Bold Breathless Love

by Valerie Sherwood

  A sudden abortive movement in the crowd caught Imogene’s attention. The Widow Poltzer had seized her daughter by the arm and was pushing her way energetically forward. Imogene hid a grin. Barnaby Swift had not seen the last of them!

  And then van Ryker turned from greeting his host. His hawklike head lifted and his cold gray eyes swept the room.

  And found Imogene easily: the most beautiful girl in the room and clad dramatically in white.

  His gray eyes lit up. In half a dozen strides he had reached her side and was asking her to dance.

  Imogene would have been glad to turn him down, for a little distance away she could see Verhulst watching her, but to have done so would have been to make a scene. She gave the tall captain a bright defiant smile and let him whirl her out onto the floor, where people paused to watch this magnificent couple who seemed made for each other—the man a lean gray wolf, the woman a flaunting golden lioness.

  “I had expected you to be staying at the inn,” he told her.

  “We are staying with friends.”

  A smile quivered at the corners of his mouth. “So van Rappard thought it best to keep you away from any public house where I might abduct you!” His gaze roved carelessly over the pearly expanse of her bosom, the soft molding of her white bodice about her ripe young breasts. “As well I might,” he added softly.

  Imogene took a deep breath. She lifted her head and gazed directly into his eyes. She almost flinched from their hot light; she felt scorched by it. She moistened her lips. This was going to be difficult, but what she had to say had to be said.

  “Captain van Ryker, we are on shore now—”

  “Does that make a difference?” he demanded. “Are you telling me that you danced with me aboard the Sea Rover through fear? For even if you tell me so, I will not believe it!”

  “No, of course I did not dance with you through fear,” Imogene protested, feeling that he was already getting the best of her. “But you must understand that I am married, these are my husband’s friends. I must not appear to—”

  “Falter in your marriage vows? But you have already faltered in your marriage vows! I could tell that when I took you in my arms aboard the Sea Rover.''

  Imogene’s cheeks grew hot. “Nevertheless, we must not see each other again.”

  Van Ryker’s lean face lost its lighthearted look, his square jaw hardened perceptibly. “And what has brought about this sudden change of heart?”

  Imogene certainly did not intend to tell him about the baby, nor about her strong feelings of guilt toward Verhulst. “We must each lie in the bed we have made,” she told him sharply. “Certainly I intend to lie in mine.”

  It seemed a long time before he answered that. Barnaby danced by with the Widow Poltzer’s simpering daughter, and Verhulst, prodded by duty, led Vrouw Berghem out upon the floor. Over van Ryker’s shoulder, the French doctor, de Rochemont, gave his captain an enigmatic smile—Imogene would have given a deal to know what he was thinking. She saw a sea of new faces as van Ryker swung her around so that her satin skirts billowed out and heads turned to admire them.

  “Forgive me for saying it,” he drawled,“but even though you flaunt yourself in bridal white, you do not have the look of a woman who has found happiness in her marriage bed.”

  Imogene gave him an affronted look. “If you say anything further about my marriage bed, I shall assuredly slap your grinning face.”

  “Ah, but then your husband would of necessity challenge me to a duel and you would very promptly become a widow. Is that what you seek?”

  How she yearned to strike that impudent visage! But she dared not. Van Ryker was right. If she were to strike him, Verhulst to defend his honor would be obliged to fight it out with him.

  “Verhulst was right,” she burst out. “You’re nothing but a damned pirate!”

  A steely light replaced the amusement in his gray eyes. “Damned perhaps, but a pirate—no. I seem to remember telling you that I am no pirate, but a buccaneer.”

  “I fail to see the difference,” sniffed Imogene, intent on baiting him.

  “Ah, there is a very great difference. Pirates are mad dogs who attack everyone. Buccaneers attack only the ships of Spain, who would deny us our right to sail these waters. In fact they deny your right to sail them—and the right of the patroon your husband. Spain has decreed that the waters of the New World belong to her. It is for freedom from this tyranny that I fight. ”

  “And to make yourself rich,” scoffed Imogene.

  “What an interesting comment to hear from one who has so recently sold herself for gold.” His calm gaze rested insultingly on the diamond necklace about her throat.

  “How dare you suggest—”

  “I do not suggest; I but state the obvious.”

  “You insult me, sir!”

  “Then I will take it back,” he ground out, “if you will look into my eyes and tell me how much you love your husband.”

  “I’ll tell you no such thing,” panted Imogene. “let me go or—”

  His grip on her was steely. “Come now, we mustn’t make a scene. Remember van Rappard’s tender hide. At least—” his glance had grown frosty—“you didn’t sell yourself for English gold, it was for Dutch gold.”

  How dare he show contempt for her! “Even if it were for Spanish gold,” choked Imogene, “ ’tis no concern of yours!”

  “Ah, if it were for Spanish gold, I would feel obliged to share it—in ransom.”

  “Damn you, van Ryker!” She was almost sobbing, her face flushed—and not just from his maddening words, but from the tumult within herself that just being near him brought her. In fury she had raised her free arm to strike him when she was suddenly aware that from across the room Verhulst was staring at her in consternation.

  “Before you damn me too much—’’ the buccaneer’s hand shot out and grasped her wrist in a paralyzing grip before it could so much as brush him—“let me tell you, my fiery lady, that my men surround this place. I could take you out of here and none could stop me.”

  Involuntarily, Imogene shrank back. “These people won’t let you take me—not from the Governor’s mansion!”

  Van Ryker’s gray eyes glinted. “I would snatch you from hell if I had a mind to,” he said caressingly. In her impotent fury at being held here at his pleasure, Imogene did not realize that the buccaneer was stalling for time, waiting for some word, some gesture, some indication that she wanted to go with him. A stolen bride would be one thing, an unwilling captive something else....

  The dance had ended, the musicians were taking a break. In their rapt concentration on each other, they had whirled to a stop beside a little knot of people and as Imogene stepped backward, oblivious to everything but her attempt to elude van Ryker, she trod on someone’s foot and there was a little cry of pain. She quickly turned about to say she was sorry—and found herself looking into Rychie ten Haer’s wide china blue eyes. On Rychie’s broad face was a malicious smile, but she ignored lmogene’s swift apology and turned her attention to the man who kept his grip on lmogene’s wrist.

  “Captain van Ryker,” Rychie smirked. “Assertive as usual?”

  The lean buccaneer turned to Rychie with a frown. Like most of the gentlemen here, he had been a time or two the object of Rychie’s amorous attention. A vivid lass, he thought, but crude. “In what way, Mevrouw ten Haer?” he asked her courteously.

  Rychie tittered. “Why, in holding onto a lady’s arm so tightly after the music has stopped!” Her fan fluttered.

  Van Ryker’s dark brows lifted. “I always hold onto that which is—”

  Imogene knew he was about to say “which is mine” and cut in sharply, her high sweet voice overlaying his deep resonant one. “You are Rychie ten Haer, are you not? I am Imogene van Rappard. None have thought to introduce us—and Verhulst has told me so much about you.”

  “Has he indeed?” Rychie looked startled, for she could think of nothing in their relationship that had done Verhulst much cr
edit.

  “Yes,” said Imogene with composure. She was trying— without appearing to do so—to wrest her arm from the buccaneer’s grip. But he still grasped her wrist firmly, even though the folds of her lovely white dress now concealed the silent struggle. “Verhulst has told me that since I am a newcomer to your country, that I must guard against making mistakes.” Rychie bridled, expecting a compliment, lmogene’s voice went lazily on. “And that you are the one to consult on mistakes—having already made them all.”

  Impaled upon that barbed remark, Rychie’s saffron head came erect like an animal scenting danger. Out of the corner of her eye, Imogene could see Verhulst moving toward them. It was a calculated risk, this attack upon Rychie. Verhulst already looked thunderous and there was no doubt as to the reason, for the whole room must have noticed his wife’s violent interchange with the buccaneer captain. If only she could deflect his wrath from van Ryker to this woman who had once rejected him! From the suddenly startled expression on Verhulst’s face, Imogene guessed that he had heard her remark to Rychie.

  Now Rychie’s gaze flicked coldly over the diamond necklace circling Imogene’s neck and moved with precision to her detractor’s lovely face. Her voice rose. “It is a pity you do not speak Dutch, Mevrouw van Rappard—”

  “An omission easily remedied,” shrugged Imogene. “Languages come easily to me.” It was not the truth, but it would serve.

  “—for we Dutch have a word to describe your comment,” continued Rychie contemptuously. “Wartaal!”

  She flung the word at Imogene, who looked blank.

  Van Ryker, amused at this sharp exchange between the two women, leaned down and murmured in her ear, “Wartaal means ‘gibberish.’ ”

  “Yes, I am sure you are an expert at wartaal, Mevrouw ten Haer,” Imogene agreed gravely and Rychie simmered. “I am told your husband is an old friend of Verhulst’s.” It was a stab in the dark; Imogene had no idea whether Verhulst even knew Huygens. “Are we soon to expect the pleasure of your company at Wey Gat?”

  Rychie had recovered her aplomb. “I doubt it,” she responded airily. Her carrying voice rose over the listening throng. “For we are expecting an heir in the spring.” Her taunting smile played over Verhulst and Imogene saw him quiver. Her whole being sprang hotly to his defense. Why should this woman who had spurned him be allowed to hurt him so?

  Her anger rose and with it her reckless nature. She flung caution aside. If Verhulst was too proud to do it, she would vanquish his enemies. She would do more than that—she would resolve her future. With Verhulst’s face pale before her, she made up her mind. She would not wait until tonight to tell him—she would risk everything on a single throw of the dice.

  Imogene’s voice, too, could have a carrying quality when she was aroused. Now in the room suddenly hushed by Rychie’s barb, that voice rang out.

  “We, too, are expecting an heir at Wey Gat,” she told Rychie, and her head lifted proudly as she spoke. “Our child will arrive before spring.”

  No sooner were the words out than she regretted them. This was hardly the way to inform Verhulst that he was soon to give his name to a child he had not fathered! She should have whispered the words in her bedroom—with her eyes downcast. But—it was done, and as always in time of trouble, Imogene’s natural courage stiffened her spine. Not daring to look at Verhulst, she turned with steadied casualness to smile calmly up at the tall buccaneer captain beside her.

  If Rychie ten Haer was taken aback by Imogene’s calm announcement, there was one in the room who was stunned by it.

  Verhulst van Rappard lifted his periwigged head and stared in wonderment at his beauteous bride. The coolness of her thus to counter Rychie’s malice! And oh, the magnificence of her lie! What matter that she had lied thus publicly? In later months if the subject came up, Imogene could claim she had lost the baby. He forgot his jealousy of van Ryker that had brought him raging across the room. His sensitive lips trembled and his dark eyes filled with tears. Imogene, his beautiful Imogene, had defended him! She loved him after all....

  And there was another in the room whose body froze to rigidity and whose countenance became oddly still at Imogene’s bold pronouncement. Captain van Ryker was looking directly down upon Imogene as she spoke, flaunting her soon-to-be motherhood at this spiteful young Dutch vrouw. He kept his hold on Imogene’s wrist there concealed by the folds of her skirt but his gaze switched suddenly to the glowing face of the young patroon.

  Could it be that he had misjudged Imogene? That the tremulous physical response he had felt in her was but a sham? That she was actually in love with this taut dark lad whose heart glowed in his eyes when he looked at her?

  The music struck up and Captain van Ryker abruptly tightened his grip and swept Imogene past Verhulst into the dancers without so much as a by-your-leave.

  “Let me go,’’ murmured Imogene furiously, her cheeks flaming. “Everyone is looking at us!”

  “Tell me that you love that frail lad with the great fortune that you’re married to and I’ll let you go,” he challenged her.

  Imogene lifted her head. Van Ryker had spun her into the middle of the floor and now from across the room she found herself looking into Verhulst’s narrow face—a face made radiant by gratitude and pride. Ah, she could not bring herself to hurt him as spiteful Rychie once had! On the moonswept deck of the Sea Rover beneath a sky glittering with stars she had harbored wicked thoughts about this buccaneer captain and trembled in his embrace, but now—now there was her child to think of. A child who must have a name and who could not be brought up aboard a pirate ship, whether its captain claimed to be a buccaneer or no!

  She tried to still the mad beating of her heart and forced herself to look defiantly into van Ryker’s eyes—those cold gray eyes that sparkled now with silver lights.

  “I love Verhulst.” She spaced the words. “I love my husband.”

  Blood surged into the captain’s dark face and retreated, leaving it pale. “I do not believe you!’' he grated.

  “Then believe this!” She wrenched her right hand free and struck him hard across the face.

  CHAPTER 14

  For an instant the room stood breathless. Attracted by the crack of Imogene’s palm against the buccaneer’s cheek, the guests at the Governor’s Ball turned to stare curiously at the tableau unfolding before them.

  Captain van Ryker had stopped in mid-whirl and now Imogene’s white skirts billowed in satiny folds about his wide-topped boots. They were oblivious to all the world, these two, held by fury and by something else—something lmogene was too proud to recognize and the captain too proud to assert. The blood pounded in van Ryker’s head as he looked down at the tormentingly beautiful woman who had struck him, and evil thoughts coursed through his mind, telling him that his buccaneers were ready outside to storm the hall and he could carry her away to his own domain—a ship that rode the restless waters of so many seas. He could take her by force—none here could resist him, and sail away with her never to return. He had not been wrong, he had felt the fire in her those nights aboard the Sea Rover—he knew that she desired him.

  A wolfish smile spread over van Ryker’s dark countenance. He would do it. Though he be damned in hell forever, he would do it!

  But at that moment from outside came a sudden rattle and a ringing of bells and hoarse cried of “Brant! Brant!” and the whole assemblage, mesmerized by the sight of the patroon’s English bride standing rigid in the grasp of the tall buccaneer, stirred as if a great wind had shaken them.

  “What has happened?” demanded Imogene.

  “The rattle watch has discovered a fire somewhere,” van Ryker drawled and the wolfishness of his smile and his gleaming eyes told her he had no care for the fire, nor if all of New Amsterdam burned to the ground this night—his mind was on something else: Her!

  Someone jostled her arm; it was Verhulst.

  “Imogene ...” he said unsteadily—and she knew in that instant she had been right to fling her an
nouncement of an heir to Wey Gat in Rychie’s face. Verhulst had forgiven her; she could tell from the gentleness of his touch. There were unshed tears in his eyes—and suddenly dark anger as he turned to van Ryker. His voice grated. “I know not what you said to my wife to make her strike you, but I add my blow to hers! ” He drew back a black velvet arm and his knuckles dusted the captain’s strong jaw.

  Standing steady with both boots planted, van Ryker was unshaken by the blow. The only change in the buccaneer’s sardonic face was a deepening coldness in his ice gray eyes.

  “I demand satisfaction!” cried Verhulst recklessly.

  “Verhulst—” Imogene would have intervened but van Ryker interrupted.

  “You will have your satisfaction, Mynheer van Rappard—in the morning.” Those white teeth gleamed. ‘‘At the moment, I take it you’re to the fire to keep New Amsterdam from burning down?”

  “As you should be!” cried Verhulst, needled by that taunting tone. He staggered as someone, fire-bound, bumped into him. “Imogene, get you to Vrouw Berghem. I will join you later.” He hurried past, swept onward by the sea of outrushing male guests, and Imogene turned to the buccaneer beside her with leaping fear in her eyes. Van Ryker really meant to duel with Verhulst—he would kill him!

  “This duel,” she said tensely. “It cannot go on.”

  “Indeed?” Sardonic brows elevated. “And how do you propose to stop it? You could see for yourself your husband is hot for my blood.”

  “He is not! He was goaded into it. All know you are the best blade in the Caribbean—Verhulst said so himself. It would be murder!”