Nicolo smiled, a wistful look in his blue eyes. “You came to us a boy and I dismissed you as a spoiled blue-blood, a weakling. But you grew into something I can never be.”
“I failed her.” Alex heard his own voice. It sounded hollow, hopeless. “I didn’t get her out of there. I allowed our child to be born a bastard. A slave.”
“What man can work miracles? Even a true warrior?”
“She should have been my wife. I ought to have protected her.”
“You did what you could.”
“She was my wife in all but the legal sense and I failed her.”
“Bah! How you fool yourself!”
The violence of Nicolo’s exclamation made Alex start. He stared at him stupidly.
“Don’t fool yourself that you would have been happy with Catarina.”
“I think I should have been as happy with her as I decided to be. I was young, I was malleable. It did not matter, I was responsible for her and I failed her.”
“She was no wife for you.”
“Careful.” The word was forced out of Alex—he’d practically growled at Nicolo. Oh, he was feeling warmer now. Overheated with anger.
“She was weak and you despised her weakness.”
Alex jumped out of his chair and sprang at Nicolo. “I’d call a man out for saying less.”
Nicolo’s eyes were large, pale blue orbs. The pure blue of a June sky that had not been good enough to satisfy the Dutch devil’s perverse desires.
Queasy and shaking with emotion, he found to his shock that his hands were wrapped about Nicolo’s nightshirt collar.
Nicolo laughed. “Would you kill the man you so recently struggled to save?”
Alex released Nicolo’s collar then forced himself to take a deep breath. He was shaking all over.
“I was prepared to devote my life to Catarina. To die for her. How can you say I despised her?”
Nicolo’s expression turned sympathetic,, enraging Alex. “How can you say it?!” He roared the question.
Nicolo appeared calm, patient to a fault. “Alex, it showed in your face every time you spoke her name. You knew she was too weak to ever survive an escape. Do you remember what we went through? The fear, the deprivations, the struggles to keep our heads? And the entire time needing to make sacrifices for a helpless infant? Do you imagine she could have held up under such pressure?”
Alex’s chest burned with the need to shut Nicolo’s words off. To deny them. “It would have been up to me to make sure she held up.”
Nicolo waved him off. “As I said, no man can work miracles. You knew she’d never make it and you knew you’d never be able to leave without going through him. You knew you’d have to sacrifice yourself and, if you did, she’d perish without you. It was a situation without a chance for success.”
Bristling all over, Alex turned away from Nicolo. He let his arms fall to his sides and fisted his hands. “Shut your damned mouth.”
“I feel sorry for you, Alex.”
“So you pity me?”
“Yes, I do pity you.”
“God damn you. No one else could talk to me like this. Do you realize this?”
“Aye, I do. That is why I must say these things.”
“You haven’t flayed my heart open to your satisfaction yet?”
Nicolo shook his head with a sad expression. “Now you have found a jewel of a woman, one with a woman’s type of strength. Idealistic, soft-hearted, but with a nature stubborn enough to stand up to you. God, of course I was envious. I also hurt for you because I knew it would end like this. The past still holds you in chains as surely as it does me. The things we can never tell our wives stand between them and us. It can never work.”
Nicolo’s hopeless tone spoke to his own desolation. He and Nicolo understood each other as no one else ever could. All of Alex’s anger faded away, leaving him weak. He walked back to his chair and sank into it. “Yes, it can never work.”
“The things we can never tell them, those secrets will always stand in the way.”
Alex’s heart, so recently calmed, began to beat rapidly again. Shame flooded him. He ought never to have told her. He’d burdened her with something no decent woman should ever know.
Nicolo, even with all his sins towards the women in his life against him, even he had known better than to ever tell.
The sense of having done wrong pressed on his chest. He began to feel a little sick, a burning little knot of nausea in his guts. He swallowed against it.
“It is all right, Alex. Life goes on after the rush of love. Am I not living proof of that?” Nicolo laughed with a self-deprecating note. He meant it to make Alex feel better. A gift of mutual acceptance.
But he didn’t know what Alex had done.
“I told her.” Alex whispered the words. They seemed too terrible to be said aloud.
There was a long pause.
“You did?” Nicolo’s voice rang with awe.
Alex had expected disapproval. Censure. But never awe.
“Yes, I told her.”
Nicolo’s face went stark white and he stared at Alex with his mouth open. Then his eyes flared. “Oh, you should never have told a woman any of that!”
“I know.” The words were torn from Alex. Shame boiled in his blood.
“Much less that naïve girl.”
“Christ! Don’t you think I know that?!”
“Then why would you do it?” Nicolo’s tone softened. “Why, Alex, why?”
“I had to do it.”
“A man carries his own water, Alex.”
“Yes, I know. I know!”
“He doesn’t hurt the woman who loves him with all her heart by burdening her with nightmares.”
“I had to tell her. Once she saw Aimee, I had to tell her.”
Nicolo shook his head. “No, no. You did not have to tell her. You should never have told her. A man carries something like this to his grave.” Nicolo held up his hand between them. “To his grave!”
Nicolo fell back, as though exhausted. “Ah, Alex, what have you done? What have you done?”
“I don’t know,” Alex replied, sagging himself with sudden yet bone-deep exhaustion. He listened to the clock ticking and wondered if he weren’t in the first stages of insanity. Why had he told her? Selfishness. Pure selfishness. He’d wanted her sweet sympathy. A balm to ease his aching, empty soul.
Just to have shared his past with her had made him feel better It had blunted the shame. Confessing his selfish and uncharitable feelings about Aimee had also made him feel better. It had drained away the poison of his resentment. Now when he thought of his lost daughter, he just felt sadness and regret.
But was it fair to use Emily like that? To burden her with all the disturbing feelings and experiences that troubled him? She was so much younger than himself, and a woman. It was a man’s place to be strong for a woman, to provide for her, to protect her.
A man must not lean on a wife.
“Eh, you told her everything?”
“Most of it.”
“But not everything?”
“Of course not,” Alex said.
Nicolo visibly relaxed.
“But I would have told her everything, eventually, had I stayed with her. Had I married her. She just has a way of drawing everything out of me. When I am with her, I want to share every part of myself with her.”
Silence hung between them for a long pause and then Nicolo sighed loudly. “And when you told her, what did she say?”
“She said she understood.”
“And does she? Can she?”
“No, she pities me.”
“Ah, see there, it is as I suspected. There is no hope.” Nicolo’s voice echoed both the certainty and despair in Alex’s heart.
Chapter Twelve
“—very heavy debt but still better to bear debts than depredations.”
Alex sat in Brigit Forbes’ parlor listening to her read her latest letter from her Congressman cousin.
&
nbsp; She laid the letter down and smiled, two dimples popping out on either side of her well-shaped mouth. “Goodness, who would have thought our politicians could finally have come to that reasoning? Those of us who paid for depredations through our profit margins knew this ages ago.”
The widow of a somewhat well-off Philadelphia merchant, Brigit had been struggling for several years to keep the business he’d left to her afloat. Alex had often helped her with financial decisions or connections. They had also been lovers on and off when his presence in Philadelphia had allowed.
He lifted the dainty steaming china cup and took a sip of tea. Its fruity taste hit his tongue and he grimaced. Emily was correct. It was too sweet.
He would prefer coffee.
But Brigit didn’t even keep it in her house. She preferred to keep English manners and English ways.
“Why do you wear that horrid green coat?”
He looked up at her while touching his coat. “What?”
She wrinkled her nose. “It doesn’t flatter your coloring.”
“These are my church clothes, do they really need to flatter me?”
“No, I suppose not. But you wear that because it was your mother’s favorite color.”
“I do?” He smiled to hide his disconcertment.
“Cornelia says that’s the reason. She was just remarking on it this morning. She says she is very touched by your continued devotion to your mother’s memory.”
He hadn’t thought on it much. Green was the color to wear to church. But yes, Cornelia was correct, he’d taken that idea from his mother as he grew up. She had always purchased him a dark green dress coat.
“Maybe she didn’t want you to marry.”
He raised his brows. “Why would you say that?”
“Why else would she pick clothes that make you look so…well, washed out?”
He shook his head. “All mothers want grandchildren.”
“James could give them to her.”
Irritation rippled through him. “Why are you bringing all of this up today?”
Brigit shrugged. “Cornelia was just talking today of your mother. Of the bond the two of you had and how heartbroken you were at her death. I never realized it before, but that was the reason you ran away to sea, wasn’t it?”
“I ran away to sea because I wasn’t of a mind to continue at college.”
“Hmm,” she said, in the way a woman does when she doesn’t believe what a man has just said.
His irritation sharpened. He took a deep breath and struggled not to lose his composure. “What prompted this deep discussion of myself and my mother?”
“Oh, just recent events.”
“Recent events?”
“Your work with Miss Eliot is at an end now?”
Was he always going to feel that slice of pain through his heart every time someone mentioned her? He nodded.
“What will you do now, Alex?”
It was an excellent question and one he didn’t want to answer. But her eyes were bright with interest and he knew she would continue to probe. Women always did. It had been assumed for a long time by nearly everyone that he would make Brigit an offer.
Should he?
The question shocked the hell out of him.
Well, maybe he ought to consider it. He had to get on with living, didn’t he?
As was an old habit of his—a horrid one, he knew—he examined her, tearing her apart feature by feature and looking for a reason to reject her. He couldn’t find one, of course. With her raven hair and milk-white skin and a cameo-perfect face, she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.
He tapped his fingers on his thigh.
Oh, yes, she was beautiful and yet… what? All afternoon, her musical voice had prattled on in his ear, talking of the matters that interested her. He’d barely been able to attend to it. Had she always been so deadly dull? So consumed with profits and manifests? She reminded him in a way of Sexton himself. However, it was one thing to chat with Sexton about the Exchange at a supper party, but it would be an entirely different matter to live day in and day out with his feminine equivalent.
What was the matter with him? He’d always admired her devotion to her business. She had keen business sense; she had simply lacked experience in the beginning. It had been his pleasure to help her but she didn’t need his help now.
He tapped his thigh again.
What the devil was he doing here? Yes, she’d invited him for tea and he had put her off long enough. Cornelia was giving him grief over it. But, really—what the devil was he doing here?
“Alex?”
He started then stared into her irritated eyes. “Yes?”
“I asked you a question.”
He offered her a smile, turning the full force of his charm on her to ease her ire. “You’d best ask it again.”
“I asked, what will you do now?”
“I was thinking just now that I will probably go with the Sophia when she sails.”
A mysterious feminine half-smile curved Brigit’s mouth and she looked down and to the side. “Do you know, I had the most unshakable notion that you might have asked your little artist to marry you?”
He felt his smile freeze. “Whatever made you think I would do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She took a sip of tea then set her cup back in the saucer with a clink. “It is just that you have always been so idealistic and… how to put it? So with your head in the clouds.”
He chuckled. “Me?”
She laughed, her dark blue eyes twinkling fondly. “Yes, you.”
“I don’t think you have the right man.”
“I am sure I do. Mr. Alexander Dalton.” She laughed again and a slight blush tinged her cheeks. “Your cousin Mrs. Hazelwood has been throwing me at your head for years now. I had long feared her over-zealousness in doing so would end our friendship.”
“Why should that have been? I wouldn’t hold the actions of another against a friend.”
“Yes, but you and I are so utterly unsuited. We should have driven each other mad within a fortnight. I never understood how she could think we would suit.” Brigit shrugged. “Still, when I thought you might make an offer to that little waif, it did tweak my pride a bit.”
“Did it?“ he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral, trying not to reveal that speaking of Emily gave him an increasing tightness in his chest.
“Well, certainly. I mean, she is so very young, so obviously untried and…”
“Yes?”
“Well, she’s not quite… I mean, she’s not very attractive, is she?” She laughed softly, nervousness sounding beneath.
He gave her a level stare. “Brigit—”
“Oh, please, do not take me the wrong way. She’s very talented and seems quite kind. She’ll make someone a sweet wife but not a gentleman like you.”
Anger heated his blood, which was foolish because, notwithstanding her hard working ways, at heart, Brigit was just another materialistic, vain and—all right, admit it— shallow, grasping woman. Had he really deliberately kept company with women like Brigit and Maggie all this time? Yes, he had. In fact, he had preferred their shallow aspect because they could never penetrate beneath his skin and see into his hollow soul. Emily had seen him as he was and it had not been a pleasing thing.
“Brigit, Miss Eliot is a beautiful young lady to my eyes.”
Brigit’s lips compressed and she looked down at her teacup.
He continued, “And she has many other excellent qualities. You are correct to say she would make any man a fine wife. But she’s too fine for a gentleman like me.”
Brigit looked up and rolled her eyes. “That’s a ridiculous notion. She’d count herself lucky to win a gentleman of your caliber—any young woman in her position would. She’d jump at the chance. But, if you feel this way, I am surprised you haven’t offered for her. You and she are so alike.”
“So you’ve already said. But you’re wrong—we are very differen
t.”
She shook her head. “Alex, I saw how you looked when you first told me that the Senate had passed the Naval Bill. You looked more alive than you have in ages. Now that this fight is over, I can only wonder what you shall do with yourself.”
“I told you, I plan to sail with the Sophia.”
“It won’t make you happy. You always come home from these voyages more restless than when you left. They simply distract you, they mark time. You need something real in your life, something idealistic to strive for. This is why we should never have suited.”
“How can you have known me all this time and yet held to such a false opinion of me?”
“How can you not know yourself? I think you had better marry your funny-looking little idealist before she gets away from you.”
****
At home, in his study that evening, Alex could not find peace. Brigit’s words kept haunting him.
He took a deep drink of Scotch and let the burn slide down his throat. Yes, it had exhilarated him the moment he’d heard that the Senate had passed the Naval Bill. All that remained was for Washington to sign it. Surely he would. There was a provision in the Bill that, if the United States made peace with the Barbary pirates, then the Navy wouldn’t be sought. But what chance was there of peace now?
The country would finally have the standing Navy it needed to be safe against not only rogue pirate nations but also the twin depredations of both the French and the British. The United States could become a force to be reckoned with. And knowing that did give him a powerful sense of satisfaction. Of having played a small part in such an accomplishment.
This was all Emily wanted. She was a woman, denied a public life in which to satisfy those needs. So she did so through her art. And his selfish desire to hold her to himself, his need to protect her at all costs, even against her own desires, had stifled her free expression.
It had been wrong. She wasn’t like other women. She would always need more from life.
She had been correct to hold him in contempt for that.
Suddenly it came to him what he must do.
****
Emily tried to concentrate on her book. But her thoughts wouldn’t allow her any peace. Today was her birthday. And she had no one in the world to celebrate it with.
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