A Light For My Love by Alexis Harrington Page A

he hit it on the ceiling again this morning. During the long
night he'd been wakened by the clatter of rain pelting the roof
just a couple of feet over him. The sound usually had a sedating
effect on him, but this had been so dose it made a noise like
gravel hitting the shingles.
    His gaze was pulled to China as she moved
around the table, pouring coffee from a flowered porcelain pot. She
was tidier than when he'd seen her yesterday. Now a fringe of inky
curls framed her face while the rest of her hair was pulled into a
soft knot on the crown of her head, revealing her long, creamy
neck. Her small sapphire earrings matched her eyes. She'd abandoned
the silly, frilly gowns he remembered for a high-necked white lawn
blouse with leg-of-mutton sleeves and a skirt of deep burgundy.
When she got to his cup, he caught the subtle fragrance of her
perfume, of dark spice and wood, unlike the lavender and rosewater
other women wore. Their eyes met for an instant before she moved to
the next cup. She stood so close, he could see her black, silky
lashes.
    Overall, she looked softer and more
approachable than she had yesterday. He was glad, since he planned
to ask for a room on the second floor. Maybe she would be easier to
deal with now—
    "Well, sit down, Jake," she ordered, moving
away.
    He briefly gripped the back of his chair with
tight hands. Then he stepped forward and held Aunt Gert's
chair.
    "Thank you, Jake," Aunt Gert replied, clearly
approving.
    Jake was introduced to Susan, who stared at
him across the table with haunted, searching eyes, as though trying
to place him.
    To escape the uncomfortable scrutiny, he let
his own gaze wander. The dining room was as he remembered, with
pale yellow walls and a fire blazing on the hearth. The first time
he'd eaten in this room was when Quinn had invited him to dinner.
He was afraid to sit on the fine brocade chair in his dirty
dungarees and old work shirt, but Aunt Gert had welcomed him and
set a place for him with the rest of the family. For the first time
in his life, he felt it most keenly that he was just a kid from the
waterfront, especially with Quinn's snooty little sister staring at
him from the other end of the table. He was terrified he'd spill
something or break something or make a mistake. To hide his
nervousness, he kept his eyes on his plate, looking up only now and
then at a painting
    on the opposite wall. It was a picture of one
of Captain Sullivan's early vessels, the Joyce P.
Frankenberg , a square-rigger under full sail in choppy seas. He
searched for that painting now, but he didn't find it. Then he
realized the floor was bare and the massive sideboard that had
stood against one wall was gone, too.
    China tried to pretend that this breakfast
was no different from any other, but she wasn't having much
success. She was painfully aware of the extra person sitting at the
table. Though she refused to let herself look at Jake, that blond
head of his shone like a beacon, and time and again he appeared in
her peripheral vision. Feeling no more appetite than she had the
night before, she pushed her cooling food around on her plate with
her fork. Only a bite or two actually went into her mouth. Her
mush, for which she had no particular fondness anyway, congealed in
its bowl. She was glad Aunt Gert kept the conversation going
because she could think of nothing to say.
    "Jake, tell us about the Katherine
Kirkland ," Gert urged, pouring a drizzle of cream over her mush
from a silver creamer. "It's uncommon for a man your age to own a
ship. How did you come into the money to buy her?"
    China flinched at the bald question, and
directed the slightest frown at her aunt. Gert could be artlessly
blunt sometimes, and she was getting worse. She claimed that her
nearly sixty years gave her the right to be frank. Still, although
loath to admit it to herself, China was curious about the same
thing: had Jake done so very well after leaving Astoria?
    Each person at the table except China,