Gregory, Lisa (10 page)

The
lieutenant shot her a grateful glance and took his cue. "Yes, I'm afraid I
must go. I hope that I might have the privilege of calling on you again
soon."

"Whenever
you like—you're always welcome here," Katherine said, then added,
"Lieutenant Perkins, I realize that of course you are in mourning, but
perhaps you might join us for dinner some evening. Not a party, of course, just
the family."

"Thank
you. I should very much like to."

"Good.
Then Wednesday, say? We dine at seven."

"I
shall be here."

Aunt
Amelia's expression turned to one of alarm, and, after the man took his leave,
she turned to Katherine, highly flustered. "Oh, Katherine, you shouldn't
have done that!"

"Why?"

"Well—because
he's in mourning."

"Good
heavens, one doesn't become a pariah just because he's in mourning. I should
think it would make him feel better to be able to spend an evening with friends
instead of alone with his grief."

"Yes,
but it makes it seem like he is more than—"

"Than
what? He
is
more than a casual acquaintance. I count Lieutenant Perkins
as one of my friends."

"Oh,
dear, whatever will Amanda say?" Amelia fretted.

"Why
should she say anything? What does it have to do with her?"

"Why,
she's your aunt."

"That's
right. But she's not my mother. There's no need for her to know everything I
do. Nor is there any need for her to voice an opinion about it."

"What
will your father say?"

"Probably
'Splendid!' He likes Lieutenant Perkins."

Katherine
turned and swept out of the room. The weight of the gun in her pocket gave her a
pleasantly secure feeling and a brief smile curved her lips. No doubt that
loathsome man Hampton thought he'd won; how pleasant it would be to see the
look of surprise on his face.

"Let
me fix your hair up different this morning, mum," Peg said eagerly as she
brushed Katherine's hair the next morning. Pegeen had noticed with satisfaction
the change in Katherine's mood; she was sure now that her mistress was in love
with the grave lieutenant. And Pegeen intended to do everything she could to
help Katherine get him. If only she could get her to take care with her looks.

"Why,
Peggy?"

"Just
to be different. A little more fullness around the face, Miss Kate, maybe a
couple of side curls—"

"Pegeen,
I am not a young girl. I am twenty-four years old, and I can't go around with
foolish curls all over my head."

"Oh,
miss, you never would fix your hair different. It looks like an old maid!"

"Well?"
Katherine smiled briefly. "That's what I am, Pegeen."

"Not
if you'd take a little trouble to look pretty."

Pegeen
made a face, but pulled Katherine's hair back into a severe bun.

"Pegeen,
I'd like for you to do something."

"What,
miss?"

"Take
the muffs I carry and on the inside of each make a little pocket—about this
big." She measured with her hands.

"Yes,
miss." Pegeen's eyes sparkled. No doubt it was a little pocket for secret
love notes.

As
she and her father set forth for the office, Katherine found that her heart was
beating in trepidation and excitement. Despite her little handgun, she was
still frightened of the captain, but she had regained her bravery and looked
forward to a confrontation with him—scared she might be, but she'd not back
down.

"Captain,
your lady's returned," Ensign Fortner whispered, plopping a box of nails
down beside Hampton.

Hampton
raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Indeed? I guess she has recovered from
her illness."

"If
you want my opinion, sir—"

"Which
I don't."

Fortner
grinned and continued unabashed, "The little redhead's worth two of Miss
Devereaux."

"Fortner,
it's easy to see that you are from Savannah—you have no breeding," the
captain said mockingly.

"Well,
I'll admit that she's more a Charleston girl than a Savannah one—only time I've
seen a haughtier face than a Charleston lady's is on that Boston girl,"
the young man retorted.

Hampton
chuckled. "My boy, I will tell you something. I've about ten years of
experience on you, and I have found that true beauty lies in the bones. Look at
the Devereaux girl—her face is as beautifully sculpted as a statue."

"And
as cold."

"Well,
that is where your lack of foresight comes in; you should always imagine how a
particular woman would look in bed. Your little Irish maid would be just as she
is—pretty and giggly. But my choice, well, picture her hair down, clothes off,
face passionate. And all it takes, you see, is to bring that image to
life." He grinned diabolically. "Which only takes the right
man."

"You,
I presume?"

"But,
of course."

"You
two!" a voice cracked out. "Cut the gab and get to work."

"Duty
calls," Former said. "I wish you luck with your lady."

Hampton
returned to hammering, feeling slightly cheered. So she had returned. She had
spunk, you had to give her that. He was glad; the past couple of days he was
afraid that he had frightened her too badly. She had pulled a typically female
trick, having him punished like that. Once they had enthralled your heart, they
tormented you, teasing, flirting, firing you with desire, and then retreating.
And if they had you physically in their power, then capriciously they had you
whipped. He was not the sort to let a woman get away with either trick. But he
hadn't intended to completely frighten her away—he wanted her. It had taken all
his will power that day not to go ahead and take her there in the office,
despite the danger.

Though
no woman had ever managed to capture his heart, and though he thought women
vain, foolish creatures, he found them amusing, delectable, and
pleasure-giving. He enjoyed their company and their bodies, and he had found
the last few months difficult. He was used to periods of celibacy, for such was
the lot of a seafaring man, and one compensated with orgies of lovemaking
ashore. But months at sea followed by months in prison had made him deeply
hungry for a woman.

When
she first stepped out of her carriage that day and he had seen those strange
gold eyes, he had felt a stab of desire so strong he had almost groaned aloud.
Since then she had haunted his thoughts. She was lovely—even her stark hairdo
and dark, restraining clothes could not hide that—and the very sight of her
sent a delightfully painful tingle through him. When they had thrown him in
that hole, his back sore and bleeding, and had starved him for two weeks, the
thought of her had helped to keep him sane. Alternately he cursed her for
placing him there and mentally undressed her and made love to her. He pictured her
eyes, dark gold with desire, her wide mouth soft and yielding, her body naked
and glistening under his hands, her honey-colored hair like a waterfall across
the pillow. He felt her eager body against his and heard her soft moans of
desire. The events of three days before had only made him want her more—how
full and soft her breasts beneath his hands, how intoxicating the scent of her,
how sweet her virgin mouth. He ached to possess her, to awaken her
inexperienced body, thaw her freezing hauteur, tutor her in the arts of love.
But he would have to wait until there was time and a private place. Wait until
they escaped.

Matthew
Hampton was not one to sit out a war in an enemy prison, waiting for a prisoner
exchange. From the moment he had been captured he thought of escape. His
assignment to this duty had presented him with the perfect opportunity.
Although only the dark monkeylike Peljo was one of his original crew, he was beginning
to form the men into a unit. He had cautiously felt them out, judging them,
making sure none would turn informer. Ensign Fortner—hot-blooded, fiercely
patriotic, daring—was an easy ally. Peljo was loyalty itself to the captain.
The others—well, he had seen better crews, but every one of these men had
expressed the desire to escape, and daily they became more and more a united
crew that accepted him as their natural leader. There were gaps in their
skills, and he had no idea how they would perform in action, but then the
prison had not selected them to be his new raider crew, and he must do the best
he could with what he had.

He
had not yet told any of them what his plan of escape was—even he did not know
exactly when it would take place. His scheme was of the sort of daring
simplicity that often succeeded through its sheer audacity. Once the ship they
were working on was caulked and painted and moved into the water, with only
last-minute touch-ups needed, they would overpower their guards, don their uniforms,
and simply set sail, as if making a little trial run. It might not cause
comment, used as everyone would be to seeing them on the ship, and with the
phony guards standing watch. Of course, there were a thousand things that might
go wrong. The timing must be absolutely perfect—the ship must be ready to sail,
but not so complete that they were taken off it, and it must be done when the
civilian workers were not on the ship. They would need food, weapons,
navigational instruments—in fact, a whole new ship as soon as possible. It was
an enormous risk, but one that he must take; he could not live without the
freedom of his own ship under him. And he knew he could succeed; it was
possible. The daring wildness that was so often the despair of his family made
him a superb raider captain. As his Grandmother Soames had severely told him,
"You have the soul of a pirate." And a pirate was what was needed in
this situation.

Fiercely
he hammered in a nail. He would pull it off, he told himself. It required only
patience and the ability to move quickly and without second thoughts when the
time was right. It would come off; he would see to that. And when it did, he
would take
her
with him.

The
days quickly fell into a pattern for Katherine, interrupted only by the
activities of the Christmas season. Every day but Sunday she went to the office
to work, and each day at twelve she and Pegeen handed out lunch to the
prisoners. Gradually she came to learn their names. The cheerful young man was
Edward Fortner; the ear-ringed man was called only Peljo; the dark man with the
heavy accent was Jenkins, Teddy's riverboat gambler from Louisiana; the
flaxen-haired silent man was Mason. There were twenty-two of them and
eventually she knew them all; some she found herself grudgingly liking. She was
almost disappointed to find that the captain stirred up no more trouble. He
kept her aware of his presence, nearly always fixing his gaze upon her,
sometimes coldly, sometimes with an odd glint in his eye. Every now and then he
spoke to her, usually saying something lightly teasing or sarcastic, always
with that exasperating grin. When she handed him back his plate, he often
slightly caressed her hand, not noticeably, but enough to send a chill up her
spine. Once, helping her put the empty boxes back into her carriage, they were
shielded from the sight of the others by the carriage, and he took her hand and
raised it to his lips. The moment was over quickly, but her hand seemed to burn
where his lips had touched it.