James River - Lost Lady Part 7

More tears came to Regan's eyes. To think she'd thought Travis was jealous, and all he'd actually wanted was another chance to get rid of her. "Excuse me for being such a burden to you," she said haughtily. "Perhaps you should throw me overboard and save yourself so much trouble."

Astonished, Travis could only look at her in bewilderment. "If I live to be a thousand, I don't believe I'll be able to understand your reasoning. Why don't you eat something, and then if you want I'll take you below, and you can hold sick heads over pots all night."

He looked so sweet, his big eyes so liquid, pleading with her, trying his best to please her. How could she explain to him that what she wanted was the freedom to choose, the right to make her own decisions? She wanted to prove to herself and to her uncle that she was worth something.

Accepting his hand, she let herself be led to the table, but she couldn't seem to pull herself out of her dark mood. She pushed her food around, barely tasting it. She tried to listen to what Travis was telling her but couldn't seem to keep her mind on it. She kept thinking of her whole life as someone's prisoner, never allowed to make even a single decision.

"Drink your wine," Travis said gently.

Obediently, she drained the gla.s.s and felt her body relaxing. It seemed natural when Travis swept her into his arms, held her so securely, and carried her to the bed. While he was undressing her, she was awake only in a haze. Even when she was naked and he was kissing her neck, she only smiled and fell into a deeper sleep.

Seeing that she needed sleep more than anything else, Travis snuggled her under the covers before taking a cigar and going up to the top of the quarterdeck to smoke it.

"All settled in?"

Travis turned to the captain behind him. "We'll make it, I guess."

The captain watched Travis as he leaned on the railing, a long cigar hanging out of his mouth. "What's wrong, boy?" he asked seriously.

Travis smiled. The captain and Travis's father had been friends for years, until cholera took the older man. "What do you know about women?"

"No man knows much," the captain said, trying not to smile, glad there was nothing seriously wrong. "I'm sorry I didn't get to meet your bride. I hear she's a beauty."

Studying his cigar, Travis took a moment before answering. "My bride, yes. I'm just having some trouble understanding her." He wasn't a man to share confidences, and this was as much as he could say. Straightening, he changed the subject. "You think that furniture will be safe in the hold?"

"It should be," the captain said. "But what do you need more furniture for? You haven't added a wing to that mansion of yours, have you?"

Travis chuckled. "No, at least not until I have about fifty kids to fill all the rooms I already have. The furniture's for a friend. I did buy some land, though. I'll put in more cotton this year. "

"More!" the captain gasped before gesturing toward the deck in front of them. "This is all the s.p.a.ce I need. I couldn't keep up with—how many acres of land do you own now?"

"About four thousand, give or take a few."

The captain gave a snort of disbelief. "I hope that little bride of yours is a good housewife. The place took all your mother's talents, and you've nearly doubled it in size since your father died."

"She can handle it," Travis said confidently. "Good night, sir."

In their cabin again, he undressed thoughtfully before climbing into bed and drawing Regan to him. "The question is, can I handle her?" he murmured just before he fell asleep.

It took Regan exactly twenty-four hours to learn that Travis was completely correct about what an awful job it was dealing with seasick people. From early morning until late at night she did little more than wash vomit from people and belongings. The pa.s.sengers were too sick to hold their heads over the porcelain basins she held toward them and too ill to care what happened to the contents of their stomachs. Mothers lay in their narrow bunks, their babies crying beside them, while Regan and two other women cleaned, tried to comfort, and worked long, hard hours.

As if the seasickness weren't enough, the condition of the pa.s.sengers' accommodations appalled Regan. There were three dormitories, one for married couples, and two for single men and women, and the discipline enforced by the crew to keep unmarried men and women apart was strict. Sisters were not allowed to speak to brothers, or fathers to daughters, and each worried about the other in these first few days of illness and misery.

In each dormitory were many narrow rows of hard, small bunkbeds. In the close aisles were the pa.s.sengers' belongings: trunks, boxes, parcels, baskets, containing not only clothes and what goods they needed for the New World but also the food for the voyage. Already some of it was beginning to decay, the smell aggravating the pa.s.sengers' nausea.

Regan and the other women ran in and out of the women's cabin, trying to get over the trunks, having to walk up and down, over and around for every step they had to take.

By the time she returned to her own cabin, which by contrast looked like a room in a palace, she was more exhausted than she'd ever imagined she could be.

Travis put down his book immediately and gathered her into his arms. "Was it difficult, love?" he whispered.

She could only nod against his chest, so glad to be near someone healthy and strong, glad to be away from the squalor and poverty she'd seen today.

Relaxing against him, half-asleep, she was hardly aware when he put her in a chair and went to answer the door. Even when she heard water splashing, she didn't bother to open her eyes. After all, she'd heard little else all day when she'd washed clothes, babies' diapers, and dirty chamber pots.

Smiling deliciously, she relaxed as Travis's hands began to unb.u.t.ton her dress. It was nice to be taken care of instead of the other way around. When he gathered her naked form in his arms, she was pleased to be going to bed, but when her bottom hit the hot water, her eyes flew open.

"You need a bath, my smelly little mate," he laughed at her surprise.

The hot water, even if it was sea water, felt wonderful, and she leaned back, letting Travis wash her.

"I don't understand you," she said softly, watching him, feeling his hands, soapy and strong, run over her body.

"What's to understand? I'll tell you what you want to know."

"A few weeks ago I would have said a man who kidnapped people was evil and should be put in jail, but you*"

"I what? I kidnap pretty young ladies, ravish them, yet I don't beat them? Not too often anyway," he smiled.

"No," she said seriously. "You don't, but I believe you're capable of anything. I don't understand a man like you."

"And what kind of man do you understand? Your little Wainwright? Tell me, how many men have you gotten to know? How many times have you been in love?"

He wasn't prepared for her answer.

"One man," she said quietly. "I've been in love once, and I can't imagine it ever happening again."

Travis studied her expression for a moment, the way her eyes softened with a faraway look, the gentle way her mouth curved up at the corners.

One moment Regan was thinking of Farrell, how he'd asked her to marry him, and the next she was sputtering as Travis tossed the soap into the water in front of her eyes.

"Finish it yourself, or wait for your lover to come and do it," he growled before slamming from the cabin.

Smiling, feeling she'd at last made him jealous, she left the tub and began to dry herself. She thought that perhaps it was good for Travis to realize that he wasn't the only person in her life, that maybe other people existed in the world. When she got to America and they parted ways, perhaps he'd not be so sure she couldn't make it on her own, maybe even find a man like Farrell, someone who would love her and not think she was an ignorant child.

Climbing into bed, she suddenly felt very lonely. Farrell didn't love her; he'd wanted her for her money.

Her uncle didn't want her either, and Travis, this strange, arrogant, kind man, made it clear he only wanted her for the moment. Alone, tired, hungry, miserable, she began to cry.

When Travis pulled her into his arms, she clutched at him, scared that he'd leave her too. "Hush, sweet, be quiet. You're safe now," he whispered, trying to soothe her, but when her lips fastened to his, he no

longer thought of comfort.

She had no idea if it was being close to the illness all day or her thoughts of being alone, but she was ravenous for Travis. She didn't think about the fact that she was a prisoner or that she should at least be a reluctant lover. Her only thought was that she needed him desperately, needed for him to hold her, to love her, to make her feel as if she were part of the world and not a useless, unneeded appendage.

Boldly, she put her fingers into his shirt opening, sending a b.u.t.ton flying across the room. The hair on his chest was so masculine, reminding her of his maleness. Her fingertips explored, not gently but firmly, roughly even, rubbing the texture of his skin, feeling it grow hot beneath her touch.

Tossing her to the bed, he pulled back to remove the rest of his clothes. His eyes were ablaze, his mouth full and hot. As he turned to sit on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots, Regan was left with his broad, muscular back to her mercies. Her teeth nipped his shoulders while the tips of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s lightly and electrifyingly grazed across his spine. Lips soon followed down the deep curve of the bone, kissing, caressing, tasting his flesh. Thumbs digging into his sides, fingertips on his ribs, she stroked the back of him with the front of her. The deep indentations of muscle, his strength, now so quiet under her touch, were heady, making her surge with her own sense of power.

She kissed his earlobe, nipping it sharply, then gave a low, purring laugh. In one swift movement, Travis turned, pulled her into his arms, and was on top of her. She was as eager as he was and more than ready for him.

Travis was blinded by her forwardness, for once not holding back in consideration of her delicate sensibilities. He treated her with all the fire and pa.s.sion he felt, thrusting hard, ma.s.saging her b.u.t.tocks with his hands, holding her closer and closer.

When at last their release came in a tempest of rapture, they slowly, slowly began to give way to a ma.s.s of exhausted, shaking, weak flesh.

"What have you done to me?" Travis gasped, holding her so close he threatened to smother her.

Regan only clutched at him, too tired to think. As she easily fell into a deep sleep, she was unaware of Travis leaning over her, watching her, touching her hair, pulling the sheet a little closer about her. But even in her sleep, she was aware of his arms around her, of his rugged body near her, of the sweetness of his warm breath on her ear. Stirring, she opened her eyes, gave him a sleepy smile, gladly accepted his soft kiss, and then smiled again as he lay his head beside hers and she felt his body relax into sleep.

The next day was a repeat of the same hard, smelly work of helping seasick pa.s.sengers. In the late afternoon, Travis told her to go to their cabin and rest or she wouldn't be any good for anyone. His tone of voice, always ordering her around, caused her to tell him just what she thought of him.

"You could be helping instead of merely lounging about the deck," she snapped.

"Lounging, am I?" Travis smiled, that half-smile, half-smirk of his that infuriated her.

For the first time she noticed his dress of soiled, sweaty cotton shirt and loose britches reaching to his knees, tucked into soft leather boots. A wide black-leather belt circled his trim waist. Suddenly, several questions were answered for Regan, such as how Travis could afford a private room. In payment, he obviously had to work for his pa.s.sage.

"How can I help?" he asked. "Although, if you expect me to wipe dirty mouths, I won't."

If Travis had to work for his pa.s.sage, so did she, and the idea of rest wasn't possible. "This morning two of the upper bunks collapsed. I've talked to the crew, but they just laughed at me."

"They probably laughed because they don't know which end of a hammer is which. What else?"

"We need someone to take care of the older children. I thought maybe you could find Sarah Trumbull. I haven't seen her for days. "

"Sarah's busy," he said succinctly, "but maybe I can help with the other problems. "

A great burden left Regan's small shoulders because she knew that Travis would keep his word.

"Keep looking at me like that, and I'll build separate houses for each pa.s.senger right here on deck."

Giggling and feeling much better, she went back to her duties.

In a very short time, Travis appeared at the door of the women's cabin with carpentry tools in a box. Some of the women squealed in protest because they were in various states of undress, but it didn't take Travis long to make them feel comfortable. He laughed with the women and told them the men were all dying for them to come on deck and make the voyage less tedious. In spite of what he'd said to Regan, he held one woman's head over a bowl and tenderly wiped her mouth. He diapered two babies and rearranged several heavy trunks so there was more walking room, all while he repaired the broken bunks, checked the others, and reinforced several more.

When he left, most of the women were smiling, and it felt as if fresh air had just blown through the stuffy, stinking dormitory.

"Oh my," sighed one woman whose baby Travis had changed. "Who was that glorious man?"

"He's mine!" Regan said, so loudly and with such a challenge in her voice that the women laughed, making Regan blush.

"You don't have to be embarra.s.sed, honey. Just thank the Lord every night for being so good to you."

"Maybe she has other things on her mind at night," someone else said loudly.

Regan was almost grateful when one of the women began to groan and she could run away and escape the women's teasing. But even as she held a pan for the woman, she began to feel angry. He was flirting with all the women, right in front of her! No doubt he liked having all the women drool over him, liked being the only man allowed into the single women's cabins. Allowed! Surely Travis Stanford never did anything so common as ask permission for anything he wanted to do.

Slamming down a pitcher of water, Regan seemed to grow angrier by the moment. Of course, he had no reason to treat her as a lady since all he knew of her was in bed. The big, crude American had no idea how to treat a woman except as something for his own use. To him all women were the same—whether they were sick in bed or dressed in a gown of satin, he seemed to think they were all made for his pleasure.

Near sunset, she went on deck to wash the earthenware basins. There, surrounded by children, were Travis and two sailors showing the boys and girls how to tie knots. One girl, about twelve, seemed to be knotting a piece of fabric while a two-year-old sat on Travis's lap, absorbed in the intricacies of the puzzle of rope Travis was creating. He smiled and waved at Regan before returning to the children.

Haughtily, she put her nose in the air and returned below to the stifling cabin, gritting her teeth against the fact that even the children found him irresistible. She'd told the women he was hers, but she was fully aware that she had no power over him, that she was his captive plaything, and that when they reached America he would dispose of her quickly and no doubt pick up another woman—one not so used. With suspicious eyes, she began to look at each one of the women in the big cabin, wondering if one of them would be her successor.