Darius shook his head, a laugh of disbelief escaping him as he thrust his fingers through his hair. “Her father’s in shipping. Shipping!”
All this angst about finding an heir for her father’s business and here he sat, already an heir to one of the most successful shipping companies in the country. Renard would be hard-pressed to find a man with more knowledge of the industry to take over the helm of his company. Yet Renard had specifically charged his daughter with choosing a man from among his New Orleans contacts, someone who knew the local routes and could immediately step into the business. Darius lacked those associations. Not to mention the fact that he’d abandoned King Star Shipping for more than a year. Two strikes against him. Three, if she considered his rough social edges.
Darius sobered. Maybe convincing her of his suitability wouldn’t be as easy as he’d first thought. Nicole’s blind devotion to her father could still take her away from him. And even if he convinced her he was the best man to take over her father’s business, that only solved one of their problems. There was still Jenkins to deal with.
“I need to learn more about this bad blood between Renard and Jenkins. My gut tells me the answer to this entire mess lies somewhere in that dispute.”
But he only had six days. How was he supposed to find the answers he sought in such a short time when any overt action on his part could raise the suspicions of the very men Nicole was hiding from? Even the discreet questioning Wellborn had done for him increased the chance someone would suspect the reason for his interest. Yet he couldn’t just sit back and wait for trouble to find them. If something should happen to Nicole . . .
Darius slumped forward. “I can’t lose her, Wellborn.”
The man held his gaze, strong and steady. Then his lips slowly curved. “Flora always said that when you fell, it’d be hard and fast. Guess she was right.”
Darius didn’t welcome the change in conversation, but he couldn’t deny the truth of Wellborn’s observation, so he held his tongue.
“We knew David would have a slow, polite courtship. That boy always does what’s expected. But you? Well, your mama despaired of any woman getting past that abrupt manner of yours to see what you have to offer. It’s a good thing they grow a hardier breed of females down here in Texas.”
“It’s not Texas, Wellborn. It’s Nicole.” Darius swiveled his head and glanced out the window, embarrassed to reveal his softer feelings, yet at the same time determined to give Nicole her due. “She’s young, but she has this wisdom about her that cuts through foolishness and lays bare the heart of a matter. She’s intelligent, unafraid to speak her mind, and loyal to a fault.”
That fault being blindly obeying her father’s request for an heir at the expense of her own happiness. But even then, he only faulted her steadfastness because of his own selfish desires. He didn’t want her giving herself to some rich New Orleans dandy with fancy manners and social charisma. He wanted her loyalty, her devotion, her love.
“Miss Nicole is quality, through and through,” Wellborn agreed. “A true woman of character. You’ve chosen well, Mr. Thornton.”
“Unfortunately, mine’s not the only choice that matters.” Darius turned from the window and regarded his butler—no, his friend—with a serious air, allowing him to see a hint of the desperation clawing for purchase inside him. “She plans to leave me, Wellborn.”
“What?”
This time Darius was the one shooting meaningful glances to remind his companion to keep his voice down.
“You must be mistaken, sir.” The man looked genuinely rattled. Darius had never seen Wellborn rattled. Not even the first time he exploded a boiler on Oakhaven’s pond. “She mentioned no such plans to me, nor to Flora. I’m sure of it.” He fidgeted with the cuff of his perfectly pressed coat, and for a moment Darius thought he might actually crease the thing. But then he seemed to gain control of himself and smoothed the wool back into place.
“Perhaps you misunderstood. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Mr. Thornton. If I might be so bold, I’m quite certain she holds you in some esteem.”
Darius shoved his plate aside, his appetite irrevocably gone. No use staring at the stuff any longer.
“There’s no misunderstanding. She made her position quite clear to me just this morning. In six days, if I cannot convince her to stay, she will leave Oakhaven and never return.”
“But . . . why?” The plaintive tone in Wellborn’s voice nearly made Darius smile. The man was as besotted with the idea of Nicole joining the Thornton family as he was.
“I don’t feel comfortable sharing details of what she has told me in confidence, but I can tell you her reasons have nothing to do with any feelings she might have toward me or anyone at Oakhaven. She has made a promise to her father, and honor demands she fulfill it.”
The older man’s face crumpled, but only for a moment. As Darius watched, his butler stiffened his posture, threw back his shoulders, and jutted his chin. “So what are we going to do about this development?”
Darius did smile then. Such a show of loyalty was heartening. “We’re going to find a way to help her keep her promise to her father without leaving us behind, and we’re going to make sure Jenkins and his men don’t harm a hair on her head in the process.”
An expression that was downright crafty slid over Wellborn’s features. “Would it help if I told you that a Mr. Edmund Whistler, formerly employed by one Carson Jenkins, is due in town this afternoon? He used to be a member of Captain Stewart’s crew, but he now works on board the Polly Anne. I checked the shipping schedules, and the Polly Anne is scheduled to dock at three o’clock.”
“Then I suggest you be there to meet him, Wellborn.” He’d prefer to meet the boat himself, but a manservant would draw less notice than Oakhaven’s crazy, boiler-exploding landowner.
The butler gave a brisk nod. “My thoughts exactly, sir.”
Darius dipped his chin, an unspoken vow humming through the air between the two men. Rising to his feet, he pulled a few coins from his pocket and tossed them onto the table to cover the price of the meals.
Talking to Whistler at all was a risk. If the man still had ties to Jenkins, Nicole could be exposed. But if they didn’t talk to him, Jenkins might find her anyway, and Darius would be caught off guard. Better to fight an enemy you understood and could prepare for than one you knew nothing about.
At least that’s what he told himself as he called to Jake and strode out of the café.
CHAPTER 24
When Darius reached the yard at Oakhaven, he lowered Jacob down from the horse, knowing how anxious the boy was to show off his new blade. “Don’t forget to send Miss Greyson out to meet me in the workshop after the two of you are through,” Darius called as Jake dashed toward the house.
“I will,” came the answer, though Jake never turned.
Darius grinned at the boy’s eagerness, yet very little of the weight pressing into his chest lightened. Exhaling a ragged breath, he dismounted and led his horse into the barn. His mind churned while he rubbed the horse down and put up the tack.
There had to be an answer, an answer that didn’t involve Nicole breaking her vow to her father or marrying someone besides him.
Darius leaned against the barn wall and forked his fingers into his hair, clutching an overlong hank in his fist. The roots tugged painfully at his scalp, but he tightened his grip.
You opened the Red Sea for the Israelites, God. You made the sun stand still for Joshua. Surely you can provide a solution for us, as well. I love her. I don’t want to lose her. Please, please work this out for our good.
Darius surged to his feet, crossed to the barn opening, and slammed the heel of his hand against the doorframe. He hated feeling helpless, powerless. He wished he could hem Nicole in like one of the variables in his experiments, controlling everything around her to ensure the outcome he wanted. But she had a mind of her own. A stubborn mind. A clever mind. And hemming her in would only alienate her further. The only trump card he held w
as his connection to King Star Shipping. However, playing it too early could lead to losing the hand. No. Better to hedge his bets and wait to see what Wellborn learned at the docks this afternoon. So much depended on what Whistler might reveal.
No, he corrected himself, letting his palm trail down the wooden beam until his arm hung loosely at his side. Everything depends on God. That’s where my trust belongs.
Yet even as that truth settled over him, he couldn’t completely banish the slithering fear that wound itself around his heart and squeezed with increasing strength.
What if God said no?
By late afternoon, anxiety had worn Darius’s mind down to mush. He hissed out a pain-filled breath as the hammer he’d been using to pound out a dent in a section of boiler plate collided with his thumb. For the third time. He lifted the digit to his mouth, then shook his hand out in an effort to ease the throbbing.
“Are you all right?” Nicole glanced up from the inventory list she was compiling, her brows arched with concern.
So much for hoping she hadn’t noticed.
Nicole stepped toward him as if to offer aid, but Darius quickly waved her off. “I’m fine. Just a bit distracted. So many possibilities running through my head, you know.”
She frowned but thankfully remained on her side of the workshop. “All right, but you might consider setting the hammer aside while working through experimentation ideas next time.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Darius smiled, and made no effort to correct her misconception. Boilers were the last thing on his mind. He hadn’t given a single thought to his next experiment. How could he when every piece of his brain had been consumed with thoughts of what was happening in Liberty?
He tossed his hammer onto the worktable. Iron plating, rivets, and soldering gear jangled in protest, as loudly as if Mrs. Wellborn had just upturned the box of good silver onto the floor.
“Darius? Are you sure you’re all right?”
Back turned to Nicole, he closed his eyes. Of course he wasn’t all right. The woman he loved was bound and determined to leave him in six days, and he had no feasible plan to stop her. His hands balled into fists.
How had he thought working alongside her would make the waiting more bearable? It was killing him. One minute he wanted to storm across the workshop, confront her with what he knew, and demand answers. The next he wanted to pull her into his arms and make her promise never to leave him. With a grunt, Darius yanked the protective apron he wore over his head and strode for the door.
“I’m going to get some air,” he announced without meeting her eyes. “Continue your work. I’ll be back shortly.”
Closing the door behind him, Darius made for the pond. If ever he needed a swim, it was today. The enforced quiet under the water. The strain of muscles. The soothing rhythm of the strokes.
He reached the landing and barely paused long enough to pull the boots from his feet and the shirt from his back before launching his body into the water in a shallow dive.
The frigid temperature shocked his system, and for a blessed moment, freed his mind. Scissoring his legs and thrusting his arms, he propelled himself deeper and faster, as if the key to winning Nicole’s hand lay on the opposite side. He didn’t surface when the water began to grow shallow, as he usually did. He let his lungs burn until his hands collided with the muddy bank. Then, finally, he planted his feet and shot up.
Gulping in a deep breath, he turned to continue back to the landing, his muscles aching but ready for more. That’s when he heard a voice. High pitched. Excited. Sharpening his focus, Darius scanned the yard. There. Jacob, his legs flying, waved wildly as he ran toward the landing.
“Wellborn’s back!” he shouted. “Wellborn’s back!”
Darius surged off the bank. His arms cranked through the water as his legs powered him forward.
He reached the landing in record time, hoisted himself out, and made a grab for his shirt as he leapt from the dock to the grass. Not taking the time to replace his shoes, Darius rubbed his head and face with the dry cotton of his shirt while he picked his way, barefoot, up the hill that led to the house. He gave his chest a cursory swipe before cramming the wet shirt over his head. His arms got stuck in the sleeves, but he muscled his way into them, ignoring the small seam-popping sounds that accompanied his efforts.
Jacob came alongside, trotting to keep up with Darius’s long, hurried strides. “Do you think he’s got news from that whistling fella?”
Darius jerked to a halt and spun to face Jacob. “You know about Whistler?”
The boy shrugged. “Only what I heard Wellborn tell you at the restaurant. But don’t worry. I didn’t say nothin’ to Miss Nicole.” He paused, his little throat working up and down as he swallowed. “I don’t want her to leave, neither. She saved my life. I figure I owe her.”
He planted his hands on his hips and gave Darius a man-to-man look. “I don’t want nobody hurtin’ her. She might be good with a knife an’ all, but she’s still a girl. And girls tend to get hurt when they get in the way of angry men.”
A sheen shimmered across the boy’s eyes for a moment, a sheen that proclaimed Jacob’s firsthand experience in the matter. But before Darius could comment, the kid blinked it away and resumed his march to the house.
“Come on, Mr. T.” He gestured for Darius to follow. “Time’s a wastin’.”
No one had to tell him twice. Darius overtook Jacob in three strides, threw him a wink, and set off at a run. Jacob hollered and gave chase, moving ahead when a rough-edged stone hiding in the grass stabbed Darius’s arch. He pulled up like a lame horse, hobbling the last few yards to where Wellborn was climbing down from the wagon seat.
“Well, I suppose we won’t be having our discussion in the study, will we?” Wellborn commented dryly, his brow lifting as he took in Darius’s soggy trousers, muddy feet, and torn shirt. “Flora would have my head if I let you set foot on her carpets in that condition. You’re like a wet dog in need of a good shake. An outdoor shake.”
Darius gave his head a quick wag, causing Jacob to sputter with laughter as he moved to unhitch the horses. As soon as the boy was busy, Darius sobered. “The barn will do.”
“What of Jacob?” Wellborn murmured. “If he’s seeing to the horses, we can’t be assured of privacy.”
“He already knows.” Darius made for the barn door, ignoring the sore spot on his foot.
Wellborn kept pace, glancing over his shoulder at the boy as he went. “He overheard at the café?”
“Apparently. But he’s got sense enough to hold his tongue.” Darius crossed into the barn’s dim interior and immediately headed for a back stall, his eyes adjusting as he went. “Nicole knows nothing.” He dropped his voice. The subject of their conversation remained safely ensconced in his workshop fifty yards away, yet he’d take no chances. Too much depended on the proper timing of his challenge. If she discovered what he was up to before he had his arguments in order, he’d be sunk.
“Jake sees himself as her protector,” Darius continued, sliding into the last stall and bracing his back against the end wall. “He’ll keep quiet and do what he can to aid us.”
Wellborn grimaced at the pile of droppings left behind by the previous occupant and gave it a wide berth, taking care not to brush up against any of the walls as he followed Darius inside.
“So what did you learn? Did you find Whistler?”
The butler cleared some old hay from the floor with a brush of his shoe, as if checking for hidden muck before settling into a spot. Darius bit his tongue to keep from snapping at the man. Who cared if a little manure ended up on his shoe? Darius would plant his bare foot in the stuff if it meant getting to the answers he sought more quickly.
After an agonizing minute that seemed to stretch into eternity, Wellborn finally ceased playing with the straw and turned his attention back to Darius.
“When the Polly Anne docked, her captain pointed Whistler out to me. After I promised to buy him a bottle of his fa
vorite beverage at the local saloon, he became rather friendly. Chatted with me for over an hour at one of the back tables.”
Tension radiated through Darius. He leaned forward. “And . . . ?”
“And I believe I may have ascertained the source of contention between Jenkins and Renard, though it seems a bit of superstitious nonsense, if you ask me. I can hardly countenance our sensible Miss Nicole crediting such a tale.”
Impatience rumbled in Darius’s throat. “I don’t care if it involves purple monkeys riding orange dolphins. I need to know what I’m up against so I can plot a course around it.”
“Yes. Well. Thankfully, there are no monkeys or dolphins of any variety involved, at least not to my knowledge.”
“Wellborn.” The man’s name vibrated between Darius’s clenched teeth in a clear warning.
“It does involve a pirate, though,” the butler announced. “A fellow by the name of Lafitte.”
Jean Lafitte? The man was a legend. Pirate. Privateer. Spy. What young boy growing up along the coast hadn’t pretended to be one of Lafitte’s men, living in the pirate colony of Campeche? Darius had taken on the role of Lafitte himself more than once, strutting around with David and the other boys as they each took their turn as the mighty leader. “If I recall correctly,” Darius said thoughtfully, “Jean Lafitte established a pirate colony on Galveston Island.”
“That’s correct. And according to Mr. Whistler, before the Navy forced the pirate to evacuate the island in ’21, he bequeathed a jeweled dagger to one of his trusted men who opted to remain behind. Legend holds that whoever possesses the dagger will rule the Galveston shipping trade. Both Jenkins and Renard claim the dagger belongs to them, yet the dagger has been in a Renard’s possession for the last two generations. Jenkins believes Renard’s success is due to his retention of the dagger and is determined to gain control of the talisman for himself.”
A frisson of anticipation reverberated along Darius’s nerves as doors previously locked to him began to open. Snippets of memory flashed as his mind assimilated what Wellborn was telling him.