His deep voice intrigued her, and she settled more comfortably in the bed. "Two men were trying to kill me."

His eyes narrowed a fraction, his only response. So much for shocking him.

"Would you care to start from the beginning?"

"No."

So, she has secrets. "Are you aware a dolphin kept you afloat?"

Her smile was blinding, and Dane felt he'd just taken a blow to his middle.

"Yes, I am. And that's Richmond." A black brow arched questioningly. "I felt I had to call him something after he'd saved my life. The ship's propeller backwash was pulling me into the blades, and before I was chopped into shark bait, Richmond caught the strap of my bag and dragged me to the surface." When she glanced around, he gestured absently to the bright yellow sack in the corner. "How come you just

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didn't look inside it? My identification is in there. You'd have known who I was then."

"Madame." He sat up straighten "Be a.s.sured I would never rifle through a lady's belongings unless given leave to do so." Did that mean not without my permission, she wondered as he added, "And as you were unable to disembark on your own power, I saw no urgency in the matter.'

Good Lord! What's with this guy? He actually looks insulted!

"And if I may ask-" his voice tightened a fraction- "what is a propeller?"

She blinked owlishly. "A propeller." She made little circles in the air with her finger. "You know, the thing at the back of a boat that makes it go in the water."

He braced his hands on his knees. "Mistress Renfrew." Dane drew on his patience. "Wind," he enunciated, "fills a sail to move a ship."

"Sure, clippers, Hobe Cats, Catamarans, sailboats, but not a four hundred-something-foot steel cruise liner. Why am I telling you this? You're the captain."

His expression went suddenly blank, unreadable. "That I am," he said, standing abruptly. "I suggest you rest now, mistress. I shall have a dinner tray sent in, post haste. Good evening,"

He bowed curtly, then spun away, and Tess noticed for the first time that suspended from a belt around his waist was a gleaming silver cutla.s.s.

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CHAPTER FIVE.

Dane stared at the closed door for a moment before his posture slackened, and he rubbed the back of his neck. Peculiar woman. He'd expected a weeping, frightened little flower, not that seductive bundle of spirit. What an odd clipped manner of speech she possessed. And he wondered further about this propeller thing she seemed convinced would sail a ship. Shaking his head, he turned away and found his path blocked.

"The lady has awakened, sir?"

"She has."

"What is she like? Her name? Was she frightened? Did she-"

Dane put a hand up, irritated at Duncan's eagerness. "Our guest is Mistress Tess Renfrew, and no, she was not frightened." Dane decided to keep her strange statements to himself, especially the notion of a four-hundred-foot steel ship. Any sane person would know such a vessel would sink.

"Renfrew, you say?" Duncan mused aloud, scratching his chin.

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"Aye, and have a light repast prepared for the lady."

Duncan responded absently to the request, engrossed in his thoughts.

"What troubles you, McPete?"

The use of his last name told him the captain was out of patience. " Tis her surname, Capt'n, Renfrew. It be familiar somehow, but-" He shrugged. " 'Twill come to me in time, sir." Duncan moved away.

"Keep her recovery to yourself, man," Dane called when the servant reached the companionway. "I don't need a mutiny on my hands." He paused. "And Dun-can-"

"Aye, sir?"

"I suggest you knock next time."

Duncan grinned, descending the ladder. "Aye-aye, Capt'n."

Tess thought of herself as a sensible person, a realist, and after living by her wits until she was eight, then all over the world because of her father's military career, sampling different cultures, she'd learned not to give the odd too much consideration. All it took was someone to shove a plate of raw squid in front of you, a.s.sume you were delighted to eat the spongy stuff, insulted if you didn't, and you had the sudden tendency not to expect anything else to ever be quite so peculiar. But this stateroom was incredible. Strange and quaint, she allowed, yet the absence of electricity, cellular phones, and engine noise made her wonder what it looked like above deck. But then, what did she know about pleasure yachts. She'd never

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actually been on any ship, other than the Queen, and that was designed for a week-long celebration of fun, flirting, and vacation s.e.x.

Tess propped herself on both elbows when a knock sounded. After calling for whomever to come in, she watched as a robust little old man carrying a tray nudged his way inside. Interesting-looking character, Tess thought as she sat up, the delicious aroma of fresh-baked bread teasing her taste buds.

"Good evenin', miss." His s.h.a.ggy gray head bobbed. "I be Duncan McPete, the captn's manservant," he introduced, and with one beefy hand lit an old-fashioned oil lamp.

Manservant, huh? She studied his every move, amazed one so bulky was that dexterous. "h.e.l.lo, Mr. McPete. I'm Tess."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Aye, that you are, la.s.sie." His smile was warm and friendly as he replaced the gla.s.s globe and faced her. " 'Twould please an old salt if you be callin' me Duncan, miss."

Her gaze slipped over his baggy brown knee pants, dark shirt, and worn silk vest. "Sure. If you call me Tess."

He froze. "Oh, nay, miss! I cannot!" Duncan's face clearly displayed his shock. "The capt'n would have me head for takin' such a liberty!"

"Calm down, Duncan, okay." Criminey, what's with these men? "Call me whatever you want," she told him, and his stout body sagged with relief.

Bandy legs shuffled to the side of the bed, and he placed the tray on the mattress, then drew back a cloth. "Hungry, miss?"

Tess's mouth watered at the appetizing meal. "Oh

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yes, Duncan, starved."

His wrinkled leathery face lit up, and his smile broadened, making his single gold earring wink in the lamplight. "Enjoy the. fare."

Tess folded her legs Indian style beneath the sheet, popping a berry in her mouth. "There's plenty. Join me, Duncan?"

"Oh, no, miss! Tis not proper!"

Her head jerked back. "Proper? Good grief. It's only dinner."

Fearing he'd insulted her somehow, he explained, "I've duties to tend before the next watch."

Marines had the duty; Navy had the-"Watch?" Tess heard herself say. No, they couldn't be U.S. Navy. They didn't live this good. And with that accent and those clothes? British yachters, maybe?

"Aye, the crew takes turns keepin' watch for the enemy, miss."

"Enemy?" She swallowed the banana slice, her eyes narrowing. "You're joking, right?"

" 'Tis no jest, but do not worry yourself, la.s.s. Yer safe now."

Tess munched on a crust of bread, staring but not seeing. "Where are we?"

"Atlantic waters, miss. South of the Tropic of Cancer."

That wasn't any help. "Is that near Cuba?"

"Nearly three hundred miles to the east," he said carefully. "In the West Indies, miss." To Duncan she appeared ready to bolt.

Besides Castro, what enemies are there around here? she wondered. The British and American authorities took care of that, so who were they watching

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for? "This ship, Duncan. What kind is it? Exactly." Tess was afraid of the answer.

The old fellow's pale blue gaze examined her confused face, and for a moment he debated whether or not to tell the poor la.s.s. "The Sea Witch is a twenty-four-gun frigate, miss."

"Oh." Flat, stunned. So much for her yacht theory. And twenfy-four guns? Weren't frigates made of steel with giant howitzers or something? The mullion-paned window and roomful of antiques contradicted any outside image she could conjure.

Duncan felt a gentle stir in his chest at the sight of her bowed head and wringing hands. "Enjoy the meal, la.s.s. Dine slowly. If you be needin' anything, I'll see to it."

She nodded. "Thanks, Duncan."

He departed quickly, at a loss as how to ease whatever troubled her.

The minute the door shut, Tess scooted to the edge of the bed, her appet.i.te gone. Her feet tingled as they touched the rough carpet, and she had to grasp the post to stand. She hated being this weak, but she had to investigate this room. Clamping a hand onto the nightstand, Tess worked her way around the room to the desk. She plopped into the chair, her head reeling. G.o.d, it's hot in here, she thought.

Taking a moment to rest, she swiped the back of her hand across her forehead, then began sifting through a stack of papers. She paused, fingers rasping over the thick quality paper of a hand-drawn map. Parchment? She continued looking through the desk drawers, not at all ashamed of snooping; this place was too bizarre not to.

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No ballpoint pens or pencils, only sticks of graphite, a quill, inkstand, and a box of sand? She shook her head and sighed back into the chair. Not even a paper clip. This was getting weirder by the moment. Forced to hold on to trie desk ledge to make her way to the wardrobe, Tess moved cautiously, drawing the line at looking in the dresser. Have to do it somewhere, she mused. Opening the closet, she discovered men's clothes in rich fabrics: velvet and brocade jackets, fine lawn and silk shirts, suede and satin knee pants, along with coa.r.s.e-feeling trousers. She blinked. No zippers, no snaps, just wood or ceramic b.u.t.tons and crude hooks. She closed the door, relaxing back against it, then moved to the door she a.s.sumed was the bathroom. Her hand on the bra.s.s latch, Tess tried to open the door, but her equilibrium shifted abruptly, her brain spinning, and she felt queasy and weak. I'm not going to make it back to the bed, she thought, her arm reaching across the expanse. The door opened and when she snapped a look, her ears rang, her legs buckling beneath her.

"Ohh-noo," she whispered, and strong hands caught her before she hit the floor.

Dane swept Tess up in his arms, holding her high against his chest. "You should not have tried to walk, Mistress Renfrew," he scolded gently.

"Gee, woulda never guessed," she slurred, dropping her head to his shoulder.