Flame on the Sun Page 2

  "I rather think it is fortunate I am not," Erin said with just a hint of tartness, "since I have a difficult task ahead of me."

  "Ah . . . yes . . . that's right, you did say something in your note about wanting to reclaim several ships belonging to your family."

  "Belonging to me now. I inherited them from my uncle, who died last year. After the payment of his debts, they are all that is left of what was once a proud shipping line. I am determined to reclaim them." More softly she added, "If, that is, I can find out where they are."

  "Oh, that's no problem. I know exactly where they are." He consulted a sheet of paper extracted from the pile in front of him. "Both the Nantucket Moon and the Emerald Isle are in dry dock not far from here, at Captain Davin's boatyard."

  The relieved smile that had begun to light Erin's sapphire eyes vanished. She leaned forward slightly in her chair, her hands suddenly clenched in her lap. "Captain D-Davin ...?"

  "That's right. Storm Davin. Late of the Confederate Navy. Not that I suppose it matters this far from home. He's holding them as collateral against debts incurred by the owner." Mr. Carmody frowned slightly. "I guess with your uncle gone, that means you."

  Erin forced herself to take several deep breaths before responding. Every ounce of pride she possessed was concentrated on masking the shock Mr. Carmody had so unwittingly given her. "I don't understand . . . the last I had heard, the ships were in the possession of the Black Star Trading Company. There was no mention of a Captain Davin."

  The young diplomat shrugged. "Storm Davin is the Black Star Trading Company. He started it upon his arrival in Japan a little more than a year ago. I understand he was practically penniless when he left the United States directly after the South's defeat." An envious sigh escaped him. "Of course, he's anything but that now. Black Star Trading controls a large portion of the Japanese market. Captain Davin has made himself a very wealthy and powerful man." Gallantly he added, "But I'm sure you'll have no difficulty with him. After all, who wouldn't wish to help a lovely young lady?"

  Erin could think of at least one man who would not fall all over himself to do so; Storm Davin himself. But she resisted the urge to say so. Instead, she concentrated on marshaling her resources to face this new and potentially disastrous situation.

  "Does the captain know of my arrival?"

  "Why, yes, as a matter of fact he does. After I received your note this morning, I got in touch to tell him when you would be coming by the consulate." Mr. Carmody consulted his pocket watch. With no hint of the impact his words would have, he announced, "He should be here at any moment."

  "Here! But why?" Erin jumped up, unable any longer to bide her dismay. "He must be a very busy man, and this can't be particularly important to him, so why would he . . . ?" She broke off, aware that her host was gazing at her in surprise.

  "Miss Conroy ... is there some reason you are concerned about meeting Captain Davin? I assure you there is no cause to be. Granted, he has a well-deserved reputation for being rather ruthless, but I'm certain you will get along famously."

  Erin opened her mouth to try to make some reasonable response, only to be abruptly forestalled by a low, mocking drawl from the vicinity of the doorway.

  "Oh, I'm certain we will, too. After all, Miss Conroy and I are . . . old friends."

  No amount of self-discipline could prevent the ashen pall that spread over her cheeks. The voice was the same that had haunted her dreams for eight long years. She had only to close her eyes to see again every detail of the fateful night when a dashing Southern officer had dared to ask a beautiful but spoiled Yankee belle to forget the turmoil that was about to explode around them and become bis wife.

  The young girl who had so unfeelingly refused him was gone forever, and not at all lamented. But memories remained to tear at her heart and fill her mind with thoughts of what might have been.

  Valiantly she told herself dreams had no place in the harsh reality confronting her. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him.

  In the first instant that their eyes met, she was struck by two things: he had changed a great deal and he had changed not at all.

  Beneath thick chestnut hair just long enough to curl slightly, the broad planes and hollows of his face stood out in sharp relief. His pewter eyes were deepset under slanted brows. There was a certain grace about the long, aquiline shape of his nose and the mouth whose contained sensuality she had never before fully appreciated. His chin was broad and firm, free of the beard and mustache many men favored. To keep it that way, he had to shave at least twice a day. Although it was barely afternoon, bristly shadows lay against his burnished skin.

  His big, hard body remained the epitome of male strength and virility. A perfectly tailored dark blue frock coat stretched tautly over his powerful shoulders and chest. Beneath it, she caught a glimpse of a white linen shirt open at the throat. Matching wool trousers hugged his narrow hips and sinewy thighs before disappearing into highly polished black leather boots.

  At thirty-five, he was easily the most compellingly attractive man Erin had ever seen. But there was a cynical gleam in his thick-fringed eyes and a smattering of silver in his glistening hair that bespoke harsh lessons well learned.

  An ache rose within her as she studied him. How many times in those violent years had she pictured him wounded or dying? How many times had she searched the columns of names released by the Northern prison camps, praying she would not find his? How many times had she dragged herself wearily out of bed after just a few hours' rest to return to the hospital where she worked in the hope that if he ever needed such care, it would be available?

  After the war, she had made discreet inquiries about his whereabouts. In the back of her mind was the thought that she might sometime, somehow encounter him and have an opportunity to undo a small measure of her cruelty. But all she was able to discover was that after returning briefly to his Virginia plantation to find it completely destroyed and his entire family dead, he had vanished from sight.

  Suddenly confronted by him, she had to struggle against the desire to go to him at once and offer her woman's softness as comfort for all he had endured.

  The disparaging twist of his chiseled mouth made it clear how any such attempt would be received. "I almost failed to recognize you, Erin," he declared. "The last time we met, you were an enticingly pretty sixteen-year-old. But now ..."

  Despite herself, Erin winced. She didn't have to be told that her practical clothing, subdued hairstyle and sedate manner bore no resemblance to the beribboned coquette she had been. But neither was she about to apologize for her appearance. Not when it was the result of experiences that had made her a better person.

  "You, on the other hand, look much the same, Captain," she murmured. "Japan seems to agree with you."

  He frowned slightly at her formality, but did not attempt to override it. Instead, he sat down and nodded at the bemused Mr. Carmody before returning his attention to her. "I gather you have been apprised of the whereabouts of your ships?"

  "Mr. Carmody explained that you are holding them in lieu of debts you claim against Conroy Shipping, but I—"

  "Not claim," Storm interrupted firmly. "There is no doubt about the liability. Your uncle has had ample opportunity to honor his obligations. He simply has not chosen to. What he expects to gain by sending you on this errand, I hesitate to imagine."

  Erin's back stiffened. There was no mistaking his implication. The speculative light in his eyes as he blatantly looked her over made it only too clear. Taking a deep breath, she said, "My uncle is dead, Captain Davin. The ships belong to me now, and I assure you, I have every intention of meeting all proper business obligations."

  Did she imagine the faintly appreciative smile that vanished almost the instant it appeared? She must have, for there was no hint of approval in his tone. "Ah, yes, you were always one for propriety, weren't you, Erin?"

  Refusing to be baited any more than she already had been, she contented herself with a glar
e. For long moments they stared at each other in uneasy silence.

  It was left to Mr. Carmody to put an end to a situation he could not begin to understand but sensed was somehow dangerous.

  "Ah . . . Miss Conroy . . . I'm sure you must be eager to get settled in Yokohama before pursuing your business any further. My wife and I would be delighted to have you stay with us."

  As Erin began to protest that she could not take advantage of such generosity, he explained, "There really are no suitable accommodations for young ladies in the city, and besides, Elizabeth would never forgive me if I denied her such congenial company. Please say you will accept."

  Realizing that it would be churlish to refuse such a sincere invitation, and grateful for the opportunity it afforded her to escape from Storm's unrelenting scrutiny, Erin graciously agreed.

  But her relief was short-lived, for as they all rose, he took her hand in his and touched a light kiss to it that seared her even through her glove. "Then I will look forward to seeing you at supper tomorrow evening, Miss Conroy." Glancing over at Carmody, he asked, "That is, if the dinner party you were planning is still on?"

  "Why, yes, of course," their host assured them. "Miss Conroy is undoubtedly eager to make the acquaintance of Yokohama society, and I'm sure everyone will be equally happy to meet her."

  "Undoubtedly," Storm murmured, so softly that only Erin could hear him. "They have no idea what a treacherous creature you are. But I harbor no such illusions. Be assured, my dear, I will enjoy exacting payment for every cent of your debt!"

  With that he was gone, leaving a confounded young woman to wonder how she was ever going to cope with the man whose love she had once so thoughtlessly spurned and who now saw her as an enemy to be crushed.

  Chapter Two

  "I've pressed the royal-blue silk, Miss Erin," Meg announced in that no-nonsense tone that meant she was not prepared to tolerate disagreement. "And I've been able to secure several petticoat hoops from Miss Elizabeth's maid, so you have no excuse for not being properly dressed this evening."

  Erin sighed. She climbed reluctantly out of the bath and wrapped herself in a large towel before sitting down at the dressing table to brush the tangles from her waist-length ebony hair. The oval face that stared back at her from the mirror was pale but composed. It revealed little of the turmoil of her thoughts. But she knew perfectly well that her apparent composure didn't fool the sharp-eyed Irishwoman.

  Meg was certainly aware that Storm's presence at the consulate had upset her young mistress and that she had conflicting feelings about seeing him again at that evening's dinner. Wisely she had decided to provide the best possible weapons to bolster Erin's flagging self-confidence and inspire her courage.

  "That bath should have perked you up," she murmured soothingly. "It's been a long time since we've seen that much fresh water."

  Erin nodded absently. She had enjoyed her leisurely soak in the privacy of her large bedroom in the Carmody house, but it had failed to ease much of her anxiety. Nor did the fact that much of the strangeness she naturally felt upon arrival in a new country was dispelled by Ned and Elizabeth, who already seemed like friends.

  "Of course you will stay with us," the petite Mrs. Carmody had announced when Erin delicately suggested that if her arrival at all inconvenienced the household, she and Mrs. Gilhoully would be perfectly content to stay elsewhere. "I wouldn't dream of passing up the chance of becoming acquainted with one of the few other American ladies in Yokohama."

  Elizabeth laughed warmly, belying the porcelain delicacy of her blond prettiness. "Or at least one of the few that I'm allowed to know about. I declare, Ned seems to think I have to be protected from the very air itself. Just because we've been married only a few weeks, he acts as though he expects me to vanish at any moment."

  With her new understanding of what caused the young diplomat's fatigue, Erin took pains to give her host and hostess plenty of time alone. In turn, they seemed concerned that she recover from her journey before attempting to make any headway with the man Elizabeth described as "that very attractive but rather frightening Captain Davin."

  Frightening indeed, Erin thought. The moment she imagined facing him again, doubts assailed her.

  "Meg ... do you think the blue silk is really right for this evening? After all, it is cut low on the shoulders and we can't be sure that the ladies here don't dress more modestly."

  The motherly woman shook her head firmly. "Do you really think I'd let you wear anything that wasn't ladylike? Heavens, child, you favored more daring gowns when you were sixteen."

  That was true. At sixteen she had been the closest thing to wild the staid Conroy family had ever seen. Pampered and indulged from the time she was born, she had taken it as a natural right that young men should flock about her, ready to do her slightest bidding. Other girls had struggled to hide their envy while striving for her friendship. Adults who might have known better forgave her anything simply because she was so lovely.

  Until Storm Davin came along. He provoked her, challenged her, and set her afire with longings she had never experienced before. He shook her safe, privileged world to its foundations. She both loved and hated him with all the fervency of her unfledged spirit.

  When he asked her to marry him on the eve of war, the hatred won. She had turned on him unrestrainedly, punishing him for all the doubts and insecurities he made her feel, for the sleepless nights she had lain in her bed dreaming of him, for the hot yearnings of her body that left her ashamed—for all that she now understood made her a woman instead of a callow child.

  "Perhaps," she murmured, slipping behind the modesty screen. "But it's been so long since I wore the blue silk that I can't even remember how it looks. Are you sure it will do?"

  "Absolutely. Besides, it's time you started dressing in something other than those serge skirts and cotton blouses. Now that we're off that leaky rowboat, you can start looking like a lady again."

  Erin grinned at the description of the Pacific Star that would have made Captain Foster apoplectic. Dropping the towel, she slid a white linen chemise over her head. Trimmed with lace, the almost sheer garment skimmed lightly over her body.

  Through it, the outline of her high, full breasts was clearly visible, as were the velvet smoothness of her nipples, the narrow indentation of her waist, the ripe swell of her hips and the shadowy triangle of dark curls that lay between her long, tapered legs.

  The chemise ended at mid-thigh and was tucked into lacy pantaloons tied beneath her knees. When she stepped out from behind the modesty screen, Meg was waiting with a whalebone corselet and a stern look.

  "Into this, now, and no arguments. You can't wear the blue silk without it."

  "Then I'll find something else. I'm not sitting through any dinner party unable to breathe properly."

  She tried to dodge out of the way but was too slow. Before she could move, Meg had dropped the garment over her head and begun tightening the laces.

  "Don't exaggerate," the Irishwoman ordered. "I'm only fastening it the least little bit."

  "Then what do I need it for if you're only going to . . . Ouch! Not so tight!"

  "You haven't been in one of these things for so long that you've forgotten what tight really is."

  "I'm getting my memory refreshed in a hurry," Erin muttered as she felt her already small waist clinched in even further and her full breasts thrust upward. They swelled precipitously over the lacy top of her chemise. "I'm going to pop right out of that dress, and it'll be all your fault."

  Meg didn't deign to answer. She merely gave the laces a final tug, secured them in a double bow and dropped the petticoats supported by steel hoops over Erin's head.

  Gathering up the gown, she waited while her young mistress grudgingly slipped her feet into delicate blue silk slippers, then cautioned, "Stand still. I declare, you wiggle more than you did when you were a little girl."

  "And you're bossier. I don't know why I put up with you."

  The older woma
n laughed, not at all fooled by her young mistress's tartness. "Because you like a challenge." Hesitating a moment, she took it upon herself to add, "That's why none of those men who came calling on you in Boston got very far, nor the dozen or so on this trip who would have liked to court you. You need someone who has as much spirit and gumption as you do, someone who won't make everything so easy for you that you end up bored."

  Their eyes met in the mirror. Erin silently admitted the truth of what Meg said, but she couldn't resist a quiet demurral. "It hasn't always been easy."

  Sharp black eyes softened. "I know, child. You've had a hard road these last few years. Few men could have taken on what you did, much less a young girl. But that's all the more reason to be thinking about finding someone to share your life with. Neither the good nor the bad is meant to be faced alone."

  Erin could hardly deny the wisdom of that. Next to remorse over what she had done to Storm, loneliness was often the harshest burden she had to bear. What worried her most was that she was becoming accustomed to it. She feared she was losing not simply the need to open her life to another person, but perhaps also the capacity.

  Seeing Storm again had brought home to her just how much she had missed in all the years since they were last together. Her cheeks grew pink as she caught herself wondering if there might still be a chance for the happiness he had once offered.

  Meg mistook the faint blush for her reaction to the sight of herself in the gown. Cut low on her shoulders, the royal-blue silk highlighted the sapphire radiance of her eyes, the graceful curve of her throat and the alabaster purity of her skin at the swell of her full breasts.

  It was a dress another woman would have felt compelled to wear with an elaborate necklace. Erin had long since sold all her jewelry, but she did not feel the lack. The bell-shaped sleeves, snug-fitting bodice, tapered waist and wide, graceful skirt were all the ornament she needed.