Surrender the Dawn (23 page)

Yet the comparison with Mr. Crane—the respectable, trustworthy
businessman—made her head spin. Who was the true gentleman, after all?

Mr. Crane’s sharp tone snapped her attention toward him. “Your charity astounds me, Miss Channing. It’s one of the many things that endears you so to me.”

“Of what charity do you speak?”

“Why, of inviting Mr. Heaton to dine with you.” His words slurred as he leaned forward. “In appreciation of his success on your behalf.”

“And why do you consider that charity, sir?”

He adjusted his waistcoat and cast a cursory glance toward Luke. “Not to impugn your character further, sir …”

“Not that you could, Mr. Crane,” Mr. Heaton was quick to respond.

Crane huffed. “But clearly, he is beneath such an invitation. Though I do understand your reasoning, Miss Channing. A bachelor in need of a good meal. Ah, your kind heart astounds me.”

“Mr. Crane.” Cassandra’s blood boiled. “That is not—”

But Mr. Heaton raised a palm, silencing her. Calmly placing his glass on the table, he rose from his seat and bowed toward Cassandra’s mother. “Thank you, madam, for having me in your home and for a most interesting meal.” He turned to Cassandra, his eyes twinkling with ardor. “Always a pleasure.” Then, facing Mr. Crane. “You sir, are a buffoon.” And with that, he quietly left the dining hall.

Cassandra’s mother gasped. Mr. Crane coughed, his face a bright red. Forcing down a giggle, Cassandra clutched her skirts and darted after Mr. Heaton, catching him just as he’d opened the front door to leave. “Please, Mr. Heaton.”

He faced her. Moonlight turned his eyes to silver. He smelled of wood and spice.

“I must apologize for Mr. Crane. He isn’t normally so belligerent.”

“That’s the second time you’ve apologized for the man.”

She lowered her gaze. “He doesn’t seem overly fond of you.”

Mr. Heaton chuckled. “Indeed. But I believe I can handle the likes of him.” Without warning, he brushed a thumb over her jaw.

His touch sent pinpricks over her face and neck. “Yes, I believe you can.” Her voice came out breathless.

He leaned toward her. “Thank you, again, for the invitation.”

Cassandra tried to release the breath that had crowded in her throat. “It’s the least we could do to thank you.”

“You owe me nothing.” He leaned further and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek before Cassandra could stop him. His warm lips branded her with delight.

She couldn’t move.

Then he winked, stepped outside, and closed the door behind him.

The sound of footfalls woke Cassandra from her dream and spun her around to see the back of Mr. Crane stumbling down the hall.

  CHAPTER 16  

L
uke tossed the last bit of rum into his mouth and gestured toward the barmaid for more. The pungent liquid swirled a rapid trail down his throat before plunging into his belly in a fiery blaze. He nodded at Mr. Sanders and Mr. Keene who were sitting far across the crowded tavern. Luke had seen them when he first entered, but he wasn’t in the mood for conversation, especially not with his crew.

“What’ll it be, Heaton?” The grimy-toothed man sitting to his left, who smelled no better than the supper Luke had partaken of that night, yelled over the raucous crowd and gestured toward the cards in Luke’s hand.

Luke studied them, their images blurring in his vision. He hadn’t meant to drink so much. Had intended to go straight home after dining with the Channings. But he could not chase Mr. Crane’s insults from his mind. They rose like demons, taunting them with their truth. Crane may be an officious fat wit, but he was right about one thing. Luke had no business dining with such a prestigious family. Further, he had no business entertaining thoughts of calling on Cassandra. He was a drunk, a womanizer, and a gambler. Just because he’d succeeded in capturing a prize didn’t mean that the entire voyage hadn’t been one huge wager. With no more certainty of success than the game he played now. Simply the luck of the draw. Which, as Luke stared at his cards, he needed at the moment.

Selecting the two of diamonds, he laid it facedown on the table. “Another card, if you please.”

A pianoforte chimed from the back of the tavern, overpowering the hum of conversation and occasional curses flung about the shadowy room. A throng of men began belting out a disparaging chorus. Mr. Crenshaw, a shipbuilder, sitting across from him, dealt him another card. Luke picked it up and smiled. The ace of diamonds. This might turn out to be a good night, after all.

Clara, a well-endowed barmaid who enjoyed sharing her voluptuous wealth with others, slapped down another glass of rum in front of Luke then leaned over to capture his approving glance. The sting of tobacco and perfume bit his nose, making him long for Cassandra’s sweet scent of gardenias.

“I can offer you much more than rum.” The barmaid’s salacious slur did not have the same effect on him that it usually had.

Mr. Fairfax chuckled from Luke’s right and grabbed the lady, forcing her onto his lap. “How about me?”

Giggling, she struggled to free herself and slapped his arm playfully then planted a hand upon her curvaceous hip and stared at Luke.

“Thank you, Clara, just the rum for now.” He swept his gaze from her figure, suddenly finding the unabashed display unappealing.

“Perhaps later then.” She pouted and sashayed away, checking over her shoulder to see if he was looking. He was. And yet he wasn’t. Something else had caught his eye on the other side of the bar.

A gold epaulette glittered in the lantern light. Along with the brass buttons of a lieutenant’s uniform, on top of which perched the squash-shaped head and pointed nose of Abner Tripp.

With a moan, Mr. Fairfax played a card.

Luke watched as the lieutenant stood alone at the bar and ordered a drink. This seedy tavern was not the sort of place Luke would have expected Lieutenant Tripp to frequent. He was more the posh tavern sort, places like Queen’s or Grant’s Tavern. In fact, it had been at Grant’s Tavern that Luke had won his ship from the man in a game of Piquet.

Mr. Crenshaw tossed a coin in the pile and grinned.

Shaking the fog from his head, Luke gazed back at his cards. A breeze swirled in from the window, scattering the stagnant air and flickering the lantern’s flame. If he indeed possessed the hand swirling in his vision, then it appeared his luck would hold.

The fishy-smelling man tossed his cards down and let out a belch. “That’s it for me, gentlemen.”

“And for me, as well.” Luke snapped the hair from his face and laid his cards out faceup on the table. Gauging the men for their reactions, he reached inside his coat and fingered his pistol just in case.

Mr. Crenshaw emitted a foul word and scratched his head as if he couldn’t fathom how Luke had won. He tossed down his cards. Mr. Fairfax, however, eyed Luke suspiciously. He clung to his hand as if the cards were all he had left in the world. His biting gaze shifted from Luke’s cards to his own then across the other players.

Slipping his hand inside his coat, Luke gripped the handle of his pistol. How many men had accused him of cheating? An insult he could never allow to pass without calling for satisfaction. Which was precisely what had happened with Lieutenant Tripp. Normally, Luke would not mind an altercation. It kept his skill with the sword sharp while discouraging others from challenging him. Yet, tonight he found he had no desire to fight.

Finally, Mr. Fairfax tossed down his cards and mopped his sweaty brow. “Your infernal luck, Heaton.”

Luck.
“It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen.” Releasing his pistol, he reached to gather his winnings when he spotted Lieutenant Tripp parting the crowd, heading his way.

The annoying man halted before the table. “Heaton,” he snorted. “Just where I expected to find you.”

“But not where I expected to find you,” Luke retorted with a grin.

Tripp straightened his coat and wobbled in place. “I heard of your success with my ship.”

“Did you, now?” Luke leaned back in his chair. The man was drunk. It would be no fun taunting him in his condition.

Luke’s three companions scooted their chairs back.

“Except it’s my ship now, if you recall.”

A sneer curled Lieutenant Tripp’s lips. “You’re nothing but a sot and a wastrel. One day of good fortune at sea cannot change that.”

Luke attempted to shrug off the man’s words though they sank into his gut, landing atop the ones Mr. Crane had planted there earlier that evening. “Perhaps. But what is that to you?”

“I’ll have my ship back.”

“So you have said.” Luke sipped his rum. “You’re drunk, Lieutenant.
Go home and sleep it off.”

The crowd quieted as eyes shot their way. With the money he’d made, Luke could almost buy another ship and give
Destiny
back to this moron. If the man ever ceased being such a whining ninny, Luke might do just that.

The lieutenant stumbled again and rubbed the scar on his left cheek. “You will pay, sir.”

Luke grew tired of the repetitious threats. He lifted his rum toward the man in a mock salute. “Perhaps. Now if you don’t mind …” Luke waved his hand toward the door and slammed the rest of the rum to the back of his throat. Yet he had a feeling no amount of alcohol could make the peevish man disappear.

Before Luke could set down his glass, Lieutenant Tripp booted the table over, sending the coins, lantern, and cards flinging through the air, clanging and crashing to the wooden floor. He raised a pistol and pointed it at Luke. Mr. Fairfax doused the lantern flame, while Mr. Crenshaw dropped to his knees, scrambling to retrieve the coins.

The throng of excited onlookers backed away. The pianoforte stopped playing.

Luke released a frustrated sigh, set his glass on the next table, and slowly stood. The man’s misty eyes wandered over him. The pistol shook in his hands.

Luke spread out his arms. “Well, shoot me then and get it over with.” Certainly a deserving way for him to die. He’d given Mrs. Barnes enough money to last for years, at least until John was old enough to provide for himself. In fact, both she and John might be better off without Luke. Though his heart cramped at the pain the boy would endure at losing his only brother.

Lieutenant Tripp’s eyelid began to twitch. He licked his lips. The pistol swung like a pendulum across Luke’s chest. Time passed in slow motion. Only the sound of shifting boots, the hiss of lanterns, and the occasional grunt broke through the tense silence. Finally, someone yelled, “Shoot him” from the back of the mob. Others begged Tripp to put the weapon away.

A drop of sweat slid down Lieutenant Tripp’s cheek as the pistol teetered in his hand. If Luke didn’t stop this madness, the man might shoot an innocent bystander. Growing tired of waiting, Luke charged him, grabbed the gun, and tried to pry it from his fingers. Tripp struggled.
He clenched his teeth, growling like a rabid bear. People scattered.

Swinging back his fist, Luke struck the man across the jaw. He let go of the weapon and tumbled backward into the crowd. Uncocking the gun, Luke released a deep breath as the mob broke into a chorus of cheers and chuckles. A man emerged from among them and helped the groaning and red-faced Lieutenant Tripp to his feet.

Luke blinked.
Mr. Crane?
Luke had left him only an hour ago at the Channings’.

“Did Miss Channing toss you out?” Luke chuckled.

Crane led Tripp to a nearby chair then faced Luke. “Don’t be daft. I came here to confirm my suspicions of you.”

The pianoforte began thrumming again as the throng dispersed back to their depraved revelries.

“Indeed.” Luke cocked his head, wondering which suspicions he meant, when Clara sidled up beside him and caressed his arm. “Are you all right, Luke?”

“Yes, thanks, love.” He nudged her back.

“Miss Channing thinks you are a man of honor, sir.” Mr. Crane’s buzz-like voice drew Luke’s gaze back to him. “A rather distorted view, I’d say, biased by the fortune you made for her. For I see that the rumors about you are true. You are a drunk.” He eyed the cards lying haphazardly across the sticky floor. “A gambler, and a bully who would strike one of the great officers who protects our good nation.”