Surrender the Dawn (26 page)

“When do you sail out, Luke?” Marianne asked.

“I leave for Elizabeth City tomorrow. I sent my crew ahead two days ago to prepare the ship.”

Marianne’s mother gripped the arms of the chair as she struggled to rise. “My goodness, the night has overtaken us unawares. I must bathe Jacob before supper.”

“I will help you, Mother.” Marianne made her way to Luke. With great reluctance, he relinquished the young boy. And apparently the feeling was mutual as Jacob whimpered and held out his hands toward Luke.

“Please be careful, Luke.” Marianne clutched Jacob’s hands to settle him. “And if you see Noah”—she looked down with a coy smile—“well, you know what to tell him.”

Luke nodded.

“Oh my.” Marianne turned to Miss Channing. “However will you get home in the dark?” Yet Luke caught the tiny smile peeking from the corners of her mouth.

Miss Channing stood and lifted her chin. “I am quite capable of finding my own way.”

“Nonsense,” Marianne’s mother scoffed as she moved to her daughter’s side.

“I would be happy to escort you, Miss Channing,” Luke offered, ignoring the war within him—between his desire to spend time with this captivating woman and his promise to stay away from her.

Cassandra opened her mouth to say something, but Marianne held up a hand. “There, now, it is all settled.” She approached Cassandra and touched her arm. “Thank you so much for coming, dear friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I’m so pleased things turned out well.” Cassandra clasped her hands together as if suddenly nervous.

“Mr. Sorens will see you out.” Then turning, Marianne and her mother, along with a whimpering Jacob, left the room.

Luke raked a hand through his hair and raised his brows at Cassandra. Offering him nothing but a mere flick of her sharp eyes, she swept past him into the foyer, plucked her bonnet and gloves from a table, and waited for Mr. Sorens to open the door. Luke stepped onto the porch after her.

“There really is no need, Mr. Heaton.” She tugged on her gloves, despite the muggy air.

“Nevertheless, I would never forgive myself should something happen to you.” Luke could not explain her sudden stony demeanor. Last week at her house, she’d been kind, agreeable, and even quite complimentary toward him at the dinner table. She’d even allowed him to plant a kiss on her cheek.

Granted, he’d made himself a promise to avoid her. But now in her presence, he found himself longing to see a spark of ardor beaming from her eyes. Just a glimmer of sentiment would be enough to comfort him on his long sea voyage ahead.

But she kept her eyes from him as she stormed down the steps and out onto the street before he had a chance to offer her his arm. Lud, what an infuriating woman.

With only a quarter moon and a smattering of stars to light his way, Luke marched after her, overtaking her halfway down the street. He offered her his arm. “Unless you don’t wish to be seen with me.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Mr. Heaton.”

“Ah, that’s it then, your reputation has been forever tarnished by our association.” He chuckled, but she did not join in his amusement.

Instead she shot him a seething glance. “Go back to your trollop, Mr. Heaton.”

Luke ground his teeth together, suddenly feeling like the cad everyone believed him to be. So, Mr. Crane had followed through with his threat.

When Luke didn’t answer her, she gave an exasperated huff and hurried down the street. Somewhere, a fiddle played and laughter crackled in the air, but otherwise silence reigned on the city as thick as the night. Rubbing his jaw, Luke followed her at a distance, close enough to keep her firmly in his vision. She blazed forward into the darkness like a wild cougar, a tail of lacy petticoats flailing behind her.

No, not a cougar, an angel.

And certainly not one he could ever expect to possess.

She turned down Baltimore Street. The
clip clip
of her shoes over the cobblestones echoed off the brick walls of nearby buildings and local watering holes. Music blared from Payne’s Tavern up ahead. Luke knew it well. Why was she traveling this way? Foolish woman. It would be much safer to take the long way around and avoid this section of town.

Yet still she stormed forward as if
she
were the indefatigable town rogue, not him. How the lady survived to be five and twenty defied all logic.

Cassandra charged ahead, only realizing when she’d made it halfway down Baltimore Street that this was not the safest route to take at night. The jangling of a pianoforte, accompanied by a fiddle and raucous discourse, rode upon lantern light bursting from a tavern up ahead. Cursing burned her ears. She glanced over her shoulder, fully expecting to see Mr. Heaton behind her, but he was nowhere to be found. Hadn’t she told him to go back to his trollop?

Yet she hadn’t expected him to obey her.

Fear prickled her skin. How could he leave her all alone? Facing forward, she lowered her head and crossed the street, hoping the shadows would hide her until she could make it past the tavern, bustling with patrons, up ahead. Most of whom, she was sure, she did not wish to meet.

At least she carried no money with her this time. No banknotes. Nothing anyone would want. A shot echoed in the distance, jerking her gaze in that direction. The British? Or was it just a tavern brawl? Clutching
her skirts, she quickened her pace, squinting into the darkness. Moonlight coated the buildings, trees, and cobblestone street in a ghoulish, milky sheen. The sting of alcohol and rain filled her nostrils.

Across the street, clusters of men hovered under the porch of the tavern, their heated conversations jumbled on the wind.

She was nearly past them.

A man barreled down the tavern steps, another on his heels. The first took a swig from a bottle, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and handed it to his friend.

Cassandra sped to the shadows from a row of buildings up ahead.

“Hey there, missy!”

Her heart seized. She started to run.

“Where ye goin’, missy? Come back here.” The man’s slurred words slinked over her shoulders and slammed into her gut.

Heavy footfalls pounded the road, growing louder and louder.

Not again. Cassandra darted forward. When would she learn her lesson?

“Missy, come join us, eh?” Insidious laughter accompanied the thump of footsteps.

Perspiration dotted her neck. She heaved a breath. One glance behind told her the two men were gaining. Ducking her head, she raced forward.

And ran headfirst into a warm, firm body.

Tar and smoke and wood filled her nostrils.
Mr. Heaton.
She glanced up, but could barely make out his smile in the darkness. He pushed her behind him then faced the villains and crossed his arms over his chest.

She peered around his back, her heartbeat steadying, then stepped beside him, fisting her hands on her hips and pasting a look of defiance on her face.

Her pursuers spotted Mr. Heaton. With wide eyes, they halted, their laughter faltering on their lips.

“Heaton, what ye doin’ here?” The man’s gaze shifted to Cassandra. She lifted her chin in his direction.

“The lady is with me, gentlemen.” Mr. Heaton’s stern voice left no room for argument.

A stream of profanity poured from their mouths. “Come on, Heaton. We was just havin’ some fun. We weren’t goin’ t’ hurt her none.”

“Watch your language in front of the lady, or you’ll answer to me,” Luke said with authority.

The first man shook his head and scowled, yet he made no move. Instead Cassandra detected fear, dare she say respect emanating from him.

The other man grunted and swayed back and forth like one of the ships in the bay.

Luke waved them off. “Begone with you. There’s no fun to be had here.”

Turning, the two men shuffled away, passing the bottle between them as if to console themselves on their defeat.

Mr. Heaton faced her, stared at her for a moment, then proffered his elbow. “Now, will you allow me to escort you home?”

“You didn’t leave me.” Cassandra gaped at him, stunned.

“That is never my desire.”

The wind drifted through loose strands of his hair, and for a moment the moonlight offered her a glimpse of something in his eyes that caused her breath to seize. She slid her hand in the crook of his elbow, and he led her forward. “Those men.” She glanced over her shoulder to see them join a mob loitering in front of the tavern. “They offered you no resistance.”

“They know me.” He kept his face forward, his voice deep and resonant.

“In other words, they’ve seen you use a sword.” Her praise brought no reaction. “Such depraved company you keep, Mr. Heaton.”

“As you have informed me.” He should be mad at her for her foolish behavior. He should be angry at her insults. But instead, a hint of humor spiked his voice.

An awkward silence surrounded them as they turned down Charles Street. Another shot echoed in the distance, followed by baleful laughter, yet Cassandra found no fear within her. As long as she was with Mr. Heaton. The thudding of his boots accompanied the whistle of the wind and the bells of the night watchmen in a whirlwind of emotions that reeled around her like the dust spinning on the street.

Mr. Heaton was a scoundrel, yet she always felt at ease on his arm.

A dark cloud abandoned the moon, showering them in silver light.

He was a drunk, yet he had never behaved improperly in her presence.

They turned down Eutaw Street, lined with quaint homes and decorative flower gardens. The smell of wild bergamot and fresh apple pie drifted over her nose.

He was a gambler, yet she trusted him with her investment.

Turning down the path in front of her house, Mr. Heaton stopped
at the bottom of the porch stairs. Cassandra stepped up on the first tread and spun to face him. She was nearly level in height with him—nearly. The lantern light sparkled in his eyes as he placed a boot atop the step and released her arm.

He was a womanizer; then why did she feel her heart yearning for his affection?

He turned to leave.

“Thank you once again for your rescue, Mr. Heaton.”

He faced her. A sad grin hovered over his lips. “My pleasure.”

“So, you’ll be leaving tomorrow?” She longed to keep him here. And hated herself for it.

“Riding out to the ship first thing in the morning.”

“How long will you be?” Cassandra asked then realized the absurdity of the question. She laughed. “Of course you don’t know that.”

He gave her a quizzical look. “Will you miss me?”

“Don’t be absurd.” Cringing at the dishonest twang in her voice, she stared off toward the bay. “I’m simply anxious for you to catch another prize.”

“Ah.” He scratched the stubble on his chin and gave her one of his beguiling grins. “Of course.”

Cassandra tapped her foot. “Oh, bother, Mr. Heaton. You can wipe that grin off your face. Not every woman in town pines for your affections.”

“No.” The sorrow in his voice nearly broke through the shield she’d erected around her heart. “Not every woman.”

What was she doing? Allowing this rake to charm his way into her graces. Steeling herself against his further attempts, Cassandra pursed her lips. “Mr. Crane informed me of your ignoble activities.”

“Which ones?” He jerked the hair from his face and chuckled. Moonlight drifted over a scar on his right earlobe.

“You may make sport of it all you wish, Mr. Heaton, but I hardly consider gambling, drinking, and fighting suitable pursuits for a successful privateer, much less a gentleman.”

“Well, Miss Channing, you knew what you were getting when you hired me.” One brow cocked, he gave her a pointed gaze. “Besides, I’m hurting no one.” His eyes lowered to her lips. He swallowed.

Heat swirled in her belly. “I am not so sure, Mr. Heaton.”

“Why are you so interested in what I do at night, Miss Channing? Care to join me?”

“Of course not! I’m sure you have no need of me with all your trollops to entertain you.”

Propping his hand on the post, he drew close until she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. “If I were a more astute man, I’d say you were jealous.”

Cassandra’s heart took up an erratic beat. Lowering her chin, she gathered her resolve to put this man in his place. Then squaring her shoulders, she met his gaze and opened her mouth to give him a tongue lashing. “That’s ridicu—”

His lips met hers. Firm, yet gentle. He caressed her mouth ever so briefly like the most delicate flutter of butterfly wings. Then he withdrew, hovering over her, breathing hard. Cassandra’s mind swirled. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. She just wanted more of him. She inched forward until her lips touched his again. Her feet tingled. The world spun around her. He took control and deepened the kiss, cupping her jaw in his hand and caressing her cheek with his thumb. She drew in the scent of him, never wanting to forget this moment. He tasted of spice and salt.

The trollop barged into her dreamlike state. The one Mr. Crane had described in such detail. Her blond curls, sweet blue eyes, and buxom figure draped over Mr. Heaton.

No!
The small part that remained of Cassandra’s rational mind screamed. She would not be one of his many conquests. She would not attach her affections to this man, only to be abandoned.