by Cat Lindler
Samantha showed real talent, quickly mastering the handgun. When she wanted to practice the quick draws and shooting from the hip featured in penny dreadfuls, Garrett laughed. “You’ll hit naught that way, Sam, except perhaps your foot. For that sort of shooting you must be exceptionally good, and you’re far from that category yet. Give it a few years, and then you’ll be ready to rob trains.”
When they expended their ammunition, they flopped down on their backs in the dry winter grass to look up at the sky. Garrett chewed on a long grass stalk while Samantha described the shapes she saw in the clouds. “That one looks like Chris,” she said, pointing to an anvil-shaped cloud.
“That’s a thundercloud,” he said in a chiding tone.
“I’m well aware of that. ‘Tis big and stormy, black and seething inside.” She laughed. “And with a big head on top.”
“You know, Chris truly has your best interest at heart.”
She rolled onto her stomach, fastening her gaze on him. “How did you and Chris meet?”
“I robbed him.” He gave a short laugh. “At knifepoint, no less.”
“No, you did not!”
“Oh, indeed, I did. I was thirteen and had lived on the San Francisco docks for six years. I existed hand to mouth for a long time, scrounging what food and shelter I could find. Then I fell in with a gang of thieves. I suppose you could say they adopted me. At ten, I was rather appealing.”
She grinned. “You still are.”
He rolled his eyes and sent her a melting smile. “So I’ve heard and must agree.”
She punched him on the arm.
“Ouch! You pack a mean right cross. We could have used you in our gang.”
“Go on with your story.”
“They taught me everything I know. How to shoot a gun and fight with a knife, slitting a man’s throat before he knows what’s happening. Pickpocketing finesse and diversion tactics. The more gentle arts of brawling, drinking, and wenching. Eventually I became a second-story expert, gaining entry to houses thought impregnable. I can scale a wall like a spider. My exploits became legendary.”
“I would wager they did. What happened when you robbed Chris?”
“He broke my arm.”
She abruptly sat up. “He did not!”
He smiled wryly. “He did and most effectively. He grabbed my wrist and broke my arm over his knee. Never have I seen a man move so fast. I never saw it coming.”
She gasped. “My goodness.”
“Then he flung me against a wall as though I were no heavier than a sack of feathers. I managed to get my feet beneath me and took off running. I suppose the impact addled my brains, because I cannot remember any pain after the initial jolt. But I ran like the wind. I was known to have the fastest feet in the gang. Chris caught me as easily as if I were running through swamp mud. I later found out he was a sprinter in university.”
“Where did Chris go to school?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Harvard and then Oxford.”
“Is he English?”
Garrett let a beat of silence pass, and his gaze slid away. “Chris prefers I not talk about his past.”
“Then tell me what happened after he caught you.”
He sighed, giving her a lopsided smile. “He slung me over his shoulder and took me to his hotel chamber, brought in a doctor to set my arm, fed me, cleaned me up, and clothed me. There I was, filthy, ignorant and uneducated, disreputable and corrupt, even at thirteen, and spewing curses like a drunken sailor. And then he took me home to Boston. As you can see, I’ve yet to take my leave.”
Samantha turned away to look out over the meadow. “I find it hard to believe he could be so compassionate.”
He brought her back to him with a tug on her chin. “You know very little about Chris. You see only the hard exterior, but he’s soft underneath.”
She snorted in an unladylike manner.
His look was censorious. “He does have a heart, and it’s less unassailable than you believe. I know. He saved my life. He saved my soul and gave me a home and a future. He educated me and taught me right from wrong. I would give my life for him. He’s a good man, Sam.”
“Then why does he treat me so horribly? Does he hate all women, or am I the lone exception? And why does he not want me on this expedition?”
He got to his feet and laughed down at her. “You truly have no notion, do you?” Garrett had noticed the way Christian’s gaze followed Samantha when she was unaware of his scrutiny. Neither anger nor dislike glinted in Christian’s eyes, but something else, something Garrett had never seen before. He suspected Christian donned his façade of brusqueness to keep Samantha at arm’s length. Perhaps it was for the best. The good professor wasn’t the settling-down sort.
“About what?” she asked as he helped her stand. She brushed the grass off her skirt.
He raised his hands in front of him. “Far be it from me to be the one to enlighten you. Chris would kill me.”
She gave him a puzzled frown.
“Listen to him, and do what he tells you to do. I know he’s been difficult, but he considers you his responsibility. He has no wish to see you get hurt.”
When she tried to pursue the topic further, he shook his head. “It’s late. Chris should be up and about by now. We better return before he becomes worried.”
She mounted her horse with his assistance. “Exactly why did he sleep so late today?”
“I’m not saying another word,” he said with a grin. “Why don’t you ask Chris?”
They arrived at the ship, and leaving Garrett to unload the horses, Samantha ran up the gangplank. Christian occupied the top of the long boards. His expression stopped her in midgallop. His brows were drawn to a dark slash above his eyes; his lips formed an inflexible, thin line. His body stood as rigid as the main mast, and his eyes filled with fiery anger. A muscle jumped wildly in his tight jaw.
She went still, the blood draining from her brain, managing only to utter, “Oh no.”
“Where the hell have you been?” He caught her arm in a hard grip and hauled her onto the deck.
When Garrett started to speak from a few yards away, Christian threw him a fulminating glare. “I’ll take care of you next. I asked Sam a question.”
Garrett closed his mouth and walked away with the horses.
Never having seen Christian quite so angry, Samantha mislaid her voice. Quivering seized her limbs. She grabbed hold of the railing to steady herself.
“Where were you?” he demanded again, shaking her sharply.
“With Garrett,” she gasped and tried to wrench her arm from his grasp. “He gave me a shooting lesson.”
“What other sorts of lessons did he give you?”
“None. What is your problem?” She twisted like an eel. “You are hurting me!”
“Stop squawking. Who gave you permission to leave the ship?”
“No one. I finished my work and wished to learn how to fire a gun. Garrett was gracious enough to teach me.”
“How gracious?” he grated out between clenched teeth.
Samantha finally freed her arm and shook it to relieve the numbness. Recovering from the first rush of panic, she allowed her temper to leap to the forefront. “Gracious enough.”
He towered over her, glowered down at her. “Should you ever even think about taking off again without my permission and without letting me know where you are and what you’re doing, I’ll turn you over my knee so quickly you won’t know what hit you. And when I get through with you, you’ll be standing for the rest of this trip!”
Propping her hands on her hips, she returned his glower. “You and how many grenadiers?”
“I’m warning you. Don’t dare to try my patience any further,” he spat.
“What patience?” she spat right back, prudence not being her best quality.
Bending down, he butted one shoulder into her stomach and flung her up and over. Her head and half her body hung over his shoulder and down his bac
k. When she beat on him with her fists, screamed obscenities, and stiffened her spine, he smacked her buttocks hard enough that the blow and her outraged cry resounded across the ship and turned heads. A tight arm across her legs held her in place while he stalked across the deck to the ladder, climbed down, and dumped her on his cabin deck. Leaving her in a heap of skirts and jumbled hair, he slammed and bolted the door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Samantha pounded on the cabin door until she was certain she had bruised her fists. Christian was a rat! And her family was not far removed from that. By the time Aunt Delia came to the door, several hours had sped by, and Samantha’s voice was hoarse from yelling.
Delia sided with the rat. “Samantha, I understand you are distraught, but Professor Badia explained everything. You really should not have disappeared. Never have I seen anyone so distressed as was the good professor. You may say your prayers he had not the inclination to chain you in the hold on naught but bread and water. Should you only cease sparring long enough to get to know him, you would find him to be quite a likeable gentleman.”
Likeable gentleman? Hah! Her sweet, sensible, bumbling aunt had defected to the enemy. Normally Aunt Delia showed good judgment of character. How could she have gone blind so quickly and thoroughly?
“Embrace this confinement as a relaxing holiday from your chores,” Delia said, “a soothing break that will allow you to reflect and garner your strength for the trip ahead.”
Her aunt’s attempt at logic only made Samantha’s chest heave. “Release me, Aunt Delia!”
“Oh, I could not possibly do that, dear. Professor Badia will release you later.”
Samantha slumped against the door. “How much later?”
“I do not recall his mentioning, but you will be fine.”
Gilly paid her a visit later. She had turned coat, too. “Ye’re lucky he didn’t beat ye, m’lady. He was ever so worried and angry.”
“Fetch me some dinner,” Samantha pleaded, seeing no use in arguing with Gilly. Christian had obviously mesmerized her and Aunt Delia or drugged them or done something equally vile.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady, but I canna do that. He says ye’re ta go without yer dinner.”
“Whom do you work for, Gilly? Him or me?”
“Why ye, o’ course, but I couldn’t defy him. He’s such a nice man, an’ it’s fer yer own good.”
Her own good? Now he was truly stretching it!
Pettibone and Chloe also stopped by to share her misery. Christian had influenced them as well. Samantha gave up and sank down on Christian’s bunk, where she drifted in and out of slumber. His scent on the sheets and blankets assaulted her senses and brought her dreams she could very well have lived without.
She sped through the meadow, her feet tangling in grass as golden as ripened wheat. A sweet smell surged upward and merged with the scent of perspiration seeping from her pores. Bright sun baked the day, causing her head to swim. Fear pushed her faster, farther, toward the edge of darkness surrounding the sphere of light trapping her in its yellow web. If she could only reach it!
A rustling came from her right. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. She stopped, knelt down. How close was he? Vibrations from his heavy footfalls made the ground tremble beneath her knees. The snapping of stalks grew nearer, and she rose up, lifting her head above the tallest vegetation. Not more than a dozen yards away, he raised his head, tawny with a thick mane, a fusion of dark and light strands arching upward from the nape of his neck. Clear green eyes caught her gaze, holding her in thrall, reflecting a menace that pricked her skin with ice. His canines gleamed in the sun.
The world fell still. All sound and motion ceased beyond this one spot in this golden meadow. A curtain of life drew around the two of them, as if nothing else existed outside its enveloping folds. She feared they were the only living creatures left on Earth.
She glanced around for a frantic moment—whirled and ran. Grass blades sliced at her legs. She neared the shadowy world, and a great weight slammed into her from behind. She fell forward, flattened the grass, borne to the ground by his strength. She lay on her stomach, tears pouring from her eyes. His paws pressed her shoulders into the rich soil. Would he truly hurt her? Hot breath and the slide of ivory teeth on the back of her neck penetrated her senses. She arched back her head and screamed to the sky.
Samantha tossed on the cot, whimpers escaping her lips. When she finally pulled herself from the nightmare, damp clothing clung to her body.
Samantha remained locked in the cabin for five long, boring days. She had no notion where Christian and Garrett slept during that time. The ship had sailed out of Charleston harbor on the night of her incarceration, and a never-ending expanse of ocean greeted her whenever she gazed out the porthole.
The first morning of her confinement, Christian unbolted her door at dawn and, without a word, shoved a tray of food across the deck. Pulling the door to, he secured it. From her perch on the bunk she looked down at the tray—bread and water. Her stomach uttered a protesting gurgle. Was that all she would have for breakfast? Wrong, she soon discovered. For the entire day. She doubted Aunt Delia was aware of the good professor’s plan to starve her.
Each successive day began in the same manner, and Samantha, like a fawning puppy, began to look forward to her only contact with a human, brief as it was, and her daily meal. When his footsteps came from the companionway, her mouth watered. She recalled correspondence in her uncle’s papers about a Russian scientist who thought dogs might salivate simply from the stimulus of ringing a bell. Hell’s teeth! She was becoming Christian’s dog. On the third day, fruit and meat supplemented her bread and water.
On the fourth morning, she ventured to address her jailer. “May I kindly have something to read? I’m becoming weary of counting the planks on the ceiling.”
Christian cut her an impassive look and closed the door more gently this time. The door opened an hour later, and a book flew through, bouncing off the deck. “Thank you,” she started to say, but he pulled the door shut.
Samantha plucked up the book and read the title: The Flora and Fauna of the South Pacific Islands. “An interesting choice. Not what I would have chosen had I a library at my disposal, but under the circumstances, better than naught.” Turning onto her stomach, she devoured the author’s journal.
Christian threw open the door on the fifth morning and stood in the doorway. “You’re free to go,” he said and, walking away, left the door ajar.
The days wore on, and Christian treated Samantha as if their confrontation and her subsequent incarceration never occurred. She knew better than to refer to the incident and was more than willing to let it go. They engaged in no more arguments, and no further romantic encounters ensued. They maintained a polite but distinct distance, like opposite poles of a magnet.
Samantha fell into a routine, and life aboard ship gained a sameness. She spent the majority of her time with Jasper in the galley, learning to prepare such delicacies as jambalaya, crawfish stew, and a spicy concoction he called “jerked chicken.” She enjoyed his lessons and company and fast became quite the journeyman cook. They put into port often for fresh meat, produce, and water while traveling down the eastern shore of South America, though at most stops, the passengers and crew remained on board. And thus far, good weather and steady winds sped them along on calm seas.
Samantha soon developed a friendship with the young cockney cabin boy, Cullen O’Dare, and spent hours tutoring him in reading, writing, and arithmetic. An intelligent, engaging boy, he had a quick, gap-toothed smile in a gamin’s face topped with an unruly mop of black hair.
One sunny day she tried to talk Cullen into allowing her to cut his hair. He backed away while she stood on deck with a pair of scissors in her hand. “No ye don’t!” he said with a scowl and plowed a hand through the thick strands, his unconscious action reminiscent of an exasperated Christian. The boy’s blue eyes snapped. He jutted out his jaw. “I ain’t stupid like Samson. No D
elilah’s goin’ ta cut my ‘air!”
He found Samantha later and apologized with a lopsided grin. The remainder of the day he spent with Christian, whom he worshipped and imitated with uncanny accuracy. Cullen told Samantha, “Someday, if’n I study ‘ard an’ learn ‘nough, I’m goin’ ta be a scientist, just like Chris.”
Samantha’s balmy family surprised her by how well they adjusted to the voyage. Each found his or her own niche among the crew and contributed useful labor.
Gilly assumed Samantha’s mending chores and became an expert at patching up sail. The afternoons she reserved for Alan Smith, learning about inventory and accounting. She improved her skill with numbers, and Alan praised her efforts at every turn. A romance seemed to be developing. They often appeared on deck in the evening, Gilly standing at the railing with Alan’s arm around her waist, their heads close together.
Their obvious attraction tugged at Samantha’s heart and reminded her of Christian’s kiss. Her gaze sought him out wherever he was on deck. Every once in a while, she found him watching her, but often far away, she was unable to discern the expression in his eyes.
Chloe—delicate, spoiled, demanding Chloe—washed laundry. ‘Twas a freak of nature to see her with her arms in hot, soapy seawater up to the elbows. Nonetheless, Samantha suspected her cousin found the work worth the effort when Garrett massaged fragrant lotion he had purchased in Charleston into her hands each evening. During the nightly ritual, Chloe sighed and fluttered her blond lashes while Garrett enthralled her with seductive smiles. Christian kept a close eye on the two.
One evening when Garrett finished applying lotion to Chloe’s hands, he moved on to her neck. Soon afterward, Christian called Garrett aside for a private talk. Samantha happened to be close by and eavesdropped on the ensuing argument, audible only to her and the two men. From her hidden position, she had a good view of them.