Surrender the Dawn

by Marylu Tyndall

  Marianne turned to the other gentleman. “Oh, forgive my bad manners. This is Lieu … Mr. Reed. He is a friend of Rose’s.”

  Tearing her gaze from the trance Luke placed on her, Cassandra faced the newcomer. “Rose McGuire?”

  He dipped his head. “The same.” Sorrow crossed his deep brown eyes. Then taking Cassandra’s gloved hand, he placed a kiss upon it. “A pleasure to meet you, miss.” His voice reeked of British nobility.

  “How do you do, Mr. Reed. Pray tell, how do you know Rose?”

  Luke snorted and lowered his chin.

  Noah waved a hand through the air. “It is a long story, I’m afraid. For another time, perhaps.”

  The alarm firing over Marianne’s face sent a prickle of unease through Cassandra, but she shrugged it off. It was none of her business.

  Against her will, her gaze found its way back to Luke. “So your voyage was met with success?”

  A perpetual grin sat on his mouth as his eyes kept wandering to her lips.

  Sending her stomach into a whirl. Cad.

  “Quite,” he said. “In fact, I was on my way to see you about the prize money.”

  A burst of wind tugged at her parasol, drawing Luke’s glance. A playful smirk lifted his lips as a loose strand of his hair brushed over his jaw. “Why not come for supper, Mr. Heaton? We can settle accounts then.” The invitation flew from her mouth before she could ponder the wisdom of it. Yet, perhaps, if her mother spent more time with him, she would see that he was a gentleman. And one who possessed just as much charm, intelligence, and dependability as Mr. Crane.

  She shocked herself with her confidence in the man.

  Mr. Heaton’s gaze shifted to Noah, who smiled toward Cassandra. “I’m afraid I have need of Luke tonight, Cassandra. He’s assisting me and Mr. Reed with an important task.”

  A look of understanding passed between the men, causing her uneasiness to grow. But when she looked to Marianne for understanding, her friend gazed at her husband with concern.

  “Very well, then”—Cassandra smiled—“perhaps we can discuss business when you come to call on Saturday.”

  Mr. Heaton’s brow furrowed. “Saturday?”

  “The ball?” Cassandra tamped her foot on the mud.

  He flinched. “Yes, of course.”

  “You forgot?” She snapped her parasol shut.

  Eyeing it, he backed away. And she resisted the urge to poke him with it.

  The prattle of the crowd seemed to rise up around her as if, with wagging tongues and looks of pity, everyone in the square witnessed Cassandra’s humiliation.

  “Forgive me, Miss Channing. I’ve had much on my mind.” An unusual sadness tugged on Luke’s features.

  But she would not fall for his act. All the happiness she’d allowed herself to feel these past weeks dissolved into a single drop of despair. “We only forget things that are not of import to us. I shall relieve you of your obligation to escort me.” She faced her friends. Sympathy filled Marianne’s eyes. Noah gave Luke a caustic look, and Mr. Reed glanced off to the side.

  “Good day to you all.” Then turning, Cassandra stomped away.

  She heard the thud of his boots following her. He grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Miss Channing, I truly wish to escort you to the ball.”

  “You have an odd way of showing it, Mr. Heaton.” She headed down the street.

  And again he stopped her. Desperation crinkled the corners of his blue eyes. “I’m a cad, Miss Channing.” He gestured toward the bundle in her arms. “I see that you’ve had a new gown made for the occasion. How can I make it up to you?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Heaton. This gown is not for the ball. If you’ll please deduct what I owe you from my share of your most recent prize and send the paperwork and any additional funds to me by courier, I’d be obliged.” Then turning, she stormed away.

  Only this time, she did not hear him following.

  Margaret fell in step beside her, while Mr. Dayle, with full buckets in hand, followed behind. A hundred unflattering names for Mr. Heaton sped through Cassandra’s mind, empowering her steps. Reprobate, scoundrel, villain, blackguard, libertine. Clutching her closed parasol in one hand, she pressed the gown to her chest, if only to prevent herself from tossing it to the dirt as she wished.

  She had no need of it now.

  But she wouldn’t give the insolent rake the satisfaction. She would keep the new gown for another occasion—when a true gentleman came to escort her for the evening.

  Someone who would not use his charm to worm his way into her trust—to gain kisses she had given to no one else. Then, once he had obtained them, once he was satisfied with her desire for him and his insatiable vanity was fed, he abandoned her like the string of broken women before her.

  How could she have allowed him to woo her? She knew what type of man he was. Fighting back tears, she turned the corner onto Market Street. Just when she had finally begun to trust him—finally begun to think he was noble and honorable. Someone she could depend on.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” Margaret said as they weaved their way down the busy street. “It’s only a silly ball.”

  “It’s not the ball, Margaret. It’s that I counted on him. For the first time in a long time, I counted on someone. And he let me down.”

  Instead of uttering one of her platitudes, Margaret took Cassandra’s arm in a consoling grip and walked silently beside her.

  Hearing the slosh of the water as Mr. Dayle struggled to maintain their harried pace, Cassandra slowed. Besides, people were beginning to stare. She drew in a deep breath and raised her chin. “What does it matter anyway?”

  Yet the tears pooling in her eyes belied her words. Why, oh why, had she done the very thing she had forbidden herself to do?

  Why had she fallen in love with the town rogue?

  “Good evening to you, Miss Addington, always a pleasure. And Mr. Snyder.” Luke shoved his hat back onto his head and backed out of the humble cottage. “I’ll trouble you no further tonight.”

  Before Miss Addington had shut the door, Mr. Snyder, the city councilman, shouted from within his house, “What is that noise?” The sound of his buckled shoes clipped over the wooden floor. Hurrying down the front steps, Luke waited in the shadow of a tree for his friends to appear from behind the house. If the councilman caught them in his chamber, he would no doubt implicate Luke in the crime. More trouble Luke did not need. But how could he refuse Noah’s help? The man was his best friend and he had saved his life on more than one occasion. Mr. Reed was another story. Luke was yet unconvinced that the British Royal Navy lieutenant meant them no harm—that his actions were in the best interest of Rose McGuire, as he professed. But Noah believed him. And that was all Luke needed to go along with the nefarious deed.

  Seconds passed like long minutes as Luke peered into the darkness. Finally, the duo appeared, darting from the left side of the house, Mr. Snyder’s shout following them like cannon shot. Mr. Reed pressed a bundle to his chest. Moonlight glimmered off a sword in his hand as the three men sprinted down the street without saying a word. Once they turned the corner, Noah slowed to a walk, his chest heaving. Then his and Mr. Reed’s chuckles filled the air.

  “I take it you got what you came for?” Luke asked.

  “I did.” Mr. Reed’s tone lifted in excitement. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Heaton, especially considering our past.”

  The past he referred to, as well as his British accent, still grated over Luke. The past in which Luke had been enslaved aboard the HMS Undefeatable where Mr. Reed was second lieutenant. “I did it for Miss McGuire, not for you.”

  “I thank you nonetheless, sir.” Though Luke could not make out Mr. Reed’s expression in the darkness, his voice was sincere.

  A fleeting thought drifted through Luke’s mind. Perhaps Mr. Reed could aid him in rescuing his brother. But no. That would mean confessing Luke’s traitorous activities to Noah. Noah was an honorable man. A patriot. Friendship or not
, Luke doubted that Noah’s irreproachable conscience would allow him to do anything but turn Luke in.

  “If that’s all you need tonight, gentlemen,” Luke said as they approached the street that led to his favorite tavern. After his meeting today with Miss Channing, he needed a drink. He knew he had crushed the bud of their relationship beneath his stupidity. He knew she would probably never forgive him. His flickering hope for any courtship between them was sufficiently doused. It was for the best. She deserved much better than him.

  “I would impose on you one more time, Luke,” Noah said, stopping him. “Mr. Reed and I need your help at the ball in three days.”

  “I’m not attending.”

  Noah halted and touched Luke’s arm, stopping him. “Will you attend for me? Mr. Reed wishes to bid Miss McGuire one last adieu and pass along some good news.”

  “Why do you need me?” Luke huffed. “Another lady to distract?”

  “No. A man. Mr. Snyder, to be exact.”

  Fisting his hands at his waist, Luke chuckled. Truth be told, he was no friend to the slimy councilman and would love to see the man put in his place. Besides, he had several days before his next rendezvous with the frigate. Since he’d already devised a new plan to rescue John, he had naught else to do but sulk about and drown his sorrows with rum. Now that he was not attending the ball with Miss Channing, what would it matter if he aided Noah and Mr. Reed?

  “You can count on me.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Struggling for a breath, Luke tugged upon the silk neckerchief Mrs. Barnes had elegantly tied around his neck. How did men continually wear these infernal things? He gazed down at the suit of black lute string trimmed in velvet that he’d borrowed from Noah. Though it fit him perfectly, he felt like an overprimped fop. Lifting the glass to his lips, he sipped the wine punch and gazed at the display of pomposity spread across the dance floor and hovering in cackling clusters about the room. Baltimore’s finest citizens attired like peacocks, men in their silk-embroidered waistcoats, ladies in the latest gowns, adorned with colorful sashes and glittering jewels. Their hair alone, twined with pearls and golden pins, must have taken hours to fashion.

  Biron appeared beside him. “Cheer up, Captain. You look as though your ship just sank.”

  “You know I despise these functions.” Luke snorted as a malodorous cloud of perfumes stung his nose. His first mate adjusted his velvet waistcoat and smiled at a passing lady. Luke had never seen the old man in anything but his dirty breeches, gray shirt, and red neckerchief. Nor had he ever seen him so chipper. In fact, he’d been completely surprised to discover that Biron was attending the ball at all.

  “You wouldn’t despise such grand affairs if you were escorting Miss Channing.” Censure rang in Biron’s voice.

  Just the sound of her name sent pain sprawling across Luke. “Certain things are worth enduring for women like her.”

  “And for friends who need your help,” Biron added, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Aye, which is why I’m here dressed like a stuffed pig and feeling like a fool.” Luke sipped his drink again, noting the wine was getting quite low. He would need a refill soon if he was going to endure this night.

  “It feels indecent to be here amongst all this luxury,” he said. “Enjoying my wine, when John is no doubt huddling belowdecks, lonely and hungry, aboard that frigate.”

  “Aye, Captain, but there’s naught to be done about it now. It’s better to be here helping your friends than sitting in some tavern, flooding your belly with rum and losing what’s left of your money.” Biron’s eyes lit up. “Besides, the scenery here is much more appealing.”

  Luke huffed. Perhaps his friend was right.

  The quadrille ended, and the couples bowed and curtseyed to each other as they moved from the dance floor. Several ladies peered at him above silk fans.

  “Ah, to be young and as handsome as you are, Captain.” Biron dipped his head toward the giggling ladies, shocking Luke.

  “I’ve never known you to desire the company of the softer gender.”

  “In truth, after my wife died, I had no interest, but the older I get, the more I’m findin’ the need for companionship. God said it isn’t good for man to be alone. And I do believe He was right.”

  “So, that explains why you came tonight.”

  “Aye, look at all the sweet angels floating about the room.”

  Luke chuckled as his eyes landed on Mr. Keene, dressed in his usual pomp, at the edge of the dance floor, kissing the hand of a young lady who seemed barely old enough to be out in society. She tugged her hand from his grip, her eyes pools of pain and betrayal, before she clutched her gown and flew away like a wounded bird.

  Instead of following her to make amends for whatever caused her distress, Mr. Keene immediately veered his gaze to another lady standing off to his side and shrugged. The woman laughed and gave him a coy come-hither glance. Which the man immediately obliged. After a few seconds, in which it appeared the lady scribbled Mr. Keene’s name on her dance card, he turned, spotted Luke and Biron, and headed their way.

  “What was all that about?” Luke asked.

  Mr. Keene raised his eyebrows in innocence. Luke pointed with his drink to the door on the far side of the room where he’d seen the troubled lady exit. “That young woman. She seemed vexed.”

  Mr. Keene clasped his hands behind his back. “Ah yes, Miss Melody. She was under the mistaken impression that we were courting.” He chuckled.

  Biron scratched his head. “Hmm. I wonder how she came to that conclusion.”

  “I have no idea. You know how women can be.” Mr. Keene gave a sensuous smile to a passing lady, who returned it with a wave of her fan. “I suppose I called on her on a few occasions.”

  “Just called on her?” Luke asked.

  “I suppose I may have kissed her once or twice.” Mr. Keene rubbed his jaw. The jewel on his finger winked at Luke from within the lacy folds of his cuff.

  Luke shook his head, finding it difficult to contain his anger. “To a proper lady, a kiss is nearly equal to a proposal of marriage.” But guilt tightened his gut at the thought of the kisses he’d shared with Miss Channing. How was he any different from Mr. Keene?

  Mr. Keene looked incredulous. “You can’t possibly think I could limit myself to a single lady when there are so many delectably ripe fruits from which to pick?” He waved a hand over the crowd, and his gaze froze on a particularly succulent fruit smiling at him from the corner. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” And off he went in a flourish of satin.

  Luke followed him with an angry gaze, remembering the look of agony in the woman’s eyes moments ago.

  Biron crossed his arms over his chest. “A dangerous man, that one. At least to the ladies. And he’s a mite old to be playing such games.”

  Luke nodded. At one and forty, the man still presented a handsome figure. Yet his age gave the incorrect impression of maturity and stability. “He should take care with the sentiments of others.”

  “In truth, he reminds me a bit of you, Captain.”

  “Me?” Luke said. “Bite your tongue, man.”

  “How many hearts have you broken in this town?”

  Biron’s words struck Luke like a frigid wind. He could always count on the blunt assessment of his friend. Yet, in truth, Luke had never actually considered it. Hadn’t he spent his life flitting from woman to woman, never landing on one long enough to form an attachment? Suddenly, dozens of tear-filled eyes—just like the eyes he’d seen on that young lady—paraded across his vision.

  At the time he had brushed them off as overemotional females. Now, he understood their pain—felt it himself down to his core. Shame soured in his stomach. In fifteen years, would Luke end up like Mr. Keene, a flashy, pretentious philanderer whose only skills included cards, drink, and meaningless trysts with wanton women? At six and twenty, he was well on his way. Or he had been until Miss Channing had given him a chance to better himself. Until she had given him the des
ire to be a better man.

  “I’m not like that anymore,” he announced, raising his empty glass with a frown.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Biron gave him a knowing look before his eyes latched onto an elderly woman standing beside a much younger one at the edge of the dance floor. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I see the lady I’ve been looking for.”

  Luke watched as his old friend wove his way through the crowd to stand before the older woman as the younger wandered off to dance. She smiled and dipped her head in agreement to whatever he was saying. The scene brought a glimmer of joy to Luke’s otherwise dour mood. Turning, he started for the refreshment table in the next room when the shimmer of an emerald gown hooked his gaze, drawing it toward a red-haired beauty across the dance floor.

  Cassandra … Miss Channing.

  What was she doing here? Had she found someone else to escort her? Jealousy twisted in his gut. She stood beside Marianne and Miss Rose, the trio of heads drawn together in some covert feminine scheme. Her burgundy-colored hair fell in ringlets around her neck and sparkled like garnets when she moved. Mesmerized by the sight of her, Luke forgot where he’d been going. Then she turned and glanced across the room as if looking for someone. Her eyes met his and her smile faded. He lifted his empty glass toward her in a salute as Miss Rose leaned and whispered something in her ear. Marianne grinned, and Miss Channing turned her back to Luke once again.

  What was he thinking? Of course she’d found another escort. She was a beautiful woman who possessed manners and charm and intelligence and courage.

  And the kindest heart he’d ever known.

  With a huff, he turned and slipped through the door into the next room in search of two things: Noah and a drink. The sooner he aided his friend in getting rid of Mr. Snyder, the sooner Luke could leave this ostentatious ball and head toward the tavern where he belonged. So much for his promise to Biron. He found Noah standing next to the man in question—Mr. Snyder—who was relaying some lavish tale to the mayor, General Smith, and two other councilmen. Noah gave Luke a nod to carry out the plan they’d spoken of earlier.