Devil's Mistress (41 page)

She emitted a wild cry and flew around the desk, ready to pelt against him in uncontrollable fury and misery. But as negligent as he had appeared, he was on his feet with the speed of a winter’s wind, catching her before a first blow could land, and twisting an arm behind her back, causing her to cry out.

His touch was like ice; and, as always with him, she had lost.

“Madam, I’m not in the mood to handle you this night. I’d given orders that you were to be kept away from me, yet I don’t find it hard to understand that you could maneuver some other poor fool. Well, I am done with it now. I am sorry about Robert Powell, as sorry as I have ever been to see a man’s life wasted. But it was not my fault, any more than it was yours. Now, you may call me cruel, or bastard, or any other epithet that comes to your lovely lips, but not in my presence. You turned down my cabin, yet you came here to accost me. The cabin will be yours this evening, and you will not leave it, because I will not be accosted again. You will have to learn to accept the paths life takes, girl—and I’ll not be your martyred scapegoat while you do it!”

Suddenly he pushed her across the cabin, causing her to land on the bunk. Vaguely she heard his footsteps as she tried to right herself. He was leaving.

The cabin door closed—and locked.

She ran to the door, banging against it. The strangest sense of déjà-vu filled her then, causing her slowly to sink before the door until she was sitting, grasping her head furiously between her hands, as if she could crush away the pain there.

She started to cry at last, not loudly, not hysterically at all. Tears fell silently from her eyes for Robert Powell, and she could not help but hate herself for what had come to pass. She had married him—without loving him. And all the time he had been struggling along, she had betrayed him in her heart. Lying at his side she had dreamt of Sloan. While Robert had lain a prisoner, she had kissed Sloan and almost forgotten that she had ever taken marriage vows at all. Robert had died accused and alone, and very possibly imprisoned because of her. She sat there remembering the darkness of his eyes and the gentleness that never failed to dwell within them. She thought of him holding Michael and of his great determination that nothing should ever happen to her.

At last she rose and moved to the bunk, so listlessly that it seemed a great journey. She fell down on the mattress and closed her eyes.

Would she ever learn to bear such sorrow? She wished that she had died—but then she repented of such a thought, for there was Michael to consider. She would teach him Robert’s fine values of love and honesty and goodness. She would live with him quietly, close to the land. And she would never let the illicit passions of her heart and soul injure Michael as she had injured Robert.

Yet even while these thoughts tore at her mind, she wondered at the fury and emptiness she felt toward Sloan. He’d risked a great deal for her; at her plea he had taken the sisters from the jail. It had not been his concern, he could have left at any time.

Now he said that he was done with her, and that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To live a life that would bring pardon from God for the terrible sins of her soul.

She thought of Robert again. Smiling, laughing, speaking gravely. It cut through her like a knife; he was gone. Dead, and she would never see him again. She would never be able to thank him, to tell him that he had been one of the finest men, surely, who had ever lived …

Somewhere in the jumble of it all she fell asleep. She didn’t hear the door open, or ever know that Sloan had come in to stare down at her.

Or that he shuddered with the same sense of déjà-vu that had struck her. It was so familiar, watching her lying there, at last asleep. It had been almost four years since he had first done so. He had watched a girl then, and now she was much aged by the passage of years, yet not old at all. Matured—and still young enough to believe that heartache could be fought, rather than experienced and slowly quelled.

He thought to touch her, to shift her more comfortably on the bunk, but he did not. To touch her was dangerous. He left the cabin and did not lock the door. When she awoke, they would be docked.

Rikky came for her in the morning, and Rikky, gently solicitous, led her along the wharf for her first glimpse of New York.

There were people everywhere, an abundance of people all manner of dress, with all manner of accents. From the women who hawked bright ribbons and cakes, to the old seafaring men pushing their catches, the place seemed incredibly alive. The sky was beautifully clear, and beyond the weather there seemed no hovering of gray here—no pall of doom. People smiled and laughed, and they did not rush by their neighbors in their fear or speak in hushed whispers.

Rikky had to pull her out of her absorption with the people about her. “Come—aren’t you anxious to see your son?” And of course that query sent her scurrying along behind him.

She was somewhat startled when Rikky directed her toward a very magnificent coach finely emblazoned with his family’s motto and emblem, a snake’s head facing a lion. The seats inside were of velvet and silk, and she realized that not only was she pathetically drab, but filthy.

“Is it your aunt’s coach?” She asked Rikky uneasily.

“Aye.”

“And why is it here?”

He chuckled slightly. “Lord Treveryan did pave the way for us earlier.”

“Oh,” she murmured, stiffening. Mention of Sloan’s name somehow reminded her that Robert had not been dead a day; that somewhere he would be receiving a pauper’s funeral, with little care for the mortal remains of an accused “witch.”

But when the coach carried them along a tremendous sweeping drive to one of the finest houses she had ever seen this side of the Atlantic, her thoughts turned to Michael. She couldn’t wait to hold him yet cringed at the filthy sight of herself in the face of such vast wealth. For a moment she realized that she had survived on the charity of others, and quickly became determined that she would not remain dependent on others long. She would start a new life for her and her son.

The great doors opened as Rikky led her up the curving stairs of the porch. There was a woman dressed in a gown of light yellow and white. Its cleavage was low, and bowed ribbons were caught throughout the voluminous skirt, showing the delicate lace of the petticoat beneath. There was a scent of roses about her; she was both beautiful and elegant, with tawny light curls caught at her nape and bright gray eyes that seemed as silvery as the moon. She smiled, and Brianna felt even more her own tawdry filth.

But it was a welcoming smile, and even as they reached the doorway, the woman was berating Rikky in musical tones. “Cedric—you do take your time!” A hand was extended to Brianna—a soft hand, untouched by calluses, as her own were now. But there was warmth to it, and Lady Alyssa’s grip was a strong one.

“Brianna, I’ve a room all prepared for you, with a steaming bath,” Alyssa said, pulling her into the house. “I’m so dreadfully sorry for your loss … We’ll remember your dear husband in our prayers. But your son waits you now—”

At that moment, Alyssa was interrupted by a high shriek of delight. Brianna’s eyes became riveted to the magnificent oaken stairway near the entry, and then she fell to her knees, arms outstretched, her heart thudding as she watched her child upon the stairs. But Michael had accustomed himself to them well; he sped down their length with his little feet never seeming to touch, and in seconds he was in her arms. “Mama, Mama, Mama!” He buried his face in her neck, and she was holding him tight and murmuring his name in return when she recalled at last that they were not alone. She looked up at Lady Alyssa and Rikky and with difficulty swallowed back the threat of a rush of tears.

“Thank you,” she told them, “thank you both so very, very much.”

Rikky laughed. “I didn’t do a thing—except choose to take one of Treveryan’s voyages of adventure!”

Brianna stiffened slightly, and hugged her child. His child, but not his. She should be so very grateful to him but she couldn’t feel anything but numbness and the overwhelming shadow of guilt. If she had not sinned so greatly in her heart, mightn’t Robert still be alive?

Now when she looked at Michael with his eyes so startlingly green, she felt a tremor touch her. What was the future? She would have to take hold of it quickly.

“Michael!” Her fingers moved over his small cheeks, and she tried to smile. “Are you well, Michael, have you been good? These people have been very kind to us, you must be very, very good.”

“I’ve been very, very good!” he told her solemnly. “Tante Alyssa will tell you so! May we stay here?”

She clutched him against her. “Michael, it isn’t our home,” she murmured. His wriggling body stiffened, and she repeated herself sharply. “Michael—this isn’t our home!”

She gazed up guiltily again; Lady Alyssa was distressed as she looked at Rikky over their heads. She knelt down and tapped Michael’s shoulder. “Michael—you will be here for some time yet, so let’s not worry about leaving, shall we?”

Michael pressed his face against his mother’s shoulder again. “Where is Papa?” he asked her at last.

Brianna did not know what to say. She couldn’t bear him to be in tears, nor did she quite know if he would understand, though he was a very mature child, molded so by the society in which they had lived. “He …”

“Your papa cannot come for a while,” Rikky lied smoothly, and he stooped down to pluck Michael from his mother’s arms. “Now, young man, your mama has had a hard journey and needs a long bath! You leave her be for a moment, and she will be back with us.”

Michael nodded gravely. Then said, “And where has Sloan gone? He will come back soon, won’t he?”

“He’s gone to the governor’s, child, and yes, he will be back soon. Now go along with Rikky, and I will take your mama up to her room,” Alyssa answered, then placed a hand upon Brianna’s arm and led her toward the stairs.

“You really mustn’t be afraid anymore,” Alyssa was saying. “Our governor here is a mean skeptic against such proceedings as have taken place! We harbor at least a dozen ‘witches’ here already—a number who are his friends, and a number who are not!”

They had reached the upper landing; halls jutted off in either direction. Alyssa led her to the left and pushed open the first door. Brianna stepped inside.

The room was immense, and comfortable. There was a huge claw-footed tub, a stand with snowy towels piled high, a canopied bed with wafting draperies, a finely carved secretary, and a wardrobe against the wall, holding dozens of gowns.

Brianna gasped and stepped back. “I cannot stay here! I cannot accept this!” she muttered. Her eyes lowered. “I intend to find work quickly, but I can never repay you for all that you have done!”

Alyssa was silent for a moment, then said shrewdly, “We shall worry about such things later. I’ll leave you now. Should you need any assistance, there’s a cord by the bed. Give it but a tug, and Dulce will come. Choose what you will from the wardrobe—and for heaven’s sake, let me burn these things you’re in!”

Alyssa departed with a little smile. Brianna could not resist the tub, and in seconds she had peeled away her prison-tainted clothing and fallen into the delightful steam. Yet she felt no real pleasure from it. The steam seemed to surround her heart and mind, and she felt no pain either—just a terrible dullness and lethargy. She discovered then that if she did not allow herself to think, she would not feel anything, and she would not hurt.

All the gowns in the wardrobe were exquisite, but Brianna didn’t much care anymore. She chose a dress in a dark russet with a minimum of ornamentation and came back down the stairs. Alyssa and Rikky were arranged across from one another on wide armchairs, and a large black woman was serving tea in delicate china cups.

“Michael is taking a nap, Brianna,” Alyssa informed her quickly, noting the anxious look about her eyes.

Brianna nodded. “Thank you.”

“Ah, Brianna!” Rikky came to his feet, eyes sparkling. “There is the beauty I’ve come to know and cherish. Dulce”—the black woman turned to him with a broad grin—“Brianna. Brianna, should you ever need anything, just call upon Dulce, or her man, Jeeves.”

“Yes, miz, you just call on Dulce!” the woman said.

Brianna tried to smile. Smoothing down her skirts, she murmured, “Thank you, Dulce, but I intend to give you little trouble—and to find a position of my own as soon as I might.”

There was a strange silence in the room; then Alyssa stood, pouring tea for Brianna. “I think I’ve a solution for you. You may work here. Dulce is rather helpless with a needle. I shall hire you on as a seamstress.”

“Oh, no—” Brianna began to murmur, but Rikky interrupted her.

“Your son is happy and healthy here. Would you risk his health and well-being on a foolish matter of misguided pride?”

There was a sharp rap on the door. Dulce went to answer it, and as the door opened, Brianna heard Sloan’s voice, low and smooth, with his trace of accent. He chuckled over something Dulce said, then came to the drawing room. He was dressed rather magnificently in navy breeches and a red shirt and his sword; a gold-trimmed coat lay over his arm, for the sun had risen high and the day was warm.

His eyes fell on her, quite coldly, but he did not approach her. He came to Lady Alyssa instead, smiling rakishly as he kissed her hand. Then he greeted Rikky, and at last said, “Good day, Brianna.”