How To Seduce A Pirate (The Hawkins Brothers Series) (12 page)

CHAPTER
17

Holly parted the
curtains in her sister’s room, allowing light to flood the chamber. For a
moment she stood in the warm glow, feeling the comforting heat on her skin,
then turned from the window and smiled.

“Good morning,
Emma. How do you feel?”

Emma sat up in
bed. “Better.”

And she was
truly getting better, reflected Holly. A week had passed since her near tragic
death, and with each new, hopeful day, she regained more and more of her
strength.

Her heart swelling
with thanksgiving, Holly took the hairbrush from the vanity and settled on the
bed. Gingerly she combed her sister’s tousled locks, humming a tune. The simple
ritual reminded her of what she had almost lost, and she cherished the sisterly
moment.

“What would you
like for breakfast, dear? I can ask Cook to prepare your favorite biscuits and
jam.”

Emma’s shoulders
suddenly stiffened.

Holly pulled
back the boar-bristled brush. “Is something the matter? Have I tugged too hard?”

After another
tense pause, Emma said, “I would like to see Quincy.”

The brush grew
heavy in Holly’s hand. Slowly she lowered it into her lap. “He is living aboard
his brother’s ship. You know that, Emma.”

Quincy had moved
out of the townhouse the same day he’d confessed he was an opium fiend. Holly
had not asked him to leave. She had learned, after a tearful, restless sleep,
that he’d packed his possessions and had advised the butler he would be aboard
the
Nemesis
should anyone need him.

She still wasn’t
sure why he’d left. Perhaps he’d sensed her grief at his confession. Perhaps he’d
wanted more privacy to indulge in his obsession. Whatever the reason for his hasty
departure, he had not sent her a single message in the week he’d been away, nor
had she couriered any letters to him. She just didn’t know what to say to her
husband anymore.

“Did he leave
because of me?” asked Emma, her voice shaking. “Is he ashamed of me? H-have I
ruined your marriage?”

“Oh, Emma, no.” She
dropped the brush and gripped her sister’s shoulders. “He did not leave because
of you, I promise.”

If she had
learned anything from her scandalous in-laws, it was that Quincy wasn’t
searching for perfection . . . he was searching for oblivion.

“If I did not
drive him away with my . . . transgression, then why hasn’t he come to visit
me?”

At the sound
pressure on her breast, Holly winced. “I will send word to him, invite him to
visit.”

“Why must you
invite him? Isn’t this his home?” As tears filled her confused eyes, Emma’s
voice finally cracked. “What have I done, Holly? Tell me. How can I make it
right?”

“Stop, Emma.”
She embraced the girl. “Stop at once, I insist. You must conserve your energy.
You
must
get well. Don’t shed your strength on matters that do not
concern you.”

“But . . .” The
girl hiccupped. “He left right after I . . .”

“He left because
of me,” said Holly.

Emma pushed her
aside. “Why?”

I am an opium
fiend.
The chilling words still resounded in Holly’s head. And what about his warning?
Don’t be disturbed if you have trouble waking me—or if one day you cannot
wake me a‘tall.

She shivered at
the memory of his foreboding. How could she live with an opium fiend? How could
she live with the constant fear he might perish in his sleep from
overindulgence? How could she expose such a terrible reality to an already
vulnerable Emma?

Perhaps Quincy
had realized the same thing, she considered. Perhaps that was the reason he had
left.

Holly bowed her
head. “He is not a proper influence on you.”

He wasn’t
dependable, like Father. He wasn’t trustworthy, like Father. He wasn’t safe,
like Father.

“He saved my
life, Holly.”

“And I will be
forever grateful to him, but—”

“I don’t
understand,” she cried. “Tell me what happened? I . . . I am not a child.”

Holly reared her
head at the unexpected assertion. “You most certainly are a child, and do not
think otherwise. It is my duty to protect you, and I will decide what is right
and proper for your ears.”

Emma clamped her
lips, still quivering.

But Holly held
firm her position. She would not reveal the wretched truth about her husband’s
obsession—or her despair at losing all hope of a future with him.

As her fingers
trembled, Holly scooted off the bed and returned the hairbrush to the vanity.
“I will send up your breakfast.”

She reached for
the door latch when a broken voice whispered:

“Holly . . .?”

That frail,
frightened voice disarmed her, and she whirled around.

“Oh, Emma, I’m
sorry I was so cross with you.” Bustling toward the bed, Holly hugged her
sibling, then smoothed the girl’s tresses away from her tear-soaked cheeks. “I
am not myself.”

Her sister
managed a crooked smile. “We make an unhappy pair, don’t we?”

“Yes, most
unhappy.” Tears also pooled in Holly’s eyes. “I had hoped things would be
different. After losing Mama and Papa . . . Well, we mustn’t dwell on the
past.”

“And the
future?”

“I’m afraid I
don’t know what the future holds, my dear.”

She hoped the
Hawkins family would remain kind to her and Emma, despite the estrangement
between Holly and their brother. If not, there was still the cottage on the
outskirts of London. She and Emma could always retire there, especially if word
ever spread of her sister’s “transgression.”

Emma nodded. “We
have each other.”

“Yes, we do.”
She smiled. “And we will
always
have each other.” A pause, then, “Emma,
I must know the truth. Who hurt you?”

Since the girl
had regained much of her strength, Holly felt it time to broach the uncomfortable
matter—though she waited with baited breath to hear the villain’s identity.

“You must tell
me, Emma.”

“I know.” She
averted her eyes. “What will happen to him?”

At the obvious
concern in her sister’s voice, Holly’s hackles spiked. The cur had seduced an
innocent maiden and she
worried
for him? His wicked trickery had
beguiled the poor dear, indeed.

“Do not trouble
yourself with that, Emma. Tell me his name.”

After a few
thoughtful moments, she heaved a breath. “Bobbie.”

Bobbie? Bobbie?
Holly searched her memory. When had she encountered a Bobbie?

“Wait,” said
Holly. “Bobbie? As in Robert? Our old farm boy?”

Again Emma
nodded.

Holly lifted to
her feet, her mind a whirl. “I-I don’t understand. Is Robert in Town?”

“No,” said Emma,
curling her arms around her raised knees. “I—we were together the night before
you and I moved to London.”

Holly dropped
her head and groaned.

“A-are you
angry, Holly?”

Aye, she was
angry. Angry at herself. She had failed to recognize an attachment had formed between
Emma and Robert. The farm lad had worked at the cottage for many years. He was
Emma’s age. And the girl had so few friends, isolated in the country as she
was. Of course she’d developed a bond with the boy. Holly should have paid
closer attention to the two, but she had considered them children, innocent of
the greater world and its earthly desires. She couldn’t even rally her rage
against Robert, a mere boy. 

Holly plopped
back on the bed and sighed. “I am not angry, dear. I should have warned you . .
. talked to you about matters of love and marriage.”

Emma’s cheeks
glowed bright. “I’m sorry, Holly.”

“It’s all right,
love.”

“What will
happen to Bobbie?”

“I don’t know.”

What to do?
thought Holly. Should she contact Robert’s father and demand his son marry
Emma? What about Emma’s future in London? Her opportunity to meet and marry a
gentleman?

“Do you still
care for Robert?”

Emma lowered her
lashes. “I love him.”

“Why didn’t you
tell me?”

“I didn’t think
you would approve.”

“Well, I suppose
I would not have approved. You are a viscount’s daughter. You deserve to marry
a gentleman.”

“I’m not too
fond of the gentlemen in society. I was excited to meet them at first. But . .
. They are not like Bobbie.”

“And what is ‘Bobbie’
like?”

“He makes me
laugh. He teaches me about the land. He looks at me like I’m a princess.” Her
voice dropped. “I miss him.”

Holly sighed
again. She considered forbidding the couple from ever seeing one another again,
but since her own marriage had unfolded so poorly, the rigid restriction seemed
unjust.

“I will make you
a compromise, Emma.”

The girl lifted
her anxious eyes.

“In two years
time,
if
you and Robert are still in love, I will not prevent your courtship.”

Emma opened her
mouth.

“
But
,”
stressed Holly, “you must make every effort to meet the gentlemen in society,
to truly learn and know the desires of your heart. I want you to be happy,
Emma.”

The girl
simpered. “Thank you, Holly.”

She released yet
another disgruntled sigh. “And why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant, Emma?”

“I thought you
would disown me . . . like you disowned Papa.”

“What? I—I never
disowned Papa.”

“I heard you in
the study, Holly. The night before he died.”

Holly remembered
that terrible night, and her heart pounded . . .

“Stop, Papa!
Stop this instance!”

Her father
lifted his defeated head. “I cannot stop, Holly. Not until I’ve restored
everything that I’ve lost.”

“If you do not
stop now we will all perish.”

“Holly, trust
me. I will make things right.”

“No,” she cried.
“I do not trust you anymore, Papa.”

“Holly—”

“If you do not
stop now, then you are not my Papa!”

A knot formed in
Holly’s throat, making it hard to breathe. Had she really disowned her father
with those last words? She was angry with him, true. But . . .

Holly tasted the
salty tears as they stained her cheeks and lips. She remembered the look in her
father’s eyes when he’d heard she’d lost her faith in him. Hope had died. And
he had died soon after, placing a pistol to his head.

A sob ripped
from the bowel of her belly. “Oh, my God!”

“What is it,
Holly? What’s the matter?’

“I—I killed
Papa.”

Emma paled.
“You. Shot. Him?”

“No!” She
gasped. “I broke his heart, and he . . . and he died because of me.”

Overwhelmed by crippling
spasms of guilt, Holly bolted from the room. She charged into her bedchamber
and secured the door. Alone inside, she paced the floor, her palms covering her
trembling mouth.

What had she
done? She had pushed her father, already a broken man, into deeper despair. She
had taken away his hope.

Holly, trust me.
I will make things right.

But she had not
trusted him. Not anymore. She had
denied
him.

You are not my
Papa!

He was gone the
next morning.

Holly collapsed
on the bed, sobbing.

CHAPTER
18

Quincy sat on
the bed, staring at the opium capsules in his hand. Something pressed on his mind,
urging him to swallow the entire batch.

Since moving
aboard the
Nemesis
, he had grown wearier. He desired rest. Real rest. After
two years of near constant battle, he was tired of fighting the shadows he now knew
would never leave him in peace.

He shut his
eyes, evoking the memory of a warm, white light—and Holly. He remembered the
vision he’d had a week ago, when he’d stopped breathing, of fiery tresses
spilling over him, pierced by brilliant light, of leaf green eyes shining with
warmth, of a smile—a smile that chased away every shadow.

Slowly he opened
his eyes. In the dark cabin, he yearned to return to that moment. He would only
ever find it in sleep. He knew he would never share real intimacy with Holly,
not after she’d learned he was an opium fiend.

Quincy had tried
to hide the truth from her, from himself. But there wasn’t any sense in denying
it after the night his sister-in-law had almost died. It had been clear to his
wife then that something was the matter with him. And like his brothers, she was
disgusted by his obsession.

He had heard her
sorrowful tears when he’d approached her bedroom door later that same day. And
without another thought, he’d left the townhouse. She didn’t want him anymore.
And that truth, that wretched truth, twisted his innards with a pain that took
his breath away.

“You wanted her
indifference, fool,” he abased himself. “And you have it.”

The capsules in
his palm grew heavy. His hand trembled. He hadn’t taken opium in days, allowing
the night terrors to torture him. But his muscles now cramped in hunger for the
drug. And he had no reason to resist their ravenous demand.

The cabin door
opened.

“Get out,” he
snarled without averting his eyes from the opium. There were a handful of tars aboard
ship, guarding the vessel while she was anchored in port.

“But, sir?”

“Out!” he
stormed.

“That’s all
right, Thomas,” said a feminine voice. “Thank you for escorting me.”

Quincy reared
his head as Holly entered the cabin carrying a lamp and carpetbag She set down her
luggage and closed the door, turning the key in the lock. To his greater
astonishment, she then removed the key and wedged it between her breasts,
imprisoning him.

“It’s much too
dark in here,” she groused and bustled around the room, lighting the other
lamps. “There.”

The room aglow,
she pivoted and spotted the pile of capsules in his palm. Her eyes widened. “
What
are you doing?”

She smacked his
hand, scattering the drug, and crushed the opium beneath her heels.

“Were you going
to take those?” She pointed at the floor. “All of those?”

She slapped him
across the face.

“Blimey!” he
roared, finally finding his voice. “What the devil was that for?”

“For even thinking
of leaving me!”

He sucked in a desperate
breath, his mind buzzing with myriad thoughts. What was she doing here? Had
something happened at home?

“What’s the
matter?” he demanded.

“I beg your
pardon?”

“Is it Emma? Is
she all right?”

Holly sighed.
“Emma is fine. She is under your sister’s care.”

As he massaged
his smarting cheek, Quincy narrowed his eyes on the woman. He couldn’t fathom
the reason for her being aboard ship. Or for her outburst. As if she . . .

His heart jerked
at the thought that she cared for him, and he squelched the fanciful idea before
it took root in his already battered soul.

“Then why are you
here?” he asked, voice taut, muscles even tauter.

“I can’t visit
my husband?”

“Do not lie to
me, Holly.” He glanced at her carpetbag. Why would she come to “visit” him in
the dead of night? “What’s wrong?”

Holly stepped
toward the porthole and peered through the glass. “I came to tell you I
understand how you feel.”

Quincy looked
away from her. He rubbed his hands together, mulling over her inexplicable
remark. Soon he heard her loud, rasping breaths. Was she weeping?

He glanced at
her askance. Her shoulders quivered. Something had obviously grieved her. But
why had she come to him? For comfort? He usually sensed a woman’s desire
without trouble, but this time . . .

“Why are you
here?” he wondered once more.

“To keep you
safe,” she whispered.

His heart pounded
again, and that damn fanciful longing struggled to root itself in his soul. “Do
I need safe keeping?”

“Yes,” she said
without hesitation. “You are a danger to yourself, Quincy. And it’s my duty to
protect you.”

“Your duty?”

“I made a vow.”
She wiped her tears and confronted him, her eyes still glassy. “For better for
worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. And I intend to keep
my word.”

Her demeanor had
changed. She carried something heavy upon her shoulders. And whatever it was,
it had turned her world upside-down. That much he sensed without misgiving.

“You and I do
not have a real marriage, Holly. I wed you to save your reputation.”

“I know,” she returned
softly.

“Then
why
are you here?”

“I’ve decided
not to give up on you.”

His thoughts churned
in even greater confusion. Why did she give him a different answer each time he
asked her the same simple question: why are you here? Was it possible all three
answers were true?

Holly treaded
across the room and grabbed her carpetbag. She carried it over to the desk and
unpacked a few of her belongings.

“You had best
get comfortable,” she said. “You and I are going to stay in this cabin for a
long while.”

Slowly he stood,
his muscles still aching for opium, his body breaking into a cold sweat. “And
if I want out of this room?”

“You won’t
search for the key. We both know you vowed never to touch me.”

“I vowed never
to bed you.”

She waved a dismissive
hand. “That’s neither here nor there.”

Quincy headed
for the door.

She dashed
toward it, too, barricading it with her body. “If you want out of this cabin,
you’ll have to go through me.”

The steely look
in her eyes told him she was adamant.

He curled his fingers
into fists. He need only shove her aside and kick down the wood. He had the
strength to do it . . . but the thought of putting his hands on her in any
rough manner made him ill.

He backed away
from her, his heart hammering. “I can’t stay here forever.”

“I should hope
not.”

“Damn it, I
can’t live without—”

“Opium, yes, I
remember. Well, I also know the opiates don’t help you anymore since you
continue to have night terrors.” She stepped away from the door and approached
him. “You cannot resist the temptation of opium, I understand, so
I
will
keep the temptation from you.”

Take away the
temptation of opium and replace it with the temptation of
her
?

“You’re mad,” he
said bluntly.

She squared her
shoulders, affronted. “I want to help you, Quincy.”

“Then leave me
be, wench.”

“No.”

Her decisive
“no” stabbed deeper than a knife.

He was trapped.