Nicholas scowled, thinking of Jago Dodd. Of all the men she could have asked for help, Jago was probably the most dangerous. Would the woman never understand what these men were thinking? He cursed beneath his breath and wished to God he'd never brought her along. "I'm a little busy right now. Come on. We'll find Josh." He gripped her arm none too gently and led her toward the stem where Joshua Pintassle volunteered to escort her with unabashed enthusiasm. Nicholas frowned and stalked away.

By the time they'd taken a turn around the deck, Glory and Joshua were friends. "It feels good to be on my own," she told him, thinking about home for the first time since she'd left. "I had no idea freedom could be so heady. I almost wish I didn't have to go back at all."

"I know what you mean," he said. "It's one of the reasons I decided not to work for my father. At least not right away. I wanted to be on my own for a while. I needed some time to find out about myself."

"Yes," Glory agreed. "Now that Father is gone, it just isn't the same at the manor. Something's missing. It doesn't hold the same appeal for me it did before."

"I knew your father only briefly, but he seemed a fine man, and I know the captain admired him."

"I know." Glory looked away. The sun was dropping into the flat blue line of the horizon, turning the sky a burning orange. "It'll be dark soon," she said, not wanting to dwell on a subject that always made her sad. "I think I had better go below." They headed toward the aft ladder, and Glory spotted Nathan along the way.

"Excuse me just a moment, Mr. Pintassle," she said. "I'd like a moment with my . . . servant."

"Of course."

Making certain no one was close enough to hear, Glory pulled Nathan aside. "Is everything all right? Are they treating you well?"

Nathan grinned, his teeth a flash of white against his cocoa complexion. "Yassum, Miz Glory. Dey's jes' fine. Filled me up wiff salt pork and gruel. Ain't Virgini' ham, but it'll do."

Glory fought a grin herself. "Don't get carried away, all right?"

"Yassum, Miz Glory."

Glory glanced over her shoulder, then poked him squarely in the ribs. "Will you behave?"

"I'm fine, Glory, really I am. I'm bunking in with the crew." He glanced across the deck to where the handsome blond first officer waited. "Another conquest?"

"Mr. Pintassle is a very nice man."

"I'm sure he is, and I can see by the look on his face, he's already joined your flock of admirers."

Glory looked askance. "Nathan, I swear, you're sounding more like Papa every day."

Nathan smiled at her words, and Glory could have sworn his chest puffed out a little. "I'd better not keep him waiting," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yassum, Miz Glory."

Shaking her head in vexation, Glory returned to the first mate, who escorted her back to her cabin. She felt better now that she'd seen Nathan; he certainly didn't appear to be any the worse for wear. And as long as he was fed and not mistreated, he was far better off than he would have been back at Summerfield Manor. Glory wondered what her mother had done when she discovered the two of them missing. She'd be angry-furious, in fact. And there'd be the devil to pay when Glory got home. But as long as Nathan reached safety in the North, all the trouble would be worthwhile. Glory was sure she could make her mother see reason, once Nathan was off the plantation and out of Louise's life for good.

Nicholas came to her cabin a little after dark to escort her in to supper. She was pleasantly surprised to see he'd worn a tailored dark gray frock coat over a pair of navy blue breeches. The earring was gone from his ear. She wondered if he'd removed it in honor of her presence aboard the ship. He looked exceedingly handsome, and she found herself suddenly a little self-conscious. She wished she was wearing something that would catch the captain's eye instead of her drab mourning clothes. When he turned to close the door, she settled the neckline of her dress a little lower.

"Joshua will be joining us," Nicholas said. "And of course Madame LaFarge." As they strolled amiably along the companionway, the captain seemed a bit detached- except when he thought she wasn't looking. Then he either frowned or indulged himself in one of his mocking halfsmiles.

"Good evening," the captain said to the others as they entered the cabin. The room was small and simply furnished with a cloth-covered wooden table and stout oak chairs. The table was set with heavy porcelain plates, and a brass whale oil lantern lit the room. "Joshua, you've already met Miss Summerfield."

"A pleasure to see you again." The first mate gave her a warm, appreciative smile.

Glory accepted the compliment with a smile of her own. With a nod to Joshua, she turned her attention to the other guest seated in the room. The smile froze on her lips.

"Miss Summerfield," Nicholas said, his voice heavy with amusement, "may I present Madame LaFarge?"

It was all Glory could do to choke out a polite hello.

"Pleased to make yer acquaintance." The full-figured woman waved a perfumed handkerchief in the air, the scent so overpowering that Glory had to fight to keep from sneezing. Glory had worn another of her crisp black mourning dresses while the broad-hipped Madame La-Farge was gowned outlandishly in bright red satin. The neckline dipped so low Glory was sure the woman's huge bosom would spill onto the table at any moment. With her painted face covered with a heavy layer of rice powder, she looked like a grotesque caricature of the woman she was beneath her makeup.

Nicholas seated Glory across from the buxom woman, and without ado, a simple supper of fish chowder and biscuits was served.

"Captain says you're headed north," Madame LaFarge said as Glory took a bite of flaky white cod.

She was surprised to find it delicious and suddenly realized she hadn't eaten since she left the plantation. "Yes. I'm going to New York."

"Me an' Rosabelle is getting off at the Cape," the garishly dressed woman told her. "You need a job, girlie? You're welcome to come along."

Glory's head snapped up, her pewter fork poised midway to her lips. "What . . . what kind of work do you do?" She prayed her instincts were wrong. Surely Captain Blackwell wouldn't allow that kind of woman on board his ship! But when Joshua Pintassle cleared his throat and glanced away red-faced, Glory wasn't so sure.

Madame LaFarge laughed heartily. "Now, ain't she a sweet one, Nicky boy? Fetch a high price on the Cape, she would." She turned her puffy, made-up face to Glory. "Me and Rosy work the oldest profession in the world- we play the whorepipe, dearie." With a great guffaw, she slapped her fleshy thighs, and Glory blushed to her toes. If she'd had a pistol she'd have shot Nicholas Blackwell in a place where'd he'd have no more use for women of the oldest profession-or any other woman for that matter!

For the second time since she'd known him, Nicholas Blackwell really smiled. His gray eyes danced with suppressed mirth, and Glory silently filmed. The man was infuriating! He'd known all along the two women were . . . were ladies of the evening, yet he hadn't had the decency to tell her! A gentleman would never have suggested she journey north with them, let alone share a cabin with one. Then a tiny voice reminded her he'd hardly suggested anything. Traveling aboard the Spider had been Glory's idea, not his.

Determined to ignore him, and somehow gain the upper hand, Glory deliberately turned her attention to the buxom Madame LaFarge. "Where is Rosabelle this evening?" she asked, carefully controlling her voice.

"She's feeling a mite poorly, if you know what I mean." She grinned and looked conspiratorially down her long nose at Glory, who pretended she knew exactly what the painted woman meant-which she didn't.

"She helped Cookie for a while this afternoon, but now she's back in her cabin."

"Cookie?"

"That's the shipboard name for cook," Joshua told her.

"I see."

"She's a good girl, Rosy is," Madame LaFarge continued. "Not real quick, but a good girl jus' the same. Too bad what happened to her, but it happens to the best of 'em. She's just lucky the captain's the kind of man he is."

Nicholas leaned back in his chair, watching the group with detached amusement. Glory smiled inanely, wishing she knew what in the world they were talking about. Everyone else seemed to know, yet it was obvious by Joshua's embarrassed expression that it was not a subject she wanted to pursue.

"Weather's warming up," Glory said, and even Nicholas seemed thankful for the turn in conversation.

"Yes, it is," Joshua chimed in. "We're due for a hot spell."

Nicholas added a few terse comments, and Madame LaFarge launched into a discussion of how much tougher it was to make a living on one's back in the heat.

All in all, once she conquered her embarrassment, Glory discovered she liked the buxom woman after all. Nicholas graced her with only a few words throughout the meal, so after dinner, still angry at being the butt of his joke, Glory focused her attention on Joshua Pintassle. She was pleased to note that the satisfied curve of the captain's mouth quickly turned to a hard, unpleasant line.

Sipping a licorice cordial, Glory smiled sweetly and batted her thick dark lashes. "Tell me, Mr. Pintassle, how did a gentleman of your obvious breeding happen to end up in Captain Blackwell's employ?" The way she said the words implied a man like Joshua Pintassle deserved a far better master than the roguish sea captain he worked for. Glory felt a thrill of satisfaction when Nicholas's gray eyes darkened. Her barb had not gone unnoticed.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asked, reaching into his waistcoat to extract a thin cigar.

Glory arched an eyebrow. At home after supper, a gentleman would retire to the drawing room for his brandy and cigars. But then, shipboard etiquette might be altogether different. "Not in the least," she said, not really meaning it.

Nicholas made a grand show of offering one to Joshua, who declined, then lit the end and inhaled deeply, releasing a cloud of thick gray smoke into the room. It was all Glory could do to keep from coughing, though she found the aroma not unpleasant after all.

Joshua seemed oblivious to the exchange. Instead he warmed to his subject. "I've always loved the sea. I've probably spent more time on the ocean than I have on land. My father was a captain for nearly twenty years. Now he owns a fleet of passenger ships that sail from New York to Liverpool. Eventually I'll take over the company, but in the meantime, I wanted to be on my own. I've been with Captain Blackwell for the past three years. He's taught me a great deal."

"I'm certain he has," she said sweetly. Then, thinking of the young lady ensconced in her cabin, she suddenly wondered exactly what Nicholas Blackwell had taught the young officer. "I just feel fortunate that the captain was kind enough to look after me in my time of need," she said, not meaning a word of it. So far, the captain's hospitality had been thin at best.

"It's a pleasure to have such a beautiful woman on board," Joshua said.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Pintassle, you're only too kind."

"Quite the contrary, Miss Summerfield. There are few words that testify to beauty such as yours." His eyes traced the line of her neck, and Glory noticed the heat in his gaze. Nicholas glowered at them both. As if sensing his captain's disdain, Joshua turned his attention to Nicholas. "Don't you agree, Captain?"

"I assure you, Joshua, I'm well aware of Miss Summerfield's charms . . . and so is she."

Glory stiffened. This was the man she remembered, with his backhanded compliments and arrogant attitude.

Joshua seemed embarrassed. "I only meant to express our pleasure in her company."

"I'm sure you did, Josh." The captain's gray eyes hardened even more. If Glory hadn't known better, she might have thought he was jealous.

"Well, I hate to break up a party," Madame LaFarge put in. "It never pays!" She chuckled, the sound a throaty rumble. "But I for one could use a little rest. Won't get near enough sleep once we reach the Cape." She winked and grinned broadly. "If you gentlemen-and the pretty miss-will excuse me . . ." Her words trailed off as she hefted her ample body from the chair.

Glory wholeheartedly agreed. She'd had just about enough of Captain Blackwell. His obvious lack of interest in her disturbed her more than a little. Was it just her vanity that smarted, as the captain once said?

"I believe I'll retire as well," she told her dinner companions.

Joshua Pintassle rushed to pull out her chair, which scraped against the heavy plank floors. "I'd be honored to accompany you to your door, Miss Summerfield," he said, his gentle voice husky with anticipation.

"Miss Summerfield and I have a few things to discuss," Nicholas broke in, giving the younger man a hard look that made it clear the remark was an order and not just a statement.

"Of course, Captain." Joshua glanced at Glory a bit sheepishly. "Have a good evening, Miss Summerfield."

"I'd be pleased if you'd call me Glory," she said, sugar-sweetness dripping from her lips. The captain would clearly not be pleased, and Glory felt an inner thrill of satisfaction.

"Why, thank you, Glory," Joshua said. "And you'll call me Josh?"

"Why, of course." Fighting the pull of a smile, she felt Nicholas's none-too-gentle grip on her arm. It was only a small victory, but a victory just the same. If Nicholas Blackwell wasn't interested in her, Joshua Pintassle was. She meant to enjoy his attention whether the captain liked it or not!

Nicholas guided her up on deck in silence. Jago Dodd passed them, and Glory smiled at him warmly. Nicholas scowled and tugged her toward an isolated spot by the rail.

"I thought you understood. I don't want you getting too friendly with the crew."

"Does that include Mr. Pintassle? He certainly seems trustworthy enough."

"As a matter of fact, it does. Joshua is a fine officer and a gentleman. But the others might not understand. Need I remind you"-he lifted her chin, forcing her to face him squarely-"that you agreed to follow my orders?"

Glory stiffened. "Being courteous is hardly going against your orders, Captain."

Nicholas felt his temper flare. She was willful and spoiled, he reminded himself, and an outrageous tease. Not only was he positive she had lied to him about her reason for wanting to go north, but now she was determined to make trouble along the way-to say nothing of the trouble she was causing him just by her presence. Nicholas groaned inwardly. Why in God's name had he let her stay aboard?

"You're my responsibility now, Miss Summerfield," he said. "These men have been at sea for weeks. Our short stay in Charleston only whetted their appetites. Look around you." He indicated several tough-looking men who worked near the main mast. "Most of these men are used to taking what they want. If they decide they want you, there'll only be Josh, Mac, and me to stop them. You keep flirting with Josh and we'll have to count him out."

"Flirting! How dare you accuse me of flirting. I was merely making conversation. You hardly spoke to me, and I haven't much in common with Madame LaFarge."

His eyes bored into her; then he released a long slow breath. "I almost wish you did."

Glory's eyes widened at his words, but it was the tone in which he said them that sent warm color to her cheeks. For the first time she noticed the heat in his storm-gray eyes, the heavy pulse, fueled by his anger, throbbing at the base of his throat. Though his mouth was set, his lips curved invitingly, and Glory recalled the feel of them, warm and firm against her own. Her heart thudded uncomfortably, and she cursed herself for her weakness.

Nicholas Blackwell was a rogue and a bounder. Women meant nothing to him-he'd made that perfectly clear. Her fingers gripped the hard wooden rail, and she was grateful for something on which to vent her temper. "You are just as despicable as you were at the manor!"

"And you, Miss Summerfield, are just as spoiled and willful." He glowered down at her, his face only inches away. For a moment they stared at each other. Then, unable to stand the tension, Glory nervously licked her lips. Nicholas Blackwell groaned.

Heavy male voices, whispering and laughing just a few feet away, drew his attention. The men were watching her, and he knew what they were thinking-he was thinking the same damned thing. Glaring down at her, he settled a firm hand at her waist and led her away.

They descended the aft ladder into the passageway. Only a dim whale-oil lantern lit the corridor. Nicholas stopped outside the door to her cabin and turned her to face him.

"I don't want any trouble, Miss Summerfield, and whether you mean to or not, you seem determined to stir it up. From now on you'll do as I say, or you'll spend the rest of this voyage in your cabin."

Glory's eyes widened. Drawing herself up, she tilted her chin defiantly. "How dare you threaten me?" Her ramrod-stiff posture made her seem inches taller than she had been only moments before. "Why are you treating me this way?"

"Because, you little vixen, I'm trying to make you understand. The Black Spider is not a passenger ship. These men aren't used to having a woman on board-especially a beautiful woman. You're putting yourself in danger." Nicholas watched her face. Her expression clearly said she didn't believe him. Ready to continue their contest of wills, she parted her lips, and he could see her delicate pink tongue. Lamplight glistened on her milky skin, gleamed against the flaxen ringlets of her hair.

Furious at the tempting picture she made, Nicholas cursed beneath his breath and hauled her against him. "This," he said, his voice cold, "is what I'm trying to make you see." Brutally, his mouth claimed hers. He felt her stiffen in surprise, her lips part in protest, and he deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue violently between her teeth. Her slender fists beat at his chest, and she fought to pull away, but he only held her tighter. She tasted of the licorice cordial she'd enjoyed after supper, and the heady sensation only hardened his resolve. He'd demonstrate in no uncertain terms the consequences of her actions!

Mercilessly, he shoved her against the bulkhead, pinning her wrists above her head. One hand slid up her thigh to cup her bottom, pressing her against the hard length of him. He kissed her fiercely, savagely, without a thought for her pleasure-just as one of his men would. His hand moved from her hip to her breast and he kneaded the fullness roughly. When the thrusting peak stiffened against his hand, his own masculinity hardened in response. For a moment he had trouble remembering just why he was kissing her so cruelly when what he wanted to do was gentle his assault and make her respond as she had that night on the road.

His hand molded the heavy weight it caressed, and his thumb gently teased the peak. Then the sound of her tiny whimper returned him to his senses. Forcing himself to be brutal, he crushed her soft lips against his mouth until he tasted the metallic flavor of blood. Then he pulled away.

"Now do you understand?" he asked, his voice ragged, his face a cold taut mask. "That's what will happen to you if you don't do what I say."

Tom between humiliation and rage, trembling all over, Glory swallowed the bitter, angry lump in her throat. Her bosom heaved against the fabric of her dress, and her eyes flashed bright blue flame. "How dare you?" she snapped, playing the offended well-bred lady, but tears glistened on her cheeks. "How dare you treat me that way!" She hauled back her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist midway. "I'm not one of your harlots!" she flung at him. "I am not your whore!"

"What I did was a suitor's touch compared to what my men would do to you. I don't want you to get hurt, Glory. Maybe now you'll understand."

With a shaky finger, Glory brushed at her tears. She bit back the angry retort curled on her tongue and summoned all the dignity she could muster. "You've made your point, Captain Blackwell. Now, if you'll excuse me . . ."

Chapter Seven.

Moving blindly, Glory stepped into the narrow con-fines of her room and closed the door behind her. For a moment she just leaned against the heavy wooden planks, her eyes shut against the terrible pain in her heart. She could hear Nicholas's footfalls receding as he stalked down the passageway.

Stumbling across the room in the darkness, Glory could just make out Rosabelle's bulky figure curled up in the bottom bunk and was careful not to wake her. Though her fingers shook so hard she could scarcely unbutton her garments, Glory didn't ask for help. She didn't want to face the younger woman, at least not yet. Not until she came to grips with her raging emotions.

As she thought of Nicholas, she felt sick and betrayed, battered and discarded-so unlike the time before. She remembered a brisk spring evening, a carriage ride down a cloud-covered, tree-lined lane. The man who had kissed her that night, her gray-eyed champion, no longer existed, and Glory suddenly felt lost without him. With a flash of clarity, she discovered that the man her father had admired and respected meant more to her than she could have guessed-more than Eric Dixon, more than any man she had ever known. If only he'd been real.