Patricia Potter (7 page)

“I dislike slavery,” he said simply.

There was steel in his voice. Steel, and passion, and commitment.

She wanted to ask more, but his expression was closed, and she sensed intuitively that he would not elaborate. She understood. She didn’t want to talk about Laurence either; the pain was still too raw. She merely nodded, accepting the short explanation.

Jeremy rose. “I have some paperwork to do tonight.”

“I think I’d like to stay in the garden for a little while,” Lauren said. She needed time to think, to absorb all that had happened this day; and the garden, in this fine, clear night, seemed to be the best place to do it.

“Of course,” he said. “Please consider this your home as long as you stay.”

“Thank you,” she said, spontaneously reaching out to put a soft hand on his arm for just a second, and earning a quick smile in return as he turned and left.

The garden smelled wonderful, the scent of sweet flowers mixing with the aromatic sea air. Unlike the cold coastal winds of Delaware, the breeze teased and seduced her, the moist warmth fondling her skin, and rustling her hair and making her feel languorous and lazy and … wistful.

She wondered why she’d had so few reservations when she had undertaken this task and now had so many. When she had learned that Adrian Cabot was from the English nobility, she had expected a haughty, lordly person, not a man with teasing eyes and a monkey as companion.

Lauren suddenly realized that fulfilling her duty involved betraying this man, betraying him and lying, two actions she had always despised in others.

But you owe it to your country, her mind told her. And to your brother.

She unlatched the garden gate and started walking restlessly. She had always kept busy, and she’d grown weary of days of enforced idleness during the past three weeks on the clipper. She thought sadly of her busy days in Dover, days in which she had been useful and of service.

The Bradley family had never had a servant. Her father often took a chicken in payment, or no payment at all, and her brother’s education had consumed what little savings they had. Lauren had kept house and cooked and often helped in her father’s office, both with patients and with what books and accounts there were. She had become very independent, used to doing things for herself.

And she’d had a measure of freedom unusual for young ladies. She’d had no mother, no female authority, and her father had been too preoccupied with medicine to worry about proprieties. She had often taken long walks alone in Dover, enjoying the seasons. She had also accompanied her brother on trips to the bay; Lauren had always loved the water.

Now she felt a need to rid herself of energy and doubts she knew would keep her from sleep. Lauren felt no fear of Nassau; the lovely island wove a spell of its own. The noise of celebrating sailors was well away, and she was used to going where she wanted. She was a modern woman, and self-sufficient. Hadn’t she traveled successfully to Washington, then to England, and finally to Nassau, all without chaperones? She was twenty-four, and more than able to take care of herself.

She didn’t know how long she walked along the now nearly deserted dock, her gaze continually turning to the eight blockade-running ships anchored in the harbor along with large merchant ships from England and small, frail fishing skiffs. Three ships, including Captain Cabot’s blockade runner, were still tied to the wharf, but even his ship was relatively quiet. She wondered whether he was on board.

Then she shook the thought from her mind. She was thinking entirely too much about the man. She looked away, toward the dock area. The waterfront now seemed ghostly, lined with many crates but little or no movement other than shadows. She wondered about guards. There must be some, but none were in sight. She felt an unexpected tremor of fear, and she started to turn back.

“Hey, lookee there.” The voice seemed to come from nowhere.

“A purty lay-dy,” a second voice added, delight in the drunken tones.

“Let’s gi’ ’er a drink.”

Lauren turned, ready to defend herself, although with what she didn’t know. She suddenly realized she had nothing but her wits.

She drew herself up to her tallest height, which wasn’t very tall, and with a look that had often quelled unruly patients glared at the four roughly dressed men before her.

But the look seemed to have no effect whatsoever. The men moved closer, and one reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Wha’s yer name, darlin’?”

She jerked away to laughter as three of the men jeered at the one just rebuffed. “She sure don’t cotton to ya, Luke.”

Luke grinned. “Ah, she’s jest playin’ hard to git.”

“Mebbe you’re jest too ugly. Wha’ ’bout me, sweetheart?”

An arm went around her, holding tight, and she could smell the whiskey and foul breath as her captor pressed his mouth against hers.

She bit—hard—and he cursed, his hand going to her hair, which was neatly pinned into a bun at the nape of her neck. She felt the hair tear loose, and his hand knot around it, jerking her head back. Her face was forced upward, and his lips descended once more as she heard raucous cheering behind them.

“You bite agin, and I’ll pull out yer hair,” her attacker said just before his mouth covered hers with punishing violence. Her hands fought back furiously, but she was no match for his strength and anger. She couldn’t even call out with his mouth gagging her own.

Lauren felt sick to her stomach, sick and terrified. She realized he and the others didn’t intend to stop with a kiss, and remembered what her brother had once told her about a man’s most vulnerable spot. She stopped struggling, letting her body relax, and when her attacker did the same, she kneed him in the groin as hard as she could.

She heard him grunt, then she was free, and she started to run, but one of the other men caught her. “Feisty little thing, ain’t she? But you ain’t goin’ anyplace, sweetie. We ain’t through.”

Lauren opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped over her face, and the man started dragging her toward an alley. Stark terror filled her, terror and something like self-disgust for putting herself in this situation.

Where was everyone? Why hadn’t anyone heard her scream?

But everything was fading, even fear, as she sought desperately to breathe air that wasn’t there.

“I don’t believe the lady wishes to go with you.”

Somewhere deep in a mind going black, the words registered. A new voice. A cultured voice.

The hand slipped from her nose and mouth, and she thankfully sucked in air.

“This ain’t none of yer business … it’s between this doxy and me friends.”

“Take your hands off her.”

Lauren’s rebounding senses noted that the voice was familiar. She wriggled against the rough hands holding her; it was easier now that her captor’s attention was elsewhere.

“I said it ain’t none of yer business.” Lauren heard the sound of feet moving, and she fought hard to see, but the man held her tight, one hand still twisted in her hair, forcing her head away from the would-be rescuer. Lauren felt new fear, not only for herself now but for the newcomer. There was only one voice speaking up for her, and there were four ruffians.

“Git “im,” she heard one of the attackers say, and she listened to the dull thud of skin against skin. There was a grunt of pain, some curses, then the man holding her yelped, and she was suddenly free.

She felt something else touch her, something furry, and she looked down. The monkey she’d met earlier was avoiding a kick from the man who had just been holding her. A dark red was staining the man’s already soiled trousers, and Lauren realized the monkey had bitten him.

Lauren pushed back her hair to see better. Captain Cabot was fighting two men at once, moving agilely away from heavy blows, and then striking back hard. A third man was on the ground, and her own attacker was going after Socrates.

Lauren stuck out her foot to trip him, and he went down heavily, Socrates pouncing on him and biting his ear. Lauren screamed and then screamed again, until finally she heard shouts and the sound of running feet.

The attackers also heard them, but it was too late. They were surrounded by a crowd of sailors, a number of them seizing the arms of the man attacked by Socrates, another setting his foot on a man already supine, apparently made so by Adrian Cabot.

They did nothing, however, to stop the ongoing fight between the captain and two remaining ruffians.

“Do something,” she demanded.

A small man with straw-colored hair grinned. “The captain would never forgive us, ma’am. He has it under control.” But Lauren didn’t think so. Already, one of the captain’s eyes was swollen and discolored, and blood was dripping from the side of his lips. But he dodged a blow readily enough and delivered one solidly to an opponent’s stomach. The man went down.

Now there was only one man left, and he was backing away, eyeing the growing number of onlookers warily, but not nearly as warily as the man crouched in a fighting position before him. “We’re jest having a piece of fun,” he whined.

“I don’t think the lady agreed,” Captain Cabot said coldly, and gestured for two of the onlookers to take the man still standing. “Take them to the jail.”

“Aye, sir,” one of the men said, and Lauren realized that these men must be part of the crew of the
Specter.

Lauren watched as the captain’s attention turned to her and his eyes widened with recognition. Nervously, she pushed back her hair and looked down. Her modest dress was torn so it no longer was modest. The ripped bodice opened to show the swell of her breasts, and she clutched her arms over them.

Reaction settled in, and she felt herself tremble. “Thank you,” she whispered miserably, realizing that for the second time in one day she’d made an idiot out of herself in front of Captain Adrian Cabot.

“What in bloody hell are you doing out here alone?” he asked roughly. “Nassau’s no place for a woman alone.”

“I … I needed a walk.” Why, oh why, did she get so tongue-tied with him? Her legs trembled even more, and her body swayed ever so slightly. She wondered if she was going to fall.

But then he was next to her, strong, sure hands steadying her once again, just as they had hours earlier. “I’ll see you back,” he said.

Lauren wanted to say no. At least the sensible part of her wanted to say no. But the fear was still with her. She could still hear the obscenities of her attackers, still feel the rough hand over her mouth and nose.

“Are you all right?” His tone was softer now, more concerned than angry, and she looked up at his battered face.

She tried to smile. “Better than you, I believe.”

He frowned slightly. “It’s nothing.” He looked around and found Socrates, who was sitting on his haunches, patting his head as if congratulating himself. He, at least, certainly looked none the worse for the confrontation.

“He was a hero,” Lauren offered tentatively to break the uneasy silence.

“But I wasn’t?” The question was offered with wry humor. She seemed singularly unimpressed with his own assistance. “I believe you need a keeper, Miss Bradley.”

She flushed. “I know you probably don’t believe it, but I’m usually quite able to take care of myself.”

His stern mouth quirked upward at the corners. “I saw you trip that man. You didn’t do so badly.” But then his lips firmed again. “Except for coming out here in the first place. Didn’t Jeremy warn you never to walk alone at night?”

“He thought … I was in the garden. I didn’t realize … everything seemed so peaceful …” Her voice trailed off. Nothing was going according to Mr. Phillips’s plan.

She looked up. Her gaze found the piercing blue eyes of her rescuer, and she struggled against the startling magnetism between them, the comforting sense of safety she felt around him, the unexpected pleasure that flooded her. Excitement that sent her blood racing.

Don’t, she told herself. Don’t. Remember, he’s a blockade runner. Remember, he’s the man who caused Laurence’s death. Remember … remember … remember.

His hand was warm as it clasped her arm and steered her toward Jeremy Case’s store. When they reached it, she turned and gave him a small, solemn smile. “I would appreciate it if you said nothing to Uncle Jeremy about this. I don’t want him to worry.”

“Your testimony will be needed against those men.”

“I … I’d rather just let it go.”

His eyes fastened on hers for several seconds. “If you wish.”

He turned to leave.

“Captain!” At her word, he turned back, one of his eyebrows arched in question. “You
are
a hero.”

He grinned, a look that made the hard features look endearingly youthful. “Good night, Miss Bradley.”

“Good night, Captain.” But he was gone, and the words were so soft, only she heard them. She didn’t understand why they made her so infinitely sad.

CHAPTER 4

Lauren lay awake all night long. She had been able to reach her room without seeing either Jeremy or Corinne, and she’d silently mumbled her thanks. She didn’t want them to know how careless she had been.