Bold Breathless Love

by Valerie Sherwood

  Van Ryker shrugged. “A blow was given. ’Tis my right to demand satisfaction.”

  “Your ‘right’!” Her laugh rang out discordantly. “ ’Twas I who struck you. ’Tis from me you should demand satisfaction!”

  “That too,” he said, studying her from shadowed eyes. Imogene felt a little thrill of fear go through her. Van Ryker was determined, resolute, a man to reckon with. And tomorrow, if swords were crossed, he would leave Verhulst van Rappard lying in his blood on New Amsterdam’s cobbles. Unless... unless she stopped him.

  The buccaneer had caught her thought. “You could easily save this madman you have married,” he suggested.

  “How?”

  ‘You could go with me now.”

  “That I’ll not do!” she grated.

  He shrugged. “Then your husband must take his chances.”

  Suddenly her pretty teeth flashed in a tight little smile. “You fear the fire, Captain van Ryker?” Her taunting voice had little teeth in it.

  She saw his dark head jerk slightly, for he was startled by her words. “I fear nothing,” he said calmly. But it was not true, he thought. He feared her loss, this lustrous woman who had come into his life like a shaft of white moonlight and brought to mind old forgotten dreams.

  “Verhulst does not fear the fire,” she said recklessly. “He has gone with the other men to fight it. And yet you linger here?”

  “No, I’m to the fire.” He clapped his hat more firmly upon his head. “ ’Twill give ye time to pack your most precious belongings.”

  “That I’ll not!”

  His eyes flashed. “You will, if you prefer not to be made a widow!”

  Imogene drew a deep shaky breath that disturbed the lace on her bodice and made van Ryker catch his breath at the sight of that rippling white skin. She stared up into his eyes—and he was lost in their depths.

  “I’ll come by for you once the fire’s quenched,” he promised huskily.

  “You’ll find the door barred!”

  “A barred door has seldom stopped me.”

  “And anyway, you don’t know where we’re staying!”

  “At Vrouw Berghem’s.” Her grinned at her.

  Imogene was quivering with rage; she felt her world wavering. This wild, dangerous—and maddeningly attractive—man was offering her a choice of sorts: She could go with him willingly— now; or she could wait and be widowed in the morning. And the worst of it was that the very thought of the Sea Rover sailed through her mind languorously; perfumed winds stirred her sails, and commanding her was a man of steel, a man to stir the heart....

  She brought herself up sharply. Verhulst had forgiven her, the road ahead was safe for her baby. Only this tall fellow stood in her way.

  “I hope a burning brand falls on you!” she told him through clenched teeth.

  “And well it may,” he agreed equably. “ But ye’ll still have time to pack while my men and I deal with the fire.”

  All about the room the women stood in little groups, whispering and staring at them. Imogene was suddenly sharply aware of what all this talk would do to Verhulst—Verhulst, who had shown only sympathy and pity and unselfish kindness when she had announced before the whole room that she was pregnant!

  “If you carry me away, van Ryker, it will be fighting and screaming. For I’ll not go with you willingly—whether wife or widow!”

  “As you will,” he said carelessly.

  With a quick bow he strode away and Imogene was left alone with the other women in a hall from which the men had gone, some of them carrying hastily caught-up leathern buckets that had been passed out among them. Automatically she rubbed her benumbed wrist—still tingling from van Ryker’s touch. Her heart was pounding, for deep within her she was fighting a feverish desire to do as he had bade her, to pack and sail away with this insolent buccaneer.

  A thought she must not brook—ever!

  Her face was flaming as Vrouw Berghem bustled up. She was talking even before she reached Imogene. “What a night!” she cried. “Vrouw Poltzer is wailing that her poor daughter could have snared young Barnaby Swift if it were not for this cursed fire, and that awkward de Puyster fellow caught his spurs in my overskirt as he dashed out with his bucket. He ripped the hem right out—see?” She turned mournfully to exhibit her torn magenta skirt and paused at sight of Imogene’s upset expression. “Whatever did Captain van Ryker say that so upset you?” she wondered, round-eyed. “And Verhulst struck him! Ach, there’ll be trouble over that, I don’t doubt.”

  “A duel,” said Imogene dully. “In the morning.”

  “ ‘A duel’! But that must not be! No wonder ye stood here wrangling with the captain! He’s a fabled duelist, all New Amsterdam knows it and Verhulst would be a fool to fight him. Why, van Ryker would kill him!”

  “I told van Ryker it would be murder,” sighed Imogene. “But he would not back off.”

  “Yes, well, men are like that,” said her hostess resignedly. “They are always throwing themselves onto knives or swords or cutlasses for their precious honor! Would they were not so touchy!” She pondered a moment. “Well, there are no two ways about it,” she said energetically. “You must get Verhulst away from here, upriver to Wey Gat. It is a stronghold—even Captain van Ryker would hesitate to pursue him there!”

  Imogene thought van Ryker might well pursue her to the gates of hell, but she was ready to seize on any means of escape.

  “You are right,” she agreed quickly. “We must get Verhulst upriver—tonight. I will go home and pack. We must leave at once for—for van Ryker has promised he will come and break your door down and take me away with him.”

  “What?” Her hostess was the very picture of indignation; her magenta ruffles shook with it. “Why, I can’t believe it of Captain van Ryker! I shall certainly deny him admission to my voorhuis in future if he does any such thing—yes, and I will pass him in the street without speaking too! Break my door down, indeed!”

  The comic contrast of denying future admission to a man who had already broken down one’s door was lost on Imogene in her eagerness to leave. Making a swift excuse to their hostess, the two women hurried out, leaving behind those whispering little clusters of women to speculate and gossip. One claimed she had heard the buccaneer captain tell the patroon’s bride that he would carry her off. There was a general flutter of protest at that, and several ladies announced that they would call on Vrouw Berghem in the morning—she would know the truth of the matter!

  Meantime, Imogene and her hostess were on their way back to Vrouw Berghem’s. They could see the fire in the distance, a red glow that lit up the night sky.

  “ ’Twill be one of those illegal wood-and-clay chimneys that’s caught fire,” predicted Vrouw Berghem as they hurried along, holding up their skirts. “People will build them in defiance of the law, and they’re always bursting into flames like torches and igniting the thatched roofs nearby. You’ll not be troubled with that at least at Wey Gat—the chimneys there are of heavy stone like the house and the roofs are of slate.” She gave her skirts another hike that showed her striped stockings. “There’s none about to see our legs, so hold your skirts higher, for this ground is terrible uneven.”

  Imogene, whose skirts already brushed her knees, wished her plump hostess could move faster. “The bells are still tolling,” she noted.

  “Yes, from the church and from the Stadt Huys. You heard that shout of ‘Throw out your buckets’? By now the men and boys will have formed a bucket brigade—I suppose it is the same in England?”

  Imogene was spared an answer as Vrouw Berghem stumbled on the uneven ground and she reached out to catch her.

  “Thank you,” gasped that lady. “I think I’d best slow down.” She held on to lmogene’s arm. “I did not yet congratulate you on the child,” she panted. “When it is born, you must invite me to the christening. I have a beautiful silver porridge spoon I brought from Holland that will be perfect for the baby!”

  “You will be my child
’s godmother,” Imogene promised her warmly. “And I hope you will not wait until my child is born before you visit us at Wey Gat.”

  Vrouw Berghem, who knew they’d been married on shipboard, was mentally tallying up the months. It didn’t work out.

  “Verhulst looked so—so happy,” she said vaguely.

  “Yes, didn’t he?” Imogene was at a loss to explain that to herself. Startled, yes, perhaps even forgiving—but happy? Did Verhulst so desire a child that he would make himself believe—? No, it was not possible. But did he perhaps really believe the child was his? It was a thought that made Imogene almost lose her footing. More than one night on shipboard he had reeled into his cabin drunk. Could he perhaps believe that he had fathered her child on one of those nights?

  If that were the case, he would be disabused of it once the child was born and he counted the months since they had boarded the Hilletje and gone through a wedding ceremony!

  No, she would make him believe it! The child could be passed off as premature. There was no need to shatter his happiness—Verhulst need never know! Imogene’s fingers, guiding Vrouw Berghem’s faltering footsteps, clenched down on that lady’s elbow so sharply that Vrouw Berghem gave a little cry.

  “I am sorry.” Imogene was instantly contrite. “I was—I was thinking of something else and as my thoughts seized me, so I seized your elbow. I hope I have not hurt you?”

  “ ’Tis all right,” Vrouw Berghem assured her. “Our one thought must be to get you and Verhulst away before morning.”

  “But cannot the Sea Rover overtake us on the river?” wondered Imogene, seeing a new problem loom up.

  Vrouw Berghem bridled. “None can overtake our river sloops! They are famous everywhere for their speed. They are truly flyboats, for they fly across the water. And the Danskammer is renowned for her speed—she has won races!”

  So the buccaneer captain might glower, but morning would find her far beyond his reach. Imogene told herself she was content, but tiny teeth of regret gnawed at her. Van Ryker was dashing, he was handsome, he was bold, he was the kind of man every woman wanted—all but herself, of course.

  They had reached the house now and Imogene hurried in to rouse Elise, change to traveling clothes, and to pack.

  “He’s coming for you, isn’t he?” asked Elise, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  “Who?” Imogene tried to sound airy and failed.

  “That pirate captain! I could see it in his eyes!”

  “Yes, he’s coming for me. Here. He said so.”

  “I knew it!” Elise was frenziedly grabbing at this and that, stuffing everything into the big trunk. “And these foreigners will hand you over to him, mark my words! They won’t want to dispute with a ship of forty guns! A few broadsides from the Sea Rover and that claptrap little fort would be a pile of rubble! Quick, off with your dress, I must pack it. And ye must put on something sensible, if we’re to fight pirates!”

  “Elise, he won’t be here until after the fire is quenched. He will find us gone.”

  Elise, in the act of pulling off Imogene’s overdress, stopped and gave her a hopeful look.

  “ ‘Gone’?”

  269

  “Gone upriver aboard the Danskammer, which Vrouw Berghem swears is too fast a sloop to catch.”

  “ ‘Upriver’? But—” A new terror lit Elise’s pale eyes. “But you have not told your husband—”

  “Yes, I have told him,” said Imogene shortly. She struggled out of her tight bodice. “I announced it at the ball.” Her voice was grim.

  Elise stood frozen. “And how did he take it?”

  “He seems overjoyed about it.” Imogene could not but sound puzzled.

  Elise’s mouth gaped open. “Over—overjoyed?” she whispered. “I can’t believe it!”

  Neither could Imogene, but she felt she had no choice. Fate had dealt better with her than she deserved—it had given her a paragon for a husband.

  “Verhulst is to duel with Captain van Ryker at dawn,” she said, and at the sudden jerk of Elise’s bony shoulders, she added grimly. “’Twas my fault. I’ll thank you not to twit me with it!”

  “To ‘twit’ you!” Indignantly, Elise took the bodice Imogene thrust at her. “Your husband dies at dawn and you’ll thank me not to twit you with it?”

  “We will elude this pirate,” said Imogene through her teeth. “Here, let me do that, Elise—you’re stuffing everything into the trunk the wrong way. I’ll finish the packing. You go and find Verhulst—he’ll be among the men at the fire.”

  “ ‘The fire’?” Elise had heard nothing of a fire. She had slept soundly through the clamor and just now realized that, outside, church bells were tolling. “And where is that?”

  “You’ll find it by the glow. Manage to speak to Verhulst privately and without Captain van Ryker seeing you. Tell him we are packed and ready to leave at once. Hurry!”

  But Elise returned limping and dirty, having tripped over one of the leathern fire buckets and catapulted into a puddle. “The patroon would not speak to me,” she reported sadly. “He shouted at me that fires were men’s work and to get me gone.”

  “Perhaps Captain van Ryker will not come tonight,” Vrouw Berghem tried to comfort her. “After all, there is this duel. Having been challenged, the captain will not wish to appear to evade a meeting with Verhulst. He will have his honor to think of.”

  “ ‘His honor’?” asked Imogene contemptuously. “The honor of a buccaneer?”

  Vrouw Berghem sighed. In her opinion Captain van Ryker was a very honorable man. And now he was about to steal another man’s wife. By force. She could not understand this change that had come over him.

  “I hope you are right and that he will wait,” said Imogene, biting her lips. “It will give us more time to get away.”

  Elise watched her fearfully. She could not understand any of this but it all had the wrong ring to her. It was inconceivable to her that a man so proud and autocratic as the young patroon should be happy about the baby. Perhaps it was best that they have the duel after all. Then they would have only one man’s rage to worry about!

  It was some time before Verhulst returned, exhausted, to tell them that a barn and a stable had caught fire and it had been difficult to rescue the animals. He was covered with soot and grime, one sleeve of his velvet doublet shredded, his trousers torn.

  “But your beautiful suit is ruined, Verhulst!” cried Vrouw Berghem, overwhelmed by this new disaster.

  “No matter.” Verhulst was pale and tired. He turned a smoke-grimed face toward the women and suddenly took in that both his wife and Elise were dressed in traveling clothes and Elise was clutching Imogene’s little chest of jewels. “What’s this?” he demanded in amazement.

  “We’re leaving,” explained Imogene. “Tonight.” She nodded toward the closed trunk of ball gowns. “We can send for that later.”

  “Yes,” echoed Vrouw Berghem energetically. “ ’Tis madness for you to even consider dueling with Captain van Ryker. You must find Schroon and tell him you are leaving at once. The Danskammer will carry you out of van Ryker’s reach to Wey Gat. There you can hold him off—or you can take your wife and flee inland, hide with some friendly Indians!”

  Verhulst stared at them as if they had all gone mad. Whatever else he was, the young patroon was not a coward. “I’ll not run away!” he cried angrily. “What do you take me for? And why should I hide my wife among friendly Indians? Have ye both taken leave of your senses?”

  “Verhulst.” Imogene gave Vrouw Berghem a chiding look. “No harm has been done me. I became angry at something Captain van Ryker said—a small thing.”

  “What small thing?”

  “Oh, ’twas nothing, some remark I took badly. I was—was angry at Rychie and I took out my anger on the captain. I should have asked his pardon.”

  At the memory of how she had taken his part with Rychie before all of them at the Governor’s Ball, Verhulst’s angry face softened. “I will not send my seconds
to Captain van Ryker,” he said. “That much I will grant you, Imogene. But if his seconds come looking for me, they will find me. Right here. I will not run. Not even to please you.”

  Vrouw Berghem and Imogene looked at each other in despair. Bravado was all very well, but they both knew that for Verhulst to meet the lean buccaneer in mortal combat was madness.

  “I’m to bed,” said Verhulst tiredly, clomping past them on muddy boots to mount the stairs. “And unless I am roused by Captain van Ryker’s seconds, I desire that you let me sleep late. And tomorrow afternoon I will take you both to see Breukelen.”

  In silence, they watched him go.

  “I think what we all need is some hot buttered rum,” declared Vrouw Berghem in a voice of doom. “Perhaps that will get us through these next hours.”

  Verhulst was sound asleep when Imogene came up to bed. She was careful not to disturb him, for if he was to fight a blade as dangerous as van Ryker in the morning, he would need all his strength—and more. Instead, she sat down in an uncomfortable wooden chair and spent the last hours of darkness studying by candlelight her young husband. He lay boyishly with his arms outflung, sprawled across the coverlet in utter fatigue, still dressed in his ruined velvet suit.

  She knew now, if she had not known before, that she should not have married him. For her heart did not go out to boyish figures such as Verhulst, but to strong, determined, sardonic men. Men like Stephen Linnington. Men like—she was forced to admit it—Captain van Ryker.

  Verhulst was good, she told herself gloomily. It would have been natural enough for him to have turned on her, but he had not. Instead he had accepted the fact of the baby almost with joy. So kind... she did not deserve a man so kind.

  Through the dark hours as she sat stiffly, watching him, she made up her mind.

  She would not let this foolish, kindly boy die for her—as another foolish boy had died for her in England. Not even her unborn child could ask that of her. Verhulst had done a noble thing—he had forgiven her the great wrong she had done him. He should not be repaid by death on the point of a buccaneer’s gleaming sword!

  Silently Imogene rose and stole stealthily down the narrow stairs. Dawn was near breaking now; a false dawn’s pale light was graying out the stars. With care she unlatched Vrouw Berghem’s front door and let herself out into the night.