“I don’t expect you to. And the captain does not want you to,” she added so they were clear on that count. “Just let me thank you for coming to my rescue when you did and end it at that.” She finished her broth and placed the mug on the deck. “It will all make sense come morning.”
Ian wondered if he had imagined a threatening tone in her voice. He suddenly did not feel tired any longer. He excused himself to continue his brooding on topside.
Alexis lay back against the pillow, frowning into the darkness.
So close, she thought, and yet her dreams and most of her waking moments were filled less with Travers than with Cloud. During the hours she had been left alone, even as she’d tested the strength of her limbs, even as she’d prepared for the final confrontation, she had wondered if Travers had been worth the separation, the danger, the uncertainty that always invaded her time with Cloud. Somehow it had become more important to know that Cloud had managed to get through the storm safely than it was to see Travers dead by her own hand. It had become more urgent to let Cloud know she was alive.
Looking back on it, on their last night together before the storm interrupted their sleep, she realized he had tried to tell her those things. Even the way they’d made love seemed to be in preparation for another span of time they would spend apart. His hands had moved along her flesh in that peculiar way he had, as if he were pressing a memory into his palms. She had been frightened momentarily to discover her hands and fingers were doing the same thing. Pleasure that evening was inadvertent. It was not pleasure they sought with their touch. It was only the touch.
She got out of bed, stumbling in the dark until she found her boots against the leg of a chair. She reached inside one of them and retrieved her dagger. They either had not found it or had thought it was unimportant. She traced the blade lightly with her finger, the cold steel warmed beneath her touch.
“One last chance,” she whispered, holding the blade against her lips. “If I fail and still survive, my love, I will not attempt it again. Only I must take this chance. Do you understand? I must.” She slipped into her shirt and trousers, pulled on her boots, and tucked the dagger back inside. Her movements were deliberate, unhurried, a ritual in preparation for a challenge that still retained some meaning for her.
She returned to bed and covered herself with the blankets to combat the cold taking possession of her from within. Before she fell asleep she added the names of Redland and Jordan to the reasons she had for wanting to see Travers dead.
Chapter 18
Cloud dressed, his trousers and shirt mysteriously clean and pressed, his boots polished. He found a comb on the bureau and hastily ran it through his hair. His fingers touched the stubble of growth on his face, and as if in answer to his wish for a shave, André appeared at the door to his room with a hot towel, strop, and razor.
“Monsieur Lafitte asked me to look after your needs,” the servant responded to Cloud’s questioning glance.
“It’s not necessary. I can do it myself.”
“It is not for you to do,” he replied, frowning. Had these Americans no sense of what was correct? André tried to imagine Lafitte shaving himself—could not—and motioned Cloud to have a seat.
Further protests were out of the question as the hot towel was wrapped around Cloud’s face, softening his beard. He relaxed and enjoyed the warmth and later André’s skill as he quickly removed all traces of the stubble. Cloud took the mirror André offered and with a low chuckle pronounced himself human again.
At André’s insistence he followed the servant to the dining room and joined Jean and Pierre in a late-morning breakfast. The conversation inevitably came around to the expected visitor.
“Is there any danger you will be recognized?” Lafitte asked Cloud.
“I can’t imagine I would be. It has been over two years and the little he saw of me was when I was unconscious, face down on the ground.” He paused thoughtfully, pushing his fork through the eggs on his plate. “I know I gave you my word, Jean, but I had no intention of being here when Travers arrived. The temptation might prove to be too great. I will be down at the ship, hastening the repairs.”
“As you wish. Perhaps it is better that way. As you said, the temptation might prove too great.” His hand curled tightly around his knife. “And who could blame you? It is distasteful to me to have to ask such a thing of you.”
“I understand. I think I can have theDark Ladyready for the open water in three days. Can you keep him here that long?”
“Of course.”
“And where will his ship be anchored? I don’t want him to see theDark Lady.He may recognize it.”
“I am going to meet him on my ship,” Pierre answered. “I will lead him to one of the inlets we seldom use. Your ship will be safe from his prying eyes.”
“Thank you.”
Pierre shrugged. “Orders,” he said, eying his brother with amusement. “Pleasurable, but orders nonetheless.”
Lafitte cuffed his brother on the arm. “He likes to pretend he does nothing but follow my wishes,” he told Cloud. “When we are alone it is he who calls the tune.”
Pierre laughed at the outright lie. “What he means is I have a habit of interrupting him at the unseemly moments to discuss business. Do you remember the time at Madame DuBonnet’s Jean? Why—”
“That is quite enough.” He cut his brother off. “The captain does not want to hear about your indiscretions.”
Pierre pretended to be appalled. He mirrored Jean’s mocking grin which traveled to his gray eyes. “My indiscretions?Mon Dieu!”
He was going to say more when Cloud interrupted and excused himself, saying he had to return to the ship.
“Come back this evening,” Jean called after him. “I will have news for you about the meeting. I will see to it that you do not meet Travers.”
