by Kruger, Mary
Marcus started. “Yes, in a moment.”
“Well, don’t take too long. It takes a while to get back upriver, with the current against us.”
“I’ll be along directly.” Marcus watched helplessly as Rebecca walked away, wanting to run after her; knowing it would do no good. She wanted nothing to do with him, and he couldn’t blame her. Her accusations were true. He had lied. But, the devil take it! He stared at the broad reach of the river, hands balled into fists. He’d never meant her to be hurt. If things had gone right—but they hadn’t, and there was naught he could do about it now. The damage was done. He doubted it would ever be repaired.
Marcus slammed the door of George Abbott’s study behind him, cutting off Abbott’s butler and glaring at the old man. “I have to tell Rebecca the truth.”
“Do you, now.” Abbott methodically removed his wire-rimmed spectacles and laid down his pen on the desk, as if such an intrusion were a usual occurrence of an evening. “It’s all right, Peter.” This to his butler, wearing full livery, who was looking in at the door, his dark face concerned. “I don’t mind seeing Mr. Brand. Close the door. Now.” He looked up at Marcus, his hands folded on the papers strewn across his desk. “What’s all this?”
Marcus paced away from the desk. “She found out.”
That made Abbott straighten. “How?”
Marcus grimaced. “A mistake on my part. She recognized my knife.” Tersely he told Abbott what had happened, and Rebecca’s reaction. “I have to tell her the truth,” he said, when he finished.
“Hm.” Abbott leaned back in his chair, tapping his folded spectacles against his lips. “Things could be worse. She thinks you’re spying for the British.”
“Worse.” Marcus stared at him. “I’ve made her life a living hell. If I’d only gone to her last year—”
“You would have been captured and hung,” Abbott said, succinctly. “You know that we put it about that the Raven was dead to protect you.”
“Not just me.”
“You also know I wanted you to stay in Baltimore.”
“Devil take it, I couldn’t take anymore!” Marcus burst out. Did Abbott have a heart? Did he have blood pumping in his veins, or ice water? Only the cause mattered to him, not people. “I couldn’t stay away from her any longer.”
“You hardly tried,” Abbott said, dryly. “All those times you came to Georgetown, against my express orders—”
“The devil take your orders.” Marcus’s fists bunched. If the year past had been hell for Rebecca, it hadn’t been easy for him, either, knowing she was so close, and wanting her, wanting her. Knowing at the same time that to go to her was to court his own death, and to put other United States agents into difficulties. He had taken up the threads of the life he led as Marcus Brand, successful shipowner and eminently respectable merchant, but it was an empty life, hollow. Nor had he been with another woman, something that startled him when he thought about it, but which seemed right, proper. There was only one woman he wanted. Rebecca.
“I’m no fool.” His voice was low. “I’ve no desire to hang. But no one recognized me.”
“Except the Talbot girl,” Abbott said, dryly.
“She won’t say anything,” Marcus said, with a confidence that startled him. After her outburst today, there was no telling what she would do, and yet he couldn’t believe that the woman he’d known aboard the Raven would betray him.
Abbott drummed his fingers on the desk. “And if she did, it will only reveal you as a British spy. Which you are not. It may be as well to remove you, now.”
“No.” He was through letting Abbott run his life. “Not with things as they are. Besides, the British trust me. I have them believing we’re building a fleet of war ships.”
Abbott shook his head. “They’ll find out soon enough that’s a ruse. No, my boy. You’ve been useful, but it’s time for you to go.”
“No.” Marcus stood his ground. “Not this time.”
Abbott leaned back, sighing. “We’ve been over this. If it’s revealed we’ve placed spies in the legation—”
“War is inevitable. You know that as well as I. I heard today the President is drafting his request to Congress to declare war.”
Abbott sighed again and put his spectacles on, looping them over his ears. “I see I can’t persuade you. Very well. But I can’t protect you, either.” He looked up, and his eyes behind his spectacles were sharp and shrewd and cold. “Spying is one thing. Piracy is another. If you’re caught, there’s nothing I can do for you.”
“If I’m caught, I’ll take care of myself,” Marcus said grimly, reaching for his hat. “Servant, Abbott.” He nodded at the other man and left the room.
He was on his own now, he thought as he strode along the street. On his own, and unprotected. He was not going to turn tail and run, however, not this time; he was not going to cower in Baltimore, despising himself for a coward. He had work yet to do, false information to feed to the British; gleaning anything he could from them in return. In addition, he wanted to keep an eye on Ezra, with his mad scheme for revolution. All those paled in importance, however, against his feelings for Rebecca. She mattered most. She was why he must stay, danger to him or not. He was not going to leave her again.
He stopped, looking from his vantage point on the hill across the Potomac, past Mason’s Island and into Virginia. He had found her again, and he wasn’t going to let her go. If she allowed it. Because, after today, he doubted she’d ever speak to him again.
Rebecca stood back and surveyed the dining table, making sure all was in place: her mother’s china; the good silver; flowers in a crystal bowl as a centerpiece. Fresh wax candles had been placed in the many-armed brass chandelier above the table, and in the silver holders on the sideboard. There was to be a guest for supper, Father had told her, and she was to make certain everything was right. Where his own comforts were concerned, Ezra didn’t stint. Thus she had planned her menu carefully, choosing a fine Virginia ham, as well as a good roast beef, oyster pie, fresh vegetables, hot Sally Lunn bread, and a pudding for the sweet. Father would select the wines, including a robust port for after dinner, when he and his guest would smoke their cigars and talk. All was ready, now, awaiting only the guest’s arrival.
“Becky?” Amelia peeked into the dining room. “Oh, how pretty everything looks! But you’re surely not wearing that gown, are you?”
“Yes, why not?” she asked, absently, listing in her mind what remained to be done.
“Don’t you want to look your best for Mr. Brand?”
“Mr. Brand!” Rebecca gripped the back of a chair so hard her knuckles were white. “He’s not our guest, is he?”
“Yes, silly.” Amelia looked at her curiously. “Did you not know?”
“No.” Rebecca glanced wildly around, seeking escape, fighting the urge to sweep everything off the table, china and cutlery and all, and then run from the house. From him. She didn’t want to see Marcus again, didn’t want to be reminded that all she’d thought was real and true and good in her life had been a sham. He had indeed turned out to be the pirate she’d first thought him.
Amelia eyed her curiously. “What happened between you and him at Mount Vernon?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t gammon me. I know something did, you were so pale and he was so quiet.” She paused. “Did he try to make love to you?”
“Good God, no!”
“There’s no need to swear.”
“Amelia, there is not now, and never will be, anything between me and that—that man. And I won’t let you marry him.”
“Oh, I’ve no plans to,” Amelia said, cheerfully. “He’s much too old for me. And, to tell you the truth, he reminds me too much of the Raven. I don’t think I could live with that. Oh, Becky. Is that the problem?”
“What?”
“You loved him, didn’t you?”
“Who? Marcus?”
“No, silly. The Raven.”
Rebecca closed h
er eyes as the pain assailed her again, and turned away. “I thought I did,” she said in a low voice. “Now I don’t know what to believe.”
Amelia frowned. “I’m not sure I understand, but it’s all past, Becky. Surely it’s time you stopped being so sad.”
“Sad!” Rebecca whirled around. “I am not sad. I am angry, and I thank God for it.” Anger was cleaner, less draining, than sadness. Being angry was, in a way, oddly healing; it had broken her out of her long mourning at last. Mourning not just for Brendan, but for what she had lost.
Amelia wrinkled her nose. “If you say so. Now, please, do at least put on your gray sarcenet. There’s time—oh.” From the hallway came the sound of the door knocker falling. “Do you suppose that’s him?”
“Most likely.” Rebecca straightened, calm now that the moment of confrontation had come. She continued calm as she heard Marcus’s voice in the hall. “Come. We should greet him.”
“You’re very pale, Becky. You aren’t sickening for something, are you?”
“No. Quite honestly, Amelia, I feel better than I have in a year.” How she would face Marcus, or what the future would hold, she didn’t know, but at last she knew she had the strength to deal with both.
“Ah, there you are,” Ezra said, the expansive, genial host as Amelia and Rebecca walked into the parlor. “Amelia, you are in looks tonight.”
“Thank you, Papa. Mr. Brand.” She smiled at him, but without any of her usual dimpling.
“Miss Amelia. Miss Talbot.” Marcus bowed to them, and Rebecca’s feeling of unreality deepened. He was attired properly and stylishly in burgundy coat and fawn-colored trousers. Part of her wished that she had, indeed, changed her frock; the rest of her wondered at the transformation in him. Brendan would never have dressed so, or been so stiff. And when had his hair gone so gray? He acted his part well, did Marcus Brand. Or had he been acting as the Raven? It was enough to give her the headache.
“Rebecca.” Ezra’s voice was sharp. “Answer when you are spoken to, girl.”
“I am sorry,” she said, belatedly realizing that Marcus had said something. “I fear I wasn’t attending. You were saying?”
“Merely inquiring as to your health, ma’am. Are you recovered from the other day.”
She looked him straight in the eye. “Not as much as I would like.”
“I am sorry for it.”
“What is this?” Ezra demanded. “Are you ill, girl?”
“Something Miss Talbot ate disagreed with her,” Marcus put in before she could answer, and she glared at him. She was quite capable of taking care of herself.
“Ah. So that is what happened.” Ezra sat back, looking satisfied. “I knew there was something.”
“Papa, Mr. Brand was quite kind to Rebecca,” Amelia put in. “When she took ill.”
“Yes, he was quite honorable,” Rebecca said, and had the satisfaction of seeing Marcus flinch.
“Was he, now.” Ezra’s satisfied air had been replaced by a speculative look. “I believe—yes, what is it?” This as Jacob, their manservant, appeared in the doorway.
“Dinner, sir,” Jacob said.
“Good.” Ezra grunted as he rose to his feet. “Well, no matter, no matter. Rebecca is well now, sir.”
“I am glad of it,” Marcus said gravely, standing back to let Rebecca precede him from the parlor. She felt his gaze on her almost as a caress as she followed Ezra to the dining room. It made her want to squirm.
At supper she sat between Marcus and her father, with Amelia facing her. She kept her head down throughout the meal, looking at neither man, until something her father said at the end of the meal caught her attention. “You say you are returning to Baltimore, sir?”
Rebecca’s head jerked up. He was leaving. She should be glad. “Are you?” she asked, before she could stop herself.
“I may have to.” Marcus reached for an orange from the silver bowl Jacob had placed on the table and began peeling it with his thumbnail. Without intending to, Rebecca focused on his hands. Brendan’s hands, she thought, and forced her gaze away. “My chances of obtaining a license to trade are slight. I’ve ships I need to oversee, and crews to hire, in case—”
“In case of what, sir?” Amelia asked.
“In case of war. But we needn’t talk of that.”
“My girls are aware of what is happening,” Ezra put in. “Been thinking about this myself. What do you plan to do, should war break out?”
“Arm them, of course, and if necessary offer their services.”
“Exactly what I thought.” Ezra nodded. “To the navy, though they’ve enough ships.”
“I thought we had few ships,” Rebecca said.
“Use your head, girl. Not the American navy.”
Rebecca gasped as the implications of his words struck her. “Father! You’d offer them to the British? And,” she swung to face Marcus, “you too?”
He shrugged in reply. “Can’t afford to have them standing idle. If they can bring in some profit—”
“Profit!” She lunged up from her chair, knowing she was behaving badly, and not caring. Brendan had been a man of no country, and an enemy to the British. Now, when the Americans needed every resource, he was turning traitor. “It’s treason.”
“Do you dare to question me, girl?” Ezra growled, standing also.
“Yes.” She faced him steadily. “It’s wrong, Father, you know it is.”
“Wrong?” he thundered. “You dare to speak to me of what is wrong, when you chase after every man you meet?
“Papa,” Amelia gasped.
“That’s a lie!” Rebecca cried, goaded beyond endurance. “I never did—”
“I am not a liar!” Ezra roared, and his hand came crashing down.
Rebecca ducked, hands flung over her head to ward off the blow. It didn’t come. After a moment she looked up. Marcus’s hand held Ezra’s arm suspended, and the two men were glaring at each other. “Easy there, sir,” Marcus said, his voice soft, yet edged with steel. “Not done, you know, in front of guests.”
“Let—me—go.” Ezra twisted away, his look murderous, and then abruptly dropped into his chair, his face stunned.
“Papa?” Amelia leaned over. “Are you well?”
“What? Oh, yes, yes.” He straightened, and though the stunned look had left his face, there was something still in his eyes. “I apologize for my daughter, sir. Sometimes she goads me beyond endurance.”
“Excuse me,” Rebecca murmured, more goaded than anyone could ever know, holding back the tears that threatened. “I’ll just clear the table for the sweet.”
“I can’t stay, I fear.” Marcus, too, rose, and though she could feel his gaze on her, she didn’t look up. “I’ve another appointment. Sir?” He looked toward Ezra. “I understand there was something you wished to discuss with me?”
“Hm? Oh.” Ezra looked up, and got up from the table. “It will keep. But now I have some thinking to do.” He ambled out of the room. “A deal of thinking.”
Rebecca stared after him worriedly. “Melia, go after him, make sure he’s all right. I’ll just see Mr. Brand to the door.” She turned back to him. “I am sorry about this, sir.”
He gazed at her intently from across the table. “It wasn’t your fault. Rebecca—”
“Oh, but it was, sir.” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “I seem to goad him more and more often, but this I couldn’t let pass.”
“This happens often?” Marcus interrupted.
“Not so very, no. It’s just—” She frowned. “His temper is so unpredictable lately. I never know what will set it off.”
“Rebecca.” He leaned forward, hands braced on the table. “You know he’s unstable, don’t you?”
“No! Don’t say that. He’s a little upset—”
“Unstable. Perhaps even mad. That scheme he proposed the other evening, to lead a revolution, was pure madness. I am surprised he hasn’t been arrested.”
Rebecca felt her face pale. “Do you think
—”
“No. But I worry about you, in this house with him.”
“You needn’t, sir.” She straightened and turned, leading him into the hall. “I was doing quite well before you came along.”
“I know that.” He reached for his hat, on the hall table. “It seems I’ve done nothing but complicate your life, doesn’t it?”
“I—yes.”
“I am sorry for it. You may not believe it, but I am. But, Rebecca.” He turned to her. “Everything’s changing. If war’s declared things could get bad here. I could keep you safe—”
“As a traitor with the British? No, thank you.”
“I’m not,” he began, and then stopped. “Perhaps you are right.”
“Perhaps I am.” She opened the door. “All I know is that my life would be much better without you in it.”
He paused in the doorway. “Easier, yes, Rebecca, that I can believe. But better? No. I doubt it.”
“Better,” she said, firmly. “You’ve brought me nothing but sorrow and pain.”
“Nothing?” His voice was soft. “Have you forgotten, leannan, those nights at sea?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t.” He took up his walking stick. “And I mean to make you remember them again. Good night, Rebecca,” he said, and went out.
“You mean to—” she exclaimed, but he was gone, striding along the sidewalk with a graceful, pantherish gait she recognized. Just so had she seen the Raven walk, and it deepened her confusion. Who was the real Marcus Brand: the pirate, or the traitor?
Sighing, she closed the door. She hadn’t time for this. She had a house to see to and her father to settle. Not just yet, though. She cast a quick look at the closed door of the study. Let him cool down first. She headed for the dining room, to help Ruth with the cleaning up.
And, in his study, Ezra Talbot sat alone, brooding over the revelation he had tonight received.
Chapter Twenty-Two
