by Cheryl Holt
Percy froze, shocked realization rattling him, as she pulled the trigger and shot him right between the legs.
He didn't even cry out. He gaped in horror, grabbed at his missing, bloody privates, and crumpled to the floor in a stunned heap.
Twenty-Three
I need to speak with Mr. Jack Merrick." A sailor peered down at Sarah and shook his head. "Sorry, ma'am, only passengers allowed on board." "Please?" "Captain's orders."
"Could you at least advise Mr. Merrick that he has a guest on the dock?"
The man hemmed and hawed, and she supposed she looked sufficiently miserable that he took pity on her.
"Wait there."
"Thank you."
He vanished, and she tarried, trying to stay out of the way of the hectic hordes. As far as the eye could see, there were ships being loaded and unloaded. Passengers, sailors, and merchants were milling, yelling, and working.
It was intriguing to observe so many industrious people, and as she watched them, she was envious. She'd never traveled much of anywhere but for the neighborhood surrounding Gladstone. What would it
be like to simply walk onto a ship and sail across the ocean? She couldn't fathom it.
She studied the vessel upon which Jack had purchased his fare and would journey to America. It seemed too small, and she didn't like to picture it rocked by huge waves or blown off course by stormy winds.
For a fleeting instant, she thought about the strong, sturdy woman he might have wed and would take with him to begin his new life, but she chased the vision away. She couldn't bear to ponder Jack's marrying.
What kind of man committed such a reckless, impetuous act? Not reticent, reliable Jack Merrick, certainly. What had come over him? During their brief, aborted affair, she assumed she'd gotten to know and understand him, but obviously, any sense of familiarity had been an illusion.
Voices sounded up on the deck, and shortly Jack peeked over the railing.
For some stupid reason, on seeing him again she was on the verge of tears. She was so happy that he hadn't left England, that she'd caught him before he could go. Since their last fight, everything had seemed wrong.
"Sarah, what are you doing here?" "Could I talk to you?"
T can't imagine what you have to say that I'd care to hear." "Jack—"
She broke off, not sure of what to tell him. He was the only person in the world, besides Anne, who would be concerned over Tim's disappearance, and the realization had jumbled loose many inconvenient emotions.
She wanted Jack's assistance and advice, but she wanted other things, too, things she was afraid to name.
For a long while, he silently debated, and just as she decided he'd refuse her plea for conversation, he shrugged and said, "Give me a minute."
After another lengthy delay, the sailor emerged with instructions to escort her to the captain's cabin, where Jack had received permission to chat with her privately.
Sarah climbed up the gangplank, then down a ladder, into the dank hold, and she paused at the bottom, adjusting to the dim lighting, to the subtle rocking of the ship that made it difficult to balance.
The sailor led her to a door at the end of a narrow hallway, and Sarah stepped into a small room with a low ceiling. The space was graciously appointed with dark paneling, bookshelves, a nook for the captain's bed, and a large table in the center that was strewn with maps.
Jack stood behind the table, using it as a barrier between them, and she was hurt that he would keep his distance, but then, she couldn't blame him. She'd always been cold and spiteful to him, though in her defense, he'd stirred feelings she never thought to feel again. He'd frightened and delighted her, and she hadn't known how to deal with him other than to push him away.
"Why are you here?" he commenced without any opening niceties. "We're sailing with the tide tomorrow morning, and I'm very busy. State your business, then go away and don't come back."
Prior to arriving, she'd rehearsed a dozen speeches she'd intended to give, but with them face-to-face, none seemed appropriate.
"I had to see you," she pathetically said. "Now you have. Will there be anything else?" "I need your help."
"No, you don't," he scoffed. "You've never needed me for anything, except a few tumbles under the blankets, and other than that, I don't see what I could do for you."
"You're being deliberately cruel."
"So leave. I didn't ask you to visit."
"Tim is missing." She raised the only topic that might break through Jack's hard shell. "I'm terrified that Ophelia sent him away from Gladstone, and I'm very scared. I'm not sure what to do or where to search."
"Why are you worrying now? After all these years?"
"I've constantly fretted over him; you know that."
"I know nothing of the sort. Why is it you never fuss about him till he's in trouble?"
Jack's flip, curt answers made her angry, and her temper flared. "You've continually berated me because I don't understand how it was for you and your brother. Why can't you offer me the same courtesy? Why can't you at least try to understand what it was like for me?"
"I don't care what it was like for you. After all this time, it doesn't matter. Your son is the one who's important, but you never figured that out."
"He always came first. Why do you think I gave him away? Have you any idea of how awful it was for me?"
The tears that had threatened surged to the fore, and she started to cry. She hated to be maudlin, but the past weeks had been so arduous, and the pressures had ignited memories of her earlier traumas. Every pain she'd ever suffered seemed to have risen up until she felt as if she was choking with what might have been.
"I was so young," she said, "and I was alone and afraid. I didn't have any parents to guide me. There was only Ophelia. I couldn't win against her, and I've regretted it every day."
"I can't abide a weepy woman," he snapped. "Stop blubbering."
"I can't help it." She swiped at her cheeks. "I'm so sad, and I don't know where to turn. Your brother has left London, and you're about to leave, too."
"Jamie left? Where did he go?"
"I don't know. The servants at his house wouldn't say."
There was a chair next to her, and she sank down onto it. She stared at the planks on the polished floor. At that moment, if someone had painted their portrait, they'd have made an odd tableau: the irate, taciturn man and the defeated, melancholy woman.
She heard him sigh, and he walked to her and rested his hand on the top of her head.
"Don't cry," he grumbled, but gently. "I can't bear it when you do."
He lifted her off the seat; then he slid under her and pulled her onto his lap. She snuggled herself to his chest, relieved, feeling that she'd finally arrived where she was meant to be.
"Tell me what's wrong."
"Everything is so mixed-up, and I'm so unhappy."
"What do you want from me, Sarah?"
"I don't want you to go to America. I don't want you to leave me. And don't you dare wed some... some ... strapping, tough stranger just so you have somebody to take with you."
She halted, a horrid notion occurring to her. What if, that very second, his bride was in his cabin, unpacking her bags and tidying her belongings?
"You didn't marry already, did you?"
"No. I couldn't find anyone as irksome as you."
He chuckled, and she mustered the courage to gaze into his beautiful blue eyes. He was the most handsome, most virile man she'd ever met, and she was attracted to him as she'd never been to another. He was strong and steadfast and true, and if she leaned on him, she just might end up with the man she needed.
She eased forward to brazenly kiss him on the mouth, and she was thrilled to discover that he wasn't immune. He drew her closer and deepened the embrace, savoring it as much as she. They might fight and argue, might rage and bicker, but despite it all, they had a connection that couldn't be severed.
"What should we do?" he inquired.
&nbs
p; "I haven't the foggiest."
"What would you like to have happen? If you could have whatever you wished, what would it be?" "I don't know that, either."
"Well, / know," he stated. "I want to get married. I want to have a family. I'm tired of wandering, and I'm eager to settle down."
"In England?"
"That remains to be seen."
Her heart pounded. Was he on the verge of proposing?
"What are you saying?"
"That I'd marry you—if you'd have me. So... I guess I'm asking." She was about to reply when he interrupted. "But before you answer, I have to confess something, and there's a decision you'll have to make."
"What is it?"
A knock sounded on the door, and Jack called, "Come in."
Sarah peered over and was stunned to see Tim in the threshold. She frowned, trying to make sense of what his presence indicated.
"Tim?"
"Yes, it's me, Miss Carstairs." "What are you doing here?" "I'm going to America with Jack." She glared at Jack. "You took him from Gladstone? Without telling me?" "Yes."
"I've been absolutely frantic with worry."
He wasn't repentant in the slightest. "In the eyes of the world, Tim is an orphan with no kin. So am I— except for my worthless brother. Tim has no one, and neither do I. I'm prepared to claim him as my son." He paused. "What about you?"
She probably appeared distraught, and she was, but not in the way they assumed.
Tim stepped farther into the room and said, "Jack told me who you are, Miss Carstairs. If you'd like to continue keeping my birth a secret, I'll understand. It's all right. Don't be upset."
"Oh, Tim..."
For such a young person, it was such a sweet, magnanimous comment. When his natural father had been a philandering libertine and his mother a gullible, impetuous fool, how had he grown to be such a mature, dear child?
She looked at Jack, who was pensive and on edge about what her response would be, and there were so many words bubbling up that she couldn't figure out where to begin. She felt as if a dam was about to burst, that she might start speaking and never stop.
"I don't want to keep it a secret," she declared. "I never wanted to keep it a secret."
Nervous and shy, Tim gave a curt, gangly bow. "I'm glad-She extended her hand to him, and he walked over and took it. After that, she wasn't certain what to say next. The moment was exhilarating, but awkward, too, and Jack rescued her from it—as she imagined he would many times in the future.
"Tim, why don't you wait outside while your mother and I talk?"
At having herself referred to as Tim's mother, she grinned from ear to ear.
Tim hesitated, as if afraid to let her out of his sight, and she explained, "We just need a few minutes. I won't go anywhere. I promise."
At the minor assurance, he left, and once she and Jack were alone, she clasped him by the lapels of his coat and shook him.
"You rat!" She kissed him hard. "I'd nearly convinced myself that he was dead in a ditch somewhere. Don't ever scare me like that again."
He shrugged, not apologetic, not contrite.
"What's it to be, Sarah? You insist that you'll acknowledge the boy, but what does it mean to you?"
"I want to be his mother. It would be my greatest dream come true."
"But it has to be out in the open, where everyone can see. I won't have you acting ashamed or making excuses."
"Jack! I want this. You're giving me such a gift!" He was silent, weighing her resolve, and finally, he nodded. "All right, then. Will you marry me?" "Yes, yes, yes."
She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on like a drowning woman grabbing a rope. He stroked his palms up and down her back, soothing her, claiming her.
"I suppose we don't have to leave England," he mused, "but I won't return to Gladstone. I won't live under my brother's thumb, and I won't have gossip following either of you."
"Whatever you choose is fine with me."
"We could move to a small town someplace else. We could say we've been wed for years. No one would know about his past—or yours."
She was so happy that she felt her heart might simply burst with joy.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"I'll be a good wife to you. I swear it." "I know you will."
He eased her to her feet, and he stood, too.
"What shall we do first?" she asked.
"Well, since I'm not heading out in the morning, I should pack my bags and relinquish my cabin." He leaned down for a quick kiss. "And I think the captain could marry us before we debark. Unless you'd rather find a church and a preacher?"
"No, no. I want to do it now."
"So do I."
He linked their fingers and ushered her to the door, where Tim was waiting impatiently on the other side. Jack laid a hand on Tim's shoulder.
"I guess we're not going to America, after all."
"Are you sure, sir?" Tim was courteous but unable to hide his disappointment at having their grand adventure canceled.
"We'll be too busy here in England. Now, I need you to run topside and locate the captain."
"Why? What should I tell him?"
'Tell him"—Jack smiled at Sarah—"that your mother and I would like to marry immediately, so we'll need him to perform the ceremony."
Tim let out a whoop of delight and raced for the ladder.
Don't leave me here!" Ophelia clutched at Jamie's coat, her fists kneading the fabric as if she might tear it to shreds, and he pried her away.
The decaying mansion where she'd been delivered was touted as a convalescent home for the aged, infirm, and deranged, and it had become a veritable House of Merrick. Percy was mortally wounded and being nursed, Edith was senile and kept secluded so she didn't wander, and Ophelia was detained because she'd been judged legally insane. And it was all Jamie's doing. The hospital or asylum or jail, or whatever the hell it was called, was allegedly the most modern facility in the country, when Ophelia couldn't fathom why.
There were bars on the windows, and the individual rooms were little more than cells. The patients and prisoners couldn't be trusted with more than a cot and a chamber pot. Lest they hang themselves in despair, there were no hooks on the walls. They'd taken her clothes; they'd taken her jewels; they'd taken her only pair of shoes!
The property was situated in the middle of nowhere, and it rained all the time, so the roads were a mire of mud. If she could have found a carriage to steal—there wasn't one; she'd checked—it would have bogged down in a trice.
She would die in such a despicable place! She would absolutely die!
Jamie chuckled. "It's so amusing to see you beg."
"You swine! You churl! How can you be so cruel?"
"Actually, it's comes quite naturally."
"I didn't harm your precious Anne. It's absurd to punish me. I'm completely innocent."
He arched a skeptical brow. "Fine, let's just say I'm an unconscionable boor and I'm torturing you for sport."
"Oh, you ... you—"
She broke off. She had to calm herself, had to try a different tactic. He was such a brute that insults didn't faze him. Pleading didn't faze him. Nothing bloody fazed him!
She smoothed her features into an expression of extreme regret.
"I'm sorry," she said.
His chuckling metamorphosed into outright laughter. "You've never been sorry for anything in your entire life. You don't know the definition of the word."
"I am sorry," she lied. "I didn't realize Percy would behave so horridly. I swear it!"
"Do you think I haven't spoken to Anne? Do you think I'm unaware that you helped Percy tie her to the bed?"
"But he was merely going to scare her. How was I to predict what he'd do after I departed?"
"Have you any remorse for shooting off your brother's balls?"
"Of course I do," she falsely insisted. "I feel terrible. It's my temper. It often runs away with me."
"It certai
nly does."
"He might recover."
"Not his balls! They don't grow back."
"I mean he should live," she petulantly fumed. "The doctors all say there's a good chance."
"He may survive, but being a male myself, I can attest that there will be many days he'll wish he hadn't. He'll blame you, and you'll deserve his scorn. I'll return in six months to see how his wrath is settling on you."
He sauntered toward the door, as if he'd walk out that very second, and she hurried after him and grabbed his arm.
"Jamie!"
"What?"
"You can't abandon me." "I believe I already have."
Using Edith and Percy as his witnesses, Jamie had had her declared insane. He'd had himself installed as her guardian, too, and he could do anything to her without penalty—as he'd proven repeatedly.
After she'd wounded Percy, Jamie had pummeled her to the floor, then locked her in a closet until some burly men took her to a prison in London that had been filled with whores and criminals. Ultimately, she'd been shipped—in chains—to the rural, isolated sanctuary where she now resided. She'd been callously tricked, assuming that she was being sent home, only to find herself incarcerated against her will, with Jamie claiming it would be forever.
"Take me to Gladstone with you," she implored. "No."
"Then buy me another house. In London or anywhere. I'm not choosy." "No."
"Please!" she wailed.
"I know you'll be surprised to hear it, but I've noticed that you're dangerous. You can't be out among normal people."
"My brother attacked Anne! Not me! Why can't you understand?"
"Percy may have attacked her, but with his cock blown off, I doubt he'll assault anybody ever again. Besides, he won't ever leave this hospital. With the stories of his castration being bandied in town, he's a laughingstock."
"He wasn't castrated," she seethed.
"I guess it's all in the eye of the beholder, but I'm not worried about him. You, on the other hand, are a different kettle of fish."
Furious, exasperated, she studied him, wondering how to make him relent. She laid a palm on his chest.
"How can I change your mind, Jamie? I'll do anything."
"Anything?"
"Yes. Just name it. You can't hide the fact that you desire me. Set me up as your mistress. You could love me; Percy always did. You'd be so happy."
