Page 21 of A Captain For Clarissa
“Captain,” a voice called, and Rafael turned to see the bosun at the end of the passageway, expression full of urgency. “The tide.”
“Very well.” Rafael nodded, before turning back to his guests. “I apologise, but the tide waits for no man, and we must have the Santa Dorotéia beyond the harbour walls before the tide turns.”
“Go,” Clarissa said with a warm smile, “we shall be quite well here. See to your ship.”
He made her a quick bow, barely even hearing the words of encouragement from the others, and made his way back up to the deck, a hive of activity with men rushing every which way, securing barrels and crates and preparing lines to cast off.
“Time to focus,” Rafael murmured to himself, trying to shake off the vivid image in his mind’s eye, of Clarissa’s warm smile and wide blue eyes. He needed to think of a different pair of eyes now, his sister Isabella’s, the same sea-green as his own,always laughing and bright with joy whenever he came home. He desperately hoped it would be the case this time.
“Cast off the lines,” he ordered, his deep voice cutting through the chaos on the deck. “You there… off, unless you’re bound for Portugal with us!” He switched to Italian to bark at one of the local stevedores who was still trying to argue with his quartermaster. The man scowled, but scurried off down the gangplank before it was pulled in.
For the next few minutes the air was filled with the shouts of men and creaking of timbers, the rattle of capstans turning and ropes and sails rustling. To an outsider the activity might look frenzied, but to Rafael’s satisfied eye the crew of the Santa Dorotéia were moving like a well-oiled machine, every man in his correct place, performing his assigned task with practised precision.
It didn’t take long at all to round the breakwater. Rafael spun the wheel, guiding the bow to the open sea while the bosun roared orders to hoist the mainsail. The sails caught the breeze and the Santa Dorotéia surged forward, cutting through the waves as she picked up speed.
“Hold on, Isabella,” Rafael whispered to the wind. “I’m coming.”
Chapter Nine
Clarissa’s fingers trailed alongthe polished mahogany of the writing desk. A silver bowl atop it held an assortment of fresh fruits. Even curtains had been hung to frame the small porthole, filtering the late afternoon sunlight and casting a warm glow over the cosy cabin. Every detail spoke of a host concerned with his guest’s comfort and pleasure.
She sank to sit on the goose-down stuffed mattress, a smile playing about her lips. The accommodations on Captain de Silva’s ship were a far cry from the dank cell those dreadful corsairs had kept her in. Leave it to Rafael to see to her every need, even amidst the chaos of their hasty departure from Italy. His gallantry knew no bounds.
A light rap at the door startled her from her musings. “Come in,” she called, smoothing the folds of her blue muslin gown.
The door swung open to reveal the handsome captain himself, looking dashing as ever in his crisp white shirt and black trousers. His cravat was slightly askew, no doubt from the work of their departure an hour hence; the Santa Doroteia had settled into a steady sway as she cut through the waves, bound for Rafael’s Portuguese home.
“Lady Clarissa.” He bowed. “I trust you are finding your quarters to your liking?”
“More than satisfactory, Captain.” She smiled up at him. “I daresay you’ve spoiled me quite thoroughly. However shall I readjust to life on land after such luxury?”
Rafael chuckled, his sea-green eyes twinkling. “It is my sincerest pleasure. After your harrowing ordeal, you deserve nothing but the best.”
He gestured to the fruit bowl. “Procured fresh this morning for your pleasure; the best Livorno has to offer.”
“How very thoughtful.” Clarissa selected a ripe red berry and bit into it, revelling in the burst of sweetness on her tongue. Juice stained her lips and she dabbed at them with a linen napkin. “You think of everything, Captain.”
“Nay, not everything.” A shadow flickered briefly across his handsome features, but he quickly schooled them into a neutral expression. “I shall leave you to your repose.”
With another slight bow, he turned on his heel and exited, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click.
Clarissa released a slow breath, a little irritated with herself. Every encounter with the dashing captain left her increasingly flustered, though she endeavoured not to show it. He was a perfect gentleman, attentive yet restrained.
But in unguarded moments, an unfathomable sadness seemed to grip him--no doubt worry for his sister Isabella, or perhaps the burdens of keeping his ancestral estate afloat. She longed to unravel the mysteries behind those captivating eyes.
Clarissa shook her head. It wouldn’t do to entertain such dangerous thoughts, even if the temptation was proving more difficult to resist with each passing day in his intoxicating presence. She was a lady, after all, and he a mere sea captain, despite his gallant manners. Any match between them would be most unsuitable...wouldn’t it?
Sighing, she selected a leather-bound volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets from the small pile of books that had been placed on the writing-desk and settled in to read, letting the Bard’s familiar words soothe her troubled mind as the ship pressed onward toward Portugal.
The salt-tinged breeze whipped tendrils of hair across Clarissa’s face as she emerged onto the sun-drenched deck of the Santa Dorotéia. Squinting against the glare, she spotted Captain Rafael near the helm, his tall form a striking silhouette against the azure sky.
As if sensing her presence, he turned, a warm smile gracing his chiseled features. “Lady Clarissa, a pleasure to see you this morning.” He executed a courtly half-bow. “I trust your quarters were comfortable enough for you to achieve a good night’s sleep?”
“More than adequate, thank you.” She dipped into a shallow curtsy. “Though I confess, I found myself yearning for a breath of fresh air.”
“But of course.” Rafael gestured at the bustling crew members scurrying about their duties. “You are welcome to take your ease on deck whenever you wish, with or without your aunt or her maid. I assure you, you shall be quite safe among my men; I have spoken with them.”
Clarissa inclined her head gratefully, though a small part of her bristled at the implication that she required protection. She was no delicate flower, to wilt at the first hint of adversity. Had she not endured captivity with admirable fortitude?
