CHAPTER 9

Liz grimaced in anticipation of the forthcoming fireworks. Her practical side told her to brazen her way through the confrontation. Her spontaneous side advised her to run as if the devil chased her.

Garrett must have seen the anxiety on her face, for he turned in his chair and cast a swift glance over his shoulder. She watched his fingers constrict around the stem of his water glass, though his expression remained bland.

Clad in summer colors that complemented his golden good looks, Calvin reminded her of Robert Redford in The Great Gatsby. He smiled at her in greeting as he reached the table, reinforcing the impression.

Garrett’s fingers whitened.

Liz expected the stem of the glass to snap like a fractured bone. Or for Garrett to stand, throw the water in Calvin’s face and challenge him to a duel—just like in the movies.

The ninety-degree summer temperature seemed to escalate. She plucked at the constricting collar of the umber traveling gown, pulling the fabric away from her throat, only to feel beads of perspiration pop out on her forehead.

“Fancy coming upon you two here,” Calvin drawled.

Garrett tilted back his head. Looking up at Calvin through half-closed lids, he surprised Liz by responding in a moderate voice, “Fancy.”

It was far from the volatile reaction Liz had anticipated. She suspected Calvin experienced a similar sense of astonishment, for his smile slowly faded, and he continued with a cutting jab. “How touching—a second honeymoon, Garrett?”

Garrett lifted the water glass to his lips and slowly drained it before repositioning it on the table.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business, Trexler,” he said.

“I make it my business to know what you are up to.”

In the same composed voice, Garrett said, “I assure you, I hold no illusions on that point.”

Calvin shifted his weight to his left leg, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Elizabeth, you look well this morning…and drinking coffee, too, I see. I thought you were more inclined toward hot tea.”

Liz’s heart fluttered slightly. Of course Calvin would know Elizabeth’s preferences. He would be more prone than Garrett to notice and question discrepancies. After all he’d grown up with Elizabeth.

She had always perceived knowledge as an asset. Now she realized it could also be a threat. Perhaps it was a good thing Garrett frowned on their association, she reasoned. It would save her lots of explaining.

“I’ve had a certain…craving for coffee recently,” Liz said, alluding to her supposed pregnancy in the hopes that it would get Calvin off her case.

It worked like a charm.

“Entirely understandable,” he said agreeably. He directed his attention toward Garrett. “By the by, who is looking after the estate in your absence? Surely a ten-thousand-acre plantation cannot run itself.”

“Why should that concern you?” Garrett asked. He folded his napkin in a neat rectangle and placed it atop his plate.

“Because Michael—”

Calvin paused while a zealous waiter buzzed up, refilled Garrett’s water glass and whisked away his plate.

plate. After the waiter had moved on, Calvin tried again. “Because Michael would have wanted me to—”

This time, Garrett interrupted Calvin. “We both know Michael’s interests have nothing whatsoever to do with this little tête-à-tête.”

Calvin straightened. “Elizabeth is my cousin.”

“I need not be reminded of that.”

“I have her welfare at heart.”

“How admirable,” Garrett said, with a hint of sarcasm Liz found oddly reassuring. Garrett under tight control made her more nervous than Garrett flinging angry words around like a rotating lawn sprinkler. With the one, she knew where she stood. With the other, she could never be sure.

“How can you doubt it?” Calvin asked, as if highly insulted by the veiled insinuation.

Elbows on the table, fingers steepled before him, Garrett asked, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re quite a tedious fellow, Calvin?”

Liz decided Garrett deserved a medal for his cool reserve—especially with Calvin pushing all the right buttons.

“Tedious or not, this is a public steamer, and I have a right to speak with my cousin.”

“I don’t recall expressing anything to the contrary.”

“Back at the plantation house, you threatened to—” Calvin began.

Garrett once again intruded, and Liz suddenly realized it was his way of dominating the conversation.

“As you’ve so aptly pointed out, this is indeed a public steamer. If Elizabeth wishes to converse with you, by all means, be my guest. You won’t mind, however, if I insist on being privy—husband’s prerogative, you know.”

Liz glanced around. The dining room had grown quiet. Every eye seemed trained on their table, every ear tuned to their next exchange. She decided Garrett had realized it, too, and was acting appropriately—polite, indifferent, and unperturbed by Calvin’s determination to cause a scene.

Liz felt a grudging respect for the way Garrett was handling himself.

Calvin said, “I see that you are not wearing the brooch, Elizabeth.” His tone sounded wounded, accusatory, as if she’d somehow let him down.

“We packed so hurriedly this morning, I forgot to include it,” Liz said, wondering why she felt she must explain.

“I see.” He glanced at Garrett.

“You need not look at me that way, Calvin.” His voice dropped several decibels, so that only the most immediate tables could follow their conversation. “The brooch is nothing new to me, though I would have preferred to collect it myself, following our journey to Baton Rouge.”

“I doubted that you would. That is why I delivered it myself.”

Garrett’s pupils dilated with rage, and yet his demeanor remained as cool as a cucumber. He didn’t accuse Calvin of freezing his funds in Baton Rouge, as Liz half expected. Instead, he said simply, “Believe what you will.” With a fluid gathering of muscle, he stood, which only served to emphasize Calvin’s physical disadvantage. “And now, if you’ll excuse us, my wife and I have some unpacking to do.”

Liz could only assume Garrett was the kind of man who refrained from airing another man’s dirty laundry socially. It occurred to her that the same couldn’t be said for Calvin. She’d come from the future, where historically he was known for his savvy; yet today he was coming off as a twit. Then again, Calvin had been pushed to the limits by recent events—his best friend’s death, his favorite cousin’s remarriage to a person he disliked. To add to that, Garrett was a man who by his very nature made others feel inferior.

Liz believed Calvin had Elizabeth’s best interests at heart, but because she wasn’t his cousin, his kindness suggested a threat to her. It wasn’t the same type of threat Garrett posed by his dangerous control over her, but it was just as real.

Calvin looked pitiful, and Liz felt sorry for him. But she couldn’t let sympathy get in the way of good judgment. Not in this instance.

Her meal half eaten, Liz rose on trembling legs. Calvin stood his ground, his fine hazel eyes capturing and holding hers.

“My offer of yesterday still stands,” he said quietly. “You need not remain here. I leave the steamer this evening…near Vacherie, when we anchor to take on coal. Come with me, Elizabeth. I’ll protect you.”

“You must be joking,” Garrett said in a barely audible whisper.

Liz immediately recognized Calvin’s angle. He had been baiting Garrett because he thought that, now that the secluded plantation was behind them and they were the center of attention, she might feel comfortable enough to accept his offer. He had intended to show Garrett up from the very beginning. Goad him into a display of temper, complete with witnesses, thus making it easier for her to gracefully leave Garrett.

Only, Calvin’s ploy had backfired.

Poor, brave, misguided Calvin, Liz thought. He was trying so valiantly to be gallant in the face of overwhelming odds. He couldn’t possibly understand that being away from the tomb with Garrett constituted only a temporary hitch in her plans. If she ran off with him, her displacement in the past would become a permanent situation, because Garrett wouldn’t allow her near the Rowland family vault again in a millon years.

Her chance to return home would vanish in a puff of bluer-than-blue smoke. She dared not let it happen.

What a dilemma! She suspected that Garrett’s marriage to Elizabeth was based on stubborn pride, and that Calvin’s interest in Elizabeth was wrapped up in love of family. She admitted that two handsome men arguing over her proved flattering. But when it came right down to it, she had only one real choice. And she must make it now.

Liz slipped her hand over Garrett’s arm. She felt his muscles tense as he pressed her arm to his torso. She was totally unprepared for the deliciously dangerous surge of electricity that zipped through her body when he reached over to cover her hand with his free one.

Nonplussed, Calvin stared at her for several long seconds before recovering himself. “Is that the way it is to be?” he asked. His voice was strained, and his determination seemed shaken.

Though her heart went out to him, Liz nodded. “For the time being.”

She knew he thought she meant until after the birth of the baby. She felt guilty, but couldn’t afford to save his feelings by correcting him.

Calvin extracted his distinctive pocket watch and clicked it open to examine the time before he extended it toward Garrett.

“An incredible likeness of Elizabeth, don’t you think?” he asked, as if determined to regain the advantage in this power play.

“The artist outdid himself,” Garrett drawled. His fingers tightened across the back of her hand in much the same manner as they had on the stem of the water glass.

As if he had suddenly noticed the movement of Garrett’s fingers upon her arm, Calvin said, “The miniature was painted from the one on display in the library. Michael was particularly fond of it.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Garrett commented.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Calvin said slowly, as if savoring every thrust. “You two weren’t particularly close, were you?”

The scar on Garrett’s cheek blanched a bloodless white. “Not in recent years.”

“Not since you were a boy.”

Garrett’s jaw tightened, “I was a man when Michael and I parted ways.”

“Barely sixteen, as I recall.”

“Sixteen was considered a man during the War.”

“So it was,” Calvin said thoughtfully, and Liz had the feeling he was extremely satisfied with himself for some reason.

Calvin smiled toward her again, saying, “Well, I suppose it is time I was on my way.”

“High time,” Garrett agreed.

Calvin ignored the remark. “Good day to you, Elizabeth.” He flipped the watch shut and pocketed it.

“Good day,” Garrett answered for her.

With a slight bow, Calvin pivoted and limped from the dining salon. The clatter of cutlery against china resumed.

With a forced smile, Garrett steered Liz from the salon.

Once outside, Liz said, “Something bothered you in there.”

“How astute of you to notice,” Garrett said dryly.

Liz ignored the sarcasm in his voice. “It was something more than Calvin. What was it?”

He frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Liz sensed that the pieces of the mystery were slowly falling into place. Now was not the time to wimp out, she told herself. Even if Garrett did look like he wanted to bite her head off.

“I think you do,” she said, determined to drag the information from him.

“Calvin only does that to infuriate me, you know,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“You mean confront you in public?” Liz asked innocently.

“No,” Garrett said finally. “Fiddle with that damned pocket watch—the one my brother bequeathed to him on his deathbed.”

Back in the stateroom, Garrett turned on Liz.

“You were rather hard on Calvin back there,” he said. “That’s not like you.”

Liz could only stare at Garrett, wondering at his unpredictable, lightning-like moodiness. It frightened her. Made her defensive.

“Isn’t it?” she asked.

“No. Why didn’t you go with him?” Garrett pressed, watching her a little too carefully. “It would have been so easy just to walk off the steamer on his arm. I couldn’t have stopped you. Not without living up to the reputation Calvin has actively peddled since our marriage.”

Garrett was fishing for something. It worried Liz that he might suspect something about her. It was also clear he was losing patience—with Calvin, with the upheavals in his life-style and with her. Would he revert to threats of locking her in her room because of it? She didn’t think so. But the alternative of becoming a wife in more than name only concerned her more than ever.

Because she wasn’t his wife.

And because the idea of being Mrs. Garrett Rowland didn’t frighten her one-tenth as much as it had at the start.

“If I’d sided with Calvin, would you have let me leave with him when we reached Vacherie?” she asked

Garrett grimaced. “Over my dead body, and you know it. Which leads me to believe you knew this episode was going to take place.”

He had opened up to her when he told her about the pocket watch. Now he seemed intent on shutting down the lines of communication by accusing her of duplicity.

“You must have known Calvin was going to be on board the steamer,” he continued. “Did you plot that rebellious outburst against him in detail when you met with him in the gazebo?”

Rebellious outburst?

Astounded by the question, Liz stammered, “How—how could I have known it was going to happen beforehand? I didn’t even know we were going to be on board. Not until I woke up this morning and you announced—quite forcefully, I might add—that we were heading to Baton Rouge. I tried to tell you I’d rather not come along. But you insisted.”

The man standing before her, so obsessed with the notion of his own freedom, was slowly chipping away at her right to be considered innocent until proven guilty.

“I could have just as easily stayed behind at the plantation,” she said. “I’m accustomed to being in control, enjoying a certain freedom…like yourself.”

“You had Michael wrapped around your little finger, didn’t you?” Garrett asked bitterly.

Liz didn’t know anything about Elizabeth’s and Michael’s relationship, so she hedged. “What has that got to do with anything?”

“You did, didn’t you?” he insisted.

“We had an…understanding,” she improvised.

“So do we,” he said harshly.

“Do we? Funny. Right now, I couldn’t quote it if my life depended on it,” she said, rather more flippantly than she’d intended.

pantly than she’d intended. Garrett scowled. “Three lives hinge on my remembering it. Yours. Mine. And Michael’s child’s.”

“What about Calvin? He has a stake in this, too.” As far as Elizabeth was concerned, Liz thought.

Garrett ignored the question as if it were insignificant. “I take it you’re denying prior knowledge of his presence on board.”

“You’re badgering the witness, Counselor,” Liz said, using her best quote from Perry Mason.

Of course, it made no impression whatsoever on Garrett.

“Are you denying it?”

Liz sobered. “You betcha.”

Almost before she finished voicing the denial, Garrett crossed the stateroom in three angry strides, and Liz began to fear she had chosen the wrong man.

Might she have been better off to leave the steamer with Calvin, and spend the rest of her life attempting to trespass on Rowland property and visit the tomb? Rather than remain on board to deal with Garrett?

Facing him now, it certainly appeared that way.

Garrett stepped even closer, and the scene from the plantation library flashed through Liz’s mind. Feeling like a moth flirting with its own destiny on the altar of an open flame, Liz realized that this was a moment she had feared, and yet hoped, might repeat itself.

“Perhaps I should have taken Calvin up on his offer after all,” she said under her breath.

“Perhaps,” he said. His mouth was mere inches from hers.

“You agree?” she asked, determined to face him without flinching. She’d had enough of feeling her back pressed against a wall. Or a tomb door. She wanted to get inside Garrett’s head and try to determine what made him tick. She must find out where the historical facts concerning this dark and secretive man had been right. And where they had been wrong.

Garrett nodded in answer to her question.

“I’m not sure I understand,” she said, her voice faltering despite her resolution.

“Neither do I. You see, as improbable as it might seem, as inappropriate, as unjustifiable, I suspect I’m developing a fatal captivation for you—like a gran-daddy longlegs for his mate.”

As a research librarian, she was familiar with a hodgepodge of assorted information. And one of the things she’d learned from a children’s workshop on spiders and snakes was that granddaddy longlegs mated with, and later might be feasted upon by, the more aggressive female spiders.

Only in this particular case, she suspected Garrett had the consequences backward.

“There’s something else,” he said.

Their eyes locked.

Boy, ask for crumbs and you get loaves of bread thrown at you, Liz thought, her sense of expectation unwinding like thread from a bobbin.

“I lied,” he confessed.

“To me?”

“No, to Calvin. The miniature inside the pocket watch doesn’t do you justice.

He reached out and tipped her chin up with his index finger to gaze deeply into her eyes.

She inhaled sharply.

“You feel it, too, by God!” he said, and Liz knew Garrett’s patience had finally come to an end.

Her hands flew up to ward him off as he slipped his hand beneath her hair. But instead of hurting her, he kneaded her neck beneath the stiff collar of her traveling gown, relaxing the tension and heightening the desire that spiraled through her like fudge swirls in vanilla ice cream.

Sensing the emergence of yet another facet of Garrett’s character, a side zealously guarded and rarely exposed, Liz feared she might be swept away on a current of liquid emotion and further trapped in his time. Her heart beat faster as she acknowledged that this was a side of him she could not easily combat. “Please. Don’t,” she protested.

He seemed to consider her plea. Consider and reject it, just as she had feared he would.

Instead, Garrett combed his fingers through her hair above her ears, holding her face steady. Tilting her mouth toward his, he tugged her against his hard body.

Liz felt her control slip. “This really isn’t such a hot i—”

Garrett’s lips slashed off her words, curtailed all coherent thought, immersed Liz in a liquid pool of sensation that sent common sense fleeing to the deepest, darkest recesses of her startled mind.

Caught off guard by the rush of passion his mouth evoked, Liz unconsciously leaned into the sweet punishment of his embrace. The pressure of his lips increased as his hands moved lower to rest on her hips. With teasing nibbles, he urged her lips open, intimately testing the soft inner lining of her mouth with his tongue, taking her to the edge of madness with his skillfully explicit kiss.

This man is…dangerous…dangerous…dangerous…. echoed her brain. The warning in her mind flashed like the emergency lights on a fire engine.

She willfully disregarded the signals and allowed her powerful craving to chart her reactions and assuage the burgeoning ache within her. Garrett’s arms felt so good around her. So strong. So…right.

She was a lonely outcast in an alien world. She yearned to indulge herself in another human being’s touch.

Garrett’s touch.

In a moment of solace.

The kind of solace she knew he could provide. If only she wasn’t riddled by misgivings.

As Garrett’s hands slipped still lower, as he splayed his fingers in a possessive caress across her buttocks, Liz decided he had lost his mind. And she hers. She knew from history that he was a driven man. Everything he did, he did with a passion. Nothing halfhearted. Nothing without premeditation. She could be so easily crushed beneath his heels, and yet she blithely tripped along in his footsteps.

Fate had never before seemed quite so cruel and calculating. Nor had complete euphoria ever seemed so easily attainable.

Liz struggled with her feelings, wondering what it might be like to flout fate and defy the burdens it had placed on her reluctant shoulders. What would happen if she gave in to her susceptible heart, savored the moment, and simply surrendered to Garrett Rowland?

The idea was oh, so tempting.

Garrett tasted like expensive Colombian coffee. The rich flavor tantalized her.

He smelled of spiced brandy and ginger tobacco. The masculine fragrances intrigued her now as much as they had on the day she’d met Garrett.

Liz relinquished herself to his druglike kiss.

She gave as good as she got; he willingly accepted as much as she gave.

She was vulnerable; he was sweetly debilitating.

Together, they frightened each other.

And yet…

“Damn,” Garrett exclaimed huskily against her lips, though the word smacked of a caress more than a profanity.

Liz felt him withdraw from her. Not just physically, but emotionally, as well.

Garrett backed away, putting one step between them.

Then another.

And another.

He drew a shaky breath once he was safely on the other side of the room. An inhalation that Liz unconsciously mimicked.

He raked his hands through his dark hair. “What are you trying to do to me?”

“I was wondering the same thing about you.” Liz wasn’t surprised that her voice was trembling. Her whole body quaked inside.

Garrett bunched his hands in his pants pockets as if it were the only way he knew to contain them.

“I’ll be damned if I’ll step into Michael’s shoes! If I had any sense, I’d walk away from this whole damn affair—let Calvin have you and be done with it.”

Liz advanced toward Garrett, forgetting herself so far as to reach out, intending to touch his arm. He flinched away.

“There are several books in your portmanteau I asked Mrs. Crawford to pack for you—The Art of Needlework, by the Countess of Wilton, and Little Women. You may want to read to pass the time of day.”

lework, by the Countess of Wilton, and Little Women. You may want to read to pass the time of day.” Garrett’s arrogance had returned, along with his resentment, and the wariness that often hooded his bluer-than-blue eyes. Fingers resting on her now tender lips, Liz plummeted back to reality. To her precarious situation and defenseless position.

“What? No Tom Sawyer? I would think that would be more appropriate, considering the adventure we’ve embarked upon together,” Liz quipped. She blinked back the tears, and damned the pain that threatened to engulf her.

Garrett cleared his throat.

“I fear I’ve been unable to obtain a copy of that book for our library. It is too newly published,” he said, as if they were carrying on a normal conversation. As if he hadn’t just yanked the carpet from beneath her feet and watched her tumble flat on her face without lifting a finger to break her fall.

“I see. That’s too bad. It’s one of my favorites,” she said, her voice growing stronger by the moment.

“You’ve read it?”

“I have,” she boasted.

“How interesting.”

“It was,” she said, bluffing her way through the heart-wrenching aftermath of an otherwise delicious kiss.

“Tea is served at four o’clock in the dining salon. Most of the ladies on board will attend. You are welcome to join them.”

Liz nodded.

“Otherwise, you may order cabin service so that you won’t have to dine alone. Just pull the bell cord over by the bed. It rings in the steward’s cabin. Someone will be along directly to attend to your needs.”

“Oh,” Liz said, realizing he intended to leave her to her own resources longer than she’d expected. She felt suddenly deflated, and acutely bereft outside the circle of Garrett’s arms. Before she could stop herself, she asked, “Why did you draw away from me? Are you afraid I’m more woman than you can handle?”

Dropping the pretext of small talk entirely, Garrett breathed, “Brazen baggage.”

“If that’s what you call a woman who speaks her mind, then I suppose I am.”

Garrett inhaled deeply. “When I take you, Elizabeth, it will be on my terms. Not Calvin’s. Not yours. Mine, and mine alone.”

“That sounds a little one-sided to me,” Liz said, letting indignation carry her through the disappointment she was feeling.

“I’m going to go down to the gaming salon and attempt to recover some of the money I spent on our passage,” he said abruptly.

Liz was reminded that Garrett was a black sheep. A riverboat gambler. A card shark, a notorious womanizer, and an accused murderer. History had blackened his name with conjecture and slandered his soul with speculation. He couldn’t be trusted.

But all that seemed strangely irrelevant at the moment, as she struggled to regain her shattered equilibrium.

“Don’t expect me to return to the stateroom before dawn,” he continued.

Garrett’s legendary reputation suddenly seemed insignificant, compared to the fact that here and now, though he’d certainly been fishing for something earlier, he was letting her escape the hook. Again.

Only this time, Liz hadn’t wanted to be set free to swim her own way. For a single, self-motivated, independently minded woman of the nineties, it was a sobering realization.

She couldn’t allow herself to become involved with a man like Garrett Rowland. Could she?

“We should dock in Baton Rouge by late afternoon tomorrow.”

Still shaken from his devastating kiss, Liz said, “Fine.”

“And, Elizabeth?”

Trying to come to grips with her attraction for Garrett, Liz lowered her hand from her lips and looked him squarely in the eye. It was her way of coping with things—facing them head-on.

Call me Lizzz…. “What?”

“Don’t try anything with Calvin. You should realize by now I’ve got a sixth sense where he’s concerned.”

And a void in your heart the size of the Grand Canyon, Liz thought, wondering what it would take to fill it. She understood that Garrett’s threat to her had expanded to both a physical and an emotional level. And that she was ill equipped to deal with either one.

The past sucked at her, drawing her more deeply into its whirling vortex. Step by step. Cell by cell. Emotion by complicated emotion.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she attempted to harden her heart against Garrett.

“I’ve made a public announcement where Calvin is concerned. After this morning, I doubt he’d take me away from here when he disembarks if I presented myself to him na—” she paused, for once stopping her tongue from running ahead of her brain “—on a silver platter.”

“I doubt he would, either. But then again, stranger things have happened.”

And I’m living, breathing, proof! Liz thought.

CHAPTER 10

Wearing the indigo gown and the loathsome bonnet, which she had to admit shaded her eyes from the ninety-degree sun almost as well as a pair of sunglasses, Liz leaned over the railing and stared into the murky waters that lapped at the steamer’s wooden hull. What would the afternoon bring?

Following Calvin’s disembarkation, Garrett had settled into much the same routine they shared at the plantation. He rested while she was up and about. Worked while she slept to avoid intimate contact with her. Was attentive in company, and kept a wary distance in private.

Would things be different once they docked in Baton Rouge? She didn’t think so. The tension between them was like a ticking time bomb. They had shared a kiss. An extremely satisfying kiss. A kiss that might have led to all sorts of compromise.

If he hadn’t broken it off so suddenly.

Liz sighed. She no longer knew what to expect from one moment to the next. Not from Garrett, and certainly not from herself. He made her do and say things…think things…she had no business doing or saying or thinking.

Garrett Rowland was definitely beginning to get to her. Whether he’d planned it that way or not.

Tiring of the water, she let her attention wander to the thinning timber along the riverbank. A riverbank that should have been dotted with oil tanks instead of forests. Even the mighty Mississippi seemed changed from the way she remembered it.

Liz knew that twentieth-century engineers had modified the river’s twists and turns with dredged channels and sluice gates like the Bon Carré to control the water’s normal flow, though it had once been called the “most crooked river in the world.” After observing its meandering passage for the past two days, she now understood the reason behind the nickname.

Liz wished she could fathom Garrett as easily.

“We’re here,” he said from behind her. His breath tickled her ear and sent shivers up her spine. He was closer to her now than he had been since their confrontation with Calvin.

Liz gathered her emotions, steeled herself to act casually, and half turned toward him.

“I didn’t hear you come up,” she said. She was rather proud that her voice sounded so composed and so indifferent.

“You were lost in thought.”

And in time. “I was just wondering if I would be going to the bank with you, or if you planned for me to stay on the steamer and wait.”

Garrett scanned the swarm of activity at the inland port.

“There should be a carriage waiting for us. Somewhere,” he said evasively as the steamer bumped into its moorings.

Liz glanced toward the dock. Fish crows soared aloft, cawing in raucous glee as a fisherman deposited his catch near a mountainous stack of baled cotton. She could almost hear the heated bargaining between a vegetable vendor and a Creole woman with a basket tucked beneath her arm, while a tipsy sailor had his pocket picked clean by a streetwise kid who immediately lost himself in the milling crowd.

A world different from her own, and yet strangely similar.

Shielding her eyes, Liz looked beyond the dock toward a shiny black cabriolet parked on the street. Hood folded back, drawn by a single horse and attended by a black driver, it reminded her of the French Quarter carriage tours in contemporary New Orleans.

“Is that the one?” she asked. She pointed toward the cabriolet.

Garrett nodded. “It belongs to a friend of mine.”

Liz raised a brow at him.

“Don’t look so surprised, Elizabeth. I’ve been known to have a friend or two—despite my reputation.”

That a man like Garrett might have friends didn’t puzzle her half as much as the amused manner in which he looked at her bonnet. Or the fact that he had left his panama behind in the stateroom. Could there be a hidden meaning here somewhere? Had she missed something important?

When Garrett put his arm in a proprietary fashion around her waist and led her down the gangplank and unerringly through the throng to the street, she decided there was definitely something going on.

“Hello, Mr. Garrett, sir. Nice to see you again,” said the carriage driver.

“Thanks, Sam. It’s good to be back.” Garrett replied.

“Been a while,” he said, politely tipping his beaver hat toward Liz.

“A month of Sundays.” Garrett smiled a genuine smile that danced in his eyes and drew the crow’sfeet spidering at either corner into merry puckers.

“I was sayin’ that to Mr. Charles only yesterday. And then, lo and behold, he got your telegram explainin’ you were headed this way.”

“I feared it wouldn’t reach you in time.”

“Well, it did, sure and certain. Next thing I knew, Miz Jackson had the maid dustin’ the parlor.”

Again the engaging smile lit up Garrett’s face, chasing away the shadows and sending an arrow soaring straight toward Liz’s heart.

“Miz Jackson had me polishin’ silver. And ordered the cook to bake up a batch of those wheat crackers you like with the crabmeat spread. Imagine she intends to tempt you to stay over a few days,” Sam said.

Garrett shot a glance at Liz. “I fear we must decline this time. Do you think she’ll toss me out on my ear for causing her so much to-do over nothing?”

“Now, sir, you know Miz Jackson better than that.”

Garrett nodded. “You haven’t spoken of the boys—how are they?” he asked.

The driver’s dark face shone. “Wild as Indians, and growin’ like weeds. They were so excited when they heard the news about your visit, Miz Jackson could hardly get them to bed last night. Up and down like jack-in-the-boxes.”

“Caused a stir, did I?” Garrett said.

Liz wasn’t sure what he preferred the most—being made a fuss over or causing a stir. At least not until Sam unwittingly clarified it for her.

“Yessiree…and you know it.” The driver grinned widely, displaying a mouthful of gleaming teeth. “Stir bein’ caused, look for Mr. Garrett to be smack-dab in the middle of it, I tell ‘em.”

While they conversed, Garrett helped Liz into the carriage. Sam climbed onto the driver’s box and clucked to the horse. The animal leaned into its harness. With a lurch that almost unseated Liz, Sam steered the cabriolet into the street.

Lulled by the steady clip-clop of the horses hooves striking the cobbled pavement, Liz relaxed into the sun-warmed leather seat, determined to enjoy the ride.

Garrett stared at the back of the driver’s head, showing none of the enthusiasm for the city Liz felt as they crossed intersection after intersection, slowly making their way toward the business district. Liz thought they were headed toward the bank, until they turned onto a particularly lovely street dotted with elegant homes and the horse picked up its pace without being directed. They braked outside a gingerbread house painted in multicolored earth tones, and the driver jumped down from the carriage to assist her to the ground.

She refused to budge, and Sam automatically looked to Garrett.

Garrett levered himself from the carriage and raised his arms to her.

“I’m not going to the bank with you, am I?” she asked woodenly.

Arms extended, he said, “Come.” He encircled her waist with his hands. “There is someone I’d like you to meet.”

Liz hesitated. For all she knew, this house might be the loony bin she’d worried about. A depository for wayward wives. A way to rid himself of her. Such calculated disappearances weren’t uncommon in the nineteenth century. And even if his intentions were harmless, it was clear now that he planned to leave her in the company of strangers for the afternoon and had purposely kept her in the dark about it.

Liz’s distrust of Garrett rushed to the fore. Determined to change his mind, she clung to his supporting arms, much as she supposed Elizabeth might do.

“I—” Her voice faltered.

His hands tightened around her waist. “You’ll like them,” he said smoothly. Liz noted that he incorporated the same coaxing voice he had used on the dock at the plantation, when he’d offered her rose-hip tea.

She took a steadying breath. “You planned to leave me here all along. Why didn’t you tell me while we were on the steamer?”

He regarded her in silence for a moment. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

Was he being considerate or was he simply a good liar? she wondered.

With quivering bravado, Liz said, “I’m a big girl, Garrett. I’m not easily upset. Not any longer.”

“I’m just now beginning to realize that,” he mused out loud.

“When will you be back for me?” Liz asked, suddenly realizing how much she’d come to depend on Garrett. She might consider him dangerous, but she no longer considered him a stranger. And he was her only link to the tomb.

“Before dusk.”

Wanting to trust Garrett, knowing it might be the worst mistake she had ever made, Liz stood, because she had no choice. Garrett swung her down from the carriage as if she weighed no more than a child.

Almost before her feet touched solid earth, the door of the house opened, and two children tumbled down the sidewalk toward them. One could have been no more than five. The other was eight or nine, Liz guessed.

“Uncle Garrett!” the boys shrieked in unison. The youngest made a mad dash for Garrett’s knees, nearly knocking him off balance.

“It’s been forever! Mother’s made up your room for you. I helped her.” His glance flicked beyond Garrett, and he scanned the empty carriage. “You’ve left your bags on the steamer?” he asked.

Garrett nodded.

Instantly crestfallen, the boy said in a dejected tone, “That means you’ll be leaving before nightfall.”

“I’m afraid so, Ben. This is a business trip. But perhaps there will be other visits when we can stay longer,” Garrett said kindly, ruffling the youngster’s unruly locks.

Here was a side of Garrett she definitely hadn’t known existed, Liz thought. He liked children.

Grandmother Hayden had always said, “A man who likes children can’t be all bad.” Of course, her grandmother had been known to be wrong.

“Well, then, did you bring us something?” Ben asked Garrett, as if he expected compensation for being deprived of Garrett’s company.

“Benjamin! Your godfather brought you a hug, and Thomas a handshake. That is enough,” a statuesque woman standing on the porch called out. Her voice dripped with the syrupy sweetness of the born-and-bred Southern lady. Her gown was white, her hair dark as soot, and around her throat she had tied a cameo pinned to a black silk ribbon. She moved to stand on the top step with the grace of a swan gliding across a pond.

The man with her was flawlessly attired in a gray pin-striped suit. Wings of silver arched at his temples, enhancing his pale, aquiline countenance and hazel eyes.

The children looked remarkably like him. Liz found herself wondering if Elizabeth’s unborn child would have resembled Michael, and therefore Garrett.

“You heard your mother…” the man began.

“A hug and a handshake,” Garrett finished for him, and Liz could almost imagine the salutelike click of his heels as he hunkered down and gave Ben a hard squeeze. Then he turned to the older boy and, at eye level with him, exchanged a measured handshake. From her vantage point, Liz witnessed the marked softening of Garrett’s face. She also saw his sleight of hand, and knew as he rose and stepped back that the child clutched two shiny coins in his palm.

Liz wondered if Garrett would truly be disappointed if he found out she wasn’t pregnant. And if that disappointment would turn to vengeance against her.

She must find a way back to the future before he discovered her deception! With his precarious temperament, there was no way of telling whether he would swing with her…or at her.

“I saw that,” the woman said crisply, breaking into Liz’s thoughts.

“Saw what?” Garrett asked, with an air of innocence Liz found incredible for a man who’d been caught red-handed. Was he such a good liar all the time? And if so, what did that mean? She recalled now that he’d lied to her before. When he’d denied undressing her. She’d caught him at it only because he mentioned the pear-shaped birthmark on her hip.

Do not play games with me, Garrett,” she admonished him. “I know you passed something to Thomas. You will spoil the boys.”

“A few coins, nothing more. You know it gives me pleasure to indulge them, and I didn’t have time to stop off for proper gifts.”

“We do not expect gifts—your presence is enough,” the man interjected.

“Can we keep the money, Mother?” Ben asked, clasping the coin Thomas had furnished him.

A tolerant smile crossed her lips. “I suppose so, Benjamin…just this once. Now, run along to the nursery and ask Nanny to help you stow away your booty,” she said. “Tell her I’ve said you two may come down to the parlor after tea and spend some time with your godfather.

As the boys scrambled back into the house, her gaze rested speculatively on Liz. “Where are your manners, Garrett? Pray introduce us to your wife,” she said, without taking her eyes off Liz.

The woman sounded as if she had a chicken bone stuck in her throat, and Liz had the distinct impression that she would just as soon they remained strangers. Liz tensed.

The shape of his knife sheath pressed through her gown and into her skin as Garrett drew her tightly to his side.

“Be gracious, Elizabeth. These are special people, and they know you only through hearsay,” he cautioned under his breath as he propelled her toward the couple. Liz tripped along beside him, wondering what the woman might have heard that would cause her to react so negatively toward Elizabeth. She told herself not to take this personally.

As if for support, the woman slid her hand into her husband’s. It was then that Liz noticed that one of his sleeves dangled empty at his side.

“Martha…Charles…I’d like you to meet Elizabeth Rowland, my wife.” Garrett paused.

Why the pause? Liz wondered. Did he suspect something? Or was introducing her as his wife as awkward for him as it was for her?

“Elizabeth, meet Martha and Charles Jackson,” he continued finally. “I served under Charles during the War.”