“Oh, stop that screaming, you stupid girl,” Ross said disgustedly. “It’s not as if we’ve killed him, or anything like that. Just taught him a little lesson, is all.”
Hudson, glancing blandly at the slumped-over form in the sand, observed that Drake must have really gone off his form, if he’d let a fat ass like Ross drop him like that.
Ross, offended, declared his ass not fat, and thanked Hudson not to disparage his skills as a pugilist again, as they were considerable.
Raleigh snorted derisively at this. “Oh, come off it, Ross,” he sneered. “Drake let you hit him. He never even tried to lift a finger against you in his own defense.”
Hudson commented that it wasn’t a bit like Drake to allow any man to hit him, let alone a fat ass like Ross.
“Stop calling me that!” Ross thundered. “And it’s a jolly good thing for Drake he didn’t try to defend himself. I’d have thrashed him within an inch of his life.”
Looking down at the unconscious man, Hudson remarked, “Well, it looks as if you did that anyway.”
“And why shouldn’t I? He admitted everything, easy as you please. Didn’t look a bit sorry for any of it, either. You’d have done the same thing, Hud, if you’d been here.”
“I wouldn’t,” Hudson declared truculently. “I’ve always liked Drake. I don’t care what he’s done.”
Ross eyed him, his hazel eyes glittering dangerously. “Oh, you don’t, do you? All right, then if you like Drake so bloody much, I suppose if I told you he’d had Payton, you wouldn’t blink an eye.”
Hudson looked dismayed. “Drake did? Bloody hell. Here, Raleigh, you take Payton for a minute. I’m going to get a few kicks in—”
“Don’t you dare!” Payton shouted. “Hudson, if you do, I’ll never tie your cravats again!”
“And that’s not all,” Ross went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Did y’ know they’ve been running about here, naked as savages, for nearly two months?”
Payton shrieked, “That’s a lie! It has not been that long—”
“Five miles from New Providence. Five bloody miles,” Ross went on. “He could have put an end to all our worrying weeks ago—”
“He couldn’t,” Payton cried. “The Frenchman was looking for us. Marcus Tyler was trying to kill us both! We had no way of knowing whether or not they were still out there—”
“Marcus Tyler?” Ross interrupted testily. “Marcus Tyler? Marcus Tyler is not trying to kill you. Both he and that nasty piece of baggage who claims to be Drake’s wife are now sitting in a Nassau jailhouse, awaiting trial for your murder.”
Payton gasped. “What? But how—”
Ross looked smug. “Oh, yes. It was nothing, really. You see, once we got the Virago’s mainsail replaced, it was only a matter of—”
“What about the Frenchman? Did you catch him, too?”
Her brother glowered at her. “If you would allow me to finish, I was just getting to that.” He cleared his throat. “Captain La Fond, unfortunately, got away. We did, however—”
“You let him get away?” Payton’s voice rose to screaming pitch once more. “He killed Drake’s brother!”
“We did not let anyone get away, you ungrateful chit. The Frenchman put up quite a struggle. We lost a dozen good men to his cannons before we got close enough to storm his ship. Am I to be blamed if he, cowardly dog that he is, leapt overboard, and took his chances with the sharks, rather than face trial like a man? Not that I’m particularly surprised by his behavior, mind you. What I am surprised by is the fact that we intercepted the Frenchman’s vessel seven weeks ago. That’s two months, Payton. Since you were not on board the Rebecca at the time, I can only assume that you and Drake have been—whatever you care to call it—right here on San Rafael ever since!”
Two months? Was it possible? Was it possible that that much time had passed since the night she’d dragged Drake’s unconscious body from the Rebecca’s longboat, and dropped him in the white sand? No. It couldn’t possibly be true. A few weeks, certainly. It had taken her that long just to make the hammock. And the shelter Drake had built, to keep them dry during the rains … that had taken a while to construct. Maybe a month, at most.
But two? Two months? It wasn’t possible.
“We—we had no way of knowing,” Payton stammered. “We had no way of knowing you’d already caught Sir Marcus and … and … and what I’d like to know is, if you thought we were dead, what are you doing here?”
“Some big black fellow—I don’t remember his name; he was the ship cook aboard the Rebecca—told the magistrates you weren’t neither of you dead at all, that you’d both escaped. Was quite insistent on it, as a matter of fact. So we thought, what the hell? Better take a look …”
Clarence! Clarence had come forward! Lovely, sweet Clarence.
What was she thinking? Horrid, nasty Clarence, to have told all, and gotten her into this current mess.
“But I’ll tell you something, Payton,” Ross went on. “I would to God Tyler had murdered the two of you! I’d infinitely prefer a dead best friend to this lecher”—Ross nudged Drake’s limp body with a booted toe—“and a dead sister to the sluttish one it turns out I’ve got instead.”
Payton glared at him. “Oh, well, thank you very much, Ross. I assure you that can be arranged. Hudson, give me your pistol. I’d rather blow my head off than have to listen to another word of this drivel—”
“All right,” Raleigh said, holding out both his palms. “That is quite enough. No more theatrics, from either of you. Hudson, take Payton back to the boat. Ross and I will be along in a while with the, er, lecher.”
“I hate and despise you all,” Payton hurled at them, as Hudson tossed her over his shoulder. “I hope you all burn in hell!”
Ross waved at her dismissively. “Don’t take on so, Payton. He’ll be right enough in a week or so. In time for the wedding, anyway.”
“Wedding?” Payton echoed. “What wedding?” When she received no answer, she began to scream again. “What wedding ?”
“Stop that screamin’,” Hudson grumbled, as he waded out into the surf, toward the longboat that waited there. “You’re breakin’ my eardrums.”
“What wedding?”
“Yours, I’d guess. To the lecher.” He grunted, and took a firmer hold of her hips. “You didn’t think Ross’d be satisfied with beatin’ ’im to a pulp, did you? He’s got to marry you, too, Pay. It’s the only way.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Payton, darling, do try to eat something. You’re looking positively peaked underneath your tan.”
Payton picked up her fork and stabbed at the eggs on the tray in her lap, breaking the yolks, and sending yellow fluid streaming toward the roasted potatoes on the far side of her plate. She pretended the eggs were volcanoes, the broken yolks lava, and the potatoes Pompeii. She didn’t feel much like eating.
“Are you sure you aren’t too warm?” Georgiana plucked at the sheet Payton had pulled up to her chin the minute her sister-in-law had entered the room. “You can’t possibly be cold, my dear. Why, it’s blazing out there.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Payton said. “Only I don’t feel much like talking right now. It was sweet of you to bring me breakfast, but if you don’t mind—”
“Oh, I don’t mind a bit,” Georgiana said brightly. “And I understand your not wanting to talk. I’ll just sit and wait until you’re done, and then I’ll take the tray back down.”
Bloody hell! Payton watched as her sister-in-law began sifting through the correspondence that had arrived that morning, which she’d placed on the tray beside Payton’s breakfast. It seemed as if every Englishwoman in Nassau had come calling on the Dixon’s Bahamian villa while they awaited Marcus Tyler and Becky Whitby’s trial. They were all, Payton thought bitterly, in competition to see who could be the first actually to see the star witness, the ruined—and very darkly tanned—Dishonorable Miss Payton Dixon.
“Look here.” Georgiana held up a cal
ling card, conveniently forgetting Payton’s wish not to talk. “Lady Bisson. Did you know Sir Connor’s grandmother was here on the island, Payton? We brought her down when we first heard the news that you’d disappeared. You and Sir Connor, I mean. She’s been quite anxious to see you, you know.”
Payton lifted the pepper and carpeted her plate with it. Volcanic ash.
“Shall I tell her to come for tea? Would you like that?”
Payton glared across the bed tray at her sister-in-law. “Considering the fact that I’m not allowed to leave my room, it might be a bit awkward entertaining Drake’s grandmother, don’t you think, Georgiana? Unless you suppose I can use this bed tray as a tea table.”
Georgiana, completely unruffled by this outburst, calmly laid the calling card aside. “You know your brothers will let you out just as soon as you see reason.”
“Reason?” Payton lifted the tray from her lap. She thought about hurling it across the room, but she’d tried that before, to no effect, except that one of the maids had been sent to pick up the mess, and Payton, feeling sheepish over her outburst, had felt obligated to help her.
This time, she set the tray aside, but took’care not to let the sheet she’d pulled over her slip down. “Georgiana, surely you don’t think I’m being unreasonable. I mean, you must see that they’re the ones who are being completely asinine about the whole thing.”
“Asinine?” Georgiana regarded her sister-in-law placidly. Her new, ethereal calm was maddening, but even more maddening was the reason behind it. Well, Payton supposed it had been bound to happen, sooner or later. Even an ogre like Ross must have his tender moments, and it appeared that during one of them, he’d managed to get his wife enceinte. Though how Georgiana could feel so calm about the fact that in four or five months, she was going to give birth to an ogre-baby, Payton couldn’t imagine.
“They aren’t being asinine, Payton. They’re only doing what they think is best for you. You’re the one who’s being—”
“What?” Payton interrupted, in a hard voice. “I’m the one who’s being what, Georgiana?”
“Well.” Georgiana looked apologetic. “Stubborn?”
“Oh, I see. I’m stubborn, just because I don’t happen to want to marry someone my brothers insist I must.”
“Yes. Because we all know you want to. Payton, everyone knows you love him. So why are you being so difficult about it? Just agree to marry the man, and then we can all be one big happy family again.”
“Has everyone forgotten,” Payton demanded, “that he happens to be married to someone else?”
Georgiana waved a lace-cuffed hand in the air. “Oh, heavens. Justice O‘Reardon annulled that farce of a union as soon as Drake—I mean, Sir Connor—regained conscious—er, got around to explaining matters to him. That’s not what’s stopping you.”
“No,” Payton said, tight-lipped.
“Then what is it? Why all this fuss? You should be over the moon, Payton. You’ve gotten exactly what you always wanted.”
“But Georgiana,” Payton said, her voice catching. Oh, Lord, she wasn’t going to start crying again, was she? She’d cried for three days straight already. She’d rather hoped she was on the mend. Apparently not. “Georgiana, can’t you see? I never wanted him this way.”
“What way, sweetheart?”
“You know. By trapping him. By forcing him. This is precisely the way Miss Whitby—”
“It isn’t,” Georgiana interrupted hastily. “Payton, really. This is nothing like what Miss Whitby did. Did you go to bed with Sir Richard, and then tell his brother you were carrying his child? No, of course you didn’t. Your case is quite, quite different—”
“But he still doesn’t get a choice in the matter,” Payton insisted. “Don’t you see? He felt obligated to marry Becky Whitby—never mind that that obligation turned out not to be true. And now he’s marrying me for the same reason: He feels obligated.”
“How do you know how he feels? Have you asked him?” When Payton’s only response was a sniffle, Georgiana answered for her. “No, you haven’t. You’ve refused to see him. You won’t even read his letters.” Georgiana reached out to the silver tray of mail beside her. “Why, there’s three from him already this morning, and it’s only just gone noon. The man is obviously desperate to see you.”
“Of course he’s desperate,” Payton muttered. “He’s desperate to restore his reputation, and get back in his grandmother’s good graces … not to mention Ross’s. Don’t forget, Georgiana, Dixon and Sons employs him. I suppose he’d do just about anything to stay on Papa’s good side.”
“Pshaw,” Georgiana said, with a laugh. “What twaddle, Payton. Connor Drake isn’t exactly Matthew Hayford. He doesn’t need the piddling salary your father pays him. He has quite a tidy fortune in his own right. And as for his reputation, I never met a man who cared less what anybody had to say about him than Connor Drake.”
Payton gritted her teeth. “I won’t marry a man just because my brothers say I have to. I won’t!”
“Then don’t. Marry him because you love him.”
But Payton ignored her. “My whole life, I’ve done what my brothers told me to. I’ve lived the way they taught me to live. If any one of them had been stuck on that island, they’d have done exactly as I did. So why am I being punished for it?”
And then the tears did start up again. Dammit, and she’d thought she’d cried enough, this past week, to dry her tear ducts out. Apparently not. Apparently, there were still a few gallons or so left.
Sighing, Georgiana picked up the breakfast tray and left the room, taking care to lock the door behind her, as her husband—rather unnecessarily, Georgiana thought—had ordered. There was a large balcony off Payton’s room, from which the girl could climb down any time she pleased without a bit of trouble, nimble as she was. So why bother locking her bedroom door? If she wanted to escape, she’d have done it already.
But Georgiana hadn’t bothered mentioning this to her husband. It would only cause him to board up the French doors to the balcony, which would quite destroy the charm of the house from the outside, and would inspire more gossip than the youngest Dixon had already managed to engender.
“Well?”
Georgiana nearly dropped the tray. But it was only Connor Drake, eagerly awaiting her reappearance in the breakfast room.
“Nothing’s changed,” Georgiana said, letting him take the tray. “She still won’t budge.”
“Did you show her my letters?”
“Of course I showed her your letters. She won’t touch them. I told you she wouldn’t.”
Georgiana didn’t like to disappoint the man, as he already looked quite wretched enough, with his split lip, and the jagged wound in his right eyebrow where her husband’s wedding ring had left a gash. Still, she thought him every bit as much to blame for the problem as Ross. After all, he ought to have been able to have restrained himself on that island. A gentleman always could.
“Why can’t I see her?” Drake spun around to face the men who would be his brothers-in-law. “Just let me go up there. I’ll be able to talk some sense into her.”
“No!” Ross pushed himself up from the chair in which he’d been lounging. “Gad, no. We can’t let her know we’ve forgiven you.”
“Speak for yourself,” Hudson grumbled, from the confines of his own chair.
Ignoring his brother, Ross went on. “If she thinks we’ve forgiven you, then she’ll never marry you.” Ross shook his head. “You have to understand the way a woman thinks, Drake. That’s your problem. You’ve never understood how they think.”
Georgiana had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from smiling at the thought of her husband pontificating on the intricacies of the feminine mind.
“What you ought to have done,” she said gently, “was forbid her from marrying Sir Connor. Angry with you as she is right now, Ross, she’d have found a way to elope with him at her earliest opportunity. The way you’ve got things, refusing to marr
y him is the only way she can think of to punish you.”
“Me?” Ross bleated. “What did I do?”
“Well, you are the one who beat her lover into a bloody pulp,” Raleigh reminded him, from the thick stone windowsill on which he lounged.
“Pardon me, Ral, but weren’t you standing right there alongside me? I saw you get in a good blow or two.”
“Right. But I didn’t enjoy doing it. I heartily dislike bloodshed.”
“That’s not why she’s angry with you,” Georgiana said.
“What do you mean, that’s not why?” Ross glanced sharply at his wife. “What else has she got to punish us for?”
Georgiana sighed. “Everything. The fact that your father’s business is called Dixon and Sons, instead of Dixon and Sons and Daughter. The fact that all of you encouraged her to shoot and climb and sail, then denied her the right to do those things. The fact that any of you, on that island, would have acted exactly as she did, and yet you feel the need to lock her in her room for it.”
“That’s not why she’s locked in her room!” Ross bellowed. “She’s locked in her room because she won’t marry the blighter!”
“She didn’t eat.” Hudson was examining the tray Georgiana had brought down. “Look at this. She just moved the food around. She didn’t eat any of it. Why didn’t you make her eat, Georgiana?”
“I can’t force her to eat, Hudson.”
“She hasn’t eaten since she got here.” Hudson lifted a hand and dragged it through his disgracefully long hair. Really, as soon as Georgiana got a chance, she was going to go after that fellow with a pair of shears. “What does she plan on doing? Just wastin’ away? Is that the plan? To punish us all by starving herself to death?”
“Look,” Ross said, leaning forward. “This’ll all be over next month, after the trial. Once she’s testified—”
Georgiana sucked in her breath. “Must she? With as much publicity as all of this has already garnered, what with us thinking she was dead, and then finding out she wasn’t … Goodness, this will only make things worse. Wouldn’t Sir Connor’s testimony alone suffice?”
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