Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (55 page)

Annabelle leaned forward, her interest piquing. “And you escaped with your life? That is most intriguing, Mr. Eversley.”

“Call me Thomas.”

“Thomas. Tell me about this Hawk and Dove.”

She listened intently as Thomas recited the incidents after the
Jessica
was seized, leaving out the part about his release in the buff. He ended it by saying, “I’d be most grateful if you happen to stumble upon any information at all. I want to trap this Hawk and his ebony-haired whore.”

“I can see why you would,” Annabelle commented. “If I do find out anything, where may I reach you?”

Thomas sighed, waving his hand in aggravation. “I have a room above Crosskeys Tavern, but needless to say, I’m quite put out by not finding the Bristons at home. That secretary fellow of his told me they’re on a long holiday. I had hoped to be invited to stay at Edgecomb.”

“Well I trust they’ll return soon and will offer their hospitality.”

Bitch, thought Thomas, you could invite me to stay here. But he realized after a few silent moments that Annabelle Hastings didn’t intend to say anything else on the subject.

Finally he rose and kissed her hand. “I trust that I may be allowed to call upon you again, Miss Hastings.”

Annabelle quickly withdrew her hand, and she frowned. “Refer to me as Emmie Gray. For all intents and purposes, Annabelle Hastings is dead.”

Thomas reached out a finger and stroked the smooth line of her jaw. “Ah, my dear, I believe that she is very much alive.” He laughed at her look of rebuke. “l shall see you again, and I will call you Annabelle when alone. The name suits you. Good afternoon … Annabelle.”

Closing the door behind him, Annabelle leaned against it. She trembled and hated herself for being shaken by Eversley’s visit. The man was handsome and she’d felt drawn to him at first because he resembled Luther, her stepfather, bringing back bittersweet and sensual memories better left forgotten. But then he’d mentioned Ian, and she sensed that he knew she loved him. Yet it wasn’t this knowledge which unsettled her.

Eversley’s recounting of the incident with Captain Hawk and the Dove had interested her, and she’d fleetingly wondered how this ferocious sea pirate had connected with the Dove, a woman whom Thomas professed to be a raven-haired beauty and was last in Philadelphia.

An intriguing puzzle, but one which Annabelle only pieced together when he’d mentioned the long absence of Ian and Bethlyn Briston, Ian — a man who ran a shipping enterprise and spent a great deal of time at sea. A man whom she knew pretended to be a loyalist but was in actuality a patriot. And then there was his wife — the daughter of an earl, the woman who had been Captain Hawk’s whore. She’d been blackmailed by Della Trammel, supposedly to keep the fact of her status as a privateer’s doxy from her husband.

Might she have paid a small fortune to Della, not because she didn’t want her husband to know about Hawk, but because she was protecting her husband who was Hawk?

Annabelle felt her knees buckling and held on to the doorknob. God in heaven, that was it! The Bristons weren’t on an extended holiday at all, not unless one considered capturing and raiding British ships as holiday amusements.

Ian Briston was Captain Hawk, and his wife was the Dove. She knew information for which the British would pay dearly and which Thomas Eversley wanted with a zealousness only rivaled by religious fervor.

Annabelle felt rather powerful at that moment as the life flowed back into her limbs, and she retired to the parlor to gaze out of the lacy curtained window at the street scene outside. The Bristons’ fates rested in her hands. Ian’s fate. Bethlyn Briston meant nothing to her.

She didn’t have to ask herself what she should do. She’d already made up her mind. Most certainly she didn’t need any more money even if she was of the mind to leak information. For one thing, the rebels controlled Philadelphia, and she doubted anything would be done to Ian here if she did contact General Clinton in New York, or that dark specter of a contact Holmes had used named Mariah.

Another reason, and this was the most important one in Annabelle’s mind, was that she loved Ian Briston and would never betray him. However, she couldn’t get rid of Bethlyn as the Dove without incriminating Ian as Captain Hawk.

“A rather touchy situation,” she mused aloud, but knew also that she’d never tell Eversley, Let him think that the Dove was dark haired. He’d never suspect that the earl’s blonde-tressed darling wore a wig to confiscate British ships. But she’d deal with Bethlyn soon enough. And Hawk…

She’d deal with him in the most pleasurable way possible.

~ ~ ~

Ian glanced at Marc, who’d just entered his office. On his desk lay a great deal of paperwork which required his signature, though Marc had been quite efficient in running things during his absence. However, the last week the man’s mind had been taken up with thoughts of Mavis and their new son, a fine, healthy little lad who was destined to grow up to be a handsome heartbreaker.

“Any news yet from Eli Templet?” Ian asked, and frowned when Marc shook his head. “That’s odd,” Ian mused aloud. “We should have heard something from him long ago.”

“You’re right,” Marc agreed, and sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk. “I’ve wondered the same thing myself, but the wilderness is a hazardous place. Anything could have happened to Eli. You know, Ian, he isn’t a young man any longer.”

“I know, but Eli, for all of his seventy years, is still an able spy and proficient scout. Something must have happened to him.”

“Shall I send someone to search for him?”

Ian considered for a moment before saying, “No, I’ll give him another month or so. But I had thought to have this business with Emmie Gray resolved by now.”

Marc left him to his paperwork, but Ian found it difficult to concentrate on such mundane matters. What had happened to Eli Templet? It was unlike him to take such a long time investigating matters which could prove crucial to the war. He’d left for the Pennsylvania wilderness around the time that Ian and Bethlyn had gone to Windhaven. That was months ago. Eli should have returned by now. He had a good mind to search for Eli himself, but he couldn’t leave Philadelphia at the moment.

An undercurrent of tension ran through the city. Since the rebels were now in charge under the command of Major General Benedict Arnold, and the Continental Congress and State Government returned to Philadelphia, the city had been in the throes of a severe inflation and wheat shortage. The citizens blamed the loyalist businessmen who remained for these predicaments, claiming that their prices were too high. For years inflation had presented a problem, but now with scarcity of goods and the public outcry for Tory heads, Ian felt an unrest and a foreboding. Some of the men he’d known for years, men loyal to the Crown, were being charged with treason against the American government.

Would someone come for him one day and cart him off to a trial where he’d be found guilty of treasonous conduct because he gave all the indications that he was a loyalist? Would he be hung? The way things were going, Ian wondered. He’d never be able to admit he was Captain Hawk or a patriot. On one hand, he could count those people who knew that Captain Hawk and Ian Briston were one and the same. General Washington knew, but he wasn’t in Philadelphia and wouldn’t help him anyway. Long ago, they’d agreed that if he ever got into some dire situation, Washington would avow no knowledge of him or raise a finger to help him. Otherwise, he’d be of no use to his country if he happened to escape.

And now he feared not only for himself but for Bethlyn. She, too, was thought to be a loyalist. For a moment he considered sending her to stay with Molly and Hans in New York but decided against such action. He’d miss her unbearably, and for now he had to stay in. At least until he heard from Eli Templet.

~ ~ ~

That afternoon Ian visited the Babcock House. At his knock, he was a bit astounded to find Emmie opening the door.

“I saw your carriage drive up,” she explained, and looked very fetching in a light pink silk gown with a tiny rose pinned on each side of her long silver hair. “Do come in, Ian. I’ve missed you so very much.”

She hooked her arm with his and led him into the parlor where she poured him a glass of his favorite brandy. “I didn’t forget what you like to drink,” she said, and laughed softly. “I could never forget anything about you.”

Watching him with adoring eyes, Ian thanked her but felt uncomfortable. Apparently she still wanted him, and that passion seemed to have increased rather than abated. If he didn’t love Bethlyn so much and trust Emmie Gray so little, he might be flattered enough to make love to the wench. But he didn’t want her, and he’d never want her. Yet he couldn’t break all ties with her. Not yet.

He’d come to discuss estate business with her, but she wasn’t the least interested. She’d been brazen the last time he’d seen her, but now she sidled up to him on the sofa, and her hand rested on his knee until her palm possessively fondled his crotch.

Without a word, he removed her hand, not missing the lust-filled eyes change to express a deep hurt and then anger. It was almost as if the wench thought she had the right to touch him anyway she damned well pleased!

“A gentleman wouldn’t treat me so shabbily,” she cried, her lower lip trembling.

“A lady wouldn’t have done what you just did.”

Standing up, she placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “So, I take it I’m not a lady like your highborn wife.”

Ian placed his paperwork in his breast pocket and stood up. “Emmie, I’m not going to debate with you or bandy words around. I don’t want to bed you …”

“But I want you, Ian, I love you,” she interrupted and clutched at his shirt front.

“Nor do I love you,” he said, and softened his words with, “We’re just too opposite, Emmie.”

“Ian, please don’t return to your wife. You must love me as I do you. Why else do you keep coming here?”

Her anger had turned to pleading, and he hated to see a woman beg, even if he did have doubts about her. But he didn’t love her, and she’d realize this fact before long if what he thought about her turned out to be true.

“We have business to discuss and that’s all. I have a wife whom I adore. I suggest you look elsewhere for your bed companions. “

Her hands slipped away from him. “How cruel you are, Ian Briston, I shall not forget what you just said to me.”

Was that a threat? Ian wasn’t certain because her words were low and uttered without emotion.

“I have no desire to hurt you,” he told her, and headed for the door. “But I also have no desire to love you, either. Good evening, Emmie.” And then he left.

~ ~ ~

Bethlyn met Ian in the hallway when he returned home, growing breathless and more than a bit pleased when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her until her head spun.

“Goodness, what a greeting,” she exclaimed, her brown eyes dancing with sparkles.

“I’ve missed you. You’ve been on my mind all day. I can’t wait to get you upstairs and to be alone with you.” Ian nuzzled her ear, but Bethlyn pulled away a bit.

“We have a guest for supper.”

“Who?” he asked, and wished the guest would leave.

“Thomas Eversley.”

Ian groaned and almost imagined that the earth had shifted beneath his feet.

27

A late-summer breeze gently flickered the candlelights attached to the huge chandelier which hung above the dining table. The meal passed in silence except for the noises of spoons and forks clattering against the Sevres china and the slight rustling of the serving women’s gowns.

Thomas Eversley’s presence at Edgecomb disturbed Bethlyn. The man’s manners were impeccable, his bearing quite gallant, and his grooming couldn’t be faulted. Bethlyn doubted if a more refined and well-dressed guest had ever partaken of a meal at this table. But she didn’t like Thomas, and her dislike had gone beyond the fact that he’d used her father’s ships for doxy transportation. She couldn’t name what it was about him that caused her such unease. Apparently he didn’t associate either her or Ian with the humiliation he suffered at the hands of Hawk and Dove, and she felt quite safe he never would. Still, whenever he looked in her direction, which was often, and asked a question or informed her about matters at Woodsley, a cold shiver ran up her back.