Patricia Potter (37 page)

Henry’s interest was more than whetted. And so was Meredith’s. It was the first time she’d heard him mention the years he had been away.

Henry’s inquisitive eyes settled on Quinn. “Where were you?”

Any ease in Quinn’s features fled, and they became as taut and grim as she had ever seen them. And then slowly, almost by will, they relaxed again, but his eyes were wintry blue, almost frightening with their icy barriers.

“Several places,” he said shortly, and even Henry, whose good-natured curiosity was usually unquenchable, was quelled.

Dinner was finished in uncomfortable silence, and Quinn left early, his eyes still remote as he bade her good-bye.

“Damn, if I don’t like that man,” Henry Meriweather commented, “even if he doesn’t say much. What he does say makes a great deal of sense.”

The observation soothed Meredith’s spirits. Despite the abrupt leave-taking, she knew he would be back. She had always known he was a complex man, but she was beginning to learn just how complex.

That day started a pattern that continued during the week. It was as if he were two different people, one charming and teasing and gentle, and the other moody and aloof as if regretting the presence of the first. On the third morning, he announced he had booked passage on the
Ohio Star
to Cairo, and awaited her reaction, raising an eyebrow as if expecting her to retreat from his previous invitation and her acceptance.

But that was the last thing she planned to do. And her nod said as much. She didn’t know if his return look was resigned or regretful, or merely indifferent. It was still difficult to tell what he was thinking. But she didn’t care. She would have a week with him, or more, and that, for now, was enough.

If she’d had any doubts at all of leaving Cincinnati earlier than she’d originally intended, they were quickly dispelled the day before she was to depart. A telegram came to her in care of the Meriweathers. It was from her New Orleans detective.

“Believe Lissa found. Home of Marshall Evans, Murray, Kentucky. Milligan.”

Excitement welled in her. Excitement, anticipation, fear, and so much else. She had waited so many years for this. She looked down at the paper in her hand. It was shaking. And then she realized her whole body was shaking. Lissa. At last.

When Quinn arrived that evening, she could barely speak. She merely handed him the telegram. He read it silently. “You want to go after her now.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes. I must.” After all these years, there was no alternative. None at all. So much of her life had been leading up to this moment.

“I’ll go with you,” he said quietly.

“But…you can’t. I shouldn’t have any problems. I have enough money…”

His eyebrows met in a frown as he remembered how Brett kept a close rein on her funds. “Do you?”

Meredith stopped. She had money. A great deal of it, but at the moment it was completely tied up in her trust fund. Brett, she thought, could be talked into releasing enough, but that might take weeks.

She looked up at Quinn, agony clear in her eyes as she shook her head slowly.

“So you see I have to go,” he said.

She looked at him with wonder. “You…would…”

“Of course,” he said, a bit hurt that she would even question it. “But perhaps this Evans won’t sell?”

“I’ll help her escape.”

His hand reached out and touched her cheek gently. “You’re too involved, Merry. It can be very dangerous when you’re personally involved.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said stubbornly.

“What if she doesn’t want to come?”

“She will,” Meredith said with certainty.

“You won’t wait until we can organize something?”

“I’ve waited my whole life.”

He took her hand. “Go to Cairo with me, first. I have money there. Friends.”

“But—”

“We’ll figure out something between now and then.”

There was so much quiet assurance in his face that she surrendered. A few more days wouldn’t matter. Success did. She nodded.

“We’ll get her. I promise,” he said softly.

The
Ohio Star
was much smaller than the
Lucky Lady,
but it had much the same charm and impeccable service.

Quinn soon discovered their staterooms were on opposite ends of the same deck. Having arrived early, he stood on deck watching the carriages arrive and the last cargo being stowed.

He watched intently as the Meriweather carriage drew up, and the occupants stepped out. Wryly, he noted that she was overdressed in flounces and bows, her hair curled in those ringlets that did little for the fine bone structure of her face. His fingers ached to take down the pins and run his hands through the delicate strands of hair. He watched as she awkwardly climbed the gangway, totally without the grace he had noted in her the past few days, and he had to admire her acting skill. Only her eyes, as they met his, showed any fire. And they were like amber flames in the gray frigid light of morning.

Quinn stayed away from her throughout the day. He found a poker game in the saloon, settled his lean frame in one of the comfortable upholstered chairs, selected a cheroot from one of the stewards, and sipped an expensive port. Usually, these were enough to make him content, especially when he was winning, which he was this day, but a tornado was building within him, a whirlwind of need.

His attention continued to wander, but he won anyway. The cards simply kept falling his way: a straight; a full house; even a royal flush, the most rare of all hands. His opponents, one by one, departed with disgust and empty pockets.

He finally went to the dining room, eating on one side of the room while he watched Meredith on the other, her eyes staying studiously away from his. Her appetite, he noted with satisfaction, seemed as poor as his own.

The hours crept by. News of his winnings had spread, and he was approached by two other gentlemen for a game. Such luck, they figured, couldn’t last. But, to his own amazement, it did. He was several thousand dollars richer when he finally called it a night.

It was after midnight. The air outside was cold and crisp, the sky midnight-black with a bright silvery moon hanging high. There was still music in the saloon, and a few couples strolled along the brightly lit deck, but most of the passengers had retired for the night.

He suspected she was waiting for him. She had made no maidenly protests when he had suggested they book passage together, even before she knew about Lissa, and the implications were explicit in both the offer and the acceptance. Yet he hesitated for he knew this could be no one-night, or one-week, or even one-month dalliance. Meredith Seaton would want forever. The fact that she had still been a virgin was proof. He didn’t want to destroy her, as part of him had been destroyed by Morgana’s faithlessness.

And then there were the inevitable discoveries she would make.

In themselves, his scars no longer bothered him; he had learned to live with them years ago. What did matter was what they revealed about him. He had guarded against exposure these past years, because explanations were sure to raise suppositions, some of which might come close to the fact that he was an escaped convict and a wanted man in England. It was one of the reasons he never went as far as Canada where he would be back under British law. He could fight extradition here, but he doubted his chances in Canada.

If he made love to Meredith again, he suspected he would no longer be able to hide certain facts from her. She would have to know a great deal, and he wasn’t quite sure he was ready for that.

Finally there was Lissa and the possible danger ahead. Perhaps her master would sell her willingly but, if indeed she looked like Meredith, if she had grown to the same beauty, there was a strong possibility the man would not. If they did have to engineer an escape, there would be great danger for them all. He did not mind it for himself, only for the others who would be involved. Too many people had died around him. It was an inescapable fact he lived with.

Yet he couldn’t allow Meredith to go alone. She was too anxious. And anxiety often meant taking unnecessary chances. He had to go and he knew he should stay away from her until then.

But even as he listed the reasons he should not go to her, he knew he could no more keep away than the currents could stop running in the Mississippi.

Slowly, he turned and made his way down the stairs to the staterooms below, to where he knew Meredith was waiting.

C
hapter 20

MEREDITH HAD WAITED
and waited.

It had been the worst torture possible. All day, she’d seen Quinn but she was not able to talk with him…to touch him. The entire week had, in fact, been dreadful.

Quinn was obviously fighting demons of his own. He was so visibly trying to fight the attraction that sparked between them. He always lost and not gracefully.

She knew he would come tonight, just as she knew he would try not to. It cheered her to know he was as helpless as she against whatever force bound them together. She had debated long and hard about what to wear and finally extracted from her trunk a simple white nightdress. In Cincinnati, she had thought about purchasing something more exotic, but while she was willing to don a disguise on behalf of others, she wasn’t quite willing to do it for herself. And an exotic nightdress would be just that. She wouldn’t feel comfortable in one.

She did know how much he liked her hair, and she had taken it down, brushing it for an hour until it shimmered. She lit two oil lamps, one beside her bed, and took out a book by Charles Dickens.

She couldn’t concentrate, however, on the miseries of Oliver Twist. Her thoughts bounded from feverish anxiety over finding Lissa to the enigmatic mystery of Quinn Devereux.

It was extraordinary what she still did not know about him, even after all the hours they had spent together in the past week. She didn’t know why he had joined the Underground Railroad. She knew little about his childhood, and none about the years when he was abroad. He spoke of his brother with affection but not attachment, as if he were wary of any. He retreated when questions were asked, or when emotions surfaced.

He seemed unguarded only with Cam. Although he had an easy charm with the Meriweathers, he had fired warning shots, so to speak, when topics became personal. The boundary had even been there with Levi and, she imagined, with his other contacts on the Railroad.

Meredith climbed into bed. The cabin was cold, and the large feather bed was covered with a great down comforter. She snuggled down into its warmth, wishing for a warmth of another kind.

She had left the door unlocked, feeling safe enough in this luxurious section of the boat which catered to the wealthy.

She knew he would wait until he could come undetected. They had been very careful to keep their distance during the day, although every moment had seemed a lifetime. She wanted him so very badly. She wanted to talk about Lissa and talk about him. She wanted him to touch her, to reassure her, to love her.

What if he didn’t come at all? As he had not on the
Lucky Lady
that afternoon after they made love. Doubts began to crowd her mind.

She tried to read a few more pages, and her tenuously hopeful spirits dipped even further when Bill Sikes murdered Nancy. An omen? She dropped the book on the floor next to her bed.

Why didn’t he come? It must be very late.

Meredith pushed deeper into the bed and closed her eyes. Perhaps she would sleep for a few moments. Perhaps that would pass the time.

It wasn’t as difficult as she had thought. During the past weeks she’d had very little sleep, and the gentle hum of the engines was a lullaby, the movement of the ship a cradle. In minutes she was dreaming.

And that was the way Quinn found her.

Her golden hair was strewn over the pillow while great dark lashes covered her eyes. Her slender form barely showed under the huge quilt, and her breathing was soft and easy.

Tenderness wrapped around him like a gentle morning fog. It was disconcerting, at the least, because tenderness, until he’d met Meredith, had been alien to him. But it felt good. Gentle and peaceful and good. It filled the emptiness in him, squeezing out the darkness that had been there so long.

There had been other strong emotions in past years, including a hard fierce grief. There had been rage and hopelessness that events happened that should never have happened, that never
would
have happened had it not been for the shallow indulgence of a lovesick boy. He thoroughly believed that mistake had cost three lives, lives that were the dearest to him.

But as he looked at Meredith, pretty Merry, he knew he could not keep away from her. His need was too strong. Need of his body but, even stronger, the need of his soul and his heart. They were going to do their damndest to be fulfilled, regardless of cost.

Especially as she lay there looking so incredibly vulnerable. And she was that. So softly vulnerable. So softly desirable. And so easily wounded.

It was best if he left now before she woke. But as he started to turn, he saw the covers move slightly and her face turn toward his, her eyes full of sleepy wonder. She raised an arm from the comforter and held it out to him.