Patricia Potter (9 page)

“Of course,” Miss Meredith said with a quick smile.

“Thank you, miss,” Daphne said and darted out the door before her mistress changed her mind.

Once outside, she breathed the fresh air gratefully. She looked up, noticing that the sky was a dark rich blue. Stars were shining brightly, and a full moon hung high in the sky.

She wondered where the man named Cam was.

She remembered the scars on his back, and she hated the man who put them there, the man who owned this boat. She had seen Cam work harder than anyone else, his muscles straining the cheap cotton clothes, his eyes dark and secretive. Until he had talked to her. And then they had been kind.

Daphne knew it was unwise for her to think of Cam. She had no say in matters of love. She was an owned thing. Tears crept down her cheeks and she closed her eyes, willing her crying to stop.

A hand, callused in its strength, tender in its touch, wiped away the drops, and Daphne opened her eyes.
He
was there.

She hadn’t known until this minute how much she wanted him to be there, how afraid she was that he would be.

“I mus’ go,” she whispered, taking a step back.

“Not yet,” he said, taking her hand. He led her to the back of the boat where stacks of cotton were piled, and he moved forcibly through them until he found a hidden, protected spot.

He guided her down, then sat, his large form awkwardly folding itself. But he didn’t let go of her hand.

His other hand traced a pattern on her cheek. “You’re very pretty,” he said finally.

She stiffened, and Cam could feel her withdraw to someplace deep inside herself.

“It’s all right,” he soothed. “I won’t hurt you.”

She squeezed up into a tight tense ball. She was afraid of him, of the way he made her feel, of the fact that after tomorrow she would never see him again.

Daphne felt his hands on her and she was afraid they would start groping, as others had, but they did not. Instead, they were comforting. She felt a sudden aching in the deepest part of her soul. She could stand anything, she thought, except to taste tenderness that would too soon be gone.

In a quick birdlike movement, she jumped to her feet but Cam, despite his size, was just as quick.

“Daphne?” he asked.

“Won’t your master want you?” she parried.

There was a short silence. “He’s in the saloon.”

Soft brown hurting eyes went to him. “Don’t you hate him?”

Cam’s hand went to her shoulder. “I hate anyone who keeps slaves,” he said tensely.

“Did he do…that…to your back?”

Cam’s features went hard, his eyes like burning coals. There was no trace of gentleness in him now. He didn’t say anything, but his expression and the tense silence seemed to answer Daphne in the affirmative.

“I hate him too,” she said fiercely. “I hate ‘em all.”

Cam winced. He hated to mislead her about the captain, but it was part of their protection. When the whole business started, he and the captain had decided that Cam would continue to play Quinn’s slave. The stripes on his back were only added proof of Quinn’s firm commitment to slavery.

“I know,” he finally said softly.

Daphne looked around carefully before she put her thought into words. “Have you ever…thought about running away?”

Cam laughed, and he didn’t have to pretend the bitterness in it.

“Twice,” he replied. “The first time brought me a whippin’. The second time, they cut a tendon in my ankle, so I couldn’t run again.”

“Him!” Daphne exclaimed with horror, again referring to the steamboat captain.

Cam shrugged. He disliked seeing the hatred in her eyes for the only friend he had ever had, but there was no help for it now. Later, she would know. Later when it was safe.

“Will you…try again?”

Again, Cam hesitated. How much to say? He wanted to prepare her for the day the captain could make arrangements. At the same time, he didn’t want her to do anything on her own. It was too damned dangerous.

“Not without help,” he said finally.

“Is there…help?”

“I hear talk of it.”

Her eyes grew large. “How do you find them?”

“Keep your ears open, little one. It’s called the Underground Railroad. They say they will help you all the way to Canada.”

“White folk?” she asked with disbelief.

“White people and freemen,” he said.

“If you know so much, why don’t you go?” Daphne said, hesitant to believe.

Cam smiled to himself. She was a bright little thing. “I haven’t found the right people yet. But I will,” he promised.

“White folk?” she repeated in amazement.

“There are some who don’t like slavery,” Cam said slowly.

“I don’t believe it.” Her words were filled with sorrow. “How can you? After what they’ve done to you?”

“I have to,” he replied simply.

Daphne didn’t understand how anyone could feel that way. All she felt were defeat and hopelessness. She lowered her eyes, glancing away from the strength of his face, the fire in his eyes.

“You have to have hope,” he said in a low voice that carried conviction.

“I don’t know how,” she whispered.

He bent down and lightly touched his lips to her forehead. So lightly that Daphne was surprised at the waves of emotion that surged out of control within her.

“Trust me,” he said.

“I don’t know how,” Daphne repeated, as she fled once more. She tripped on a rope and started to fall, but suddenly strong arms were around her. For the first time in her life, she felt protected.

But there was no protection outside of his embrace, she thought bleakly. “Let me go,” she said desperately, afraid to believe his words, to believe in anything because to do so would be to know bitter disappointment. Better not to hope. Better not to feel. “Let me go,” she said again, twisting away from him and running into Miss Meredith.

Meredith had come up for some air when she saw Daphne run from behind some bales as if the very devil were after her. Captain Devereux? But then she saw a large black man come after her. It was Devereux’s man.

“Leave her alone!” she shouted in anger.

Cam stopped abruptly, carefully reestablishing his pose of servitude. “Yes ma’am.”

Meredith looked at Daphne. “Did he hurt you?”

Stunned, Daphne could only shake her head. Had her mistress heard any of the conversation?

“Are you sure? You don’t have to be afraid.”

“No ma’am,” Daphne said. “I just…I just saw a rat, and it scared me. He just kept me from falling, that’s all.”

Meredith saw the girl’s shoulders shaking, and she looked sharply at the large servant. He obviously took after his master, thinking he could take with masculine strength what he couldn’t win with persuasion.

The man lowered his eyes, but Meredith didn’t fail to see the flare of hatred in them, the spark of rebellion against being docile. She thought about reporting him to the captain, but she neither wanted to see the arrogant rogue again nor did she really want to see this man receive any more punishment. Quinn Devereux obviously had a vicious streak if this man’s back were any indication.

“What’s your name?” she said sharply.

“Cam.”

“I won’t say anything,” she said, “unless I see you near Daphne again. If I do, I’ll see you punished.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said softly, but Meredith noted his hands balling with suppressed rage.

She stared at him until his eyes fell once more, and then she turned to Daphne, her voice gentling. “Come, Daphne. We both need some sleep.”

When they arrived at the cabin, Meredith lit the oil lamp and saw the dried tears on Daphne’s face. The girl looked so incredibly forlorn. “He
did
do something,” she accused.

“No ma’am,” Daphne said.

“Then what?”

Tears that Daphne couldn’t stop rolled down her face.

“I will talk to Captain Devereux,” Meredith decided out loud, wondering if the words would prompt more information from the girl.

“You mustn’t,” Daphne cried. “Captain Devereux will…he’ll…”

“He’ll do what?”

“Something terrible,” Daphne said. “He already had him crippled.” Daphne hadn’t meant to say it, but the words spilled out, her fear for Cam overcoming her fear of Meredith.

Meredith stood still, horrified. She had heard of such a thing although it had never been done at her plantation. And she
had
noticed his servant’s limp. But she never thought a person could actually order such a punishment. She remembered her response to Captain Devereux’s kiss and felt sick. Nausea rose up in her, and she had to sit down.

“You won’t say anything, will you, Miss Meredith?” Daphne pleaded. “He was just trying to be kind.”

“No,” Meredith said. She felt dirty, violated, and she knew a swell of hate against the man who could be so cruel. How could she have felt any kind of attraction? Any feeling?

Thank God she would never see him again.

Quinn wasn’t playing well. His famed concentration was gone. He looked at the damned cards, but his mind was on soft lips and eyes that flashed golden fire. She
had
responded to that kiss and with a passion he never would have expected. It stirred a want so deep and so painful within him that he could barely breathe.

He was astounded. During his eight years in British prisons and chain gangs, he had gone without the pleasure or comfort of a woman, and since his return he had felt little need for more than quick physical relief, certainly nothing close to what was bedeviling his loins now.

After losing steadily for two hours, he left the table and went to his cabin. He took out a bottle of good scotch whiskey and poured a large amount into a glass. He didn’t savor it, as he usually did, but just swallowed, wanting the oblivion it used to bring.

Brown eyes. Blue eyes. Green eyes. Damn, they were all the same. Traitorous and deceptive.

He remembered Morgana’s. They had been blue. As blue as the midsummer sky. Her lips had been like fresh berries with the same tangy sweetness.

And she had cost him eight years and three lives. He would never let another woman do that.

Quinn gulped another glass of whiskey, knowing it would take more than this bottle to forget. He threw it against the wall of the cabin, realizing that this would be another night he wouldn’t sleep.

The
Lucky Lady
docked at Vicksburg early the next morning. The day was bright and clear and the sky a deep rich shade of blue. There was music in the air; the boat’s musicians often played on deck as they reached a major landing. This added a certain gaiety to the occasion.

Quinn stood on the highest point, near the pilot’s house, and looked on as the passengers disembarked. Among the first were Opal Frazier, Miss Seaton, and Daphne. He felt Cam’s presence before he heard him, and simply nodded to him as they both watched the Seaton party approach a buggy. The luggage was loaded and the ladies were helped aboard.

Daphne’s face turned back to the steamboat, her eyes searching until they found Cam. Misery was written all over her face before she looked ahead once more. The buggy was well down the main street before Miss Seaton also turned. Her back arched up and her chin tilted upward. Quinn couldn’t see her expression due to a fussy hat that shielded most of her face.

His lips moved into a half smile. “We’re not through yet, Meredith Seaton,” he murmured. “Not by half.”

C
hapter 5

B
ROWN EYES
. Blue eyes. Morgana’s had been as blue as the midsummer sky.

Quinn had been immediately intrigued with Lady Morgana Stafford, and not a little flattered when the lady seemed to prefer his attention to that of the heir and only son of the Earl of Sethwyck. Quinn had been in London two months after touring the continent and was using the last of his funds to rent a townhouse in the most fashionable part of London.

He was in no hurry to go home to America. The bank awaited him in New Orleans, and the bank was duty and responsibility. He was not ready to lock himself in a cubicle and parcel out loans to people who had no need of them. If they had, they would not get them, he thought cynically. Instead loans went to the rich to make them richer and were denied to the poor who needed them to get ahead. He sneered at the hypocrisy of it, but was not ready to take it upon himself to change it. At the moment, his only concern was milking every moment of this freedom, exacting every second of pleasure.

And pleasure lay in the rooms of Lady Morgana.

She was spectacularly beautiful: ash-blond hair flowing to her waist, large clear blue eyes, skin the color of rich ivory, and wide full lips that knew every trick to bedevil a man. He was a most willing pupil.

He had been warned. His friends told him she was private property, that she belonged to young George Dunn, only son of Sethwyck, that she was only using him to make Dunn jealous and force him into a proposal. But Quinn was in love by then, madly, crazily, blindly in love, especially when he experienced the joys of her bed.