"Really? I hate to miss your theatrics, but I already know about you and Nathan."

"You do?"

"I've known almost from the start."

She felt a rush of relief. "I've been afraid to tell you. Afraid you wouldn't understand."

"Ah, but I do, so you needn't concern yourself any further." He strode across the room and opened an ornately carved mahogany wardrobe. "You'll find some dresses and underthings in here. There's a needle and thread in the top drawer of the bureau if you need to make alterations. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

"But what about Nathan?"

"He stays where he is." Without a backward glance, he turned and left the room, slamming the door just a little harder than necessary, it seemed to Glory.

Stunned, she stared after him. What on earth was the matter with him? Surely he was just preoccupied with his duties. Their relationship couldn't have changed that drastically in one short hour. She would talk to him after supper, she resolved. Once the ship was under way, he might be more relaxed. Perhaps he'd see reason and let Nathan go.

Then she remembered the stern sea captain who had commanded the Black Spider- a man far different from the warm, giving man she'd come to love on the strand- and began to have her doubts.

Nicholas didn't come in to supper. Glory fidgeted throughout the sumptuous meal served in the elegant officers' wardroom. It was obvious the Black Witch was Nicholas's most prized possession. His flawless taste was evident from the massive carved wooden beams to the ornate brass sconces on the walls. Wishing he would join them, she let her gaze stray toward the door, watching for him, waiting for him to come into the room and grace her with one of his secret warm smiles.

Earlier, after he'd left the cabin, she had found the dresses, just as Nicholas had said, and though they were several inches too short, she was able to nip them in at the waist and make them fit. She wondered what they were doing in his cabin and felt a stab of jealousy that another woman had once shared his room. Necessity forced her to wear the dresses, so she shoved thoughts of whom they belonged to from her mind.

The gown she had chosen for supper was an elegant green brocade. Worn off the shoulder, the dress had a soft sweeping ruffle that trimmed the low neckline and nearly touched her elbows. The dropped-V bodice accented her tiny waist. Glory had twisted her pale blond hair into smooth chignons at either side of her neck and the effect was astounding. She'd almost forgotten how pretty she could look. She didn't miss Josh's appreciate glance, or the way Captain Durant's eyes drifted to the swells of her cleavage.

She hoped Nicholas liked her appearance. She was worried about Nathan and more than a little worried about what Nicholas planned for their future. She refused to dwell on the way he'd treated her earlier. He was just preoccupied, nothing more.

Josh and Captain Durant were excellent company throughout the meal, which was also attended by the Black Witch's first mate, William Allen, a dark-featured, broadfaced seaman in his mid-thirties.

As interesting as the men were, Glory had trouble following their conversation. She was anxious to speak with Nicholas, to settle things between them. Maybe tonight he would offer marriage. She knew by now every man in the crew was aware they'd shared a bed on the strand: She'd seen the looks and the lewd smiles that passed between them. Surely Nicholas had seen them, too.

Toward the end of the meal, Glory gave up watching for him. She declined a glass of sherry, pleaded a headache, and returned to her cabin. Disappointed and more than a little frustrated, she began preparing for bed. She had just finished brushing out her hair when a key grated in the heavy metal lock and the door swung open.

Nicholas stood in the doorway, a brass whale-oil lantern in his hand. Feeling the familiar rush of warmth he always stirred, Glory smiled warmly and rose from her seat in front of the ornate cherrywood-framed mirror. "I'm so glad you came," she said, walking toward him.

"Are you?" He lifted a winged black brow. Looking away from her, he began unbuttoning his shirt.

Glory's eyes widened as he tugged the shirt from his breeches. "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready for bed," he told her calmly.

"But . . . but where are you planning to sleep?"

"The same place I've been sleeping these past few weeks. With you."

"Nicholas, you can't sleep-"

"Captain," he corrected.

Glory's mouth went dry. "You can't mean to sleep with me on board the ship. Why the whole crew would know."

"They already know." He sat down in a tufted leather chair and pulled off his boots.

"Nicholas, I can't believe you mean to humiliate me this way. It's only four days to New York. We can be married, and then-"

"Married!" His brittle laughter rang across the room. In the glow of the lamplight, she could make out the hard angles and planes of his face. "What on earth gave you the idea we were getting married?"

Glory's hand inched to her throat. It was suddenly hard to breathe. "When we were shipwrecked . . . when you made love to me, I thought . . ." She swallowed hard. "I thought . . . you loved me."

"Love," he said with a sneer. "You're beginning to sound like Lavinia."

Glory sank down on the bed. No words would come. She shook her head slowly, unwilling to accept the hateful words.

"Get undressed," Nicholas commanded.

"What?"

"I said get out of that dress or I'll tear it off you." Glory licked her lips, her throat so dry she could barely speak. "I don't believe you're doing this."

"I'll just bet you don't. Now do as I told you."

She only shook her head.

Nicholas stepped out of his breeches, kicked them aside, then, naked, strode immodestly up in front of her.

"Fine," he said. "Have it your way." He grabbed her arms and roughly jerked them above her head, pushing her back on the bed at the same time. She tried to cry out, but his lips silenced her. Using his body, he pressed her into the thick feather mattress, shoved up her brocade skirts, then the white froth of her petticoats. Glory struggled against him, a feeble effort at best. Her mind refused to grasp what he was doing. She loved Nicholas Black-well. She didn't want to fight him. He deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue between her teeth-and against her will, Glory felt the stirrings of desire. She moaned and arched against him.

Nicholas pulled away. "That's right, pretty little whore, I'm going to give you just what you want."

The words stung like a slap, bringing her to her senses. She tried to get up, but he pressed her back into the mattress. This time Glory struggled in earnest. This wasn't the man she loved. This was a stranger. A madman. She writhed and twisted beneath him, felt his fingers clutching the band of her lacy cotton drawers, then heard the fabric rip away, leaving her exposed, vulnerable. She could feel the cool air against her heated skin and a tiny sob escaped before Nicholas captured her lips in another brutal kiss.

His hands moved over her body, along the curve of her hips, until he reached the pale triangle at the juncture of her thighs. For a moment he coaxed and teased, heating her blood, making her ache with wanting; then he slid his fingers inside her. Glory cringed as he found her wet and eager for his touch.

He laughed softly, the sound almost demonic. "Such a beautiful traitorous body."

"Stop it, Nicholas," she whispered. "Please don't do this." But he only parted her thighs and positioned himself above her. She could feel his manhood, hot and swollen, and remembered the pleasure he could give. His lips covered hers, his mouth open and warm, tasting and savoring, forcing a response. Though her mind rebelled against his savagery, her body begged for more. His hardened shaft teased her womanhood, found the entrance, and drove inside, filling her until she forgot the violence, forgot the cruelty of his words, and thought only of their passion.

Gripping his wide shoulders, she felt his muscles bunch beneath her hand while again and again he plunged into her. With a will of its own, her body arched against him, meeting every thrust, aching for him to bring release as only Nicholas could. She felt his muscles tense and her own tensed as well until a thousand pinpricks of pleasure skimmed across her heated flesh. A few more violent strokes, and Nicholas followed her to climax.

He rested above her only a moment, then rolled away and climbed from the bed. Glory swallowed the ache in her throat, the bitterness, the pain. Though she closed her eyes against her welling tears, a tiny trail of wetness slipped down her cheek.

"Why, Nicholas?" she whispered.

"Why not? It's what we both wanted." Pulling on his breeches, he buttoned them up the front, dressing casually, as if she weren't even in the room. Then he left without a word.

Glory hugged her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms protectively around them. She fought the aching sadness that seeped through her very bones, until she heard his footsteps recede down the hall. Then nothing could stop the terrible racking sobs that shook her slender body.

Nicholas watched the ocean slip beneath the ship in a surge of frothy foam. He stood at the rail in darkness; only a sliver of moon between the clouds glistened on the passing waves.

"So this is where ye be." Mac MacDougal stepped quietly up beside him at the rail.

"I don't feel much like talking, Mac," Nicholas said, staring straight ahead, his hands braced on the solid wood as if it were all that kept him from hurling himself into the sea.

"I havna often meddled in yer affairs, lad. But I kin see by yer face somethin' isna as it should be. The lass is a good girl, Nicky. You're bound to do right by her."

"Stay out of this, Mac, I'm warning you." He turned a hard look on his friend. "This is none of your business."

"Ye've been like a son to me, lad. I've always been proud o' ye. Don't make me ashamed o' ye now." A flash of moonlight lit the Scotsman's ruddy face.

Nicholas didn't miss the tight lines of disapproval he'd seen only a few times before. Glancing away, he stared back out to sea. He heard Mac's deep sigh and felt his friend's weathered hand as it rested on his shoulder. Mac said nothing more, just turned and walked back toward his cabin. His heavy footfalls thudded against the deck, adding their burden to Nicholas's already heavy heart.

Chapter Fourteen.

Glory didn't leave the cabin all the next day.

Josh came by with a tray of food at noon and then again at supper. Glory smiled and thanked him, but told him she needed to rest from her ordeal on the strand. Josh's worried expression said he didn't believe her, but he made no further attempt to draw her out.

As the hour grew late, Glory began to worry. Would Nicholas come to her again tonight? She had no way of knowing. Whatever closeness they'd once had no longer existed. The man who had come to her room last night had been a stranger, as foreign to her as the land to which she traveled.

Unable to read his thoughts and afraid of what he might do next, Glory watched the door to the passageway with growing alarm. She tried to stitch up another of the remaining gowns, but her hands shook so badly that she had to put her needle away.

A flash of foreboding made her shove the heavy bureau in front of the door, just in case. It took all her strength to move the massive piece, but once the task was complete she felt a little better.

Though she would have preferred something more modest, she found a sheer silk nightdress in the wardrobe and pulled it over her head. Again she wondered whose it was.

Had Nicholas seduced the woman in this very bed? Had he spoken the same words of passion he'd said to her?

She climbed onto the wide berth, but sleep seemed elusive. Every time she closed her eyes and began to drift off, she saw Nicholas as he had looked on the strand, tall and handsome, laughing and smiling, his gray eyes alight with what she'd been sure was love. The memory swelled a hard lump in her throat and kept her tossing and turning on the lonely bed.

"You're beginning to sound like Lavinia . . . like Lavinia . . . like Lavinia." The words echoed like a litany. She closed her eyes and tried to blot out the bitter sound of his voice. Every noise in the passageway set her already taut nerves even more on edge, until the grating of a key in the lock made her sit bolt-upright.

The latch lifted and the door banged loudly against the bureau. Nicholas's low sardonic laughter seeped through the narrow crack in the door. For a moment Glory couldn't discern the soft thudding she heard next, but when the bureau shuddered and began to move, she recognized the sound as Nicholas slammed his muscular shoulder time after time against the wooden door.

Glory raced from the bed and threw her weight against the bureau. "Go away, Nicholas. Leave me alone."

"Get away from the door, Glory," he warned. "I'm coming in one way or another. If I have to, I'll bring the whole crew down here to help me break in."

Glory's shoulders slumped. As she backed away from the bureau, Nicholas made a last heave, opening the door enough to allow him entrance. When he stepped inside, she faced him squarely, fighting back tears, her chin lifted in defiance.

"I can't stop you, Captain. I am only a woman. If you intend to force yourself on me against my will, do what you must."

Nicholas regarded her closely. "Against your will, my sweet? I hardly think so."

Glory didn't move. Nicholas stepped closer, his stormy eyes devouring the curves of her breasts through the sheer silk garment, the crests of her nipples two dark circles beneath the cloth. Another step and he settled the palms of his hands on either side of her face. Ever so slowly he lowered his mouth to hers, and the heat of his lips scorched her soul. She steeled herself against the familiar yearnings and willed herself not to respond.

Nicholas used the side of his thumb to open her mouth, then forced his tongue inside, employing it with practiced skill. He teased her lips, then gently licked the comers. Glory closed her eyes. She was back on the strand; the man she kissed was Nicholas. Her Nicholas. The man she loved. The hands that cupped her face were the gentle hands she knew so well, hands that knew every part of her body. Hands that had cared for her, protected her, saved her very life.

When he moved his lips to the place beside her ear, it was all she could do to stifle her moan. He trailed warm kisses along her neck while slipping the gown off her shoulders. When he moved his head to capture the hard bud of her nipple, Glory swayed against him. Her fingers slipped through the black hair curling at the nape of his neck. She didn't know she was crying until Nicholas lifted his head to look at her.

For a moment she hardly recognized him, his expression seemed so hard. Then, with a trembling hand, he brushed away her tears and swept her into his arms. Her blond hair trailed over his shoulder as his long strides carried them to the bed. He left her only long enough to shed his clothes, then returned to the place beside her.

"So lovely," he said. "Will I ever be able to forget you?"

The words mirrored thoughts of her own, and she whispered his name. I love you so much, she thought. In her mind she couldn't stop saying it, but her lips would not move.

Though they made love passionately, as though for the very last time, he was gentle with her, just as he had been on the strand. She felt his tenderness in the touch of his lips, felt his caring, felt his need. It didn't matter what happened on the morrow; tonight she had her Nicholas back, if only for these few precious hours. If only for tonight, her love was there beside her, showing her his feelings, giving of himself. His hands moved over her body, touching her, caressing her, urging her body to passion while her heart sighed with grief. How would she ever live without him? She didn't even want to try.

She wondered at his thoughts, wondered if he would miss her as she missed him, wondered why he was destroying her so completely. This time when they finished, he pulled her into the crook of his arm as he'd done so many times before. He didn't leave her, even when she feigned sleep, just kissed the pale strands of her hair and softly stroked her cheek. Exhausted, she stubbornly refused to fall asleep, though in his arms she could have. She didn't want to waste these few priceless hours, which might never come again.

Once during the long night when she was sure he'd drifted off, she opened her eyes and found his were open, too, gazing at her with a look Glory could only believe was regret. She wished he would make love to her one last time.

As if reading her thoughts his lips touched her cheek and Glory turned toward him. She touched his cheek and whispered his name. He kissed her then, with all the feelings she had ever believed he'd felt, and Glory thought her heart would break. She kissed him back and clutched his neck and wished the sun would never rise to tear them apart again. She prayed a huge wave would swamp the ship and end her misery.

They made love once more and this time, afterward, they both slept. When Glory woke up, Nicholas was gone.

He didn't return to her cabin that night or the next. Glory didn't see him again until the ship sailed into New York Harbor. Standing on deck beneath a gray sky, she clutched the light pelisse she wore over her borrowed rose silk dress to keep the wind from whipping it away. The stiff skirts swirled around her legs as she stood near the wheel making a sad farewell to her friends.

"Good-bye, Jago."

"You're a fine woman, Miss Glory. I've been proud to know you."

"Thank you, Jago, for all you've done."

"If there's anything you ever need," Josh Pintassle told her, "just let me know."

"Thank you, Joshua." She kissed his cheek. "I'll never forget you."

For a moment she thought he might say more, but he turned and walked away. Her glance followed his retreating figure until she spotted Nicholas standing near the rail. After snapping several orders to the crew, he turned in her direction, and though he didn't see her, her heart did a queer little twist. He noticed her moments later, watched her, but didn't make a move. His eyes swept her as if he wished to memorize each feature.

An ache wrapped itself around her heart, a pain so fierce Glory feared she might faint. She swallowed hard and moved to the opposite rail, clutching the smooth wood for support. Sea gulls screeched and turned overhead, and the South Street docks swarmed with activity. Through her tears, the sounds and sights faded to a merciful blur. She blinked hard, not wanting anyone to see.

Nicholas walked up beside her, but she didn't look at him. She was afraid of what she might see in his face. Would he look at her with derision-or with the love she yearned to glimpse just one last time? Though he stood beside her, she already missed him, as if she'd left him back on the strand.

"I'll have . . . Nathan brought up," he told her, a crisp yet plaintive note in his voice. "You can leave whenever you're ready. Mac will escort you wherever you wish to go."

"I have an aunt here," she said, keeping her voice carefully controlled. "Florence Summerfield Stacey. My father's sister. She lives not far from the Battery. She stared out at the bustling dock. They'd shared so much on the strand, yet each knew so little of the other. On the strand life had seemed so rich and full with just the two of them; there was no need for talk of others to intrude.

He didn't speak for a moment as if choosing just the right words. "I'll be returning to Barbados as soon as our stores are reprovisioned."

"Barbados?" Glory squeezed her eyes closed against the crushing pain. She hoped he wouldn't hear the tremor in her voice. It was all she could do to turn and look up at him, but she couldn't leave without knowing what she would see.

"Yes," he said, staring straight ahead. "I'll be working in the Caribbean for a while. The weather's so much more pleasant." His eyes looked vacant, carefully blank, his mouth a thin, narrow line. There was a sadness around the edges that hadn't been there before.

"I'll see the dress is returned," she said softly.