Adrian nodded. “Her name is Courtney. We were married on the Sirius, just after we left Boston.”
“But...where is she? Where did she go?"
"I wish I knew."
"Oh, Adrian! How you must hate me!”
“Why would I hate you? None of this was your doing. You had no choice.”
“I did. I did!” she cried hysterically and began to twist out of his grip. “I could have said no and run away.”
“Run where?” he asked gently, holding her hands very tightly. “Do you honestly think they would have let you go? If I know nothing else about Sam Ballantine, I know he is a bastard who keeps his promises—and his threats."
“Lori,” Deborah sighed miserably. “My Lori! What will happen to her now?”
“Absolutely nothing will happen to Lori...or to you. You have my word on that,” Adrian said firmly. “We will find a way out of this. I am not sure just how, yet, but we will."
“I...I want to believe you, Adrian, but—”
“Then go and wash those tears away. If I am not mistaken, that sounds like a baby crying.”
“Lori,” she gasped and glanced at the door to the adjoining room. “Oh dear, I have forgotten all about her. I was so worried about everything else. She is probably starving.”
“Then you had better go to her,” Adrian said and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. “And stop worrying. Rory may be a bit of a mule, but he has a good brain on his shoulders and together we should be able to think of some way to untangle this mess."
She gave each of them a tremulous smile before wiping her cheeks and walking to the door at the far side of the room. The sound of wailing came briefly louder, then faded again as the door closed.
Adrian turned and stared out the window, and after a moment, slammed his hand into the wall. “Who the hell does he think he is, playing God with people’s lives?”
Rory refilled both their glasses and offered a derisive toast. “To Samuel Ballantine. To wishing I had the backbone to tell him precisely what I think of him at this minute. And, alas, to recognizing that look in your eye even after a year’s absence. I am sorry to see it. It would have been good to have you stay around for a while.”
“Good for who? And for God’s sake, stay sober. I was not joking when I said I needed your brains.”
Rory looked down into his glass and after a moment, nodded and set it aside. “Deborah had a good question. Where would Courtney have gone? Does she know anyone in Norfolk?”
“It would curl your hair to know who she knows. But if I had to guess, the first thing she will do is try to find a barrister."
Rory arched an eyebrow. “So quickly?”
Adrian shook his head. “A particular barrister, and not for the reason you think. But she has to find him before she does anything else—what the devil was his name—and if she does find him, her hope is that he will lead her to her father."
"Her father is in Norfolk?"
"She believes he is. I believe he is dead. I also believe, at the very least, she will run straight into a trap, and at the worst, she will end up dead."
“Dead? Adrian, you are not making any sense.”
“It is a long story. And there are just too many pieces missing for my liking."
Rory's expression turned grim. "Imagine how I feel, having none of the pieces at all."
Adrian sighed. "I had her convinced we could see this thing through together, that I would help her all I could, that she could trust me and rely on me. And now this...with Deborah. If only she had just stayed with me and waited until I could explain...until I had an explanation myself! God only knows which direction her mind has taken her. She will be hurt and angry—no, not angry...furious! She will think back on all the questions I asked and she will assign all the wrong reasons for my asking them. She will suspect I was just using her to get to Duncan Farrow."
"Duncan Farrow? The infamous Barbary pirate?"
"Duncan Farrow. Her father."
Rory pursed his lips and whistled softly. "I begin to see. Actually, no I do not, but for the sake of argument, we shall say I do. In any case, think logically. How far could she get in a strange city all alone?”
Adrian snorted. "Suffice it to say, if Courtney Farrow was alone in a roomful of the worst criminals Norfolk could offer, I would feel sorry for the criminals.”
Rory’s eyes narrowed. “Your taste in women always was intriguing. Nevertheless, you cannot go running off half-cocked without even any idea of where to begin looking!”
“I can start with the barrister.”
“Whose name you cannot remember?”
“I will find him if I have to tear apart every office in the city.”
“On Sunday? The shops and offices are all closed, remember. No matter how urgent your business is, you will have to wait until tomorrow, and so will she. Look, it is already growing dark outside. No one is going hunting for anyone tonight. Not you, not her.”
“Well, I am not going to bloody well sit here and do nothing,” Adrian snarled.
“No, you are not. You are going to start at the beginning and tell me everything, starting with that absurd court-martial no one seems to know anything about, and no one—including S.B. himself, despite the thickness of the billfold he waved around—could get anyone to talk about.”
Adrian stared out over the growing dusk.
Courtney, dammit, where are you?
When no answer was forthcoming, he turned and started talking.
~~
Dickie Little had been the last person Courtney had expected to see on the streets of Norfolk. He had run straight into her arms and hugged her so tightly she saw stars cartwheeling across her eyes. He talked so fast, so breathlessly, that she had to make him repeat what he was saying twice, but in the end, she had followed him down several more twisting, narrow streets and into a tavern that could, at best, be called squalid. Once there, he led her up the rickety wooden staircase to a back room, where he ushered her quickly inside then closed the door behind them.
Matthew Rutger lay sprawled on the bed, his arms askew, his head lolled to one side, his mouth gaping and dribbling spittle into a darkly wet spot on the bed linens. At first she thought he was horribly ill, but as she moved closer, she caught the odor of sweat and cheap whiskey and other things that made her wrinkle up her nose in distaste.
“Good God, what happened?” she asked, gagging on the smells as she crossed to the window to throw the shutters wide.
“He has been like this near ten days now, Miss. Won’t stop. Won’t talk. Won’t get out of bed, not even to piss.”
“I can see that, but why?”
“Dunno, Miss. He only talks to me when he wants more whiskey.”
“Yes, well, that stops here and now,” Courtney said firmly and unfastened her cloak. Her nose wrinkled again as she approached the bed and saw the chamber pot full almost to overflowing. Her mouth went suddenly dry and her stomach threatened to rush up into her throat.“Dickie—”
“Aye, Miss,” he said quickly and scampered to pick up the disgusting container. He carried it gingerly to the door and glanced back at the sound of his name.
“Coffee,” she managed to gasp over the dizzying wave of nausea. “Strong and hot. And order a bath, if they have such a thing here.”
“Aye, Miss.” He looked at the doctor. “Will he be all right?”
“If we can survive this, he damned well can,” she declared, kicking at the pile of soiled linens at her feet. She stood over Matthew long enough to assure herself he was, indeed, still breathing; then she set about removing his stained shirt, breeches, and stockings. By the time Dickie had returned she had found a reasonably clean blanket to cover him with and had rolled his clothes into a bundle.
“See if the hotel has a washer-woman. If not, throw these things away, and we will buy him new ones. Is the bath coming?”
“Aye, Miss." Dickie's dark eyes were as round as saucers. "Clerk said it would cost a whole five cents!�
��
“Well worth it. Now help me sit him up so we can get some coffee into him. Did you ask for it strong?”
“Smells strong,” he said, grimacing as he poured a cup of black liquid sediment into a cup.
“Doctor Rutger? Doctor Rutger? Matthew, can you hear me?”
“Eh?” Matt’s head wobbled as he tried to straighten it, his neck seeming to lack enough strength to hold it upright. “Doan blame you. Never blamed you.”
Courtney bit her lip and frowned as Matt’s head swung in a drunken semicircle across his chest. He kept babbling under his breath, strings of drool glistening off his lower lip.
“Matthew? It is me, Courtney. Will you drink this for me? It is coffee. It will make you feel better.”
“Doan wanna feel bedder. Doan wanna feel nuthin'.”
He started to roll backward, to slide out of Dickie’s grasp, and Courtney leaned across to catch him. His head was brought sharply up against her bosom, jarring the bleary hazel eyes open.
“Nice,” he muttered into her left breast.
“Doctor Rutger!” she cried impatiently. "It is me, Courtney. Court! Can you hear me?”
“Doan need to shout,” he grumbled, and the red-veined eyeballs rolled upward. “Court? Court is that you?”
“Yes, Matthew, it is me. What in God's name have you done to yourself?”
“Been drinkin’,” he confessed thickly.
“I guessed that much, but why? Why have you been drinking?”
“Courtney?” His hand swam up and groped around her arm. “Why did she do it? Why did she marry him? She doan love him. She loves me. I know she loves me.”
Courtney shook her head helplessly. “I am sorry, Matthew. I am sorry if she did not wait for you.”
“I doan blame him. She is beautiful...beautiful. Like my sister, Lori. She was beautiful too. She died when she was jus’ a li’l girl. Li’l Lori...” His head sagged to a more comfortable resting place on her breast. “I jus' wanna drink, tha’s all. Jus' drink an' sleep. Jus' want my Deborah back.”
“Deborah?” Courtney straightened slightly, causing his head to tilt forward more as she tried to look at his face.
“Beautiful,” he sighed. “Beautiful. Shoulda known she din’t mean it. Shoulda known she only used me to make him jealous.”
“Make who jealous, Matthew?” she asked carefully.
“Who?” He looked up and there were tears in his eyes. “My fren'. My best fren'. The only man I could never say anything to, an' now it is too late."
“Adrian?” Courtney asked in a whisper. “You are in love with Adrian’s Deborah?”
“She was my Deborah first,” he said angrily, leaning back and smacking himself in the chest with a fist. “Mine. An' we were gonna tell him...we were gonna tell al-l-l-l-l of 'em, but.....”
Courtney saw his mouth move soundlessly. Anguish filled his eyes and his body trembled with the same sense of hopelessness she had felt while running away from the dock. What a dreadful, cruel thing love was. How it twisted people’s lives and destroyed them!
“Stay with me,” he pleaded and his arms went around her wait. “Doan leave me...doan...please.”
“I will not leave you,” she whispered and combed her fingers through the tangled brown hair as he pressed his face into her bosom. Her thoughts were abruptly diverted by a faint knock on the door, and she met Dickie’s eyes with a nod. “That will be the bath. Have them set it near the fire, so he stays warm."
Dickie went to the door and opened it a cautious crack. The impact of a fist slamming the door back sent the small boy spinning across the floor. Courtney’s arms were hindered by Matthew’s deadweight, and she could not move fast enough to free the dirk strapped to her thigh. By the time she shoved him aside, and her hands were in motion, the intruder was already looming over her, his gun cocked and levelled at Matthew’s head.
Chapter Thirty
Adrian lit a cigar and stood at the open window. He had an overview of the tantalizing shimmer of the harbor from the hotel room. He gazed at the ships riding at anchor, wishing he had never come to Norfolk, wishing he and Courtney had sailed on past, letting the wind take them to somewhere they could make a fresh start.
Where was she? What was she doing? Had she found a decent place to spend the night? Was she alone? Frightened? As brave and resourceful as she was, he knew she had her limits. To be thrust out on her own, in a strange city, with strange people, customs, styles, and little or no money...believing the man she had trusted with her heart and her soul had betrayed her...even the strongest of women would have cause to fear every shadow.
He had sent a messenger to the docks late the previous night to inquire if anyone had claimed her luggage. If no one had, the orders were to remain until someone did, to follow that someone and learn the final destination of the cases. He was not underestimating Courtney’s intelligence. She would anticipate just such a move on his part and would arrange for the bags to take a twisted, complicated route to wherever she was staying. A thousand-dollar bonus would ensure Adrian’s man kept a sharp eye. If someone claimed those cases, he wanted to know where they were taken.
If someone claimed the cases. She could always choose to abandon the contents and revert to breeches and a shirt—cheap and easy to purchase anywhere. She was wearing her locket, the only possession she seemed to treasure.
Adrian cursed and exhaled a cloud of smoke. He rubbed the scar on his forearm absently, kneading the muscles and flexing his hand into a fist over and over again. He had regained almost full use of the hand and arm, thanks to Matt’s expertise and Courtney’s insistence that he exercise it to the point of agony. The same was true of the wound on his thigh. She had kept him to a strict regimen of exercise to rebuild the damaged muscles, without which it might have taken months for the recovery. She knew a great deal about fighting, about survival. He shuddered to think where those instincts might lead her.
Adrian’s eyes were on the sunrise, his thoughts on Courtney, and he did not hear the faint rustle of silk behind him until he caught the flash of a pale yellow gown out of the corner of his eye. Deborah had spent as restless a night as he and Rory; they had heard sounds of her pacing until the small hours of the morning. She looked no worse for wear in the strengthening sunlight; her eyes were like two clear chips of the sky. Her hair, brushed free from its combs and pins, cascaded down her back in a silvery-soft waterfall.
She was beautiful. She would have made a beautiful wife and mother, and had those not been his only prerequisites a year ago? A home, a family, a wife...anything to keep the peace and placate the family. But that was before Courtney had swept into his life. He had not meant to fall in love with her—good God, who would have expected it of the stolid, arrogant Adrian Raefer Ballantine? In love he was, however, and he would go to any lengths to win her back. Any lengths.
“Did you sleep at all?” Deborah asked quietly, glancing at the empty bottles on the sideboard.
“Some,” he lied. “You?”
“Not much.”
“You are worried about Matt?"
Deborah’s startled blue eyes looked up at him. “You knew?”
“I have had a little time to think things through. I confess, though, I did not remember until a while ago that he had a sister named Lori. A twin. She died when they were eleven or twelve?”
“Eleven. He said he always felt as if a part of himself was missing afterwards.”
“Maybe you can give it back to him.”
Deborah bowed her lovely head. “He has not even tried to see me. The Carolina has been in port almost two weeks and he did not even call to pay his respects. Or to question the marriage. Or to demand an explanation. I expected—prayed for at least that much. Oh Lord, look at me: I am crying again. I did not think I had any tears left.”
Adrian smiled gently and slipped an arm around her shoulders. She went willingly into the comfort of his embrace and laid her wet cheek against his shirt. “What will we do, Adrian?”
Deborah swallowed hard and looked up at him, suddenly breathless. “What about your father? And mine?”
“We will invite them to the weddings, and leave it to them if they choose to come or not."
"Our marriage—"
"Will be annulled without any difficulty at all. The scandal it causes may be another matter, however."
“Matt’s home is in Pennsylvania," she said, her face lighting up with a soft, hopeful smile. "I can make new friends there.”
“And your family?”
"I owe them no loyalty. They gave me none when I needed them the most.”
“Then all we have to do is find the barrister who provided the documents supporting our ‘elopement.’ Do you happen to remember his name? I know Edward Harris deals with most of our family's business matters."
“No.” She frowned. “It definitely was not a name I was familiar with. Polder? Pruder?”
“Prendergast!”
“No. No, nothing quite so—" She stopped and tipped her head. "Why are you looking at me like that? Have I said something funny?”
Adrian was grinning. “Not funny, just damned timely. I have been wracking my memory all night trying to think of Prendergast’s name.”
“The barrister Courtney will try to contact?" Deborah blushed and raised a hand to her lips. “I am sorry. I did not eavesdrop on purpose. I was wide awake and I could hear you and Rory plainly through the door.”
Adrian brushed aside the apology. “No matter. In fact, I am glad you know. The important thing now is, you made me think of the name.”
“Penderton.”
“What?”
“Penderton. The name of the barrister who 'married' us."
Adrian's grin broadened. “I shall be only too happy to pay both illustrious gentlemen a visit today.”
Wind and the Sea Page 47
