Innocent Betrayal

by Mary Campisi

  “My father’s dead.”

  “A brother then. What if he forced the issue?” This was becoming a matter of pride.

  She paled. “I tire of this game, Noah. We’re both in agreement. There will be no marriage.”

  Something was amiss, he sensed it. “Tell me why the mention of a brother made you look as though you’d seen a ghost.”

  Her eyes widened with concern and perhaps a little fear. “If my brother finds me, he’ll drag me back to London by my hair.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” Noah vowed, surprised by his fierce need to protect her. “No one will harm you, Emily. I’ll get you to America, if that’s where you truly wish to go.”

  “Unless my brother finds me first,” she murmured, turning on her side.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.” Her words trailed off, but he heard the concern in her voice. Did she think he wouldn’t protect her?

  He stroked her hair and trailed a hand along her hip. Such exquisite beauty and softness drenched in lilac. She turned to him and met his gaze as passion flared between them, full and hot, and explosive.

  Noah wanted her, now, with a fierceness that was foreign to him. How could this woman make him burn with anger one moment and drown in desire the next? How could she be so different than any woman he’d known before? He refused to dwell on this, not with Emily’s sweetness so close to him. She was his tonight. And tonight was all that mattered. Tomorrow was too far away to consider.

  ****

  Several hours later, Jeremy summoned John Judson above board. “I think you might wanta take a look at who’s approachin’, sir,” he said, barely able to contain his excitement.

  “It had better be worthwhile, my boy.” John grabbed the spyglass and squinted through it. “You know I’m a sight older than you young bucks and I don’t appreciate being roused in the middle of the night for no good reason.”

  “You’ll see, sir,” Jeremy said. “E’s the stuff of legends.”

  John grumbled, adjusting the glass. “What did that overactive imagination of yours conjure up this time?”

  Jeremy laughed. “It’s the real thing. I swear.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” John murmured. “If it isn’t The Raven.”

  “Should I call the captain?”

  John shook his head. “No need to wake him yet. He’s got nothing to fear from his best friend.”

  ****

  Twenty minutes later Ian St. Simon, Earl of Kenilworth, stood towering over John, quaking with rage.

  “Where is he, John? Where’s that bastard hiding?” Ian spat out, clenching and unclenching his fists. He was dressed in black, from head to toe. “I want him. Now.”

  “Ian, in God’s name, what’s happened?”

  Ignoring the old man’s question, Ian demanded, “Is there a girl on board, blond hair, gray eyes?”

  Warily, John nodded. “Yes, that’s Miss Emily.”

  “Where is she?” he growled.

  “Ian, let’s talk,” John pleaded.

  “The time for talking is done. If he touched her, he’ll wish he were dead.” Turning on his heel, he strode toward Noah’s cabin and pounded on the door.

  The loud banging startled Noah awake. Jumping out of bed, he grabbed his breeches and threw them on.

  “What the—” he flung the door open and was met with a right cross to the chin, followed by a left. He stumbled backward, careening against the bed. His attacker stormed after him, pummeling him with both fists. A right, then a left connected with Noah’s left eye, then his right cheek. Noah staggered to the desk, blood oozing from his face. He tried to get his bearings to deliver his own blow but the man charged at him, sinking his fist in Noah’s belly. Doubling over, Noah clutched his stomach. He had to get in his punch, he thought, as a wave of dizziness passed over him. Damn, but he’d been blindsided and now he couldn’t catch a breath. Two monstrous hands grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him to the ground, followed by a direct blow to the nose. A sick crack filled the air as blood spurted everywhere.

  There was a scream. “No! Please don’t kill him!”

  The assailant looked up and Noah recognized Ian. What the hell? Why had his best friend practically beaten him to a bloody pulp? Noah fell to the wooden floor, clutching his head as he tried to still the pain.

  “Emily, for God’s sake, cover yourself,” Ian commanded.

  With great effort, Noah looked toward the bed. Out of the corner of his left eye he saw Emily, crying, covered in nothing more than a thin sheet. She looked so helpless, so alone. He watched as she yanked a blanket from the bed, threw it over her shoulders and scurried toward him.

  “Emily! Do not take one more step,” Ian warned. She hesitated a moment before letting out a small cry and rushing to Noah’s side. Kneeling beside him, she placed her arms over his chest as though to protect him. Noah winced. Even her light touch hurt. His whole body felt beaten and bruised. If he weren’t in such pain, he’d find it comical that this slip of a girl thought to keep him safe. A bit late for that now. Blood oozed down his cheek. His right eye was almost swollen shut and his left seemed blurry. He knew his nose was broken. Again. Maybe he’d even cracked a rib or two.

  “Emily, get out of the way. Now!” Ian grabbed her arm and hauled her back to the bed. “Stay there,” he warned. He strode back to Noah and demanded, “Fight me you bastard.”

  Noah tried to focus on Ian, but he was nothing more than a dark blur towering over him. He opened his mouth to speak and tasted blood. “Ian...” he rasped. “What the hell is this about?” God, but it hurt to speak. Maybe his jaw was broken, too.

  “You ruined my sister, you bastard!”

  “Your…” the word stuck in his throat, “sister.” It was more statement than question. A sick dread crept through his beaten body. She couldn’t be his sister. She couldn’t be, he told himself, over and over, even as the dawn of knowing twisted about him, squeezing, choking, threatening to strangle the very life from him.

  “Please, Ian,” Emily begged, scrambling off the bed again, the blanket trailing behind her as she ran to Noah’s side. “Please don’t hurt him any more. He didn’t know, I swear. He didn’t know.” The small room filled with silence, save her tearful pleading. “N—Noah,” she stammered. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve done,” she whispered. “I lied to you and you suffered because of it. Please forgive me.”

  Noah closed his eyes, blocking out the golden beauty beside him. He didn’t want to see her tears or the anguish on her face. She was to blame for this bloody mess. Emily could have told him who she was days ago, when he first discovered her on his ship, but then he would have returned her to her brother. Immediately. She knew that. Her lies and deceit had placed the noose around his neck. Her silence had tightened it.

  “Please, Noah,” she begged. He turned away. Emily sniffed and cleared her throat. “Ian, are you taking me back to England?”

  Noah heard the dread in her voice, thick and heavy with loathing.

  “On the morrow,” he replied.

  “And then?” she asked, though Noah knew she already suspected the answer.

  “Then it will be up to your new husband to decide what becomes of you,” he said. Noah opened his left eye and slowly met Ian’s harsh stare.

  “Husband?” Emily whispered. “What husband?”

  “Of course, how remiss of me. You haven’t been properly introduced,” Ian said, his voice cold and brittle. “My dear, meet your betrothed, Noah Sandleton. Noah, meet your betrothed, Lady Emily Elizabeth St. Simon. My sister.”

  Chapter 7

  Emily rested her head against the rough wall of Ian’s cabin and tried to still the pounding in her head. The last few hours had been a nightmare she would just as soon forget, but the memories flooded back, taunting and pulling, driving her mad with remembering. Her last vision of Noah flashed through her mind as he stood on board The Falcon, staring out to sea like a fierce, angry warrior. Cold. Ha
rd. Unforgiving.

  There had been no wistful looks or hushed words between them. No tender goodbyes. No goodbyes at all. He hadn’t looked at or spoken a word to her since Ian’s ruthless attack. Nor had he argued when Ian announced they were to be married. Noah had remained impassive, as though the decision was of little consequence.

  Emily was the one who fought the announcement, begging Ian not to force the issue. His only reply had been marriage or a duel, which left Emily no real choice at all.

  How had she gotten herself into such a mess? She was to be married posthaste to a man she had repeatedly deceived, one who would never forgive her and most certainly never love her. Or permit her to travel to America. These were sad and depressing thoughts, but the realization that she’d fallen in love with such a man was the most depressing of all.

  ****

  Noah knew Ian would search him out once Emily was gone. There were matters to be settled, things that needed said. He didn’t look at Emily as she boarded The Raven, not even when he felt her sorrowful eyes on him, begging for some kind of sign. Some kind of forgiveness. He slammed his hand against the wooden railing. Well, he’d be damned if she’d get absolution from him. Because of her lying, scheming ways, his whole life was about to turn upside down and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  “We need to talk.” Ian spoke from behind him.

  Noah turned away from the black, curling waves of the sea. Even the water provided no solace for him this day. He led Ian below deck, to his cabin and the bottle of whiskey waiting for him. He needed a drink. He needed several drinks to ease the pain in his body. And several more to dull his brain into accepting the inevitable.

  He poured two whiskeys, handed one to Ian and downed the other. It burned his throat and the second felt even better. After the third, he set down his glass and waited.

  “You will marry her,” Ian said, his words cold and stiff.

  Noah poured another whiskey. He felt like hell and probably looked worse. The whiskey had begun to ease the dull aching in his battered body but his brain pounded in his skull whenever he thought of Emily St. Simon.

  Marriage! He knew she was trouble the first time he laid eyes on her, even before he discovered she was a woman. He would have to marry her. There would be no alternative with Ian. Trapped. He hated that feeling. If only she hadn’t lied to him about her identity, none of this would have happened. He never would have touched her. But even as the words ran through his head, he doubted their truth and that sickened him more than anything.

  “Noah? Did you hear me?”

  “Of course, I heard you,” he said, not trying to hide the bitterness in his voice. “You want me to marry your sister and provide her with the luxuries befitting a woman of her station.” His fingers tightened around his empty glass. “A grand estate, diamonds and rubies, silks and satins. She and I will then settle into a comfortable, married existence in the country and raise a passel of children.” His smile grew forced and tight. “In short, my life will be over.”

  Ian’s smile was equally forced, his voice deceptively soft. “Not exactly.” His dark eyes turned the color of the turbulent waters they sailed. “Emily needs the protection of your name because you’ve compromised her. Once she has that you may consider your obligation fulfilled.”

  Noah’s eyebrow shot up. “Perhaps you would care to explain.”

  “I’ll be quite clear about your responsibilities, lest you get confused at some point and try to change them. You will marry Emily and give her your name. Period. That’s the only requirement necessary to be her husband. You’ll not provide a home, clothing, jewels, or any other possession. You’ll be free to sail the seas and visit your exotic lands and pursue your other”—he paused to press the point—“pleasures. But...” His eyes narrowed. “It’s to be understood my sister will not be one of those pleasures.”

  “And if Emily disagrees with your plan?” He refused to acknowledge the tightness in his gut. Ian was granting him as much freedom as any man in these circumstances could hope for and that’s what Noah wanted, wasn’t it? Why in the hell didn’t he feel relieved?

  “She won’t disagree. Not when I tell her you only agreed to marry her if you would be granted freedom to roam the world, free of husbandly duties and the burden of a family. If that fails”—Ian shrugged his broad shoulders—“I’ll tell her about all the women you’re bedding while she pines for you at home.”

  “And if she happens to be with child?” Pregnant. With his child. His anger lessened.

  Ian’s face turned to stone. “It won’t be your problem,” he said, his voice colder than the battering gusts of wind outside.

  “Why are you set on doing this?”

  Ian rounded on him, fists clenched, the cords of his neck strained and pulsing. “If you weren’t my best friend, I’d dispense with all this unpleasantness and just shoot you for what you did. I have to protect Emily. You can’t love her.” His voice shook. “You’re incapable of love. You’ll use her until you tire of her and then toss her aside. I know you. I’ve seen you do it more times than I can remember. But Emily will fall in love with you, if she hasn’t already. She’ll wait for you to return from one trip or another until finally you won’t return at all. I won’t let you destroy her.”

  Noah stiffened at the cruelty of the words. “And if I refuse?”

  “You won’t. Remember Istanbul? I saved you from getting a knife in your back. You owe me, and I’m calling in your marker.”

  “Bastard.” Of course, he remembered Istanbul. The Serpent and his greed had almost landed Noah dead. Ian had saved his life.

  “Maybe,” Ian agreed. “But I protect what’s mine.”

  Noah squeezed his eyes shut a moment, willing the pounding in his head to still. Emily needs the protection of your name because you have compromised her. Once she has that you may consider your obligation fulfilled. The words beat in his head like a drum, pounding over and over. Obligation fulfilled…obligation fulfilled. And if she’s with child? It won’t be your problem…won’t be your problem.

  “Do you agree?” Ian asked, cutting into Noah’s thoughts.

  The movement was so minute, nothing more than a slight dip of his head, but he knew Ian had seen his response. Noah turned away, grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured two fingers into his glass. He needed a good drunk right now. He’d lost too much this day—his friend, his freedom.

  Emily.

  He was not going to lose the blissful numbness that waited for him in the depths of the amber liquid. It couldn’t heal him, but it sure as hell could make him forget for a while and that’s what he needed right now. To forget. The pain in his bruised body would heal eventually, though his nose might have another crook to it. But the regret? Now that’s what would eat at him long after the alcohol wore off.

  Regret that he’d ever met her. He’d tasted her, touched her, made love to her and somehow, without his mind’s knowledge or his heart’s consent, opened up to her. There was no use denying it. She was inside of him now, a living, breathing part of him and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. It didn’t really matter, he thought, draining the rest of the whiskey, because the marriage would be a sham. And perhaps, one day, he would regret that most of all.

  ****

  “He should’ve been here by now,” Ian ground out, stabbing a piece of roast beef with his fork.

  “It’s only been a week. Besides, the wedding isn’t for another four days. He’ll be here,” Augusta said in a voice filled with sympathy.

  Emily kept her head bent but her eyes darted between her brother and sister-in-law and the small mountain of peas in front of her. He wasn’t coming. He hated her for what happened. She dug her left hand into the fold of her gown.

  “Two more days,” Ian muttered. “Two more days and I’m going after him.”

  He couldn’t even look at her when she left.

  “He’ll be here, darling,” Augusta said. “Mmm,” she murmured. �
�Aren’t these peas delicious? So sweet and tender.”

  “If he doesn’t show, I swear to God, I’ll call the blackguard out.”

  “They really are quite good,” Augusta went on, as though Ian hadn’t spoken.

  “I’ll find him,” Ian vowed.

  “With just a hint of crunchiness.”

  “He’ll do his duty.”

  Augusta shoved a forkful of peas into her husband’s open mouth.

  “Taste them, Ian,” she ground out.

  “Aggh,” he choked, spewing several peas onto the white tablecloth. Augusta jumped from her chair and whacked him several times between the shoulder blades.

  “Augusta,” he managed, “what the hell are you trying to do? Kill me?”

  “Of course not, dear,” she said, giving him one last whack. “But you’ve been so busy talking, you’ve barely touched your dinner.”

  Ian scowled and grabbed his water goblet. “Who would know where he’s hiding?” he murmured.

  Augusta let out an exasperated sigh.

  Emily jabbed at the peas on her plate, smashing them into a pile of green mush. Probably gone to the West Indies to be with one of his mistresses. She picked up her knife and began shredding her roast beef. She wished she could hate him.

  “He’s still got four days. He’ll be here,” Augusta said, laying her hand on his arm and nodding toward Emily.

  He ignored her silent plea and plowed forward, “He’s got two days, Augusta. Two days to show himself.” His hand shook as he grabbed a glass of claret and emptied it.

  Emily studied the design on her plate. An array of smashed peas and shredded beef adorned the setting, creating a pattern of color and contrast. Interesting. She used her fork to trace a path through the green and brown concoction, swirling it around, mixing it together. Only a small spot of white and gold pattern remained visible on the plate, where three small boiled potatoes sat. Her fork attacked the little, white balls, flattening them with quick, sure strokes. Gone. Gone. Gone. And she didn’t care, she told herself, even as the huge lump in her throat grew larger.