"I ain't come for the poor bastard, that ain't my job. I come for you."
"Me?" Brock stepped over a sleeping man. Asleep or dead. "Why me? Has my trial come?"
"The Lieutenant Colonel Von Bueren wants you."
Brock cringed. Not more interrogation, he prayed. His bruises hadn't yet healed from the last session. "What's he want?"
"How the 'ell should I know!" Charlie opened the iron grate and let Brock crawl through.
The echo of the falling bars rang in Brock's ears as he started down the passageway. "You taking me ashore?"
"Not me. Got someone waitin' to row you."
Charlie led him down the passageway and up on deck.
The fresh night air hit Brock so hard that his head went dizzy. He had never felt anything so glorious as the salty breeze that caressed his worn body. The moon hung full in the sky casting bright light over the water to illuminate the way.
"Get along, Capt'n."
Brock nodded, following his jailor, intoxicated by the cool night air. How long had he been below deck? How long had it been since he'd seen the water or tasted its salt on the tip of his tongue?
"Down the jacob's." Charlie threw the rope ladder overboard, giving his captor a prod with his staff.
"Will I be returning?" Brock asked.
Charlie shrugged. "Like it here that well, do ye?" He dissolved into laughter then, spotting a rat, went running across the deck in pursuit of the rodent.
Climbing down the ship's ladder, Brock descended into the smallboat below. A sailor nodded his head, lifted his oars, and began to row steadily toward shore.
That ride in the rowboat was the most glorious Brock thought he had ever experienced. He just couldn't get enough of the night air. He gulped its freshness, expanding his chest again and again until he thought he would grow drunk on it. All too soon, though, the smallboat hit the side of the dock and two uniformed soldiers dragged him roughly to his feet, leading him down the dock.
The streets were quiet except for the occasional bark of a stray dog, or the laughter of a soldier on watch. Just as Brock's jailor had promised, the soldiers led him directly to the brick warehouse where Von Bueren had seen him on two other occasions. But this time, instead of leading him in a door off the alley to the side, the soldiers took him to the front and down a long passageway. Before Brock knew what was happening, a door was unlocked and he was shoved inside.
Brock lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the bright light of the lanterns. Confused, he blinked his dark eyes, trying to clear the cobwebs from his head. He was in someone's parlor!
The sound of a doorknob turning made him gaze across the room. The door on the far side opened and Keely appeared.
"This way," she ordered with a sweep of her hand.
Two soldiers carried in a copper bathing tub and disappeared out the door.
"Keely?" Brock's voice was weak and strained. He was so thirsty. There was never enough water to drink in his cell for one man, much less fifteen.
Keely smiled, lifting her finger to her lips to tell him to be silent. She stood with her back against the open door as the soldiers appeared with buckets of steaming water and poured them into the tub. Again and again they came as Brock watched in disbelief. What was going on here? Had he been released? No—if so, she would surely have taken him far from here.
When the tub was filled nearly to the rim, the two red-coated soldiers returned one last time with a tray of heavenly-smelling foods and two bottles of wine. Finally they took their leave and Keely closed the door behind them.
She turned, smiling. "Well?" She lifted her hands, palms up. "Hungry? I thought you might like a bath first."
"What is this? I don't understand. Are they letting me go?"
Unable to stand the sight of Brock's haggard face, Keely came to him, putting her arms around his waist. "No," she said softly. "Not yet." She laid her head on his chest, oblivious to his filthy clothing.
"Then why am I here? Why are you here?" He caught her by the shoulders. "What's going on, Keely? Who let you in here?"
"Von Bueren, and the price was steep, so I hope you approve."
Brock's eyes narrowed dangerously. He knew what a lecher the German was. "How steep?"
She couldn't help laughing. "Not that steep! I paid him in cold hard coin, though other arrangements were offered."
"I'm afraid to ask how much."
"Then don't. I'd be ashamed to admit it to you." She stood on her toes to kiss him gently. His scruffy beard tickled her face. "There's a razor there by the tub. The mirror's on the wall. Why don't you shave and take a bath and then we'll eat."
"First a drink of water." Brock pushed his hair back off his face. "Then could you explain to me exactly what's going on here?"
"I can." She poured him a tankard of water from a glass pitcher and handed it to him.
Brock drank the cold water greedily. "God, but that's good!"
Keely smiled, working on the buttons at his neck to remove his torn shirt. "It seems the lieutenant colonel runs quite a business here. Not only does he allow people to see the prisoners on the Jersey, but for a King's ransom, he rents out his little parlor here for entertaining, as he calls it." She took the empty tankard from his hand.
Brock located the razor and bar of soap Keely had brought and began to lather his face. "Von Bueren knew you would be meeting me here tonight?"
"He arranged it. He thinks I'm your mistress, come to bid you a fond farewell." Keely couldn't help smiling as she sat on the edge of a large desk in the corner of the room to watch Brock shave.
He shook his head. "Well, I'll be damned. I wouldn't believe it if I didn't see it myself."
"I only wish I'd been as successful with your release."
"What'd you find out?" Brock scraped his chin with the razor, removing weeks worth of black beard.
"Manessah's friend, the widow Val Goldston, is trying to help all she can. I'm staying with her here in the city. She says they want to hang you to set an example to other privateers. She's already tried bribery" but neither Von Bueren nor anyone else will agree to it. It seems you're too important." Keely got up and began pacing the floor. "Val says I should go home and see about that prisoner exchange. She also says we need to find out who the informant was. It may be helpful in your release."
Brock laid down the razor, running his hand over his clean-shaven face. "She's probably right, you know."
"I know," she answered softly. "But I'm afraid to leave you. No one can tell us when your sentencing will be. What if . . ."
Brock took her in his arms. "God, Keely, can't we not talk about this for a while?" He stroked her head, kissing her temple. "I've missed you so much. I do nothing all day but lie there and think of you . . . of you and Laura, of the mistakes I've made . . ."
She touched his lips with her fingers." The mistakes we've made."
He smiled. "I didn't realize how dark my life was until you came and filled it with your light."
"I think your confinement's made you addlepated, husband." Keely brushed her fingers across his high cheekbones. The weeks below deck on the prison ship had taken their toll. Brock's skin was pale, his eyes sunken. "Now take those dirty things off and have your bath. I'm starved."
Not needing any more encouragement, Brock slipped off his shoes and stockings then added his breeches to the pile. Sinking gingerly into the steaming bath water, he sighed. "I can't believe you thought of a bath." He scrubbed his chest with a bar of soap and a soft square of cotton.
"I had no desire to dine with the likes of Mort." She opened one of the bottles of wine the soldiers had brought in and poured them both a glass.
"How's Laura? Tell me what she's doing. What's she like."
Keely laughed. "How much can I tell you? You'd only been gone a few days when I left for New York." She handed him a glass of wine, bringing her own to her lips.
"I guess you're right."
"But she's fine. With Ruth and Patience fighting over he
r, no baby could be better treated."
He nodded, sipping the wine. "What time is it? How long have we got tonight?"
"Only until one, and it's already after nine. At one someone will come to take you back to the ship."
"What about you? How will you get back to where you're staying?" He set down his glass and began to scrub his entire body vigorously.
"Mort is waiting outside with Val's carriage. He's been very good to me, Brock. We couldn't have found a more loyal man."
"When the time comes, I'll see he's repaid handsomely."
Brock stood and Keely handed him a large towel. Heat rose in her cheeks as she watched him dry his wet limbs. Unable to take her eyes from his magnificent form, she handed him a pair of clean breeches.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" He smiled, the breeches dangling from his fingers.
"Because I love you," Keely answered.
Brock let the clothing slip to the floor as he leaned to kiss her perfect lips. She moaned softly, pressing her body to his. He tasted of wine and desperation. He threaded his fingers through her hair, deepening the kiss, trying to chase away the demons of the past weeks.
"Brock," Keely whispered. "Let's eat "before it gets cold."
"No," he answered huskily, taking the wineglass from her hand and setting it on a table. "I need you, Keely. I need you now." He traced the outline of her bodice with his fingers as he pressed hot, damp kisses to her collarbone.
Keely arched her back, slowly succumbing to his smoldering passions. Night after night she had dreamed of this, of Brock holding her in his arms, of Brock crushing her fears with the heat of his desire.
Her breath came faster as he released her breasts from the confines of her bodice. His wet mouth teased the peaks of her breasts until her nipples stood erect and throbbing against the thin material of her shift.
Lifting her into his arms, Brock knelt, lowering her gently to the carpeted floor. She ran her hands through his wet hair, writhing against his damp, naked flesh as he took her nipple in his mouth. Pulling her bodice off her shoulders to aid him, she pushed the material down around her waist, ignoring the tiny stitches she split asunder. She didn't care about the gown; she didn't care where they were or under what circumstances. All that mattered was their love—nothing, no one, could take that from them.
"Brock," Keely whispered. "Brock . . ." All conscious thought slipped from her mind as she caressed the hard, sinewy muscles of his back and shoulders. She dug into his flesh with her nails as he stroked her inner thighs, murmuring endearments beneath his breath. Pressing his knee between her legs, she lifted her skirts, too consumed with desire to try and remove them.
Brock lowered his head over hers to take in her brilliant hazel eyes. "Now?" he asked.
"Now," she answered, her voice strained and throaty.
He entered her with one thrust and Keely lifted her hips, smiling up at Brock as he moved over her. Her entire body pulsed with sensation as they moved faster toward some right, throbbing light of fulfillment. Closer and closer they moved, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating as one until together they called out in ecstasy and he spilled his life's blood into her.
Keely dropped her head to the floor, laughing in relief. Chuckling, Brock kissed her perspiration-beaded forehead, pushing tendrils of hair off her cheeks. "Not much of a gentleman, am I?" he teased. "Ravishing you here on the floor." He rolled off her and onto his side, pushing her abundant skirts down. "The least I could have done was taken off your dress."
Keely laughed, looping her hands around his neck. "Later, after dinner. Then you can take it off."
He kissed her rosy mouth impulsively. "I love you, Keely. No matter what happens, I want you to know I love you."
"Nothing is going to happen except that I'm going to have you released." She pushed his chest with her hands, forcing him onto his back. "Now let's eat."
He got up, offering her his hand. "With or without my breeches?" he asked, standing in naked glory.
Keely came to her feet, trying to smooth her rumpled skirts. Deftly, she slipped her arms back into the bodice of her gown and raised the material to cover her breasts. "With the breeches," she told him, laughing. "Or we'll never get to eat!"
All too quickly, the hours slipped by. Keely and Brock shared a sumptuous meal of roast duck and fresh garden vegetables, completing the meal with cherry tarts and a second bottle of sweet wine. Cross-legged, they sat on Von Bueren's costly carpet, laughing and talking as if they were picnicing in their own garden as they had done the night of the wedding. Neither mentioned that this might be their last dinner together.
After dinner they made love again, this time with delicious slowness. Keely savored every touch, every whisper, every gentle kiss, terrified that it would be their last. Their passion spent, she lay cradled in Brock's arms on the floor, twirling a lock of his long black hair around her finger.
"You have to go soon," Brock whispered. With a finger he traced the bridge of her nose.
"I can't."
"You have to. You made a bargain with the lieutenant colonel. He kept his end, you have to keep yours." His voice was rich and filled with emotion.
"But how can I go back to Val's and sleep in that bed when I know you'll be there on that horrid boat?" She lifted her dark lashes to meet his gaze.
"You will, because you have to, ki-ti-hi."
"Ki-ti-hi, what does that mean?"
"It means—" He took her hand, pressing it to his bare chest so that she could feel the beat of his heart. "My heart, my love," he whispered, "only in my father's language it means more."
She kissed his bare chest. "I like that."
"Now, you must get up and get dressed before the guards come and carry us off stark naked."
She laughed. "It would be a sight, wouldn't it?"
"It would."
"So they take you away. What do I do then?"
He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "Then, in the morning you have Val find you a ship bound for Dover."
"A ship? Why a ship? I can't just leave you here!"
"Now listen to me." He caught her wrists. "You go home to Dover and you find Manessah. Tell him that we suspect the informer is among us. Tell him we must know who it is. Also have him check into Micah's prisoner exchange. Micah is sometimes slow to follow through. You know how—"
At the sound of Micah's name, she stiffened involuntarily. After this was all over, she would tell Brock what he had said, what he had tried to do, but for now, all that was important was to have Brock set free.
"Keely, are you listening to me?"
She blinked. "Y-yes. Micah. I'll have Manessah check up on Micah."
"All right, now you'd better get dressed. It's nearly one o'clock." Gently he pushed Keely off his lap and stood up, helping her to her feet. They embraced, pressing bare flesh to bare flesh, just holding each other for a moment, and then he broke away.
"Here's your shift," Brock said gently.
Slowly they dressed. Suddenly there seemed nothing left to say. When Keely had her gown in some sort of order, she brushed out her hair and tied it in a bit of ribbon from her purse.
She handed the brush to Brock. "This is for you. There are also fresh clothes, a toothbrush, and some other things for you in the bag." She indicated a canvas satchel on the floor. "Val's made arrangements for someone to bring you food and water every day."
He smiled. "Thank you."
Keely watched as he brushed out his hair and began to braid it. When he reached the end of the thick plait and began to secure it with a strand of hair, Keely pulled the black ribbon from her head. "Here, let me." Gently she tied the ribbon in his hair. "All done."
Brock took her by the waist, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Thank you," he whispered.
"For what?"
"For everything, Keely. For coming into my life, for giving me a beautiful daughter, for giving me your love."
"You're going to get off that prison ship," she
told him shakily.
"I know," he insisted, not wanting to scare her. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that the odds were against it. "But if I don't, I want you to go home to England. Take Laura and go live with Mother."
"Dover is Laura's home. It's where she belongs." Keely smoothed his linen shirt, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to flow.
"Do what you wish, but I want you to know I'd understand."
"Oh, Brock," Keely cried. "It's so hard to leave you . . ."
"I know. But you must. Just leave the room and go on to the carriage. I'll wait here for the soldiers. It's the best way."
Silent sobs racked her body as Keely clung to Brock.
"Go," he whispered as he forced his mouth down hard on hers. There was no tenderness in their kiss, only raw, unyielding passion. It was a kiss of final desperation.
Tearing herself from Brock's arms, Keely turned and went, closing the door quietly behind her.
Chapter Twenty-five
Keely hurried down a brick-paved street in Dover, her blue cotton chintz skirts swaying as she walked. After leaving Brock that night in the warehouse in New York, she had found a small sloop departing for Lewes, Delaware. The widow Goldston had made all the arrangements and in a week Keely found herself home. It was a great comfort to hold Laura again, but having the babe in her arms made the ache for Brock even greater.
"Afternoon to you," a woman in a straw bonnet called as she passed Keely on the street. "Any word of your husband?" She stopped on the walk.
Taken unawares, Keely hesitated. This was the first time anyone had spoken to her civilly in public since she'd arrived in Dover. "Thank you for asking." She dared a cautious smile. "No word of his release, but I saw him only a week ago in New York. His spirits are high. I'm certain he'll be home soon."
The woman in the bonnet lowered her voice. "I'm Sally Thorner. My husband fights with our Delaware Regiment."
Keely accepted the hand the patriot woman offered. "Thank you for your kind words."
"Sometimes people make mistakes, Mistress Bartholomew. I hope you're not one to hold anything against them."
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