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when she reached twenty-one and found she had money of her own. She was not a conductor on the Railroad; she did not shelter or shepherd escaping slaves on the way north, but she visited plantations, her painting giving her the excuse to wander about and talk freely with slaves. When she discovered those with the desire and will to escape, she gave them money, a compass, and names of stations along the Railroad. Some lines went overland, some by river, and the fugitives were passed from one conductor to another as they went north, mostly through Kentucky, Indiana, Ohio, and across Lake Erie to Canada. Meredith knew the names of some of the stations, but few of the conductors. The entire network was safer that way.
    The rainbow was slowly fading, and Meredith noted the increased activity on deck. She replaced the hood over her hair and reluctantly walked back to her cabin—and back into her stifling role.
    Quinn played poker until six in the morning. The Carroll brothers left hours earlier after losing nearly everything they had. Only the Tennessee horseman and another professional gambler had remained at the table.
    Quinn was a superb poker player, partially because he had complete control over his facial expression. He knew just how to make it work for him. When he was bluffing, he would allow the smallest fraction of a smile, and those who had not played with him before would toss in all but the best hands. And he knew human nature. He could detect weaknesses within seconds of making an acquaintance.
    He had, on several occasions, been accused of cheating. That had not dismayed him; he had simply ordered the accusers off the boat. He always refused to fight, which, along with his refusal to race the Lucky Lady, gave him somewhat a reputation of a coward. Although it galled his sense of honor and pride, it nonetheless reinforced his image as a man without principles or values, an image invaluable in his work. But he never cheated. He did not need to. He was a skilled player, and he generally knew when luck was running with him and when lady luck had abandoned him.
    Presently, she had left him in the small hours of the morning…after the Carrolls had left. The Tennesseean was a very happy man.
    Quinn shrugged off the loss. He won much more often than not, and the losers would be horrified to discover where a great percentage of the money went. He smiled grimly at the thought. God, but he was tired. He paused, enjoying the cool air of the morning before retiring to his cabin on the upper deck. He had just checked with Jamison, the pilot, and all was well. Jamison, a dour Scotsman, practically ran the boat and that suited them both. The Scotsman needed, and wanted, little interference from the owner who called himself captain.
    Quinn paused at the mahogany railing of the upper deck and looked down at the one below. His eyes finally rested on the solitary figure of a woman. She was silhouetted against a golden sunrise, her hair, the color of spun gold, spilling in tangled curls down her back. Her head was tipped up toward a rainbow, her cheek flushed rosy by the wind.
    She was wearing a cloak, which hid her figure, but it couldn’t hide the grace or pride with which she moved. He saw her head turning toward his direction and instinctively he ducked back, not wanting to be seen. When he looked again, the hair was covered with a hood, and she was hurrying away.
    He stood there stunned. She had looked like a goddess standing motionless at the railing. He couldn’t remember when he had been so affected by the sight of a woman. Especially since he harbored a profound distrust for most of the species; one, after all, had caused him to spend eight years in chains. A woman, combined with his own stupidity and arrogance.
    In prison his arrogance had been painfully crushed. And he hoped he had learned to avoid stupidity. He was wary of women on any terms but his own.
    His thoughts returned to the woman below. He had only glimpsed her