Veil of Pearls Page 32

  Morgan let out a sigh and stretched the taut muscles in his back. He had done it! He had defeated a British privateer! How, he had no idea. In the heat of action, something had shifted within him. A part buried deep within had emerged. A part he hadn’t known existed. A part that shoved aside fear and self-doubt and took command. Turning, he made his way back to the main deck, where Mr. Booker met him, both surprise and exaltation rolling across his lined face.

  “Damage report,” Morgan said.

  “Mr. Thompson got a splinter in his leg.” He gestured toward two sailors who were carrying the injured man below. “We received two shots between wind and water, and our jib is damaged. Nothing that won’t keep us from heading home straight away.” Morgan had never seen the man’s smile so wide.

  “Let’s hear it for Mr. Morgan! Hip hip hurray! Hip hip hurray!” one of the sailors shouted, and the men raised muskets and swords into the air and showered him with praises. His gaze landed on Adalia by the quarterdeck. The soot smudging her face and neck made her smile seem all the more bright.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. Lud, she’d stayed on deck. Through the entire battle! He’d only permitted her to remain because he assumed she’d scurry below at the first cannon fire. But there she stood, admiration spilling from her eyes. Then they widened in terror as she dashed to his side. “You’re hurt.”

  Morgan followed her gaze to his blood-soaked shirt. “Just a scratch.” He’d all but forgotten it. “Go tend Mr. Thompson first. I’ll meet you later below.”

  At first she seemed unwilling to go but then nodded and followed the injured man down the companionway ladder.

  “Good job, men!” Morgan scanned the crew. “Now, let’s make all sail and head home.” He slapped Mr. Booker on the back. The second mate gave him a salute before scurrying off. Warmed by the men’s respect, Morgan made his way to the starboard railing. Gripping the damp wood, he gazed over the sea, set aglitter by the sun now high in the sky. They’d been at battle for hours. He should be tired, but his body was wound like an anchor chain. And his mind was no better off as chaotic thoughts spun too quickly to make sense of what had happened. Of what he’d done. He chuckled and lowered his gaze to the foamy water dashing against the hull.

  “God, if You’re there and You helped me, thank You. Thank You for saving us.”

  “Take off your shirt and sit down.” Adalia entered Morgan’s cabin and set the basin of water on the table.

  “It’s barely a scratch.” Morgan obeyed nonetheless. Tugging his stained shirt over his head, he plopped into the chair.

  Adalia laid out bandages on the table, trying not to look at him. She knew she shouldn’t be alone with him in his cabin, but the stubborn man had been busy with ship business until well after supper. She dipped a cloth in the water as silence stretched between them.

  “How is Thompson?” Morgan finally asked.

  “Well. His injury was minor.” Adalia wrung out the cloth, staring at the shadows crossing the bulkhead from the lantern overhead. Not only was she alone with him, but he was also stripped to the waist! Her pulse raced, and she hoped the creak and groan of the ship would muffle her rapid breathing.

  “And the captain?” he asked.

  “His fever has abated.” She dipped the cloth into the water again.

  “I believe you’ve sufficiently drowned the poor rag.” He chuckled.

  Adalia felt her face redden. Squeezing the water from the cloth, she spun around. More heat flooded her face. Arms of sculpted bronze framed a chest that exuded power. Below it, a rippled firm belly caused a flutter in her stomach. She’d seen him bare-chested before. The first day she’d met him. But her reaction then had been nothing compared to now.

  Avoiding his gaze, she knelt to examine the wound, unable to stop thinking about the way he’d commanded the ship during battle with such skill and authority. As if he’d been born to it. He was a true leader. Courageous and daring. She had fallen in love with the pampered aristocrat. But the pirate made her heart steam.

  He must have sensed her discomfort, for she felt his smile upon her. That arresting smile that now drew her gaze upward to his eyes, the color of Spanish moss. He eased a lock of her hair behind her ear and ran his thumb over her cheek.

  A wave of pleasure surged through her. She lowered her gaze. “We shouldn’t be alone.”

  “Yet you’re the one who came to my cabin.” His tone was teasing.

  “To clean your wound, you daft oaf.” She blew out a sigh of frustration and pressed the cloth on the gash in his side—perhaps a bit too hard.

  He winced but did not cry out.

  “Sorry.”

  “Will I live?”

  Adalia peered into the small tear in his flesh. No splinters. “Yes, you’ll live.”

  She dabbed the cloth over the opening again, wiping up the blood. He lifted his hand to stroke her hair. “Sit still.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She tried not to notice the muscle twitching beneath her every touch—solid and hard. Confound it all, her body reacted again. She must divert the direction of her thoughts. “How did you learn to sail a ship?”

  “I’ve been sailing with Captain Bristo since I was seventeen.”

  “But why? I don’t understand.” She gazed up at him.

  “I met the captain in a tavern. He was recruiting men for a crew. I was young and already bored with life. So, I thought, why not?”

  “But your father. Surely he disapproves.”

  “He doesn’t know. He never will. I sneak away when Hadley and I come to town during the social season.”

  Adalia finished cleaning the wound and stood. Tossing the cloth into the basin, she grabbed the bandage. “But surely Hadley knows and would tell him.”

  “No, my brother thinks I’m off with friends or lovers. Besides he’s foxed most of the time.” He was staring at her with that look again—like he could see deep inside of her and delighted in everything he saw. “You are so beautiful.”

  The cabin seemed to close in on Adalia. Why did they make these rooms so small? Flushed yet again, she knelt and stretched the bandage around Morgan’s back. His taut skin was just inches from her face. His scent swirled around her. Her head grew light. Concentrate.

  “You always smell so sweet,” he said.

  Adalia’s breath quickened. She cut the bandage and tied it in place. “There, that should take care of you.”

  She was about to stand, to put distance between herself and Morgan, when he placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her gaze to his. The intensity in his eyes took her breath away and all restraint with it. He lowered his lips to hers. Every ounce of her responded as if she were a powder keg and Morgan the match. His kiss was gentle, brushing over her lips like the lapping of the waves against the hull. Each press sent off tiny explosions within her. When he withdrew, Adalia’s strength withdrew with him, and she nearly fell backward. Would have fallen to the deck if he had not reached out and grabbed her.

  “Forgive me.” She stood and scooted away from him. “It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.”

  He said nothing. Only grinned at her. Placing the rest of the bandage atop the table, she hugged herself and leaned against the bulkhead, knowing she should leave but unable to bring herself to do so. Why didn’t the man put on his shirt? Instead he leaned back in his chair and gave her that look that said he knew how much he affected her.

  She averted her gaze. “You are a natural-born captain, Morgan Rutledge.”

  He grunted and sorrow shadowed his face.

  And then the realization hit her, and her own heart plunged. “When you take over the running of the plantation, you won’t be able to sail anymore.”

  He leaned over, elbows on his knees. “Not very often, no.”

  “But you love it so much. I could see that today. Even in the midst of danger. You’re different out here. You are alive. You have purpose.”

  His silence gave her the answer she sou
ght. She knelt and peered up at him. “Then you must not accept your father’s offer.”

  He brushed the hair from her face. “I will not give you up. Not even for this.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Then why not have us both?”

  “I cannot. Running the plantation requires my full attention.” He gave an incredulous chuckle. “Why, I don’t even own a ship. I’d be nothing but a common sailor.”

  “Are wealth and status so important to you that you’d rather be miserable than part with them?”

  “I won’t be miserable with you by my side.”

  “But this is what God meant for you to do. I know it. Are you so concerned with the opinions of others, the approval of an empty-headed bourgeois that you ignore your destiny?” Yet even as Adalia said the words, she realized that lately she’d been very much concerned with those same things.

  Morgan stared down at his boots. “I cannot fathom being poor, being worried about from whence my next meal would come from, being snubbed by everyone on the streets, not attending society functions.”

  “Yet you never seemed to enjoy them overmuch.”

  “True, but my presence at those functions defines me. Places me in a position of respect, of value. Without that I’m simply …”

  “Common like me?” Adalia gave a sad chuckle and lowered her gaze.

  He caressed her cheek. “No. You are far from common, my love. And when we are married …”

  Married? Her heart sped up. She rose to her feet, too stunned to speak, and took a step back.

  Standing, Morgan took her hand and brought it to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. “Will you marry me, Adalia?”

  She could only stare at him in wonder before a small grin lifted her lips. “I do believe that was the shortest courtship on record.”

  “I cannot wait another minute to make you mine.” Desperation filled his eyes. “This battle has made me realize how short life can be—how precious every moment.”

  He leaned his forehead against hers. Their breath mingled in the air between them, and Adalia felt like she was dreaming.

  But when his lips met hers again, she knew she was not. He kissed her deeply then planted a trail of kisses down her neck. Adalia moaned.

  “Are you still sorry I brought you on this voyage?” he whispered in her ear.

  Gathering what shred of self-control she still possessed, Adalia pushed him away. “No, but if you ever kidnap me again, Morgan Rutledge, you will regret it.”

  “The next time I swing you over my shoulder it will be to carry you across the threshold of Rutledge Hall as my wife. You’ll be the new lady of the plantation someday.”

  Lady of the plantation. A thrill began to spiral through Adalia. But it was instantly crushed as the word plantation landed like a boulder in her gut. This was all happening far too soon. She’d hoped to have time during their courtship to convince Morgan—to turn him against slavery. Until he did, she could never agree to marry him! Besides, she must tell him the truth of her heritage. It wouldn’t be right to enter a marriage shrouded in deception. But how could she? He would reject her. Hate her. She couldn’t bear it.

  Firm and unwavering, she met his gaze. “I cannot abide slavery, Morgan. I simply cannot. I could never be mistress over slaves.” She slid away from him and turned to face the bulkhead, overcome with loss and sorrow. Waiting for his rejection.

  For a moment, he said nothing. Then his boots scuffed over the deck, and he gripped her shoulders from behind. She felt his breath on her neck. “Then we shall free them. Hire them on should they choose to stay.”

  She spun around, stunned. “Truly? But wouldn’t that cut too deep into your profits?”

  “So we won’t be the wealthiest land owners in town.” He shrugged. “Of course, I couldn’t free them all at once or we’d lose everything. And I can do nothing until my father relinquishes all control to me.”

  “But that could be years.”

  “Perhaps. But in the meantime, as their mistress you could do much to increase their comforts.”

  “True.” Adalia bit her lip, her mind spinning with conflicting thoughts. Her heart a torrent of emotions. Perhaps this was her purpose. To ease the burden of these people, remove their shackles, grant them more freedom, give them a life she never had with Sir Walter.

  “Think of the good you can do for them,” Morgan said as if reading her thoughts. Though he seemed sincere, Adalia wondered if he were only trying to appease her into saying yes.

  “Why the sudden change? You’ve had slaves for years.”

  “My father has had slaves. I always accepted them as necessary to our livelihood. In truth, your repulsion of slavery gave me much food for thought. To my shame, I had never considered the injustice of it—hadn’t really considered it at all.” He scratched his whiskers. “But I have begun to see that your opinions have merit.”

  Adalia felt as though she were floating. “I can hardly believe my ears! I am so happy to hear it, Morgan. Tell me you are speaking the truth.”

  “I am.” He took her hand in his, caressing her fingers. “You have my word, they will be freed over time.”

  Adalia smiled, but guilt stole it away. She should tell Morgan the truth. He would, no doubt, ask about the stripes on her back someday. She could make up a tale, tell him her father … no, wait … a master at the island school had whipped her for unruly behavior. But it would be a lie between them forever. Yet his eyes reflected nothing but love for her right now. How could she watch that ardor transform into disgust, even hatred? No, she couldn’t tell him. She would lose him. And what good would that do the Rutledge slaves? They would have no advocate. No one to improve their station. No one to ensure their freedom someday. Surely God would overlook her deception for the greater good.

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  She fell against him, wrapping her arms around him, soaking in his strength, his protection. Afraid to let go. Afraid the dream would evaporate. “Oh, Morgan, I’m so happy.”

  Nudging her back from him, he cupped her face. “The Brewton ball, the final ball of the season will be in two weeks. I’ll announce our engagement then.”

  Though Charleston society had tolerated Adalia, now they would truly welcome her as one of their own. From poverty to wealth. From slave to princess. Just like her father had said. She could hardly believe it. Forcing down a niggling feeling of unease, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed Morgan.

  Everything would work out fine. Like the perfect ending to a fairy tale, nothing could prevent her dreams from coming true.

  A knock echoed through the sitting room again. “Mr. Gant!” Willaby shouted. Placing his Bible on the side table with a huff, he rose and headed for the foyer, grumbling. “Where is that man when I need him?”

  He opened the door to find Miss Emerald and a rather ostentatiously attired man standing on the porch. The lady handed Willaby a letter, its wax seal split open. Her caustic smile sent a chill down his back. “You may be interested in the contents of this post, Doctor, recently arrived from Barbados.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  After a difficult farewell, Adalia watched Morgan saunter down the street until he disappeared from sight. Only then could she tear her gaze away from him. She hated to be separated—never wanted to be without him again. But for now, he must ride out to the plantation and inform his parents of their engagement. She hoped—no, she prayed, all would go well. But surely if they had already accepted their courtship, Mr. and Mrs. Rutledge would not have too much difficulty taking the extra step to allow them to marry.

  Adalia smiled. She could hardly believe it herself! Turning, she opened the gate to Doc Willaby’s home and made her way down the flagstone path. Wobbling slightly, she caught her balance. They’d just gotten off the ship, and her land legs had not yet returned.

  Thankfully, by the time they arrived in Charleston Harbor, Captain Bristo was well on his way to recovery. Though pale and thin, he’d come on deck to guide the
ship into the bay, amazed and delighted to hear the sailors’ version sailors’ version of how Morgan defeated the British privateer. Several times he congratulated Morgan, sporting a confidence in him that seemed to raise Morgan’s shoulders. Adalia could not help but see the strong bond between the men. Morgan chose his friends well, for there were many good qualities in Captain Bristo worthy of admiration.