Sea of Christmas Miracles Read online

  What did she mean, even he? He’d never heard the name, of that he was certain. And Thomas prided himself on his excellent memory and quick mind. They were important assets in his business. If he’d heard of her, he’d remember. Thomas considered telling her so, then decided against it. Why should he care what Margaret Howe Lewis thought of him? Except that she had him bound hand and foot, and captive on a boat, heading God knows where.

  “My letters,” she said by way of a reminder, turning her back to him when his expression still registered bewilderment. Feigned bewilderment, she told herself. She had sent him more than a dozen letters trying to make him understand the error of his decision. He’d answered none of them.

  “I demand you untie me!” Thomas resisted a strong urge to yank at the ropes... a gesture he knew was futile. But his hands and feet were numb beneath the blanket; the small boat was bobbing around, tossed by the wind-whipped waves; and he was getting damn tired of this. Wilson would be wondering where he was, and at ten o’clock this morning, he was to call on Sander Rhett at his town house on Meeting Street. Ostensibly a holiday visit, Thomas planned to stay until he had Rhett’s financial backing for a textile mill he planned to build on Morgan Creek.

  But he’d never make his call, even if she let him go this minute.

  Because the moment she loosened the cords he planned to wrap his hands around her neck. He stared at the object of his itchy fingers as she slowly turned back to face him. Peeking out of a dark, severely cut coat he could see a high lace collar, starched and stiff looking despite the streaks of dried mud that blemished the pristine white. Above that her neck appeared slender and pale, vulnerable. Thomas ruthlessly shoved that notion from his mind. He was the one who was vulnerable.

  She waited until his eyes met hers—though he couldn’t quite distinguish what hers looked like behind the wire-frame spectacles. Then she stared at him down the short length of her straight nose. “You are just as arrogant as I expected you’d be,” she said as if she were the wronged party.

  “Lady, you have a hell of a lot of nerve doing this to me. When I get back to Charleston,” Thomas stopped in midsentence. It was obvious she wasn’t listening. After calling him arrogant she moved to the far end of the boat and was now deftly trimming the sail. While he worked himself into a lather yelling his head off, twisting at his binding and generally making his head hurt worse, she coolly ignored him. With a grunt of disgust, Thomas settled back against the stern.

  They were sailing south, hugging the shoreline. It may have been a long time since he’d captained a boat, even a small one like this, but he knew that much. He also knew that she was doing a pretty good job with the sails, despite the inclement weather that seemed to worsen as the morning wore on. Thomas took a deep breath and tried to come to grips with what had happened to him.

  This woman—who he did not know—had taken him at gunpoint and was now sailing down the South Carolina coast. She thought he was arrogant, mentioned letters, and had him tied so he could barely move. Not much to make sense of there.

  Thomas shook his head and tried again. Whatever she’d hit him with... the gun he assumed... was making his thinking fuzzy. Maybe he did know her. Could he have spent the night with her and not remembered? Perhaps she considered herself spurned by him. Thomas studied the lithe body, at least as much as he could see of it beneath the shrouding coat. She was slender, he could tell that, small breasted and hipped. Not the type of woman he usually chose, even for a single encounter. And he certainly never made love to a woman who wore spectacles. Any woman he knew would be too vain to be caught dead wearing the unbecoming things. Perhaps she didn’t usually wear them.

  “Maggie,” Thomas called out, and had the satisfaction of noticing her head jerk around, her lips purse. She obviously didn’t like him calling her that. “Do you always wear those spectacles?”

  “Only when I wish to see,” she said, lifting her head elegantly before turning back to fight with the sail.

  Thomas stifled a smile. Smart-mouthed woman. He could only see her now in profile. Her short nose, the stubborn chin. He wished he could drag off the hat and spectacles for a better look.

  He also wished he were back in Charleston, tying down the deal with Rhett. The boat flopped into a wave trough and sea water sprayed up over him. God, while he was making wishes, maybe he should ask for the wind to die down. But Thomas didn’t think that was any more likely to happen than any of the others. By the looks of the sky and the feel of the air, they were in for a major blow. And as competent as Miss Margaret Howe Lewis appeared at dressing sails, she wasn’t going to be able to handle this boat much longer.

  The cut on his temple was bleeding again. Margaret tried to ignore the crimson stain darkening the cloth she’d wrapped around his head while he was unconscious. But she couldn’t. Why had he jumped on her like that? She hadn’t meant to hurt him. All she wanted to do was take him to the school. Surely if he could see for himself... Margaret let that thought drift away on the wind. She wasn’t at all certain that knowing firsthand about the Freed Negros’ Orphanage and Boarding School would make a difference to the man before her.

  “What are you doing?” Thomas followed her with his eyes as she approached. She’d tied off the sail and clutched the sides of the boat. She had a no-nonsense way of moving that he admired despite himself.

  “I’m going to change your bandage. You’re bleeding.” She barely hesitated before reaching out toward his head, apparently convinced he was too securely bound to cause her any trouble. Which to Thomas’s chagrin was true. He’d spent the last half hour pretending to doze as he tried to work his hands free.

  “Is nursing another of your accomplishments, Miss Lewis?” Her fingers were cool and efficient as she worked. Only her expression indicated she was annoyed with him. Though she had to stop frequently to brace herself against the rocking of the boat, she stripped away the bloody bandage and dabbed gently at the cut on the side of his head.

  “You will be less likely to chide, Mister Blackstone, when women are treated as your equal.”

  “Oh!” Thomas’s laugh was loud and sharp. “We have ourselves a radical here.”

  “I prefer to consider myself a progressive thinker. Besides, there is nothing radical about women’s suffrage. Women have been voting in Wyoming for twenty-six years.” Margaret bent forward and tore another strip of cloth from her petticoat, oblivious to the way Thomas arched his neck to catch a glimpse of her booted ankle. “I hope to see suffrage for us all in my lifetime.”

  Thomas straightened his head. “Then I suggest, Maggie, that you give up your kidnapping career. It could prove to shorten your life. Or is this some suffragette plot to rid the world of men?” He really could rile her easily. Thomas found himself almost enjoying the verbal sally.

  “Hardly.” Margaret began to wrap the bandage around his head. “My disagreement with you is personal.”

  Thomas could smell that tart, citrus scent from before and realized it was hers. He found himself taking a deep breath.

  “Does that hurt?”

  Was that concern he read in her expression? Thomas shook his head. “Why should you think that? An arrogant man like me can’t feel pain.”

  Her look was sharp, but Thomas thought he noticed the corners of her full mouth twitch in amusement. “I never implied...” She sighed, lifting her shoulders slightly. “It was not my intent to hurt you.”

  “I’d have an easier time believing that if you’d untie me.”

  “That’s not possible just yet.”

  “But it will be at some time?”

  He had a way of lifting his brow that made Margaret feel as if her stomach dropped. She straightened her shoulders. “Yes, I will...” She swallowed. “Release you.” Margaret tried not to think about what he would do when that moment came. If only she hadn’t had to knock him over the head. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so angry. But she had. And Margaret was just going to have to accept her punishment. Besides, he seemed a civ
ilized man, though at the moment he looked like the pirates that were supposed to be his ancestors. The worst he could do to her was foreclose on the orphanage. And he was going to do that even before she kidnapped him.

  Her proximity as she worked on his head gave Thomas a chance to examine her closely. Her skin was clear and smooth, except for the slight wrinkle between her curved brows as she studied the cut. He could see her eyes more clearly. They were a smoky gray that looked both serious and calm.

  “Do you think I’ll live?” Thomas’s gaze met hers. She pursed her lips and Thomas had the irrational urge to see what that full mouth would look like if she smiled.

  “I doubt this wound is mortal.” She hesitated a moment, then took a deep breath which lifted her breasts. He could see them outlined by the wind that pressed the coat against her. With quick, efficient motions she tied off the bandage.

  “I suppose hitting me over the head was just part of the kidnapping.”

  “Yes.” She raised her chin, leveling him a look through her lenses. “You did attack me.”

  “I apologize. My assumption was that any attempt to gain my freedom was acceptable behavior.”

  She only stared at him, her expression cool.

  “I imagine even old Jack Blackstone, the bloodthirsty pirate, had to deal with such from his captives,” Thomas said.

  Margaret had heard the story of Thomas Blackstone’s ancestor while she was in Charleston waiting to see him. It had helped give her the idea to kidnap Thomas.

  “Of course if family lore is correct he only kidnapped his wife. My great, great grandfather did the same,” Thomas continued. “Are you turning the tables and trying to kidnap yourself a husband?”

  Her eyes shot to his, her jaw dropping slightly when she noticed his grin. “Certainly not.” With crisp movements she straightened her skirt. She tried to sit on the seat opposite him, but the crash of a wave against the boat sent her plopping back. Thomas caught a glimpse of slender calves and ankles before she jerked up, red-faced. The hat was gone, and a cascade of chestnut brown curls fell from the small, twisted knot of hair atop her head.

  Thomas’s smile deepened.

  Goodness. Margaret stared at her captive as she tried to pull the bruised edges of her pride back into place. She certainly could believe the blood of pirates ran through his veins. His dark hair was tousled above the bandage she’d wrapped about his head, his grin was wicked, and she wished he weren’t so sinfully handsome. She almost expected to see a gold hoop glitter in his ear. There was just one thing she wasn’t sure of. Did pirates have dimples? Because Thomas Blackstone certainly did.

  She never noticed them before. But then she never saw his smile before. Remembering that his humor now was at her expense, Margaret tried to ignore how he looked. She must think of the children.

  Margaret grabbed hold of the tiller, trying to keep their course straight down the Carolina coast. “I don’t think kidnapping is acceptable, you know,” she said when he continued to stare at her. Margaret ignored his cocked brow. “It’s not as if I didn’t try other means of getting in touch with you first.”

  “The letters.”

  “Yes, the letters.” Margaret didn’t care for his skeptical tone. “I sent more than a dozen over the past two months and received no reply.”

  Thomas shrugged. “Your name isn’t the least familiar to me.” She gave a snort that he would have found amusing—if he weren’t being kidnapped. He turned his mind toward serious arguments against what she’d done. “Regardless there are other ways of communicating with someone, Maggie.” Thomas couldn’t explain why he continued calling her that, except that he enjoyed needling her. “Ways that do not involve a gun or ropes.” Thomas gave the cords binding his hands a frustrated tug.

  Margaret straightened her shoulders, and lifted her chin. “I tried other ways. Getting an appointment with you was nigh impossible. A Mister Wilson refused to schedule me before February.” She bundled her coat more tightly around her as the wind licked at her hair.

  “That would be the same Mister Wilson you sent home last night.” His voice was more skeptical than before.

  “Yes, it is. Apparently, Mister Blackstone, your secretary expects you to have your share of lady visitors.” Her tone was disapproving. “He was only too happy to leave you alone with me.”

  “I see.” Thomas cocked his head to the side and gave her a thorough examination, wondering what Wilson thought when this particular woman entered his office. “Tell me, Maggie,” he began, smiling slightly. “Were you wearing those spectacles when you spoke with Wilson?”

  Margaret looked away, concentrating on keeping the small craft on course. She didn’t want to think about using her questionable feminine wiles to bamboozle the secretary. She liked to think herself above such things. But she had removed her glasses, and her coat before approaching Wilson. It had seemed preferable to tying him up.

  Margaret waited until the boat lifted out of the watery trough it had splashed into before changing the subject. “I also tried to speak with you on the street one day. But you passed by so quickly there was no chance.” She lifted her hands as if that settled that.

  Which in Thomas’s mind it most certainly did not. True he avoided those who tried to conduct business with him on the sidewalk. Most of them were soliciting funds. And it certainly wasn’t as if he didn’t give his share to charities. He had Wilson make regular contributions to the Ladies Benevolent Society and the Associated Charities Society of Charleston. He certainly couldn’t be expected to get personally involved. He was much too busy. Which led him to the next question.

  “If you wished to see me so desperately, why didn’t you simply wait until February? I’m sure we could have conducted whatever business we might have then... in much more civilized surroundings.”

  “Because February is too late, Mister Blackstone. After I accepted the fact that you didn’t have a heart, I realized more drastic measures had to be taken.”

  Didn’t have a heart? Hearing that irked the hell out of him. But before Thomas could open his mouth to tell his kidnapper exactly what he thought of her a wave crashed over the bow. Cold water slapped at his face, thoroughly soaking his hair and clothes.

  The only consolation was that she appeared as wet as he. She blinked at him over droplet-covered spectacles. “We need to get to shore and find some shelter.”

  “No!” Margaret held on to the tiller with all her might. She wasn’t about to beach the boat in the middle of nowhere and be stranded with him. Damn the storm anyway. “It’s just a little farther.” If she could only stay on course for another two hours she could sail up Morgan Creek. When she reached the school, Grace could help her with Mr. Blackstone. Except Grace didn’t know what she’d done, and despite the Negro woman’s undying devotion to the orphanage, Margaret feared she might have a problem with kidnapping.

  But Margaret didn’t have time to think about that now. The wind was getting worse, and her captor was becoming more agitated as the waves dashed them about. “We won’t make it much farther. Hell, it’s not like we’re staying on a straight course, anyway.”

  Margaret had to admit to herself she had very little control over the shallop’s erratic motion. She bit her lip, tasting the salt from the incessant spray of seawater, and tried to decide what to do. Her plan had seemed so simple when she’d conceived it. So simple and so necessary. Now...

  “You’re going to get us killed.” Thomas had done his share of defying weather when he was younger, and he’d always found it risky business. After one hair-raising episode he learned to trust his instincts when it came to the squalls that hit the coast between Charleston and Royal Oak. And his instincts told him it was past time to get to shore.

  But damn it, he was tied, hand and foot, and he had an uncomfortable feeling Margaret Howe Lewis couldn’t navigate the boat to shore.

  “Untie me!” Thomas had to yell it twice before she heard him over the roar of the wind. A cold, icy rain had started, an
d was slanting into them like frozen needles.

  “Noooo.” She let the word trail out as she shook her head. What would he do to her if he were free?

  “I’m a dead man if we capsize.”

  Margaret stared at him, trying to calm her breathing. Good Lord, he was right. And regardless of what he did to her, she couldn’t risk killing him. He might be despicable. But she couldn’t be responsible for his death. She wasn’t such a coward as to let him die because she was afraid of what he might do to her... at least she told herself she wasn’t. Besides, she would have to contend with him sometime regardless. That is, if they survived this storm at sea.

  Using all her strength Margaret straightened the tiller enough to hook the rope around it. Then, holding on to the side of the wildly tossing boat she reached beneath the seat for the small stash of necessities she’d packed. The knife handle was slippery and she dropped it into the ankle-deep water in the bottom of the boat.

  Plunging her hand into the freezing water she grabbed the knife and scrambled toward him, knocking her knee against the side as she did. She flipped off the sodden blanket, then began sawing at the rope that bound his hands, her movements jerky. When the hemp snapped he yanked his hands free, flexing his fingers and reaching for the knife. Their eyes met, holding momentarily, before she let loose her grip.

  If he planned to have his revenge there was nothing she could do about it now. Margaret braced herself, but he ignored her. Quickly he sliced through the ropes around his ankles, then scrambled past her to the rudder. He slipped it free of its tether and yanked hard, forcing the small craft toward shore.

  They were perhaps a mile from land. Margaret caught glimpses of trees through the blinding rain that pelted the small craft.

  “We’re taking on a lot of water. Bail!”

  Margaret heard him bellow and looked around. He simply yelled at her again.