Expedition of Love (4 page)

"Thank you, my dear. I hadn't wanted to use the clipper as a leverage tool. Blackmailing a friend and colleague is just not acceptable, although I was quite tempted there for a moment. Now, if he should discover we are the owners of the Sweet Anita, it won't be such a shock.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I think I shall go up top for some air and visit with Captain Hastings. I'll call for you at supper time."

She finished unpacking, then slipped through the connecting door to her cabin to do the same for herself, having no maid to assist her, and readied herself for dinner. Although the meal was still a few hours away, she had to look perfect. Not only did she need to reaffirm Doctor Baxter's decision to let her continue on the trip, there were three other gentlemen she would have to prove herself to. She could not allow any member of the team to see her as a weak link.

Earning their respect as a scientist in her own right was her top priority. After all, she did hold a degree in biology with a minor in geology, and had trained under her father for years in fossil research. Although photography was her chosen profession, if she were forced to choose another it would be paleontology. The subject had always fascinated her.

She smiled as she braided several strands of her hair. Strange how she wouldn't have found one without the other. If her father hadn't had a photographer on their last expedition, she would never have discovered her love for the craft.

Poor Mr. Hasset was beside himself with her constant bombardment of questions. She rarely gave the man a moment's peace, but in the end he gifted her with a camera and wished her luck. Since then, she hadn't been able to stop learning more about photography and taking as many pictures as she could. She experimented with everything from the daguerreotype to flexible film.

Enjoying working with each different process, she found it difficult deciding which would be best for the expedition. The wet process was out of the question due to the need of a darkroom tent for immediate processing and the large amounts of chemicals she would have to take. That left the dry plate process and flexible film. After much mental vacillation, she decided to bring both. It never hurt to have an alternate plan in case the first one failed.

Pinning the last braided stand in a loop to the top of her head, she examined her work. “Well, it will have to do."

Turning to her limited wardrobe, she selected her best dress. She felt somewhat guilty using her looks to assist in winning over the team, but she had learned long ago to use every tool at her disposal. After all, men never failed to use their position of power to rule women. A situation she refused to ever find herself in.

No, her tactics were well founded. This expedition meant a great deal to her and to her father, and she refused to let it be ruined by closed-minded males.

Stephen gripped the smooth railing of the clipper and watched the skyline of New York fade in the distance with the setting sun. Inhaling the tangy salt air, he prayed he was doing the right thing. If anything should happen to Miss Peterson on this trip, he would never forgive himself. Yet her own father seemed quite certain she would be fine.

Fine
.

She was more than fine. She was walking perfection.

He grinned with a slight shake of his head. Perhaps unique was a better term. He chuckled under his breath, still unable to believe she'd called him an arrogant ass. There was no doubt she would continue to surprise him on this voyage. He only hoped he would be able to keep his distance.

A great deal of work lay ahead, and he couldn't afford to be distracted by her. Yet, perhaps he already was. The fire in her eyes when she railed at him, the softly spoken thanks before he left, all images and sounds he could not erase from his mind.

A brass bell sounded, calling the passengers to dinner.

He turned from his ruminations and went to the salon. His steps faltered as he entered the room. Elegance abounded from the polished paneled walls to the brass and crystal fixtures. The table set with linens, fine china, and silver. Whoever their benefactor was, he did not believe in leaving any comforts behind.

The other gentlemen greeted him as he approached.

"Good evening, Doctor,” Geoffrey Walters said, the oldest of the three graduate students and at the top of his class.

They all had been under his tutorage for the last two years, and he felt he knew them quite well, yet he wasn't sure how they would receive the news of their fourth team member being a woman.

"We've yet to meet Applegate, sir,” Geoffrey said. “We couldn't help but overhear your conversation with the professor that he had indeed boarded."

"Yes, I imagine Professor Peterson will bring our photographer along directly. I hope you found your cabins to be satisfactory."

"Beyond our greatest hopes. This is more than a pleasant surprise,” Richard Anderson said, motioning around the room.

"For me also, but I assure you, expeditions rarely have such luxuries. And it won't be nearly as pleasant once we reach Argentina."

They all nodded in agreement.

"You might be surprised by Argentina, Doctor Baxter. I've found it to be quite magnificent."

Stephen jerked around at the sweet sound of her voice. A vision stood in the doorway, her hair coifed with tiny pearls running amid the ginger braids, her cheeks rosy from the wind off the sea.

Magnificent
.

Her father escorted her into the salon. All gazes fixed on her and all mouths hung somewhat agape.

The delicate lace caressing her swanlike neck, parting in an hourglass design across the top of her breasts then dipping dangerously low, stole the very breath from Stephen's lungs. His mouth hungered for the taste of the pale mounds rising above her dress, to sample the heady flavor of the sweet and spicy mixture that was Kristina Peterson.

Swallowing the growing lump of desire in his throat, he forced himself to turn his attention to Edwin's introductions.

"Gentlemen, may I present my daughter, Kristina Peterson. My dear, this is Geoffrey Walters, Scott Thomas, and Richard Anderson."

"How do you do, gentlemen?” She gave a dainty nod.

A moment passed before the young men were able to return her greeting, but once accomplished they each attempted with great vigor to have her sit next to them at the table. Stephen caught the shade of mirth on Edwin's face as he eased to the bar for a drink, leaving his daughter to handle the overzealous suitors.

This did not bode well for their expedition. Was he going to have assistants battling for her attention the entire trip? They would never get any work done! No, this would not do.

"Gentlemen,” Stephen called, silencing their solicitations, steadily increasing in volume. He extended his arm to her. “May I escort you to the table, Miss Peterson?"

She smiled up at him and for a moment and he thought he caught a glimmer of thanks in her eyes, but quickly dismissed it. Without a doubt, she would be able to deal with his assistants. A woman such as she would be accustomed to the attention.

He nearly grinned at how she might handle these eager youths after experiencing her fiery temper first hand, but he couldn't bear the advances of his students any longer, and Edwin was no help whatsoever. His friend seemed to be enjoying the entire scene immensely.

She placed her gloved hand on his arm. “I'd be delighted,” she said, and he led her to her seat.

The memory of her warm, soft fingers in his sent a fleeting wish darting through his mind that she were touching his bare skin instead of his jacket.

He pulled out her chair, and she turned her smiling face up to his. “Thank you, Doctor."

He consciously worked on slowing the sudden galloping of his heart. Why did she have to be so blasted beautiful?

"You're quite welcome, Miss Peterson."

Stepping to the side, he took the next available chair, while her father sat on her other side. Stephen's gaze met with Edwin's over her head, and an unspoken agreement was made. They must keep these avid young men at a distance, but what about him? How was he going to survive her company?

His assistants took their places, with Geoffrey Walters sitting directly opposite Miss Peterson, a disquieting glint in the young man's eye.

Stephen felt the urge to place his hand atop hers where it lay on the table, blatantly claiming her as his. Such a move would clear the acquisitive look from Geoffrey's gaze. But she wasn't his and never would be, he thought, clenching his fists tightly in his lap.

Chapter Three

"And how did you come to grace us with your company, Miss Peterson?” Geoffrey asked.

"I was invited, Mr. Walters.” She couldn't keep the coolness from her voice. Men were the same the world over. Only a few, like her father, knew women had a brain.

She looked to her side and caught the subtle wink of encouragement from him. Yes, he was a unique breed. He had loved her mother to distraction and held a great respect for her intelligence. Something Kristina had never seen another man do.

She'd seen many who nodded or quietly supported women's rights, but never one who truly respected his wife's opinions. Oh, he still held to the idea that a man was made to protect a woman and care for her, but he never once believed in stifling her beliefs or convictions. And yet, he was still the king of his castle as all men expected to be.

"I say, aren't we going to wait for Mr. Applegate?” Scott Thomas asked. “I, for one, can't wait to make his acquaintance. I'm extremely interested in photography."

Kristina bowed her head slightly to hide her smile, deciding to let her father and Doctor Baxter deal with the explanations—for the moment. She had no doubt these young men would converge on her with a multitude of questions and comments, some of which were likely to be rather coarse.

She hoped that once Mr. Thomas discovered her identity, she might have a comrade of sorts. He seemed a pleasant young man, and fairly handsome. All three were fine-looking gentlemen, but nothing too singular. She couldn't help feeling older than them or perhaps simply more experienced. There was a surge of excitement and eagerness twinkling in their eyes, one she remembered experiencing herself with great fondness.

Doctor Baxter roughly cleared his throat. “
Miss
Applegate has joined us, gentlemen."

She glanced at each of the young men and waited. First confusion, then shock, then disbelief, then ... yes, there it was, indignation, but only Mr. Walters.

She thought as much. He did seem to be the stuffiest of the three. Not a hair stood out of place upon his head, the fair straight strands held fast with the abominable hair tonic some men used. His collar, starched perfectly, forced his chin up at a snobbish angle, and yet she had the distinct impression he would hold his head in just such a way without the collar. His eyes, however, were different. They reflected the color of a cloudless day and crystal waters, almost mesmerizing in their purity.

"Good Lord. You can't be serious!"

Mr. Walters’ outburst jolted her from her poetic mental ramblings and into a wrestling match with her napkin. Twisting the cloth in her lap beneath the table, wringing the life out of it, she held back her groan.

Regardless of what her father thought or any of her acquaintances, she detested these confrontations. Why couldn't men simply accept the fact that her mind was more than an empty shell waiting to be filled with male opinions and dictates? All their fussing and such was a ridiculous waste of energy.

Well, no sense in delaying the inevitable
. “He is quite serious, Mr. Walters. I
am
Kris Applegate."

"But you're a woman!"

She raised a single brow as a chill slipped down her spine and an angry fire lit in her stomach. “How astute of you."

"Calm yourself, Mr. Walters,” Doctor Baxter said.

The young man inhaled sharply then slowly released it. “My apologies, Doctor. I was quite taken by surprise. However, I simply cannot believe that she—that you, Miss Peterson, are responsible for the photographs recently placed on exhibit in some of the most prestigious art galleries in New York. A woman simply isn't capable of such things."

Biting her tongue, she eyed her dinner knife.

Stop being silly, Kristina. You can't cut the man's tongue out
.

His opinion wasn't all too different from the gallery owners, that is, until they saw her work. They had been the ones to suggest a male name for the photographer, but she explained, however, in very clear terms, that if she were ever asked if she were Kris Applegate, she would not lie. A fact that didn't set well with them, but they had no choice. Her popularity was very good for business.

"I assure you, young man, my daughter is very much responsible for those photographs,” her father blustered. “And she will be a great benefit to the success of this expedition."

Mr. Walters looked back and forth between her father and Doctor Baxter. “You don't mean to say you're actually allowing her to accompany us?"

She held her breath. What would Doctor Baxter say? This was his moment. He had an ally, a very vocal ally.

"Yes, I am,” Doctor Baxter said clearly.

She invisibly relaxed.

"Miss Peterson is more than prepared for the journey and brings with her a great deal of talent and experience,” he went on to say.

"This is amazing!” Mr. Thomas said.

"Undoubtedly,” Mr. Anderson added.

"Ridiculous is more like it,” Mr. Walters said, chuckling. “I'm sorry, Doctor, but I fail to see how sewing, cooking, and whatnot, could possibly be of much value to this expedition. An added convenience, yes, but nothing more."

Good grief, it was almost the twentieth century. When were people—men—going to realize that women were their equals and not their slaves? The weaker sex. How preposterous, she thought with a silent huff.

She chewed at the inside of her cheek, struggling to keep her anger contained. “I hate to disappoint you, Mr. Walters, but I shall not be darning your socks. I hold a degree in biology and geology and have studied paleontology for nearly as many years as I've been alive. As a member of this team, I will photograph the progress of this expedition, create detailed diagrams of the strata, as well as take part in uncovering the fossils we hope to discover. Now, if you find these facts difficult to believe, I'm sorry for you, for it illustrates an extremely narrow mind. Not a very worthy trait for a scientist."