"I . . . I didn't have time to find one," she lied.

He regarded her closely. "You're telling me you've traveled in the rain all night, without a proper companion, because you want me to help you reach your sick aunt." His gray eyes said he didn't believe a word she said. "Why me? Why not a regular passenger ship? The Black Spider is a merchant vessel."

Glory took a steadying breath. This was going to be harder than she thought. "The truth is, Captain, my mother and my aunt don't get along. My mother has forbidden me to go to her. I hoped you would help me."

"I'm not about to go against your mother's wishes, Miss Summerfield," he said, beginning to get angry. "You had better have your servant take you back home where you belong."

Glory rose to her feet, playing her final card. "I'm going to New York, Captain Blackwell-with or without your assistance. I came to you because you and my father were friends. I felt I'd be safe on board your ship. If you won't take me to New York, I'll find someone who will. If anything happens to me, it will be on your conscience." She swung toward the low door, praying he would stop her. She'd taken only a few steps before she felt his hand on her arm.

"You're that determined to go?"

"I am."

"You understand we'll be stopping at ports along the way. It will take you days longer to reach New York."

"I'd still feel safer traveling with you, Captain."

"Then you leave me no choice. I'll take you to your aunt, but I'm sending word to your mother."

"I don't need my mother's permission, Captain. I'm a grown woman. But then, maybe you hadn't noticed." Nicholas Blackwell raked her with his eyes. Wet and soggy, her expensive black traveling dress clung to every curve of her body. It outlined the points of her thrusting breasts and hinted at the shapely line of her hips and legs. Even damp and windblown, her flaxen hair gleamed in the lamplight.

He'd noticed all right.

He'd noticed the first time he saw her. Though he hated to admit it, he'd imagined bedding her a hundred times during his weeks at sea.

"I've noticed, Miss Summerfield. As I'm certain my men will." Her cheeks flushed at his words, and he remembered the smooth feel of them cradled between his hands. "If you're sailing with me, I'll expect you to follow my orders. You'll do exactly as I say. Is that understood?"

"Of course, Captain."

"There are two other women aboard."

For a moment she looked relieved. Then she eyed him suspiciously. "Are these women passengers?" she asked, "or personal acquaintances?"

Remembering what she'd said about Lavinia Bond, he felt the pull of a smile. "They're passengers. Though I believe you'll find them . . . different from the other women you've known."

"I'm sure I'll enjoy their company."

One comer of his mouth curved upward. "You'll find them educational, of that I have no doubt. You can bunk with Rosabelle." He started toward the door.

"And my servant?"

He turned to face her, his expression hard. She was lying and he knew it. But he owed it to Julian to discover just exactly what she was up to.

"I have money to pay for our passage," she added before he could answer.

"I see." He studied her face a moment more, recognizing the determined look in her eye. The same look she'd worn before she raced him across the muddy fields. Spoiled and willful, he thought, and wondered if this episode would end in disaster as well. He ignored the tiny voice that reminded him of the way she'd saved the Negro boy-and the sweetness of the kiss they'd shared on the road.

"Come along, Miss Summerfield. I'll show you to your cabin."

Glory lifted her soggy skirts and muddy petticoats and followed him into the corridor.

"Captain?" an attractive blond man in well-tailored clothes called out from the top of the passageway. "We're ready to cast off whenever you give the order."

Nicholas turned to face him. "Make way, Mr. Pintas-sle. I'll join you on deck just as soon as I get our new passenger settled in." The young man eyed Glory oddly for a moment, then turned and headed back up on deck.

Nicholas knocked lightly on one of the cabin doors. After receiving permission to enter, he swung the door wide, just as the ship began to creak and sway. It was an odd sensation, and Glory braced herself against the bulkhead.

"I hope you don't get seasick," Nicholas said with a scowl.

"I'll do my best," she told him, and prayed she wouldn't embarrass herself. She'd traveled by ship only once before, on a coastal packet to Savannah with her father. During that much shorter trip, she'd gotten just a little woozy, but the sea had been smooth, the sailing easy. Today the waters still churned from last night's storm; whitecaps pounded against the sides of the ship even while it sat in port. But the storm was ebbing, by the look of it. Already the sun was beginning to peek through the clouds. Glory could see a bright dawn breaking outside the tiny porthole, and she read it as a good sign, "Miss Summerfield, meet Rosabelle," Nicholas said.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss . . . ?"

"Rosabelle," the girl reminded her, as if she weren't too bright. "Just plain Rosabelle."

Glory glanced up at the captain, who looked amused, then back to the girl on the bunk. "Rosabelle," she corrected. She could barely make out the girl's features in the still-early light, but she appeared to be short and slightly pudgy, with long mouse-brown hair. When she leaned forward into the sunshine, Glory noticed she was very young, with apple-round cheeks and full scarlet lips. Her nightdress was of thin, worn muslin.

"I'll have your servant bring your bags," Nicholas told Glory. "After that, one of the men will show him where he can bunk."

"Thank you, Captain."

Nicholas nodded and closed the door. He headed down the narrow passageway already regretting his decision. It was almost as if Julian Summerfield's presence hovered above him, smiling triumphantly. Two weeks with Glory. Two weeks with nothing, no one, to keep him away from her but his own somewhat frayed conscience. Seeing her today, he realized again how many times he'd thought of her these past few weeks. He could still remember their kiss, the feel of her lips beneath his, with such clarity it might have happened only minutes ago, instead of weeks. The fact was, he wanted Gloria Summerfield in his bed. Badly. But bedding her meant marriage-the ultimate nightmare for Nicholas. Marriage was out of the question.

As captain of the ship, he reminded himself, he had an obligation to treat her with at least a minimum of courtesy. But above that, he decided, he would force himself to stay clear of the blue-eyed girl-or make her dislike him so much she'd stay away from him!

"Looks like me and you is cabinmates," Rosabelle said in a soft voice that betrayed her lack of education.

"I guess so," Glory agreed, attempting to be polite when all she really wanted to do was get out of her wet garments and into her bunk. "You're traveling all the way to New York?"

"Nah. There's a settlement near Cape Fear. But it'll take us a while to get there. Cap'n's got some stops along the way."

A knock at the door interrupted them as Nathan delivered Glory's big carpetbag. He said nothing, just grinned and winked at her, then fled the room. Glory hung up her several black dresses as best she could on a peg beside the door, removed her soggy clothes, and gratefully climbed into the top berth. Asleep in minutes, she didn't awaken until ten hours later, when she heard someone pounding on her door.

"Just a minute," she called out. After slipping into a light silk wrapper, she ran her hands through her rumpled blond hair. She knew she looked a fright and suddenly prayed the man at the door wasn't the handsome captain.

It was.

The hard lines of his face seemed to ease a little as he took in her sleepy appearance, the tangled mass of her hair.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said. "I thought you'd be up by now."

"You'll have to forgive me, Captain. I didn't mean to sleep so long. What time is it?"

"Almost three o'clock."

"I guess the trip into Charleston took more out of me than I thought."

"I'm sure it did," he said dryly. "I stopped by to ask if you wanted a tour of the ship, but I see my timing was off."

"If you'll give me a few minutes to get ready, I'd like that very much."

She looked perfect just the way she was, he thought. For the place he would most like to take her was back to his bed. A single ray of sunlight reflected on her hair, turning it a silvery gold, and her clear complexion still carried the rosy tint of sleep. Though she held her wrapper in place with a long, slim-fingered hand, he could see the mounds of her breasts, and almost ached to know whether they really tilted upward, as they appeared. Instead he let her close the door, and returned to his place on the deck. A few minutes later, he glimpsed her pale hair ruffled by the wind as she climbed the aft ladder to join him on the holystoned deck.

Chapter Six.

Glory breathed deeply of the clean salt air. The wind whipped her crisp silk skirts with their layers of petticoats while sea gulls screeched overhead.

Fortunately the sea had calmed; the sky had turned a clear azure blue. As a brisk wind puffed the white canvas sails, several crewmen smartly made fast the lines. When Glory approached, they stopped their work and stared at her with what could only be described as awe. Glory smiled at them warmly.

Their tall sea captain stood at the rail, his long legs spread against the gentle roll and pitch of the ship. He glanced toward his men, then at Glory, his look a little sterner than before.

"Welcome aboard the Black Spider," he said. But the words rang false, and Glory wondered why.

"Black Spider," Glory repeated, eyeing the man dressed more like a pirate than the gentleman he'd been at the manor. She corrected herself: Not exactly a gentleman. "The name seems appropriate," she said only half teasing.

"She's a triple-masted, square-rigged ship," he told her, and a hint of pride laced his voice. "She measures two hundred twenty feet, and she's one of the older ships in the fleet, but she's reliable. We use her mostly for transporting merchandise to and from the secondary cities along the coast."

"Father said you had quite an armada." Her eyes turned sad as she spoke of her father, but the clear ocean breezes were already beginning to soothe her, to lessen the ache in her heart.

A nearly imperceptible tightening around his mouth said the captain had noticed the change in her mood, but he only glanced out to sea. "The Black Witch, my flagship, is the fastest ship in the fleet." He led Glory toward the bow. "But she's been in dry dock for the past few months." Nicholas waved to the fair-haired man she'd seen before, and the man hurried toward them, a broad whitetoothed smile on his face.

"Miss Summerfield," Nicholas said, "I'd like you to meet Joshua Pintassle, our first mate."

"How do you do, Mr. Pintassle."

"I'm honored, Miss Summerfield." Glory recognized the familiar warmth in his cheeks, the wistful look she'd seen on her suitors' faces so many times before. Joshua Pintassle looked every bit the gentleman, his hair and clothing immaculate, his handsome face smooth-shaven. She smiled up at him. She could always use an ally.

"If there's anything I can do," he was saying, "anything at all to make your trip more pleasant, just let me know."

Glory smiled again and watched him through the thick fringe of her lashes. "I'll do that, Mr. Pintassle."

Nicholas scowled. "I'm sure Miss Summerfield will get along just fine." He glanced toward the two men who were unfurling canvas. "That rigging looks a little slack," he said to his first mate. "Take care of it."

"Aye, Captain," Joshua Pintassle said, his cheeks coloring. With a slight bow to Glory, he beat a hasty retreat.

"Maybe you'd like to take a turn at the wheel, Miss Summerfield," Nicholas suggested a bit curtly, returning his attention to Glory.

Her head came up. "Miss Summerfield? I thought we'd dispensed with formality back at the manor."

With a narrow smile, Nicholas raked her with his eyes, his slow perusal settling on the swell of her breasts, partly exposed by the cut of her neckline, the rest oulined by the wind against the fabric of her gown. "I think it would be in both your best interest and mine if we weren't too friendly in front of the crew." He glanced toward several men in duck pants. One wore a red checked shirt, unbuttoned to expose his broad tattooed chest; another, shorter man with a black patch over one eye lifted his canvas hat in mock salute. Each watched Glory with bold interest. "They're a tough lot," Nicholas warned. "Remember to keep your distance."

Glory stiffened. His mild rebuke seemed a gentle way of telling her just exactly what distance he intended keeping, and Glory felt a flare of temper. Maybe she no longer held his interest. But then, maybe she never had. They'd only shared a single kiss-one that had left Glory breathless and more than a little enamored of Nicholas Black-well. Obviously the kiss had meant less than nothing to the roguish sea captain.

"I'll remember that, Captain." She could have sworn she saw his jaw tighten before he returned his attention to the sea.

Nicholas escorted her up the ladder to the massive carved teakwood wheel on the aft deck and even allowed her to take a turn at steering. Then he introduced her to the brig's second mate, a man named MacDougal. Mac, as his shipmates called him, was a stocky red-faced Scotsman in his middle years. He'd known his captain since Nicholas was a boy.

"Me and the cap'n go back a long ways, lass," he told her. "Nicky signed on as a cabin boy aboard the Sovereign Lady bound fer England. He was no more'n a boy. I took him under my wing. Why, I taught the lad everythin' he knows."

Glory was amazed at Nicholas's indulgent smile, one of the few she'd ever seen. He looked younger, almost boyish, and Glory suddenly wished she could make him smile like that.

"Don't listen to a word this old sea dog says," Nicholas teased. "He's got a barnacle for a heart and salt water in his veins."

Glory smiled at the old sailor who sat on the deck braiding hemp into rope. His nimble fingers worked the line with such speed and dexterity it made the task look easy. Glory could see that it wasn't. When they got out of earshot, Nicholas told her the older man was a rarity among men of the sea.

"In a way, the second mate holds the most difficult position on the ship," he explained. "He's neither an officer nor a member of the crew. He gets double a sailor's pay for walking the fine line between the two. Mac is one of the few men able to bridge the gap. He's admired by officers and crew alike."

To Glory, it seemed Nicholas said the words almost reverently, and it was obvious he felt more than a little attached to the old Scottish sailor.

Glory returned to her cabin in time to do a little reading before the evening meal. Nicholas had given her strict instructions not to be up on deck without Joshua Pintassle, Mac, or himself.

"I've got a lot of new men in the crew," he said, "and I'm not sure which of them I can trust." His smoke-gray eyes turned dark. "Where a woman like you is concerned, sometimes a man can't even trust himself."

As always with the captain, she wasn't certain whether she'd been complimented or insulted. She wondered if the man he spoke of could be himself and found herself hoping it was so. She wondered if the other two women had received the same instructions. She hadn't seen Rosabelle since she arrived, but Nicholas said she'd meet Madame LaFarge, the other woman aboard, at supper. The way he'd arched his brow and given her a mocking half-smile, she wondered what he had in store.

The ship creaked and rolled with a gentle rhythm Glory at first found soothing, but after reading awhile in the tight confines of the cabin, she found that her stomach had begun to disagree. She needed some fresh air before things got out of hand. Leaving the room, she headed toward the aft ladder, hoping to find one of her three appointed protectors up on deck. The salt breeze revived her the minute she climbed the stairs, and Glory breathed deeply of the clean fresh air.

Though her gaze searched the deck, she spotted none of the three men she sought. Certain that one of them would be along soon, she made her way to the rail.

"Ain't you a perty little thing," came the husky voice of a man behind her.

Glory spun to face him. He was a big man, almost as tall as Nicholas, barrel-chested, with a thatch of thick red hair. Glory smiled up at him. "Have you seen Mr. Pin-tassle or the captain?" she asked, but he didn't seem to hear her. His eyes were locked on the peaks of her breasts, and Glory felt herself color beneath his lengthy, too-bold gaze. "I said, have you seen Mr. Pintass-"

"I heard what you said, angel. Name's Jago. Jago Dodd, what's yours?"

"I really need to find Mr. Pintassle," Glory said.

He wasn't surprised at her evasion: He hadn't expected any words at all. He was surprised she hadn't turned tail and run. With a scar across his cheek and a three-day growth of beard, Jago Dodd was not exactly your parlor gentleman.

"My name's Gloria Summerfield," she told him, extending her slender hand. "I'm from Charleston."

Jago Dodd had never been more surprised in his life. His homely face split into a wide grin, and he took a second, even more appreciative look at the elegantly garbed woman in front of him. He had never conversed with a real lady before, and the fact that this one would speak to him at all changed his attitude toward her completely. He had planned to get an eyeful, maybe even a feel or two as he brushed past her somewhere on deck. Now he felt a surge of protectiveness for the trusting young woman who smiled into his knife-scarred, beetle-browed face as if he were just as good as the next man.

"I'll help you find him," he said, knowing he shouldn't leave his oakum-picking task. But the next sailor she smiled at might not be so understanding.

They walked toward the bow of the ship, Jago Dodd beside her, looking to his right and left as they passed more sailors at work along the way. The hard look on his face dared any man to look at her sideways. When they reached the bow, they found the captain instead of the first mate, and his expression said he was none too pleased.

Jago handed her over, a bit reluctantly it seemed to Glory, then spun on his heel and returned to his post.

"I thought I told you not to come on deck alone," he snapped.

"I needed some air. I thought I'd find one of you on deck and I did."