Reaching into the hidden pocket she’d sewn into her skirt, she clutched the roll of money. Had his men beaten Charlotte, or worse? Was Charlotte lying right this moment, bound and gagged, in the filth and pitch-black terrors of the tunnels? And Seavey had relished in her discomfort, leaning back with savage grace in his chair, his pale gray eyes watching her swallow her terror with every bite of salmon in dill sauce, every spoonful of floating island. But for her, the dinner had turned into an agonizing game of nerves, each course of rich food an obstacle to overcome. Though she was now more than a block away, she could still hear the laughter and music spilling from the Canby mansion the syncopated rhythms of Scott Joplin’s ragtime pulsed along her raw nerves.įor the other guests, the party had been an opportunity to share an evening with Port Chatham’s social elite, its powerful politicians and businessmen. Her neighbors’ cottages stood dark and silent behind picket fences and tidy gardens, their owners still in attendance at the soirée. I must act natural I must look as if I haven’t a care in the world. She turned right at the next corner, breaking into a run before forcing herself to drop back to a more sedate pace. Once upon a time, the stately ships had called out to her, whispering of romance and adventure. A dozen schooners anchored in the harbor, rocking gently on a sea of silver, rigging draped from their masts like black filigree. But not tonight.īeneath the brilliance of the stars, the town’s waterfront stretched out below her. On any other evening, she could’ve counted on Port Chatham’s mercurial weather to camouflage her escape.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped through the hedge at the back of the garden and crossed to the street, walking rapidly toward the bluff.Īn onshore wind flattened the waves on Admiralty Inlet, blowing the clouds from the sky and chilling her soul. No one would stop him, she realized bitterly-he was above the law. Shadows danced on the breeze, chasing a shower of blossoms across the empty, moonlit garden.īefore long, though, he’d discover her absence, and he’d hunt her down. Under the spreading branches of a magnolia tree, she paused, trembling. The herb beds she fled past announced their presence in cloying waves-the spice of mint here, the pungency of rosemary there.
Her satin shoes left damning footprints on the dew-drenched garden path.
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