Nan Ryan - The Seduction Of Ellen

Aboard the SS White Star

April 1899

In top cabin staterooms, very near to their own, was the strange carnival contingent that was to guide Ellen and her aunt to the Lost City of the Anasazi.

After having met all four, Ellen wondered how such a diverse group of people had ever come together.

Mister Corey was obviously a loner who needed no one. If he had any feelings, he never revealed them. He said little, rarely smiled, kept his own counsel, went his own way. His rugged sensuality, heavy-lidded gaze and devil-may-care attitude was repellent and appealing at the same time.

A man best left alone.

Enrique O’Mara was the exact opposite of the somber Mister Corey. He was a sunny-dispositioned, carefree half-Latin, half-Irishman, who everyone called Ricky. Of average height, Ricky was a sturdy, muscular man in his early thirties. He had dark wavy hair, snapping green eyes and an ever-present smile that could melt the coldest of hearts.

There was Padjan, of course. A man who loved to talk to anyone who would listen, he could speak for hours on any subject under the sun. Seemingly better educated than most university graduates, he impressed both Ellen and Alexandra with his vast wealth of knowledge. Alexandra was clearly fascinated by Padjan and the two spent long hours together talking.

Rounding out the quartet was the birdlike Summer Dawn, a tiny Indian woman who was so old and so weak she could not walk unaided and no longer spoke. Shriveled and extremely frail, she had tried to smile when Padjan had introduced her, saying simply, “This is our sweetheart, the precious Summer Dawn.” Nodding, smiling, both Ellen and Alexandra had assumed that Summer Dawn was a close relative of Padjan’s. His grandmother, or perhaps even great-grandmother.

Having met the entire foursome, Ellen’s concerns had only increased. Did Alexandra actually expect these down-on-their-luck characters to lead her to the fountain of youth? There was no doubt in Ellen’s mind that they were a bunch of charlatans whose sole aim was to fleece Alexandra of her fortune. And she dreaded the prospect of spending the next several weeks—perhaps even months—in the company of such disreputable people.

Especially in the company of the disturbing Mister Corey. Ellen wouldn’t allow herself to even think about the treacherous trek across the rugged country of western America when there would be nowhere she could escape his presence.

It would be all she could do to avoid him on the long voyage home.

As feared, Ellen encountered Mister Corey on shipboard.

Often.

She simply couldn’t bear to stay in the stateroom forever listening to the constantly complaining Alexandra. She had to get away from her aunt for a few minutes now and then if she were to maintain her sanity. But every time she ventured out to stand at the railing to feel the mist on her face or take a leisurely stroll around the deck, the unprincipled man she held personally responsible for this entire costly charade mysteriously appeared.

And immediately gravitated toward her.

“Enjoying the voyage?” he asked that sunny afternoon as he stepped up beside her.

“I was,” she said pointedly, “until now.”

“Does that mean you’d rather I hadn’t joined you?”

“How quick you are,” she replied.

He cocked his head to one side. “You don’t like me, do you, Ellen?”

“If I ever gave you a thought,” she responded, “I’m sure I wouldn’t.”

“Oh, you’ve given me a thought or two.”

Her head snapped around. “I most certainly have not! I have much better things to do than—”

“Like what?”

“Like…oh, for heaven’s sake, Mister Corey, what is it you want from me?”

“I don’t know, Ellen,” he drawled. “What are you offering?”

Ellen felt her face flush hotly. Anger rising with her growing discomfort, she said, “Nothing for you. Get this straight, Mister Corey. You may be able to hoodwink my aunt, but I am not quite so gullible.”

An infuriating half smile touched his full lips and he said, “You don’t want me to put the bloom of the rose back into your pale cheeks?” He lifted a hand and lightly brushed her face.

She stiffened and pulled away from his touch. “I want nothing from you,” she said firmly, “except to have you out of my sight!” Lifting her chin, she added, “If you think for one minute that I intend to stand idly by and let you and your band of thieves steal all my aunt’s money, you are sadly mistaken.”

“How do you know we are thieves?” He was unfazed by the accusation. “What if we’re telling the truth and there really are waters of magic?”

“You stopped recognizing the truth years ago, Mister Corey. Your entire life is a lie.”

“And yours isn’t?”

The offhand remark cut too close to the bone. Flustered, Ellen said anxiously, “If you’ll kindly excuse me.” She turned and hurried away.

Ellen blamed Mister Corey for this whole outlandish fiasco. The others were merely pawns in his elaborate con game. It was, she felt certain, Mister Corey who had hatched the far-fetched scheme. He who had rounded up the players and he who would claim the lion’s share of the money they managed to swindle out of Alexandra.

Ellen strongly suspected that the cold Mister Corey would not be content with the sum—however great it was—that her aunt had agreed to pay. He had undoubtedly read about Alexandra Landseer’s visit to London in the London Daily Express. He knew that her aunt was an extremely wealthy woman and extremely vain. It was as if he had purposely placed the advertisement in the paper knowing that Alexandra would see it and respond.

Would a man like that be satisfied with what he’d been promised or would he try to relieve Alexandra of the bulk of the Landseer fortune?

These doubts were nagging at Ellen on the fourth evening at sea when she accompanied Alexandra to a shipboard dance. She found herself hoping that the cool, confident thief wouldn’t be there.

But despite the fact that she knew exactly what he was, she couldn’t deny the attraction he held. A fact that shamed and frightened her.

She shuddered to think that such a flawed man could nonetheless so perfectly symbolize the fortuneteller’s prediction and the mysterious, dreamlike vagueness of her own romantic fantasies. Fantasies that had long been forgotten until she’d had the misfortune of meeting Mister Corey.

Thank God he couldn’t read her thoughts.

Midway through the evening’s dance, Ellen finally began to relax. How foolish she had been to worry about Mister Corey appearing at this gala affair. Surely his kind had not been invited. And even if he had, he couldn’t possibly own the proper attire for such an occasion.

Bored and growing warm in the stuffy, crowded ballroom, Ellen told Alexandra that she was going up on deck for a breath of fresh air.

“Don’t stay out too long and catch a cold,” her aunt berated.

“I won’t,” Ellen dutifully replied.

Lifting the skirts of her well-worn ball gown, Ellen made her way toward the wide center staircase, paused at the base and looked up.

And lost her breath.

His lean, tanned hand resting carelessly on the smooth marble balustrade, Mister Corey stood at the top of the stairs. He was elegantly dressed in dark evening clothes and a pristine white ruffled shirt. His hair had been carefully brushed and was shimmering in the light from the crystal chandeliers. The curving scar on his right cheek shone pale white against the darkness of his olive skin. The left corner of his mouth was lifted in the hint of a teasing smile, but his black, brooding eyes were as lifeless as ever.