“Nicolas?” Erica shot her a fascinated glance. “You’ve seen Nicolas? Here at Windgate?”
“He was with us for several days,” said Georgiana airily. “You just missed him. He left this morning.”
Brett’s amused glance told her she was carrying off a difficult situation rather well, but Georgiana was still alarmed by the formidable beauty and wily mind of the woman before her.
Erica did most of the talking at dinner, and her host and hostess watched her across the long board—for neither of them believed for a moment that it was a “piece of land” that drew her to Windgate. Erica, seemingly unaware of their burning curiosity, continued her lightsome chatter. It was rumored, she told them, that the king of England—Charles himself—was going to storm the colony and take it back. Had they heard it? No? Well, most rumors were lies anyway. Still... here her feline amber gaze rested lazily on Brett. if it did happen, she told them merrily, if New Orange became New York once again, she would throw herself on the king’s mercy and perhaps Brett, an Englishman, would speak for her?
“I am sure none could speak for you better than yourself. Erica,'' said Brett dryly.
Erica laughed. “He is wont to say such droll things, your new husband,” she told Georgiana with a charming gesture of deprecation. “But surely I would not have survived save for his sword arm.”
Georgiana felt her features tighten; she too had survived by that same sword arm. “Tell me about it,” she said in a wooden voice.
“Oh, ’tis a long story,” shrugged Erica. “Some other day....”
“Perhaps Brett will tell it to me.” countered Georgiana, nettled.
“I happened by when Erica was in an intolerable situation,” explained Brett. “Fortunately I was able to give her some aid.”
“Yes.” Georgiana’s voice was a dry wisp. “I seem to remember that you are given to helping maidens in distress.”
Erica’s laughter pealed. “I was hardly a maiden! I had buried two husbands, but then I was a child bride, of course. I was but sixteen—well, a trifle over”—this as Brett’s brows elevated— “when Brett discovered me at an inn in New York weeping over the loss of my luggage, which was indeed all I had in the world.”
“And what did Brett do about that?” Georgiana hated herself for asking.
Erica’s answer took her breath away. “Brett realized I had nowhere to go and so he kindly escorted me to Windgate.”
On her lap, concealed by the heavy white damask tablecloth, Georgiana felt her nails bite into her palms. Well, it was out in the open now! She hated that beautiful taunting face before her. Erica was baiting her! “While you made your arrangements?” she said coolly.
Erica’s little shrug of her velvet shoulders spoke volumes. “The swordplay came later,” she murmured.
“Erica told me she wished to marry well,” Brett interposed with a frown. “She needed a protector while she made her choice.”
“And now she has chosen.” Georgiana’s voice was brittle. “How nice.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” cooed Erica. “Govert Steendam is the wealthiest merchant in all New Netherland. He has told me he will build a castle for me on the river. Even now I am looking for a site.”
And you have found it, thought Georgiana bitterly. Right here at Windgate! You don’t want to build—you want to move in! She felt a sudden pity for Govert Steendam if he married this prowling female.
But Erica had turned coolly to Brett.
“I was thinking of that land for sale south of the Van Rensselaer holding—the same land you were considering, Brett. Before you realized the extent of Windgate’s debts.” (She is telling me she knows that too! though Georgiana hotly. That we are deep in debt and likely to be so for a long time to come! And twitting us with how rich she will be when she marries Govert Steendam!) Erica picked thoughtfully at her food. “Perhaps you could accompany me there, Brett, and point out its boundaries?” She turned hastily to Georgiana as if she had just remembered her hostess. “Perhaps you could both accompany me?”
Georgiana drew a deep ragged breath and leaned forward. The thought of accompanying Erica upriver made the blood rush to her head.
Brett caught her wrathful expression and the shadow of a frown flickered over his face, but his voice was imperturbable. “I regret I must decline for us both,” he told Erica firmly. “Georgiana is new to this country, she is still getting her bearings. And as for me, estate matters are too pressing, Erica.”
Before Erica could think of some new way to persuade him, Georgiana cut in recklessly. “What kind of man is Nicolas?” she demanded, disregarding Brett’s sudden warning frown. She wanted to hear her rival speak on that subject.
“Nicolas?” Erica looked startled—then her laughter pealed again. “Nicolas is a wonderful liar and”—she gave Brett a wicked glance from beneath demurely lowered lashes—“if reports are to be believed, a wonderful lover! I have advised him to marry Katrina ten Haer now that she is again available—for she is certainly the best catch on the river.”
“And you are interested in assuring his future?” Georgians asked softly.
Erica gave her a smile of pure astonishment. “Is not every woman interested in assuring the future of a fascinating man? Come, Georgiana,” she challenged, “can you tell me truthfully that you did not find Nicolas fascinating?”
Georgiana could not. Her color had risen rather high. Brett was looking at her; she could not read his inscrutable gaze. She told herself she must try to find her way out of this maze before Erica boxed her in. “And do you think Katrina will accept Nicolas?” she asked, ignoring Erica’s pointed question.
“Certainly,” cried Erica. “Who would not accept Nicolas if he offered?”
Brett leaned forward. There was amusement in the steely gray eyes that considered his pretty guest. “You sound as if you would accept Nicolas if he offered for you, Erica.”
Erica gave a regretful sigh. “You know as well as I do, Brett, that I cannot afford a man like Nicolas. Nor, as matters stand, can he afford me.” Her shrug included Georgiana. “You see, unfortunately, beggars had best not become lovers.” And then her smile turned roguish and her amber gaze played over Brett. “Of course if I were certain Nicolas would win his suit against you, Brett, then I might accept him! And become mistress of Windgate in the bargain!” She had flung out a challenge. Georgiana was aware of it. She felt her skin prickle.
But Brett’s amusement only deepened. He leaned back in his chair and considered his guest amiably. “What a pity for you, my dear, that that is impossible. For I am doubly owner of Windgate—not only did I purchase it, but I have married the lady who had the prior claim.”
A false claim, thought Georgiana in panic. And someday perhaps it would be proved false!
“True,” sighed Erica, giving Brett a slanted look. “Windgate is indeed a prize any woman would seek even”—a taunting smile played around her pretty mouth—“even with such an ogre as you, Brett, as master of it!”
“I do not find Brett an ogre,” interposed Georgiana stiffly.
“Give him time!” laughed Erica. “You have much to learn of him!”
Somehow dinner was got through, somehow they drank their wine and Erica ran careless fingers over the harpsichord that Georgiana’s mother had hated so.
“I used to envy the golden lady in the dining room portrait,” Erica told Imogene frankly.
“My mother?” Georgiana was startled. “Why did you envy her? She led a tragic life and was cut down in her youth!”
“But, then, she was mistress of all this!” Erica ran a tinkling scale with deft rapidity. “And surely that was worth something.”
Georgiana gave her a wooden look and Erica’s clever fingers came to a halt with a single crashing chord. But, thought Georgiana reluctantly, there was truth in what Erica had said. She supposed it had been worth something, even to Imogene, being mistress of Windgate. Wealth and position... her gaze wandered to Brett, looking so urbane, so sure of himse
lf, as he leaned negligently against the harpsichord, watching them. She had married him not knowing of Windgate, she had loved the man. She loved him still but now she felt she walked along a knife edge, for if Brett were to find out that she was not in truth Verhulst van Rappard’s daughter, and therefore not heiress to Windgate, would he continue to love her?
A little chill went through her and she turned quickly away lest Erica Hulft see the tormented expression that had passed over her face. She was glad when Brett spoke.
“When do you and Govert marry, Erica?”
“We have not yet set the date. That is up to me.” Erica’s tilted face, looking up into Brett’s, said as clearly as words. That is up to you.
Georgiana felt that unspoken appeal knife through her and shivered inwardly. Brett had felt something for this woman—perhaps he still did. And Erica was beautiful and conniving and soon she would be the wife of this colony’s wealthiest merchant, a woman to be reckoned with, a woman who could harm Brett if she chose.
“Perhaps you will change your mind, Erica,” she said in a brittle voice when Brett did not comment. “And decide to take Nicolas away from Katrina ten Haer after all.”
Again Erica’s laughter trilled but there was chagrin in her face as she turned away from Brett, for she had seen no answering light in those steely gray eyes. “That would be fun,” she admitted. “If only to see Rychie ten Haer sizzle and burn! Rychie,” she added lightly, “has no love for me.”
“And why is that?”
Erica hesitated. “I am not quite sure,” she admitted. “Unless it is because she could not bear to see any other woman living at Windgate. Even briefly. You see, Georgiana, Rychie has always considered Windgate to be rightfully hers. Verhulst—your father—proposed to her, you know, and she rejected him and married her Cousin Huygens instead. But Huygens did not make the great fortune Rychie had expected and Verhulst, of course, married your mother and I suppose he must have lorded it over Rychie.”
“Then she will dislike me as well?”
“Oh, yes, of course—for that and other reasons. You and your mother have both been great thorns in Rychie’s flesh, Georgiana. First your mother married Rychie’s lost suitor, then you took away Rychie’s daughter’s intended! I am surprised Rychie invited you to her ball at all.”
“We are her neighbors,” pointed out Brett blandly. “Even though on the river distances are long.”
“Yes,” echoed Erica. “Distances on the river are very long indeed and land adjoining the Van Rensselaer’s holdings would be very far from New Orange and very isolated in winter. Tell me, Brett, do you not have some river lands you would part with?”
Georgiana held her breath. This was why Erica had come, to cajole Brett out of some land on Govert Steendam’s behalf!
“Some lands to the south, possibly?” Erica rushed on. “Govert and I would make a lovely barrier between you and your spiteful neighbors to the south—especially if Katrina ten Haer marries Nicolas van Rappard! Their eyes would ever be turned enviously to the north to the heritage they all believed to be rightfully theirs!” She means to get close! thought Georgiana in fright and leaned forward, tensely to hear Brett’s answer.
“A lovely barrier you would make indeed, Erica,” he agreed. “But I will somehow manage to fend off whatever comes against me. Even without, your aid.”
Erica’s look of sudden desperate longing entreated him not to fend her off. Georgiana found herself clenching her hands at that look.
“If the ten Haers postpone their ball long enough,” she said, quickly throwing a new thought into the tensions of the room, “I will have time to have a new ballgown stitched up for it. Have you decided what you will wear, Erica?”
“Something Brett chose for me once,” murmured Erica, and Georgiana felt she would explode with fury..
Brett must have felt the tingling electricity in that room for he rose suddenly. “It is time for bed, Georgiana,” he said. “We have much to do tomorrow and I am sure our lovely guest will wish to be off early if the winds are favorable.”
“Yes,” said Georgiana, speaking for Erica. “I am sure she will and, judging by today, tomorrow bids fair to have favorable winds.”
“Not only a lovely child but a prophet,” murmured Erica on a note of distaste. “Ah, well, sleep is just what we all need, I am sure, to face the morrow!”
Georgiana couldn’t have agreed more. Anything to get Brett away from that beautiful worldly face and that seductive body and all those shared experiences that must inevitably be drawing them back together. She tried to tell herself that Erica had not been Brett’s mistress, that she was just a waif he had helped—and failed miserably. It had never occurred to her, when she had flung herself recklessly into marriage, that there would be so many former loves to contend with: first Katrina ten Haer, now Erica Hulft—it seemed to her suddenly that the rounded hills that sloped down to the Hudson were full of prowling females with all their interest centered on Brett.
Silently she went up to bed, to be held and comforted by Brett’s arms. She clung to him, finding no words.
Chapter 14
Why Georgiana woke, she never knew. But she reached out an arm and found herself alone in the great bed. Then, as a white moon, drifting over scudding clouds, illuminated the big square room she saw that Brett was not in the room at all. She leaped up, barefoot, and—without realizing just why she did it but with a confused sense of urgency—checked the adjoining room.
He was not there either.
Moving cautiously, since she had no candle—for in her hurry she had not bothered to light one—Georgiana moved down the dark hall toward Erica’s room. She hated herself for doing this, but she had to know: Was Brett with Erica?
Heart pounding, she paused outside Erica’s door. It, would be irrevocable, she told herself, if she found them here together. There would be no going back to the way they had been before—ever. She was half tempted to flee, to ran on swift silent feet back to her room and not discover, now or ever, what lay behind that door. Shaken by indecision, her trembling fingers reached for the latch—then fell away again.
On a sudden rush of courage she seized the latch. It was cold in her fingers, as if silently bidding her to leave, to keep her illusions. But she must know! her feelings screamed at her.
Dreading every moment she pushed the door open and turned her gaze toward the bed. It was difficult to see, for the branches of a tree outside obscured the moonlight and the room seemed full of moving shadows. She tensed, half expecting Brett to spring up from that big square bed and confront her—or Erica to bounce up with a sudden scream of fright. And what would happen then?
Moonlight, wavering through the branches, illuminated the attractive room.
There was nobody in it.
Georgiana leaned dizzily against the wall. She had been so sure she would find—them. Together.
Now she asked herself, where was Erica? Where was Brett, for that matter?
Puzzled now as well as worried, Georgiana made her silent way downstairs. The wind had come up; it whistled through the chimneys and moaned around the panes like a living tiling. But Georgiana was grateful for that wind for its wail obscured any light footfall of hers and she had a sense of dread that she might stumble upon Brett and Erica embracing in some dark corner. How irrational that would be in a house fairly bursting with comfortable bedrooms with doors that could be latched against prying eyes did not at that moment occur to her. Borne forward on wings of alarm, she padded softly through the semidarkness into the wide reaches of the lower hall. Candlelight reached her from the dining room and she moved like a wraith toward it.
Now she could see the big table, and on it a silver tray with a glass of milk and some cold meats.
For a moment she felt relief. Erica, having only picked at her food at dinner, had come down for a midnight snack.
But then a man’s tall shadow wavered across the dining room wall. Capriciously the wind stilled and she heard Brett’s
low voice saying, “You must realize that things have changed.”
And Erica’s passionate answer. “Nothing has changed! Oh, Brett, this marriage need make no difference between us!”
“Which marriage?” he asked dryly. “Yours or mine?”
“Neither one! Oh, do you not see, it is the perfect answer—I will make a friend of this child bride of yours. She will see me with Govert, she will not suspect!”
“Erica, you have already all but flung our affair in her face! How could she not suspect you?”
“That will pass, she will forget.” Erica sounded strained, tormented. “Ah, Brett, for me there has never been anyone but you—”
A shutter banged as the wind shrieked again and Brett said sharply, “Be quiet. We may awaken Georgiana.”
In the stillness that followed, broken only by the low moan of the wind, Georgiana beat a hasty and silent retreat up the stairs. She heard Brett’s footsteps, realized she could not make the top landing without being seen, and whirled to face him just as he emerged into the hall, making it appear that she was just coming downstairs.
“I woke up and found you gone,” she said, eyeing him, hoping the candlelight from below would not show her upset expression. “And I was hungry so I came down to get something to eat.”
“Hunger seems to have struck us all,” said Brett. There was a grim note in his voice. “I heard a noise downstairs and came down to investigate and found Erica pouring herself some milk in the kitchen.”
As if called. Erica came gliding out from behind Brett. “And then we found some cold meats.” Her calm voice in no way betrayed the emotion that had swept her but moments ago; she might have been the hostess and Georgiana the guest. Georgiana envied her that aplomb. “Won’t you join us, Georgiana?” Graciously, Erica gestured toward the table.
Georgiana managed a muffled answer and her reluctant feet carried her downstairs again. She never knew what she ate, seated at the long dining table in her nightdress, facing Erica. Erica in a dainty orange satin robe seeming more hostess than she! But after she was back in her bed, staring at the ceiling in the moonlight, she knew a bright burning jealousy.
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