by Rainbow
Quinn paused at the mahogany railing of the upper deck and looked down at the one below. His eyes finally rested on the solitary figure of a woman. She was silhouetted against a golden sunrise, her hair, the color of spun gold, spilling in tangled curls down her back. Her head was tipped up toward a rainbow, her cheek flushed rosy by the wind.
She was wearing a cloak, which hid her figure, but it couldn’t hide the grace or pride with which she moved. He saw her head turning toward his direction and instinctively he ducked back, not wanting to be seen. When he looked again, the hair was covered with a hood, and she was hurrying away.
He stood there stunned. She had looked like a goddess standing motionless at the railing. He couldn’t remember when he had been so affected by the sight of a woman. Especially since he harbored a profound distrust for most of the species; one, after all, had caused him to spend eight years in chains. A woman, combined with his own stupidity and arrogance.
In prison his arrogance had been painfully crushed. And he hoped he had learned to avoid stupidity. He was wary of women on any terms but his own.
His thoughts returned to the woman below. He had only glimpsed her profile, and for a moment he wondered who she was. His mind skipped over the passenger list, but there were only a few women on it, none of them attractive young women. The only unattached one had been the disappointing Miss Seaton.
The Seaton woman! Damn it, how could he have been so unobservant? She had blond hair—although he didn’t rememer it being that bright shining gold. Perhaps because it had been dressed in that ridiculous mound of baby curls. Nor had her complexion looked so fresh and glowing, but powder could easily conceal. And that damned dress. It would hide the most graceful of figures.
But why? Why would a woman deliberately make herself plain? And why would a woman who appeared so shallow be up at dawn to appreciate a sunrise?
It didn’t make sense, and Quinn Devereux distrusted things that didn’t make sense. Particularly when lives were involved, not the least of which was his.
Cursing fluently, he made his way to his cabin. For the next few days he would make Miss Meredith Seaton his prime piece of business.
Wherever Meredith went, she knew Captain Devereux was not far behind.
Thank the good Lord, in three days she would be home. For the first time, home seemed a refuge—if only from the captain’s prying eyes, his sardonic tongue, and that damnable twisted smile.
She thought she had discouraged, if not disgusted, him that first night. But at noon the next day, she and her aunt received another invitation for dinner. She politely refused, saying they were both tired and intended to dine in the cabin.
The next morning he greeted them as they went into the saloon for the morning meal and asked if they would join him. There was no polite way to refuse.
Aunt Opal, much to Meredith’s surprise, fell quickly under a charm that was in full attack. Clearly, her aunt had forgotten the first night’s insult, and blossomed under Captain Devereux’s smooth questions and admiring eyes.
Damn the man. What did he want?
He virtually ignored her. And she was surprised to discover that that was a mammoth irritation. Why in heaven’s name should she care?
She didn’t.
She did.
She wished he would disappear.
And then he turned those dark blue shaded eyes on her and she felt as if she had been invited into some private maze where, if entered, she would be lost forever.
It was ridiculous. She abruptly excused herself from the meal, pleading a return of a headache.
He raised a rakish eyebrow, clearly indicating he didn’t quite believe her, and that he understood the turmoil that had made her stomach resemble a whirling dervish.
But he stood and bowed, a little too exaggerated a bow for Meredith’s taste. “Perhaps not enough sleep, Miss Seaton?” he asked solicitously. Meredith wanted to smack the smirk from his face while a shiver of fear ran up her backbone.
Could he possibly have seen her the other morning? But no, she reassured herself. She had been very careful, and she had seen no one. He just enjoyed displaying his bad manners, like a cat tormenting a mouse. Gambler, rogue, womanizer. She was just unfortunate enough to be the only eligible woman on board.
Meredith fastened a pout on her face. “It’s…perhaps the company. There’s just no one of…quality. Oh, excuse me, Captain, other than yourself of course,” she added as she received a reproving look from her aunt. She left little doubt, however, that she included Quinn in that deplorable void of civilization.
“My apologies,” he replied neatly. “I’ll see if we can’t remedy that complaint at our next stop and attract a bit more…what is it you require? Quality?”
“That would be most accommodatin’,” she simpered, “and refreshin’.”
He grinned. “I most definitely like to keep my passengers…refreshed, Miss Seaton. I hope you’ll feel better soon.” With that, he sat back down, and Meredith, hoping that he’d understood her subtle insult, fled before she said anything else unwise. She just didn’t understand why she reacted so strongly to him, or why he prompted her to say things that were definitely taunting.
That night, Meredith stayed in the cabin, again pleading illness as she sent Daphne on deck to get some air. She took her sketchpad and drew the Carroll brothers and then, strangely compelled, she found herself sketching Quinlan Devereux. She drew two portraits. One was Quinn at twenty-one, and that she had to do by memory. As a handsome young face, with bright eyes and a warm smile, emerged on her paper, she wondered how much she had idealized him. Then she sketched the man she had seen last night, the hard lines around his eyes and mouth, the cynical smile and wariness in his eyes. Why, dear God, was she so obsessed? With an unfamiliar curse, she reached to crumple the paper with her hand. But something stopped her. Instead she hid it, with the pictures of the Carroll brothers, in the bottom of her trunk. Still, her thoughts ran maverick. Although he’d become everything she despised, those childhood images still intruded, and she couldn’t quite equate the old and new Devereux. She kept reminding herself of his careless cruel words concerning his slave. She had even seen his cruelty for herself. As cargo was being loaded at one stop, the slave was helping lift some crates, and he was shirtless. She saw the deep whip marks on his back and again noticed the limp. From Captain Devereux’s careless words at dinner she’d gathered he had been responsible.
But even if the captain didn’t have a list of sins long enough to be the devil himself, Meredith told herself she wouldn’t be interested. She had little use for the male species. She had seen her father and brother take mistresses—wenches, they called them—with no regard for feelings or consequences. None of the other “gentlemen” she had met appeared to have any finer scruples. She had been courted, and asked for her hand in marriage, but those proposals, she suspected, were intended for her fortune more than her charms.
She planned never to marry and, thanks to her grandfather, she would never have the need. No one would control her life, or her thoughts or her deeds, as her brother controlled his wife’s. She was responsible only to herself, and that was the way it would remain.
So why did Devereux get under her skin?
Chapter 3
DAPHNE HESITANTLY went to the open deck, finding an inconspicuous place where she could hide in the shadows. It was evening, and a warm breeze ruffled the water. She looked ahead at the long ribbon of river that stretched out as far as her eyes could see. It was so free!
The knot that had originally formed inside her when her old master died tightened. Ever since she had been sold away from the only home she had ever known, she had been frightened. Not just frightened, terrified. She had suddenly realized how completely helpless she was.
Her childhood had been a lucky one, and she knew it now. Although Daphne didn’t know anything about her parents, she’d been raised with the other slave children by a woman everyone called Granny. When she was small she had c
arried water to field hands; later she was trained as maid to one of the two daughters in the house.
Despite the heat, Daphne shivered now in the open air. She didn’t know what she would face at the new plantation, although her mistress seemed kind enough. But what about the master there? She knew she didn’t have any choices. She had been taught from the time she was a baby to accept her lot in life, to obey. She was taught she had no rights, no freedom. She was born only to serve others and, knowing nothing else, she accepted these teachings. She had willingly served her selfish young mistress for nine years, grateful she did not work in the fields and that the master of the house was a religious man who treated his slaves fairly if sternly. Runaways, slackers, troublemakers were sold, not physically punished, but the threat of sale alone kept most of his people hardworking and docile. There were worse masters, and they all knew it.
So if not content, Daphne considered herself lucky until weeks ago when the master died, and his family discovered they were near bankruptcy. The plantation was sold to a neighbor who planned to combine the fields. He had no need for additional house servants, and they were all sold.
She would never forget when the slave trader came for them. The women were loaded in two wagons, and the men, many of whom had been on the plantation all their lives, were ironed and chained to a long cable attached to the wagon. At night, the women too were chained, and Daphne could still feel the pinch of cold metal…and the overwhelming sickening fear.
“You hidin’?”
The voice, as deep as the rumble of thunder, made her jump and she felt a huge but oddly protective hand on her arm.
She looked up slowly, cautiously. It was the man who had delivered the invitations to her mistress on those several occasions. She kept looking up until her neck almost hurt. He was so tall. And the chest, covered by a straining cotton shirt, was so wide she could barely see beyond it.
He was looking at her with concern, and her heart nearly stilled at the gentle expression in his face.
“No…I…” Daphne stopped, not knowing what to say. Because of his size he would have been terrifying, but the teasing curve of his mouth and the softness in his eyes conveyed nothing beyond kindness.
“Don’t be scared,” he said now as if reading her mind. “I mean no harm.”
“I know,” she answered, surprising herself with the ease of her reply. She had never been comfortable with men. The male house servants had been much older than she, and already mated, and she had never been attracted to any of the field hands, had never wanted to be. It was not snobbery, but reluctance to give birth to new slaves. But she was around seventeen or so, and the master had been pushing her to take a mate for that very purpose. She had known, when she was taken to New Orleans for sale, she could probably escape it no longer. Then Miss Meredith appeared, almost like an angel. But when they arrived at Miss Meredith’s home…? The thought settled in her stomach like a stone.
“Where’s Miz Seaton?”
“Restin’,” she said, then added defensively, “She gave me permission to come up here.”
He nodded, turning away from her to look at the river. It never ceased to fascinate him, this road to freedom. Although he had not needed to take it, he continued to help others along its way.
Cam slid a sideways look at the girl. She was so small, so frightened, and so pretty. When the captain had asked him to befriend the girl, he knew it would be no hardship. She had drawn his eyes and sympathy from the moment he had seen her. Perhaps the captain and he could purchase her. But right now the captain had asked him to find out as much as possible about Meredith Seaton, although he didn’t exactly understand why the captain had requested him to do so. There seemed little unusual about her, and she certainly wasn’t the captain’s customary taste.
But if the captain asked him to fly, he would damn well do it, one way or another.
“My name’s Cam,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “What’s yours?”
“Daphne,” she whispered, her heart beating rapidly.
“Daphne,” he repeated, liking the sound of the name. He felt tenderness seep into him and creep into places it had never been before. He had lived with hate for so long, it had taken most of the last three years to even realize there could be anything else.
“How long you been with Miz Seaton?”
“Just a few days,” she answered in the same low voice.
He looked at her quizzically, his gaze so intense she felt she had no choice but to continue.
“She…bought me in New Orleans.” Daphne had trouble with the word. When she had lived at the Dunham plantation, she had never actually thought of being bought and sold. She had just always belonged there. The last weeks—the chains, the dirty slave jail, the prospect of auction—had all brought the horror of her position to her.
Cam saw the hopelessness in her eyes, and his hand reached out to her. God, he knew that feeling. Only he had fought it while she apparently did not. He had come close to dying for that rebellion.
“Is she…good to you?” It was a difficult question to ask, but Quinn needed to know. And he, Cam, needed to know.
“She seems kind enough,” Daphne said. Her mistress still puzzled her in many ways, and it made her wary.
“Where you goin’?”
“A plantation near Vicksburg. That’s all I know.” Daphne once more felt the fear of the unknown, and tears sprung to her eyes. She turned away, not wanting…Cam…to see them. She had seen his back. She knew he had gone through much more than she, and she felt terribly weak and cowardly for crying.
She felt a gentle touch, and she lurched away, afraid of it.
Cam slowly withdrew his hand and stood there, a silent still giant.
Daphne backed up even farther into the shadows. “I have to go,” she said, her face tensing.
“Daphne,” he said with a voice that once more sounded like distant thunder, muted but ominous in her suspicious ears.
“I have to go,” she repeated and ducked under an arm that pinned her to a wall. She sped away as if all the ghosts in the world were after her.
“She’s only been with Miss Seaton a few days,” Cam reported to Quinn, who lounged in a seat across from him, his boots comfortably angled on another chair.
“She didn’t say anything?”
“Only that she was ‘kind enough.’” Cam snorted. “She’s obviously too terrified to say much of anything.”
“Of Miss Seaton?”
“No,” Cam said slowly. “I don’t think so. Just of everything that’s happened to her.”
Cam’s dark eyes held a pain Quinn hadn’t seen in a long time. He reached out a hand and grasped Cam’s arm, and his lips firmed in silent sympathy.
“I have some money,” Cam said slowly. “Perhaps you can buy her, Capt’n.”
“Quinn, damn it. When we’re alone, it’s Quinn.”
Cam shook his head slowly. “Then I might make a mistake some other time.”
“You?” The word was said in disbelief.
Cam shrugged and smiled. “You will always be the capt’n to me.”
“Don’t ever forget it,” Quinn said, a slight smile belying the meanness of the words.
“The girl?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“I don’t care what it costs. If it’s more than I got, I’ll pay you back.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love?”
“No…no, I…she’s just so damned frightened of everything.”
Quinn’s voice softened. “I’ll talk to Miss Seaton.” His lips curved into a grin. “She must be very pretty.”
Cam’s body went rigid. For a moment he wondered if he would ever accustom himself to Quinn’s teasing remarks. In his past experience, white men’s interest in black women had always meant violation. But this was the captain, the man who had given him his life back.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “She is.”
Quinn watched Cam’s eyes and knew what he was
thinking. He felt a momentary melancholy that even after three years Cam was unable to trust him completely. But then Cam had had a lifetime to build mistrust and suspicion. He reached out his hand and put it on Cam’s shoulder. “Well, by God, we’ll get her.”
“What if she refuses to sell?”
Quinn knew he meant Meredith Seaton. But why would she turn down a good offer for a slave? “She won’t,” he said, confidently enough. He had thought about her during the day and reached the conclusion that she was nothing more than she seemed. If it had been she that morning on deck, then the mist and the rainbow and his own fatigue had made her appear to be something she was not. He would talk to her this evening and offer a price for Daphne she couldn’t refuse.
Tired of her room, Meredith ventured out on deck, sure that Devereux would probably be abed. Did the dratted man never sleep? It seemed whenever she appeared, he was there: breakfast, dinner, supper. Each time, his eyes seemed to bore into her, seeking secrets without giving any away himself. His eyes never changed, except to narrow every once in a while. His mouth changed often, but always in some maddening way: to look amused, mocking, or derisive.
She often thought of the sketches she’d made of him, of the warmth on the younger face, of none on the older one. Could a child be so deluded? She wanted to find out, to perhaps talk to him again, but there was something fearful inside her. He did things to her that no one else had ever done. He made her weak and jellylike inside, when she was usually nothing of the kind. She had never been cowardly before. She told herself it was merely caution, good judgment. He had a way of making her react in ways she knew she shouldn’t, in ways completely alien to the Meredith she had tried so hard to create.
But she would be damned before she allowed him to force her to hide. She wouldn’t hide from anyone.
The day was lovely, the sky an intense blue, the green of trees and grass the deep vivid green that comes only in late summer. The water was silver, not muddy, and the paddlewheels of the steamboat made soft music.
