Bound by the Heart (32 page)

"I only came to fetch a
clean shirt," he grumbled. "It can wait. I can come back later . . .
when you've finished."

"Haven't you ever watched
a child nursing?"

"Of course I have,"
he lied.

"But not one of your
own?"

The dark blue eyes narrowed. "What kind of a
question is that, woman?"

"A logical one. It has occurred to me as I sit
here on your ship being spirited away in the dead of night—for the second
time—that I know precious little about you. I do not think it is at all
inappropriate of me to want to know if there are any more little Wades running
around."

"And if I say scores?"

She paused a beat before she answered. "I would
have to say you lacked character."

"That, madam, should be the least of my
faults." He walked over to the cupboard and yanked out a clean shirt. He
shrugged out of the torn, bloodstained one and discarded it in a heap on the
floor. He moved close to the desk as he rebuckled his belt, his gaze fixed on
Sarah's face.

As the baby sensed the new disturbance, her mouth
stopped and loosened its hold as she looked around. Dark blue eyes met dark
blue eyes and held for the span of several breaths before she squirmed and
returned to more important matters.

A grin broke through the stern expression on Morgan's
face, and he sat on the corner of his desk. "Does that mean she
approves?"

"She has a fair temper. You will know it
immediately if something is not to her liking."

"Just like her mother," he murmured wryly.

"I was thinking: just like her father."

The blue eyes lifted to hers and held.

"How is your arm?" she asked finally.

"It will mend. How is your disposition?"

"Improving."

His eyes wandered over her hair, down to the curve of
her cheek, where there were still traces of tearstains, to the ivory whiteness
of her breasts and the darker, prominent nipple. Without warning he leaned
forward and laid his fingertips a scant inch from Sarah's busy mouth, feeling
the pull and suck as the child fed. A tiny fist uncurled and batted hesitantly
at this new impertinence, grasping one of the strong fingers when she found it
warm and willing.

Summer had to lean her head against the backrest of
the chair. The combined sensation of Sarah's mouth and Morgan's hand on her
breast sent a rush of heat flooding through her body.

"She seems to enjoy that as much as I do,"
Morgan said, noting the flush that came into Summer's cheeks. When there was no
response other than a slight heightening of color, he bent his dark head to her
bared breast, circling it with his tongue and leaving behind a teasing, moist
kiss. He heard the stifled gasp and raised his mouth to hers, kissing her as
thoroughly as he dared.

Her eyes were shining and her breath stilted when he
finally straightened.

"Morgan, what are we going to do? Bennett will
come after us, and Father—"

"You let me worry about them."

"But you don't understand. Bennett will not stop
now until he kills you. He went into a terrible rage when he found out how you
tricked him at the Sirens. I
know he has something planned this time, and now, with Sarah and me on
board—"

"He'll never catch the
Chimera,"
Wade assured her calmly,
seeing the quick shadow of terror come into her eyes. "Not unless I want
him to. He won't catch me, and he won't touch you—not ever again; you have my
word on it."

"I wish I could believe you," she cried
desperately. "But you don't know him; you don't know his . . . rages. He's
changed so much over the past year—" Her eyes filled with tears. "I
want so much to believe you."

He cradled her face in his strong hands. "Then do
it. Believe me. Because I do not intend to ever lose you again. And in case I
still haven't said it right"—his voice lowered to a whisper—"I love
you, Governess. More than life and breath, more than anything else on this
earth."

Summer could do little more than stare up at him.

He wiped tenderly at the tears flowing over her
lashes, but they continued, and in the end he gave up and laughed gently,
kissing her, smiling against her mouth when he felt a grasping hand reach up
between them and tear at a fistful of hair on his chest.

"Exactly like her mother," he murmured.

Chapter
19

S
tuart
R
oarke
was standing on the bridge,
taking a reading from the sextant, when he saw Summer stroll by on the
quarterdeck. He set the instrument aside and smiled as she looked up.

"Good morning, Mrs.
Winfield. I hope you slept well."

"Shamelessly well, Mr.
Roarke. And please, call me Summer."

He swung his lean frame down the ladderway and joined
her at the rail. The sea was a deep aquamarine blue, the sky a blaze of azure.
The sails overhead were a startling white and were so motionless in the steady
breeze they might have been carved from marble. There was not a ripple on the
surface of the canvas, not a sound other than a low humming to betray the
strain. Roarke had them trimmed to a steady ten knots, and the
Chimera's
passage through the smooth
water was as light and graceful as a nymph's.

"Then I shall settle for nothing less than
Stuart," he said shyly, smiling as he presented a wiggling finger to
Sarah.

"I would like that. As much as I would like to
have an honest friend . . .one who would tell me if there were any sign of a
ship following us."

Roarke smiled again. "Not
a one."

"Not even a dot on the
horizon?"

"Not even a speck of dust. There hasn't been
time. Even if your husband's ship was rigged for sailing, he would be hours
behind us. Morgan is a careful man, though it often appears the opposite. He
likes to give me credit for taking most of the precautions, but he went to the
Governor's Ball knowing full well a trap was inevitable again. A great deal of
money went to the right hands to make it seem as if he had nothing more
important on his mind than an enjoyable evening of partying."

Sarah chortled and leaned abruptly forward, attracted
by the play of sunlight on Stuart's spectacles. He laughed and steered mother
and daughter toward a thick coil of cable so that they might sit down.

"The ruse will notlast long once the authorities
realize the
Chimera
has left port," said Summer, adding bleakly,
"and who he has on board."

"Well, ah, as far as they are concerned, the
Chimera
has not left yet."

"How could they miss seeing her go?" Summer
frowned. "Morgan said himself the harbor was blocked and the wharfs were
crawling with spies. There would have been an alarm sent up as soon as her
anchor was pulled in."

"Yes, there would have been. I'm sure the whole
island would have been alerted to it—if anyone saw her move."

"I'm afraid you've confused me completely," she
sighed. "My father spoke at length just yesterday about the embarrassment
of having the
Chimera
moored in Bridgetown."

Roarke laughed. "They have all been seething over
the
Chimera's
presence
for two days now, watching her, plotting every move she makes. They clearly saw
Morgan leave her in a longboat to attend the Ball, and fully a half-dozen
carriages followed a discreet distance behind him. Just as many followed and
reported him being rowed back out later that evening."

"Later that. . .but he was. . ."

"Elsewhere," Roarke said delicately.
"Yes, I know. And I would not have fooled anyone on a close inspection or
in daylight. But at night, at a distance"—he shrugged and smiled
modestly—"I passed as easily as the
Gyrfalcon
does."

"The
Gyrfalcon?"

"Another of Morgan's whims, but a rather clever
one. The
Chimera,
you
see, was never even near Bridgetown. The
Gyrfalcon
is an exact duplicate—a twin, if you like—right down
to her markings and trim. She's come in handy on more than one occasion like
this, not to mention the fact that we confuse the hell out of the British Navy
on a regular basis."

"The reports," Summer gasped, "the
conflicting sightings! The accounts of seeing the
Chimera
in two places at once!"

Roarke grinned. "A clever bit of chicanery,
aye."

Summer's hand flew to her throat. "And the guns
last September?"

"The
Gyrfalcon
collected the guns at Port-of-Spain while Morgan
detained your husband. The plan was a hasty one, concocted after a warning had
been whispered in our ear about a trap in the works"—he glanced sidelong
at Summer and saw her blush deepen—"but it saved us both ships, since the
Gyrfalcon
was originally supposed to
sail straight back to Bounty Key. . . straight into the guns of the
Northgate."

"What will happen now? What will you do if the
Gyrfalcon
is blockaded—or sunk at her
moorings?"

"Well, yes, that is an unpleasant possibility.
Also one that we had to risk. Her captain is a. . . bullheaded. . . man. I
somehow think he'll come out of it in one piece."

"Bullheaded? You mean the
Gyrfalcon's
captain is Bull
Treloggan?"

"My illustrious father-in-law," Roarke
nodded. "Rather a cozy arrangement to say the least."

"But if he's been in port for two days, why has
no one discovered the ruse ? Surely the customs men would have searched the
Gyrfalcon
as a matter of routine."

"You would think that, wouldn't you? And normally
they would have."

"The amnesty?" she guessed.

"Aye, and the fact that Morgan was invited into
port. They also arranged to have the
Caledonia
anchored off her stern
...
a ploy that suited Morgan's fine sense of humor
perfectly."

"I wasn't aware he had one," Summer
commented dryly.

"Oh, he has one, believe me. I've been the brunt
of it long enough to know."

Summer glanced at him over the top of Sarah's head. It
was all so absurd. So foolishly, brilliantly, masterfully absurd! A child
should not have been duped so easily for so long. No wonder Morgan scoffed
openly at men like Farley Glasse and Bennett Winfield.

"I hope you will not take offense in this,
Stuart, but you and Morgan—you seem an odd combination to be friends."

"We are more than just friends. We're brothers.
Half brothers, to be more precise. Same father, different mother."

For the second time in as many minutes, Summer's mouth
popped open in surprise. "Morgan never mentioned it."

"He rarely does—by my request, not his."

"But why?"

Stuart took a thoughtful breath and adjusted his
spectacles. "Well, obvious differences aside, I just don't think I compare
favorably with Morgan. As Stuart Roarke, I'm good at what I do. I command a
certain degree of respect,
something that might be harder to come by if I was thought to be moving in
Morgan's shadow."

"What exactly do you do?"

He smiled and toyed with Sarah's finger. "For one
thing, I designed and built the
Chimera. .
. and the
Gyrfalcon.
Everything from topsail to keel is by my own
specifications, according to my own designs, which, by the way, the British
shipbuilders scorned years ago as being impractical. Even the cannon we carry
are cast out of specially alloyed iron to make them stronger and more accurate.
You won't find a faster pair of ships on the water, nor safer ones. Part of me
is built into every beam and spar, and I'm damned proud of them."

"So you should be," she said, in awe.
"But why are you here in the middle of the Caribbean smuggling illegal
cargoes and playing cat and mouse with naval warships? Why not build your own
shipyards? You could become a very wealthy man on the reputation of the
Chimera
alone."

He regarded Summer with the same strange gleam in his
eye she had once seen in Morgan's. "I suppose I could."

She sighed. "And I suppose you are going to tell
me you have all the money you need, just as Morgan says he has more than he could
possibly spend in two lifetimes."

"What is the difference, when you come right down
to it, between being rich and being very rich? It's just that much more to keep
track of."

She was being gently mocked, and she knew it. "It
doesn't explain why either of you risk your necks to prove you can outsail and
outthink the British Navy."

"Someone has to do it. America will never go back
to being just another British colony, but so far all they've done is shout
slogans and wave their fists around. We have no navy to speak of, no army
either if it comes right down to it. We have brashness on our side, though, and
a careless type of courage that comes with the arrogance Britain herself forced
on us forty years ago. It is ludicrous to think we could enter into a war with
England and win—but I'd be willing to wager my last shirt that we will. Morgan
is just showing them how to do it."

"Then what Farley Glasse said is true—America
will have to rely heavily on her private forces to survive the first months if
war comes?"

"First months? We'll be blockaded tighter than a
drum within days. Our supplies will be cut off; the half-dozen heavy warships
we do have will be bottled up in their ports and useless."

"Then all of this—the smuggling and the
gunrunning and the cat and mouse. . .it is all a big rehearsal. You expect to
be playing these games for real in the near future."

"Morgan did say you were clever."

"I am also a British subject," she said
quietly. "And if Mr. Glasse was not mistaken, so is Morgan."

Roarke's eyes narrowed. "Morgan?"

"Isn't he Sir Edmund Granville? A titled
Englishman who fled to America years ago to avoid a charge of murder? And
doesn't he now spy for Captain Stephen Decatur, who, I assume, knows all about
the
Chimera
and
the
Gyrfalcon?"

Roarke studiously avoided her gaze as he wriggled his
fingers again for Sarah.

"He does. And your Mr. Glasse seems to be
remarkably well-informed. Except for one small detail—Morgan is not Sir Edmund
Granville
...
I am."

* * *

"It isn't an uncommon story," Roarke began.
"I'm surprised it even interests anyone after all these years. My father
was a titled and prominent member of the King's Council. My mother was soft and
frail and seemed fated to suffer at the hands of the foolish men in her family.
Like the true English gentleman Sir Hugh was, he married wealth but gave his
heart to a raven-haired, dark-eyed beauty he'd met on a voyage to America. A
year after he returned home to England, the woman's family wrote to him that
she had died shortly after giving birth to his son.

"He sent for the child and, like the truly
genteel woman she was, my mother took the boy into our home and raised him as
if he was her own flesh and blood. It took four years and three daughters
before Lady Madelaine produced a legitimate heir for the baron, but by then her
health was showing the strain, and I arrived early, sickly, and without an
encouraging word from any of the attending physicians. I remained pale and
sickly throughout my youth, while Morgan"—he stopped and
laughed—"Morgan was much like he is today. He cowed the servants into
obeying him. He terrified his tutors and called them fools when they tried to
teach him things he considered useless—then turned around and astonished them
by the amount of knowledge he could absorb if he set his mind to it. Which
was rarely. He spent hours
walking along the cliffs staring out to sea and hours at the wharfs learning
more by listening to the old sailors than he could from a hundred geography
lessons. He laughed off the punishments he was given and constantly challenged
anyone who tried to discipline him or make him adhere to any rules other than
his own. And as I recall, he had most of the female servants stumbling about
the house in a daze by the ripe old age of fourteen.

"Mother finally reached the end of her good humor
and generosity when she found him, ah, in a delicate state with her favorite
niece. She didn't bother to ask who had instigated it or to consider that her
niece was five years his senior—she simply ordered Father to have him removed.

"I remember the day he came to tell me he was
leaving. The door to my room blew open, and he stood in the entrance like a
storm cloud, a cape three sizes too big whipped over his shoulders and a crazy
grin on his face, as if it had all gone according to some master plan of his.
Home to America, he said. That was where he was bound. And if I ever took it in
my head to shake off the lunacies of my birthright, I was welcome to join
him."

Roarke paused and smiled ruefully as he stared out
over the ocean. "To a ten-year-old boy with the croup it was not the most
appealing offer he could have made. At any rate, he left and signed on as a
cabin boy aboard a Yankee merchantman in port, and that was the last we heard
from him. I recovered from the croup and the flux and the yellow fever, and in
due time, when Father died, I strutted about London like the ripe young peacock
I was certain I had become.

"Father had arranged my marriage years earlier to
a wealthy young heiress, but in true Granville tradition, I fell blissfully in
love with an actress. I assumed she returned my fervor, but as it turned out,
she was merely using me to assist her real lover out of a sticky situation. He
was married, you see, and the wife was refusing to let him go. I was led by the
nose to a hotel room one night, where I assumed I would be guided through
heaven's gate and back again. Instead my drinks were doctored, and when I woke
up the next morning, I had a head on me three feet wide and a dead woman on the
floor by my bed."

"The wife?" Summer guessed.