Bound by the Heart (33 page)

"Yes, but I didn't know it at the time. I didn't
know anything except that I was in the room with a dead woman and had no way to
prove that I hadn't bashed
her head in with a candlestick. I couldn't remember anything beyond having my
clothes rather pleasantly stripped from my body. Naturally I did what any
sensible young man of almost eighteen would do in a situation like that and
escaped aboard the first ship leaving England."

"But didn't you try to find the other woman, the
actress?"

"I may have been blind, but I wasn't stupid.
Besides finding the dead woman, I also discovered that my clothes, my money, my
watch and rings . . . everything was gone. I was meant to be found, and I was
meant to take the blame for the murder. I had a feeling that if I went to the
theater, my loving little Floretta would have denied being anywhere near the
hotel."

"So you left England, you left your family
without any kind of explanation?"

"Only one sister was alive for my fifteenth
birthday, and that same summer the two of us and Mother took the yellow fever.
As ironic as it sounds, I was the only one to survive. There was no one to do
any explaining to."

"It seems your Floretta made a careful
choice."

Roarke snorted derisively. "I must say it soured
me toward women for some time. I landed in Boston with a new name and an
invented past and a firm resolution to have nothing more to do with the softer
sex."

Summer hid her smile. "And so you found
Morgan?"

"Actually, no. He found me. I spent a few years
working my way down the major coastal ports, figuring that sooner or later I'd
either hear about Morgan or find him. I was in Virginia tracking down one of
many rumors that he'd changed his name, when the first night in town, the door
to my room burst open and there he was. Larger than life, looking just the way
I'd pictured he should—except for the brace of pistols he held pointed straight
at my heart. He said he'd heard of a Stuart Roarke asking too damned many
questions about him and thought it high time to see for himself if he could
provide the answers. That was nine years ago, and speaking for myself, I have
never looked back. I scarcely remember who Edmund Granville was, and at times I
find it hard to believe he ever existed at all." "

"But he did exist," Summer said quietly.
"And Farley Glasse has the evidence to prove it."

She saw the frown crease his brow and explained
Glasse's disclosure of the seals and the family crest almost a year ago.

"So that is why he assumes Morgan is Edmund
Granville. It was another calculated risk, I suppose, but we needed a way to
identify the coded dispatches from the routine ones."

"Then the rest of what Glasse said is true. . . .
Morgan is spying for the Americans?"

"Morgan is doing what he can to even out the odds
a little. He never did consider himself an Englishman. Father and his whole
life-style was something foreign to Morgan from the very beginning. He is an
American, Summer. He was born there, and I wager he'll die there, and he may
not fly a naval pennant anymore, but the secretary of war depends on him as if
he was still commanding from the bridge of an American warship."

"What if war comes? Will he fly the pennant
then?"

"No," Roarke shook his head. "He's worn
the uniform once and the experience left a bitter taste in his mouth. Besides,
he knows he can accomplish far more without being shackled by rules and codes
of conduct. He'll keep right on doing what he is doing now: running the
blockades, stirring up a few distractions to keep the British noses pointed in
the wrong directions, and, if he's lucky, taking a few Union Jacks along the
way. He is a man who likes to make things happen, a man who hasn't the patience
to wait around to be caught up in events instigated by someone else."

He glanced up at Summer. "It is the kind of man
he is. He drives himself hard and expects nothing less from the people around
him. I honestly do not think he could live any other way—he wouldn't know how
to accept anything less out of life."

"I understand what you are trying to tell
me," she said. "And no, I don't suppose he would. Frankly, that is
what frightens me. I don't know if I can keep up with him."

The twinkle returned to Stuart Roarke's eye.
"Well, if it helps you any to know, he's been absolute hell to live with
this past year. When he fell, he fell hard, and now I can see why. I don't
think you have anything to worry about."

Summer flushed warmly. "There is nothing special
about me, Stuart."

"Then he has gone to a great deal of trouble for
nothing special. He has broken a lot of his own rules in bringing you along,
not to mention the chance he took going to the gala with no one but the
delightful Mrs. Teague for protection." He laughed. "And speaking of
chances, I'll have you know my own neck was in danger when he
received that note. Finding
out you were Sir Lionel's daughter was hard enough on his vanity, but when I
had to tell him about your marriage to Winfield"—he rolled his eyes
skyward—"we had to practically strap him down to keep him from storming
the house and making a widow out of you then and there. As it was, my Bett came
close to losing a husband."

Summer was grateful she had a squirming bundle in her
arms to afford her the excuse not to meet Roarke's eyes. "How are your
wife and son?"

"Thriving," Roarke declared. "Alexander
is just past his first birthday—by God, it's June 27—ten days ago today, and if
I didn't know better, I'd say there was a little of Morgan in him. On the other
hand, he has Bull Treloggan for a grandfather, so I shouldn't have expected an
archangel."

Summer laughed. "Are you still having
father-in-law problems?"

"Still? They'll be with me forever, I fear.
Lately he's taken to staring at me for long periods of time, flexing his hands
like so—" He demonstrated as if he had a throat to throttle. "It has
taken all of Bett's charm and most of Morgan's considerable powers of
persuasion to get the bastard to be even that congenial."

Summer was laughing so hard Roarke took advantage of
the opportunity to transfer Sarah to his own knee.

"Ahh, you're a beauty," he crooned.
"Just like your mama. I think I should act on my son's behalf and seal a
marriage pact now before any other bucks lay an eye on you. What do you say,
Princess? Shall we scratch a pledge in the mainmast?"

Sarah gave an expressive sigh, jammed her thumb in her
mouth and snuggled her cheek against his chest.

"Well, now, isn't this a cozy scene," Morgan
said from the forecastle. He was leaning casually against the bulkhead, his
muscular arms crossed over his chest. "I leave you alone for half an hour,
and you win my daughter over and have my woman laughing like a jaybird."

Roarke grinned. "Aye, and half an hour more and
I'd have your ship and your crew as well."

Sarah's head lifted abruptly, and the suction was
released from her thumb with a wet smile. She too had seen Wade.

Roarke crooked an eyebrow. "I do believe I am
being tossed over for a prettier face. Come along then, Papa, hold your
daughter if she's so determined. I've a course to plot."

Morgan straightened from the bulkhead as Stuart stood
and handed Sarah into his huge hands. He was too stunned for a moment to do
more than stare eye to eye with Sarah.

"Mind you don't drop her"—Roarke murmured
dryly— "she might break."

"Hey—"

"Give her to me," Summer laughed, stretching
out her arms. Morgan handed Sarah down gingerly, then stood at the rail
admiring mother and child.

"Did you and Roarke have a pleasant chat? I
warrant I have few secrets left."

"Your brother is a fine gentleman," she observed.
"A fine friend, too. He doesn't deserve your sarcasm."

"He has only my respect," Wade said
truthfully. He held Summer's gaze before looking out across the blue expanse of
the sea. "I suppose he also told you we'll be making port by this evening.
You'll be able to go ashore and buy what you need for yourself and the
child."

"Tonight?"

"Aye. I've some business to attend to on
Martinique. How long we stay depends on how soon my business is
completed."

"Or on when the
Gyrfalcon
arrives?"

Wade frowned. "Roarke's
tongue was extremely loose, I see."

"What will you do if the
Gyrfalcon
fails to arrive?"

"She'll arrive."

"How can you be so positive? The
Caledonia
could block the harbor
indefinitely."

"Bull has his orders; he'll follow them. He's to
let anyone on board who cares to go. He's to let them search bow to stern if
they insist. When they find nothing and no one, they'll have no choice but to
allow her to leave port."

"Bennett will be livid," she said,
shuddering inwardly.

"Better a livid man than a dead one."

Summer averted her eyes. "What is to stop him or
my father from ordering the ship impounded and the crew placed under
arrest?"

"On what grounds? The
Gyrfalcon
has committed no infractions.
All of her charts and logs carry her own imprint; her crew has been orderly and
has broken no laws. It is no fault of hers or her captain if the naval
incompetents on shore mistook her for another ship on appearances alone. Not
even Farley Glasse could find justification to hold her.
^v

"I don't think he needs justification for
anything he does, Morgan. If he wants to impound the
Gyrfalcon,
he will."

"In which case, he'll be dealing with Bull
Treloggan's temper. Something which even I avoid at all costs." He reached
down and tucked a finger under Summer's chin, forcing her to raise her eyes to
his. "The
Gyrfalcon
will come. She'll meet us at Fort-de-France, mark my
words."

"You took an awful chance with the ship and
crew."

"We all take chances. It keeps the blood
flowing." He laughed suddenly and dropped his hand. "And besides,
we'll see just how badly the British want us if they follow the
Gyrfalcon
into French waters."

"I don't understand."

"You mean Roarke left something out?" He
laughed again. "I cannot say as I blame him. You see, my lady, while you
may have become my prime concern, you were, not the sole reason for the need of
a decoy this trip."

Summer sighed. "I thought there might be more to
it."

"Did you now," he grinned slowly.

"I am not entirely addle-brained. You had to have
been in the islands already for Father to send the invitation and for Glasse—or
whoever—to send the note. Dare I ask what you have in the hold at this very
moment?"

"No." His grin lingered. "But by God,
you should have been a man. We could have run the English right out of the
Caribbean."

"And why does my being a woman impose such a
strain?" she demanded. "Women are capable of being just as cunning
and underhanded as any man I know . . . and some even feel the need to have
their blood set to flowing at times. Have you never heard of Anne Bonney or
Mary Read? They operated one of the most successful pirating ventures in these
waters."

"Aye, and they were also hung for their efforts.
Is this your way of telling me you plan to take up the life of a buccaneer now?
This from the same woman who protested so ardently to preserve her
reputation."

"Well, you have seen nicely to that, sir.
You
made the choice, not I. Laugh
at me if you like, but now that I am here, and now that I am to be a part of
your life, Morgan Wade, it will not be the part that stays behind waving
dutifully as you sail off toward the horizon. If that is what you expect of me,
then you'd best let me off at the first opportunity."

"Or what?" he asked, folding his arms across
his chest and regarding her without the least effort to conceal the amusement
in his eyes. "There is a war brewing, madam, in case you have not heard
the rumors. When it comes, these islands will be smack in the middle of it.
What would you have me do? Let you stand braced at the bowsprit, a cutlass in
each hand, a babe fastened to each breast, while you ward off boarders?"