MacGregor's Bride

by Barbara Dan

  Exasperated, Bruce threw a solid punch, connecting with Seth Burton's jaw.

  The man's head jerked back, and he collapsed against a wagon on the wharf. He shook his head and staggered to his feet, careful to keep a safe distance between him and Bruce.

  "Let me tell you . . . about . . . Lydia," Burton panted, holding his jaw. "She's so ornery that she refused Frank Masters an annulment, or a divorce, even though—” still panting— “he never gave a damn about her. She made the man's life miserable!"

  "And how would you be knowin' that?" Bruce asked, not really giving a damn, but surprised by the cold fury in the man's eyes.

  "Didn't she tell you?" His face darkened with passion. "Hell, Frank Masters and I might still be partners, if it weren't for her!"

  The lady wasn't present to defend herself, but Bruce was happy to help her out. A second blow delivered to Seth Burton's midsection sent him careening into a rotten piling. Burton fell headlong into the river. Even though Bruce rather liked the idea of leaving him as fish bait, he borrowed a long hooking pole from the longboat of a whaler tied up at the dock and fished him out. Dumping Burton's limp body against an old lobster shack, he got back in his sailboat and tacked along close to shore, back to New London.

  Chapter Ten

  Determined that Burton should no longer trouble Lydia for money, Bruce proceeded immediately to the offices of Bradshaw and Merton, Attorneys-at-Law.

  "Bradshaw, I need to talk to you," he declared, walking in on the lawyer, who was in the midst of consulting with a client.

  Peter Bradshaw looked over his spectacles at the huge bearded sea captain filling his doorway. "Do I know you?" he asked timorously.

  "No. I'm here because you represent Frank Masters' estate."

  Bradshaw groaned audibly. "Are you another creditor?"

  "No, Mr. Bradshaw, but I hope to reduce Mrs. Masters' debts substantially."

  Looking much relieved, the pasty-faced attorney gave a quick nod. "Please wait outside, sir. I'll be right with you." Quickly finishing up his business, he invited Bruce back to his office. Closing the door to insure privacy, he reseated himself and, nervously tapping his fingertips together, stared owlishly up at Bruce.

  Bruce didn't beat around the bush. "I plan to marry Lydia Masters tomorrow, and I need to know the state of her financial affairs."

  "That's wonderful!" Bradshaw exclaimed. "Getting married—well, well! I guess you know that her husband left her with a great many debts."

  "Yes, but I've been given to understand that all legitimate claims against the estate have been covered. I'll come straight to the point, Mr. Bradshaw," Bruce said. "This afternoon I learned of Seth Burton's claim against Masters' estate. Under no circumstances are you or Mr. Harris to pay the man one thin dime."

  The lawyer cleared his throat and frowned. "A person always has resource through the courts, though the burden of proof would be on the creditor to prove his claim."

  "I want to know how we can legally prevent Seth Burton and any other adventurers from laying similar claims at my lady's feet. Is there no way for Lydia Masters to be relieved of her husband's debts?"

  "Until you walked through this door, I would have said 'no.' However, the fact that she plans to remarry could work to her advantage."

  "Why?" Bruce smiled a trifle grimly. "Because the debt then falls to me?"

  "Not exactly. There's an old custom, called a smock wedding, which some of our ladies have used to good advantage. It excuses the new husband from paying off debts left owing from a previous marriage."

  "I'm not certain what a smock wedding is, sir. Perhaps you could explain it?" When he was a small boy, Bruce vaguely recalled one of his father's friends going through a smock wedding.

  "Basically, the widow gets married in the—" Bradshaw, his eyes darting around nervously, lowered his voice to a confidential whisper, "—in the nude, if you catch my drift. Naked as a newborn babe."

  Bruce recoiled with such skepticism that Bradshaw began to babble. "By turning her back on all her worldly goods from the previous marriage, the widow signifies that she's starting life anew, even rejecting the clothes on her back. Essentially she comes to her new husband and the new marriage a free woman, no longer encumbered by the past, including debts."

  After a thoughtful silence, Bruce nodded. "I like the symbolism. But I doubt Mrs. Masters will agree to stand in the altogether before a magistrate and witnesses." It would be difficult enough, Bruce reasoned, to get her to marry him, without bringing up such a radical idea.

  Mr. Bradshaw was full of reassurances, however. "Some ladies appear in their shift, or a barrel for the ceremony," he elaborated. "One of the young officers at the fort married a widow who stood in a closet and extended her hand through a hole in the door."

  Bruce grinned, rather relishing the idea. "Aye, maybe she'd agree to something like that!"

  Aside from avoiding a heavy cash outlay for debts better left at the bottom of the sea with Masters, Bruce saw other advantages to the attorney's suggestion. What appealed to him most was giving Lydia a fresh start. Even though Bruce had the resources to pay the widow's bills, a smock wedding would allow Lydia to set aside her late husband's debts without feeling beholden. Above all, he wanted her to come to him freely, not out of a sense of obligation. If the past were truly left behind, he and Lydia would have a much better chance for happiness.

  Whether she would consent to such a scheme intrigued him greatly. For if Lydia could swallow her pride and appear briefly sans hauteur et sans costume—without pride and without clothes—he would have a decided edge at the outset of their relationship.

  Aye, the more he thought about it, the more a smock wedding appealed to him.

  He grinned down at the lawyer. "Mr. Bradshaw, you have hit upon a brilliant solution to a sticky problem. I shall discuss this quaint custom with the lady. May I tell her you recommend it?"

  Bradshaw's face blanched. But he couldn't very well refuse to take credit, since the good Captain seemed so taken with the idea. Anxious to make a good impression, he pumped Bruce's hand enthusiastically, and Bruce left the attorney's office thoroughly pleased.

  A most fortuitous meeting! Both he and Robert Harris would save a tidy sum that would otherwise be wasted paying a dead man's debts. Already he felt a keen sense of exhilaration. All the preparations for his union with the lovely young widow were proceeding like clockwork. Aye, doubtless the hand of destiny was charting his marital course.

  * * *

  Not all Bruce's energies were focused on his forthcoming nuptials. There was a war on, and as a privateer, he carried a huge responsibility for the lives of his crew, his ship, and his growing fortune. After conferring with Harris about his profits, he checked with his ship's carpenter to make certain that repairs on the Angelic Lady were nearing completion.

  As an afterthought, he invited the entire crew to his wedding.

  Aye, he chuckled to himself, 'twas a grand feeling—like bein' on a high roll at sea!

  Carried along by enthusiasm and the effects of a long dry spell, Bruce at least had sense enough to prepare for his visit with his bonnie adversary. In the dead of winter, flowers were definitely out. But he already knew of Lydia's predilection for poetry. And what better to accompany the slender volume of Byron, wrapped in pink tissue paper and secreted in his pocket, than some of Mrs. Rafferty's creamy, nutty chocolate fudge? The combination promised to be a potent aphrodisiac with which to win the lady's hand.

  When Mrs. Rathbun ushered him into Lydia's presence, the fair-haired vixen sat near the window in her tiny room, reading the psalms with deceptive meekness. When her blue-violet eyes met his, he found her reaction hard to read.

  "Just thought I'd check on you, Lydia." He sauntered in, as if his errand was casual. "I brought you some reading material." He held out the thin volume.

  Unwrapping it, she glanced through a few pages of Byron and smiled. "Thank you, Captain. How very kind of you to call."

  "I also smug
gled you some chocolates." With a flourish, Bruce produced from behind his back a dainty enamel container, colorfully decorated with exotic birds and animals in an island paradise. Lifting the lid, he offered her the contents with a bow.

  The smile he gave her was so bright, Lydia almost felt like a captive led out of darkness into dazzling sunshine. Barely able to breathe, she looked up from the rich chocolate candy into his own velvety gaze. "Poetry and candy," she quipped softly. "Surely you must know such pretty gifts are wasted on a condemned woman."

  "You haven't heard the sentence yet," he remarked calmly. "Believe me, I shall do my damnedest to help you walk out of here a free woman, Lydia."

  "Free? In that case, you should have brought me a metal file to help me break out," she said with a conspiratorial smile.

  "Ah, lass, they searched me and took them all away before I came in here." He laughed. "But I did speak with the Colonel, and he's willing to drop all charges—on one condition."

  Astonished, she fumbled and dropped her book. "How can that be?"

  Bruce retrieved the slender volume and returned it, his hands warmly clasping hers. "You must promise never to take in British deserters again," he whispered in a clandestine way.

  "Of course I agree! When can I leave?" Lydia looked so jubilant it took his breath away.

  "Wait. There's more the Colonel requires."

  "What?" she asked suspiciously, noticing the merry twinkle in his eyes.

  He raised her hand and gave it a light kiss. "You must marry a fine, loyal American."

  Crestfallen, Lydia gave Bruce a sour look. "I might have known," she said, pulling her hand from his. "You're having a private joke at my expense, am I right?"

  "No, the Colonel is quite serious. I rushed right over to give you the good news."

  "How extraordinarily kind of you," she said sardonically.

  "Colonel Rathbun's suggestion prompted me to explore your situation," Bruce said, watching her closely. "Marriage just might be the perfect solution to all your legal problems."

  "I don't see how." She was frowning.

  "Have a piece of Mrs. Rafferty's fudge," he urged, smoothly offering a diversion. "She sends her regards, by the way, and only awaits the word, so she can put the finishing touches on your wedding cake."

  "Are you daft?! Here I sit, under house arrest, and you taunt me with such lunacy?"

  "Actually the idea strongly appeals to me." Bruce recaptured her hand and held it to his heart with a dazzling smile. "Marry me, Lydia Masters, and you're a free woman."

  The threat of hysterical laughter nearly overcame her at his unexpected proposal. "I-I hardly know you, Captain MacGregor." She took back her hand.

  "Nor I you. But I like what I see." He lounged around the room, letting his warm gaze reaffirm her outstanding physical attributes.

  He is much too sure of himself, Lydia thought warily.

  "I'm willing to take a chance on you, if you're willing," Bruce assured her, and the deep emotional timber in his voice made her insides vibrate softly.

  "I'm not such a gambler as you apparently are," she said nervously, wondering what dastardly trick he was really up to.

  "Unlike your late husband, right?" He smiled, not the least bit put off by her attempts to retreat behind a mask of cool disdain.

  She blushed. "What do you know of that?"

  "Robbie Harris is a wellspring of information. And I've checked with other sources."

  She raised her beautiful violet-blue eyes and said the one thing calculated to discourage his lunatic proposal. "Then you know how heavily in debt Captain Masters left me."

  "Yes, and I have a dandy solution for that problem, also." His eyes crinkled with mischief. "But first we need to reach some agreement about the marriage itself."

  "This is insane! We have nothing to discuss, Captain." She rose and walked to the window, waiting for him to leave.

  "I may be suffering from temporary insanity, but I'm quite serious about marrying you, Lydia," Bruce assured her.

  She turned her delicately chiseled profile, studying him out of the corner of her eye.

  "Indeed, you have lost your senses, Captain," she said, her cheeks crimson. "I have nothing of value to offer. No dowry—"

  "I beg to differ, madam. You possess a number of extraordinary gifts," Bruce said, careful not to scare her off by mentioning her strong sensual allure.

  Silently he cursed himself for being perhaps overly confident. Before he and Angela married, they courted for nearly three years. The woman standing before him now had never given him encouragement, despite the obvious tug of attraction that existed between them. But he had come this far, he reasoned, and he wasn't about to alter course without at least a skirmish.

  Studying Lydia carefully with pursed lips, Bruce could not help admiring her spirit. Yet he knew, for all her bravado, she was bluffing. Aye, well, two could play that game.

  "So you, like my first husband, are looking for a housekeeper," she said softly, her startlingly bright eyes fixed intently upon him.

  He saw the unshed tears glisten, giving her eyes an iridescent beauty. "I could use the help of a woman of your abilities, to be sure," he began, fully intending to soften his proposition with a more personal compliment.

  "Am I supposed to be flattered and relieved that you've come galloping in here like a knight in shining armor to snatch me from my jailers?" Her eyes flashed like a gathering storm.

  "Look Lydia," he said after an uncomfortable silence, "we don't know each other very well, so discussing marriage is a little awkward for us both. However, you face serious charges.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I've spoken to the Colonel and Judge Perkins. They are willing to drop the charges if you marry a man who can vouch for your future good conduct."

  "Naturally you volunteered." She looked away, biting her lower lip. "I didn't know you were so hard up for a housekeeper, Captain. Especially since you left your house a wreck for years! But surely there are other women who could fill the bill."

  "Would there be anyone else you'd rather marry?" Bruce asked, watching her intently.

  "No! This is preposterous! The last thing I want is another marriage contract."

  "Contract?" Bruce felt his hackles rise. "Is that what marriage means to you, Lydia? A legal agreement? What about feelings? Pleasure? Mutual love and sharing and commitment?"

  "I—" Tongue-tied with embarrassment, she dropped her gaze and stared at the floor. "I wouldn't be knowing about any about that, Captain," she whispered.

  He looked her up and down, the Latin side of his temperament perceptibly flaring in his fiery gaze. "I pity you, Lydia! You've built a high tower around your heart. It's as if you're terrified of letting yourself be the warm passionate woman I know you are—capable of giving and receiving love."

  She reeled in shock, surprised by the incisiveness of his accusation. "You burst in here!" she sputtered. "What am I to think? You propose marriage, but never once mention . . . love."

  "Ah, Lydia, I can see where you might be offended." Tense himself, he suddenly felt a strong desire to reach out and kiss her until all the ice surrounding her heart thawed. A woman who read Bobbie Burns and Lord Byron in secret, he was sure, must have a bonfire burning deep inside her. All it needed was fuel.

  Suddenly Lydia felt ashamed of herself for treating him so abysmally. Just because he was so unbearably handsome shouldn't automatically make him suspect. He had been kind enough to visit, and besides, what if his intentions were honorable?

  Brushing a blond strand of hair back from her face, Lydia sighed unhappily. "I apologize for perhaps judging you too harshly, Captain. I didn't mean to insult you, but you can easily see how absurd marriage would be. I mean, it would be so much easier for you to hire another housekeeper, than to go to all this trouble!"

  His lips twitched with the return of wicked humor. "Aye, I suppose you're right. Especially if I'm willin' to pay the outrageous wages Mr. Harris offered you," he said, baiting her.


  Lydia instantly flared up. "Oh! So you don't think I earned my keep?"

  He grinned, preferring fireworks to dejection any time. "No, dear lady, you're worth a fortune. You treated the house as if it were your own."

  She blushed at his compliment. "Thank you, sir. I did enjoy the challenge."

  "You're a woman of many talents, Lydia. And since you view marriage as a business proposition, we should be able to work something out to our mutual satisfaction."

  She moved restlessly, her fingers twisting in the folds of her skirt. "As you were quick to point out a minute ago, Captain MacGregor, marriage should entail more than just an exchange of housekeeping services for a roof over one's head—and a reprieve from the law." She peeped up at him through her lashes to see his reaction.

  "Aye, but if the two parties wanted a trial period in order to become better acquainted before becoming intimate, that could be privately agreed upon," he said, watching her closely. He had no intention of having a platonic marriage, but at this point he was feeling her out.

  "And what do you want in a marriage, Captain?" she asked in a low husky voice, not daring to hope.

  "I want a wife who seeks to please me, in bed and out." There! He had led with his heart. Would she follow suit?

  Lydia ran her tongue nervously over lips suddenly gone dry. "That is what you would expect if we married?" she whispered softly.

  "I long for a warm responsive wife to cherish always," Bruce assured her gently. "I would work to make that a happy reality for us both."

  She nodded, unable to meet his dark smoldering gaze. His deep resonant voice was like oil on metal gears, setting loose a trembling excitement deep within her bloodstream.

  "I know your first marriage caused you great unhappiness, Lydia," he continued. "But if you're willing, I think we can both get what we want from this marriage."

  She smiled, unwilling to believe her good fortune. "You make it sound as if I can just ask whatever I want, and you'll give it to me."