Surrender the Dawn (8 page)

L
uke waded through the muddy bilge in the hold of the
Agitation.
After hours trying to repair the rent in the hull, he should have grown accustomed to the stench, but it still stung his nose and filled his lungs until it seemed to seep from his skin. Setting down his hammer, he shook the sweat from his hair and scanned the chaotic rubble he called his ship. Even if he could afford building materials, without a crew to assist him, it would take him months to get her in sailing shape. Who was he trying to fool? He snorted. Perhaps his time would be better spent investing his last two silver dollars in a game of Piquet.

As if in response, the ship creaked beneath an incoming wave, and a beam fell from the deck head into the squalid muck with a splash. Luke stared at it, benumbed, wondering if he should bother to pick it up. He needed a drink. Grabbing the lantern, he headed for the ladder when a voice calling his name floated down the rungs as if heaven itself were summoning him home.

Which was not possible. If his time on earth was at an end, it wouldn’t be heaven’s voice he heard.

“Hello! Mr. Heaton.” The angelic call trilled again as a slight footstep sounded above.

Slogging toward the hatch, Luke extracted himself from the mire and vaulted up the ladder, finally emerging from the companionway into a
burst of sunlight and an icy breeze that caused him to both squint and shiver.

Setting down the lantern, he stared at the elegantly attired figure before him, delight overcoming his confusion when Miss Channing formed in his vision. The fringed parasol she held above her cast a circle of shade over her saffron gown. An emerald sash glimmered from high about her waist while a woolen shawl crowned her shoulders. A breeze sent her auburn curls dancing about her neck as she stood stiff like an unyielding paragon of Baltimore society, casting her gaze about the wreckage as if afraid to be sullied by her surroundings.

“Oh my.” She turned her face away from him and took a step back.

He glanced down at his bare chest and smiled at her reaction. Then his eyes landed on the ship’s bulwark undulating beside the dock, and he wondered how she’d managed to jump onto the deck without tripping on the flurry of petticoats peeking at him from beneath her gown. Nevertheless, he would not the curse the fortune that gave him another chance to speak with this enchanting lady.

“Welcome to the
Agitation,
Miss Channing,” He gave a mock bow. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“If you’ll don a shirt, I shall be happy to tell you.” The pomposity in her voice deflated his hope that she made a purely social call.

“I am working, and it is hot belowdecks. If you’ll state your business, I’ll happily relieve you of my unclad presence.” He cringed at his curt tone, yet she deserved it. Standing there with her pertinent chin in the air and her shoulders thrown back as if she did him a service by merely speaking to him.

Not to mention that he still felt the sting of her blunt dismissal the night before.

Rum beckoned to him from the capstan. Licking his lips, Luke brushed past her, noting the hesitation, perhaps fear, flickering on her face. Yet she held her ground. Grabbing the bottle, he took a swig and turned to face her. The pungent liquid did nothing to dull the emotions storming through him.

A ship’s bell rang, and the scent of roasted pig floated to his nose from one of the taverns across from the docks. A growl churned in his belly, quickly silenced by another gulp of rum.

Miss Channing cocked her head. A breeze fluttered the fringe on her parasol. “Are you always heavy into your cups this early in the day, sir?”

Luke raked a hand through his hair and gazed at the sun high in the sky. “Aye, as often as the occasion permits.”

She huffed her disdain, and an odd twinge of regret stung him. “Forgive my manners, Miss Channing. Would you care to sit?” He gestured toward a crate stacked beside the quarterdeck. “However, I fear all I have to offer you to drink is rum.”

“No, thank you, sir. I do not intend to stay long.” She shifted her parasol and the sunlight angled over her face, setting her skin aglow like ivory pearls he’d once seen in the Caribbean.

Luke swallowed. He knew she was a beauty, but standing here among the squalor of his ship, she stood out like a fresh flower in a dung heap. He lifted the bottle again to his lips, but thinking better of it, he set it down. “What may I do for you, Miss Channing?”

Emerald green eyes met his. Her gaze dipped then sped away as if she couldn’t stand the sight of him.

Luke shifted his wet boots over the planks and snapped the hair from his face. Part of him wanted to toss her from his ship for her insolent attitude. Another part of him didn’t want her to ever leave.

A pelican landed on the wheel on the quarterdeck. Letting out a squawk, the bird turned his head and gazed at them with one black eye.

Miss Channing smiled. “Your captain, I presume?”

Luke chuckled. “I’d hire him on the spot if he could get this tub out to sea.”

The deck tilted and she stumbled. Leaping for her, Luke grabbed her elbow.

“Thank you.” She tugged from his grip and shifted her gaze to the stern of the ship, then over the bay where the sunlight set the rippling waters sparkling like diamonds, then at the taverns lining the docks—anywhere, it seemed, but on him.

“I have a proposition for you, Mr. Heaton.”

Luke raised his brows as a dozen improper thoughts filled his mind. “Indeed?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I shall be happy to oblige you.”

She faced him now, her eyes widening. “I didn’t mean … Oh, bother.” Lowering her parasol, she snapped it shut, and Luke got the impression she might pummel him with it. No doubt he deserved the beating.

Balancing over the teetering deck, she stepped back from him. “I meant for your
services,
Mr. Heaton.”

He grinned again, enjoying the pinkish hue that climbed up her neck and onto her face.

She tapped her right shoe over the planks. “You smell of rum and rot.”

“And you smell of gardenias.” He eased toward her, drawing in a deep whiff, hoping her sweet scent would chase away the foul air from the hold.

She leveled her parasol at him like a sword, her eyes flashing.

Waves slapped against the hull. A carriage rumbled by on the cobblestone street.

“Are you calling me out, miss?” Luke could barely restrain his laughter. “Parasols at dawn?”

Her eyes narrowed. With a swish of her skirts, she swerved about and headed toward the wharf.

Cursing himself for behaving the cad, Luke started toward her. To apologize, to shower her with flattery, to do anything to keep her from leaving.

She halted and faced him. With a wiggle of her pert little nose, she glanced over the deck. “This is the worst ship I’ve ever seen.”

“Is that what you came to tell me?”

“No, Mr. Heaton, I came here to hire you as a privateer.”

Cassandra watched the sardonic gleam in Mr. Heaton’s eyes disappear beneath a wave of shock. He ran a hand through the slick black hair hanging to his shoulders and chuckled.

He chuckled.

“I fail to see the humor, Mr. Heaton.” She also wished she failed to see his tanned bare chest, gleaming in the sunlight. Though she did her best to avert her eyes, they kept wandering back to his well-shaped biceps, thick chest, and rippled stomach that hinted at his strength beneath. Warmth sped through her as she remembered the ease with which he’d dispatched her assailants the night before.

“My apologies, Miss Channing. I seem to recall how ardently you dismissed my offer last night.”

“Things have changed.”

“Well, they must have grown quite dire indeed for you to come crawling to the likes of me.”

“I never crawl, Mr. Heaton, and my circumstances are none of your affair. Are you or are you not interested in a partnership with me?”

A smile formed on his lips—a disarming smile that no doubt had melted a thousand female hearts. “I am honored that you would ask.”

“Save your honor, Mr. Heaton, I had nowhere else to turn.”

He held up a hand. “No need to shower me with flattery, miss.” His blue eyes gleamed mischief. “But what of your brothers? Have they sent their sister to do a man’s work?”

Cassandra ground her teeth together. “I do not need my brothers, nor do I need a man to engage in a business deal any flubberhead could handle.”

One side of his mouth curved upward, yet a glimmer of admiration passed through his eyes. “Yes, I can see that.”

“As I can see that I’m wasting my time.” Grabbing her skirts, she started for the railing.

He clutched her arm. “I agree to your proposal.”

Relief sped through her, easing the tight knot between her shoulders. Facing him, she stepped back, putting distance between them. “Very good. I have made arrangements to meet with Mr. Brenin tonight to draw up the necessary papers.”

“Lud, such confidence! Were you so sure I would say yes?” He scratched the stubble on his chin and stepped toward her.

She poked him with the tip of her parasol. The man had a way of disregarding propriety’s distance, causing her stomach to twitch. “Since you already extended the same offer to me last night, yes, I was. Although I must say, I was unsure whether to accept it.”

Even now she wasn’t sure she had complete control of her wits.

“What, pray tell, convinced you to accept? My hospitality?” He gripped the bulwark. A chip of rotted wood loosened and fell to the water with a splash. He shrugged. “No doubt it was my fine, seaworthy ship.”

Cassandra raised a hand to her mouth to cover her smile even while her insides churned with apprehension. What was she doing? Not only was this man untrustworthy, but this ship would be better off at the bottom of the sea. Yet, hadn’t Noah just told her he’d inspected it recently and, aside from some necessary repairs, found it sound?

“Your silence tells all, Miss Channing,” he said. “It seems life has cast a cloud of desperation on us both.”

“Though I doubt for the same reasons, Mr. Heaton.”

His dark, imperious gaze swept over her, making her legs turn to porridge. Confusion spun in her mind. Was she doing the right thing? Should she risk her family’s survival on this man?

But what choice did she have?

Yet beyond the roguish facade, a spark of sincerity lingered in his eyes.

“Do you think you can put aside your usual nighttime activities to meet at Mr. Brenin’s house tonight? We can sign the papers and I’ll see to your payment then.”

“I believe I’ll have time for both, miss.”

“Then I shall see you around seven o’clock.”

Stepping up on the bulwarks, he leapt onto the dock then turned to extend his hand.

Against her better judgment, she took it. His strength and warmth seeped though her gloves, sending a jolt up her arm. After he settled her on the wharf, she snagged her hand away, nodded her thanks, and hurried down the dock.

A voice as smooth and as deep as the sea called after her, “Until tonight, Miss Channing.”

The teacup rattled on its saucer. Cassandra set it down on the table. Amber liquid sloshed over the rim. “Oh, bother. Please forgive me, Marianne.”

Marianne Brenin laid a gentle hand on Cassandra’s arm. “Whatever is amiss tonight, Cassandra? You’ve been a bundle of nerves since you walked in the door.”

“Have I?” Cassandra drew a deep breath. Could it be that she was about to give the remainder of her family’s money to a man she had no reason to trust? A nervous giggle rose in her throat.

Marianne’s brown eyes twinkled from within a face aglow with happiness. Happy indeed. She had a wonderful husband, a beautiful son, and a promising future.

Across the room, Noah tossed seven-month-old Jacob into the air. Giggles bubbled through the Brenin parlor, bouncing off walls and causing all within to grin.

Noah stopped to look at his wife with such deep adoration that Cassandra felt as though she was intruding. She looked away. A yearning
tugged at her heart. Would a man ever look at her the way Noah looked at Marianne?

As if lured by her husband’s loving gaze, Marianne rose and made her way to him. Swinging an arm over her shoulder, Noah drew her close, swallowing up Jacob between them, and planted a kiss on her forehead.