Patricia Potter (20 page)

Or was it the danger?

She stepped back frantically. “No,” she whispered, and his arms loosened from around her. His lips whispered against her cheek, and then his hand caught her chin, making her look up at him. She couldn’t see his features well, but in her mind she saw his slight smile, the question in his eyes.

“You’re like quicksilver, Miss Bradley,” he said softly. “You keep running away from me. Why?”

Because I hate you. And I’m so afraid I also love you.

“I’m tired,” she said aloud, her voice unsteady.

Adrian sighed. His head started to lower again, and Lauren knew he meant to kiss her, to kiss away her rejection, but she spun away, afraid that he would do just that.

“Please, Adrian.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said, his voice suddenly hard and uncompromising, and she knew she was going to need to give some explanations the next day. She knew he must be totally confused, the way she yielded one moment and ran the next. The good Lord knew she was confused!

“I’ll walk you to the cabin,” he said, his hands leaving her as he stooped down and swept up Socrates. Adrian’s right hand took her arm firmly, guiding her through the dark night air to the steps that led down to the cabin. The interior was even darker than the deck, and she wondered how he stepped so surely. She felt totally blind, completely at his mercy.

The engines hummed as Adrian’s hand steadied her uncertain steps, his warmth and scent intoxicating in the cocoon of the ship, of the night. She stumbled, and his arm went around her again, keeping her from falling. Lauren felt as if he were an integral part of her, and she knew she would never be whole again when he was gone.

When he was gone!

And then they were at the cabin, and he’d opened the door. He released her, and she heard the sound of a match striking, and the flare of a lantern. “It’s safe to use a light in here,” he said. “There are no windows.”

The lantern, really a strange-looking oil lamp designed specifically for ships, was hung from a hook, its flickering flame sending darts of light around the cabin, illuminating his face. There were so many questions in his expression—questions she could never answer.

Socrates jumped to the floor and went over to his bed.

“I’ll take him with me,” Adrian said.

“Why don’t you leave him here?”

“Are you quite sure about that?” Adrian’s voice was now tinged with amusement. “Sometimes he decides he prefers the bed. You might wake up with a bony paw clutching at you.”

“At least he’ll be company.”

His eyes sparked, the deep blue of them catching fire from the flame. “I find myself jealous. And of a monkey. I’ll have no pride left, Miss Bradley,” he teased.

“I think that unlikely,” she retorted.

“You do unprecedented damage to it.”

“I believe you will recover.”

“Doubtful.” An endearingly wistful smile played over his face.

Another ploy? “Good night, Captain.”

“Adrian,” he insisted.

“Lord Adrian,” she said, trying to keep a certain distance.

“Lord Ridgely, to be correct,” he said dryly. “You sound as if you dislike lords?”

“I’ve heard they play games,” she charged unwisely.

“What kind of games?”

“With hearts.” With
my heart.

He was silent, his eyes dark and secretive, a muscle twitching in his cheek. She wished she knew why.

“Don’t they?”

“Not all of them. Do all women play games?” There was a sudden harsh edge to his voice.

Drat the man. He had a way of putting her on the defensive. Of turning her words against her. And he had wagered on her! Her anger rose again, protecting her from her own weakness. But she knew she had to guard against that too. She had already said too much. But the skin where he’d touched her still tingled, still burned, and she knew if he kissed her, she would be lost again.

She prayed briefly, and her prayers were answered. His low voice, rumbling through her consciousness, made her reply unnecessary.

“I have to get up on deck. These waters are still dangerous. Good night … Lauren.”

There was an unusual curtness to his words, and she felt a now-familiar pain stab through her. If his censure hurt now, dear God, how much was it going to hurt when he learned the truth?

“Captain,” she acknowledged, and turned to watch him duck his tall shoulders to go through the door. And then he was gone.

Adrian spent the night at the wheel, Johnny next to him until they were safe from the reefs. Then Johnny went to bed while Adrian, wanting the solitude, stayed at the wheel.

He needed the time to sort out his thoughts about Lauren Bradley.

He had thought he had found something different, something fine, with her. He had never talked to a woman like he had to her on the beach, nor had any woman aroused the kind of gentleness she did. Being with her, he’d discovered to his surprise, had filled some of the empty places within. It was like finding a part of himself.

Or, at least, so he’d thought for a while. Those hazel eyes had a way of regarding him with such vulnerability and determination that he wanted to hold her and protect her.

And make love to her.

But in the past few days, some of her acceptance of him, their ease with each other, had vanished, and he didn’t understand why. He had been the perfect gentleman, although it had not been easy. He was used to quick successes, but then he had not earnestly courted since the disaster with Sylvia. He’d indulged himself with light skirts, women who asked little other than an afternoon’s enjoyment.

He wanted more from Lauren Bradley. He was not sure how much more at this moment. But a need was there, a strong need that was both new and compelling. And she had seemed willing enough for a while to explore whatever it was that ran between them with such elemental force. But she’d suddenly turned skittish, like an untutored filly before a race, sensing something, getting caught in the excitement, but not quite sure what was expected of her.

He chuckled at his own whimsy. He was probably making far more of this than he should. Still, the need in his groin was strong, and the depth of the longing someplace else was more terrifying than any Yank cruiser. He had been so damned alone for so long. All his life. And for a few fleeting hours … he’d felt as if he really belonged somewhere.

He cursed, the sound ragged and frustrated.

There were few places to hide on the ship. In fact, there were none, Lauren discovered the next day.

As they had last night, the walls of the cabin closed in around her, and she wondered how Adrian tolerated it. Lauren had always loved the out-of-doors, had always kept her window opened at least a little, even in the worst of wintertime. She had rejoiced in long walks, and in watching the sun and the moon as they traded places in their endless cycles. And she relished the breath of air against her skin.

But this small cabin was airless, and she felt entombed. Yet she knew Adrian would be wherever she went.

Socrates was still sleeping when she rose, and Lauren was not sure of the time. She lit the oil lamp and watched him for several seconds. He looked a little like a sleeping child, his features relaxed, his legs and arms sprawled in four directions.

There was a knock on the door, and she hurried to answer it, her heart speeding, but it was not Adrian. A sailor she’d seen when she boarded stood there with two steaming pails of water in hand.

“Captain’s compliments,” he said stiffly, as if he’d been told carefully what to say. “I’ll fetch yer breakfast d’rectly.”

“The captain?”

“Sleeping, miss. He bedded down at daylight, but he said to ask whether you would sup with him tonight.”

The sailor was young, no more than twenty, with a pronounced English accent she guessed was Cockney.

A reprieve, Lauren thought. A brief one. She opened the door wider to allow the sailor in. He went to a cabinet Lauren hadn’t even realized was built into the wall and took out a bowl, carefully pouring the contents of one bucket into it. “ ‘Ere’s more if you need it,” he said of the other bucket. He started to back out. “What should I tell the capt’n ‘bout supper?”

“That I would be pleased,” she said, “and thank you for the water.”

The sailor blushed.

“Do you think it would be … all right to look around the ship?”

“Aye, ma’am. Be pleased to show you meself. Capt’n said I’m at your … service.” He said the last uncomfortably, as if the words were new.

“After breakfast then,” she said.

“Aye, miss.” His face crinkled into a full grin. “It be a fine ship.” Pride was evident in his voice.

After he left, Lauren quickly washed and dressed, finishing just before a knock came again, and the same sailor appeared, a tray in hand, smells wafting up that would have been appealing if she had an appetite. The very thought of food, however, made Lauren wince. For a moment, she hoped it was seasickness, but she knew it wasn’t.

It was an altogether different type of sickness, one she was afraid would haunt her forever. But after the sailor left, she forced herself to eat. Then she checked the small trunk she had brought with her, and found the bag of sand she’d collected earlier yesterday. She played with the sack with her hand, wondering if so small a thing could really disable a ship. She had been assured it could.

“There
is
something you can do, Miss Bradley,” she heard Mr. Phillips say again in her mind. “Sixty percent of the South’s arms come in through the blockade runners, nearly all its paper for cartridges, and three fourths of its powder.”

Then Jeremy: “We can’t let the cannon get through.”

And Larry: “I’ve got to go, Lauren. I must. The Union must stay together … we all have to do what we can.”

Lauren pressed her hands against her ears to stop the voices. But now there was Adrian’s, deep and sincere. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

And Jeremy again. “There was a wager …”

“Go away,” Lauren screamed to them all. But it was a silent scream, and useless. The voices remained.

Even as she wandered over the ship with her guide, who gave his name as Dicken, she looked for the tall, rangy form of Adrian.

Dicken was right. Even to Lauren’s unpracticed eyes, the ship was a sleek, lean beauty. Perhaps, she thought, it was Adrian’s British Navy background, but the
Specter
fairly shone, even with its decks piled with cargo. Every piece of wood was polished to a sheen. The crew was just as sterling, each member wearing a clean uniform and doffing his hat when she approached. There was pride in both, the crew and the ship.

When they’d finished the round, Socrates dashing ahead and looking around as if for his master, Lauren asked to see the engine room.

Dicken looked startled. “The engine room, miss?”

Lauren eyed him steadily. “I’ve never been on a steamship before.”

The sailor looked doubtful. “It’s awful ‘ot down there, miss.”

“Please,” Lauren cajoled.

“I don’t know if the capt’n would like it.”

Lauren gave him her sweetest smile. “I don’t think he would mind.”

Dicken finally shrugged his assent, remembering his orders, to make sure Miss Bradley was comfortable and happy. “Well … if you say …”

The door to the cabins and sleeping quarters was near the bow, but the engine room was located down the steps from the stern. She had expected the room to be dirty as well as hot, but like the rest of the ship, it was unexpectedly clean, except where the coal was stored. “Newcastle coal,” Dicken said proudly. “The captain gets only the best.”

There were four men inside, each working in steady motion, shoveling coal into the boilers. Three of them were shirtless, and the fourth man, wearing a shirt open to his waist and an officer’s hat, came over. “Miss?”

Dicken turned all shades of red before he stuttered, “Miss Bradley, this is Mick … our engineer.”

“So this be the pretty passenger I’ve been hearing about,” Mick said with a wide grin. “Didn’t expect to see you down here.”

“I’ve never been on a steamship before,” she said. “Can you explain it to me?”

Mick beamed at the attention, and especially at showing off his pride and joy. “Sure as sin,” he said, then he reddened slightly. “Sorry, miss. We’re not used to passengers on the
Specter,
especially fine ladies.”

Lauren spent the next half hour listening, never having to interject a comment. He showed Lauren the brightly painted red machinery, the shafts working the paddle wheels, patiently explaining the function of each. Mick was much easier to follow than the men in Washington, but the principle was the same, Lauren soon discovered. Everything was exactly as described. She felt her heart pound. She’d been half-hoping her task would be rendered impossible …

But Mick not only explained, he invited her to return. “Any time you get restless …”

And Lauren could mutter only a weak “Thank you.”

Fresh air greeted Lauren as she and Dicken left the ship’s interior for the deck. Her dress was sticky with the heat from the engine room, and her mind was whirling with the implications of what she’d just seen. She leaned against the smokestack, breathing in the fresh, clean air, trying to clear the webs from her mind.