Patricia Potter (16 page)

“Yesterday,” Jones said. “Your timing couldn’t be better.”

“How much space will the cargo take?”

“Nearly one fourth of your hold. I was … we were hoping you could also take in some medicines.”

Adrian nodded, only briefly considering the irony of the split cargo. He wished his head were clearer as he gave the agent a capacity, and the man nodded his thanks.

Adrian would still have more than half of his cargo space empty. He spent the morning on the docks inspecting incoming goods, choosing items that would bring the highest prices. The result was a combination of the fanciful and practical: champagne, French brandy, and silks; nails for coffins; needles; corsets; and salt, which was purchased from a New England merchant.

Much of the day had passed when he completed his bargaining. Most of the cotton he’d carried from Charleston had been unloaded. The new cargo would soon be loaded, and the
Specter
would leave the wharf and anchor out in the harbor, waiting out the bright moon with the other blockade runners.

Four days with little to do.

As if driven by a force stronger than himself, he found himself walking quickly toward Jeremy Case’s store.

She was not there, but Jeremy was.

“Lauren?”

Jeremy hesitated. “She’s resting.”

Adrian’s still-aching head absorbed the words, the tightness in his stomach becoming increasingly painful. “Is anything wrong?”

Jeremy regarded him gravely for several seconds. “I think she misses home, her family. She had a nightmare last night.”

“Perhaps I should leave then.” The words were part question. He didn’t want to go. He thought of Lauren’s smile, her eyes with all their questions, and he ached for her. It was an unfamiliar feeling, this strong affinity with someone else. He had worked hard to divorce himself from strong personal ties, and he’d succeeded admirably. Never having known love within his own family, he didn’t really understand Lauren’s grief. But he’d seen pain in her eyes when she had spoken of her father and brother, and now he knew a compelling need to make her smile, to chase away the unhappy memories.

“I’ll ask her,” Jeremy said.

His lips smiled, although Adrian noticed the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Funny, he’d never noticed that before. Adrian was usually quite good at reading people, but now he felt something odd, something hesitant, in the storekeeper, as if …

But then he was gone, and Adrian dismissed the thought as only imagination, the result of a thoroughly mistreated body. Socrates was prowling around the store, finding a licorice stick and helping himself, smacking his lips loudly until, almost unwillingly, Adrian smiled. Licorice was a weakness of Socrates’s, and he always ended up with black stickiness all over himself, but the animal grinned with so much pleasure that Adrian felt some of his tension draining away. He picked up several more sticks for later, and placed a coin on the counter to pay for them.

Footsteps sounded on the steps, and he turned around, but his reactions were slower than Socrates’s. The monkey ran toward the stairs and threw himself into Lauren’s arms. Adrian heard her soft laughter, then her greeting to Socrates, and winced as he knew what would happen next.

There was a smacking sound, and Adrian looked up to see Lauren’s cheek covered with a sticky black substance. Her hands were likewise covered, and Adrian expected horror at the very least.

“Socrates!” he roared, and received an indignant glare from the monkey. Adrian closed his eyes in despair for a moment, then heard Lauren’s giggles, which erupted into laughter. He thought he’d never heard anything quite as engaging.

“Don’t scold him,” Lauren said. “I like licorice too.”

Socrates grinned happily at Adrian as he scampered down, but one of his hands continued to hold Lauren’s.

Adrian took out his handkerchief. “You look like a chimney sweep,” he observed solemnly. “And you really shouldn’t forgive him.”

Lauren looked up into his face, her own eyes dancing. “I never had a pet,” she said. “I always wanted one, but Father said there shouldn’t be animals around the house where he treated patients. He …”

Her eyes suddenly clouded as she remembered how she and Larry had begged, and finally worked out an arrangement to share a pony with one of Larry’s friends. Larry had liked animals too …

Socrates pulled on her hand, as if sensing her change of mood, and Lauren had to smile.

“He’s wonderful,” she said.

“You’re a crowd of one who thinks so,” Adrian said, his headache beginning to dissipate.

“Don’t you?”

Wryly, his eyes traveled from the licorice-covered paws to Socrates’s beady eyes, which were now fixed adoringly on Lauren. “Well, he has good taste,” he said, avoiding the question.

Lauren laughed again, and some of the sadness left her eyes. “In licorice, you mean.”

“And in friends.”

Lauren blushed, that almost shy, becoming blush that he was now expecting.

In the sudden silence, Adrian asked what he knew he’d come for, though he had not admitted it until this very moment. “I was hoping you could join me this evening for supper.” He saw denial in her face, and he hurriedly added, “Myself and Socrates, of course.”

“He joins you at all meals?”

“Often. And much to the dismay of other diners.” Adrian grinned. “His table manners sometimes leave a bit to be desired. But innkeepers like him. He pays well.”

“And you?”

“Well known for my miserly ways.”

She couldn’t help but smile at him; he was so completely captivating with that wicked expression. Her heart bounced in the most uncontrolled way as her gaze met his very, very blue eyes.

Shaken by the intensity that flared in them, she sought to defuse the heightened awareness between them, to relieve the pressure that was climbing so rapidly. “So Socrates is the welcomed one.”

“Sadly,” Adrian admitted with a feigned wistful expression.

“I’ve been warned against charming profligate monkeys.”

“Obviously it did little good,” he countered, as he regarded her smudged face with wry humor. His hand, still holding the handkerchief, went to her face, and very gently, carefully, wiped some of the black from her face. His fingers touched her skin and hovered there, neither Lauren nor Adrian moving, their gazes locked.

Lightning flashed between them. His fingers burned from the touch, yet he couldn’t move them, couldn’t turn his eyes from her flashing ones, couldn’t control the violent storm that was encompassing both of them. And most frightening of all, he didn’t want to.

For the first time in years, he didn’t want to rule, or control, or command. He wanted merely to ride out the storm, to feel its fury. And glory. He felt his fingers tremble as something clouded her eyes, filling them with fear and something else, something almost … guilty.

He didn’t want her to move. He wanted this singular moment to last, but it was Lauren who shattered it, her slender body stiffening, her eyes growing wary, her mouth trembling as she tried to shape words.

His hand fell reluctantly from her face.

Her own hand replaced it, as if soothing a burned place, and making the black licorice smudge even worse. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she said shakily. “Your handkerchief, I think, could be best used elsewhere.” Her eyes went meaningfully down to Socrates, who had released her hand and was now peering curiously at a bolt of cloth. Adrian reached him before the animal could touch anything, and found his own hands suddenly patterned with black.

“I’ll bring you some water,” Lauren said lightly; but her eyes had clouded. Adrian knew she had distanced herself from him, as she had several previous times. He wondered about that sudden reserve, as she whirled around and disappeared up the stairs.

While he waited, Adrian looked around the store. Jeremy had a little of everything—except, he noticed, guns or ammunition. There were music boxes, fine wool shawls, exquisite lace, imported candies, and miniatures that, Adrian thought, probably did well among seamen heading home. There were cigars and fine brandies, both items popular with the blockade runners, and he knew that many stopped in here frequently.

Lauren was back with a bowl of water and soap, and Adrian awkwardly tried to clean his wayward pet while Lauren watched. Some of the smile returned to her lips as more water went on Adrian than Socrates.

Adrian’s lips finally cracked too, and Lauren took over. Socrates stayed still for her when he didn’t for Adrian, and Adrian wondered what magic she held in her hands.

“You never answered,” he said.

Lauren looked at him gravely, a question in her eyes.

“Whether you’ll have supper with me? Will you?” he asked, holding his breath like a schoolboy as he realized how much he wanted her to say yes. After two days with Terrence, he needed her company, the pleasure he found in her presence. The pleasure, and the laughter.

And even the lightning. Perhaps that most of all.

“No,” she said, a slight quiver in her voice. “I can’t today, but perhaps …”

“Tomorrow? I can rent a carriage. There’s a fine beach not far away.”

She took one last swipe at Socrates’s licorice-mustached mouth, and stood straight again. There was something hesitant, even secretive, in her eyes as she regarded him carefully. “I don’t know … Jeremy might need me.” They were both aware then that Jeremy had not returned after sending Lauren down.

The same errant frustration that had struck him the night of the dance returned. “I think we can persuade him,” he said. He wanted to spend time alone with her, to explore the explosive feelings so new to him.

Lauren knew that he could. It would help Jeremy’s plans. She wondered whether they were any longer
her
plans. She was terribly afraid that they would be even less her plans if she spent any more time alone with Adrian. She finally nodded her assent. “If he agrees,” she said.

Jeremy was indeed upstairs, and he readily agreed to the picnic.

“I’m not … sure,” Lauren told him.

“I heard something yesterday,” he said softly. “Our captain is carrying cannon on the next trip. There’s a battle brewing, a big one, and we can’t allow those guns to reach the Confederacy.”

Lauren felt her heart drop.

“It could mean hundreds of lives, Lauren.” He looked at her.

“All right,” she managed. “I’ll go.”

Adrian left minutes later, saying he would call for her the next day at midmorning. He turned just once to look back, and he wondered whether he imagined the mist he thought he saw in her eyes.

Adrian ran into Clay again that evening at the Royal Victoria.

Adrian grinned.

“Your mood has improved considerably,” Clay observed with envy. His head still hurt like hell.

“Believe it or not, I’m going on a picnic tomorrow.”

“A picnic, for God’s sake!”

Adrian shrugged. “Courting’s bloody hell.”

“That’s what you’re doing?”

Adrian grimaced. “Damned if I know what I’m doing. And it isn’t as if there’s much else to do. Three more days before we can leave.”

Clay suddenly tensed. “I heard about that cannon you’re carrying.”

Adrian closed his eyes in frustration. But he should have known. Nothing on this bloody island was secret. And he knew well there were Union spies in Nassau, some obvious and some not so obvious.

“The Yankee authorities are raising hell about it,” Clay continued. “Don’t be surprised to receive a summons from the governor.”

“A good reason to get out of sight, then,” replied Adrian.

Clay sighed. He tried to remember parts of their conversation last night. He thought he had asked Adrian’s intentions. Had Adrian replied?

“Adrian, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

His grin returned. “Do any of us?” he asked lightly as he left the room.

The picnic was postponed. A crewman from the
Specter
dropped by the store with a note and apology. One of Adrian’s crewmen had been injured days ago, and his condition had worsened. Adrian had to stay with him.

Lauren sat in her room and tried to read. But all she could understand, or think about, was a quote about being hoisted on one’s own sword or some such thing.

Although she had been hesitant about accepting Adrian’s offer, she had, once her decision was made, looked forward to it. Not only looked forward, but more. Expectation and optimism had bubbled inside her all night at the prospect of being with Adrian.

And then the message had come, and she had felt a crippling disappointment for herself, and a deep sadness for Adrian’s own pain.

Throughout the day, she could think of nothing but Adrian. Adrian, who cared enough about his men to put them before anything else. Again, the image didn’t fit the portrait Mr. Phillips had painted.

However, nothing about Adrian Cabot was simple, she’d learned.

A man who trafficked in death, yet who spent days sitting with an injured man.

A lord of England who apparently preferred the companionship of a monkey to that of his fellow man.