Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  It had almost appeared, in that moment on the headland, that he was jealous. Could it be? It hardly seemed likely, in view of the blithe way in which he had parted from her. If so, however, it was most perverse of him. What right had he to discard her at will, yet prevent Peter from claiming her hand? She was of a mind to encourage the Englishman for all she was worth, just to spite Ramon. Peter was too nice to be used in that manner, of course, but it would give her great pleasure to see Ramon’s face as he was informed of their plans to wed.

  She turned to glance at Peter, who was unconscious of the smile of wicked anticipation that lighted her gray eyes. He grinned back, enjoying the benefits of it even if he did not understand it. Ramon, intercepting the exchange, scowled.

  In her room at the hotel, Lorna ate a light dinner and prepared for bed. She lay reading for a time, a novel she had picked up in a stall of used books outside a shop. It held her attention only to a degree, for the heroine was insipid, the hero overbearing, and the story filled with unlikely events and coincidences. Still, it was better than the irritating company of her own thoughts. The night stillness drew in. A cluster of moths flew in the open doors from the veranda. They fluttered about the gaslight, courting death and each other in a graceful aerial ballet. Delicate, fearless creatures, they lived for so short a time and were so easily damaged.

  Sighing, she set her book aside and got up to turn off the gas at the fixture, plunging the room in darkness. The moon was waning; in a few more days, little more than a week, it would be gone. Its gleam was pale far out on the heaving surface of the sea. She paused for a moment in the doorway with the night wind gently shifting the folds of her gown and the ends of her hair around her, before closing the jalousies and moving back to her bed.

  It was then she heard it, the soft music of a guitar in an old Andalusian love song. Coming, she thought, from the hotel gardens, it was a melancholy yet stirring refrain in a minor key. It spoke of love and desire, of duty and of parting, an endless lament that throbbed in the darkness, tearing gently at the heart.

  She tried to shut it from her mind, as she lay in bed staring through the gauze of her mosquito netting at the bars of moonlight created by the doorway, but it crept insidiously inside. She thought of Ramon, playing a guitar on the afternoon they had met. Had it been the same song? She could not remember. Twisting in the bed, she allowed the images, the feel and taste and smell, the pounding crescendo of the lovemaking she had shared with him to invade her thoughts. She ached with unfulfilled need and loss, with suppressed anger and a pervasive fear of the future. Tears crept from under her eyelids, dampening the pillow and her hair, and she slept finally with the haunting notes of the guitar still in her ears.

  She was late the next morning in making her way to the piazza. Through the doorway, she saw Peter, and also Slick and Chris, the officers from the Lorelei, as well as Frazier. Summoning a smile, she moved toward them, and the chair beside Peter that was held ready for her. She was halfway across the open piazza when a man spoke, the voice drawling, freighted with heavy irony.

  “My dear Lorna, aren’t you going to wish me a good morning?”

  She knew before she turned. She knew, and the knowledge made her stiff and unnatural, made her skin prickle with dread. She knew, but there was nothing to do except answer.

  “Good morning, Mr. Bacon.”

  His loose mouth curved in a smile that was not reflected in his pale eyes as he leaned back expansively in his rattan chair, sipping his mint julep before he replied. “There’s no need for such formality, now is there, my dear? You may call me Nate.”

  11

  The dance cards for the Lansing cotillion were in the shape of full moons, with spaces for the names of the men who would request the listed dances on the lines of the rays around them. Yards of navy blue netting sewn with silver spangles had been gathered and tented under the ceiling to form a canopy of stars. At the end of the ballroom, above the long table holding the punch bowl, was a huge full moon of isinglass lighted from behind by a trio of lanterns and suspended in swaths of clouds formed of gray cotton wool. Other than these arrangements, the long reception room used for the ball was much the same, with its long line of glowing chandeliers, banks of greenery, and massed bouquets set on tables between the rows of gilt chairs that lined the walls.

  Charlotte, glowing with excitement and the satisfaction of seeing the theme of the ball she had suggested much admired, told a chosen few, Ramon and Lorna among them, that they must watch the moon. As the evening progressed, it would gradually darken until, at the chosen hour, it would be eclipsed. There would then be a surprise dance, after which the ball would be over.

  The young girl scintillated in white silk scattered with diamanté. Her elder sister was in royal-blue silk, only a shade lighter than the ceiling canopy and with a similar scattering of the tiny cut-glass stones known as diamanté. Lorna had declined the glitter on her own costume, choosing instead a gown of soft lavender-blue tulle, the color of a distant shore as seen from the sea at dawn, though, in keeping with the theme, she wore a headdress of lavender satin in the shape of a coronet that was centered with a small gold moon, the radiating beams of which were formed of long, thin beads.

  As the long room filled, the atmosphere was one of suppressed anticipation and excitement. It was not the prospect of the hall’s finale, however brilliant it might be, that charged the air, but the knowledge of the danger the men in the room would be facing when it was over. Charlotte, flitting up to Lorna where she stood alone for a moment, expressed it best.

  “The men look different tonight, don’t you think? You see it even in those who are not in uniform, though they are not so dashing. I suppose it is knowing they may not return, and that they count the game worth the risk.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Lorna answered.

  “I admire that in a man,” the girl went on, her eyes alight with discovery, “but I suppose most women do. We are really elemental creatures, aren’t we? It is important that the man who may claim us be not only able, but willing, to protect us.”

  “It doesn’t always follow that a man who will risk his life for gain, or even for a cause, will do the same for a woman,” Lorna pointed out.

  Charlotte opened her eyes wide. “But of course he would! A gentleman always protects a lady, only some more … more handily than others.”

  “If that is so, then who is it we must be protected from?”

  “From men who are not gentlemen!” With a gay laugh and a flounce of her skirts, the younger girl whirled away.

  It was a simple philosophy, one that Lorna had been raised with, though she had reason now to doubt its validity; one that she had used as a weapon against Ramon that night nearly two weeks ago. Unconsciously, she sought his tall form and dark head in the growing crowd. She caught sight of him with Edward Lansing; they had come early, that he might discuss a few final points about the forthcoming run with the man who was his partner. Ramon was one of those in uniform, like those he had designed himself for the officers of the Lorelei in order to make them easier to pick out from the crew in time of need. The blue coat stretched across his broad shoulders, while the blue stripe down the dark gray leg of his trousers made him seem taller and more erect. The severe cut and dark color gave him a lean grace that was heightened by the gold bullion on his shoulders and gold-fringed sash holding a dress sword at his waist. It was fairly obvious whom Charlotte had been thinking of when she had spoken of men made dashing by such attire.

  Lorna took a deep breath against the tightness gathering in her chest. It was ridiculous to allow herself to be affected by what was no more than a costume, one that had no connection with country or cause. As for the danger Ramon faced, his was no greater than that which threatened any of the many men in the room who would be putting to sea at midnight.

  The musicians, behind a screen of palms and ferns, had tuned up and now began a spritely Chopin piece to welcome the arriving guests. Lorna glanced at her program,
but it only showed her what she had suspected, the first dance would be a waltz, followed by a polonaise and a polka, and then another waltz to finish the first set. Ramon had put down his name for the second waltz; on the day of the picnic, he had been placed in a position where he could not escape asking Elizabeth for the first, and Charlotte for the polonaise.

  “Permit me, if you will?”

  She stiffened, her grasp tightening instinctively on her program, but Nate Bacon wrenched it from her fingers. Taking the small, attached pencil in his grasp, he scrawled his name beside the polka.

  “Mere,” he said, handing the moon-shaped card back. “I don’t think you will be able to avoid me while you are in my arms on the dance floor. There are a few things that need discussion between the two of us.”

  “I hardly think a gathering of this sort is the time or place,” she said, retaining the cool indifference of her voice with an effort.

  “Oh, I will admit it isn’t what I would have chosen, but you have not answered my notes requesting a more private interview, and you are always surrounded by admirers.”

  “In any case,” she went on as if he had not spoken, “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “No? Well, I have quite a bit to say to you, and to ask, about the death of my son.”

  Lorna sent a quick glance around her, aware, even as she did so, that the thickset man beside her had spoken in overly loud tones in order to make her nervous. “You knew Franklin, knew what he was like. Can you not guess what happened?”

  “Guessing isn’t knowing.”

  She sent him a harassed glance tinged with pain. “He became violent. We fought. It was an accident that he was killed. What more do you want to know?”

  “Several things,” he said, his voice taking on a hoarse note, “like whether the marriage was consummated, and if you are now carrying his child?”

  “No!” she said with a disgust that she did not trouble to hide.

  His face took on a reddish-purple hue, and his chest seemed to swell. “That’s both bad news and good. I wanted a child, but if there is not to be one, then there is no need for care in my dealings with you.”

  “Dealings? As far as I am concerned, there will be none.”

  “Oh, but there will. You are wanted for murder; I myself swore out the warrant. What do you think fine people like the Lansings will say when they hear of it, as they will if you don’t cooperate? No, I think we will deal together, and I expect the association to be most pleasant.” The took he gave her, his hot gaze moving over the soft curves of her shoulders, was the exact opposite.

  “That … that’s blackmail!”

  “You know, I believe you are right, but then I see no reason to be too nice in my methods. You certainly served me a dirty trick, using Cazenave to get away from me.”

  “It wasn’t you I was running from.”

  “Wasn’t it?” he asked, and smiled his loose-lipped smile.

  Abruptly, she knew he was right. Franklin, and Nate’s hopes for an heir through his son, had been a buffer between her and her lascivious father-in-law. With him dead, there had been nothing. There was nothing now.

  The answer must have been reflected in her eyes, for he went on, “You know better, don’t you. I meant to have you from the moment I saw you sitting at your uncle’s table beside your meek cousins. I might have married you, if it weren’t for my invalid wife, and gotten my heir directly while enjoying you myself. That wasn’t possible, so I arranged to marry you to Franklin and prepared myself to wait a respectable time before approaching you. You ruined my plans, destroyed my son, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll have you yet. Nothing will stop me, nothing. Do you understand?”

  It occurred to Lorna, as she listened to his low-voiced threats, that the instability of Franklin’s mind might not all have stemmed from his childhood accident; a portion might have been inherited. “You must be mad if you think you can do with me as you please. Ramon will not permit you to carry out such threats.”

  “You are not as close to him now as you once were, I hear. I will admit I don’t understand why, but it works to my advantage. Since he seems to have lost interest in you, he may not be so quick to come to your aid. Regardless, he will be leaving Nassau in a few hours and won’t be returning for more than a week. By then, it will be too late.”

  Before she could form a reply, he bowed abruptly and strode away. He must have seen Peter approaching, coming to claim her for the waltz just beginning; for, a few seconds later, the Englishman came to a halt in front of her.

  “I don’t like that fellow,” he said, staring after Nate.

  “Nor do I,” Lorna answered fervently, then, as he turned to stare at her, forced a smile and lowered her lashes, shielding her distress from his too clear gaze as she pretended to study her program. “Why, I believe this is your dance, sir!”

  “So, it is!” he agreed in theatrical surprise, leading her onto the floor, though his expression was watchful as he took her in his arms.

  He had reason to be suspicious, Lorna told herself with a suppressed sigh as they whirled to the strains of Strauss’s “Roses of the South.” Instead of the evenhanded way in which she had treated him earlier, spacing her time in his company with time spent also with Frazier, Slick, Chris, and also, on occasion, Ramon, she had sought him out for protection from Nate’s attempts to speak to her alone. It was not entirely by choice; the Lorelei’s officers, including Ramon, of course, had been embroiled in the last-minute details of seeing that the ship would be in working order after her repairs, and ready to sail.

  Still, it wasn’t fair to Peter to use him; never mind that he made it so very difficult not to. He was always there, or so it seemed, and such easy company that it would have required a tremendous effort to avoid taking advantage of him. For the moment, with Ramon occupied elsewhere, her need was too great to permit such altruism.

  So distant had Ramon become of late, in fact, that mentioning him to Nate as her possible champion had been merest bravado. Whether from annoyance at her refusal of his advances or from irritation at her conduct on the picnic, he had kept his distance for the last few days. It was only the ship and the forthcoming run to Wilmington, she had tried to tell herself. Naturally, he was concerned with these things, since the lives of his men and himself, plus his plans for the future, depended on his efforts and vigilance now.

  Often at night, however, she still heard the guitarist in the garden, softly playing his tender songs of love and lament. She was not certain whether it was only because she knew Ramon played the instrument or also because of the promptings of vanity, but she sometimes pretended the guitarist was Ramon, serenading her as she drifted off to sleep. She had never tried to discover if she was right. It was not possible to see into the darkness of the garden from the veranda outside her room, and the guitarist was heard only after she had retired for the night. She could have waited, could have crept downstairs to see. But on consideration, she had decided each time that she would as soon not know, in case the man was a stranger, or the music not meant for her at all.

  “Will you miss me while I’m gone?”

  She brought her attention back to Peter with an effort. “Certainly I will. It will be so dull here without our court jester!”

  “Ah,” he intoned mournfully, “first the kiss, then the slap.”

  “I didn’t kiss you,” she said, drawing back in mock hauteur.

  “No. Would you? That is, would you permit me to kiss you?”

  His clowning cloaked the seriousness of the question, but it lay there, in the blue depths of his eyes. For the flick of an instant, she remembered Ramon that day at the old house: he had neither asked for permission nor required it. In an effort to keep the conversation on a light level, she inquired demurely, “Goodbye?”

  “Or hello, or whatever you please. A proper kiss, mind, none of your pecks on the cheek or, heaven forbid, the nose.”

  “I … will have to think about it.”

  He pounced o
n the hesitation. “For how long?”

  “I’m not sure. Tell me again, now, when does your ship leave?”

  “Heartless, heartless woman, you know very well the Bonny Girl will leave with the others!”

  “Indeed I do, and it was cruel of me to tease you. Of course, you may kiss me, dear Peter!”

  Staring down at her, his expression gloomy, he said, “Why do I have the feeling that I am going to be fobbed off with a brotherly smack again? I am nobody’s brother, except for a great lout who will be the eighth earl, and a covey of brats younger than I am.”

  Over his shoulder, Lorna saw Ramon, sedately turning with the eldest Lansing sister. At the same time, he was watching her, a scowl between his eyes. Had he overheard her laughing permission? She could not tell, but the empty feeling in the region of her breastbone told her it was possible, if not probable. She could not worry about it now, however. Besides, what business was it of his?

  “Peter,” she began, the amusement leaving her as concern took its place.

  “Never mind,” he said hastily. “I didn’t mean to bring clouds to those gray eyes of yours. You may kiss me any way you like; isn’t that magnanimous of me? Also, any time you like, and as often as you like. I am nothing if not thorough. It’s one of my chief, and many, charms; one I trust you will grow to appreciate. Ah! Don’t look now, but we are being honored with the presence of the heroine of Bull Run.”

  “Not Sara Morgan?”

  “None other. I wonder how it was managed; she hasn’t been out much while she has been here. A bit under the weather, I hear.”

  It had been managed with careful calculation, Lorna knew, since she had been present while the campaign was mapped out on her first shopping expedition with the Lansing sisters. First had been sent a note of welcome, accompanied by a basket of fruit and cakes, and a large bouquet of flowers. After a few days, a call had been paid. Finding the lady unwell, as the servants’ grapevine had foretold, the sisters had left flowers, expressions of admiration and condolence, plus the offer of a carriage to use while taking the air of an evening. Later, the physician who treated Mrs. Lansing on occasion had been sent to call. He had prescribed a tonic for the southern lady’s indisposition, which appeared to be consumption, recommending also that being among people would be beneficial to her rather melancholy turn of mind. The Lansing sisters had then called again, with the invitation to the ball grasped firmly in their hands. The poor woman, weighted down with authoritative advice and obligation for favors received, could hardly have refused to lend her presence to their soirée.