Patricia Potter (14 page)

“It’s a chance to live, Devereux,” Sethwyck continued. “Your only chance.” He paused at Quinn’s silence, then his thin lips curved in a mocking smile. “Have you ever seen a hanging? It’s not pleasant. And you will hang, my boy, if you go to trial. I have seen to that.”

Quinn believed him, believed that he could do anything he wanted. After the past months in Newgate, he didn’t question the man’s influence. But to plead guilty to something he didn’t do, to give away his freedom…

Or hang. Dear God, he didn’t want to die. Particularly that way. He closed his eyes, trying to think.

Quinn had heard of transportation, of Australia, and knew that many of those sent there had stayed after their sentences had been completed. It was a vast land, mysterious and…a prison colony.

But to live! He was twenty-two years old and he did not want to die. He particularly did not want to die publicly at the end of a rope. His father, his brothers, would eventually learn of it. And that he could not bear.

After sleepless hours, he made his decision. Once in Australia he could escape and get word to his family. He was a gambler. And now he was gambling he could beat the earl…and Australia.

The next morning he sent a message to the earl, one, he realized sardonically, that would actually arrive at its intended destination. Hours later, he heard a judge, garbed in black robes, sentence him to “transportation for the term of your natural life…”

“Capt’n?” Cam’s voice brought him back to the present.

Quinn looked up, his blue eyes dark and brooding.

“Mr. Jamison…he said to tell you we’re leavin’ now.”

Quinn nodded. The whistle would sound, and the
Lucky Lady
would slowly pull from the wharf and turn around, heading downriver again. Toward New Orleans. Toward Vicksburg.

Cam looked at him curiously. He had never seen Captain Devereux as distracted, as brooding as he had been in the past weeks. The captain seemed lost in a world that precluded even him, and despite their different situations he thought he knew Quinn Devereux better than most.

He had seen the scars on Quinn’s back, thin scars that were barely visible now, but he knew they came from the same source as his own: a whip. He didn’t know the particulars. He hadn’t asked, nor had Quinn told him. But he suspected they were part of the reason Quinn was involved in the Underground Railroad and the main reason he, Cam, was now free. Their suffering had created an unspoken bond between them, although they retained a certain distance. There were too many shadows, too many wounds, in his own life and, he suspected, in the captain’s life, for either to be entirely comfortable with other people. Although Cam knew he would willingly die for Quinn Devereux, he had, by necessity, protected his heart and soul too long to surrender them easily, even to friendship. And Captain Devereux had never asked for more than his loyalty. Or, for that matter, even that. Cam had just given it. Out of gratitude. Out of respect.

But there were things that, because of the raw pain they caused, were always kept hidden. Not buried, but hidden. Even from each other. Perhaps, particularly from each other.

“Breakfast, Capt’n?”

Quinn’s eyes lost their faraway look, and he grinned crookedly at Cam, sensing the concern under Cam’s words.

“Aye,” he said. “It’s damn cold for October. Let’s go inside.”

But Quinn’s memories didn’t disappear, and he didn’t understand why. He had often had nightmares at night, but usually sheer determination kept them at bay during waking hours. Something was happening to him, and he damned well didn’t like it.

Perhaps he needed a challenge. A new challenge. He looked at Cam, and remembered Daphne. And his pledge to Cam. They would be back in New Orleans in two weeks. He would visit his brother and gather all the information he could about the Seatons. Perhaps the Seatons had cotton to be shipped; that would give him a good excuse to visit the plantation. And possibly Meredith Seaton’s brother would be more amenable to selling Daphne. It was worth a try.

And it would be damned interesting to see what Brett knew about Meredith Seaton.

Now that he had plotted a course of action, Quinn felt better. And, damn, but he was hungry. He heard the
Lucky Lady’s
whistle and felt the boat creak under him as the ropes, binding it to the wharf, were released. The boat strained toward the middle of the river where it belonged.

Where he belonged. If he belonged anyplace at all.

Brett Devereux regarded his brother warily. As a boy he had worshipped Quinn. He still loved his brother, but he no longer regarded him with the single-minded devotion of a young lad. He saw the faults and, while he restrained from commenting, he nevertheless could not quite conceal his disappointment.

Brett, like his father and brother, had worried over the missing brother during the years when every attempt to locate him met with failure. Their father had spent thousands of dollars on private detectives; after nearly seven years they found Quinn; it took another year to bring him back.

And when he returned his father and his oldest brother were already dead of fever in an epidemic that had swept New Orleans. Brett had temporarily assumed management of the bank. He had expected Quinn to take over the bank’s leadership when he returned, but to his amazement, Quinn showed no interest. After months of gambling and drinking, Quinn had obtained the
Lucky Lady,
which he treated like a toy.

Brett knew only a little of what had happened to his brother. Quinn’s eyes grew icy cold whenever Brett had tried to find out more.

It hurt, damn it. It hurt badly, for they were the only Devereuxs left.

Quinn still smiled as easily as he had as a boy, but now there was a curious emptiness about the gesture, which never quite reached his eyes. Nothing seemed important to him, not their home, or their heritage. Nothing except pleasure.

“Why,” Brett asked now, “are you interested in the Seatons?”

“Cotton,” Quinn said. “We need to increase our shipping.”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting interested in business?”

“Don’t you approve, little brother? Your profligate brother finally settling down.”

“Then come into the bank.”

“Ah, Brett, the bank’s yours. I told you that years ago.”

“I would be delighted to have you back. A partnership.”

Quinn shook his head slowly, something inside him hurting as he watched the light leave his brother’s eyes. “The
Lucky Lady
is one thing, the bank something else. You may like staying in an office all day, but it’s too much like a cell to me.”

Brett leaned back, taking his eyes from his brother’s face. Quinn had made the allusion before.

“You wouldn’t be locked in it, you know,” he said carefully. “You can leave whenever you want.”

“Not for me, Brett. I like the river. And as much as you disapprove, I like gambling. And I’m damned good at it. A whole sight better than banking.”

“You could do anything you tried,” Brett said in one last attempt.

“But I wouldn’t, little brother. I wouldn’t try, because I don’t give a damn about the bank. I never have.”

Brett searched his brother’s face, seeking something but not finding it in the ruthless, hard visage before him. They shared the same facial features, although Quinn’s coloring was darker than his own, but the resemblance ended there. Brett sometimes envied Quinn’s lean saturnine handsomeness; he knew his own girth was spreading comfortably, and he didn’t really regret it. He realized he knew a contentment that had evaded Quinn. Although often office-bound, Brett loved banking, and he adored his wife Betsy and their three children. The only burr in his life was Quinn, and that was because he wanted his brother to be happy, and he knew Quinn was not, despite his protestations to the contrary.

“The Seatons?” Quinn reminded him gently.

Something within Brett rang like a fire-alarm bell. “There’re many cotton plantations,” he observed. “Why the Seatons?”

“I met Miss Seaton several weeks ago on the
Lucky Lady.
I was told her family owns one of the largest cotton plantations in the Vicksburg area.”

Brett’s gut tightened. Surely Quinn couldn’t have any interest in Meredith Seaton. Dear God, the silly woman would be putty in his hands. Brett didn’t particularly like, or admire, Meredith, but she was under his protection, to a certain extent.

“Don’t worry, Brett,” Quinn said, reading his thoughts. “She believed me perfectly odious.”

For some reason, that did not comfort Brett. “What did
you
think about her?”

Quinn shrugged. “What you said. Overdressed. Self-indulgent. Not very bright.”

Brett felt better. He relaxed a little. Of course, someone with Quinn’s eye for the ladies wouldn’t be interested in Meredith. Maybe his brother was changing. Perhaps if he became more interested in the shipping business, it might lead him to the bank. Working with Quinn was Brett’s fondest dream. And respecting him again as he once had.

“What do you need?” Brett asked.

“An introduction to Robert Seaton. I met him long ago, but I doubt he’ll remember.”

“I can do better than that.”

Quinn arched an eyebrow in question.

“I’m always invited to their annual ball. It’s a tradition after the last of the cotton is harvested. But Betsy’s in the family way again….”

Quinn grinned. “Again?”

Brett looked pleased with himself, and nodded. It would be their fourth child. “You should consider it, Quinn.”

“Me, a papa?” Quinn’s brows rose with amusement. “Surely you wouldn’t wish that on a helpless child.”

“You do rather well with mine.”

“That’s because I can leave at any time,” Quinn said, suddenly feeling awkward.

“They adore you.”

“Because I bring them presents.”

“No,” Brett said firmly. The way his sardonic, sarcastic brother enchanted his children had always surprised him. Even more astonishing was the way Quinn’s cold, closed eyes warmed in their presence. It gave Brett hope.

Quinn saw the brief glow in Brett’s face and knew he had to snuff it out.

“You were mentioning a ball?”

“Ah, yes. I could send you in my stead. I usually stay at their home.” Brett didn’t like the sudden feral smile that appeared on Quinn’s face. He was struck with misgivings. But it was too late now.

“When is it?” Quinn asked.

“October thirty-first.”

“All Hallows’ Eve?” Quinn smiled with the cold amusement Brett had learned to dislike. “How appropriate.”

“Remember, Quinn, they are my clients, and I’m Meredith’s trustee. I’m relying on you to honor that.”

“I’ll be the very epitome of respectability and courtesy,” Quinn replied solemnly, one side of his mouth twitching. Then his eyes softened. “I won’t do anything to disgrace you, Brett. I swear.”

Brett looked a bit abashed. He stood and went to Quinn, putting his hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “I know, Quinn. It’s just that…”

Quinn stood. “I know, Brett. We just think differently…want different things.”

“Do we?” The question was soft and probing.

“Ah, I’m afraid so. You’re all for hearth and home and bank, and me…well, give me a deck of cards and an easy woman. I like my freedom, Brett. And I won’t change. Not for you, nor for anyone.”

Brett sighed. “I’ll send that letter to Seaton.”

“Thank you, brother. And I must be on my way.”

“Won’t you come over for dinner?”

Quinn wanted to. God, he wanted to. But he had to keep his distance from Brett in order not to hurt him. If he were ever caught, he didn’t want his brother implicated. It was better if the brothers were believed estranged. “I have a previous engagement, Brett. Sorry. But give Betsy my best and give her my congratulations.”

Brett nodded, his blue eyes, much lighter and clearer than Quinn’s, regretful. “You know, of course, you’re welcome anytime.”

“I know,” Quinn said softly. And left.

“My brother’s arranging for me to attend a ball at the Seaton plantation,” he told Cam upon his return to the boat. Watching his friend’s eyes light with expectation, he added, “You will accompany me, of course.”

“When?”

“All Hallows’ Eve. A good time to spirit someone away, wouldn’t you say?”

Cam permitted himself a small smile for the first time in weeks. “The Parson?”

“Aye. We can’t be connected to it, but I can put a plan in motion.”

“And I’ll have a chance to see her, to reassure her.”

Quinn nodded, pleased at the way everything was falling so easily into place.

“Any special cargo?” Cam asked.

“Not this trip, I expect,” Quinn replied. “Elias said the recent increase in runaways has made the plantation owners particularly watchful. He never knows, of course, when someone might show up, but right now he’s urging most of his contacts to be very careful.”

“A dull trip, then.”