Patricia Potter (3 page)

“What?” she asked suspiciously.

“We have men who can show you ways … some sand in an engine or one of the shafts … several possibilities. I have men who can train you.”

“But how?”

“The blockade runners often carry passengers.”

Lauren was silent.

“Believe me, Miss Bradley, there could be no greater service for your country … or your brother. Many lives can be saved.”

Despite her reluctance, the last words convinced her. If she could save lives, then perhaps Larry wouldn’t have died in vain. There was certainly nothing to keep her at home. The small house in Dover was altogether too empty; there were only echoes of her father and brother, the two people who had filled it with life and laughter and compassion.

Her father’s medical practice had died when he had. She had helped both him and her brother, and her father had often said her medical knowledge was nearly as great as their own; but no one took a woman seriously. She had thus merely assisted the two of them, yet had been happy to do so. But now that they both were gone, there were no patients who would trust her alone.

Her father had left a little money—not much, but enough to live on for a while. She’d tried to volunteer at several military hospitals, but none would accept a young, unmarried woman.

Now Mr. Phillips was giving her a chance to do something for her country, something to avenge her brother …

A gull swooped down into the water, startling Lauren from her memories. Revenge. Would Larry have really wanted that?

She doubted it. She even questioned her own motives. She had never sought revenge before, had thought it a most base objective. But Mr. Phillips had given her a cause, a purpose.

Lauren knew she was irretrievably committed, but she also realized she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the role she was to play. She had been coached extensively at a small house in Washington, taught how to signal, how to sabotage a ship, even how to flirt. It had taken several months, months in which to think, to consider whether she was capable of such deceit.

But she did owe her brother. And, according to Mr. Phillips, nothing really frightful would happen. The worst that could confront Adrian Cabot was loss of his ship and a short imprisonment, nothing nearly as terrible as what had happened to Larry. And she could help shorten the war. Anything was worth that.

Wasn’t it?

The gray ship that Captain Taggert had identified as the
Specter
drew closer to the clipper ship. The blockade runner wasn’t nearly as pretty as the clipper, Lauren thought with prejudice. Her gaze found a stocky blond figure at the wheel. She also saw bales piled everywhere. Contraband. Cotton. Then, as the ship moved past, she saw a tall figure with reddish-brown hair, who was talking intently to the shorter blond man at the wheel. He suddenly lifted his head as a breeze ruffled through his hair, met her gaze, gave her an almost breathtaking smile, then bowed slightly.

And why shouldn’t he be exultant? she thought, as her own glance raked the crowded decks of his ship. He’d obviously had another successful run.

Under any other circumstances she might have smiled back, dazzled by the pure charm of his smile, but she suddenly remembered Larry—Laurence Bradley II—who once also had a smile that made women melt … and who had it no more.

According to her training, she should smile back across the short span of bay, but suddenly she could not.

Instead, she turned her back and went down the short corridor to her room. Everything was already packed and ready to go, although she knew most of her clothes would not be suitable for this hot climate or her purpose. She did have some money Mr. Phillips had given her for clothes—he’d said she must discard her black dress and look gay and bright and even a bit flighty. She didn’t quite know if she could—she had always, until now, been eminently competent and sensible—so sensible, in fact, that she had scared off practically every suitor. She was twenty-four—some would say an old maid. But she had never considered her value dependent on a husband.

Now she had made a commitment, and she must follow through on it. It could all be for naught, anyway, she thought. While she’d had suitors, none of them had been mad with despair at her lack of interest. She knew she was not plain, but neither was she breathtakingly pretty.

So why might the infamous captain pay her any mind?

Lauren entered her room, taking one last look to see that she had everything together. She then stopped by the mirror, peering at herself critically.

Mr. Phillips, if that really was his name, had said the captain was a womanizer. But Captain Taggert had intimated that he was a loner. Which was he? Or could he be both?

Lauren reviewed her assets, and pitted them against her liabilities. Her eyes were probably her best feature. They were wide and expressive, a soft hazel that changed in color according to her clothes and her mood.

Her hair was her curse. It was much too curly, and tendrils were always unraveling from whatever hairstyle she tried. Neither was she pleased about the color, which was something between blond and brown. Her mouth was too wide for beauty, and her chin too firm. It was a mismatched face, she judged critically for yet another time. Why Mr. Phillips believed she might appeal to an English lord, she could not determine.

She wondered briefly why he had not told her more about Captain Cabot, that he was a member of the English nobility. Perhaps he thought that might intimidate her.

Well, it did. She’d had doubts from the beginning about her ability to flirt, let alone enflame a man to where he would tell secrets, and now the notion seemed more ludicrous than ever.

She felt the soft bang of the clipper against the wharf and wondered whether Jeremy Case would be waiting there for her, he and his wife, Corinne. Fear slowly invaded her, fear of what she was being asked to do, of what was expected of her.

Lauren thought of the man who had smiled at her, then bowed. She had come to think of Captain Adrian Cabot as ruthless and evil. Yet he smiled like an angel—if indeed that had been Adrian Cabot on deck. She hoped with all her being it was not.

Lauren found a bonnet, tied the bow under her chin, and went back up on deck. Captain Taggert had said he would see that her luggage was delivered later.

The deck was bustling now, the other passengers all staring out at the busy wharf where crates of goods were stacked. She heard a man’s loud voice from where she stood; an auction of some kind was being held somewhere below her. She had been told to wear this particular bonnet, and now she saw that someone was staring at her, at the hat. He raised his arm in greeting, and she did the same. He was, after all, supposed to be her uncle.

In her role, she would run down the gangplank to him. Her gaze moved toward the ship that had just docked on the other side of the long wooden pier. The blockade runner.

Suddenly it was very important that she leave the ship before she saw the man she’d glimpsed minutes earlier, and she hurried toward the gangplank.

As she moved down the shaky planks, she became conscious of a man in a blue coat and white trousers striding easily across the boards of the pier. She hesitated a fraction of a second, then moved again, stumbling slightly. Just as she was about to reach the pier herself, a furry animal streaked toward her, and she stepped back, one of her heels catching in an opening between planks as the animal seemed poised to attack. She tried to jerk her foot loose and move back another step, but the sudden freedom of her heel sent her lurching forward instead, and she was falling, her hands reaching out for a hold that wasn’t there.

Fleetingly, she thought of the irony of her situation. She was supposed to make an impression. She would! Right into the water.

And then there were arms around her, impossibly strong arms that righted her. Intuitively, she knew it was the man on the blockade runner, and she looked up slowly, very slowly, until her gaze found the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

CHAPTER 2

No one was more surprised than Adrian to find a woman in his arms, especially one who had turned her back on him earlier, an unusual occurrence that had both puzzled and interested him.

Her eyes were wide, startled, as they stared back at him.

She felt good, too good, and he found he didn’t want to take his hands away, even when she was standing straight again. He justified his failure to release her on a barely perceptible trembling of her body.

He flashed her the smile that usually garnered him a quick and favorable response. “Are you all right, miss?”

She stiffened and moved away, causing his arm to let go of her. “Yes, thank you,” she said in a soft accent he couldn’t immediately identify.

“My pleasure,” he said slowly, meaning it. She was a small thing, slender but not without attractive curves. Her plain gray dress did nothing for her coloring, but her eyes flashed with a kind of golden fire as they regarded him solemnly. “Miss … ?”

She hesitated, a captivating blush stealing into her cheeks, and again he felt a certain surprise and fascination. He couldn’t remember ever being rebuffed by a woman, possibly, he admitted to himself, because he knew when, and when not, to make advances. Yet he had offered no insult, only assistance and good will, and this woman was regarding him as more villain than savior.

“Bradley,” she finally said softly. “Lauren Bradley.”

“A fetching name for a pretty lady,” he said with his most practiced charm. He was determined to get a smile, at least.

But there was none. She stepped back, her eyes meeting his, and suddenly he felt as if a gale were brewing somewhere deep inside her. Their eyes held, seemingly unable to part, as vivid but indefinable emotions passed through hers, like stormclouds before a hurricane. She took another step backward, bumping into a departing passenger from the clipper and trapping herself between the other passengers and Adrian. And he had no intention of moving back, not until she yielded some of her stiffness.

He bowed slightly. “I’m Adrian Cabot,” he said, and took her elbow. “I would dislike your first visit to our island to be an unhappy one, and I believe your near disaster is all my fault. I hope you’ll accept my apologies.”

“Your fault?” She had wrenched her eyes away from his face, and her voice held a slight tremble.

Adrian looked several feet away, to where a monkey perched, an innocent expression on his face. He was wearing a pair of sailor’s trousers and a mate’s hat. “That little scamp belongs to me. He apparently escaped my cabin. He likes to hide under wide skirts, and apparently he saw yours.”

He braced himself for anger, but it didn’t come. Instead, those fascinating eyes suddenly, unexpectedly, twinkled. “I can honestly say it was a unique welcome, Mr. Cabot.”

Adrian was thoroughly charmed. He’d believed he was beyond being charmed by a woman, but her now-sparkling eyes conveyed a sudden infectious and guileless delight that stunned him. “This
is
your first visit, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you before.”

“And do you see everything?” she asked as her eyes caught his and became serious once more. It was almost as if she regretted her brief laughter.

“I try,” he said, his hand firming on her elbow as he still felt resistance. “Everything that’s important, anyway.”

He knew he was giving her no choice. She was obviously alone; there was no gentleman from the ship rushing to her aid, and unless she planned to block the gangplank all day, she would have to accompany him.

Her eyes told him that she recognized what he was doing and didn’t like it, and he grew even more intrigued. There was control in her face now, although she couldn’t hide the blush in her cheeks. She was tense, and he didn’t understand why. His interest heightened, and he almost forcibly led her down the remaining few steps to the pier, where they stood aside to allow the other passengers to finally disembark.

There was a flurry and chattering behind him, and he turned around. Socrates had moved; deciding, apparently, that he was forgiven, he now wanted attention. The small monkey stood like a wizened little man, his eyes blinking at Lauren Bradley. Adrian stiffened, wondering whether another attack was imminent, when Socrates made a little bow to Lauren and offered a gnarled hand with crooked little fingers.

To Adrian’s stunned surprise, she laughed and stooped to take the small hand, totally unafraid of and unawed by the monkey. Women, he had discovered, often to his disgust, usually giggled nervously or backed fearfully away when confronted by his furry companion. He sometimes wondered if that was why he often took Socrates with him.

But Lauren Bradley accepted the small hand and curtsied to the monkey’s bow with such fanciful enjoyment that Adrian was captivated even as he noted that she reacted with much more warmth toward his monkey than she had toward him.

“Socrates,” he interrupted with a rakish smile, “this is Miss Bradley.”

Both appeared to ignore him. Socrates chattered happily if unintelligibly, and Miss Bradley stooped to Socrates’s level and tipped her head as if trying to understand. He had never seen Socrates take so readily to anyone, and Lauren Bradley’s smile was now full and open and completely enchanting as she glanced up at Adrian with delight. And then the delight quickly vanished, as if she were a small child caught doing something wrong.