Seger, Maura (6 page)

"My own darned foolishness. If I'd been looking where I was going ..."

"Anyone can have an accident," Erin reminded her gently. The memory of finding Meg crumpled at the bottom of the stairs still made her tremble. She could hardly bear to think of how close her dearly loved friend had come to something truly serious.

With deliberate lightness she added, "Heaven knows, you saw me through more than a few bumps and scrapes. The least I can do is make sure you follow the doctor's instructions and stay in bed."

"I don't suppose a bit of rest would hurt me," Meg allowed grudgingly. "But I'm sure to be up and about in a couple of days."

Erin was privately certain that would not be the case, but she wasn't about to say so. Instead, she pointed out, "The easier you take things, the faster you'll get better."

"I suppose. ..." Gazing at her worriedly, Meg asked, "Do you really have to go see him now?"

"I'm afraid so. There's no reason to think Captain Davin will become more reasonable over time. In fact, the contrary is more likely. But besides that, I can't simply sit here twiddling my thumbs and waiting for someone else to solve my problems."

A rueful smile lit the Irishwoman's black eyes. "No, that wouldn't be like you. You were always a great one for taking the bull by the horns."

"This is more a matter of bearding the lion in his den."

Meg chuckled, but her tone was serious as she asked, "Couldn't you ask Miss Elizabeth to go along with you?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea. Our hostess has been looking a bit green in the mornings and has taken to skipping breakfast."

"You mean . . . ?"

"I suspect so."

An envious sigh escaped Meg. "It wouldn't do you any harm to take a lesson from her."

With some effort, Erin managed a look of pained shock. "Meg Gilhoully, I'm surprised at you. Suggesting such a thing to an unmarried lady."

"Get away with you! You know perfectly well what I'm saying. It's time you settled down."

"I have one or two things to do first. Getting my ships back, for a start, and then building the Conroy line up again. That's going to take all my time and energy for quite a while."

Meg didn't appear impressed. "The finest shipping line in the world won't keep you warm at night or fill your arms with children. You'd do well to remember that."

Erin did, but she wasn't about to admit it. Instead, she talked awhile longer with the older woman, to be certain she was calmed down enough not to try to leap out of bed and go chasing after her. Meg had dozed off by the time she let herself out of the room and made her way quietly downstairs.

Ned and Elizabeth had thoughtfully put a carriage at her disposal. The groom who hitched up the horses for her looked doubtful when he realized she intended to drive herself, but his concern faded at the sight of her able hands on the reins.

The soft gray-blue cashmere day dress she wore beneath a white fringed shawl was warm enough for the pleasantly cool fall day. Its high collar and long sleeves were secured by rows of tiny buttons that matched the fabric's delicate shade. The tapered bodice and narrow waist did not disguise the perfection of her figure, but neither did they unduly emphasize it.

The silken mass of her ebony hair was caught up in a loose coil on the crown of her head. Feathery wisps caressed her smooth brow and slender throat. As usual, she had eschewed a bonnet, preferring to feel the sun and wind against her skin.

Despite the seriousness of the task ahead of her, she could not deny a sense of pleasure in the day. It stemmed in part from the sparkling perfection of the cobalt sky reflected in the tranquil water lapping at the shore, the vibrant colors of the goods on display in the market, the exotic scents and sounds that reached her as she carefully maneuvered the phaeton through the crowd of shoppers and browsers.

But her enjoyment also came in large measure from the knowledge that she was doing something to improve her situation. As she had told Meg, action of any kind was better than waiting.

Drawing up in front of the headquarters of the Black Star Trading Company, she sat for a moment absorbing the sheer size and scope of Storm's business. Besides the boatyard itself, with wharves and dry docks that could hold at least four times the half-dozen ships then in port, there were also several large warehouses, the quarters for workers that Elizabeth had spoken of, and a mess hall.

At the center of it all stood a two-story wooden building with a sloping roof covered in red tile. Above its door was the discreet sign "S. Davin, Offices" with what she presumed to be its equivalent written below in Japanese.

Gathering up her skirts, Erin stepped lightly from the carriage. In the process she exposed several inches of black high-button boots covering trim ankles and the white lace fringe of her petticoat. Several seamen working nearby whistled appreciatively.

Ignoring them, she secured the horses to a post in front of the building and went quickly inside. The entire first floor was taken up by a single large room housing innumerable book- keepers' desks, stools and wooden filing cabinets. The walls were covered by maps of the world with the sea lanes marked and charts indicating the approximate positions of various ships, notations about the cargo they carried, and their anticipated arrival dates. Sturdy brass and copper gas lamps were positioned at intervals around the room. Several more hung from the rafters. In each corner, a potbellied stove stood ready for use as soon as the weather turned truly cold.

It was all very orderly and impressive, hinting at far-flung activities generating considerable amounts of capital. Storm had obviously accomplished a great deal since he arrived in Japan. But then, with nothing to return to, he must have been driven beyond all limits to create a new life for himself or perish in the attempt.

Erin's crystal blue eyes darkened. This was not the time to be thinking of what he had suffered. Reminding herself that she was here for only one purpose, to get her ships back, she looked around for someone who could direct her to him.

A slightly built Japanese man wearing a dark blue kimono and a green eyeshade glanced up from the wooden frame strung with beads on which he appeared to be counting. "You wish something, miss?"

"Yes, I would like to see Captain Davin. Is he here?"

"Upstairs, miss. Does he expect you?"

"I think so. He . . . suggested I should come here."

The man nodded, apparently finding nothing odd in the idea that an unaccompanied young woman would call on his employer at his place of business. With the quiet courtesy that was an innate part of the Japanese character, he said, "I will take you up, if you like."

Though she appreciated the offer, Erin shook her head. The pile of papers, ink pots and pens on his desk made it clear he was very busy. "Thank you, but I'm sure I can find the way."

As she climbed the steep steps to the second floor, the seriousness of what she was doing engulfed her. If she failed to convince Storm to return the ships, the entire purpose of her trip to Japan would be for naught.

But even beyond that, she realized that she had never quite managed to give up the dream that someday their love might have another chance. What happened in the next few days would show whether or not that dream had any basis in reality.

She took a deep breath, trying to still the painful racing of her heart. Her palms were damp against the railing and she trembled slightly. Anxiety rippled through her as she reached the head of the stairs and came face to face with Storm.

He stood in front of a large table spread with documents. Sunlight streaming in the window behind him turned his hair to burnished gold and softened the harsh lines of his face.

The white silk shirt he wore was open at the collar to reveal the beginnings of a thick mat of hair covering his powerful chest. Snug black pants tapered from his narrow hips down long, sinewy legs. His feet were planted slightly apart, his arms braced on either side of the paper he was studying.

Another Japanese man, apparently his assistant, was jotting down instructions in a notebook. The flow of orders broke off abruptly when she appeared.

Storm glanced up, catching sight of her at the head of the stairs. A light flared in his quicksilver eyes, only to disappear instantly as his gaze became hooded.

The impact of his presence made Erin forget her resolve to be cool and calm. Her shoulders tensed and a soft flutter spread outward from her stomach. Anything she might have said vanished from her mind. It was all she could do to take the last step up to him.

"That will be all for right now, Ito. We'll finish later." His voice was low and matter-of-fact. Erin envied his composure. She concentrated even more on hiding the effect he had on her.

The Japanese bowed and left. She was hardly aware of his departure. All her attention was focused on Storm. It took her a moment to realize he meant for her to sit down in the chair he had just pulled out.

Her soft wool skirt brushed against him. The contact, slight as it was, startled them both. He moved away quickly, taking a seat across the table from her.

Leaning back in the big chair, he studied her over the bridge of his lean fingers pressed together. "You surprise me. I didn't think you would come here."

More calmly than she would have thought possible, Erin asked, "What choice did I have?"

His eyes narrowed slightly at her matter-of-factness. "None. But I thought it would take you a while longer to acknowledge that."

"There is no point in delaying what we both know has to be faced. You are holding my ships. I want them back."

A lock of hair fell across his forehead. He brushed it away impatiently. "You don't believe in wasting any time, do you?"

"I have none to waste. Unless I can outfit the ships soon and take a cargo back to the States, my family's business will cease to exist."

A sardonic smile curved the mouth she could still feel against her own. "Would that be so terrible?"

"Not to you, certainly. But I'm proud of the heritage passed down to me by generations of Conroys. I don't want to lose it all simply because my uncle was a profligate wastrel."

"That would be Uncle Bates, wouldn't it? I seem to remember him. He drank quite a bit."

Erin inclined her head slightly. She hoped that her silence would discourage him from pursuing recollections of their earlier acquaintance. It did not.

"How did Bates end up running the line? Your father was in charge when the war began."

"Papa . . . died in a carriage accident shortly after Bull Run. My mother was with him. She was . . . killed also."

The shock that registered on his tanned features was followed instantly by a softening of his expression. He straightened in the chair, studying her intently. "I'm sorry, Erin. I know you loved them both."

Inexplicably, those simple words were enough to make her throat tighten with unshed tears. The rigorous self-discipline she had imposed on herself ever since her parents' death abruptly threatened to crack. She looked away hastily. "Thank you. But that was a long time ago. I would prefer to speak of more immediate concerns."

Storm was not fooled by her apparent coolness. Though he was tempted in view of her obvious unease to let the topic drop, he found that he could not. The urge to know more about her life during the years they were apart was irresistible.

His gaze settled on her slender, ringless hands folded neatly in her lap. On impulse, he asked, "How is it you have not married?"

He hardly expected her to admit what he now believed to be the truth, namely that she had cared for him too much to be attracted to another man. But neither was he quite prepared for her emotionless explanation. "I've been very busy."

Storm laughed. "At what? The war put a halt to the social round. How did you manage to keep so thoroughly occupied that you had no time for your admirers? And don't try to tell me there weren't any," he insisted when 'she tried to interrupt. "I'll wager more than a few of Boston's upstanding young men tried to convince you to marry them before they went off to battle the traitorous rebs."

Erin's eyes darkened to the consistency of a storm-tossed sea. His mocking tone pierced her fragile defenses, making her acutely aware of her vulnerability. Holding her head up proudly, she said, "You forget, I was in mourning."

He flushed slightly at what should have been an unnecessary reminder, but did not relent. "Even so, there must have been some who tried to convince you to overlook the usual proprieties because of the war."

Unwelcome recollections flowed through her. He was right about that. A few of the young men who had flocked around her were genuinely concerned about her being left alone at such a time, with her family led by a drunkard uncle. Most of them simply desired her and hoped to take advantage of a particularly susceptible time in her life.

She had dealt gently with the first group and sent the second packing without a second thought. Her refusal to take shelter from her grief in the arms of a husband was the first true sign of her maturity.

But it was also at least in part a recognition of the fact that Storm still stood between her and any other man. Beside him, everyone else faded into insignificance.

In an attempt to cut short what was rapidly becoming a very difficult conversation, she said, "Does it matter whether or not I received proposals? We have already determined that I never married."

"I suppose not. But I can't help but be curious. You are the last woman I would ever have thought of as a candidate for spinster-hood."

The word stung, as it was no doubt intended to. Erin bit her lip, determined not to let him provoke her into a confrontation that she had little chance of winning.

Instead, she said, "And you are the last man I would have suspected of trying to evade an issue. Or is there some reason you don't want me to discover what has happened to my ships while in your care?"

The pewter sheen of his gaze warned her she was treading perilously close to the edge. He was not a man to tolerate any questioning of his honor. With difficulty he controlled what she did not doubt would have been a scathing retort.