He straightened and turned to Samuel Ballantine. For a long, hard moment the two men stared at one another, each recalling the animosity of their last meeting when Adrian had blatantly disobeyed his orders to give up the navy and take his rightful place in the family business.
To Adrian's surprise, the elder man relented first, slowly lifting his hand and extending it to his son.
“Adrian. You were determined to prove your way was the right way, and it seems that you have.”
“An inherited trait, I suppose. It is good to see you, Father.”
“Good to see you as well, son,” Samuel conceded quietly. “We are all happy to see you home safely, none more so than your family." He turned and beckoned to someone behind him. "Deborah! No need for you to be shy, girl. Step right up."
Past the shield of Adrian’s broad shoulders, Courtney saw a slim, elegantly dressed woman step away from Samuel Ballantine’s shadow and offer a tremulous smile. Courtney felt her heart slide into the pit of her belly, as her worst fears were confirmed. She needed no one to tell her that this stunningly beautiful creature was Deborah Longworth Edgecombe. Her face was finely sculpted, her skin luminous and without flaw; her hair was silky blonde and framed the halo of her bonnet in an abundance of glossy curls.
“Adrian.” Deborah’s voice was a hushed whisper. “Welcome home.”
“Deborah.” He took both of her gloved hands in his and pressed them to his lips. One of them escaped his grip and, like an elusive butterfly, caressed his bronzed neck.
“We were so worried. We heard you were wounded. We heard you had been in a hospital for weeks and weeks.”
“A few days only.” Adrian corrected her with a smile. “And Matt was with me all the time. Where is he, by the way? I saw the Carolina out in the harbor.”
Adrian’s eyes swept the front line of the crowds, but Matt’s wry countenance was nowhere to be seen—odd, since it would have suited his sense of humor to watch Adrian squirm with all the attention.
“Adrian,” Samuel’s voice tugged him back. “There is one other person Deborah is most anxious for you to meet.”
Deborah lowered her lashes before Adrian could question the sudden fear he saw there. She half-turned and murmured something to the young woman standing by her side, and when she faced Adrian again, she was holding a bundle wrapped in a long white wool shawl. Adrian’s puzzled frown was answered by a quiet gurgle and coo from the squirming bundle, and when Deborah looked up at him, her eyes were wide and pleading.
“Well, sir?” Samuel demanded in a voice loud enough to be overheard by the crowds. “Have you nothing to say to your wife for presenting you with a fine baby daughter in your absence?”
Adrian stared at his father, then at Deborah.
“Naturally we were all surprised to hear the two of you had eloped before you left Norfolk—another little display of independence, I warrant? Never mind, m’boy, we have all forgiven you. I can forgive anyone who presents me with a beautiful daughter-in-law and an equally beautiful grandchild. My dear," he smiled at Deborah, “give the child back to her nurse and take your place by your husband’s side. I believe Rear Admiral Morris is waiting to begin the formal ceremonies.”
“Yes, Papa,” Deborah whispered and covered the child’s face with the shawl before handing her back to the nurse.
Adrian felt the anger build inside him, but this was hardly the time to vent it. He could not deny the elopement in public, not while he could still see the haunting plea in Deborah’s eyes. He felt trapped and cornered, and he could only pray that Courtney—
Courtney!
Adrian whirled around, but she was nowhere in sight.
Damn...damn!
He searched the laughing, waving throngs, but she was nowhere to be seen. There was not even a glimpse of her cloak to indicate which way she had gone, no disturbance in the crowds to betray someone pushing their way through or telling him which way to shout, to run.
No, dammit! He was not going to lose her again!
He took a step in the direction of the crowd, but a strong hand grasped his elbow and stopped him.
"Adrian?" Rory was frowning at him. "Is something wrong?"
"There was a girl standing here a moment ago. She came off the ship with me."
“Well, she is gone now,” Rory said, then lowered his voice with a warning. “Pray, do not make a scene here. Good God, if Father thinks that girl means anything to you—”
“That girl is my wife,” Adrian snarled. “My only wife. We were married on board the Sirius."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Courtney ran until her legs threatened to tumble her into a dusty ditch. Her lungs burned; her eyes were stinging although there were no tears to show for her foolishness. There was no reason to cry, nothing to be gained by admitting how deeply this new betrayal had stunned her.
Several passers-by on the street cursed as she pushed through them, but she barely noticed. She was numb, hurt, humiliated. She had allowed her heart to rule her head and now she was paying the price. She had loved him, truly and honestly loved him, and she had thought he loved her. She had believed it, had even let him convince her there were selfish reasons for admitting it.
“Marry me,” Adrian had said. “We belong together, you and I. Marry me and let me keep you safe...loved...happy.”
Safe? He must have seen how the word had lodged in her mind like an iron spike even though her first instinct had been to refuse.
“I cannot marry you.”
“Why?”
“Do you have to hear me say it?” Her temper had come to her defence, but he had been expecting it. “You know what my life has been like these past ten years. You know what I was, what I have done.”
“You have the scars to prove it,” he murmured. “And you wear them proudly, like medals. Believe it or not, I am proud of them too. Proud of you for doing what you had to do in order to survive. I would not have you any other way.”
“I have been a thief! A pirate!”
“Indeed, and you have stolen my heart and plundered my soul,” he chided softly.
“These hands—” she thrust them out. “Do you know what they have done?”
Adrian caught them and held them to his lips. “They have wielded cutlasses and guns and knives like no other hands I have seen. The mere thought of what they are capable of will keep me honest and faithful to my dying day, of that you can be sure.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “But my father—”
“If he is alive, we will find him together. And if he helps me, I will do all I can to help him.”
“Help you, how?”
“I want this 'Englishman' just as much as you do, remember?”
Was that it? Was that what the big charade was all about? Capturing Duncan Farrow and through him, uncovering the spy in Gibraltar? Was the entire act of wooing her and marrying her a sham; and had he known it was just that, an act? If he was already married to Deborah—and how could he plead ignorance to that when there was a child to show for it—then the farce they had walked through on board the Sirius was just that, a farce. As invalid as his promises to love and protect and keep her safe. He had planned to keep her safe, alright. Safe by his side to prevent her from going off on her own to find her father and escape with him to somewhere they would never be found.
How could she have been so foolish not to see that he was using her? She obviously had not seen it because she thought, she believed she loved him and that he was capable of loving her despite their differences. Her heart as well as her body had betrayed her, and both would carry the scars forever.
What would he do now that his well-laid plans had gone awry?
Clever, she thought, her brow streaming, her legs weakening, her lungs heaving for air. Clever, cunning bastard. All those questions he had asked and she had so blithely answered. Had he really, truly ever answered any of hers? She'd had a feeling from the outset that he had been holding something back. Was that something the fact th
at Captain Adrian Ballantine was as devious and manipulative as Garrett Shaw?
She had to get off the streets! She had to work quickly to find her father and leave Virginia as soon as possible. She would have to locate the barrister, Horace J. Prendergast, and she would have to use him to alert her father to the trap closing in around him. Together they would hunt down Garrett Shaw and confront him with what they knew. Davey Dunn was in Norfolk as well. He had witnessed her marriage to Adrian Ballantine from up on a yardarm, and there had been nothing but cold contempt in his eyes. He had known. He had known all along the Yankee could not be trusted.
Courtney reeled dizzily around a corner and knew she could not run much longer. There were cramps in her legs, in her chest, and steady throbbing pain in her abdomen. Invisible hands were tightening around her belly and squeezing, each steely finger digging for buried nerves. Her clothing stuck to her in soaked patches; her hair clung wetly to her neck and she had lost her bonnet somewhere in the panic to push through the crowds on the wharf. She ran along the boardwalk, looking for a tavern or an inn, somewhere she could stop and rest and collect her scrambled thoughts.
A short distance along the street she saw a sign for The Seafarers Inn. It looked as though it catered to the nondescript clientele of Norfolk, the ones who were neither rich nor poor. It would do.
Courtney stumbled across the narrow street and paused by the double oak doors while she tried to regain her breath. She could not use the name “Farrow” or “de Villiers.” Ballantine’s influence in Norfolk would be considerable and far-reaching; she dared not risk using either name.
McCutcheon! It was a name Davey had mentioned, and if he had seen her run from the dock, he might try to look for her.
Courtney closed her eyes and stifled a sob.
Davey would not look for her. He would avoid her like the pox. But there was someone else who might well be hunting for her: Garrett Shaw. If he was in Norfolk and if he had heard of the hero's arrival home, he might have gone to the dock to watch who disembarked from the Sirius. If so, he would have seen her standing so proud and gullible and foolish by Ballantine's side. He would also have seen her run off into the crowd...
Courtney glanced behind her, searching the shadows for any sign of furtive movement...a head ducking quickly out of sight, a figure turning away to hide his purpose. Her mad dash along the streets had earned a few curious glances, but no one seemed to be paying more than casual attention.
No one except the small, dark-haired figure who came running out of the alleyway she had just exited. He looked both ways along the street, panicking in case he had lost sight of her, and when he saw her standing outside the Inn, he waved a hand to catch her attention then ran straight across the street toward her.
~~
By the time Adrian Ballantine was able to finally close the door to his suite in the very expensive, very fashionable Carleton Hotel, he was barely able to see through the build-up of pressure behind his eyes.
“Is there anything to drink around here?”
“There is whiskey,” Deborah said haltingly. “Or claret. I will fix it for you if you like.”
“Whiskey. No water. Rory?”
“Nothing, thanks. Look, you two probably want to be alone—”
“On the contrary,” Adrian insisted silkily. “The last thing I want at the moment is to be alone, especially since I appear to be the only one ignorant of whatever grand conspiracy is going on here.”
“There is no conspiracy,” said Rory as he reached for his hat.
“No? Let me make myself clearer then. Take one more step toward that door and I will break both your legs.”
Rory glanced up, startled. Adrian’s eyes were as cold as his voice, and both nailed the younger Ballantine to the spot as if his feet had been skewered by arrows.
Deborah’s slender hands shook visibly as she poured out the strong spirits. Adrian took the drink in silence, finished it in silence, then shattered the tension with a harsh inquiry.
“I want somebody in this room to tell me what the hell is going on, and I want the truth, dammit, starting with that child in the next room. Who is the father?”
Rory’s mouth dropped open at the bluntness of the question, and despite the warning he started to sidle for the door. “Adrian, for God’s sake, this is a private matter, I should not be here."
“I told you to stay put! As for it being private...I could have denounced the child back on the dock during that touching welcome home scene, but I refrained. I chose to wait—at what cost I can only guess, and for that bit of decency, by God, I want the truth.”
Deborah lifted a trembling hand and smoothed a wisp of hair off her cheek. “It is all right, Rory. It is only as much as he deserves. I am grateful for what Adrian did, and he is perfectly justified in being angry. The child is not his. We never...I mean...” Her voice failed and she lowered her eyes.
“We never eloped,” Adrian provided, “And we never shared a bed.”
“No,” she whispered. “Never.”
Some of the coldness melted from Adrian’s eyes. Rory let out a long sigh and muttered, “I think I will have that drink after all.”
“Do I get an explanation?” Adrian asked, moving closer to Deborah.
“There is not much to explain. After you left Norfolk, I discovered I was with child. I had to tell someone, so I...I told Mother. The next thing I knew it was after midnight and there was a carriage pulling up to the house and...” she looked up, her eyes swimming in tears, “and it was your father. He assumed the child was yours and I...I needed time to think. I know it was wrong of me and cowardly of me, but...we were betrothed. They were all so angry and I was so frightened. I did not know what else to do.”
Adrian watched the flow of tears and tried to keep Courtney’s face from intruding on his thoughts. He could hardly blame Deborah for taking what she thought was the only safe way out of a disastrous predicament. She would have been ostracized by family and friends if she had borne a child out of wedlock.
“What about the real father? Where was he during this?”
“He...was away also. He had left Norfolk and I had no way of letting him know what was happening, no way of even knowing where he was until he wrote to me. But that took almost four months and by then...”
“By then you were ‘married’?” he asked, finishing the sentence for her.
Deborah nodded. “It was your father’s idea. He said it was best for everyone concerned. The only way. He said he could arrange it; he could buy the legal documents to support my claim of an elopement. The child would be born a Ballantine, with your name and wealth to protect her. And...and forgive me, but...he said you were such a hothead, there was every likelihood you would be killed in the Mediterranean anyway.”
Adrian felt his blood boil hotter.
“I refused to go through with it at first,” she whispered fiercely. ‘I told them I would not do it, could not do it. I told them I lied, that you were not the father, that you had only proposed to me because you were under the same pressure to ask as I was to accept. I told them you did not love me and I did not love you...not in the way that counts. I mean...I do love you—” she twisted her hands together, desperate to find the words to ease the bleakness in the gray eyes. “I have loved you ever since I was a little girl, but with a little girl’s kind of love, not a woman’s love. You were my handsome prince. You were going to rescue me from the dreaded castle. Can you understand what I am trying to say?”
Adrian raked both hands through his hair, his anger tempered by frustration. “I think so. If it helps any, I have loved you the same way. Enough to have gone through with the marriage, but not in a way that would have been fair to either one of us.”
Deborah’s chin quivered, and her eyes filled again. “They forced me to do it. Both of them; your father and mine. They told me if I refused, they would have the baby taken from me when it was born. They told me I would never see her, never know what happened to her—if she
was healthy or sick, well cared for or left to starve.”
Rory shook his head in disbelief. "I never knew. I never knew any of this."
“I had some money," Deborah said, weeping softly, "but not enough. I simply did not know what to do. Oh Adrian, I am so sorry. I am such a coward to have ruined everybody’s life: mine, yours, Lori’s.
“Lori?”
“Yes, I...I named her Lori. Florence, really.” The brief wistfulness in her voice turned bitter at another recollection. “Your father tried to insist I name her Jessica, after your mother, but I refused. I had to give her something of her father’s.”
“Did you write to him? Does he know?”
Deborah shook her head and whispered. “It was too late, I was too ashamed. There was nothing he could have done. He was counting on the time away to think, to find a way around obstacles that had been in his mind only! I told him it did not matter that he had no money, no position, no fancy pedigree. He was the one I wanted to elope with. I told him nothing mattered as long as he loved me as much as I loved him. And he did. I know he did. It was just his damned pride that kept getting in the way. Why do men have to be so blind? So pig-headed?”
Her lips continued to tremble, but there were no more words.
Adrian’s hand tightened on her shoulders, and he drew her into his arms, his fingers stroking her hair while she sobbed quietly into his shoulder.
“I knew he wanted to tie you down," Rory said of their father. "But I had no idea to what lengths he was prepared to go. God know what he will do when he finds out you are already married.”
Deborah stiffened and raised a tear-stained face.
“Married? Oh Adrian...no! Oh no, what have I done?”
Her complexion turned ashen, and the strength in her knees gave out. Adrian caught her before she crumpled completely and guided her to a seat on the settee.
“The girl,” she gasped. “The one on the dock...she is your wife?”
Wind and the Sea Page 46
