BEAU RESUMED COMMAND of the Audacious with a zeal that allowed no uncertainty to remain in anyone’s mind that he had fully recovered from his illness. Neither could Cerynise entertain even the smallest hope that he remembered their intimacy. Upon waking to restored health and finding her beside him in his bunk, he had promptly started making overtures commensurate to a groom coaxing his virgin bride to yield herself to the delights to be found in a marriage bed. Plying her with persuasive kisses, he had promised to be gentle with her and assured her that, in spite of the initial pain, she would come to enjoy their union. During this heady beguilement, Beau slipped the ties at the top of her nightgown free, making it abundantly clear to Cerynise that he was feeling much like his randy old self again and was just as eager to make love to her as he had been before. His husky blandishments quickened her own hunger for what she had once tasted. Yet the fact that he still thought her a virgin frustrated her so much that she swung a pillow into his face in a fine display of flaring temper.
Moments earlier, Beau had drifted upward through a cloud of haunting impressions and entered the realm of full awareness with a strange sense of well-being, perhaps unlike any he had hitherto known. Almost at once, he had realized he had been ill, evidently very ill, and that made the odd contentment all the more perplexing. He couldn’t quite lay a finger to the cause. The past days, for the most part, were lost to him. Yet something had happened which he could neither define nor deny, and for some obscure reason it all seemed connected to Cerynise. His befogged recollections seemed distantly detached from reality, yet he was inundated with glimpses of his wife tending him and an awareness of her nestling against his back, her soft breasts pressed tightly to him and her slender thighs snuggled beneath his. At least that much he guessed was true. Yet fragments of more sensual impressions flitted through his mind, seeming so real that he could almost have sworn they were true. Still, they were so equally farfetched that he could only accept them for what they were. Illusions! How could he even consider that he had actually seen his young wife sitting on her heels beside his bunk with her gown falling down around her arms and her soft, lustrous breasts gleaming with an unusual rosy hue beneath the hanging lantern? Or that he had felt her nails clawing at his back as he poured his love into her? Or heard her rapturous panting as she soared to the lofty pinnacle of ecstasy? He certainly discerned no change in her. If anything, she seemed even more adamant that he not touch her, for the very moment his fingers tugged loose the delicate ribbon of her nightgown and pulled the garment open to allow his gaze to feast upon her bosom was the precise instant he got a face full of feathers. It didn’t help in the least that the pillow she hit him with burst open, sending fluffy down flying everywhere, mostly, it seemed, into their noses and mouths, and all she could say was “Oops!”
His good humor sharply declined from there, dropping to a roiling point when she scrambled to her feet in the bunk, albeit hunched over, and lifted her gown in a quest to jump over him. Challenged by a desire to keep her prisoner, if only to solve the mystery befuddling his senses, he raised a leg to block her path to freedom. He soon found out just how tenacious his wife really was to leave his bed. Planting a dainty foot upon his chest, she fairly sailed across his bulk, permitting him an enticing view that nearly staggered his wits. Almost at once she began throwing her clothes and possessions into a satchel, obviously scurrying in her haste to get out of his reach. Had he warmed her backside with hot oil, Beau was certain she could not have moved any faster. It was understandable, then, that whatever ebullience he had briefly relished upon finding her snuggled close against his side swiftly darkened into a sour irascibility.
Growling, Beau batted away feathers as he stalked naked across the room, not giving a damn how nervous he made his wife as he crossed to the washstand. “Well, you’ve certainly made a fine mess of my cabin,” he snarled disagreeably. “Billy will no doubt be highly entertained trying to stuff this mess back into the pillow.”
Cerynise kept her face carefully averted, but that didn’t keep Beau from seeing her primly elevated profile as she responded with strained dignity, “I didn’t mean for the feathers to come out.”
“No, but you meant to hit me, didn’t you?” He grunted sharply in derision. “Was it too much for you to take pity on a man who has been laid low by illness? Did you have to abuse me?”
“You were being rude,” she accused stiltedly.
Beau slapped again at the feathers floating in front of his face. “I was being husbandly, madam,” he corrected tersely, “but I guess that was too much for your fine virginal purity to bear. Like I’ve told you before, I happen to enjoy looking at your breasts. I’ve seen none finer.”
Cerynise wondered if he would have been at all curious had she let him see her bosom, for she still bore a rash from his bearding. It was to be assumed that he had locked those moments of passion deep within the coffer of his mind and had forgotten their union like a besotted man who, upon sobering, could recall nothing of the moments he had spent in lewd debauchery. To her, the fusion of their bodies had meant far more than physical appeasement, perhaps the most significant being the realization that she was now truly, lawfully his wife. Swallowing her emotions was difficult, and though she could chide herself endlessly for having carelessly ensconced herself in his bed, it didn’t change the way she felt now that the deed had been done. What grieved her was the fact that she couldn’t release all those warm, tender emotions and respond to him as a loving wife should.
Making a valiant attempt to appear glib, Cerynise queried, “Have you seen many breasts, Captain?”
Beau looked at her closely, but again he saw only her imperiously held profile. Had he imagined a thickness in her tone? “I’ve seen enough to know you have many women outdone by a fair margin. Not only are your breasts full enough to fill my hands, but they’re about as perfect as any man could possibly envision.”
“You must have viewed a sizable number, Captain,” she surmised coolly, refusing to look around. “Should I express my gratitude for your ability to make such a comparison?”
“No, dammit!” Beau barked, with long strides reaching her side. He opened his mouth to speak but instantly began spitting as he tried to dislodge the feathers that he had sucked in.
A giggle was wrenched from Cerynise as she realized what had happened. Dancing away to a safe distance, she turned and, pointing at him, dissolved into laughter. “All you need now is to be tarred, Captain,” she declared through her amusement as her gaze lightly skimmed downward. “You certainly have more than enough feathers needed to complete such a task.”
Bracing his knuckles casually on a narrow hip, Beau glanced down at himself and made a point of picking a feather off a very manly part. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find a little dust there, too.”
Cerynise couldn’t resist a quick retort and did so loftily. “I would.”
Beau’s brow cocked at an inquisitive angle as he looked at her narrowly. It was right on the tip of his tongue to ask her outright if he had indeed made love to her. Still, if he had only dreamed it, then he’d be giving her cause to wonder if he fantasized about her morning, noon, and all through the night. He probed indirectly. “Not unless you know more than I do, madam.”
Cerynise bit her lip in an effort to keep from blurting the truth and, by dint of will, managed to respond with a blasé shrug. “I assume you had your full share of harlots in London. I saw you with several the night before we were married.”
If she had hoped to startle him with her revelation, then Beau was most assuredly willing to disappoint her. “You saw me leaving them, too, a moment after they met my carriage.”
The complacent smile her husband wore convinced Cerynise that he hadn’t been at all surprised by her remark. She lifted her nose in a guise of priggish prudery as she faced the gallery windows. “You certainly seemed to enjoy that hussy fondling you. She was rather pretty, as I remember.”
“Strange,” Beau replied in a museful mien as he rasped a hand across his bearded chin, “whenever you’ve touched me there, you’ve always gotten immediate results. But as I recall, madam, nothing of that nature occurred that night…a fact to which you can attest after having witnessed her invitation.”
Cerynise shot him a curious glance. “How do you know what I saw?”
Beau chuckled briefly and shook his head. “Nay, madam, ’tis my secret, and I will never tell.”
Feeling an urge to sneeze, Cerynise waved a hand through the air to fan the feathers away from her nose. She really wished she hadn’t hit him so hard after he had been sick. The pillow might not have even come open had she endeavored to make it a more playful swat.
She sighed, wondering how long it would take Billy and her to put everything aright again in the cabin. “You’d better get dressed so we can start cleaning up in here,” she urged dejectedly. “This may take all day.”
Beau crossed to the locker and, taking out his robe, shrugged into it. “I’m going to take a bath in the mate’s quarters. Then I’m going to shave and get decently attired once again. I’d really like for you to join me, madam, but if I dare ask, I may get another pillow thrown into my face.”
With that bit of sarcasm, he stalked out, closing the door loudly behind him. That was the morning of Beau’s first day back on his feet.
The second was no better, for by that time Cerynise had taken up residence in the smallest cabin, having had Billy help her carry her trunks and possessions into the tiny space. She hadn’t wanted to put Stephen Oaks out of his quarters any longer and had given the mate the very same options that he had once given her, flatly telling him that she wouldn’t use his cabin under any circumstances and that it was entirely up to him whether or not he used it. The mate conceded, for he had no other place to go now that she had become ensconced in the tiny cabin.
In an effort to make her new accommodations less menacing, Cerynise questioned Beau about the possibility of hanging up some of her sketches and paintings on the walls. Grudging the fact that she was serious about living apart from him even to the extent that she would endure a windowless cabin that heightened her apprehensions, he scowled and snorted like an angry bull. Even so, he relented enough to give his consent.
Billy offered to help, and Cerynise hovered near, making sure he drove the tiny nails into the seams where the planks of wood had been buttressed together against the wall, for she didn’t want her husband to regret the fact that he had acceded to her request. She arranged the artwork to lend the cabin a feeling of depth as well as the open atmosphere and freedom of the upper deck. Having painted the porpoises in full color and flying motion on a larger canvas, she hung that piece where she could espy it upon waking. Once the individual groupings on the four walls were arranged in a manner that suited her, Cerynise found herself pleasantly surprised by the warm, comfortable ambience now pervading the tiny room. The paintings gave her considerably more to look at than dull blank walls, but most of all she no longer felt like she was in a dark dungeon.
After the upheaval and turmoil of the storm, her anxiety over Beau during his illness, and her startling introduction to the more erotic rudiments of being a full-fledged wife, Cerynise felt physically and mentally drained. Recognizing her own sense of depression, she promptly determined that she needed to take care of herself for a change and forewarned Billy that she would be resting for a while and didn’t wish to be disturbed. She slept for several hours and awoke feeling refreshed and wonderfully rejuvenated. Then, just as a woman is wont to do while in fine spirits, she directed her attention to her appearance, which she had been too worried to care about during Beau’s feverish bout. Since Billy had gathered several barrels of rainwater for such purposes during the storm-driven deluge, she bade him heat enough water for a tub bath and selected scented bath salts appropriate to her mood, a sweet jasmine fragrance that reminded her of home.
Cerynise settled back into the steaming water with a deep sigh of appreciation. She hated basin baths, preferring to soak on a daily basis, but a sea voyage wasn’t always conducive to such luxuries. The bath was probably the only benefit from the tempest. At the moment she thought it divine.
Memories of those moments spent in carnal union with Beau swam provocatively through Cerynise’s mind as she dallied in the bath. The impressions were so overpowering and vivid that they rekindled fires, which she had naively thought had been smothered by the blunt realization of her husband’s incognizance. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his large body moving upon hers, his hardened chest teasing her breasts, and his harsh gasps filling her mind. A long, trembling sigh slipped from her lips as she luxuriated in the sensations that flooded through her. Her yearning to have Beau’s arms around her right then and there was acute, making her realize just how deeply she had been affected by their union and the bliss she had found within it.
Heaving a fretful sigh, Cerynise shook her head at the folly of entertaining such stimulating recollections. It didn’t strengthen her resolve in the least to be lusting after her husband when she knew that, for her own sake, she would have to hold him at arm’s length until he committed himself completely to their marriage, which she really couldn’t expect to happen.
She was still in the midst of soaking herself when she heard the floorboards in the passageway creaking slightly as someone walked past her door. The distant closing of the captain’s door identified that one to be her husband. A moment hardly passed before the squeaking came back to her portal and, after a long pause, a light rap of knuckles came against the wood.
“Cerynise,” Beau called in a gentler tone than she had heard from him since he had left his bunk. “I’d like for you to have dinner with me tonight.”
She lifted a large sponge and dribbled water over her pale breasts, wondering what ploy he would use this time to get her into his bed. As much as she wanted to be with him, she knew that when her desires could be stirred merely by her memories of their intimacy, it was definitely better if she avoided the temptation of being with him. “I’m sorry, Beau. I’m busy.”
Beau wasn’t willing to be denied, not tonight. He was intrigued with fleeting memories of her snuggling against his back which made him loathe their present sleeping arrangement all the more. But more than anything, he wanted answers to all those other tantalizing impressions that haunted him relentlessly and that refused to slip into oblivion. In a slightly stronger tone, he reissued his invitation. “Cerynise, I’m asking you to have dinner with me. I have something I wish to discuss with you, but right now I’m hungry. I want to relax and enjoy the meal with you if you will allow me the pleasure of your company.”
Cerynise suffered no uncertainty what he was hungry for. Indeed, with his propensities, she wondered how he had ever managed to endure lengthy voyages without a harlot on board to service his on-going needs. In an equally sweet voice, she warbled, “I’m busy.”
“You’re sulking again,” he accused testily, becoming a little more irate.
“I am not!” she denied, offended by his conclusions. “Now go away before your men hear you pleading at my door.”
“I don’t give a damn who hears me,” he growled, close against the wooden barrier. “I want you to open this door so I can talk with you.”
“And I told you I am busy!” she flung toward the door.
If Cerynise had thought she was safe in the cabin with a latch securely fastened across the portal, then she soon realized she had been in error to suppose that Beau Birmingham could be halted simply by a locked door. With nothing more than a hard jolt of a shoulder, he sent the panel flying open and the now-broken lock rattling to the floor. Before the door hit the wall behind it, he was already striding across the threshold, displaying enough surprise to convey the fact that he really hadn’t expected to find her in the tub.
Beau barely had time to cast an appreciative glance across his wife’s wetly gleaming breasts before he again found his face full, this time with a sopping wet sponge. The shock sent him stumbling backward over the same area the sponge had liberally sprinkled with water the very instant it met the intruder. His retreating feet hit the moisture and abruptly slipped out from under him, throwing him backward against the far wall of the passageway.
Cerynise winced as she heard his head hit the wood panel, and the sudden silence that ensued made her fear that her husband had been knocked unconscious. Anxiety propelled her to her feet and she was out of the tub in a flash, seizing a robe and running toward him as she struggled to don it. Then one eye popped open in Beau’s now-grimacing face and fixed on her in a painful squint. Only the briefest of moments passed as he considered her delectable form and the sound of footsteps descending the companionway. His reluctance to have another man view what he was rapidly coming to consider solely his by marital rights was decidedly more pronounced than his desire to feast his gaze. “Woman, get some clothes on before you have the whole ship up in arms!”
“Humph!” Decidedly miffed at being bellowed at, Cerynise caught the edge of the door and swept it forward. It banged against the broken jamb and promptly came back. After a slight pause to yank away the splintered wood sticking out from the frame, she whipped the portal closed again with a finality that sealed the doom of any conversation her husband had hoped to have with her.
In the lengthy silence that followed, Cerynise stared at the door, wondering if he would make another assault upon it. Having dinner with her was something he had really seemed to have set his mind upon, she sensed, for after getting to his feet in the hallway, he muttered sourly near her door, “I hope you enjoy your damned privacy, madam, because I sure as hell won’t. But then, perhaps it’s your intent to torment me.”
It was unlikely the officers and crew on deck had been oblivious to what had gone on between the newly wedded couple on the lower deck that night. It was certainly more than Cerynise could hope for when Mr. Oaks knocked on her door the next morning and offered to take her for a turn about the deck. If not for the fact that she was feeling in rare need of fresh air after isolating herself in her quarters for the duration of the evening and into a late hour of the morning, she would have forgone the opportunity. She sensed that Beau was too vexed with her determination to separate herself from him to even consider offering his arm for such an outing.
Stephen Oaks seemed rather sheepish about meeting her gaze, but as she fell in beside him, he was led to speak in behalf of his superior. “The captain is a bit more surly than usual, ma’am, what with being sick and all.” He didn’t care to explain in any great detail what he meant by “all,” but as a man he could understand his captain’s frustration with her continuing obstinance to withhold her favors, which Stephen strongly suspected might be the case. On the other hand, he could also sympathize with the girl. The marriage vows had been spoken in such haste that she probably hadn’t had nearly enough time to consider the demands her new husband would be making of her. “I’m sure ’twill pass ere long.”
“Aye,” Cerynise sighed somberly, having no doubt that Beau’s irritability was caused primarily by her presence aboard his ship. “The end of the voyage should see a turn in it.”
Stephen Oaks searched his mind for something more encouraging to say. He could have told her that her husband was well liked, and with only a few exceptions, who were themselves not worth their weight in salt, the seamen held their captain in high esteem. When the man had risked his own life to save members of his crew as he had done in Majorca, what else could anyone, who had been around longer than the last voyage or two, have felt toward the courageous man? The mate even considered expounding upon the wealth of opportunities the captain had given him when no one else had even cared to lend an ear to his aspirations of commanding a ship one day. And if she thought her husband’s gift to Mr. Carmichael had been a singular occasion, then Stephen Oaks would have enjoyed enlightening her on the generosity of the man, perhaps to the degree that she might have even been led to think that he was only making it up to ease her exasperation with the captain. All of this Beau Birmingham would probably never have even pondered, much less have mentioned to another soul. The captain could be damnably closed-mouth at times, even to the point of letting others think the worst of him.
“Ma’am, I understand that you’ve known the captain for a goodly length of time. You must have seen his good side, else you wouldn’t have agreed to marry him. All you need is a little patience. He’s sure to come around fairly soon.”
Cerynise smiled ruefully. Come around to what? Their marriage? Doubtful! Captain Beauregard Birmingham enjoyed his freedom too much to seriously consider taking to wife any woman on a permanent basis. When a man as good looking as her husband, who could’ve had any lady of his choosing, had limited himself (at least as much as she could determine) to appeasing himself with strumpets, it was clear that he had long been dedicated to the idea of maintaining his bachelor’s status, to the degree that he had carefully avoided the pitfalls of compromising the virtue of young, winsome maids.
Beau was on the quarterdeck with the bosun when she arrived on the lower deck. Now that it was colder, her husband had once again garbed himself in a sweater, this one a dark blue, and narrow trousers of the same hue. He had lost weight during his illness, which made the handsomely proportioned bones and tendons in his face even more pronounced. As soon as he caught sight of her, the lean cheeks started flexing. A cold despair descended upon Cerynise when she noticed those snapping sinews, for she didn’t doubt in the least that his vexation with her was the cause.
The deep cowl of the knit garment had been lifted to provide him some further warmth and protection from the winds, but it seemed to her that every now and then an involuntary shiver would shake his frame. After tending him through a lengthy ordeal in which she had feared for his life, Cerynise grew concerned that he was chancing a relapse. When Billy hurried past her on some mission, she bade him to fetch the captain a coat. The boy was soon back, handing her the garment and speeding on his way before Cerynise had a chance to tell him that she had also wanted him to take it up to the quarterdeck.
Folding the coat over her arm, Cerynise told herself that there was absolutely nothing to worry about, that Beau Birmingham, as much as he might have wanted to, wouldn’t gobble her up and spit her out in so many pieces. At least, she hoped he wouldn’t. But from the way the muscles in his jaw were twitching, she was not about to make any wagers.
Cerynise couldn’t subdue the nervous shaking that had suddenly seized her as she climbed to the upper deck and approached the two men. Even after gaining the higher level, she couldn’t bring herself to intrude. Indeed, Beau seemed to go out of his way to ignore her presence. It was Mr. McDurmett who brought her husband’s attention to bear upon her. Under the circumstances, Beau had no choice but to face her with a querying brow raised sharply. Against her better judgment, Cerynise moved forward with her offering.
“I brought your coat, Captain,” she murmured timidly, holding it out with outstretched arms. She detected a ruddiness in his cheeks that gave her cause to worry, and she could only hope that it was due to the wind and not a returning fever. “After you’ve been so sick, I’d feel greatly relieved if you’d wear it.” She shook the garment out as she offered, “Here, I’ll help you put it—”
The green eyes flashed a warning as his fingers closed around the delicate bones of her wrist, forestalling her attempt to drape the coat around his shoulder. “I’m not some mewling babe, madam, as you may be wont to think I am,” he muttered savagely. “I can take care of myself now, and I don’t need you to follow me about like an overanxious mother afraid that her weanling may catch his death. Now take the coat out of my sight.”
His words stung far more harshly than the steely grip he had fastened on her arm. Abruptly he released her and pivoted about, giving her no further notice as he returned to his conversation with the bosun, who seemed to blush in embarrassment as he flicked a worried glance toward her.
Cerynise backed away hastily, averting her eyes to hide her swimming tears. Somehow she managed to descend the steps to the main deck without stumbling and quietly, gracefully made her way to the companionway with all the dignity she could summon. She moved past men who kept their gazes focused diligently on anything or anyone but her. The knowledge of her public rejection only intensified her distress. Indeed, her chest ached as if her heart had been ripped free.
In her unhappiness and haste, Cerynise was unaware of the man who watched her with carefully hooded eyes from the quarterdeck. Beau had dropped any pretense of ignoring his wife, yet only the jagged pulse that had leapt to life in his throat attested to his own disquiet as he stared after her with mingled feelings of regret and concern. If not for his damnable pride, he might have broken his guise of stoic reticence and gone after her, letting the crew think what they would. His annoyance with himself was paramount, and try as he might, he could not stop those strange, tantalizing dreams from flaring through his mind where, with heightening recurrences, they conspired to form a memory.
With a broken sob Cerynise swung the door of her cabin closed behind her and threw herself onto the bunk, where she poured out her anguish in the muffling softness of the pillow. It seemed suddenly too much for her to bear, all of her fear and her love for Beau culminating in that brief interlude of passion that was her secret and her torment. But now, his manner was as cold as the sea they were sailing, as if her efforts to withhold herself had wrecked every chance she had ever had of staying married to him.
Cerynise’s tears ebbed only with the onslaught of a traumatized sleep, but it was a nightmarish elapse of time, a horrible illusion in which she became desperately afraid for her life. She was running through a dark house with Alistair Winthrop and Howard Rudd following hard upon her heels while flashes of light burst all around her, startling her and sending her reeling away in fright and trepidation. In spite of her frantic attempts to flee, the two men came ever closer and, with each new discovery of her hiding places, set her to flight again and again until there was no place left where she could seek shelter. They seemed to swoop down upon her like banshees from hell, and in their hands they carried large black sheets in which to bind her for her burial. Her back was to the wall as they pulled them across her face, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.…
With a muffled cry Cerynise came upright off her pillow, flinging away the hand that lay alongside her cheek. In rising panic she began to struggle against the one who reached out to take her by the arms. “No, you can’t!” she sobbed pitifully. “I’m not dead yet! You can’t bury me.…”
“Cerynise, wake up,” a familiar voice soothed. “You’ve been dreaming.”
She glanced around wildly, her fear undiminished. Had all of the events from the time of Lydia’s death onward been a dream? Had she even met with Alistair Winthrop and Howard Rudd to discuss the will? Perhaps she wasn’t even married.…
Her eyes fell on Beau, who sat on his haunches beside the bunk, and the desire to fling herself into his arms and sob out her relief against his shoulder almost tore her from her narrow bed, but the memory of his harsh rejection on the quarterdeck came winging cruelly back, making her pull away with a moan. “Please don’t touch me.”
Beau swallowed the lump in his throat with difficulty as he tried once more to soothe her. “Lie back upon the bunk, Cerynise, and rest a moment longer until your thoughts come clear. It frightened me to hear your screams from the deck.”
Startled by the realization that she had cried out in her sleep, Cerynise stared up at him in confusion. In growing dismay, she turned her face aside as tears gathered. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.…”
Beau sought to calm her fears, just as he had done when she was a child. “Shhh, my love. Don’t even think that. You merely frightened me, that’s all. Your screams sounded very much like those of that little girl who had been locked in the trunk years ago.”
“I suppose your men heard them, too,” she muttered dejectedly, refusing to look at him. “Just like they heard everything else that went on down here last night?”
“So what if they did?” Beau laughed softly, trying to make light of it all for her benefit. “They’re probably wagering which of us will win out, but I have a feeling they’re not placing too many bets on me coming out ahead.” He reached across and gently tugged at her chin. “Turn around, my love, and let me see your pretty face.”
Strange how memories from the past seemed to recur from time to time, Cerynise mused distantly. He had quieted her sobs with almost the same magical words after letting her out of the trunk, but this time she denied his plea. “Don’t call me my love,” she whispered, stubbornly refusing to let him draw her face around. “I’m not your love, so don’t pretend that I am with all those pretty words you use on other women. We both know what you want, and that is to mount me like some lusty bull.”
Beau winced at her unladylike statement, but it only brought home to him all the things he had said in her presence. Perhaps she had been around him too long for her good. “Philippe has made soup for lunch. Can I talk you into coming to my cabin and sharing it with me?”
“I’d rather not,” she replied dully.
“Dam—” Beau caught himself instantly. Flying into a temper every time she rejected his invitations did nothing to ease their dispositions. He tried again, this time more gently. “I’ve come to enjoy our meals together, Cerynise. I wish you’d change your mind. Besides, I have some things I’d like to talk with you about.”
Her aloofness was unswerving. “I’m really not hungry right now.”
Footsteps approaching the open door brought Beau’s attention to bear upon the one who came to stand beyond the threshold. Stephen Oaks looked past him worriedly, settling his gaze on Cerynise, but the man could discern nothing of her present state when she refused to look around. Meeting his captain’s gaze, he asked hesitantly, “Is Mrs. Birmingham all right, sir?”
“Aye.” Beau sighed and straightened himself to his full height. “She just had a bad dream, that’s all.”
Even if it meant angering his superior, the mate felt pressed to let him know just how much his wife had endeared herself to many of the sailors on board. Perhaps such knowledge would help the man realize what a prize his wife really was, in more ways than just beauty and grace. “Billy is wary of coming down, Captain, for fear that something horrible might have happened to her. I’m afraid the rest of the men are up in arms, too, for the very same reason.”
Beau looked at his second-in-command and realized the depth of loyalty the man had obviously come to feel for the lady during their passage from England. The mate’s words came close to laying the blame for the difficulty in their marriage at his feet, not Cerynise’s. And why not? His contrariness and tenaciously stubborn will could set the orneriest tar on his ear. “Then please assure Billy and everyone else that Mrs. Birmingham is resting now after waking from a nightmare. She’ll be as good as new in no time.”
“Aye, Captain.” Stephen Oaks started to turn away but paused and solemnly met his captain’s lingering stare. “’Twould really be nice to see her smiling face on the morrow, sir.”
Beau nodded, aware that the man was gently urging him to treat his wife with more care. “I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Oaks.”
“I know you will, sir,” the mate replied, and with a brief smile, returned to the deck.
Beau looked around at his wife and found that she hadn’t moved. He bent down to tuck the covers in around her and smooth the stray tendrils of hair back from her temple. “You should have something warmer than these blankets. I’ll bring in the feather tick from my bed.…”
“Please don’t bother. I’m just fine as I am.”
Beau turned with a frustrated sigh and crossed to the door. He had done it up royally this time. She wouldn’t even look at him or accept his efforts to help or comfort her.
Cerynise heard the door close gently behind him and, in the silence that ensued, finally found the privacy to bury her face in the pillow and sob out her anguish anew.
It was at least a good hour later when Cerynise poured water into the basin and, wetting a cloth, bathed her eyes and face until the red blotches that had been brought forth by her weeping began to fade. Patting her skin dry, she leaned forward to stare into the tiny mirror above the washstand.
No more tears, she promised herself in a whisper, fervently hoping she had shed the last of that salty river for the likes of such emerald-eyed devils as her husband and others more akin to Alistair Winthrop. If Beau didn’t want to keep her as his wife, then she could ill afford to let her despondency over her lost love wreak havoc with her moods. Somewhere, someday, there would be a man who’d love her and could accept her as his bride without caring that she was no longer a virgin. Until then, she would have to make a new life for herself. There would be enough challenges to face in Charleston without letting her dashed dreams get the better of her. Until her paintings started selling, she’d have to be financially dependent on her uncle, but he had lived a bachelor’s life so long, she didn’t know if he could abide having a female under foot all the time or her paints and sketches cluttering some area of his house. But then, he had always had his nose in a book of one kind or another, so perhaps he wouldn’t notice her presence overly much.
Strengthened somewhat by the new goal she had set for her life, Cerynise turned to her sketches and involved herself in her work, but she sat back abruptly in stunned amazement when a charcoal sketch of Beau gazed back at her from the parchment, and not just one Beau but dozens upon dozens, fluttering from her hands to drift across the cabin floor, so many mute reminders of her infatuation with the man. With a groan, she swept them up and was about to consign them to wadded parchments when her more sensible self asserted itself. She wouldn’t let him drive her to the destruction of her own work. Instead, she would keep the drawings as a salutary lesson in the penalties of allowing her heart to rule her head, and henceforth she hoped she’d be the wiser for it.
The sketches had been stowed away well out of sight and she was standing before her easel, industriously detailing figures on a canvas for a new oil painting, when some instinct halted her in mid-stroke. She raised her head, listening intently. She heard nothing save the muted slap of canvas in the wind, the creak of planks, the distant voices of men, all the sounds that had become so familiar to her that she had to make a concerted effort to hear them at all. Yet she couldn’t deny the feeling that was now sweeping through her. She remained tensely alert, her heart beating with almost painful swiftness and her fingers gripping the brush so tightly they came nigh to snapping it in two. An instant before the rap of knuckles came upon the wood she knew who stood outside her door, the only man so at home on the Audacious that he could walk across a swaying deck or descend a companionway without making a sound.
Cerynise moved on trembling limbs and, with a stern reminder to remain composed, opened the door. Beau stood in the passageway, looking greatly troubled.
“I was harsh with you earlier on the quarterdeck,” he said without preamble. “You didn’t deserve that, and I’ve come to say I’m sorry and to make amends to the best of my ability.”
She waited, mainly from the sheer surprise of his unexpected apology, while he, in turn, studied her with an intensity that convinced her that she hadn’t been as successful at hiding the evidence of her weeping as she had hoped.
“Apology accepted,” she murmured quietly, and waited through a long, uncomfortable silence. It seemed an eternity. “If that’s all you wanted, Beau, I should get back to my work. I’ll need to sell some of my paintings as soon as I reach Charleston so I can repay you for what you gave Jasper.”
“You needn’t worry about that, Cerynise. Just consider it a gift.”
“I’d rather not be beholden to you any more than I am already,” she said in quiet dignity.
Beau wondered if some peculiar affliction had stripped him of the ability to openly discuss the matter which had plagued him since arising from his sickbed. He felt equally inadequate in his search for a way to repair the hurt he had inflicted. More than his first mate, he wanted to see his wife smile again.
Another lengthy hush ensued, and Cerynise, uncomfortable beneath his unrelenting stare, stepped forward to push the door closed. Her attempt seemed to awaken Beau, for he promptly moved inward, gently nudging the wooden barrier back with a shoulder. At her look of alarm, he sought ineptly to justify his lingering presence. “Mothering me in front of my men, madam, doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence. They must have no doubt about my ability to command.”
“It must be a poor world that you men make for yourselves when any show of caring concern is taken as weakness,” Cerynise replied stiffly. “It makes me doubly glad that I was born a woman.”
The corners of Beau’s mouth threatened to give way to amusement. “Don’t expect me to argue that point with you. Somehow I can’t imagine that you’d be very convincing as a man.” His brows gathered with concern as he continued to study her, and with husky gentleness he inquired, “Cerynise…is all well with you?”
He knew! The thought froze her in place, like a doe caught in sudden wariness by the approach of man. Frantically she searched her mind, wondering what she had let slip. Yet she could think of nothing that she had either said or done that would have given away her secret. That left one other option…he was now recalling the event himself. But why wouldn’t he simply question her about it? He was a direct and plainspoken man, definitely not the bashful sort to approach any subject hesitantly. So why would he not ask her outright about the matter?
Cerynise’s gaze delved deeply into those darkly crystalline eyes, searching for some hint of what he might know. They were as beautiful as always, but they revealed nothing. She was reading too much into his question. That was all there was to it, she concluded. She was simply grabbing at straws.
“Perfectly well,” she finally murmured. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Beau, I must get back to work.”
Unconvinced, he continued to study her, making no effort to leave. Slowly his gaze swept over her, heating where it touched, making her look away lest he see too clearly the helpless stirring he caused within her. “I’d like for you to join me for supper, Cerynise, and I hope this time you will accept my invitation. I’ve come to hate dining alone, and Mr. Oaks is no comfort. He seems intent upon chiding me about my uncivilized manners.”
Sit near him at a table for an hour or more? Without Mr. Oaks’s cheerful, stabling presence? Cerynise knew exactly where she would end up, and the way Beau was pressing her, she was certain he had come to the determination that she had no will of her own. Despite an overwhelming desire to yield to his plea, she could not. For her own preservation she had to think of what she would risk and not be taken in by his cajoling.
“I think under the circumstances, Beau, it would be better if we weren’t in each other’s company so much.” That statement had an all too familiar ring to it that made her wonder how often she had said those exact same words. Thus far, they had failed to serve her purposes, for she was even more involved now than she had been when she first issued that proposal. She tried again, hoping to convince him…as well as herself. “We both seem to have difficulty honoring our titular arrangement. I’ve certainly allowed you far more liberties than either of us initially discussed, so I must consider that it’s best for me not to be in your company at all. Forthwith, it should be as if we had never married.”
If she had ever spoken words that wrung her heart more deeply, Cerynise couldn’t remember them. These took all her strength and will to say.
Beau neither smiled nor frowned. In silence he inclined his head ever so slightly and withdrew. It seemed an end of an era he had immensely enjoyed, but more than that, he was sure his heart had ceased its motion.
Cerynise was trembling uncontrollably by the time she closed the door behind him. She returned to the small desk beside the cot, feeling in no mood to continue her work on the canvas. Instead, she sat with her hands folded listlessly in her lap, her eyes unfocused, with a burgeoning emptiness filling every niche and fiber of her being.
It was that same horrible sense of being hollowed out from inside that sucked much of the joy out of her life through the days and weeks that followed. She kept to herself as much as possible and no longer felt fully connected to life aboard ship. It was as if invisible walls had descended around her, shutting her off from the world outside her cabin. She didn’t even feel alive; she was just existing from moment to moment until the voyage came to an end. Then, somehow, she would have to collect her shattered heart and put it back together again in some semblance of order.
Following Beau’s visit to her cabin, Cerynise had gone up on deck at Stephen Oaks’s gentle urgings, just long enough to avoid inquiries from any quarter about her health. Once there, she responded to the greetings of the men but never initiated any conversation of her own. The mate tried to draw her out, as did Billy Todd and Monsieur Philippe, who oftentimes came to fetch her tray himself and would stay long enough for a quick chat in French. They all felt driven by the same kind of concern that she had seen in the eyes of other crew members. Deflecting it all with a soft smile, she let the well of emptiness draw her further in.
Christmas still found them close to a month from their destination. Cerynise consented to share the evening with her husband in a quiet dinner attended by Stephen Oaks. She gifted Beau with a lavish painting of his ship, and to the mate she presented a portrait she had painted of him on canvas, as she had done earlier for Billy and Philippe. In return, Oaks presented her with a miniature replica of the Audacious that he had carved and outfitted with string rigging and handkerchief sails. He grinned widely as she praised his talents, which took no enormous feat by any means, for she was mightily impressed that he had constructed it all so closely to scale.
They enjoyed a delectable repast, compliments of Philippe’s enthusiasm for the season, and as Mr. Oaks took his leave, Cerynise made to follow to her room, but Beau laid a hand upon her arm and begged her indulgence a moment more. Seeing the wariness in her eyes, he assured her that he hadn’t yet presented her with a gift, which he had wanted to do in private. Her nod of acquiescence hardly portrayed the emotions she was struggling with. Almost as soon as she had entered his quarters, she had become aware of a potent sense of longing growing within her. It was a desire so strong that she wanted to cry at the lack of progress she had made in her endeavor to detach her heart from Beau Birmingham. With everything that she was capable of feeling, she yearned to return to the familiar comfort of his cabin and his arms. Feeling precariously vulnerable with such renegade thoughts racing through her mind, she waited in uneasy silence as he went to fetch the gift from a cabinet beyond the washstand.
Beau brought out an intricately carved rosewood box and swept it open to reveal a pair of jade figurines with carved lotus flowers adorning the teakwood base. They were the most exquisite pieces Cerynise had ever seen, but she could well imagine the cost of such treasures, too much for her to take from a temporary husband.
“They’re beautiful, Beau, but I don’t really think I should accept them.”
He lifted the male figure of the matched pair and examined it closely. “I was told that these two are supposed to be fabled lovers who were finally able to marry after surmounting great difficulty. I thought the gift appropriate, madam, considering our adversities, and I’ll be quite put out with you if you don’t accept them.”
“Suppose you should marry another someday?” Cerynise murmured and swallowed against the emotional knot that rose in her throat. Expressing the thought exacted a harsh toll on her composure, for she wanted to burst into tears at the idea that Beau might repent of his bachelor’s status and wed another. “Would you not prefer to give them to your wife?”
“I’m giving them to my wife,” he stated, commanding her gaze, “and I’d be honored if you’d accept my gift.”
The tenderness in his eyes was so compelling, Cerynise could feel her heart already plucking a chaotic rhythm. She fought an overpowering longing to press close to that stalwart male form and rest her head in relief against his chest. She knew he’d welcome her gladly, and just as surely, she knew that her will would crumble beneath the kisses that would follow. Unable to trust herself within reaching distance of him any longer, she thanked him breathlessly and hurriedly took her leave, escaping to her room, where she spent another wakeful night wishing she didn’t have to hold herself from him.
A returning bout of seasickness caused Cerynise to sequester herself in the loneliness of her cabin, and although she managed to retain what little she ate, she was nevertheless stricken with an unfathomable exhaustion. She hardly felt like painting anymore and spent much of her time sleeping, sometimes taking long naps in the mornings as well as in the afternoons. After waking her on three different occasions, Billy reported his growing concern to his captain, and when Beau hurried down to make inquiries and feel her brow, Cerynise assured him that sleeping was just her way of coping with the boredom of a lengthy voyage and that she hadn’t really been afflicted with some strange malady. She also expressed confidence that she would revive once they reached Charleston and that she didn’t need a nursemaid watching over her. Reluctantly Beau accepted her excuses and left her to her privacy, which was what she seemed to want.
Thereinafter Beau observed her with close attention, but only from a distance. Their paths crossed often, and with emotions carefully masked, they spoke briefly or merely nodded politely to one another. One evening, when Billy came in with her dinner tray and left the door open behind him, Beau paused beside it, having been on his way to his own cabin. As usual his tall, hard body radiated strength and healthy vitality, but his dark green eyes were cautious as they swept her.
“Are you feeling well this evening, Cerynise?” he asked courteously.
“In excellent health, Captain. Thank you. And you?” Cerynise replied with feigned gaiety, making every attempt to appear the epitome of what she had just boasted.
Beau chewed his cheek reflectively as he pondered her paleness. She had seemed far too solemn of late to please him, and her forced smiles did nothing to convince him that she was feeling all that chipper. Yet, as much as he was inclined to, he could hardly command her to tell him the truth about her health.
“You are well, are you not, Captain?” she prodded, counting the moments until the door could be closed and she could breathe again.
“Most assuredly, madam,” he said at last. And then, after another lengthy pause, he queried, “You won’t hesitate to inform me of any needs you may have, will you?”
“Billy and Philippe have been seeing to my requirements perfectly well, Captain.” Cerynise shrugged and spread her hands with a brief laugh that even she would have admitted sounded false. “I cannot imagine why I should have to bother you with such trifling matters. You have a great deal to occupy you, far too much for me to take up any of your time.”
Beau didn’t appreciate her answer, but he refused to beg her to give him just a wee bit of her time. He had already done enough of that. He continued on to his room.
In the weeks that followed, Cerynise came to the deck more often, primarily to dispel any notions that Beau might have been fostering about her health. While there, she looked out to sea rather than any place where he was. Watching him would have led her along a path that she was striving desperately to avoid, and though she tried to blank her mind to his presence, it took firm precedence over everything else. If she’d been able to simply will it into being, she would have wished for her torture to end by the sighting of land. Toward evening on a crisp late winter day, just a few days short of three months from their departure from London, her wish was granted.