In minutes, the snap of the whip ceased its eerie rhythm, and Glory closed her eyes, thankful it was over. Wringing her hands, she stood nervously in front of Nicholas's desk waiting for him to appear. She didn't have long to wait.

He entered the room striding angrily toward her, his gray eyes dark with fury. "That's twice you've disobeyed me in front of the crew!" he roared. "I'll not stand for it again!"

His anger fired her own.

"You had no right to punish that man. I was the one you should have punished. I was the one who disobeyed your damnable orders!

She faced him squarely, her blond hair tousled and swirling around her face as it had the night before. Nicholas regarded her darkly, his temper barely contained.

"I have every right. I am the master of this vessel. It is my duty to see the Black Spider reaches her destination safely. In order to do that, I must have a crew who will obey me. The night watch disobeyed my orders. Thanks to you, I had no choice but to punish him." Her bottom lip trembled, and Nicholas read the pain in her eyes. He hardened his heart against it.

"I'm the one you should punish," she argued. "Not Nathan, not that poor sailor. I'm the one who disobeyed your orders."

"For once in your life, Miss Summerfield," Nicholas said coldly, "you're right. Unfortunately, you're a woman. I can't-"

"That makes no difference. That is not the question here. How many lashes did the boy receive?"

"Ten," he said softly.

"Then give the same to me!"

Nicholas stared hard at her. Though she faced him with defiance, she couldn't disguise the guilt she felt, her terrible need to make amends. Combined with the rage he felt at being upbraided in front of his men, it was all the prodding he needed. "There's a leather pointer beside my desk. Get it."

For a moment she looked uncertain. Then she straightened, lifted her chin, and went to fetch the stiff leather rod. She handed it to him with trembling fingers and Nicholas almost weakened. "Turn around and put your hands on the desk."

She did as he told her. Raising the rod above his head, he swung a stinging blow across the tender flesh of her bottom. She didn't even flinch. He forced himself to think of the man he'd had whipped on deck and brought the rod down in another stinging blow. Three. Four. Five. His hand shook so hard on the sixth he could scarcely hold the rod. Seven. He heard her whimper, and tossed the rod away as if it burned his palm.

"Enough!" He pulled her into his arms. "You've had enough."

"Nicholas, I'm so sorry." Her warm tears wet his cheeks where they pressed against him, and soaked the front of his shirt.

"It's over, love," he whispered. "You've paid for your mistake the same as the others. What's done is past; you don't have to feel guilty anymore."

She slid her arms around his neck and clung to him. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"I know, love." He smoothed the silvery strands of hair from her cheeks, then kissed her forehead, her eyes, her nose. "I know." As she tilted her tearstained face to look at him, he kissed her lips, gently at first, tenderly, wanting to take away the hurt, wishing none of it had happened, wishing he could hold her forever. When she opened her mouth to allow his tongue entrance, Nicholas forgot their heated words, forgot all but his desire for her. With a soft groan, he deepened the kiss. Her mouth tasted sweet, her lips felt warm and full. Cradling her cheeks between his hands, he brushed away the last of her tears, and a surge of protectiveness wrapped itself around his heart.

Mindlessly he moved his mouth along the line of her slender throat while he lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bed. As he lay down beside her, his tongue traced a fiery path along her skin and his hands slid down the bodice of her dress, cupping her breasts, teasing the peaks through the heavy silk fabric. He wanted to rip the offending barrier away. Instead, he carefully began to unfasten the buttons at her back.

Glory was in the place she most wanted to be-wrapped in Nicholas's arms. Never had she felt like this, never had she experienced the burning desire, the building need for another human being. She wanted Nicholas to caress her, wanted to feel his hands on her most sensitive, most intimate parts. His lips were a drug, seducing her, leaving her breathless and thirsty.

He moved his mouth to the curve of her neck, and Glory arched against him. Though she reveled in his touch, part of her remained uncertain. She was acting like a wanton, wishing he would touch her, wanting even more. His hands worked the buttons at her back, and she only wished he would hurry, that nothing lay between them. She could hear her mother's words: "It's vile and dirty." But it didn't seem vile to Glory. It seemed wonderful.

As his lips returned to her mouth and his tongue found its way inside, Glory softly mewed with pleasure. Unbuttoning his shirt, she slipped her hands inside and marveled at the feel of the stiff hairs curling on his chest, the flat hard circle of his nipple. He groaned, and she reveled in his response.

Miraculously, the bodice of her dress fell away, leaving Glory's full breasts straining against the top of her corset. Nicholas cradled each one and stroked her nipples, his kiss warm and sensuous, his tongue probing and tasting, sending tiny shivers across her flesh. She couldn't get enough of him, couldn't stand the thought of his pulling away. She felt a surge of love that bordered on madness, and prayed he felt it, too.

The ship strained and surged, perfectly matching the rhythm of their movements. Nicholas slid her skirts up and cupped her bottom, forcing her even closer. She could feel his manhood pressing determinedly against her and wondered how it would feel inside.

Conscious of her still-tender flesh, he gentled his touch, but not before a tiny sting brought a moment of clarity. Remembering the last time he had kissed her-the brutal lesson he'd taught-she began to have her doubts. What if he meant this as another means of punishment? What if he was only demonstrating his power in a way words never could? She felt him working the buttons of his breeches, and a soft sob caught in her throat.

At the sound, Nicholas pulled away to look at her. "Don't be afraid, love. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Nicholas," she whispered brokenly, "if this is one of your lessons, I'll never forgive you." The uncertainty on her face gave him pause.

Like a splash of cold seawater, reality surfaced, bringing with it the knowledge of where he was-and just exactly what he was doing. With a groan of resignation, he rolled away from her, raking a hand through his curly black hair.

Dress held modestly over her bosom, face flushed prettily, lips lightly bruised from his kisses, she sat up beside him, but couldn't meet his eyes. Waves of flaxen hair spilled across her shoulders.

Taking a calming breath, he turned her face with his hand, forcing her to look at him. "I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you. I've tried to stay away, but I can't do it anymore. The only lesson I want to teach you is how to make love."

"Oh, Nicholas." She slipped her arms around his neck, and he cradled her against him. Then he captured her lips and kissed her thoroughly. It took every ounce of his will to pull away.

"There is nothing I want more than to make love to you, right here and now. But my men are outside, sure I'm torturing you." His mouth curved up in one of his rare warm smiles. "If you don't go out there soon, I'll probably have a mutiny on my hands." His voice sounded husky, his breathing a little ragged, and Glory felt a tiny thrill that she could affect him so.

She smiled back at him, loving the gentle light in his storm-gray eyes. His features looked softer, almost boyish, and her heart swelled with love for him. Love. There was no way to deny it. She was in love with Nicholas. She prayed to God he felt the same.

A loud knock on his cabin door brought Nicholas to his feet. He adjusted his breeches and buttoned the front of his white linen shirt. As he approached the door, he glanced at Glory, who worked feverishly to rearrange her clothes, her face aglow with an enchanting pink blush.

"Who is it?" Nicholas called out.

"It's Mac, Cap'n. The men are worried about Miss Glory. They want to be sure ye've done her no harm."

Nicholas smiled ruefully and winked at Glory. "She'll be out in five minutes. None the worse for wear." Unfortunately, he thought. But he was. He had an ache in his breeches that wouldn't soon be soothed. With a sigh of resignation, he walked back to where Glory waited, her hair pulled aside, her back presented so he could do up her buttons. Such a simple gesture, yet one he felt so right in doing.

He thought of Nina, the woman he'd been determined to bed last night. Though he hadn't admitted it then, he'd been relieved to return to the ship. It wasn't Nina he wanted. It wasn't Ginger. He wanted Gloria Summerfield-and no one else would do. Somehow he would reconcile his conscience. Hell, if he had to, he'd marry the girl. The idea made him a little green around the gills. Finishing the last of her buttons, he kissed the slim column of her neck. When he turned her to face him, she looked troubled.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"I-I was wondering . . . I've never done anything- I'm not sure . . . what to think."

"How do you feel?"

"I'm not sure about that either. Kind of edgy or something. And I feel as if I want you to kiss me again."

Nicholas grinned delightedly. "That's exactly how you're supposed to feel. But once we make love, you'll feel different. You'll feel wonderful. I promise you."

"Make love?" Glory's heart raced. Was he speaking of marriage?

"That, sweet, is the natural result of what we were doing."

Glory swallowed hard. "I see." She thought the natural result of what they were doing was a marriage proposal.

He kissed the tip of her nose. "For now you'd better be going outside. The mutiny, remember?"

She blushed crimson and nodded. He placed a hand behind her neck and pulled her against him for a last brief kiss. Then she straightened her garments, paused a moment to regain her composure, and headed out the door.

Later that day they stopped briefly at Cape Fear, and Jago Dodd and a tall skinny sailor rowed Madame LaFarge and Rosabelle ashore. Discovering she'd developed an affection for the two ladies of somewhat dubious virtue, Glory hugged them before they left.

"I hope everything works out for you both," she said. "Give the baby a kiss for me."

"I promise," Rosabelle said tearfully. "If you ever need a friend, ya know where we'll be."

Glory handed her a bright yellow painted scarf. "Think of me when you wear it," she said. "I'll miss you both." Rosabelle accepted the gift with a tearful hug.

To Madame LaFarge Glory handed a small crystal vial, which held the dollop of expensive French perfume she'd managed to bring along.

"Thank ya, dearie. I won't forgit ye. And I'll wager you'll have the captain in the same fix by the time he gets to New York!" She laughed uproariously, winked at Glory, and slapped her beefy thighs.

Glory hoped Madame LaFarge was right.

"Have a good trip, dearie. I'd tell ye to drop us a line, but neither Rosy nor me kin read, so's we wouldn't be able to write ye back."

Glory only nodded. She hugged the buxom woman again, then let the two climb over the rail to the shore boats waiting below. It was no easy task for the heavyset woman-or the pregnant one-but eventually they were seated, and Jago and the skinny crewman rowed them to shore. Glory watched till they'd climbed the hill out of sight."

"What will happen to them, Nicholas?" she asked as he walked up beside her.

"Rosabelle will be well provided for. I have friends on the Cape, a young couple who can't have children. They've been expecting her. She's agreed to stay on and work for them after the baby is bom, and they'll be happy to have a child in the house."

"And Madame LaFarge?"

"She'll do whatever makes her happy-just as she always has."

Glory smiled up at him. For a moment his eyes met hers. He seemed to look at her differently somehow, the way he'd looked at her that night on the road. As if he wanted to say something, but couldn't quite find the words. And he watched her almost protectively, it seemed. She smiled to herself, secretly delighted with this latest turn of events.

Nicholas didn't appear at supper again that night.

"Good morning, Captain," Glory said to him a bit stiffly the following morning. He was standing beside the rail, handsome in snug black breeches and his usual snowy white shirt, looking out to sea as if pondering some weighty problem. Turning toward her, he graced her with a warm smile, and Glory's pique began to fade.

"Good morning, love. Sleep well?"

There was a suggestion of something intimate in his words, and warm color rushed to Glory's cheeks. "Yes, thank you, I did." It was a lie. She'd been out of sorts all evening, angry that the captain had ignored her again. She smiled and lowered her lashes. "I missed you at supper."

"I had some thinking to do."

"Some thinking?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I see."

"Do you?" he said.

"It's really none of my business."

"Ah, but it is. I thought maybe tonight, after supper, we might discuss it."

Glory's pulse raced. Nicholas Blackwell was the only man she'd known who could make her feel uncertain and shy and womanly all at the same time. "Fine" was all she could manage.

"I'm afraid I have some work to do, so I won't see you until then." His glance strayed from her face to the curve of her breast.

Recognizing the heat in that look, she felt a rush of embarrassment-and a warm glow in the pit of her stomach. It was a struggle to remember why she'd sought the captain out in the first place. At the moment all she could think of was the way he'd kissed her and the feel of his strong tanned hands on her breasts. She swallowed hard, glanced out to sea, then met his look squarely.

"Would it be all right if I went below to see my servant?" she asked before he could walk away.

"I'll have Joshua take you down." Nicholas smiled again, then left without further comment. The first mate arrived a few moments later.

"It's really not as bad as it looks, Glory," he told her as they walked to the aft ladder. "Nearly all of us have spent a day or two in the brig at one time or another. Besides, we'll be in New York in less than a week."

The brig turned out to be a tiny room at the aft end of the hold. The heavy oak door had a large opening obstructed by metal bars; a whale-oil lantern lit the room. Glory could see Nathan seated forlornly on a splintery wooden bench.

Her heart went out to him. "Can I go in? I'd like to speak to him alone."

"Of course." He unlocked the door and let her in. "I'll come back for you in a few minutes."

"Thank you, Josh."

Once inside, Glory waited until Joshua's footsteps faded away, then threw herself into her half brother's outstretched arms. "Oh, Nathan. I'm so sorry. I would never have talked you into taking me ashore if I'd known what would happen."

"Hush now, Glory. It really isn't so bad. The captain's been down here to check on me personally. He brought me a deck of cards and some hemp so I could practice bending line. Of course he doesn't know I can read."

"We're still almost a week away from New York: maybe I can talk him into letting you go."

"I don't think you should try, Glory. He might get suspicious if he thinks you're overly concerned about your servant. We can't take the chance of him finding out about us."

Glory hugged him again. "I suppose you're right. I just want you to know how sorry I am."

"Everything's going to be fine just as soon as we reach New York."

Glory nodded. "I love you, Nathan."

"I love you, too, Glory. Now get out of here. Cookie will be down with my dinner soon. He's challenged me to a game of gin rummy."

Glory heard the jangle of keys as Joshua Pintassle approached. She kissed Nathan's cheek and left the cell.

Nicholas Blackwell stood in the darkness of the hold, clenching and unclenching his fists. What a fool he'd been! He watched Glory leave on Joshua's arm, then through the bars on the door watched the tall handsome Negro pace the confines of the brig, his long, powerful legs carrying him from one side of the room to the other. Why hadn't he seen it before? The man was no field hand. No house servant, either. His manner of speech as he'd spoken to Glory said he'd been well educated-and he was handsome to a fault.

Nicholas burned with rage at the way he'd been duped. He'd known the girl was up to something from the start, but he would never have guessed she was running away with her dusky-skinned lover. Not that the color of the man's skin made any difference. It didn't. The men Nicholas sailed with came from every comer of the world: every race, every creed, every color. He'd kept a beautiful mulatto mistress in New Orleans for two years, a woman who was perhaps the most gracious he'd ever known. Educated, charming, just as this man, Nathan, appeared to be.

Prejudice was not the issue.

Gloria Summerfield had played him for a fool, used him to take her north-even pretended passion. And the whole time she was in love with another man. Nicholas closed his eyes against the blinding fury that swept over him. How could he have been foolish enough to think Gloria Summerfield was different? She was a woman, wasn't she? Just like his mother. Just like Lavinia Bond and most of the other women he'd known. Glory Summerfield had wormed her way into his affections, then played him for a fool at every opportunity.

Somehow, some way, Nicholas decided, he would make her pay.

Nicholas had little time to ponder his revenge. The day turned blustery; sharp winds snapped the sails and strained the rigging, and the sky darkened ominously.

"Mr. Pintassle," he ordered, "furl the skysails, the royals, and the topgallants. Double-reef the topsails." That would cut their surface area by a third.