"Why don't you take me with you?" Glory suggested, and Nathan began to squirm and protest behind the gag. "I've been wanting to go home. My mother would probably pay you quite a bit extra for returning me."

"Gal may be right," the younger man said, eager to agree. "Story I heard was they ran away together. Girl's wanted home, too. Like she says, her ma oughta be real happy to have her back."

"I don't know, Matt," Spence said. "Women ain't nothin' but trouble."

"Money's money," the muttonchopped man put in, "however it comes. Girl's here. We got no place to keep her till the ship leaves nohow."

"All right," Spence agreed. "But you two is responsible fer her. I ain't kissin' no dolly's behind fer no amount a money."

"Seems to me this dolly's behind'd be real nice to kiss," Matt said, green eyes bright with mischief-and something else Glory refused to name. She felt another shiver of alarm. She might be at the mercy of these three men for more than ten days. Would they keep their distance?

"Come on, darlin'." Matt grabbed her arm. "Wiggle that pretty behind a yours up the gangplank. We got a long ways to go to git you home."

The accommodations aboard the Southern Star were less than spacious. Even the tiny cabin she'd shared with Rosabelle on board the Black Spider seemed luxurious by comparison. There was a rope bunk with a corn-husk mattress, a barrel for a table, and a single wooden chair. A small whale-oil lantern hung from a peg on the rough plank wall. The moment they boarded the ship, Nathan had been clamped in irons and taken below to join a dozen other runaways.

"Ship." Glory scoffed at the word, the sound hollow in the near empty room. She would hardly call the Southern Star a ship. It was a vessel of sorts, more of a scow. The decks were dirty and ill-maintained, the sails grimy and tattered. Nathan would have said the crew was a "scurvy lot." She would have to be careful, stay away from the men as much as possible. Nicholas had taught her about men like these.

Nicholas. Glory sank down on the narrow bunk. Just the thought of Nicholas brought the sting of tears. She could still see his face as he had smiled at her this morning, feel the gentle pressure of his lips as he kissed her good-bye. His touch had stirred sweet longing even before he left. By now he would be on his way to his meeting in Albany. By the time he returned to the city, she would be well on her way back home.

But the South wasn't home to Glory. Not anymore. Now home was with Nicholas, wherever he was. If only she could have left word. She should have done something, anything to let him know where she'd gone.

Lying on the sagging bunk, Glory let her mind conjure thoughts of Nicholas, and the one thought she'd held at bay loomed strong: What would Nicholas think had happened to her? Every time the question arose, the answer came swift and hard, bringing a stab of pain: He would think she had run away. He'd think she had betrayed him- just like his mother. She didn't want to believe it, refused to believe it-for now she understood the heartbreak it would cause. Once they reached Charleston, she would send a message to Nicholas by the swiftest packet. Still, it would be weeks, maybe even a month before word reached him. What would he do in the meantime? Would he believe something had happened? Would he try to find her? Even if he tried he would find no trace. Little by little he'd be convinced she had left him.

Glory closed her eyes. She knew what he would do. Knew, as she was coming to know him so well. He'd go to Kristen or to a woman like Ginger McKinnes. He'd find comfort in her arms. He'd make love to another woman in an effort to forget her, to be rid of her forever.

And this time Glory wouldn't forgive him.

No matter how much she wanted to, no matter how hard she tried. Because this time the breach of trust would be too great. No amount of love could repair the damage. No amount of forgiveness would bring them together again.

Glory turned her head into the darkness of her bunk. Tears soaked the stiff wool blanket, rough against her cheek. How she missed him. How she needed him. If only shed told him how much she loved him, he might have believed in her, been able to trust her long enough to discover the truth. But she hadn't said the words, and now it was too late.

She thought of their time on the strand, but that seemed long ago and unimportant. The times that meant something now were those they'd spent at their home in Tar-rytown. Our home, he had said. She remembered their rides together in the country, the gentleness of his touch as he'd held her in his arms. He was just beginning to confide in her, just beginning to speak his heart.

Now all that might be destroyed.

He would return to find her gone, their room empty, the fire cold. Then his heart would turn cold, too. She couldn't bear to think of it. Couldn't bear to imagine the bitterness on his face as he became more and more certain she'd betrayed him.

If only I had spoken my heart, she thought for the hundredth time. Maybe things would be different. Maybe he wouldn't doubt my love. Maybe he'd wait for me.

But she hadn't.

And in believing she had betrayed him, Nicholas would betray her.

Glory squeezed her eyes closed against pain. She had no choice, she told herself. Nathan was her brother. But her husband might be lost to her, lost to her forever. No words, no amount of justification could make up for that. Not ever.

Please, God, she prayed. You've always been so good to me, given me everything I wanted-or at least thought I wanted. Those things mean nothing to me now, not without Nicholas. Please let him know that I love him. That I would never hurt him. He acts so strong, and most of the time he is. But he needs me.

And I need him.

Glory cradled her head in her arms and wept for all that she had lost-her father, her childhood, her baby. And now her husband. She wished things could be different- and didn't believe for an instant they would.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

"I got here just as quickly as I could. Tell me what's happened." Nicholas stood in the foyer, still wearing his overcoat.

Bradford walked up beside him. "Come. Let's go into the study." Brad turned to go, but Nicholas swung him around.

"Where's Glory? Has something happened to her?" It was all he could do to control his voice. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it knocking against his ribs.

"We aren't sure, Nicholas. Please. Let's go into the study. I'll pour you a brandy and tell you what's happened."

"What's happened," Elizabeth St. John Blackwell called from the stairway, "is your little tart has followed the same path as your mother. She's run away with another mar."

"Mother, please," Brad pleaded. "This is difficult enough already."

"I want to know what's going on, Brad, and I want to know now." Darkness had fallen outside the town house, marking the end of the third day since Nicholas had left home. Three short days-and his world threatened to turn upside down.

"The study," Brad repeated, and this time Nicholas followed. Brad closed the door behind them, helped Nicholas out of his coat, and poured him a brandy, which he accepted with a shaky hand.

"Glory's gone, Nicholas," Brad said simply. "We don't know where."

"How long ago?"

"After you left on Sunday, she and I took a walk in the garden. She said she wanted some time alone, so I left her there. I haven't seen her since."

Nicholas sank down on a leather chair beside the fire. Lamplight bathed the room in a yellow glow that cast shadows beneath Nicholas's high cheekbones. "And Elizabeth saw her leave with a man?"

"I don't believe her, Nicholas. You know she'd do anything to cause trouble between you two. She was upstairs resting. I don't believe she saw a thing. It's just her way of getting even with Glory for the other day."

"What did she say the man looked like?" Nicholas asked with forced control.

"Mother says she didn't get a good look. He was tall. That's all she remembers."

"Any sign of a struggle?"

"No."

"What have you done so far?"

"I've sent a messenger to Tarrytown. She hasn't returned to the estate. We checked with the hospitals, doctors. Nothing."

"Have you spoken to her brother?"

"Only indirectly. His roommate said he was on an extended field trip. He left town before Glory came up missing."

Nicholas took a long sip of brandy, allowing the fiery liquid to bum its way down his throat. "What did you talk to her about? In the garden, I mean."

"Mostly about you. She asked about your mother and I told her all I knew." Brad took a drink of his brandy after warming the snifter between his hands. Nicholas noticed the worry lines around his mouth, the grooves creasing his brow. "The only reason I haven't sent for the constable is because of the gossip you two have already suffered. More would be ruinous for Glory. I hired someone private to look: into the matter. The best I could find. I hope you approve."

"That's fine," he said flatly.

"I won't lie to you, Nicholas. I'm worried. I think something's happened to her."

Nicholas leaned his head against the antimacassar covering the back of his chair. "Something's happened, all right. She's left me, Brad. Probably for George McMillan or some other man."

"I don't believe that and neither should you. Glory loves you. She told me so that day in the garden."

Nicholas cocked a brow. "Is that so? Then how is it she hasn't told me?"

"She was going to, Nicholas. That's what she told me." Nicholas released a long, ragged breath and took another sip of his brandy. "I wish I could believe that, Brad, but I don't. She didn't want to marry me in the first place. She wanted an annulment, asked for it more than once. I guess she got tired of asking."

"If you believe Mother-"

"It isn't just that."

"What, then?"

"I just don't think she loves me. Maybe she never did."

"What if you're wrong, Nicholas? What if something has happened to her? What if she needs your help?"

The thought squeezed his heart like a vise. He sat quietly for a time, staring into the flames and remembering Glory's face. "I almost wish it were true. Almost wish something dire had happened, that her life was in danger. But I know Glory. She would never have left without a struggle. Somehow she'd have let us know." He finished off his brandy and rose to his feet. Picking up his overcoat, he strode to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"I know what you're thinking, Nicholas. Don't do it. Give her some time. Find out what's happened."

He didn't answer, just walked down the hall into the foyer. Brad's footsteps echoed behind him.

"You're wrong," Brad said. "And if you are, she'll never forgive you. Not this time."

Nicholas's hand paused on the heavy brass latch. He stood there a moment, poised, his thoughts a jumble of emotion, his heart breaking in two. Then he opened the door and headed into the night.

"Join us for supper?" Matt Bigger asked. He stood in the passageway just outside her door, a hopeful expression lighting green eyes a shade darker than Glory's dress. She knew all their names by now. Spencer James was the thin man; Lester Fields, the older muttonchopped man.

"I . . . I think I'll just eat here, if you don't mind."

"You been sayin' that for days," Bigger said. He grinned up at her. "Surely you're tired o' being shut up in this room?"

She felt her defenses weaken. Bigger looked harmless. She judged he was only a few years older than she. His manner of speaking put him from somewhere in the South. Still, she didn't trust him. There was something in his eyes . . .

"I'd like to. I really would. But I'm tired and I have a touch of seasickness, I'm afraid."

Stepping inside, Bigger closed the door softly behind him. The lamp jiggled and flickered against the wall. "What you need is someone to take care of you. A man to look out for you and protect you."

"I have a man," Glory said, then wondered where her husband was right now. She'd been gone five days. Nicholas had surely returned from his trip by now. He'd found her gone and-and what? she asked for the thousandth time.

"If you've been with a man," Bigger was saying, "then I don' need to be so careful o' your sensibilities." He grinned, teeth white, except for one a shade darker near the front. It made him look almost boyish. "Once a woman's been broke to the saddle, there's no way to tell how many riders she s carried. Whey don t you come on over here and let me kiss you? I been told I'm real good at kissin'."

Glory's heart began to pound. "Please, Mr. Bigger. I'm a married woman."

"Married, is it? Married ladies is my specialty." His hand closed around her arm, and he pulled her against him. His fingers massaged the peak of her bosom through the bodice of her mint-green dress. Though she tried to turn away, he held her fast and kissed her hard. His lips felt warm, his breath tasted of tobacco but was not unpleasant. All she could think of was Nicholas. When his hand moved to fondle her buttocks through the folds of her dirt-stained skirt, she jerked away.

Bigger seemed surprised. He grinned as if he found her refusal a challenge, then stepped toward her again.

"Leave off, Matt." Lester Fields stood in the doorway. "She's goods, same as the darkie. We ain't gonna git top money if the merchandise is damaged."

Matt Bigger stared down at her, eyes dancing. "Might be worth takin' a little less to sample this sweet stuff."

"Me and Spence got a say in this, too, and we say you leave her alone. You can buy all the cock alley you can handle once we git paid. Till then stay away from the girl." Bigger released her. "I s'pose you're right." He turned his attention to Glory. "Never was one of you sweet-smellin' prisses worth a damn in bed nohow." He grinned till he dimpled, exposing his dark front tooth. "You sure did taste good, though. Lips sweeter'n hard rock candy."

"Come on," Lester urged. "No use dwellin' on it. 'Sides them boys down south kin git mighty nasty, they think you been dickin' one o' their women."

"By, darlin'," Bigger said with a smile.

Glory shuddered as he closed the door, then rolled the heavy wooden barrel in front of it.

Brad awoke to a pounding at the massive oak front door. So did the rest of the household. Servants scurried into the foyer, each trying to beat the other to the door to quiet the raucous sound. Brad had made it only as far as the top of the stairs when the door swung wide. Nicholas stepped inside, clothes disheveled, black hair mussed. Several days' growth of beard darkened his swarthy cheeks. He took the stairs two at a time. Brad grimaced as he passed, smelling stale alcohol-and the scent of strong perfume.

"Where the devil have you been?" Brad demanded. "I've been worried sick."

Nicholas continued down the hall and into the room he had occupied with Glory, Brad trailing behind.

"I said, where the devil-"

"I heard you the first time. I've been in half the sleazy taverns in New York."

"And Kristen Pedigru's bed?"

"No."

"Well, you certainly smell as if you've been in someone's bed."

Nicholas stopped only long enough to throw him a sidelong glance. "It isn't what you think. I've been trying to find out what happened to Glory. I started in the taverns, then decided to go back to see Nathan's roommate. After a bit of persuasion, he showed me this." Nicholas fumbled in the pocket of his rumpled waistcoat, then handed Brad the poster that offered a reward for Nathan's capture and return to Charleston.

"My God!" Brad exclaimed.

"Nathan wasn't on a field trip. He was headed here to find me and get help." Nicholas tossed several clean shirts, some breeches, and his boots into a carpetbag. "They've taken her, Brad. I'm sure of it."

"Two days ago you were just as sure she'd left you. What happened to change your mind?"