Siren

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  Fire flashed in her eyes. “Don’t placate me with what you would have done. You knew the risks. If you’d had any honorable intentions toward me then you would have married me before deploying, or at least proposed.”

  Frustrated, James gritted his teeth. This wasn’t going well at all. “Please, hear me out. It’s not that simple.”

  She scoffed, rolling her eyes to the heavens. “Oh, but it is that simple. The whole situation is exquisitely simple. You are free, James.” Her cool gaze fell back to him. “There is no need for you to concern yourself with doing the gentlemanly thing. All the arrangements have been made. I will remain in the country until the child is born. My brother found a perfectly respectable couple to take the babe in. Then I will return home, my health fully recovered.” A dangerous glimmer lit her eye as her tone dropped. “It is just as you said, James, no one ever has to know.”

  The words thrown back in his face gutted him.

  She backed away. “You are absolved of any responsibility. Go on and live your life. You need never look back.” With that she turned.

  “Stop, Phoebe! Don’t go. I can’t believe this is what you want.”

  She continued marching away from him, leaving her basket of paints in the field.

  “Siren,” he called, striding after her.

  “Don’t call me that!” She whirled, fists clenched at her sides. The icy façade she’d presented shattered, revealing the pain and anguish lurking beneath her cold exterior. “Don’t you dare call me that. I am not your siren, James. You are the siren. You lured me in with your song. You seduced me. And then you left me wrecked and ruined upon the rocks.”

  James stopped short as guilt consumed him. “Phoebe, please. I didn’t know. Give me a chance. Just listen.”

  “No! There is nothing I wish to hear from you. I made my choices, and now I will live with the consequences.” Lip quivering, she turned her head away from him. “Just leave,” her voice cracked. “Leave me be.”

  “Don’t cry,” he murmured.

  Phoebe turned remarkably dry eyes back to him. “I have run out of tears to shed for you, James.”

  Taken aback by her stony expression, he stalled. More than anything he wanted to fold her in his arms and bring back the warmhearted, loving woman that had stolen his heart. He extended a hand, but she snatched away.

  “Go back to Judith and play papa to Toby. There is nothing for you here.” She whipped around and sprinted across the field in the opposite direction.

  What? Judith…

  Reeling from the horrible conversation, James didn’t follow.

  * * * *

  Phoebe dashed hell-bent through the foliage to a narrow rutted road that wound through the through the countryside on a less direct route back to her cottage. Her heart thundered and her lungs burned, but she refused to slow the pace. She dared not. What if he followed her? She maintained the mad pace as desperate to outrun James as the painful emotions he provoked.

  He’s alive!

  Those two words pounded through her head in perfect tandem with her drumming footsteps, and as she ran it created an almost musical cadence with her thumping pulse. He’s alive. James is alive. She didn’t know what to do with the information. She’d just begun to accept her circumstances and the finality of his demise, but when he’d stepped into that field… happiness, like sunshine, had burst inside her. In the past months she’d all but forgotten sunshine. The urge to run to him had been so intense, but before the shock of his appearance ebbed enough for her to take even one step, the hurt and anger had swiftly resurfaced, clouding her fleeting joy. He’d abandoned her! She could never forget that. If past history proved true, it wouldn’t take much to drive him back out of her life for good.

  Her tears blurred the quaint cottage as it came into view. She swiped them away, and finally stumbled to a halt. She dragged several ragged breaths into her aching lungs as her body gave way to painful sobs. She crumpled into the grass beside a flowering hedge and succumbed to the tears. She drew her knees up and buried her face in her skirts as warring emotions threatened to rip her apart. The hopes and dreams that had died with James raced through her mind, while bitter logic warned her to shut him out forever. According to his sister-in-law, James was supposed to be marrying her.

  Why did he come here?

  The question refused to give her peace. Blast Sarah for telling him where she was. No doubt Sarah harbored grand romantic illusions of James swooping in and sweeping her off her feet. Phoebe knew better than to give him the chance. His silver gilded words had done nothing but get her into trouble before. Now that he knew the truth—that he was absolved of responsibility—it was only a matter of time before he thanked his lucky stars and went back to his philandering ways.

  After a good thirty minutes, Phoebe dried her eyes and splashed cold water on her face from the well bucket. She probably looked a fright, but dinner would be on soon and she didn’t want Elizabeth or Mrs. Condon to worry. She’d just let them know she was home and slip quietly into her room.

  Making her way to the cottage door, she eased it open and peaked inside.

  “Oh, lovely. Here is Lady Phoebe now,” Mrs. Condon’s voice floated from the small sitting room, and the brittle tap of her heeled shoes quickly echoed off the wooden floors.

  Phoebe cringed, wanting to shrink back through the door, but there was no time.

  Mrs. Condon bustled into the hallway, cheeks flushed with merry pink and eyes aglow. “Come quickly, my lady. We have a guest.”

  Before Phoebe could reply the sound of heavier footsteps drew her attention as James Witherspoon followed Mrs. Condon from the sitting room.

  “What is he doing here?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned her fury onto James. “Get out.”

  Eighteen

  “Right then,” Mrs. Condon chirped, a conspiratorial gleam lighting her eye. “I’ll just leave you two alone to chat.”

  “No!” Phoebe spat, marching after her. She grabbed Mrs. Condon’s arm, not caring that James could see and hear everything that transpired. “Absolutely not. Do you know who he is?”

  “Why of course, my lady. This is Colonel Witherspoon of His Majesty’s Royal Cavalry. He was good enough to bring home your painting supplies.” She smiled innocently. “I know the two of you are already very well acquainted, and have a great deal to catch up on. Why don’t you go to the sitting room for a visit? Elizabeth and I will let you know when dinner is ready.” Mrs. Condon spun and stepped lightly into the kitchen.

  Seething at the total insubordination demonstrated by her servant, Phoebe stomped after her, fists clenched at her sides. “I have nothing to say to that man.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “You know what Colonel Witherspoon did to me.”

  “Nothing you didn’t invite on yourself.”

  Phoebe ignored the quip. “Why did you let him come here?”

  Mrs. Condon’s demeanor grew serious as she faced Phoebe once more. “Lady Phoebe, you are one of the steadiest, most level-headed young women it has ever been my privilege to know. For you to be taken in so completely by Colonel Witherspoon, I can only believe there is real love between you.”

  Love? There’d been a time when she’d believed there might be love between them. “But he left me,” her voice cracked as all the humiliation she’d battled the last months welled up inside her. “I would have given him everything, but he left without a single promise.”

  “Would he have come here now if he didn’t love you?” Mrs. Condon asked softly. “Your brother is one of the most powerful men in Britain. Colonel Witherspoon risks a great deal by coming here.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Give him the opportunity to speak before you make a decision that will affect the rest of both your lives.”

  Confusion churned in Phoebe’s stomach as she turned to stare out the window. “The decisions have already been made. Everything is done. All I want is for this horrible ordeal to be over so I can move on with my l
ife.”

  “It won’t be that simple, my lady. That child is a part of you and will remain so until your dying day. There is no shame in choosing to give the baby up, in doing so you would give another family great joy, a gift unlike any other, but I want that choice to be on your terms not your brother’s or for the sake of propriety.”

  Phoebe drew a shuddering breath and absently dropped a hand to the tiny mound rounding her lower abdomen. All the fight and anger drained from her as sadness and longing battled her ever present shame. “Very well,” she murmured. “I will speak with him.”

  “Would you like to freshen up first?”

  “No. I would like to get this over with.” Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin, and strode from the kitchen.

  James waited for her in the hallway, his handsome face pensive and nervous.

  Phoebe gulped. Despite her anger a shiver traced her spine at the mere sight of him. “Shall we go to the parlor?”

  He motioned toward the doorway. “After you.”

  Phoebe swept past him, striving to keep her mannerism cool and aloof. She selected a single chair away from all the others, reluctant to have him too close, and sat facing him. “Please sit, Colonel. I would offer tea, but dinner is nearly ready.”

  James nodded, and hesitated by the doorway. After a moment he swung the door shut behind him.

  Alarmed, Phoebe shot to her feet. “What are you doing? This is hardly proper.”

  “Nothing about our situation is proper, Phoebe. The other women in your household are well aware of that fact, and I want what is said to stay between us.”

  She shivered, totally unnerved at being alone with him. He need only look at her with his warm whiskey eyes and her insides trembled.

  “Phoebe,” he began, deep baritone stroking the lonely cords buried within her, “I saw the painting you gave to my mother. It was beautiful, and it meant the world to her. I can’t begin to thank you for such a kindness. She has known far too much loss in her life.”

  “Oh, um, it was nothing,” she mumbled, surprised and partially disarmed by his heartfelt thanks. “I was happy for her to have it.”

  He lingered by the closed door. “The comment you made about Judith… at first I had no idea what to make of it, but as I walked back to your cottage it occurred to me that you must have spoken with her at some point. Did my sister-in-law say something to you when you took the portrait to my mother?”

  Still standing, Phoebe forced herself to maintain eye contact with him. “She told me of your plans to marry so that you might become a real father to Toby.”

  Total disbelief eclipsed his face, followed by frustration. “She actually said that?”

  “I don’t recall her exact words, but that was her implication.”

  James shook his head. “I assure you, Phoebe. We never had any such plans. Judith may have desired for such to be true, but I would never dishonor my brother by marrying his wife or subject my nephew to the confusion I knew as a child.”

  Phoebe remained still, digesting his explanation. Given what she knew of his past, it made sense that he wouldn’t wish to join with his brother’s wife. “Why would she say those things to me? We all believed you to be dead.”

  James sighed. “I don’t know. When I was home last it became rather obvious that Judith had developed a… romantic interest in me.” He shrugged. “She is a perfectly kind woman, but I’ve never returned the sentiment.” He shrugged. “I knew I’d be leaving soon enough, and I didn’t wish to embarrass her so I did my best to simply ignore her hints.” He shook his head. “Perhaps I should have been more upfront with her. I just… I just assumed it was a harmless infatuation that would pass. I never imagined she had such grand plans.”

  “Giving women the wrong impression seems to be a habit of yours.”

  James blanched at the insult. “I swear to you, Phoebe, I never knowingly lead her on.”

  Phoebe dropped back into the cushioned chair, back ramrod straight, struggling to keep her guard up. He looked so earnest… so sincere… “State your piece,” she said curtly, striving to bolster her defenses.

  “Right,” he muttered, expressing a deep sigh. “I, uh…” he raked both hands through his hair and began pacing across the floor. “Hell,” he cursed. “I’ve been rehearsing this apology for months and now I can scarcely think.”

  She softened slightly. “James, sit. Please. Watching you pace is exhausting.”

  He ground to halt, boots scraping the floorboards and faced her, expression haggard. No hint of the mischievous man she knew haunted his face. “I don’t know where to begin, Phoebe. I have so much to atone for.”

  “Just start from the beginning.”

  “The beginning.” He chuckled wryly. “Which beginning? Mine or ours?”

  “Yours,” Phoebe replied.

  “Very well.” He nodded and faced her full on. “You must understand, Phoebe, I never planned to marry anyone. Ever. Joining the military at seventeen is a Witherspoon family tradition dating back generations, and on that same token, so is dying young.” He sank into a chair and his eyes took on a faraway glaze. “I never expected to live past twenty-five. My father didn’t and neither did my brother.” He shrugged. “I never believed I had a future so I lived carelessly and for myself. As you know, I flaunted that lifestyle to anger my uncle who was impossible to please.” James sank into a chair and rested his elbows on his knees. His eyes took on a haunted, faraway glaze. “When my younger brother died very suddenly in a bizarre accidental shooting it solidified my belief that I too wouldn’t live much longer.” He shook his head, staring down at his palms. “Yet here I am. None the better or happier for a life of debauchery and clashing with my uncle. After the general’s funeral, I went down to the beachfront with a bottle of whiskey, intent on getting right and truly drunk as I always did when I didn’t want to consider my own short fallings, and…” He glanced up suddenly, tortured gaze slicing right through her. “And then you were there.”

  The breath froze in her throat and her pulse stuttered, threatening to arrest altogether.

  His tone dropped, low and smoldering, washing over senses like warm honey. “That day on the beach you appeared out of nowhere. For a moment I actually believed you might be an angel. I-I think I loved you from the very first.”

  Love? Phoebe swallowed hard and clasped trembling hands in her lap, striving to maintain her anger. There was that blasted word again.

  “Phoebe,” he continued, voice thick with emotion. “From the moment we met you’ve seen right through me. You’ve seen past this façade to the good in me. You are one of very few people to believe I could be more, and because of you, I am more. I want to be more. All I ask is for the chance to prove it.” He rose then, his hulking frame looming over her as he advanced.

  Panic rose in Phoebe’s chest. After that speech she couldn’t think clearly or recall any of the rational arguments that screamed to keep him away.

  He dipped a hand into his uniform jacket and brandished a sapphire ring. “I came home from the war with every intention of getting down on my knees before you, begging your forgiveness, and asking you to be my wife.” He drew a long breath and knelt before her. He held the ring out between them, and made unwavering eye contact. He kneeled so close the scent of shaving soap and road dust kissed her nose. “While the circumstances I arrived home to are not exactly as I had foreseen, my intentions and my feelings for you have not changed. Lady Phoebe Landon, would you grant this wayward fool the undying honor of becoming my wife?”

  Suffocated by his proximity, Phoebe’s head spun dizzyingly. Love… marriage… wayward fool… Isn’t this what she wanted? To marry James and dream of blonde haired, brown eyed babies? A dull throb began behind her left temple. “I-I…” The gemstone gleamed in the sunlight, and further scattered her senses. She squeezed her eyes shut and shot to her feet. “No!” Snapping her lids back open she fixed her gaze on the window and edged away from him.

  “No?” Expres
sion filled with shock, he climbed slowly to his feet.

  “No,” she repeated, resolve solidifying. Once she’d placed a safe distance, and one end table between them, she addressed him further. “I cannot marry you, James. I’ve been drawn in by your pretty speeches before, but in the end you never follow through. I would have given you everything, but back in Corsair you used me and walked away without a backward glance.”

  “I’ll offer no excuses for my behavior, Phoebe, but the truth is I panicked.”

  “And what happens when you panic again?”

  “I won’t.” He held the ring out. “This is my grandmother’s ring. I had it with me the morning I came to see you before I shipped out. I had planned to propose then, to ask you to wait for me, but after your brother and I fought…” His shoulders hefted helplessly. “I doubted myself. I convinced myself you could do better than me.” He took a hesitant step toward her. “It was a mistake. I knew it almost immediately.”

  Phoebe skirted the wall, maintaining at least four feet of space between them. “Then why didn’t you write me? I waited every day for a letter, but nothing ever came. I truly believed you didn’t care.”

  “I do care, Phoebe. I promised myself that if I survived I would come back for you. Over and again I started to write, but apologies on paper looked hollow. I believed anything I had to say would be better said in person.” He faltered. “I failed to realize it would all be too late.”

  Phoebe held up a hand. “I’ve heard enough, James. I don’t know what to believe, but the truth is I will never trust you again. It is too late. Words mean little without actions to support them. For months I have heard nothing from you, and now you appear out of nowhere with a ring and an apology, but for how long will you remain sincere? A week, a month, perhaps until we reach the altar and you decide I’ll be better off without you again?” She shook her head. “I have no wish to be trifled with or hurt. I cannot risk alienating my brother altogether.” She drew a long steadying breath. “I think it best if we part ways now and continue with the plans already in place.”