“But what will Sara think?” asked Matt with daring.
“I’m not in the habit of consulting a woman concerning my decisions,” said Shane curtly. “Matthew, the easiest for you will be to sail from Devonport into the Bristol Channel and anchor somewhere up the River Severn, then sail back, take Sara to Blackmoor Hall and see that she’s settled, then sail the Devon Rose up to London. I’ve a profitable cargo you can take from my warehouses across the pond to Calais.”
Matt shrugged. It was blackmail pure and simple, but when had his brother ever caviled at something so tame as blackmail? The scent of sandalwood incense emanated from the adjoining room, along with the whisper of silken garments. Matt licked his lips and began hesitantly, “I don’t suppose … you’d consider—”
“Don’t even ask,” said Shane, cutting short his young brother’s fantasy.
Sabre’s three brothers-in-law had each cornered her separately to test her reactions to what was happening. Each man had a corner of his heart reserved for Sabre. Each was convinced she had been his first love, and equally convinced she held a soft spot for him in her affections. Each knew the other two men had offered for her before settling for the wives they got, but there was no jealousy among them because each man was convinced Sabre preferred him in her heart of hearts.
Now everything would change. A stranger would have her, a wealthy, titled man from the queen’s court, and their jealousy ran very deep and very hot. David caught her in the vestry of the church where she had gone alone to give thanks for her deliverance and to pray to St. Jude for a husband who would love her. He pressed her against the thick oaken door. “Sabre, you’ll never know how I always wanted you.” The moment he touched her, he almost lost control. Though it was impossible for anything to penetrate the velvet of his doublet, he could have sworn he felt the heat of her lovely breasts pressed against him.
“Take your hands from me, David. I am now private property,” she warned haughtily.
“Sabre, let me have you just once … let me initiate you.” He was panting heavily now that he was fully aroused, and his arms turned into bands of iron with his heightened passion. She could feel him full and hard against her and experience had taught her if she cried the alarm and someone came, she would receive the blame for being a teasing wanton. She had learned to rely upon her own devices, so quite deliberately she brought her knee up sharply between his legs. He doubled over and uttered a filthy obscenity.
“Initiation can be painful, David,” she whispered with relish.
“By Christ, I hope yours is, you wild little bitch. I hope Hawkhurst rapes you!”
The second encounter was in her very own chamber, where she had assumed no man would ever dare, but she had not reckoned on John’s daring. She was just leaving her room one morning as he happened to be passing her door. Without hesitation he pushed her back into the room and closed the door behind him. He knew she wouldn’t want to be found compromised a few days before her wedding and gambled that she would keep her mouth shut.
“Sweetheart, we have some unfinished business. You eluded me at the lake, but I’ve snared you well this time.”
“John, you’re a good-looking bastard, but you have a yellow streak up your back a mile wide. I could have forgiven you for trying to swim nude with me—after all, you can’t help it if you’re ruled by your lust—but I’ll never forgive you for telling my stepfather. He punished me by taking Sabbath away.”
“I’ll let you ride me,” he said with a leer, and before she knew it he had her laid out flat upon the bed, her skirts lifted to expose her thighs. He undid his breeches quickly and was about to push them down. With a thankful prayer upon her lips Sabre felt beneath the bed and withdrew her father’s weapon; the one she had been named for. The long, curved blade touched his belly.
John was whispering frantically, “Sabre, for God’s sake, be careful. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. Let me leave now unscathed and I promise I’ll not bother you again.” He was almost babbling, so great was his fear. She carefully pressed the tip into his belly so as to draw a drop of blood without really hurting him, before he fled.
Her third encounter was more subtle. Andrew found himself alone with her in the stables. It brought back to them both the earlier time when he had asked her to marry him and they had almost made love. Though he drew close, he made no effort to touch her. In fact, he knew if he did touch her, he would be undone. “Sara,” he said hoarsely, not teasing her by using her nickname. There was an awkward silence between them. “Please forgive me, Sara, I made a terrible mistake.”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Do you know how much you hurt me, Andrew?”
“I’ve been punished a thousand times over. Beth is selfish, shallow, unbelievably spoiled … and useless in bed, like a little girl.”
“Damn it all, Andrew, she is a little girl. She’s only fifteen!”
“I cannot bear the thought of Hawkhurst having you. I love you, Sara … I still love you!” he said miserably. “My parents and Reverend Bishop were the authors of my marriage to Beth instead of to you.”
The scent of the stables—leather, hay, horses—made her nostrils flare as she remembered the sweet tenderness between them that other time. “I thought I loved you, too, Andrew, but I was wrong. You are hardly more than a boy … I need a man.” She saw Andrew’s weakness now and was glad she hadn’t married him, but still she felt the need to gloat a little. “By all accounts I’m marrying a man of strength. When he arrives, take a good look, Andrew. Take a good look at a real man!”
Actually, she had neither patience nor time to think of the previous men who had been in her life. The center of her being, of her very existence, was Hawkhurst. She daydreamed of the first words he would say to her and she practiced offering her hand for him to kiss. At night, when she did manage to fall asleep, she dreamed of a bridegroom who was beautiful, gallant, and who cherished her with every look and word.
The days ran together with such speed that suddenly it was the day before the wedding and she found herself with her nose glued to her chamber window for the first glimpse of his arrival. She prayed fervently, “Please, please, St. Jude, don’t let me be disappointed. This is to be the most important moment of my whole life. Please, please!”
One brief glimpse was enough to set her pulses racing. He was so tall! If her eyes weren’t playing tricks, he was handsome too! Oh, thank you, thank you, she kept whispering under her breath. Suddenly she really felt like a bride, all fluttery and shy, and because she was letting her guard down a little to allow her feelings to show, she felt helplessly vulnerable. She flew to her mirror for the hundredth time. This time she wasn’t admiring the lovely pale green day dress, the first such flattering color she had ever owned, this time she was searching for a flaw in her dress or her face which might mar the first impression her bridegroom would have of her.
She was exultant that all four of her half sisters and two of her hateful female cousins were below to witness his arrival. She tried to be patient while she awaited her summons, but patience wasn’t in Sabre’s nature. She was breathless to race downstairs and come face-to-face with her future, her fate.
Matthew Hawkhurst found the situation disconcerting, to say the least. He managed his introductions well enough, but realized almost immediately that Jacob Goldman had not prepared them for a proxy wedding. The damned coward, thought Matthew with disgust, but he understood Goldman’s reluctance when he’d had a chance to size up Reverend Bishop.
As well as Mrs. Bishop there were six young women present and Matthew could not discern which one was the bride, for they all seemed avid for details of the unusual proxy arrangement. He explained firmly that circumstances made it impossible for his brother to be there in person to exchange vows, and he was acting as proxy. He glanced about the room, uncomfortable to be making excuses and explanations in front of the whole family, but to his surprise each girl looked suspiciously happy.
“Un
der the circumstances it will be inappropriate for the lavish church wedding and reception we had planned. I will dispatch messages immediately, canceling the affair,” said the reverend with deference to the wealthy Hawkhurst, yet still needing to control the situation. “Since it will require only a legal, civil ceremony it can be done in the privacy of my study.”
Relieved, Matthew nodded his agreement and glanced again at the young women to see if he could identify the bride. He was shocked to see them exchanging gleeful glances and laughing behind their hands. Only Mrs. Bishop looked unhappy and confused.
“I think we had better have Sara down and explain matters to her,” the reverend said calmly.
Mrs. Smite, who had hovered behind the door long enough to hear most of what was transpiring, was dispatched for Sara. The iron-faced woman gave her a sly smile and muttered something about “comeuppance,” but Sabre was in such a rosy glow, she almost apologized to the woman for calling her “Mrs. Spite.”
She ran lightly down the stairs and along the center hallway, her steps only slowing with sudden shyness when she reached the archway to the elegant drawing room.
Matthew was stunned. His first thought was that his brother had gulled him, pretending not to know her. This bride had been chosen with more care than he had taken in selecting an entire crew for one of his beloved ships. She was so breathtakingly, heartstoppingly lovely. From across the room she lifted her heart-shaped face to him and their eyes met before she swept her lashes to her cheeks. They were pale green pools in which a man might drown … willingly. She approached him and sank into a graceful curtsy, and barely above a whisper she breathed, “Mr. Hawkhurst.”
He cleared his throat and replied, “Matthew Hawkhurst, your betrothed’s brother, Mistress Bishop.”
Her face fell and he could have kicked himself for wiping the beautiful, expectant smile from it. Clearly she was disappointed that he was not to be the groom, and in that moment, so was he. However, it told him that without a doubt she had never met his brother.
He clasped her hand and raised her from her curtsy. “Mistress Bishop, I am here as proxy for my brother. I am to give his responses in the marriage service. It was impossible for him to leave court at the moment.”
Her body went stiff and her eyes widened in shock and disbelief. This couldn’t be happening to her! The bridegroom she had flaunted and bragged about couldn’t even be bothered to show up for the wedding! She was aware of eight pairs of gloating female eyes at her back and a shameful blush crept up her throat and suffused her cheeks. She was utterly devastated.
Matthew strove to fill the awful silence. “My ship is anchored in the Severn. It will be my honor to give you safe escort, mistress.”
“To court?” she managed to whisper.
It was Matthew’s turn to flush. He looked away from the accusing eyes and said quietly, “No. I am to escort you to Blackmoor Hall near Exmoor Forest. It is one of my brother’s estates which is in need of a chatelaine. He has sent you letters of instruction about the estate,” he finished lamely.
Her eyes burned with green fire. Anger and hatred consumed her to such a degree, it made it impossible for her to hear and think clearly. The whoreson Hawkhurst had slapped her in the face with the greatest insult she had ever received. It was the final, ultimate humiliation. She tried to speak, but the words choked her. Her hand went to her throat, then groped the air as her body swayed toward him. Matthew saw she was about to faint and swept the delicate burden into his arms. He looked down at her with a deep tenderness he had never felt before. Her eyelids fluttered like the wings of a dying butterfly and came to rest upon her cheeks. Her sweet mouth looked so young and so vulnerable. His brother was a swine to have done this to an innocent girl.
Chapter 5
Mrs. Bishop was at Matthew’s elbow. “Oh, dear. Could you carry her up to her chamber, Mr. Hawkhurst?”
Matthew followed her upstairs, glad to escape from the roomful of women. He quickly averted his eyes from the bed, and instead laid his burden upon a small sofa under the window. Mrs. Bishop fluttered about ineffectually, and he found himself now calming the mother. “Do you have any brandy, ma’am?”
“Oh, no!” she said, shocked. “The reverend wouldn’t allow such a thing in the house. Whatever am I to do? Burn feathers, do you think, or slap her sharply in the face?”
“No, no, ma’am. She will be fine. She will come to in a moment. It is just shock. Mrs. Bishop, do you think I might have a private word with Sara? I’m sure I can explain the situation to her in such a way that she will accept and understand.”
Mrs. Bishop cast him a doubtful look, but she turned matters over to him without demur. She wasn’t feeling at all well herself and sought her own bed before collapse should overtake her.
When the door closed, Matthew drew forth a small silver flask and gently tipped a small amount of brandy to Sara’s lips. She choked and bolted up from the sofa, almost knocking him to the floor.
“That bastard!” she panted. “He’s made me the laughingstock of Cheltenham!” She put her hands to her temples and gave vent to a piercing scream. Matthew eyed the door nervously, thinking an outraged father would fly through the door to avenge his daughter.
Sabre laughed hysterically. “None will dare come through the door while the ‘Wilde’ woman is throwing a tantrum.” She reached under the bed, drew forth the sabre, and waved it in the air. “That rotten sod, if I had him here I’d run him through.”
“Sara—” he began, very worried now.
“I’m not Sara. They wouldn’t allow me to be Sara Bishop. I’m Sabre … Sabre Wilde … named for my father and his weapon.”
He looked at her with awed admiration. “Sabre is a magnificent name. It suits you perfectly.”
“Your brother has ruined my life!” she cried dramatically. “I’ll ruin his if it’s the last thing I do!”
“Sabre … in all honesty, he couldn’t be here. The queen commanded him to remain at court.”
“The queen?” She scowled, finding another outlet for her hatred. An unreasoning jealousy flamed through her heart. Her bridegroom had ignored her to dance attendance upon the bloody queen! “By God, I’ll show Hawkhurst! Him and the queen, on my oath! I’ll make them pay … I’ll make them pay forever!”
She threw down the sabre with a flourish and her breasts rose and fell as she took great breaths to calm herself.
Suddenly Matthew began to laugh.
Green sparks shot from her eyes. “Gaping jackanapes … what’s so funny?” she demanded hotly.
“Nay, lass, I’m on your side. I agree ’twas a damned shabby trick even for a Hawkhurst, but, God’s blood, the joke is on him. He hasn’t the faintest idea of what he’s depriving himself. When I first saw you I thought you lovely enough to thicken a man’s blood in his veins, but now that I’ve seen you in a rage, I realize you are magnificent. If he got one look at what was his, he’d kill any man who dared glance twice at you.”
“I’m not his yet! We haven’t exchanged vows.”
“Will you cry off?” he asked. If she did he would propose to her himself.
A frown marred her lovely brow as she thought over her alternatives. She couldn’t stay here. In fact, she didn’t quite know how she was going to face everyone tomorrow.
“In all fairness I should tell you that if you do go through with it, you will be Lady Devonport.”
She brightened instantly. “Then I shall do it!”
“You’d marry him just for the title?” he demanded.
She flared. “He’s marrying me for my land—a fair exchange, don’t you think?” Then it dawned on her. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Matthew—that means you have just lost your father.” She knelt beside him, instantly contrite and filled with tender concern. Matthew squeezed her hand. “His strength was so diminished, it was a blessing, really. He wouldn’t have wanted to live like that.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. My father died when I was four. People thought I was too
young to understand, but I wasn’t. I mourned and grieved for him so very long. He was the only person who ever loved me. He was my friend.”
“I’d like to be your friend, Sabre,” he said softly.
“Matt … how lovely. I do feel comfortable with you. When I curse, you don’t mind; when I rage, you laugh. I shock everyone, it’s my stock-in-trade, but you are wonderfully shockproof.”
“I’ll be the perfect foil for your wickedest thoughts,” he teased.
“Oh, you won’t just listen to me, you’ll aid and abet me,” she promised as she picked up the silver flask. “May I have some more?”
“Slowly, Sabre,” he cautioned, “you sip it slowly so you don’t gag. It’s brandy. Don’t breathe in before you take a sip or the fumes will make you choke. If you take a large swallow, it will feel like it’s burning a hole in your gut.”
She was pleased with her first lessons in learning to drink. Matt was going to prove an invaluable ally. “Oh, God’s blood, Matt, how will I face them all tomorrow? They’ll be falling down laughing; they’ll be kicking their legs in the air laughing at me.”
“Sabre, your stepfather has sent messages canceling the church ceremony and reception. We will exchange the vows privately in his study. Then we’ll leave if your trunks are packed. You will be Lady Devonport. The title gives you much authority.”
“Authority? Mmm, authority … oh, how I love the feel of that word on my tongue,” she said with a smile. “Did you bring money?” she asked suddenly.
“Of course. I have five hundred pounds for you and five hundred pounds for your father. Of course, on top of that there are funds you can draw on for any expenses at Blackmoor. Hawk explains it in his letter.”
Her eyes lit up. “Come on, let’s go and give Reverend Bishop his blood money!” She took his hand and propelled him to the door. Her hair flew about her shoulders like pale molten copper, and his heart turned over in his breast at her handclasp. Holding her head erect, Sabre swept into the drawing room with Matthew at her back.
The Hawk and the Dove Page 6