Patricia Potter (11 page)

She stood once more, digging her feet in the sand, feeling the sea breeze, hearing his soft, deep chuckle that was, to her, a siren’s call to forget everything but this day and this minute.

When he held out his hand, she took it, lost in the exploration of sensation, of stimulation, of the sensuality of the sun and sea and sand.

And Adrian Cabot.

He stepped closer, and she could smell his scent, a rich mixture of bay and some other spice she couldn’t identify. Nor did she have time to think about it, for his lips were touching hers, lightly as if not to frighten, but still intoxicatingly.

She started to respond, and then a deeper instinct made her jerk away.

He let her go, his head cocked slightly at an angle as if studying her. “You’re enchanting, you know,” he said.

She had never been called enchanting before. Just as she had never been called lovely. Pretty, yes. But even that had come from her brother and father, and they were certainly prejudiced. But now she felt enchanting, and enchanted, and she also felt shivery and shaken and altogether confused.

“Come,” he said, taking her hand as if the kiss had never happened.

And she did, almost without will, with purpose forgotten. He took her to a tidal pool and showed her a multicolored crab that was trying to find its way back to the sea. Crystal water reflected each of its shades, as well as the tiny fish that darted like colorful streaks of energy. A little farther on, he discovered a conch shell; he washed its dead interior with seawater and held it to her ear so she could hear its special ocean music.

Lauren listened with fascinated wonder. She had always had a curiosity and hunger about the world, which was too often left unsatisfied by those who thought a woman should have no such interests. Even her father, so busy with his practice, had little time to sit and explain, and her brother was more amused than helpful. Her suitors had never wished to discuss politics with her, or new scientific discoveries, and few of them read the books she treasured.

She looked up at the man beside her. While he’d shown amusement when she’d divested herself of her footwear, there was none as he shared his knowledge of the island and the sea. His voice, deep and so attractively accented, held its special appeal, an authority and power that made her heart quicken. She could well imagine his presence on a ship, his orders quick and sure as he evaded the blockade, as he falsely ordered rockets, as he …

Lauren shook her head, and tried to bring his words back in focus.

“I’m losing your attention.” The rebuke was rather like that of a disappointed schoolteacher, and she wondered for a moment at the different sides she had seen of him: owner of a wayward monkey, rescuer, English lord, rakish captain, teacher, war profiteer. Which one was the real Adrian Cabot? It didn’t matter, though. There was only one aspect she could consider—the latter one. But she liked the others. It scared her how much she liked the others.

“I’m hungry,” she answered, but not quite quickly enough to escape his searching gaze.

“Is that all? You seemed hundreds of miles away.”

“I was … thinking of home. My brother used to take me to the ocean.”

She felt his hand tighten on hers. “I’m sorry.”

There was regret in his voice, and she wished she didn’t feel that familiar ache inside, the ache and guilt. “Do you have a brother?”

His face tightened again in that rare, unexpected way. “I did.”

Lauren knew from his expression she shouldn’t intrude, but she couldn’t help herself. “What happened?”

It was an intrusive question, and she half-expected him to ignore it, but instead he looked away at the sea as he answered very quietly, “He shot himself.”

She closed her eyes. So he had known loss too. She should have felt a tiny speck of satisfaction, but she didn’t. Only compassion, for he said it with a kind of sad aloneness.

“There’s no … other family?”

“A few distant cousins.”

Her hand unaccountably squeezed his, and his eyes searched her face. “You’re a very unusual woman, Lauren Bradley.”

“A hungry one, at least,” she said, knowing she had to do something to break this mood that made them one, rather than two separate people with two distinctly opposed goals.

“There’s no romance in your soul, Miss Bradley,” he said, but his voice was again light, as if he, too, knew they had been entering uncharted waters.

The meal would have been wonderful if Lauren had not lost her appetite. But since she had mentioned hunger, she forced herself to eat, to keep her eyes on the roast chicken and fresh bread and fruit. When she did look toward him, his eyes were on her, their contents hooded, but his mouth smiling. Each time, she felt something inside her respond in ways that were treacherous. She wanted to reach out and touch him. She hungered for contact, but she knew she could not risk it.

“When will you be … making another run?”

“I leave on the tide tonight,” he said.

“But I thought—” She stopped abruptly.

“You thought what?”

“That you waited until the moon wanes.”

“Some captains do,” he said. “Certainly the most activity takes place then, but I can’t wait that long. And it’s only half moon. With luck we’ll have fog going into Charleston.”

“Aren’t you afraid of bad luck?”

He shrugged. “It’s something you can’t control, so I don’t worry about it. I only worry about things I
can
control, like having the best bloody crew and the fastest ship.”

The reply was so sure, even arrogant, that she felt the old resentment rise, the knowledge that his luck and skill had killed her brother. She nibbled at a piece of fruit she didn’t recognize; it was tangy rather than sweet. Sipping a glass of light wine, she looked out over the water. The sun was tracing patterns over its surface, making the variations of colors even more complex.

“How … how long will you be gone?”

“About ten days. I’ll wait in Charleston for the full moon to pass.”

“Do you ever take passengers?”

“No.” The answer was flat.

“But I’ve heard …”

“Some ships do take passengers. I don’t. The
Specter
isn’t equipped to carry them. We have no extra cabins, only cargo space.”

“But …”

“If I have to worry about women and children or even civilian men, I might make a mistake, Lauren. I may not take risks which are sometimes necessary. Every man who sails with me knows the danger, and the odds, and they accept them, but I’m not willing to assume the responsibility for more lives.”

Lauren stared at him with surprise. He had always before spoken of the blockade with such light disregard. “But I thought you enjoyed it.”

“Part of me does,” he admitted. “There are few thrills like successfully running the blockade, of knowing you’ve outwitted one of the best navies afloat, but I don’t want anyone else to pay the price for my perverse pleasure.” He was quiet for several seconds. “You aren’t thinking of running the blockade?”

“Perhaps,” she said.

“But why?”

“I have friends in Charleston, and … perhaps I could do something for the war effort … nursing perhaps.” She swallowed hard at the lie. Why had she ever thought this could be easy?

Adrian stilled. “Nursing?”

“My father was a doctor. I used to help him.”

“Have you ever nursed a man torn apart by a cannonball?” His voice was intentionally rough.

“No.”

“I’ve seen war wounds, Lauren,” he said, his voice harsh. “They’re a lot different from illness.”

“When?” The word was barely a whisper.

“Not here. The Crimean War. My ship rescued survivors from another ship. It was hell.”

Lauren digested the words, the feeling in them. Adrian Cabot did not take death lightly. But still he played with it. Still he had killed Laurence. She shivered, and knew he saw it as his mouth gentled once more. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But you don’t want to go to Charleston.”

His assumption angered her. “That’s my decision.”

His steady gaze didn’t change, but he nodded without argument, and several minutes later they were back in the small sailing skiff. Some afternoon clouds appeared, and some of the brightness left the day, as if imitating Lauren’s own fogged senses.

They arrived back at the wharf in late afternoon. What intimacy had been between them was broken, and Lauren knew Adrian also realized that some indefinable barrier had been erected, though his puzzled look told her he had no idea why.

But at the private back door of Jeremy’s, he took her hand and held it a moment, the warmth of the sun passing from one to another, warmth from the sun and warmth from their bodies, and warmth from …

“It’s been a pleasure,” he said, his voice low and beguiling, full of promise. “May I call on you when I return?”

Lauren felt a sizzling heat race through her blood, knew a dizziness that had nothing to do with the usual causes of such impairment. She looked up at him, into the eyes that regarded her steadily with a befuddlement of their own, and she wanted to reach out to him, to touch. To touch and to preserve.

“Don’t go,” she said, suddenly desperate without knowing why.

He looked even more puzzled.

“Don’t run the blockade!”

His mouth relaxed. “I’ll be safe enough.”

She swallowed a protest, suppressed her fear, although she didn’t know for whom she feared. She nodded and watched as he turned and strode quickly toward the wharf and his ship.

Her room overlooked the harbor and his ship. She hadn’t been able to eat any dinner, claiming that the picnic had been more than sufficient. She had often found Jeremy’s gaze on her, but he hadn’t had a chance to speak with her privately.

She retired early, pleading a headache from the sun, and she sat at the window, watching the activity around the
Specter
. As dusk fell, lights glowed from the ship, and as its gray shape melded into evening twilight, the twinkling lights seemed to come from nowhere.

Lauren continued to sit there, to watch as the lights moved slowly away and grew dim, and then disappeared into the night.

CHAPTER 6

The run into Charleston was one of the easiest Adrian had experienced. Few runners tried the run during this phase of the moon, and the Union lookouts were lazy. The
Specter
had glided unnoticed past two visible ships before coming under the protection of the guns of forts Moultrie and Sumter.

The tide was high as they crossed over the bar into the harbor, the cannon of Fort Moultrie signaling their arrival. By the time the
Specter
reached the wharf, there would be numerous agents gathered to inquire about his cargo, despite the early hour. Later in the day, the commercial cargo would be auctioned off to Charleston merchants, and Adrian would probably spend the rest of the day bargaining with Confederate agents for the remaining cargo—munitions, guns, and medicines.

Each arrival of a blockade runner was reason for celebration in Charleston, and he knew there would be several invitations this morning for dinners and dances. Charleston was determinedly gay, even in face of the growing shortages. It had become, he knew, a matter of pride for the city’s residents to maintain appearances.

But this night he would decline them all and get some badly needed rest, for he’d had little in the last several days. He never slept well during the passages, knowing they could be sighted at any moment by Union warships, but this trip had been even more disturbing than usual, for he had not been able to erase the hazel-eyed Miss Bradley from his mind.

Nearly seventeen years ago, he had learned that women were basically untrustworthy and deceptive. He knew if he ever regained Ridgely he would marry, but simply to acquire heirs, nothing more. If he didn’t regain Ridgely, then he’d decided to remain unencumbered and free.

And, he told himself, Lauren Bradley was not, in any way, his usual cup of tea. She was, apparently, a bluestocking, a type he usually avoided. Yet he had been intrigued by her endless curiosity and intelligence, and, at times, the ability to stay quiet when she had nothing to say. That, he thought cynically, was the most unusual thing about her. She had said damned little on the sail back around the island several days ago, and he’d been surprised at how much he’d enjoyed just having her there.

She was not as beautiful as most women he’d squired. She was pretty enough, but it was only during those rare times that she truly smiled that she became really beautiful. More than beautiful. He thought how altogether irresistible she’d looked when she was trying to decide whether to divest herself of shoes—the small unsure looks she’d darted at him; the pleasure on her face as she’d surrendered and buried her feet in the sand. He’d thought his heart would drop straight to the sand.

He hadn’t even known he’d had a heart left.

Disgusted with his thoughts, he turned the wheel over to his first mate. Wade gave him a careful smile, and he knew he had been as short-tempered as Socrates on this trip.

Adrian went to his cabin to see whether it needed cleaning before the agents arrived, but Socrates had disturbed nothing. He had been so subdued on this run, Adrian had worried, but the monkey had eaten well enough. Adrian wondered if perhaps the small animal didn’t miss Lauren Bradley too. Not that he himself had missed her.