Gregory, Lisa (30 page)

"Katherine?"
It was Hampton's voice, weak almost beyond recognition, and she turned to look
at him.

He
looked tired, his face strangely gray. There was still a feverish glint to his
eyes, and his expression was bewildered.

"Shhh.
Don't talk." She walked over to him and felt his forehead; he was still
too warm. "You caught a fever and you have been delirious for a while. But
Dr. Rackingham's taking care of you, and you'll be all right. You need to eat.
Let me feed you something."

She
held his head up with her hand and made him sip some tea, then fed him toast
softened in tea and an orange which she fed him slowly, section by section.
About halfway through the orange, he slid back into sleep. His breath was more
even and regular and his sleep seemed deeper this time, so she risked lying
down beside him to sleep.

When
he awakened several hours later, she was able to feed him a whole bowl of soup,
as well as an orange and a cup of coffee. He was still weak and confused, and
she had to explain again to him that he had been ill. However, his fever
continued to drop, and he fell into a sound sleep. The doctor was cheered and
declared Hampton a very strong individual and Katherine a competent nurse.

"Some
of the men have taken sick, also," he told her. "I'm surprised they
aren't all so, being out in that weather, and with their constitutions weakened
by prison."

Katherine's
heart leaped with happiness remembering that she had given them those meals;
surely that had helped keep them from being too weak. She said only, "He seems
deeply asleep. Would you like for me to come help you?"

"No,
I can manage. However, I do recommend that you get outside for a little while,
take a turn or two around the deck. And then get some more rest. We don't want
you coming down sick, too."

She
followed his advice. It was refreshing to get outside again, even though it was
cold and drizzly. Ensign Fortner joined her to inquire about Hampton and
reassure her that they would reach London safely. His breezy manner had not
deserted him, but it was strained. Katherine soon left him to rejoin Hampton.

"Hello,
Katherine," he said as she stepped in the door.

"Captain,"
she said, inclining her head. "How do you feel?"

"Hungry,"
he said, a ghost of his old smile touching his face.

"Good.
You must be better. I'll go get you something."

She
came back from her raid on the kitchen with a number of small dishes to tempt
his appetite. It didn't need much tempting; he gulped the food down rapidly,
finally stopping only because he was too weak to chew anymore.

"I
feel ridiculous," he said, his voice stronger than before. "Like
jelly."

"Fever
drains you, weakens you," she said. "You still have some, you
know."

"Peljo
tells me you hung over my sickbed like a ministering angel," he said.

"Peljo?"

"He
came in to see me while you were out strolling. He admires you
excessively."

"Well,
he was with you quite as much as I."

"Ah,
yes, but Peljo doesn't profess to hate me."

"I
am not in the habit of allowing someone to die just because I have a great deal
of personal dislike for them. You were in a serious way—delirious, coughing. It
might have turned into pneumonia. I intend to help Dr. Rackingham with the
other men as soon as you are well enough to be left alone for awhile."

"Tell
me, don't you find sainthood a bit taxing sometimes?"

"How
can you be so infuriating even when you're sick? I suggest you shut your mouth
and go to sleep."

"I
am sorry. You have the damnedest effect on me. I meant to thank you, not get in
another argument."

"There
is no need to thank me," she said shortly. "I would have done the
same for anyone."

He
grimaced and turned his face away from her. Soon she could hear his breathing
slow and deepen. She sat down wearily in a chair. Suddenly everything seemed so
drab and hopeless, and she wanted to cry. The tension of the past days, the
euphoria of today when he passed out of danger—all to come down to this
anticlimax of their sniping at each other. It wasn't that she had expected
anything to change. It was just that during the storm and his illness, she had
somehow had a different relationship with him: complete trust during the storm
and then a sense of jointly fighting against something while he was sick. It
was unsettling to suddenly be thrust back into their usual roles. For a few
days they had been allies; now they were enemies again. It jarred, like sitting
down too hard. Sighing, she rested her head on the table, pillowing it with her
arm. Before she knew it, she had drifted asleep.

Hampton
proved to be a poor patient. He disliked being in bed and wanted to be up and
working; it frustrated him to be too weak to do so. Moreover, by the next
morning, his fever was gone and his mind clear, and he was bored with lying in
bed staring at the ceiling. His irritability was increased by the fact that he
felt rather guilty that Katherine had repaid him in opposite coin, being kind
and devoted even though he was often harsh with her. It indicated, perhaps,
that she had more feeling for him than she would admit, but even that did not
offset the bitter feeling that he was in the wrong. It did not improve his
humor any, either.

Though
Katherine tried to resume her old silent attitude, she found that she could
not, out of sheer self-defense. It added so greatly to his boredom and
irritation that he became much more upset than he should; he was almost
impossible to keep down and quiet. Besides, it was difficult to return to
precisely the former status. So she unbent some and began to converse with him.

"Who
is Charity?" she asked casually, bending her head over the shirt she was
mending.

"What?"
His voice was bemused.

"You
called her often while you were delirious."

His
eyes began to twinkle. "My dear Katherine, do I detect a hint of
jealousy?"

"Don't
be ridiculous!"

"Well,
you needn't worry. Charity is my childhood nurse. You know, fed and dressed me,
nursed me when I was sick, that sort of thing."

"Oh,
I see."

"What
else did I say?"

"A
great deal, but very little of it was understandable—which is probably just as
well. You spoke of someone named Selina and kept talking to her about
coffee."

"Caffy—it's
a person." His face suddenly looked older and more tired. "Selina's
his mother. They're slaves, too."

Katherine
snipped off her thread, maintaining a disapproving silence. Finally she
relented enough to say, "And you mentioned someone named Susan."

He
grimaced. "My brother Shelby's wife. I must have been having
nightmares."

She
repressed a grin. "Then you talked about the captain, too, and David and
Franny."

"My
brother and sister. The captain's my grandfather."

"Peljo
told me he owned Jackton Shipping. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You
didn't seem particularly interested in me or my family."

"Tell
me about them now."

He
shot her a puzzled glance. "Why all this sudden interest?"

"I
should think it would be obvious. I'm trying to pacify you."

He
chuckled wearily. "You are incurably blunt, aren't you? Well, I shall tell
you. My grandfather is Randall Hampton; he was wealthy, but only a merchant.
Not landed aristocracy. It caused a minor stir in society when my grandmother
married him.
She,
you see, was a Rutledge. They had three daughters and
one son, my father, Shelby, Sr. He was more Rutledge than Hampton. The ultimate
sin, to my father, is to do something that is not genteel."

A
laugh escaped her lips. "The same with my aunts. 'But, Katherine, that
just isn't proper,' " she mimicked.

"Well,
the worst thing in my father's life was that he didn't own a plantation. He
practically grew up on the Rutledge plantation, but he wanted one of his own.
So he married Mary Anne Soames, who was the sole heir to her father's rice
plantation."

"Oh,
surely that's not why he married her."

"Oh,
she is a very proper wife. Pretty in a fluttery sort of way. Silly and
feminine; would never dream of doing anything out of the ordinary. Never
questions Father about his gentlemanly pursuits. My sister Frances is just like
her—stupid, vain, and vapid."

"No
wonder you think I'm so spoiled and strong-willed. Not all women are like
feather pillows, you know."

He
smiled. "I've learned that. But very few of them are like brick walls,
either."

"Don't
be rude. What are your brothers like?"

"Shelby
is—was—a great deal like Father. He rides well, shoots well, drinks well, wears
his clothes well, never does anything that is not exactly what a gentleman
does. He's a planter." His face turned hard. "He was shot at
Antietam, killed in a charge. Typical of Shel—all courage and no sense.

"Now
David's more like me. Always had a feeling for the sea. Like Grandpa. Not quite
the gentleman that Shel was. Though, you will be happy to know, not as wicked
as I. I, you see, was always the bane of my parents' existence. I was forever
doing something improper."

"Like
getting thrown out of college?"

He
looked startled. "How did you know that?"

"Peljo
told me."

"That's
Peljo—loyally silent to the end."

"He
seemed rather proud of your educational exploits."

Hampton
shrugged. "Boyish pranks. I wanted to go to sea, but the family wouldn't
let me. First I must have the proper Southern gentleman's education and then
the proper tour of the Continent. By then, they hoped, I would be over such
nonsense. So I went, but I was hardly a prize student."

"And
did you abduct young ladies then, too?"

"No.
The one I got expelled over was quite willing—but off limits to students. You
are the only girl I ever kidnapped, you know."

"What
an honor," she said dryly. "I think you should rest some now."

"All
right. Why don't you read to me?"

"What
would you like to hear?"

"Not
that awful
Ivanhoe.
My sympathies were always with his enemy."

"Naturally,
since he was a rapist, too."

"Read
Tom Jones."

"Oh,
I couldn't." She blushed. "That's a highly improper book."

"What
nonsense. Just read it."

She
sighed and fetched the book. Before long, both of them were convulsed with
laughter. Katherine felt deprived that she had been kept from reading it all
these years. She wondered whether her enjoyment of it stemmed from her general
lack of ladylike sensibilities or the fact that now she was a fallen woman and
understood what it was about.

The
next day, while she sat watching Matthew rest, she turned over in her mind some
of the things she would like to ask him. There were so many forbidden things
she was curious about, things she would never have dared ask anyone else. She
was sure Matthew would answer them. At least he wasn't all nonsensical about
sheltering her from evil knowledge. The problem, really, was that she hated so
exposing herself to him in all her dreadfully unladylike, improper, wicked
curiosity. No doubt it would confirm his estimation of her as a secret wanton.

His
eyes opened, and her stomach fluttered a little. His eyes were so handsome, shadowed
by lashes so long that it was criminal for a man to possess them. Without
thinking she blurted out, "You must have had so many women."

Hampton
blinked, trying to orient himself. "What a peculiar thing for you to
say."

Katherine
blushed, realizing how what she had said must sound. She pulled herself up to
full height and said haughtily, "I don't fool myself that you are not an
attractive man, Captain Hampton. It's a pity that your soul is not equal to
your looks."