The Duke's Daughter -Wattys2014 Collector's Dream Award Winner-

Chapter Six

He watched her climb the stairs to the deck. Aye, she was the one. The Duke's daughter. He pulled the small oval canvas from his pocket and double checked her likeness. Aye, he had found her.

It had all seemed too easy. He had been hired on with this crew in the Caribbean, a short two days after receiving the missive. He had thought he would have to find her in the Americas, but as luck would have it, she had been delivered right into his hands.

He watched as the captain peered down at her from the crow's nest. The captain may be a problem. The man was besotted with the beauty, and may attempt a heroic rescue were he to make his move too quickly. No, he would not act until the captain was out of the picture. He would simply observe her in the meantime. It would make it much more enjoyable, once he actually had her, if he could learn her fears before then.

Harry George, the crewman in the bunk below him, had told him that they were to follow the Seahawk to port in New York, before meeting back up with the ship in James Town. His lordship might not be pleased with the delay, but it might just be safer to follow her after they reached the Americas, and grab her unawares then.

She was close now, about to pass within his reach. It took everything he had not to reach out and grab her now, but they were on a ship in the middle of the ocean. There was nowhere to hide her or get her away to. There was also nowhere she could go to get away from him either. He dropped his eyes as she passed, and breathed in the rose scent she wore, as it drifted on the breeze to his nose. Aye, he would bide his time. It was well worth the reward.

He watched her slip down the hallway to the mess hall. The guest's dinner was to be served before the crew's. That meant he only had an hour to finish scrubbing the deck. He had better get moving. It wouldn't do any good to bring attention his way.

*************************

Derek sat in the crow's nest, the British flag flapped above him, attached to the mast that rose through the bucket-like platform between his outstretched legs. The wind, the setting sun, his bottle of brandy and a fine Cuban cigar were his only companions. He was tired of berating himself when it came to the lovely lady passenger he couldn't keep his mind, or his hands, off of.

He felt like a cad. He had never taken advantage of an unconscious woman before, much less an unconscious lady. He had to get himself under control. The sea could do strange things to a man, that was for certain. Months without seeing a pretty face or a shapely waist, could turn a man into a rutting animal in a matter of moments, at the mere sight of an attractive female.

He would take the night, spend it with his bottle and his memories of the last thirty-six hours, and dismiss her from his thoughts. Hopefully he could let her poison run its course, so to speak, and then purge it from his blood.

It sure had a bloody firm hold after seeing such perfection through that soapy water.

********************

Arianna reached the mess hall and joined the other passengers at the centermost table. There were nine tables in the room, in rows of three. All of the tables were made up of stained oak and all were well oiled. The grain was beautiful, so unadorned, that it was raw and functional, masculine, and yet elegant and clean all at once. There were two sets of full swinging doors on the back wall of the room. Cabin boys were pushing through the doors from the kitchens, with three courses, all to be served at once.

The men at the table stood, as she approached, and a young man only a few years her senior, pulled back one of the remaining chairs at the table for her. Arianna smiled her thanks, and took the seat, allowing him to scoot her in to the table. The men followed her lead, and once they had resumed their seats, Arianna smiled at the group around her.