“I’m not your love, Curtis, just leave me be,” she sobbed. “I’ll leave tomorrow and never burden you again, just go.” She rolled her face down on her shoulders, away from him.”
Catching her cheek in a warm palm Curtis turned her face back to him. “I don’t want to never see you again. I want to help you.” Impulsively he took her face in his hands pressing a kiss to her lips. When she did not respond his lips grew insistent, demanding…
It was too much; the touch sparked all that she needed to quench in her soul if she would ever survive life without him. She tore her mouth away from his. “Leave me!” She pounded his chest. “You don’t know what you’re asking. You would never understand and you’ve made it abundantly clear that you do not trust me enough to believe what I tell you is the truth. Please leave. Leave!”
But he didn’t leave, making the whole of the situation so much more difficult to bear because she still loved him. And if she loved him how could she walk away from The Mistress and her captain and never look back?
“Go away,” she sobbed, pushing feebly against his chest. “I hate you, Curtis Langston, I hate you so much.” Tears streamed down her cheeks and still he didn’t leave. Instead he pulled her more tightly against his chest and held her, cradled her, soothed her… and it was everything she could ever have dreamed to find in his arms.
* * *
“I know,” Curtis murmured, stroking her hair, knowing she could never hate him as much as he hated himself. “You should hate me. You have every right to.” She lay so broken in his arms it was all he could do not to weep with her. It was his fault… he was forever destroying good things. True, there was something she had fled, something worse than her brutal father, but even that secret hadn’t broken her spirit. He had broken her spirit. He’d betrayed her and destroyed whatever illusion of goodness she’d believed the world possessed.
Without a word Curtis pulled her across his lap, cradling her in the protective fold of his arms. He stroked her hair, kissing her, murmuring soothing nonsensical words until sleep claimed her in the early morning light. Curtis settled her against the pillows. An angel, he mused taking in the innocent expression adorning her delicate features in sleep.
My angel…
Twelve
“Mike Jamison is dead?” Curtis was incredulous.
Shortly after reaching port he’d left the ship to see to business arrangements and found another smaller ship that had set sail from Charleston a few days after his own. Cory Chambers had often teased Curtis about the swiftness of his own smaller vessel.
“Yes,” Chambers stated matter-of-factly. “Night before you sailed he was stabbed to death in an alleyway. Richard and Melissa Carlisle found him, not only that, but they saw a young woman standing over the body. Richard tried to catch her but with the storm and all…” his voice trailed off.
Curtis nodded, mind reeling. “I remember the storm. I thought it might delay our departure. Do they know who did it?” He rather dreaded the answer.
Chambers nodded grimly. “His daughter, the younger one, what’s her name? Constance? Cadence? Cadence, that’s it. The woman Richard saw had blond curly hair and Cadence Jamison disappeared the same night.”
A physical blow could not have staggered him more thoroughly. All the pieces fit perfectly into place. Had Cadence murdered her father? The bastard deserved it, but… the question exploded in his brain. Stumbling backward he bid a quick farewell to his friend, turned and ran across the quay to the Heavenly Mistress. Thundering onto the deck he shouted, “Mr. Bowen, where is Cam?”
The mate looked up in surprise. “I don’t know, sir, I haven’t seen him in a while.”
Curtis tore through the ship in search of the Cadence. When a thorough search turned up no sign of her he sprinted back onto the deck. “If Cam comes back do not let him leave. I don’t care if you have to lock him in the brig, just keep him here!”
“Aye, sir,” Mr. Bowen nodded as Curtis dashed down the gangway back onto the wharf.
* * *
London was not what Cadence had expected.
The city was dingy and dirty, teeming with people who looked as though they burrowed with the rats. Rats! Oh, God the rats! Rats were everywhere. Huge, fat, disgusting rats. Rats the size of dogs unlike anything she’d seen before. Why had she left the ship? Why hadn’t she just confided in Curtis and let him help her? It was too late now. She was doomed in a fate of her own choosing alone and practically penniless in the White Chapel District of London, England.
Tentatively she peeked through a crack in the door of the deserted carriage house she’d slipped into to transform from cabin boy to woman. A man pulled a hand held cart down the alley just feet away. She waited for him to pass, nervously fingering her pink skirt, and clutching the old satchel more securely to her side. Perhaps she should have remained a boy a while longer. How would an unescorted woman be received? Panic welled in her throat, threatening to overwhelm her.
She drew a ragged breath, reminding herself to take this new life one step at a time. First things first. She would find a room at one of the more reputable looking inns. Once she had a roof over her head she could regroup and look for work—perhaps a dressmaker would be in need of an experienced seamstress. It would probably be best if she claimed herself a widow. Yes, definitely for the best.
* * *
Systematically Curtis searched every nook and cranny of the dock and when he turned up no sign of ‘Cam’ or a pretty young woman with blond curls he ventured into London. What had he been thinking to leave her alone on board the ship? She’d been threatening to disappear once they reached London all along.
And now he might never see her again.
He didn’t want to never see her again, but moreover London was a rough city. Lord only knew what fate could befall a beautiful young woman like Cadence who was entirely without means or experience.
All the thoughts that had swirled endlessly through his mind for the last weeks seemed now to reach a single point of clarity. He’d hurt her, used her, and it was time to make it right. Instinctively he shied away from the thought of marriage. For years he’d been reminding himself what a miserable, undeserving wretch he really was. Even now his mind screamed, murderer! You can’t have her… You don’t deserve her… You’ll burn in hell…
The thoughts tormented him mercilessly.
But he’d moved so far beyond deserving her.
The moment he’d succumbed to weakness and bedded her he’d known the pattern of guilt and self-loathing in his uncommitted life would have to be amended. It wasn’t until now he’d been forced to make the decision. In light of her father’s murder—whatever the truth of that might be—she needed him. No one had ever needed him before…
Even as he searched for her a plan formulated in his mind. A rather brilliant plan if said so himself. He would marry her, take her home to Charleston, and see her through this mess with her father’s murder. Once that was behind them he’d buy her a house, clothes, whatever she wanted, make sure she was set for life and then escape back to the sea.
For Curtis the sea was a necessity… Running was a necessity…Escape was essential. If he stayed in one place for too long memories of the past would drive him mad. This plan could be perfect. She could be Mrs. Langston and go shopping and entertain guests. Isn’t that what women wanted? And he… well, he could continue on as before, only now there would be something worth coming back to. Surely it wasn’t too much to have a beautiful wife waiting in port a few days at a time between voyages.
Yes, it would be ideal. Perfect. Provided he could find her. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.
Darkness was settling over the city and a deep despair that she may be truly lost crept into his conscious. Stepping wearily into what must have been the twentieth Inn in White Chapel district Curtis brushed off the brazen hands of the hackneyed tavern maid and strode purposefully to the desk where the landlord sat. He hated to think of Cadence in a slum like this. A stale musty
odor hung in the air of the dimly lit tavern, and the clientele appeared a less than reputable bunch. A woman like Cadence wouldn’t last a day before some tragedy befell her.
“Good evening, sir,” Curtis approached the desk. “I am looking for a young boy and a young woman with curly blonde hair traveling alone. Have you seen either of them?”
The balding man narrowed blue-green eyes through his wire rimmed glasses assessing Curtis shrewdly. “Why would you need to know, young man?”
With bated breath he dared not hope this man had word of Cadence. “My, uh, family, sir, we were separated down by the docks.”
Scratching his head thoughtfully the man took a deep breath as though unsure of whether to divulge information. “What did you say your name was?”
“Curtis Langston, Captain Curtis Langston,” he added, hoping the title would put him in a more credible light.
Curtly the man nodded. “I haven’t seen a boy, but a girl with blonde curly hair checked in about an hour ago. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old.”
Relief flooded through Curtis and he clasped a hand to his chest sending a silent prayer heavenward.
Bending the clerk peered over his spectacles to check the ledger. “Left the name Langston, Cadence Langston.”
“Oh, thank God it’s her! Which room?”
“Up the stairs, first door on the right.” The man pointed to the narrow, dimly lit stairwell at the back of the tavern.
“Thank you,” Curtis threw over his shoulder as he bound up the stairs. Cadence Langston? Mrs. Curtis Langston… his heart tripped over the words. Barreling through the door his eyes swept the room. His soaring heart plummeted clear past his boots to the basement of the pub.
Empty.
What in God’s name could have happened to her?
* * *
Venturing from the small room Cadence couldn’t help but shudder as raucous noise and laughter floated from the Inn’s pub. Sidling down the stairs she nervously poked her head into the dining room spotting a buxom woman who looked as though she worked there. The woman had flaming red hair and wore so much face paint Cadence was reminded of a porcelain doll. Of course she’d never seen a porcelain doll dressed like that before. “Excuse me?” she asked hesitantly.
The woman turned to rake seedy green eyes the length of Cadence and sneered, “Wha’ de ye want?” her cockney accent was so thick it took a moment for Cadence to understand.
“I, um, I was looking for some water,” she held up the small tin basin.
“Out the beck!” the woman barked pointing a gnarly finger to the door. “Yer hands ain’t broke, go an’ pump it yerself.”
Turning quickly she darted toward the backdoor, near tears. Perhaps she should go back to the Heavenly Mistress. Curtis had said he would help her.
Cadence had no sooner stepped through the backdoor when a filthy man grasped her upper arm. “How much lil’ lady?”
She gulped in sudden trepidation. “Take your hand off me, sir.”
“I said ‘ow much?” He spun her around leering into her face with bloodshot eyes. Most of his teeth were missing and his breath reeked of rot.
“Let me go!” she tried to jerk her arm away.
“I’ll pay fer it, lil’ missy, or I’ll jes take it,” he chortled. “Don’t really mattuh’ none to me.”
Cadence knew what the man wanted but was fairly convinced she’d never stoop to such desperate measures as selling herself much less to likes of him. “I said take your hands off of me!” Whirling she caught the drunkard in the side of the head with the heavy basin and sent him reeling backward. Quickly she snatched open the door, bolting for the stairs before the man could regain his wits and come after her. Sprinting around a second story corner she stopped dead in tracks.
“Curtis?”
Slowly he turned to stare at her with an expression of pure disbelief.
“Curtis,” she choked on his name, running into the welcome haven of his arms.
He gathered her up, pulling her feet clear off the floor. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered into her ear. “Never scare me like that again. Don’t ever leave me.”
Cadence was quite beyond words as she buried her face in his neck. In two strides he carried her into the room and swung the door closed with his foot. Catching her lips he kissed her soundly only setting her to the ground when their lips had parted.
“How did you find me?” her eyes searched every inch of his face.
“My God, Cadence,” he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “I have scoured every inch of this city in search of you.” He squeezed her arms and kissed her nose. “I would have scoured all of England to know you were safe. Cadence, I should throttle you for taking off in London alone.” But his eyes danced with what looked like joy, and he didn’t throttle her, he kissed her again. At last he sobered slightly and pulled her close. “I know,” he whispered close to her ear.
She stiffened. “What do you know?”
Without releasing her he led her to the bed. “I know why you ran from Charleston.”
She blanched as he pulled her down beside him. “Sit,” he commanded. “I met Cory Chambers on the docks this afternoon. He told me about your father’s murder.”
She steeled herself against the condemning words she expected next. Would he like everyone else believe she’d murdered her father? Would he turn her over to the authorities?
“Cadence, a woman was seen standing over his body and you disappeared the same night, people believe you killed him.” Raising a hand to her face he tipped her chin forcing her to meet his eyes. “I understand why you ran, I do, but if I am going to protect you I need to know what happened.”
“You,” she gulped back the tears threatening to burst forth, “you want to protect me?”
“Of course,” Curtis answered without hesitation. “And I don’t really care if you did kill that bastard. I just need for you to tell me the truth.”
She raised her hands awkwardly. “I don’t really know what happened.”
“Then tell me what you do know.” His gaze remained steady and his hands were warm and reassuring.
She sucked in a deep breath. “Papa was furious after you came to the house and threatened him. The next night he flew into a rage. I left, meaning to go to Grace Leven’s house, but he followed me, screaming, convinced that I planned to ‘whore myself out’. He wanted any money I made as a result.
The expression on Curtis’ face grew blacker by the minute.
“I—,” her voice cracked. “I started to run from him and turned down an alley thinking he’d lose sight of me in the dark. I heard him cry out…” Tears rushed to her eyes as memories transported her back to that night, her father’s muffled screams echoed in her ears. “I looked back, and Papa was lying on the ground not moving. A tall man dressed all in black stood over him and then walked away. I-I ran back and tried to help him… but… that man stabbed him… and, there was so much blood,” she choked, shuddering at the memory.
She squeezed her eyes shut before continuing. “Papa said, ‘You’ve killed me Cadence. Don’t you see what you’ve done?’ And then…” she shrugged, tears dripping down her cheeks. “He died.”
Curtis gathered her against the strong comfort of his chest letting her sob.
“And the worst part is. I was glad! Don’t you see? I wished for him to be dead, and then he was, I may as well have killed him!”
“Oh, love,” he stroked the hair away from her face to kiss her brow. “There is a big difference between wishing a man dead and pulling the trigger. Of all people I know that. Your father died by some other man’s hand, and because of his own drunken stupidity. This was not your fault.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes. Did the man in black see you?”
“No. At least I don’t believe so.”
“Then why did you run?”
“Some people pulled up in a carriage and, I just… panicked!” Wiping fat salty te
ars from her face, she met his gaze, freed by sharing her ordeal. “I was covered in his blood. I was certain they would accuse me of murder. I realized running made me look guilty so I decided the best thing to do was start over completely.”
“At which point you stowed aboard The Mistress.”
“Yes, Curtis. I’m sorry for that.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he murmured, giving her a gentle squeeze. “I believe you. Every word.”
Cadence melted against him. He was so big and strong, and she felt so safe in his arms.
“Why did you register as Cadence Langston here at the Inn?”
Pulling away her face flamed with embarrassment. “Oh, no.” She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Curtis. I didn’t think you would ever know, and I feared someone might come seeking Cadence Jamison if word of my father’s murder reached London.”
Curtis pulled her hands away from her face and looked her square in the eye. “How would you like to make the name Cadence Langston official?”
Thirteen
“O-official?” she echoed. Could this really be the moment she’d dreamed of? Now that he knew her secret it was possible.
“And before you refuse, just hear me out,” he continued before she could utter another word. “I know you think I’m talking about following a code of honor and taking responsibility for anything that may come of our night together. And I am,” he added quickly. “But, Cadence, you need me to protect you.”
You need me to protect you. That was his reason for offering marriage? She deflated in an instant. “I don’t need for you to—” he raised a silencing hand.
“Yes, you do.” He took both her hands and knelt before her. “I know this isn’t the proposal women are supposed to dream about, but let me help you. Become my wife and I will protect you with everything I have. I can fix this mess with your father’s murder, I promise, and when it’s over I’ll make certain you’re taken care of. You will have a house, clothes, anything you want.”
Cadence (Langston Brothers Series) Page 11
