Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (57 page)

“Thank … thank you for rescuing me, sir. I can never repay you for what you did.”

He smiled. “Your safety is payment enough, Mrs. Briston. That is your name, isn’t it? I heard your driver call you that.”

Bethlyn nodded. “And may I have the name of the most gallant gentleman who saved my life?”

“Major General Benedict Arnold, Mrs. Briston. Your servant and admirer.”

~ ~ ~

Annabelle waited supper for Thomas in her bedroom in a huff. Damn, she’d been so close to her goal today, so close that she almost imagined Ian’s arms around her. She’d just happened to come across the mob at the bakery when she noticed Bethlyn Briston, watching from across the street. Knowing that the crowd was out for blood, she’d turned their attentions to her own aim by declaring Bethlyn to be a Tory bitch.

She’d watched in fascination, wondering if the woman would be maimed for life or killed, which was her true objective. Instead Arnold had intervened and ruined everything.

Would she never have the man she loved?

Throwing herself on her bed, the diaphanous material of her gown barely covering her, she mulled over her relationship with Thomas. As far as sex went, the two of them were well matched. Both were insatiable and liked unusual ways of making love, even inflicting a bit of pain. Thomas was a good lover, even better than Luther, Holmes, or any other man with whom she’d ever lain. At first he’d been a bit stingy about her own pleasure, wanting all of the fun for himself, but Annabelle refused to be aroused and then left hanging. When she’d made her wants known in no uncertain terms, Thomas had obliged almost happily.

Her release had been glorious, rivaling anything she’d ever known with any man. But she didn’t want Thomas and would never settle for him as long as Ian was alive. She sensed that Thomas used her for pleasure, and she didn’t fit into his long-range plans either.

“Things would be so much simpler if that bitch had been hurt or killed today,” she mumbled. “I shall go insane if I can’t have Ian soon.”

Her monologue was interrupted by a slight noise outside her door, and then Thomas entered, looking extremely handsome.

“My, my, Annabelle, you’re a delicious sight” Annabelle didn’t bother to cover the parts of her anatomy on which his eyes lusted.

“And you need to undress,” she ordered in a husky whisper.

Thomas was only too pleased to accommodate her. Later, after their cries of completion had faded from the room, Thomas turned to her and wrapped a long strand of silver hair around his fingers. “I saw the most horrifying sight this afternoon, Annabelle.”

“Hmm. What?”

“Bethlyn Briston was nearly mauled by an unruly mob.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, but luckily a Major Arnold rescued her.”

“How fortunate for her.”

“I agree that it was. Annabelle?”

“Yes, Thomas?” He yanked on her hair, causing her to shriek with pain. “Why did you do that?” she asked, and tried to pull away, but he wound the strand tighter, hurting her more.

“As a warning, my dear. If you ever try to harm Bethlyn Briston again in any way, I will pull each and every strand of hair from your head — one by one. And if you succeed in killing her, I shall make absolutely certain that you join her in the Great Beyond. Do you understand me?”

He looked diabolical, and Annabelle knew Thomas meant what he said. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

~ ~ ~

No one was more grateful to Major Arnold than Ian.

Upon learning of the ordeal Bethlyn had faced, Ian ordered her straight to bed. Bethlyn, who was still overwhelmed and a bit upset over what had happened, went without question like a dutiful child.

Ian invited Arnold to partake of a whiskey, and to express his appreciation, he invited the man to dine with him and Bethlyn in a week’s time. Considering that Arnold had no reason not to think that Ian wasn’t a British sympathizer, Ian was extremely surprised when the American major agreed and requested if he could bring Miss Peggy Shippen.

Soon Arnold left and Ian went upstairs to see to his wife, finding her huddled on the bed and crying into the pillow while Annie stood helplessly by. Dismissing the girl, he enfolded Bethlyn in his arms and held her until her tears ceased and she fell asleep.

Watching her, he noticed that in sleep she frowned, and he wondered if he should send Bethlyn to New York. He didn’t want another incident like the one that day to happen again.

~ ~ ~

Weeks later, when the pleasant winds chased away the hot summertime breezes, Annabelle woke one morning and dressed for her usual shopping jaunt. Thomas, who it seemed spent more time in her bed than his own at Crosskeys Tavern, had already departed. She had no idea where he went during the day, but many nights he attended parties in the company of Bethlyn and Ian Briston, supposedly to meet the young eligible ladies of Philadelphia.

“Silly lecher,” she muttered, and threw on her lightweight cloak. “You want Bethlyn Briston for yourself.” Which was perfectly fine with her. She wished Thomas would steal the woman away so she could work her wiles on Ian. No matter that he didn’t love her, she was determined to win his affections somehow. Blackmailing Ian into coming to her bed had crossed her mind, but Annabelle wouldn’t do this. There would be little triumph in conquering the man by assuring him she’d tell he was the notorious Captain Hawk and that his wife was the Dove.

Besides, the spy business was behind her.

She’d just walked onto the back terrace to admire the beauty of the morning when she felt that she wasn’t alone. Glancing around, expecting to see a servant, she startled at the black-garbed figure of a man standing behind her. His low tricorn hat obscured most of his facial features, but Annabelle recognized him as Holmes’s contact, Mariah.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice quavered.

Mariah made a slight bow. “I’ve come for you, Annabelle. I suggest you pack a few things. I have a job for you.”

“What job? I’m not a spy any longer. Go away.” She’d have run into the house, but a long, black-gloved hand on her arm stalled her.

“You’ve led quite a pretty life up to now without my interference. Be grateful that I didn’t inform General Howe about your hand in Holmes’s death. No matter what you thought about Holmes, he was a valuable tool to me. As you are.”

“Well, I won’t go,” she insisted, and tried to pull away. “No one will believe you. I have a great deal of money and can buy my freedom. I don’t need you.”

“What a scoffing, ungrateful wench you’ve become.”

His voice lowered to a growl. “Nothing belongs to you. You seem to forget that you’re Annabelle Hastings, not Emmie Gray. The Babcock estate was left to Emmie Gray, not to you.”

“I
am
Emmie Gray.” She lifted defiant eyes to him.

“Not for much longer, Annabelle. I happen to know that some months ago Ian Briston sent an investigator to check into your story. He will shortly learn that Emmie Gray is dead. So, then what will you tell him?”

Annabelle blinked in bafflement and felt utter shock to realize that Ian, the man she loved so desperately, hadn’t trusted her. Somehow going away with Mariah didn’t seem as horrible as facing Ian after he learned the truth. He’d detest her, and she couldn’t bear his hatred.

“Thomas will wonder where I’ve gone,” she conceded, knowing she’d leave.

“Write him a note and say you had to go away, and give him the run of the house. I sincerely doubt if he’ll mind not having you around.”

Mariah was right. Thomas didn’t care for her except to bed her like all of the other men she’d known. Nodding her head, she woodenly turned and went to her room to pack a few clothes and pen a note to Thomas. The servants were busy in the other wing, and no one saw her head down the stairs and meet Mariah in the garden. Following him to the street, they entered a large black carriage and soon Philadelphia was but a memory. But in Annabelle’s mind, Ian Briston’s image would always be clear and vivid.

~ ~ ~

Eli Templet limped into Ian’s office, looking older and more frail than Ian remembered.

“Sorry not to have been able to get here sooner,” Eli apologized, and sank into a chair, placing his cane on his lap. “But I got snake-bit and nearly died before I could check on this Emmie Gray person. Some Indians nursed me back to health.”

“I’ve been worried about you, Eli,” Ian told the old man, and poured him a glass of brandy which Eli downed in one gulp.

Minutes later, after drinking. another glassful, Eli elaborated on the Indian raid which had killed the Gray family and some other families in the Pennsylvania wilderness. “Yep, the British stirred them Indians up with liquor and all sorts of talk. I found the Gray farm and the graves, but there weren’t no headstones. A farmer named Fisher had lived nearby, but he left after the raiding party. He and his wife escaped to Lancaster, and I caught up with them only two weeks ago. I asked him if he remembered Emmie Gray and her people.”

“And did he?”

“Yep,” Eli intoned in a deep voice. “Fisher told me that Emmie’s folks were killed, then the little brother. Finally Emmie was raped by one of the braves before her throat was cut. Mr. Fisher buried all of them himself.”

“So Emmie Gray is dead.”

“Been dead for months. Fisher claims she was a little red-haired gal with huge green eyes and freckles. No more than fifteen she was. I hope I got you all the information you needed, Mr. Briston.”

“Eli, you’ve been most helpful,” Ian admitted. As soon as he shook hands with Eli and they parted, Ian knew who he was going to see that afternoon.

28

During the next eight months Bethlyn’s life settled into a peaceful routine, broken only by the nights of intense passion with Ian. She no longer worried about Emmie Gray. The woman had mysteriously disappeared, giving no clue when she might return, which was fine with Bethlyn, because she dreaded that fateful day.

Thomas Eversley, to both Bethlyn’s and Ian’s surprise, had remained in Philadelphia. Since the Babcock House was empty, Ian found no reason to deny him when Thomas inquired about leasing it. Thomas had accompanied them to a number of parties and made acquaintances with noted Tories, but was especially friendly with, and the Bristons thought oddly, the American major, Benedict Arnold.

Ian had explained to Bethlyn that Arnold lived a rather expensive life-style in the former dwelling of General Howe, and there was much speculation about his income. At more than one social affair, Peggy Shippen had flashed expensive jewels, hinting that they were from a dear admirer.

The announcement of an engagement between Arnold and Peggy came as no surprise to Bethlyn. Peggy, as flighty and seemingly empty-headed as ever, had had the thirty-six-year-old besotted suitor dancing to her tune for some months. But Bethlyn had always wondered if Peggy’s shallowness was only pretended. During the British occupation she’d danced and flirted nightly with John Andre and the other officers, beguiling them with her prettiness and less than deep thoughts. No sooner had the Americans returned than she was knee-deep in invitations to social functions and extending her own, and once again she was the belle of Philadelphia society. Most probably she’d have continued on this way except her sights had settled on the widowed American major who suffered a hero’s wound at the Battle of Saratoga, his limp making him an irresistible and romantic figure to the youthful Peggy.

However, given Arnold’s penchant for his Tory friendships, Ian wondered at Arnold’s loyalty to the American cause. He’d confided to Bethlyn more than once that the patriots were less than thrilled at Arnold’s intimacies with loyalists, Ian among them. Only a handful of patriots knew of Ian’s pretense, and Arnold wasn’t one of them. Arnold had sought out Ian’s friendship, and Ian had much admired the man until recently when Arnold resigned his command in Philadelphia in the face of accusations that he had misused public property and his authority.

General Washington was to soon set the date of his court-martial, but Arnold shocked all of Philadelphia by going ahead with his marriage to Peggy Shippen and arranging to buy one of the most beautiful and grand estates in the area, hardly the sort of home he could afford on his military salary, and considered a foolhardy purchase in the face of the charges leveled against him.