Rourke had heard worse. From bribery to threats, he’d faced them all down and survived. After last night’s rescue, Cross couldn’t say a thing to upset Rourke. Elizabeth had returned. For four long years he’d waited. Now she was here on his ship.
He eyed the women, who were huddled together under blankets amidships, sipping the coffee he’d had sent up earlier. After depositing Elizabeth on board earlier that morning, he’d had no opportunity to converse further with her. Now her aunt and Anabelle effectively buttressed her from any masculine attention.
Their wet gowns could not be comfortable, but with the sun rising and in the fresh breeze, their clothing would soon dry. Elizabeth cradled the rude tin cup like a porcelain teacup. Even though she was soaked to the bone with salt-stiffened locks, he’d never seen a more perfect example of femininity. Her coral pink lips nestled like a shell beneath sky-blue eyes. Since she didn’t wear a bonnet or carry a parasol, the sun would soon grace her complexion with the freckles that he’d so teased her about when she was a girl. The memory brought a smile to his lips, but he also realized the discomfort the sun would bring.
He strode down the deck to stand before them. “I can rig a tarpaulin overhead to give you shade.”
Elizabeth’s eyes shimmered with what he hoped was gratitude.
Her aunt snapped, “A gentleman would give us a cabin.”
He instinctively glanced at the low quarterdeck, well aware that the only cabin—one he shared with John—would not meet the woman’s expectations. “As soon as another ship arrives, ma’am, you will board that vessel and sail for Key West.”
“And when will that be?” The woman somehow managed to look down her nose even though she sat well below him. “We are horribly indisposed sitting on this filthy, rotted wooden structure.”
“Hatch cover.”
The woman glared at him. “I don’t care what it’s called. No lady should be forced to endure such discomfort.”
As she railed on, Rourke watched Elizabeth, hoping for more than that single glance. She gave the cup to Anabelle and averted her gaze. How different she’d become! The Elizabeth he’d known ran about town hatless and barefoot. This one sat stiff-backed and silent. The modest mourning gown had been cut of the finest fabric. Her salt-stained skirts were carefully arranged to hide even the toes of her shoes. She had become a lady, too polite to complain. As soon as the sun blazed high, she would be overcome by heat.
“Rander,” he said to the nearest crewman, “fetch a tarpaulin to shield the ladies.”
Elizabeth lifted her gaze with gratitude, but the moment he smiled back, she again looked down at her folded hands.
“Well, that’s something,” her aunt sniffed. “This coffee is terrible. I don’t suppose it would be possible to get a decent tea service.”
“I will have the cook send tea and breakfast at once.”
This time Elizabeth mouthed her thanks. In her eyes he saw something else. Embarrassment? Worry? She was not as calm as her expression would lead one to believe.
Her aunt dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “That will be all.”
Rourke wasn’t used to receiving orders, but he had the sense to ignore the insult. Clearly Elizabeth’s aunt had taken it upon herself to guard her niece against men in general and him in particular. He stood no chance of speaking to Elizabeth unless he could get her away from the watchdogs.
Anabelle’s gaze met his. Fierce, proud, strong. She exemplified every one of those qualities, yet he could see a hint of concern beneath the careful exterior. Her gaze darted to the rail. John!
Rourke hurried over and scanned the heaving sea from stem to stern. No sign of John. He should have finished by now. What if he’d ventured into the hulk and got pinned? Rourke stripped off his coat, ready to plunge into the warm waters.
John knew better than to take such a risk. Rourke would wait a few more seconds.
He gripped the gunwale, muscles tensed.
Anabelle drifted to a position beyond reach but not hearing. “He wants to take the boat.”
“What?” But even as he asked, Rourke understood. John would be desperate to escape with his bride. Key West meant continued enslavement for Anabelle, but if John could get her to the British waters of his native Bahamas, she would be free.
Below them, John surfaced, drew a deep breath, and dove again.
Anabelle watched before turning to Rourke again. “All night they fret, and now they sleep.” She glanced toward Elizabeth and her aunt, both of whom had indeed drifted into slumber. “Tell him to wait. Now it is not possible.”
How bitterly John would take that news. All night, when the difficult escape might have been possible, Anabelle’s mistress had stayed awake. Rourke eyed Elizabeth at rest against a cushion of blankets. How peacefully she slept, as if without a care. Of course that couldn’t be true. She must mourn her mother’s death bitterly. Rourke knew the pain of losing a parent. A year later, it still hurt.
The doomed schooner’s master drew near. Upon spotting Anabelle, he sneered and strode away.