Read Online Sweet Piracy by Jennifer Blake - Free Book Online Page A

with a silver sheen. The sun still shone, though with less strength, touching the dancing waves, the spars, rigging, and bright-work of the ship with an odd lambent light.
    “Is it going to rain?” Estelle asked a shade nervously.
    “There is that possibility,” Rochefort replied. “Shall we enjoy our luncheon now, just in case?”
    A pair of woven hampers covered with cloths were brought from below with a pair of ingenious folding tables. Seeing their green baize tops, Caroline was of the opinion that their primary use was as gaming tables, but she was too hungry to cavil over such a detail.
    The cloths were spread over the tables and the Marquis and his cousin began to unpack the laden baskets.
    “If you will slice the bread, Mademoiselle?” Rochefort suggested, handing Caroline a wrapped loaf and a knife. When she had finished that chore he asked her to serve the cold breast of chicken and huge boiled shrimp in their shells, and to see that the pastries and nougat confections were evenly divided.
    “Where are the servants?” Estelle, lying back in a chair with her hands folded uselessly in her lap, looked around as if she expected the counterpart of Colossus to appear from nowhere.
    “I thought we might manage without,” Rochefort answered, his attention on the ticklish business of opening a bottle of champagne without losing half its contents.
    “By drafting Mam’zelle Caroline as a slave,” Estelle said tartly.
    His task accomplished, Rochefort looked up. His smile was perfectly pleasant, and yet a distinct chill had crept into his emerald eyes. “Not at all. By requesting Mademoiselle Pembroke, as the most mature lady present, to act in the capacity of my hostess.”
    The explosion Caroline expected did not come. Estelle dropped her gaze. An instant later, she looked up, her sherry-brown eyes swimming with tears. “I meant no insult, Mam’zelle Caroline, truly I did not.”
    “I’m sure you didn’t,” Caroline answered, though at the sight of such easy contrition her heart misgave her.
    “Could I not help?” Estelle offered.
    “I believe it is all done,” Caroline said, surveying the repast spread out before them.
    “You may pass these.” Rochefort handed the girl two brimming glasses, then sent a smiling glance after her as she reached to place them before Caroline and Amélie, frowning in concentration to keep from spilling the golden wine.
    His expression as he turned back to Caroline was once more impassive, however. Holding her chair at the foot of the table, he bowed. “Shall we eat?”
    They had reached the last stage of the meal, the nougat and strawberries, when the wind began to rise. The sun disappeared behind a looming bank of gray, and the river began to heave. Around them fell light the color of new green leaves, aching, bittersweet in its clarity.
    The far oaks and cypress began to sway. A distant bend ahead of them was filled with mist, a mist that drove toward them relentlessly.
    Rochefort and Victor jumped to their feet, reaching for bottles and glasses, clapping lids on serving dishes, piling plates atop one another regardless of bones and scraps of food. Caught up in their urgency, Caroline knelt to take the items flung at her, stowing them in the hampers. Theo and Amélie entered into the fray with zeal, leaving little room for Estelle and Anatole. After a half-hearted effort, they stepped back out of the way. When the first fat drops of rain began to splatter on the deck, these two were the first to scurry for the companionway.
    Laughing, Amélie and Victor took up a hamper between them and dived for shelter. Theo followed, lugging the other. Rochefort helped Caroline up with a hand under her elbow, and they reached the overhang of the door just as the ship was engulfed in the lance-filled fog of the storm.
    With a hand on the doorjamb, Caroline turned back. The current of the river had disappeared under choppy, foam-laced waves. Color was washed away, leaving ship,