❧
Seth's mad dash from New Orleans to the Carrington mansion in Baton Rouge had taken him a day and a half of river travel and another day on horseback. He was more than exhausted, but the necessity to talk to Travis Sherman outweighed his physical needs.
The Sherman home was a two hours' ride from the Carrington's, and during this journey Seth Carrington faced himself.
Pampered by parents who knew there would be no chance for another heir to the Carrington fortune, he had also been overly protected by a sister whose will he could never bend. Always having been given anything he wanted, he had, as a young man, chosen the easy path, and had become a wastrel, a gambler, a heavy drinker, and a womanizer. Every time he saw disappointment in the eyes of those in his family, he sank deeper into self-pity.
He realized now that his father had given him one opportunity after another, yet he had failed. For the first time he placed the blame on himself.
As he covered mile after mile, his determination grew. He would find a way to redeem himself, not only in his own mind or in the minds of his parents. He needed to see respect and understanding in the gold-brown eyes of the one person he loved more than any other.
Seth rode up the gravel drive to the Sherman home just at dawn, unaware that Travis had gone to bed less than four hours before.
Travis Sherman was wealthy, beyond doubt. But the source of his prosperity was concealed, and he wanted no light shed on it. Nonetheless, he was strong enough, devious enough, and opportunistic enough to hold on to what he had and to grasp for more.
He grunted angrily when he was shaken awake.
"Mr. Travis, sir . . . Mr. Travis."
"What the hell are you waking me up so early for?" he demanded.
"There's a man here to see you, sir."
"A man ... For God's sake tell him to go away and come back at a decent hour."
"It's Mr. Carrington, sir."
"Carrington." Travis sat up abruptly. The elder or the younger?"
The younger, sir, Mr. Seth Carrington. He appears to be rather ... distraught, sir."
Travis smiled as he rose from his bed. "Go down and make him comfortable, Jeffers. See he gets a drink. I'll bet he needs one. So the little pup has finally come around for help. I had a feeling he'd need it one day."
Jeffers left, and Travis began to dress slowly. He would make Seth squirm awhile.
So you've finally come to me, Seth... my dear old friend. Well now, let's see if you're willing to pay the price I want for what I'm sure you need, he thought
By the time Travis walked slowly down the steps and into the library Seth had been waiting for nearly a half-hour.
Travis smiled and extended his hand. He could read Seth's sleeplessness and his anxiety, but he studiously ignored them.
"Seth, my friend. What brings you to Rosepoint so early in the morning?"
"Travis .. . I've got to talk to you."
"Sit down. I'll order some breakfast. We can talk while we eat."
"I'm not hungry," Seth replied anxiously. "I need to talk to you—it's important."
"All right. I'll just order some coffee. You look as though you need some."
Seth controlled his impatience while Travis summoned a servant, requested coffee, and then returned to sit opposite him. Finally Travis leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and looked at Seth.
"Well, my friend, what do you want to talk to me about?"
"Look ... Travis. I... I'm in a bit of trouble."
"Trouble? What kind of trouble?"
"I... ah ... I need some help."
"Help? Trouble?" Travis laughed. "Good heavens, Seth, you haven't been dueling and gone and killed some important personage have you?"
Seth leaned forward to brace both elbows on his knees, his eyes intent. "This is no joke, Travis. No, I haven't killed anyone, and the person who will suffer the most from this is me if you don't consent to help me."
"Well, so far you haven't said one coherent word about the kind of trouble you're in."
"I need a great deal of money—fifty thousand dollars to be exact."
"Fifty thousand! Good God, you go in deep when you go, don't you? What's it for?"
"Gambling."
"Your family is wealthy. You can pay a little at a time if you show good faith."
"If that were possible, I wouldn't have come to you."
"Very well. Please explain all the details. This whole thing is not clear to me."
"All right. I'm sure once I tell you you'll know why I need the money now. My life and my future depend upon it."
Travis remained silent while Seth explained the whole sordid story, and his eyes were expressionless. So Seth was unaware of the satisfaction that surged through him. Travis couldn't have been happier over Seth's difficulty, for it offered him the key to something he had wanted for a long, long time... Catalina Carrington.
"... So you see why I've got to get the Belle back before my father finds out. Once he knows, I'm finished. He will never trust me again."
"I understand your position, but your father has always taken care of any 'problems' you've had before. Why should this time be different? He is so wealthy that one boat can't matter that much."
"You don't understand, Travis," Seth said desperately. "It's not just the boat—it's me. I need to do something. I can't let my father find out I've lost the boat, and I don't have a whole lot of time to get it back. I've got to get it back!"
"Calm down, Seth. Let me think."
"Think," Seth said. "I've gone crazy from thinking... for hours, days. I don't have much hope unless you decide to help me. I would rather kill myself than go to my father and tell him the truth."
"Don't do anything stupid. You'd make a lot of people unhappy. What about Catalina?"
"I've told Cat. She's the only one I could hope would understand."
"She told you to come here?" Travis asked hopefully.
"No ... not really. But I told her where I was going and she didn't try to stop me."
Travis stood up and paced the floor for several minutes; then he sat opposite Seth again.
"You said you only had a short time."
"Yes. I can't keep it from Father very long."
"All right. Now listen. I don't have that amount of money here, but I can go to New Orleans and get it. And I could be back in plenty of time for you to repay your debt. All you have to do is relax and stay here until I return."
"Then... then you'll help me?"
"I said I would, didn't I? You look exhausted, Seth. Go upstairs and get some sleep. I'll go on down to New Orleans and get the funds you need. I should be back in a few days or so. That will allow you to settle this in good time. Tell me, who is the man who got your boat?'
"His name is Copeland—Marc Copeland."
"Be damned! Marc Copeland. You were stupid enough to gamble with him? What do you know about him?"
"Just that he came from a wealthy family that lost everything. He's a ... a ne'er-do-well that's good at cards."
"Well, maybe he can be bought. It might take a little more than what you lost, but I'll bet he'll grab it. Stop worrying. I'll be on my way to New Orleans as soon as we've had breakfast and you're on your way to bed."
"I'm grateful, Travis. I can't tell you how grateful."
"Come on, let's eat. Then I'll be on my way and you can sleep."
As they ate, Travis assured Seth that his problem was over, and once Seth was safely asleep, he sent for his carriage.
He headed for Belle Haven, to make sure Catalina Carrington knew the price she would have to pay for her brother's peace of mind and the security of his inheritance.
More than pleased with himself, he thought back to the time three years ago when he had first seen Catalina Carrington. She had swept into a ballroom, beautiful beyond imaginating with her ivory skin and sparkling eyes. He had heard her laugh, watched her vivacious play, and had fallen totally in love with her.
His love was not only unreq
uited, he was perpetually outside the circle of friends that surrounded her.
Yet he wanted her ... God how he wanted her. He made a point of making friends with her brother. That drunken stupid child, he thought. Yet if Travis knew nothing else about Catalina, he knew that she was loyal to her brother, and loved him enough to do anything she felt necessary to keep him safe.
I have the money and the strength, Travis reflected, to take care of any obstructions Marc Copeland might put before me. Aloud he said, "I guess it's time, Mr. Copeland, that somebody put a stop to what you're trying to do, and I'm the one who can."
Travis was six feet tall and his wide-shouldered frame was steely and muscular. Handsome to a point nearing beauty, his face was chiseled and firm like a classic statue's, straight and firm in line and strong of jaw. His eyes were blue and quickly intelligent, and his hair was thick and blond.
Upon viewing Belle Haven, a magnificent edifice, he again complimented himself on his good fortune. He could, one day, rid himself of the presence of Seth Carrington. Her parents would not live forever, and with Catalina in his possession, all the Carrington wealth would be his—the wealth and the beautiful Catalina. He had never felt such a satisfying surge of power.
He strode to the door and rapped forcefully. It was promptly answered by a young wide-eyed maid.
"Yes, sir?"
"I would like to see Catalina please," he said, but his smug control quickly changed to a frown at the maid's reply.
"Miss Catalina isn't here."
"Not here? Where is she then?"
"Miss Catalina ... just isn't here, sir."
"But it is of the utmost importance that I see her. I... I have word from her brother."
"I'm sorry, sir. There's nothing else I can say. Miss Catalina ... she just isn't here, and I just don't know where she is."
"I see," Travis said. As the servant closed the door, he walked slowly back to his carriage, deep in thought.
He was about to get in when the driver spoke. "Shall we go back to Rosepoint, sir?"
"No. We go to New Orleans. It seems Marc Copeland is the source of the problem, and I guess it's time I did something about him."
Chapter 2
The Southern Belle had been polished until she glowed.
She was a luxurious three-decker riverboat with carved embellishments that were ornately beautiful. Her main cabins Were splendidly appointed with hand-carved wood furniture, crystal chandeliers, heavy carpeting, and large mirrors. The accommodations for her dining room included an expert chef, a complete staff, and exquisite china, shining silver, and sparkling cut glass. A novel feature of the Belle was her steam calliope that played popular tunes during the approach to a river town.
Marc Copeland walked the deck in the glow of the huge white moon that gleamed down on the water of the gulf. He stopped to strike a match and light the cigar he held between square white teeth. As its hazy smoke drifted up on the light breeze, he narrowed his deep green eyes against the sting of it and looked out over the water.
He bent to rest his elbows on the rail, and hunched his broad shoulders. His face revealed a conflicting nature: sensitive eyes shielded themselves under dark brows while a firm mouth clearly indicated strength. His bone structure was large, and his high cheekbones and a square solid jaw gave him the look of a vibrant Caesar.
He had waited patiently for several years, and now he was touched with a tingle of excitement. Something had to happen soon; he knew it. Enough time had passed, and the challenging gauntlet with which he had struck the Carrington cheek demanded an answer.
He laughed softly to himself, but it was not a laugh of pleasure. It was expectant and maybe just a little tense. He knew the reaction was coming; he just didn't know when ... or from whom.
He knew a great deal about the Carringtons, but the only one whose face he had seen was Seth. He had chosen Seth carefully, knowing he was the weakest link. Yet the names of all the Carringtons were familiar to him. They had been etched deeply in his mind as he'd stood beside his father's grave.
Pierce Garrison, the stone read, and beside him lay his wife who had died a year later. Emily Copeland Garrison. It had been her name he had chosen to use so the Carringtons wouldn't know until the last moment, when he had finally brought them to their knees, that he was Pierce Garrison's son.
Has it been eight years already? he thought. Eight years since my father put a gun to his head and ended his life.
He had wept bitter tears, until he could weep no more. Then his grief had been replaced by a cold determination to claim a life for a life—Joseph Carrington's for Pierce Garrison's. It had taken him a long time to put together the truth as to where guilt lay, and an even longer to win enough money to stake the game he intended to play with Seth Carrington. The game that would begin an even bigger game. The contest between him and Joseph Carrington.
Now it had begun, and he waited for the fly to walk into his spider's trap. He was more than surprised at the fly that approached that trap first
He was caught in thought when he felt a touch on his arm and turned to find the cabin boy of the Southern Belle at his shoulder.
"What is it, Joseph?"
"They's a lady at the gangplank, sir. She wants to come aboard and talk to you."
"A lady? What's her name?"
"She refused to give one, sir."
Marc's heart bounded. He wondered if he was about to be bribed, pleaded with, or seduced by a feminine envoy from the Carrington clan.
"Show her to my cabin, Josh. See if she wants anything, and tell her I'll be with her in a few minutes."
"Aye, sir," Josh said quickly. Then he disappeared.
Marc took a last puff on his cigar before flicking it into the water. Then he Walked down the upper deck of the Southern Belle and knocked on a door. It was opened quickly, and Marc knew China had been waiting as impatiently as he.
"So," she said softly, "the big fish has nibbled on the bait."
"I don't think so."
"What?"
"It seems I have a lady visitor."
"Be careful, Marc. This may be some kind of trap."
"I don't think I need be afraid of one woman, China," he chided. "But I am interested. I wonder what kind of woman old Carrington would send."
"Just be very careful." She laughed. "You are still susceptible to... ah... a lady's charm."
"Well, if she's a tasty morsel, and I would think the old man would choose the best, I wouldn't mind enjoying any small benefits that are being thrown my way."
"Marc, you are the most incorrigible of men."
"I know." He chuckled. "And I love you too." He kissed her quickly and left. He walked toward his quarters slowly. Let her wait, he thought maliciously. It might make her begin to wonder if her trip to the Southern Belle was futile.
❧
Catalina paced about the cabin. She had waited nearly a half-hour. Now she was certain Marc Copeland was the inconsiderate and ignorant boor she had thought him.
She had come to beg if necessary, and she carried a magnificent double strand of perfectly matched pearls to offer the man if all else failed. She sat down, doing her best to control the fury that could preclude achieving her purpose. She couldn't afford to shout angrily at Copeland. The sound of approaching footsteps drew her to her feet again, and she turned toward the door, her hands clenched together in front of her to still their trembling.
When it opened and Marc stepped inside, they stood facing each other with only the width of the eight-foot cabin between them. Catalina's first impression was that Marc Copeland was the most flawlessly handsome man she had ever seen.. . and that he was also dangerously wicked.
Marc's reaction paralleled hers. He saw before him a woman of unusual beauty. But he was not about to forget that beauty often provided a shield behind which evil flourished.
He found himself swimming momentarily in gold amber pools—wide and deceivingly innocent eyes.
He closed the door behind him and l
eaned against it, folding his arms across his chest
"So," he said softly, "at least the old gentleman has good taste in his ladies. You are a beauty, my love, but if you have been sent here to dissuade me from turning this boat into a gambling palace, you can go back and tell old Carrington that no matter how inviting a tumble in bed would be with you, it won't get him anywhere."
Catalina gasped, momentarily shocked by this obvious insult. Then she reacted in a flash of wild and brilliant rage.
In three or four long strides, she crossed the space between them and struck Marc as hard as her strength would allow.
"You are a deceitful, cheating, insulting beast of a man, and I loathe you. A woman of any sensibility would be insulted by your touch."
Marc's realization of who she might be was as abrupt as the slap had been, and he reacted like a coiled snake that has been trod upon. He whipped out both hands and grabbed her, slamming her against the length of his body. His arms pinning both hers to her sides, he crushed her close until she gasped from breathlessness and anger.
"Let me go!" she demanded.
In response, Marc favored her with an insinuating smile that spoke volumes about the position in which she found herself. There was not a hair's-breadth between their bodies and her face crimsoned at the feel of his lean hard frame against hers.
He spoke softly. "I do believe I'm being honored by the presence of the elusive Catalina Carrington. My, my," he taunted, "if I had known how delicious you were, I would have made every effort to meet you first instead of your brother. You would have been much more fun to ... handle than he was. Although I have the feeling you would not have been as easy... or would you?"
Moments ago, Catalina had thought she could not be angrier, but now she literally shook with the murderous rage that filled her.
"You are foul scum who preys on the defenseless. If I had a gun, I would take great delight in shooting you."
Marc chuckled. "Anger becomes you. Your eyes look like storm clouds, and your mouth . .. soft.. . inviting," he murmured.
Catalina's Caress Page 2
