Starlight & Promises

by Cat Lindler

  A small smile touched her lips. She had no desire for Steven’s attentions but surely could endure whatever was necessary to ensure her child’s future. Were she obliged to close her eyes and pretend Steven was Christian, she would do so.

  The pastor intoned the words that would make them man and wife, and her thoughts returned to the ceremony.

  “If any man present can give reason why this man and woman should not be joined in holy matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace,” the pastor said, looking out over the assemblage.

  Silence reigned, and everyone craned their necks to examine their neighbors, as though expecting some objection. None came.

  The pastor smiled and looked down on the couple. “Then, with the blessing of the Church of England, I now pronounce—”

  “I have reason,” a strong voice echoed from the back of the church, clearly heard by all assembled.

  Heads turned around, and eyes focused on the large, bearded man poised in the open doorway with his legs apart and hands on his hips.

  The pastor blinked. Bewilderment crossed his face. He cleared his throat, directing a stern look at the man. “And what would be your reason, sir?”

  “She is already married,” Christian said and strode up the aisle.

  The pastor’s mouth dropped open. His gaze returned to the bride when she slumped to the floor in a froth of cream silk brocade.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Steven dropped to one knee and patted Samantha’s pallid cheek.

  Christian stopped beside him. “Remove your hands from her before I break them.”

  Steven’s eyes sparked with fury. “Who are you, sir, to issue orders to me?”

  Christian squatted on his heels, scooped Samantha into his arms, and straightened his legs. “Christian Badia, Samantha’s legal husband. Who the hell are you to wed another man’s wife?” His gaze barely touching on the burden in his arms, he looked with contempt over the slender, middle-aged man. Samantha planned to marry this aging roué? The least she could have done was select a man her equal. He shifted his gaze to the pastor. “Should you require confirmation, ask them.” He nodded toward the pew where Samantha’s family sat.

  Aunt Delia and Chloe had fainted. Gilly hovered over them, fanning the air and darting incredulous glances at Christian. Pettibone appeared frozen to the pew.

  “I protest this!” Steven whipped his head toward the pastor.

  “And I don’t give a damn,” Christian said. He turned and left with Samantha cradled against his chest.

  The pastor swayed on his feet with his mouth catching flies.

  As Christian headed down the aisle, he examined Samantha. Cheeks and lips as white as sea foam, her breathing shallow. While he reacquainted himself with her lovely face and form, his gaze lit on her rounded belly, and he drew in a tight breath. Exactly how well did she know Steven Landry? He harked back to what Cullen and the others had said about Landry at the time of her disappearance. She and Landry were close … close friends. And more? Pain hit him as surely as if someone had socked him in the gut. Were they “close” from the time he had shipped out on the Maiden Anne to search for Richard, she could be carrying the man’s child. In a moment of clarity, the reason why she decided to marry Landry abruptly made sense. And why did Cullen so fervently pronounce his demise? Once Samantha recovered from her swoon, he would demand some answers.

  His mother’s face flashed before his eyes, her features superimposed on those of Samantha’s. The woman’s perfidy had destroyed his father, transformed a strong, rational man into a rambling child. Never would Christian forgive his mother for the misery she had caused. Now it seemed he was doomed to walk the same path as his father. How had he allowed himself to fall into Samantha’s trap? He would be damned if he did! Though his wife had managed to worm her way into his heart, he could just as easily expel her. Her actions this day confirmed the opinion he’d held for so long of women as untrustworthy creatures. He’d thought Samantha was different. He’d been wrong.

  When Christian exited the church, Jasper and Garrett were waiting by the horses. He handed Samantha off to Jasper and mounted, then reached out for her.

  Jasper looked down into her colorless face. “You didn’t have to kill her,” he said with a dry smile. “A good scolding would have done.” At Christian’s black look, Jasper passed her up without another word.

  Samantha came to in her bed and raised her head from the pillow. Gilly knitted in an armchair by the fireplace. The curtains were drawn. For a moment, Samantha believed it to be the morning of her wedding to Steven. Then a vision of a bearded face, an angry, bearded face, flooded her mind. Christian! She bolted upright in the bed. Had she only dreamt him, like she dreamt about the Smilodon? Or had Christian showed up in time to prevent her marriage to Steven?

  Gilly dropped her knitting and made haste to Samantha’s side. “Oh, Miss Sam, we’ve been ever so worried about ye,” she said, wringing her hands. “Ye’ve been out fer so long, we was afraid ye’d never wake up.”

  “Is Chris here, or did I merely swoon and dream about him?” she asked, her voice small and tight.

  Gilly nodded. “Aye, he’s here al’right. An’ in sech a tempest. T’house is in an uproar o’er him an’ Master Garrett an’ Jasper, o’ course.”

  Samantha’s heart swelled. “He is alive,” she whispered. “He is truly alive.” She swung her legs out of bed, noticing only then that she wore her night rail. “Find a gown, Gilly, any gown.” She ran to the vanity and began to brush out her sleep-snarled hair.

  She tripped down the staircase ten minutes later, heart beating a rapid tattoo and her head spinning like a carousel. She felt like laughing out loud. Christian was back! He didn’t know yet that she was carrying his child. He would be so extremely happy! Of course she would first have to explain why he found her willing to wed another man. However, he would understand when he learned the entire story and she told him about the baby.

  She darted into the parlor, looking for Christian. Frowning, she came to a stop in the empty room. The mantel clock struck one. Luncheon. They were surely in the dining room. She smoothed back her hair with one shaky hand, having been unable to wait for Gilly to put it up, and sped into the dining room. When she burst through the doorway, everyone looked up, and she halted to drink in the sight of the man she loved.

  He sat at the head of the table. He had shaved and trimmed his hair to its normal length and tied it back with a leather thong. The same recalcitrant strands escaped the queue and brushed against his face. A few additional silver hairs threaded through the sides. His face looked bronzed and a bit gaunt, as if he had undergone hardship and barely managed to pull through. Of course he had; he must have faced near death in the explosion.

  When her eyes encountered his, she nearly took a backward step. His fierce expression, his cold, hard stare, set off an alarm in the pit of her stomach. Why? Taken off guard, she could scarcely maintain her smile, and her hand came up to circle her neck. Though she had tried hard to rid herself of the annoying habit of biting her nails, the urge to indulge nearly overwhelmed her. Then … Oh, but of course. Naturally he was angry with her for going after Richard and for almost marrying Steven. When he granted her the opportunity, she could easily explain both incidents.

  She brushed aside her hesitance and crossed the room, throwing her arms around his neck and placing butterfly kisses on his face despite the audience. “Oh, Chris,” she said with tears running down her face, “I believed you were dead. I have missed you terribly.”

  Stiffening, he shoved back from the table and stood, breaking her hold. His napkin slid off his lap onto the floor. His hand clamped her wrist, and he nodded to the company. “If you will excuse us, my wife and I desire some privacy.” His voice dripped pure ice, his words curt and sharp. He looked down at her, gaze running straight through her. “Madam.” He uttered the one word and stepped away from the table, taking off for the garden, pulling her behind.

  When t
hey reached a bench, safely hidden from view of the house, Christian released her and motioned for her to sit.

  Samantha knew his moods as well as she knew her own. He was in a quiet fury and would brook no disobedience, so she sat. Very well, she had flaunted his orders again. But was that tiny detail any reason for him to be less than pleased to see her, when her own heart, in spite of his reception, burst at the seams? After all, her waywardness was a common enough occurrence and no occasion for the world to end. Setting her mouth firmly, she studied the forbidding line of his body, the taut skin over his cheekbones, and her spirit wilted.

  He laced his hands behind his back, his accusatory gaze raking her and lingering on the belly her dress could no longer hide. “Do you have something you wish to tell me, madam?”

  She wished he would cease calling her madam, as though she were a stranger. Regardless, she resolved to speak her piece. Once he learned her secret, his mood would change. The corners of her mouth tilted a bit. “Indeed, I do. We are having a baby.”

  Christian reacted not as she anticipated, with a grin and the elation swelling inside her breast. Instead, his eyes narrowed further. “I see,” he merely said. “And whose baby are we having?”

  Cold, like an Antarctic wind, swept into her veins. “Whatever do you mean?”

  He glanced away, as though her question, her mere presence, irritated him. “I mean, whose baby are you carrying?”

  Each word dropped like a stone.

  For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. Coherent thought burned to ashes. She leapt up from the bench, all but knocking him over and causing him to take a step back. Her hands curled into fists, fingernails, short as they were, digging into her palms. “Your baby, Chris. I’m carrying your baby!”

  He remained stony and inaccessible, unmoved by her declaration.

  She raised her fists, more in protest than to strike him. Catching her wrists, he pulled her arms down between them. “‘Tis your babe, Chris,” she sobbed, feeling as though he had ripped out her heart. “I swear to God it is. Why would you even imply otherwise? Ask Gilly. She will tell you I suspected I was breeding soon after you left. Go! Ask her!”

  “I already spoke with Gilly and Chloe and Delia,” he said, voice rising in volume, a flicker of outrage breaking through his indifference. “Gilly informed me that you missed one of your monthly courses before you left with Landry. That was after you began seeing him. How do you know the babe is mine? It could just as well be Landry’s. One does tend to wonder. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but you were fond enough of him to marry. Had I not interrupted the wedding, you would be ensconced in his bed at this moment.”

  “The babe is not his. I thought you were dead. We never …” The strength flowed from her body like water through a broken dike. She sagged against the bench, weeping, torn inside, baffled and devastated by his accusation.

  He pulled her upright by her shoulders. “So you say. I suppose only time will tell.”

  She froze at his touch and, twisting around, broke his hold. Stepping back, she strove to gain her composure. “What are you saying?”

  “To pack your bags. We leave tomorrow for Boston. Delia, Chloe, Pettibone, and Gilly will return to England.”

  “I’ll not go.” She wiped at her flowing eyes with the backs of her wrists.

  He fisted his hands on his hips. “Despite your attempt to change your status, you’re still my wife. You’ll go wherever I tell you to go.”

  Tears coursed down her face, yet she met his eyes without flinching. “I refuse to go anywhere without my family,” she said through a jaw so tight she barely formed the words.

  “We shall see.” He swung around and walked away from her. “Go inside and pack.”

  “I shall do that,” she screamed at his back. “And I shall pack the largest gun I can find so I can blow a hole in your black heart, if you still have one.”

  Samantha prevailed on one account: her family accompanied her on the return to Boston, along with Jasper and Cullen, who voiced their preferences for a life ashore rather than a career at sea. Christian hired Jasper as cook and majordomo of his Massachusetts farm. Cullen, who discovered he liked horses better than spars and lines, accepted a position as a groom in the extensive stables. To avoid another unpleasant scene, Samantha grudgingly agreed to stay at Christian’s farm. Aunt Delia, Chloe, and Pettibone declined, saying they would lodge with the Colchester relations in town. In deference to her pregnancy, Christian allowed Gilly to continue as Samantha’s maid.

  With the Maiden Anne a shattered hulk in the Tasman Sea and Samantha’s condition delicate, they booked a safer, longer route, taking a steamship to San Francisco and then crossing the country by rail to Boston. The trip would take three months. Along the way, Christian showed his solicitude for Samantha’s health and was polite to a fault, yet he never once touched her in love or affection. Her despondency grew in concert with the child.

  After the information Garrett had imparted in Hobart, Samantha suspected Christian’s distrust came from his childhood experience, his mother’s betrayal, his father’s madness. She remained at a loss how to address the issue. She had tried tact to no avail. At any rate, tact was not her most endearing trait. One evening when Christian acted particularly cold and distant, she finally lost her temper. “I am not your mother,” she shouted. “I am not Lady Jane!”

  His head whipped around at her words. “Don’t dare speak her name in my presence,” he replied, face turning a puce color.

  “I shall say what I wish as long as you continue to treat me as if I were some highborn whore!” She rushed at him with fists flailing.

  Garrett and Delia broke up the confrontation before Samantha did an injury to herself.

  In an icy fury, Christian smoothed his trembling hands over his dinner jacket and stalked away. They avoided each other for days.

  Samantha felt as though she had lost her husband a second time; only she was obliged to suffer his company daily. Her pain at his desertion and mistrust hardened the knot in her heart whenever she encountered him.

  “He will come around,” Delia said one glorious, delicate dawn as they steamed into San Francisco Bay. “When he sees the babe, he will come to terms with his feelings and forgive all.”

  “There is naught to forgive,” Samantha replied, waves of despair beating against her chest, “and by that time, I may not want him any longer.”

  “You must view the circumstances from his point of view,” Delia reminded her. “I realize you are overset. Your pregnancy has made you emotional. Christian can see only that you broke your trust with him once again in pursuing Richard, and you kept company with another man. Garrett told me of Christian’s estrangement with his mother. I would think it particularly difficult for him to trust a woman after what happened in his family. I’m sure he knows deep inside you have nothing in common with his mother. Nonetheless, the hurt he feels brings back painful memories. You must allow him to deal with that pain. When he does, he will realize how much he loves you.” She dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “I take the blame on myself. I encouraged your friendship with Steven. Had I known of Christian’s past, I never would have interfered.”

  Steven. A man she had not thought about for so long. The mention of his name brought back a memory and a mystery. Where was he? After learning what happened on her wedding day, pangs of guilt at having left Steven at the altar propelled Samantha to seek him out, to explain, apologize. He must have suffered great embarrassment and disappointment. However, she found his house closed up and no word of where he had gone. To England, she supposed, back to the life he had there before coming to Tasmania. Someday she must try to contact him again. But not now, not until she straightened out her own life. For now, she relegated him to the past. One bewildering man was more than enough to deal with.

  “The fault is not yours, Auntie,” Samantha said on a sigh. “I realize Chris has issues with trust. But if he truly loved me, he would know I could never betray him
with another man.”

  “Allow him some time to come to grips with the situation. He nearly died searching for you, and then to return and find you wedding another man …” Delia paused for a breath as though at a loss for words. Her sorrow for her niece’s predicament showed plainly on her face and in her eyes. “He does love you, Samantha. Keep your chin up and give him time.”

  Through the tears blurring her vision, Samantha looked out over the approaching arms of the bay and seagulls drifting above in graceful flight. “I have given him naught but time,” she said in a soft voice. “How much does he need? I find myself running out of time. When all is said and done, love may not be enough to repair the breach between us.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Though she loved the farm outside Boston and kept busy with tending house and working in the gardens, as the babe grew larger and more active, time weighed heavily on Samantha. Meanwhile, Christian continued to keep his distance, spending his days at the university or on business in Boston. He treated her like a houseguest, providing her with luxurious separate accommodations, anticipating her every need, and calling her madam. They tiptoed around each other like polite strangers, cordial yet isolated, going their own ways in a deafening silence. The rift was slowly strangling Samantha. If she could not find a way to span the gulf between them before the babe’s birth, she feared they would never resolve their differences.

  As more time passed, she began to understand and accept her heart’s message. In spite of what she had said to Delia, the love she bore Christian grew only deeper and more urgent. She wanted him—in her life, in her bed, in her future—though she was mystified about how to achieve that result. She inspected her swollen body in the mirror, and her lips canted into a lopsided smile. She was as puffed up as a bullfrog. How could Christian ever want her again? Now was obviously not the time to try seduction as a solution to their problems.

  The burden of the babe now awkward and fatiguing, Samantha grunted when she tried to fasten her bodice over her grossly expanded breasts. All her gowns fit tightly and uncomfortably, as though she were trying to squeeze a tomato through the eye of a needle.