It was gratifying to know that an attractive man found her desirable after Regan’s rejection. As though reading her thoughts, Stephan placed his arm about her shoulders and pulled her close. Gently, he placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face to look down into her eyes. “Do you know how beautiful you are, Sirena?” he breathed, his voice husky. Slowly, seductively, he covered her mouth with his own in a long, searching kiss. His arms tightened about her and she felt the strength in them and succumbed to it. Stephan was a most attractive man, yet Sirena was surprised by the response she experienced. And when his hand cupped her breast, she allowed it to remain there and enjoyed a small, womanly thrill to be found exciting by a virile, worldly man.
When the coach pulled into the drive to her house, Sirena extracted herself from his arms. She wanted no mistaken impressions that she would allow him to stay the night.
Stephan did not protest her action. Once again, he fell into the same silence and somehow Sirena suspected he was thinking about Regan’s money, or the lack of it, whichever the case may be. He walked with her to the entrance and waited till Frau Holtz appeared. Bowing over her hand, he took his leave and Sirena watched him with a frown at the corners of her mouth.
Regan sat in his unheated office poring over his ledgers and papers. The hour was late and his head throbbed. The figures in the columns swam before his tired eyes. If he had more time, just a little more time, he could build a thriving enterprise. If he had it, he could liquidate some of Sirena’s holdings to cash, thereby giving him more capital to work with. He had been a fool to start on such a large scale with so little cash and hope that sheer effort would insure success.
Now, he had Tyler Sinclair breathing down his neck demanding shares for Sirena in lieu of pounds sterling. With no other alternative, he had reluctantly agreed. He couldn’t see to affairs here on land and be at sea with his ships to protect the cargoes as well. Life had been so simple in Batavia. What in the name of God ever possessed him to come to England? He longed for the warm, easterly trade winds and the ripe, golden sun. If he had dug in his heels on Java, things may have worked themselves through for him and Sirena. Now, since she had come to England, things had gone from bad to worse.
He rubbed at his aching eyes as a vision of Camilla rose before him. He could always arrange to have the wedding moved up to a closer date and then he could take control of Camilla’s dowry. Only temporarily, until he settled his debts. He would make it clear to her in the beginning. He resolved he would return every penny. He had learned his lesson. Never again would he be accused of stealing a woman’s money.
There was no point in working the figures over again. Staring at them and wishing wasn’t going to change them. Why was he lying to himself? Why didn’t he admit he didn’t want to go home? He had no home, not really. He remembered his fine house in Batavia and then he compared it to the luxurious mansion which Sirena occupied. Just Sirena living there made her house a home. Frau Holtz’s scrupulous care kept it spotless, not like the hap-hazard cleaning methods of his lazy housekeeper.
In a split second his life flashed before him and he knew in that instant he had made the biggest mistake of his entire adult years. One he couldn’t alter or repair. Or could he? In order to amend the situation, he would have to go to Sirena and admit his wrong actions. Also, he would have to explain to Camilla that the marriage was off. He would have to face Caleb and the boy would know that Sirena had won again. He would have to close his offices and face the fact that his business had been a fiasco.
Regan pounded his fist on the desk. “No! Never!” he shouted into the echoing darkness. He wouldn’t give up! He’d not make that error again. This time he would dig in his heels and make the best of it. If he could simply find some way to get his next shipment to Scotland, he might salvage the enterprise. Caleb would help him. Caleb could sail the cargo for him and wait for payment. The first thing in the morning he would find his son and put forth the offer. And at the same time he would see about liquidating more of the holdings.
Locking the door behind him, Regan stepped out into the gray before dawn. His shoulders slumped as he made his way through the crooked alleys to Lime Street. The closer he got to his house, the heavier his feet lagged. The damp mist circled around him and wrapped him in its arms. His tired eyes were bitter and his mouth was tight. The thin, S-shaped line on his cheek was raw and stiff. He touched his fingers to it lightly and felt a stab of humiliation. Sirena had branded him with her initial. His reason told him it was merely a coincidence, but something deeper, more basic, recoiled at the knowledge that, given a chance, Sirena would have sat upon his chest and carved her name into his forehead. He felt the stubble of growth on his chin and estimated how long it would take for the beard he had started to cover his disgrace.
Chapter Fifteen
London was awake from its night’s sleep. The peddlers were hawking their wares. Outside the Langdon residence two overblown fishwives were slapping it out with oily flounders to determine which of them would secure the Langdon trade that day.
Regan had just dozed off into a fitful sleep when his bride-to-be was stirring for the beginning of another day.
It irritated Camilla that she had to dress herself and arrange her own hair. Her pretty face settled into a heavy frown as she looked into the mirror trying for a seductive effect with her long, yellow curls. Disgusted that nothing she could do would ever disguise her girlishness, she threw down the brush and stamped from the room. Why did she have to be all pink and white? she wondered with a pout. Why couldn’t she look like that Spanish woman her father seemed so enamored of lately? Her own coloring and features required a softly feminine style of dressing while Sirena Crdez’s ivory skin and luxurious jet hair commanded more sophisticating grooming. Camilla hadn’t missed the way Regan’s interested gaze had followed the sultry Sirena at the Sinclairs’ ball. The thought of losing Regan set Camilla into a panic. The Dutchman was the best catch of the season aside from Prince Charles himself, and Camilla wasn’t taking any chances on losing him to a dark-haired, green-eyed beauty who was at least five years older than herself!
When Camilla joined Stephan at the breakfast table, her mood hadn’t improved. She looked with distaste at the thin slice of bread and at the nearly empty marmalade pot. She knew she would have to distract her father somehow if she wanted to have the jam on her bread. There wasn’t enough for two. “You seem in fine fettle this morning, Father,” she trilled as she snatched the pot from beneath his nose. Quickly, she smeared her bread with the thick, golden spread and then licked the spoon. Correctly interpreting his look, she spoke bitterly, “Yes, it’s come to this. I hope you have good news today. You did win at whist last evening, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Stephan sighed, “but a paltry amount.”
“I hope it was enough to pay the cook. She’s threatening to leave, you know. She said she’d finish out the week and, if she wasn’t paid her wages, she wasn’t coming back,” Camilla sneered, her rosy mouth curled in distaste. “I’d love to know just how that hag manages to keep so plump and fat while I’m wasting away to nothing! I’d wager she steals more than she cooks for us! She constantly complains the allowance you give her isn’t enough to cover the price of food, but she looks healthy enough.”
Langdon looked up from the billet sheet he was reading and smiled perversely. “A certain gauntness adds mystery to your charms, darling.”
“Gauntness! Starvation is more the like! It was all I could do to keep from bolting my food at the Waver-sons’ dinner last evening. It’s different for you. A man eats a hearty meal and his hostess approves. But women must pick daintily and leave half on their plate. I tell you, I’m starving!”
“Child, self-denial is an attribute to be cultivated,” Stephan said piously.
“I don’t see you denying yourself anything!” Camilla retorted, her rosy mouth puckered into a bow. “Every night you manage to dine out while I must listen to my innards rumble with hunger.
Did you at least win enough to buy some eggs and cheese?”
“Something can be managed, perhaps a few staples. Remember, I have to keep enough for the next game. My credit is doubtful, to say the least.”
“Then cheat!” Camilla cried heartlessly. “I’m your child and I’m starving!”
“It’s only a temporary state of affairs,” Stephan said airily.
“You’ve been saying that for over two years! I’m warning you, Father, if I don’t get a substantial meal in me, I’ll be too weak to make it to the altar with Regan. And then all your bubbles will burst!”
Suddenly remembering something, Camilla ran into the parlor and came back with the reticule she carried the night before. From out of the small purse she withdrew a linen napkin. Carefully, she unwrapped the cloth and revealed a leg of pheasant. Ignoring Stephan’s disapproval, she began to tear into the tender meat as though it were the last food she would ever see. Stephan Langdon had to clench his fists to avoid snatching it from her hands. He watched as her small, sharp, white teeth tore into the succulent meat, savoring each bite.
“That was a dangerous thing to do, Camilla. What if someone saw you?”
“What if someone did? I don’t care any longer. I’m hungry and I could eat a dozen more just like this,” she said, licking her fingers and then sucking on the bone.
“Which of us will answer the door today to ward off the bill collectors?” Stephen asked.
“I’m tired of pretending to be the maid,” Camilla complained. “You do it. You do make a rather impressive butler, Father.”
Stephan eyed her with disgust and turned back to his billet sheet, studying the advertisements.
“Father, I hate to bring this up, but my seamstress is demanding payment and is threatening to spread the word of my poor credit. We really must do something. Your own tailor is making noises about taking the same action. I cannot think of another lie to save my soul. You must do something. Ask Baron Charles for another small loan. He is your cousin; surely he can’t refuse you when you tell him how impoverished we are!”
“As for asking Baron Sinclair for a loan, I refuse. It mustn’t get about how we’re fixed for money. It would immediately get back to van der Rhys. And our fortunes are looking brighter. Only last evening the Baron asked me for my expertise in schooling young scions in the art of fencing. I won’t have to invest anything, I’ll just reap the profits.”
“But that could take months! If only you’d allow me to convince Regan to hasten the wedding. At least in his house there would be food on the table.”
“My dear,” Stephan placated, “I’ve been toying with an idea. I think you should go to Tyler and ask for a small advance. He wouldn’t dare tell his parents for fear of their disapproval.”
“I knew you were out of your mind,” Camilla screamed, her fair complexion blotched with rage. “That is the worst suggestion I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m afraid we’ve no alternative. It’s either ask Tyler or starve,” he said craftily, watching her carefully.
Camilla looked at the cleanly picked bone and then at the empty jam jar. “Very well.”
“Today, Camilla,” Stephan urged. “I looked in your engagement book and you have no dinner invitation for this evening. Nor do I. You’ll have to do it today or we’ll both go to bed without eating. Of course, we could always stop at the Radcliffs’ near the dinner hour on some premise or another.”
“We did that last week, or have you forgotten?” Camilla snapped.
“We haven’t visited the Beckmans or the Palmers lately.”
“That’s because when we do their butler tells us they’re not at home. Father, soon all of London will be wise to us. Must you keep coming up with such weak solutions? Either you’re going to have to become more adept at cards or you’ll have to take up stealing.”
“There will be no need for such drastic measures. Not if you go to Tyler. His money will tide us over for a while.”
“How much do you think he’ll give me? Enough for a few days and then we’ll be right back where we are now. Starving!” she cried bitterly. “And another thing. Why must I do all the worrying about our credit. You’re the man of the house and you’re my father. You’re supposed to take care of me!”
“True, true, my dear. But then I have my reputation to think of,” Stephan commented affably.
“What reputation?” Camilla snorted. “If anyone’s reputation is hanging for inspection, it’s mine. I still cannot believe I’m doing what you ask. Do you realize, Father,” she asked, leaning over the table, “if Tyler takes it in his mind to stop my marriage to Regan, where does that leave us? In Newgate! That’s where! Bigamy is a serious charge. And if Regan discovers that I’m still married to Tyler Sinclair, he’ll kill both of us!”
“Camilla, if this little act of yours is to get me to agree to extend our credit against the Dutchman’s name, give over now, child. I’ve told you. Regan is a serious, sensitive man. And I don’t believe his love for you would stand in the way of his better sense. And if you are worried that Tyler will reveal your little ... er ... secret, I’ve told you often enough, I can remedy that situation. I’ve merely to make a widow of you.”
All the color drained from Camilla’s face. “You wouldn’t! You always said Tyler was our ace in the hole! Father, you must use your brain! The trouble here is Regan, not Tyler!”
“Sweetheart, have you ever thought of becoming a rich widow, or do you feel black is not your color? And while we’re discussing your position in life, have you given any thought as to how to pay for this wedding?”
“How else, I’ll be married on credit!” Camilla sniped. “That is, if there is anyone who will still extend us any. A promise to pay up the day after the wedding should suffice.”
“As always, you’re very astute. I was more or less thinking the same thought. I do hope you will have the foresight to have the larder well stocked before hand.”
“You can count on it.”
“Tell me, my dear, how did you get Tyler to agree to remain silent about all this?”
“You know as well as I. He knows bloody well if he marries, he gets cut off without a farthing.”
“I don’t think you have that quite right, Camilla. You mean that happens if he marries you,” Stephen said smugly. “I told you it was a mistake not to endear yourself to the Baroness.”
“It wasn’t me the Baroness objected to, Father. It was you! She has no closeness of kinship to give rise to her conscience. Besides, Tyler isn’t a fool. He knows our circumstances as well as his own. He agreed to say nothing and that is it in a shell. He also realizes it was a mistake for us to have eloped. And he knows full well the Baroness’ unforgiving nature where we Langdons are concerned.”
“Thank God for small favors and for Tyler still being in love with you,” Stephan said sincerely.
“And what of you? How is your romance going with that witch, Sirena Córdez?”
“I think the lady is quite impressed with me. It’s too soon to close in for the kill. I want to woo her a while longer. I’ve looked into her affairs and, if anything, she’s wealthier than your van der Rhys. I feel it safe to say I have the inside peg with her.”
Camilla looked at her father and wanted to tell him the chances of making a match with the sultry Spaniard were almost nil. “There must be something to eat in this house,” she said, rising from the table. “I’ll just bet that miserable cook has a larder stashed away somewhere and she’ll tell me where it is if I have to tie her to the spit and roast her for our dinner!”
Stephan watched his daughter with an amused look and thought she was the most endearing little cannibal in all London.
The weather was fair; and when Sirena rose she was aware of a vague boredom which she knew would increase before the day was through. She scowled to herself. She wasn’t used to this indolent life. Even as a child, she had been physically active. On Java there had been horseback rides into the jungles and along the inland river. O
n board ship she used her muscles to hoist rigging and stand watch at the wheel. Here, a lady was tightly restricted as to what activities were offered her. Sirena didn’t care to adopt the fashion of entertaining vendors and merchants in her suite while she attended to her toilette. In fact, there was nothing she considered more a waste of time than to sit before a mirror half the day while some simpleton dressed her hair and she puzzled over one length of cloth after another.
She longed to walk through Saint James’ Park, but that was unheard of among the upper classes. Either a lady went attended in a coach or not at all. The weather still prohibited a picnic in the country where she could stretch her limbs and enjoy clear, fresh air. The prospect of spending another day indoors fell on her like a blight. Suddenly, her eyes fell on a billet sheet which had been brought in with her breakfast tray. It announced the opening of several new shops in the Royal Exchange. The idea interested her and she determined that she would go there in the company of Frau Holtz later that morning.
Frau Holtz busied herself about Sirena’s room, happily looking forward to the shopping expedition. Like all other women, the prospect of perusing the many shops and bargain tables at the “Change,” as it was popularly called, excited her. Mentally, she made a list of the things she wished to buy. Money was really no object for the Frau as she had been well paid throughout her years as the van der Rhys housekeeper and her needs were few. Besides, on Java, what did a woman of her status need in the way of luxuries save a few new gowns every year and a pair of sensible shoes. But the city of London fired the Frau’s tastes. Her few excursions into the park and the marketplace alerted her to the fact the servants of the rich reflected their employers’ tastes and pockets. She had become dissatisfied with her plain, black bombazine gowns and yearned for a frill or two at the neckline and sleeve.
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