by Day Taylor
She was magnificent, he thought. Dulcie, all fire and beauty. Heedless of her anger, he came toward her. "I see only one trophy worthy of collection hete toni^t"
"Murderous flattery!"
*Truth." His voice was soft, almost a whisper.
"Truth?" she cried shrilly. "Have you kissed the Blarney Stone, Captain Tremain, or did you manage to swallow it whole?"
Her anger was disproportionate and incongruous matched against his amused, soft-spoken pleasure in her. He took her hand, his eyes barely concealing laughter. She tried to free herself, winding up to give him another tongue lashing.
"Ssshhh." He placed his fingers on her lips. "The house-lights have dimmed. They'll be coming back. You don't want them to think—"
"Think what!? If you say one more—'*
"Shh. Remember you granted me one moment. I've still not had it."
"You misled me. I would never have come if I'd known it was you!"
"Exactly why I did not sign my name. But you did come. And you promised by your coming that I could have a moment with you. I should have stated that it was to be a quiet moment."
"Are you finished now?'*
"No. I want to apologize for our last meeting."
Dulcie's eyes widened. "This is an apology? Well, I am honored! Please spare me the next one! Now, may I please return to my seat?"
"Then, you won't listen to me?"
"There is nothin' you could possibly say that I might be interested in. Captain Tremain." She instantly regretted that, for his eyes darkened. He glared at her, making no move to escort her back to her box.
At dinner Oliver jovially arranged everyone's seating, talking as he went. Adam was placed between Dulcie and Ruth Ann Sizemore.
"Why, Captain Tremain," Dulcie said with eyes too bright. "This must be our lucky day. We seem destined to enjoy one another's company again."
Without smiling, Adam looked directly at her, his eyes challenging her, staring so hard she became uncomfortable. "Destiny seems to have taken us farther than you realize," he said. "Your Uncle and Mr. Courtland have seen fit to arrange your passage home on my ship. Miss Moran."
Dulcie looked toward Oliver. "Uncle, you arranged for me to travel on Captain Tremain's ship? But you said nothin' to me!" She added desperately, "We shouldn't impose on him like that. I can't possibly be ready to leave .. • I appreciate it, but I really think— "
"Nonsense, dear Dulcie. You have three days. Adam has assured me it is his pleasure to see you home."
She swiveled to look at Adam's noncommittal face. "Uncle Oliver, I'd—"
Oliver, already full of good cheer, raised his glass high.
*To your homeward voyage. May it be both pleasant and safe."
Dulcie let out a deep breath. Would this evening never end? She sat quietly as Oliver expounded on Adam's sterling qualities as a gentleman and a captain. "Dulcie, my dear niece, you'll be as safe as a caterpillar in a cocoon. Count your blessings."
"And," Mad added dramatically, "Captain Tremain has vowed on his honor to deliver you personally into the arms of your father."
"Thank you. Captain. You are too kind."
"Not at all," he replied silkily. "I failed to convey my good intentions to you earlier this evening. Perhaps my actions will speak more clearly than my words."
"Your actions have always been perfectly clear, Captain Tremain," she said in a low voice. "It has been mine that have caused the misunderstandin's. I assure you I shall stay out of your way on the voyage home. You'll have no cause from me to regret your generosity."
There was no fight in her words now. He liked that less than he could fathom. He was tempted to say or do something outrageous just to rekindle the fire in her eyes.
It was a strange leavetaking compared to her arrival in bustling New York harbor. Beau had sent a telegram informing Adam that he should meet the Ullah on the north shore of Long Island, for he could not risk taking the Ullah into the port of New York without being arrested as a Southern agent. The development lent an aura of intrigue.
Oliver voiced his misgivings as Rod's coach jolted over the rutted country roads. "By Jove, Courtland, you never said Tremain ran a hidey-hole operation. Why can't he leave New York like any decent law-abiding person?"
Rod rested his head comfortably against the seat, knowing Oliver was mostly bluster. "What do you expect, Oliver? We're at war. Your niece and Adam are Southerners. He can't come in and out of the North at will If they knew who he was, they'd clap him into prison for a spy."
Oliver grunted. "Mucky thing, this war. Think Pulcie*s safe with him?"
"She's safer with him than anyone else. I told you he's a business partner. Have you ever known me to consort with any but the best?"
When Oliver finally spoke, his voice was no longer wor-
ried. "Can't say I have. You're always first-rate, Court-land."
Dulcie looked out of the window into the night. She could see nothing. The coach plunged blindly into the thick wetness of a murky-dark rain. The trip was endless. She had talked with no one, not even Claudine, who huddled, shaking in one comer.
When they finally arrived at a desolate sandy beach, both she and Claudine were tense and tired. Oliver climbed into the jolly boat with them. A seaman rowed with long strokes over the chopping sea. Adam stood on the Ullah's deck, covered by a heavy dark slicker. He had never looked more forbidding to her.
Oliver bade her good-bye. Dulcie clung to him. After the long, slow hours in the coach their parting seemed so sudden and final. The trip seemed so dangerous, the meeting with her father so inmiinent.
Dulcie, Adam, and Claudine stood watching as Oliver was rowed ashore. "Oh, Lawd, am Ah glad yo' heah, Cap'n!" Claudine shivered as Oliver's form disappeared into the murk. "Dis boat ain't gwine warsh away in all dis rain, is it?"
Adam's arm slipped around her comfortably. "Not the Ullah. She'll bobble right along, a cork in a gale." He laughed, a reassuring sound.
Claudine's eyes rolled upward to meet his and then to look into the sky. "We ain't gwine thoo no gale, is we?"
Adam took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look fully at him. *There's nothing to fear, Claudine. Just do as I say and trust me."
She nodded, quaking and shivering under his fingers. He handed her over to Beau. "Fill her full of hot coffee and get her warmed up."
"Adam, I got a ship to get under way," Beau reminded him plaintively.
Claudine, clutching Beau's sleeve as the ship rolled, said, "Ah'm gwine be pow'ful sick."
Beau glanced at her in alarm, then shouted for the second mate. "Get her belowl See she's comfortable and has everythin' she needs."
Dulcie hadn't moved. She stood soaking wet, clutching her shawl around her shoulders. There was no trace of her customary independence as Adam led her to her quarters and unlocked her door.
"Thank you, Captain," she said meekly.
"Dulcie ..." he began, but said no more. He didn't know to what place his fierce little adversary had fled, but the Dulcie he faced this night was not she. He had never felt so closed off from anyone as he did from her now. She was behaving like a perfectly brought-up lady, soft spoken and correct. He hated it. Disturbed deep inside without understanding it, he murmured she was welcome and left her.
Dulcie sat down in her wet clothing, not caring that she felt clammy or that Claudine would be too seasick to help her change until the storm had passed. She had managed what she wanted to do. She had not made a fool of herself with him again. She had not lost her temper nor had she allowed herself to become lost in his blue eyes. She had been victorious. Why then, did she feel so miserably unhappy?
She greeted him the next morning. Her comments were light, polite, dealing only with the beauty of a sunny day after so much rain. She walked on airily as if she had planned to take a solitary stroll on deck. She met Beau, approaching her in search of Adam.
"Good mornin', Miss Moran," he said, smiling, sweeping his cap from his head to reveal a mass of brown hai
r. "I hope you found the Ullah's accommodations to your likin'. I made certain you had the finest cabin."
Dulcie smiled and assured him she had never slept better. She liked Beau and deliberately prolonged the conversation. His was a gentle, soothing manner that Dulcie found far more appealing in her present state of mind than she ordinarily would. He was so unlike Adam. He was slightly built, without trace of Adam's sheer physical power. His features were delicate. And what Beau thought and felt were plainly revealed in every line of his expressive face. He was certainly a man more suited to a civilized conversation and harmless flirtation than that great brute of a Captain Tremain, whose whole manner kept her wary and unsure of her control.
She answered his last question sweetly. "Why, thank you, Captain LeClerc. I'd love to take a tour of the ship." She allowed her eyelashes to cover her eyes, suggesting demure invitation. "I'll be waitin' in my calsin. Don't you take too long to attend to your duties, now."
Beau was whistling when he finally came up to Adam's
side. "Mornin' there, Captain, sir," he said cheerfully, his face split wide in a grin. Adam glowered at him. " 'Souse me, sir, but the storm's passed. What's eatin' you? Can't you see it's a damned beautiful day?"
Adam, unmoved by Beau's mood, said sternly, "You shouldn't take her on a tour of the ship."
"Why not? Nothin' I'd enjoy more—^well, almost nothin'. Think I'd pass up an opportunity like that with a girl who looks like Dulcie Moran?"
"You can't pick and choose certain passengers for special treatment. A captain has to be impartial. She's no different from Mrs. Bush or Mrs. Pease. Or are you planning to start a guided tour as part of the Ullah's service?"
Beau shook his head. "I thought Miss Moran was a special passenger. You sure as hell gave me that idea sometime."
"She's the same as any other and to be treated accordingly." Adam gazed at Beau, still feeling mean and out of sorts.
"I've never seen you act like this before," Beau said. "You gonna tell me what's behind it?"
"Since you insist—I like a tight ship. Captain. We don't chase skirts while on duty. Keep your mind where it belongs, Mister. We're at war. We're about to run a blockade. You've no time to think of anything else."
The expression on Beau's face was hurt, then angry. "As you wish, sir. As you are a passenger on this run, I suggest you remain in your cabin for your own protection in these dangerous waters."
Adam stared at Beau's set and belligerent face. It would have been funny another time, but this morning nothing seemed funny. "Damn it. Beau," he said plaintively, but Beau tossed him a sloppy salute and marched off. Adam slammed the butt of his hand down on the rail.
They were in the fo'c'sle checking the coverings on the lights and the hatches that might alert a Federal cruiser when Adam finally apologized.
Beau said agreeably, "Forget it. It doesn't matter, long's you're feelin' better. You gonna tell me what it was all about?"
Adam looked uncomfortably blank. "I don't know."
"Aw, c'mon, Adam. You know as well as I do. All you have to do is say you want her for yourself. That's gotta
be it. Why else would my walkin' Miss Dulcie over the ship cause—"
"You took her on a tour of the ship after I expressly ordered you not to?"
"Now, you get somethin' straight, Adam. I'm master on this run. You don't give me orders for anythin'! If you're wantin' Miss Dulcie for yourself, just say so. For the rest, just shut up and let me tend to my job." "Miss Moran has nothing to do with this." "Then I suggest you stop gettin' hot under the collar every time I go near her. Do I make myself clear, sir?"
Adam was silent for a while. "What are we arguing about. Beau?'*
"Damned if I know, but I'm sure as hell mad about somethin'."
"I'm sorry. Beau. It's my fault—" "Damned right it is!"
"Son of a bitch! You don't back off a minute, do you! I'm tryin' to apologize to you!"
"Keep it!" Beau shouted. "And get the hell off my bridge!"
The next several days did not improve the relationship between Beau and Adam nor Adam's temperamental state of mind. With equal fierceness he glared at both Dulcie and Beau. While Dulcie was coolly polite to him, she seemed to become radiantly alive under Beau's gentle companionship. And Beau hardly seemed to know he had a ship to run.
Alone, Adam stalked the decks searching for some flaw in the fittings or preparedness of the Ullah, shouting irritable orders to the crew, making them check and recheck perfectly sound equipment. Their grumbled comments, spoken to be overheard, only added to his intense ill humor and wounded pride. He had always prided himself that his crews were justly and fairly treated. But despite his constant resolve to improve his temper, the nagging irascibility continued to plague him.
This night, as he had for the past three nights, he churned along the deck, hearing the sounds of Beau's guitar accompanying Dulcie's and Claudine's harmonious singing. The clear feminine voices lent an eerie sadness to the constant smack and wash of the sea against the Vllah's hull. He gazed down into the dark water, feeling
deep inside a cold, heavy loneliness, not unlike hunger, but not to be eased so readily.
He turned his back to the brass ship rail, staring toward the warm sounds of laughter that followed the song. He heard Beau run his fingers across the guitar strings, then begin to form the chords of "Greensleeves." The ache inside grew deeper, and like a man driven, Adam stalked the length of the deck, running from the haunting melody that reminded him of a firelit night when Tom and Ullah danced as Ben and Beau accompanied them on the gourd fiddle and drums. He had danced with Zoe, laughing and teasing as her hair flew wildly. It had been a night bright with happiness—so long ago. All the loving memories were long ago, and somehow lost from him.
He shook himself, annoyed at his self-pitying weakness. Scowling until his dark brows knit themselves into a straight line, he walked purposefully toward the captain's dining room and the music.
Dulcie was perched on a stool near Beau, her brown skirt draped gracefully, her cheeks flushed rosy from her efforts and enjoyment. Her amber-gold eyes met his as he entered. Without thinking, she smiled happily.
They waited expectantly for him to join them. He couldn't. In spite of his determination, he felt no more a part of the festivities now than he had been when standing outside on the deck. Beau looked up at him, his hand faltering on the guitar strings. He began to strum with defiant strokes. "What shall we sing now. Miss Dulcie? Make it somethin' lively and gay." The harshness in Beau's voice heightened the tension that had entered the room with Adam.
Dulcie paused, smiling at Beau, then feigned a delicate yawn. "I'm about sung out, Beau. Maybe tomorrow night, if you'd like."
Adam leaped from his seat, striding the short distance to the door. "Don't stop on my account," he said angrily, slamming the door. He returned to his station on deck, gazing once more into the heaving waters, filled with anger and some unbearable frustration he couldn't name.
He didn't know how long he had stood at the rail, glaring out into the night, before he heard the rustle of skirts behind him. "Well, Captain Tremain, you certainly know how to enliven a party, don't you?"
He pretended he hadn't heard her, didn't know she was
standing so close that the delicate scent of her perfume surrounded him. Driven by her own failure to make anything ever come out right with him, she went on tormenting herself and him. "In less than five minutes you managed to—"
Her words died away as he turned to face her. The light of the waning quarter moon couldn't banish the shadows that hid his fierce, stormy face from her, but it played its ghostly light along his cheek, illuminating the spot where—if only he would smile—a long, deep dimple would appear.
Neither of them moved for what seemed an eternity; she because she was transfixed, and he because above all he thought he wished only to crush her so thoroughly that no thought or sight of her would ever disturb him again.
He seized her by the s
houlders, pressing her against him so hard she cried out, a helpless, nearly silent cry, for his mouth covered hers, expressing for him all the ruthless passions she had set loose in him. His arms were around her, holding her viselike until she couldn't breathe. She struggled against him. As quickly as he had kissed her, he released her; and as quickly as she found herself free, she wished herself imprisoned by his arms once more.
"Adam . . ."
He bent his head toward her waiting mouth with a shy, boyish tenderness. There was no force to his kiss now. Silently, by his actions, he was telling her, talking to her, saying all the things she had longed to hear all her life. Dulcie trembled in his caress, then responded with a woman's instinctive recognition of her mate. Her arms encircled his neck as his closed around her, drawing her against him, molding her soft, curving body to his hard, masculine one.
Adam was as shaken as Dulcie. He was reeling with an elated passion he'd never known. It seemed to consume him. She was desirable. He sensed her surrender. He wanted her, and yet there was something deeper that kept him from her. In a welter of confused need and desire for a woman—for the qualities of this woman that made her different from any other he had known—he turned away, closing off all emotion rather than drown in this new feeling.
Dulcie was too happy to see the turmoil on his face or to sense the rigid withdrawal he forced on himself. She
stood beside him, placing her small white hand on the rail next to his muscular tanned one.
Adam stared down at them as though they belonged to two people he had never known. Recoiling, he moved his away from hers.
Dulcie looked up at him and saw there none of the love or tenderness she had been certain of moments before. She stared at him, blinking in hurt amazement. "You . . . did that on purpose 1"
He said nothing.
Nearly in tears, Dulcie cried at him, "You kissed me just to mock me! It meant nothln' to you!"
Adam took a step toward her, reaching out for her hands. "Dulcie—"
"Oh, I do hope you had your fun. Captain Tremain!"
"Dulcie, don't. Listen to me, please."
