Surrender in Moonlight

by Jennifer Blake

  "That would not be profitable," she commented with a shade of derision.

  "No."

  "But, don't you ever feel like hitting back? Don't you long to sink the ships that are trying to sink you?"

  It was a moment before he answered; then, he gave a grim laugh. "Sometimes I would like nothing better."

  It was odd, how pleased she was with the sentiment. She was quiet while she considered it. She finished a second, lower row of bandaging and began a third, neatly overlapping the other two, before she spoke again. "How long before we reach Nassau?"

  "Six days, more or less, if we don't run into trouble."

  "Trouble?" She flicked him a frowning glance as she began to double the rows for added holding strength.

  "A storm. Or a federal cruiser that we have to veer off course to evade."

  "What…what will you do when you get there?"

  If he was impatient with her questions, no trace of it showed in his voice. "The same thing I've been doing for the past six months: arrange for a new cargo and, probably, sit out the time until the dark of the moon while the wheelhouse is being rebuilt."

  "Until the what?" On the lower strip of bandaging, she had to bend down in order to pass the roll behind him. Each time she did, the warm fullness of her breast brushed his side, with only the thin lawn of her camisole preventing contact with his bare skin. She tried to avoid that touch by extending her arms, but he only leaned closer, as if he thought she might be having difficulty reaching around him. His deep voice rumbled near her ear as he spoke.

  "Ships are much too easily seen when there's moonlight on the water. During the early days of the blockade, the steamers ran into the ports without worrying about it, but since the cordon of federal ships has tightened around Charleston and Wilmington, Savannah and Mobile, most only go out during the dark phase of the moon."

  "Most?"

  "There are a few who still make moonlight runs."

  "You among them," she said, her conviction strengthened by something in the timbre of his voice.

  "When the money is right. There's not a great deal of difference, except the timing has to be better. You run into a coastal inlet between dusk and moonrise to avoid the federal line, then head for port in the few hours between the time the moon sets and daylight comes."

  "And if you can't find a convenient inlet?"

  "You do, if you have a good pilot." He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "If not, it's like being caught naked, whether under the moon or in the dawn. You pray you can reach cover before anybody sights you."

  A facetious question concerning his experience with that state crossed her mind, but she dismissed it. "A cautious captain doesn't make that many trips in any given month, then."

  "True, but the danger is greater, and therefore, the cost is higher-"

  "-So, the money remains the same," she ended for him.

  "Very good," he said, his tone honeyed as he ignored her sarcasm. "Maybe Lansing and Company can find you a job in their accounting office, since you have such a flair for business."

  "Women are not given positions on accounting stools," she informed him through tight lips.

  "You would be surprised at what's going on in Nassau these days. There's a black female stevedore on the docks who can match any man loading, bale for bale and barrel for barrel. There's a woman who raises and sells fresh butter and eggs and fruit and vegetables for the steamer crews, and she is making more money than many a blockade captain. I swear I saw her take a gold eagle for a sack of oranges the last time I was in port. She may be getting twenty dollars a piece for them now."

  There was skepticism in Lorna's gray eyes as she met his solemn brown gaze. Her voice was flat as she said, "Really."

  "Really. I could speak to John Lansing about a position, if you like. He would consider it, as a favor."

  "That would get me out of your hair very nicely, wouldn't it?" She tugged on the bandaging, pulling it snug.

  "Ouch," he said, wincing.

  "Sorry." She could sense him staring down at her, but refused to look up.

  "You needn't be in a fret about Nassau. It's a beautiful place, and one of the most exciting in the world just now. The town is booming, the streets crawling with speculators and commission agents from half the countries of Europe. Confederate officers and federal diplomats, courtiers and statesmen rub shoulders in the rooming houses and hotels. There are seamen of every nationality you can name on the streets, and women the same. Fortunes are being made and spent every day. New houses, grand mansions, are going up on every corner. There's a constant round of entertainments, of cotillions, dinners, sailing parties, balls, and picnic excursions."

  "I fail to see how any of that concerns me, since it hardly sounds like a place where it would safe for a woman to go out on the streets, and I will not be going into society."

  "The only way you can fail to enjoy it is if you are so stubborn that you refuse to have a good time. I was joking about the position, but Edward Lansing is a friend and business associate of mine. He's one of the best-known men in the islands, a Londoner who came out a few months ago and has since built a home above the harbor. His two daughters are the belles of Nassau, and I'm sure that Charlotte and Elizabeth will take you in hand and see to it that you find a place."

  "They will, naturally, be happy to sponsor a woman who murdered her husband."

  "That's in the past," he said, his voice hardening, "and should be forgotten. I see no need to mention what was no more than an unpleasant episode. You are young and beautiful. In Nassau, there are so many men and so few women that the men stand ten deep around every girl even slightly presentable. Before the month is out, you should have so many proposals that you will be hard put to decide among them."

  "That will be wonderful, for you, since you will be relieved of any responsibility for me."

  She was near the end of the roll. By main strength, she tore the last few inches in two, tied them upon themselves, then wrapped one end back in the opposite direction before forming a flat knot just under his breast bone. He waited until she was finished before he spoke.

  "Is that what is bothering you, the fact that I have no plans to keep you with me?"

  She swung from him, settling back on the bunk. "Of course not! Why should I want to stay with a mercenary blockade runner whose only interest in me is as someone to use to avenge himself upon an enemy, particularly when you will probably be blasted out of the water by the next Yankee frigate that sails over the horizon!"

  "Put that way," he said gravely, "it certainly makes no sense at all."

  "Still, you might have given me the pleasure of refusing your suit," she said in goaded tones, sending him a scathing glance before looking away again. "Under the circumstances, it would have been the honorable thing to do!"

  It was a moment before he answered; then, there was a grating tone in his voice. "Oh, by all means, let us be honorable."

  She felt the bunk move, heard the creak of the supporting ropes, then, he was on one knee before her, picking up her hand. He carried it to his lips, and she felt their warm brush on the sensitive tips of her fingers before he turned her palm upward and placed a kiss in its hollow. A tremor ran up her arm, and she controlled it with an effort. "Ramon-"

  Disregarding her breathless appeal, he said, "Would you give me the great pleasure of becoming my affianced wife?"

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  Chapter 8

  Sitting on the low bunk, her head was very nearly on a level with his own. She stared into his eyes, seeing in their dark brown depths a glimpse of self-derision, and of undoubted pain. An instant later, they were devoid of emotion as he knelt there, swaying in perfect balance with the rise and fall of the ship. She could hear the splash and rush of water against the bulkhead behind her, and it seemed that in its gurgling there was the sound of laughter.

  "It would serve you right if I accepted, but of course I refuse." She had meant the words to carry a sting. Instead, the
y had a shaky, uncertain sound.

  "Of course." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then, in a smooth reflex of well-conditioned muscles, came to his feet.

  "What I don't understand," she said slowly, almost to herself, "is why you came back for me, why you are taking me with you."

  Several seconds elapsed before he spoke. "After what you had done for me, how could I leave you behind?"

  "Easily," she jibed. "But, what does it matter if I am set down in New Orleans or Nassau? I have no one in either place."

  "You see no difference between a conquered city and one in the midst of plenty? Anyway, as I told you, I have friends who will look after you. I can't do that myself; I have a job to do, a commitment to regain Beau Repose, men who depend on me, such as Edward Lansing and my crew. There has never been a place in my life for a woman beyond an affair of a day or a night, and now, while the North and South are tearing at each other's throats, is an unlikely time to make one. That doesn't mean I won't be keeping an eye on you, seeing that you are all right. I owe you a debt; more than that, I have done you much more harm than I dreamed, or intended, that afternoon. I would not insult you with more apologies, but I will give you my most solemn oath that reparation will be made. I will make it."

  Duty. That was what it came to in the end. He had taken her aboard his ship not because he wanted her with him, but out of a sense of guilt and the need to appease it; out of duty.

  What else had she expected? She could not have said, and yet the idea filled her with dismay. Her voice quiet, she said, "I see."

  "Your needs will be provided for, a place to stay, new gowns, bonnets, slippers; whatever it takes to rig you out á la mode. I will attend to your bills until…." He paused, then shrugged and went on, "Until some other man relieves me of the expense. I don't expect that to be long."

  "You have it all planned, it seems."

  "I have tried to think ahead," he agreed.

  "No doubt the idea came to you in all its detail just before you jumped off the Lorelei."

  He came erect, frowning. "Are you suggesting that there is another reason I went back for you?"

  Emboldened by the compressed timbre of his voice, she glanced up at him. "Isn't there?"

  There was a flash of sudden gold deep in his brown eyes, and a tight smile curved his mouth. "If you mean that I wanted you," he said, the words spaced with deliberation, "then you are correct. There should be no surprise in that. As you well know, I have wanted you from the minute I first saw you, and have scarcely had you out of my mind since."

  That was not what she had meant-or was it? In the confusion of her thoughts, it was impossible to be certain. She only knew that she was mortified by his intention of seeing her established in another man's keeping.

  "That doesn't matter," she said, her gray eyes as dark as a storm from the northwest. "I need nothing from you. I want nothing. There is no need for reparation, I assure you. I'm not sorry to have had my marriage ended, regardless of the causes that brought it about, though I deeply regret Franklin's death. If you are in my debt, then I am also in yours for helping me escape from Beau Repose. But now, I would as soon forget the whole thing. When we reach Nassau, you may go your way, and I will go mine."

  He reached for her arm, hauling her upright, so that she stumbled from the bunk, falling against him. Before she could regain her balance, he pulled her closer, molding the slender curves of her body through camisole and pantaloons to the muscular hardness of his frame.

  "Even if I could agree to such a proposition," he said, his voice deep, "which I can't, and won't, there would still be the matter of the days between here and the islands."

  He ran his fingers in her hair, clenching them on its satin softness, tilting her head back. His firm mouth descended to shape the smooth contours of her lips to his hard demand. His hands upon her, gliding, exploring, were like spark to tinder. She felt the beginning flame, knew her own yearning toward its consuming heat.

  She wrenched away with desperate effort, dragging her mouth free, bracing her hands on his chest. The knowledge of how close she had come to yielding brought fiery color to her face. "No," she exclaimed, despising the tremor that shook the word. "You can't mean to…to act as if nothing we have said makes any difference."

  "It doesn't," he murmured, drawing her closer, bending to nuzzle the tender nape of her neck as she turned her head away from him.

  Could he be right? Involuntarily, she remembered the moment on deck when they had braved the might of the federal fleet anchored so near, their hours in the storm-buffeted skiff and the perilous race against the dogs and mounted men at Beau Repose. Shared danger was a powerful bond, and a violent spur to desire.

  "You can't," she cried on the edge of coherence. "I can't-"

  His lips burned a path along her neck to her shoulder, where he slid aside the narrow sleeve of her camisole, letting it fall down her arm. "Consider it," he suggested as he peeled the fine material lower, exposing a rose-tipped breast to his attention, "as the price of passage."

  It was an excuse, she recognized that in the remote recesses of her mind. Still, it was one that held a peculiar validity. She had no other coin in which to pay, no right to ask for or expect costless favors from this man. Nor did she want to be beholden to him.

  He sensed the moment when resistance left her. He lifted her against him, standing for a moment, so that she was rocked in his arms by the ship's movements.

  "Your rib," she whispered, placing her hand on his chest, feeling beneath her fingers the cloth binding and, under it, the strong thudding of his heart.

  "Damn my rib."

  He put his knee on the bunk, then leaned to place her on the mattress before easing down beside her. He picked up a curling strand of her hair, like raw silk, and carried it to his lips. His eyes were watchful, almost black as they rested on her face. Placing the lock out of the way across his shoulder, where it linked them together like an ecru satin tether, he gathered her close and buried his face in the silken waves that lay on the pillow around her. Blindly, he searched for her lips, found them, and the sound that vibrated in his throat might have been a murmur of either triumph or despair.

  Nassau was the favorite base of the blockade runners, primarily because it was the closest neutral port to Wilmington, North Carolina, which was, in turn, the nearest harbor, with the best rail access, to the Confederate capital at Richmond. The distance to Wilmington was 640 miles, the distance to Charleston only 560, with the current of the Gulf Stream an added boost on the heavily laden outward journey. In addition, the chain of islands belonging to the Bahamas extended more than a hundred miles in the direction of the southern ports, lending the protection of its neutral waters for that distance.

  Bermuda was another base much used, but it was farther from the important Atlantic ports of the South, with less direct communication with England. Another drawback was the strong winds often encountered near that latitude as the ships headed northward. Being so heavily loaded with war materials and, especially, the tremendous amounts of coal needed to make the round trip, these gales were more to be feared than the sighting of a federal frigate.

  Havana was used by many runners who traded with the gulf ports of Mobile, New Orleans, and Galveston, but the distance to the area where the main battles were being fought at this time being so great, the traffic was mainly in civilian goods. The Spanish government was cooperative, though venal; still, the merchant firms lacked the dispatch and drive of the English and Bahamian companies at Nassau on New Providence Island.

  The result of such natural and commercial advantages was a harbor, so crowded that it looked impossible to get another ship into it with a wedge and maul. There were frigates and barques and brigantines; yachts and yawls, schooners and sloops; and, darting here and there, a few skiffs with sails colored orange and blue and green. The tall masts made a wild cross-hatching against the intense blue of the sky, and among them loomed the smokestacks of the steamers, the lead-co
lored ships like so many gray ghosts among the brighter craft. So closely were they all anchored, indeed, that it looked as if it might be feasible to walk across the harbor by moving from deck to deck.

  Lorna stood in the prow of the Lorelei, holding to the rail, her eyes narrowed against the wind that flapped her skirts and thrummed in the rigging above and behind her. She had watched as the Bahama Islands had risen slowly out of the sea, low-lying mounds gray-blue with distance, turning slowly to a vibrant jade green edged with the white of their beaches. She had seen the dark, purple-blue of the deep water turn to magenta and turquoise as they neared land, changing to aquamarine and pale celadon green along the creamy shoreline as they steamed past. They had kept to the channel, easing past countless small islands-mere dots in the vastness of the ocean, with palm trees waving above their and sands-and larger masses of land with scant habitation. Finally, they had steamed between the shores of low-lying Hog Island on the left and the larger hillock of New Providence on the right.

  Now the port of Nassau itself lay before her, a long, semi-circular bay with warehouses of weathered limestone or rough, new-sawn planking crowding the water's edge, and houses with wide verandas climbing the low hill behind them. Church towers stood out, shining in the sun, and the graceful crowns of royal palms, silk cotton trees, sea grapes, and deep green sea pines waved over cool, secluded gardens enclosed by limestone walls. Against the white stone and green vegetation could be seen bright splashes of lavender and orange, crimson and yellow and pale blue, where tropical flowers bloomed.

  Small in the distance, carriages and people moved to and fro on the street that bordered the waterfront. The closer the ship drew in, the more frantic seemed the activity. There were stevedores, their black torsos glistening in the tropical sun above knee-length breeches, loading and unloading the vessels drawn up to the docks. Men in frock coats and stovepipe hats strode from one stuccoed building to another, talking, gesticulating with the canes they carried as they walked, while between them darted clerks with bills of lading fluttering in their hands.