Patricia Potter (13 page)

So she hadn’t really understood why Mr. Phillips thought she would be an effective spy, and she was still partially stunned that she had been sought out by two such attractive men. She was even more confounded by her own reactions, both her confusion and the odd but compelling attraction of Adrian Cabot and now the pleasant warmth of Clay Harding.

Lauren’s attention was suddenly diverted by a tall man dressed in civilian clothes who had just entered the dining room. His gaze went almost immediately to her companion, and the two men nodded warily. “Is he a blockade runner?” she asked curiously as Clay’s face tensed.

Clay was slow in answering. “He’s a Union officer. His ship came in for repairs. A confrontation, I heard, with one of our privateers.”

“But he’s not in uniform.”

“He’s wise. There’s a lot of anti-Union feeling here.”

Lauren was confused. “But you know each other.”

“We went to the Naval Academy together,” he said simply.

“You were friends?”

“Very good ones.”

“And now?”

“He’d blow my ship out of the water if he could.” The words were spoken lightly, but Lauren detected pain in them.

“It must be very difficult,” she said slowly, “to find yourself torn between loyalties.” She was beginning to know a little of how it felt.

“Yes,” he said simply. “But that always happens during a civil war. It’s one of the inherent tragedies.”

Lauren knew something about that. Much of Delaware had been divided over the war, although her part of the state had been mostly pro-Union. But she knew no one personally who had decided to fight for the South. Until now.

Lauren looked back to the Union officer. “It must seem strange to eat in the same room as your enemy.”

He grinned, the twinkle back in his eyes. “You’ll discover many strange things about Nassau, Miss Bradley. It’s an anomaly, a neutral port which is not neutral at all, and fortunes made in a day and thrown away as quickly.”

“Is that what Captain Cabot does?”

“Must we talk about him?” Clay said.

“No,” she said, both relieved and yet oddly disappointed at his response. She had wanted to know so much more about the English captain.

The subjects of war and Adrian Cabot were avoided during the next half hour, and Lauren found Clay Harding a charming and amusing companion, who kept her smiling even as he drove her back to Jeremy’s store.

“The book you sold me,” he said, with a lopsided smile, as they left, “was most interesting.”

“You read it from cover to cover?”

“Of course.”

“You can knit now?” she questioned.

“Exquisitely,” he replied solemnly.

Lauren couldn’t help giggling. The image of Clay Harding knitting was an irresistibly amusing one.

He feigned a look of injury before smiling again. “Next time I’ll look before I buy.”

“Only,” she added mischievously, “when you have an unscrupulous clerk.”

“I like unscrupulous clerks. Pretty ones, at least,” he amended.

But then they were back before she could answer. He handed her down and smiled. “I’ll see you Saturday evening. Good day, Miss Bradley.”

“Thank you for a lovely afternoon,” she replied, surprised that she really meant it.

Later, Lauren noted Jeremy’s speculative look as she told him about her afternoon, of Clay Harding and the Union captain, and wondered aloud at the sadness in Clay’s voice as he’d talked about it. They had gone out to the garden after closing the store, and were completely alone.

“You didn’t expect to care, did you?” he observed gently.

“Mr. Phillips … he made them all sound … so mercenary. At least Captain Harding’s doing something he believes in.”

“And Captain Cabot isn’t?”

Lauren nodded miserably.

“Does that make Captain Harding any less effective?”

“No.”

“Nothing is black and white, Lauren. I suppose Adrian Cabot has his own reasons for running the blockade. Perhaps he even believes in the Confederacy. He could certainly make a greater profit by running more luxuries than he does.”

“Are you taking his side?”

He shook his head. “I just want you to realize there are two sides to everything. You can’t make rational decisions without understanding that, or everything will collapse.” He hesitated. “Why did you decide to come?”

Lauren was silent for a moment. But she needed a friend, someone in whom to confide. “My brother … was killed five months ago on a Union patrol boat near Charleston. He was a doctor.”

There was more, and Jeremy knew it. He hesitated to ask. But he didn’t have to.

“Mr. Phillips said he died because of Captain Cabot, that … Captain Cabot tricked one Union boat into firing on another one.”

“It seemed so easy in Washington, didn’t it?” Jeremy asked, and she nodded.

“Not easy, exactly,” she admitted. “But it seemed … right.”

“And now … ?”

She nodded slowly. “I still think it’s right, but I hate lying

“I can write Phillips,” he said, “and ask him to send someone else. You can be on your way home on the next ship.”

“Nothing important is easy,” she said in a soft voice. “I’ll stay.”

He merely nodded, approval in his eyes.

But as they went inside, she wondered whether she might lose her soul in following her conscience. The irony did not escape her.

CHAPTER 7

The ball was glittering, and Lauren felt like Cinderella. She had never attended such an elegant event before.

She knew how to dance, of course. Her brother had taught her well, and she had attended small parties. But she had never even imagined anything quite as grand as this.

The Government House was ablaze with lights, with lanterns on the grounds and great chandeliers inside. Never had Lauren seen such elegant gowns and such a myriad of uniforms, or heard laughter so gay or conversation so vibrant.

Everything appeared larger than life. There was a humming sense of vitality, of danger, of immediacy, that both fascinated and repelled her. Repelled her because she knew it resulted from war.

Clay’s hand tightened on her arm as they walked through the receiving line, then to the huge ballroom that seemed to move itself with whirling figures. She knew she looked better tonight than she had ever appeared, and part of her enjoyed the admiring glances thrown her way.

Her gown was simple and not overly expensive, but the moss-green silk suited her coloring perfectly, making the swirling colors in her hazel eyes soft and mysterious. Purchased ready-made at one of the shops, it had required only a few alterations by Mary.

And her hair. Mary and Corinne had labored hours over her hair, washing it first in perfumed water, and brushing as it dried before taming the curls into a French braid laced with flowers. Mary applied just the least amount of color to her cheeks, and when Lauren was finally allowed to see herself in the mirror, she felt she was regarding a stranger. A lovely stranger, an unfamiliar shell that hid the real Lauren Bradley.

The fairy tale continued as Clay arrived. Dressed in the dashing formal uniform of a Confederate naval officer, he looked much like a prince with his golden hair and blue eyes that blazed with admiration when he saw her.

That look frightened her, and so did this new knowledge that she could inspire such a look. She didn’t like the sense of suddenly not knowing what and who she was.

But there was also an underlying excitement, such as she felt when she traveled to Washington, when she explored London. Neither grief nor loneliness had completely squashed the adventurous part of her, and neither could uncertainty now.

The feeling of unreality persisted as they arrived at the ball, and Lauren was assaulted by any number of uniformed men. Men in red, blue, gray, and even green uniforms, until she could keep none of them straight. They all clamored for dances, but Clay warded them off, claiming the first dance, a waltz.

Lauren was nervous at first. Corinne and Jeremy planned to come later—he’d had some business to take care of—but they’d urged her to go ahead with Clay.

Now she felt alone and uncertain. She had previously danced only with her brother and boys she’d known all her life. But Clay was a wonderful dancer, and her nervousness gave way to pleasure as they moved in sure, graceful steps across the dance floor.

Held lightly in Clay’s arms, she felt nothing of the electric attraction she felt toward Adrian Cabot, and she wondered why not. She knew instinctively it would be easier to like, even love, a man like Clay Harding than one like Adrian Cabot. Despite Adrian’s easy smile and courtesy, there was something very private, very alone, about him.

Which was total nonsense. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow herself to think that way about either of them. She had a job to do, nothing more.

The dance ended, and once more men started for her. Clay took her arm and deftly led her out through French doors to a wide porch, guiding her to a shadowed corner.

“A glass of champagne?”

Lauren nodded. She wanted to be alone for a few moments.

Clay disappeared, and she looked out over the lush, elaborate gardens of Government House. Adrian had expected to be gone for several more days, yet every morning she had risen expectantly from her bed and looked out the window. Each day, the harbor grew more crowded as runners waited out the bright night sky. Her eyes would travel over each of the newly arrived ships, and she felt an inexplicable disappointment when none was the
Specter.
It didn’t, she knew, make sense; yet her body trembled with fear for him. She wanted, needed, craved, to see those deep blue eyes, experience the energy she felt around him, even, God help her, to know his touch again. She had seen him four times, and already he filled her mind.

It was so terribly wrong, so unfair. Why Adrian Cabot? Of all the men in the world, why the man who had caused Larry’s death, who traded in death?

And yet no one had treated her as he had that day on the island, laughing with and teasing her, sharing with her his knowledge and pleasure. He’d touched her with hands that burned and branded, that made her long for something more, so much more.

Clay returned and handed her a glass of champagne. “I just saw Jeremy and his wife come in,” he said. “I thought you would like to know.”

“Thank you.”

She knew his eyes were on her, but she looked away, toward the lanterns that lit the flower beds. A delicious fresh smell from the gardens mingled with the aroma of rich foods and desserts. Above, a full bright orange moon hung high in the sky. A moon to fear, according to most of those present tonight. Beautiful and treacherous—and Adrian Cabot was out there somewhere. Out there and hunted.

She shivered.

“Would you like to go in?”

Lauren turned back to her escort. “It’s so beautiful tonight.”

“It always is during this phase of the moon.”

She looked at him curiously. “Is that why the ball is tonight? Because so many of you are in port?”

“Smart girl,” he said. “The governor usually plans his affairs during the full moon.”

The rest of the evening moved quickly. After several more dances with Clay, she saw Corinne talking with some other women and stopped to be introduced. She conscientiously tried to remember everyone’s name, but her thoughts kept straying to the moon, and the danger she knew Adrian was facing.

Trying to listen, Lauren was suddenly aware that everyone was turning toward the door, a ripple of surprise passing through the room like a breeze on a fall day at home. She, too, turned, and was startled to see Adrian Cabot standing in the entryway. His blue eyes swept over the crowd, lingering slightly on her before passing on.

He was magnificent in evening clothes, every inch the English aristocrat. He wore dark blue superbly tailored trousers, which hugged his deeply muscled legs, a lighter blue waistcoat with a snowy-white cravat, and a midnight-blue formal jacket that darkened the deep, now slightly clouded, blue of his eyes. Socrates was not in evidence, but then she thought quickly that not even Adrian would dare bring an unruly monkey to the Governor’s Ball.

Trying to subdue the relief, the inexplicable joy, that flooded her, she bit her lip in confusion, hiding her trembly smile. He was alive. And safe.

As if he read her mind, even as he still stood in the doorway, apparently enjoying his entrance, he smiled endearingly, and then his glance dropped to the empty space next to him, as if noticing with her the absence of Socrates. He shrugged briefly, as if wryly admitting concession to occasional propriety. She knew her smile was growing wider, and she could do nothing about it, for he looked amusingly like a wayward schoolboy caught in some mischievous act.

The glances between them were potent, filled with understanding and even a trace of wit, and Lauren realized suddenly that others were looking at them, from one to another, with obvious interest. She dropped her eyes and turned back to Corinne as a crowd of men surrounded Adrian, their congratulations noisy even in the large room. In a room filled with reckless, attractive men, Adrian Cabot dominated, radiating an aura of energy and power that dwarfed the others—even Clay Harding, who now made his way over to her possessively.