by Day Taylor
Toby muttered, "I'll teach you to tease me, you little bitch." He forced her against the rail, holding her with one arm while his free hand groped at her neckline. Then his fingers were hurting her breast, his mouth bruising hers, while Dulcie fought, trying to push him away from her.
As Adam stepped into the companionway, her voice was no longer light-hearted or teasing. At a glance he knew the girl wasn't being coy.
His hands reached out, grabbing Toby Dobbs by his
coat collar and the seat of his trousers, sending him sprawling down the deck. With a quick glance that told him Dulcie wasn't going to faint, he strode over to Dobbs, picked him up, and sent him sprawling again. He stood over him, feet apart, arms crossed so he wouldn't forget himself and lay hands on the boy once more. In a deadly quiet voice he commanded, "Mister Dobbs, go to your cabin."
He turned to Dulcie. She stood where Dobbs had pinned her, wide-eyed, her hands protectively over her breasts, trying not to cry.
Forgetting the slightness of their acquaintance, forgetting the impropriety of addressing her so, he said, "Dulcie, are you all right?"
"Oh, A-Adam!" She hurled herself against the rock that was Captain Tremain. He held her warmly, securely, while she cried in deep, terrible sobs. All the tears she had held back throughout Europe, the tears of homesickness, of nobody to love, the tears of meeting only to part, all, all flowed onto Adam's comforting shoulder.
Her voice, punctuated by sobs, came incoherently. "I didn't lead him on, I didn't! He wanted me to go to the Tom Show, Aunt Mad said no. I got such an awful headache. He followed me." She raised her head to look at him. "You think I'm a perfect little fool, don't you!" She cried some more while he patted her back with his fingertips, thinking how small and fragile she seemed, how needful of his protection.
He murmured, "No, no, I don't think that at all, Dulcie, don't cry for that—"
"He's been a gentleman 'til now. I never dreamed he'd —I didn't even know he was near me!"
Courteously Adam tried to loose his hold, but she did not move away from him. "Did he hurt you?"
"No, no ... I mean, yes, he hurt my mouth—and my b—^" She had almost said the word, and the shameful thought brought on a fresh flood. "He had his hands on me.
"There, there, now, I'm sure you'll feel better soon," he said in an attempt to be soothing.
"What'U I do"—she gulped—"the next time? When you're not around?" Her breast heaved against his. Strangely Adam had no answer for her. He was too busy fighting down some base impulses of his own to be hyper-
critical of someone else*s. *'Oh, Adam, why are these things always happenin' to me?"
He thought he'd met every kind of woman created, the bold ones, the shy ones, the saucy, and the sly. He'd never met any that befuddled his mind and sent his senses reeling as this small, trembling red-haired girl did. She had drowned him in the passion of her sorrow and with her trusting touch aroused him, until unguardedly he spoke the thought most vividly on his mind. "You're a virgin on the verge, Dulcie," he said softly, holding her gently to him. "A man—"
She stared up at him, shocked almost out of her tears, then put her face back against him and howled. "I might have known."
Hastily Adam tightened his embrace and tried to mend his remark. "I'm sorry, please believe me, I wasn't thinking—"
"Yes, you were! And I know what you were thinkinM"
He put his hand up and stroked her hair.
She raised her head, her eyes still streaming. "What did you mean? Tell me! Go ahead and tell me!"
He pressed her head back against his shoulder, still petting and stroking her tenderly. "All I meant was that you have a sweet innocence about you, and a man can see it For some not very pleasant reasons, sometimes men want to—destroy the very innocence they find so attractive."
Dulcie, her face pillowed on the very nicest chest ever, listened to the pounding of his heart. "Adam, do I invite men like that?"
"You're a very invitin' young woman, but—no, I don't believe you do it on purpose. Men—some of them—^read the signs according to their own hopes."
She shuddered against him, though she was no longer sobbing. "I'm so grateful. I don*t know what might have happened if you—" With utmost reluctance she pulled away from the safekeeping of his embrace.
Adam reached for his handkerchief, meaning to hand it to her, but instead he wiped at her face gently. He made a rather long job of it. He had never before wanted so much just to go on holding a woman. And from the look in her eyes she wanted to be held.
Suddenly shy, she looked away. "I ought to get back to my stateroom."
"Stateroom air is very bad for headaches. Wouldn't you recover more quickly if we strolled the deck?"
They walked together, talking, watching the clouds and the sea, joining the others who came up on deck at intermissions. They sat for a while in the deck chairs pulled close enough that Adam's sleeve touched Dulcie's shawl; but he did not reach for her hand. He told Dulcie a lot more about himself than he realized, about his parents, about Ben and Beau and their childhood pact to become ship's masters.
"Why does your ship have such an odd name?"
The old, buried ache stabbed at Adam. That made twice tonight. "Ullah was ... a woman I knew. A very fine woman."
"Were you in love with her?" Dulcie waited, interminably, heart hammering, for his response.
"No, nothing like that. She—was my partner's wife.'*
Dulcie's throat tightened. His pain was almost a visible thing, shimmering there in the darkness. "Sometbin' tragic happened, didn't it?"
"Yes." Their hands found each other's, and they were silent.
It was long after midnight when he took Dulcie to her cabin door. They stood in the wavering light, a little apart. Dulcie looked up into his handsome face with the intensely blue eyes and the tender mouth. Around Adam's lips hovered a half-smile, just a curve at the comers. He didn't know that Dulcie read into his expression all the pulsing emotions he was carefully keeping out of it.
"Oh, Adam," she whispered. "Is this love?"
He looked away, withdrawn again. Yet his voice trembled as he sad, "Dulcie, Dulcie . . . how can I tell you?" If he didn't leave her now, if he stayed another second . . . "Good-bye, Dulcie."
It rained hard the following day, a hard rain that feU straight dpwn from morning until night. Adam stayed in his cabin trying to read. Frustrated, he flung himself onto his bunk and lay with one arm over his eyes, thinking.
Dulcie might be out on deck, hoping to see him, or possibly, just as she said, enjoying the rain.
He packed his uniforms. He took his meals in his cabin. He sent his regrets to Captain Sloan that he would not be
able to dine at the captain's table this evening. By morning they would be in port. He'd have other things on his mind then.
It was a festive evening for Captain Sloan. He had invited his most influential, his most attractive passengers to share his table. Dulcie was there, her cheeks flushed, her gold gown gleaming in the lamplight Goody Hastings, Oliver, and Mad, and some other couples made up the table.
The champagne flowed freely. The captain was expansive, baring his brown teeth endlessly in the smile of a good host. He said, indicating Adam's empty chair, "Too bad about Captain Tremain. Very odd, for a ship's master. He's in his bunk seasick!" A laugh went around the table, but Dulcie felt herself go white. He was not there because she had embarrassed him last night.
They tied up at New York the next morning. Dulcie threw her pride to the winds and stood at Adam's favorite spot by the rail, hoping—yearning—to see him once again. Oliver, supremely unaware of his niece's pale listlessness, stood nearby among the other passengers.
Finally the gangplank lowered. Adam lifted his sea chest to his shoulder and was one of the first to disembark. Dul-cie's heart thudded hurtfully. A tall gray-haired man she assumed to be his father stepped forward to shake his hand. He was nearly as handsome as Adam, with blue eyes almost as dazzling. Th
ey climbed into a gleaming rockaway and melted into traffic.
"By George, that was Roderick Courtland that met young Tremain."
Hope crept back into Dulcie's sad eyes. "You know him. Uncle?"
"I certainly do. The most tight-lipped poker player I ever dropped a thousand to. A shrewd businessman. Got a finger in every pie. But a fine man, Rod, a true gentleman. We'll have him to dinner while you're still in the city."
Chapter Eleven
The first day of enforced relaxation in Courtland's elegant brownstone was sufficient to bring Adam to a fine edge of irritability.
Courtland, lounging in a chair while Adam prowled the sumptuous parlor, chuckled. "I can see the quiet life doesn't appeal to you. I didn't think it would. I've planned a theater party for tomorrow night. Perhaps an evening out and the company of a charming young lady will set you to rights."
"I'm enjoying it here. There's no need to put yourself out on my account." A memory of Dulcie flashed into his mind. He pushed it away.
Rod laughed. "You'd make a disastrous diplomat. Remind me of your woeful talents should I ever need to use you as emissary in a delicate situation."
Adam laughed ruefully and came to sit near his host. "Inactivity does not agree with me," he admitted, and found it a far easier truth than the other that crowded into his mind unbidden. Dulcie Moran was not a woman he could trifle with. She was of a breed to set fire to a man's blood, but of a class cme must marry.
He made himself pay attention to Rod Courtland. "Who'll be in the theater party? Anyone I know?"
"I doubt it. Theodore Sizemore is an old friend. He married a pretty New York girl I might have married myself."
"Why didn't you?'*
Rod sighed good-naturedly. "Oh ... I loved someone else and lost, then Nan met Ted. These things work out for the best in spite of ourselves. I seem to be the perfect bachelor, and Nan is very happy with Ted. They have two lovely children. Ruth Ann is eighteen, and Mu-anda is ten. Though Ruth Ann is of age, it is Miranda you must guard against. She's likely to have your heart dislodged from your breast before you know it."
Adam smiled. "She sounds like Tom's daughter, Angela. I envy the man that girl marries." He paused again in
thought. It wasn*t Angela's kind of sweetness he wanted at all. It was spirit and fire that drew him. He wanted a woman who would never be demoralized by disappointment as Zoe had been or in need of the gentle handling that Angela would require. Bringing himself back to the conversation, he said, "She sounds fascinating."
Unknowing, the Courtland party entered the Astor Opera House soon after the Raymers. Dulcie sensed Adam's presence behind her in nearly the same instant she heard his deep baritone replying courteously to Ruth Ann's fluting description of her shopping expedition on Fifth Avenue.
Before she could think what to do, his voice was lost among the buzzing hum as Rod led his party out of the main stream of people. Dulcie kept her eyes riveted straight ahead. Having made an utter fool of herself with him once was enough. He had never been so courteously solicitous of what she had to say as he was of the female he was with tonight. She could well imagine his cutting remarks had she told him of one of her shopping trips.
She started, losing her composure as well as her vindictive thoughts, when Oliver suddenly steered them through the richly attired throng.
"Rod! Rod Courtland!" Oliver shouted with hearty good cheer.
Rod turned from Ted Sizemore. Oliver Raymer emerged from the crowd, Mad on one arm and on the other a strikingly beautiful young woman whose eyes smoked with a golden haze of fire.
Dulcie greeted Rod and the Sizemores with her best smile. From time to time her luminous eyes darted from Ruth Ann to Adam, fixing there long enough to sear him with her thoughts. "It is . . . pleasant to see you again, Captain Tremain. Some things have been made far clearer by tonight's meeting. I can now understand your impatience to reach these shores with so charming a young lady waitin* for you here."
Ruth Ann giggled, flicking her fan up deftly to hide the faint blush that came to her rice-powdered cheeks. Confidently, she glanced up at Adam, her short dark lashes ringing her hazel eyes.
Adam flashed a quick obliging smile to Ruth Ann, then glared at Dulcie. "You are too perceptive, Miss Moran."
His voice was clipped and hard, with none of the melodic resonance she remembered. Dulcie wondered what she had done this time to displease him.
Ruth Ann's hand tightened slightly on his arm, a small motion of shy possessiveness not lost on Dulcie.
Flustered at having annoyed him again as soon as she opened her mouth and more than a little jealous, Dulcie spoke with irritated haste. "Well, it's been nice seein' you. Perhaps we'll have the fortune of meetin' again, Captain Tremain—^under more pleasant circumstances. Although I can't imagine when. I'm leavin' New York very shortly."
"Surely, seeing me can't be that upsetting. Miss Moran. Have you no mercy for a poor man's feelings?" He griimed wickedly.
She knew instantly that once more he had made her sound like a besotted shrew. With a grandiose tug at her full skirts she swept away, only to hear Ruth Ann whisper, "She might be quite beautiful if only she knew how to present herself . . . terribly earthly look ... a pity."
Dulcie didn't want to hear his reply; it could only be humiliating. She sought security between Mad and Oliver, gripping her uncle's arm while Mad dramatized their welcome by the Countess Madeline Archambeault.
Dulcie thought the house lights would never dim and Mad would never cease chattering. She was overwarm. She knew she wouldn't like the melodrama, Nellie, the Beautiful Cloak Model. Fragments of conversation drifted all around her, detached, mixed together, loud. Too earthly! she seethed. Vve seen better complexions than Ruth Ann Sizemore*s on dead fish. For pride's sake, she longed to return to verbal combat with that ninny. She had already lost her opportunity to improve the impression Adam had gotten of her aboard ship, but she could certainly give Ruth Ann something to think about.
Then Oliver's conversation caught her ear and Dulcie's face paled to rival Ruth Ann's. She grasped his sleeve, wanting above all to have him keep quiet!
"Mighty nice of you, Courtland," he was saying. "Dulcie and Mad were certainly taken with the young captain on the voyage over. There's nothing we'd like better than to join your party. Isn't that so, Mad dear?"
"Of course, Ollie dear. And Nan, the marquis's ballroom ^vas..."
Dulcie smiled her agreement to Oliver, then glared up at
Adam just to be certain he knew she was going against her will. It didn't improve her disposition even slightly to see a twinkle in his blue eyes.
Once the melodrama had begun, she was so distracted she could scarcely distinguish heroine from soubrette. Along with Miranda, she had been relegated to the two front children's seats, to be escorted by "Uncle" Rod. She had never felt so humiliated in all her life.
Dramatically she considered throwing herself from the box to die onstage, with her life's blood dribbling majestically from her in front of Adam's very eyes. Severe practicality forced her to dismiss the idea. She could never jump far enough to reach the stage. All her efforts would be for naught if she splattered all over the spectators below. She shrank into her seat, the surrounding darkness of the theater box her only comfort. She could not recall a worse night.
Ruth Ann's and Adam's voices drifted to her from time to time as they hissed or cheered the performers, laughing and enjoying themselves. Mad was still chattering to Nan, and in the background the placid, soft sounds of Uncle Oliver's snoring reached her ears.
Intermission was dreadful, except that it meant the night was half over. The houselights went up, exposing her sitting there with Miranda. She contemplated desperate means of escape as Oliver roused himself sufficiently to invite the entire group for a late supper at Delmonico's. The evening was not half over; intermission lost its meager appeal.
The invitation accepted, the group rose, leaving the box for a change of air and some refreshments. Dulc
ie pretended to follow, then dropped back. She was staring woodenly into the parquet section when Miranda came to her side. The little girl's eyes sparkled conspiratorially. "A very handsome gentleman asked me to give this to you, Dulcie."
Dulcie took the folded note. She read the firm, bold writing. "Dear lady of uncommon beauty, will you grant this admirer one moment?"
"Who gave this to you?" Dulcie spoke severely, but her eyes danced, betraying her excitement. Oh! What a coup if there really were a handsome man she could be seen with —^by Adam and Ruth Ann.
"A man." Innocently Miranda shrugged her shoulders. "What shall I tell him? Are you going to meet him?"
"Certainly not! One must be properly Intro—'* But Miranda had already scampered out of the box. Dulcie leaped from her seat and pulled the curtain back, looking down the corridor both ways. There was no sign of Miranda or a handsome stranger. She returned to her seat feeling terribly sorry for herself, but the excitement lingered.
Miranda reappeared five minutes later. DuJcie snatched the note before Miranda could say a word. "Don't you leave here untU I tell you you may." She scowled, then read the note. "Is one moment so much to ask of you, most beautiful lady, when you will be safeguarded by the innocent chaperonage of Miranda?"
"Where is he?" Dulcie asked. She patted her hair and smoothed the front of her gown. Perhaps if the man turned out to be presentable, she could tell Uncle Oliver that he was an old friend she had asked to join them. At least then she would not be sitting unescorted, and she would only have to suffer his company for one night.
"I'll show you, Dulcie." Miranda took her hand, pulling Dulcie into the box next to theirs.
He said, "I knew you'd never be able to resist an admirer."
"OhI You conceited beasti" she exclaimed as Adam, grinning, swept into a low bow, then put out his hands for her to take. He laughed aloud as she, unladylike, placed both fisted hands on her hips and tried to thhik of something suflBciently cutting to say to him. "Is it your habit to collect unsuspectin' young women as trophies. Captain Tremain? Isn't one per evenin' sufficient for you?"
