Shadow Play (43 page)

"So talk."

"Might we find a place to sit down first?"

He directed her to an open cafe, where he ordered her a
cafezinho
and himself a
cachaca.
He then tossed his hat onto the table, ran his hand through his hair so it lay loose and waving over his brow, and continued to feed the marmoset nuts as it perched atop the Panama and chattered.

Sarah frowned. "There are times when I think you care more for that monkey that you do me."

"Jealous, love?" He grinned.

"I'm jealous of anything or anyone who steals your attention from me."

"Chere,
nothing could do that."

"So you say, but lately you've seemed preoccupied and not the least interested in discussing our future. That frightens me and makes me feel as if you don't want me in your life."

"Sorry." He dug in his pocket for a coin, which he paid to the waiter who brought their drinks. When the young man had gone, he reached for his liquor and sampled it
before speaking. "I've never been in love before, Sarah. It's scary sometimes."

"Do you love me, Morgan?"

His eyes met hers. "Very much."

"Then marry me. Today. The captain could perform the ceremony and we could be husband and wife by tonight."

"What's the hurry?"

She shoved away her coffee. "I'm afraid."

He quaffed the liquor and placed the glass on the table.

"I'm afraid that someone or something is going to take you away from me," she told him. "Swear to me you won't let that happen, Morgan."

Without responding, he stood, retrieved his hat from the table, and said, "Let's go."

They located a men's clothier and Morgan purchased his customary white suit. They were told the clothes would be delivered to the ship by six, then they made their way back to the docks. Try as she might, Sarah could not contain the unease that was growing within her at Morgan's unwillingness to discuss their future. Each time she brought up the subject, she was met with stony silence or a shrug that left her stewing in frustration. She was determined to confront him again when they were alone in his cabin. She was about to tell him so in no uncertain terms when they reached the pier where the
Amazonas
was docked. There were numerous, well-dressed men milling around the gangplank, and as she and Morgan approached, the group parted to reveal Sir Henry Wickham and...

She stopped, her mouth falling open, her breath leaving her in a rush.
Norman!

Morgan walked on a ways before looking back. His eyes studied her, then followed her gaze into the distance. He knew. She saw it in the set of his shoulders, his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes as he regarded her resplendently dressed fiance\ He knew that the man with one thin eyebrow raised and his mouth curved in a disapproving smirk
was Norman.

"Sarah!" Surrounded by his entourage of menservants, all shorter than his five-foot, eight-inch frame, Norman strode toward her, his narrow shoulders erect, his clothes fitted to him impeccably. The hot wind ruffled his thin blond hair, and by the look of his lean ruddy cheeks and the set of his narrow lips, word had already reached him of her escapade. Sarah turned her gaze on Morgan, feeling her knees wobble as she recognized the closed expression on his features. He hadn't even walked back to join her, but stood his ground, refusing to acknowledge either her or Norman who brushed by him as if he weren't there.

"Norman," she cried as he stopped in front of her, assessing her clothes and hair, and then fixing on her sandaled feet in unabashed horror. His eyes were much less blue and appealing than she remembered. "Wha-what are you doing here?" she asked.

His gaze came back to hers. "Is that any sort of greeting for the man to whom you are engaged?"

She closed her eyes as he gripped her arms, lifting her to her tiptoes to brush her cheek with a kiss. Setting her back, unsmiling, he said, "I came as soon as I received your letter. Surely you didn't think I would allow my fiancee to go through such an ordeal without me." He looked back at Morgan, who had begun to smoke a cigarette, but had yet to join them. "I've been in Belem two weeks. It was fortuitous that you returned when you did, as I was preparing to jaunt down that disgusting river in search of you."

Still in shock, with her eyes locked on Morgan, who had not so much as looked her way, she said, "Norman, you shouldn't have."

"Poppycock. You are my fiancee, are you not?"

She swallowed. It seemed as if the entire past months of her life flashed before her, every moment she'd spent with Morgan, every intimacy—

' 'Imagine my joy when I ran into Wickham. He informed me of your journey, and your success. I'm only sorry that I couldn't have been there with you." He looked at Morgan
again, eyebrows lowered, cheek ticking with suppressed irritation. He suspected, Sarah knew. The mere fact that she had journeyed into the Amazon, in the company of men, without a chaperone, would be enough to send him into a state of apoplexy. Were she to confess that his suspicions of her and Morgan were correct, he would faint. She was considering doing just that when Morgan turned toward her at last, his eyes piercing as he moved past Norman and took her arm.

Norman's eyebrow shot up even more.' 'Here now, watch how you handle her. She is not
some—" He shut his mouth as Morgan looked at him from behind his stream of cigarette smoke.

"Shut up," Morgan said. Then, turning Sarah away, he pulled her to one side.

' 'Morgan,'' she whispered.' 'I had no idea he would—"

"Be quiet and listen to me." He flicked his cigarette away, shooed the marmoset aside as it danced around his feet. "Keep your mouth closed about us for the time being, Sarah."

"But he already suspects—"

"Chere,
there's no point in burning your bridges until they're crossed. Once we're safely through customs, then you can break the engagement, but for now, you may need him in your corner in case something goes wrong."

"But that will mean pretending I still care for him, Morgan, and... oh, God, I can't, not when you're so near and—"

"Then stay the hell away from me. Forget I'm alive." His voice angry, his eyes burning, he stepped away, shaking his head as she started after him, catching herself and stop- ping as he added in a loud voice, "I'm nothin' to you, right?"

She stared at him in shock.

"You used me, right? You got your goddamn seeds and your hoity-toity boyfriend and now I'm no longer good enough!"

"See here!" Norman shouted, jumping toward them. "You can't speak to her that way." "Yeah," Morgan drawled, "I forgot. She's a lady." He turned and walked off down the pier and up the gang- plank. Sarah watched him go, uncertain whether she should laugh or cry, but sure that something was going to happen soon... something dreadful.

The clothes were delivered by six, and having bathed and styled her hair, Sarah began to dress, refusing to don the corset and tossing aside the petticoats. The long- sleeved dress would be uncomfortable enough, she decided, with its high collar that made her neck itch and its snug- fitting bodice that made her sweat.

She had avoided Norman as much as possible, though he had grilled her for the better part of an hour about her journey down the Amazon, the subject turning too frequently to Morgan as he slyly tried to ascertain their relationship. She refused to be drawn in by the manipulation, not so much to protect her own reputation, but to avoid any possibility of conflict between the men. She didn't care any longer what Norman thought of her, but Morgan had been through too much strife, both mental and physical, to have to face more now. Dear God, just let them get through customs without calamity...

Tomorrow she would inform Norman that she was marrying Morgan.

At last she finished dressing. She wondered if Morgan, in the cabin next to hers, had grown as nervous as she. Though she was to meet Norman on deck, she could not pass up the opportunity to see Morgan. This might be the last time they would share each other's company in privacy for a while. She had to assure him that nothing had changed between them, that she had every intention of breaking her engagement to Norman.

She knocked on his door. When he didn't respond, she entered the cabin to find him sitting in a chair, staring at a shaft of light spilling through the porthole. But for his suit
coat, he was dressed. He held a burning cigarette between two fingers, its cylinder of ashes evidence that he had not smoked in several minutes. The marmoset lay curled on his knee. "Morgan?"

He didn't move.

Sarah eased the door closed and leaned against it. "Morgan?' ' she repeated, and this time he turned his eyes up to hers. "Are you all right?"

He took a breath and nodded, then left his chair. The monkey, having leapt to the floor, rubbed its eyes and waited as Morgan opened a pouch of Brazil nuts and emptied them on a table. "Brazils are his favorite," he said, and pouring a cup of water, he added, "He won't eat unless he has something to drink. Damn picky little nuisance." The marmoset had scurried up the table leg and was turning the treat in its tiny black hands. Bending nearer, Morgan whispered, "Give us a kiss good-bye, Nuisance."

The marmoset pecked him on the cheek, making Morgan laugh and Sarah smile. Then he reached for his coat and said, "Ready to shine, Sunshine?"

Upon arriving on deck, they were immediately met by Norman and Sir Henry, both of whom were exquisitely dressed. "Smashing!" Wickham declared when greeting Sarah. "My dear, you'll turn these men's heads in an instant. Now tell me what you think of my preparations."

Sarah did her best to ignore the looks that passed between Norman and Morgan. It wasn't easy. The air was fraught with tension, and as Norman placed himself between her and Morgan, she began to feel nauseous. Forcing herself to look away, she noted the linen-covered tables set out beneath brightly striped awnings; smartly dressed sailors were hurrying to place chafing dishes and crystal glassware. "Very impressive," she told Wickham. "I only hope this works."

"We'll dock in an hour, by which time it'll appear as if we are all having a grand celebration. We'll ask them
to join us, of course. The champagne will flow freely and—"

"We get the point," Morgan interrupted. "In short, we get them drunk on their asses so they don't give a damn that we're smuggling Brazil's lifeblood out from under their noses."

"Crassly put, Kane, but I would say that sums it up. Sarah, I will point out the customs official on whom you will concentrate your efforts. Smile very prettily, and charm him, of course."

"Anything else you want her to do while she's at it?" Morgan drawled.' 'Like hike up her skirts if he starts snooping around?"

Norman's shoulders snapped back at that, but it was at Sarah whom he glowered.

"I hardly think that will be necessary," Norman replied.

"But you're not discounting the possibility."

Stepping between the two, Sarah frowned and motioned toward the collection of men gathering on the docks as the
Amazonas
eased into port.' 'This is hardly the time to debate the issue. We are supposed to be celebrating, after all."

"Well put," Wickham said. "And so we shall. May I have the honor of introducing you to the gentlemen, Miss St. James? Would you mind, Sheffield?"

"Certainly not," he replied.

Glancing toward Morgan, she took Sir Henry's arm.

By nightfall the deck of the
Amazonas
was packed with seamen and customs officials standing shoulder to shoulder as they toasted the "botanist's" good fortune. As Wickham had predicted, by the time the fourth case of champagne was opened, there appeared to be little interest in the priceless cargo.

After what seemed like hours of smiling her way through introductions, proficiently sidestepping the officials' inebriated attempts at seduction and Norman's disapproving stares, Sarah managed to slip away from the crowd long
enough to catch her breath and clear her mind of the champagne's effects. Nightfall had brought little relief from the heat. Clouds had converged on Bel6m by midafternoon, yet brought no rain. No wind blew, and by dusk one could easily detect mist rising from the river. Sarah continually bathed her face and throat with her hankie, but the effort was useless. Her clothes were wet and her hair had begun to hang limply down her back.

Her concern, however, had little to do with personal comfort. For the past hour she had

frantically searched for Morgan, to no avail. Since their conversation that afternoon at the cafe, and Norman's untimely appearance, she had been unable to shake the sense of panic that-had gripped her each time she let Morgan out of her sight. The last time she had seen him had been from a distance, but she'd noted that his face was grim and that there were patches of fatigue beneath his eyes as dark as bruises. With a derisive gleam in his eye, he'd regarded the official who was leering at her, then placed his glass of champagne aside and walked away.

She found him at the stern, his elbows on the deck rails as he gazed out at the twinkling lights of a nearing ship. As always, the sight of him arrested her for a fraction of a moment. It seemed so long ago that she had watched with fury and envy from the bushes as he held and kissed another woman, and she easily recalled the unsettling desires he had caused within her. Even now, after all they had shared, she felt the same way. The heady, dizzying sensations that he awoke in her had become as emotional as they were physical. He was a part of her, body and soul.

Flickering oil lamps hung along the rail and cast a patch- work of light and shadows on the deck. As Sarah moved up beside him, she followed his gaze over the river. She slid her arm under his and looked up at his face, illuminated by the pale newly risen moon. "We're going to make it," she said confidently. "I know it. Wickham was right. They
are so caught in their cups they couldn't care less what sort of cargo is in that hold."

He flicked the butt of his burning cigarette so the ashes snowed down on the star-studded water, then he turned to face her. "I've been thinking of Henry," he told her. "Sometimes I get the feeling that he's standing there behind me, urging me on. Other times there's this yawning emptiness, as if someone's reached into my chest and ripped out my heart, and I think I'm gonna die from the pain. Other times..." He shook his head and looked out again at the dilapidated freighter that was maneuvering up to the wharf. He took a deep breath. ' 'Other times I honest to God think that he's not dead. I keep thinking, what if I left him there and he was still alive? Maybe I was mistaken and his heart hadn't stopped beating after all. I find myself watching the faces of the people, expecting to hear him laugh or call my name or... something.