Patricia Potter (30 page)

As the door opened, Adrian moved lazily to a sitting position. His guards were wary because, he knew, much had been made of him. In the first few days of his imprisonment here, there had been a stream of visitors, including senior naval officers, government officials, and British diplomats. But in the past two weeks, there had been none. Decisions had been made, and his transfer to permanent Federal custody had been delayed only until the prize court met.

Adrian had been cooperative with his jailers because there was no reason not to be and because he had innate courtesy as well as pride. His guards had responded with a gruff fairness of their own. Cautious but respectful.

“Visitor, Cabot,” said one of the men, a sergeant who supervised this section of cells, the most tightly controlled area of the jail.

More questions, he thought. More questions about the pilot who was missing, about the rivers and inlets he’d used. He’d said nothing, but his captors had persisted, saying things would go easier with him if he talked. He recognized that for the lie it was; they weren’t going to let him slip through their fingers.

But at least questions would get him out of this bloody cage for a few moments. He reached for his shirt at the end of the bed, the once fine lawn shirt that was now gray with prison dirt and dried sweat. He then shrugged on his coat, and ran his fingers over his face, feeling the new bristles. He was allowed to shave, under supervision, every other day.

What the hell. There was no one he particularly cared to impress. He grinned suddenly at the sergeant and shrugged. “Who is it?”

The other guard answered with a leer on his face. “A woman.”

Adrian felt the beat of his heart quicken. “A woman?”

“And baby. She says it’s yours, and she needs some money.”

Adrian bit back any reaction. He was long experienced at hiding his emotions, but his mind raced feverishly, running over various possibilities.

A baby?

Some of the expectancy that had risen at the sergeant’s first words died. The woman was obviously not Lauren. Then who? Christ knew he’d been like a monk these past eighteen months, not out of choice but out of lack of opportunity. There had been the widow in Charleston, but she’d been too experienced to get caught that way.

He squared his shoulders as he fell in between the two guards. What the bloody hell. Anything to get out of that cell.

Adrian was led down one corridor, then another, and ascended some steps. Finally they stopped in front of a door. Adrian waited as it was opened to reveal a woman, and he recognized her slender body.

His pulse unexpectedly jumped in jerky patterns, like a drunk frog he’d once wagered on in Nassau. He moved inside, forcing himself to lean indolently against the wall as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Lauren had sat primly in a chair, her eyes calm although emotions roiled in her head like a summer squall as she waited for Adrian’s entrance.

A bundle lay in her arms, its contents squirming restlessly against the blankets that hid the features, but not the form, of a small creature.

“Play dead,” she whispered, and Socrates was instantly quiet, as if he understood that more than a game was at stake. She tensed as she heard the door open, praying that Adrian would understand what was happening.

Her scheme had worked as planned. So far.

Acting came easier now. Tears had flowed easily as she had explained her situation, how she was a merchant’s daughter who fell victim to a rogue seaman and then been left alone with a sick baby, thrown out of her own house. She had read about Adrian Cabot’s capture and had come all the way from South Carolina. If only she could talk to him, convince him to help, perhaps even marry her.

She was so distraught that the commandant of the prison found himself calming her, searching only her reticule. She did not have to pretend at nervousness. Her hands were shaking with the prospect of seeing Adrian again, of perhaps hearing his condemnation, of being in the same room with him. Already, she felt the familiar trembling, the heat curling her toes. She heard a noise at the door, and her body tensed, hoping that Socrates would continue to play his part.

The sergeant, whom she’d met moments earlier with the commandant, entered and behind him came Adrian. His eyes flared as he saw her, and his gaze traveled from her face to the bundle in her arms. He then went to a wall and leaned against it, his movements lazy and his eyes guarded.

“My dear, you shouldn’t have come here,” he said softly as she rose and moved to him. His eyes didn’t change, but his arms opened to receive her. Lauren felt the quickening of her blood as his eyes met hers in wary but willing conspiracy. The familiar electricity darted between them, the electricity of attraction and desire, and something more, something reminiscent of the night they’d left Nassau when the gunboats were chasing them. Lauren, despite her fear and apprehension of facing him, suddenly felt the exhilaration of shared danger again. She hadn’t felt it the night of their capture. She’d been too miserable then, but now …

“Sergeant,” she said, feeling movement within the bundle and knowing that Socrates was well aware of Adrian’s presence, “could you possibly give us some privacy?” Her eyes clouded with pleading tears again.

Anxiously, she watched the sergeant’s gaze around the bare room where there were only a bench, a chair, and a table.

“All right, miss. Thirty minutes, but he’ll be searched afterward.”

It was a warning, and she knew it. She nodded.

The sergeant gave her a pitying last look and went out the door just as Socrates exploded from the linens that bound him and threw himself at Adrian, scolding furiously and nipping at his master’s hand.

Adrian released Lauren and leaned against the door, seemingly unaffected by Socrates’s bites as he swung Socrates up on his shoulder.

He was thinner. So much thinner. Blond stubble showed on his cheek, and his usually immaculate clothes were wrinkled and stained. His hand lingered on one of the monkey’s paws as if reassuring him, but everything else about him was vigilant as his gaze met hers, as if he were contemplating an unpredictable beast.

He raised an eyebrow. “A baby?”

Lauren swallowed the apprehension in her throat. Did he know? Was that why he was being so … controlled? Or was it something else?

“I … it was the only way I thought I could get to you.”

“And they didn’t take a look at Baby Socrates?”

“I told them he was deformed, and I didn’t want anyone to see him.”

His lips twitched. “Deformed?”

“I thought I could hide … this.” Determinedly, Lauren pulled a tiny Deringer from the swaddling clothes.

Adrian’s twitch grew more pronounced. “A pistol-toting deformed baby. Now why wouldn’t I have thought of that?”

Lauren felt her own lips twitching. It
was
ridiculous. “Well, it worked,” she said defensively.

“Up to a point,” he admitted dryly. “Until they search me.”

“Isn’t there someplace you could tuck it?”

“And implicate you if they found it? I don’t think so. They search rather well. I’ve had experience.”

Lauren found it hard to concentrate. His touch had revived all her internal fires. Despite his gauntness, he was undeniably handsome, the stubble on his cheeks giving him the look of a desperado. His brows were furrowed together in a watchful frown, and the quizzical twist of his mouth made her heart wobble like a broken wheel. Yet despite his wariness, there was no accusation in his eyes or on his lips.

Socrates was huddling against him, his face touching Adrian’s with uncharacteristic affection, and Adrian, seemingly absentmindedly, was petting the monkey. “Thank you for taking care of him,” he said. His face was sternly set now that he had declined her offer.

At the sincerity in his voice, Lauren felt her heart turn over, swelling with an ache she feared would never leave her. “I have another plan,” she offered.

Taking her arm, he moved away from the wall and led her to the bench. He guided her down, and towered above her as he sat on the table, his eyes never leaving hers. A small smile played on his lips. “I can’t wait to hear it,” he said dryly.

Despite her guilt, she felt momentarily nonplussed, even angry, at his lighthearted response. It was almost as if he were enjoying her immensely. Not her efforts, her. It was disconcerting. She wished with all her heart she could read his thoughts, but he was revealing nothing. Though his mouth moved in amusement, his eyes remained steady and unfathomable.

“I understand they’re taking you to Washington.”

“So I’m told.”

“I’ve bought a horse in a town outside Washington. The train stops there.”

“Bought?” His lips started twitching again. “You don’t mind jailbreaking, but you draw the line at horse stealing?”

Lauren bit her lip. “I wanted it to be … available.”

The smile left his lips. “And …” he prompted.

“If you … had a gun, could you get off the train then?”

“Perhaps.
If
I had a gun.”

“Socrates can get it to you.”

“How?”

“I’ll walk by … just when the train slows for the stop, and make Socrates believe your guard is threatening me. He’ll probably attack then, and you can help pull him off. There will be a Deringer—the one I brought today—in a pocket I’ll sew inside his jacket.”

“And why won’t anyone notice me taking a gun from a monkey?”

“I’ll get hysterical.”

Adrian stared at her. “I never realized you were so devious, Lauren.” The words were said quietly.

Lauren’s pulse speeded. His eyes, those beautiful, charismatic eyes, seemed to reach into her soul, seeking answers she dared not let him have.

“Socrates needs you,” she replied simply after a moment.

“And you?”

Lauren swallowed.

He leaned down, and Socrates scampered off his shoulder. Adrian’s face was very close to hers. “Do you need me, Lauren?”

Lauren felt his breath on her skin and his hand on her arm, stroking it in sensuous slow movements. She was held prisoner herself by the raw need that shot through her, the overwhelming need to be kissed by him, to be held by him.

“Do you, Lauren?” The question came again.

“No,” she replied defensively, but even she could hear the lie in the word.

“Why are you here, then? Why risk … so much?”

Lauren had no answer she could give him.

“Why, Lauren?” His voice was like a spike being hammered into her.

“Because,” she replied finally, “it isn’t just. That … lieutenant was going to shoot Socrates.”

“Do you really think they care about justice? There’s been a bounty on me, Lauren. All they needed was an excuse. And many would say that’s justice of a certain kind.” He shrugged. “It all depends on what side you’re on.”

“How can you be so reasonable?”

He smiled faintly. “I’m hardly in a position to be otherwise. I knew the risks.”

“It’s not fair,” she said suddenly.

His hand touched her chin, moving it upward until her eyes met his. “Nothing in war is fair, love.”

Lauren couldn’t move her gaze from his. She trembled inside, her stomach tightening into knots. Did he know? And was he right? Was everything fair? Would he forgive her? And would Larry forgive her this, this rescue of the man responsible for his death?

His voice broke into her thoughts. “You could become a fugitive, go to prison yourself.”

“No one will know,” she said. “I didn’t use my own name … The guards don’t know about Socrates; they believe I have a baby, not a monkey. There wouldn’t be anything to connect us.”

“And will you go with me?” His blue eyes were dark, secretive even as they sought her own secrets.

“No.”

“Why?”

“There’s no time for questions,” she said desperately. “They’ll be back soon.”

Adrian looked at the door then. “Aye,” he conceded, as he warred with himself. Christ, how he wanted his freedom back. But could he risk hers?

And why was she really helping him? Just because of her sense of justice? Guilt? Love? All three?

Her hazel eyes were large and expectant.

So infinitely inviting.

He lowered his head so his lips could touch hers. He had thought of her mouth so many times in the past three weeks, yet not the most enticing of dreams compared with the glory now as her lips yielded to his with a greed as naked and desperate as his own.

His suspicion—no, his certainty—about her role in the capture of the
Specter
was still very strong, and he sought to discover the truth as his mouth pressed against hers. But the only truth he found was their hungry need for each other, even more powerful now that he’d experienced her loss, and the emptiness that had come with it.

If she
had
betrayed him, she obviously regretted it, or she wouldn’t be here. As for betraying him again, there was no reason now. The government had his ship.

Her mouth opened to his, her tongue meeting thrust with thrust, her body melding to his in a way that was becoming achingly familiar. Bloody hell, but he wanted her. All of her.