Even her father had been fooled. He'd always believed Nicholas to be a man among men, a man he could trust and rely on. How disappointed he would have been to discover the captain was nothing more than the rake he appeared to be.

Struggling free of her garments at last, Glory pulled a cotton nightdress over her head and climbed into her berth. Though she tried to hold them at bay, warm tears rolled down her cheeks. How could she have been such a fool? The man was a libertine, a rake, and a rogue. Everyone in Charleston knew it. Why hadn't she believed them?

For a while she conjured images of the tall sea captain who had come to her rescue on the road. Of the way he had kissed her, the way he'd made her feel. Then the image changed to one of the cruel, arrogant, devil of a man who had brutally taken liberties with her tonight.

Lying in the darkness, thinking of the way he'd touched her, Glory felt her cheeks burn-because even as she struggled in his arms, even as he bruised her tender lips and roughly caressed her body, she had desired him. Wanted him as she hadn't known she could want any man. As she never wished to desire a man again. Nicholas Blackwell was a devil. A callous, unfeeling brute-and Glory was bound and determined to hate him.

After tossing for what seemed like hours, she drifted into a fitful sleep. Storm-gray eyes, dark with passion, hovered in her dreams.

Nicholas Blackwell snuffed out the lamp beside his bed. Resting on top of the sheet clad only in his breeches, he shoved his hands behind his head. The creak and sway of the ship, which usually lulled him to sleep, only grated on his tightly strung nerves. For the past two hours his mind had replayed the scene in the passageway and each time he remembered, he felt a little more rotten than before. Not that he'd had any choice, he reminded himself. Gloria Summerfield was as stubborn a woman as Nicholas Black-well had ever had the misfortune to meet-and damned naive, if he read her right.

At first he'd thought she was teasing the men on board in an attempt to stir up trouble. After he'd kissed her- pawed her would be more like it-he'd spent hours sorting out his thoughts. Now he believed the girl didn't know enough about men to realize the danger she was putting herself in. Oh, she'd had more than enough male admirers. Men like Eric Dixon, who'd probably done little more than hold her hand. To Glory, Nicholas was sure, her flirtations were nothing more than a parlor game: She was just playing by the same rules she'd been taught back home on the plantation.

But his crewmen weren't. Every time she smiled at one of them, or even at Josh, they read it as an invitation. When he'd found her in open conversation with Jago Dodd, Nicholas's stomach had tightened into a worried knot.

He'd had to do what he did; her safety was more important than her pride. And after the way he'd manhandled her, he had no doubt she'd finally gotten the message. But he would never forget the look of utter betrayal on her face. She had come to trust him, he knew. Too much. She seemed to trust every man she met, and for a woman traveling with only a servant to protect her, that could only mean disaster.

He turned on his side and punched his pillow, determined to get some sleep. He wondered what he would say to her on the morrow, if she would understand why he'd done what he did. At least he had accomplished one thing-he wouldn't have to worry about getting too deeply involved. From now on Gloria Summerfield wouldn't give him the time of day. He wondered why the thought of her scorn made him feel so bad.

Glory awoke to a sticky, humid dawn that only added to her dismal mood. The hot weather had been building since they'd left Charleston. Today looked to be the hottest yet. Glancing out the porthole, she saw the ship was anchored just off the coast. Tall pine forests reached nearly to the water's edge, and short stiff marsh grass dotted the shallows. Several dinghies heaped with so much cargo they nearly hid their four-man crews made their way back and forth to the shore.

Slipping down from her bunk, Glory washed her face and brushed her hair, then swirled the gleaming mass into a tight knot at the back of her head. She felt restless and more than a little melancholy, but she approached the day with a quiet resolve: She would do just as the captain suggested-remain in her cabin for the balance of the trip. She wasn't about to face him. She wasn't up to his dark mocking looks or the smug expression she was sure to see on his face. Instead, she picked up the new book of poems she'd brought along, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's Voices of the Night, and sat down in the cabin's single tiny chair. Rosabelle stirred in the bunk beside her.

"Mornin', Miss Summerfield," she said, stretching her chubby arms above her head.

"Why don't you call me Glory?"

"Glory. That's a pretty name. It sounds like a sunrise." Glory smiled. "Rosabelle's a pretty name, too. It almost rings when you say it."

The younger girl giggled. She sat up on her bunk a little too quickly and the color drained from her apple-round cheeks.

"Are you all right?" Glory asked, standing to assist her.

"I'm fine. Just a little dizzy. Got a touch a mornin' sickness."

"You mean because we're anchored?" As they sat anchored in the shallow waters of the coastal inlet, the roll and pitch of the ship was more pronounced.

"No, because I just get sick in the momin'."

Glory nodded, but she still didn't understand why the girl would be sick only at one particular time of day.

"I'll be all right once we git to the Cape. Cap'n has friends there, a place where I kin have me babe."

Glory's bright eyes widened. She stared hard at the girl on the lower bunk. "You're going to have a . . . a baby?" Rosabelle giggled again. "I ain't got a whole lotta choice."

When her eyes flew from the girl's round face to the plump mound beneath the thin muslin cover, Glory saw that Rosabelle was indeed with child-very with child. She licked her lips, which suddenly felt dry. "Captain Black-well is helping you?"

"He's a good man, he is."

"How long have you known him?"

"Since I was fourteen, near as I kin recollect. He was one o' me first."

"Oh, my God," Glory whispered. Her face paled, and she sank back down on the small oak chair beside the bunk.

"Cap'n says he'll make sure I'm taken care of. Says he's proud o' me for wantin' to keep the babe."

"He's being awfully kind," Glory said softly. But her mind said the babe might be his. In fact it must be his! The hard man who had assaulted her in the passageway last night wouldn't be that generous. Nicholas Blackwell was transporting the mother of his bastard child, dumping her in some unknown place, and the poor illiterate girl seemed grateful. Oh, Lord, it was the most sinful thing Glory had ever heard. How could he!

While Rosabelle performed her morning ablutions, Glory pretended to read. It was all she could do to keep the paper from trembling as she sightlessly turned each page. When Rosabelle had finished, she smiled wanly at Glory and fled the room for the fresher air up on deck. Glory didn't blame her. But she'd be damned if she'd face Nicholas Blackwell now-or ever!

Glory spent all of that day and half of the next in the confines of the cabin. She sent Rosabelle in to the dining room with myriad excuses ranging from headaches to seasickness. Joshua Pintassle had stopped by to see her, but Glory refused to open the door. Only Rosabelle was allowed entrance. And Cookie, the whiskery old cook who brought down her meals. And of course Nathan. He'd stopped by when he heard she was ill. She assured him it was just a bout of seasickness.

"Are they still treating you all right?" she asked, during their few moments alone.

"Good enough. Mostly they ignore me, and that's just line with me. Scuttlebutt has it that most of the regular crew took sick with malaria. The captain picked this bunch up in Barbados. They're a scurvy lot."

Glory smiled. "You're beginning to sound like a sailor yourself."

Nathan grinned, his handsome face taking on a winning, boyish expression. "I've been spending most of my time with Cookie, helping him with the meals, that kind of thing. Helps to pass the time."

"We'll be in New York before long, thank God." She rolled her eyes skyward.

Nathan watched her with a bit of suspicion. "You sure there's nothing else wrong with you? Besides being seasick, I mean."

Glory glanced away. "I'll be fine in a day or two."

"And Captain Blackwell?" he pressed. "He's behaving himself? I've heard rumors about him. The men say he's quite a ladies' man."

"Nathan, I told you, everything's fine." A sharpness she hadn't intended had crept into her voice.

For a moment Nathan looked as though he didn't believe her; then he turned toward the door. "I'd better get back up on deck before they think something's amiss. Mos' us darkies," he drawled in his thick black accent, "don' spen' much time alone in da missy's cabin."

Glory stifled a grin, rose from her chair, and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow," she assured him as he ducked through the low wooden door.

Three hours later, Glory was lying on her bunk wishing they would get to New York when she heard an insistent pounding on her door.

"It's Mac, lass. Let me in."

"I'm . . . I'm not feeling well, Mac." By now she really wasn't. The confines of the cabin combined with the now stifling heat and the roll and pitch of the ship had her stomach rolling as well. She cursed Nicholas Blackwell for the hundredth time that day.

"You'll let me in now, lass, or I'll have this door broke down!"

Glory leaped from the chair. In two quick strides she reached the door and swung it open. Mac stood in the passageway, his ruddy face split by a white-toothed grin.

"Now, that's better. It's fine ye be lookin' to me. All ye need is a little sea air, and I mean to see ye git it."

She opened her mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. They were still a long way from New York, and Mac was right-she needed some fresh air. Badly. As long as Mac was with her, she rationalized, she'd be safe from Nicholas Blackwell.

Mac eyed her from head to toe, taking in the long leg-of-mutton sleeves of her dress and her full black skirts. "And git rid o' them petticoats. It's too blasted hot fer 'em. Sometimes ye women got no sense at all."

Glory looked down at her very proper day dress. Mac was right. How much cooler she would be if she shed her mass of petticoats. She grinned up at him. "I'll just be a moment."

Mac waited in the passageway. When Glory had finished, she opened the door wearing a grateful smile and fewer petticoats. She accepted his arm, and they swept from the cabin. The cooler air brightened her mood-and her constitution-the moment they arrived on deck.

"Oh, Mac," she said, realizing how good it felt to be out-of-doors again. "Thank God you came." The wind blew wispy strands of pale hair that had escaped from her chignon, and Glory felt reborn. She'd been a fool to let Nicholas Blackwell intimidate her. The man was nothing more than an ill-mannered lout. She wouldn't let him bother her again.

They walked along the deck, and despite herself, Glory found her glance searching for the tall figure of the man she was determined to dislike.

"He's below," Mac said, and she blushed to know he'd read her thoughts. "You two must've had some spat. I never seen him like this in all the years we been together. He might fool the others. They just think he's in a mean temper. But he kinna fool me; I've known the lad too long."

Though she'd vowed to hate him, Glory's spirits soared. "You really think he's upset?"

Mac nodded, a lock of sandy hair tumbling across his ruddy brow. "Downright miserable. Want to tell me about it?"

Glory shook her head. How could she ever explain to Mac what Nicholas had done to her?

"I be thinkin' I've a fair idea," he said, and Glory's cheeks pinkened again. "You're a nice girl, Glory. I could see that the minute ye come on board the Spider. But the others-the crew, I mean-they don't care nothin' about how nice ye be. All they see is a lass in pretty skirts. Captain was real worried ye'd get yerself in trouble. He can't be there to watch ye all the time."

Glory bristled. "I can take care of myself."

"Way the cap'n tells it, there's plenty o' things ye kin do, but I don't think that be one o' them." He watched her closely. "Seems to me, livin' on that big plantation and all, somebody's always been 'round to look out for ye."

Glory sighed. "Yes, I guess that's so."

"Nicky thinks a lot o' ye, lass. I never seen him in such a temper as when ye wouldna come outta yer cabin." Glory stared at the deck. "He just wanted to embarrass me."

" Tis not so, lass."

They strolled along the deck to where a pile of lumber formed a natural barrier against the wind. "There's something in yer eyes, lass. Somethin' tells me I kin trust ye- and so kin Nicky." He squinted his own eyes against the sun as if making some momentous decision. "The cap'n's had a hard life. His mother run away and left him when he was only a little boy. His father never got over it. He married again, more to give Nicky a mother than anythin' else, but it didna work out-not for Alexander nor for Nicky. He run away to sea when he was twelve. That's when I met him. He was the hardest-working lad Id ever seen.

"Time he was twenty-one he'd made first officer. About the same time his father died. When Nicky left home, Alexander Blackwell owned the biggest fleet o' vessels on the eastern seaboard. When he returned, there was just one old harbor scow left. Nicky took over the company. Worked eighteen hours a day to build it into the fleet o' ships it is today. He's built his own fortune along with it." Mac patted her cheek and glanced out to sea. "But he needs a lass to share it with. One he kin trust-and learn to love. One who'll love him in return."

Glory felt a stab of bitterness. "From what I've heard, Nicholas Blackwell gets more than his share of love.

"Oh, he's got plenty o' women, if that's what ye mean. But it isn't hardly the same."

"He could have a wife and child if he accepted his responsibilities and married Rosabelle."

"Rosabelle!" Mac seemed incredulous.

"How can he stand to let someone else raise his child?" Glory's blue eyes snapped with angry fire.

"I don't know what that little lassie in yer cabin's been sayin', but the cap'n had nothin' to do wi' that. He felt sorry for the lass is all. He's done his best to see that she's cared for, but not because o' his conscience. He's just that kind o' man."

Glory heard the truth in his words. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her chest. The breeze seemed suddenly fresher, the sun a little brighter than before. "Thank you, Mac," she whispered. "Thank you for helping me understand. You won't be sorry."

"I know that, lass. Deep down, Nicky knows it, too. He wouldna be so damned miserable if he didna."

"Where is he, Mac?"

"In his cabin."

She hesitated a moment. "What if someone sees me?" Mac chuckled. "Yer learnin', lass. Yer learnin'. C'mon, I'll walk ye down."

He escorted her down the passageway, checked to be certain no one else was around, then waited near the stairs while she knocked on the captain's door. With her heart knocking against her ribs, she licked her suddenly dry lips. When Nicholas, naked to the waist, opened the door scowling, she almost turned and ran.

"Hello," he said, quickly hiding his surprise. A glance down the hall told him Mac had brought her, and he pulled her inside. "You shouldn't have come here," he said, "even with Mac."

"I . . . I know," she said. Then, seeing his bare chest and broad shoulders, she backed away. "Please, Captain, don't misunderstand my intentions. I only came because I wanted to apologize for any trouble I might have caused." He could see she was a little afraid of him and cursed himself for the hundredth time that day. As he grabbed up his shirt, he indicated she sit down in the squat oak chair while he took a seat on the foot of his neatly made berth.

Glory remained standing. "Of course, that doesn't excuse your actions," she added with a surge of spirit. Nicholas almost smiled. "You behaved despicably, and I for one shall never forget it."

He'd had the very same thought himself.

"On the other hand," she was saying, "I suppose you were trying to make a point." Her eyes slid away from his, and he read her embarrassment. "I may be a little naive, Captain, but I'm not a fool. Things are different where I come from. Women have little to fear. I've never been around men like these. I just didn't understand."

"And now you do."

"Yes." Her voice was soft. "Now I do." She turned to go, but he rose and caught her arm.

"Glory?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry, too."

She scoffed, remembering the last apology he'd made. "Sorry I didn't listen to you sooner?"

"No. Sorry I hurt you. I lost my temper and . . . well, I just didn't know any other way to make you understand."

He looked more than a little contrite, and Glory remembered the way he'd looked that night on the road-caring and gentle and protective. Her glance moved to his mouth, no longer harsh, but full and inviting. She wished he would kiss her as he had before. Instead, she nodded and turned to leave.

"Will you join us at supper?" he asked, and Glory felt a bubble of happiness swell inside her heart.

"I'd be honored," she said, facing him again. She could have sworn his gray eyes lightened.

"Until tonight, then."

"Until tonight."

The moment the door closed, Nicholas regretted his impulsiveness. Why in blazes hadn't he kept her at a distance? He had been stunned to see her outside his door; he'd felt sure she would never speak to him again. He was the one who should have initiated the apology. Never had a woman deserved one more. But saying he was sorry was not something Nicholas did well-and certainly not often. Besides, he didn't want her friendship. He didn't want to be near her again. Now he had no choice.

In the end he missed supper on purpose. Sent Josh Pintassle in his place. After supper he'd seen the two of them walking on deck, though he watched them from the shadows and they hadn't seen him. Glory seemed more reserved, and she rarely even glanced at the crew. He guessed his lesson had done some good after all.

"Tighten that halyard-the fore royal is luffing!" he snapped to three men on the starboard watch. "Look alive, soggers!"

"No use takin' it out on them, lad." Mac MacDougal sauntered up beside him with an easy loping gait born of years at sea.