Fortune's Flames

by Janelle Taylor

  “Don’t do this, Jared,” she softly pleaded as she clutched his hand.

  He was glad she had not fully realized the facts: he had broken into her room, she was attired in a nightgown, and in the middle of the night they were sitting on her bed, talking. “Do what, Maren?”

  “Confuse me. You aren’t behaving the way you did years ago.”

  Jared considered her words for a minute before asking, “What do you mean, years ago?”

  Maren jumped up and turned her back on him. But he rose and pulled her around to face him. In the candlelight they could see each other’s faces. When Maren’s gaze lowered, Jared lifted her chin, and she bravely met his eyes.

  “What did you mean?” he persisted.

  “All right,” she yielded. “We met years ago, when I was fifteen, actually on my fifteenth birthday. I was smitten with you. That’s why I acted so…foolish on the ship and in Jamaica. I remembered you.”

  “Cameron never introduced us,” he argued. “I would have recalled.”

  “He didn’t,” she confessed, then revealed the entire story to him. Withdrawing from his arms, she retrieved the dried nosegay from her lowboy. “I found it when I was going through my things after I returned. It sounds so silly now, and I acted so… stupid on the ship and in Jamaica. You see, Jared, I remembered you, but you could not have remembered me. No wonder you thought me so wicked.”

  When Jared chuckled, she punched him in the stomach and chided, “It isn’t funny. I was a very impressionable young girl. I thought I had forgotten about you until you sailed into my life again.”

  “Maren, my bewitching siren, it makes perfect sense, wonderful sense. The only silly thing about it is the misunderstanding. That’s why you seemed familiar. Honestly, I remember you as a young girl and a wharf lad. You touched me as both. Let your dreams of me come alive.” He drew her against him and hugged her tightly, and his lips wandered over her brown hair and her cheek before they found her lips. As their mouths fused and explored, Maren clung to him and responded to his demanding siege on her senses. Her body was pressed snugly to his.

  “I want you, Maren James,” Jared murmured against her ear.

  “And I want you, Jared Morgan,” she responded ardently.

  Jared leaned away from her and asked, “Are you sure? I don’t want you to be sorry about this later.”

  “I’m twenty, Jared. I know what I want and need— you.”

  “I’m not a girlish fantasy anymore. I’m real, Maren, and this night will be real. But I’ll have to leave soon. Can you accept having only this part of me until the war is over?”

  Maren allowed her gaze to roam over his face. She had time to make her decision; he was not rushing her. She caressed his strong jawline and fingered his lips. She did not want to talk about the future; this moment counted most, these feelings. She must not intimidate him with a demand for a commitment. She must be honest to a point, then remain mysterious. She had to entice him to come back to her, and to keep coming back because he could not survive without her. She had to feed him little by little from love’s frightening dish, until he was addicted to her ambrosia and had to feast on it each day for survival. She must not pose a threat to his freedom, until he was willing to discard it. She had to begin this relationship on the bottom step, then mount the stairs with him one at a time. If they were to become friends, more than lovers, they had to climb together, slowly, deliberately, carefully. Starting at a romantic peak left no place to go but down if things did not work out. Yes, this romantic ladder had to be climbed one rung at a time, beginning tonight….

  “Yes, Jared, it’s enough for now.”

  “Swear you won’t make any more dangerous voyages. Swear you’ll remain here in New Orleans where you’ll be safe.”

  “I can’t make such promises, Jared. My grandparents are old; their time is limited. If this war is prolonged, I’ll find a way to visit them again.”

  “But we’re at war with Britain. How can you go back there? How can you socialize with our enemies?”

  “They aren’t my enemies, Jared. I’m not at war with my family and my friends.”

  “During a war, Maren, you have to take a side, a stand.”

  “Not against my grandparents or my friends.”

  “Then why did you leave London during the war to return to no one? You were safe with your grandparents.”

  “When I left London with Eric, I didn’t know my parents were dead. We had been out of contact since June of 1812. Eric told me they’d died after we were underway.” Maren brushed over the explanation of her parents’ deaths and of what she had believed when she’d met Jared on the Martha J. “I didn’t know I still had Lady Luck; that’s why I needed to keep the necklace. I intended to sell it so I could make a fresh start. I think Eric was right to withhold the tragic news of my parents from our grandparents. How could they endure the death of their last son?”

  “That still doesn’t explain why Eric came after you at such an inopportune time. Why did he sail into the arms of the enemy and risk losing his ship and crew? Why didn’t he leave you there until the end of the war? He took you away from your grandparents when their years are short, deprived you of their support and of good surroundings to drop you into a gambling house. It doesn’t make sense, Maren. Why did he visit London?”

  “I can’t tell you, Jared. Please don’t ask again. Besides,” she said softly, “this isn’t the time to discuss war or business.”

  Maren’s first words had implied there was something she could not reveal, something important. Being a presidential spy was an arduous task, one that demanded a great deal of Jared, and he must keep his mission secret, even from his newfound love. Much as he craved Maren, he had to press her on this urgent matter before things went any further between them.

  He said firmly, “You must tell me the truth this time, Maren. Why did your ship stop in Jamaica and why did you sail so hurriedly after my arrival? Where is Eric now? What is he doing?”

  “I’ve told you all I can, Jared. Please let this subject go, especially tonight.”

  “I can’t, Maren,” he responded. “We have to settle this matter before we get any closer.”

  “You seem overly interested in my cousin,” she said accusingly. “In fact, you seem more interested in Eric than in me. Why is that, Jared?”

  “That isn’t true, Maren, but I have to know everything about him. He had a reason for being in London, and it wasn’t to rescue you. All that stuff about sailing from France and carrying French papers, it wasn’t true. Why did an American on an American ship put into a British port? Will it help you to decide to answer my questions if I tell you I’m working for President Madison? I am, and this information could be vital to America, to our victory.”

  Maren took offense at Jared’s tone, look, and implication. She wondered if this mysterious privateer had learned about the gold shipment and had been trailing them to steal it. When he had been unable to locate it during his attack, perhaps he had followed them to Jamaica, then to New Orleans. Was he manipulating her, using her love for him so he might learn where the gold was hidden? She spoke to the man who was with her, to this stranger Jared had become. “If you thought we were French, Captain Hawk, why did you rob us? If you didn’t believe it, why did you let us sail away? And have you forgotten that you also entered that enemy port? We had export business there, but you didn’t. You were trailing us, weren’t you? Perhaps you should tell me the truth for a change.”

  “I told you, Maren, I’m working for the President, for America. I use Captain Hawk and the Sea Mist to carry out my secret missions. I think Eric James is a traitor and a British spy. Convince me he isn’t.”

  Maren was stunned by this accusation. She knew what happened to traitors and spies—they were executed—but she could not believe Eric was guilty of either crime. Nor could she betray her own kin, not even to Jared, unless she had undeniable proof. Fragments from her parents’ letters came to her mind. Perhaps she was wron
g about Eric. She had no proof that he was misleading her; she had only suspicions which might have logical explanations. After reading those letters, she could believe a lot of things about Eric James, but that he might be committing treason and spying were too much for her to accept. Maybe Jared was the one she shouldn’t trust, at least not so blindly and quickly. If he was working for the President as he claimed, wouldn’t he know about Eric’s mission? And she could not forget how Jared had treated her upon his arrival in New Orleans. Was he only after the gold?

  “Well?” he prompted. “Can you?”

  “Even if you didn’t already have your mind set against him, why should I try? If you knew Eric James at all, you wouldn’t say such things.”

  “If that’s an invitation to hang around until he returns, I accept. Since you’re so protective of him, I’ll just study him on my own. I hope you learn to trust me, Maren. If what I think about your cousin is true, he could get you into real trouble if you stick with him.”

  “If that’s supposed to scare me into betraying Eric, it won’t work.”

  “I was voicing a concern, Maren, not threatening you. But I hope you’re more willing to betray Eric than to betray yourself and America.” He ran his fingers through his light brown hair, then sighed wearily. “I think it’s best if I leave. I’m sorry for spoiling things between us tonight. But before we get together, Maren, we have to like and trust each other. Once I allow you to get under my skin, I’ll be forced to help you whether you’re right or wrong. I won’t put either of us in that awkward position, so until I decide that you’re as important to me as my country is, I have to resist you.”

  Jared walked toward the door, but he halted and said, “In case you need help or change your mind, I’ll be around for a while.”

  Maren’s heart was pounding furiously, but she did not know how to respond. Her mother had told her many things about men. She knew they played games with women, and she had to decide whether Jared was playing with her emotions before she reacted. Why was he hesitating in the doorway? What should she do or say?

  “I promise I won’t tell Eric about your suspicions,” she finally responded. “If what you think is true, then convince me of it. That’s as far as I can bend tonight. Can you accept only that part of me until this matter is settled?”

  Jared half turned to look at Maren. With her back to the candlestick, her face was in shadows. He tried to see it clearly, but could not. He wanted to trust her, but it was so hard for him to open up to a woman. Willa Barns Morgan had done such terrible things at home that he had trouble trusting any woman, especially with his life and freedom. To ease his tension, he jested, “I hope it’s settled quickly, my fetching siren, before you drown me in this flood of desire.”

  Jared left before Maren could react. She then slowly went to the door, and locked it. She again wondered how he had gotten into the gambling house and into her room. Could someone else do the same? Dan Myers was no longer here to protect her and Mary, and many people probably knew he had moved. Perhaps she should get a pistol. Yes, she must do that. The next time, it might not be Jared Morgan who was sneaking into her room.

  Maren returned to bed and snuggled into Jared’s indentation. His manly smell lingered and inflamed her anew. Three times he could have taken her, three times she would have surrendered, and three times he had resisted her. Was she being foolish? Too willing and eager?

  Maren flung the cover aside once more and lit another candle. She retrieved the haunting letters from a drawer and read them once more. Two in particular troubled her. Those were the ones that had caused her to defend Eric, even at the expense of spoiling her time with her love.

  Cameron James had written, “It amazes me, Maren, but Eric continues to improve in all areas. He’s been able to get several ships in and out of the Gulf, but only as far as the islands. He worked out a deal with a privateer in Martinique. The man picks up our cargoes there and takes them to European ports for us. Naturally we don’t earn much, having to go through another shipper who takes the main risks, but that approach is keeping us in business while others are failing…. Eric takes little reward for himself, always putting nearly everything earned back into the firm, except for what he insists that your mother and I use for ourselves and the plantation. I promised to repay him for his hard work by making him my partner after the war. You should have seen his face when I told him that news. He was so choked up he could barely speak for over an hour. He’s a hard worker, Maren, and a good man. He is cunning, yet he can be totally unselfish….

  “Eric has a real patriotic streak which I greatly admire, but he is reserved about it because he doesn’t like people to make much of him. This is so unlike the old Eric who did anything for attention. But secrecy is necessary to protect Eric and to aid his missions, as we call them. If the British captured him or one of their spies (yes, spies here in our land, Maren) unmasked him, our beloved Eric could be slain. When I try to give him credit publicly for saving me during this mess, he pretends everything is my doing and he scolds me later for making him seem too important.”

  Another letter, written shortly before her father’s death, followed a similar vein. “Despite his previous loudness, Eric is really quite shy and sensitive. It’s taken me nearly a year to force some confidence into him; John made him feel so useless and inferior. I’m ashamed of my brother for almost destroying his own son…. Eric’s very proud of what he’s done for me and for himself, but what seems to matter most to him is that I recognize and appreciate his growth. I often wish he were my son instead of John’s or that he could become my son-in-law. Of course that is not possible since you are first cousins. Nonetheless, he misses you terribly and wishes you had married someone closer to us (we assume you went ahead with the wedding when war was declared). He’s told me about some of the pranks you two played. It’s clear you’re Cameron James’s daughter. Eric really loves you, Maren, and talks about you often. All of us wonder how you’re doing, and we hope you’re happy with Daniel. Naturally your mother worries about your having a child without her there at your side, and every morning and night we pray for this war to end so we can visit you. We love you, Maren, more each day.”

  That was as much as she could read before anguish overtook her. Her father and mother had admired Eric James. In fact, it seemed that he had gotten better and better, which was certainly possible under her father’s influence and guidance. Several times the letters had stated that Eric was helping the American cause in secret ways, but that more could not be revealed in a letter. And twice he had mentioned that Eric had financed certain missions out of a “special fund which you will understand later.” Maren hated to think Eric had used the missing money from the bank box, the money she had accused him of stealing.

  If she had not finished reading the letters this afternoon, she would have answered Jared’s questions, she admitted. But having read them, how could she betray the man her parents had loved so dearly? Eric had almost become a son to Cameron and Carlotta James and, through their letters, a brother to her. All of the good times and feelings she had shared with her first cousin in the first eighteen years of her life had resurfaced, and she had been unable to reveal anything about him to Jared Morgan. Even if Eric was guilty of some crime or foul deed, it would have to be someone else who betrayed him.

  * * *

  When Maren got out of bed at eleven the next morning, she knew Mary Malone was attending church and would then have lunch with friends. She washed her face and brushed her hair, but did not dress before going downstairs to prepare her wake-up tea. She smiled as she realized that Mary had left a fire in the stove for heating water and for warming the fresh pastries which were on the table. She set the kettle in place and turned to the pastries. Suddenly she screamed, and Jared chuckled.

  “Damn you, stop sneaking up on me! Did you stay here last night?” she asked, trying to sound vexed, but it was difficult because he looked so appealing in a billowy white shirt, snug ebony breeches, and shi
ny black boots.

  “No. I slept in my room at the hotel.”

  “How do you get in?” When he merely grinned, she shouted, “Blast you, Jared Morgan, tell me! This could be dangerous for me and Mary.”

  “Not anymore, I moved into Dan Myers’s old room. I’ll be here to protect you and Mrs. Malone. That tea about ready?”

  Maren gaped in disbelief. When she found her voice, she shrieked, “You can’t move in here! Who do you think you are?”

  “Your partner. So I have every right to live here, just as you do, Miss James. After we have tea and pastries, I’ll show you the papers your father signed years ago making me half-owner of Lady Luck. By the way, I haven’t received any earnings since the war began. After breakfast, we must figure out how much you owe me. Your father was to hold my earnings until I came to collect them, and I do hope you haven’t spent them. Somehow I doubt that you want to be indebted to me. Oh, you also owe me for my winning streak last night. But since I was a patron, I do hope you don’t pay me with my own money. As to how I get in and out,” he added, dangling keys in the air, “I have my own keys. Cameron gave them to me on my last visit.”

  Chapter Seven

  After a lengthy silence, Maren demanded, “What are you trying to pull, Jared Morgan? You can’t be my father’s partner.”

  “I’m not, Miss James—I’m yours.”

  Maren did not like the way Jared grinned. “Give me those keys. You can’t come in and out of here like you—”

  “Own half of this place.” He teasingly completed her statement.

  Maren observed him intently. His teeth looked exceedingly white in contrast with his tanned skin, and his brownish gold eyes appeared to be balls of warm honey. He had not shaved yet, and his stubble was very dark for a light-haired man. Though his hair was combed, it still settled into windblown waves with sun-laced tips. She eyed his features. They were strong, manly and appealing, as was his lean and muscular physique. Like his stubble, the hair on his chest, visible because of his half-open shirt, was very dark. She had trouble accepting what he’d said. Jared Morgan, the man whom she had dreamed of since the age of fifteen—Captain Hawk, the roguish privateer who had romantically besieged her three times—was her mystery partner. The man was sharing her home and…