Blackwells: My Timeswept Heart Part 8

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rush if she had to do this every time.

Dane opened the door and smiled as she wrestled with the dress. "Having a little difficulty, m'lady?"

Tess yelped, holding up the material as she whirled about.

The hot anger in her eyes told him what he suddenly realized. He hadn't bothered to knock. "Please, forgive my old habits. But I didn't mean to startle you." A ghost of a smile played on his lips.

"Oh, yes, you did," she replied, attempting to fasten the dress.

Dane came up behind her, brus.h.i.+ng away her hands. "May I?"

"Please do," she gritted over her shoulder, sensing he was laughing at her. Dane unfastened a few hooks.

"What are you doing?" she asked, jerking away. "I want to stay in it, Blackwell, not fall out!"

He grabbed her arm, turned her so her back was to the mirror, then with his hands twisted her head for a look. "Oh, sorry about that," she muttered, her cheeks staining pink upon seeing the c.o.c.keyed job she'd done. Obediently she faced the mirror.

Dane's gaze caught briefly on the canvas corset and panniers lying across the sea chest, and he marveled at the tiny waist concealed in thin batiste, finding no need to tug the fabric to fasten it. Most women wore the constricting garment to disguise an overindulged figure, but this woman, though slim, was shapely, her skin a tight sheath over muscles. Muscles! The notion was as strange as the lady herself. He glanced at her reflection. Utterly breathtaking. Pale creamy skin and those dark eyes and hair. The contrast was enchanting, and he had the sudden urge to drape her in jewels

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and silks -and himself. Erotic images flooded his mind; hot damp skin, delicate fingers moving over his body, those shapely legs entwined around his hips, pulling him deeper inside. . . . His hands began to shake as he secured the hooks, his fingertips grazing her smooth skin.

Tess's eyes shot to the mirror, meeting his in the silver gla.s.s. The innocent touch sent a burning ripple of goose b.u.mps up over her shoulders and neck. She could smell the spicy scent of his cologne, feel his warm breath on her bare shoulder. Her heart slowed to a heavy thud, each pound vibrating up to her throat. She swallowed it down. G.o.d, he was handsome. There was something unusual about Captain Blackwell, not just the fact he was an eccentric, but as a man-he was like a caged panther standing behind her. Dark, predatory, anxious to be set free. To do what? she wondered.

A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Are you married, Captain Blackwell?"

"Nay." The reply was curt, not inviting any questions.

* Tess ignored it. "How come?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"I suppose you could."

A black brow shot up, and Tess's insides tumbled at the seductive look. "Are you wed, Lady Renfrew?" Dane felt his entire body clench.

"No."

"I find it difficult to believe there is no betrothed anxiously awaiting your return."

Her gaze clung to the floor. Why did she open up this subject? "No, Captain Blackwell." Her voice

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dropped to a whisper. "There is no one."

At the pain in her tone, Dane wished his words back. Duncan was right. No one had wanted her around to tarnish the family's reputation with her disturbed mind, and the captain found it all rather hard to stomach.

"Are you through yet?" she muttered tightly.

He stepped back. "Aye."

"Good." Without looking at him, she gathered up the heavy skirts. "Let's see this s.h.i.+p you're so d.a.m.n proud of." She didn't wait for him and headed for the door.

He was there in an instant, reaching around her to grasp the latch.

"The Sea Witch awaits your presence, m'lady." He opened the door a crack.

Tess forced her eyes to meet his. His smile was faint, somehow sympathetic, and the sudden tension weighing her mood vanished.

"I'll have you know I want the grand tour." She finally smiled.

"You, Lady Renfrew, may have anything you desire."

Her gaze dropped to his chiseled mouth, and she unconsciously licked her lips. "Careful, Blackwell. You may regret those words."

Winter mint eyes drifted slowly over her bare shoulders, healed and smooth and golden, then to the blossoming fullness of her bosom before he forced himself to meet those haunting smoke-soft eyes.

"Nay, Lady Witch," he murmured huskily, "I truly doubt that."

Tess was trying to grab on to what was left of her

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composure when he thrust open the door and cautioned her as she stepped over the high threshold. I'm playing with fire, she thought crazily, way, way out of my league. The corridor was damp, narrow, her skirts taking up most of the s.p.a.ce. The closeness of his warm body seemed to intoxicate her further, and she grasped his arm as the s.h.i.+p lurched.

He stared, his palm spanning the small of her back, her body pressed lightly to the length of his own, scented and yielding. Dane didn't think there was another time in his life when a woman affected him like this.

"This way." He gestured down the pa.s.sageway, and Tess preceded him, her legs easily adjusting to the sway of the vessel. He reached around her, warned her to s.h.i.+eld her eyes, then opened the wide oval door and helped her onto the deck.

Bright sunlight drenched over her, and Tess closed her eyes against its brilliance, tilting her face to the sky and soaking in the warm rays. She breathed deeply of the clean salty air, filling her lungs over and over, unaware of the thoroughly feminine sight she portrayed to Dane.

A soft wind teased the short, deep copper wisps surrounding her face, and a delicate hand floated up to brush them back, golden beams s.h.i.+mmering over her complexion. Her gown rustled enticingly, and Dane dragged his gaze from the gentle rise and fall of her lush bosom, up the slender column of her throat to her serene features. Bewitching. The transformation from the spirited ragam.u.f.fin in his robe to this alluring creature hit him all at once. An odd sensation swept over him, and he fought the selfish desire

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to escort her back to his cabin and lock her inside. With him.

"It feels wonderful to be outside. Thank you," she whispered happily, then before she opened her eyes, Tess prepared herself for her first look at his eighteenth-century wars.h.i.+p. She was awed.

It was ma.s.sive.

The scene was a flurry of activity. Nearly a hundred bare-chested men of varying colors and sizes were scattered around the deck, twining rope, st.i.tching sails, polis.h.i.+ng, adjusting rigging, some even pulling up nets, their burly muscled torsos gleaming with sweat. Not a man she could see wore shoes. Most had long hair pulled back in a ponytail like Blackwell's, yet regardless of its color, the crews' little tails appeared to be black and slick. Tarred? Talk about an eye for detail. The wind s.h.i.+fted, and her nose twitched as the pungent odor of unwashed bodies a.s.saulted her nostrils. Aw, come on! This was too much. Ever heard of soap, guys? she wondered, turning her face from the smell. They seemed oblivious to her and their captain. Until he spoke.

"The grand tour, m'lady?"

Heads snapped around, and Tess didn't mistake the hatred directed solely at her. Several dozen pairs of eyes narrowed, and some men turned abruptly away from the sight of her. Others stared, mouths open, looking her up and down, making her feel like some sort of freak. One man dropped his mop and moved back, obviously terrified.

Did they resent her intrusion on their little game that much? But to be afraid of her?

Tess never saw the maiming glare the captain shot

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his crew.

"Lady Renfrew?"

Tess jolted, looking down to see that he was holding out his arm. She was about to tell him she was quite capable, then decided against it. When in Rome, she decided, slipping her hand into the curve of his elbow.

They strolled slowly, Dane naming each towering mast and snapping sail, its purpose, pointing out the quarterdeck, capstan, helm, where a very attractive blond man was manning the huge wheel. The s.h.i.+p was majestic, wood and bra.s.s gleaming in the bright sun, proof of hard work and diligence to keep the reproduction in perfect condition. Good Lord, she marveled, he must have sunk a fortune to play out his whims with such realism. Nevertheless, she absorbed it all, including the pride in his tone.

"It's beautiful, Captain, magnificent. I never imagined it to be this large."

"It must seem rather puny compared to your mysterious four-hundred-foot vessel," he whispered with a crooked smile.

"There really is no mystery, Captain," she began until she saw the look on his face. "Honestly, why do I even bother?" she muttered under her breath and for an instant thought he'd pat her on the head and say, "Yes dear, I understand, dear," so condescending was his expression.

"A word of warning, Lady Renfrew." She nodded, waiting. "You are forbidden to venture belowdecks."

She cast him a side glance. "And why is that?"

His lips quirked at her sudden rebelliousness. "There is no need."

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"So you say."

"Duncan will see to anything you desire."

"So, I'm to be dumped on the poor unsuspecting McPete, is that it?" Laughter danced in her eyes.

"A job he would relish, I a.s.sure you." He sounded annoyed.

"I'm really a nuisance here, aren't I?" she said after a few steps.

"I apologize if I've given you that impression."

"You didn't, but I realize it now." She nodded to the men working, wondering how long they trained to be so good at their jobs. "You certainly have no need of inexperienced workers on your s.h.i.+p."

"I did not pull you out of the sea to put you to work, Lady Renfrew."

"I've never accepted charity."

Dane felt her stiffen beside him, saw indignation leap into her eyes. Proud wench. "You are a guest." He put up a hand to halt her protest. "Please, m'lady," he said tiredly, a teasing light sprinkling his tanned features. "Indulge the captain in his whims. He has so very few these days."

Tess tilted her head, smiling. "Well, if you're going to be a pest about it, sure."

"I am truly honored," he quipped dryly, pausing to give her a mocking bow.

She couldn't suppress a short laugh at his dramatics. "Duncan said this s.h.i.+p had twenty-four guns. So where are they?"

"Second deck." He gestured toward the fat quartz prisms set flush with the wood deck to catch sunlight and cast it below. "When I commissioned William Hacket with her construction, I made a few adjust-