Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (34 page)

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Cynthia said. “I’m Lady Cynthia Connors.”

“I know who you are.” The words came out through gritted teeth.

“Ah, I see. I suppose you also heard what was said in here.”

“I did.”

“Don’t take Letice seriously, my dear. She’s a cat with very long claws.”

“And you aren’t, I take it. How magnanimous of you to defend my actions, but I don’t need you or anyone else to speak up for me. Especially not you, Lady Connors. Good evening.”

Bethlyn made an attempt to brush past Cynthia, but the woman had the audacity to block her path.

“We need to talk, Mrs. Briston.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“I have something to say to you, however.” Her voice sounded gentle. “Your performance tonight in the parlor was for your husband’s benefit, I think.”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Yes, you do. You wanted to make him jealous or force his hand for some reason, but he ignored you and now you’re peeved. And well you should be. If I had exerted so much energy in capturing all those men’s hearts, I’d be peeved, too, if my husband ignored me.”

“He didn’t ignore
you
.” The obvious contempt in Bethlyn’s eyes caused Cynthia to flinch.

Cynthia placed a gentle hand on Bethlyn’s wrist. “I should like to be your friend, Mrs. Briston, I’m not your enemy.”

“You’re the woman my husband loves!” Bethlyn felt her composure crumbling, and she wrenched her hand away. She wanted to weep again, but she’d never give Cynthia Connors the satisfaction.

“Oh, my dear, you’re quite mistaken in that. Ian loves you, not me. I told him that a few nights ago when he came to see me. I won’t lie and tell you that Ian and I were less than friends, because it isn’t true. We cared a great deal for each other and still do. Our relationship, however, has changed. Ian is married to you, and I’m going to marry a man whom I adore. You must believe me when I tell you that Ian loves you.”

Bethlyn’s mouth dropped open and she sank onto a large divan. Her mind whirled with Cynthia’s words, but she didn’t doubt the woman’s sincerity. However, could she believe her?

“Do you love your husband?” Cynthia asked gently.

Bethlyn nodded, somehow wanting to confide in the woman. “More than I ever thought possible.”

“Then there is no problem. Tell Ian how you feel.” Cynthia made it sound so simple. She couldn’t tell Ian she loved him, because she doubted that he loved her in return, no matter what Cynthia thought. Bethlyn gave a shaky laugh.

“There’s a large problem, Lady Connors. Ian doesn’t love me.”

“I tell you he does,” Cynthia persisted. “Use some of your feminine wiles on him instead of those prancing jackanapes outside and discover this for yourself. You have nothing to lose.”

The truth of Cynthia’s words hit her like a horse at full gallop. She didn’t have anything to lose now, but much to gain if Cynthia proved correct.

Standing up, she and Cynthia hitched their arms together and giggled at the absurdity of the situation. Here she was, the wife of this woman’s former paramour, gaining advice from the woman and suddenly discovering that she genuinely liked her.

“I believe we make very odd companions,” Cynthia said as they left the bedroom and made their way to the parlor. Bethlyn couldn’t agree more.

~ ~ ~

Ian was nowhere to be found. Bethlyn searched through the rooms, filled with people, and Lieutenant Holmes arrived to help her but it seemed Ian had disappeared. The words to tell him that she loved him burned her lips, and if she didn’t find him soon to tell him how she felt, she feared she might lose her courage.

“Perhaps your husband is in the garden,” Holmes suggested.

Bethlyn peered through the frosty windowpane. “I doubt it. The weather is much too cold.”

“Shall we look anyway. He might very well be there. It is stuffy in here.”

The room did feel close with all of the people milling about. Bethlyn searched for Molly, and she saw her in a dimly lit corner in conversation with the man Bethlyn recognized as the soldier she’d seen her sister-in-law with that day in the garden and decided that Molly was in capable hands.

“Let me get my cloak,” she told Lieutenant Holmes, not quite certain she wanted the man’s company in the event she found Ian, but not wanting to wander around the garden alone either.

Moments later, they were outside. The bitter cold stung Bethlyn’s cheeks, and she suddenly couldn’t help but to wonder how many of the soldiers, American and British, fared on nights such as these. Would this war never end?

She shivered and Lieutenant Holmes noticed. “You’re cold, Mrs. Briston, er, Bethlyn,” he said, his teeth flashing in the moonlight like a hungry wolf’s.

She hadn’t given him permission to call her by her first name, but she didn’t rebuke him. She needed to find Ian and somehow set things right between them. Nearing a hedgerow, Bethlyn stopped, deciding that Ian wasn’t in the garden. They should go back inside.

“We’d best go in,” said Bethlyn, and began to turn back towards the house, but she met with the arms of Lieutenant Holmes. The man pulled her against him, kissing her in a way which hurt her mouth, and his hand groped inside her cloak until it made contact with her breasts.

“Stop, let me go!” She attempted to wriggle free, but Holmes only laughed and held her tighter. His long, lean face leered at her.

“You’re no lady, so stop pretending to be one. No lady flirts as you do and then expects a gentleman not to take her invitation seriously.”

His lips descended once more against hers, and she found she was powerless against Holmes, who was a large man. Her game-playing had gone awry, and she didn’t know how to stop this man from pushing her onto the grass and raping her.

She felt unable to breathe and grew dizzy. The blood pounded so hard in her ears that when she heard the words she wasn’t certain she hadn’t imagined them.

“Let her go.”

The deadly intent of the voice caused Holmes to instantly loosen his hold. He backed off, all too aware of the larger man who waited behind him in the darkness. Bethlyn fairly staggered when Holmes turned around to face Ian.

Making a military bow, Holmes said, “Sir,” and started to pass Ian, but Ian’s hand shot out and rooted Holmes to the spot. “Come near my wife again, and I’ll make certain that your face matches the color of your uniform.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll remember that,” Holmes declared, but a taunting quality tinged his tone, almost as if he thought Ian to be a coward. Bethlyn wondered just how brave Holmes would be if he knew that the man whose wife he’d just manhandled was the notorious and feared Captain Hawk.

“And, Holmes,” Ian warned the young man who prepared to walk away. “Don’t be so cocky. General Howe is a personal friend of mine. I just might decide to tell him what happened tonight. I sincerely doubt that you’d like to lose your rank.”

Holmes’s shoulders sagged in defeat, and he hurried inside the house.

Bethlyn let out a ragged sigh, and rushed to Ian, expecting him to enfold her in his arms. “Thank God you got here when you did. I dread to think what would have happened.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Do you? I think you might have enjoyed whatever the lieutenant might have had in store for you.”

“Ian, I…”

“You know damned well you acted like a hussy tonight, so wipe that outraged look off of your face.”

“I refuse to be insulted like this. I’m going home!”

His hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist in a steel-like vise. “You’re going home — with me.”

She began to protest, not caring for the menacing gleam in his eyes, so like Captain Hawk when in combat with an enemy. Pulling from him to break free, her wrist hurt, not fully aware that he nearly dragged her into the house and through a sea of staring, stunned people.

Molly came forward, shock on her face. “Ian, what are you doing?”

“Bringing my rebellious wife to task,” he shouted. “Find your own way home tonight, Molly, I have my hands full with this — this wench.”

Loud guffaws and titters followed them when Ian pulled open the front door to practically throw her into the waiting carriage at the curb. She landed unceremoniously on her backside on the seat and, though she attempted to sit up, his body landed on top of her, keeping her pinned beneath him.

“Let me up, you scoundrel,” she ranted at him, and would have clawed at him except he held her hands above her head.

“I like you best in this position, love. Lying on your pretty derriere somehow suits you. After all, why shouldn’t I get some use out of you while I have you for my wife? You were more than eager to accommodate Holmes and the others tonight. Why not your more than willing husband?”

“It was all a game, Ian. I was playing a horrible game to get your attention, and I’m sorry. You know, I was a notorious flirt in London, and I thank God for Jeremy who always got me out of my scrapes in time. I thank you for coming to my rescue tonight. So you realize now that it was a childish game. I admit that. Now let me up.”

His green eyes bored into her brown ones, and she felt unable to look away, but a chill raced down her spinal column when he spoke.

“I think your game-playing has truly ended, love. Jeremy might have saved you from a fate worse than death just as I saved you from Holmes. But who will save you from me?”

“But I don’t want to be saved from you!” she cried without thinking. “I love you and want to be your wife.”

He drew away from her for a second, apparently stunned by her confession of love. The movement of the carriage caused passing lights and shadows to flicker across his face, and she noticed a bewildered expression clouding his eyes. Her own face burned with humiliation at having admitted her love to him. Had Cynthia been wrong about Ian’s feelings for her? If so, then she felt like the biggest fool.

His silence was oppressive, and Bethlyn felt unable to breathe. .

Ian lightened his weight, and in the darkness his fingers traced the softness of her lips. “I love you, too, Bethlyn. I want to be a husband to you. God knows I can’t live without your love.”

Suddenly she could breathe again. “Do you really mean you love me? Please don’t tell me something which isn’t true. I couldn’t stand the pain.”

His lips found hers and chased away any misgivings she felt. His voice was a husky whisper. “I love you, love you. “ Clasping him to her, her heart nearly exploded with joy·

Ian kissed her lips, her eyes, her throat. The same longing to give herself fully to him swept over her like a sudden summer storm. Her body ached for his possession, and by the time the carriage wound its way up the drive of Edgecomb, halting at the front door, both of them were more than ready for each other.

With a swift movement, he lifted her out of the carriage, and held her in his arms, pushing open the door and kissing her the whole while he mounted the stairs to his room.

Neither one of them was aware of the few servants who watched in stunned disbelief at the antics of the master and the mistress, only to turn away with a slight shake of their heads and go about their business.

In his room Ian set Bethlyn gently to her feet, then closed and locked his door. A candle had already been lighted by a dutiful servant earlier that evening, and now a soft, translucent gold suffused the room.

Bethlyn barely realized she stood in Ian’s room for the first time, not interested in the furnishings at all. All she saw was Ian’s face near hers, felt his wonderful, warm hands pull the cloak from her shoulders. Then his lips, eager and filled with heat, kissed her. She thought she’d drown in her desire for him and shook from passion so intense that Ian noticed.

“I feel a bit shaky myself,” he whispered.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” she told him, and nearly melted when his lips trailed to the lush valley between her breasts.

“That’s because we both love each other, sweetheart, and this time we know we’re husband and wife.”

Her hands clung to the thickness of hair at the back of his head. “Will it always be so for us?” she asked.

“No, darling, it will be better as time goes on.”

Bethlyn didn’t believe anything could ever feel as wonderful to her. For the first time since she’d known Ian as himself or Captain Hawk, she experienced a complete sense of abandon. Ian was her husband, the man destined to be hers from the day she was born. Nothing and no one would take him from her now. They belonged together.

Agile fingers pushed the scarlet gown from her shoulders until she waited before him in her many-layered petticoats. Swiftly, Ian removed them and pulled her naked body against his clothed one.

“I prefer you so much more without clothes on,” he said, and brought one of her nipples to his mouth to feast on the creamy peak.

Waves of intense pleasure washed over her, and. she arched towards his mouth, giving a mewl-like whimper when he turned his attention to her other breast. Her hands began to remove his jacket. “I feel the same way.”

With that remark she helped him undress until he stood before her more handsome and manly than she remembered. Leading her to the large bed, he lifted her up and sat beside her, cradling her in his arms. With tender ministrations he removed the ornaments from her hair until the honey-colored tresses fell across her shoulders and down her back, gleaming like molten gold in the sunshine.