Chapter 4

Struck a deal with the Devil! That’s what she’d done, Eden thought in wondrous panic, mere minutes after the fact. What in heaven or hell had possessed her to agree to such an asinine bargain? Or had she? She rather suspected she’d been neatly outmaneuvered, caught in a tangle of her own words and confusion, only to find herself bound to a pact with a man—nay, a pirate specter—she knew nothing about. How did she know she could trust him? That he wouldn’t attack her in her bed, or slit her throat in broad daylight? Why, next to him, Finster might seem a piddling bully!

Already, Kane was setting into motion aspects of their agreement to which she’d given little thought, hadn’t truly suspected would be part of the plan. Why, the man actually intended to move into her house! With his invisible falcon!

“Absolutely not!” she announced, aghast. “Captain Kane, I can only imagine the type of women you consort with, but I assure you, I am no lightskirt!”

He perused her person most thoroughly, raking his glowing black eyes over her with disturbing familiarity. His intent gaze assessed her stylish lilac day dress, trimmed in contrasting violet lace. The front of the hooped skirt was split and drawn aside, draped over bolsters at the hips and back to reveal the frilled petticoat beneath. At her small waist, the gown was close-fitted, giving way to a snug square-cut bodice, the low décolletage modestly filled with a pleated tucker that rose to band her swanlike neck. She wore no jewelry, save a single brooch at her throat, and no artifice upon her face, though many ladies of the day wore powders and paint, as well as beauty patches, to enhance their features.

“Nay, mistress,” he agreed with a brash grin. “You be no tart. Though you do have possibilities. I fail to see how you have remained unwed all these years. Are the men of Charles Town blind to your charms? Or do you hold them at bay with a shrewish tongue?”

Eden blinked up at him owlishly, momentarily dumbstruck. Even while she knew she should be offended, she was also unwittingly flattered. That this handsome, brawny man should think her attractive was beyond belief! Why, it was practically laughable! For years she’d been well aware of her own gawkish looks, feeling much like an overgrown beanstalk stuck amid a garden of pretty primroses.

Oh, she was neat enough in her appearance, and tried to dress fashionably, if not in a manner that would openly invite critical attention. And she’d long since given up hope of attempting an elaborate coiffure, for it invariably emphasized her height, even should she manage to tame her flyaway tresses into something other than a frizzy puff of curls. She’d had to settle for more sedate styles—usually a thick bun, or a fat braid twisted into a coronet or knotted at her nape, or occasionally gathered into a decorative snood, which was the only way she could control the unwieldy mass and wear it more loosely at the same time.

Consequently, she remained eternally conscious of the limitations which set her apart from others. Now, here was this outlandish pirate tossing glib praise about and likely expecting her to swoon at his feet in abject appreciation! No doubt his objective from the start, the reason behind his pretty lies, had been to worm his way into her home!

“You are no gentleman!” she declared indignantly.

He merely nodded, his smile growing ever more bold.

“You may quit your misplaced flattery, for ’twill gain you naught! You’ll not step so much as one boot across my threshold!”

“Come now, my haughty duchess. Think but a moment. Who would know if I did, for who would behold my presence?” he argued. “Also, how do you intend to prevent my doing so? Will you go to the constable and have him arrest me? The man would believe you’d gone simple, would he not, when he came to investigate your claim and found no sign of me in your house?”

“What of my mother?” she countered weakly, his logic fast defeating her. “Surely she would sense that a stranger was abiding in her home. Even should she not see you, would she not hear you? And ponder this, sir pirate. While Jane Winters has not the use of her legs, her mind is as sharp as her ears. Neither is she entirely bedridden. Many a day, with the aid of a servant to help her down the stairs, Mother spends her hours in the parlor, where she entertains friends who come to visit. And what of those friends, and our housemaid?”

Devlin gave an eloquent shrug. “If I take care to be quiet, no great problems should arise. At least nothing that cannot readily be explained. Timbers creak; floorboards squeak. ’Tis natural to expect a few odd noises now and again.” .

“True,” she conceded, with a condemning glare. “However, when the furniture takes on a voice and deigns to speak, I’ll be at a loss to account for such a queer happenstance. So, if you insist on moving in, kindly keep your lips buttoned within anyone’s hearing. Or they’ll fast be proclaiming me a witch. I’ll be of little use to you, or any other, once I’ve been burned at the stake.”

“O woman of little faith!” he mocked, sketching a low bow. “Don’t you know that I would gallantly rescue you from any harm which might befall you, my beauty?”

She sniffed. “And likely gain me even more trouble in the process. Why must you plague me so?” she lamented.

“Better to ask why the sun must rise or the rain fall,” he answered. “Or why I have become a vapor to all but you.”

It was decided that the cargo from the Gai Mer would be off-loaded the following day, to be stored in Winters Warehouse after all. Immediately thereafter, Nate and Arnie left to relate this news to the crew and see to making things ready aboard ship.

Before departing for home, Eden, with Devlin at her side, went in search of her manager, to inform him of the impending transaction. To her dismay, John Tilton was unaware of Devlin’s presence the whole while, dashing her hopes that his invisibility was some elaborate hoax. Apparently, her prayers were not to be so easily answered.

The nightmare continued.

As was customarily proper, Devlin took charge of the reins after assisting Eden into her buggy, neither of them remembering at that moment that no one else could see him. Off they rode, side by side, Eden doing her best to keep even the hem of her skirt from touching him. A slight defiance, at best, but enough to make him aware of her pique.

They’d traversed several blocks when Eden suddenly became aware that she was garnering strange looks along the route, and it was several seconds before she could fathom the reason. When it came clear to her at last, she uttered a strangled gasp and grabbed for the reins.

Diverted from his own mental fog, Devlin held tight. “What’s the matter with you, wench?” he growled. “Cease this fit before you spook the horses!”

Still she battled to strip the thongs from his grasp. “No! Don’t you see how people are staring?” Her anxious wail was but a hiss, her lips barely moving in her stiff white face. “Sweet heaven, Captain Kane, leave loose! Turn the team over to me! And do hush! God forbid anyone should hear you! ’Tis bad enough they’ve witnessed me driving blithely down the street with no one in control of the horses and the reins flapping in midair!”

“Oh.” Nonplussed, he did as she suggested, berating himself for his oversight. Damn! After a lifetime of being visible, was he supposed to become suddenly accustomed to having it otherwise? Weren’t a few lapses to be expected, even excused?

Still and all, he allowed he owed Miss Winters an apology, which he tendered in a rumbling whisper. “I beg your pardon, Miss Winters. I was caught up in my own musings, and caution went by the wayside.”

“You buffoon!” she fumed through her teeth. “Your forgetfulness has made a spectacle of me! Already! I can scarcely wait to see what might further develop from our unfortunate alliance.”

Though unused to allowing such mutinous behavior to go unpunished, much less to expect it from a female, Devlin wisely let her comments pass. He reasoned that perhaps it was better to let her temper flare a bit now, if it were to cool by the time they reached her home. It would not do to have her too upset upon greeting her mother, and whoever else might be there.

He remained silent until they drew up before a two-leveled sand-colored house built entirely of stone and tabby. It had a mellow, welcoming air of permanence to it, as though it could weather a hurricane and still remain standing for years to come. Vines twined around several sturdy pillars, while the foundation of the surrounding veranda was colorfully edged with blossoming shrubs and flower beds. He had no doubt that Eden’s father must have been well-to-do, to have built such a dignified home, for the windows sported real glass panes, and while the place was not a mansion, it was fair-sized and of good construction.

Reminded of a question he’d not posed, he said, “You’ve spoken of your mother, that she is an invalid with only you and a servant to care for her. Whatever became of your father?”

Sadness furthered darkened her shaded features beneath her bonnet. “He died almost three years past, following a lengthy illness the doctor could neither name nor cure. It was a terrible time for us all, but especially for my mother. On the very day they placed my father in his grave, she lost the use of her legs, and she has not taken a single step since.”

Eden gazed past him toward the house, her beautiful eyes dull with sorrow. “The doctor claims it is more a sickness in her mind and soul than a physical condition,” she continued on a heartfelt sigh, “but that does not alter the fact that she cannot walk. I doubt she ever will, after all this time. That’s why I am so determined to keep the business and the house for her, to see that she is kept comfortable and in want of nothing, though all she ever wanted was my father, and he is the one thing I can never return to her.”

They drove to the rear, to a small carriage house. There Devlin helped Eden unharness and stable the two horses before following her up to the main residence. On the veranda she paused. “For my mother’s sake, if not for mine, I implore you to try to remember not to speak or make any undue sounds. Please.”

“I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,” he promised.

She rolled her eyes. “That does little to alleviate my worries, Captain Kane, since everyone knows that mice can be quite noisy.”

Suddenly spying the mud he’d tracked onto the porch, she remonstrated stiffly, “And would you kindly scrape the filth from your boots before entering the house, lest you leave ghostly footprints all across my mother’s clean floors?”

The door had no sooner opened than Eden’s mother called out from the parlor. “Eden, dear? Is that you?”

“Yes, Mama. I’ll be right in.”

Upon hearing Eden’s given name for the first time, Devlin’s brow rose in mild amusement. He caught her arm to halt her for a moment, little flickers of heat licking through him as he immediately began to become visible.

“Don’t do that!” she warned softly, lest her mother hear her. Pulling loose of him, and noting the odd look on his face, she asked, “What is it?”

“My name is Devlin Kane, but they call me ‘The Devil,’ ” he told her, watching for her reaction. She simply blinked at him and waited for whatever else he would say. “Some have associated my surname with that of Cain, who slew his brother Abel, though mine is spelled K-A-N-E. Don’t you think it ironic that the one woman who could prove to be my salvation is called Eden? Is that not a fine joke for the Fates to play upon us, Miss Eden Winters?”

She could not deny that it was, indeed, strange. Neither could she keep her wayward tongue from commenting, “More illogical than a pirate well acquainted with the Bible? You are an extraordinary enigma, Captain.”

She stepped into the front hall. “Now, ’tis imperative to have no more touching. I fear Mama would not take it well to have a ghost in her home. Particularly one who appears and fades at every whipstitch.”

Together they entered the parlor to find Eden’s mother sitting propped in a chair before the window. On a glance, Devlin compared mother and daughter. Mrs. Winters was clearly slight in stature. She was also more plump than Eden, whether by nature or enforced inactivity, Devlin could not assess. The older woman’s pale face bore the markings of time and mourning, though her lackluster brown hair was only slightly streaked with gray and she was clearly not past forty. As she looked up from her embroidery, Devlin’s breath caught. It was from her mother that Eden had inherited her magnificent turquoise eyes, but never before had Devlin witnessed such deep sorrow as that displayed in Jane Winters’s.

A slight frown creased Jane’s forehead as she welcomed her daughter. “My, your step seems heavy this afternoon, dear,” she said. She shook her head, gave Eden a loving smile which did little to lessen the sadness in her eyes, and jested, “Are you perhaps feeling weighed down with those nasty accounts you are forced to balance? I know how you dread that chore.”

Eden bent to receive her mother’s kiss. “They are a trial for me,” she admitted. “And I must battle them yet again on the morrow, for I fear they won the fight today. But enough of that dreariness. How was your day, Mama? Did you have a nice visit with Reverend Johnston and his wife?”

“No more or less than usual. Henrietta is still after me to let her paint my portrait, though heaven knows why she would want to commit this wrinkled old face to canvas. I much prefer those she did of your father and me before James’s illness. And ’tisn’t as if she needs the practice, after all, with everyone in Charles Town pleading for portraits of their own.”

Eden nodded in agreement as she loosened the ties of her bonnet. “Yes, she does have a remarkable skill with color and brush.” Paying little attention, she tossed the hat toward a nearby chair. It landed on Devlin’s knee.

“My stars!” her mother exclaimed, noting the way the hat seemed to hover half a foot above the cushion. “What on earth ...”

Quickly, Devlin shoved the hat from his knee, causing it to tumble to the floor. Jane stared, then swiftly recovered and offered the explanation herself. “I’ll wager that dratted Dora has left half the windows in the house open, as well as the kitchen door. I’ve tried to tell her what an awesome draft it creates, but she refuses to heed my words, particularly on baking day. Says she cannot work well when the house is so stifling hot.”

Eden heaved a tremendous sigh of relief and met Devlin’s taunting black gaze. He lifted a broad shoulder in a mute gesture, as if to say it wasn’t his doing this time, but hers.

A while later, it was Eden’s turn to smirk. As she and her mother dined on tender roasted capon, potatoes, and new peas fresh from the garden, Devlin was forced to sit quietly and watch. The aroma alone was enough to set his mouth watering and his stomach begging for respite. By the time they had finished their meal, he could have eaten the crockery. And as Dora, their stout indentured servant, cleared the table, he could barely withhold a pathetic moan. The gloating gleam in Eden’s turquoise eyes did nothing to ease his torment.

He was regarding the remaining dishes with longing when Dora rounded the corner of the table nearest him. It came as some surprise when she lifted the back of his chair and attempted to push it into its proper place, almost toppling him from his seat in the process. No small woman, Dora gave the chair another hefty shove, frowning when it scarcely budged. As she bent to examine the legs, which appeared to be stuck fast, Devlin hastily made his escape.

By this time, Eden could not contain her glee. Though she covered her mouth with both hands, a cascade of giggles bubbled forth, earning her a perplexed look from her mother.

“Eden, what has gotten into you this evening?” Jane inquired. “Why, I declare, you’re as skittish as a spring colt. Not at all your usual self. Now this fit of giggles over nothing. Are you sure you are feeling well?” 

“I’m fine, Mama,” Eden assured her, though she was anything but. “I’m just tired, and a bit giddy with it.” 

It was not until Dora and Jane retired for the evening that Devlin finally got the opportunity to appease his hunger. As he raided the pantry, Eden stood watching, grimacing he tore into the food as if it were the last morsel he was likely to consume. She’d seen animals eat with better manners!

“Damn me, but I’m starving!” he declared, his head half-buried as he searched the shelves. “ ’Twas mean torture, you getting to eat while I sat and watched, salivating over every spoonful that went into your mouths.”

“You should have considered that before you invited yourself into my home,” she replied, not at all sympathetic. “Perhaps you should rethink your plans. I’m sure this is not the last of the pitfalls you will encounter.” 

“We,” he corrected around a mouthful of food. “As in you and I, my sweet. I am not about to quit our agreement so easily. And if you want that pesky moneylender off your scent, neither will you. ’Twould serve you well to remember that ’tis my gold that will ransom you from his greedy clutches.”

Once Devlin’s appetite was satisfied and the kitchen tidied once more, Eden showed him upstairs to a spare bedroom, all the while wondering at the amount of food he’d consumed and how she would explain its disappearance to Dora. Though neat, the room was small and sparsely decorated. The bed was shorter than he might have liked, but topped with a plump feather mattress and pillow, crisp white sheets, and a colorful quilt.

“We’ve quarters above the carriage house, but Dora occupies those rooms. If not for that, you would be staying there,” Eden informed him curtly.

“Nay, Eden. I would not. ’Tis here I will lay my head.” An arrogant grin, one Eden was fast coming to know, curved his lips. “Here, or in your bed.”

“When asses speak the King’s English!” she retorted, too shocked to properly watch her tongue.

He chuckled, accepting defeat graciously. “Ah, well, you can’t blame a man for trying. If you have a change of heart, come seek me out, my beauty.”

For answer, she tartly reminded him to make up his bed in the morning, lest Dora become suspicious, and made good her exit, scurrying to her own room and bolting the door behind her.

Much later, as she lay abed unable to sleep, listening to the clock in the downstairs hall tolling the midnight hour, Eden was reminded of the old French folktale her father used to tell her. It had to do with a girl named Cinderella. Feeling somewhat silly, she nevertheless crossed her fingers and squeezed her eyes tightly closed, on the hope that she, too, would miraculously resume her simpler, saner existence by the time the clock had struck its last.

It was not to be. As the final chime died away, beyond the thin wall separating her bedroom from Devlin’s, she heard his bedstead creak.

Cursed fool pirate!

Infernal half-ghost!

Handsome, flattering rogue!

He was fast coming to replace Finster as the bane of her existence.