Patricia Potter (5 page)

Suddenly, her life had a purpose. Consumed by memories of Lissa and the need to do something, Meredith became more and more involved, particularly when she reached twenty-one and found she had money of her own. She was not a conductor on the Railroad; she did not shelter or shepherd escaping slaves on the way north, but she visited plantations, her painting giving her the excuse to wander about and talk freely with slaves. When she discovered those with the desire and will to escape, she gave them money, a compass, and names of stations along the Railroad. Some lines went overland, some by river, and the fugitives were passed from one conductor to another as they went north, mostly through Kentucky, Indiana, Ohio, and across Lake Erie to Canada. Meredith knew the names of some of the stations, but few of the conductors. The entire network was safer that way.

The rainbow was slowly fading, and Meredith noted the increased activity on deck. She replaced the hood over her hair and reluctantly walked back to her cabin—and back into her stifling role.

Quinn played poker until six in the morning. The Carroll brothers left hours earlier after losing nearly everything they had. Only the Tennessee horseman and another professional gambler had remained at the table.

Quinn was a superb poker player, partially because he had complete control over his facial expression. He knew just how to make it work for him. When he was bluffing, he would allow the smallest fraction of a smile, and those who had not played with him before would toss in all but the best hands. And he knew human nature. He could detect weaknesses within seconds of making an acquaintance.

He had, on several occasions, been accused of cheating. That had not dismayed him; he had simply ordered the accusers off the boat. He always refused to fight, which, along with his refusal to race the
Lucky Lady,
gave him somewhat a reputation of a coward. Although it galled his sense of honor and pride, it nonetheless reinforced his image as a man without principles or values, an image invaluable in his work. But he never cheated. He did not need to. He was a skilled player, and he generally knew when luck was running with him and when lady luck had abandoned him.

Presently, she had left him in the small hours of the morning…after the Carrolls had left. The Tennesseean was a very happy man.

Quinn shrugged off the loss. He won much more often than not, and the losers would be horrified to discover where a great percentage of the money went. He smiled grimly at the thought. God, but he was tired. He paused, enjoying the cool air of the morning before retiring to his cabin on the upper deck. He had just checked with Jamison, the pilot, and all was well. Jamison, a dour Scotsman, practically ran the boat and that suited them both. The Scotsman needed, and wanted, little interference from the owner who called himself captain.

Quinn paused at the mahogany railing of the upper deck and looked down at the one below. His eyes finally rested on the solitary figure of a woman. She was silhouetted against a golden sunrise, her hair, the color of spun gold, spilling in tangled curls down her back. Her head was tipped up toward a rainbow, her cheek flushed rosy by the wind.

She was wearing a cloak, which hid her figure, but it couldn’t hide the grace or pride with which she moved. He saw her head turning toward his direction and instinctively he ducked back, not wanting to be seen. When he looked again, the hair was covered with a hood, and she was hurrying away.

He stood there stunned. She had looked like a goddess standing motionless at the railing. He couldn’t remember when he had been so affected by the sight of a woman. Especially since he harbored a profound distrust for most of the species; one, after all, had caused him to spend eight years in chains. A woman, combined with his own stupidity and arrogance.

In prison his arrogance had been painfully crushed. And he hoped he had learned to avoid stupidity. He was wary of women on any terms but his own.

His thoughts returned to the woman below. He had only glimpsed her profile, and for a moment he wondered who she was. His mind skipped over the passenger list, but there were only a few women on it, none of them attractive young women. The only unattached one had been the disappointing Miss Seaton.

The Seaton woman!
Damn it, how could he have been so unobservant?
She
had blond hair—although he didn’t rememer it being that bright shining gold. Perhaps because it had been dressed in that ridiculous mound of baby curls. Nor had her complexion looked so fresh and glowing, but powder could easily conceal. And that damned dress. It would hide the most graceful of figures.

But why? Why would a woman deliberately make herself plain? And why would a woman who appeared so shallow be up at dawn to appreciate a sunrise?

It didn’t make sense, and Quinn Devereux distrusted things that didn’t make sense. Particularly when lives were involved, not the least of which was his.

Cursing fluently, he made his way to his cabin. For the next few days he would make Miss Meredith Seaton his prime piece of business.

Wherever Meredith went, she knew Captain Devereux was not far behind.

Thank the good Lord, in three days she would be home. For the first time, home seemed a refuge—if only from the captain’s prying eyes, his sardonic tongue, and that damnable twisted smile.

She thought she had discouraged, if not disgusted, him that first night. But at noon the next day, she and her aunt received another invitation for dinner. She politely refused, saying they were both tired and intended to dine in the cabin.

The next morning he greeted them as they went into the saloon for the morning meal and asked if they would join him. There was no polite way to refuse.

Aunt Opal, much to Meredith’s surprise, fell quickly under a charm that was in full attack. Clearly, her aunt had forgotten the first night’s insult, and blossomed under Captain Devereux’s smooth questions and admiring eyes.

Damn the man. What did he want?

He virtually ignored her. And she was surprised to discover that that was a mammoth irritation. Why in heaven’s name should she care?

She didn’t.

She did.

She wished he would disappear.

And then he turned those dark blue shaded eyes on her and she felt as if she had been invited into some private maze where, if entered, she would be lost forever.

It was ridiculous. She abruptly excused herself from the meal, pleading a return of a headache.

He raised a rakish eyebrow, clearly indicating he didn’t quite believe her, and that he understood the turmoil that had made her stomach resemble a whirling dervish.

But he stood and bowed, a little too exaggerated a bow for Meredith’s taste. “Perhaps not enough sleep, Miss Seaton?” he asked solicitously. Meredith wanted to smack the smirk from his face while a shiver of fear ran up her backbone.

Could he possibly have seen her the other morning? But no, she reassured herself. She had been very careful, and she had seen no one. He just enjoyed displaying his bad manners, like a cat tormenting a mouse. Gambler, rogue, womanizer. She was just unfortunate enough to be the only eligible woman on board.

Meredith fastened a pout on her face. “It’s…perhaps the company. There’s just no one of…quality. Oh, excuse me, Captain, other than yourself of course,” she added as she received a reproving look from her aunt. She left little doubt, however, that she included Quinn in that deplorable void of civilization.

“My apologies,” he replied neatly. “I’ll see if we can’t remedy that complaint at our next stop and attract a bit more…what is it you require? Quality?”

“That would be most accommodatin’,” she simpered, “and refreshin’.”

He grinned. “I most definitely like to keep my passengers…refreshed, Miss Seaton. I hope you’ll feel better soon.” With that, he sat back down, and Meredith, hoping that he’d understood her subtle insult, fled before she said anything else unwise. She just didn’t understand why she reacted so strongly to him, or why he prompted her to say things that were definitely taunting.

That night, Meredith stayed in the cabin, again pleading illness as she sent Daphne on deck to get some air. She took her sketchpad and drew the Carroll brothers and then, strangely compelled, she found herself sketching Quinlan Devereux. She drew two portraits. One was Quinn at twenty-one, and that she had to do by memory. As a handsome young face, with bright eyes and a warm smile, emerged on her paper, she wondered how much she had idealized him. Then she sketched the man she had seen last night, the hard lines around his eyes and mouth, the cynical smile and wariness in his eyes. Why, dear God, was she so obsessed? With an unfamiliar curse, she reached to crumple the paper with her hand. But something stopped her. Instead she hid it, with the pictures of the Carroll brothers, in the bottom of her trunk. Still, her thoughts ran maverick. Although he’d become everything she despised, those childhood images still intruded, and she couldn’t quite equate the old and new Devereux. She kept reminding herself of his careless cruel words concerning his slave. She had even seen his cruelty for herself. As cargo was being loaded at one stop, the slave was helping lift some crates, and he was shirtless. She saw the deep whip marks on his back and again noticed the limp. From Captain Devereux’s careless words at dinner she’d gathered he had been responsible.

But even if the captain didn’t have a list of sins long enough to be the devil himself, Meredith told herself she wouldn’t be interested. She had little use for the male species. She had seen her father and brother take mistresses—wenches, they called them—with no regard for feelings or consequences. None of the other “gentlemen” she had met appeared to have any finer scruples. She had been courted, and asked for her hand in marriage, but those proposals, she suspected, were intended for her fortune more than her charms.

She planned never to marry and, thanks to her grandfather, she would never have the need. No one would control her life, or her thoughts or her deeds, as her brother controlled his wife’s. She was responsible only to herself, and that was the way it would remain.

So why did Devereux get under her skin?

C
hapter 3

DAPHNE HESITANTLY
went to the open deck, finding an inconspicuous place where she could hide in the shadows. It was evening, and a warm breeze ruffled the water. She looked ahead at the long ribbon of river that stretched out as far as her eyes could see. It was so free!

The knot that had originally formed inside her when her old master died tightened. Ever since she had been sold away from the only home she had ever known, she had been frightened. Not just frightened, terrified. She had suddenly realized how completely helpless she was.

Her childhood had been a lucky one, and she knew it now. Although Daphne didn’t know anything about her parents, she’d been raised with the other slave children by a woman everyone called Granny. When she was small she had carried water to field hands; later she was trained as maid to one of the two daughters in the house.

Despite the heat, Daphne shivered now in the open air. She didn’t know what she would face at the new plantation, although her mistress seemed kind enough. But what about the master there? She knew she didn’t have any choices. She had been taught from the time she was a baby to accept her lot in life, to obey. She was taught she had no rights, no freedom. She was born only to serve others and, knowing nothing else, she accepted these teachings. She had willingly served her selfish young mistress for nine years, grateful she did not work in the fields and that the master of the house was a religious man who treated his slaves fairly if sternly. Runaways, slackers, troublemakers were sold, not physically punished, but the threat of sale alone kept most of his people hardworking and docile. There were worse masters, and they all knew it.

So if not content, Daphne considered herself lucky until weeks ago when the master died, and his family discovered they were near bankruptcy. The plantation was sold to a neighbor who planned to combine the fields. He had no need for additional house servants, and they were all sold.

She would never forget when the slave trader came for them. The women were loaded in two wagons, and the men, many of whom had been on the plantation all their lives, were ironed and chained to a long cable attached to the wagon. At night, the women too were chained, and Daphne could still feel the pinch of cold metal…and the overwhelming sickening fear.

“You hidin’?”

The voice, as deep as the rumble of thunder, made her jump and she felt a huge but oddly protective hand on her arm.

She looked up slowly, cautiously. It was the man who had delivered the invitations to her mistress on those several occasions. She kept looking up until her neck almost hurt. He was so tall. And the chest, covered by a straining cotton shirt, was so wide she could barely see beyond it.

He was looking at her with concern, and her heart nearly stilled at the gentle expression in his face.

“No…I…” Daphne stopped, not knowing what to say. Because of his size he would have been terrifying, but the teasing curve of his mouth and the softness in his eyes conveyed nothing beyond kindness.

“Don’t be scared,” he said now as if reading her mind. “I mean no harm.”

“I know,” she answered, surprising herself with the ease of her reply. She had never been comfortable with men. The male house servants had been much older than she, and already mated, and she had never been attracted to any of the field hands, had never wanted to be. It was not snobbery, but reluctance to give birth to new slaves. But she was around seventeen or so, and the master had been pushing her to take a mate for that very purpose. She had known, when she was taken to New Orleans for sale, she could probably escape it no longer. Then Miss Meredith appeared, almost like an angel. But when they arrived at Miss Meredith’s home…? The thought settled in her stomach like a stone.