Emily's Seduction

by Natasha Blackthorne

  He began shaking all over, cold nausea in his guts at the memory of the raw satisfaction of feeling the sharp knife slicing the wet, heat-softened flesh. The gush of blood from the gasp and the fierce joy he’d known.

  He had, for that moment, become everything he hated. He had become like the blond devil. That moment he’d lost the very last of his soul.

  “And then?” Emily’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  “And then I went back to my quarters and waited for them to come and kill me in return. But the merchant’s death caused an uproar. No one suspected me. It was assumed that Catarina did it before she killed herself. And then I saw my chance to escape. I set fire to the house and, in the increased panic, I simply left via the garden gate with my face smeared and my child hidden under my robes. Nicolo came with me.”

  “Where could you possibly go in a foreign city?”

  “The Jewish doctor who tended Catarina was interested in America. I had spent many hours telling him all about my life before I went to sea. We sought refuge with him and, though he was quite flustered at our arriving on his doorstep, he didn’t turn us away. He helped us to dye our hair and faces and to find a ship that would allow us to work our way to Europe. He sent us with a pocketful of money and a young wet-nurse.”

  “How lucky you were that he would help you.”

  “He is one of those shopkeepers who sweeps his own stoop and keeps the city clean. We can usually do little to force change on the greater world but we can help those who come under our charge or to our back door.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Once in Europe we—Nicolo and I—somehow managed to make our way with my child to Venice. Some of that time is not clear to me. I was living like an automaton, like I was half alive but knowing I must keep moving for the sake of my child. But Catarina’s family did not want her child. They had stricken her name from the family Bible and refused to even give me audience.”

  Emily gasped.

  “I know,” he said. “Catarina spoke about her family with such affection. I was stunned by their dismissal. Their total rejection of my precious child. I saw how people truly felt about illegitimate children and I vowed I would protect this child against a lifetime of that. It was my last disillusionment.”

  “And then you went to France?”

  He nodded. “Yes, my mother’s mother came from France. They were shipbuilders. I sought sanctuary with them, and Manon and François made me see how, if I loved my child, I must give her up and allow them to raise her. Else my dear daughter would be known to the world as a bastard, and that I couldn’t bear. Besides, they rightfully pointed out that I wasn’t in any correct frame of mind to raise a child. It broke my heart but I did this.

  “But now the terror there has forced my cousin and his family to flee. I made arrangements for them to go to Montreal but their vessel was captured by English privateers and they found themselves having to gain passage on a ship bound for Baltimore. In a month they will sail for Montreal as originally planned.”

  “But you cannot just let your own daughter go to live so far away from you. She is your own flesh and blood.”

  “Why not? She believes her father to be François, not me. And what would I say to her? How would I explain her past in a way a girl her age would be able to accept?”

  “But it just…” Her dark red eyebrows drew together, an adorable expression of confusion that tore at his heart. “I mean, she is your child.”

  “Someday, perhaps, she can be told. But what will be gained for her knowing, except a disruption of all she holds dear? I bear the blame for so much in this. I cannot have her unhappiness or disillusionment on top of that. It would simply be too much.”

  “But you cannot blame yourself any longer for what happened. You were captured, powerless. You were little more than a boy. Only a year or two older than that gawky Sexton boy.”

  He started and stared at her blankly. “Yes, I suppose. It is hard to envision it that way.”

  “Would you blame him if he were captured and tempted and forced into depraved acts for the pleasures of a madman?”

  A wall of rock went up between them. His need to deny the validity of her words. “It’s not the same at all, Emily. Grey Sexton has spent his boyhood at his father’s knee and his adolescence at Harvard. In a way he was just as sheltered as you were by your grandmother. More so because he has had the luxury of his father’s wealth. I had been at sea, on a privateering ship, since I was thirteen.”

  “But you had never faced any situation like this, had you? What was your life at sea really like? Did you go girling of it at the ports with the men?”

  “Good God, no. I was too young—a devout Christian, I would have been appalled. I was also a cabin boy, a personal servant to the captain. He was a strict Congregationalist. He never mixed with women in that way. We often passed our time playing chess in the taprooms of the taverns.”

  “So you were also quite sheltered, weren’t you?”

  He inhaled sharply then came to his feet and moved away from her. She didn’t understand. She wasn’t a man, with a man’s responsibilities. He had taken Catarina‘s virginity. No matter how it had happened, she’d been his wife in all but legality. It had been his place to protect her and get her out of Constantinople and slavery and he had failed her. And the price to Catarina, himself and their child had been steep. There was no forgiving that. Ever.

  However, he had also deflowered this open-hearted girl and he was now responsible for her. He was on the verge of magnifying the mistakes of his life to such a degree that he would never recover from the shame.

  And yet…

  “Alex, your secrets have hung between us since the start. But now perhaps we could try again, with truth between us—”

  “Oh no, it’s far too late now.”

  She paled and his chest grew tight. He hated hurting her. But there was no other way now. It was all ruined between them. Their love hadn’t stood a chance from the very first. He had thought he could keep his secrets from coming between them. He’d failed at that as well. His life was one failure after another. But he could be kinder and end the bleeding by making a clean break with her now.

  “It’s too late,” he said more softly.

  Her eyes turned glossy, making them so luminous they took his breath.

  “But why?” she whispered, her voice so soft and sweet, so heartbreaking. The moisture in her eyes overflowed, running down her cheeks.

  He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and tell her it would be all right. That they could repair this damage. But that would be a lie. A cruelty that would only drag the pain out. He forced himself to hold firm. “The moment I told you these things, I knew I was casting the gravestone on any chance that we could ever be wed. You will never be able to look at me as anything else except less than a man. Less than what I should be. You will never be able to forgive me for what I have done to my own child through my powerlessness any more than I shall be able to forgive myself.”

  “Alex, that’s simply not true.”

  “You have held me in contempt over my desire to forget about the slavery issue and find some happiness.”

  “But I now understand—”

  “No, now you pity me. I will not spend my life in a marriage based on pity. You could never be happy with a man you pitied. You deserve to marry a man you can truly love. Pity is a damned sorry substitute for love.”

  She rose up on her tiptoes and leaned into him. At her scent, gillyflower and woman, his heart began to beat faster. She wrapped her arms about his neck and snuggled her soft curves to his body. She tilted her head back and her lips parted, her sweet, warm breath teasing his face. Blood rushed instantly into his cock.

  He sucked in his breath, wanting only to slide his hands down her back, cup her buttocks and press her pelvis to his. He took a deep, ragged breath, willing his heated thoughts to cool. He couldn’t use her again as he had last time. He had to be strong now.
He took her wrists and gently removed her hands. “We cannot touch. We cannot get close again. It merely drags everything out, makes this ending more painful. I ought to be horsewhipped for taking you the other night. It was inexcusable of me.”

  “But, Alex, you must—

  A knock at the door interrupted whatever she would say. He closed his eyes and thanked God for the interruption. He moved away from her and went to answer the door. Zachariah waited there, his brown face engraved with seriousness.

  “Mr Alexander,” he said with his characteristic dignity. “Mr Calabria’s servant sent word that he’s got himself into trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  “A little too much belladonna.”

  “Too much belladonna?” Alex repeated dumbly.

  “Yes, sir, doesn’t appear to have been an accident.”

  Christ. Belladonna. Poison.

  “I took the liberty of sending for Dr Howe.”

  “Yes, thank God you did… All right, wait here a moment, Zachariah.”

  Alex went back into his study to make his excuses to Emily. As soon as she saw him, her eyes widened. “What is it?”

  An urge to tell her it was simply a business matter rose to his lips. He forced it aside. “Nicolo is in trouble. I’ll have to go to him.”

  Chapter Ten

  In Nicolo’s bedchamber, Alex sat in a chair by the bed, taking a deep sip of his brandy and willing it to clear the fuzziness from his brain. Despite having just spent the past night helping the doctor fight to save Nicolo’s life, he had little pity for his old friend. The thought of Nicolo’s three wives and his nine known children caused anger to flare through him. He slammed his glass down on the sideboard and Nicolo opened purple-shadowed eyes.

  “Alex, please, my head hurts bad enough, believe me.” His blue eyes were red and his face still pale.

  It didn’t ease Alex’s ire.

  “How could you do it? How could you think of killing yourself when you have three families depending on you?”

  Nicolo closed his eyes. “Because I have nothing to live for. I am not a man. Even my business, you helped me to develop. You gave me money and helped me make the contacts. You still throw business my way. Your happiness was nothing more than a thorn in my side. Reminding me of my wasted life.”

  Alex’s anger broke past its bounds. “Damn it, Nicolo, stop with the self-pity. I never knew you were such a selfish bastard. And, if you must know, my engagement to Emily is broken now.”

  Nicolo laughed softly. “Ah, so your engagement, your own second chance is broken now. How does it feel, Alex, to know you are no better than I? All these years you have judged me.” He held up his hand. “No, please, maybe not to my face but how could you help but judge me, eh? You didn’t understand. Your way was to use too many women to avoid falling for one. But now you understand completely, do you not, my friend?”

  Alex’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “And that pleases you? You’re happy that my engagement is broken. Don’t deny it.”

  Nicolo shrugged. “There’s always comfort in company. Especially good company.” He took a deep drink of brandy. “What will you do now?”

  “I was thinking of accompanying the Sophia when she sails.”

  “Aye, it’s good to make a clean break. Put some distance between yourself and the problem.”

  The problem? Was that all Emily was to become to him? A troublesome ghost of his past? The thought twisted in his guts like soured wine.

  “That girl will be better off.” Nothing could disguise the satisfaction in Nicolo’s voice.

  That satisfaction brought Alex to his feet. He couldn’t spend another moment here without saying something he’d regret. Nicolo couldn’t be blamed for what he was. That Dutch devil had turned him. He’d been young, impressionable when he’d been captured and exposed to the devil’s ways.

  Why do you make excuses for him when you won’t excuse yourself?

  He could just hear Emily saying the words. What would he answer her? That Nicolo couldn’t be expected to have stood up to the devil because he was not a Dalton? Because he hadn’t been schooled in the twin fires of Alex’s father’s stern Protestant work ethic and his mother’s fervent Congregationalism?

  So was that what this boiled down to? Pride?

  “I could never live up to you, Alex. Do you have any idea how that feels?”

  Nicolo’s words startled him out of his thoughts. The echo of desperation touched him, melted his resentment. Sympathy for his old friend rose. His eyebrows snapped together and he sat again, this time remaining on the edge of his seat. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “I hated him every bit as much as you did. I wanted him dead so badly my stomach used to ache with it. I plotted and planned and prayed. But I was such a coward. I couldn’t make that move. Then you did. And you didn’t even plan or try to protect yourself; you just walked in there and did the deed. I saw your face, the satisfaction you took. You are a hunter, a killer, a leader among men. I am nothing. I could never have done that. I’d have been caught, vomiting my guts out at all that blood, the savageness of it.” Nicolo smiled, a wistful look in his blue eyes. “You came to us a boy and I dismissed you as a spoilt blue-blood, a weakling. But you grew into something I can never be.”

  “I didn’t get her out of there. I allowed our child to be born a bastard.”

  “What man can work miracles? Even a true warrior?”

  “She should have been my wife. I ought to have protected her.”

  “You did what you could. But don’t fool yourself that you would have been happy with her. She was no wife for you.”

  “Careful.” The words were forced out of Alex—he practically growled them.

  “She was weak and you despised her weakness.”

  Alex sprang out of his chair and found his hand wrapped about Nicolo’s nightshirt. “I’d call a man out for saying less.”

  Nicolo laughed. “Will you kill the man you struggled to save?”

  Alex released Nicolo’s nightshirt then forced himself to take a deep breath.

  “Alex, it showed in your face every time you spoke her name. You knew she was too weak to ever survive an escape. Do you remember what we went through? The fear, the need to keep our heads, the deprivations at times? And the entire time needing to make sacrifices for a helpless infant? Do you imagine she could have held up under it?”

  Alex’s chest burned with the need to shut Nicolo’s words off. To deny them. “It would have been up to me to make sure she held up.”

  Nicolo waved him off. “As I said, no man can work miracles. You knew she’d never make it and you knew you’d never be able to leave without going through him. You knew you’d have to sacrifice yourself and, if you did, she’d perish without you. It was a situation without a chance for success.”

  Bristling all over, Alex turned away from Nicolo. He let his arms fall to his sides and made fists. “Shut up.”

  “You found a jewel of a woman, one with a woman’s type of strength. Idealistic, soft-hearted, but with a nature stubborn enough to stand up to you. God, of course I was envious. I also hurt for you because I knew it would end like this. The past still holds you in chains as surely as it does me. The things we can never tell our wives stand between them and us. It can never work.”

  “I told her.” Alex almost whispered the words. They seemed too terrible to be said aloud.

  There was a long pause.

  “You did?” Nicolo’s voice rang with awe.

  “Yes, everything.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “She said she understood.”

  “And does she? Can she?”

  “No, she pities me.”

  “Ah, see there, it is like I suspected. There is no hope.” Nicolo’s voice echoed both the certainty and despair in Alex’s heart.

  * * * *

  “—very heavy debt but still better to bear debts than depredations.”

  Alex sat in Brigit F
orbes’ parlour listening to her read her latest letter from her Congressman cousin.

  She laid the letter down and smiled, two dimples popping out on either side of her well-shaped mouth. “Goodness, who would have thought our politicians could have finally come to that reasoning? Those of us who paid for depredations through our profit margins knew this ages ago.”

  The widow of a somewhat well-off Philadelphia merchant, Brigit had been struggling for several years to keep the business he left to her afloat. Alex had often helped her with financial decisions or connections. They had also been lovers on and off when his presence in Philadelphia had allowed.

  He lifted the dainty steaming china cup of tea and took a drink. The fruity taste hit his tongue and he grimaced. Emily was correct. It was too sweet. Totally insipid. He would prefer coffee. But Brigit didn’t even keep it in her house. She preferred to keep English manners and English ways.

  “What will you do now, Alex?”

  It was an excellent question and one he didn’t want to answer. The engagement to Emily and the prospect of actually marrying her had awakened him to how much he wanted children. Children he could openly claim and love in practical ways every day. It had been assumed for a long time by nearly everyone that he would make Brigit an offer.

  Should he?

  The question shocked the hell out of him.

  Well, maybe he ought to consider it. He had to get on with living, didn’t he?

  As was an old habit, albeit a horrid one, he examined her, tearing her apart feature by feature and looking for a reason to reject her. He couldn’t find one, of course. With her raven hair and milk-white skin and a cameo-perfect face, she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.

  He tapped his fingers on his thigh.

  Oh, yes, she was beautiful and yet…what? All afternoon, her musical voice had prattled on in his ear, talking of the matters that interested her. He’d barely been able to attend to it. Had she always been so deadly dull? So consumed with profits and manifests? She reminded him in a way of Sexton himself. However, it was one thing to chat with Sexton about the Exchange at a supper party, but it would be an entirely different matter to live day in and day out with the feminine equivalent.