Sea of Desire (46 page)

He turned, doing his best to ignore her
generous breasts and listened to her go on about his
grandmother.

“She was riding down Meeting Street in her
carriage and she actually had her driver stop to thank me for my
donation to the hospital fund. Imagine that.”

“She thanked you?” Devon arched a brow. “That
doesn’t sound like Grandmother.”

A slow flush spread up Lil’s neck and face.
Devon wouldn’t have thought her capable of blushing, but he
supposed if anyone could illicit one it was his grandmother. “Well,
actually she told me it was about time I used some of the profits
I... em... earned to help with the suffering caused by this
war.”

Devon threw back his head in laughter. “Now
that
sounds like Grams.”

“Well, she thanked me none the less,” Lil
said defensively.

“I’m glad.” Devon turned back toward the
window, casually searching for the widow he noticed earlier. Lil
continued to talk about his grandmother, saying what a fine lady
she was, but Devon paid little attention. Not that he didn’t agree.
He adored his grandmother, though he was the first to admit that
her tongue could be rapier sharp. But Devon spotted the widow
again, still struggling with her heavy bag, and he couldn’t stop
watching her.

She was young. That was obvious even without
seeing her face. Her body was slender, and though the carpetbag
dragged her arm down, her movements were graceful.

The street was crowded, clogged with sailors
and soldiers—another effect of the war—and the woman seemed out of
place. A regrettable commentary on Charleston and the hard times
that plagued the city.

The morning was sultry, humid and hot. The
sun hung hazy over the harbor, with only an occasional breeze off
the bay to offer any relief. Perspiration glued Devon’s linen shirt
to his upper body. He couldn’t imagine how warm the widow was
beneath the heavy hat and veil.

But she kept plodding on, clutching her
carpet bag as if her life depended on it. And Devon kept watching.
When a maverick breeze came off the bay, bringing with it the scent
of sea air, it caught at the widow’s skirts, swirling them around
her ankles. And it momentarily lifted the black veil.

Before her black-gloved hand shot up and
dragged the drape back down he caught a glimpse of her hair. Bright
and red-gold, the sight of it made Devon lean forward, his forehead
touching the cooler glass of the windowpane. She had beautiful
hair, thick coils knotted at the base of her neck.

Devon had a sudden vision of burying his
hands deep in that hair and shook his head to clear it. Thoughts of
making love to widows were depraved... even for him.

“Do you think you might?”

Devon reached for his white linen jacket.
“Might what?” He looked back at Lil as he fished a gold piece from
his pocket.

“Might come back tonight?” Lil swung her legs
over the side and slid off the bed. She faced Devon, hands on
ample, naked hips. “Have you heard a word I said?”

“Who bothers listening when they can feast
their eyes on this?” Devon tilted his head to indicate Lil as he
slung his jacket over his wide shoulder. In three long strides he
was across the room, leaning over her. He meant the kiss to be
brief but she wrapped her arms around his neck, her leg around his
hip.

“Tonight?” she purred as he slowly pushed
away.

“I can’t be sure. Don’t count on me.” With
that Devon unclasped her hands from behind his neck, where they’d
tangled with his hair. Before stepping back he settled the gold
coin in Lil’s palm.

“I told you, there’s no charge, sweetie.”

“I know what you said.” Devon folded her
fingers over the money. “But we all have to make a living,
especially with times like they are.”

“Business has never been better for me, and
from what I hear, for you either, sugar.”

When Devon jerked around as the sound of
commotion on the street below drifted through the open window, Lil
said, “That is nothing. Just some of the soldiers acting up.
Happens all the time.”

But Devon ignored her words and strode to the
window. He scanned the street below with the eyes of a man used to
searching out trouble. “Damn!” His curse was punctuated by the heel
of his hand slamming against the wooden sash. Racing across the
room, he grabbed the brass handle and yanked open the door.

“What is it honey? What’s wrong?”

Devon was down the spiral staircase, heading
for the front door before the last of her question was out. The
stairs below were empty this time of the morning—most patrons of
Lilian McAbee came calling after the shadows fell. Closed shutters
kept out most of the sun’s rays and the noise from outside, so that
the shock of both hit Devon as he hurled himself out into the
street.

From the brick stoop Devon looked around,
then leaped off and elbowed his way through a group of soldiers. He
didn’t take time to question what the dirty, scraggly-haired sailor
was doing before he grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. The
burly man stared at Devon gape-mouthed, surprised enough to let
loose his tug of war with the young widow over her carpet bag.

She gasped, the momentum sending her
backwards against the rough bark of a palmetto. Devon glanced to
the side in time to see her hat fly askew. The veil separated to
show wide blue eyes set in a pale as ivory face. He was right about
the hair. Strawberry blond curls sprang out in all directions as
she grabbed hold of her hat brim with one hand. The other stayed
firmly attached to the handle of her bag.

Devon turned, ready to offer assistance but
the blind-side blow made him fall backward instead. “We’ll teach ye
to stick your snooty nose in where it ain’t wanted,” a rough voice
said from behind him as Devon whirled around. His punch caught his
assailant in the stomach, eliciting a loud “oof” sound as he
doubled over.

“Son of a bitch.” The man looked up with
hatred in his eyes, then hurled himself forward, catching Devon’s
knees in his brawny arms.

They rolled onto the dusty street, first the
sailor on top, then Devon. Curses flew like rockets as the
pedestrians swerved to make way for the brawling men. Devon’s fist
slammed into a bristle covered jaw, stinging his knuckles. But in
the next instant his opponent connected with Devon’s mouth,
smashing his lip against his teeth. The blood that spewed over his
shirt could have come from his lip or the sailor’s nose when Devon
flattened it with his next punch. Devon lifted his clenched hand to
land another blow, but the sailor just lay there. Straddling him,
Devon grabbed hold of his filthy jacket.

“In Charleston we don’t treat ladies like
that.” Devon jerked the man’s head off the street. “Now
apologize.”

Devon twisted his head around only to find
that the lady in question no longer stood beneath the palmetto
fronds. Then shattering pain exploded in his head. Black dirt came
rushing up to meet him. Devon lay, facedown, the smell of puff mud
strong in his nostrils. Even if he’d anticipated the heavy booted
kick to his ribs, or the groan of pain that came through his split
lip, he could do nothing to stop either.

“That’s what ye get for foolin’ with true
blooded sons of these here Confederate states,” one of the men
laughed as he helped his fallen buddy to his feet.

Devon tried to lift his head, but it wasn’t
until a strong arm braced him under his arms that he could pull
himself up. His rescuer was Saul, Lil’s man. The black man, for all
his rippling muscles and broad face, was gentle as he helped Devon
to his feet.

Lil stood on the porch, marginally covered by
a silk wrapper. “Bring him on over here, Saul,” she said, smiling
cheekily to a well-dressed man who commented on her attire. “Stop
by tonight if you’ve a mind to see more,” came her reply before she
led the way inside the dim interior of her establishment.

“I can walk on my own.” Devon pulled away
from Saul, embarrassed by the beating he took.

“Sure you can.” Lil motioned to Saul, who
backed away as Devon collapsed onto the horse hair settee in the
front parlor. “And I suppose you could handle all three of those
ruffians by yourself too.”

Devon raised up on his elbows. “There were
three of them?”

Lil sent Saul to fetch some water, shaking
her head as she reached down to unbutton Devon’s shirt. “Don’t you
even consider the odds anymore before you jump into a fight? Why I
remember a time when Devon Blackstone had the advantage worked out
every way to Sunday before he so much as answered a question.”

He remembered those days too. As a matter of
fact, Devon still considered himself a cautious man... at least for
a blockade runner. He wasn’t sure why he ran off half-cocked, so to
speak. Actually, he did. “What happened to her?” He nudged aside
Lil’s hand and sucking in his breath, peeled the linen shirt from
his body. His left side was turning an ugly molted purple. But it
didn’t look half as bad as it felt.

“The lady?” Lil arched her raven brow and
sloshed a rag into the basin Saul had set on the floor. “That’s
what this was all about? Playing the chivalrous southern gentleman
for some woman?”

At Devon’s scowl she leaned over and wiped
the blood from his lip. The front of her wrapper gaped open but she
didn’t bother to cover her breasts. “The lady ran off before the
fight even started.” Lil chuckled. “She probably didn’t realize she
was supposed to stay around and pick up the pieces of her knight in
shining armor.”

Trying to catch her breath, Felicity leaned
against the whitewashed stucco in the alley behind Tradd Street.
She’d run, dodging people and clutching her valise, all the way
from the wharf. All the way from those terrible men.

Felicity sniffed, resisting the very strong
urge to slide down the side of the building and give into a fit of
tears. Her legs ached, her arm felt like it was going to break and
she’d never been so hot in her entire life.

“Lord, how does anyone stand it here?” she
muttered as she fished in her reticule for a handkerchief. Lifting
the black veil she dabbed at the perspiration on her face.

She had half a mind to fling the blasted hat
off. After all, posing as a widow hadn’t protected her from those
men who tried to steal her carpetbag. Felicity squeezed the leather
handle to assure herself that it was indeed safely in her
possession.

With a sigh she straightened the heavy veil,
effectively cutting off even the tiniest wisp of a breeze. Maybe
those men down by the dock hadn’t respected her widowhood, but they
were obviously the lowest form of humans. But the truth was, most
people she met on the train ride south were very solicitous of
her.

Uncomfortable as she was, Felicity had to
admit her plan to masquerade as a widow had been inspired. Almost
as inspired as traveling to South Carolina to bring back Esther’s
children. Felicity consoled herself by imagining the expressions of
admiration and love on the faces of her father and Jebediah when
she returned to New York, with the three children by her side.

As pleasant as those thoughts were, Felicity
didn’t have time to indulge in them. She was hot and tired and more
hungry than she ever remembered being. But all that would be taken
care of as soon as she reached her cousin Louise’s house on Meeting
Street. Felicity sighed, thinking of the cool, lavender scented
sheets that awaited her. And she’d rid herself of this awful hat
and gown. Once she reached Louise and her husband Cyrus’s house she
wouldn’t have to concern herself with ruffians again.

Looking both ways to get her bearings,
Felicity stepped out onto the street. Charleston wasn’t at all the
way she remembered it. She knew there’d been fighting around the
city, but she never expected to see so many signs of the war. The
conflict left very few marks in New York City. Parades of soldiers,
black draping over a few doorways and the tiresome political
discussions were about the only indications.

But here...

The people she saw on the street were nothing
like the genteel ladies and gentlemen who promenaded the oak lined
avenues on her previous visit. These were coarse women and soldiers
who seemed to have never heard of military discipline.

Felicity kept her eyes straight ahead beneath
the veil and followed Tradd Street till it crossed Meeting. Turning
right she headed toward St. Michael’s Church, blinking back tears
of relief when her cousin’s house came into view. The shutters were
closed against the sun and Felicity could almost feel the shadowed
cool of the large, high ceilinged rooms.

Despite her fatigue Felicity practically
skipped up the stairs to the front door. Lifting the dolphin-shaped
knocker she let it drop with a loud bang.

Nothing.

Felicity knocked again, thinking Louise
should speak with her servants about answering the door in a timely
manner. It wasn’t until the third time she used the knocker that
tiny tendrils of doubt began inching through her. But she wouldn’t
panic. Wentworths didn’t panic. Instead she stepped back, squinting
through her veil at the shuttered windows for some sign of
movement.