To distract him, she said stiffly, "If my presence is an inconvenience, I apologize."
"Ungracious, chérie. The truth is, you think you should be congratulated."
"Not at all." It was difficult to keep from snapping at him as she heard the rise of amused indulgence in his voice.
"Shown my most fervent gratitude then. Shall I do that, chérie?"
He moved toward her with controlled grace. In sudden distrust, she took a backward step. "It won't be necessary."
"Oh, but I insist," he murmured. "It's either that or beat you for risking so much for so little reason."
He stretched out his hands to catch her arms. She braced against his chest with her palms. "It seemed important enough to me."
"Why?" he asked, his voice intent. "What difference would it make to you what becomes of the Lorelei?"
His touch sent prickles of pleasure racing along her veins. She stared up at him, swallowing on the sudden dryness in her throat, tracing her lips with the tip of her tongue.
"Why?" he insisted, his gaze on her moist mouth.
"For…for you. I owe you so much."
"You owe me nothing, you maddening witch, and well you know it. Tell me why you came, or I swear I won't be responsible for what happens."
The bunk was behind her; she could feel its edge against the backs of her knees. "I…I was afraid."
"Of what? Did Nate-?"
"No, nothing like that. I was afraid that you-and the others-would be killed, captured."
He paid no attention to her cowardly dragging of his crew into the matter. "Why should it matter?"
As he towered over her, his hands gripping her arms, she was aware of the strength he held in leash, of the smell of the sea that clung to him and his own distinctive male scent. That assault on her senses, as well as his physical coercion, snapped the last of her tenuous control.
"Oh, all right!" she cried, flinging up her arms, trying to break his grasp. "I came because I love you, because I wanted to share whatever happened to you."
He held her easily, staring at her an instant with light flooding into the darkness of his eyes. He drew her into his arms, folding her against him with aching tightness. "Lorna," he whispered, "Dieu, but how I have longed to hear you say it."
He made love to her then, slowly and exquisitely, and if she had ever doubted her welcome, there was, when he was done, no possible reason to doubt it longer. It was only later, when she lay drowsy and content, naked in the bunk where he had left her while he tended to the business of docking in Wilmington, that she realized that he had not spoken of his own feelings for her. She had committed herself and she did not regret it. Still, it would have been a thing of wonder if she could have known herself loved in return, instead of being merely the object of his passionate obsession.
The days in port were hectic as Ramon worked like a demon to force the unloading of his cargo and the loading of hogsheads of tobacco and over seven hundred bales of cotton in time to take advantage of the last days of the new moon. He found time, however, to replenish Lorna's wardrobe once more, dispatching the new underclothing, a gown of gray-blue crìepe de chine figured in pink, and a bonnet and shawl to the ship while he was still in town. She half expected to find that he had left out the pantaloons, but, no, he had been most thorough. Discovering this, she did not know whether to be glad or sorry.
The problem of the disposition of the fox-faced man had been easily solved. He had regained consciousness by the time they reached port, had risen from his bed in sick bay, where he had been taken, and vanished down the gangplank. No effort was made to find him. They knew who had paid him for his failed task, and why, but under the circumstances it would be nearly impossible to prove the charge, even if Nate Bacon could be brought up before a magistrate. They had to be satisfied with having foiled his design. Sometimes, however, Lorna caught the flicker of an expression so forbidding on Ramon's features as he spoke of Nate that she was afraid.
By accident or design, she was not certain which, they saw little of the other blockade runners. Peter had gone to Charleston on his run, or so Chris told her, and the others did not intrude. Ramon seemed satisfied to remain in the cabin during the evening, glancing up from the accounts he pored over now and then to smile at her where she lay reading in his bunk.
The medical supplies disappeared from the cabin on the second day. Late that afternoon, Lorna entered to find Ramon on one knee before his trunk, fitting bags of gold from a stack at his feet into it. He hesitated a moment as he saw her in the doorway, then went on with what he was doing. She said nothing, but stepped inside, moving to pick up his jacket from where he had left it on the back of a chair. Smoothing out the collar, she hung it on a peg beside the door where he usually kept it. He spoke behind her. "Another trip, maybe two, and I'll have enough."
"Is there such a thing?" Her tone was quiet, weary.
"I'm not greedy," he said sharply. "I only want to regain what is mine."
"What if Nate won't sell?"
"Didn't you know? He already has. He liquidated his holdings in Louisiana and turned the Confederate paper into gold. Part of it he used for the blockade steamer he's been fitting out; the rest he intends to bank until the war is over. He thinks he can pick up places like Beau Repose for a few pennies then."
"He's right, isn't he?"
His brows drew together over his eyes. "What are you suggesting?"
"You said the same once, if I remember. I don't think you intend to go back to Beau Repose now, in the middle of the war. You must mean to wait until it's over, too, before you try to repossess your old home."
"Are you saying I'm no better than Nate?" he asked with irritation.
Her gray gaze was clear as she turned to him. "Not exactly, but isn't the principle the same? You will have money, while the people who own the place now will likely have none. You may be able to buy it back, but what then? If the war drags on for much longer, even if the South wins, it will be at a vast cost, one that can only be borne by the people. If we lose, then Confederate scrip will be no more than pieces of paper. The slaves will be taken from us and set free, regardless of our investment in them, and then the tracts of land that represent wealth for so many will be worthless."
"Beau Repose will be mine."
"Yes, but don't you see?" She flung out her hand in the attempt to make him understand what she saw so plainly. "The men who have beggared themselves for the cause will despise you. What good will it do to regain your heritage, if you can't live there in honor and with the respect of your neighbors? Nothing will be the same. Win or lose, nothing will ever be the same."
He placed the last bag of gold in the trunk and let down the lid, then sat back with one arm on his knee. "What am I supposed to do? Buy myself a horse and ride to Richmond to offer my sword to Lee?"
"No! That would be a terrible waste. I never suggested such a thing."
"Then, the only other choice is to become an exile."
There was another choice, and they both knew it. It hovered there between them, difficult, dangerous, painfully obvious. Lorna moved with swift steps, going to her knees beside him in a billow of skirts, putting her hand on his arm. "No., I…perhaps I exaggerate. If General Jackson could take Washington, capture Lincoln, we might come to some kind of agreement for peace. The fortunes of the Confederacy would be so little damaged that no one would notice, or mind, the gold you have accumulated."
A faint smile touched his mouth. His dark eyes caught and held hers. "What if I said I care not a tinker's damn what people think, or how and when the war ends."
"It would be true only in part," she said with a small shake of her head.
He let out a sound between a sigh and a laugh. "How can you be so sure?"
"You did not resign your commission merely for the sake of the fortune to be made running the blockade, I think, but because you would not fight against your own countrymen. That argues some feeling for the South, and the people who live there."
>
"You are determined to find my redeeming qualities, aren't you?"
"Since you try to hide them."
"You may be disappointed."
"I doubt that," she said, the warmth of love making her eyes darkest gray.
"If they were not there," he said, "for you I might well pretend to them."
Her smile was tentative, a little strained as she went into his arms. "I'm not certain that isn't what we all do."
Arriving back in Nassau harbor was like coming home. From her place in the prow, Lorna watched the channel narrow between Hog Island and New Providence Island, watched the emerald green palm trees grow larger and the familiar buildings take shape, shining pale gold and pink and white in the diamond-bright light of early afternoon.
The Lorelei came in with panache, her few sails spread and thin gray smoke streaming backward with her speed. At a signal, her canvas came down, the engines were stopped, and she glided to a halt in a burst of steam. Lorna turned to smile at Ramon, and he gave her a triumphant grin. In both their minds was the same thought, she knew, of how different was this return from the limping progress of the last one. It occurred to her, then, as it had many times before, how much pride Ramon took in his ship, and with how much affection he used her. She was almost like a living thing, with the shudder and throb of her engines and paddle wheels moving through her timbers like a heartbeat. Lorna felt it herself; how much more must Ramon, who had been with her far longer, be attached to her
The outward run from Wilmington had been without real incident. There had been a thick fog lying on the water. The spars and rigging of federal ships had twice been sighted above the swirling mist. Still, they made their way through the first squadron with ease, passing near the flagship whose position had been accurately given by the watch at Fort Fisher. Once only had they been seen, and that in the outer cordon of ships. It had been a slow gunboat, little more than a converted river steamer, that had opened fire. Her shells had fallen short, and the Lorelei had easily increased the distance between the two vessels until the gunboat had dropped out of sight. Ramon had then ordered the helm put hard over, setting them on a course at right angles to the one they had been following. After keeping to it a few minutes, they had stopped dead in the water. Looking back, they had been able to watch the progress of the next gunboat by the flashes of her guns and the soaring calcium rockets sent up to draw other blockade ships to the area. It was a wonder they had not attracted the attention of the entire fleet with their unrestrained laughter as the gunboat had plowed furiously away from them, firing into the black, fog-muffled night at nothing.
Lorna turned back to survey the ships that sat rocking on the vivid blue and green water of the harbor, bowing to their dancing reflections, which were small underneath them due to the angle of the sun. After the last few weeks, she scarcely needed their painted lettering to identify them, recognizing instead their lines and rigging. There was a new coal barque in, and Peter's Bonny Girl was lying alongside, refueling. He had made a swift trip, even though Charleston, where he had been bound, was closer to Nassau by some hundred miles and more than Wilmington. Still, there was shell damage to the ship's bulwarks, indicating something less than an easy run. There were other ships with worse problems in evidence, however. One appeared to have suffered damage below the waterline, for she was lying with her decks nearly awash, while another flew a quarantine flag indicating that there was yellow fever aboard. As the hot, rainy season advanced, they could expect to see more and more of this.
Nate Bacon's blockade runner looked to be ready at last. It rode heavily with its load of cargo, and there was a drift of smoke from her twin stacks, as if she were getting up steam for a run as soon as night fell. That was good; she hoped Nate intended to make the maiden voyage himself.
Her satisfaction vanished as she saw that the ship had been christened in their absence. The sight of the name swirling over the bow in crimson letters on the gray hull sent a chill running along her spine. No frivolous or dashing or grand appellation had he chosen, but one that was grim and, to Lorna, disquieting. He had called his ship Avenger.
They were behind the schedule of the ships that had gone to Charleston, but ahead of the others that had made the Wilmington run. They were lucky enough to find a dock waiting, and, after a quick clearance, Ramon ran the ship up to it. Unloading commenced at once, though with more leisure than dispatch in the heat of the day. Ramon was pleased, since he planned a quick turnaround for yet another run.
No matter how she pleaded, Ramon would not agree to her going with him; the danger was just too great. He had not, however, argued with her determination to remain on board while the ship was in port, returning to the hotel only just before she was due to sail again.
The ship had been met by Edward Lansing, who had been in the Bay Street office as they came in. As he and Ramon talked over coffee and brandy, poring over invoices in the cabin, Lorna decided to make a quick trip to the hotel, since she was to be allowed to remain on the ship. She had been an uncomfortably long time in the same clothing yet again, and felt the need of a change, plus sundry other articles she had left behind. More, while in port there was greater need for extra clothing.
Largo, the young black boy who had been of such help to her a few short days before, met her at the gangplank. His eyes were big and bright, his smile proud as he greeted her, took the lightweight trunk she carried, then turned to walk beside her. She congratulated him on the success of his ruse of nearly drowning, asking him what had happened after he had been pulled from the water. He had told the officer he had a cramp in his stomach from eating too many mangoes, he said. Then he had thanked the wet man and run away, leaving him dripping water on the dock. Her praise for his quick wit made him walk taller, and he was pleased to tell her that he thought her much prettier in her women's clothes than as a gentleman. She was a nice, ver' nice, lady, generous and of good judgment, and if she had more jobs to be done, he was her man.
Laughing at his blandishments, which managed to flatter them both, she invited him to come with her and carry her trunk when she returned to the ship. He was so happy to be of further service that he danced along beside her, jabbering every step of the way. It was all too obvious that he knew everything worth knowing about her and her relationship with the captain. He thought her choice of man a wise one, but was in complete agreement that a woman's place was to remain on land while a man went to sea. He would own a fishing boat himself one day and come home loaded with the conch and the spiny lobster that he would sell for much, ver' much, money.
So amused by his company was she, that as she turned into Parliament Street for the uphill climb to the hotel, she nearly walked into Nate Bacon. He had been well aware of her approach, for he stood in her path with the cane he carried held across his body in both hands like a staff. Largo saw him first and put a hand on her arm. She looked up and came to an abrupt halt.
"So, you went with Cazenave again," he said, his face as he looked from her to the boy at her side a mask of sardonic contempt.
She threw out her chin. "I did, and we returned safely. Isn't that amazing?"
He did not bother to pretend ignorance of her meaning. He gave a porcine grunt. "I would have been more careful, if I had known you would be on board."
"Since your hireling failed you," she returned, "it is neither here nor there. But were I you, I would have a care for my own safety. Ramon has suffered much at your hands, but his patience is not endless."
"He can prove nothing." Nate's formless upper lip lifted in a sneer.
"Did I mention legal redress? I assure you, that wasn't my meaning at all."
A slight frown passed over his face. "He's too much the gentleman."
"That might have been so at one time, but his calling these days does not encourage the trait. Besides, few gentlemen encourage scoundrels and traitors, or fail to break the backs of the snakes that cross their paths."
"Why you little-" he began.
Bu
t, she did not stay to listen. Coming down the hill toward her from the direction of the Royal Victoria, was a family group or English visitors out for an evening stroll, one of them pushing an elderly woman in a wheeled chair made of bentwood with padded velvet arms and seat. By stepping smartly, she put the party between her and Nate Bacon and, inclining her head, moved away.
"Ho," Largo said, staring up at her in admiration, "you are one ver' brave lady, too."
She smiled at him, but made no answer. She did not feel brave. In truth, the way Nate had looked at her, the covetous, lascivious expression she had seen in his eyes, made her feel ill with unease.
It was later than she intended when she left the hotel for the return to the ship. Being so near the hotel's spacious bathing rooms, she had not been able to resist making use of them and changing into a fresh gown of blue-figured white calico with puff sleeves and a square neckline. Her hair, damp from having the dulling salt spray washed from it, she had coiled at the nape of her neck, meaning to let it down to dry later. With so much time wasted, her packing had been hasty. Still, she had stuffed enough into her straw trunk to make Largo puff and fall behind as she hastened toward the dock.
They had left the hotel gardens and were descending the hill along Parliament Street, where loomed the buildings of government. Lorna moved with a quick step. They had planned a late luncheon because of making port so near the noon hour, and Cupid would be holding the meal for her. She was hungry, for the first time in days. This last trip back to Nassau, she had been bothered by the motion of the vessel in a way she never had before, though the seas had been relatively calm. Doubtless Largo was hungry, too. She would insist that he share their meal; he had waited so patiently for her, and he would, she thought, consider it a treat.
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