Surrender the Dawn

by Marylu Tyndall

  Cassandra’s throat burned. She fought back a flood of tears. Even if Mr. Heaton caught twenty prizes in the next six months, it would be too late to keep the house and provide food for her family. She pressed a hand over her stomach.

  Mr. Heaton grabbed her elbow and leaned toward her, his face full of concern. “Are you unwell, Miss Channing?”

  “Yes … No.” Warmth spiraled up her arm at his touch, and she pulled away from him. “I had hoped”—she waved a hand in the air—“oh, what does it matter?” She eyed him. “You smell like a tavern, sir.”

  He frowned. “I’m on land again, miss.”

  “Why are you back so soon?”

  “I needed supplies.”

  The statement made no sense to her, but she didn’t inquire further.

  Shifting his stance, Luke gazed out the windows onto the back garden. “I went to see Marianne today.”

  The odd statement jarred Cassandra, and she dared a glance into his eyes—so close she could see the lantern light flicker in their depths.

  At her inquisitive look, he scratched the stubble on his chin and gave her one of his roguish grins. “Well, in truth, I hoped to see Noah, but the blasted man is still out scouring the seas for British prey.” He chuckled.

  “Why are you telling me this, Mr. Heaton?”

  He reached inside his waistcoat and pulled out a leather billfold and handed it to her.

  Cassandra shook her head. “What is this?”

  “Take it, Miss Channing.”

  Grabbing it, she unhooked the clip and opened it to find several dollar bills—at least eighty. Confusion left her stunned. “What? I can’t take this.”

  “I assure you, you can.”

  “How? I don’t …”

  “Marianne told me of your plight.”

  The solarium began to spin. Cassandra lifted a hand to her forehead. “But this is from your share of the last prize.”

  He said nothing. He just looked at her as if she were as precious as one of the gardenias blossoming beside her.

  “I cannot accept this.” She shoved the billfold back toward him.

  He held out a hand. “I have no need of it at the moment.” Sorrow crossed his face. He looked away.

  “Still, Mr. Heaton, it is most inappropriate.”

  “If you wish it not to be a gift, you can repay me out of our next prize earnings. This should last you a few months until then.”

  She shifted her eyes between his but found no insincerity within them. Could this be true? Her legs transformed into noodles and she staggered.

  Mr. Heaton reached out to steady her. She fell against him. “Are you all right, miss?” His warmth and strength surrounded her, and an odd sense of well-being invaded her turbulent soul. A feeling she’d not had since her father had been alive. Was it possible this rogue, this blackguard, could be trusted?

  “Forgive me, Mr. Heaton, It’s just that”—she stepped out of his embrace—“it’s just that you have no idea how much I needed this money. I fear I had decided to take drastic measures.”

  His eyes wandered down to the pipe in her hand.

  “Smoke a pipe?” He chuckled.

  She joined him. “No! I was about to accept the proposal of a certain gentleman.…”

  “Ah.” Mr. Heaton’s dark brows rose. “Mr. Crane, I presume?”

  Cassandra looked down. “Yes, I fear he’s become quite persistent, insisting I accompany him to some ball happening at the Fountain Inn.”

  He studied her with that look that held possibilities she dare not entertain. “I can see why.”

  Her face heated. She took a step back.

  “Forgive me,” he said, but the flirtatious look remained. “Perhaps you could inform him that you’re attending the ball with me?”

  Cassandra blinked even as a thrill sped through her. “Why would I say that?”

  “Because it will give you an excuse to turn him down. And because attending with me will be far more adventurous, I assure you.”

  Of that, Cassandra had no doubt. She brushed a finger over one of her gardenias, trying to settle her rampant emotions. Why was she all aquiver over this rake’s invitation and so repulsed by Mr. Crane’s? “Then,

  shall I presume you are extending an invitation to escort me, sir?”

  Luke smiled at the coy look on her face, both thrilled and shocked that she seemed at all interested in attending the ball with him. “I am.”

  “But how long will you be in town?” she asked.

  He shrugged and pushed an errant strand of hair behind his ear. “I will make sure I’m here for the event.”

  “Then I accept your kind invitation, sir,” Cassandra said.

  Luke gave her a befuddled look, wondering if he were dreaming. Never in a thousand years would he have ever hoped to escort a lady like Cassandra Channing to a ball.

  She lowered her gaze to the billfold in her hand. “You don’t know how grateful I am for this money, Mr. Heaton. I will accept it, but only as a loan.”

  Then it hit Luke. Like a stone sinking in his stomach. “I hope you didn’t agree to my invitation because of the money.”

  “No, not at all.” Setting down the pipe and money on a nearby stool, she laid a hand on his arm.

  “Because there are no obligations attached to the gif—loan.” But when he raised his eyes to hers, Luke could see his fears were unfounded, for nothing but candor flashed in their depths.

  “Of course,” she said. “We are partners, after all.”

  His gaze dropped to her lips. He licked his own and swallowed an urgent desire to kiss her. Shifting both his thoughts and his gaze away, he gestured toward the billfold on the stool. “Might I suggest you put it in the bank this time?”

  “I deserved that.” Her lips slanted.

  He cocked his head. “And if I might make one small request?”

  She hesitated, eyeing him, but saying nothing.

  “Please make no mention of the money to anyone or from whence it came. We don’t wish to alert the thief a second time. Even for so small an amount.”

  “Indeed.”

  Luke’s heart soared at the appreciation beaming from Miss Channing’s face. If only for the moment, at least in her eyes, he was no failure. At least in her eyes, he was a champion. He had failed everyone else, even himself, but he never wanted to fail her. The trust and confidence in her gaze made him want to be a better man—to become a man she could trust, a man she could love.

  The way the lantern light glittered in her burgundy hair and caressed her soft cheek, sliding down her neck …

  Luke caught hold of his wayward thoughts and took a step back, fumbling with his hat. For the first time in his life, a woman had him befuddled—unsure of himself.

  Against his will, his gaze landed once again on her lips. He remembered the soft feel of them, their moist response to his kiss weeks ago. His throat grew parched, longing for just one sip. But she would think him presumptuous after she’d accepted the money. It wouldn’t be right.

  For once, he withdrew.

  “I should leave you, miss.” He started to turn away when the press of her hand on his arm stayed him. He faced her again.

  She gazed at him mystified, mesmerized before her lips met his.

  CHAPTER 24

  Cassandra had no idea what she was doing. In fact, she was absolutely sure that she could, here and henceforth, be classified as a witless hussy. Why did she force her kiss on Mr. Heaton? After he had turned away from her as a true gentleman should? Dash it all, she had thrown herself into his arms as if she were one of his tavern wenches. Yet, as soon as her lips met his and he responded by engulfing her in his embrace, she no longer cared. Reputation and propriety tossed to the wind, she drank him in as if she could never assuage her thirst. He tasted of smoke and spice. His breath tickled her cheek while his stubble scratched her skin. A plethora of delights soared through her until every ounce of her sizzled like hot coals. He cupped her face in his warm hands and kissed
her deeply then placed light gentle kisses over her face and neck.

  Cassandra moaned and fell against him. He stroked her hair, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her cheek.

  She felt warm and safe and loved. And she never wanted him to leave.

  “Aren’t you going to slap me again?”

  Cassandra shook her head, regaining some of her senses. She pushed back from him, horrified that she’d kissed him. “I don’t know what came over me. Please forgive me.” She lowered her chin.

  His finger raised it, until their eyes met. “I fear I cannot.” He looked at her as if she were a rare treasure—something to protect and cherish.

  But then it struck her. How many other women had he graced with that adoring look? Kissed with such hungry fervor? He was skilled in the art of l’amour. As evidenced by the wake of broken hearts he left behind.

  And she was a fool.

  Cassandra took a step back. “This means nothing.”

  The smile slipped from his mouth. “To you, perhaps.”

  “I lost my head. It was the money, your charity.” Cassandra tore her gaze from him and hugged herself against a sudden chill. “We are nothing but business partners.”

  “Indeed?” He cocked his head and studied her. A sigh, laden with sorrow, blew from his lips.

  Cassandra fingered a gardenia petal. Her body still tingled from his kiss. Confusion galloped unbridled through her thoughts, pounding them into dust before she could make sense of them. Could she actually be falling in love with this rogue?

  “You don’t trust me,” he said.

  “I trust no one, Mr. Heaton.”

  “I hope to remedy that, Miss Channing.” Before she could stop him, he leaned down and brushed his lips over her cheek then placed his hat on his head, opened the door, and left.

  Caressing the spot on her face where his lips last touched, Cassandra watched as the shadows stole him from view.

  Luke stood on the teetering deck of the HMS Audacious as the British purser, a rather stubby fellow with a pointed chin, checked items off a list. Luke’s men, aided by British sailors, hauled aboard crates, barrels, and sacks from Destiny’s hold, dropping them on deck for inspection before additional British sailors carried them below. Flanked by his lieutenants, Captain Raynor gazed down upon the proceedings from the quarter rail in a pompous display of dark-blue coats and cocked hats that made Luke sick to his stomach. He glanced over at the lines strung taut on belaying pins off the larboard quarter, and renewed pain etched down his back. Not two years ago, he stood in that very spot on a different British frigate, hauling lines while the master’s mate whipped his back repeatedly with the rattan.

  The thought shot renewed terror through his veins like shards of ice. Terror for John. Where was he? Since Luke had boarded, he’d scanned every inch of the deck. But his brother was nowhere to be seen.

  And Luke had to get close to John in order for his plan to work. Close enough to pass him a scrap of foolscap containing important instructions. The scrap that now seemed to be shouting from within Luke’s pocket.

  “That’s it, Captain.” The purser lifted his gaze. Four sacks of rice, six sacks of flour, one crate of fresh fish, two pigs, five sacks of coal, ten barrels of water, twenty chickens, one crate of apples, two barrels of rum, and twenty-five pounds of gunpowder.

  Gunpowder that might kill Luke’s own countrymen.

  The ship canted over a swell. Bracing his boots on the deck, Luke ground his teeth together and reached for his sword by instinct. Of course, it wasn’t there. Nor was his pistol. He and his men standing behind him had been searched before they’d boarded the frigate. Even if his entire crew were armed, what could twenty men do against hundreds? Thunder charged through the broiling, gray sky that hung low enough to touch. A vile wind whipped across the deck, stinging Luke’s nose with the scent of brine and rain.

  “Very good, Mr. Garrison,” Captain Raynor said. “Pay the man his due.”

  The purser tossed a bag of coins to Luke. He caught it and turned his attention to the captain. “I demand to see my brother.”

  “Demand, is it now?” The man chuckled and glanced at his lieutenants, who joined him in laughter. Lightning flashed, casting a silver glow over his maniacal expression and transforming the gray and black streaks of his hair into eerie shades of blue.

  “I am, Captain, or I’ll bring one of our navy’s warships to our next meeting.” Luke knew his threat was empty. The American Navy would never risk a ship to rescue the brother of a traitor.

  “The American Navy, you say?” Captain Raynor grinned. “Last I heard you had less than ten frigates and a couple of sloops against our hundreds of warships.” He shook his head. “Ah, you Americans. Entertaining at best. At the least, full of impotent threats and boasts. But alas, you may see the lad if you wish.” He turned and said something to one of the midshipmen standing behind him and the man dropped below, returning in moments with John.

  The instant the boy saw Luke, he broke into a huge smile that helped settle Luke’s taut nerves. The man released him, and John dashed toward his brother, barreling into his embrace. Luke swallowed him up, wishing he’d never have to let go. After a moment, however, John pushed back as if embarrassed at the affectionate exchange. He glanced over Luke’s shoulder. “Mr. Abbot, Mr. Keene, Mr. Ward.”

  “Hi there, lad,” Mr. Ward said. “How are you faring?”

  “I’m well.” His gaze returned to Luke. “They make me work hard, but they feed me too.”

  Luke knelt and slipped his hand into his pocket for the foolscap. “How is your brace holding up?”

  The boy nodded. “Good.” He eyed Luke for a moment and cocked his head. “Don’t worry about me. God is here with me.”

  Luke huffed. If God was here, He would have freed his brother already. But he would let the lad have his fantasy if it brought him comfort. Luke’s eyes dropped to the blisters on his brother’s hands and his torn trousers. He gripped the boy’s shoulders. He felt bonier than before, and Luke wondered if he’d lost weight. “I’m going to get you out of here,” he whispered. Sliding the note to the inside of his palm, Luke eased his hands to John’s waist. “Do what the note says. I’ll be waiting.” He shoved it inside John’s trousers.

  John’s eyes nodded but he said nothing. Good boy. So brave.

  “Enough!” The captain’s voice ricocheted over the deck. Two marines grabbed John and drew him back before Luke could embrace him once more.

  Rising, Luke branded the captain with a fiery gaze. What he wouldn’t give to challenge the man to a duel right now. Just the two of them. To the death, for John’s freedom. Rain started to fall, bouncing on the deck in large drops as if heaven itself were sad at the proceedings below.

  Plop plop plop, like the beating of a war drum. The frigate heaved over the agitated sea. Salty spray lashed across Luke’s face. He shook it away.

  “We shall see you in a fortnight, Captain Heaton.” Raynor dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Escort these men from the ship, if you please, Mr. Leonard.”

  John cast Luke one final glance before the sailor shoved him down the companionway ladder. Jerking from the marine’s grasp, Luke followed his men over the bulwarks, down the rope, and onto the deck of Destiny.

  Thunder bellowed as the lines tying the two ships together were released and the hulls slipped apart.

  “Do you think it’ll work, Captain?” Biron said from beside him.

  “It has to. I can think of no other way to get him off that ship.” Luke shook the rain from his hair then slicked back the wet strands. “Let’s be on our way, Biron.”

  “Aye, Captain.” Biron turned and shot a string of orders across the ship. “Stand by to make sail! Lay aloft, topmen! Man the halyards and sheets!”

  Sam approached. “Where should I point her, Cap’n?”

  “West, as if we’re sailing back to Baltimore.” Luke winked.

  The boy saluted and raced up on the quarterdeck to take the
wheel.

  As Biron’s and Mr. Keene’s orders filled the air, Luke heard his crew scrambling over the deck. He heard their grunts as they leapt into the shrouds to raise sail, their moans as they hauled on lines. And within minutes Destiny’s canvas caught the wind in a thundering snap and sped on her way over the rising swells of the sea.

  A burst of salty wind struck Luke as he watched the frigate fade behind a curtain of rain.

  Biron appeared by his side. “He’s a brave lad, I’ll give him that. If he reads the note and can slip away during the night watch as you told him, he should have no trouble making it over the side.”

  “Unless they’re keeping him locked up below at night.” Mr. Ward approached the railing.

  Luke shook his head. “They didn’t keep me in irons, why would they keep a boy?”

  “Will he jump, though? That’s the question.” Mr. Keene joined them.

  “He’ll jump,” Luke said. “He’s my brother.” Shielding his eyes from the rain, he glanced up. “It will be dark in an hour. And with this weather, most of the night watch will be hunched under their coats. Maybe God is looking out for us tonight, after all.”

  “He’s always looking out for you,” Biron said. “You heard your brother.”

  “Ah, it’s best to count on wit, might, and money, Mr. Abbot,” Mr. Keene said. “Those are the things that will never let you down.”

  Yet Luke wished above all else that there was a God to whom he could appeal tonight—that there was an almighty, all-powerful God who could swoop down and close the eyes of the British watch so Luke and his crew could rescue John.

  As his men dispersed to their duties, Luke stood at the starboard railing, gazing at the turbulent, dark sea. Lightning etched a white fork across the clouds. When he was sure no one was looking his way, Luke bowed his head. On the off chance there was a God, Luke uttered a silent appeal for His help—for John’s sake, not Luke’s.

  But instead of the peace Biron so often spoke of, heavy rain pelted Luke as if God spat on him in reply.

  Seven hours later, Luke knew his appeal had fallen on deaf ears. After darkness had transformed the sea into liquid onyx and hidden them from their enemy, Destiny had crept to within a half mile of the HMS Audacious’s larboard quarter. The frigate had furled all sail, drifting through the darkness under top gallants alone on a southern tack. Luke leveled his scope at the quarterdeck, desperately seeking a glimpse of his brother crawling over the side. A jolly boat rocked alongside Destiny, manned by four of Luke’s crew, ready to pluck the boy from the water.