Patricia Potter (24 page)

Darkness fell; the clouds overhead blocked out even the brightest of stars. He felt the sea gathering its strength, and he knew a storm was not far away. In this instance, he welcomed it. A storm would benefit him, make his ship even more invisible to Yankee eyes. There was a danger, of course, of collision, but that was minor compared to the threat of cannon fire. His luck was holding.

A few more runs and he could return to England to make an offer for Ridgely. Perhaps Lauren would go with him. She apparently had no family left, no ties, and he knew she would like England. She had a sense of adventure that he’d never seen in a woman before, a sense of curiosity and discovery that matched his own.

Rain started falling, and he thought about fetching his slicker from his cabin. But he was afraid he might dally there, as he had last night, and he needed to be at the wheel, now that the storm was whipping up.

He enjoyed the splash of refreshing rain on his body. Bloody hell, but he felt good. Alive. So damnably alive after being with Lauren. And finally free of at least part of the past.

Gloriously free!

Although the engines kept the
Specter
from tossing on the seas as wildly as a sailing ship might, the steamship still rolled and crashed into high waves. Lauren, who’d never been seasick, started feeling ill.

Miserable, she clung to her bed, Socrates sitting and scolding unhappily next to her as the ship plunged up and down. Knowing he would be on deck, she thought of Adrian standing amid the raging storm like a Viking of old, probably laughing at the elements that sought to tame him.

The ship plunged down again, and Lauren thought all her problems might be solved quite a different way, after all. Her glance went over to the trunk she had brought aboard, the trunk with the sand. If the weather continued like this, she’d probably have no chance to get in the engine room, anyway.

Lauren started praying. Praying that the storm would continue.

But by noon the next day, the skies were blue again. Lauren realized that early, when Dicken brought her water for washing, and some breakfast she couldn’t eat. He’d also told her the storm was over, that the
Specter
had made even better time than they’d expected, and that they would be approaching the Carolina coast by noon.

Lauren’s stomach started feeling even worse, and it wasn’t entirely due to seasickness.

Never a coward before, she hid in her cabin, telling Dicken that she was feeling ill. He took Socrates out with him, to get him some supper as ordered by Captain Cabot, he’d said, his mouth twisting into a frown as he reached down for the monkey.

How was the captain? Lauren hadn’t wanted to ask, but the words came out anyway.

Dicken shrugged. “You can never tell with the captain. He was up all night with the storm, and he’ll stay awake now until we’re safe in Charleston.”

“You said we were near the Carolina coast. Aren’t there patrol boats?”

“Aye, but we usually see them first and run. The captain can outsail anything,” he said in an increasingly familiar refrain. “Before long, we’ll duck into a riverway until dark.”

Lauren shivered despite herself. She didn’t have much more time.

Dicken noticed, and attributed the tremor to seasickness. He’d had it a few times himself and sympathized, knowing that the best thing was to leave the victim alone. “I’ll tell the captain you aren’t feeling well.”

That was the last thing Lauren wanted, for she knew it would bring him to her. And the last thing she wanted now was the captain’s presence in her cabin, to be alone with him.

She shook her head. “Some fresh air will feel good. I’ll be up as soon as I dress.”

He nodded, and Lauren sighed in relief as the door closed behind him. Hours now. Only hours left before the ship would make its run into Charleston.

She tried to remember her lessons, anything to keep from thinking about Adrian. The bearded engineer in Washington had been skeptical and impatient. He had told her exactly where to put the sand, how long it would take for it to foul the shafts and stop the paddles. He had not expected her to do it, had expected it all to be a waste of his time. He’d made that quite obvious. But Mr. Phillips had insisted that they study the plan over and over again until Lauren believed she could follow the instructions in her sleep.

And that was what she would do. Not in her sleep of course, but automatically. Unfeelingly. As if someone else were destroying Adrian’s ship.

Nothing
will happen to him. Nothing will happen to his crew.
How many times had Mr. Phillips assured her? If his ship were disabled, he’d have no choice but to surrender. And then a few weeks of detention. Nothing more. It would take him months to get a new ship, perhaps longer. And a thousand fewer guns would be delivered, not to mention the cannon below.

Nothing
will happen to him.
She had to believe that.

She chose her most unflattering dress. It seemed to fit the day. It was one of those from her mourning period, a dull gray pattern with a high neck and long sleeves. Then she twisted her hair in a knot at the back of her head. Perhaps her choices would put Adrian off, would reestablish the barrier between them.

The sun was high and bright when she finally reached the main deck. The storm had washed the sky, and made it so pure a blue that it hurt.

The first officer was at the wheel with the pilot. Adrian was nearby, scanning the seas with a glass. Socrates was huddled next to him, his hand over his eyes, as if he, too, were looking for danger. She had to grin at the way the monkey sometimes imitated Adrian.

Lauren followed their gaze. She saw nothing except the deep blue of the Atlantic and the creatures who, unlike them, belonged in it. There were no other ships, but she did see some dolphins swimming alongside, playing tag with the
Specter.

Again she looked out to the horizon, squinting against the sun to see better. Finally she saw some birds soaring in the sky. Seabirds! They were nearing landfall. That’s what so interested Adrian, not another Union ship.

Her gaze invariably returned to Adrian. He was in the same clothes he’d worn last night, and they were wrinkled, having apparently been soaked and dried on his body. A light beard covered his cheeks. But she would have known the silhouette anywhere. Perhaps it was the mark of English nobility; he seemed the picture of pride and arrogance despite the unkempt clothes.

As usual, her bones seemed to liquefy as she watched him. As if he sensed her presence, he turned, taking the glass from his eye. His gaze raked her, slowly moving from her hair down to the bottom of her skirt and then up again.

The look was so intense, so personal, that she had the sensation of his touching her, just as he had in the cabin before, and she felt as weak and helpless against the gentle assault now as she did then.

His eyes crinkled with amusement as they studied her costume, his head tipping slightly with question.

And then he winked, and Lauren knew all her precautions were for naught. In some ways, he could see right through her. Why, then, couldn’t he in more important ways?

Lauren suddenly realized she wanted him to, wanted him to stop her.

Adrian looked down a moment at his own clothes, smiled wryly, and gave her that heart-stopping grin. He handed the spyglass to Johnny and made his way toward her.

“It’s been a busy morning. We’ve been ducking patrol boats,” he said, as if explaining his appearance.

“Are there more than usual?”

He shrugged. “Not really. It’s mostly a matter of seeing them first and running.”

“And you can outrun anything afloat,” she recited the litany.

He grinned even wider. “Aye.”

Lauren was always captivated by him, but now he was even more irresistible—if that were possible. There was an elation about him, a small boy’s joy, that made him vulnerable as he hadn’t been before. He’d always appeared so in charge, so contained, even when he told her about the man he’d lost. There had been grief then, and he’d shared it with her for a few precious moments, but still there had been a strength in him that kept reminding her who and what he was.

Now, as she looked at the wind-burned face with the eyes that twinkled and teased and took full pleasure in life, he seemed unguarded and accessible and … exposed.

“You’re feeling better?” The gruffness in his voice said so much more than a simple question.

She nodded, her heart beating so rapidly she couldn’t speak.

“Dicken said you were seasick. I thought about coming to see how you were, but I couldn’t leave the wheel.”

Lauren didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to look at him, at the concern in his eyes for her, at the face which should be lined with weariness, but wasn’t. How did he keep going like this? Excitement? Adventure? Pure determination? Why did he always seem so much bigger than life?

She forced herself to speak, to break that spell that always wrapped itself around them, binding them together like the thin but nearly indestructible fibers of a spider’s web. “Dicken said we’ll wait in a river until dark.”

Adrian looked toward the birds, now growing closer. “Two hours, perhaps less, and we will be entering the river.”

“Which river?”

Adrian shrugged. “We keep all the rivers nameless. I think only Johnny knows them, and he never mentions the names. There’s a lot of loose mouths in Nassau … and listening ears.”

“You
don’t even know?”

“I don’t want to know. That’s Johnny’s job.”

“He’s … from the South, isn’t he?”

Adrian nodded.

“If … if anything happened to the ship, I know … I understand that you’ll be released. What about him?”

Lauren saw some of the pleasure fade from Adrian’s face. “I have British papers for him, and we’ve taught him some good British oaths.”

Lauren felt the tiniest bit of relief. “What’s a good British oath?”

Adrian feigned horror. “What a question for a well-brought-up young lady.”

“For English well-brought-up young ladies,” she corrected, trying to separate herself from the ladies he’d known before.

“For any well-brought-up young lady,” he insisted with a grin, one of his hands going to touch a curl that had escaped the prim bun she had so carefully designed.

Even the air vibrated with the energy, the excitement, sparked by his touch. His fingers brushed the skin of her neck, and already the fire was starting there and moving like a field blaze to the core of her. She shivered, again experiencing the confusion she always felt with him.

“Captain!”

He turned. Johnny was gesturing to him. “Land ahead.”

Adrian put his hand around her waist and guided her toward the wheel.

“The river?”

Johnny gave Adrian the glass, and Lauren watched as he put it to his eye, his mouth forming a satisfied smile. “You’re a wonder, Johnny,” Adrian said, handing the glass to Lauren and guiding her direction. Through the glass, she could see land, the flat sand dunes and, beyond that, trees. She didn’t see a river.

She looked at him questioningly, and Adrian’s smile broadened. “You’ll see as we get closer.”

“And then?” she questioned.

“We’ll lie at anchor until dark.”

“How far are we from Charleston?”

“A few hours.”

Lauren felt a knot of frustration. She could visit the engine room by day. How would she explain a nighttime visit?

“Will you get some rest?”

Adrian shook his head. “I’d rather enjoy the company of a pretty young lady.”

“I think this lady needs some rest after last night.”

Adrian looked immediately apologetic. “Of course. We’ll have time in Charleston. I intend to spend a lot of time with you, Lauren Bradley.”

Time in Charleston! Lauren felt her fingers shake slightly. There would be no time in Charleston. No time ever.

Lauren never knew how she managed to reply, how she managed to get to her cabin. She didn’t know anything but a hurt so strong that it seemed to swallow her.

CHAPTER 13

It’s
all a game to him. Nothing more than a bet.

Lauren tried futilely to comfort herself.

Time crawled by, and yet it went much too fast.

She heard, felt, the engines slow, and then stop. Next was the heavy grating sound of the anchor being lowered.

Lauren tried to sleep. The good Lord knew she’d had precious little the night before, but drowsiness wouldn’t come. And the tiny cabin grew hotter and hotter in the humid stillness of a Southern river.

She opened the trunk and looked at the sackful of sand for a long time. Slowly she poured its contents into the reticule she had made a point of carrying whenever she went on deck. Each grain of sand seemed to weigh a ton.

When she finished, she looked over Adrian’s collection of books in the built-in shelves, and chose one at random. Anything to divert her thoughts from the upcoming act of betrayal.

Would he realize who was responsible? Would the plot even work? How could a few handfuls of sand disable a powerful ship such as this?