Bertrice Small

by Unconquered

  He didn’t remember her mouth so lush, and the last time he had looked into those eyes they had been innocent. He stared angrily back at her. The dress had too low a neckline, and her breasts swelled far too provocatively above it. “I trust, madam,” he said coldly, “that you have a good explanation for your conduct.”

  “I merely sought my husband,” she said in a syrupy sweet voice that was belied by the stormy look in her eyes, “my husband, who left me to play at a game of intrigue while I carried and bore our first child alone.”

  “A child you cared so little about that you left him when he was barely two months old!” he retorted.

  “I love little Tom!” she shouted furiously at him. “I expected to find you, and bring you home immediately. My son was safer in England with Amanda. Would you rather I had exposed him to the rigors of the journey to Russia?

  “I could bear it no longer without you! Your beastly friend, Palmerston, would tell me nothing! Nothing! He behaved as if you did not even exist.”

  “Touching, madam, but tell me, how did you attract Prince Cherkessky’s attention?”

  “What?”

  “Alexei Cherkessky, the man who abducted you. Ephraim Snow told me you attended a party at the English Embassy the night before you disappeared. Did you meet the prince there? Did you flirt with him and bring the situation on yourself, Miranda?”

  She threw the nearest thing at hand, a heavy crystal inkwell. It dented the door behind his head, the black ink running down the paneling onto the deck, where it sank slowly into the wide boards. “So, m’lord, I am to be held accountable for this situation, am I? Oh God, how little you know me to believe such a thing! When did I, in the few short months of our marriage, ever give you cause for doubt? Never! But you, m’lord! First there was Gillian Abbott, then who knows how many women in St. Petersburg, and you mourned me but a few months before you were back in the social swing. So now there is Lady de Winter.”

  She turned away furiously, hiding her face from his angry gaze, blinking back the tears fast filling her eyes. She would not let him see her weakness. He would only use it against her.

  “Did Cherkessky rape you?” His voice was ragged.

  She turned back to face him, and he thought he had never seen her so angry. “No,” came the short, sharp reply, and then she swept past him and left the room.

  Tears nearly blinding her, she made her way to her spacious cabin by memory, ordering a startled Perky from the room as she flung herself on the bed.

  He had looked so handsome! But they were at odds, and her heart was breaking again. She had noticed just the faintest touch of silver at his temples, and wondered if her disappearance was responsible for it. At least her scars didn’t show. What a terrible beginning it had been!

  He came into the room now and, kneeling by the bed, said quietly, “We did not make a good new beginning, did we, Miranda? I am glad to have you back.” He cautiously placed his arm around her.

  “I have been coming back to you ever since Prince Cherkessky had me abducted,” she said. “I attempted to escape his villa within a month of my arrival.”

  “You did?!” This was the Miranda he knew. “How?”

  “By sea. I thought if I could sail to Istanbul I could go to the English Embassy. But I was caught, and until the Tatars came I was too closely watched.” She shrugged off his arm, not seeing the spasm of pain that crossed his face. “I walked practically all the way to ’Stanbul,” she said proudly. “Oh, sometimes I’d ride a few miles on one of their booty carts, but mostly I walked. The prince’s servants told the Tatars that I was a rich Englishwoman who could be ransomed in ’Stanbul, but they also warned me to beware the savages, and how right they were. The bastards intended to sell me right along with the rest of the poor souls they’d captured, but I overheard them plotting the night before we entered the city.

  “We were camped outside the wall. I waited until they were all sleeping, then walked to the nearest gate, and when it was opened at dawn I walked across the entire city to the English Embassy. I had a hell of a time convincing the idiot gatekeeper who I was; but by wildest coincidence Kit Edmund appeared, and I was saved!” She rose and began pacing the cabin. Her look was very far away.

  “The Tatars were behind me. Kit and his friend, Mirza Eddin Khan, were ahead of me, and there I was in the middle. The Tatars were screaming that I was honest booty from a raid and Kit was shouting that I was protected under British law.”

  “How did you get out of it?”

  “Mirza Khan poured half a pouch of unset gemstones into the Tatar hetman’s hands. It was a fortune, and really quite gallant of him! The Tatars were more than satisfied with the price, and they finally left me alone.

  “May we eat now? I am really quite famished.”

  She brushed past Jared and entered their private day cabin, where a small feast had been laid out for them. The cook had taken the trouble, while waiting for her to board the ship, to shop the bazaars of the waterfront for fresh food. Here was the delectable result of his labors.

  There was a joint of rare beef, a plump brown capon stuffed with rice, dried peaches and apricots, and a platter of mussels cooked in herbs and wine. Miranda paused over a large bowl of tomato and eggplant, and decided it looked too much like what she’d been eating for a year. She moved on to a bowl of green beans and then to one of carrots and celery in sherried cream sauce. There was rice pilaf and kasha, and she passed up the latter without a second thought. Next to a crock of sweet butter was a large loaf of fresh hot bread. She cut herself a large slice and slathered it shamelessly with butter. It had been over a year since she had seen white bread. Quickly deciding on the rest of her meal, she took several slices of beef, a little rice, and some creamed carrots and celery. She eyed the sideboard, covered with berry tarts smothered in cream, a wedge of Stilton cheese, the makings of tea, and bottles of both red and white wine.

  She seated herself and instantly popped a slice of beef in her mouth.

  “How I missed rare beef,” she giggled. “The Russians overcook it.”

  “And the Turks?”

  “They eat a lot of lamb,” she replied. “Pass me the salt, please.”

  He handed her the round pewter dish, and taking up a plate helped himself to some supper. He would have to be satisfied for the time being because she was going to tell him only what she chose to, and no more. Probing would only drive her away.

  They ate in silence, Miranda quicky finishing and going to the sideboard to brew a pot of black China tea. Then, cutting two generous wedges of the berry tart, she placed them on the table.

  “Your appetite is as magnificent as ever, m’lady,” he said.

  “There were times on the journey to Istanbul when I was very hungry,” she replied. “Mignon and I tried to supplement our diet with seafood when we marched near the sea, and we picked greens and wild strawberries.”

  “Who is Mignon?”

  “She was the illegitimate daughter of a French nobleman. She had been a governess in St. Petersburg when the prince lured her to his Crimean estates. Two Tatars raped her and killed her when we were halfway to ’Stanbul. All she wanted was to get back to Paris.”

  My God, he thought, how she has suffered! Remembering her former innocence, her uncertainty, he was truly admiring of the strong woman she had become … and a little jealous not to have had a part in the transformation.

  She stood up. “I am going to bed now, and I would like to be alone.”

  He protested. “We have been separated for over two years.”

  She heard the soft plea in his voice. How she wanted to answer that plea! How she longed to have his strong arms around her, comforting her, telling her it was all going to be all right. She took a deep breath and said, “Before we resume our life together I want to tell you what happened to me in Russia. Earlier you suggested that I might have been responsible for my own predicament. That is not so. I was not responsible in any way. I do not, however, choose to tell th
e story over and over. I will tell it once to you and our family. After that I will speak of it no more. When you have heard my tale you may not choose to resume our marriage. I cannot be dishonest with you. You know that is not my way. We have waited all this time. A few more weeks should not make any difference.” She turned away, unable to bear the look on his face.

  “Do you know, Miranda,” he said quietly, “that you have not once said my name today.”

  “I did not realize it.”

  “Say my name!” He gripped her shoulders, and spun her around to face him. “Say my name, dammit!”

  “J-Jared! Oh, Jared, I have missed you so much!” and his mouth swooped fiercely down on hers before she could pull away. She reveled in the kiss, the familiar taste and touch of him rising up to assault her. For the briefest time madness overtook her, urging her to let the kiss take them to its natural conclusion.

  Let him pick her up and carry her tenderly to her bed. Let him undress her and kiss away all the shame. Let him learn the truth and, revolted, hate her!

  She pulled away. “Please, Jared! Please wait for my sake until we are back in England!”

  He was shocked by her desperation, by the fact that she was both trembling and crying, yet didn’t seem to be aware of it. What had happened to her? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “I don’t care what happened in Russia,” he said hoarsely. “I love you, Miranda, and we have been given a second chance!”

  “But I care!” came the harsh reply. “I care because it happened to me! It weighs on me terribly. Now let me be! You will know all soon enough, but I will not willingly sleep with you until you do, and if you force me I will never forgive you!” Then she turned and fled into her cabin, slamming the door behind her.

  Jared stood a moment, looking at the closed door. Then he walked to the sideboard, and picked up a snifter and the brandy bottle. Uncorking the bottle, he poured himself a generous drink, and then sat leaning forward, the crystal glass cupped in his big hands.

  She had said the prince hadn’t touched her, and he believed her. Then what was so terrible that she could not resume their marriage immediately?

  Jared got up and entered her bedchamber. Her even breathing told him that she was asleep. He stayed there for a long time, sitting in the dark. Occasionally she shivered and whimpered. Once he thought she cried out a name, but he couldn’t make it out. Finally, after she was quiet for a long while, he gently tucked her beneath the quilts.

  In the morning she was paler than she had been the day before. Jared was forced to accept her silence until she could talk to the family, at Swynford Hall, but it was not easy for him. Being so close to her, caught within the confines of the ship with no way of escaping her tantalizing presence, was difficult for him. Only the pain in her face stopped him from pressing her.

  The voyage was idyllic, with gentle breezes and bright blue skies during the day and starry nights. As the ship passed the Greek isles and the Mediterranean coast, Jared was ironically reminded of a honeymoon voyage.

  Dream Witch slipped past Gibraltar, past Cape St. Vincent, past Cape Finisterre and into the Bay of Biscay, where the weather took a sudden turn and they rode through a fierce late-summer storm. In the midst of it he could not find her, and his heart leaped wildly until he saw her standing at the ship’s rail, her knuckles white with her iron grip, her face wet with tears or rain, he did not know which. Leaning into the wind, he fought his way across the deck to her, and put his arm tightly around her.

  He could feel her trembling through the thin fabric of her swirling cloak, and he bent so that she might hear him. “If this has been hard on me, it has been harder on you, Miranda. Frankly I do not know how you have borne it, and you have borne it alone. For God’s sweet sake, wildcat, I am your husband! Lean on me! I am here! Do not shut me out! There is nothing in this world that could stop me from loving you!”

  She looked up at him, the pain in her eyes searing him, but she would say nothing. What was her secret? What was so terrible that it was tearing her apart? “Come inside with me, my love,” he said gently, and she nodded, loosening her grip on the rail and allowing him to lead her back into the shelter of the main salon.

  The storm was gone the following morning, and a steady south wind pushed the sleek vessel along into the English Channel. A few days later they docked at Welland Beach.

  At last she was back in England! Miranda endured the stuffy carriage and the tension between Jared and herself for a day. They spent the night at an inn, and when they set off the next morning, Jared smiled at her, and said, “I ordered the two extra horses so we might ride instead of sitting all day in the coach. Would you like to ride, Miranda? I didn’t bring your breeches,” he teased her, “but I think you can manage a sidesaddle.”

  They rode together across the October landscape to Swynford, stopping to rest their horses and to eat picnics prepared for them by innkeepers. At last they came within sight of Swynford Hall, the sunset crowning the manor house and its dark gray roof.

  Chapter 16

  MIRANDA AND JARED CANTERED DOWN THE HILLS TOWARD Swynford Hall, the two coaches lumbering behind them. They passed through the gates and the gatekeeper, his weathered face wreathed in smiles, began tolling the rarely used welcoming bell. They rode up the drive to the house, the bell ringing, and then a petite round figure in a pink gown was flying out the front door past the liveried footman. Jared saw the first real smile he had seen on Miranda’s face since their reunion. Her eyes crinkled. Putting spurs to her horse, she galloped the rest of the way.

  “Miranda! Miranda!” Amanda, Lady Swynford, pregnant with her second child, bounced excitedly up and down as her sister flung herself from her horse and into her younger twin’s open arms. “Oh, Miranda! I told them you weren’t dead! I told them, but they wouldn’t listen. They thought I was mad!”

  Miranda stepped back and gazed down at her sister. “No,” she said, “they wouldn’t understand. How could they? Oh, Mandy, I’ve missed you terribly! And I owe you a great debt. Perky says you’ve had my Tom with you all this time. Oh, Mandy, bless you!”

  They hugged again, wiping the happy tears from each other’s faces. Entwining their arms, they went into the house. Jared had stayed back, allowing them their reunion, but now he hurried to join them, for he wanted to see her face when she saw little Tom.

  “Where is my son?” were Miranda’s first words as they came into the paneled entry hall. Amanda pointed to the stairs where Jester stood, a small, black-haired boy in a white dress in her arms. The nursemaid advanced slowly, releasing the squirming child at the bottom step.

  “Papa!” Little Tom raced straight for Jared who, smiling broadly, swooped the youngster up into his arms and kissed him.

  Miranda stood rooted to the spot. She had left an infant, a baby just learning to raise his head. This was a boy! A little boy, but nonetheless a boy. Her baby was gone, and she had barely known him. Suddenly the enormity of what she had missed hit her and, looking directly at Jared, she said softly, “I am not sure I will ever forgive you for this.”

  “I am not sure I will ever forgive myself,” he answered her. “We have a great deal to make up to each other, Miranda.”

  She shook her head wearily. “It may not be possible, Jared.”

  “Do you think you might now greet your son, m’lady? He has the attention span of a naughty flea at this stage in his life.” Indeed, the child was beginning to grow restless in his father’s arms. “Thomas, my son, this pretty lady is your mama come home to us. What do you say to her?”

  Miranda looked into the little face with its bottle-green eyes, so like Jared’s, and held out her arms to him. The little boy grinned rakishly at her, holding his own arms out in response. Jared handed him to Miranda, and she cradled him close, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  “Mama cry?” said little Tom, puzzled, and then he hugged her. “Mama no cry!”

  Miranda had to laugh. The imperious tone was so like Jared’s. She kissed the soft
back of his neck, and then looked at his little face, also the image of his father’s. “Mama will not cry, Tom,” she said. She could barely stand to give him up, but she reluctantly handed him back to Jester. “Good night, my little love,” she said. “Mama will see you in the morning.” She looked at the nursemaid. “You have taken good care of him, Jester. Thank you.”

  Jester beamed. “It’s so wonderful to have you back, m’lady,” she said, flushing, and then turned back upstairs with her little charge.

  “I’ve arranged a wonderful welcome-home dinner, Miranda,” Amanda smiled.

  Miranda turned slowly away from the stairs. “We cannot possibly sit down and eat a normal meal until I have answered all the questions I know you have. I would not speak of it to Jared until we were all together. I will tell my tale once, no more.”

  “Jon and Anne are coming for dinner,” said Amanda.

  “They have not gone back to Massachusetts?” Miranda queried.

  “The war between England and America has been mostly a sea war,” Jared answered, “and travel has been next to impossible. They could not go safely.”

  “Is it not over then?” she said, and for a moment he saw the angry mockery in her eyes.

  “It will be soon, and we’ll all go home in the spring. They are negotiating a treaty now.”

  “You are not involved?” Again that mockery.

  “I have given up politics—all politics,” came the reply.

  “What will you do then, m’lord?”

  “I will take care of you and our son properly,” he answered her.

  “It is too late,” she said, so softly that only Amanda heard her. Then, “Jon and Anne must hear, too. I trust there are no other guests?”

  “No, dearest.”

  “I will rest until dinner then,” Miranda said. “I assume we have the same rooms, twin.”

  “Yes,” said Amanda, entirely subdued now.