Horsman, Jennifer

by Crimson Rapture

  "I must ask if you intend to keep your promise?"

  He chuckled bitterly and turned back to sea. "I assure you I do, if for no other reason than having no doubt he would carry out his threats. For suddenly I find that I value both life and limb."

  Christina considered this and was about to turn away when he turned back around.

  "I must say, I was quite surprised to see you here." He looked at Richard and decided he was of no import; surely their intimacy guaranteed his confidence. "Did he know of your plans?"

  Christina shook her head.

  "I see. It's none of my concern, Miss Marks, but tell me, are you happy with your decision?"

  Richard felt Christina's hand tighten in his and he pressed it reassuringly as she answered, "It is as you say, Mr. Carrington, none of your concern." And she started to turn away.

  "You might look to your own safety as well, Miss Marks."

  Christina could not stop the tumble of her words. "He won't want me after this. He'll never want to see me again—"

  "I doubt that, Miss Marks." He eyed her speculatively, "I seriously doubt that. Of course he'll be hurt and angry—any man would, and while those two emotions are by far more dangerous in a man like him, that's hardly the worst of it. Do you know what the worst is, Miss Marks?"

  She shook her head slowly.

  "He'll be sick to death with worry over your safety, his helplessness to do anything about it. Even if you do not, he knows what could befall any woman on board a ship of men, one left in a London port with naught relations, or protection or even coin, yet alone a young lady such as yourself. Every time he thinks of you, he'll be imagining the worst." He watched the look of desperation as she tried to deny it. "Yes, he will seek you out. If only to end his nightmares."

  "It's all nonsense." Richard thought to come to her aide, understanding a surprising amount from the brief conversation. "Any gentleman would see to her safety."

  "Yes. The colonel smiled. "But then we are not all gentlemen, are we, Miss Marks? Good day."

  Christina stared as he walked off, then turned to Richard, who was studying her with concern. "Take me back," she whispered desperately. "Please, I want to go back."

  And Richard thought she meant her cabin.

  * * * * *

  Dark circles appeared under her eyes, her face blanched white, and she held her breath but there was nothing left in her stomach except bile. "I've never been seasick before, not even during the monsoon."

  Richard stared into her large gray eyes and carefully measured his words. "I daresay, it's not seasickness that ails you anyway, Christina. The seas are calm, the sailing slow, and one can hardly perceive the ships rollicking."

  "I must have caught a flu," she decided then, though oddly she felt fine except for the nagging nausea.

  "I think not."

  She looked at him with a question.

  "Have you missed a bleeding?"

  Christina merely stared. Her shock, the lightning speed of her thoughts, had nothing to do with the impropriety of his question. He was, after all, a doctor and after life on the island, she had learned propriety served no real purpose, save to spare old spinsters from falling faint.

  She answered him when her arms crossed over her bosom and her eyes lowered to search her as-yet-unchanged figure. "No," she whispered. "No, I just can't be..."

  Having experienced this many times before in his profession, Richard waited for it to sink in. Women had one of two reactions: overwhelming joy expressed in silly sweet near permanent smiles, or denial. And considering Christina's situation, he was hardly surprised by the latter reaction.

  Tears glistened in her eyes and she covered her lips as they trembled. The child was not a reality to her yet, though the situation was a dark one. What could she do? No one could take a governess in her condition, or an unwed woman with a child. Madelyne would not even help her.

  A distant memory floated into mind; she remembered a young girl in her father's parish being hit by the vicious tongues of two other women: "Ye wicked slut! Flaunting yer fertile belly with a barren finger, will ye? No man will claim ye and neither will we. Off with ye, before ye corrupt me own girls with yer wickedness. Off I say!" Voicing similar sentiments, her father had gone off to talk to the girl's parents. Madelyne had thrown a tither over the money he lent them to send the girl away, muttering for near high a week about the sins of the mother being spent on the innocent, this being the shame of an unwed mother.

  Richard sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms as suddenly tears flowed uncontrolled. "Oh God, darling, don't cry. Please don't cry."

  "Whatever can I do?"

  "We'll think of something." He felt certain. He first thought of offering to abort the child but she probably couldn't do that, probably didn't even know it could be done. Then, too, he doubted his own ability, for the thought of a little girl, one with her mother's smile and golden red hair made him quickly dismiss even mentioning the god-awful procedure.

  Then another idea occurred to him.

  It first seemed too good to be true. He tried to think of all the reasons why not but after several long minutes he could not find even one. It would solve her problems, as well as his own. He could live in London's society as he wished, the vicious rumors would be put to rest, and his practice would flourish again! No more wretched sailing! And Darrell would love it; love her. It was perfect!

  "Marry me," he said suddenly, and he dramatically dropped to his knees before her. "Oh, you must say yes, darling. You must! It's perfect. I'll provide you with a good home and I'll be the most adoring father!"

  Christina stared in bewilderment.

  "Oh, I know you don't love me, not like that, but you are fond of me, aren't you?"

  Christina nodded, wiped her eyes.

  "And God knows, I'm fond of you! I always wanted to marry someone just like you—so sweet and charming and ever so lovely. Oh, do say you will!"

  Christina bit her lip with perplexity, but shook her head. "I couldn't, I just couldn't, not after knowin'..." Her voice trailed off.

  "Knowing him?" he questioned, causing her eyes to lock with his. "Oh, I know who you left on the island, and who must be the father of your child. It's well known who was on the HMS Defiant when it went down and, after hearing your conversation with that man, it all became pretty clear. There's only one reason why someone would choose to remain hidden on the island, forsaking rescue, and that's if his name was Justin Phillips."

  Shocked, she searched his face to ascertain his sentiments, then grabbed his arm. "Have you gone to Captain Shaw?"

  "Heavens no!" Richard shook his head. "I'm not a man who sees to another's demise and as much as I love England, I hate war. My loyalty goes only as far as my wages and, besides, I've always admired Justin Phillips, especially after meeting him."

  "You've... you've met Justin?"

  "About two years ago." Richard nodded. "I was studying under one of the most famous surgeons in London, nay all of England. Mr. Phillips, along with a couple of his men, brought a man in to see Dr. Waughton. It was an awful case, one of the worst I've seen. The man was in horrible pain and, reportedly, it was near continuous."

  "Diego," she whispered.

  "Yes," he said, surprised, "that was his name. Did you know him?"

  "He was on the island. He recently... died."

  "Well, I can't honestly say that I'm not glad," he said with contradictory sadness. "Mr. Phillips paid a small fortune, not just for Dr. Waughton's services, but for secrecy as well, for they were already wanted by the Crown at that point. It was a shame; nothing could be done for him and the poor chap was so bad off, he asked me to end it."

  She paused haltingly. "End it?"

  "Suicide, you know," he explained. "Seems he was Catholic and couldn't do the business himself. I might have obliged him, too, had not one of Mr. Phillips's men stopped me. Seems Mr. Phillips would not have it. Apparently he could not fathom the hopelessness of his friend's condition; he
cared for him too much. And I always admired him for that."

  Cajun might have been in the room; his warning sounded so loudly in her mind: "Until the gods paint the world black and white, until you have perfect understanding, you have no right to pass judgment against any man. Especially the man who has chosen you!"

  Oh God, how could she...

  "I know you still love him," Richard said softly. "Why did you leave?"

  "I don't know, really," she said on the heels of a long pause. "It's all so confusing now. I couldn't bear it, not him but his life. I never meant to fall in love with him but... but somehow—oh, Richard." Her tears formed anew. "I'm afraid I've made such a mistake..."

  "Could he forgive you? Would you want him to?"

  She turned away and thought long and hard. "No," she said finally, "he won't forgive me. Nor will he seek me again, despite what Mr. Carrington said. It was not good toward the end. For either of us, I think. I know Justin, he'll never want to see me again."

  "My second question?"

  She met his eyes directly. "No." She shook her head. "I do love him, I always will, sometimes so fiercely and passionately that—" She stopped and added in a whisper, "But in my heart I know I'd naught find peace at his side."

  "Which leads us back to my first question. Marry me. I'll never make any demands of you, except that you be as happy as possible."

  She stared into his hopeful amber-colored eyes. Had she misread him all this time? "Do you love me?"

  He was suddenly serious. "I care for you, Christina, and probably a good deal more than I've ever cared for a woman. But I've never loved a woman. I know I never will. Our marriage would be one of friendship and comfortable companionship." He smiled. "But that's why it's so perfect. It's all you want and it's all I can offer."

  Confusion spread across her features. "Why? Why would you want to marry me if you don't love me? And how can you know you'll never fall in love with another woman?"

  "Your innocence is beguiling." He smiled, kissing her affectionately. "But I've known the sad fact that I could never fall in love with a woman ever since I was a young lad. Suffice to say, I'm just not capable of, ah, the intimacies between a man and a woman—any woman."

  She again searched his face for meaning, sensing something hidden in his choice of words. He didn't like women but he liked her, he just didn't feel, "Ohhh," she said, still somewhat confused. Was he celibate? Not caring for the intimacies between men and women?

  "You see," he waved his hand and turned away. "I had to leave London to escape the rumors—rumors that were affecting my practice and my friend's social standing."

  She knew of his friend Darrell, for he talked of him often. "What kind of rumors?" she asked cautiously.

  "Please, darling, spare me an interrogation. You wouldn't want the gruesome details in any case."

  "Don't you think, I mean if I do agree—don't you think I should know what rumors follow you and if they be true?"

  "It makes no difference if they're true or no, so long as people believe them. Oh, darling," he again dropped to his knees dramatically, "don't you see? This was meant to happen! I need you and you need me. We'll make a fine pair! You enjoy my companionship and I enjoy yours—why, we're already such great friends. You need me to provide for your babe, to be a father and, darling," he brushed her cheek affectionately, "you truly have no other choice."

  She considered it, all of it. It was true. She had no other choice. 'Twas truly a fantastic offer to be his wife; a doctor's wife in London. And God knows, she did care for him and if she should be with child...

  Her child! She looked down at her figure and felt the first swift rush of emotion. She turned back to him and said only, "I've never been to London.'

  Richard laughed and accepted this as her answer. "Oh, 'twill be grand!" he rushed on in his flamboyant manner. "We'll be the talk of the town! I'll show you off to everything and everyone—men will be just green with envy! And Darrell will love you, I know it, and when the baby's born—" He stopped with this idea, then pleaded dramatically. "Oh, Christina, do promise me you'll have a girl—boys are such trouble. And she must look just like you, with red-gold curls, large gray eyes, and a shy, sweet smile—"

  Richard continued but he lost Christina to thoughts of her child. Not able to imagine a feminine version of Justin, she knew he must be a he. He would not be an easy baby either, but she would love him all the more for his trouble. To always have this part of Justin to hold and cherish and love!

  And as she imagined her son, a smaller image of Justin, her heart filled with a wild rush of love and joy, begging to be shared. The panic returned twofold and almost caused her to cry out loud: Justin—what have I done to us?

  It was too late to wonder, though; she was married that day.

  * * * * *

  The ship sailed slowly into port. Standing on deck along-side Richard, Christina watched the dazzling sights draw ever closer into view. She nervously smoothed the soft folds of her pink gown for the tenth time, then tipped her hat to shade her eyes from the bright morning sun in order to see better. A bright sun was rare in London, Richard had said, adding, surely, an auspicious welcome.

  The docks bustled with activity. Crates and boxes piled everywhere. Carriages and horses added to the confusion. Sailors and soldiers alike swarmed to and fro and people from all walks of life cluttered the crowded space. Haggard-looking men and women sold wares, pushing carts and shouting above the loud drone of noise. Merchants waited for shipments and women waited for men. Beggars lurked in every corner, it seemed, competing with the others for the crowd's attention.

  The multitude of sights and sounds overwhelmed but it was the stench that was unbearable. Sewers drained from the streets into the river. Carts of decaying fish, the noxious fumes of liquor, the more pleasant scents of cooking from the taverns, all blended to create a dizzying aroma. For a moment Christina felt on the verge of sickness again but Richard thoughtfully handed her a perfumed lace handkerchief, which was quickly placed over her nose and mouth.

  Christina's wide-eyed attention bounced between a nicely dressed man loudly accusing a shockingly dressed woman of stealing his purse and the pathetic sight of a legless man maneuvering about in an odd, though extraordinarily ingenious, four-wheeled cart. Her eyes widened even more as three sailors began exchanging ribald greetings with two disrobed ladies in a window. She turned quickly away as one of the ladies straddled the windowsill seductively, much as a man straddles a horse.

  Richard just chuckled.

  The ship was nearly in its slip when Richard cried out his excitement: "There he is! Over there—next to that fine carriage there!"

  Christina looked in the direction. An elegantly dressed young gent sat atop a fine gray mare. He was bent over chatting with the personage in the grand carriage. The black carriage was indeed one of the finest she had ever seen, obviously belonging to a wealthy personage, someone too who was waiting for their ship.

  "Is that your Darrell?" she asked.

  "Yes." They were still too far away to call out but Richard's eyes never left his friend. "I wonder who he's talking to? I can't quite make out the insignia." It was red and gold with a capital P over two lions. "Oh my." He suddenly realized who it was. "Do you know who that is?"

  Christina shook her head.

  "It's Lord Winston Phillips, your Justin's own uncle—or father as some might have it. He must have been waiting for days to see our ship—to hear word of his nephew."

  Christina swallowed hard, as suddenly her heart started pounding like a savage drum. Justin's own father!

  "The captain will say he's dead."

  Christina nodded slowly.

  "You must speak to him, my darling. Spare the old man his grief."

  "I can't."

  "You must."

  Christina bit her lip, then shook her head. "I'll send a note."

  "Too dangerous, it might be intercepted. Besides, it's not really enough; he could hardly believe some anony
mous note."

  "Oh, Richard—"

  "No." He stopped her. "You can't let him think his son's dead when he's not. I insist." Richard could not stand to see anyone suffer, especially unnecessarily. "Darrell obviously knows the family. I'll arrange an introduction. Don't worry," he cautioned her, "I'll stand by you."

  He was right to insist, she knew. She owed Justin that much, at least that much. Anxiously her mind traveled to the imminent confrontation and she tried to form the words she would say, tried to remember the words she couldn't say, but all she could think of was that she would be meeting Justin's father. The paternal grandfather to the child she carried.

  Distracted, she could hardly manage the formal good-bye to the good Captain Shaw as he escorted her down the plank. The captain had been so pleased with their marriage, one might have thought he was marrying off his own daughter. Her farewell called for a special note of thanks but she could hardly manage it. She was relieved to see the captain quickly lost to the demands of his ship.

  Then everything happened at once. With an arrogant crack of his whip, Darrell pressed his mount through the crowd, forcing people to jump backward or be trampled. He swung his leg forward and jumped off his horse, and with a loud yelp of greeting, he fell into Richard's warm embrace.

  Darrell was a small man like Richard. He had long auburn curls and amber eyes too, and with the same devilish glint in them. But the similarity stopped there. He was not handsome, his features rather too sharply aristocratic—as arrogant as the crack of his whip. And his dress! Never had she seen such elegant attire on a man. None of the dreary black and brown material that was in fashion but gold: everything a shade of that precious metal. Pale gold velvet breeches, waistcoat, and vest, all of which were embroidered in what must be the real thing, and then ruffles and ruffles of lace on a tailored silk shirt.

  She finally watched the amber eyes turned to her with a warm, if not curious smile. "And who might this lovely creature be?"