But all this strategy failed of its object. Doña Dominica, out of the tail of her eye, saw with indignation the frank amusement of Sir Nicholas. Beauvallet stood back and watched the play with a laughing, an appreciative eye. The lady redoubled her efforts.
She was forced to admit Dangerfield dull sport, and chid herself for hankering after the livelier company of his General. With him one met the unexpected; there was a spice of risk to savour the game, an element of adventure to whet the appetite. She would come up with Dangerfield on the deck, stand at his side and ask him questions innumerable upon the sailing of a ship, and appear to listen rapt to his conscientious answers. But all the time she had a quick ear and a vigilant eye for Sir Nicholas, and when she heard his ringing voice, or saw him come with his quick light step across the deck she would feel her pulses beat the faster, and dread a rising blush. Nor could she ever withstand the force in him that compelled her to meet his look. She might fight against it, but soon or late she must steal a glance towards him, and find his eyes, brimful of laughter, upon her, his hands lightly laid on his hips, his feet firmly planted and wide apart, mockery in his every line.
Since pride forbade her to give him her company she found a certain solace in talking of him to his lieutenant. Master Dangerfield was willing enough, but he was shocked to hear what an ill opinion she had of the hero. He could allow that Sir Nicholas had maybe too boisterous and reckless a way to suit a lady’s taste, but when Dominica poured more scorn upon Beauvallet the boy was moved to protest. It was likely that she wanted this.
“I marvel that you breed such ruffling bullies in England, señor,” she said, nose in air.
“A bully?” Dangerfield echoed. “Sir Nicholas? Why, I believe you must not say so aboard this ship, señora.”
“Oh, I am not afraid!” Dominica declared.
“You have little need to be, señora. But you speak to Sir Nicholas’ lieutenant. Maybe we who serve under him know him better.”
At that she opened her eyes very wide indeed. “What, are you all besotted then? Do you like the man so well?”
He smiled down at her. “Most men like him, señora. He is very much—a man, you see.”
“Very much a braggart,” she corrected, curling her lip.
“No, señora, indeed. I allow he has the manner. But I have never known him promise what he has not performed. If you knew him better—”
“Oh, spare me, señor! Wish me no better knowledge of your bully.”
“Maybe he is too swift for you. He goes too straight towards his goal for a lady’s taste, and uses no subtleties.”
She pounced on that, and put the question that had long hovered on her tongue. “I take it your English ladies think as I think, señor?”
“Nay, I believe they like him very well,” Dangerfield replied, smiling a little. “Too well for his desires.”
Dominica saw the smile. “I make no doubt he is a great trifler.”
Dangerfield shook his head. “Nay, he is merry in his dealings, but I believe he will stay for no woman.”
Dominica spent a moment pondering that. Dangerfield plodded on painstakingly. “I would not have you think though that he holds women in poor esteem, señora. Indeed, I think he is gentle with your sex.”
“Gentle!” the lady ejaculated. “I marvel you can say so! A rough fellow I have found him! A boisterous, rough fellow!”
“You have naught to fear from him, señora,” Dangerfield said seriously. “On my honour, he would not offer hurt to one weaker than himself.”
Dominica was affronted. “I fear him? Señor, know that I do not fear him or anyone!” she announced fiercely.
“Brave lass!” applauded a voice behind her. Dominica jumped, and turned to see Beauvallet lounging against the bulwarks. He held out his hand invitingly. “Then since you have no fear of him, come and talk with the boisterous, rough fellow.”
Master Dangerfield beat a discreet retreat, and basely left the lady alone. She tapped a slender foot on the deck. “I do not wish to talk with you, señor.”
“I am not a señor, child.”
“True, Sir Nicholas.”
“Come!” he insisted, and his eyes were bright and searching.
“Not at your bidding, Sir Nicholas,” said Dominica haughtily.
“At my most humble prayer!” But his look belied the words.
“I thank you, I am very well where I am,” Dominica said, and turned her shoulder.
“The mountain would not. Well, there was a sequel.” He was at her side in two steps, and instinctively she drew back in some kind of enjoyable alarm. He frowned quickly at that, and set his hands on her shoulders. “Why do you shrink? Do you think I would offer you hurt indeed?”
“No—that is, I do not know at all, señor, and nor do I care!”
“Brave words, but still you shrank. What, do you know so little of me even now? You shall be better acquainted with me, I promise you.”
“You are hurting me! Let me go!”
He held her slightly away from him, and seemed to puzzle over her. “How do I hurt you? By holding you thus?”
“Your fingers grip me well-nigh
