She pulled the gown from the brown paper wrappings, heart slamming in her chest. The matron had assured her the gown would flatter her perfectly, and while it was not the raciest piece of lingerie in the shop, it was the raciest thing she’d ever owned or considered wearing. Nervously she stripped the dinner gown away from her body. She slid the negligee over her shoulders, fastening the tie at her throat, and the second at her waist which pulled the edges of the gown to overlap and fasten low on her left hip.
She turned to the mirror and stopped breathing.
Pure white, the sheer fabric glittered as though a thousand miniature diamonds were embedded in the woven strands. Elegant in its simplicity, the piece had no ruffles or lace; the sleeves were long and drifted the length of her arms while the body of the wrap hugged her curves in a manner so provocative it should be criminal. Tugging the pins from her hair she brushed the loose curls until they shimmered and let them cascade to her shoulders, noticing at least an inch of new growth. “Here goes,” she murmured to the reflection in the mirror, “good luck.”
Curtis was talking in the other room, something about meeting with his business associates, but the blood rushed so hot and loud in her ears she scarcely heard a word.
“You’ll need to find something fabulous to wear for the day after tomorrow as well because I have a meeting with some other backers. Just don’t let on to how recently we’ve been married because...” his voice trailed off as she stepped from the dressing room garbed in naught but the near transparent negligee.
“You said it would cost if I wanted to know why you drink so much coffee.” What she hoped was a seductive smile touched her lips; she wasn’t very good at this… yet. “I’m ready to pay my debt.”
Absolute silence.
She swallowed against the urge to close her eyes blocking out the blank and thoroughly disbelieving stare Curtis had fixed on her.
“Where the devil did you get that?”
Instinctively she turned away, hurt, never had she felt more exposed before him. “D-don’t you like it? I’m sorry, I’ll put something else on.”
“Don’t you dare,” he commanded in a husky rasp that sent shivers down her spine. She froze as he came to stand before her. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, raising a tentative hand to smooth a thumb along her cheek. “I don’t know how to touch you.” His handsome face grew soft, almost wistful, and boyish. “Are you an angel?”
“Curtis,” she breathed, not knowing what else to say, something in his words nearly broke her heart. It was as though a small part of him truly believed her an angel, or perhaps that part of him she knew to be broken needed one. Gently she raised a hand to where his palm touched her cheek and closed her fingers around his. Taking a step forward she ran the free hand up his chest feeling the corded muscles tense and leap beneath her touch. Looking directly into his eyes she leaned in to press her lips to his.
Normally it was she who went weak in the knees, dissolving into a liquid puddle at his feet, but tonight she felt him melt beneath her touch. It was exciting, and heady, and gave her renewed confidence. Wrapping her arms around his neck she arched against him, deepening the exchange. She wanted to make him wild for her, so wild he would never want to leave, or so much as look at another woman. She wanted to make him love her.
“Oh, Cadence,” he groaned, gathering her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. His hands slid paths of fire across the sheer fabric. Fumbling with the buttons of his shirt she freed the fastenings, running her palms against his bare chest. She could feel his heart leap in erratic rhythm, and she was rapidly losing control as he backed her across the room toward the bed. His mouth never left hers, never ceased devouring her as he looped an arm about her waist and lifted her onto the bed beneath him.
She descended into a haze of passion as he roughly slid the hem to her waist, she felt him reach between them, loosening his trousers and then he was inside of her. This was unlike any other time they’d been together, this was raw and sensual and nothing but frenzied passion.
“Hold me tighter,” she gasped. She could feel his heart pounding against hers, feel his hot wet breath on her neck and ears. Their ragged breathing grew more frenzied in tandem with the tightening in her belly. She was out of control, clutching his back, pulling herself against him. The world around her shattered in a haze of trembling sensations, at the same moment Curtis collapsed on top of her, resting his face in the crook of her neck.
Dragging air into her lungs Cadence stroked her hands along the rippling contours of his back feeling thoroughly spent, sated, enjoying the warmth of his jagged breath against her neck and the weight of his body rested atop hers. After what felt an eternity, but could never have been long enough, Curtis shifted, rolling away from her. For an instant the ever present guard slipped from his crystal clear eyes and he looked panicked. His hand snatched the hem of her negligee pulling it from around her hips to her ankles.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, the tone heavily laced with shame. “It should never be that way with you. You deserve better than to be bedded like some whore.”
Cadence swallowed the backhanded implication she’d behaved as a whore and sat to face her husband. “Curtis, you have nothing to be sorry for. I—”
“You’re wrong. You’re better than this, better than me.”
He moved as though to stand but she caught his arm, locking his eyes with hers. Again the guard slipped, revealing the tattered state of his spirit. The torment and lack of hope, the emptiness, she’d witnessed on the ship coupled with such longing in his eyes broke her heart. “You’re a good man, Curtis Langston, don’t ever let me hear you say otherwise.”
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” His arms linked around her, drawing her back to bed with him.
“Tell me.”
“There aren’t words, Cadence, there could never be words.”
* * *
Wrapped in the arms of her now sleeping husband Cadence could almost believe all was well in her life. But the simple truth that Curtis didn’t love her was ever present in the back of her mind. He’d been kind and attentive and everything one could ask for in a husband since sealing their vows, but the actions didn’t entirely overshadow the fact he’d married her as a result of obligation and because it was the gentlemanly course of action. Fear of returning to Charleston was also creeping back upon her. Would she be arrested? Tried? Curtis vowed to protect her, but what could he do in the face of the law?
Troubled, Cadence slipped from the warm comfort of the bed to sit on the windowsill overlooking the nightscape of London. “Lovely,” she sighed, gazing wistfully through the window edged with frost-feathers. For a few blissful hours she’d been able to push the overshadowing of her father’s murder from her mind, but now—in the dark—the frightening reality could not be ignored. Darkness always compounded fear and…
The dark train of her thoughts was interrupted by Curtis slipping strong arms about her middle. Relieved she leaned against his broad chest letting his strength surround her.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m just thinking,” she murmured softly.
“About your father?”
She nodded.
Curtis sighed. “I’ve been thinking too, and I think I have a plan, or at least the beginning of a plan.” Without releasing her from his arms he turned her so that she sat across his lap, cradled against his chest. “We really don’t know what is going on back home or what sort of charges may have been laid against you. I’ll keep an ear to the ground around the docks, if any ships arrive from the Carolinas, a murder will be on everyone’s lips.”
Cadence shuddered at his words, and he tightened his hold on her.
“We’ll take on an entirely new crew here in London. I don’t want any of our original crew in Charleston when we get back because it will look damn suspicious if it gets around Charleston that you were a cabin boy for half the voyage.”
Cadence nodded. “Are you
going to let everyone believe we ran away together?”
“Exactly. You said Mrs. Morris’s gossip column blew our relationship out of proportion so we’ll use that to our advantage. I’ll tell everyone I asked you to run away with me,” Curtis supplied. “The new crew will be none the wiser as to when we actually decided to get married or how you suddenly appeared as my wife.”
“We could just run away now,” she breathed, unable to resist touching her fingertips to the scar traversing his chest. Curtis stiffened, she pulled her hand away.
“Is that what you want?” He shifted her in his arms and gazed questioningly into her eyes. “To be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, unable to go home?”
Without a word she looked down.
“Look, Cadence, I know what it is to run and never know when a bullet is finally going to catch you in the back.”
Her gaze dropped back to his scars. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve heard the stories about my days as a blockade runner?”
“Of course. Everyone has.”
“Then you know we were really just pirates pillaging Yankee ships. I was a wanted man, Cadence, but it was more than running. I knew my days were limited.” Leaning back he sighed heavily. “I don’t want that for you.”
“You’re right,” she conceded. “I know you’re right, but I’m scared. What are we going to do when we get back to Charleston?”
“I don’t have all of that figured out yet, but I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear it on my mother’s grave.” His lips brushed across her ear. “Do you know of any enemies who may have wanted to kill your father? Did you recognize the man in the alley at all?”
Cadence shook her head. “I didn’t recognize the man, just that he was really tall, taller than you, and dressed all in black. As far as my father’s enemies, I couldn’t begin to name them all. He’s angered almost everyone he know at some point or another. Although,” she paused thoughtfully, “there was one business plan I know of that went awry a few days before he died. I never met the man, but my father mentioned his name once, Forester or Fields, something like that.”
“Well, that’s a start. At home we’ll look into his business affairs and see if this man or anyone else may have been angrier than the rest.”
Cadence leaned her head against his chest. Soothed by the deep rumble of his voice and the steady thud of his heart, she yawned.
“Time to get you to bed,” he murmured into her hair, hefting her up and against his chest.
She responded with a sleepy hum, cuddling in as he settled on the bed and stretched out beside her.
Just before she drifted off to sleep, Curtis kissed her brow and murmured. “Sleep, my angel.”
Sixteen
The Heavenly Mistress swept swiftly down the Thames away from London on the morning tide. As per the plan Curtis took on an entirely new crew, retaining only old Jack, before setting sail and had been busily readying the ship and crew since before dawn. Standing alone toward the bow Cadence watched the waves lash at the sides of the ship and turned her face into the cool spray. The day was cold and the sun shed rays of deceptive brightness across the ship and water. But today she could not enjoy the beauty of the sea. Leaving London signaled the end to the blissful respite she’d found with Curtis. Her husband had forgone a planned stopover in Belfast and one in France, and charted a course straight for Charleston Harbor and a yet unknown fate.
* * *
Securing a tack line Curtis turned to see the solitary figure of his wife moving slowly across the deck. Cadence had become increasingly withdrawn in the last few days and he was at a loss for words or comfort. He hadn’t the heart to tell her what snippets of news he’d gained from the docks, but, really how could they know what awaited in Charleston?
“Aren’t you cold?” he asked, approaching from behind her. A slight smile touched her lips as he wrapped his arms around her and placed a kiss on the side her neck.
“Just a little,” she snuggled her back against his chest as he set his chin on top of her head.
“What are you thinking?” Though he didn’t really need to ask.
Turning to look up at him she implored breathlessly, “What are we going to do? I wish I knew what to expect when we get home, but—”
Spinning her in his arms, Curtis clutched her tightly against him. No words of comfort came to mind and he would not offer false reassurances. God, but he hoped he was doing the right thing, maybe he should set her up somewhere far from Charleston.
No.
Curtis knew it was not an option. Eventually life would catch up with her—with them and more than that he knew what it was to run.
He was a long while drifting to sleep that night as the depth of Cadence’s despair and worry seeped into him. Old memories assailed him, the faces of his past, of his own running…
The unflinching green eyes of Allan West stared up at him. “Go to hell.” The words were a curse, spoken as a curse, and resonated eerily through the thick woods with the echo of the gunshot. Go to hell… go to hell…
Somehow Curtis knew he was dreaming, but as the play of his mind darkened and shifted he could not drag himself from the dregs of sleep.
Go to hell…
“This is hell,” Curtis answered the haunting voice ever rumbling in the hollow of his mind.
The cannon roared with such intensity he could scarcely discern the voice of his commanding officer. “Sergeant Langston, we’ve… to … hill!”
Though words were swallowed by the monster of battle he understood what Colonel Tillman’s orders and turned to stride among the waning ranks of his regiment. A good many of these boys were green, it shown plain as day in their faces. A shell exploded just feet from the ranks but Curtis hardly flinched as he stared down those whose instincts warned them to turn and flee. He was not immune himself, but the tortured screams and death of his countryman urged him on.
Somehow he knew this would be the day. A bullet had already caught him low in the abdomen, and he could feel the dark angel’s breath upon his neck, ready to whisk him into hell, but he would not run. He would never run. To die was more than he deserved after Billy and that Yankee, Allan West.
“Charge!”
And then he was running shoulder to shoulder with Captain Morgan, a musket at the ready, his side arm primed on his left hip.
Someone started that god awful Rebel scream.
And he was screaming with them.
The blue chest of a Yankee came into view. On pure instinct he fired.
Muskets boomed all around him. Curtis knew the sensation of having the wind knocked from him. And then it was the damnedest thing but his legs wouldn’t work. Looking down he could see blood darkening the front of his gray jacket.
His blood?
Funny, he mused, it didn’t hurt.
Collapsing, he tried to stand but found himself rolling onto his back. His fingers laced through the wooden beads ever present in his pocket. “Forgive me,” he mumbled as suffocating blackness closed over his mind.
* * *
Curtis sat bolt upright, grasping desperately for some semblance of his bearings. The smell of smoke and gunpowder had been so heavy in the air, could this be… A hand flew to his chest and the familiar scar brought reality crashing down around him. He was drenched with sweat, shivering uncontrollably. The cold was back. The chill that seeped deep into his bones and the nightmare… Oh, God the nightmare was a memory etched so deeply in his mind he feared it would never fade.
Go to hell… echoed repeatedly through the dark, fire-shot wilderness of his mind and he wanted nothing more than to clamp hands over his ears to block out the miserable voice. Go to hell…
“God, no!” he gasped. “I’m so sorry!” Vaguely he was aware of soft hands on his shoulders.
“Curtis, Curtis what’s wrong?”
“Stay away from me!” he barked trembling, and stood to leave the cabin. “Don’t follow me.”
“But, Curtis—” The hatch slammed and Cadence could do nothing but stare at the closed portal, replaying the look of pure anguish reflected in his eyes. What had happened for him to look so… broken? Old Jack had been right. Curtis had seen too much. He was a man haunted by war.
Haunted.
The realization dawned suddenly that the wall behind his eyes was for the ghosts of his past. What did he hold from her? Reclining on the lonely mattress she let troubled thoughts swirl through her mind.
Tomorrow she would talk with him. Tomorrow she would search for answers.
Cadence woke the next morning to Curtis gently nuzzling her neck with kisses. The love making which quickly followed spoke nothing of the tension they’d experienced the night before. Curled against his side listening to the steady thud of his heart she was apprehensive to broach the subject, and deemed after lunch a more appropriate time.
But the mysteries of her husband’s past proved further elusive when a squall roared down on them out of nowhere at ten o’clock that morning, thwarting any plans she may have had for discussing his past. The storm was really not bad, but the heavens unleashed a downpour so quickly that Curtis and the crew were caught entirely unaware, and had to scramble to ready the vessel for the impending tempest.
“Cadence,” Curtis’ dripping blond head poked through the door of their cabin. “Will you find my oil skins? I’ll be back to change and grab them in a minute.”
“Certainly,” she replied, setting her book aside and climbed out of the leather chair. She shook her head, nothing put Curtis in a better mood than a storm—a quality she found contrary in a sailor.
Rifling through the closet Cadence couldn’t readily find the slicker hanging on the rack and so began sifting through the contents on the floor of the closet. Curtis was anything but organized. Her hands fell upon an ornate wooden coffer and curiously she pulled it from the floor. It was unlike anything she’d seen before. She turned the piece over in her hands for better examination, but the lid—which she’d assumed was locked—flopped open, sending the contents of the chest spilling to the deck.
Cadence (Langston Brothers Series) Page 14
