Night Storm

by Catherine Coulter

  She sighed again. She couldn’t wait to be on land. Her stomach had been calm now for three weeks, but there were strange currents and strong crosswinds when the Night Dancer had come into the Channel, and a few lurches of the barkentine had brought the nausea back. She concentrated on memories, pleasant ones with her father. At least she had memories. What did Alec do when he was troubled and wanted to escape the present? She wondered what her life would be like if Alec hadn’t come to Baltimore. Her father would still have died and she would have the shipyard, for all that would have been worth now. Would she have fallen into destitution? Knowing the men of Baltimore, she decided that the answer was probably affirmative. Then they would have probably felt it their duty to see that one of them married her to keep her from starving. Well, that was all to no point now.

  Fog shrouded the landscape and she could make little out. The air was filled with the sounds of shrill foghorns. The Night Dancer moved at a snail’s pace, a pilot boat leading them.

  Hallie was standing at Genny’s side, Moses beside her. He was muffled to his ears in thick scarlet wool, the scarf a gift from Pippin, of all people. The two of them had become great friends on the voyage from Baltimore.

  Hallie was quiet, something that Genny appreciated, then worried about. She was too quiet. Genny took the little girl’s hand. “Are you excited, Hallie? You’re nearly home now.”

  As was her wont, Hallie gave the question thought before answering. “Yes, but you know, Genny, I’m kind of young to really feel excited about coming home. I’m worried about Papa. He isn’t excited about coming home either. I think he’s afraid that he won’t know anyone here, and that will make him feel worse. He still doesn’t remember us, Genny. Sometimes I see him looking at me and he’s trying so hard to know me, but he can’t.”

  “I know. He will, though, soon.”

  “Sometimes I wonder,” Hallie said. “He’s not happy.”

  Maybe that’s because of the woman he’s tied to legally, Genny thought, but didn’t say anything aloud.

  “This fog is for burying,” Moses said, lifting a gloved hand as if to feel his springy gray hair. “Nice and gloomy, fit for a cemetery.”

  “That’s a happy thought,” Genny said. She turned, wanting to have just a glimpse of Alec, but he was in conversation with Abel and Minter, and she could see only his back.

  “Mama died the same day as my birthday. That’s two days from now.”

  “We will have a party, love, a very nice party with Pippin and Moses and Mrs. Swindel—”

  “And don’t forget her wonderful father.” Alec smiled at his assembled family. He hadn’t even thought about a birthday for his daughter, not having remembered the anniversary of his first wife’s death. He had two days to come up with a present to make Hallie happy. He’d spent a good deal of time with her during the past weeks, taking part in her lessons, speaking French and Italian with her—which he had no trouble at all remembering, the words coming out of his mouth without conscious thought—performing as the enemy in mock sea battles. He liked his daughter. That, he supposed, was a decent enough beginning. Even when she got tired and whined and carried on, he didn’t become overly impatient with her. He discovered that he could simply give her a look and she would subside quickly enough. He said to Genny, who was looking a bit too worn for his liking, “Another fifteen minutes and we’ll be docking.”

  “Good,” Genny said with fervor. “I want my feet on dry land.”

  “And your stomach, too, I expect.”

  “Yes, indeed. Where will we stay this evening, Alec? In Southampton?”

  “Yes, at the Chequer’s Inn.” Alec paused, then added in a deliberate voice, “Pippin told me of the inn. He also said that a good friend of mine owns it, a man by the name of Chivers.”

  Genny squeezed his forearm, an instinctive gesture to show him that she knew what he felt. To her surprise, he shook off her hand.

  “Excuse me now. I must go back.” And he left them. Genny stared after him, wondering what was wrong.

  Alec was angry. At all of them, including his well-meaning wife, of whom he had no memory at all; at himself for his damnable, endless weakness. If he had more of a brain, wouldn’t he have remembered by now? If there were something worthy to remember, wouldn’t he have recaptured it by now, what was it, nearly six weeks after his accident? He’d held such hopes that he’d remember upon landing in England. There was nothing as yet. It could have been China for all he knew. He got a grip on himself. None of it was her fault, or anyone else’s for that matter. Damnable, damnable thing to have happened.

  The Chequer’s Inn was over a hundred years old, cozy, filled with blazing fireplaces from its oak-paneled taproom all the way to Moses and Pippin’s room on the third floor. “It smells so good,” Genny said, doing a twirling circle in the middle of their bedchamber. “So clean and fresh and warm.”

  “That reminds me of you, wife.”

  Alec sounded carefree again, and Genny breathed a huge sigh of relief. “No bilge-water smell?”

  “Not a whiff,” he said, sniffing behind her left ear.

  She just grinned at him. “My stomach feels like it’s died and gone to heaven.”

  He saw Nesta at that moment, her belly huge with child. He shook his head, willing away that particular image because it brought pain with it.

  She saw that look in his eyes, knew that whatever he was seeing made him feel bad, and sought to distract him with something to which she knew the answer as well as he did. “What will you do with all the cargo, Alec?”

  “My man—his name is George Curzon. No, Genny, don’t get your hopes up. I didn’t remember him. Even before we left Baltimore, Pippin showed me all my records, all the names of the men I deal with, and the like. In any case, I’ll meet with this Mr. Curzon tomorrow. We’ll make a fine profit on the tobacco and cotton we’ve brought from America.” He paused, then added in a flat voice, “No, I didn’t remember what kind of profit the tobacco and cotton would bring. Thank the powers I keep good records. But of course you know that, don’t you?”

  “Indeed I do.” That was something the new Alec didn’t seem to mind at all. Genny had slowly begun to take over more and more of the bookkeeping. It was nothing new to her, although Alec’s system was a little different from the one she and her father had used. She’d simply changed Alec’s a bit. She was quick with numbers and normally accurate. Most important, Alec seemed to enjoy her pleasure in the work. He also seemed to enjoy discussing ideas with her. Sometimes they’d even been hers and he hadn’t appeared to mind. He’d said not a thing about her aping men again, at her trying to do a job meant for a man.

  Genny placed a tentative hand on his arm. “I’m starving.”

  That startled him and he gave her a slow smile.

  She didn’t look away from him but let her hand glide over his belly. He’d lost weight, she thought. Her hand continued downward, until she lightly touched him.

  Alec responded immediately. He was hard, pressing into her palm. He pulled her to him with little finesse and kissed her roughly. But Genny, who hadn’t experienced abstinence since knowing Alec, had endured that miserable state for the past three nights when Alec hadn’t come to their cabin. Now he was moaning into her mouth as she fondled him. His response made her equally wild, but when he toppled her backward onto the bed and wildly pulled aside her clothing, she stared up at him, bemused. His eyes were intent, his expression one of near pain.

  “Alec,” she said as he spread her thighs wide apart.

  He came into her with one long, deep thrust, but she was ready for him, and lifted her hips to bring him deeper into her.

  He never forgot to be generous, to be knowing, even when he was frantic with need, she thought vaguely as she felt his fingers caressing her between their heaving bodies. His fingers on her swelled woman’s flesh—probing her, teasing her, knowing her so very well—made her rear up. She drew him deeper inside her and watched with so much love in her eyes that he m
ust see it as he threw back his head and moaned, thrusting wildly into her until she let herself go and joined him, melding them together, making their need one, making herself one with him.

  It was wonderful and she never wanted it to end. Even as he shuddered over her, she knew they were building new memories for him. These would be good ones. She would always make it so. “Don’t leave me,” she said, and knew that she’d said the words silently, deep in her mind, in her very being. She couldn’t imagine feelings that now enveloped her—had they always been inside her just waiting to be released? Released by a man who didn’t even know who she was. “Don’t let it end,” she whispered, but even though she’d spoken aloud, he hadn’t heard her.

  It did end, of course. Alec still lay on top of her, not so deep inside her now. He lifted himself onto his elbows and looked down at her.

  “You’re a wild woman. It is very well done of you.”

  “You made me that way, Baron. From the very beginning, you made me wild.”

  “Well, I’m enjoying the results of my handiwork. Doubtless I’m a great initiator of young virgins.”

  “You called me a long-in-the-tooth virgin.”

  “Yes, I remember you telling me that. Now you’re a long-in-the-tooth wild matron.”

  She felt him leaving her. He said, “I’m too heavy for you. I don’t want to disturb my son.”

  “Your son doesn’t mind.”

  Still, he rolled onto his side, balanced himself on his elbow, and looked at her thoughtfully. “You have a very stubborn jaw.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’ve been such a gentle, sweet, giving—”

  “Do stop—you make me sound like some sort of very boring person.”

  “But with that jaw—” He paused, frowning. “You’re not acting completely like yourself, are you? I mean, you feel somehow responsible for me, don’t you? You’re holding back your cannon fire until I’m whole in mind again?”

  “You just said I was gentle, sweet—”

  He waved her words aside, then rested his waving hand on her breast. “Somehow I see you more as a woman who doesn’t easily tolerate fools.”

  “Neither do you.”

  “You weren’t always so agreeable to me, though, were you? Did we have dog and cat fights?”

  She held her tongue. She didn’t want—

  “Genny, it’s true, isn’t it? We fought?”

  “More times than even I can remem—count.”

  “Why? Over what?”

  She swallowed. She didn’t want to tell him the truth. He just might revert, might lock her out of his business dealings—She frowned at his Adam’s apple. He hadn’t changed, not really, but he had seemed more tolerant, more willing to understand her views. Also, there’d been no reason for him to force upon her any ironclad ideas of what was proper for a lady and what wasn’t. It hadn’t been necessary for him to even think about it. Even though she was firmly part and parcel of his business affairs, he was still his lordship, Baron Sherard, the master. It was she who had changed, and she’d done it willingly, eagerly. She’d said not a thing to him when he’d refused to let her help sail the barkentine. She’d bowed her head and accepted the novel he’d handed her—Pride and Prejudice—with a smile. Indeed, she’d become everything the most demanding of men could want: sweet, gentle, giving; ah, yes, giving so much of herself to him, not reckoning that what she valued would never be given back to her. As for the business side of things, she’d simply inserted herself, not honestly, candidly, but stealthfully, like a thief, a guileful woman who had no power save what she could ferret out for herself. At intimate times like this she hated it. But she feared that candor and honesty would make him look at her with something akin to disgust, and that such a request upon her part would have put up his man’s back.

  Did it matter? Was anything as important as this man? No; for her, nothing was. It was that simple.

  But what was important to him? When he remembered her, would he want nothing more to do with her? Oh, she knew he wouldn’t leave her, but would he simply withdraw from her? As he had on the barkentine today?

  “Genny, aren’t you going to answer me? You’re worlds away from me. Come, what did we argue about?”

  “Never anything important.” Then she gasped down a frightened breath, flung herself on top of him, and pressed him onto his back.

  And after he’d climaxed, jarring both of them with the depths of their pleasure, he said in a fervent, very pleased male voice, “Whatever brought that on, don’t ever let yourself forget.”

  She was sprawled on top of him, his sex still inside her, and she burst into tears. She was a liar, a fraud, and she’d do anything else necessary to keep him content with her, to keep him from the awful depressions she’d seen on board the barkentine.

  “Genny.”

  Her hair had lost its pins and was in wild disarray about her head, and he stroked it, his fingers finding the back of her neck and massaging her gently. “Hush,” he said. “Hush, you’ll make yourself ill. I don’t like to think my lovemaking reduces my lady to tears and sobs. Was it so awful? Did I give you no pleasure, then? Am I to be cast aside like a worn boot? Will you go to Hoby’s to find boots more to your liking?”

  Her sobs ceased and she gave him a watery smile, just as he’d hoped she would.

  “You’re starving. For food now?”

  Genny was still as a statue over him, staring into his face.

  “What is it? Have my eyes crossed?”

  “No. Who is Hoby?”

  “Why, he’s the finest bootmaker in all of London and—” Alec gave her a rueful grin. “I remember my bootmaker. Heaven be praised. A man can’t ask for much more than that, can he? My God, my bootmaker!”

  “It’s another piece. Don’t complain. You make progress every day.”

  Later she wanted desperately to ask him if she could accompany him to see Mr. Curzon. She wanted to see how this part of business was conducted. But in the end, she was too afraid to ask.

  As for Alec, it never occurred to him to include his wife. He finalized his business with Mr. George Curzon on Battle Street. He’d indeed turned a fine profit. The two men made plans for the Night Dancer’s next voyage. Mr. Curzon never realized that Baron Sherard didn’t know him from his next-door neighbor.

  The Carrick family and its retainers left Southampton the following day. Abel Pitts remained with the Night Dancer and would captain her on her next voyage. They stopped in the afternoon at the Peartree Inn in Guildford. There they celebrated Hallie’s birthday. And Alec thought again of his dead first wife, whose face he’d seen a good half-dozen times during the past seven weeks.

  He gave his daughter a replica of Cleopatra’s famous barge, handmade in Italy and in Mr. George Curzon’s back room. Mr. Curzon had most willingly sold it to the baron for a quite reasonable sum.

  Genny gave her stepdaughter a sextant.

  It was Pippin who brought Hallie a porcelain-faced doll, gowned as a French aristocrat. To the surprise of all of them, Hallie looked at the doll and held it tightly to her chest. “Her name,” Hallie announced a while later, “is Harold.”

  “Harold,” Alec repeated slowly. “That’s what Nesta wanted to name you had you been a boy.”

  Hallie, more interested in her doll, merely nodded to her father, then threw her arms about Pippin.

  And Alec, getting himself together, had managed to remark in a light-enough voice to Genny, “She’s changing so much every day, it doesn’t seem to matter that I can’t remember the beginning. This, I believe, is her first doll.”

  It mattered, but Genny merely nodded. They were off to London the following day. Alec hadn’t asked where the Carrick town house was, but he unerringly directed his driver to it, saying without hesitation that it was the large Palladian structure on the northeast corner of Portsmouth Square. He was riding, something else Genny hadn’t expected. He was a graceful rider and she found, wool-tangle brained female that she’d become, that
she would be quite content to simply watch him riding beside the carriage.

  Mrs. Swindel didn’t try to point out every site of interest to their American colonist, something Genny appreciated.

  London was a revelation. It was huge, dirty, and filled with smells and noise and so many people that Genny stared, then stared some more. She was still staring when they arrived at the Carrick town house. Only his town house, she amended silently to herself. And it was a palace. She felt horribly out of place, horribly unsure of herself. She was suddenly being thrust into another world, a world she’d never cared about, indeed, a world that hadn’t had any meaning for her. Before now, before today, and before this moment. She was Baroness Sherard. Now everything mattered.

  How could she have been so stupid to have married an English nobleman? She’d never thought, never realized—

  She thought of her home in Baltimore, where Alec had lived for several weeks. He’d said nothing, but the Paxton house must have seemed like a miserable hovel to him. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d been used to something so far above her home as to be in the heavens. She swallowed, allowed Alec to help her from the carriage, and managed to lift her chin a good inch as they walked quickly into the house to avoid the drizzling rain.

  “My lord. What a wonderful surprise. We received word only yesterday of your arrival. And your ladyship. Welcome, my lady, welcome!”

  This enthusiastic welcome was from a very gaunt, hollow-eyed individual of advanced years who looked like royalty-gone-hungry.

  “This is March, my dear,” Alec said, and winked at his daughter. Pippin had told him that Hallie adored the wizened old man.

  “March!”

  The gaunt-eyed individual was quickly clasped about his neck and soundly kissed. At least Alec’s daughter was a democrat, Genny thought, looking on. Whilst Hallie was renewing her acquaintance with the Carrick butler, Alec introduced Genny to Mrs. Britt, a comfortably fat lady with tiny gray sausage curls framing her face. It was Mrs. Britt, seeing nothing amiss with his lordship, who hastened to introduce all the house staff to the new baroness.