Why wasn’t she happy? She should feel euphoric. After all, the man she loved was alive and had returned to her. But how could she rejoice when she knew how much he hated her? Cort thought terrible things about her, things she had purposely done to cause him to hate her. But what she’d done had been perpetrated to save his life.
If he had ever loved her at all, why didn’t he believe her?
“Send my regrets to everyone, Mary. I won’t attend the party.”
Mary disappeared with a frown on her face. Wynter went to her bed and snuggled under the covers. Minutes later the door to her room unceremoniously opened, and Cort entered with the dress thrown over his arm.
He threw the gown on the bed.
“Get up and get dressed.”
Wynter sat up. “I don’t feel well enough to attend the festivities. Convey my regrets to Lena, please. And don’t enter my room without knocking.”
“Your room? This is my room, dear ‘wife.’ I don’t fancy the custom of sleeping in separate bedchambers. And I don’t care for a bossy wife. You will obey me, Wynter, or I shall be forced to admit we were never married.”
“You’d admit your child is a bastard?”
Cort stiffened. “I don’t believe the child is mine.”
“Then I pity you, Cort. If you won’t allow me to leave Lindenwyck, and you don’t willingly claim the baby is yours, then leave me some dignity by finding quarters elsewhere.”
“You’d like that, I know, but I won’t sleep anywhere but here, my love. When I lie next to you in the dark, you shall not think of Henry Morgan, ever again! Now get yourself out of bed and come downstairs. My aunt awaits your presence.”
Cort stalked towards the door, believing that he’d made his point, when her voice stalled him.
“Why don’t you tell your family we aren’t married? I wonder why you haven’t already done so.”
He turned. His aristocratic profile was shadowed, and she could barely make out his features. All she saw was the imperceptible stiffening of his shoulders.
“I made you mine on the Sea Bride, Wynter. No man takes what belongs to me. You’re mine until the day you die.”
Her voice shook as did her hands when she leaned forward. “You’re keeping me here to punish me for a wrong you believe I committed against you. For the last time, Cort, my love spared you from Henry Morgan. If not for me, you’d be long dead.”
“If that is how you prove your love, I should take extreme displeasure in your hatred.”
He walked out of the room and slammed the tall oaken door behind him. In a matter of seconds Mary was back.
“Would it do any good if I told Captain Cort again how you planned his escape from Port Royal? I tried to tell him once on the Sea Bride, as did Jan, but he wouldn’t listen to us.”
Wynter took Mary’s hand and squeezed it. “You’re a good friend to me,” she told the servant woman. “However, Cort is filled with pride and pain … pain which I’ve caused. I doubt if anyone can explain about Port Royal. He simply won’t listen. Now help me dress, Mary. I’ve a party to attend.”
Cort’s presence at Lindenwyck was accepted by the Van Lindens’ friends and neighbors as not out of the ordinary. Since he’d been away for ten years, and many of them had never met him or heard of his apparent demise, he wasn’t pressed with questions. No one expressed other than friendly interest in him, and Cort was glad. He didn’t wish to dwell on the past years, and most certainly he didn’t want to think about the peculiar situation in which he found himself at the moment. Wynter was in his mind, his heart, and his soul. And damn her, he cursed to himself as he downed a huge goblet of wine. Why did she have to still be so beautiful, even carrying another man’s child? His loins wantonly ached for her. He didn’t know how he’d restrain himself when he crawled beneath the sheets with her later that night. His self-control would be put to the test, and he doubted he’d pass. He still desired her, and God help him, he would want her for the rest of his life.
He hoped she’d put in an appearance. Already Rolfe was glancing his way, and by the inquisitive arch of his brow, Cort knew that Rolfe would make it his concern to discover Wynter’s absence. Rolfe’s fondness for Wynter hadn’t gone unnoticed by Cort. He’d spotted it immediately, and Cort vowed that Rolfe wouldn’t take Wynter from him. He’d lost a woman he thought he loved to Rolfe, but he wouldn’t lose Wynter to him. Not if his life depended upon it.
Instead of Rolfe wandering in his direction, Katrina appeared by his side. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes glowed like twin stars. She was still beautiful, extremely voluptuous. And when she spoke, he knew she was still Katrina.
“I’ve thought of no one but you all of these years, Cort,” she said softly. “I hoped you’d return to Lindenwyck one day, and you have. I still love you, will always love you.”
Cort’s blond head bent low and touched hers. “I think, dear cousin, that such sentiments should be reserved for your husband.”
“Don’t spurn me, Cort—”
Wynter’s voice interrupted them. “I’m sorry to intrude.”
Cort glanced at Wynter. Despite his resentment towards her, he couldn’t help but smile at the lovely picture she made. Her hair was piled upon her head and hung down her back in long, sausage curls as was the style in England. The turquoise of her gown enhanced the high spots of color on her cheeks. The fact that she was heavy with child didn’t detract from her incredible beauty. Once again Cort wondered if he’d be strong enough not to touch her.
“Katrina was just leaving to speak to Rolfe. Weren’t you, Katrina?”
Cort handed Wynter his arm. Katrina threw back her head and left them in a huff.
“I hope I didn’t break up an important conversation between you,” Wynter said. She suddenly felt out of place here, the intruder. Katrina had more right to be here, more reason to stay by Cort’s side than she did. After all, Cort had loved Katrina, and from the familiar way his head had rested near hers, he still did love her. Her heart cried, but she refused to allow Cort to see her pain. She didn’t want him to belittle her love for him again.
“Come, let me introduce you to the few old friends I have here.” Cort led her to a group of people, unaware that Wynter believed he still loved Katrina Van Linden.
Lena smiled and mingled among her guests, the children being her favorites. A few of them ran constantly to the window and looked out into the bitter cold night. “When will St. Nicholas arrive?” they asked, and were told he’d arrive when they settled down.
“You must be good children,” Lena told them with a smile.
“I’ve been good!” piped in Mikel.
“So have I!” cried another little boy.
Wynter didn’t miss the grin on Cort’s face. She knew he must be reliving moments from his own childhood when he and Rolfe had been as close as brothers, before Katrina destroyed their relationship.
Trays of pastries were laid on a long table in the dining room. Wynter especially liked the breads called “wights” which were baked in the shape of a child in swaddling clothes. She tenderly touched one. When she glanced up, Cort’s gaze bore into her, and she felt her face burning.
The children were gathered near the door by Lena and other doting parents. Mikel was handed a large sheet which he and some children spread in front of the huge, elaborately carved front door.
“Perhaps the cold keeps St. Nicholas away,” voiced Mikel worriedly after he and the children waited and nothing happened.
“He will come,” Lena said with certainty. “That is, if you’ve been good boys and girls.”
Suddenly the large knob shook and turned. Everyone grew silent. The children’s eyes grew large and round. Wynter watched as the door opened and a shower of candies, cookies, macaroons, and marzipan flew onto the sheet. The children lunged for the sweets, each one’s hands eagerly grasping their treasures. Into the house walked a tall man who was dressed in long robes like a bishop. A small boy with a thin wooden switch accompanied
him. Every child grew silent and watched in trepidation.
“Have the children in this house been good children?” the berobed figure asked.
All of them nodded, too fearful to reply. This silence appeased St. Nicholas, and he and the boy departed into the black, freezing night. The children shouted farewell and jumped with happiness. They would find presents in the morning!
The evening passed in a haze of strange faces bidding well wishes to Wynter and Cort. When all the guests had departed, Lena gathered the help around and began the chore of cleaning up. Wynter made a move to help her, but Lena waved her away.
“You need your rest,” she softly scolded. “And your husband needs you.”
How Wynter wished that were so! But Cort had already gone upstairs. She started to mount the stairs when she felt an arm snake around her waist.
“You don’t look like the happy wife whose husband has recently returned from the grave, so to speak.”
Wynter winced under Rolfe’s probing but amused stare. “I’m quite thrilled. I believe I’m still in a state of shock.”
“As am I,” Rolfe admitted and paced himself with her steps. “I foolishly held the hope that one day you and I—”
Wynter cut him short. “Nothing could ever have happened between us, so please don’t dwell on the subject. You do have a wife,” she reminded him in a biting tone, not because of Rolfe but because Katrina and Cort had been in love once.
“I have a wife, but I love you, Wynter.”
Cort appeared at the top of the stairs and held a shawl out to her. He apparently heard Rolfe’s declaration of love for Wynter, because when he spoke, his voice held bitterness.
“I thought you might be chilled. I would have helped you up the stairs,” he said. Cort placed it around her shoulders.
This simple gesture of concern touched Wynter, but she sensed that Cort was displeased to have found her with Rolfe. Who did he think he was, she thought, and grew angry that he should dislike her friendship with Rolfe while Katrina threw herself at him.
“I can walk upstairs without help from either of you.”
“Dear cousin,” Rolfe put in and grandly bowed when they reached the landing. “I think only of your welfare. I bid you both a good night.” He turned on his heels and walked down the hallway to his own room.
Cort gently guided her by the elbow to her chamber and entered the room with her. Once inside he began to undress.
“You really are going to sleep here tonight?” Wynter asked, growing alarmed. It had been so long since they’d shared a bed, and now he detested the sight of her. What sort of perverted vengeance was this?
“I prefer to sleep with my ‘wife.’”
“Rolfe and Katrina don’t share a room.”
Cort shrugged. “That’s their problem.” He sat down and began pulling off his boots. “Do you intend to stand in the middle of the room all night or get undressed?”
“I have to ring for Mary. The laces on the back of my gown are hard to reach now.”
“I’ll help you. I told Mary to go to bed long ago.”
Cort stood up and turned her around, his fingers already freeing the laces, but Wynter balked.
“Don’t touch me!”
His face fell, and he looked as if she had slapped him soundly, then his finely shaped mouth twisted into a sneer. “If I were Morgan or Rolfe, I bet you’d delight in their hands upon you.”
She couldn’t admit it was just the opposite. Feeling the warmth of his fingers on her flesh had brought back the memories of lovemaking, of the blissful times they’d been locked in each other’s arms. Now Cort hated her, and she couldn’t bear to be reminded of how wonderful loving him had felt. She knew those moments would never arise again, and she mustn’t yearn for what would never come to pass.
“Perhaps that’s it,” she lied and expected he’d retreat into silence or leave the room. He did neither.
Swiftly he turned her around again and, like a man possessed by inner demons, unlaced the gown until the ivory flesh of her back was bared to him. How smooth her skin was, how perfectly kissable, he found himself thinking. Without realizing his intention, his head bent forward, and he would have kissed the porcelain-smooth surface, but Wynter’s voice stunned him and brought him back to reality.
“Thank you for helping me,” she said.
Cort raised his head and began to undress when a servant girl knocked on the door. Wynter bade her to enter, and the girl shyly bobbed to them. She carried a warming pan and passed it quickly between the sheets. “I hope this will keep you and the captain warm, ma’am,” she said and giggled before she left the room.
Wynter still remained in the center of the room. The back of her gown was opened, and she felt the hollow chill in the air. Even the fireplace’s warmth didn’t reach her.
“Hurry and undress, Wynter,” Cort told her in a soft voice. “You’ll become ill.”
He waited by the side of the bed and held the covers opened for her. She had no alternative but to obey him. Divesting herself of the gown and her stockings, she left on her thin white chemise and was very much aware of Cort’s heated gaze upon her. When she was beneath the warm covers, she felt rather flushed and knew it wasn’t from the warming pan.
Cort blew out the candles on the dressing table. She watched him undress through lowered eyes. Even after all the suffering she felt sure he had endured, he was still a magnificent-looking man.
They lay in the dark, not touching, not speaking, scarcely breathing. The flames were dying in the fireplace, as had their love, Wynter thought. She never imagined that the spiraling, hot passion which had seared their two souls as one would ever die. But it had. She hadn’t told Cort she had forgiven his deception of her, and now Cort would never believe she hadn’t betrayed him with Henry Morgan. Tears formed in her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. She wiped them away.
“Can’t you sleep?” Cort asked her.
“Today’s events have overwhelmed me. I shall try to be still.”
She heard him sigh in the darkness. “Good night, Wynter.”
“Good night,” she mumbled and felt him turn onto his side, away from her. She burrowed beneath the heavy down blankets and drifted into a troubled sleep.
Cort woke near dawn, and for the first time in months felt contented and warm. When he opened his eyes he realized why. In the gray light of morning, Wynter lay huddled with her back against his chest. He caught the sweet whiff of lavender from her hair against his cheek. He discovered that his arm was around her, and that his hand rested on her swollen abdomen. Suddenly his hand jumped twice, and he realized the baby must have kicked. A look of happy surprise touched his face, then disappeared. Was this Morgan’s child? His own child? He wished he knew. He didn’t remove his arm, but lay in that position with her against him. Finally he drifted off to sleep again.
Cort was roused again from slumber by Wynter’s moans. He sat up and looked at her. She was awake.
Cort mouthed her name, and she lifted large, frightened eyes to his worried ones.
“I think the baby is coming, Cort. Please get Mary and Lena for me. Please hurry!”
CHAPTER
25
Cort wished to stay with Wynter, but after Lena and Mary arrived, Lena pushed him bodily from the room.
“Childbirth is no place for a man. When the baby is born, I’ll send for you. Ja?”
Nodding like a ten-year-old, Cort obeyed, but with him he took the image of Wynter’s tousled hair about her face and the sound of her painful moans. He went downstairs and helped himself to a generous brandy. When he poured another glass, Rolfe sauntered into the sitting room.
“Soon you will be a proud father,” Rolfe observed. “Fatherhood is a wonderful blessing.”
In the short time that Cort had been at Lindenwyck he didn’t believe that Rolfe felt this way about fatherhood. Rolfe didn’t seem to care for Mikel, blatantly ignoring the child. But he didn’t say this to his cousin. Instead, when Rolfe poure
d a glass for himself, Cort allowed the man to toast him.
“To Wynter and your son.”
“I really hadn’t thought about the child’s sex,” admitted Cort after he quaffed the brandy. “I don’t care one way or the other, I suppose.”
“But you must,” Rolfe insisted. “All the Van Lindens have boys before girls. It is a family tradition.” He smiled.
A shrill scream pierced the early morning stillness of the house. Cort shivered. What sort of pain must Wynter be in? “I pray only that Wynter comes through childbirth without difficulty. She is a small woman.”
“And a strong one. Don’t worry about her, Cort. Women always come through these things.”
Cort didn’t believe that. He remembered that his own mother had died giving birth to a dead son, because the child was too large for her. The agony on his father’s face was still etched in his memory. He didn’t want Wynter to die. What would he do without her? He’d found her again, and he couldn’t bear the loss of her. Whether the child was his or Morgan’s suddenly didn’t matter. He knew only that he loved Wynter, and she must live so he could convince her of that love.
“Those awful screams have brought on another of my headaches!” Katrina complained as she swished into the room. She sank onto the sofa and pressed a wet cloth to her forehead.
Rolfe threw her a withering look, but it was nothing in comparison to Cort’s. “I should think you’d understand what Wynter’s going through, Katrina. After all, you had a child,” Cort remarked.
She lifted her head and removed the cloth. “Ja, I had a son. An heir for Lindenwyck.”
Her wistful gaze rested on Cort’s broad-shouldered figure when he turned again to pour another drink. Rolfe noticed and shook his head at her in a warning gesture. Katrina leaned against the cushions and drank in Cort’s handsomeness. At that moment she didn’t care about Rolfe or his fear that Cort would learn the truth about Mikel. She only knew she loved Cort beyond all caring.
“I believe I shall go outside until this is over,” Cort said a few seconds later when another scream rang through the house. “Someone fetch me when Wynter delivers.”
Pirate's Golden Promise Page 25
