My Heart's Desire (Barrett 1)

Smitty hesitated, glancing down at the small hand on his sleeve.

“Yes, my lady, he must.” Drake’s commanding voice pierced the silence. As his handsome, powerful figure strode toward them, Alex searched the brilliant green eyes for a hint of his mood. Would he be angry and manifest that anger in his treatment of her? She’d heard terrifying stories about the brutality of sea captains. And Drake certainly looked the part—so hard and formidable. Unconsciously Alex’s eyes strayed to his full, sensual mouth. Memories of that mouth on hers swept, unbidden, through her mind and body. Her heartbeat accelerated, her palms grew damp.

Drake watched her reaction, the bright color that stained her cheeks, her reluctant concentration on his mouth. He swallowed, deeply.

“Much as I would like to oblige you, I am afraid it is impossible right now, my lady.”

Her startled gaze met his. “Pardon me?” She was mortified that he could read her thoughts.

Drake treated her to a slow, devastating smile. “I would like to oblige you by providing Smitty as your guide, but I do require his skill at the helm.”

“Oh, of course … I understand.” Relief, overwhelming though it was, was short-lived, as Alex saw the triumphant gleam in Drake’s eye. She held her breath, expecting more taunting, but when he spoke again, his tone was aloof, businesslike. “Make yourself at home, princess. If you require something of importance, we will be at the helm.” Without waiting for a response, he turned to Smitty. “Is there anything I need to know?” At Smitty’s negative shake of the head Drake looked upward, his sharp gaze taking in every detail of the ship’s rigging and the clear skies around her. “Fine. I’m going to relieve Thomas.”

“Captain?” Alex spoke without thinking.

He turned to face her. “Yes?”

“Since I am going to be a passenger on La Belle Illusion, is there nothing I can do to assist your crew?”

He walked over slowly, his expression impassive. “And what would you suggest, my lady?”

Alex stood tall, ignoring the sarcasm in his voice. “I am quite skilled, sir, and I hate to be idle. Merely tell me what you wish of me.”

Drake folded his arms across his chest, tapping his chin thoughtfully with his forefinger. “Are you strong enough to lift cannonballs from the hold, should they be needed?” He shook his head in answer to his own question. “No, no, of course you’re not. Hmmm … I know. You can load the powder and assist the gunners in case of an attack. No, that won’t do. You’ve probably never even held a gun in your dainty hand. Any experience at swabbing a deck? No, of course not; you have servants to do your swabbing. Perhaps, with your vast knowledge of sailing, you could handle the rigging? No, I suppose a small skiff would not present a similar challenge. I know! You can assist the sailmaker. Surely you are a fine enough seamstress to mend canvas? No? Well, princess, I seem to be at a loss.”

“You’ve made your point, Captain,” she snapped. “I will not offend you with my offer again.”

He shrugged. “Why don’t you be a good girl and run off to your … my cabin. I have several good books that you might read.”

“A grand idea, Captain. Of course, being so delicate, I will ignore any literature that might prove too taxing. Perhaps I’ll find a sweet gothic romance? Surely that would not be too overwhelming for my inept female mind!” She turned on her heel and stalked off.

Smitty chuckled. “Rather bold-tongued, our Lady Alexandria is.”

“She is not our Lady Alexandria,” Drake growled. “She is a brazen little hellcat! Now let’s get to work!”

Smitty trailed behind Drake, grinning broadly.

Alex fumed quietly on deck for a short while. But as her anger subsided, her boredom resurfaced. She had no intention of spending weeks in a dark cabin with only a book for company. She would simply find a way to be useful.

Drake was distinctly uneasy. The sun had slowly worked its way to the west and, having done its job, was gradually setting over the horizon. The day had been uneventful, the waters calm, the weather cooperative. It was a captain’s dream—except for one thing: he had seen neither hide nor hair of Alexandria since she stormed off eight hours ago. In Drake’s opinion, that could only mean trouble.

He sat down to his midday meal, served late. Thus far he had been too involved in maneuvering the ship to eat. And now that he found himself in his spacious cabin, utterly famished, studying what resembled a plate of wet meat, he had but one question.

“What the hell is this?”

Smitty looked up from his mug of rum, startled. “Why, I believe it is stew, Captain.”

“Stew? Since when does Cook serve stew? I want to see him immediately!”

Moments later an ebullient, rotund Louis was ushered into the captain’s cabin. “You wish t’ see me, Cap’n?”

“I most assuredly do.” Drake lifted a forkful of meat, sloshing the surrounding juices over the side of his plate. “What is the explanation for this?”

The cook beamed. “Ye noticed me stew! I’m so pleased, Cap’n! The ‘hole crew has complimented me on it. Although, t’ be sure, ’tweren’t my idea but Lady Alexandria’s. This way I was able t’ use only ’alf the usual amount of meat and still serve the entire ship, with some left over for second ’elpings.” He looked chagrined. “O’course, since most of the crew wanted second ’elpings, I ’aven’t enough t’ offer ye more. ’Ad I known that ye would enjoy it as much as t’ others—”

“I hate stew.” Drake interrupted the stunned cook, his anger intensifying at the mention of Alexandria’s involvement. “And in the future make no changes in the menu without consulting me first.”

“Yes, Cap’n.” Poor Louis sheepishly inched his way toward the doorway.