a second pair of high calfskin boots.
The small square mirror attached to the inside panel
of the door gave Summer a shock. Aside from the smudges beneath her eyes caused
by the fear and worry, there was an enormous ugly bruise down one side of her
jaw. There was a scrape in the centre of it where something had struck or where
she had rolled up against something rough in the fall from the Sea Vixen. It distorted the lower half of
her jaw, seeming to pull the skin taut over her cheekbones. Her lips were dry
and cracked, her hair more of a rat's nest than a thing of beauty.
For one irrational moment she was thankful it had not
been the Caledonia that
had found them. She was thankful Bennett did not have to see her like this.
Tears glistened in her eyes, welled over her lashes,
and streamed down her cheeks to her chin. She had always been pampered and
treated like a rare and exquisite china doll. Her every whim had been catered
to; she had never been without servants, never had to lift a finger to do
anything menial. She had been the toast of London society. She had been to
court three
times! She
had flirted with and won the hearts of some of the wealthiest, most influential
men in England! Why on earth had she ever left! Why!
Now she was a prisoner on board a smuggler's ship. She
was held captive by a man who had used her carelessly and would no doubt brag
of his accomplishment from here to whatever pirate's port they were bound.
"Damn you, Morgan Wade," she hissed.
"Damn you for what you have done!"
Feeling better for the profanity, she turned from the
mirror and dashed away the wetness on her cheeks. She was convinced now more
than ever that Morgan Wade must not discover her true identity. Rumors concerning
a despoiled governess would hardly cause a stir of interest. Stories and gossip
about Sir Lionel Cambridge's daughter would rock the family to its foundations,
not to mention the harm it might do to her relationship with Bennett Winfield.
He would have to know, of course, and then he would be bound by honor to avenge
her. The thought of what form that vengeance would take raised Summer's spirits
and brought back the anger she needed to see her through.
She snatched one of the folded cambric shirts from the
shelf and shook out its creases. It was huge and floated almost to her knees.
The shoulders were midway to her elbows, and the sleeves hung a foot or more
below her hands. The neckline was fastened by a crisscross lacing which ran up
the front of the shirt, but even though she tugged the thongs as tight as she
could, there were still gaps of flesh showing from her collarbone to her waist.
Chewing her lip thoughtfully, Summer took the straight razor she found among
Wade's toiletries and solved the problem of the sleeves with two swift slashes.
A third shortened the length of the hem and provided her with a belt to cinch
the waist. Trousers were next, and she performed the same surgery on a pair
until they suited her purpose.
Looking somewhat more decent, Summer took a further
liberty and used the privateer's silver-backed brush on her hair until it was
free of tangles and hung in a straight wet mass down her back. There were no
pins or combs of any kind to keep it from scattering around her shoulders, but
she salvaged a length of red silk ribbon from the torn smock and caught the
hair together at the nape of her neck. That done, she resolutely unlocked the
cabin door, walked the length of the gloomy companionway, and climbed the brief
flight of wooden steps to the sunlit main deck.
Her heart suffered a momentary lapse in function when
the first thing she saw was a row of black, dully gleaming cannon. They were
spaced evenly along both sides of the ship, crouching behind closed gunports
like silent lions.
She firmly pushed them out of her mind as she stepped
clear of the hatch and examined the rest of the ship. Above and behind her was
the quarterdeck; directly ahead were the forecastle and bridge. Three
The small square mirror attached to the inside panel
of the door gave Summer a shock. Aside from the smudges beneath her eyes caused
by the fear and worry, there was an enormous ugly bruise down one side of her
jaw. There was a scrape in the centre of it where something had struck or where
she had rolled up against something rough in the fall from the Sea Vixen. It distorted the lower half of
her jaw, seeming to pull the skin taut over her cheekbones. Her lips were dry
and cracked, her hair more of a rat's nest than a thing of beauty.
For one irrational moment she was thankful it had not
been the Caledonia that
had found them. She was thankful Bennett did not have to see her like this.
Tears glistened in her eyes, welled over her lashes,
and streamed down her cheeks to her chin. She had always been pampered and
treated like a rare and exquisite china doll. Her every whim had been catered
to; she had never been without servants, never had to lift a finger to do
anything menial. She had been the toast of London society. She had been to
court three
times! She
had flirted with and won the hearts of some of the wealthiest, most influential
men in England! Why on earth had she ever left! Why!
Now she was a prisoner on board a smuggler's ship. She
was held captive by a man who had used her carelessly and would no doubt brag
of his accomplishment from here to whatever pirate's port they were bound.
"Damn you, Morgan Wade," she hissed.
"Damn you for what you have done!"
Feeling better for the profanity, she turned from the
mirror and dashed away the wetness on her cheeks. She was convinced now more
than ever that Morgan Wade must not discover her true identity. Rumors concerning
a despoiled governess would hardly cause a stir of interest. Stories and gossip
about Sir Lionel Cambridge's daughter would rock the family to its foundations,
not to mention the harm it might do to her relationship with Bennett Winfield.
He would have to know, of course, and then he would be bound by honor to avenge
her. The thought of what form that vengeance would take raised Summer's spirits
and brought back the anger she needed to see her through.
She snatched one of the folded cambric shirts from the
shelf and shook out its creases. It was huge and floated almost to her knees.
The shoulders were midway to her elbows, and the sleeves hung a foot or more
below her hands. The neckline was fastened by a crisscross lacing which ran up
the front of the shirt, but even though she tugged the thongs as tight as she
could, there were still gaps of flesh showing from her collarbone to her waist.
Chewing her lip thoughtfully, Summer took the straight razor she found among
Wade's toiletries and solved the problem of the sleeves with two swift slashes.
A third shortened the length of the hem and provided her with a belt to cinch
the waist. Trousers were next, and she performed the same surgery on a pair
until they suited her purpose.
Looking somewhat more decent, Summer took a further
liberty and used the privateer's silver-backed brush on her hair until it was
free of tangles and hung in a straight wet mass down her back. There were no
pins or combs of any kind to keep it from scattering around her shoulders, but
she salvaged a length of red silk ribbon from the torn smock and caught the
hair together at the nape of her neck. That done, she resolutely unlocked the
cabin door, walked the length of the gloomy companionway, and climbed the brief
flight of wooden steps to the sunlit main deck.
Her heart suffered a momentary lapse in function when
the first thing she saw was a row of black, dully gleaming cannon. They were
spaced evenly along both sides of the ship, crouching behind closed gunports
like silent lions.
She firmly pushed them out of her mind as she stepped
clear of the hatch and examined the rest of the ship. Above and behind her was
the quarterdeck; directly ahead were the forecastle and bridge. Three
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