Lost Lady (James River Book 2)
Lost Lady: Chapter 8

IN THE MORNING, REGAN COULD HARDLY MEET TRAVIS’S eyes. The way he looked at her—so smug, so sure of himself—made her want to toss a knife at him. He seemed to think he knew everything about her, that he had complete control over her, that he merely had to crook his finger and she belonged to him.

How very much she’d like to wipe that expression off his face; just once she’d like to see him not get what he thought was his.

As they were eating, Sarah Trumbull gave a quick knock at the door before entering. “Oh! Excuse me,” she said. “Usually the two of you are gone by this time.”

“Have some breakfast, Sarah,” Travis said, smiling smugly, and looking at Regan as if he understood exactly why she was avoiding his eyes.

But Sarah was more interested in a torn piece of muslin that yesterday had been a dress she had just made the day before. Chuckling, giving Travis a mock look of reprimand, she said, “Travis, if you’re going to treat all my handiwork like this, there’s no need for me to keep on sewing.”

Running his hand through his hair, glancing quickly at Regan’s averted face, he laughed. “I’ll try to control myself. Now I need to help on deck. The captain is a bit short-handed this trip. Although,” he grinned, “I may not have much energy left.” He kissed Regan’s cool cheek before he left the cabin.

A sigh to rival a hurricane escaped Sarah as she gazed longingly at the closed door. “If there were any more men like him, I might be tempted to get married.”

If Regan had known any foul words, she would have used them. “Don’t you have work to do?” she snapped.

Regan’s tone didn’t phase Sarah. “I’d be jealous too if he were mine.”

“He isn’t—!” she began hostilely, then stopped. “Travis Stanford belongs to no one,” she said at last, before beginning to clear the breakfast dishes and put them on a tray.

Sarah decided to change the subject. “Do you know that man in the cabin across from yours?”

“David Wainwright? We met, but that’s all. Is he all right?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve been in your cabin for two days now, sewing on your new clothes, and I’ve never heard a sound from him. I thought perhaps he was helping with the men who are ill.”

Frowning, Regan decided to investigate, excused herself to Sarah, and left the cabin. Even though she worked in the stench every day, the smell that hit her when she opened David’s cabin was overpowering. The heavy darkness of the room caused her to pause for quite some time on the threshold, her eyes searching for Mr. Wainwright.

Finally, in what looked like a heap of filthy rags, she found him huddled on the window seat, his body shivering. Crossing to him, she saw immediately that he had a fever, that his eyes burned dangerously bright, and, by the tone of his ramblings, that he was delirious.

A noise at the door caused her to turn to see Sarah looking at the room in horror. “How could anyone live in this?”

“Would you tell Travis to send down some hot water, please?” Regan said firmly. “Tell him to send a great deal of it—and I’ll need washing rags and soap, too.”

“Of course,” Sarah said quietly, not envying Regan the task she had ahead of her.

Sunlight filtered through the windows in David Wainwright’s cabin, touching on Regan’s hair, showing the golden strands intermingled with the darkness. More sun glistened on her soft, sweet-scented muslin gown, highlighting each of the minute, embroidered golden rosebuds. A book was held lightly by her, and as she read from it her words were as soft as the picture she presented.

David lay back against freshly laundered cushions, propped on the end of the window seat, his arm in a sling, his snowy shirt open at the throat. It had been a month since that time Regan had found him alone and ill in his cabin. At the first movement of the ship, he’d become seasick and returned to his cabin. Hours later, he’d fallen from his bunkbed and landed in such a way that he’d broken his forearm. In pain, nauseated, weak, helpless, he was unable to call for help. In an attempt to return to his bunk, he fell again, and with the new pain he lost consciousness. When Regan found him he had no idea who or where he was, and for days after the bone was set no one was quite convinced he’d live through the ordeal.

And through everything, Regan had never left his side. She scoured the filthy cabin, washed David, sat by him, coaxed him into eating a broth made from salt beef, and, by sheer will-power, kept his spirits up. He was not a good patient. He was sure that he was going to die, that he’d never see England again, that America and Americans were going to be responsible for his death. He spent hours telling Regan how he’d had a premonition that these were going to be his last few days on earth.

For Regan, she was glad of an excuse to get away from Travis’s overpowering presence, glad for once in her life to be needed by someone, not to feel as if she were a burden.

“Please, Regan,” David said petulantly. “Don’t read anymore. I do wish you’d just talk to me.” He shifted his injured arm with a great show of distress.

“What would you like to talk about? We seem to have exhausted every topic.”

“Every topic about my life, you mean. I still know exactly nothing about you. Who were your parents, where did you live in Liverpool, and how did you meet that American?”

Putting the book down, she rose. “Perhaps we should go for a walk on deck. It’s a lovely day, and the exercise will do us both good.”

Smiling slightly, David put his feet on the floor, waiting patiently for Regan to help him stand. “My mystery lady,” he said, his voice betraying that he rather liked not knowing much about her.

On deck, her arm around David’s waist and his about her shoulders, the first person they met was Travis. Regan couldn’t help but notice the contrast, the slim blond young man in his immaculate clothes next to Travis’s brawniness, and his clothes smelling of male sweat and the salty air.

“A bit of an airing today?” Travis asked politely, but lifting one eyebrow and giving a mocking grin to Regan.

David nodded curtly, almost rudely, before half jerking Regan forward. “How could you marry someone like that?” he said when they were alone. “You are the gentlest, tenderest woman, and when I think of you having to endure the attentions of that insensitive, oversized Colonial, I am nearly made ill again.”

“He is not insensitive!” she said quickly. “Travis is….”

“Is what?” he said with great patience.

There was no answer to that question. Moving away from David, leaning over the rail and watching the water, she asked herself what Travis did mean to her. At night he made her cry in delight, and the way he always had a tubful of hot water ready for her in the evenings convinced her of his kindness. Yet she was always aware that she was his prisoner.

“Regan,” David said. “You aren’t answering my questions. Don’t you feel well? Perhaps you’re tired. I know taking care of me isn’t the easiest task in the world. Maybe you’d rather….”

“No,” she smiled at the familiar complaints. “You know I enjoy your company. Shall we sit here a while?”

Staying with David the rest of the afternoon, she found she couldn’t keep her mind on what he was saying. Instead, she kept watching Travis as he agilely climbed the rigging tied along the mast, as he threw great heavy rope into an orderly pile. Several times he stopped and winked at her, always aware of when she was watching him.

That night, for the first time in weeks, she returned to her own cabin ahead of Travis. When he entered, his face was lit, his eyes smiling with happiness.

It seemed he’d grown more handsome in the last few weeks, his face tanned by the sun, his muscles even harder than before.

“You’re a welcome sight after a hard day. You think I could have a kiss of greeting, or did you give them all to young Wainwright?”

Her happiness faded. “Am I supposed to take that insult without a word? Just because you force me into an indecent relationship doesn’t mean another man can—or even attempts to, for that matter.”

Turning away from her, Travis removed his shirt and began to wash. “It’s nice to know the pup hasn’t tried to take what’s mine. Not that he could, of course, but I like to be reassured.”

“You are insufferable! And I am not yours!”

Travis merely grinned confidently. “Shall I prove to you that you belong to me?”

“I do not belong to you,” she said, backing away from him. “I can take care of myself.”

“Mmm,” Travis smiled, coming to stand near her. Sensuously, he began to run his finger down her arm, and when her steady gaze flickered he narrowed his eyes. “Can that boy make you shiver with only one finger?”

She jerked away from him. “David is a gentleman. We talk of music and books, things you know nothing of. His family is one of the oldest in England, and I enjoy his company.” She straightened her shoulders. “And I will not allow your jealousy to ruin my friendship with him.”

“Jealousy?” Travis laughed. “If I were going to be jealous of someone, it would certainly be someone with more than that whining boy.” His face turned serious. “But I believe the boy is getting serious about you, and I think you should stop seeing so much of him.”

“Stop—!” she sputtered. “Is there no part of my life you don’t attempt to control?” She calmed herself. “I am a free woman, and when I get to America I plan to take advantage of my freedom. I’m sure David is the type of man who’d want to get married and not try to make a…a slave of a woman.”

Calmly, Travis put his hand on her shoulder. “Would you really like to trade me for a boy and a gold ring?”

As he bent to kiss her, she pulled away. “Perhaps I’d like to try,” she whispered. “Surely men can’t be so different. If David loved me, perhaps we could be compatible in the marriage bed.”

Travis’s hands on her shoulders were brutal. “If that boy ever touches you, I’ll break every bone in his body—and I’ll make you watch while I do it.” He gave her a sharp push before he slammed out of the cabin.

That night Regan spent alone. She refused to admit to herself how much she missed him, how alone she felt without his arms around her. All night she tossed and turned, trying not to cry, attempting not to be afraid.

In the morning there were circles under her eyes, and Sarah, for once, didn’t ask questions. The two women sat quietly in the cabin and sewed. Near sunset, David knocked on the door and asked if Regan would walk with him.

On deck, all she seemed to see was Travis, yet Travis never looked at her.

His ignoring of her made her angry, and as a result she turned all her attentions to David, who was complaining about the length of the voyage and the food. At her look, suddenly turned from disinterest to adoration, he stopped speaking and looked at her.

“You are especially lovely today,” he whispered. “The sunlight makes your hair a red-gold.”

Just then Travis was passing them, a massive piece of canvas thrown across his shoulder.

“Oh thank you, David,” she said, much too loudly. “You make a woman feel like a queen with your fine compliments. I don’t know when I’ve been so flattered.”

If he heard, Travis made no sign as he continued past her, his movements not even slowed.

Again that night she was alone in the cabin. She wanted so much to show Travis that it didn’t matter to her that he had abandoned her. She wanted to prove to him that she could do something on her own. So, as the days progressed, she flirted more and more openly with David, always when Travis was near.

On the evening of the third night, as David escorted her to her cabin, instead of his friendly goodnight he grabbed her, fiercely pulling her into his arms. “Regan,” he whispered, his lips on her ear. “You must know that I love you. I’ve loved you from the first, yet every night I must lie alone in my cabin while that…that animal has the right to touch you. Regan, my dearest, tell me that you feel the same way about me.”

With surprise, she found that his kisses and his arms around her repulsed her. Pushing against him, she tried to free herself. “I’m a married woman,” she gasped.

“Married to a man who isn’t worthy to kiss the hem of your gown. We’ll keep quiet about our love until we dock, and then we’ll have your marriage dissolved. You can’t think to spend all your life with that poverty-eaten sailor. Come with me, and I will build you a house like that backward country has never seen before.”

“David!” she said, pushing in earnest. “Release me this moment!”

“No, my love. If you don’t have the courage to leave him, I will tell him myself.”

“No! Please, no!” Suddenly she knew that Travis had been right. She didn’t want David, and in the last few days she’d been using him to make Travis jealous.

David’s fingers turned her face to him, and he planted hot, damp kisses on her face, suffocating kisses, as she twisted her body in an attempt to get away from him.

One moment David was holding her, and the next he seemed to be flying through the air. In astonished disbelief, she watched as Travis’s fist smashed into David’s face, just before the small man slammed against the wall. As he slid unconscious to the floor, Travis raised his fist again.

With one leap, Regan grabbed Travis’s arm, holding on to it, her feet above the ground. “No!” she shouted. “You’ll kill him.”

The face Travis turned to her was a distortion of his usual countenance. His eyes were hot, black with fury, his mouth grim with his anger. In fear she stepped back from him.

“Did you get what you wanted?” he growled, his heavy brows coming together in a black scowl. Without another word, he turned and left the passageway to return to the deck.

Shaking, Regan looked at David as he was beginning to rouse, blood gushing from his nose. Her first impulse was to help him, but when she saw that he was trying to stand and knew he was all right, she fled to her own cabin. Once inside, she leaned against the door, her heart pounding and tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. Travis had been right! She had used David, toyed with his affections, almost promised what she never meant to give, all in an attempt to make Travis jealous. But Travis could not be made jealous—she was merely a possession to him.

Flinging herself onto the bed, she began to cry in earnest, deeply and sincerely.

Hours later, her head feeling stuffed, her eyes raw, having cried herself to sleep, she was awakened by the violent tossing of the ship. As she lay quietly, trying to understand what was going on, a sudden lurch sent her sprawling out of the bunk and onto the hard floor, where she lay stunned. The cabin door opened, flung back against the wall as the ship plummeted in another direction.

Travis stood in the doorway, wearing a heavy oilcloth slicker, his hair wild and wet. His legs spread as he walked toward her, rolling with the tumbling of the ship. He picked her up in his arms.

“Are you hurt?” he shouted, and until then she hadn’t been aware of the tremendous noise about them.

“What’s wrong? Are we sinking?” She snuggled against him, so very glad to touch him once again.

“It’s only a storm,” he shouted down at her. “There shouldn’t be much danger since we’ve been preparing for it for days. I want you to stay here, do you understand? I don’t want you to take it into your head to go on deck or to the other passengers. Do I make myself clear?”

She nodded against his shoulder, clinging to him, thinking that perhaps the reason for his absence for the last few days was his preparation for the storm.

Bending, he lowered her to the bed, gave her a look she couldn’t fathom, and then kissed her, possessively and forcibly. “Stay here,” he repeated, touching the corner of one of her swollen, red eyes.

With that he was gone, and Regan was left alone in the dark cabin. She was much more aware of the rolling of the ship after Travis left. To keep from being thrown from the bunk, she grabbed the sides as best she could. Water seeped in under the door, coating the cabin floor.

Even as she struggled to keep her balance, she began to imagine what was happening on deck. If the water was coming into her cabin, it must be washing over the sides of the ship. Her imagination, always active, began to conjure a picture of horror. Once, when Regan was hardly more than a child, a scullery maid of her uncle’s had received a letter saying that her young husband had been washed overboard during a storm, and later a friend of his had come to tell her the full, gruesome story. Every member of the staff, as well as Regan, had gathered around the sailor and heard every gory detail.

Now the story did not seem like a story because above her head were actual waves as tall as a house, waves of such force that they could take a dozen men with them when they returned to sea.

And Travis was up there!

The thought rang through her head. Of course, Travis would never believe he could come to harm. No doubt he was sure even the sea would obey his commands. And it wasn’t as if he were a real sailor either. He was just a farmer who’d been on a whaler as a boy, and now he had to work to pay his passage.

An especially violent toss of the ship sent Regan flying out of the bunk again. Travis! she thought, struggling to stand. Perhaps that was the wave that tore him from the decks.

A massive sound of cracking wood above her head sent her eyes upward. The ship was breaking apart! With both hands on the bunk edge, she managed to stand, and she started the long passage toward her trunk, which was fortunately bolted to the floor. First she had to replace a cloak, and then she had to somehow make her way on deck. Someone had to save Travis from himself, had to persuade him to return to the comparative safety of the cabin, and if he wouldn’t, someone had to watch out for him. If he were washed overboard, she planned to throw him a rope.