Free Captain's Bride by Kat Martin Page B

schooled in nor to the Negro, despite his curly black hair
and cocoa coloring, Nathan had grown up fast. He held no illusions
about life. He had loved his father. Now his father had been taken
from him, just as his mother had. Nathan had always been
alone—except for Glory.
    “Why did it have to be him, Nathan?” Glory said. “He
was so good and kind. He always worried about everyone except
himself, always wanted the best for everyone.”
    “I know, Glory. I know.”
    At first Glory had been unable to cry, unable to
accept her father’s death as real. Once Nathan came home and they
shared each other’s grief, Glory couldn’t stop crying. When
the day of the funeral arrived, Glory was sure she had no tears
left.
    She stood inside the little wrought-iron fence that
surrounded the family plot. All by herself. Her mother had
relegated Nathan to a place among the Negroes, and, though Glory
had cried and pleaded, threatened and cajoled, Nathan had finally
persuaded his sister to leave the matter alone.
    “Father would want you there, Nathan,” she’d
said.
    “Father will know I’m close by.”
    After that, Glory had refused to stand beside her
mother. Instead she stood a few feet away, a bitter spring wind
billowing the heavy skirts of her black silk mourning dress. The
cloudy day seemed appropriate. While the minister droned on, Glory
stood with her head held high, but she was grateful for the dense
veil she wore, which shrouded her drawn features from the scores of
friends and relatives who had gathered to pay their last
respects.
    As Glory heard the low keening of the slaves on the
hillside, saw the first shovelful of dirt pitched onto her father’s
casket, she felt a knot of despair that tightened like a noose and
threatened to suffocate her. Head spinning, she swayed unsteadily.
Tears filled her eyes, and she fought to keep them from spilling
onto her cheeks. The mourners around her blurred into a single gray
mass.
    She sensed his presence even before he touched her,
his strong, sun-browned hand sliding beneath her elbow to share
with her a little of his strength. She didn’t need to look up to
know that Nicholas Blackwell stood beside her, but when she did,
she found him staring straight ahead, his quiet support giving-her
the courage she needed. He said not a word, his expression
carefully controlled, but his usually swarthy complexion looked
wan, his mouth no more than a thin, grim line.
    Glory knew in that moment that he shared her pain,
and in realizing others had loved her father as she had, she felt a
little of her own pain go away.
    When the service was over, Nicholas led her from the
graveyard beneath the oaks. “You know how sorry I am,” he said, his
voice heavy and low.
    “Thank you for coming, Captain.”
    “I’m afraid I can’t stay. I heard about the accident
in a port just south of here. Your father was respected and
admired. News of what happened traveled fast. I came as quickly as
I could, but I have to return to my ship right away.”
    “I understand.”
    “I’m headed for Barbados. At the end of the month
I’ll be back in Charleston for three days on my way north. If
there’s anything I can do, anything you need, just send word.”
    “Thank you.”
    He didn’t offer to see her, didn’t want to see her
again. Nicholas had battled images of Gloria Summerfield since the
day he’d left the manor. He was just beginning to forget her when
he received news of the accident. Now he felt the same intense
attraction, the same pounding in his blood, and knew he’d again
spend weeks fighting his desire for her.
    Just like your father , a tiny voice said. The
words plagued him day and night. Want of a woman had turned
Alexander Blackwell into a drunken failure and finally been the
death of him. It wouldn’t happen to Nicholas. Not for Gloria
Summerfield or any other woman.
    He walked her up the hill to the house.
    “Good-bye, Captain,” she said.
    He squeezed her hand, left her with a