Sylvie Sommerfield - Noah's Woman

by Unknown

  "This seems so unfair."

  "To whom, Beth, her . . . or him? They have to find each other . . . and they have to do it themselves."

  "This never should have happened. If it hadn't been for Gregory Hamilton"

  "Then Charity and Noah would never have met."

  "I know, but"

  "You know Charity better than anyone else. Do you think she will go to Noah and tell him the truth?"

  "She is not a deceitful person, Jason, you know that. Before she married Noah she told me she wanted to explain everything to him. I just don't know if she has the courage to risk losing his love. Oh, I wish we had never left the orphanage and never met Charles Brentwood."

  "Who is Charles Brentwood?"

  "He is the one who pushed us into this. We would never have been at Amiee's, and we would never have learned to be thieves and we"

  "Beth, calm down. I don't think Noah knows a thing about this Charles Brentwood. Suppose you tell me."

  Beth began with the day they had met Charles in Josine's office, and Jason did not interrupt until she'd finished.

  "Charles Brentwood . . . maybe Noah and I should see to this man."

  "You are absolutely right, Jason." Noah's voice came from the doorway, and both Beth and Jason turned in surprise.

  "Noah, Charity, we were just talking about you two. I'm glad you came. I think it's time some cards were put on the table."

  "That, my friend, is exactly why Charity and I have come. We came to celebrate with our best friends."

  "Celebrate? Celebrate what?" Beth asked.

  "Freedom," Charity replied. Beth suddenly smiled and rushed to Charity's side.

  "It's all clear? You've told Noah everything?"

  "Yes, but there was little I could tell him that he didn't already know. Beth, it's all over. There is nothing for us to worry about anymore."

  "Oh, I'm so glad," Beth replied. There were tears in her eyes as she embraced Charity.

  "What exactly is it that we are celebrating?" Jason asked.

  "We intend to clear up everything," Noah laughed. "Break out a bottle of wine, Jason, so we can drink to our futures." Jason did, and they toasted their lives together as Charity and Noah explained everything.

  "And so, there are going to be a lot of surprises," Noah finished, "when this Charles Brentwood cannot come up with the papers that he was supposed to get from Charity. Not to mention how surprised they're going to be when they attempt to carry out their plan and find it's a trap. We should have the whole group in one swift move."

  "I would say that the four of us are very lucky," Jason said.

  "I agree with that," Noah said, smiling. "The future looks brighter than it ever has. I also suggest that I take the three of you to the best restaurant in London and we spend the evening celebrating all the tomorrows to come."

  "I have a better idea," Beth said. "I think we should

  celebrate right here. We can relax and talk in comfort.''

  Everyone agreed to that, and as the evening came they were laughing and enjoying the first real time they had spent together without worry or problems.

  "So, what are you working on, Jason?" Charity asked.

  "Another portrait of Beth. I do my best with her."

  "He's done three. You would think he'd get tired of it," Beth giggled.

  "Tired of painting you, never," Jason said. "I have sold quite a bit since Beth came into my life. My wife"he looked at Charity and smiled"has found my key."

  "As Noah has found mine," Charity replied quietly.

  Noah knew there was something special that passed between the two, but he smiled. Charity would tell him, he knew. It warmed him to know how close he and Charity had become now that all the barriers had been destroyed.

  His smile faded only for a minute. He silently promised himself to confront Charles Brentwood at the first opportunity. Just the thought of Charity at his mercy, filled with fear and running for her life, enraged him.

  The room was comfortably quiet, and the four, mellowed by wine and good food, found comfort in their relaxed conversation.

  Noah rose to walk to the portrait Jason was working on. He stood before it for several minutes. It was unfinished, a misty kind of thing with no definition . . . yet it stirred something within him, some old

  memory. The vagueness of the unfinished work brought a vision of something else, but he could not put his finger on it.

  "Jason, may I see one of the finished portraits of Beth?"

  "Of course. I'll go get one." Jason rose and went into the next room. After a while he returned with another canvas and placed it before Noah, who regarded it with the same puzzled look.

  "What is it, Noah?" Charity came up beside him to look at the portrait too. It was beautiful, and caught the essence of Beth.

  "I don't know. I just have the feeling I've seen this portrait somewhere before."

  "I don't see how you could have," Jason said. "I have kept every one I have done of her."

  "No, I suppose I couldn't have, yet there is something" Noah could not find that elusive memory, and he was annoyed with himself, for he prided himself on his ability to recall. But this memory seemed to elude him. Stubbornly he fought the mist that shrouded it, and slowly it came. He was not sure and did not mean to say anything now, but he had an idea of just where he had come across that other portrait.

  "Charity, I think it's about time for us to return home. There are a lot of loose ends to tie up. I don't want to make any mistakes in our plans to capture those traitors, and see that they get what they have coming."

  Although both Jason and Beth resisted their leaving, Charity and Noah finally entered their carriage and set off for home. They rode in silence for a long

  time. Noah did not realize how introspective he had been until Charity questioned him.

  "Noah, what is on your mind?"

  "Oh, nothing really. I am trying to remember something. I think there are some answers to my questions locked in Father's study, and I am trying to put the pieces together. It is a memory from a long time ago. I don't think I have all the pieces, but I know who does."

  "You're speaking in riddles."

  "Let's not worry about it now." He slid his arm about her and drew her close to him, thinking of the portrait he had hidden in the carriage. "You enjoyed today?"

  "Yes. For the first time since I left the orphanage, I feel everything is going to be fine. I think Beth is happy, and I know I am. It's been a long journey from the Safe Home to your home."

  "And the only question that lingers in your mind is who you are, and where you came from."

  "No, Noah, I am not going to let that interfere with my happiness any longer. I am Charity Morgan, your wife. I have acquired a mother, a sister, and a niece . . . and we'll have children of our own. That alone will give me a new life. I love you. That will be enough for me."

  "Will it, Charity? Will you be content?"

  "Yes, I'll be content." He could see it in her eyes and he, too, was content.

  When they arrived home it was late, but the house was still alight and both Kathy and Sofia were still

  awake. When Noah and Charity entered the living room, Charity was soon involved in a conversation with Kathy, and she did not see Noah motion to his mother to follow him from the room.

  When they stood in the outer hall, Sofia was quick to question him.

  "Noah, what has come over you? Is something wrong?"

  "No, nothing is wrong. I just think we have the answer to an old mystery."

  "An old mystery? For heaven's sake, what mystery?"

  "Mother, remember back to the time Father was asked to hold a secret, a secret that was meant to protect a life?"

  "Yes . . . Randolph Hamilton. When his first wife died, he remarried, but there was something . . . ah, I remember. Your father locked some papers and some jewelry away . . . and there was a portrait."

  "Now you have hit on it, there was a portrait."

  "Yes, he had it
hung in his study. But what has that to do with anything?"

  "Come with me, I want you to look at that portrait again."

  "Why?"

  "I don't want to say anything that might prepare you. Just come and look at it and tell me what comes first to your mind."

  "Really, Noah, this is quite ridiculous."

  "Humor me. It might mean more than you think." They started up the stairs together. "Tell me, Mother, what do you remember of the Hamilton story?"

  "It was somewhat of a tragedy, if I remember right. It seems there was a woman . . . Laura. She was a friend . . . a sort of companion to Randolph's wife. After Lady Hamilton's tragic death, Randolph married Glenda. When he died, Laura took the child and disappeared. Neither one was ever heard of again."

  "Was the child a boy or girl?"

  "A girl, I think. I always wondered why on earth she would do such a thing."

  "I would say, since I know both Glenda and Gregory Hamilton"his voice became quiet"it was to protect the child's life."

  "Noah!" Sofia was shocked. "Who would want to harm a child?"

  "Someone who wanted a fortune for her son; someone like Glenda Hamilton."

  "Someone who might have lost a fortune had the child remained where she was."

  "Then why didn't Laura contact us?"

  "Perhaps she had to disappear herself to draw their attention from the baby."

  "And she took the baby with her?"

  "No . . . she would have . . . Good God! She would have hidden her somewhere, with someone she could trust, if I am not mistaken . . . the best place in the world would be right under their noses."

  They had reached the door of the study, and Noah removed the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. When they entered, it was nearly too dark to see.

  "Stand still," Noah said as he positioned his mother

  before the portrait. "I'll light a lamp. Take your time, and give me your impression."

  The light filled the room and Sofia gazed at the portrait before her. Her eyes widened with recognition, and her mouth dropped open in surprise.

  "Why, it's"

  "Yes, it is. That's what I thought as well. Now, let me show you this."

  He held another portrait up beside the original and waited for her to see, but there was no question.

  "They can only be mother and daughter. Noah, what do you plan to do about this?"

  "I must find some more answers yet, and I will begin the search first thing tomorrow. I don't want you to say anything about this until I can find all the proof. But would it not be wonderful if we could prove that good old Gregory Hamilton is not the Hamilton heir, after all . . . and as for his mother . . . well, I have a great deal to settle with her as well. I ask for your promise."

  "I gladly give it. Noah, this will change her life completely."

  "I know. If I can solve this mystery, I think I will unravel a web of deceit that will bring down more traitorous people than I had hoped."

  "Again you're confusing me."

  "I don't have all the answers yet, but I promise, by this time tomorrow I will."

  "Noah, what about the other things that were left with the portrait?"

  "Exactly where did Father put them?"

  "I believe he placed them in a box, and put them in the bottom of the trunk in our room."

  "May I see them?"

  "Of course." Sofia led the way to her room and to a huge chest from her husband's sailing days. She knelt before it and opened the lid. Old memories were stored here, and Noah was aware of his mother's thoughts . . . he missed his father too.

  From the bottom of the chest Sofia brought forth a box about two feet long and a foot in width and a foot in depth. It was carved with the Hamilton crest, which both recognized at once. She handed the box to Noah.

  He carried it to the bed, where he laid it down and opened it. Sofia gasped at the brilliant jewelry inside, but Noah withdrew the folded papers, unbound them, and read.

  "This is some proof that Randolph must have suspected he would not survive. I have an idea that everything centers around this Safe Home Orphanage. I will find out tomorrow. For the time being, put these away. They need to be returned to their rightful owner."

  When mother and son left the room, it was with the promise that they would find a way to right a dreadful wrong.

  Later that night Noah held Charity in his arms and made love to her with a passion that left her breathless. It was as if he were frightened that she would somehow leave his side. She felt the difference, but could not see any reason for his intensity. Yet she

  savored it, for Charity knew she could never get enough of Noah's love. She was a woman who had been starved for this kind of total giving all of her life, and now she intended to hold on to him, as he held to her . . . completely and without doubts or reservations. There was nothing that could come between them . . . nothing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Charles got inside his coach feeling quite self-satisfied. He had what he had come for and more. He had never expected Charity to be so . . . accommodating. It did not quell the surge of vengeful lust he felt. He would have her . . . after all his battles he would have her. As soon as he delivered the packet to his new friends, he would have their support in everything he did from this day forward, and their protection.

  He focused his thoughts on Charity and the pleasures of possessing her. He lingered in this fantasy until the coach pulled to a halt before the Hamilton mansion.

  He stood in Gregory's study and waited for him, gloating and considering the rewards to come. When Gregory entered he was accompanied by Glenda.

  They were pleased to see him and even more pleased to hear that he had found success in getting what they wanted.

  "If you will just give the packet to me," Gregory said, "I'm sure we can agree on an acceptable reward."

  "Don't you want to know how I got them?"

  "If you care to say," Glenda said smoothly. "I had thought you would want to keep your . . . methods to yourself."

  "No, I think it's important for you to know just what kind of service I can provide. I can do your friend Noah Morgan a great deal of harm."

  "Oh? In what way?" Gregory's interest was piqued.

  "I am going to take what he values most . . . and have her pay the price of his interference."

  "Charity," Gregory said.

  "Yes, the lovely Charity . . . the beloved wife of Noah Morgan."

  "And just what do you want for your . . . service?" Gregory spoke as if he did not relish dealing with Charles.

  "Not as much as you would think."

  "What, then?" Gregory said shortly.

  "Gregory," Glenda said sweetly, "there is no need to insult our guest and friend. I would like to know what you have in mind, Charles."

  "Protection. I know that your success in what you plan will bring a great deal of power with it. I want that power to shield me."

  "From what?"

  ''From those who would interfere in my . . . personal dealings."

  "And what dealings are you involved in?"

  "I deal in a . . . feminine product, for men, myself included, who have a taste for young women. I have a source you would not believe."

  "Very well," Glenda responded. "We will see to it that the authorities turn a blind eye to your activities."

  "Done." Charles smiled.

  "Now to our little affair. Can I have those papers?" Gregory extended his hand, and with a gloating smile Charles reached inside his pocket. For a minute his eyes registered puzzlement, but as he continued to search, the puzzlement turned to shock and then to dismay and anger.

  But Gregory read his expression well, and he knew exactly what had happened. Suddenly it struck him as wildly funny. Charles had had his pocket picked by one of the most effective pickpockets the Round had ever turned out. He should know; hadn't he convinced this same little thief to steal for him? He began to laugh, and at the surprised look on his mother's face combined with the fu
ry that had turned Charles's face pale, Gregory could only roar with laughter.

  "I can't have lost them, I can't."

  "You didn't, you fool," Gregory said between his bursts of laughter. "You just had your pocket picked."

  "I don't understand."

  "When Charity ran from you, do you know where she went?"

  "No."

  "To the Round, where she learned to pick pockets for a living. She was good, very good."

  "She is a thief?"

  "Oh, that's rich. And you are not? You would have stolen much more from her, if I'm not mistaken."

  "Damn her!"

  "Now the papers are back in her hands," Gregory said, getting control of his laughter. "That is going to present some difficulties."

  "Not as long as she doesn't turn them over to her husband," Glenda replied. "She kept them hidden before; she will again. In a few days it will not matter. Even if Noah does get his hands on them now, he will not be able to decode them in time. Our plans will go forward," Glenda said firmly. "Our friends will wait no longer, and there is no one to stop us."

  "But what of me?" Charles said.

  "We have no need of your services," Gregory said. This time his voice was like shards of ice. "I suggest you leave our home at once. We do not want you connected to us."

  Charles watched aghast as they left the room. Then his face froze into a mask of pure hatred. He turned and left the house.

  He ordered his carriage to take him directly home. When it came to a stop, he descended and almost ran into the house. He had to think. He did not notice the cab that sat across the street, nor did he know of the two who had kept close watch on everything he had done in the past days.

  Distraught, he drank himself into a stupor and re-

  tired early for the night. But the following morning he was to receive another surprise.

  "Mr. Brentwood, there is a visitor waiting for you in the library. He said it was important."