Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  Her words were echoed by a tall, blond Englishman who sauntered up to them in Elizabeth’s wake. “By all that’s holy, it’s grand to see you again. We heard of the fall of New Orleans and suspected you would be embroiled in that fiasco, one way or another.”

  “You heard?” Lorna exclaimed. “But how?”

  The dark blue gaze of the blond-haired man rested upon her with interest. “By wire to Washington, then by ship and signal through the blockading fleet, which couldn’t wait until we had heard of it here. Ramon, old man, aren’t you going to make me known to this charming creature?”

  “I wouldn’t if I could avoid it,” Ramon said with grim amusement, “but since that’s impossible — Lorna, may I present, first of all, Elizabeth Lansing, and also Peter Balmoral, otherwise known as Captain Harris.”

  Lorna greeted the couple, then glancing from one man to the other, queried, “Otherwise?”

  “My nom de guerre,” the Englishman said, inclining his head, “though a worse-kept secret would be hard to imagine.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  It was Ramon who enlightened her. “Peter is on furlough from the Royal Navy. Since England is officially neutral, his capture as a blockade runner would be an embarrassment to Her Majesty’s government. That being so, he sails under an assumed name, with the agreement that he will expect no aid if he runs into trouble.”

  “Don’t look so concerned,” Peter said quickly. “Neither I nor any of the other chaps like me intends to be caught in a Yankee trap.”

  Charlotte, her voice subdued, said, “I’m sure none of the men who have gone aground, been captured or sunk, intended it to end that way either.”

  “I think it is time you fetched Papa,” her elder sister said, a slight frown marring her features. The younger girl’s face flushed scarlet in embarrassment for the gaffe she had made in speaking seriously of death in front of men who faced it each time they went to sea; still, she was not ready to leave them. As she opened her lips to protest, however, Elizabeth lifted a brow, and Charlotte flounced away to do her bidding.

  “Could we talk of something more cheerful?” Peter said, his

  tone plaintive, though ready amusement lurked in the depths of his eyes. “For instance, Elizabeth, who it is you have to entertain us tonight?”

  “I trust he will not disappoint; I considered that our guests might be weary of the usual tenors and string quartets,” she answered, going on to tell them of a man from one of London’s most famous music halls, one noted for his wit as well as his singing voice. In honor of the southern cause, he would be giving them a medley of ballads by Stephen Foster. They spoke of minstrel shows and favorite tunes, of showboats on the Mississippi River and the French opera house in New Orleans, of London’s Covent Garden and the Victoria Theater. The conversation was interesting, but so disparaging was the young Englishwoman’s smile at the mention of American entertainment, so animated her attitude when speaking of that of her own country, that Lorna was relieved when dinner was announced.

  Peter chatted easily as he led Lorna into the dining room, moving after Ramon and Elizabeth in an arrangement the older Lansing sister had made with smiling deftness. He wanted to know how she came to be in Nassau, and listened with flattering interest to the agreed-upon tale as they took their places. That he was to be on her right hand at the table was a pleasant discovery, since Ramon was some distance away, near the head of the table, with Elizabeth on one side and Charlotte, her good-humor restored, on the other. It was diverting to watch the sisters vie for the dark and handsome Creole’s attention, interrupting each other and sending Balmoral looks across him in a manner that was, Lorna thought, painfully obvious.

  “Poor Ramon,” Peter said, leaning close. “He walks a fine line. Which one of the sisters, do you suppose, would wield the sword if a Solomon decreed he should be divided between them.”

  A smile came and went at the corners of her mouth before she answered. “Surely they wouldn’t go so far?”

  “Nothing more likely! Just wait until it comes time to choose seats for the musicale. I strongly suspect you will find Ramon searching for your skirts to hide behind. He will be out of luck there, I hope, for I intend to monopolize you for the rest of the evening.”

  The words were so lightly said that it was impossible to take umbrage. Still, she made an attempt to put him in his place. “With or without my permission?”

  “Oh, with, by all means, if you will grant it. If not, I will trail along behind you like a faithful spaniel, all sad eyes and drooping tail, until you take pity on me.”

  She laughed, and was surprised by the soft sound she made, so long had it been since she had felt so light of spirit. Her reprimand was equally light. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “Why not, if it makes you smile at me? Perhaps I misunderstood, and your smiles are reserved for Ramon?”

  “Not at all,” she replied, though she could not prevent a covert glance at the other man down the table.

  “Good,” Peter took her up at once. “I’m glad we settled that. Now we can concentrate on how I am to entertain you while you are in Nassau. What say you to a meal al fresco in some deserted cove, or a moonlight sail?”

  The expression in his sea-blue eyes was warm and shamelessly blandishing as he gazed down at her. It was a moment before she realized that his shoulder was pressing hers. She moved away. “You must be mad. I hardly know you.”

  “That can be remedied, given time.”

  “I’m not sure I want it to be!”

  A look of infinite sadness closed over his face. He sighed dramatically. “I am cut to the quick.”

  “Of course you are!” she rallied him, “and bleeding inside, too, I don’t doubt. I’m sure that except for the small matter of a hardy appetite you would go into a decline.”

  “Cruel, cruel,” he mourned. “Why is it that the most beautiful women take such pleasure in inflicting wounds upon the egos of us poor defenseless males?”

  She opened her eyes wide. “Because you ask for it, and there is no other way to be rid of you.”

  “If my suit is distasteful to you…” he said, drawing himself up in injured dignity.

  “Your suit?” she queried softly.

  “All right, all right, my attentions,” he amended, abandoning hauteur for an aggrieved sigh.

  A laugh broke from her, a free and delectable trill. Hearing it, Ramon swung his head in her direction, dividing a quick glance between the delight in her face and the man at her side. A frown gathered between his brows and, though Charlotte spoke to him, and he answered, he did not turn his gaze away.

  Whether to avoid pursuit, as Peter had suggested, or from a sense of duty, Ramon did indeed seek her out when they left the dining room. He was on her right, with Peter on her left, as they re-entered the reception room that had been transformed during the meal into a music room with a Pleyel piano at one end and rows of small gilt chairs set before it.

  Additional guests, who had not been lucky enough to be asked to dine, had gathered, sitting in groups here and there. There were a number of empty chairs located near the end of a middle row nearest the door, and Ramon led her toward them. Peter, true to his word made in jest, sauntered along beside them. When Ramon had shown her to a seat, taking the end chair beside her, the Englishman rounded the row and took the place on her other side. The look he sent the other man was bland. Ramon returned it with a hard stare, but within moments the three of them had fallen into spirited conversation while they waited for the room to fill. They talked of cargoes and of exorbitant freight rates and of the items in shortest supply, those most direly missed by the ladies of Lorna’s acquaintance. They spoke of Lafitt of Trenholm and Fraser and of his need for experienced captains to see the arms and ammunition ordered through the firm by the Confederate government into Wilmington harbor. They discussed, too, the fortune made by one shrewd commander on a single run, carrying his own private cargo of toothbrushes, calomel pills, and corsets.


  They were interrupted by Edward Lansing, who appeared beside them, asking to be introduced to Lorna and making his apologies for not being on hand when she had arrived. A slight man, his evening clothes were supremely well-tailored, and there was about him an air of the aristocrat. He presented his wife, as that lady, rather embonpoint, a bit vague, and vastly good-natured, paused beside him. She spoke and smiled, but it was plain her mind was on her role as hostess, and she soon fluttered away in a drift of caramel-colored skirts. Their host did not ask about the voyage just completed by the Lorelei. He did invite Ramon for a drink the following afternoon, with some indication that business would be discussed, but it seemed more in the nature of a courtesy than because of any real interest in the degree of profit that might have been made by the ship in which he was an investor.

  “You are lucky to be associated with Lansing instead of my firm,” Peter said, a shading of envy in his voice. “You can do much as you please instead of having to answer to a board that pinches pennies as if they were ladies bot — ah, your pardon, Miss Forrester — as if their lives depended upon it. Would you believe they have been complaining about the price of anthracite? They sent out a lovely little memorandum suggesting that we use more bituminous, just as if burning the stuff outside Bahamian waters wouldn’t be the same as sending up smoke signals the way your American savages do, telling the Yankee cruisers to come and get us.”

  They were joined at that moment by Charlotte, laughing and vivacious, who took the chair in front of Ramon and turned to brace her arms on the back. The girl chatted gaily, moving from one subject to another. Her mother had invited several chance-met acquaintances without informing either Elizabeth or the staff, and so they were short of chairs. Her sister, it seemed, would be playing the piano for the evening, a signal honor, since she would be accompanying a professional singer and joining musicians brought out at great expense from London. She had been practicing for days, until the household was sick to death of the pieces about to be presented, but her sister was not nervous. Elizabeth was never nervous.

  Shortly after the last information had been imparted, the dark-haired Lansing sister entered the room and seated herself at the piano. The other musicians made their entrance, carrying their instruments, two violins and a French horn. The entertainment began.

  Two hours later, it was over. On the return journey to the hotel, Ramon was silent. Lorna sent him an oblique look once or twice. He sat with his arm resting on the door of the open carriage, staring out into the night. In the dim light, it was impossible to tell whether it was weariness or preoccupation that held him silent.

  “You didn’t have to see me back to the hotel.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said, his voice tinged with irony as he flung her a quick glance. “Peter would have been happy to do it for me.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted, to have some other man take on the responsibility for me?”

  “With Peter, I expect it would be a temporary thing.”

  “Do you indeed?” she exclaimed. “That isn’t very complimentary!”

  “It wasn’t meant to be. Peter enjoys women, women in their variety, and, though you were the most stunning woman there tonight and he may have half a mind to fall in love with you, he won’t forget that he is the second son of a peer of the realm and expected to marry someone of his own class.”

  “He … he never mentioned such a thing to me.”

  “He would hardly be likely to boast of his bloodlines.”

  “Or to consider them over-much, I would think,” she said heatedly, “if he loved a woman.”

  It was a moment before Ramon replied, and when he did his tone was stiff. “That may be so, but the possibility is so remote that I would advise you to tread lightly with him.”

  “Very well. You will, I hope, inform me when I am introduced to someone you think suitable!”

  He turned in the seat to face her. “There’s no reason to get on your high horse just because I tried to advise you.”

  “Advise? It sounds as if you mean to choose for me,” she snapped, sending him an incensed look. “I have had some experience of other people’s choices, thank you! And this time I prefer to make my own.”

  He watched her a long moment without speaking, then wrenched his gaze away at last. The accent was strong in his voice as he said, “As you please.”

  The Royal Victoria Hotel was an imposing building in the prevailing neoclassical style built of warm, cream-colored plaster over limestone blocks. It was four stories high, the bottom three of which were surrounded by verandas, the same airy porches that were known as galleries in Louisiana. On the eastern exposure, they wrapped around the end of the hotel, which was curved like the bow of a steamboat, and continued along the rear of the building. It was one of the highly advertised attractions of the resort that there were more than a thousand feet of promenades to be enjoyed. On the west end, at the third-floor level, the main building was connected by a covered walkway to an older structure where the baths were located. In the same section, at the second-floor level, was a wide staircase leading down to the gardens that fronted the edifice. The front entrance was graced by a pedimented porte-cochere that featured an arched Romanesque arcade around its four sides, with a gentlemen’s parlor built out over it, and an open piazza topping that on the third floor. Gracing the roof of the long building was an octagon-shaped belvedere designed to give a commanding view of the sea and the ships beating into the harbor.

  The carriage stopped outside the arcade. Ramon alighted and helped Lorna down, then, bidding the driver wait, turned with her into the hotel. They crossed the brick-floored arcade, passed through the entrance doors open to the sea breezes, and entered the lobby with its large Turkish carpet, sputtering gas-lights under crystal globes, potted palms and cast-iron planters, cushioned wicker chairs, and plush ottomans encircling the support columns. The lobby was virtually deserted at this hour. A few men sat playing dominoes in one corner, while the desk clerk looked over their shoulders. That was all.

  At the foot of the stairs leading upward to the guest rooms, Lorna reached to catch one of the higher steel hoops of her crinoline, lifting it and the skirts over it as she placed her foot on the first step. Ramon reached out to cup her elbow in his strong hand. The contact, even through the silk of her sleeve, was vibrant, unsettling. She resisted the impulse to jerk away. Assuming a distant air as a cover for the sudden increase in her heartbeat, she mounted the stairs beside him.

  Never had a staircase seemed so complicated by turnings and landings, or a corridor filled with such echoing emptiness. The moment when they arrived at her door on the third floor had the feel of deliverance. She drew away from him on the pretense of searching for her key in her drawstring purse.

  “Allow me,” he said, his voice deep and low.

  Taking the purse, he extracted the key. He inserted it in the lock, twisted the knob, and pushed the door open. He did not stand aside for her to precede him as she had expected, but instead stepped into the room. Moving to the brass gaslight near the marble-topped washstand, he lighted it and adjusted the flame before sending a searching look around the room. He went then to the French doors that opened onto the veranda. Finding them locked, he twisted the mechanism and set them wide, fastening the glass-paned panels back against the inside wall and drawing the jalousies shut over the opening, latching them.

  Without turning, he said, “Does it trouble you, being alone here?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” she replied.

  “I don’t like these doors. Any man with a room on this floor could force the jalousies and enter at will.”

  “I … I had not considered it.”

  “In ordinary times, there would be little to worry about, but there are some unsavory characters in Nassau just now, scavengers coming in to pick up what they can where money is being thrown around.”

  She moved to a rosewood table against the wall, which was covered by a piece of frieze work. She
put down her purse and fan, and began to unbutton her gloves. Over her shoulder, she said, “If you are trying to terrify me, you are succeeding.”

  “It would be better if you did not have to sleep with these doors open.”

  “It can’t be helped,” she answered, sending him a frowning glance from under her lashes. “I would stifle otherwise.”

  “True.” A grim smile moved across his face as he turned and moved toward her. “Of course, someone to guard you would be equally effective.”

  She paused in the act of stripping off a glove, her gray gaze searching his face. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “I doubt the people who run this hotel would understand the need.”

  “Must they be consulted?”

  The warmth of desire was in his eyes, but the smile that curved his mouth seemed to hold self-derision. There could be no mistaking his meaning. She swung from his path with such abruptness that her hoop jerked around her and her skirts sailed in a wide circle. A few steps away, she came to a halt, facing him in the center of the floor. Her breasts rose and fell with an anger that was allied to a peculiar chagrin. With great effort, she kept her tones even as she spoke. “The risk is too great. I thought it important there be no sign of intimacy between us. More than that, I seem to remember that you have no use for anything other than a brief affair, one lasting no more than a day or a night.”

  “I may have been wrong.”

  The timbre of his voice was raw, though his strained smile was beguiling, appealing. Lorna resisted it.

  “I think not. I mean nothing to you, nor. … nor you to me. We turned to each other because of a situation that no longer exists. I am grateful to you—”