Lady Vixen (12 page)

"Don't
be too sure. He resembles a cat in more ways than one, and he's not above
playing with a auburn-headed little mouse. I'm serious, Nick, when we reach
port this time you're disembarking with me and I'll make the arrangements for
you. My mind is hard on this thought, Nick—you are
not
continuing as you
are! If you balk me you'll leave me no alternative but to tell Saber."

Dismayed,
Nicole stared pleadingly at him. But his face was set and there was an iron
cast to the firm chin. "I mean it, Nick. It's over as soon as we reach New
Orleans."

Silently
she regarded him. It was curious that he was at last using the ultimate threat.
And she wondered why he chose now to use it. Of course, she could retaliate . .
. "Aren't you forgetting what I can tell Saber . . . about you?"

Allen's
face froze and an ugly look gleamed briefly in the blue eyes. "Are you
threatening me, Nick? I should warn you not to. You can run to Saber if you
like, but you can't prove anything, and you can be assured that your masquerade
will be revealed no matter what you do. On the other hand," he continued
smoothly, "you could keep your mouth shut about whatever you suspect and
let me keep you until you're in a position or frame of mind to return to
England." Gently he added, "I like you, Nicole, and I'll see you
safely to your family the instant you say the word."

"I
see," she said coldly. "Very well, I'm afraid I have no real choice
but to accept your kind offer." Her voice grated on the word
kind
and
Allen winced.

He
reached for Nicole's hand and held it between his own. "Don't take it like
this, Nick. If you think about it, you know that I'm right. It's the only
solution now and I should have demanded it long ago. You mustn't mind too much
that I shall be paying your bills—I'm happy to do so. If you dislike it
excessively you can keep an account and repay me once your own affairs are
settled." Coaxingly he begged, "Let us remain friends, Nicole. We
have been close companions too long to part in anger—especially when I'm only
thinking of your welfare."

An
unwilling smile curved Nicole's mouth. "Oh, damn you, Allen! Have your
way. I'm tired of fighting you and perhaps your plan is wiser." Ruefully
she admitted, "I've certainly got nothing to lose by it. But I shall repay
you—every penny."

There
was a discreet cough behind them, and jerking around, Nicole stared aghast at
Saber leaning against the door; his arms folded across his chest, he was
watching them. Caustically he drawled, "Something wrong with Nick's
hand?"

"Allen
dropped the member in question as if it had suddenly become a red-hot coal, and
standing up abruptly he muttered, "Er . . . Nick thought he had a boil
coming and I was merely checking."

Sarcastically
Saber murmured, "A physician too, no less. I must tell the ship's surgeon
when next he requires an assistant that you will be happy to oblige." Then
pushing away from the door with one lithe movement and opening it, he said
icily, "You're needed on deck, Ballard. In case you haven't noticed,
there's a great deal of activity going on. We've sighted another ship and I
think it's a damn sight more important than a possible boil on Nick's hand.
Besides," he added silkily, "Nick, is my concern—
not
yours!"

Allen's
face was carefully blank, but his mouth compressed at Saber's parting shot, and
there was a rigid cast to his shoulders as he walked past him. When Allen was
gone, Saber slammed the door shut with a violent motion and spun around to face
Nicole. "And how often does that go on?" he asked harshly.

Fencing,
she fought to keep her expression unworried. "What? I don't understand
what you mean." Innocently she asked, "Is Mr. Ballard not supposed to
be in here?"

Saber
strangled an oath and glared at her. "Don't play me for a fool! I think,
young Nick, we'll have that talk very soon, a nice, quiet, private, personal
talk—just you and I!"

A
rapid pounding on the door forestalled any further conversation. Throwing the
door open, Saber barked at Jake, who was standing there before him, "Yes,
what is it?"

"Sir,
we're closing fast. The ship is an English packet heavily armed, but trying to
avoid a fight. Do we go after her?"

Saber
grinned and clapped Jake on the arm. "Now what do you think?" he
teased.

Then
throwing Nicole a look over his shoulder, he commanded, "You stay here! I
don't want to see your face topside. Understand?"

Nicole
nodded, a knot already tightening in her stomach. Overhead she could hear the
sound of the barefooted men as they prepared for action and the rumble of the
carronades as the guns were positioned and primed. The sharpshooters, their
rifles loaded and ready, would already be climbing up into the riggings, and
Nicole knew the main deck would be a hive of industry as every item not needed
for the coming battle was cleared and stowed below decks. Saber, from his
vantage point on the bridge, would be bellowing out last-minute instructions as
the two ships came closer to one another.

She
didn't mind when they fought a Spanish ship or even a French one. But when the
ship was English, she was at war within herself. Afterward when the prisoners
were brought on board and the prize crew transferred to the beaten ship, she
felt troubled and shaken that she should join in preying upon her own
countrymen.

Trying
to ignore what was happening around her, she forced herself to work on the
cargo lists. But unable to ignore the thunder of the carronades and the raging
noises of battle, she watched the fight from a porthole.

The
battle that followed was fierce. The roar and boom of the guns reverberated
across the sunlit sea, and the air was filled with smoke and the cries of the
wounded. As Nicole looked on, the packet, in a desperate attempt to cripple
La
Belle Garce,
unloaded a tremendous broadside. But it did little good for
she hadn't the range of the carronades of
La Belle Garce,
and Saber,
having guessed her captain would try such a maneuver, had already ordered
La
Belle Garce
to jibe sharply and the shots never reached their target.

When
at last quiet fell, Nicole went into Saber's private quarters and peered out of
a porthole. The packet had put up a gallant fight, but she had been no match
for
La Belle Garce.
Her main mast was gone, her sails in shreds, and she
was floundering badly. Her deck was Uttered with wounded men and even as Nicole
stared, the ship struck her colors. A cold lump in her throat, Nicole turned
away from the scene of carnage. Why did he have to attack English ships? she
wondered dully.

It
was easy to forget that the United States was at war with Britain; it took an
event like today's to remind her of Mr. Madison's war. The campaign in Canada
was far removed from Nicole. It was almost as if different countries were
involved. The violent battles on the Great Lakes and the blockade on the
Chesapeake meant little to her. She could see little reason to become excited
about a battle that was weeks or even months old and the outcome already
established. New Orleans and the Caribbean were a great distance from the
British attack on Fort Stephenson on the Sandusky River in northern Ohio. But
now with the victorious crew of
La Belle Garce
boarding the disabled
packet and her officers and men being taken prisoner, Mr. Madison's war—the
"Printmaker's War"—was very real and very close.

The
door opened and she looked up quickly, her heart lurching a little at the sight
of Saber. There was a streak of blood across his forehead and under one arm he
carried a small hide-and-brass chest. His eyes were blazing yellow-gold with
victory, and his black hair was wind ruffled, adding unnecessarily, Nicole
thought waspishly, to his already unfair attractiveness. Flashing her a
jubilant white grin, he tossed the small chest down on the table and said,
"We've found a treasure, Nick! One which the British Navy would pay highly
to recover from us."

Her
natural curiosity prompted her to come closer. The lock that had previously
sealed the chest had been blown apart from the shot of a pistol, and what was
left of it clattered to the floor. Peeking inside, Nicole was disappointed to
see only a few small black books and some papers.

A
perplexed look in her eyes, she asked, "What are they?"

It
was Allen coming up quietly behind her who answered, "British code
books."

An
ominous silence followed Allen's words. Staring blankly at the opened chest
Nicole was aware that Saber was watching her closely. She kept her features as
unrevealing as possible, hiding the dismay that filled her. Unhappily she
wondered how Allen felt about the capture of those little books—those little
books that unlocked the British dispatches that had been unfortunate enough to
fall into the hands of the Americans; those little books, Nicole thought with
confused emotions, that would give the Americans an unfair advantage over the
English.

Saber
sat down on the table near the chest, lit a thin black cheroot and lifted a
book from the chest. Allen couldn't help himself and made an involuntary
movement forward, almost as if he meant to snatch the book from Saber's hand.
Saber glanced over at him, an unpleasant smile on his mouth, and drawled.
"Interested in them, Ballard?"

Allen
controlled himself and answered calmly, "Not particularly. But they
explain why the packet fought so desperately. I only wonder why the captain
didn't destroy them before allowing them to fall into enemy hands?"

Saber
shrugged. "He was foolish enough to wait until the last minute before
trying to dispose of them. He was caught as he was about to shove them over the
side." His eyes on Allen's face he added, "A pity, isn't it, that he
wasn't quicker."

Allen
remained silent and Saber, apparently losing interest in him, idly flipped
through the pages. "Hmmm, I can't make much sense of it, but I'm certain
the military at New Orleans will be delighted with them." Then as Allen
made no move to leave, he looked at him pointedly and said, "Haven't you
something to do on deck?"

A
dark red stained Allen's neck, and without another word he spun on his heel and
walked stiffly from the room. Saber watched him until the door closed on the
retreating back and then his gaze swung to Nicole's face. He seemed to be
waiting for her to speak, and for the life of her she could think of nothing to
say.

At
odds within herself, torn between loyalty to America and Saber, too, and the
knowledge that those little books could cost hundreds of British lives, it was
all she could do not to snatch the books held so carelessly in that lean hand,
scoop up the chest and throw it out the nearest porthole. Her thoughts must
have betrayed her, for Saber gave a harsh snort of laughter and murmured,
"I wouldn't try it, Nick. And if I were you, I'd learn damned quickly not
to wear what I felt so openly on my face."

Boldly,
her eyes fighting his, although her heart thudded like a drum in her chest, she
said, "I'm afraid I don't understand you, sir. What do you mean?"

Taking
the cheroot from between his teeth and tossing the book back into the chest, he
stood up. The action put him alarmingly close to Nicole, and she couldn't help taking
a nervous step backward. His laugh was more like a pleased growl, she thought
warily, as he moved close to her. It was all she could do not to keep
retreating from him, and she had the feeling that was exactly what he was
trying to make her do. Compelling herself to remain where she was, she stared
up at him, his mouth with its wicked slant only inches from hers. For a moment
their eyes locked and she had the insane notion he meant to kiss her. She had
seen the flicker of desire that danced in his eyes when he wanted a woman too
often to mistake it, and she could have sworn that for just an instant, a tiny
second, it had flashed in his eyes. But if it had it was quickly shuttered.
Growing more confused every moment, Nicole swallowed painfully and repeated
stupidly, "What did you mean?"

"I
think you know very well what I mean, Nick." Then he quite literally
paralyzed her by running one long finger down the side of her face and
muttering, "Such soft skin for a youth, Nick. I wonder, are you really a
boy?"

Galvanized
by pure fear, she jerked her head away and speedily put the width of the room
between them. Gruffly, the huskiness of her voice deepened by fright, she said,
"Don't be ridiculous! Of course I'm a boy! What else could I be? I think
you're in a strange mood lately, sir, and I wish you would not take out your
odd humors on me!"

"An
odd humor, is it? I wonder?" he mused slowly. Then he gave her a level
glance, his eyes enigmatic as they rested on her, and she wished most fervently
that he would leave. For a minute she thought he would continue his unnerving
questions, but his eyes shifted from her to the code books. Shrugging his
shoulders as if he had grown tired of this particular game, he walked over and
picked up the small books.

"These,
I think, are best locked in the safe." So saying he sauntered from the
room into his own quarters. With warring emotions she watched him deposit them
in the safe near his bed. He possessed the only key that unlocked it, and its
size, larger than a man and several times heavier, prevented it from being
stolen.