Surrender in Moonlight

by Jennifer Blake

Peter. She supposed he cared what became of her. He must, since he had proposed to her. Remorse seeped through her as she thought of how little attention she had given his proposal, of how it had been shunted aside by the arrival of the Lorelei. Why couldn't she have fallen in love with Peter? It would have been so much simpler. Or would it? No matter what he said, she could not think that his aristocratic family would have welcomed a daughter-in-law of such sullied reputation. And there was little hope that her notoriety would not precede her; Nate had made certain of that. Nassau was a small community and its ties to England close.

  What did it matter? She wasn't going to marry Peter. She wasn't going to marry anyone. She was going to earn her own keep and be beholden to no man.

  The wood beneath her hands felt damp as the mist from the falling rain wafted into the cabin, bringing coolness with it. Raising her head, she turned toward the bunk. The lamplight cast swaying shadows around the room, its moving beams slanting across the planes of Ramon's face and chest above the sheet that covered him to the waist. As if drawn, she moved toward him, leaning to tug the sheet higher.

  He came awake in a single movement, his hand swooping to pin her waist as his eyelids flew open. His grip was like a hot vise, grinding the bones together. The expression in his eyes was that of a hunting hawk, black and predatory.

  She made a small sound of distress, and his gaze cleared, focusing on her face and hair, moving over the men's clothing she wore, then back up to her gray eyes. His hold loosened. His mouth curved in a faint smile. The words little more than a whisper, he said, "You would have done better to have raided Chris's trunk; he's nearer your size."

  "He might not have appreciated that."

  "He would have been honored-as I am. How long have you been here?"

  "Not long," she managed.

  "Come, lie with me.."

  "I can't. Your wounds-"

  He smiled again, as if her objection were foolish, increasing the pressure on her wrist.

  "No, really," she protested.

  "Come," he insisted, shifting, grimacing a little as he drew her to him.

  "But Ramon, I should watch-"

  "For what? I promise you I'm not going to die." He threw back the sheet.

  "I…shouldn't," she said, sitting on the bed to relieve the pull he was exerting.

  "But you will, to please me? Because without you I can't rest, can't think, may well cease to be?"

  How could she resist such an appeal, or the light that burned fever-bright in his eyes, or the needs of her own body and heart? She lay down, moving carefully, so as not to jar his injuries. He encircled her waist, drawing her nearer, fitting her to the contours of his body. Outside, the rain poured down in tropical abandon, and the lamp in the gimbals swung, playing its light over them until, near dawn, it sputtered out from lack of oil. Lorna did not know it.

  Ramon kept to his bunk for four days. After the first forty-eight hours, he was restless, especially as by then Slick had arranged for, and begun to oversee, the rebuilding of the ship. Edward Lansing came during that period to discuss the loss of the cargo and cost of repairs. He had had to put his foot down, so he said, to keep Elizabeth and Charlotte from coming with him; they were that anxious about Ramon's health. They had heard, however, that he was being well taken care of by Miss Forrester.

  Lorna had been irritated by the smile Mr. Lansing had given her as he spoke the last words. It was entirely too man-of-the-world and indulgent of his friend and partner's little peccadilloes. But, this could not be helped. It had been inevitable that her absence from the hotel, and presence on board, would be noticed. She had not given up her room at the Royal Victoria, but had gone herself to remove her most practical clothing, her habit and two muslin gowns, in her trunk of woven straw.

  To her and Cupid had fallen the task of nursing the none too cooperative patient. Together they planned meals, nourishing beef broths and chicken stews, that would tempt his appetite. While the trade winds drifted in at the portholes, along with the smells of fresh-sawn lumber and the sounds of saws and hammers, they had played chess and checkers and cards with him. Sometimes, Lorna read to him from books brought by first one and then another of the blockade captains. After the first two days, there was a constant stream of visitors in the afternoons, bringing small gifts, staying to talk until their numbers filled the cabin. That was after the ship had been towed to the dock and her parted seams patched and caulked, after it had begun to look as if the vessel might be salvaged after all.

  On the morning of the fifth day, Ramon woke Lorna by taking the end of one of her long tresses and brushing it lightly over her lips as she lay beside him. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her with melting adoration in his dark eyes and a smile of utter charm on his mouth. She reached up at once to feel his forehead. It was cool.

  He leaned to press a thorough, but gentle kiss to her parted lips, then drew back to see the effect. She smiled, and a look of droll hopefulness came to his face. "What are the chances," he asked, "of steak and eggs for breakfast?"

  They were, of course, extremely good. When he had eaten, and, running a hand over his beard, announced his intention of shaving, Lorna left the cabin and went topside. She was in time to see a carriage pull up beside the dock. She recognized it, even before Charlotte and Elizabeth descended, decked in lace and ribbon, in yellow and blue silk, holding delicate lace parasols over their heads and carved-ivory scent bottles to their noses, to word off the smells of the wharf. They were followed by a liveried footman carrying a hamper with a napkin tucked into the top. They tripped up the gangway and sailed down to the cabin without so much as a glance at Lorna, who was standing, talking to Chris, not ten feet away.

  Lorna turned to follow them, when she was halted by a hail. It was Peter, striding toward the dock. He bounded lightly up the gangway and fell in beside her. "I see Papa has relented-or been defeated-and Charlotte and Elizabeth have come to call."

  It was as if he had never left without saying good-bye, had not stayed away for these past four days. She smiled, moving once more toward the companionway. "Yes."

  "Ramon will be overwhelmed." His voice was dry.

  "Especially," she said demurely, "since he is shaving-and has not dressed yet."

  "Oh Lord. Shall we go and save him, or their modesty, whichever is in greatest need?"

  But, neither appeared in danger when Peter and Lorna arrived. Ramon must have heard the Lansing sisters coming, for he was in the bunk, with the sheet pulled up to his waist and a wisp of lather under his ear. He was doing his best to look the wounded hero, while at the same time eyeing the basket the footman had placed at his feet. Among the items that had been provided to refurbish the ship was a new set of chairs for the cabin. Charlotte and Elizabeth were seated in them, leaning back in elegant poses on the stiff, wooden seats.

  "…Shudder to think how close the Lorelei came to being lost," Elizabeth was saying. "Charlotte and I prayed for your safe return, and of course for your recovery from your injuries."

  Lorna had done the same, though one would think, she told herself, that it had been the Lansing prayers that had been solely responsible for the favorable outcome.

  "We were so worried when we heard you were hurt," Charlotte said, her color high, her eyes bright as they rested on Ramon's bare chest. She looked away, glancing at Lorna and Peter, then looking hastily at Ramon again.

  "We were concerned, too, at the treatment you might be receiving. It is impossible to be too careful with wounds in this climate."

  Ramon was frowning as he noticed the studied way the two women ignored Lorna. His voice had hardened as he said, "I had an excellent nurse."

  "I'm sure," Elizabeth said dismissingly. "We would have come earlier, had Papa not forbidden it. No matter our desires, it would not have done to give rise to talk."

  The words were innocent enough, but the tone of her voice, its cool distaste, was not. Ramon's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you had better not linger then, for the sake of
your…good names."

  Elizabeth gave him an arch smile. "Yes, well, we are not quite alone; we chaperon each other, and we do have a servant in attendance. Besides, it isn't night. I think our known repute as females of unblemished character will stand us in good stead."

  Lorna knew very well that this comment had been flung directly at her. Her tone honeyed, she said, "Still, a lady can't be too careful. If Ramon is joined by two other women, there is no telling what depravity people might say is taking place. Night, you know, isn't the only time men feel amorous."

  "My dear Miss Forrester," Elizabeth began.

  "Whatever can you mean?" Charlotte said, frowning, though with a gleam of interest hidden by her lashes. As she glanced from one to the other, she met Peter's ironic gaze and suddenly flushed fiery red. The look in Peter's eyes sharpened.

  "Really, I think it would be best," Lorna said, too angry to stop herself or to remember that these were Ramon's guests and the daughters of his business partner, "if you would take your basket and run before you are contaminated."

  "How dare you!" Elizabeth looked to Ramon for support, but he only stared at Lorna with a peculiar golden light in the dark depths of his eyes. The elder Lansing sister went on, gesturing at the basket they had brought. "There is nourishing food in there, food prepared under my own supervision. It cannot but be better for him than anything he might have been able to get on this ship."

  Behind her, beyond the doorway that had not yet been fitted with a new panel, Lorna plainly heard Cupid's snort of disdain. It spurred her on. She moved around the chairs to the foot of the bunk, lifting the napkin that covered the basket. "Food? Let me see, what have we here? Jellied consomme, I think,, and chipped beef."

  She carried the basket toward the open porthole, as if to see better in the light. Passing the crock of consomme through, she let it fall. Before the splash of its hitting the water could be heard, she had consigned the bowl of chipped beef to the same watery fate. "Dear me," she said, "how clumsy."

  Moving back toward the bunk, she reached for what appeared to be tea cakes wrapped in a clean dish towel and placed on a silver platter. Elizabeth sprang to her feet, snatching the basket from under Lorna's hand, holding it against her. "You shan't do it, you…you sailor's whore!"

  Lorna tilted her head. "How distressing for you to have to lower yourself to use such a word. But then, the way it came so readily to your tongue must make a person wonder how familiar you are with the occupation."

  "Oh!" Elizabeth cried. "Are you saying that I-"

  "You can't talk to my sister like that," Charlotte said, jumping to her feet.

  It was Peter who reached to take the arm of the younger girl. "Come, kitten, I don't think you are ready to take on a lioness."

  "But, she-"

  "-Is quite within her rights, you know. Permit me to escort you back to your carriage. Elizabeth?"

  As Peter paused, waiting, the older girl sent Lorna a venomous look, then whirled in a wide fluttering of skirts and went before him from the room. The footman, his face wooden, exchanged a look with Peter, then bowed, indicating that he would follow after him. Their footsteps echoed along the passage and up the companionway, then faded on the deck overhead.

  The enormity of what she had done rushed in upon Lorna. She glanced at Ramon. Her tone stiff, she said, "I'm sorry."

  "Come here," he said softly.

  His face was stern, the expression in his black eyes unreadable. She swallowed on the tightness in her throat as she moved to the side of the bunk. He took her hand, turning it so that his thumb caressed the sensitive center of her palm.

  "Look at me," he commanded, and she raised her lashes, holding his slumberous black eyes with her own clear gray ones only by an extreme effort of will. His voice was deep as he spoke again. "Tell me about these men who are amorous not only at night."

  A pulse began a frantic beat in her throat. "There is nothing to tell. It was…only something to say."

  "A formidable weapon, experience; you routed those poor girls with it. But, I am intrigued. Why that experience? Did you, do you, enjoy love in the light of day?" He carried her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to the palm, flicking it with the warm tip of his tongue.

  How was she to answer? She could not think for the images conjured up by his words, his touch. She swallowed hard. "I…I suppose so."

  "Lorna, ma chérie," he said with a wry shake of his head as he drew her firmly down beside him. "If you only suppose, then there is nothing to be done except try it once more to be certain."

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  Chapter 18

  The days slid past one after the other. The repairs to the ship continued at a furious pace as the ship's officers and crew, plus a full complement of carpenters, worked to get her ready for the next dark of the moon. Ramon, shrugging off suggestions that he rest, supervised the reconstruction and saw to it that the materials were available. The latter was no easy task. So great was the need for lumber and tools, in that fast growing town where every nail, screw, and foot of decking had to be brought in by ship, that stockpiled stores disappeared if not closely guarded. And, as Slick put it, if a feller set down a hammer and sack of gold eagles together, when he came back it would be his hammer that was gone.

  In truth, Ramon seemed to recover quickly from his injuries. According to Cupid, it was thanks to le bon Dieu, the constitution of a lion, the capitaine's satisfaction with his nurse, and good food that had effected the cure. That Ramon was happy to have her with him could not be denied. He kept her beside him, taking notes of measurements and supplies as they were needed, discussing with her the work in progress, such as the new deck cabin that was being grafted onto the old deck, a lower silhouette almost like a turtle back; and the open position of the wheel, without the danger of splinters and flying glass from a wheelhouse. At night she slept against him, in the time he allowed her for rest. There was no mention of her returning to the hotel, though her room was still there, waiting.

  Lorna was content. She did not think of the future, refused to consider it. Her position as Ramon's woman, a widow with a less than pristine past, would have troubled her if she had allowed it to gain purchase of her mind, but she did not. She could not help the things people said, could not control the direction her life had taken. Wisdom, pride, and the standard of morality in which she had been reared dictated that she leave Ramon and never see him again; she had no wish to be wise, proud, or moral. She was where she wanted to be, with the man she loved. What else could matter?

  The news of the war brought by the returning runners was both gratifying and disturbing. In the last days of May, "Stonewall" Jackson had inflicted heavy casualties on the federal forces at a place called Front Royal, then chased General N. P. Banks out of Virginia, back across the Potomac. There had been rumors that he was threatening Washington yet again, with much ensuing uproar and movement of men and arms on northern railroads. The result had been the sending of forces under Generals Fremont and Shields into the Valley of Shenandoah to harry him, trying to catch his fast-moving brigades in a pincer strategy. There was no word of how successful they had been.

  Another topic of conversation among the runners was the tales of ships being built specifically for the Confederate navy. There was one just off the slips at Birkenhead, near Liverpool, that had been christened the Oreto. It was claimed that she would be brought to Nassau to be armed as a commerce raider, then sent out against federal shipping as well as the cruisers in the Gulf Stream. Another ship was under construction by the Liverpool firm of John Laird, himself a venerable gentleman who was a member of the House of Commons. Called simply Ship Number 290, it was due to be ready by the end of July. The scuttlebutt was that Raphael Semmes, a thirty-years' veteran of the federal navy who had resigned his commission to offer his services to the South, had already left for England to take command of her.

  Ramon had known Semmes, had served under him for a short while in the Mediterranean. His respect
for the man was boundless. He argued that a fast steamer, well armed and under a captain who knew what he was doing, could disrupt federal shipping and strike fear into the hearts of the Yankee merchants who had, so far, been unmolested in this war. Enormous strides were being made in the design of ships. The "290" was supposed to have a screw-propeller, eliminating the clumsy paddle wheels and increasing the speed to twenty knots and more, twice as fast as some of the steamers now making the runs.

  Ramon's black eyes were bright as he spoke, his gestures swift and positive. Lorna, watching him, knew a moment of unwilling fear. It would be a dangerous job, commanding a commerce raider, more dangerous than running the blockade, since it was inevitable that the wrath of the North would be aroused and a force sent out against the Confederate ships. They would, then, be so few against so many. What now of her tirades about the southern cause and the men needed to aid it? With shame she realized that she would rather have her lover, warm and vital beside her in the night, than to see him deliberately set out to risk death as a southern patriot.

  Finally, the Lorelei was finished, her new paint dried, her cargo gathered in the warehouse ready for loading. In celebration, and by way of relaxation, Ramon borrowed a small sloop, had Cupid pack a lunch, and took Lorna sailing.

  It was a brilliant day. The sun was hot, the air humid, the water like broken bits of blue mirror, dazzling to the eyes. The owner of the boat was a fisherman by trade, and the lingering smell of his last catch was a vivid reminder of the fact. Ramon set the sail to take them to the east, along the coast to the tip of New Providence Island, past Fort Montagu and the spire of St. Matthew's Church, and then around the end of Hog Island toward another small, low-lying patch of land. They did not try to reach it, but dropped anchor. Ramon secured the sail, then reached beneath the thwart to bring out a small wooden box. He held it up to show the open top and pane of glass that was set into the bottom.

  "A water box!" Lorna said in delight. She had heard much talk of such things since she had been in Nassau, but this was her first look at one.