Silverswept

by Linda Ladd

  The fury boiled higher, churning, intensifying by degrees as they waited for Stephens to return with the justice of the peace. Heavy, foreboding tension hung over the quiet room like a cloud of lead, and the girl never looked up, not at him, not at her father. She did well to be afraid, he thought, his jaw growing harder.

  Daniel Tyler rose quickly as Stephens entered the room with a tall, gray-haired man. He took Alysson's elbow tightly and pulled her to her feet, and still she kept her eyes on the floor as he led her to the center of the room, her fingers clutching the bodice of the black satin gown together over her breasts.

  Constable Riggins waved Donovan forward with his gun, and Donovan gave him a look of cold distaste as he took his place beside Alysson. While the justice of the peace read the vows, his eyes traveled from the bride to the groom with unconcealed curiosity. The girl's voice was barely audible as she repeated the words, and Donovan said them with bland indifference that belied the absolute fury grinding away inside him. What a stupid fool he had been! Taken in by her beauty and her innocent looks. Taken in by her soft perfumed flesh and lovely lying lips!

  He held himself stiffly, not daring to touch her for feat of wrapping his fingers around her long white throat. The thought of being legally tied to such a woman sickened him.

  Daniel Tyler grinned as the ceremony drew to a finish, well satisfied with the outcome of a night he had feared to be a disaster. He had no idea how Alysson had come to be writhing in Donovan MacBride's bed at such a fortuitous time, but he was not a man who questioned good luck. He had been sure all was lost when she had fled his house, and he had been coming to tell MacBride of her disappearance when he had found them together. It was only good that he had reported her missing to the watch and brought along the constable to prove it. He chuckled to himself. Now, after a very long wait, he had MacBride exactly where he wanted him.

  "I'll have your clothes packed and sent to you here, daughter. I'll bid you farewell now."

  Alysson didn't look up or answer, and Daniel shrugged, glad to finally wash his hands of her.

  Alysson sank weakly onto the bed as Donovan MacBride and the constable followed Daniel Tyler from the room. Alone for the first time since the unthinkable had come to pass, she could not prevent her emotions from slipping behind the wall of iron restraint she had erected around them. She dropped her face into her palms and sobbed aloud. How could such a horrible thing have happened? How, how? How could her father have known that she was there? Or had he known? She had seen the stunned expression on his face when he had first recognized her. He had not known, she realized suddenly, and it was clear that Donovan MacBride hadn't, either. But now he did, and he thought she had been the one to deceive him.

  Ripples of fear raced down her spine, rattling already quivering nerves as she remembered the look on his face when he realized who she was. Hatred, disgust; cold, bitter, awful. And all because of some hideous, unbelievable twist ‘of fate that had brought them together in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  She sat up, dropping her hands away from her face as another terrible thought came to her. It had been Alysson herself who Donovan MacBride had intended should find him in bed with Odette! How much did he despise her to go to such extreme lengths to stop their marriage? Or was it her father he despised? Whichever, his rage was now twice as violent and directed at her for tricking him into a marriage he did not want.

  Alysson's teeth caught at her lower lip, green eyes enormous with fright. She was his wife now, his property to use and abuse as her father did to her mother. He was big and frightening, even without the intense hatred he now held for her. Would she be beaten mercilessly like her mother?

  Heart-squeezing panic rose inside, and she jumped up and ran to the window, wanting to flee his wrath, to hide anywhere before he could return. It was a straight drop to the bricked carriage road below, but this time there were no vines to give her a means of escape. She leaned her head against the cool glass, clasping her hands together to stop their shaking. She had to think, think of a way out of this. She had to make him listen to the truth. Moving away from the window, she leaned against the wall, trying desperately to compose a reasonable explanation, one he would be able to believe. But the truth sounded more bizarre than what he had thought had happened! He would never believe her! Never! She could hardly believe it herself!

  She began to pace the floor, wringing her hands, trying to sort through her tangled, frightened thoughts, but any semblance of calm she attained fled forever when the door opened. She froze, watching with heaving chest as Donovan MacBride closed the door and leaned back against it. Black eyes burned into her, devil eyes, eyes that tied knots of fear in her stomach. Where he stood, the candlelight glinted off the fine planes of his face, carving hollows around his eyes and mouth. He looked like a devil, ready to claim another soul.

  "What is this? My precious wife isn't awaiting my pleasure in our wedding bed?” His words were low, lethal, coiling around her like a deadly serpent. Alysson shivered as he continued in cold, controlled contempt. “You were eager earlier, before you sprang your nasty little trap. It's time you finished what you started."

  "Please, please, listen to me.” She swallowed convulsively as he took a step toward her, wearing a smile that could chill the sun. “It's not what you think, I swear. I can explain if you'll..."

  She cried out as he reached out suddenly, his fingers grasping the front of her gown. One violent downward jerk ripped it from top to bottom, and Alysson backed away in terror, holding the remnants of it across her breasts.

  "Get in that bed, damn you."

  His voice was low, almost conversational, making it all the more threatening, and Alysson obeyed, scrambling quickly beneath the coverlet. She stared fearfully at him as he stopped at the foot of the bed, one hand grasping the thick bedpost, the other rubbing at the scar near his eye.

  "You're not going to like being my wife, English, because I'm going to make sure you don't,” he said softly.

  Alysson blanched at his words, wetting parched lips as he unbuttoned his vest and flung it to the floor. He stripped off his shirt with one angry motion, wadding it into a ball before he hurled it onto the chair beside the bed. His black eyes never left her face. When his fingers went to his belt buckle, Alysson began to speak with urgency.

  "I know how it looked to you,” she began, stopping as Donovan gave a low, unamused laugh. “But I don't want to be married to you any more than you want it! I swear it! I even ran away from my father because I wanted to be free of him!"

  Donovan ignored her, muscles knotting in his arms as he put a knee on the bed and grabbed her by the shoulders. He jerked her to her knees, bringing his face up close to hers.

  "You're lying again, girl, and I don't like liars."

  "I had no idea Rosalie was sending me here to you! I didn't even know your name! Ask her if you don't believe me!"

  Donovan's words were ground out from between clenched teeth. “Do you honestly think I would believe anything you have to say? I sure as the devil don't know how you came to be here tonight, but I know exactly why. And believe me, you'll rue the day you became my wife until the day you die."

  His last threat brought alive Alysson's anger, pushing aside some of her fear. She tried desperately to jerk away from his painful grip on her arms.

  "I already rue this day, more than you ever will, and I can prove it!"

  Her sudden defiance surprised Donovan, because she had seemed quite terrified only moments before. But he couldn't forget that she had already proved herself to be a consummate actress. He thrust her away in disgust, and Alysson fell back into the pillows. Donovan glared down at her, hands on his hips.

  "Then, by all means, prove it."

  Alysson pressed herself as far away from him as she could, holding the sheet in front of her. She rubbed her arm where he had held her so brutally.

  "I am not sure,” she said slowly, “but I do not think that we had time to ... to consummate our vows b
efore my father came."

  Donovan's harsh expression turned to incredulity, then he gave a short bark of laughter that ended abruptly.

  "Just how stupid do you think I am? Don't play the innocent with me now, not after the way you writhed and clutched me to your luscious little body, not an hour ago. You know damned well nothing happened between us, despite what your father told the authorities."

  A hot, dark flush rose beneath Alysson's delicate skin as she remembered in vivid detail her wanton reaction to his kisses.

  "I am most willing to have an annulment from you,” she said hastily as he leaned toward her again. “I'll sign anything you wish, I'll agree to anything you wish, to be released from this marriage."

  Her desperate words gave Donovan pause, but he stared suspiciously down at her face, angry that he was still racked with desire at the sight of her half-clad body, even now, when he was gripped with rage. But it was true that the marriage had not been consummated. Once in New York, away from Lord Tyler's political influence, it would be easy for Donovan to obtain an annulment, especially if the girl did not contest it.

  "Are you saying that you'd be willing to relinquish any claim to my name?” he asked with heavy skepticism, and Alysson nodded without hesitation, encouraged by his guarded show of interest.

  "Yes, I swear, and your property. I'll do anything you ask. All I want is to go with you to America where my father can't find me. After that, you'll never see me again, I swear it upon my mother's grave."

  Donovan didn't trust her, not for one short minute, but he couldn't think of any ulterior motive she might be contemplating. She had nothing to gain with such an offer, none that he could envision, but that didn't mean she didn't have some other trick in mind. She had proved herself very clever.

  "You would be willing to sign a legal document to that effect?” he asked, black eyes searching her face for subterfuge, and Alysson nodded again, breathing easier as he moved a few steps away from the bed while he considered. She released her held breath as he picked up his shirt and shrugged it on. He looked back at her as he buttoned it.

  "I'll have such a document drawn up, but you'll sign it before we set sail. And before witnesses of my choosing."

  "I'll do whatever you say, whenever you say."

  Alysson's heart stood still as their eyes locked for another long moment, his dark ones distrustful.

  "I give you fair warning, English, you had better mean what you say."

  Alysson nodded mutely, watching as he strode to the door. He turned back to look at her one last time.

  "I intend to sail for New York in the next few days, and until that time, you will stay here, alone, in this room. You are not to speak to anyone or see anyone, including your father, is that clear?"

  She nodded again beneath his narrow-eyed stare, then collapsed backward on the bed as he let himself out of the room. She heard a key turn in the lock, and all the bravado she had shown him melted away like sugar in the rain. Heavy despair settled over her heart as warm tears welled and flowed in delayed reaction to all that had happened. She wept hard, racking sobs for a long time, and it was well into the night when her tears subsided enough for her to drift wearily into a troubled, nightmare-ridden sleep.

  Chapter 3

  The Halcyone, the newest addition to the MacBride merchant fleet, lay close along a dockside stone quay. A sleek-lined frigate with only three ocean crossings to her credit, her reputation already had been heralded throughout elite London circles as the foremost passenger transport of the times. The likes of her elegant staterooms and spacious dining and gaming parlors had never been seen before by those civilians forced to travel seas made dangerous by the strife between England and France. The Halcyone's passenger docket for her return voyage to America had been filled within a fortnight of her arrival in England several months earlier.

  Not least among the Halcyone's attractions was the presence of her handsome captain, a man whose reputation for expert navigation barely outshone his repute for charming the fair ladies. Many a young lady whiled away her hours convincing her father of the benefits of an ocean voyage after having met Captain Brace MacBride.

  On a bright, sunny afternoon in late May, Brace MacBride stood with palms braced on the quarter rail of his ship as he surveyed with critical eye the preparation for disembarkation. They would sail on the evening tide, and Brace was eager to hoist the top gallants and leave England behind. He had been ashore much too long, for weeks, and he longed for the roll of the ocean swells beneath his feet. Ever since he had signed on at age sixteen as a cabin boy with one of Donovan's merchant captains, he had been enamored of the sea and its mysteries. Now nearing thirty, he owned his own ship, and he was well content to leave the responsibility of the vast MacBride empire in Donovan's capable hands.

  He scanned the decks, where boarding passengers milled around the scrubbed decks of his ship. The last few days he had stayed aboard, supervising the loading of their merchant cargo, as well as the furnishings from their London house. Donovan had indeed pulled up roots in England as he had sworn to do. Brace searched the deck for his older brother. He found him near the gangport with their good friend Rosalie Handel. Donovan's hands were clasped behind his back, and he wore the same look of cold displeasure that he had worn for the entire last week.

  Brace shook his head. Donovan had landed himself in a hell of a mess with Lord Tyler and his daughter. If it were not such a serious problem, the whole thing would be rather amusing, since Donovan was usually in complete control of his life. Donovan, however, did not find it amusing, and he had questioned Rosalie about the new French girl she had hired from a Paris brothel. Brace had to agree with his brother that it was very hard to believe it had all been some bizarre coincidence as the Tyler girl would have Donovan believe. But Rosalie had worked as an agent for them since the beginning, when the War Department had approached Donovan for his part in intelligence work. For five years, she had given them information, and several months ago, when she had met them in Madrid, she had had invaluable knowledge of Napoleon himself. It was hard to believe she could betray them, but as Donovan had pointed out, it had been her suggestion to Donovan to use Odette to discourage the Tyler girl. The fact that Donovan had been desperate enough to try it in the first place had surprised Brace, for his brother was not one to rely on such methods. He usually won in his business deals because he was smarter than those he dealt with.

  Brace stared at Donovan where he stood listening to Rosalie. Never had he seen Donovan so enraged as he had been since he had been forced to marry. In the years since the war of rebellion with England, Donovan had been an outspoken opponent of the British and their arrogance in dealing with Americans, and now he found himself married to the daughter of an English earl, a man he had despised from their first meeting.

  The rattling of a carriage against the uneven cobblestones of the wharf caught Brace's attention, and he turned his eyes away from Donovan as a coach jounced to a stop on the quay below him. His eyes sharpened with interest, wondering if Donovan's notorious English bride had arrived at last. He watched intently as the driver climbed down and opened the door.

  A moment later, a woman paused in the opening as if reluctant to step out, and he watched as she was assisted to the ground. Even from his place on the quarterdeck, he could see that she was lovely, her golden hair glinting in the sunlight. Brace cast a glance in Donovan's direction and was surprised to find his brother only a few steps away.

  "The convincing little bitch has arrived” were his first words to Brace, and Brace looked at the harsh set of Donovan's mouth, then back to the woman he denounced.

  "That she may be, brother, but a beautiful one, if my eyes do not deceive me."

  Donovan made an unpleasant sound. “Don't be taken in by her beauty, or her green eyes and blond hair. She may look the part of an angel, but it's a black widow she really is."

  Brace wondered at his brother's detailed list of the girl's attributes, thinking it sounded
as if Donovan were not as immune to the lady's charms as he declared himself to be. Below them, the hired coach rolled away, leaving the small woman alone on the quay with the red morocco trunk that her father had sent. Brace glanced at Donovan.

  "Aren't you going to send someone to help her?"

  Donovan's jaw grew hard as two young men near the gangplank became aware of Alysson's plight and moved toward the lovely lady in blue with the utmost haste. Donovan spoke between clenched teeth.

  "As you can see, she is most adept at enticing men to do her bidding."

  Brace thought she had hardly done much to entice the two overzealous dandies, but he remained quiet as Donovan moved away. He looked back to the girl, who was being subjected to a gallant session of bowing and hand-kissing. He thought she looked uncomfortable with the two young men paying her such elaborate court, and Brace's gentlemanly instincts came to the fore, despite Donovan's inclination to let the lady fend for herself.

  He started toward the gangplank, and as he drew near to the quay, the two rakes were arguing in flowery language over who should have the honor of toting her trunk, and more importantly, who would have the greater pleasure of escorting the lovely lady herself.

  "Pardon me, madame,” Brace said, and slanted green eyes, greener than the sea, came up to meet his gaze. Though Brace was no stranger to beautiful women, his breath caught. His brother's wife, whether guilty or not, was nothing less than exquisite to look upon. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am your husband's brother, Brace MacBride, captain of the Halcyone. At your service, madame."

  Alysson stared incredulously up at the tall man with shaggy blond hair and glinting blue-gray eyes. “But you can't be."

  Brace's smile widened, and he quirked a brow in a manner reminiscent of his older brother. “I can't? Why is that?"

  Alysson had to smile at his engaging grin. “You are just so different, is all. You look nothing like..."