Blue Velvet

Three

The master cabin was surprisingly large and luxurious for a sailing vessel. The bunk against the far wall was oversized and covered with a denim spread in a cheerful melon color that contrasted with the rich oak of the walls and the brown and beige tweed of the carpet. The built-in bookcase was enclosed with doors that were carved with a fretted openwork design that gave the modern room a pleasing touch of Mediterranean opulence.

"This is very nice," Kate said, her gaze lingering on the bookcase. "I can see what you mean by being comfortable." All those lovely books. The doors offered tempting glimpses of everything from leather-bound weighty-looking tomes to bright slick jacketed novels. What wouldn't she give for a week with that bookcase.

Then with a little sense of shock she realized she might very well have that week. That was why she was in this cabin. To make herself available to Beau Lantry in that bunk she'd been admiring so impersonally. Tonight. He'd said he wanted to consummate their bargain as soon as possible and brought her to his cabin for that purpose. Why wasn't she more nervous at the thought of that consummation with this total stranger? The only thing she seemed capable of feeling was this chilling weariness and lethargy that seemed to be seeping into every bone.

"I'm glad you like it," Beau said crisply. With his hand beneath her elbow, he steered her across the room toward the bed. "Since you'll be spending a good deal of time here in the future. Sit down." He gave her a nudge that reinforced the invitation that was more of a command and she found herself sitting on the edge of the bunk and gazing up at him wearily. His hands were on the buttons of her chambray shirt and he had three of them unbuttoned before she fully realized what he was doing. So soon? Evidently he was too impatient to wait any longer for his payment.

She looked up into his intent face bent close to her own. She didn't try to interfere with his deft disrobing of her. He was perfectly entitled to claim his rights to her body at any time he chose, she thought tiredly. She just wished he'd given her a chance to rest a little first. "If you don't mind, I'd like to take a shower before we do it," she said quietly. "It's been quite an evening in a number of ways."

His eyes flew up to meet her eyes and she saw a flicker of surprise in their depths. "Do 'it'?" There was a thread of barely repressed anger in his voice. "What the hell kind of men have you been sleeping with, for Lord's sake? Do they all jump your bones when you're so tired and hurt you're practically ready to pass out?"

She looked down at her half-opened shirt in confusion. "But then why-"

"I'm going to get you cleaned up and into bed," he interrupted harshly. "And not to 'do it,' blast it! But first I want to take a look at your head. That bastard clipped you pretty damn hard in spite of what you said. I wanted to examine it back at the warehouse, but I didn't think you'd let me without putting up a fight and that would have been worse for you than the walk back to the ship."

"There's nothing wrong with me. I told you…"

He finished unbuttoning the blue shirt and pushed it off her shoulders, his hand reaching around to unfasten her plain white bra with experienced skill. "Bull. I was a professional athlete too long not to recognize the signs. You were carrying yourself all the way back here as though you'd break apart at any minute."

"You were an athlete?" she repeated, surprised. "No wonder you looked so coordinated when you dove through that window."

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I wasn't a circus acrobat as you thought," he said wryly. "I was a featured skater in an ice revue for a while and then a coach for an Olympic contender the next six years."

"And what do you do now?"

"At the moment I appear to be acting as a combination lady's maid and ship's doctor," he said crisply as he lowered the bra straps over her arms. "But usually I'm a glorified bum. The glory resulting when you're properly endowed with filthy lucre."

"I see."

"Do you?" He glanced up, his eyes narrowed on her face. "No recriminations for being a worthless playboy, no attempts at reformation of my wicked dissolute ways?"

"I don't have any right to do that," she said gravely. "And you don't seem all that dissolute."

"Perhaps not in comparison with some of your companions," he agreed grimly. He pulled the bra away from her breasts and then froze. He inhaled sharply. "Liane was wrong. You're not thin at all." He reached out and touched one breast with a hesitant, gentle finger. "You're full and beautifully, perfectly round." His eyes darkened to a smoky hazel. "And so silky." His finger traced a circle about the dark pink nipple. "Golden silk. Lord, I've never seen such skin, warm and soft and silky as a small child's. The first time I saw you in the bar I wondered if you'd feel like this."

"Well, now you know," she said shakily. She felt as if that lazy finger were scorching and searing as it moved and suddenly she forgot about the weariness and throbbing ache in her temple. She moistened her lips. "Have you changed your mind?"

"No," he said thickly. "My mind is still as resolute as ever, it's my body that's undergoing all the changes. Are you this tan all over?"

She nodded. "I like the sun. There's a little pool in the rain forest where we keep the Cessna that I sunbathe next to sometimes."

His finger touched the perky pink tip. "Nude?" he asked huskily.

"Yes." She could barely get the word out. "There's never anyone around." Her throat was dry and tight and she was sure he could hear the beating of her heart caused by his gossamer light touch. She hadn't realized before how sensitive her body could be, how a tentative caress could send hot signals to her entire body. She didn't have to look down to realize that her nipple was budding and her breast flowering for him. She could see it in the darkening of Beau's eyes. Strange, she felt as if all their responses were now curiously linked.

"I'm going to watch you do that someday," he said, his voice as velvet soft as his finger. "I'm going to sit and watch the sun pour down on you like golden rain, caressing you and making you glow." His thumb and index finger pinched gently and she felt an aching incompletion in her loins. "And then I'm going to come to you and make you glow for me. I want to feel you open and flower and tremble." She could see the wild cadence of the pulse beat in his temple. "I want to know that everything I do to you will make you shine and melt and flow." He drew a deep shuddering breath and shook his head as if to clear it. "I must be going crazy. For a minute I could actually see you lying there waiting for me to come to you." His hand dropped away and he stepped backward. "Come on, we'd better get you in the shower or I'm going to forget you're not fair game." He pulled her to her feet. "Get out of the rest of those clothes while I find something for you to put on." He strode to the built-in closet and slid back the door. "Tomorrow you'll have to make do with a pair of my shorts and a T-shirt while your own things are being laundered. Do you often have to make a run for it with only the clothes on your back?"

"No, this is the first time." She kicked off her tennis shoes and pulled off her jeans, her gaze fixed on his back as he riffled through the closet. "Actually, we don't move all that often. Jeffrey sets up operations and lets his clients come to him. We've been on Castellano for about four years."

"You make him sound like a corporate attorney," Beau drawled. "But from what I hear about Castellano, it must have been ideally suited to your friend's occupation." He pulled out an ice-blue satin negligee trimmed in fine Valenciennes lace. "I thought I remembered seeing this in there," he said, looking at it critically. "Barbara must have forgotten it when she left the ship at Barbados. The blue should be good with your eyes. Do you object to wearing another woman's clothes?"

Barbara? How many of his mistresses had occupied this cabin and why did the thought of those women hurt so much? "No, I don't mind," she said softly. "I'd be awfully ungrateful to be that petty, wouldn't I?"

"I'm glad you're so sensible. I know quite a few women who'd…" He glanced back over his shoulder and the words died away. She was totally naked and standing there gazing at him with clear unflinching honesty. No coyness, just the quiet serene acceptance that had so moved him before. There were dark circles beneath her eyes and weariness in the slight droop of her shoulders, but it didn't affect the valiant sturdiness of her stance. He must be getting old, he thought cynically, he'd never before looked at a lovely naked woman and only noticed how courageous she was. And she was lovely. Those beautiful full breasts flowed into the supple slenderness of her waist and hips and her long legs were strong and shapely. Her entire body was strong and graceful yet there was a fragility about her bone structure that gave her an air of intense vulnerability. Strength and vulnerability. The ambivalent physical mixture was echoed in her personality and he was finding it a very explosive combination, indeed. He glanced at the negligee in his hand and felt a sudden violent distaste he refused to examine too closely. He impulsively hung the robe back in the closet and pulled a white terry-cloth one of his own off its hanger.

"This will be more comfortable," he said tersely, sliding the closet door closed and tossing the robe on the bunk. "Come on." He opened the door to the adjacent bathroom and stepped into its brown and beige ceramic confines. He adjusted the water in the frosted shower stall to a warm soothing flow and stepped aside with a mockingly gallant gesture. "Mademoiselle. I'll join you in a moment as soon as I get out of these clothes." The frosted shower door closed between them.

She was glad the sudden hotness of her cheeks could be attributed to the steam that was rising from the water. It had been intimidating enough having him look at her for those long moments with that curiously enigmatic expression, but she hadn't imagined he'd be stripping and stepping into the tiny shower cubicle with her. There was scarcely room for one, much less two, beneath the spray. She drew a deep steadying breath and squared her chin. What earthly difference did it make? Now or later both minor and major intimacies would come at Beau Lantry's discretion. She'd better be prepared to accept that fact.

"Move a little forward, Kate." The frosted glass door was open and she instinctively obliged as Beau stepped into the shower and closed the door behind him. She could feel the warmth of his chest touching her back as he leaned forward to pick up the soap from the holder. "Let me get a little of this stench off of me and then I'll take care of you. Tossing garbage cans around and playing with gasoline and trash piles sure tests a man's deodorant." She could feel him moving behind her, occasionally touching her as he soaped his chest and torso, but she kept her gaze fixed rigidly on the ceramic wall in front of her. "Are you feeling all right? No dizziness or nausea?"

"No, I told you I was fine," she said quickly. Except for the way her heart was pounding as if it wanted to jump out of her breast. Except for her skin that was becoming so sensitive to the casual brush of his that it seemed to ache and burn with every touch. "He didn't hurt me."

"The hell he didn't." His hands were at her waist as he shifted her a little to the side so that the full spray of water would hit him and rinse off the film of soap. "I should have cremated the bastard."

"You almost did," she said breathlessly. His hands hadn't lingered on her waist for more than an instant, yet she still felt them there. "For a second I was almost more afraid of you than I was of them."

"Afraid?" She could feel his gaze on her but her own remained riveted straight ahead. "You didn't give the impression of being frightened. If I recall, you wanted to bust in there and take them both on by yourself."

"That doesn't mean I wasn't afraid," she said simply. "It was just something that had to be done. You always have to do what has to be done even if you're not very brave. You simply block out everything and get it over with."

"Do you?" There was an odd note of tenderness in his voice. "Then, of course, I was mistaken. No red badge of courage for you."

"That was a wonderful book, wasn't it?" she asked eagerly, her face lighting up. "I found an English copy in a used bookstore in Maracaibo a few years ago. I can usually only find Spanish or Portuguese translations and I always think it's much nicer to read a book in the original, don't you?"

"Oh, indubitably," he drawled. "How many languages do you read?"

"Spanish and Portuguese," she answered. "I speak a little French, but I can't read or write it."

"What a shame," he said mildly. "Turn around here and let me take a look at that head." His hands were on her shoulders. "So you're a Stephen Crane fan. Who else do you like?"

"Everyone," she said with a dreamy smile as she obediently turned to face him. "Shakespeare, Samuel Clemens, Walter Scott." His hands were parting the short wet strands that were clinging seal like around her face. "I particularly like Shakespeare. There's so much music in his words."

"You have something against the twentieth century?" He was probing gently at the swelling, his expression carefully impersonal.

"No, it's just easier to get hold of the classics in a foreign country."

"This doesn't seem too bad," he said, relieved. "No headache?" His hands fell to her nape and began a gentle kneading massage of the tense muscles of her neck and shoulders.

"No." She found to her surprise that she was speaking the truth. The painful throbbing had all but disappeared and the combination of the soothing spray and those magical fingers were melting every muscle in her body into a state resembling warm butter. Unconsciously she nestled closer, laying her head on his chest like a contented child. "It's all gone."

"Good." She felt his lips brush her forehead. "Which Shakespearean play do you like best?"

"Romeo and Juliet. I know it's not considered his most cerebral, but there's something about it that touches me every time. And the words Her arms linked absently about his waist. "They're like sunlight, all clear and shining and beautiful."

"Golden rain?" he suggested. His thumb had found the cords of tension in the center of her nape with delicious accuracy.

"Um-hmm." She nodded, conscious of the damp thatch of hair beneath her cheek and the scent of soap and musk that surrounded him. "I never thought of it quite like that, but it's a lovely way to describe it. A golden rain of words." She moved a little closer. "I love the way-" She broke off as she felt the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against her stomach. Her eyes widened in shock as they flew down his body.

He chuckled. "What did you expect? Those pretty nipples have been poking into me, and I've been dying to cuddle that pert little derriere since the instant I stepped in here. I'm not an iron man, you know."

She started to back away. "I'm s-sorry," she stammered in confusion. "I didn't mean-"

"Hush," he said softly. His hands on her nape tightened as he tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "I'm not an iron man but I'm not a boy either. Of course I want you, but I'm not going to throw you down on the floor and rape you. I can handle it." He case a mischievous glance down at himself and his eyes were suddenly dancing. "As long as you promise you won't!"

A little smile tugged at her lips. The man was really outrageous. "Ill try to restrain myself."

She was standing here naked as the day she was born actually joking with this impossibly attractive man, she thought in bewilderment. What was even more unusual was that after that first moment of excruciating shyness, she'd felt perfectly natural and relaxed about it. He was such a strange man. Tenderness and violence, mischief and cynicism, virile lust and almost maternal gentleness. Yet she felt as comfortable with him in this moment as if she'd known him for years.

"I trust you," he said airily, as he reached for the knob and turned off the water. "You've demonstrated an amazing amount of strength of will in other areas. But I still think I'd better get you out of here and away from temptation." He whisked her out of the shower stall and wrapped her carefully in a towel before turning away. "Run along into the cabin while I dry off. You'll find a hair dryer in the top drawer of the dresser and an electric outlet on the wall by the bunk." He patted her bottom through the terry cloth of the towel. "Be sure to put on that robe right away. The air conditioning in the cabin is turned up fairly high to combat the humidity."

"I'll do that," she said bemusedly as she opened the bathroom door. His streak of possessive protectiveness was constantly catching her off guard and filling her with strange warmth. She was the one who'd always nurtured and protected. It felt very odd being on the receiving end after all these years. Odd… and rather nice.

She was sitting on the bunk, bundled up in the white terry robe and just finishing blow-drying her hair when he padded out of the bathroom. A towel was slung carelessly about his hips, but he was otherwise nude. His hair was still damp but he'd combed it into its former slightly rakish orderliness. Without clothes he looked like the athlete he claimed to be, she thought absently. There wasn't an inch of fat on that lean muscular torso and his legs and arms had a supple whipcord strength that was both symmetrical and graceful. He must have been beautiful when he was skating, she thought dreamily. She would have liked to have seen him then, "Why did you quit skating?" she asked impulsively.

"I was through with it," he said as he crossed the cabin to stand in front of her. He reached out a hand as if to test the dampness of her hair, but paused to play with a curl, unwinding it and then allowing it to spring back into its former ringlet. "It was fun for a while but I've never been known for my stability. There's no use sticking around once something has lost its zing."

She felt a sudden inexplicable jab of pain somewhere near her heart. No, Beau Lantry would never be interested in permanence or stability. Even on such short acquaintance she should have known that. It was all there in the reckless curve of that beautiful sensual mouth and the flickering restlessness in his eyes.

"I like your hair," he said. "It's all soft silky fleece. You're silky all over, your skin, your hair…" His hand dropped and he turned away. "You're dry enough. Climb into bed and I'll turn out the light."

She switched off the portable dryer and put it in his outstretched hand. "On which side do you prefer that I sleep, left or right?" she asked politely.

His lips quirked. "Under," he answered, "or over." Then as her brow knitted in confusion, his golden eyes twinkled. "Never mind. It was just a thought. Sleep next to the wall. It will give me the illusion that I have you trapped and helpless."

"You do have me trapped and helpless," she murmured as she pulled back the coverlet and slipped beneath it. "It's no illusion."

His smile faded. "That's right, I do." He strode across the room and tossed the dryer carelessly on the dresser. "How stupid of me to forget." His hand brushed the switch on the wall, plunging the room into darkness.

She watched his dark shadow come toward the bunk, pausing only to jerk the towel from around his hips. She felt the mattress give as he slipped into the bed beside her and she drew a deep breath trying to relax.

"Come here, Kate." He was scooting closer and drawing her into his arms with casual matter-of-factness. "I want to cuddle you." His hands were moving soothingly up and down her back. "You're stiff as a board, sugar." That faint Southern drawl was dark velvet as he pressed his face into the curls at her temple. "Just a cuddle, that's all. Relax and let me love you a little." His lips were teasing, pulling at one tight curl. "I love your hair. I keep wanting to run my hands through it and play like a little kid. What's it like when it's long?"

"Terrible," she said faintly. She could feel the heat of his naked flesh even through the thick terry of the robe. "It's so soft that it tangles at the first breeze. That's why I keep it short."

"Ummm." He rubbed his cheek back and forth against it in a gesture that was half sensual, half boyish. "I think I'd like it long. You'd look sort of wild and gypsyish," he said. "Though this is fine too."

"I'm glad you think so," she said dryly, "since I have no intention of letting it grow."

"We'll see," he said absently. His hands were plucking discontentedly at the back of the terry robe. "This thing is damnably rough. I want to get at you." Then he sighed and drew her closer into the curve of his arm, settling her head in the hollow of his shoulder. "You're tired, right? And if I'm not going to be on the same level as that bastard who tried to clobber you, I've got to remember, right? Go to sleep, Kate."

"If you'd rather-"

" 'Do if?" he interrupted. "Oh, yes, I definitely would. But every now and then I find myself overcome by the code of chivalrous Southern manhood." His tone was distinctly testy. "At the most fiendishly inconvenient times."

"I owe you a-"

"Kate, sweet Kate, shut up." His hand was combing through her curls. "I'm quite aware you're ready to lay that silky body on the line and it isn't making it any easier for me."

"Okay," she whispered. The events of the evening, together with the emotional upheavals she'd undergone, were catching up with her and she almost collapsed against him. Her voice was a little slurred with exhaustion. "If it's all right with you?"

"It will have to be."

Suddenly out of the mists of sleep rapidly enfolding her a fragmentary memory drifted to her. "Who is Uncle George?"

"What?"

"Uncle George," she murmured. "You said Despard reminded you of Uncle George."

"Oh, no one important. Just one of my more avaricious relatives. I hadn't thought of the old bastard for years before I ran into Despard." There was a long silence and she was half asleep when Beau began to chuckle. "Lord, if only Daniel could see me now."

"Daniel?" she asked drowsily.

"He'd never believe it." There was amusement vying with the exasperation in his tone. "Discussing Shakespeare and Samuel Clemens with a naked woman in the shower and then lying in bed pure as the driven snow with that same woman. He'd enjoy the entire episode tremendously."

"Would he?" She could barely keep her eyes open. "You're very good friends, aren't you?"

"We've been in a few tight spots together. It has a tendency to breed a certain intimacy."

"He's such a strange-looking man. Not at all like any picture I've ever seen of Charon."

"Charon?"

"The ferryman," she muttered, burrowing her head deeper into his shoulder. "Over the River Styx."

"Oh, that Charon." Beau's velvet drawl hinted at repressed laughter. "Forgive me for not making the connection. I can see how the territorial waters of Castellano would remind you of the river of the dead under the present circumstances, but I'm afraid Daniel wouldn't be flattered to be compared to that particular mythical figure." One lazy finger was winding itself around a silky curl. "He was a ferocious old graybeard as I recall."

"Well, the beard was right anyway." Her eyes refused to stay open any longer.

"You seem to be really hung up on mythology. Did you study it in school?"

She shook her head. "I never went to school, '^she said sleepily. "I read about it in my encyclopedia."

His voice was deceptively casual. "You never went to school?"

"Well, at least not after I was seven years old. We moved around too much." She wished he'd quit asking questions. She just wanted to go to sleep. "But Jeffrey said it didn't really matter. When I was eight, he bought me a set of encyclopedias and had me study fifteen pages a day until I'd gone through all of them. He said that was as good as any stuffy old school."

"Oh, he did?" The amusement was completely gone and he sounded almost grim. "Your Jeffrey seems to have all sorts of peculiar theories about what's good for you." It wasn't any wonder, he thought, that she wasn't like anyone he'd ever met before. "Do you always do what he tells you?"

But she was already asleep, her breathing deep and steady as she curled trustfully into the curve of his arm.

A set of encyclopedias, for heaven's sake! Mythology and the classics and millions of facts without interpretation. And a young girl with an insatiable hunger for the printed word, eagerly devouring those facts and reaching for more. Then another thought occurred to him. Women's lib. She hadn't known about women's lib.

He found himself shaking her awake. "Those encylopedias, Kate. What year were they published?"

"What?" she asked groggily.

"The year they were published," he demanded.

"Oh, that," she muttered, "1960." Then she was once more asleep.

He slowly settled back down on the pillow, his eyes staring blankly into the darkness. "Well, I'll be damned!"

Jeffrey Brenden was leaning on the rail of the ship, his curly gray-streaked hair ruffled by the brisk morning breeze. In the oversized jeans and gray sweatshirt he'd obviously borrowed from a member of the crew his slight wiry frame appeared even more slender than it had last night. However, his brown eyes were shrewd and alert as he glanced up as Beau approached.

"Ah, my generous host, I assume." He stretched out his hand, his grin warm and genial. "Julio tells me I have a great deal to thank you for." He made a face. "I'm afraid I don't remember. It seems I was more than a little sloshed last night."

"More than a little," Beau agreed dryly. He glanced around the empty deck. "Where's your friend Rodriguez?"

"He and the captain are having breakfast with the crew." Brenden's lips twisted ruefully. "I wasn't up to even staring a cup of coffee in the face this morning." His eyes traveled wistfully over the tall masts. "This is a beautiful ship, Mr. Lantry. I've always wanted to own a sailing ship."

"Why didn't you buy one?" Beau asked caustically. "According to Kate, it would have fit your image a hell of a lot better than a plane. She says you're something of a modern Sir Francis Drake."

"I'm a smuggler," Brenden said simply. "Kate always lets me justify it with that romantic nonsense, but I know what I am." He smiled a little sadly. "Lately it's been difficult to ignore. Despard's been rubbing my nose in it."

"And Kate's," Beau said deliberately. "Do you think it's fair to involve her in your illicit enterprises?"

"Kate's never been involved," Brenden said defensively. "I've always kept her out of it."

"You might have difficulty in convincing the authorities of that. She could be considered an accomplice, you know." His lips tightened. "And it's obvious you'd have trouble keeping her from involving herself, if last night is anything to go by."

There was a touch of fond pride mixed with ruefulness in Brenden's smile. "You're right. She's a determined little monkey when she makes up her mind to do something. She always plunges headlong into the fray and to hell with the consequences." His eyes were full of memories. "I remember even when she was a child, she was like a little mother. She used to tell me, 'Don't worry, Jeffrey, it will all work out. I'll make it work.' " He turned around, leaning his elbows on the rail. "And do you know something? Most of the time she'd actually do it."

"You've known each other a long time," Beau observed. "She said you were friends. How did you get together?"

"Her mother was an American showgirl in a nightclub in Rio de Janeiro." He shrugged. "We lived together for a year or so. Then Sally decided to move on to greener pastures. She just packed up and left one day while I was in Santiago." He paused. "She left Kate behind."

"Charming," Beau grated through clenched teeth. He felt the same surge of savagery he'd known last night when he'd seen that bastard hit Kate with the pistol. "She just forgot about her, I suppose. Like an old pair of shoes."

"Sally wasn't all that bad," Brenden said quietly. "She just wasn't the maternal type. She didn't know how to cope with a seven-year-old." He grimaced. "Neither did I."

"So you didn't bother," Beau said grimly. "You just dragged her along with you over half the Southern Hemisphere into every dive and hellhole."

"Would you rather I'd left her on her own in a foreign country?" Brenden asked. "At least she had a roof over her head." He met Beau's eyes steadily. "I never tried to be a father to her, but I did the best I could. We got along."

"For God's sake, you didn't even send her to school!"

"There were reasons." Brenden looked away evasively. "Kate's sharp as a whip. She probably knows more than any of those fancy college graduates."

"I don't doubt it as long as the subject matter is pre-1960," Beau bit out. "But what about everything that's happened in her own lifetime? The space age, the Vietnam war, women's lib, Kennedy's assassination?"

"She picked up a lot of that on her own," Brenden said defensively. "And the rest isn't all that important for her to know."

"Did you tell her she didn't miss much there either?" Beau laughed incredulously. "I bet you did. And what's worse, she probably believed you."

"I did the best I could," the older man repeated stubbornly. His expression turned sulky. "And why the hell is it any of your business anyway? You did us a favor but that doesn't make you Kate's keeper."

"She obviously needs one," Beau said curtly. "You haven't even asked where Kate is, or don't you really give a damn?"

Brenden went still. "I give a damn." His eyes narrowed on Beau's face. "Where is Kate?"

"When I left her, she was curled up asleep." Beau paused deliberately. "In my bed."

There was a flicker on Brenden's face that might have been pain and then it became totally impassive. "I see."

"Is that all you've got to say?" Beau could feel the fury blazing up in him and made a futile effort to control it. "Is it such a common occurrence that you don't even raise an eyebrow? Aren't you even going to ask if I enjoyed her?"

"No, I'm not going to ask you that," Brenden said heavily, turning back to stare out to sea. "That's between the two of you. It's none of my business."

"Funny, I thought it was very much your business. Kate was willing to throw herself into my bed to bail the three of you out of the mess you'd gotten yourselves into. Evidently that kind of commitment only goes one way."

Brenden was silent, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Beau drew a deep breath. "I don't know what the devil I'm getting so hot about. If her so-called friends don't care that she's willing to make a prostitute of herself, why should I?" But he did care and the fact that it did matter made him even angrier.

Brenden's glare was glacier cold. "Kate's not a prostitute. Before you throw that first stone, you might consider you were willing enough to take advantage of her generosity yourself and no doubt will again at the next opportunity. Julio's been having a chat with the crew and what he heard about your way with women doesn't make you sound like an angel."

"I never claimed to be a celibate," Beau said, his eyes smoldering. "But I'm no pimp either."

"And neither am I," Brenden snapped back, obviously stung. "If I'd been myself I would never have let her do it."

"But you're not rushing down to my cabin to pull her out of my lecherous clutches," Beau said sarcastically. "You seem amazingly complacent about the whole business."

"Not complacent," Brenden said, his voice heavy with weariness. "But for once in my life I'm trying to be practical. What's done is done. It's up to Kate if she wants to stay where she is. If she doesn't, I'll find a way to help her."

"It's not likely she'd make that choice, once she'd made a bargain," Beau said with a sardonic smile. "Even I know her well enough to know that and you sure as hell should."

"Yes, I know that." Brenden's eyes met his. "And perhaps it's just as well in the long run."

"For you?"

Brenden shook his head. "For her." He smiled sadly. "You've just taken pains to tell me what a lousy protector I've been. Maybe it's time I let somebody else have a shot at it."

"You're absolutely astonishing," Beau said blankly. "You've never seen me before in your life, yet you're willing to trust Kate to me. What's to prevent me from using her any way I please and then kicking her off the ship at the next port?"

"Nothing," Brenden said. "Except for the fact that since the minute you saw me, you've been reading me the riot act for treating her so badly. It doesn't seem likely you'd do that and then go off and do the same thing yourself." He shrugged. "And when you get tired of her, I think you’ll be generous. You're obviously a very rich man from what Julio gathered. You'll see she's secure until she is able to take care of herself."

"You're speaking as if I'm some Regency buck offering an obliging mistress carte blanche." Beau shook his head dazedly. "Kate was right. You're something from the eighteenth century."

"It takes one to know one." Brenden's brown eyes were narrowed and shrewd. "I think you may be something of a throwback yourself, Mr. Lantry. There aren't many men who wander around the Caribbean on a sailing ship entangling themselves in situations like the one at Alvarez's last night."

"Don't depend on it."

"I learned a long time ago not to depend on anything," Brenden said. "But I still find it difficult not to hope." He suddenly looked much older. "Particularly when it comes to Kate. She's always given so much to everyone. I'd like to think that there's justice somewhere in this god-awful world." His hands closed tightly on the rail. "She sure won't get it as long as she sticks with me. She could have gotten herself killed last night. Despard doesn't play around, he goes straight for the jugular."

Beau tried to hold on to his anger. Damn it, he would not be sorry for the appealing old reprobate. "I doubt if it's the first time. Why this sudden attack of conscience?"

"Maybe I'm getting too old to fool myself anymore, " Brenden said. "Time has a way of fraying our illusions around the edges." His lips twisted. "It has a habit of transforming dashing pirates into shabby petty criminals. Anyway, I've decided to opt out of the dreams game," he said gloomily. "I'm going to reform."

Beau's eyes narrowed suspiciously on the other man's face. "Reform?"

Brenden nodded. "There's a nice little widow who owns a coffee plantation on Santa Isabella, an island not too far from here. I've been keeping company with her off and on for the past five years." His mouth curved in a rueful grin. "She doesn't understand about pirates and smugglers either. A very practical lady, Marianna." His face softened. "But loving, very loving. I think I'll just have you drop me off at Santa Isabella and see if she's still interested in a more permanent relationship.'

"And what about your friend Julio?"

He shook his head. "He'd never leave Kate. He puts up with me, but Kate makes his world go around. It's been that way since she yanked him out of the guerrilla army four years ago in El Salvador."

"Guerrilla army?" Beau asked. "She said he was eighteen now. That would have made him only fourteen."

Brenden nodded. "The guerrillas raid the villages and round up all the able bodied males and 'draft' them into the army." His lips tightened grimly. "Some of them aren't over eleven or twelve years old. The other side is almost as bad. Julio was a big strapping kid even then, so he was a prime candidate. He'd been running errands and doing the shopping and cooking for us for about three months and Kate took a real liking to him. She was almost wild when she heard what happened to him."

"So she went after him." It was a statement, not a question. It was the kind of impulsive action Kate would inevitably take.

"We went after him," Brenden said. "And almost lost our scalps in the process. We ended up taking off in a hail of machine-gun bullets. Kate was afraid the civil authorities would try the same thing so she wouldn't even let us stay in the country. " He shook his head. "Pity. I had to scratch the caper I was putting together."

"How unfortunate," Beau said ironically. "I imagine revolution-torn countries are very conducive to your line of work."

"They are rather," Brenden agreed. "All that turmoil…" He trailed off and straightened briskly. "Well, I'd better hunt up Captain Seifert and ask him to set course for Santa Isabella. He says we're just outside Castellano territorial waters so it shouldn't take more than a few hours to reach there." He arched an eyebrow. "With your permission, of course."

Beau nodded curtly. "I said I'd take you wherever you wanted to go. It was part of the bargain."

Brenden flushed. "Ah, yes, the bargain. Well, at least you appear to be a man who keeps his promises." He started to walk away, then paused, his wistful gaze returning to the wild free beauty of the billowing sails. For a moment his expression once again revealed that he was full of the dreams he'd said he'd abandoned. "Did you know that John Hancock was rumored to be a smuggler, Mr. Lantry?"