Lost Lady (James River Trilogy 2)

Travis had no idea what she was talking about, but the sight of her, half-dressed, the silk making her eyes brilliantly blue, her skin still glowing from last night’s lovemaking and his head still dazzled by it, he felt that she could persuade him to do anything. “Stop tempting me and get dressed. You’ll have months on board ship to play the seductress, but for now there’s work to do.”

Blushing because he’d misunderstood her, Regan concentrated on dressing. Perhaps, she thought dreamily, perhaps this American could be…. Glancing at Travis, tossing boots into the trunk on top of clean white shirts, she smiled. Maybe he could never be a gentleman, but he did have possibilities. Her eyes widened as he locked the trunk, bent, grabbed the leather handle, and rose with it hanging down his back.

“Ready?” he asked, seeming not to notice his enormous burden.

She nodded and preceded him out of the door.

Downstairs, a breakfast the size of which she’d never seen before was hot and waiting for them. “You’ve made me miss more meals than I ever have before in my life,” Travis informed her.

She coolly glanced up at his great height, then pointedly at the thickness of his chest. “Perhaps you could stand to miss a few meals.”

Travis laughed, but a few minutes later she saw him glancing at a mirror as if he were inspecting himself. His reaction made her smile, feeling a touch triumphant.

The food was delicious, and Regan was ravenous. She was pleased to see that Travis’s table manners were quite good, perhaps without the delicacy of Farrell or another gentleman of his quality, but he would pass in decent society.

“Have I grown horns?” Travis asked, teasing.

Ignoring him, she looked back down at her food and wondered at her own lack of spirit. Perhaps it was yesterday’s terrible experience on the docks and Travis’s rescuing of her, but, truthfully, she was beginning to feel some excitement about the idea of going to America. People said that, since the people of America were free, you could get rich there. Maybe she could make her fortune in the primitive country and return to England—and Farrell—in triumph.

Travis’s hand under her chin brought her out of her dream. “Were you leaving me again?” he asked quietly. “Or perhaps planning to murder me in my sleep?”

“Neither. I wouldn’t waste my time.”

Chuckling, Travis stood, offered her his hand, and helped her up. “I think you’re going to do quite well in America. We need more women with your spirit.”

“I thought you considered all American women the epitome of grace and courage.”

“There’s always room for improvement,” he laughed, taking her arm. “Now, stay close to me and you’ll be all right,” he said seriously, his eyes warning her.

She didn’t need a second warning, and as soon as they left the inn she found herself clinging to Travis’s arm. The fishy smell and the noises peculiar to the waterfront hit her hard, and for a moment she was transported back to the time when the men’s hands had clawed at her.

Travis was watching her thoughtfully, aware of the fear in her eyes. He threw the heavy trunk onto the waiting wagon and told the driver which ship to take it to. When it was gone, he turned back to Regan. “There’s only one way to lick a fear, and that is to face it straight on. If you fall off a horse, you have to get right back on immediately.”

Regan barely listened to this confusing bit of advice but instead moved even closer to Travis, her fingers digging into his arm. “Will the carriage be here soon?” she whispered.

“We’re not getting a carriage,” Travis said heartily. “You and I are going to walk to the ship. By the time we get there, you won’t be so afraid. I don’t want you cowering every time we get near a wharf or you smell rotten fish.”

It took several moments for his words to reach her brain. Pulling away from him, she looked up in astonishment. “Is this some sort of American logic? I do not want to walk through this…this place. I demand you get me a carriage.”

“Demand, is it?” Travis smiled. “From what I’ve learned in life, people shouldn’t make demands unless they can carry them through. Are you prepared to walk to the ship by yourself?”

“You wouldn’t do that, would you?” she whispered.

“No, love,” he said quietly, grasping her hand. “I won’t even leave you in this country alone, much less in this slimy place. Now, come on and smile at me. We’ll walk to the ship, and you’ll see how safe you are with me.”

In spite of her misgivings, Regan soon began t

o enjoy the walk. Travis pointed to buildings, warehouses, and taverns, and told her a humorous story about a fight he’d seen in one tavern. Before long, she was laughing and had stopped clutching so desperately at his arm. Several sailors lounged against a brick wall and made remarks about her that she couldn’t quite hear but certainly understood the essence of. Calmly, Travis excused himself and went to say a few words to the men. Within seconds they doffed their caps and came to murmur good mornings to Regan and to wish her a pleasant trip.

Bewildered, then as pleased as a cat with cream, she looked up at Travis as she took his arm again.

His eyes bright, he bent and kissed her nose. “Keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, and we’ll never make it to the ship. We’ll have to stop at one of these inns.”

She looked away from him, but her shoulders went back, her chin up, and she walked as if her feet could hardly touch the ground. And best of all, her fear left her. Her fingertips never left Travis’s arm, but now she knew that even this slight touch was enough to keep her safe. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad being with this great American and having these men, as low as they were, nodding their heads respectfully at her.

Sooner than she wanted to be, they were at the ship, and Regan was awed by the size of it. Weston Manor could have been set on the open deck.

“How do you feel?” Travis asked. “Not scared, are you?”