Her clear blue eyes were wondering. "I hope you know what you're talking about, for I certainly don't."
"I know you don't," he sighed. "I sound like a first class passenger on the Disorient Express." He put her hand down and patted it. "Forget it for now. We'll talk about it in the morning. I shouldn't have said anything to upset you. I've probably given you more of a headache than you had already."
"You didn't upset me." He'd confused her, touched her, filled her with hope. "And I don't have a headache. I want to talk right now."
"No," he said firmly. "Go to sleep." Suddenly his eyes flickered gold with mischief. "Would you like me to sing you a lullaby?"
"Would you?" she asked, intrigued.
"Only if I was feeling particularly sadistic. Unfortunately, I can't carry a tune and I've been accused of sounding like a howling bloodhound on the trail. No, upon weighty consideration I think it would be far more relaxing if I told you a bedtime story. Would you like that, little girl?"
"Yes, I think I would." She couldn't remember anyone ever taking the time to perform that cozy little ritual. She settled back more comfortably against the pillows and gazed up at him eagerly. "What story are you going to tell me, Beau?"
"Well, I was considering Dr. Zhivago, but that's a little heavy going for a soporific." He tucked the sheet more firmly under her chin. "So I think we'll go for Gone With the Wind. Okay, sugar?"
He was so beautiful. His smile was that warm lopsided grin that tugged at her heart and his eyes… "Gone With the Wind sounds fine."
"It's just as well that I start inundating you with the glory of the South anyway. Now let's see, where shall I start? Once upon a time there was a magnificent plantation called Tara and living within its stately portals was a lovely Southern belle whose name was Scarlett O'Hara-"
"But who was Ashley Wilkes?" she interrupted.
"Hush, I'm coming to that. He's not the hero anyway. "
"He's the wimp, right?"
"Right. Now Scarlett was a very spoiled, strong-willed lady who had a yen for our boy Wilkes, who was equally hung up on his cousin Melanie.
The knock on the cabin door was soft and unobtrusive but it aroused her immediately. She sat bolt upright in bed and then snatched the sheet that had fallen to her waist and hugged it to her chin. She glanced instinctively at the smooth unrumpled pillow next to her own. She hadn't really expected to see Beau's bronze head there. She had a vague memory of drifting off to sleep some time after the burning of Atlanta. She'd been conscious of Beau once again tucking the covers around her, then lips as soft as orchid petals brushing her forehead. It had all been so lovely- Beau's half-cynical rendering of his tale of the Southland, the rich low murmur of his drawl, watching the vivid flickering expressions on his lean mobile face. Lovely.
The knock was repeated a little more insistently this time. Beau wouldn't knock, he'd stride in with that royal air of dominance she'd become so accustomed to. She'd been drowsily aware of him coming in several times during the night to check on her as he'd said he would do. "Come in."
Jim, the seaman who'd carried the first-aid kit down to the cabin the night before, had a different burden this morning. He bustled briskly into the cabin carrying a round metal tray with a napkin draped over its contents. "Good morning, Miss Gilbert. I've brought you a bite of breakfast. Mr. Lantry says you're to eat everything on the tray." He set the tray carefully down on the bedside table. "He'd like you to join him and Captain Seifert on the deck as soon as it's convenient. The clothes you were wearing last night have been freshly laundered. I'll bring them right down." He grinned. "I didn't want to chance juggling them with that tray of food. I'm not known for being particularly dexterous. I'd probably end up by having to wash them again."
"I appreciate your laundering them the first time, Jim," she said with an answering smile. "You didn't have to. I could have done it myself. I'm not used to being waited on."
"No trouble," he said breezily as he turned and strode back to the door. "You did us quite a favor springing us from the inn last night. Turnabout is fair play, as they say."
As the door closed behind him, she swung her feet to the floor and wrapped the sheet more tightly around her, tucking the folds beneath her arms. Some favor, she thought wryly as she removed the red-checked napkin covering the tray. They were just lucky that no one had been really hurt on deck last night. She had meant well, but perhaps Beau was right about her impulsiveness. Well, she wasn't going to waste her time in gloomy retrospection when the sun was shining so brightly through the porthole and Beau was waiting for her on deck. She'd savor every moment to the fullest as she'd always done.
And she'd start with this breakfast of bacon and eggs and homemade biscuits that were light as a feather and absolutely heavenly. It seemed that she hadn't eaten in a century or so and it was no chore at all to obey Beau's instructions to eat every bite. Come to think of it, she hadn't eaten much in the last few days. She'd had breakfast on the Searcher day before yesterday and a little stew at Consuello's cottage before they'd started for Mariba.
Beau couldn't have eaten very much either and he must have appreciated his breakfast as much as she was appreciating hers now. What did he like to eat? she wondered curiously. There were so many things they had yet to learn about each other. The intimacy bred by danger and their explosive physical union had brought them so close it seemed amazing she didn't know the little mundane things about Beau. Well, they'd have time to learn all the things they needed to know now. She couldn't hope that Beau's passion for her would last forever, but from what he'd said last night, he did feel something for her other than desire. Perhaps if she worked very hard and developed the sophistication and poise he was accustomed to in his women he'd begin to feel a little of the love that was beginning to possess every atom of her being.
Forty-five minutes later she gave her glossy curls a last pat and tucked the soft white cotton shirt more firmly into her jeans. She made a face at the reflection in the bathroom mirror. Spick and span she definitely was, but sadly lacking in romance or glamour. Much more cousin Melanie than Beau's Scarlett O'Hara.
Still, when she reached the upper deck and saw Beau leaning indolently against the rail idly talking with Daniel, she didn't feel like sweet wholesome Melanie. She felt as hopelessly romantic and lovesick as any Juliet, Heloise, or Guinevere.
Beau must have changed sometime during the night, for he was wearing close-fitting pale beige jeans. His chocolate brown shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow made his bronze hair shine even more in contrast. His eyes were more dark hazel than gold today though and there were dark circles beneath them. Hadn't he slept at all?
He frowned disapprovingly as she came toward them. "You've taken off your bandage."
"It got wet in the shower." So much for her spick-and-span allure. All he'd noticed was the lack of that dratted bandage. "I didn't need it anyway. The cut will be better without it." She breathed deeply of the clean salt air. "No self-respecting wound would dare not heal in surroundings like this. Cobalt sea, sapphire sky, and the sunlight…" She trailed off searching for a phrase that would describe the sparkling iridescence that was singing through her. "It must have been a morning like this when Noah realized the earth was reborn and sent out his dove."
The frown on Beau's face was superseded by amusement. "First she compares you to Charon and now Noah, Daniel. When she gets to Methuselah you'd better think seriously about shaving off your beard. Evidently it's not projecting the kind of virile image a stud like you would like to present to the world."