Picking up her silver fork, she attacked her salad greens with a little extra zeal. Whatever there was about the infamous Captain Blackwell, Gloria Summerfield would not be daunted. She intended to ignore him, pay him not the slightest heed.

That was no easy task when his solid thigh inadvertently pressed against her, or when the deep cadence of his voice in whispered conversation with the widow drifted to her ears.

Morning at Summerfield Manor was a joy to the senses. Nicholas awoke to the fragrance of azaleas floating through the open windows, the heat of the sun on his cheek. He stretched and rolled to his side, meaning to caress the warm body next to him but, with a start that erased the last of his hazy sleep, realized he slept alone. No flaxen-haired beauty nestled beside him-she was only a dream. With his mouth curved in a rueful half-smile, Nicholas shoved back the satin cover and swung his long legs from the huge four-poster rice bed onto the floor. A thick Tartan carpet protected his bare feet from the coolness of the wide oak planks beneath him.

After pouring water from the blue porcelain pitcher into the basin on a marble-topped bureau, Nicholas performed his usual morning ablutions, dressed in riding breeches and a crisp linen shirt, and headed downstairs.

Glory Summerfield, in a light green chambray gown, was seated in the dining room beside her father, their discussion animated until Nicholas walked into the room.

"Nicholas." Julian stood up and indicated a seat across from Glory. Louise Summerfield was nowhere to be seen. "Plenty," Julian beckoned, "you may serve now." The buxom black woman swayed precariously, her pendulous breasts swinging with her jaunty gait as she moved toward the door to the pantry.

"Yes, sir, Massa Julian," the heavy slave called over her shoulder.

"Good morning, Julian, Miss Summerfield," Nicholas greeted them as he seated himself before an elegant service of porcelain and silver.

"Good morning, Captain." Bright blue eyes met his boldly and staunchly refused to glance away.

"Bah," Julian said, swallowing a sip of his richsmelling coffee while a tall thin Negro poured Nicholas a cup. "I'm sure my daughter prefers to dispense with formality between friends. Don't you, my dear?" He shot her a hard glance.

"Oh, course, Father. Captain, you may call me Gloria."

Nicholas almost smiled. "I'm honored, Glory," he said pointedly and saw warm color brighten her cheeks to the same soft coral shade as her lips.

Julian grinned broadly and took another sip of his coffee. "Something's come up this morning, Nicholas. I'm afraid I won't be able to show you the plantation as I had planned. My daughter has volunteered for the task. I was certain you wouldn't mind."

Touche, Nicholas thought. Julian always was a sly old dog, but this time his efforts might prove his undoing. Sending the fox to guard the chickens was always a risky move.

"You're certain I won't be interrupting your plans?" Nicholas directed the question to Glory.

"Well, I had planned to-"

"Nonsense!" Julian cut in. "Of course you won't."

Nicholas fought the pull of a smile. The thin slave returned to the dining room with silver platters filled to overflowing: succulent honeyed ham, fried potatoes, fluffy scrambled eggs, and fresh hot biscuits. Porcelain gravy boats ran with thick red-eye gravy, and a big bowl steamed with grits.

"Dig in, my boy," Julian said with a satisfied smile, and Nicholas wasted no time in doing just that. Glory only picked at her food and said little. When the meal ended, Julian excused himself and so did Glory. She would meet Nicholas out at the stables.

Nicholas wandered the grounds of the plantation absorbed in the hustle and bustle around him. Women in bright-colored skirts, their kinky hair hidden beneath equally bright-colored turbans, chattered noisily while tiny children played at their feet. Some hooked laundry from iron cauldrons of boiling water with long wooden poles, while others dug in the huge vegetable garden that ran beside the main barn.

Nicholas passed through the dairy, where two Negro women butchered lambs, two more churned butter, and a young boy forked hay into the manger. Even after his lengthy perusal, Nicholas reached the stable ahead of Glory.

A barrel-chested, mud-faced Negro stood ready to serve him. "Massa Julian say you ride Hannibal," the man said. "He a mighty fine horse. One o' the massa's favorites." He sauntered to a back stall, his heavy-legged stride unhurried, and returned with a big black stallion. A second trip brought a dancing blood-bay gelding with four white-stockinged feet.

"This be Raider. He for the missy."

"They're both fine animals," Nicholas said, running his hand along Hannibal's sleek black withers. "Julian always did have an eye for horseflesh."

"I'm glad you approve, Captain," Glory called out from the doorway. "I take it you like horses."

"As a matter of fact, I do."

Glory eyed him thoughtfully. He looked exceedingly handsome in his snug-fitting breeches and billowy white linen shirt. At her father's urging-and for his sake alone, she told herself-she was determined to make a fresh start with the captain this morning. The fact that he liked horses at least gave them something in common.

She took the big gelding's reins in a slim gloved hand. "Thank you, Zeke," she said, smiling warmly at the thickset slave. "Looks as if you're taking very good care of them." The man beamed with pride as she turned her attention to Nicholas. "Horses are one of my passions in life," she told him, patting the bay's neck. "I've loved them since I was a little girl. Father had me riding almost before I could walk."

Glory smiled up at Nicholas, the first real smile she'd graced him with since Julian had introduced them. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks bloomed, and Nicholas began to understand why so many men had fallen prey to her charms.

"Hannibal," she continued, "the horse you're riding, is a direct descendant of the Godolphin Arabian. His sons have raced and won at Plaquemine and Donaldsonville. I believe he could have been a champion-he has the stamina and the speed-but Father wanted him kept for breeding."

Nicholas arched a brow. "Your father said you were more than a pretty face."

"Did he?" This time she smiled mischievously, and Nicholas felt his resolve begin to slip. "What else did he say?"

"He said you'd probably turn your husband into a cowering mass of jelly. I believe those were his words."

Glory laughed aloud, a sparkling, crystalline sound Nicholas found enchanting. Sunlight streamed through the open bam door, lighting several tendrils of pale hair that had escaped from the smart chignon at the back of her head. A dark green veiled riding hat, which matched her habit, sat at a jaunty angle atop her head. Tiny kidskin boots peeped from beneath the hem of her skirt.

"Sometimes Father gets a little carried away."

Her anger was gone today and though Nicholas knew he should rekindle the flame, he simply hadn't the heart. He was entitled to a few hours of pleasure, he told himself. When the time was right, he'd spark her anger again, keep her at bay. For now he would indulge himself.

"Since we seem to be making better progress this morning than we did last night," he said, "I propose we continue our truce and enjoy the day."

"I believe that's a splendid idea, Captain." She smiled again, caught up in the excitement of the ride, perhaps, or the warmth of the sunshine after three days of rain.

Once the black groom had led the horses out of the bam, Nicholas lifted Glory into her sidesaddle, noting the way her tiny waist fit neatly into his hands, and handed up her riding crop. Hannibal, the stallion he would ride, pranced and pawed the earth in anticipation.

"Glory, chile!"

Nicholas glanced up as the buxom Negro woman from the house called to her mistress and waddled toward the barn carrying a wicker basket in her plump hands.

"I done made you and the cap'n some lunch. Cap'n need to keep up his strength if'n he's gonna ride with you." The old woman winked at Nicholas and grinned broadly.

"Thank you, Plenty," Glory said.

Nicholas packed the lunch in a leather bag the big Negro named Zeke found for him, tied it behind the saddle, and mounted. Glory set her booted heel to the bay's side and the horse broke into a trot. Nicholas caught them easily, the big black settling into a mile-eating gait.

They rode the muddy lanes in silence, enjoying the sun, the brisk morning air, and the smell of magnolias. Negro slaves worked among the rows of newly planted cotton, weeding and thinning, some of them singing softly as they worked.

"Summerfield Manor has sixty-five hundred acres," Glory told him. "Twenty-five hundred in cotton, twelve hundred in rice, three hundred in grain for our own use, and the rest is left fallow. Father feels it keeps the land from losing its strength."

"And I thought you only had time for your beaux." Glory laughed. "I like helping my father."

They rode for miles along the lane, beneath sweeping oaks draped with whispy strands of moss, along marshy waterways, through dense yellow and loblolly pine forests. When they came to the rice fields along the river, Glory described the planting procedures and again Nicholas was impressed with her intelligence.

"After the land is cleared, a complex series of trenches called quarter divides and cross ditches is constructed to secure an even flow of water over each section during the growing season. We use floodgates to control the tides." She pointed toward the end of one of the fields. "You can see one over there."

Nicholas followed the line of her slender arm, her gloved finger indicating a massive wooden gate.

"To flood the field the operator opens the gate and the water rushes in. It's let off at the ebb tide."

"Sounds complicated."

"Most of the fields have already been planted, but if you look through the oaks, you can see some of the mules at work. The ground is so soggy they have to wear huge boots-kind of like snowshoes for mud. A square piece of heavy leather on the bottom, tied over the feet with rawhide thongs."

Nicholas watched her closely, noticing the way she seemed to come alive as she spoke. "I thought women were supposed to run the household on a plantation."

"My mother takes care of all that. Actually I have very few responsibilities. If father didn't let me help with the ledgers, I'm sure I'd go out of my mind with boredom."

"I should think with all your admirers, you'd have more than enough to keep you occupied."

She shot him a fiery glance, but he looked as if he meant no insult, so Glory decided to let the comment pass. "I enjoy frivolity, as my mother calls it, just as much as any other woman. But I also enjoy the challenge of working with Father. I'm really only involved in the book work-profit margins, buying and selling, things like that- but I enjoy it just the same." The captain only nodded. He seemed to be sizing her up, weighing her words, and Glory wondered at his thoughts.

The morning progressed far differently than Glory expected. At first the captain was attentive, bantering lightly back and forth with her. Though he rarely smiled, he seemed to be relaxed and enjoying himself. As the hours passed, Nicholas became more and more subdued, and Glory wondered at the cause.

"Look! There's a big blue heron!" She pointed toward the edge of the rice field. "And there's a snowy egret sitting on his left." As she finished speaking, she caught a movement just outside her line of vision. Turning, she spotted Jonas Fry, the head overseer, in what appeared to be a heated conversation with one of the slaves, a slender youth she recognized as a Negro her father had just purchased off the dock in Charleston.

"Would you excuse me a moment, Captain?" she said. "I believe I've forgotten something."

Before he could answer, she whirled the bay and headed toward the overseer. Just as she feared, his face was puffed up with anger. At any moment he would resort to the whip he carried at his waist, and the slender youth would suffer the biting sting.

"What seems to be the problem, Jonas?" Glory asked as she reached them. The boy glanced up at her with huge frightened eyes.

"Nothin' for you to fret about, Miss Glory. Boy's never planted before. He's thick between the ears and clumsy as an ox. Couple of good strokes'll set him to payin' closer attention." It was obvious by the overseer's even angrier expression the boy would suffer for certain now. She probably shouldn't have interfered, but it was too late to back down. She decided on a change of tactic.

"Oh, Jonas," Glory said, smiling at him sweetly, "I know he probably needs a lesson, but I do wish you'd let me borrow him. I forgot my oilcloth, and the ground is so wet that I'm sure to ruin my habit."

For a moment Jonas wavered, thrown off by the mistress's dazzling smile; then his dark look brightened, and his puffy face split into a satisfied grin. "It's a four-mile walk to the main house and back. Long walk for an oilcloth. But if that'll make you happy, Miss Glory, it'll be my pleasure to send this here nigger to do yer biddin'." Glory felt a hint of annoyance at the man's coarse language, then a surge of relief. She smiled down at the overseer as if he'd had no choice but to gratify the silly whim of the master's daughter.

Glory was feeling secretly pleased with herself when Nicholas Blackwell rode up beside her. It was obvious from his disapproving scowl he'd overhead the conversation. For a moment Glory regretted her impulsiveness. The Captain already believed she was pampered and spoiled; now he would be more convinced than ever. Then Glory remembered the huge round eyes of the young Negro boy about to receive the lash and lifted her chin in defiance. Why should she care what Nicholas Blackwell thought!

Chapter Three.

"Have him leave the oilcloth on the old log up on Honeysuckle Knoll," she told the overseer. "And, Jonas"-she batted her thick dark lashes in his direction- "thank you so very much."

Nicholas made no comment, just sat a little straighter in his saddle, his mouth set in a thin, disapproving line. They rode the lane in silence, Glory wishing she could explain, but refusing to give the captain the satisfaction of knowing she cared. If he wanted to think the worst, then let him!

"Are you getting hungry?" she asked after nearly an hour had passed.

"Think your oilcloth will have arrived?" he responded dryly.

"If it hasn't, I'll just have to manage somehow." Nicholas looked at her askance, and she stiffened at his continued withdrawal. "It'll be drier up on Honeysuckle Knoll," she told him.

Saddle leather creaked in rhythm to the horses' steady gait as they rode along the path, Glory determined to enjoy the warm spring sun, Nicholas growing more solemn by the moment.

"My brother and I used to come up this way when we were children," she said, hoping to draw him into conversation and make him forget the scene at the rice field. "One of our tutors, Mr. Eisner, loved the out-of-doors. He would tell us the names of the different plants and animals we passed along the way."

"I didn't know you had a brother," Nicholas said.

And neither does anyone else, thanks to Mother. "He's away at school in the North. He wants to be a botanist. Mr. Eisner's lectures made quite an impression on him." Again Nicholas nodded, but he seemed preoccupied. He cut a handsome figure astride the big black, and for the first time in years, Glory felt a little self-conscious. "You're a very good horseman, Captain."

"Thank you," he replied. "So are you. I wouldn't have expected a woman of your . . . tastes to enjoy so strenuous a sport."

Glory ignored the barb. "I never was much of a tomboy, but riding is like nothing else. Don't you agree?"

"What? Oh, yes, yes, I do."

Glory quietly seethed at his lack of interest. Why was she rambling on like an idiot when the captain was obviously bored with her company? For the past half-hour the only time he'd looked at her was when he thought she wasn't looking at him.

"Captain, if you'd rather return to the house-"

"That might be a good idea, Miss Summerfield. I-"

"Glory," she corrected.

"Glory." He reined the black to a halt and turned to face her. She sat astride her big bay like a countess, wisps of flaxen hair glistening in the sun. Again Nicholas felt the strain in his breeches that had plagued him off and on for the past two hours. "I'm afraid I'm a little preoccupied with my ship," he lied, then combined the words with an element of truth. "I probably shouldn't have left Charleston."

"Father says you work too hard," Glory said.

"Maybe so, but I think you may be right about returning early."

Glory fought a surge of temper. "I am beginning to tire," she told him, furious that he'd enjoyed the morning not nearly as much as she. "And there are several important matters I should attend to this afternoon."

It was clear she felt he was not one of them, and Nicholas fought a surge of anger. If she were anyone but Julian's daughter, he'd have spent the morning charming the spoiled little chit into his bed. As it was, all he'd managed to do was give himself a case of the discomforts. And he wouldn't be able to find ease for that until he returned to Charleston. Even Lavinia Bond was beginning to look good.

"Tell you what, Captain," Glory said as she turned her mount around on the path. "I'll bet I can beat you home. There's a shortcut we can take through the fields if you think you're up to a few hedges."

"I don't think that's a good idea. The ground's too muddy. Someone might get hurt."

"You're not afraid you'll lose, are you?"

"Look, Miss Summerfield, as long as you're with me, you're my responsibility. We'll go back the way we came."

"Father told me a little about you, Captain, but he failed to mention you were a coward." With that she spun the big bay and dug her small heels into its flanks. The horse leaped into a gallop, then settled into a low-necked run.

Nicholas cursed beneath his breath and urged the black stallion forward. At first he pressed the animal hard to catch the bay. Then the black picked up the challenge and hurled himself faster, hoofbeats thundering against the muddy earth.

Spoiled and pampered, he thought. Not a moment's concern for anything other than her whims. She'd probably break her fool neck, and Julian would never forgive him. He leaned over the black's mane, urging him faster, hoping to catch the girl before she reached the first hedge looming in the distance. As fast as the animal ran, Hannibal had gained only half the distance Nicholas needed. Glory sailed over the hedge, her body parallel with the neck of the bay, taking the jump with just as much grace as she'd shown on the ballroom floor.

Nicholas cursed her for the little fool she was, took the hedge behind her, and continued his pursuit. She was still a few feet ahead when they approached a split-rail fence near one of the rice fields. As they drew near, the ground grew even soggier and Nicholas still wasn't close enough to stop her.

Just as she sized up the jump, the bay slipped in the marshy soil. The horse made the fence, but his landing was less than perfect, and Glory nearly pitched over the animal's head. She regained her balance and pulled the horse to a halt just the other side of the fence, jumping down from her sidesaddle in a single graceful motion.