by Connie Mason
Aye, sick unto death.
“I feel fine, but the sun is a little too intense for me. Perhaps I should return to the cabin and lie down.”
Dariq watched her go, dread prickling down his spine. Something was wrong. Everything had seemed fine until Lipsi appeared on the horizon. He stared thoughtfully at the English ship following in his wake. Intuition told him there was something about the ship and her passengers he should fear. Then Mustafa joined him and his attention shifted elsewhere.
Willow mentally prepared herself for the moment when she had to tell Dariq she was leaving him. No matter how difficult it would be, she intended to shoulder the blame for their parting. She prayed she could do it without breaking down. Dariq must never know how desperately she was hurting.
The afternoon waned into dusk as Willow bathed and prepared for Dariq’s return. She had even asked the ship’s cook to prepare something special for Dariq if supplies were available, and to bring hot water to the cabin so he could bathe.
When Dariq returned to the cabin later, he spied the tub and sent Willow a grateful smile. “You seem to know exactly what I want, beauty.”
“I asked cook to prepare your favorite meal,” Willow replied. “I want tonight to be special.”
Dariq sent her a wary look. “Why? I thought all our nights were special.”
“They are, but…” She could say nothing more without bursting into tears.
“Is something wrong, love?”
“I have something to tell you, but it can wait.”
She helped him disrobe, but when he stepped into the tub, she turned away. She could scarcely look at him, much less touch him, knowing how terribly she was going to hurt him.
“You seem distracted,” Dariq observed.
“I’ve been thinking about my parents,” Willow replied, refusing to look him in the eye.
Dariq surged up from the tub, dried quickly and stepped into his trousers. Then he padded over to Willow on bare feet and turned her to face him. “Something is wrong. I sensed it earlier today. You may as well tell me, for I’ll find out anyway.”
Tears clogged Willow’s throat as she searched Dariq’s beloved face. She said the only thing she could think of to distract him. “Make love to me, Dariq. Now… please.”
The desperation in Willow’s voice troubled Dariq. Not a night had passed since they’d left Istanbul that they had not made love. Sometimes they had stolen away in the middle of the day and made long, leisurely love in the afternoon heat. For some unexplained reason, Willow appeared on edge tonight.
“Please, Dariq,” Willow repeated, tugging him toward the bed.
Her urgency transferred itself to Dariq, stoking his passion as he watched her remove her clothing. All his apprehension and fear were forgotten as he stripped off his trousers, pushed her backward on the bed and followed her down. He entered her quickly; she was ready for him. Her wet heat drew him inside her and closed around him.
She went wild beneath him, kissing him wherever she could reach… his mouth, his nose, his chin, his neck. Her hands slid down his spine to caress his buttocks as she pressed upward to meet his powerful strokes. On fire for her now, Dariq thrust deep, hard, fast, his hips pounding against hers, driving them both to a tumultuous climax.
When he was finally able to breathe, and think, he rose up on his arms and stared down at her. “What is it, Willow? Something has upset you, and I want to know what it is.”
Willow choked back a sob; Dariq pulled out of her and gathered her into his arms. “Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll try to fix it. Seeing you unhappy is tearing me apart.”
“You cannot fix this,” Willow said on a sob. “No one can. ’Tis not our fate to be together. Our worlds are too different. I wouldn’t be happy on Lipsi, and you would be miserable in London.”
“Those aren’t the only two places in the world. We can go anywhere. I can support you in style wherever you choose to live. Perhaps you would prefer France, or Italy.”
Willow could not stop crying. She hurt so badly, she was nearly sick with it. It was time to tell Dariq the truth, or as close to it as she could get.
Dragging in a shuddering breath, Willow said, “I am returning to England with Papa and Mama.”
Dariq went still. So still she thought he hadn’t heard.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard; your words stole the breath from me.” He seemed calm, too calm. “Would you care to explain?”
“We don’t belong together.”
Dariq’s lips barely moved as he said, “Are you trying to tell me you don’t love me?”
“Never that! I do love you! But sometimes love isn’t enough. I want you to be happy. You would be out of place in my environment, and I would hate living on Lipsi while you pursued piracy.”
“What you mean is you are ashamed of me, that I don’t fit in your world,” Dariq charged.
“That is not what I meant,” Willow argued. “Papa…” Her words fell off. She deemed it best to keep her father out of it.
But Dariq was too astute not to catch the inflection in her voice. “What about your father? Doesn’t he think I’m good enough for you?”
“Papa has naught to do with my decision,” she lied.
Dariq surged from the bed and began to dress with angry, jerking motions. “I understand perfectly. Your father persuaded you to return to England because His Lordship does not want me as a son-in-law. Your parents probably have a proper husband all picked out for you; one who will overlook your past in order to get his hands on your generous portion.”
Fully dressed now, he turned to confront her. “Very well, I won’t beg you to stay with me. If you loved me half as much as I love you, you wouldn’t leave.” He yanked the door open.
Before he walked out, he said something he knew he’d regret the rest of his life. “You are not irreplaceable, you know. I will have no difficulty finding another houri to take your place in my bed.”
That was the last Willow saw of Dariq until they reached Lipsi. And then she only glimpsed him from afar the day they docked. She had watched him stride down the gangplank without a backward glance. Willow had no idea what would happen next, so she sat in the cabin and waited, too sick at heart to stir. Two hours later, her father’s ship dropped anchor in the cove. Shortly afterward, there came a knock on the cabin door.
Hoping it was Dariq, Willow flew to the door. Her face fell when she saw it was only Mustafa. But what did she expect, after the way she’d treated Dariq?
“ ’Tis time to leave, my lady. Your father has sent a boat for you.”
Willow nodded and followed the huge man to the rail. A sailor lowered a ladder for her.
“ ’Tis not too late to change your mind,” Mustafa said. “I do not know what happened between you and my master, but I am sure it can be fixed.”
“Not this time, Mustafa. We both know Dariq wouldn’t be alive today without Papa’s help. Papa kept his promise to me, and so I must keep mine.”
Mustafa’s keen gaze pierced deep into her wounded soul. “You promised to leave Prince Dariq in return for your father’s help,” he guessed.
A jolt of panic surged through Willow. “Nay, that’s not what happened!”
“Do not lie to me, lady, for I can see into your heart. You love the prince as much as he loves you. Tell him the truth.”
“I cannot. The truth would hurt him more than my lie. Let him believe what he wants about me. Promise you will never mention this conversation to Dariq, Mustafa. He will forget me in time.”
“He will never forget you,” Mustafa predicted as he helped her over the railing. “But if it pleases you, I will say naught to him. You know, however, that my master is not stupid. He will figure it out in his own good time. Allah be with you, lady,” he said softy as she climbed down the ladder.
Two sailors helped settle Willow into the gently rocking boat. Tears distorted her vision, but when she looked back, she swore she saw Dariq standing on
the shore, watching her being slowly rowed away. She dashed away her tears for a better look, but he was gone.
Mustafa found Dariq brooding in his chamber. Saliha Sultana was with him.
“Is she safely aboard the Fairwind?” Dariq asked when Mustafa strode into the chamber.
“Aye, my lord.”
Dariq looked out the window in time to see the Fairwind’s sails fill with air as the ship picked up speed. “She is truly gone,” he said dully. “I will never understand what happened between us. Her reason for leaving me doesn’t make sense.”
Mustafa exchanged a glance with Saliha Sultana and then excused himself. A few minutes later, Saliha followed. She found Mustafa waiting for her.
“What happened?” Saliha asked. “I saw love for my son in Willow’s heart. Dariq told me everything that happened in Istanbul, and, like him, I can make no sense of Willow’s leaving him. I have never seen my son so bereft.”
“I do not know what happened; I can only tell you what I observed. The prince and his lady seemed very happy together aboard the Revenge these past few days. It was Lady Willow’s father, the Marquis of Bramston, and his crewmen who made Prince Dariq’s rescue possible.”
“I am surprised the marquis agreed to help,” Saliha mused. “As I understand it, my son held Willow captive against her will. I cannot imagine an English lord agreeing to let his daughter wed a Turkish pirate.”
“Think about it, my lady,” Mustafa said. “If you were Lady Willow’s father, how would you convince your daughter to return to England with you, knowing full well that she loves Prince Dariq?”
Saliha’s brow furrowed, and then abruptly cleared. “Oh, how sad. His Lordship offered to help Dariq under the condition that Willow return to England with him. That’s it—it has to be!”
“Precisely,” Mustafa concurred.
“We must tell Dariq immediately.”
“Nay, I think not. Once his anger passes, he will see things as we do. If we tell him now, he will pursue the Fairwind and launch an attack if the ship refuses to yield to him. Lives could be lost… perhaps his life or his lady’s if the marquis engages the Revenge in a sea battle.”
“I sense Dariq’s sadness beneath his anger. We cannot let this happen, Mustafa.”
“Would your son be happy in England, my lady?”
Saliha closed her eyes, her thoughts returning to her life before she became the wife of a sultan. When she opened them, her expression had brightened considerably.
“Dariq most definitely could be happy in England, Mustafa.” She squared her shoulders. “I shall make it happen.”
Chapter Twenty-one
London, three months later
Willow reclined in the window seat in her room, staring at the cold rain slanting against the windowpane. Shivering, she pulled her shawl closer about her rounded middle. She hadn’t been warm since her arrival in London. Coldness had seeped into her soul and settled in the empty space in her heart. Numbness of mind and spirit had become her constant companion.
Monique had guessed Willow’s secret before they reached England and questioned her about her condition. Willow hadn’t denied her pregnancy, and of course Monique told her father. The row that transpired next had been awful. Had Dariq been within the marquis’s reach, there would have been bloodshed.
Her pregnancy had renewed her father’s anger at her for leaving the Fairwind without his permission and boarding the Revenge. But after he’d seen how distressed she was, he had dropped the subject and accepted her condition. He loved his daughter deeply.
The door to Willow’s room creaked open. Monique walked in. “Come and have tea with your papa and me, ma petite. Sitting alone and brooding will do neither you nor your child any good.”
Willow gazed listlessly at her mother. “Do you really care about my child, Mama?”
“Of course I do, ma petite. So does Robert. Please come down and join us.”
“What if company drops in? I can no longer hide my pregnancy beneath full skirts.”
“Your father has taken care of the gossips. The ton believe you were wed in France and lost your husband in a terrible accident. You are expecting your dear dead husband’s child. There is no shame in that.”
“It’s a lie. Even the name you gave my ‘dear dead husband’ is a lie.”
Monique shrugged. “What does it matter as long as your own name remains unsullied? After your child is born, you can go out in society again and find a man worthy of you.”
“Oh, Mama,” Willow sighed, “why must you make my life so difficult? I just want to be left alone. I do not want a husband. Dariq is the only man I will ever love. You and Papa have no idea how badly I hurt him.”
Monique frowned. “You are wrong, Willow. Your prince hurt you more than you hurt him. Did he not hold you captive against your will?” Reluctantly, Willow nodded. “Did he not take advantage of your innocence?”
“Not exactly,” Willow whispered, recalling his erotic seduction of her.
Monique hugged her daughter. “It matters not, ma petite. You are home with your loved ones where you belong. Your child will be as precious to us as you are. Come downstairs and have tea with us. You must eat for yourself and your babe. You are far too thin.”
Willow knew her mother was right. She’d had little appetite since returning home, and she appeared pale and gaunt.
She stood and shook out her skirts. “Very well. If it will please you, I will join you and Papa.”
Robert stood when Monique and Willow entered the cozy back parlor where they usually gathered informally, a delighted smile stretching his lips. He took Willow’s hands and led her to a chair near the fire.
“You cannot imagine how much it pleases me to have you join us,” the marquis said. “You spend too much time alone in your room. Brooding isn’t healthy.”
“Have you forgotten how despondent you felt after Mama left you?” Willow reminded him. “I haven’t. You sat and brooded for months. I love Dariq no less than you love Mama.”
“Do not mention that pirate to me,” Robert said harshly. “If not for him, you wouldn’t be in the condition you are in now.”
Willow laced her fingers over her stomach. “I love Dariq’s child and always will. Would you have let me remain with Dariq had you known I was expecting his child?”
“I’m sorry, Willow. I wouldn’t have let you remain with your prince under any circumstances. I stand by my decision to save you and your child from living with a violent man. Now,” he said cheerily, “about that tea. I’m famished.”
A servant entered as if on cue with a tea cart weighed down with sandwiches, biscuits and tiny iced cakes. Monique poured, and offered Willow an assortment of food she had placed on a plate. Willow took the plate and nibbled on a sandwich.
They spoke of inconsequential things while they ate and drank. Willow managed to consume half the food on her plate and drink two cups of tea, which seemed to please her parents.
She really wasn’t trying to be difficult; she was just desperately unhappy. She kept recalling Dariq’s parting words and wondering if he had already found a woman to replace her.
Perhaps he had found more than one. What woman wouldn’t find Dariq desirable? Willow prayed nightly for him, begging God to keep him safe.
Willow’s thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of the door knocker.
“I thought you told me no visitors were expected,” Willow said, sending an anxious glance toward the parlor door.
Monique sent her a puzzled look. “None of my friends would venture out on a raw day like this,” she replied with a shudder. “Unlike France, one never sees the sun in this dismal country.”
Robert sent her a speaking look. “Oh, well, it is worth it to be with my family again,” Monique quickly added.
A footman appeared in the doorway. “The Earl of Newcastle and his mother, Lady Bridgeton, and Reverend Faraday request an audience, milord.”
Robert’s brow furrowed. “Newcastl
e? I do not recognize the name. There was an Earl of Newcastle, but I believe he died without heirs many years ago. Show them in, Baxter, and have the tea tray refreshed.”
Anxious to escape the ordeal of making small talk, Willow rose. “Please excuse me. I wish to retire to my room.”
But it was too late to gracefully bow out. The earl, his mother and the black-clad reverend waited in the doorway to be announced.
“The Earl of Newcastle, Lady Bridgeton and Reverend Faraday,” Baxter intoned.
Sighing in resignation, Willow resumed her seat while her father greeted their guests.
“I am afraid you have the advantage, Lord Newcastle,” Robert said. “Have we been introduced?”
“Not formally,” Newcastle replied.
Willow’s head snapped up. That voice! She knew it! She half rose from her chair. “Dariq?”
Robert looked from Willow to Newcastle, his bewilderment visibly apparent.
Willow took a wobbly step toward Newcastle, then another, and then her eyes rolled back and she started a slow downward spiral.
Newcastle reached her first, scooping her up moments before she reached the carpeted floor.
“What have you done to her?” Newcastle barked, his gray eyes blazing with fury.
“See here, Newcastle,” Robert sputtered, “who in blazes are you?”
Lady Bridgeton stepped forward. “Please forgive us for barging in like this.”
Monique rushed over to Willow, patting her cheek and murmuring in French as Newcastle laid her gently on a sofa and knelt beside her. As he had feared, seeing him in London had overwhelmed her, and he wished there had been some way to cushion the shock.
Newcastle searched Willow’s face. She looked too gaunt and far too thin. His gaze traveled downward over her body, and stopped abruptly at the bulge beneath her skirts. His eyes widened and he spat out a curse. She was carrying his child! Why hadn’t she told him?
“Will you please tell me what the three of you are doing here?” the marquis asked curtly.
Willow opened her eyes. Reaching up, she touched Dariq’s face. “Dariq? Is it really you?”