Love Inspired Historical November 2014 (39 page)

The woman who clutched Clay's leg just stared at Allie, openmouthed. Allie pointed toward Maddie and cried, “Go!” and the lady released Clay to hurry off and join the fight.

Clay shook his head as he and Allie started for the stair. “You have the temperament of a general, Mrs. Howard.”

“Honed by years on the battlefield of society,” she agreed. “You haven't seen a fight until you've tangled with a Boston debutante intent on stealing your beau.”

Despite himself, he chuckled. “Does Maddie even know how to use her pistol?”

“Certainly,” Allie said, head high. “She told me she shot it once for practice and never reloaded. But don't tell the others.”

Especially the Spanish. A shame Clay's pistol was locked up, but then again he wasn't sure it was advisable to arm people who had no idea how to use a weapon.

He wasn't sure about Allie's presence, either. As they started up the stairs, he motioned her to silence. Then he lowered himself to crawl up the last few steps. She joined him, head just below his, blue skirts like a waterfall on the stair. Together, they peered out onto the deck.

A longboat must have brought the Spanish to the
Continental,
for a young officer and a crew of sailors were standing on the deck. The officer was clean cut, his patrician nose and raven hair proclaiming him a member of one of the finest families. But his crew was another matter, unshaven, unwashed, sunburned, older men with cutlasses held at the ready and pistols thrust in belts or bandoliers.

“If you can prove you have no support from the traitors in Chile,” the officer was saying to Captain Windsor in English that held only a trace of an accent, “we will consider allowing you to pass.”

Clay took a deep breath. Mercer may have snatched at money wherever he could find it, but Clay was fairly sure the emigration agent had never approached the Chilean government for support. So long as Captain Windsor's papers were in order, they might all live to see Seattle.

Clay slid back a few steps to keep the Spaniards from seeing him.

“I begin to understand why you do it,” Allie murmured, crawling down the stairs to a stop beside him. “Protect us, I mean. When you care about someone, you can't bear to see them hurt, can you?”

“No,” Clay said. “Not in the least. Is that why you kissed me, Allie? Were you worried about me?”

Her fingers gripped the edge of the closest step. “Don't ask me my feelings right now. I scarcely know them.”

He touched her chin, drawing her gaze to his. “I have similar trouble, where you're concerned.”

He couldn't keep himself from leaning closer. Her breath caressed his chin. His lips touched hers, the softness, the warmth. Could she really be his forever?

“How bad is it?” Maddie asked, creeping up on them.

Clay pulled away from Allie. His face felt hot, and he wasn't sure why. Maddie had encouraged him to court Allie. She should be glad to see his efforts bearing fruit.

“They are ruffians,” Allie reported, and Clay hoped Maddie put her breathlessness down to the tensions of the moment. “But it sounds as if Captain Windsor can prevail.”

Maddie peered over her shoulder for the deck. “What should we be doing to help?”

Before Clay could motion them lower still on the stairs, where the thrum of the idling engine would cover their conversation, Allie began to back down. “We must return to the lower salon, tell the others.” She did not look at Clay as she rose to descend the stairs. Her skirts fanned gracefully behind her, but she moved swiftly, as if her message was urgent. Even Maddie frowned before following her.

Clay shook his head. He should never have kissed her. He'd obviously offended her. But though he knew it was wise to tell the women below stairs that they were safe, he couldn't help wondering if part of Allie's hurry was to get away from him.

Chapter Sixteen

A
llie hurried down the stairs, wanting only to put distance between herself and Clay. She should not have given in to the fears of the moment and kissed his cheek, for it was clear that was what had encouraged him to kiss her now. She hadn't meant to flirt. She had to remember who she was now and where she was going, for her sake and Gillian's.

“Who goes there?” Catherine demanded as Allie and Maddie reached the bottom of the stairs, her blue eyes peering over the top of the table that now blocked their way.

“Allegra Howard,” Allie reported. “And Madeleine O'Rourke.”

“It's all right,” Gillian piped up from behind the panel. “It's Mother.”

Catherine and another woman slid the table aside just wide enough for Allie and Maddie to squeeze through. Gillian scurried over to Allie, who scooped her up and held her close, inhaling the lavender scent of her golden hair. This is what she needed to feel, this thankfulness for her daughter, this hope for their future.

Maddie retrieved her pistol from Catherine and took up her spot on guard. The other women hurried forward to meet Allie, begging to hear what was happening on deck.

“The Spanish officer is examining the
Continental
's papers,” Allie explained as she carried Gillian deeper into the room. “As soon as he's satisfied, we'll be free to go.”

Cries of relief echoed on all sides. Allie wasn't sure how Maddie heard the noise on the stairs, but she could see her friend raising the pistol toward the doorway. “Who goes there!”

The women shushed, cowering back down around Allie. Gillian tensed in her arms. Allie raised her head, ready to meet whatever was coming.

“Clayton Howard,” Clay drawled, stepping down into the lamplight and pushing back on the table to let himself into the lower salon. Several of the women ran to meet him, voices shrill as they begged for details.

“What, did they think I lied?” Allie asked Catherine with a shake of her head.

“Lies are bad,” Gillian agreed, twisting in Allie's arms to see Clay. The silk of her curls tickled Allie's chin.

Gillian was right. Lies were a poison. Some made you think the world had changed when it was your own heart that needed changing. She wasn't ready to fall in love, to surrender her heart into another's keeping. She was merely thankful that the
Continental
's engine woke from its slumber a few minutes later, signaling their freedom.

As the passengers raised a cheer, Clay approached her. “We should talk.”

“No,” Allie said. “We should not.” She handed him Gillian and went to where Maddie and some of the other women were trying to right the table. Clay followed her, passed Gillian to Maddie and hefted the piece easily, carrying it to its place in the center of the room.

Allie set to work moving the chairs back to their places, as well. Surely the busier she kept, the less time she'd have to think about Clay.

But as if he intended to stay front of mind, he paced her. “You kissed me,” he murmured, grabbing the back of the chair she had lifted as if to take the burden from her.

Cheeks heating at the reminder, she tugged the chair out of his hands and staggered to keep from falling. “And you kissed me. I'd call us even.”

Clay frowned. “Do you consider this a game?”

Oh, but he could be maddening! “I thought we were going to die,” Allie whispered, mindful of the other women around them.

Clay's brows shot up. “That was how you preferred to spend your last minutes?”

“Yes! No!” Allie twisted the chair to scrape it across the floor. Clay came around and took it from her. She gave up and let him position it at the table.

“You have to stop helping me,” she said when he returned to her side.

“No,” he said, face grim. “You have to stop fighting me.”

Allie puffed out a breath and turned to look for her daughter. She thought Clay might continue to follow her about the room, but he seemed to know he'd pushed her as far as she could go, for he headed back up the stairs for the deck.

“Man troubles?” Maddie teased her, passing with one of the last chairs. “Sure'n I'd be glad to advise you on how to solve them.”

“I don't need help,” Allie said. “From anyone.”

She truly meant those words, and Maddie must have believed them, for she did not offer to so much as change Gillian for bed that night as they anchored at last in the harbor at Lota. Clay, too, took dinner in the upper salon, as if giving Allie time to think.

But thinking, she realized, only took her deeper into trouble. Clay had named Gillian Captain Howard. Allie rather thought the title should belong to her. She was the captain of her life. She'd set her course. So, she'd found a few questions along the way—how to support herself and Gillian in Seattle, what to do about Clay. She was the one who must find the answers.

First, however, she had to escape the harbor of Lota.

She knew from conversations among the officers of the
Continental
that the ship was to stay a week in the port. She was looking forward to seeing the little coastal town with its stucco buildings and wood-trimmed market. What she hadn't expected was for the town to come to her.

She heard the hum of voices from the lower salon before she even finished dressing in her gray gown with the black fringe. When she opened the door, Gillian beside her, it was to find that the
Continental
had been besieged.

“Have you ever seen so many handsome gentlemen in one place?” Maddie marveled as she and the rest of the women attempted to converse with six of the many Chilean officers who had rowed out to visit.

The gentlemen had shiny black hair and slender mustaches framing shy smiles, with red braid at their shoulders and across the chests of their dark dress uniforms. Their lilting praise drifted about the room like butterflies, dancing from woman to woman.

All around Allie, ladies perched with fluttering lashes, fluttering fingers, making the most of the opportunity to flirt to their hearts' content, as Mr. Mercer had apparently gone ashore before the Chileans had arrived. Matt Kelley had grabbed a biscuit and had gone into hiding.

Catherine remained aloof. “Poppycock,” she told Allie before seeking safety with the
Continental
's officers. “It's the same in the upper salon and on deck, but nothing will come of it. You mark my words.”

Allie quite agreed, but she was too busy fending off the officer who had attached himself to her as she and Gillian sat beside the long table.

“And so you come from Boston, Mrs. Howard?” he asked, capturing her hand from where he sat beside her.

Allie pulled away. “Yes, and I have every intention of continuing to Seattle.”

“No, no, such a fair flower cannot be left to whither in the northern cold,” he protested, seizing her other hand. “You must stay here in Chile, teach our young women how to be great ladies.” His grip was as sure as his smile.

“I don't like being chilly,” Gillian said from her lap. She took Allie's arm and tugged her mother's hand back from the officer, whose eyes widened in surprise. “I don't like you, either.”

Very likely such behavior stemmed from a concern for Allie, just as Catherine had said back in Rio. Allie knew she should scold her daughter, but she rather agreed with Gillian this time. The Chilean gentlemen were far too bold. All around the lower salon, they were kneeling, professing undying devotion, when they'd known the ladies of the
Continental
at most three hours!

Just then, Clay ducked into the lower salon. He had gone into town with Mr. Conant and Mr. Reynolds that morning, Maddie had reported earlier. Allie hadn't talked to him since the Spanish had let the ship go yesterday. She suspected she had overreacted, but his comment had made her feel as if she was being forced into a corner.

Now the three men stopped inside the doorway from the stairs, staring about. She saw the surprise on Clay's face quickly melt into disgust. She knew exactly how he felt.

Reynolds immediately excused himself. Conant took out his notebook and began making notes. Clay's gaze swept the room until it lit on Allie. She could almost see his struggle in the way he shifted on his feet. He wanted to help her, but she'd forbidden it.

Allie set Gillian on the floor and rose, forcing her beau to hop to his feet, as well.

“Mr. Howard!” she called, motioning to Clay.

His brow cleared, and he strode to her side. “Mrs. Howard, Captain Howard,” he said with a nod. “Did you need me?”

He was going to make her say it. “Yes, Mr. Howard,” she admitted. “It's a lovely day. Would you care to join us in a promenade on deck?”

“Delighted,” he assured her with a grin as he offered her his arm.

She accepted it with one hand, taking her daughter's hand with the other, and hoped she didn't look as desperate as she felt.

Her would-be suitor expressed every intention of escorting her, as well.

From a good head above his, Clay gazed down at him. “The lady has little need for one man's help, let alone two. Look for better hunting, sir.”

The officer frowned at him in obvious confusion, but Clay swept Gillian up on his hip and led Allie away before her swain could recover enough to protest further.

“Thank you,” she said as they climbed the stairs to the deck. “Another minute and I would have had to be rude.”

“Then I'm glad to have saved you from that fate,” Clay said with a wink to her daughter.

At least he was willing to forget their argument. Right now, she was more concerned about what was happening on the ship.

“I simply don't understand this,” she said as she, Clay and Gillian reached the main deck. Here, too, noble Chilean gentlemen walked about, laughing and chatting with the ladies. “Is the town so lacking in female companionship they must flock to ours?”

“Not from what I could see,” Clay replied, shifting Gillian up on his shoulders so she could gaze out over the water. “Maybe it's just the novelty of Yankee women.”

Allie shook her head. “Novelty is seldom enough to interest a gentleman to this degree.”

One of the more vinegar-tongued women sashayed past with a mustachioed beau on each arm. She tossed her head at Allie as if to crow.

“You were saying?” Clay asked with a grin.

Allie threw up her hands. “If this is any indication of what Seattle will be like, perhaps we should stay in San Francisco.”

“Perhaps you should.” His voice had sobered, and Allie glanced his way. He had turned his gaze out across the waters of the harbor, over the other ships that rocked at anchor, but somehow she didn't think he saw any of them. “It's no Boston, but it's far more civilized than Seattle. The Howards have trading partners there. You'd have ready access to society.”

There he went again! Why couldn't he understand her antipathy to society?

“I know you want the best of us, Clay,” she managed to say. “I'm convinced that is Seattle. And I truly don't want to live anywhere the Howards have influence.”

He turned to look at her, Gillian frowning down from his shoulders. “Even mine?”

Allie was spared having to answer him by the sound of Catherine calling her name. Turning, she saw her friend hurrying toward them, one hand on the flat-topped hat perched on her pale hair.

“You must help me,” she declared as she came abreast of them. “It's simply monstrous.”

What now?
Allie sent up a prayer for wisdom. “What's happened?”

Catherine took a deep breath, dropped her hand and pressed it against the lavender of her gown over her diaphragm, as if to catch her breath. “It was in the newspaper. The American consulate gave one to Mr. Mercer. A respected scholar and politician currently residing in America wrote home to tell his people we were coming and claimed we were all schoolmarms. He encouraged every man in Chile to try to keep us here, by hook or by crook.
That's
how badly they need teachers!”

Allie stiffened. “Surely no one would fall for such blatant manipulation.”

Catherine shook her head. “A dozen women have already agreed to positions as teachers or housekeepers in distant villages, at exorbitant pay, I might add.”

“Pay that may not materialize,” Clay said, his deep voice serving to emphasize his warning. “Who's to protect them once they leave the ship?”

Allie felt cold all over.

“Even Madeleine's considering an offer!” Catherine cried. “We have to stop them! We must demand that Mr. Mercer act.”

Allie shook her head. “It's no use appealing to him. They won't believe him if he tries to dissuade them. They'll think his demands no different from his posturing about fraternizing with the ship's officers.”

“They don't believe me, either,” Catherine lamented. “They say it's sour grapes because I didn't get an offer. As if I'd want one!”

Gillian's face scrunched. “I don't want sour grapes, either.”

Clay patted her boot as if in agreement, but Allie puffed out a sigh. “There must be someone they'd listen to, some neutral party they'd respect.”

“The American consulate?” Catherine suggested.

“They don't know him,” Allie pointed out.

“Mr. Gardiner, the leader of the mission here?”

“He may very well encourage them to stay.” Allie caught herself rubbing her chin the way Clay did when he was thinking and dropped her hand. Then inspiration struck. Her eyes swung up to meet his, saw his widen as if he knew she was about to ask the impossible.

“Clay!” she cried. “You'd be perfect!”

* * *

Clay stared at her. A dozen women about to jump ship for a handsome face and the promise of hefty pay, and Allie thought he could do something about it?

“Your faith in me is humbling,” he said. “But I doubt I have that kind of influence.”