And finally she did.
~
The next afternoon Bethlyn poured tea for John Andre in the dining room. She was genuinely fond of Andre, but this fondness was tempered by her existence as the Dove. He regaled her with stories about how people claimed to know the Dove’s identity, and how harried and furious General Howe was over his inability to ferret out the poetess.
“I was charged to investigate the wife of a minister last week, because someone in the congregation saw her scribbling on a piece of paper. Turned out she was only writing a shopping list and the poor woman nearly fainted dead away at the sight of me. This hysteria is doing more harm than good, and in the long run the Dove will regret ever writing a word of poetry whether her identity is discovered or not.”
Bethlyn stirred her tea, deeply troubled by what John told her. “I fear you may be right, John,” she said after a few moments.
“I’ve news which may be of interest to you, Bethlyn. Do you recall that loutish Lieutenant Holmes, the one who couldn’t keep his eyes off of you at the Shippens’s soiree some months back?”
“Yes.”
“His body was found yesterday morning in an alley behind an ale house. Knifed through the heart and not a farthing on him.”
“How very distressing. Are there any clues as to who killed him? I never liked Lieutenant Holmes, but I do feel sad that he came to such an end.”
John shook his head. “No one saw anything or anybody suspicious. Probably murdered for his money by some desperate and hungry colonial.”
After John left, Bethlyn forgot about Lieutenant Holmes’s unfortunate demise. She had something else to think about today, namely the midnight tryst with Hawk.
~
She arrived at Simpson House earlier than usual that night, but the candles already glowed in the parlor, inviting her inside. The flickering candles bathed the parlor in a warm glow which grew warmer when Hawk presented her with a cup of sweet elderberry wine. The wine tasted delicious and made her think of Tansy Tolliver’s brew, which had undone poor Sparrow. Bethlyn chuckled at the memory, amused and a bit guilty for how they’d dealt with her bodyguard on Windhaven.
“I like your laugh,” Hawk complimented her. Bethlyn reddened beneath her mask. When she was alone with Hawk, she almost believed Ian Briston didn’t exist, but he did. Ian and Hawk were one and the same, separate identities which completed a whole man. And man he was. That she couldn’t forget no matter how she tried.
“Are you always so free with compliments, sir?” she asked somewhat flirtatiously, but her voice held a slight edge.
“I say only what is in my heart.”
Arrogant bounder! She turned away from his heated gaze on her so he wouldn’t see her pain, then faced him with a brilliant smile on her lips.
“It seems that you don’t wish to discuss politics tonight,” she said.
“By all means, madam, I do.” He’d been standing near the fireplace all of this time, but now he took a Chippendale ladderback chair and placed it before the divan where she sat. Straddling the chair, he folded his arms across the top rung and watched her in all seriousness. “Please tell me your views on the war, from the heart and not some political lip service everyone so freely spouts today.”
Taken aback, Bethlyn froze. What did he want her to say? She’d already expressed to him how she felt. She knew precious little about the war other than the reasons behind the fight, a fight she found herself supporting more and more each day.
“I … I , .. I feel the war was a long time in coming.” She inwardly cursed herself for stuttering, somehow finding her composure again. “America should have asserted her independence long ago rather than remain tied to a heartless and uncaring country.”
Ian nodded. “All true, but you mentioned that someone had changed your thinking. I profess that something else caused you to heed the cry of freedom. What might that have been?”
What did he want of her? She didn’t like the way this conversation was progressing. It was almost as if he wasn’t interested in her views as much as her personal life, or rather the Dove’s personal life. As much as she would like to ignore the question, she wouldn’t. She’d tell him flat out what had changed her mind.
“To put it simply, Captain Hawk, I like to think of myself as a bird, a dove, if you will. A creature who is totally free, unhindered by human bonds. In my life I’ve known many restrictions, and I feel people in America are different than Europeans. There’s a delightful wildness about them, they’re not afraid to try their wings and fly. Only people with an innate sense of self can dare to rebel against injustice. You are one of those people and must understand how I feel.”
“Yes,” he said softly. “I do understand. We’re very much alike, madam, more alike than I first realized.” Reaching out, he took the wine from her and kissed the inside of her wrist before his tongue swirled like a gentle mist on the sensitive flesh, tasting her and branding her as his.
Her silly heart pounded so hard that she was deafened. She ached to glance away from him, to pull her hand away, or make some sort of remark to still the sexual tension which suddenly oozed around them like red-hot lava from an erupting volcano. Feeling desire well within her wasn’t what she’d planned. Oh, she had wanted to entice him, to arouse him, but somehow the tables had turned and she found herself falling into a sensuous trap of her own making, because she was weak where Ian Briston was concerned. Weak and too aroused to resist him.
Her jealousy and all of the reasons for coming here fled when he rose from the chair and willed her to her feet with his piercing gaze. Her will was gone. He held her spellbound as he had done from the first moment she saw him on the Black Falcon. Nothing mattered at that moment, nothing but having him love her again. And she didn’t care if the man who loved her was Captain Hawk or Ian or King George himself. She only knew that she couldn’t hate this man who slowly drew her to the fireplace and undressed her with such arousing skill that, as each piece of clothing slithered down her naked flesh to fall at her feet, she whimpered and clung to him, unaware that they both were still masked.
“Easy, my love,” he said, and undressed quickly. “Our need is great and will soon be replete.”
Lowering her to a layer of animal furs on the floor, he kissed her like a starving man, devouring her with his lips. His hands upon her naked flesh scorched her in their quest to reach and fondle the lush velvet mound of her womanhood.
Bethlyn’s arousal peaked, driving her into a frenzy of wanting when he placed his hard and throbbing shaft into her hand. She stroked him and knew she pleasured him by his husky moans in her ear.
Mind-shattering ecstasy was but a few strokes and touches away. She couldn’t wait a moment longer, her body craving his complete possession.
“I … I need … you now.” She could barely speak, but it didn’t matter because her body had already conveyed to him her desire.
Skillfully, he parted her legs and slid into her, plundering the soft satin folds of her body. The breath died in her throat. By instinct she arched towards him, clutching him to her, knowing that the end was near, regretting it and aching for it at the same time.
Glorious rapture for both of them came with a sudden powerful thrust. Nothing prepared her for the throbbing surge of his release or for the intense mind-drugging pleasure which washed over her, leaving her drained and suddenly defeated when he gathered her in his arms.
“Next time, my dove, we shall take our time. I promise I will bring you to heights of pleasure you can barely dream.”
She closed her eyes, blocking out the masked visage of Captain Hawk. She didn’t want to see him or the man behind the mask. A tear fell from the comer of her eye and dribbled down her cheek to land on the fur beneath her.
Her husband, the man she had loved so desperately, had been unfaithful to her. With herself! Dear God, she was jealous of herself.
The worst part of the whole mess was that she still loved him. No matter his treatment of her, sh
e would always love him, but she knew with no uncertainty that she would have to leave him and make a new life for herself. She’d be unable to look him in the face now without remembering this night, of how he had made love to the Dove. Herself!
She waited until he fell asleep. Then she quietly dressed, slipped outside, and returned to Edgecomb.
23
Annie removed Bethlyn’s gowns from the wardrobe and laid them on the bed. A flurry of activity descended upon the room when Sally ordered the two servant boys who followed behind her, lugging a large trunk between them, to set the trunk on the floor.
“What do you suppose has happened?” Annie asked Sally in a worried whisper after the boys had departed. “The missus ain’t said a word about returning to England before today.”
Sally shrugged her plump shoulders. “I don’t know. The comings and goings of the rich are a mystery to me.”
“Pearl said that the master has a woman he meets on the sly. I ain’t certain why he’d want another lady when his own wife is so beautiful and kind.”
“Ah, just kitchen gossip,” Sally uttered, and began to fold the gowns for packing. “I don’t believe a word of it. Now hush and get on with your work. I hear Mrs. Briston coming.”
Like a small tornado, Bethlyn streaked through the room, issuing orders to Annie and Sally, finding fault with each and every thing they did. Finally Annie burst into tears, unused to being chastised by Bethlyn, and fled before she could disgrace herself further.
Bethlyn looked askance, then she realized she’d been acting like a dictator since early that morning. She hadn’t meant to hurt Annie’s feelings, or anyone else’s, but her pent-up frustration and hurt over what happened at Simpson House the night before had turned her into a miserable and shrewish woman.
A heavy feeling in her heart forced her to sit down on a large, cushioned chair. “You may go for now,” she said to Sally, and managed a small smile. “Please tell Annie that I didn’t mean to scream at her.”
“She knows that, ma’am. Annie will get over her hurt feelings and will have forgotten all about it by day’s end. Is there anything else you’d like?”
“Nothing for now. Just please have all my belongings packed by tomorrow night. The ship leaves early the next morning.”
“I will, ma’am.” Sally curtsied and left Bethlyn to her thoughts.
Day after next she would leave Edgecomb and never return. She planned to visit Mavis before she left, but right now she didn’t have the strength to walk down the stairs. Ever since last night she’d felt emotionally and mentally drained, pushing herself to supervise all of the packing and to discover when the first available ship left Philadelphia for London.
She grimaced because the ship wasn’t owned by Briston Shipping, a good omen in its way. At last she’d be free of everything that had to do with Briston Shipping and Ian. Before the day was over she’d see a lawyer about contacting Ian for a divorce. She felt cowardly, not wanting to see him and tell him in person. But she didn’t think she could bear looking at him again.
Suddenly a great sleepiness overtook her, having not slept a wink last night. Closing her eyes, she drifted off to sleep, and sometime later she dreamed she woke to see Ian standing over her, his arms placed on either side of the chair, imprisoning her.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty.”
Instantly she started at the sound of his voice, coming to the realization that this wasn’t a dream. The lines on the sides of Ian’s eyes crinkled into a heart-stopping smile.
“You’ve been a busy little bee this morning,” he noted, his head inclining to the dresses and her trunk. “Going somewhere?”
The frosty contempt in her eyes chased her sleep away. “Please move so that I may get up. I’ve quite a lot to do, so I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t bother me.”
When she reared upward, Ian drew away and watched as she wrenched her toilet articles off of her dresser top to throw them into a small wooden and porcelain-inlaid case.
“You’re going to break something,” he warned.
“If I do, I’ll replace it.”
“Well then, have at it.”
“What do you want?” she snapped. “I have a great deal of packing to do before the ship sails in two days.”
“Bethlyn, where are you going?”
“To London and I shan’t return.”
Ian quietly studied her, his face showing no expression.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”
Bethlyn chunked the case down on the floor, not caring that her expensive perfume bottles clattered and broke with the fall. “Oh, you horrid man! Why should I tell you anything I plan to do? Since I’m unimportant to you, then my leaving you will have no effect upon you whatsoever. Go to your darling Emmie for comfort when I’m gone, go to the D—” She broke off, feeling ridiculously foolish to even think of saying it. He couldn’t possibly seek out the woman he’d been with the night before because she’d be long gone. She hoped to soon stop being jealous of an identity she herself had created. Instead she gave him her back and said, “Find a woman whom you can love.”
“But I already have found that woman. Do you want to hear about her?”
He’d come up close behind her, his breath warm on her neck, ruffling a few strands of honey-brown curls. A knifelike pain seared through her at his words. Ian loved another woman. Was it Emmie? The Dove? She didn’t want to know, and like a child she placed her hands tightly over her ears and shook her head from side to side. “I don’t want to hear any of this!” she cried.
Ian pulled her arms down, clamping them to her sides with his own.
“No! I don’t want to hear!” Her protest and the subsequent wriggle to break free met with the stone-like resistance of his chest. He’d ensnared her with his superior strength. It wasn’t fair of him to do this to her, to humiliate her in this way, but she had no choice. Hot tears scalded her eyes to believe how much he truly must hate her.
“You shall listen to me, Bethlyn. What I have to say is of great importance.”
“I hate you.”
“Right now you do, but hear me out.”
She heard him take a deep breath, and for a second she wondered if he was going to speak at all, but when he did, his voice trembled for an instant before coming out clear and strong. “I will tell you about the woman I love. I hasten to speak about her, because she has brought me unbridled happiness and passion, two things on which a man places merit.”
“How thrilling,” she broke in, feeling his chest shake with suppressed laughter.
“This woman,” he continued, “is beautiful and loving, filled with such warmth that she melted my cold heart. I never thought to feel this way about any woman, but, alas, she owns me body and soul. Her lovemaking can be gentle or filled with fire and her total abandon in my arms makes me feel strong and tall and humble. I am her willing captive. Of course, we’ve had our problems, but I still love her and will always love her.”
“Please, Ian—”
“Shh, let me finish. This woman who stole my black and frozen heart sometimes thinks the way I do. Then again, I appreciate her intelligence to make up her mind and follow her own path. I’ve begun to realize that loving her doesn’t mean we must think alike. In some ways her differing views make her all the more appealing to me. I’ve discovered that two people don’t have to be alike to complement the other. For instance, her soft body, her warm essence complements my hardness and cynical view of life. Sometimes it is a man and woman’s differences which make them fit together, come together in love. Don’t you agree, Bethlyn?”
His voice was warm on her neck, but she felt horribly chilled. Couldn’t he see she was dying here? Didn’t he care? “No!” she spat out defiantly, hoping Ian would end this sick game.
His arms tightened on hers like two lengths of steel, rushing the chill from her body. “Ah, I hoped you would agree, but, if not, I hold your opinion in deep regard. You see, Bethlyn, sometimes we are of the sam
e thought, but not always. Still, we’re good together. In fact it is our differences which complement each other, because something in you fills a void in me, and you need parts of me to make you whole. We’re so opposite that in a perverse way we do complement each other like—” He paused.
“Like what?” she babbled, hating the words for spilling out because now he’d know she was listening to him.
“Like a hawk and a dove,” he whispered huskily into her ear.
Bethlyn sucked in her breath. Had she heard him correctly? Dear God, had Ian known all of the time she was the Dove?
She didn’t realize that Ian had turned her around until she saw his face, smiling down at her and wreathed with so much love and desire that she started shaking.
“How … how did you know that I … I was the Dove?”
“I didn’t know at first. I read your poems and was impressed,” he explained, and gently kissed her forehead. “Then I found a letter you were writing to Molly, and you’d made up an endearing and sweet poem. Well, then I knew that you and the Dove were one and the same. Your style is very easy to recognize, Bethlyn. I decided that I hadn’t truly known you. I arranged to meet the Dove because I was curious about why you’d changed your views. Somehow I knew you’d open up to Hawk. I had closed my mind and wrongly accused you of spying.”
“And now?” her voice sounded small and weak.
His expression was gentle but filled with pain. “Now I know you weren’t guilty, and I can never forgive myself for hurting you. I beg your forgiveness, my darling.”
She did forgive him. Nothing seemed to matter any longer, because she knew he loved her as she’d always known she loved him. Still a doubt nagged at her.
“Are you certain that you knew when you made love to the Dove that she was me?”
“Of course.”
“But I disguised my voice and wore a wig. How?”
Ian tilted her chin. “‘Because of your delicious stutter, my love.”
“I really must try and curb my nervousness,” she said as Ian pulled her into his arms, ready to claim her lips with a kiss. However, she stiffened and peered suspiciously at him. “What about Emmie Gray?”
Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) Page 35
