Ship of Dreams (18 page)

One or two nouveau riche first-class passengers who had made their fortunes in gold, voiced her opinion, however. While there was nothing fancy about it, at least the bread was fairly fresh and the vegetables edible, if mushy. Recalling the iron-hard sourdough loaves in the camps, and months on end with no greens at all, Della joined them in silently offering up thanks for the food, as well as her current situation.

Turning, she found Kent watching her, a smile she couldn't decipher playing about his mouth. "No complaints?" he asked softly, while most of their table mates continued to abuse the fare before them.

She shrugged slightly. "I've had better—and worse. The company more than makes up for any shortcomings."

Billy Birch, on her other side, overheard her. "That's the spirit, Mrs. Bradford! What is a bit of wilted lettuce when we all have each other, and this fine ship to travel upon?"

As usual, the minstrel had a cheering effect on everyone, and conversation turned to more pleasant channels as they finished the meal with few additional complaints. One of the stewardesses, a middle-aged black woman, clapped Billy on the back.

"There you go, sir!" she exclaimed. "And our service will make up for any other problems, you'll see. Any of you lack anything, just ask old Lucy Dawson and I'll see you get it."

Della was just as glad that the attention quickly shifted away from her. All day she'd felt as though some outward evidence of her amazing experience of the night before must be visible. How could it not, when it had changed her entire outlook on life? The idea made her uncomfortable under any scrutiny from others, to the point where she had to stop herself from offering some sort of explanation to those around her.

Kent leaned close just then, his warm breath tickling her ear and causing the most delicious sensations to race up and down her back. "I believe I'll excuse myself from the nightly card games and retire early, if you're amenable."

Those delicious sensations multiplied. "Most amenable," she whispered with a grin.

He pulled her closer with one arm, and they sat touching from shoulder to knee as they waited impatiently for an opportunity to make their excuses. Giddy with anticipation, Della wasn't sure she'd ever been happier in her life.

Then, across the saloon, she saw Nelson Sharpe watching them from where he sat, now at this captain's table.
 
Beside him, to her dismay, sat the man with the walking stick—the one she'd seen speaking to the police just before the
Sonora
sailed from San Francisco.

That Sharpe still had his suspicions was obvious and when they reached New York, he would likely discover that they had been justified. And there was no knowing what the other man might have told him. What damage might Sharpe be able to wreak on Kent's business because of her?

She was called from such sober reflections when she heard Kent making their excuses to the others at the table. "It's been a long day, after all, with a lot of excitement. Della has expressed an interest in writing down her impressions, and I've offered to add my observations to hers."

"How famous!" exclaimed Addie Easton. "I am keeping a journal of the voyage as well. We must compare notes before it ends."

Della agreed, though it meant she would at some point have to produce the diary Kent had just invented. Rising to accompany him from the saloon, she decided that would be no bad thing anyway. If her memories were to be all she had of this trip, it might be nice to have them in tangible form.

Not now, though. Now she wanted to focus on Kent and nothing else. The moment they were shut into their cabin, he made it clear he shared the same goal, sweeping her into his arms for a long, passionate kiss.

"I've been wanting to do this for hours," he murmured when he finally lifted his head, his arms still enfolding her against his chest. "Do you think anyone would notice if we never left our room again before reaching New York?"

Della sighed. "That sounds heavenly. I'd much prefer to spend all my time with you alone, and pretend that the real world doesn't exist. Perhaps we could ask Lucy Dawson to have our food sent in to us."

She was joking, but he regarded her seriously. "Do you find it a trial to face the others, then? Are you still worried about reaching New York?"

Not quite meeting his eyes, she shrugged. "Perhaps a bit, but I'm sure I'll get over it." She didn't want him to perceive her very real doubts. She simply wanted to snatch whatever time they might have remaining. If that meant pretending she believed all would be well once they reached the end of the voyage, she was willing to do just that.

But Kent was not so easily fooled. "You're still not sure, are you? You still think I'll change my mind once we leave the ship and I'm back among my family. I won't, you know." His voice was gentle rather than accusing, but still she tried to defend herself.

"I do trust you. It's just that we've known each other such a very brief—"

He cut off her words with another kiss. "I've thought of a way to relieve your doubts," he said after a moment. "Tomorrow, I'll speak to Captain Herndon and ask him to marry us, in a private ceremony in his quarters. Then I wouldn't be able to change my mind even if I wanted to—which I won't."

Della stared. "You're not serious? What if anyone were to find out? Your credibility—our credibility—would be ruined." In particular, she thought of Mr. Sharpe, who appeared to be on as friendly terms with this captain as he'd been with their last one. What might he do with such information?

"No more so than when the truth comes out in New York," he said reasonably. "But think! Once we're well and truly married, we can plan for the future. My home is on the outskirts of New York City, right on the Hudson River. We can live there, or build another house nearby, if you prefer. It's a lovely area, an easy distance from my business offices. You'll make friends with the other women in the neighborhood, have them over for tea. We can raise our children there."

Though the picture he evoked was everything Della had ever longed for, she felt a surge of panic. This was too much, too soon. And it seemed so terribly unlikely. "Do you really think those society ladies—or your family—will so easily clasp me to their bosoms? Me, the daughter of an Irish prospector? And what of your fiancée and her family?"

Kent's jaw hardened stubbornly. "Any initial resistance will not last long. I won't allow any of them to insult you, I swear."

With a derisive little laugh, she pushed out of his arms. "How can you possibly swear any such thing? It's obvious you know little of women's society. They won't insult me in your presence. They'll simply exclude me from their circle and tell each other how I seduced you away from your intended bride with my lowborn charms. They'll teach their husbands to think the same, possibly to the detriment of your business."

He shook his head. "No! I—"

But she plowed on, unable to stop now that she had begun to put her fears into words. "You may well find that all of your friends, associates, even your own family, will turn their backs on you because of me. Your business, your prospects, could be ruined. If we do not marry, you may be able to explain me away as a passing fancy, a final fling before taking your proper place in society. People will frown, but they'll soon forgive you. Marry me, and they will not."

"You don't know that. Not everyone is so narrow-minded, even in the East."

"But many are."

Reluctantly, he nodded. "Some, yes. But I refuse to shape my life to their expectations. That would make me no better than they are. I hope I've learned better by now—thanks to you, Della."

She took a deep breath. "You give me more credit than I deserve, I fear. There is still one matter in which I've been less than honest with you."

"Oh?" He regarded her intently, only the smallest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "An important matter?"

"You may judge. It's ... my name. I told you it was Gilley, when in truth it is Gilliland." There. It was said. And now ...

To her amazement, he chuckled. "Is that all? For a moment I was almost worried. Now I think of it, it's just as well, as I incautiously let the name 'Gilley' slip at the start of our voyage. So you see, your instincts were sound. Can you not trust them now, when they tell you I can make you happy?"

In her relief, she felt herself softening. She wanted
so
much to believe it could work but her entrenched realism wouldn't quite let her. "I believe you mean everything you say, Kent, but I can't be the cause of your downfall, any more than you would wish to be the cause of mine. Surely you can see that?"

He gazed deeply into her eyes, forcing her to read what was written in his own. It made her catch her breath. "Losing you would be my downfall, Della. Nothing else counts for anything compared to that."

With a tiny cry, she came to him, lifting her face for his kiss. He eagerly obliged her, and then they were frantically caressing each other, unbuttoning, unfastening, untying in a heated frenzy until a few moments later all of their clothing lay in a heap on the cabin floor.

Still kissing her, Kent swept her up into his arms and carried her the two short steps to her bunk. Tenderly he laid her upon it, then stretched his length beside her on the narrow bed. She explored his body with her hands, even as he did the same, learning his every curve and angle, committing it to memory.

Now that she had voiced her fears, they had lost much of their power over her. She was willing to believe that, with a large slice of luck, it was just possible things might work out. And she'd always had more than her share of luck.

Then, as Kent's hands narrowed their focus, she ceased thinking of anything but him and this precise moment in time. If anything, this experience was even more intense than before, now that some of her fears were allayed. Soon she was gasping, fireworks exploding in her head at the incredible wash of pure sensation he evoked.

Finally entering her, Kent drove her to ever more amazing heights until she crested, only to spiral slowly down in waves of gradually ebbing pleasure. She had not yet reached the ground when he thrust again, driving her back upward—higher and higher until she crested again, even as he reached his own climax.

Together, they began their descent, heartbeats and breath mingling as they gradually slowed. As the ability for thought returned, Della realized that this had been a bonding that went beyond last night's experience. She knew now that in all the ways that mattered they were truly one. Whatever might separate them in the future, she felt certain some measure of that bond would endure—forever.

With a sigh as much of relief as satisfaction, Della burrowed her head against the beloved man at her side and slept.

*
          
*
          
*

Kent gazed down at the fiery head pillowed on his chest, a wave of tenderness sweeping over him. How had she become so dear to him in such a short time? He had no idea, but the fact was undeniable. Della meant more to him than life itself.

Until she'd unburdened herself to him, he hadn't realized how deeply her fears of the future had run. Nor had he considered the various ways she might be hurt, despite everything he could do to protect her. The fury he'd felt at the very idea of New York society rejecting her had startled him—and made his feelings for her even clearer.

He'd meant it when he said that losing her would destroy him. He now realized that made him vulnerable in a way he'd never been before. By threatening Della, an enemy could have Kent at his mercy—and Della herself had the ability to wound him beyond healing. Not that he believed she would. Not now.

They had forged a lasting bond tonight. He felt it, and he knew she felt it, too. Where that bond would lead them, they had yet to decide, but it would not break. Of that he was certain—and determined. He drifted off to sleep, to dream of a future in which Della played the central role, and in which he was able to make her every dream come true.

The morning dawned clear, and as soon as he rose, Kent sought out the captain to make his request. Though Captain Herndon was startled to learn that he and Della were not already wed, he expressed his willingness to rectify the matter at their earliest convenience. To Kent's relief, he accepted without question Kent's rather vague explanation of a delay in California which had prevented them from having time to marry before boarding the
Sonora
, as they had intended.

After breakfast, Kent and Della walked along the deck arm in arm while he related his conversation with the captain. He half expected a renewal of last night's protest, but it did not come. Della now seemed content to leave the planning of their future to him—for the moment, at least. After agreeing to meet with the captain just after luncheon, they continued along in companionable silence. All too soon, however, they were interrupted.

"Della! Kent! Have you heard?" Mary Patterson, accompanied by two or three other women, hurried toward them. "This ship has had its name changed! My Robert says that is the unluckiest thing in the world, and now we are all worried."

Addie Easton and Virginia Birch nodded anxiously. "Is there cause for concern, do you think?" asked Virginia. "Billy trusts your judgment, I know."

Though gratified by the compliment, Kent did his best to allay their fears. "That belief is a mere superstition. Many, many ships have had names changed along with ownership over the years, and the vast majority have never foundered."