“Then you’ll do it?”
Think, think, think! Are you leaping out of the frying pan into the fire?
She would not have to give up her child.
The babe would not be a bastard.
She would not have to live in the country, constantly striving to keep up the façade of a grieving widow.
She would not be humiliated by returning, bastard in hand, to the small village where she grew up.
She would still have her friends—
“Do you have a home, Captain? One on land, that is?”
His rugged face softened to something less than granite. “No, I don’t. House-hunting must be second only to the wedding.”
“Somewhere near London?”
“I spend so little time in port that living several days’ journey into the country is not practical. Unless, of course,” he added hastily, “there is some place you particularly like, near your family, perhaps?”
Oh, dear Lord, not back to Kent! Holly almost laughed out loud. “No, Captain, my friends are in London. I am quite content to remain here.”
“Then we are agreed?”
Somehow her face was buried in her hands, her body shaking from head to toe. She was so very tempted to accept a man whose very existence she had not known about fifteen minutes earlier. A man chosen by Nick Black, the most notorious man in London.
She had to be insane.
A large warm hand fastened itself around her arm. Gently. “Miss Hammond? Holly?” Oh, Gawd! He was kneeling at her feet, searching her face with those incredible blue eyes. “I am well content with this bargain. Please let me make it work for you too.”
Devil a bit, the man was too good to be true.
And then, finally, the truth of it sank in. She was indeed a graduate of the Aphrodite Academy, once one of the most elegant and best-trained courtesans in the realm. She was supposed to sell her services to the man with the most attractive offer. Even if, as in this case, the offer was a bit roundabout. Captain—what was his name?—was getting a ship, she was getting a husband, and in return she would provide the exemplary services for which she had been so well trained. Truth was, the captain had no idea what a prize he was getting.
Or did he?
There could be little naivety left in a ship’s captain who had traveled the world. It was quite possible he was capable of seeing past her rounded belly and thinking of the future . . .
He was waiting, this great hulk of a man on his knees, his penetrating eyes shifting inexorably from gentle query to command mode . . .
Holly lifted her head, letting her fingers fall into her lap, as the captain loosed his grip on her arm. “I must tell you,” she said, “that I think you are mad. But I find I am not above taking advantage of your mental lapse. So, yes, I will marry you.”
A grin swept his face, changing him into a person she longed to know better. And then he was on his feet, his face once again solemn. “I shall make the arrangements immediately. As soon as tomorrow, I think. Black has already procured the special license.”
Of course he had. How Cecy had the nerve to actually marry that man . . .
The captain leaned over, pressed a swift kiss to her forehead, and then he was gone, leaving Holly to wonder if he’d been nothing more than a dream, conjured out of despair.
Frantically, she scrambled in her pocket, looking for the letter. Maybe she’d dreamed that too. But it was there, Nick Black’s writing as bold as ever. Captain Royce Kincade. Royce. She savored the name. Yes, he’d actually been here. Made her an offer. Whatever was to come, for the moment she and the babe were saved. And if he never did another good deed in his entire life, she would honor Royce Kincade for this moment. She would, Holly vowed, be the best wife any man ever had.
She’d even learn to cook.
Chapter 4
Princes Street, London
Nick Black, naked, replete, and vulnerable as no one but Cecilia Lily had ever seen, collapsed into her softness, allowing himself a few moments to soak in the bone-deep pleasure that was so much more than spilling his seed inside her. How, among all the women he worked so hard to ignore, had he found her? That broken heap, partially obscured by fog, crumpled at the foot of his brother’s stairs.
He’d fought the attraction tooth and nail, but he’d known almost from the first moment that she was the woman for him. And now . . .
With a murmured apology for indulging himself too long, naked flesh to naked flesh, Nick rolled off, sprawling beside his soon-to-be-wife, one hand falling over her belly so not all contact was lost. Since even the great Nick Black could have moments when his brain was not fully engaged, his words seemed to pop out of nowhere, startling them both. “What would you think of a double wedding? You and Holly brides at the same time?”
Silence. A rustle of bedcoverings, movement rippling the mattress. “Holly a bride?” Cecy whispered. “Have you run mad?”
The happy haze fogging Nick’s brain cleared on the instant. Fiery Hell! That’s not how he planned to break the news. Not at all. He fixed his eyes on the dark canopy above their heads and braced for the storm to come. “I planned to tell you when I came in, but you looked so . . . enticing”—yes, that was the right word—“you stole every thought from my head but you.”
“Oh, well done, Nicholas. You’re more slippery than an eel, but you won’t ignore my questions this time. What have you done?”
“I have arranged a wedding present I thought would please you.”
“Go on.” Although Cecy’s voice was steady, it hinted of grave reservations.
“Holly has had an offer of marriage, and she’s accepted.”
Cecy sat up abruptly, glaring down at him with such intensity that even the bedchamber’s dim light could not hide her flare of shock well laced with anger. “Tell me this instant. Tell me everything!”
Thornhill Manor
As she read the note hand-delivered by one of Nick Black’s minions, Juliana Rivenhall’s head spun, her legs gave way. She barely managed to sink down onto her blue and green brocade sofa instead of onto the Aubusson carpet.
The babe, she was not to have the babe.
She had not thought it mattered so much. Not until now, when she read Cecilia’s note and knew all was lost. The loss was so great, no tears came. She simply sat, the note crumpled in her hand, and stared across the room, out the windows toward the expanse of lawn that led down to the river. No matter that Thornhill currently housed eight students in the Academy, plus teachers and a full complement of staff, she was alone. A widow with no child of her own. And her only prospect of ever producing one, a man she had sworn never to allow back into her life.
A man with whom she had sinned. Grievously.
A shiver rippled through her as she recognized the irony. Lady R, the Dragon Lady, headmistress of an academy that taught sexual skills, dared name ménage à trois a sin?
It hadn’t felt like sin at the time. And Geoffrey had been so pleased. It was only when she looked back on it, after Geoffrey was gone, that she saw sin in enjoying Darius more than her sexually adventurous husband who had urged her make love as a trio. Sin in wishing Darius were her husband, and sole lover, even before one of Geoff’s amorous adventures ended in a duel to the death.
So now Darius Wolfe still managed her money but not her life. And the only way she could keep up the barrier she had imposed was to see him as little as possible. Yet, like the proverbial bad penny, he seemed to turn up at the most inopportune moments. Like now.
“Good God, Jewel, your protégé’s found a husband. I thought I’d find you in alt.”
He’d used the underground passage again, miserable man. She ought to have it boarded up.
“Amazing man, Nick Black,” Darius continued. “He seems absolutely determined to redeem himself with good works; yet on the other hand, rumors persist about his hand remaining firmly fixed on things that go bump in the night.” As had become Darius’s custom in recent years, he seated himself on the far
end of the sofa. She refused to look at him.
“Darius . . . have you ever had a child?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A child, Darius. Have you ever fathered one?” Inwardly, Juliana winced as she heard the hint of headmistress in her tone.
“Not to my knowledge. My father taught me to be careful, and I heeded his advice.”
“We were not always careful.” She peeped at him and saw him acknowledge the thrust.
“It would have been . . . awkward to watch you and Geoff raise a child of mine. I admit it. So perhaps ’tis best it never happened.”
“Did you never feel any guilt?”
“At first. Before I was swept up in it all. Before it became part of our lives.”
“Routine.”
“Never!”
Darius noted his Jewel’s bleak face, the slumped shoulders, the hands clutched so tightly in her lap. She was suffering. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. But if he did, she’d cast him out with far less sympathy than she would show the lowliest beggar on the streets. “Jewel? If you want a child, you can still manage the thing yourself.”
“It’s been a long time since the immaculate conception.”
“And a long time since you were a virgin.”
“Darius!”
“You asked for that.”
Good God, his Jewel wanted a child. Was this, at long last, the lever he needed to get back in her bed? “I’m here, Jewel, ready and waiting. For far too long. Look at me! Give up this ridiculous martyrdom and marry me. If we can’t manage the thing, London is full of children in need of a home.”
“Please leave.”
It was as if she hadn’t heard him. Nor that he hadn’t offered marriage a dozen times in the last four years. Then again, being married to Geoff couldn’t have been easy. And Darius Wolfe would always be a reminder of the days when the Baron Rivenhall indulged in every form of sexual congress, including those considered deviant. Thank God he’d never been violent with Jewel or Darius would have had to step in. And there would have gone his highly lucrative position as manager of the Rivenhall fortune.
Fear. Was that why he’d never protested Geoff’s proclivities, including Geoff steering him into his wife’s bed? Had he really been that shallow?
Geoff said Juliana welcomed it. But she hadn’t. She’d been appalled. And he should have walked away then and there.
But he hadn’t . . . and, gradually, things had changed. Oh, how they’d changed.
“Leave, Darius. Now!”
Darius stood, picked up his hat from the table where he’d dropped it, and strode out of the room. Back to the long dark tunnel that led to the river. Back through the long dark tunnel in his mind that seemed to have no end. Juliana Rivenhall and Darius Wolfe, forever headed down paths that never met.
Juliana, Cecilia, and Belle might have had little to say about Holly’s betrothal—the wedding was another matter entirely. The morning after Captain Kincade’s offer, the women seized control, dictating place, time, and garb with all the ruthless intensity of the most ambitious mama launching her precious only child. Nick Black sent a messenger to the Venturer, advising Royce Kincade it was best to give in and let the women have their way. The captain, in turn, contained his annoyance—there was no doubt Nick Black was absolute master of this situation—and penned a letter to his betrothed, informing her of the change of plans.
Cecilia and Belle, happily oblivious to the tensions plaguing either Captain Kincade or his prospective bride, met at the Bond Street establishment of their favorite modiste, Madame Francine. Where Cecilia informed Madame that she must create a wedding gown suitable for a bride eight-months with child. And have it ready in two days’ time. Fortunately Madame Francine was far too accustomed to the vagaries of her clients to allow so much as a wrinkle to crease her forehead.
“It’s your wedding too,” Belle felt compelled to point out as Cecy said not a word about herself.
“I’ve had my gown for weeks,” Cecy assured her. “It’s Holly who’s the problem.”
For a moment the dressmaker’s pencil paused on her drawing pad. She allowed a soft sigh to escape her lips. Was it not right here that poor Lady Ashford had been given such a vicious setdown less than a year earlier? These girls, they had endured much, and if the vivacious and outspoken Miss Hammond had found a man willing to marry her, then Francine could create a gown that would not fade into insignificance next to Cecilia Lily’s, which she had also designed.
Though not in two days.
“You do not mind sharing?” Juliana asked.
“When I’ll have the satisfaction of seeing Holly wed? No, indeed.” Cecy dropped her voice to a whisper. “And, truth be told, I think Nick feels rather like her proud papa. I even catch him smiling now and again.”
“And you think that’s not because of his own marriage?” Juliana asked, her amber eyes glowing with humor.
Cecy dropped her head, pink tingeing her cheeks. “Whatever has precipitated his smiles and both marriages, I am happy for it.”
“You and Nick Black.” Belle shook her head. “I must admit I never thought to see the day—”
“There,” the seamstress declared, holding up a sketch for the ladies to see.
“Oh yes,” Juliana said. “That will do nicely.”
“Holly will be so surprised,” Belle added.
“I wonder,” Cecy said, “if Captain Kincade has any idea what a lively bride he’s getting?”
Chapter 5
Boone Farm
Unable to sit still, Holly paced the length of her bedchamber. Doorway to dormer window and back again. The captain had said he might return with the vicar today. Today. And she with nothing to wear but faded hand-me-downs from years of Boone Farm residents, now long gone. Garments suitable for women with something to hide. A sob threatened to burble up, closing her throat. To think she’d once been the lively one, the most outspoken of Lady R’s three students. The one they all thought would never learn to speak the king’s English. The one who laughed at the other girls’ fears.
The more the fool, she.
The captain had changed his mind, she knew it. What red-blooded man would marry a pale, listless creature as big as a house.? With limp hair and hangdog expression? A woman with scarce a word to say for herself, but Yes, sir, thank you, sir. I’ll be forever beholden, sir. Down on my knees for the rest my life, you great hulking bastard . . .
So why was he doing it?
No ship was worth being tied to a whore and her child for the rest of his life.
Had Nick Black threatened him?
Holly stopped pacing. Hugging her shoulders, she rocked slowly back and forth, fighting to find some semblance of the Holly Hammond who graduated from the Aphrodite Academy. Just as all her problems were solved, it seemed her spirits had reached a new low.
“Holly, Holly! A letter come fer ya. Cost a pretty penny, it did. Never knew a man with enough to say that he took up that much paper.”
Holly gasped as the babe struck her a hard blow. Or was that just nerves roiling in her belly? She accepted the folded parchment, waved the girl away, and sank into her rocking chair, her mind blank, refusing to deal with the blow the letter must contain. Apologies. Excuses. Words to shatter the dream she had allowed to grow in the dead of night until it glittered like a ballroom chandelier sparkling with hundreds of candles. She was to have a stalwart husband who would raise her child as his own. A home . . . possibly, just possibly, something more. Someday, when the time was right.
And now . . .
She couldn’t look. This rejection would cut deep. It might be the final straw, the one that finished the breaking of Holly Hammond, once the liveliest minx in town, now nothing but a vessel for bringing a child into the world. After that, she would simply fade away . . .
The thickness of the carefully folded paper finally penetrated. She frowned at the handwriting—not Nick Black’s bold scrawl but letteri
ng smaller and more precise. The hand of a man accustomed to keeping records in a ship’s log? Yes, she’d been right. The letter must be from the captain, yet it seemed rather long for a simple, I’m sorry, goodbye.
Devil a bit, she hadn’t changed that much. If she’d been a coward, she never would have left home. Holly broke the seal and unfolded the paper. Her eyes grew wide as she read the precisely outlined plans for the wedding. Her wedding. And Cecy’s? Merciful heavens! The ceremony was to be at Boone Farm at three in the afternoon, two days hence. Boone Farm was chosen, the captain explained, because no one wished to see her endure the ordeal of a coach trip to London and back, for, naturally, it was understood she would wish to remain at Boone Farm until after the child was born.
Holly closed her eyes, gripping the arms of the chair, the letter crumpled in her hand. Such thoughtfulness when she’d been certain he’d abandoned her. As Charles had.
After carefully smoothing out the thick, cream-colored paper, Holly continued to read:
Unfortunately, Venturer and I will be off on our next voyage to the United States and the West Indies before you are delivered. I am, however, actively seeking a suitable place for you to live when you and the babe are ready to leave Boone Farm. If I do not find it before I leave, Mr. Black’s man of business, Guy Fallon, will make sure you are properly situated. I have arranged an account for you at Hoare’s bank, but if you need more funds, you have only to apply to Mr. Fallon. I assure you, you are not marrying a penniless man.
There is one other matter, which we should have discussed but did not. Though ’tis not surprising our wits went begging, considering the circumstances.
We did not discuss the matter of further increases to the family. I will, as promised, always treat your child as my own, but I would like to think he would eventually have brothers and sisters. I hope you also see this vision in your future.
Holly Page 3
