Julie Garwood - Prince Charming

Lucas shook his head. "Do your grandfather and your uncle know you're sailing on yet another Emerald?"

"I told Uncle Andrew, and he gave his blessing. Grandfather Taylor died over ten years ago, but in my heart I'm certain he knows. I believe he watches out for me. You may laugh, if you're inclined, but I think of him as my protector. He won't let anything happen to me."

He was married to a crazy woman. Lucas didn't know what to say in response to such foolish beliefs. He was a realist. She obviously wasn't. Such naivete would get her killed in the wilderness. But she wasn't going to Montana Territory, he reminded himself. She was going to Boston. It was civilized there and somewhat safe.

Still, to his way of thinking, she needed a live protector, not a ghost. "Did you say your uncle Andrew knows? Does that mean he's alive?"

"He's very much alive," she replied. "He lives in the Highlands of Scotland. He's considered the black sheep of the family," she added with a good deal of pride in her voice. "Madam often worried I would become overly influenced by her younger brother."

They were hemmed in by traffic circling the corner now, and since it was impossible for them to go any further until the mail carts were unloaded, Lucas had an excuse for continuing the conversation. He was becoming fascinated by his bride. She was extremely open about her family and her past. Her honesty was refreshing. He was used to guarding every word he said. The less people knew about him and his family, the better off everyone would be. Taylor appeared to believe differently. She told her every thought, or so it seemed to him.

"Why did your grandmother worry you'd be influenced by her brother?"

"Why? Because he's peculiar," she answered.

"I see," Lucas replied for lack of anything better to say.

"My great-uncle is a wonderful teacher, and he taught me many valuable lessons."

"Such as?"

"He taught me how to play the piano in grand style."

He didn't laugh. "I suppose that will come in handy in the chamber rooms of Boston."

He sounded a little condescending to her. "He also taught me all about guns and rifles, Mr. Ross. Uncle

Andrew is a respected collector. If I were going to live on the frontier, I would be able to take care of myself," she added. "He trained me well, sir. And so, you see, his lessons gave me both polish and practicality."

"Could you shoot a man?"

She hesitated a long minute before answering. "I suppose I could," she said. "It would depend."

"Depend on what?" He couldn't help smiling. He couldn't imagine her holding a gun, let alone firing the thing.

She thought he was making fun of her. Why else would he be smiling? Her spine stiffened in reaction to her own conclusion.

Her voice was full of authority when she explained her position. "It would depend upon the circumstances. If I were protecting someone I loved, I most certainly could injure someone. I wouldn't want to," she hastily added. "But I would. What about you?" she asked then. "Could you take another man's life?"

He didn't hesitate in giving his answer. "Without blinking an eye."

It wasn't what he said as much as how he said it that made Taylor start worrying. They might be discussing the weather, so matter-of-fact was his attitude. It was unnerving. She couldn't seem to stop herself from asking, "Have you killed before?"

He rolled his eyes heavenward. "I was in the war against the South, Taylor. Of course I killed."

"For duty," she said, relieved. "I read all about the conflict between the States."

"So you were named after your grandfather."

It was apparent he wanted to change the subject. She was happy to accommodate him. "Yes."

He nodded, dismissed the topic, then tightened his hold on her hand and started walking again. He shoved his way through the crowd. She kept trying to watch where she was going and to keep her gaze on the ship at the same time. She stumbled twice. Lucas noticed the second time. He slowed down then, and when the crowd became too pressing, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side.

It wasn't until they were standing side by side in the center of the throng of passengers inside the steam tender and on their way to the Emerald that the magnitude of what she was doing hit her full force. She should have been terrified. She usually worried over a plan of action until it became as worn as an old rosary bead, but she didn't have a single qualm or a second thought this time. Madam had suggested the marriage and Taylor had gone right along with the idea. What was done was done.

She was content. She wasn't saddened or filled with regrets because she was leaving her homeland. She wouldn't even look back toward the shore as some of the other young ladies were doing. One woman was dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief. Another was openly weeping. Taylor's reaction was just the opposite. She felt like laughing, her joy barely contained. She was overwhelmed by the right-ness of what she was doing. Lucas still had his arm around her shoulders. She moved closer, trying to gain a little more of his warmth. She wanted to rest her head on his shoulder. She felt that safe with her escort; she couldn't bring herself to think of him as her husband yet, and it really didn't matter anyway she supposed, since they would soon part company.

Taylor thought about the babies. Soon she would be able to hold them again. She wondered if she would recognize them. When last she'd seen them, they weren't even crawling. Now they must be walking and talking, and Lord, she could barely contain her excitement. She closed her eyes and said a prayer of thanksgiving because she was finally on her way, and then she said another prayer in anticipation of the new life she was about to begin.

She would collect the little girls as soon as she reached Boston, and then she would take them to safety. She would hide them where Uncle Malcolm would never think to look.

A glimmer of an idea came into her mind. Redemption. My, but she liked the sound of that. Could it be the sanctuary she was looking for? She let out a little sigh. Redemption.

Lady Victoria Helmit was making a muck out of trying to kill herself.

She shouldn't have been surprised, for God only knew she had certainly made a muck out of her life, just as her parents had predicted she would. Oh, if they could only see her now. They'd have a good laugh all right, then purse their lips in satisfaction. Their wayward, no-account daughter was fulfilling their every expectation. She couldn't even stop crying long enough to get a good foothold and climb over the railing so she could hurl herself into the ocean. Victoria was everything they said she was and more. She was also proving to be a coward.

To outsiders, she appeared to be a woman who had it all. In appearance, she'd obviously been blessed by the gods. She was strikingly pretty, with deep auburn-colored hair and eyes as brilliant and as green as

Ireland's spring grass. Her coloring came from her mother's side of the family. Grandmother Aisley hailed from County Clare. Victoria's high cheekbones and patrician features also came from her mother's side. Her grandfather had been born and raised in a small province in the north of France. Since Grandmother's relatives couldn't even speak the Frenchman's name without giving into a round of lusty, loud vulgarities, and since Grandfather's family despised the no-good, never-could-hold-their-drink Irish with just as much intensity, when the two mismatched lovers married, they settled in England on what they called neutral ground.

While her grandparents were alive, Victoria was doted upon. Her grandfather loved to boast she'd inherited her flair for drama and her love of Shakespeare from him, and her grandmother was just as happy to claim she'd gotten her quick temper and her passionate nature from her.

Victoria wasn't the apple of her parents' eyes, however. They wouldn't have thrown her out on the streets if that had been the case. She had shamed and disgraced them. They told her they were disgusted and repelled by the very sight of her. They called her every vile name they could think of, but the one that stuck in her mind and played over and over again in her memory was the claim that she had been, and always would be, a fool.

They were right about that. She was a fool. Victoria acknowledged the truth with a low, keening sob. She immediately stopped herself from making another sound and hurriedly looked to her left and then her right to make certain she was still all alone. It was past three o'clock in the morning. The other passengers aboard the Emerald were fast asleep, and the crew was obviously occupied elsewhere.

It was now or never. The Emerald had been at sea for three nights now. The water wouldn't get any deeper, and if she was going to get the deed done, she believed this was the perfect opportunity, for she was all alone.

She was mistaken in that belief. Lucas stood on the other side of the staircase and watched her. He couldn't figure out what in God's name the daft woman was trying to do.

Then he heard another sound. It was silk brushing against silk. He turned and spotted Taylor making her way up the stairs. She couldn't see him, and he didn't let her know he was there, watching her from the shadows. He wanted to find out what in thunder she was up to, strolling up on deck in the middle of the night.

The sobbing woman drew his attention again. She was struggling to move a heavy crate across the deck.

Victoria was weak from crying. It seemed to take her forever to move the crate over to the railing. Her feet felt like lead. She finally made it to the top of the crate and then latched onto the railing. She was poised to leap over the side if she could get one leg high enough. Her hands were tightly gripping the rail now and her white petticoats were waving about her like a flag in surrender. She stood there for only a second or two and yet it seemed an eternity to her. She was openly sobbing now with terror and defeat. Dear God, she couldn't do it. She simply couldn't do it.

She climbed down off the crate, then collapsed to the floor and wept without restraint. What was she going to do? What in God's name was she going to do?

"Pray forgive me for intruding on your privacy, but I would like to be of assistance if I may. Are you going to be all right?"

The question came in a whisper. Victoria squinted against the darkness while she vehemently shook her head.

Taylor took a step forward into the light provided by the half-moon. She folded her hands in front of her and tried to act as calm as possible. She didn't want to frighten the young woman into doing anything drastic, because Taylor wasn't close enough to stop her if she tried again to jump over the side.

She watched as the woman mopped the tears away from her face with the backs of her hands. She took several deep breaths, obviously trying to regain a little of her composure. She was shaking from head to foot. The sadness Taylor saw in her eyes was heartbreaking. Taylor had never seen anyone this desolate, except her sister, Marian, she reminded herself. Marian had looked this defeated the morning she'd warned Taylor what Uncle Malcolm might try to do to her.

Taylor forced herself to block the image. "What in heaven's name were you thinking to do?" she asked.

"To be or not to be."

Taylor was certain she hadn't heard correctly. "I beg your pardon?"

"To be or not to be," Victoria repeated angrily. "That is what I was contemplating."

"You quote Shakespeare to me now?" Was the woman demented?

Victoria's anger over being interrupted vanished as quickly as it had come. She was exhausted now, defeated. "Quoting Shakespeare seemed appropriate," she whispered. Her voice was empty of all emotion when she continued. "I don't want to be any longer, you see, but I can't seem to gather enough courage to end my life. Please go away. I want to be left alone."

"I won't leave you alone," Taylor argued. "Tell me what I can do to help you."

"Assist me over the side."

"Stop talking like that." Her voice was sharper than she intended. She shook her head over her own lack of discipline. The woman needed help now, not a lecture. She took another step forward. "I didn't mean to raise my voice to you. Please accept my apology. I don't believe you really want to jump," she added in a rush. "You already made the decision not to end your life. I was about to stop you when you climbed down from the rail. You gave me quite a start, I'll admit. Turning the corner and seeing you perched up there so precariously." Taylor shivered with the memory. She rubbed the chill from her arms. "What is your name?"