Hadn’t that always been the way with Cynthia? The many nights she’d visited Edgecomb, on the pretext of seeing to Molly so she’d be forced to spend the night in this room, had always ended in the same fashion. He’d come to her after Molly was asleep, and they’d made passionate love until both of them were spent. No woman in Philadelphia could match Cynthia’s beauty and, he doubted, her insatiable appetite for lovemaking. Ian knew she had other lovers and he didn’t mind. Cynthia, long a widow, professed no interest in marrying again. Why not take advantage of what she offered? Perhaps her soft, pliant body would erase another woman from his thoughts for a while. At the moment he didn’t want to think, only feel.
Entering the room, he found it stuffy and opened the window. A sudden fresh, cool breeze floated into the bedroom and caused the candle to sputter and die. In the darkness Ian quickly shucked his clothes and joined the woman he believed to be Cynthia in the bed.
His long, well-muscled body fit snugly against the curve of her derriere when he pulled her against him. What was this? A nightgown. He wondered when the lusty Cynthia had started to wear nightgowns. Enfolding her in his arms, he breathed in the intoxicating scent of her hair. She smelled wonderful, felt like satin in his arms. His hand trailed lazily across a full breast, instantly feeling the nipple harden beneath the thin nightdress. He smiled because even in sleep Cynthia’s body responded to his touch.
His lips kissed the nape of her neck and his tongue followed the curve to the valley between her breasts. A. trickle of perspiration met his lips and he licked it away, breathing her name against the silken flesh.
The woman moaned and slowly turned her face. He felt her lips meet his, and her kiss was gentle but laced with the promise of passion. Ian’s loins felt on fire. Never before in all his couplings with Cynthia had he felt so protective of her or kissed her so tenderly as he did at that moment. Only one woman had ever stirred such feelings within him, and he didn’t want to think about her.
He positioned the woman so that her body was beneath him and felt her arms embrace his neck. She kissed him sweetly and slowly, almost as if she were half awake. Ian wanted her fiercely, and his hands stroked the satiny softness of her lower body, finding the pulsing center of her womanhood beneath the nightgown which rode above her thighs. His desire was quite evident and pulsing to enter her, and at that moment he would have thrust inside her except the woman moaned.
“Oh, Hawk,” she whispered in a sleepy, husky voice. Ian’s head shot up. Blood pounded through his veins.
Cynthia had never called him Hawk; she didn’t know anything about Hawk. Who was this woman who responded to his kisses?
“Who are you, madam?” His voice sounded vicious to his own ears, so it was no wonder that he felt the woman stiffen, and though he couldn’t see her eyes in the darkness, he guessed sleep fled and that they were round and full of shock. He didn’t expect the frightened and bloodcurdling scream which followed,
“Help! Someone help!” She clawed and pushed at Ian, knocking his body from her when she kicked out at him and attacked his bulging manhood with her foot.
Ian groaned and doubled over on the floor. He saw shooting stars for a moment and didn’t realize that Molly had entered the room and held a candle aloft until he heard her voice cutting through the air.
“Whatever is the matter?” Molly cried and placed the candle on the bedside table.
From his vantage place on the floor Ian couldn’t see the woman on the high rice bed, but he knew she had scrambled off the mattress and stood beside Molly from the two pairs of feet he saw on the other side.
“A man is in here,” the woman said in a breathy voice. “Call the constable.”
“A man?” asked Molly, and a hint of panic could be heard in her tone.
“I kicked him. He’s on the floor — over there on the other side of the bed.”
Ian sensed her apparent fear and indecision and didn’t relish his sister running off, screaming for help. He didn’t want the servants to see him in such a state. He called out her name and saw Molly’s nightgown-clad legs moving toward him. Glancing up, he saw her face bending over him. Her hands came up to her mouth in a gesture of shock. Pulling the bed sheet off of the bed she managed to cover him. “Are you hurt, Ian?”
Ian grunted. “How do you think I feel after being kicked in the…” He broke off, seeing that Molly appeared flustered. “I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it. “Who is that woman?” he whispered.
“Don’t you know?” she whispered back, perplexity in her eyes. “Why are you undressed if…” Suddenly she reddened. “You thought Cynthia was sleeping in here.” She sounded disapproving.
Ian nodded curtly, suddenly aware that Molly must have known what happened in this room whenever Cynthia visited. Now he had the good grace to blush and pulled the sheet around his torso. Thank God the pain was abating. He wondered if he’d be incapacitated for life because of Molly’s houseguest.
“Who is she?” he asked again, and wondered how he’d apologize to the woman.
Molly grinned and stifled a laugh. “I think you should find out for yourself.”
She stood up, leaving him dumbfounded and in a haunched position on the floor. He heard her say to the woman, “It’s only Ian. You have nothing to fear from him. I find the whole incident rather amusing, and I guess in the morning that you will, too. Good night to both of you.”
Then she was gone, and he felt so utterly stupid and baffled. Why had Molly gone and left him alone in the room with this strange woman? What could have gotten into his sweet, innocent sister to do such a thing?
He couldn’t stay in this position for the rest of the night. He must get up and face the woman, whoever she was, and apologize to her. Peering under the bed, he saw that she hadn’t moved one bit. Her feet peeked out of the gown, and a handful of material was bunched in one of her fists, showing off more than an ample amount of a shapely calf. She was as nervous as he was. Taking a big sigh, he pulled himself to his feet, and wished this accursed day was over. Nothing this embarrassing had ever happened to him, and he couldn’t wait to get the damn apology over with so he could get some sleep.
Bothersome woman, he found himself thinking. If she hadn’t been such a warm, responsive bundle in his arms none of this would have happened.
Grabbing the sheet firmly around himself, he rose upward, all six feet of him. The woman stood on the opposite side of the bed, and he found himself unable to focus on her at first, but noticed the long honey-brown hair which hung in graceful tendrils to her waist. He almost mumbled the beginnings of his apology, but stopped himself and blinked in disbelief. She made a raspy sound of dismay, her hands clutching at her throat.
For a second Ian felt unable to speak because he couldn’t concentrate on the words. But finally after what seemed like eons had passed, the gift of speech returned.
“So, you found me out, you conniving wench!”
“Hawk … Hawk.”
“Is that all you have to say? Just what do you think you’re doing here in my house? How did you get off the island? I’ll wring that Sparrow’s neck for this.”
He wanted to say so much more. In fact, he wanted to wring her neck. God, she must be a damn good spy to have tracked him here. But how? If Beth could ascertain his true identity, then who else might discover that Ian Briston, noted loyalist and faithful servant of the king, was in actuality the notorious American privateer Captain Hawk? No one knew except for Marc, his secretary, otherwise known as Crane when they took to the seas, and Sparrow.
Stalking over to her, he grabbed her by the arm and shook her, all too aware of the deathly pallor on her face. “How did you find me?”
She glanced at him as if in a daze. “Hawk, it is you. It is. I can’t believe it’s you.”
“Silly wench. You know who I am so stop the playacting.”
For a moment she gazed at him long and hard, then before his startled eyes, she began to laugh and couldn’t seem to stop. Tears streame
d down her cheeks, and she threw herself on the bed, seemingly devoured by gales of laughter.
“Too … funny … Hawk … Ian…” she practically squealed with delight.
Ian loomed over her, his face gone red with fury and indignation, not aware that he looked lost and baffled as he clutched the sheet around his imposing torso. Finally he’d had enough and, tossing the sheet aside, he joined her on the bed. His large hands pinned her arms to the mattress, and for just an instant he felt her legs rise.
“Push at me again, Beth, and I’ll whack your bottom so hard you won’t be able to sit down for a month.”
Apparently she thought better of launching another attack. She stopped laughing and a deep, resigned sigh shook her.
“Don’t you know who I am?” she said.
“I know you’re a damned good actress and a better spy. No one but Crane and Sparrow know who I really am. I congratulate you, Beth.”
“My name is Bethlyn. I’m your wife.” Her voice shook, and her brown eyes were as large as serving platters.
Ian studied her for a moment, his own eyes impaling hers. “You’re more clever than I thought to come up with such a ruse. I don’t know how you learned about my marriage, but no wonder Molly took you in.”
“Why do you think I’m lying?” She began to struggle, but he held her down. “It’s true. I’m Bethlyn Briston, the daughter of the Earl of Dunsmoor and the wife of Ian Briston, a noted loyalist.” She sneered the last word. “You’re loyal to no one but yourself, I find. You prance and preen around Philadelphia and all the time you’re robbing British ships. And you have the nerve to accuse me of playacting. No one is better than you, Ian Briston, or, let me say, Captain Hawk.”
“I don’t believe anything you say.” This time uncertainty tinged his voice.
She lifted her face upward so he’d be forced to look at her. “I speak the truth. Open your eyes, dear husband. Remember the day of our wedding, recall how you barely glanced at your plump, plain little bride. Remember how I vomited all over the floor of the Grotto and how you carried me upstairs. So kind you were, so solicitous of me. I thought you’d be the answer to my prayers, that I could find some happiness in life and not in a book or penning poetry to while away the time.
“And then what do you do, kind, concerned husband? You send me to Aunt Penny’s to live out my years, bereft of a husband, of the children I wished to conceive. I hated you and all the gifts Mr. Gibbons sent to me on my birthdays and wedding anniversaries. I doubt you even know the month I was born, or remember the date we were married. I behaved scandalously in London to gain your attention. I gained nothing but your apathy. In your eyes, I didn’t exist. But I exist to you now, I warrant. You won’t forget me now, Ian Briston, Captain Hawk. And all because I took the wrong ship.”
The words which spilled so easily from her mouth were now silenced. Bethlyn took great breaths of air, her full breasts straining against the thin gown. Ian let her go, but didn’t take his gaze from her. He took the candle and held it to her face, a face he’d seen so often in his mind lately. But another face superimposed itself upon the one which he now saw. A child’s face, streaked with tears, but one which had looked at him with hope in those large brown eyes.
His wife’s face. The face of the woman he’d captured off Nightingale. How hadn’t he seen the resemblance? But he admitted any resemblance was remote at best. The child he’d married had blossomed into a beautiful woman over the years. The time he’d spent with her at Woodsley on their wedding day was barely fifteen minutes in length. How was he to realize that the passionate woman he’d held in his arms all of those nights on Black Falcon was his own wife?
Ian felt extremely tired. He sat beside her on the bed. “I believe you.”
Bethlyn sat up, moving away from him until she positioned herself at the bottom of the bed, almost as if she might flee from him. Long tousled curls streamed across her shoulders and down her back. “Then free me.”
“What?”
“I want my freedom. I want an annulment of our marriage. I came to Philadelphia to rid myself of you, and now that I know who you really are, I insist on ending our farce of a marriage.”
“Suppose I decline?”
“You must do as I want. I refuse to be tied to a man who is an enemy of the Crown, a man who confiscated my father’s ship. You may retain control of Briston Shipping for all I care; I give you your share of the company. But I want to be free of you. I insist upon an annulment!”
Ian watched as Bethlyn defiantly thrust herself forward, almost as if she expected him to deny her. She was right to think he would deny her request. He had no intention of freeing her.
“My sweet wife, I beg to differ. I cannot grant you an annulment. “
“Why not?” She arched forward, a warning fire in her dark eyes, and he had the insane urge to kiss her. She’d never looked more lovely to him than at this moment.
“I might not be a barrister,” he began, and grinned, “but I know that annulments are granted only if the marriage has never been consummated, and if my memory serves me well, and it does, I can recall countless nights and days when we didn’t leave my cabin.” A bronzed finger snaked out and traced the outline of her lips. “I doubt you have much of a case, Bethlyn.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Then I want a divorce.”
“On what grounds, my love?”
Bethlyn nearly sputtered. “For God’s sake! You’re Captain Hawk, a man wanted by the Crown for piracy…”
“Privateering, sweet,” he interrupted.
“The devil take you, Ian Briston. Piracy, and you know it. If you don’t agree to a divorce, I’ll turn you in to the authorities,” She sat back, seemingly pleased with herself by the Cheshire-cat grin on her face. The chit thought she had him cornered, but Ian refused to rise to the bait.
He rubbed his chin in thought. “According to you, I confiscated one of your father’s ships, and for that so called crime, you will turn me in if I don’t agree to a divorce.”
“Yes.”
“You have no grounds.”
“But I do…”
“No,” he corrected her. “Nightingale belongs to Briston Shipping, and as part owner of Briston Shipping, then the ship was mine to do with as I wanted. I can’t be arrested for confiscating my own ship.”
“But there were other ships.”
“Do you have personal knowledge of them, dear wife?” He saw that he had her there. She shook her head in dismay and for a moment he thought he saw a glistening tear in one of her eyes.
“I can still turn you in and tell what I do know about you,” she said softly.
Ian didn’t doubt for a moment that she might do that very thing. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Too much depended on his privateering.
“You can do what you like,” he told her. “However, if you do turn me in, then I think you’ll be sorry. You might be arrested for consorting with the enemy. I doubt you’d like to spend time in prison.”
“None of that is true. I’ll make someone believe me.” She sounded unconvinced now.
This time he did see tears sparkling in her eyes, and he felt immense guilt for what he’d put her through the last month, in fact for what she’d gone through since he married her. He’d thought he’d seen to her wants all of these years, but he hadn’t done a very good job. Though Bethlyn might be beautiful and grown up now, a tigress when they made love, he still discerned the lonely child within her.
He must make everything up to her. He didn’t want or need a wife. Heaven knew he felt something for her, something he couldn’t name, and shrunk from admitting what it might be, but she deserved some happiness. All she wanted was a husband, and he couldn’t be that to her. With her as his wife, he might fall in love and he didn’t want the pain love could bring. He’d seen how his father had fared after loving too deeply. Her request was so simple that he felt taken aback. However, he could give her her freedom and send her
on her way eventually. She wanted a divorce; then he’d see she got one. But a part of him dreaded the day he freed her.
Ian stood up, unaware of his nudity, and cupped her chin. “If you want the divorce then I’ll see that you get your wish.”
Surprise and shock mingled on her beautiful face. “Should I say thank you?”
He shrugged, dropping his hand. “I don’t care. There’s a catch to all of this, however.”
Bethlyn groaned. “I knew there would be.”
He couldn’t suppress the smile which rose to his mouth at the defiant way her eyes snapped at him. He admired her spunk. “I’ve heard a rumor that I might be under suspicion. These are only rumors, mind you, but I must protect myself. I request that you remain as my wife until I know I’m safe. You must admit that my marriage to the Earl of Dunsmoor’s daughter will protect my image as the faithful follower of the king. Then when I feel that suspicion has turned away from me, you can quietly divorce me. However, Molly mustn’t learn about any of this. I don’t want her involved. Have we a pact?”
“This is the only way you’ll free me?”
“Yes.”
She searched his face for a long moment, then gave a trembling sigh. “I agree.”
“Fine. I think it best that you move into the bedroom next to mine so it will appear that we are truly husband and wife.”
“This room is more than adequate…”
He shot her a warning glance, and Bethlyn gave in. “Whatever you say, my dear husband.”
Ian left the room, not caring for the sound of that.
14
For the next few days Bethlyn’s time passed in a whirl of shopping trips with Molly, during which she was fitted with the most fashionable gowns and accessories. When the purchases later arrived at Edgecomb, Bethlyn’s bedroom was strewn with undergarments of the finest lace, nightrails of whisper-thin material, silk shoes, and hats in every style and color to match the satin, silk, and velvet dresses which the servant girls dutifully hung in the wardrobe.
Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) Page 20
