Moon Dreams Read online

  The earl threw himself at her. Alyson jumped.

  Rory frantically rowed toward the muddy waters where the ripples broke over her dark head. He was aware of the shouts from both ships, of scrambling for ropes and ladders and boats, but his gaze focused on the circle of ripples. His heart pounded until he could scarcely breathe. He jerked off his shoes and prepared to dive. Damned if he wouldn’t do her a favor and follow her into hell to drag her back.

  She surfaced just as he hit the water. Grabbing a handful of soaked black curls, Rory pulled her face from the river. She gasped, then coughed and gasped again. The Neptune’s dinghy was fast approaching.

  “I’ll have your head for this, lass,” he growled, throwing his arm over the side of the boat. Unceremoniously he flung her half on, half off, while he clambered in without tipping the whole thing over.

  Alyson’s skirts dragged her down and the coughing drained her ability to clamber aboard. Rory caught her by the waist and yanked her in, then struck out for the Sea Witch.

  The commotion from the two ships had drawn a crowd to the waterfront. Excited, gesticulating spectators pointed to the dinghy straining to catch Rory’s. Cranville’s panic-filled shouts and the British captain’s bellowed orders echoed across the narrow strip of river. Grimly Rory reached the Sea Witch and the ladder his men held ready.

  He wouldn’t have time to carry Alyson on board before the other dinghy would be upon him. With a practiced jerk of his head, he signaled his cannoneers.

  Cannon shells exploded overhead, sending up sprays of water around the dinghies, filling the air with the stench of smoke. Rory dragged Alyson up the ladder and onto the Sea Witch under cover of the confusion.

  He shouted orders as soon as he hit the deck. The lateens swung out and filled with wind as the sloop lurched and slowly came about. The tide was turning and would soon be in their favor.

  Cannonballs prevented the brigantine from advancing, even if they’d had sails set. As the maneuverable sloop headed to sea, the curses from the Neptune and the dinghy grew fainter.

  The sloop’s cannon fired a few more warning shots as Rory took the tiller and aimed for open sea. His shy cabin boy and the taciturn cook bent over Alyson’s soaked and gasping figure on the main deck, but he didn’t have the time to lend his efforts to theirs. He had to sail the Sea Witch out of the river before half the ships in the harbor took sail to strike him down for piracy.

  A few hours later, Rory was still cursing their near escape when he returned to his cabin. Inside, he found Alyson wrapped in his blankets, her soaked gown spread across his desk chair and dripping upon the floor. She threaded her fingers through her wet hair in a vain attempt to untangle it and frowned in concentration until he roared at her.

  “Now that I have the British navy on both sides of the Atlantic after me, would you care to explain what the hell you were doing? Or do you just enjoy departing in a blaze of glory?”

  Rory’s sarcasm seemed to drift right by her. Alyson smiled vaguely and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. “Why should the navy be after you?”

  Her look of innocence nearly worked its usual spell, until Rory remembered the clever mind behind those wide gray eyes. The treacherous little witch had a penchant for trouble, but sooner or later she always landed right where she wanted to be.

  He refused to let her divert his anger. “The navy frowns on people who fire on the British flag. Why were you on it, Alyson? You promised to wait for me.”

  Alyson smiled sunnily. “You need only tell the navy that I ordered the ship fired on. Surely I can shoot at my own ship if I want to, can’t I? You didn’t hurt anyone, did you?” She asked this last almost hopefully.

  Cranville had been nearly the only person on deck.

  It took a moment for the shock to dilute Rory’s anger. Once it did, he gripped the desk chair for support, ignoring the soaked garments upon it. “Your own ship?” he asked warily.

  A ship the size of the Neptune would have made his fortune twice over. The Sea Witch was little more than a fishing boat in comparison. And the claimant of such wealth sat nearly naked in his bunk?

  Alyson shrugged. “So they say. I certainly can’t compliment the officers on their loyalty or obedience, but men do have difficulty accepting the notion of a woman in command, don’t they? I daresay they preferred to believe Cranville the true owner.”

  If he had not talked to Farnley himself, Rory would have believed her mad. No doubt the officers of the Neptune did have a difficult time believing her. A woman in command of a ship that size! It strained the borders of credulity.

  “You could be riding in comfort aboard the Neptune now!” he yelled at her. “I should turn around and return you. A little persuasion will have Cranville removed and you installed in his place.”

  Rory stood there in his sodden clothes contemplating the insane but enchanting pixie who had danced into his life one fair morn. He had known she was an heiress, but the enormity of her wealth had not sunk in until he had seen that ship.

  Alyson looked horrified at his proposal. “They think I’m mad. And the captain was going to allow Cranville to marry me while believing I’m mad. Can I have the captain of my ship removed when we return to London?”

  Feeling as if he had lost complete control of the situation, Rory surrendered. Since he had met his personal angel, he had been held up by highwaymen, challenged an earl to a duel, killed a kidnapper, and fired on a British merchant. He was down to his last three decent shirts and one of those was clinging clammily to his shoulders right now. He was better off when he courted the devil, despite the fact that Alyson looked more delicious in a blanket and dripping ringlets than any other woman on the planet.

  Rory resisted that thought with curtness. “Lass, you may talk to your solicitors about that when you return. Right now I would like to change into some dry clothes. If you’ll excuse me, there may be one or two left in my trunk.”

  Alyson watched with interest as Rory opened his trunk and rummaged. His soaked shirt molded to the broad muscles of his back. An odd curl of pleasure warmed her blood. She wanted to touch the hard plane of his shoulders, but she could never be so bold.

  She remembered now that his wardrobe had been in a sorry state the last time she left, but he had dressed with such elegance that night at the Lattimers, she had forgotten about it. Come to think of it, she was now without all her new clothing once again. All she had was the saturated gown and not even her good petticoat this time. It was a good thing she didn’t spend much time worrying over her appearance.

  Finding what he sought, Rory sat back on his heels. Still bending over his trunk to watch him, she came face-to-face with him. She wore nothing but a blanket, and his shock registered swiftly.

  Grabbing a handful of clothes, he dropped the trunk lid, and stood unsteadily. Without looking back, he stalked out the door.

  Sitting back, Alyson stared after him in astonishment. Had there been something terrible in the trunk? Perhaps he had forgotten something. He hadn’t exactly been in the best of moods anyway. Perhaps he would be more cheerful when he returned.

  Remembering her own sad state of undress, Alyson knelt beside the trunk to see if she could salvage anything for her own use. Before she could properly inspect the contents, William knocked at the cabin door, and at her call, entered with a pitcher of hot water.

  Delighted at the prospect of washing off the muddy river water, Alyson welcomed him while tugging to keep the blanket in place.

  William turned his shy glance to the wall as he spoke. “Dougall said I was to remind the captain that he stored the lady’s things beneath the bunk. Shall I find the captain and tell him?”

  “I shall be certain to pass on the message, William, don’t you worry about it.” She could scarcely wait for the lad to leave so she could search beneath the bunk. Lady’s things? What lady? And what things? Oh, please, Lord, let some of them fit her.

  With William gone, she let the blanket fall free so she could open
a large drawer beneath the bunk. In triumph, she dug out the packages and tore at strings and parcel paper. The largest bundle revealed a froth of lovely gray-blue satin skirt. Locating the bodice, Alyson shook it out and scrutinized it with a practiced eye. The garment was too large for his Aunt Deirdre. Maybe he had other relatives who had requisitioned the gown. The exquisitely embroidered stomacher in white satin with silver and blue threads would probably fit her without much adjustment of the laces.

  The other packages revealed matching petticoats, stockings, and even blue satin shoes, Alyson discovered with delight. Silently commending Rory’s good taste, she poured hot water into the basin. Rory might be displeased at her appropriating garments meant as a gift, but she could replace them once they reached London. For now, she wished to appear as something a little more than the bedraggled waif he was always fishing out of some trouble broth.

  As she scrubbed the river mud from her hair, Alyson tried to contemplate why she should be concerned with Rory’s opinion, but the effort was too great. Rory was the only friend she had been able to rely on since her grandfather’s death. Perhaps he considered her something of a nuisance and was occasionally inclined to be short-tempered, but she would be the first to admit that he had every justification in being so. Perhaps that was why it was so important that she impress him favorably now.

  ***

  Having chastened himself for his lack of control at the mere sight of Alyson’s breasts, Rory changed into dry breeches and shirt. Never before had any woman ever sent him into such disarray. Alyson had not been on board for an hour, and already she had brought him practically to his knees. He would have to come to some solution soon.

  Dougall was up on the quarterdeck pretending to ignore him, and the rest of the men seemed well-occupied. Perhaps none had noted his hasty retreat to change clothes. The fact that the shirt he had grabbed was missing its buttons and lay open to the waist was not unusual in this warm climate.

  And he certainly didn’t have to excuse himself to one Alyson Hampton, heiress and troublemaker extraordinaire. After all, she had been the one to choose his modest ship over the luxury of her own—costing him a great deal of profit by not trading his goods in Charleston.

  With these rationalizations, Rory stepped down into the cabin to offer his passenger the garments he had bought for her months ago.

  Alyson looked up with surprise at his entrance. Rinsing off the last of the soap she had lathered herself with, she wore nothing but the wet cloth in her hand. Beads of water rolled down her breasts and dropped to the floor.

  They stared at each other wordlessly. Rory could feel her gaze drift from his face to his bared chest, while he barely managed to keep his gaze on her face. Her eyes dilated with near shock. He knew he should leave, but he couldn’t move a step until she ducked for the blanket on the floor.

  For a few brief seconds his vision filled with the glory of satin-smooth curves tinted with pink and shadowed delicately in black curls. Closing his eyes, he stumbled out the door and slammed it shut, collapsing in one of the chairs at the table behind him.

  He had to be out of his mind. Unbridled lust encompassed him, but he had never succumbed to such temptation before. Why in hell had he opened that door without knocking in the first place?

  He knew the answer to that one, but he refused to acknowledge it. She was an innocent child. He had no business playing adult games with an unprotected child.

  But Alyson’s full and glorious curves were emblazoned upon his eyelids. Those were the ripe swells of a woman full grown and made for love. She had not screamed or run from him in fear but boldly returned his stare.

  Rory buried his face in his hands. Not boldly. Alyson never did anything boldly. She just drifted in and out of situations as the notion took her. And due to his own inept handling of this particular situation, she now had notions that weren’t at all seemly for an unmarried lady.

  Well, that suited him just fine. Slamming his hand against the table, Rory rose and stalked out. He had been branded a traitor and an outlaw at an early age. He owed the British aristocracy no favors. If they couldn’t take care of their own, why should he?

  13

  Too confused to think after that embarrassing encounter, Alyson donned her new gown. It fit as if it had been made for her, and the shoes were more comfortable than her ruined ones. Unfortunately, her bodice lacked a fichu to tuck in for decency. Although she knew the square neckline was very much the fashion in London, she could not help thinking it a trifle daring aboard a ship full of men.

  There was no help for it, however. None of the packages or Rory’s trunk revealed any fabric that could be used for scarf or shawl. Her own ruined morning dress had a high neckline and no need of a fichu.

  Under the circumstances, she had little to fret about. Rory had already seen all of her that there was to see.

  So when he pounded on the cabin door and asked, “Are you decent?” she was left in some confusion.

  “Decent?” She wasn’t certain the gown was decent, but she didn’t think that was what he asked.

  ***

  Rory blinked at Alyson’s response. Behind him his two officers sat at the trestle table and listened with interest. Did she expect him to ask if she were still naked?

  The question dissolved into irrelevancy once Alyson opened the door. She stood there with her lush ebony curls waving over her breasts to her waist, nearly concealing the cleavage revealed by the gown. She blushed as the two louts at the table tripped over their own feet trying to bow without taking their eyes off her. Rory scowled at their antics.

  “Isn’t one of you supposed to be up on deck?” His glare sent them both from the cabin before he turned back to Alyson. “I see you found the gown.”

  Sweeping the long skirts back and forth with delight, she stepped aside to allow him to enter. “It is lovely. I hope you don’t mind my wearing it. I will pay you back just as soon as we reach London.”

  Her cheerful innocence made him feel even more a cad, but his mind was made up. He would be a howling idiot if he tried to take her all the way to London living like brother and sister in this cramped cabin. That left only two choices, and he suspected she would object to both of them.

  “I meant the gown for ye, lass. Don’t fash yerself o’er it. It suits ye well.” Rory lifted a strand of her hair and pushed it back over her shoulder. His gaze traveled from her face to the décolletage of the gown, and her blush deepened.

  “I thank you, but I don’t believe it is proper for me to accept such a generous gift,” she said with a soft reprimand in her voice. “Please, do sit down. You are making me very nervous.”

  William had brought in a chair from the other room and set up their supper on a small table. At Rory’s command, two place settings had been brought up, and Alyson had evidently waited for him before dining. Rory held out his desk chair for her.

  They had slept in the same bed. She had nursed his wounds and berated him for his misdeeds. Why did he feel like a young lad about to court his first lass?

  Looking nervous, she arranged her gown and settled in the chair he offered, but she was still pink as she spread her napkin across her lap.

  Realizing he had managed to fluster her for a change, Rory took his seat with some satisfaction. Considering the situation, he preferred to be in control. He knew how easily she could annihilate logic otherwise.

  Alyson pushed his cook’s overcooked mush about on her tin plate, and Rory sought some topic to ease the moment.

  “Did you enjoy your stay in Charleston?” he asked, watching her bent head with more interest than the unpalatable meal.

  “Very well, thank you, but I am ready to go home. How long will it take before we are in London?”

  “Let’s enjoy our meal and discuss that later. It promises to be a beautiful evening. Perhaps you would care to stroll about the deck after dinner?”

  Alyson tilted her head to gaze at him with that curious look of hers. He met her look without eva
sion, and she nodded uncertainly. “I’d like that, thank you. Will we talk about London then? Do you think my cousin will be there before us?”

  “We will talk about London then, and yes, Cranville will undoubtedly be there before us. I apologize for your meal. There wasn’t time to lay in supplies at Charleston.” He said it with an ironic drawl and Alyson finally smiled. The rest of the meal was easier after that.

  By the time William came to clear the table, Alyson was laughingly reciting a tale of their mutual friends in Charleston. Rory watched her throughout this recital, but she showed no regret at having left her many suitors behind. He was uncertain of her feelings for her old Cornish suitor, Alan Tremaine, however. She had refused him once in anger, but women were notoriously fickle. Maybe part of her eagerness to return to London was to see if Alan had waited for her.

  Rory closed his mind to such thoughts. Alan Tremaine was a spoiled, shallow lad, and he would not concern himself over such as that. He had learned the hard way that the only one who would look out for him was himself, and this he meant to do. Out of respect for Alyson, he would give her a choice, and in all honesty he could not predict which path her bewildering mind would take, but first and foremost he would look after himself.

  Alyson took Rory’s arm and offered him a blinding smile, nearly staggering him before he opened the cabin door. They stepped up to the main deck into the warmth of a summer evening.

  He had not bothered to don his coat or neckcloth for dinner. She held his shirtsleeve and gazed out upon the open sea in the moonlight.

  “’Tis truly beautiful, Rory. Now I can see why you might spend so much of your life out here.”

  Blocked by the bulwark, the wind lifted her hair in gentle waves, blowing wisps across Rory’s shirt. In the moonlight her pale face was like translucent porcelain, and the mysterious clouds of her eyes drifted between sunshine and shadow. He had never seen a face quite like hers before, so serene but disguising moods as fascinating as the sea.