She sighed. Maybe she’d always known that destiny was not hers.
Glancing first at the letter in her hand, she frowned at the picture she held and then set it back down upon the dresser. Turning it over, she removed the wooden back, and set it, too, down on the dresser. She folded Harlan’s letter neatly and lay it against his portrait, then replaced the back once more. Like everything else in her life, his imperfection was hidden behind an unblemished facade.
She would take the picture with her... to bolster her when she wavered.
But now, it was time to pack! It would behoove her to pack only the most necessary items because she was certain space aboard the Miss Deed would be limited. For money she would sell the necklace Harlan had given her as an engagement present. She might have felt a trifle guilty were it some precious heirloom, but it was merely an expensive token he had purchased, gaudy and ugly. Sophie had never liked it. She could admit that now.
It wasn’t as though she didn’t have funds at her disposal, but she refused to allow her father to bear the burden of this, when it was Harlan who deserved the responsibility. He had taken quite enough from her father—and from her already. Although Sophie couldn’t do anything about the grants or the money, she certainly could recover something of her own!
Pride.
But first things first... she had to find this Jack MacAuley... he held the key to her plan, and she wasn’t about to let him leave harbor without her—even if it meant she had to stow away on his ship! But he wouldn’t turn her down, of that she was certain because Sophie fully intended to give him an offer he couldn’t refuse.
She removed from her drawer a few sheets of paper and a pencil, then sat on the bed. But this time, instead of drawing, she wrote a letter to Harold, explaining to her faithful old servant what she was compelled to do. She’d place it somewhere where he was sure to find it later, after she was gone. Next she wrote a letter to her parents, hoping her sarcasm wouldn’t cause them too much concern, and she felt considerably better when she was through.
It read simply:
Dearest Father and Mother,
Please don’t fret; I’m off to the Yucatan to murder Harlan. Will tell you everything when I return! My love to you both!
And she signed it.
Love and kisses, your devoted daughter Sophia.
Chapter Two
“Did you find out who was nosing about the university?”
Jack MacAuley tossed a neatly bound bundle of newly repaired sailcloth from the pier onto the ship’s deck, eyeing his friend irritably. Kell was his best friend and a damned good sailor, but he was worse than an old woman with his gossip.
“No, and I couldn’t care less who or why!” He lifted up another bundle and hurled it after the first. “I quit caring a long time ago about that damnable institution. It would seem to me you would’ve, too!”
“So you don’t care who’s sniffing about asking questions about you?”
“No.”
Jack had, by stubborn will, earned his degree, while Kell had been forced to withdraw during his second year. He hadn’t been university material, so they’d claimed, though Jack hadn’t met many men more qualified than Kell Davenport. A few barroom brawls weren’t enough cause to deprive a man of an education. Kell had earned his way into the university through scholarships and hard work, but his background was as ordinary as could be, and when pressure came to throw scholarship money elsewhere, elsewhere it went.
It was that simple.
Despite that fact, Kell’s mathematical genius was off the charts, and that, more than his sailing ability, made him indispensable to Jack in this particular venture. It worked in his favor that Kell had been forced to resign his studies so early, and that he’d taken up odd fishing jobs on old schooners to make his living, but it was a damn shame he’d been reduced to using good brainpower on idle gossip. Jack fully intended to put the boy’s noggin to good use again.
“Think maybe it was one of Penn’s lackeys nosing about again, eh?”
Ignoring the question, Jack tossed another bundle aboard the ship’s deck. Sweat ran in rivulets down his temple and face, and he swiped the beads away with the back of his arm. “You’ll need to check the sails,” he instructed Kell. “I have no idea what to look for myself and we’re behind schedule.”
“Very well.” Reluctantly, Kell gave up his gossip, dragging one of the folded bundles aside to begin inspecting it. In the meantime, Jack hauled the remaining bundles aboard, hoping the cloth and rigging were all in order. He’d have to trust Kell’s judgment in that because he didn’t know the first thing about sailing. That he was captain of this mass of tar and lumber didn’t account for a damned thing. He’d merely bought the old ship; the title fell to him by default.
The Miss Deed had once been christened The Adventurer. It had been decommissioned at least fifty years earlier, and sat rotting in the shallows off the New England coast until Jack happened upon it. It had taken some coaxing on his part for the owner to agree to part with it, because the vessel apparently held some sort of quasi-historic value. But the rotting ship was barely worth what he’d paid for it. It had even escaped the Civil War draft, and Jack could, on closer inspection, see why. He’d had to reach deep into his pockets to complete the repairs necessary just to get the bugger seaworthy, and it was on the verge of becoming a very expensive dinosaur.
Kell cast him a sober glance. Giving up on a knot on the binding around the sails, he pulled out his pocket knife and severed the twine with a single slice.
Jack winced and had to restrain himself from cautioning him to take care with the knife. There wasn’t money enough to replace the sails. They were skidding by as it was.
Kell returned the knife to his pocket and met Jack’s gaze. “You realize... it doesn’t matter what you find down there, they won’t go for it no matter how you present it.”
They were the powers-that-be, those who decided which anthropological discoveries were worthy of academic mention and which were simply hogwash. Jack had already had one go-round with them, and had been raked over the coals, rejected, and dismissed, all in the blink of an eye. His findings just hadn’t fit in with the blueprint they were busy creating.
“I’m not going down there with an agenda,” he assured Kell. “I could give a damn if what I come across proves or disproves my original findings. I wouldn’t be any better than the rest of ’em if I did, would I?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m going down there to do my job, because it means something to me. Period.”
Kell began counting bundles. “Well, you’re a better man than I am, Jack, because I am going down there with a blasted agenda.” He stopped and turned to face Jack, hands at his hips. “Personally I’d like nothing better than to find something to rub their damned elitist noses into. Even if they don’t come about to our way of thought, I’d like to see them squirm just a wee bit. Wouldn’t you? Admit it,” he demanded and stood there grinning, egging Jack on.
If the matter weren’t so close to his heart, Jack might have laughed.
“You would, wouldn’t you?”
Jack declined to answer. He couldn’t afford to make this a personal vendetta, not for his own sake, not for the sake of his studies.
“They should have at least given you an ear,” Kell persisted.
“It doesn’t matter.”
But the truth was that Jack didn’t like it any better than Kell did that they had dismissed him so easily. He’d worked damned hard, and it grated on his nerves that they would disperse grants so easily to a man like Harlan H. Penn III, who liked his image far better than he did his work—only because of who he chose to marry.
In fact, Jack would be surprised as hell to find dirt under Penn’s nails—the pantywaist! He had no idea what the man was doing down in South America all this time—drinking mint juleps probably, and sitting on his duff!
“They should’ve given you the grant,” Kell said harshly, and returned to counting bu
ndles. Jack wondered how transparent his thoughts were that Kell had guessed at them so easily. But he let the topic wane. It wasn’t going to get him anywhere but in a sore mood.
“I think we’re missing a sail,” Kell announced, scratching his head in frustration. “But who knows until we get them up.”
Jack sighed. “Figures.”
“It’ll be a miracle if we get these up by tomorrow. That rigging is a deuced nightmare—straight from the Middle Ages, if you ask me.”
Unfortunately, he wasn’t kidding.
Looking up at the miles of rigging, Jack wondered just how seaworthy the damnable ship really was. With his luck, she’d break up just out of harbor and they’d end up swimming back to shore. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. He walked to where he’d tossed his shirt over the ship’s railing and picked it up, shrugging into it.
“I’ll go see if we left one.”
“Send Shorty,” Kell suggested. “He knows where to go.”
“No, he’s saying g’bye to his gal, and everyone else has his own job to take care of. I’ll go.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
Jack tried not to sound impatient, considering Kell’s loyal defense of him. “Shouldn’t, oughtn’t—they’ll drive you nuts if you’ll let them, Kell.” He didn’t bother buttoning his shirt. Half the men on the docks worked shirtless on a day like today. The sun was so hot a bald man could fry an egg on his head. All that was missing was Satan and his damnable pitchfork. Hell couldn’t possibly be hotter.
“There are a deuced lot of things that shouldn’t be that just are,” he added. “You just do what you have to, and to hell with the shouldn’t be’s.”
Kell shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll get these inspected while you’re gone,” he said. “But I’ll need some help to set the rigging and hoist them.”
“I’ll be back,” Jack promised him. “Don’t go off saving the world while I’m gone.”
Kell was that sort of man. He bore the weight of the world on his shoulders—always pulling for the underdog. There wasn’t a finer man Jack could have at his side.
Kell shook his head. “No chance of that. It’s gone to hell already.” He peered up at the sun, shielding his eyes. “Blasted heat’s gonna kill us!”
Jack took one last look at the rigging, and his blood began to simmer with excitement.
Almost there.
As soon as the sails were hoisted and they made one final inspection of the ship and supplies, they would raise the anchor and be on their way. He couldn’t wait to see those sails billowing and rippling in the wind—his proud lady of the sea with her breasts puffed in pride. He could almost feel the wind in his hair and the undulation of her sweet lithe body beneath him. Once the sails were up, the little imperfections and repairs would be all but invisible. Old as she was, rickety as she was, she was all his, and the pride he felt in that moment as he gazed up at her choked him. To hell with Penn and his sugar daddy-in-law.
This tremendous feeling of accomplishment was worth the struggle. In fact, he felt damned near invincible right now, and it showed in his stride as he left the ship to retrieve the last of the sails.
They had precious little to say about Jack MacAuley at the university, but from what Sophie had gleaned from sources close to her father was that he was a pretender of sorts.
An Irish immigrant, his father had belonged to Boston’s growing fraternity of new money. Mr. MacAuley had apparently received his inheritance this past year, on his father’s death, and had already squandered most of it on this venture, deemed politely, by his peers, as reckless.
Sophie didn’t give a fig whether his comrades respected him or not. Nor did she care if his theories were poppycock, or if he was taken seriously by respectable academia. None of that was any of her concern.
She only wanted passage aboard his ship.
Jack MacAuley himself was of no consequence to her—nor was any other man for that matter. She’d had quite enough of them all. They could go to the devil!
The Miss Deed, they’d informed her, was scheduled to depart sometime today or tomorrow, and Sophie fretted she would miss it.
Just to be certain she didn’t give Jack MacAuley any reason at all to waver in his consideration, she came prepared with her bags packed. She wasn’t about to go home without having accomplished what she’d set out to do. Somehow it was crucial to her sense of self-worth that she salvage her pride. She also had tucked away in her purse a considerable sum that she intended to use as persuasion, and she was prepared to offer quite a bit more if necessary. In fact, she felt so confident that she had gone so far as to open a small account in Jack MacAuley’s name and had already placed the sum of five thousand dollars in it. And there was more where that came from if she should need it, but she had learned a thing or two in all these years of watching her father’s ruthless negotiations. She intended to offer enough and no more. It was good business sense all around, she decided. Jack MacAuley needed the money, and she needed passage. It would be a mutually beneficial arrangement for both.
She’d left her trunks in he carriage, under the driver’s watchful eye, while she’d set out on foot to find the elusive Miss Deed, and she was heartily glad she had done so because the docks were a crush. She scarcely could move amid the swarming crowd of workmen, passengers, fishermen and pickpockets.
A particularly dirty little boy of about thirteen latched on to her purse and tugged with all his might. With such a precious lot of money in her possession Sophie was far too vigilant to fall victim to his thievery. She jerked her purse back and the boy went stumbling onto his backside. He peered up at her in surprise. Before she could say a thing, he scampered to his feet and scurried away.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” she shouted at his back, and then guilt pricked her. She had so much and the poor boy had so little. If there hadn’t been quite so much money involved she might have just given it to him. He disappeared into the masses, leaving behind only a greasy stain on her silk ivory purse where his grimy hand had been.
“Damnation,” she muttered to herself, brushing off her purse. Good girls didn’t curse, but she was privately picking up the habit and it felt quite good somehow. She would feel even better once she plucked her darling fiancé’s head as bald as a baby’s bottom!
During the struggle she had dropped her address card on the ground and she bent to retrieve it. They had given her a port address that seemed to be all wrong. Lifting the card, she inspected the ships at anchor ... The Lady Ann ... The Alaskan ... The Prodigious ... no Miss Deed ... but the address was near, she was certain.
“Pardon me, sir,” she said to a passing gentleman.
Apparently he was in too much of a hurry to be bothered, because he kept walking, though not without casting her a harried glance.
Sophie glared indignantly at his back, loathing men all the more in that instant.
The caw of seabirds filled the air as she turned once more to inspect the crowd. Spying someone who appeared as though he belonged on the docks, Sophie lifted her skirts and hurried after a shortish fellow with sun- bleached hair who stood leaning against a lamppost smoking a cigarette.
“Sir!” she called out, waving at him. As she neared, he tossed down his smoke and tamped it out, then turned and walked away, blatantly ignoring her.
Sophie gasped in outrage, unaccustomed to such outright rudeness!
“Sir!” she shouted a bit louder than before, and started after him, deciding he must not have heard her. No one had ever just ignored her! Still he didn’t turn, merely continued along his merry way, walking at a brisker pace, and Sophie couldn’t keep up. She spun abruptly, confused, and smacked into something solid that hadn’t been there previously.
She banged her cheekbone against a chin. “Ouch!” she cried. A strong arm caught her before she had the chance to bounce back onto her rear.
It was a man.
“Oh my!”
Very definitely a man!
His s
hirt was unbuttoned and left undone. That was the first thing she noticed, blinking. For an instant she was transfixed by the sight of a very well-defined, very muscular chest, smooth and bronzed by the sun.
The summer heat dizzied her—at least she thought it was the heat. “Oh my!” she said again.
She stood there an instant too long, dumbfounded, rubbing her cheek with one hand while clutching the address to her breast with the other.
“Pardon,” he said, with some surprise.
“Pardon m-me,” Sophie stammered, but had yet to look into his face. His bare chest held her transfixed.
Good Lord, didn’t they arrest people for running about that way? Her cheeks warming, she glanced up finally, peering into the most vivid green eyes she had ever seen in all her life ... green eyes that were crinkled with amusement—at her expense, no doubt.
Sophie wasn’t in the mood. And yet it was her fault. She had run into him.
She knew she must appear addle-pated, but she couldn’t help it. Not even her father had bared himself so shamelessly before her an as an only child she had no brothers.
Flustered, she stared up at the man who held her steady in his arms, despising him if only for his gender.
He had the audacity to grin at her.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, wriggling free of his scandalous embrace. “Do you mind, sir!”
His hands dropped at his sides and she cast him a disapproving glance.
“Not at all,” he answered much too glibly, and he had the audacity to wink. “Indeed, it was my pleasure,” he added, and his lips curved into the most infuriating smirk she had ever spied.
Sophie gasped softly, her cheeks flaming. Outrage tied her tongue. She hated being reduced to an impotent rage.
Kissed; Christian Page 28
