When the coach turned onto the narrow lane that led to the chapel at Saelmere Park, Leland exhaled, rolled his shoulders, and tugged at his cravat. In the distance, he recognized the Ferrers rig, with the earl’s coat of arms emblazoned on the door. It appeared his society miss intended to uphold her end of the bargain, not that he doubted her.
Upon arrival, a couple of powdered-wig-wearing footmen leaped into action, and Leland longed for the simpler life, where he opened his own doors. Still, he played the game, with his eye on the prize, as he entered the small stone structure.
Two rows of wooden pews lined either side of the chapel, and light shone through the lone stained-glass window above the altar. For a minute, he half-expected lightning to strike him dead, on the spot, given his plans for Lady Sophia, and he suspected fate possessed a wicked sense of humor.
As he progressed down the aisle, he glimpsed his bride, mingling with the same cackling hens who mocked her, and he halted in his tracks.
Gowned in some lavender confection, all she lacked was a halo. When she spotted him, panic flashed in her brown eyes, and he almost expected her to flee. Instead, she stiffened her spine and smiled, which did not fool him for a second.
“Having second thoughts, my dear?” Before she could withdraw, he took her hand in his and pressed a chaste kiss to her gloved knuckles. “Have you a saddled horse prepared, to execute a swift escape?”
“Fie on you, sir, as I gave you my word, and I shall honor it.” She seemed genuinely crestfallen by his comment, as she pouted. “Do you think so little of me?”
“I spoke in jest, Sophia.” Leland tried but failed to shrug off his clumsy comment. “If we are to succeed in our union, you must learn to appreciate my sense of humor.”
“Is that what you call it?” When she inclined her head, he fixated on a brown curl, which peeked from beneath her lace-trimmed bonnet. Soon, he would run his fingers through her long locks. Splay her thick tresses across his pillow. Bury his face between her thighs. “Are you listening to me?”
He snapped to attention. “Of course.”
“Then what did I just say?” She arched a brow.
“What does it matter?” The elderly vicar neared, and Leland ignored his racing heart. Although he teased Sophia, he actually considered making a run for the exit. Then again, he refused to leave Derbyshire without her. “It appears we are ready to begin the ceremony.” He offered his escort. “Shall we?”
“Indeed.” Holding high her adorable chin, which he could not wait to nibble, she settled her hand in the crook of his elbow. “As I am not afraid.”
“If that is your story, you stick with it, Lady Sophia.” Her eyes flared, and he savored her fiery spirit. “Now, let us take our vows, break our fast, and make for the coast, as I mean to cast off before the sun sets.”
“Must we leave today?” As they approached the altar, she tripped, and he caught her. “My apologies.”
“None necessary.” Just that brief touch was enough to send a shudder of awareness rippling through him, and her subtle gasp almost upended his defenses. If he managed to get her to the ship before seizing her bride’s prize, it would be no small feat. “And we must depart, at once, for Port Royal, because I need to pick up a load of sugar cane and deliver it to the refinery in Boston. Remember, you are marrying a man who earns his living.”
“How could I forget, when you have gone out of your way to prove you are no noble?” she stated, as she assumed her position and nodded to the vicar. “But I would have loved to spend our wedding night in my home, as I am nervous.”
“How interesting.” He adjusted his coat and glanced at the vicar. “So am I.”
“If we are ready, let us begin.” Vicar Taylor, who seemed suspicious of Leland the first time they met, and rightfully so, stared down his nose, as he held high the Book of Common Prayer. “Dearly beloved family, friends, and distinguished guests, we have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. Therefore, marriage is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purposes for which it was instituted by God.”
“I fear I may swoon.” Sophia swayed.
“It will be all right.” He offered his escort, and she leaned against him. “I promise, I will not hurt you.”
With Barrington at Leland’s right, and Wilhelmine perched to Sophia’s left, the unlikeliest couple in England prepared to take the sacrament that would forever bind them.
“Into this holy union Leland Kendrick Stryker and Lady Sophia Grace now come to be joined.” Vicar Taylor peered at Leland and arched a brow. “If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now or else forever hold your peace.”
For some reason he could not explain, he held his breath.
“Lady Sophia, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage?” The vicar narrowed his stare. “Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”
“I will.” Although Sophia answered in a calm, clear voice, she dug her fingers into Leland’s arm, and he exhaled.
Thus it was his turn, as he made the same vows, and somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he committed the words to memory. Following the vicar’s last prompt, Leland took her hand in his and met her gaze. “From this day forward you shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter, and my arms will be your home.”
The plea, simple in meaning, presented a challenge far more arresting than he realized, because his word was his bond. It defined him inasmuch as his name instilled fear at a mere mention, because Leland always honored his oaths.
And one way or another, he would fulfill his pledge to Sophia.
The vicar faced the attendees. “Will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two persons in their marriage?”
“We will,” the audience responded, in unison, although he suspected Miss Barty and Miss Oswald privately expressed sentiments to the contrary, given their incessant whispers and matching frowns.
“Grant that all married persons who have witnessed these vows may find their lives strengthened and their loyalties confirmed.” Doffing his spectacles, Vicar Taylor closed his book. “And now I pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Stryker, you may kiss your bride.”
A hush fell on the little chapel, as he faced his bride.
Aware of nothing save her oh-so-luscious lips, which he intended to enjoy, at length, all the way to Port Royal, he paused to savor what was now his, by law. As he reached for her, fear flashed in her delicate countenance, and he tempered his movement. With care, as he would approach an unbroken mare, he bent his head and kissed her.
After a dash down the aisle, they ran outside, where the earl’s new brougham, festooned with fresh flowers, waited. A footman handed Sophia into the rig, and Leland almost crushed her, as she sat in the middle of the squabs. Blushing, she scooted to one end, and he eased beside her.
“So it is done.” She shifted and tried to increase the distance between them, but he kept her firmly anchored. “You are my husband.”
“Afraid?” He chuckled.
“Terrified.” She jumped as he reached for her, and he imagined she would lead him on a merry chase in his cabin, if he were lucky.
“You are wise to be wary, my dear.” He twined his fingers in hers. “But make no mistake, as you are mine.”
With that, he swooped and claimed a proper kiss.
~
Sunlight filtered through scattered clouds, which signaled an approaching storm, as though the world wept with her, as Sophia stood on the graveled drive before her home. On the entrance steps, Wilhelmine and Gabriel held hands and cried, as she prepared to depart Saelmere Park, for places unknown.
A series of cherished vignettes played the story of her life before her
, and she recalled countless happy memories of her childhood. But those carefree days had long since passed, and it was time to embark on the next adventure. She could only pray she made the right decision.
“You will be good and mind Papa.” Sophia hugged her little sister, knowing not when they would ever again meet. “And you will remember to say your prayers, stand tall when you face our friends, and never settle for less than you are owed, when it comes to your lifelong mate and love.”
“But you will be here, will you not?” Wilhelmine sniffed and shuffled her feet. “You will not be gone forever.”
“Darling, I will try to come home, but my husband sails for distant shores, and it is my duty to serve him.” In that instant, Sophia’s heart sank, as she clutched Gabriel’s hand, because she preferred not to lie to her siblings. “Both of you must promise to be strong, and take care of each other.” To Gabriel, she said, “You must guard Papa, in my stead, and you must monitor his spending, else this is all for naught.”
“I promise.” Gabriel wiped a stray tear, and she ached to console him, but he had to learn to rely on himself, as she would no longer be there to comfort him. “And you need not worry, because I will protect Wilhelmine.”
“You must protect each other.” After a final hug, Sophia retreated. There was so much she wanted to say to her brother and sister, but nothing could temper the pain of their separation, given they had spent their lives together. “Know that I love you, and there will never be a day when I do not think of you.”
Holding high her head, she walked to the traveling coach that would take her from everything reassuring and familiar. Looming in the shadow of the rig, Leland studied her, as he spoke to her father.
“Ready?” he inquired, in a soft voice.
“I suppose.” She turned to her father. “Papa, I—”
“Do not say it.” He rubbed the back of his neck and peered at Leland. “You will take care of her.”
“Of course.” Her husband nodded. “And I assure you she will want for nothing.”
In silence, Papa suddenly reached for her, and he held her tight in his embrace. Just as quick, he set her at arm’s length. For a moment, he stared at her, and tears welled in his eyes. Then, without so much as a backward glance, he walked toward the house, skipped up the entrance stairs, and crossed the threshold.
For a moment, she wanted to run. To flee her fate, yet she took the sacrament and vowed to honor Leland, so she resisted not when he handed her into the coach. Given his past predilections, she scooted to the opposite end of the squabs, and he did not disappoint her, as he positioned himself at her side.
“I noticed you brought only a single trunk.” With a scowl, he loosened and them removed his cravat. After unbuttoning the collar of his shirt, he yanked the leather tong from his black hair. “At last, I can rid myself of this useless accessory that I am convinced is nothing but a means of torture.”
“As I already explained, I sold most of my belongings to satisfy my father’s creditors.” The equipage lurched and gained speed, and she bit her lip to stifle a sob of despair, as something inside her fractured when they rounded the drive and passed through the gates. “Will I ever see Saelmere Park again?”
The startling change in his appearance, the tanned flesh revealed by the absent neck cloth, gave her pause and piqued her suspicions, as he no longer fit the image of a proper gentleman. It was not the first time she wondered what manner of man she married.
“Sophia, I am not an ogre, and I have no intention of keeping you from your loved ones.” Raking his fingers through his ebony locks, he sighed. “I expect we will meet your family either here or in London, at some point in the future, but do not ask me to fix a date, because I cannot, as of this moment.”
“And what of your relations?” Nagging doubts plagued her, and she hugged herself. “Do you plan to introduce me to them?”
“No, because I know not where they live, and I do not care to know them.” That gave her pause for reflection and explained why he never mentioned his kin. Trepidation grew in direct proportion to his ever-increasing agitation, as he swore. “But you will meet those I consider my closest friends, and I would argue they are family, as such connections are not defined by blood, alone.”
Dare she ask? “And that would be—who?”
“Jean Marc and his wife Madalene, as well as Cager and Francie.” Yawning, Leland stretched. “Before that, you will meet my mates aboard the Cry Havoc, and I wager they are anxious to get a look at you.”
“The Cry Havoc?” She blinked, and she could only pray the unusual name was not indicative of her life with the mysterious merchantman. “That is what you call your ship?”
“What did you expect?” In light of his answering scowl, she laughed. “Something maudlin?”
“Actually, I supposed you would employ something elegant for a lady of the seas.” While it was perfectly clear he did not appreciate her questions, Sophia yearned to know more about her spouse. “Is that not correct? Do you not refer to your vessel as a lady?”
“I do, and just like all females, she performs best when she is well handled.” To her shock, he draped an arm about her shoulders and she tried not to panic. Would he exercise his husbandly rights in the coach? “Believe me, I intend to extend the same consideration to you, when we consummate our vows.”
“Will we stop at an inn?” As she peered out the window, she summoned calm and reminded herself that she was his wife, and she owed him obeisance and conjugal duty, without complaint. The former she could manage, given she had been born into a life of submission, but the latter terrified her, as she knew not what to anticipate.
“No.” In light of his response, which indicated a reprieve, however brief, she sighed in relief. “We drive straight for Liverpool, where I plan to cast off as soon as we arrive.” Leland eased to the corner, stretched out his long legs, reclined, folded his arms, and closed his eyes. “Then I will take you below, to my cabin, where I will seize your bride’s prize, and I plan to dock in your honey harbor for the better part of a fortnight, so you should get some rest, as I can promise you little in the foreseeable future.”
In that instant, Sophia pondered jumping from the moving equipage.
For the next several hours, she mulled her husband’s less-than-elegant declaration, and the singular inevitable event, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop fidgeting and could not silence the troubling thoughts that swirled in her mind, as his startling proclamation echoed in her ears.
Tracking the sun’s path in the sky, she sighed and yielded, as fitful sleep beckoned.
THE MAROONER
CHAPTER FOUR
The sun rested well below the yardarm, as Leland studied his sleeping wife, so graceful in repose that he hated to wake her. For a moment, he admired the gentle lines of her face and her pert little nose, but it was her lush lips, which contrasted with her pale skin, that captivated him. Just as the fancy rig came to a halt near the docks, they struck a rut, a violent jostle rocked the coach, and she opened her eyes.
“Sophia, we have arrived in Liverpool.” He gave her a gentle nudge. “Gather your things, and let us depart, as we have no time to waste.”
“Yes, my lord.” She blinked and sat upright. “I mean—Leland.”
“I like, ‘my lord,’ too, although you should not expect me to dress the part.” Yes, his was a pathetic attempt at humor, but he had to do something to alleviate her fears, as evidenced by her trembling fingers and uncharacteristic, clumsy movements. As would a gentleman, he descended to the docks, turned to hand her down, and signaled his men. “Now, let us board the jolly boat, which will carry us to the ship.”
“Goodness, there are so many vessels.” Shaking out her skirts, she glanced from left to right. “Which one is yours?”
“The frigate.” Holding her wrist, he steadied her when stepped into the small craft.
“And I am supposed to know what that means?” She scooted across the bench. “C
ould you be more specific for those of us unfamiliar with nautical terms?”
“Ah, of course.” To Leland’s irritation, his tars seemed far too interested in Sophia. He would have to assert his authority, where she was concerned, if he wanted to keep her safe during their voyage to Port Royal. “See the beauty with the mermaid figurehead on the prow?” Leaning close, he whispered, “The one with the exposed breasts.”
“Oh.” With an expression of shock, she tensed at his side and clutched her throat. “It is rather provocative.”
“I beg to differ.” He glanced at his crew and nodded, and they picked up the oars. “She suits the Cry Havoc, but I think I may change her hair color.”
“Why?” So innocent, he doubted it occurred to her what he planned for the decoration. “Do you not like it?”
“Well, I used to enjoy the blonde locks.” With his palm, he skimmed the curve of her waist and then cupped her bottom, and she jumped. “But now I prefer chestnut brown, with eyes to match, and lips red as a pomegranate. And I shall have the nipples repainted, as the sun faded the coloring, but I require inspiration for that alteration.”
In that instant, she met his gaze, and he spied a more than a hint of panic.
“I never thought to ask prior to our wedding, but do you maintain a residence in America?” Her chin quivered as she spoke, but her nervous state did nothing to temper his desire, which grew in direct proportion to his rapidly nearing ship. “Or do you live elsewhere?”
“The Cry Havoc is my home.” And with each slice of the water, Leland counted down the minutes until he consummated his vows. “Now, it is yours, too.”
“And we will spend most of our days at sea?” She craned her neck and narrowed her stare. “Will we never retire to some place ashore?”
“Sophia, once again I must remind you that you married a working man.” Soon. Very soon, he would indulge in his husbandly rights, which was his primary reason—his only reason for taking a wife, when they adjourned to his cabin, because, heaven help him, he ached for her, and his new bunk was so close. “But we can take a room at an inn, should you wish to enjoy the sites and sounds of the city, and we will stay with Jean Marc and Madalene, when we venture to Boston.”
The Marooner Page 4
