He stripped off his clothes, washed quickly at the basin filled with water, then dressed in black trousers, white shirt, black vest, and black waistcoat. Unable to tolerate constriction of any kind around his neck, he left several fastenings undone.
Shiny leather boots followed and then a comb of his hair with a real comb and not his fingers, and he was near done.
He grabbed coins from the safe he had stocked with money, and picked up his father’s diamond ring and shoved it on his pinky. It was the only finger it fit, and he wore it with pride, as had his father.
A chest of garments meant for America had been brought to his cabin on his orders. He wished Storm to have her pick. Something was bound to fit her, and he was eager to see her dressed in fine clothes.
She would certainly be a raving beauty, but then her beauty wasn’t defined by what she wore, since she was just as beautiful dressed in lad’s clothing. She was striking regardless of what she wore.
He smiled, recalling her smudged face and how he had wanted so badly to kiss her when they had stood behind the crates. He had wanted to kiss her, hold her, and do much more than that, much too often of late. It was a constant thought in his mind and one he definitely wanted to see reach fruition.
Finally finished and anxious to return to Storm, he hurried out of his cabin to the deck. Much of the crew stood at the railing, their attention fixed on the dock below.
Burke hurried to the gangplank, relieved that he had been provided with a distraction to get Storm aboard without being noticed.
That is, until he saw what caught the men’s attention.
The whip sliced the air so close to her ear that its crack near deafened her. Storm stood perfectly still. Her shoulder stung from where the tip of the whip had caught her when she had attempted to run. She was grateful her jacket took the brunt of the hit, though it had sliced through, and she could feel the blood dripping down her arm.
“You don’t run from me,” the man screamed, his full face turning red with rage.
For a second Storm gave thought to running, but the man was skilled with the whip and could do her harm. She remained where she was.
“Come over here,” the man demanded.
“I’ve done nothing wrong, sir.” She hoped to delay him until Burke arrived. It was her only chance. That they had attracted a crowd didn’t help matters. Attention was the last thing she needed.
“I’ll not tell you again,” the man said loudly. Encouraged by the cheers of the crowd, he raised his whip.
“Strike the lad and you’ll find that whip a noose around your fat neck.”
The order sliced through the crowd much like the crack of the whip, silencing everyone.
Storm thanked heaven for Burke’s timely arrival, and when she turned to look, she almost didn’t recognize him. Clearly, his dress proclaimed him a man of wealth and station, far removed from the man she had rescued from the filthy prison, and yet he was the very same one.
He walked with that confident swagger that spoke volumes. He was a man of class and distinction, and the man with the whip realized it as quickly as Storm had, for he lowered the weapon, though he refused to relent.
“The lad stole from me and will pay for his crime,” he said, shaking his meaty fist.
Storm remained where she was and Burke walked around to stand in front of her. His body completely blocked her from the view of her accuser; that he shielded her was obvious to all.
“The lad belongs to me.”
Storm near shivered, his remark more a threat. Burke looked as if he wore no weapon and yet he attacked with words and a powerful stance. How did he expect to truly defend himself?
“Do I need to rescue you again?” she whispered behind him.
She heard a low chuckle.
“We’ll see who rescues who.”
She didn’t doubt he would rescue her. His stance alone, blocking her from her accuser, clearly indicated that he didn’t intend to surrender her. That he intended to protect her, save her, rescue her was evident, and the crowd cheered him on.
The realization of the attention they drew suddenly made her realize how precarious their situation could turn. If anyone should dare recognize her, question her identity, attempt to ask her name, they would be in trouble.
She reminded him of this in a rushed whisper. “Hurry.”
“Agreed,” he mumbled beneath his breath.
The big man finally found his voice and courage, though his quavering voice betrayed his unease. “I’ll be compensated for his crime.”
Burke reached into his waistcoat pocket, extracted several coins and tossed them at the man. “You’ll get no more.”
The man scurried after the coins that rolled and spun and scattered in different directions. It would take him a while to collect them all.