Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) (41 page)

“Cadence Jamison,” she sniffed looking shame-faced back down to her hands. “I am so sorry for causing you trouble, Captain. I was out walking because I like to look at the ships but it got late. I was just trying to get home.”

A glassing of tears washed over her eyes, glittering in orange glow of the lanterns. Even as she pressed the flat of her palms to her eyes an onslaught of tears trickled down her cheeks. His heart went out to the young girl he’d been acquainted with only in his school days. Her sister Kirsten Jamison—now Kirsten Rowe—had caused a fair amount of trouble for his brother Craig a few years back, but he harbored no misbegotten feelings for this girl. Well, he mused cocking his head to the side, she was hardly a girl anymore, and perched on the barrel before him she looked vulnerable… vulnerable and as precious as a fragile piece of porcelain. He didn’t like to see her so brittle. She used to be quite the little spitfire
.

With a gentle hand he squeezed her shoulder and gazed imploringly into the huge pools of her eyes. “Shhh, Cadence, it’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong.”      He ran a calloused finger along her cheek tilting her chin up with care. “Let me take you home, all right?”

*     
*
      *

She nodded, flashing a watery attempt at a smile. She knew very well who Curtis Langston was but whether he remembered her was an entirely different story. The Langston family was very prominent in the Charleston community and Curtis was no exception to such affluence. Notorious for rakish good looks, most notably their intense
ly hued blue eyes, the Langstons
were men one could not help but notice. Cadence glanced toward the large hand still resting protectively on her knee and marveled at the sudden quickening of her pulse and the lingering warmth of his strong chest. “You’re not going to dip my hair in ink are you?”

The barest hint of a smile danced across the surface of his eyes. “You’re not still sore about
that
are you? It must have been ten years ago.”

A weak smile tugged the corners of her mouth. So he did remember her. “More like eight,” she corrected.

Curtis was a man Cadence had not spoken to in years. He’d joined the confedera
te army when she was just thirteen
years old and far too young to have any real interest in men. He’d been reported missing and presumed dead after the battle of Antietam in 1862 and it wasn’t until several months after the war’s end he’d come home.

Upon his return the people of Charleston learned that after surviving a grievous wound he’d taken up the art of blockade running, and captained a rather infamous band of rebels, completing harrowing feats to bring the soldiers and citizens of the south much needed supplies. While the alias Curtis had operated under—Captain Rebellion—had become famed for selfless acts of heroism he’d also amassed a rather huge personal fortune—though none wanted to speculate how the
hero
may have acquired it—,and turned his pursuits to more legal business after the war.

At present
Rebellion Shipping
was one of the fastest growing shipping companies in the Americas and Europe. Not only was Curtis Langston sole owner of the company, but he captained the very successful and much famed merchant vessel the
Heavenly Mistress.
Rumor—or perhaps it was legend now—had it that Curtis’s flag ship was none other than the former
USS George Washington,
a Union blockade vessel he’d commandeered off the coast of Wilmington in 1864. Embellished or not the astounding tales of his heroism spiced the fantasies of nearly every woman in Charleston, if not the entire South.

As the man escorted her from the deck of the
Heavenly Mistress
Cadence threw a long glance back to the tall mast of the ship. Wistfully she sighed. Curtis Langston led a life of adventure. The life of adventure she longed for.

“And for the record,” Curtis said unexpectedly, “I was only helping my brother.”

With a quizzical brow she turned, pulled from the depth of her thoughts. “I’m sorry. What were you helping your brother with?”

“With your hair.” He stuffed a hand in his pocket and raised his shoulders casually. “I was helping my younger brother when we, uh, dipped your hair in the ink.”

“Is that supposed to be an apology, Captain?”

“Yes.” He almost smiled but at that moment another drunk stumbled across their path and Curtis quickly slipped an arm around her waist to pull her out of harm’s way. He held her against him for perhaps only a moment longer than he ought, but it was long enough to send her senses reeling. “I’m not very good at apologizing.”

He still hadn’t released her.

“Apology accepted,” she murmured a bit breathlessly. With his strong fingers pressed against her side she felt more than a little flustered, almost light-headed. “Although I had always suspected you did it to get a rise out of Miss Watson.” For all of his notorious good looks Curtis had also been notoriously mischievous and notoriously stubborn in his younger years.

He let her go then, flashing the sheepish grin known to have bailed him out of more than a few messy scrapes. Her heart tripped over at least one critical beat as their eyes locked. Oh, God! When he looked at her like that… How could she help but smile back?

Mentally she ticked off all the reasons women sighed breathlessly over the name Curtis Andrew Langston. He was terribly handsome. A pirate. A soldier wounded in battle. A
pirate
! Had the body of a Greek god, and, oh yes, had she mentioned otherworldly, devilishly handsome? All of these things were true, he—as her mother and the other gossiping biddies would say—is the stuff guilty dreams are made of, but Cadence found all of these attributes unimportant in the face of      his positively irresistible mischievous charm.

             
“Well, maybe that too, although if I remember correctly you gave me one hell of a black eye for it.”

             
Her cheeks flushed
hot
. “You deserved it.”

             
“Probably.” He winked back at her. “Miss Watson still there?”

“No.” Cadence smiled trying to regain her composure. “She got married a couple of years ago.”

“Poor bast— er, uh, man… I mean—” He stopped. “Sorry.”

Cadence smiled, and waved her hand when he opened his mouth to continue apologizing.

She had not known Curtis well during the years their schooling had overlapped but he’d quite frankly been the bane of the schoolhouse—most notably Miss Watson. He’d been downright obstinate when it came to taking orders of any kind and Cadence had wondered if he was a born rabble-rouser, a poor student, or a bit of both. The dreaded Miss Watson, dubbed the school witch by her students, had labeled him a troublemaker—in all truth with good cause—and made an example of him at every opportunity.

It had been absolute war between teacher and pupil.

The battles had reached legendary proportions throughout the city. Parents and students alike pondered who really held control in the classroom, and Curtis had become something of an unsung hero amongst the pupils. No matter how much punishment Miss Watson heaped upon him Curtis had already planned tenfold retaliation in clever mischief that bordered the realm of genius.

             
As was natural for a young lad of such bent his troublesome antics were not well confined by the walls of home or the schoolhouse and by the age of sixteen Curtis had grown into a full blown hell raiser. When hostilities between states reached the boiling point the army lent the perfect outlet for his youthful exuberance and more importantly an escape from an overbearing father. Curtis Langston had returned home a much reformed young man and at present his name, once synonymous with trouble, was now synonymous with hero and legend.

             
The lights of the house belonging to the once prosperous Jamison family glittered ominously into view. Pausing on the street corner Cadence turned to her champion thanking him again for coming to her rescue.

             
“I’ll see you inside,” Curtis said rather gentlemanly, putting a hand to the small of her back, guiding her to the front door.

Swallowing the hard pit of trepidation lodged in her throat Cadence balked as he raised a hand to rap on the heavy oak door. Her heart nearly stopped as the door jerked roughly open and the bleary-eyed gaze of her father raked over them.

             
Curtis smiled pleasantly. “Good evening, Mr. Jamison, I—”

             
Mike Jamison abruptly cut Curtis short staring angrily into his daughter’s face. “What is the meaning of this, you little harlot?” he spat, gesturing toward the man who had escorted Cadence home.

             
“Hey.” Curtis took an abrupt step forward. “Don’t talk to her like that!”

             
“I’ll talk to her however I damn well please!”

“Papa,” Cadence began, stepping nimbly between the men doing her best to maintain a serene demeanor. “Captain Langston was kind enough to accompany me home from work,” she spoke quietly as her father, who had obviously imbibed a great deal too much, sent droplets of spittle flying into her face.

             
Mike Jamison ran a bloodshot eye from the tip of Curtis’ battered brown boots to the top of his blond hatless head. “I’m sure you merely
accompanied
my daughter home, and that’s why she’s returning from work at such a late hour!”

             
Indignantly Curtis opened his mouth again. Cadence knew better than to allow more heated words to fly between the men. Pushing past her father she drew him into the house, cheeks hot with shame. She turned to mouth a quick apology to Curtis before slamming the portal in his face.

*      
*
      *

Curtis cringed at the ensuing racket which seemed to shake the very walls of the house.

“What’s the matter, Missy, not makin’ enough money with an honest day’s work? You’re nothing but a damned whore, just like your sister!” the drunken man raged. “I know all about how that high and mighty pirate captain
accompanied
you home!” A loud slap reverberated against the walls of the house followed by running feet and a slamming door. “And don’t think you can keep any money from your nighttime exploits. It’s all mine, I own you!” A light flickered on in an upper level window. As Curtis backed onto the street he could see Cadence’s silhouette through the window. Her curly head bent and slight shoulders slumped in defeat.

             
In evidence of such abuse Curtis was hard pressed not plow through the front door to show the older man what a
real
fist in a
real
fight tasted like. But odds were if he confronted Jamison now he’d only make matters worse for the one he sought to protect. “Damn,” he raked a hand through his hair, contemplating the options.

He really should go in there… but the ordeal seemed to be winding down. He could always check on her tomorrow.

But, dear Lord he felt like a bastard. Which really was fitting because he was a bastard, knew he was a bastard, just hated being reminded of the fact. Tonight, when he’d rescued her, he’d almost believed all good was not erased from his soul. But, that feeling of having done something good
was very short lived, as it always was, because almost as soon as he’d saved her he’d found a way to fail her. And now… He gazed up at the window,
her
window; he was standing on the street corner watching her cry knowing
he’d failed her.