Ship of Dreams (6 page)

"So I'm preferable to a gallows. I'm flattered."

"Marginally preferable." She would
not
smile. "I'll simply keep reminding myself that it's only for two weeks."

Now he frowned. "That's the third time you've said that. I thought I made it clear that we would have to maintain this deception until we reach New York."

"But I'm not going to New York," she exclaimed, taken aback. "I'm only going as far as Panama. I'll catch the next ship headed north, and then go on to Sacramento."

"Leaving me to explain away your disappearance as best I may? No."

The angular planes of his face were uncompromising, but she tried again.

"We can manufacture an argument—that certainly shouldn't be too difficult! I'll say I'm leaving you and going back home." It seemed a perfect solution, but he was already shaking his head.

"What kind of man would leave his new wife all alone in Panama, whatever the provocation? You clearly don't care in the least what people think of you, but I have a bit more concern for my own reputation and family name. Some of the people aboard may very well know acquaintances of mine in New York. I don't care to have a tale like that spread about."

Della took her time answering, a slow smile playing about her lips. He accused her of being impulsive, but he hadn't planned any further ahead than she had. "And how do you intend to explain me away once we reach New York, Mr. Bradford? Even if I could arrange to vanish into thin air as I step ashore, you'll have an interesting time ahead of you."

He opened his mouth and then closed it, his long hesitation proving she was right. "I'll ... we'll come up with something," he said lamely. Just then, the bell signaling supper rang. "We'll discuss this later," he promised.

"Yes, I think we'd better," she replied, still smiling. She'd won this round—but the next was yet to come.

*
          
*
          
*

What on earth was the matter with him? Kenton fumed silently as they left the cabin. Of course the same arguments he'd just used against her departing in Panama would apply equally in New York. He didn't have the faintest idea what he was going to do about it, either.

At lunch he'd told himself that he would somehow get out of this tangle before reaching home—and his family and fiancée—but how? By then, he and Della would have been pretending for nearly a month. It would look stranger than ever if they were to part company abruptly.

A tiny voice also told him that a lot could happen in a month. Much as he disapproved of her, he couldn't deny that Della Gilley was both attractive and charming. After weeks in her close company, would he
want
to let her go?

"You're being awfully quiet," she commented as they took the same seats they'd occupied for luncheon. They were among the first to arrive, with most of the others still on deck enjoying the fine weather.

"I have a lot to think about," he said tersely. Of course he would be willing to let her go! She wasn't his sort of woman at all—and Caroline most definitely was. His fiancée shared his background, his social sphere, his views. Her mother and his had been lifelong friends, and their engagement had been presumed for years before he finally proposed—at his mother's urging—before leaving for California. Caroline would be exactly the sort of wife a man in his position needed.

But how would he ever explain Della to her, should this matter come to her attention? Reluctantly, he realized Della's original plan had made more sense from the start. He should have let her find a spot in steerage and explained her away as a hoax at the outset. No doubt she'd have helped him come up with a plausible story, one that would have satisfied Sharpe and the other investors. Perhaps it was still not too late ...

"Have you finally realized that I've been right all along?"

He turned in surprise to find her regarding him with barely concealed amusement. Had she read his mind, or just his expression?

"Of course not," he snapped, his only thought to wipe the amusement from her face. He succeeded—but at what cost? Still, he couldn't bring himself to give her that satisfaction. "I won't allow you to make me look like a fool—here, or in New York."

"I suspect you'll do a fair job of that all by yourself, if you persist in being so stubborn." Her green eyes glinted with sudden anger.

"If I do, that's my affair—not yours." What was he saying? He was behaving completely out of character. Where was the calm, unemotional reasoning on which he prided himself? The events of this day seemed to have robbed him of rationality.

The logical thing to do was to confess that she'd been right, and to explain to everyone what they'd done—now, before they got in any deeper. Before they spent a night alone in his cabin. He opened his mouth to do just that, when Della rose to greet the Pattersons, just joining them at the table. He'd missed his chance—again.

Supper was an even livelier meal than luncheon had been, with the passengers eager to share their impressions of the ship and their first day at sea. As before, Kent and Della were surrounded by newlywed couples.

"I declare, being at sea has given me such an appetite," exclaimed Virginia Birch. "Is it the salt air, do you think?"

"Whatever it is, I'm glad to hear it," said her husband Billy, suggestively. "For I've quite an appetite myself—one I'll sate after the meal." He waggled his brows up and down so comically that everyone at the table laughed. He sketched a mock bow from his seat, while Viginia blushed prettily.

That began a series of humorously veiled comments by the gentlemen, designed to elicit blushes from their own ladies. Kenton chuckled along with the rest, but felt distinctly uncomfortable. If Della felt the same, she hid it remarkably well, he noticed irritably.

"I'd guess none of us will be staying up very late playing cards tonight," said Robert Patterson with a broad wink as the dessert dishes were cleared. His wife tittered, as did Addie and Virginia.

Della, Kenton noticed, only smiled. He was glad she wasn't a giggler, at any rate. "It's a bit early to turn in yet," he said, as casually as he could manage. "The sun hasn't even set. Will you three gentlemen join me in some whist?"

To his relief, they agreed, and the ladies retired to the sofas along the side of the saloon to chat. It was only a brief reprieve, he knew, but he would take it.

"You met your bride in Sacramento, I believe you said, Bradford?" asked Ansel Easton as he dealt the second hand fifteen minutes later. "I've met several of the prominent families of that town. What was her father's name?"

For a split second, Kenton panicked, then remembered that he knew the answer to this question now. "Gilley. Murphy Gilley. But her family is originally from Ohio. They only came to California in late forty-nine."

Easton grinned. "As did I—as did most of the population of California, in fact! I'm originally from New York, like yourself. Your family has always been one of the more prominent in the city, as I recall."

To Kenton's relief, the conversation then turned to his more recent recollections of New York, and his momentary anxiety abated. Only later, when Robert and Billy were arguing over a point, did it suddenly occur to him that if Della were wanted for murder, he shouldn't have revealed her last name. He really wasn't good at this sort of thing at all.

Several times, as the sun sank toward the horizon, he glanced over to where Della sat talking with the other women. She seemed as vocal as any of them, and he had no doubt she'd made good use of the little bit of information he had given her that afternoon. He sighed. No, there really was no turning back now, however much he might wish otherwise.

"Well, that's the rubber," Robert Patterson declared, totaling up the points from the last hand. "And I'm for bed. How about you gents?"

Kenton was the only one who didn't agree with enthusiasm, and Billy Birch quirked an eyebrow at him. "We're forgetting, Bradford here is an old married man—of two whole days! No wonder he's not quite as eager as the rest of us." That drew a general chuckle, which Kenton was wise enough to join in. Then they all rose.

The ladies were no less eager than their husbands, it seemed, for they came forward at once, whispering and giggling to each other behind their hands. Della, bringing up the rear, glanced up and caught his eye and, to his amazement, blushed bright pink.

This promised to be the most awkward—and perhaps the most interesting—night of his life.

*
           
*
           
*

CHAPTER 5

The western wave was all a-flame.

The day was well nigh done!

Almost upon the western wave

Rested the broad bright Sun;

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

She'd lost control—again. Della could feel the heat in her face, could see Kent's surprise that a hardened adventuress, as he clearly considered her, could blush. But she couldn't help it. She kept her face averted from him as he opened the door to their cabin, hoping none of the others had noticed. Not that blushes were remarkable in a supposed new bride, of course—but she
hated
to betray herself this way!

"Are you all right?" He asked her once he'd closed the door behind them.

Reluctantly, she turned to face him, fully aware that her cheeks were still flaming. No doubt the lingering crimson of the sunset, pouring in through the porthole, served to emphasize her embarrassment.

"If I didn't know better, I might almost believe you were concerned." Immediately regretting her waspishness, she quickly added, "Yes, I'm fine."

But already his expression had hardened. "You can't resist baiting me, can you, Miss Gilley? It might interest you to know that I was on the verge of agreeing to your plan earlier, of admitting our deception and going our separate ways, but your insufferably smug attitude prevented me."

Della could not contain a gasp of laughter. "Prevented you? Is your pride so enormous, then, that the thought of admitting a woman is right should overset your reason?" She shook her head, still chuckling. "Tell me, Mr. Bradford, how
did
you come to be such a successful businessman with such a closed mind?"

"Closed—" He bit off whatever he had been about to say and turned abruptly away from her. After a moment he continued, more calmly. "I do not have a closed mind. In fact, I'm generally considered very forward-thinking. I've had to be, to keep the business afloat."

She seized on that scrap of information. "Afloat? Your business has been struggling, then? Is that why you're so reluctant to risk anyone's poor opinion?"

He turned to give her a long, appraising look. "I may not care for your ethics, but there's no denying your perceptiveness. Yes, Bradford Shipping is in some trouble—or nearly so. This California venture is essential to its survival. Alienating the gentlemen aboard, several of whom promise to become important investors, could eventually ruin me."

"Then at this juncture, it might be fair to say that you need me more than I need you," she remarked, the sudden outrage on his face spurring her to chuckle anew. "I recall how delighted Mr. Sharpe was to discover you had acquired a wife."

He glared at her. "I do not need you. You orchestrated this whole situation for your own ends, not mine. I simply wish to get out of it with a minimum of damage to my reputation."

"Which means you need me." She gave him her best impish grin, the one she always used to drive home a winning argument without mortally offending her opponent.

For a moment, she thought she'd failed in her aim, as he continued to glare at her. Then, as she continued to smile, her head cocked questioningly to one side, a glimmer of amusement began to flicker in his eyes.

"Very well, then, have it your way," he said, the tiniest hint of a chuckle coloring his voice. "What a stubborn woman you are, Miss Gilley. Have you ever lost an argument in your life?"

"Oh, no doubt, though at the moment I can't remember an occasion," she replied lightly, ignoring the flutter his intent gaze produced in her belly. Her cheeks had finally cooled, and she would not allow her color to flare out of control again. "Winning this one gives me little satisfaction, however, as it means you are less likely than ever to allow me to depart in Panama."

He nodded, his brief levity gone. "Quite true. But perhaps if we put our heads together, we can come up with a plausible way to separate upon reaching New York. We have weeks to come up with something, after all."

Della swallowed, suddenly brought back to their immediate situation, trapped together in this tiny stateroom for the night—and for many nights to come. "Yes, I'm sure we'll think of something." To her dismay, the words came out high and breathless. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she felt yet another blush creeping up her throat toward her face.