Patricia Potter (5 page)

As he had once wasted it, years ago.

He sighed. He had told Case that he ran the blockade in part for the danger. That was true. But it was a very minor part. Money was the real reason.

There would be a celebration at the Royal Victoria tonight. There was always one when a run was completed successfully. It was another excuse for a party, not that one was really needed. Nassau never quite stopped celebrating, even when the news from the South was dismal. The city didn’t seem to understand that its wealth would end with the war, as would Adrian’s income.

“You look lost in thought.”

Adrian turned quickly to see Clay Harding, who was probably the closest thing to a friend Adrian had among the blockade runners. Clay was a Virginian, a former Union naval officer who now commanded a Confederate blockade runner.

He was grinning at Adrian now. “I see you still have that little rascal. I keep hoping you’ll lose him on one of these trips.”

Socrates exploded into scolding chatter, and Adrian chuckled. “Sometimes I swear he knows everything we’re saying or else he just plain dislikes you.”

“He dislikes everybody.”

“Not so,” Adrian countered.

Clay raised a curious eyebrow.

“We just met a young lady, and Socrates was very polite.”

Clay’s lazy expression became more interested. “A young lady? New?”

“New,” Adrian confirmed.

“Pretty?”

“Why else would Socrates be polite?”

“Damned if I know. But damned if I even know why you keep him.”

“He keeps me humble.” The amused drawl, however, belied the words.

Clay chuckled. “Now that is an acceptable reason. Especially for your friends. Your damned
Specter
makes us all look lazy. But tell me more about this lady.”

Adrian’s smile grew wider. Clay, for all his competence at sea, was a notorious womanizer. “She’s staying with Jeremy Case. His niece.”

“Unmarried?”

“Since when has that made a difference to you?”

Clay looked uncomfortable. “Since last time I almost got caught by a husband.”

Now it was Adrian’s turn to look interested. “And what happened?”

“I made it out the window.”

Adrian’s imagination supplied the details. “With or without clothes?”

“Well, I had a coat,” Clay said defensively.

Adrian’s laugh boomed out over the street. “And the lady?”

Clay grinned. “I imagine she has a trunkful of various male clothes.” He paused, not quite yet diverted from his original question. “Now tell me about the lady who bewitched Socrates. Not planning to keep her for yourself, are you? She must be spectacular.”

“No,” Adrian said thoughtfully. “Not spectacular. But … pleasant-looking.”

“Pleasant?” Clay’s eyebrow arched again in amusement.

“Not your usual style at all,” Adrian countered as he wondered over his unexpected irritation.

“Every woman’s my style,” Clay chuckled as he noticed a frown on Adrian’s face. “I think I need some more cigars from Jeremy’s store.”

Adrian felt himself tense without understanding why. He merely shrugged. “I doubt you’ll have any luck.”

“Want to make a small wager?” Clay’s eyes gleamed with competitive spirit.

Why not? Adrian was irritated with both Clay and himself—mostly himself, for making more than necessary of the brief meeting with Lauren Bradley. He had no idea why he now felt protective about her. He nodded.

“The stakes?” They both knew, without saying it, that the bet concerned seduction.

Adrian’s face tightened, although he meant to smile. He tried to avoid gambling, except for these damned ridiculous wagers between captains that had become tradition. They had simple wagers on everything from how many ships would make the run in one week to whom Socrates would bite next. “Name it,” he said, confident that any attempt to seduce Lauren Bradley was doomed to failure. If there was one type of female he could usually fathom, it was a virgin, and one who meant to stay that way. And there was something else, an effort, he supposed, to deny his own unaccountable attraction to her.

“A night’s drinking for my crew against one for yours.”

“Done.”

“Good. Now tell me about your run.”

Adrian shrugged. “About as usual. I think there were more gunboats, though. They sighted us coming out, and one shot hit a bale of cotton. It was a blessing in disguise. The smoke allowed us to escape.”

“You should start thinking about Wilmington.”

“My pilot knows Charleston.”

“If you decide to go to Wilmington, I’ll loan you my pilot, and he could teach Johnny. I know how damn good they both are.”

Adrian considered the offer. It was a generous one. Captains held on to their pilots as Adrian held his gold. But Clay had reason. He was not a private businessman like Adrian, but a Confederate naval officer, and his principal interest was in getting as many supplies to the South as possible. As captain, the Southerner received no profit from the runs, although his crew did.

Despite Clay’s often irreverent comments and observations, he was fiercely loyal to the Confederacy, and Adrian respected both his dedication and seamanship, especially since Clay often made light of both.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I’ll talk to Johnny about it.”

“Do that,” Clay replied. “When do you intend to go out again?”

“Two days if I can get the cargo unloaded and new cargo loaded quickly enough.”

“Risky.”

Adrian grinned. “No more than usual. It will only be a half moon.”

“Bright enough for Yankees to see.”

“Ah, but they won’t expect us for that very reason. They’re getting lazy and spoiled, working only several nights a month.”

Clay shook his head at what he considered foolhardiness.

“And right now, I need a bath,” Adrian said.

“Aye, you do,” Clay agreed, wrinkling his nose. “Tonight? There’s a party at the Royal Victoria. Kenyon and Talley came in yesterday too.”

“Were any ships lost?”

“Abbott isn’t back. He should have been here yesterday.”

“Damn,” Adrian exclaimed. Cal Abbott was a Southerner and captained a ship owned by Southern-owned Fraser, Trenholm & Company, one of the largest blockade-running firms in the business. Though not exactly a close friend of Adrian’s, Abbott was well liked among them all.

“The odds are getting stiffer, my friend,” Clay said. “Get your bath, Adrian. I’ll see you later.” His eyes went to Socrates, who had scampered off Adrian’s shoulder and now tugged impatiently at his hand. “I think your … friend is hungry.”

“He’s always hungry,” Adrian said with resignation.

“Bring him along tonight. We have a new captain.”

Adrian chuckled. It had become a game of sorts, springing Socrates on newcomers. There was always an elaborate charade prepared, one Socrates usually, but not always, cooperated with.

“What time?”

“We’ll bring him in at exactly eight.”

“Good enough,” Adrian agreed. God knew there was little enough diversion on Nassau.

“Till tonight then.”

Adrian nodded and resumed his walk to the Royal Victoria. Reviewing the conversation, he wondered why his thoughts lingered disconcertingly over the part about Lauren Bradley.

CHAPTER 3

The bath was deucedly uncomfortable. As Adrian descended into the small tub, he thought it could double as an instrument of torture for his tall form.

He leaned back as much as possible, his knees almost to his chin, and cursed his size. But the warm water felt good. His cabin aboard the
Specter
was little more than a hole, containing only a narrow bed and a desk. His crew’s quarters were equally as sparse, but that was the way he had designed the ship, maximizing every inch for cargo.

There was certainly no room for bathtubs or, for that matter, extra water.

When he had been a young officer with Her Majesty’s Navy, he had envied the captain his elegant and spacious cabin and had longed for the day he would occupy one, even though he’d known the chances were slight. He had been poor, and rebellious, and an insubordinate officer, according to most captains, until he served under Giles Gray. Captain Gray had seen what no one else had taken the time to see: Adrian was a born seaman who detested incompetence. Under Gray, he had flourished, had even distinguished himself in the Crimean War.

And he had been happy for a time … until Captain Gray had been promoted into the Admiralty, and Adrian became first officer under a man he considered a thorough incompetent and a coward to boot. He had said as much in public and found himself ejected from the Navy. Two months later, his older brother shot himself in the fashionable town house the Cabot family had owned for several generations. John Cabot, the viscount of Ridgely, had gambled away the last of the Ridgely estate, an estate that had been in the family since the Norman conquest. Adrian became a viscount, but one without an estate or money.

Adrian had vowed then never to gamble more than he could afford to lose. He also vowed to get Ridgely back … if he had to steal or cheat to do it.

The American Civil War had made the goal possible sooner than he’d ever thought possible. Adrian was second mate on a commercial clipper when he received a summons from Giles Gray. One of Giles’s friends was looking for captains to assume command of ships to run cargoes to the Southern states. The “friend” was particularly searching for British naval officers. Would Adrian be interested?

Adrian didn’t need time to think. Not when he heard the sum being paid the captain: $5,000 for each trip. He accepted and was given command of one of the first blockade runners built by a group of English investors. It was an odd-looking ship, particularly compared to the sailing ships he knew so well, but he quickly mastered the essentials of a steamship. He had a larger cabin then, and he filled it with goods of his own that he sold on the side. In nine months, he had made enough to commission his own ship. Unlike the other captains, he wasted little of his salary and profits on gambling or women.

And now he had nearly a quarter of a million pounds in a London bank. As the total mounted, he knew that he might, just possibly might, be able to regain Ridgely. It was his only goal.

Other than to live long enough to accomplish it.

The water in the tub was growing cold, and he rose, feeling the warm breeze that flowed through the window. Socrates was in the corner, nibbling on a bowl of fruit Adrian had ordered. The monkey wanted nothing whatsoever to do with water, and Adrian grinned at the malevolent stares he had received while in the tub.

He stretched, then started pulling on clothes: a pair of dark blue trousers, a shirt of fine linen, and a light blue waistcoat. They were all well-tailored and of good cloth, in keeping with an image he often used to charm and cajole buyers and sellers of cargo. This was one time that his title proved useful. He had not used it when he first came to Nassau, but when an acquaintance made it known, he had been amazed at the doors it opened. The merchants of Nassau and Charleston were apparently impressed with a viscount, even a landless one. It made little sense to him, but he was practical enough to take advantage of it.

The title, however, did not seem to impress Jeremy Case, who never came down on prices or fawned over Adrian as some others did. He grinned suddenly as he thought that the man’s niece was more than a little like her uncle.

He recalled Clay’s interest and the damnable bet he’d just made and wondered why in bloody hell he’d agreed to it. But he had been confoundedly irritated by Clay’s interest, and even more vexed with himself for feeling that way. He was quite sure that the detached and reserved Miss Bradley wouldn’t succumb even to Clay’s noted charm, but it had been a low thing to do, and he already regretted it.

Adrian spent much of the day supervising the unloading of cargo and the purchase of coal and goods bound for the South. The Confederacy paid dearly for ammunition and guns and medicines, although luxury goods brought an even higher profit. He divided his new cargo among the two, selecting enough of the former to keep the goodwill of the Confederate Government, which, after all, provided protection when sailing into Charleston. There had been attempts to regulate all blockade runners, forcing them to use at least 50 percent of cargo space for government supplies, but so far all such attempts had failed. Adrian did not wish to test the government’s patience.

Several times during the afternoon, he’d cast a look toward the upper level of Jeremy Case’s mercantile store, where he knew the merchant lived with his wife, but there was only a stillness. He wished he understood exactly why he was so newly interested in the store.

He finally left the unloading with his first mate and started to return to the Royal Victoria for dinner. Adrian fetched Socrates, who’d been staying on the ship while he saw to business, and decided to take a detour. It damned well didn’t make sense, but nonetheless he found himself in front of Jeremy’s store.

Well, damn it, he could use some cheroots, and Jeremy had the best.