Surrender the Dawn (34 page)

At her inquisitive look, he scratched the stubble on his chin and gave her one of his roguish grins. “Well, in truth, I hoped to see Noah, but the blasted man is still out scouring the seas for British prey.” He chuckled.

“Why are you telling me this, Mr. Heaton?”

He reached inside his waistcoat and pulled out a leather billfold and handed it to her.

Cassandra shook her head. “What is this?”

“Take it, Miss Channing.”

Grabbing it, she unhooked the clip and opened it to find several dollar bills—at least eighty. Confusion left her stunned. “What? I can’t take this.”

“I assure you, you can.”

“How? I don’t …”

“Marianne told me of your plight.”

The solarium began to spin. Cassandra lifted a hand to her forehead. “But this is from your share of the last prize.”

He said nothing. He just looked at her as if she were as precious as one of the gardenias blossoming beside her.

“I cannot accept this.” She shoved the billfold back toward him.

He held out a hand. “I have no need of it at the moment.” Sorrow crossed his face. He looked away.

“Still, Mr. Heaton, it is most inappropriate.”

“If you wish it not to be a gift, you can repay me out of our next prize earnings. This should last you a few months until then.”

She shifted her eyes between his but found no insincerity within them. Could this be true? Her legs transformed into noodles and she staggered.

Mr. Heaton reached out to steady her. She fell against him. “Are you
all right, miss?” His warmth and strength surrounded her, and an odd sense of well-being invaded her turbulent soul. A feeling she’d not had since her father had been alive. Was it possible this rogue, this blackguard, could be trusted?

“Forgive me, Mr. Heaton, It’s just that”—she stepped out of his embrace—“it’s just that you have no idea how much I needed this money. I fear I had decided to take drastic measures.”

His eyes wandered down to the pipe in her hand.

“Smoke a pipe?” He chuckled.

She joined him. “No! I was about to accept the proposal of a certain gentleman.…”

“Ah.” Mr. Heaton’s dark brows rose. “Mr. Crane, I presume?”

Cassandra looked down. “Yes, I fear he’s become quite persistent, insisting I accompany him to some ball happening at the Fountain Inn.”

He studied her with that look that held possibilities she dare not entertain. “I can see why.”

Her face heated. She took a step back.

“Forgive me,” he said, but the flirtatious look remained. “Perhaps you could inform him that you’re attending the ball with me?”

Cassandra blinked even as a thrill sped through her. “Why would I say that?”

“Because it will give you an excuse to turn him down. And because attending with me will be far more adventurous, I assure you.”

Of that, Cassandra had no doubt. She brushed a finger over one of her gardenias, trying to settle her rampant emotions. Why was she all aquiver over this rake’s invitation and so repulsed by Mr. Crane’s? “Then,

shall I presume you are extending an invitation to escort me, sir?”

Luke smiled at the coy look on her face, both thrilled and shocked that she seemed at all interested in attending the ball with him. “I am.”

“But how long will you be in town?” she asked.

He shrugged and pushed an errant strand of hair behind his ear. “I will make sure I’m here for the event.”

“Then I accept your kind invitation, sir,” Cassandra said.

Luke gave her a befuddled look, wondering if he were dreaming. Never in a thousand years would he have ever hoped to escort a lady like Cassandra Channing to a ball.

She lowered her gaze to the billfold in her hand. “You don’t know how grateful I am for this money, Mr. Heaton. I will accept it, but only as a loan.”

Then it hit Luke. Like a stone sinking in his stomach. “I hope you didn’t agree to my invitation because of the money.”

“No, not at all.” Setting down the pipe and money on a nearby stool, she laid a hand on his arm.

“Because there are no obligations attached to the gif—loan.” But when he raised his eyes to hers, Luke could see his fears were unfounded, for nothing but candor flashed in their depths.

“Of course,” she said. “We are partners, after all.”

His gaze dropped to her lips. He licked his own and swallowed an urgent desire to kiss her. Shifting both his thoughts and his gaze away, he gestured toward the billfold on the stool. “Might I suggest you put it in the bank this time?”

“I deserved that.” Her lips slanted.

He cocked his head. “And if I might make one small request?”

She hesitated, eyeing him, but saying nothing.

“Please make no mention of the money to anyone or from whence it came. We don’t wish to alert the thief a second time. Even for so small an amount.”

“Indeed.”

Luke’s heart soared at the appreciation beaming from Miss Channing’s face. If only for the moment, at least in her eyes, he was no failure. At least in her eyes, he was a champion. He had failed everyone else, even himself, but he never wanted to fail her. The trust and confidence in her gaze made him want to be a better man—to become a man she could trust, a man she could love.

The way the lantern light glittered in her burgundy hair and caressed her soft cheek, sliding down her neck …

Luke caught hold of his wayward thoughts and took a step back, fumbling with his hat. For the first time in his life, a woman had him befuddled—unsure of himself.

Against his will, his gaze landed once again on her lips. He remembered the soft feel of them, their moist response to his kiss weeks ago. His throat grew parched, longing for just one sip. But she would think him presumptuous after she’d accepted the money. It wouldn’t be right.

For once, he withdrew.

“I should leave you, miss.” He started to turn away when the press of her hand on his arm stayed him. He faced her again.

She gazed at him mystified, mesmerized before her lips met his.

  CHAPTER 24  

C
assandra had no idea what she was doing. In fact, she was absolutely sure that she could, here and henceforth, be classified as a witless hussy. Why did she force her kiss on Mr. Heaton? After he had turned away from her as a true gentleman should? Dash it all, she had thrown herself into his arms as if she were one of his tavern wenches. Yet, as soon as her lips met his and he responded by engulfing her in his embrace, she no longer cared. Reputation and propriety tossed to the wind, she drank him in as if she could never assuage her thirst. He tasted of smoke and spice. His breath tickled her cheek while his stubble scratched her skin. A plethora of delights soared through her until every ounce of her sizzled like hot coals. He cupped her face in his warm hands and kissed her deeply then placed light gentle kisses over her face and neck.

Cassandra moaned and fell against him. He stroked her hair, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her cheek.

She felt warm and safe and loved. And she never wanted him to leave.

“Aren’t you going to slap me again?”

Cassandra shook her head, regaining some of her senses. She pushed back from him, horrified that she’d kissed him. “I don’t know what came over me. Please forgive me.” She lowered her chin.

His finger raised it, until their eyes met. “I fear I cannot.” He looked at her as if she were a rare treasure—something to protect and cherish.

But then it struck her. How many other women had he graced with
that adoring look? Kissed with such hungry fervor? He was skilled in the art of
l’amour.
As evidenced by the wake of broken hearts he left behind.

And she was a fool.

Cassandra took a step back. “This means nothing.”

The smile slipped from his mouth. “To you, perhaps.”

“I lost my head. It was the money, your charity.” Cassandra tore her gaze from him and hugged herself against a sudden chill. “We are nothing but business partners.”

“Indeed?” He cocked his head and studied her. A sigh, laden with sorrow, blew from his lips.

Cassandra fingered a gardenia petal. Her body still tingled from his kiss. Confusion galloped unbridled through her thoughts, pounding them into dust before she could make sense of them. Could she actually be falling in love with this rogue?

“You don’t trust me,” he said.

“I trust no one, Mr. Heaton.”

“I hope to remedy that, Miss Channing.” Before she could stop him, he leaned down and brushed his lips over her cheek then placed his hat on his head, opened the door, and left.

Caressing the spot on her face where his lips last touched, Cassandra watched as the shadows stole him from view.

Luke stood on the teetering deck of the HMS
Audacious
as the British purser, a rather stubby fellow with a pointed chin, checked items off a list. Luke’s men, aided by British sailors, hauled aboard crates, barrels, and sacks from
Destiny
’s hold, dropping them on deck for inspection before additional British sailors carried them below. Flanked by his lieutenants, Captain Raynor gazed down upon the proceedings from the quarter rail in a pompous display of dark-blue coats and cocked hats that made Luke sick to his stomach. He glanced over at the lines strung taut on belaying pins off the larboard quarter, and renewed pain etched down his back. Not two years ago, he stood in that very spot on a different British frigate, hauling lines while the master’s mate whipped his back repeatedly with the rattan.

The thought shot renewed terror through his veins like shards of ice. Terror for John. Where was he? Since Luke had boarded, he’d scanned every inch of the deck. But his brother was nowhere to be seen.

And Luke had to get close to John in order for his plan to work. Close enough to pass him a scrap of foolscap containing important instructions. The scrap that now seemed to be shouting from within Luke’s pocket.

“That’s it, Captain.” The purser lifted his gaze. Four sacks of rice, six sacks of flour, one crate of fresh fish, two pigs, five sacks of coal, ten barrels of water, twenty chickens, one crate of apples, two barrels of rum, and twenty-five pounds of gunpowder.

Gunpowder that might kill Luke’s own countrymen.