Savannah Heat (46 page)

“Considering the circumstances”—she glanced to the men who worked in the rigging—“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Morgan took her hands, warm and soft in his dark, calloused ones. “Will you marry me, Silver?”

A ripple of tenderness crossed her features, then it was gone. “I will if you’ll agree to meet my terms.”

“Terms! What terms? I had hoped that vowing to honor and cherish till death do us part would be enough.”

“I’m serious, Morgan. We’ve never talked about this and it’s very important to me.”

“All right, lady vixen, tell me your terms.”

“First, I want you to promise you won’t make decisions about my life without asking my opinion. Second, I want equal say in this marriage. And finally, I want you to find something for me to do. Sitting around your musty old mansion while you’re off working is hardly my idea of a happy life.”

Morgan’s mouth twitched. “It’s hardly a musty old
mansion. As a matter of fact, it’s quite a lovely old mansion.”

Silver didn’t comment, just waited for him to go on.

“In regard to your first and second terms, it hardly seems unfair for you to have a say in things. However, should we come to an impasse, my word will be final.”

She mulled that over. “Agreed.”

“As to finding you something to do, how would you like to learn the cotton trade?”

Silver’s eyes went wide. “Do you mean it?”

“You’ve a sharp mind, Silver. I think you would be quite an asset—at least until the children come. After that we’ll just have to see.”

Silver eyed him a bit warily. “You’re being awfully reasonable about this.”

“Am I?” Morgan’s warm look faded. “That’s because I have a condition of my own. I want to know the real reason you fled Katonga. I want to know what secret you’ve been hiding from me.”

A moment of surprise, then one of desolation. Silver turned away from him and her hands gripped the rail. “I hoped you would never have to know. I hoped we could just—” She swallowed hard and glanced out at the frothy dark water. “But I guess it wouldn’t be fair to keep something like that from you since it might change the way you feel about me.”

“Nothing is going to change the way I feel. I want you to understand that.” She didn’t really believe him; he could see it in her eyes.

“Remember the first time we made love?” she asked.

He smiled softly. “How could I forget?”

Silver let the comment pass. “I told you about my
childhood … about the man who had … attacked me.”

“Yes.” His smile faded.

“That man still lives on the island. Every day since I was thirteen he has watched me; every night I feared he would try it again. The night before the immigrant ship set sail, he had been drinking. I was afraid of what he might do, so I stole a butcher knife from the kitchen and took it up to my room. Just after midnight he came in.” She started to tremble, and Morgan drew her against him.

“Go on,” he gently urged.

“I threatened to kill him. I meant it, Morgan, and he knew it. He left me alone, but he was furious. I knew he would beat me in the morning, as he had many times before. If he tried—” Her voice broke, and Morgan tightened his hold, one wide palm cradling her head against his chest, his hand stroking her hair, soothing, encouraging.

“It’s all right, Silver, he can’t hurt you now.”

“That man was my father, Morgan. William Hardwick-Jones.”

Morgan froze.
It couldn’t be
. He wanted to deny it. Wanted to say she was wrong, make her admit it. No man—especially not William—would do such a thing. He felt her shaking, heard the gentle sobs that shook her slender frame. It was the truth; he knew that beyond all doubt. God in heaven, what she must have suffered. Might still be suffering if he had left her there.

With the force of a saber the vicious blow struck him. He remembered the way she had acted when she’d first come aboard the
Savannah
, her wild attempts to escape, risking her life, not caring for the danger she put herself in. She’d been fighting for survival, for her very existence.
If only she had told
me
. Another truth hit him:
You wouldn’t have believed her!
She could have said those very same words, and he would have scoffed. He would have treated her worse for the lie he would have been sure it was.

He pressed his cheek against hers, felt the wetness of her tears, the terrible sadness that gripped and held her body. Morgan clung to her, wanting to take away the pain, wishing he could somehow make it up to her. He rocked her gently back and forth, his heart aching for what she’d been through.

Silver eased away to look at him, her fingers warm against his cheek. “You’re crying,” she whispered.

He hadn’t realized it until she said the words. “For all that you’ve suffered. For the things I’ve done—or should have done. For the things that might have happened. I love you, Silver. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you, and I’ll love you till the day I die.”

Silver wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you,” she said softly, “more than you’ll ever know.”

Morgan held her close, soothing her, speaking the words of love he hadn’t been able to say before. But all the while his mind screamed at the wrong that had been done, and his heart hardened with a cold, dark purpose.

When he reached Katonga, he would kill William Hardwick-Jones.

As Morgan predicted, they arrived in Barbados the following morning. Silver went ashore with Jordy, obeying Morgan’s strict instructions to buy whatever she needed for their upcoming wedding. One of the crew went to Lady Grayson’s to pick up the clothes she had left there, while Morgan completed his duties and made arrangements for the ceremony.

Tomorrow they would travel the six miles southeast to Christ Church and be married. To Silver’s delight, she discovered she could hardly wait.

“You should wear this, Silver.” Jordy stood beside her in the tiny millinery shop on Tudor Street, pointing to a lovely cream lace veil encrusted with seed pearls and small satin flowers.

Silver touched the delicate netting with reverence. “It’s beautiful.”

“What color is your gown?” asked the graying, very British-looking, pointed-nosed clerk behind the counter. The shop overflowed with bonnets of every shape and size, some flowered, some feathered, some lace. There were tasseled parasols and hand-painted fans and ribbons of every size and color.

“The dress is pale blue, but the trim is cream lace, about the same shade as the veil.”

“Then you must have it, my dear,” the shopkeeper said.

“Jordy?”

“You’ll be the prettiest bride ever.”

“All right, I’ll take it.”

They finished their purchases and had just started back to the ship when a tall, rawboned man in baggy canvas duck pants stepped in front of them.

“Afternoon, Miss Jones.” He had short-cropped hair and long-lobed ears—criminal ears, someone once told her.

Silver stopped short, wondering how the man could possibly know her name. “Good afternoon.” She started walking again, but the man didn’t move. “If you’ll excuse us …”

“Sorry, ma’am, afraid I can’t do that.” The man glanced down at the paper he held in his hand, a paper Silver knew only too well—the reward poster with the etching of her face. She turned to flee, but
the tall man grabbed her, his long arms constricting as he dragged a heavy sack over her head and hauled her into the alley. Silver tried to kick him, tried to break free, but he held her fast.

“Let her go!” Jordy screamed, flailing at the man’s broad back, punching him, then trying to pry his big hands off Silver. A second man, almost as tall as the first, rounded on him, throwing a solid punch that knocked Jordy hard against the wall of a narrow wooden building lining the alley.

“Jordy!” Hearing the commotion, Silver lashed out, fighting to free her arms from those that imprisoned her, desperately working to dislodge the restricting rough sack that fell well below her hips. She was frightened for Jordy, sure her father was responsible, and terrified he would succeed.

She screamed inside the bag, hoping someone would hear her, but the man’s hands and the heavy cloth muffled her cries. She fought to twist free, tried to scream again; then something solid slammed against her head, and her knees buckled beneath her. As her vision dimmed and faded to darkness, she thought of Morgan and the wedding she would miss:
Dear God, let him find me before it’s too late
.

“They took her, Cap’n!” Jordy started yelling before he stumbled to the top of the gangway, blood flowing from a cut in his forehead. “They jumped us! They’re takin’ her to Katonga!”

Morgan dropped the papers he’d been reading and ran across the deck in Jordy’s direction. He caught the boy by the shoulders, noting the blood on his clothes, the ugly purple bruise beside his eye, his torn shirt and dirt-covered clothes.

“Take it easy, son.” He was working hard to stay
calm himself. “Just take your time and tell me what happened.”

“Two men—big men—seamen by the look of ’em. They took her. They must have wanted the reward money.”

“Bloody hell! I thought by now word would have been out that the money had already been claimed.”

“Musta been the reward, Cap’n. They was carryin’ one of them posters, and they was waitin’ for us.”

For once Morgan didn’t correct Jordy’s grammar. “How long ago did this happen?”

Jordy looked even more upset. “Three, maybe four hours. They hit me real hard, sir. I’d still be out if some sailor hadn’t found me.”

Morgan checked Jordy’s battered face. “You’d better go below and have Cookie take a look at you.”

“What about Silver?”

Morgan clamped the boy’s slender shoulder. “We know where they’re taking her.” His hands balled into fists. “We’ll just be going to Katonga a little sooner than we planned.”

For the first time he noticed the small paper sack Jordy clutched in his fingers. Dried blood darkened his knuckles, and Morgan thought with a grim smile the boy was more like his own than he knew. “What’s that?” he asked.

Jordy opened the sack and pulled out the cream lace veil. “She bought it for your weddin’.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened. He took the veil with a shaky hand, turned, and started aft to make preparations to sail.

Jordy caught up with him. “She’ll be all right, won’t she? I mean, once she gets home, no one’s gonna hurt her or nothin’?”

“No, son,” Morgan vowed, praying it was the
truth. “We’ll get there before anyone has the chance.”

“I trust you enjoyed your little … adventure?” William Hardwick-Jones pulled out the carved high-backed chair at the end of the elegant mahogany table in the dining room. Above them, long white tapers in the crystal chandelier flickered and cast dark shadows along the gold-flocked walls.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Silver replied. “So much so, I’m looking forward to another in the very near future.” She shouldn’t antagonize him—it was dangerous, she knew—but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Her father’s hand tightened on the back of her chair. “I believe, my dear, your travels are over for quite some time.”

Silver didn’t answer, just let him seat her at the end of the table, then seat himself at the opposite end. William looked just as dark and sinister as she remembered, but immaculate as always; his formal black evening clothes, burgundy brocade waistcoat, and wide white stock glinted in the candlelight.

Silver wore a gown of ruched gold peau de soie, which had been chosen for her and laid out carefully across the foot of her canopy bed.

She had arrived at the dock in Katonga early in the afternoon the day following her abduction, with a splitting headache, a lump at the back of her neck, and wearing her very wrinkled rose silk day dress. She had regained consciousness not long after the small ketch she’d been taken aboard left Carlisle Bay but was too far at sea to do more than watch the tiny dot of an island recede in the distance.

Once she reached home, she was led straight up to her room, locked in, and ordered to rest, which was
hardly possible. When Millie, the upstairs maid—hand-chosen by her father—arrived with a tray of food, Silver stood at the window, staring through the wrought-iron bars toward the sea. She dreaded the ordeal ahead but clung to the hope that by now Morgan had found her missing and had figured out where she’d been taken. She prayed Jordy had not been hurt.

Silver glanced to the end of the table, set with gleaming crystal, heavy carved silverware, and gold-rimmed porcelain plates. She found her father watching her, his eyes dark and cold.

“Care to tell me about it?”

“About what?” Silver asked with feigned nonchalance and a steadying sip of her wine. “My trip to Georgia or my voyage to Mexico? The first was most unpleasant, I assure you. The second, however, was … intriguing … to say the least.”

“And Major Trask?”

Don’t say it. Don’t!
“We’re going to be married.”

William laughed aloud, a harsh, grating sound. “Is that what he told you? That he intended marriage? I didn’t expect him to stoop to deceit to win your favors,”

“You may believe what you wish. Morgan will come for me.”

William eyed her sharply, then shrugged his thick-muscled shoulders. “Let him come,” he said, his tone cool, though he pulled his napkin from its silver ring with more effort than he needed. He smoothed it across his powerful long-boned thighs. “I’m your legal guardian. You’re merely a woman; you’ve no more rights than those darkies out in the fields. I shall refuse his suit—if he really intends to pursue it. I’ll forbid the marriage and send him away.”

“You can’t do that.”

His mouth thinned in warning. “Can’t I? How quickly you forget. I am the law on Katonga. You will remain here with me.”

An icy dread swept over her. Her hand shook as she lifted her wineglass for another steadying sip. “Why? Why do you wish to keep me here against my will?”

William smiled, his black eyes hard. “We both know why, Salena. After your … involvement … with the major, you should understand far better than you did before. In a way I should thank him.”

“For what?”