thing was that being so lowborn he'd still been able to amass such a fortune. And that was easily enough explained away simply by uttering the word "pirate." Her eyes locked with his, and again the sense came over her that he cared not a whit for society and its rules. His bastardry probably concerned him less than would a hangnail. He unsettled her. She was not such a conformist that she had been ready to embrace John and all his ideologies, yet she was not such a renegade that she refused to acknowledge her own place in society as this pirate did.

"I was pleased to find you out here, Miss Dayne." He stepped toward her. "I hadn't seen you and feared that you were confined to your cabin with seasickness. Frail women on these voyages tend to get struck down like that."

"I don't consider myself frail, Mr.—" She colored from anger and embarrassment.
It wasn't proper to call him "Mr." any longer. Yet calling him "Vashon" seemed completely too intimate.

So she would simply not call him anything, she thought to herself, still burning from his comment. Frail, indeed!

"Then you haven't been seasick?"

"No, not at all," she assured him. "In fact, I've been enjoying the voyage immensely."

"Good," he said, his brilliant green eyes glancing briefly over her pelisse. "You've a long sail ahead of you, and I've seen many a woman's . . . curves waste away to nothing on such trips. I should hate to see that happen to you."

She colored again. How dare he refer to her figure! "Good day to you, Mr.—" As if she were warding off a headache, her hand went to her temple. The man was impossible to deal with on a genteel level with his lack of a name and his improper comments. "Good day to you!" she finished and began to walk away, self-righteously indignant over his familiarities.

But then his familiarities only increased. She felt him take her arm in a steely grip. Wild-eyed, she looked about to see if anyone else saw him, yet the deck was devoid of everyone, even of sailors.

"You really are a sour little prig, Miss Dayne. Has anyone ever told you that?"

She stared up at him, trying with all her might to erase the shocked look on her face. He was so close she could see just how savage and handsome he was with his long jet black hair and harsh classic features. He was so close she could smell him. And his scent was akin to the sea, fresh, exhilarating, mysterious. Much too heady, like a sip of fine wine, and she wasn't at all sure if she should have more.

Yet, while his grasping her arm was bad enough, calling her a prig was beyond redemption. Miss Gideon was a prig. John was a prig. She was a lady of adventure.

But, then again, perhaps not.

She looked up at him, and when her frightened aqua eyes met his taunting green ones, she was beset by doubts. A lady of adventure would know how to put this man off. A lady of adventure would scoff at him, as she had read in countless novels. The lady would set him in his place and move on to greater challenges. She, on the other hand, seemed only to goad him on.

"Please—please, let go of my arm," she whispered, hating how small her voice sounded. "I really must go."

"Miss Dayne, is the only way I can talk to you to lock you in my cabin?"

Her eyes opened even wider.

"Well, is it?"

"No, not at all," she choked out.

"Good." Suddenly he dropped his hold. "For such a timid little wren you certainly can be trying. I suppose you weren't given that touch of red in your hair for nothing."

Self-consciously she tucked her hair further into her bonnet. She did her best to compose herself before she asked, "So what is it you wish to speak to me about,
sir?"

He smiled at her pointed address. It was as if he could read her mind and see how he terrified her. She prickled beneath his stare. The man really was infuriating.

"Miss Dayne, Captain Corbeil and I have invited Mrs. Lindstrom to dinner tonight in my cabin and we were hoping you would join us. I can promise only the best cuisine. My chef was tutored by
Careme
, and he makes all his finest dishes for me."

"I'm not sure that is the proper—"

"I assure you it is quite proper," he interrupted. "Mrs. Lindstrom is certainly a sufficient chaperon for such a paragon of virtue as
yourself
."

His sarcasm was not lost on her, but she was determined not to let it bother her. "Yes, I suppose Mrs. Lindstrom would be fine, but—"

"But how do you know she'll be there?" He almost laughed. "Well, why don't you scurry away to her cabin and ask her? I'm sure she'll set your mind at ease. Besides, unlike you, she's rather taken with me. I think she'll persuade you to come if just to ease the boredom of this voyage . . . and assuage a little of that bald curiosity she has about me."

She couldn't help but bristle, particularly at the word "scurry." She didn't scurry. Did she?

Coolly she said, "I suppose if Mrs. Lindstrom is attending, it would be all right for me to be there. Since I do consider Captain Corbeil quite the gentleman, I'm sure the evening will be conducted with propriety." She dared a glance up at him. She'd hoped he'd understood the comment about Captain Corbeil. When he began to laugh, she was quite certain.
Though instead of besting him, she herself felt bested.

"Why not come to my cabin and let me tell you a few stories about Isaac Corbeil?" He chuckled. "Perhaps I can change your mind."

"I think not.
I
am a good judge of character." She gave him a look that should have left no doubt in his mind what she had judged him to be. Again, infuriatingly, he laughed.

"You win, Miss Dayne, but you'll still come to dinner?" His mouth turned in a slight smirk.

"I shall be there."

"Seven o'clock?"

"Seven o'clock." She nodded and turned to go.

"Miss Dayne?"