Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel) by Sandra Marton Page A

mightily to attain.
    But when it came to women... ah, when it came to women, he was charmed. They had always flocked to him, as a boy to offer comfort and as a man... He grinned again. As a man, they offered everything they had, eagerly, willingly. Excitingly.
    He had left half a dozen conquests behind, in Boston, in Plymouth, in Baltimore and in places far more exotic. Tavern wenches, duchesses, ladies of the manor and even a royal princess had wept copious tears at each departure. Matthew had tried to feel sorrowful as he'd held them in his arms and soothed them but in truth, he'd already been thinking ahead, to the next ship and the next woman.
    Now, he had a new ship, the finest on the seas. Tonight, with luck, he would find the other. A man needed a diversion! And that was all a woman could ever be, a diversion. A woman could warm a man's bed. But a ship—ah, a ship could steal a man's heart.
    Matthew gave himself one final glance in the mirror. His hair was its usual defiant self, the sun-lightened, softly curling strands struggling to break free of their ribbon. His razor had left his face smooth without imposing any nicks. And the royal blue dress jacket with its high collar and gold frog;, made to order in Baltimore at the expense of his backers, would surely not be out of place at Russell's fancy dinner table tonight, nor would his cream-colored trousers and well-polished, black, knee-high boots.
    A knock sounded at the cabin door.
    "Come," Matthew barked.
    The door swung open and Robins stepped across the threshold and knuckled his forehead.
    "Sir," he said. "The gig is at the mainchains."
    Matthew nodded. The boy was barely eleven, a year older than he had been when he'd first gone to sea. Had his youth, hopes and dreams, been as clearly inscribed upon his face as they were on this boy's? God, he surely hoped not.
    "Thank you, Robins." He strapped on his sabre, then swung towards the boy. "Well? What do you think, lad? Will His Lordship be properly impressed?"
    Robins nodded stiffly. "Aye, sir."
    "And Mistress Russell? Will I impress her, as well?"
    The slightest possible smile twitched at the corners of the boy's lips.
    "Indeed, sir. I am certain you will."
    Matthew grinned. "Thank you, lad. Oh, and by the way, Robins...?"
    The boy's heels damn near clicked together. "Sir?"
    "If you're going to sneak into the galley and raid Cookie's sweets, you must remember to wipe your mouth."
    Never pausing, Matthew made his way up the ladder to the deck, and to what he hoped would be the first of many pleasant evenings. The carriage Lord Russell had sent for him was waiting at dockside. It was an elegant barouche, emblazoned with the Russell coat of arms and drawn by a pair of perfectly matched, high-stepping greys. It was also complete with a liveried coachman and footman. Both men were black. Were they free men, Matthew wondered, or slaves? Slavery was a fact of life in these islands, as it was in some of the American states, but that didn't change Matthew's dislike of the practice.
    The coachman tipped his hat.
    "Evenin', sir."
    "Good evening," Matthew said, waving off the footman who was already scrambling down to help him into the carriage.
    The whip cracked the air and they set off. Matthew looked about him with interest. Atropos had docked the day before, but save for a brief visit to the Customs Office, he had spent no time in Hawkins Bay.
    Now, by the fading light of dusk, he saw that it was a larger settlement than he had thought. Front Street, which gave onto the docks, was a hodgepodge of customs houses and narrow wooden buildings that seemed to offer everything a seafarer could possibly want. Shipbuilders, suppliers of salt pork and hardtack, makers of hemp line and tar jockeyed for position. And interspersed among those establishments were the taverns, what looked to be nearly one for every ship that lay at anchor in the harbor. The tropical air was heavy with the scent of rum and cheap perfume that wafted out