Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies)

by Lynette Vinet

  Well, she wasn’t docile any longer. She’d never let anyone tell her what she could and couldn’t do. She’d gone through that with her father years ago, having seen the fear on her mother’s face whenever the earl was in residence, forcing her to tiptoe around Woodsley like a timid mouse.

  Granted, Ian hadn’t told her she had to stay at home. She could come and go as she pleased on shopping excursions or visits to people’s homes as she’d done just the other day with Molly. Ian hadn’t been with her for these visits. He allowed Molly to introduce her to his friends instead of doing it himself, and it was this slight which irritated Bethlyn more than his highhandedness or the fact that he expected her to do whatever must be done to save his colonial hide.

  She’d felt quite embarrassed for Molly and humiliated for herself at the surprise she’d seen on people’s faces to learn that Ian Briston had a wife … a wife he’d never claimed for seven years.

  “He might wish to keep me locked at Edgecomb, but I refuse to allow him a moment more as indisputable head of Briston Shipping,” she spoke aloud in the carriage. And she meant every word of this.

  Ten minutes later when she flounced into Briston Shipping, closing the door loudly behind her, Mr. Eakins glanced up sharply from his perch behind his desk. She expected him to rear up like a rooster and order her out. She even prepared herself for the large man named Demming to come forward with brawny arms and attempt to lift her from her feet and throw her onto her backside on the street. Her pride still smarted from that incident. However, Mr. Eakins came forward with an apologetic smile on his face and bowed.

  “My most humble apology to you, Mrs. Briston. Please excuse me for my behavior to you that day you were looking for your husband. I had no idea who you were.”

  Bethlyn felt taken aback for a moment. “I told you who I was that day, sir.”

  “Again, forgive me. I didn’t know Mr. Briston was married. He informed me the next day about my … treatment … of you. Forgive me, ma’am.”

  Bethlyn didn’t care for Mr. Eakins, but she could see he was sorry for what he’d done and he called to Demming, who apologized also. She was surprised by this turn of events, but even more surprised that Ian had actually informed his employees that she was his wife.

  “I accept your apologies,” she told the two men. “But never treat anyone who enters this office again in such a fashion. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Briston,” they mumbled in unison, and both of them looked sheepish.

  “I should like to see my husband,” Bethlyn said.

  Mr. Eakins squinted. “Mr. Briston isn’t in this morning, ma’am. Would you care to speak to Mr. Gibbons instead?”

  “Yes, my husband’s secretary will do for now.” Following behind Mr. Eakins, he led her upstairs through a carpeted hallway and knocked on an oak door. At the words “Enter”, Mr. Eakins opened the door and stood aside for Bethlyn.

  “Mr. Gibbons,” he spoke to the curly blond-headed man whose head was bent over a large ledger book which rested on a large desk, “Mrs. Briston wishes to speak with you.” Eakins departed.

  Jonathan Marcus Gibbons lifted his head, a startled look in his blue eyes to find Bethlyn standing before him, and she appeared just as unsettled.

  “Crane,” she mumbled as the shock caused her to sink into a leather upholstered chair. “I should have known you were Mr. Gibbons.”

  He flushed and shut the ledger book. “Yes, well, now you know my identity. I presume you won’t mention anything about me to your friend Captain Andre.”

  “I give you my word that I won’t, and only for one reason. Mavis. How is she? Where I may find her?”

  Marc laughed. “Hold on, Bethlyn … er, Mrs. Briston, Mavis is fine. We were married shortly after arriving in Philadelphia. Didn’t Ian mention that?”

  She shook her head. “Ian mentions very little.”

  “I’m certain Mavis would love to see you again. We have a house in Elfreths Alley. I’d bring you there, but with Ian out of the office, I can’t leave at the moment.”

  “I’m sure my driver can find the house,” Bethlyn started to rise when Marc glanced curiously at her.

  “What did you want here today, Mrs. Briston?”

  She’d momentarily forgotten her reason for coming here in her excitement to see Mavis again. She settled a level gaze on Marc. “Most probably I won’t see my husband tonight. No doubt he’ll be occupied elsewhere.” Probably with Lady Cynthia Connors, she thought. “You may inform him that I stopped by to see him and tell him that I shall come again tomorrow. I believe the time is ripe for me to take an interest in the running of Briston Shipping.”

  Marc flashed her an encouraging smile. “I shall be happy to relay the message, Mrs. Briston.”

  “Call me Bethlyn, and I shall call you by your first name.”

  “Marc.”

  “Marc. I like that.” She offered him her hand in parting.

  “And, Marc, you have exquisite taste in jewelry. I’m certain my husband would have been unable to choose lovelier birthday and anniversary gifts than you.”

  Marc appeared uncomfortable. “Yes, thank you, but, Bethlyn, I warrant that this anniversary your husband shall choose the gift for you.”

  “I doubt he’ll remember it, and please don’t mention that our anniversary is but a week away. Under the circumstances I don’t wish him to feel obligated.”

  “I won’t.”

  Smiling her thanks, she left Marc’s office and brushed past Mr. Eakins downstairs with a slight nod of her head. Soon she found herself in a quaint, cobblestone older section of the city, sitting beside Mavis in her kitchen, which smelled of beef stew and freshly baked pumpkin pie.

  Mavis poured tea for them, her eyes alight with gladness to see Bethlyn again. “You’ll never know how worried I was that day when Hawk, I mean your husband, took you to Windhaven. I thought never to see you again and feared what he might do to you.”

  “He’s a big, arrogant bully, Mavis. But I can say that to you because I’ve known you so long. I could never tell Molly such a thing about her beloved brother. As far as Molly’s concerned, Ian can do no wrong.” Bethlyn sipped her tea and then smiled at her friend. “You seem very happy with Marc.”

  “I am!” Mavis gushed, not hiding her happiness. “I love Marc so very much.”

  “And you were the one who thought she’d never find love again,” Bethlyn reminded her, a prickle of envy in her voice.

  “That’s true, but if I recall, I wished you good fortune, too. Have you discovered love with your Captain Hawk?”

  Bethlyn laughed. “That’s another thing. You’re the only one other than Marc and Ian himself who knows about Captain Hawk.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Bethlyn stirred uneasily in her chair, “I don’t know. As much as I disliked being abandoned by Ian all those years ago, my situation was easier. I could hate him, because I didn’t really know him — didn’t know about … Well, you know what I mean.”

  “Lovemaking. “

  “Yes.”

  “And now?”

  “That’s what has me confused, Mavis. I should hate the bounder and turn him into the authorities. I can’t, however, and not because of the agreement I made with Ian to free me when suspicion turns away from him. I remember how it felt to be held by him, to be kissed, loved by him. I can’t forget so many things. If I could forget I’d be better off. I could leave Philadelphia and go home again, start life anew. But for some stupid reason, I’d feel so empty without him, so alone. As it is now, he barely speaks to me. I don’t think he trusts me.”

  “Do you want him to trust you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bethlyn, do you want Ian Briston to love you?”

  A shaky sigh escaped Bethlyn. “That seems to be all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Mavis sat back, seemingly satisfied with Bethlyn’s answer. “Then if you want your husband, you know what you must do.”

  Mav
is made everything sound so simple, but it wasn’t. Nothing in her life had ever been simple. Ian Briston was the most complex man she’d ever known, save for her father, and maybe besides his physical attractiveness, that was why she felt drawn to him. Their physical attraction wasn’t enough, she mused. Their backgrounds were different, and most definitely their political loyalties would keep them apart.

  Ian had made it quite clear that he didn’t want her for his wife. No matter the stirrings within her breast for the man, for the pulsating desire she felt when he was near. Passion wasn’t enough and she’d never humble herself to beg for his love, not certain she loved him either.

  Mavis stirred her tea, and her words brought Bethlyn out of her reverie. “I’m expecting a child next summer.”

  Bethlyn hugged her friend. “How happy I am for you and Marc! A baby. I should love to have my own child one day.”

  Mavis winked at her. “Well, you know what you have to do to get one.”

  ~

  When the carriage pulled up to the house an hour later, Bethlyn went inside and pulled off her cape in the foyer. Going into the parlor, she stood at the window which faced the garden and quickly backed away, peering through the web of lace on the curtains. A tall man, dressed in the green uniform of a Hessian soldier, held the cloaked figure of a woman in his arms, whom Bethlyn readily identified as Molly.

  The girl’s head was tilted upward, and even at a distance Bethlyn discerned love on both of their faces for each other. She clung to the man as if she feared to release him, and finally after a tender kiss, the soldier left. Bethlyn noticed Molly lift a hand and wipe away a tear from her eye before hurrying to the front of the house.

  Soon Bethlyn heard the front door close. Molly, carrying some boxes, smiled at her. “I went Christmas shopping with my friend,” she told Bethlyn before heading upstairs. Bethlyn didn’t question her about the Hessian soldier. Somehow she knew Ian wouldn’t approve of the man, and she saw no harm in allowing Molly to claim some happiness.

  For the second time that day, Bethlyn envied lovers.

  ~

  The evening of the play arrived. A bone-chilling cold settled over Philadelphia in early December, and the hint of snow was evident in the air. At Edgecomb, however, as Bethlyn dressed, the warmth from the blazing fireplace in her room kept the cold at bay.

  As her chemise and a layer of petticoats were pulled over her head with Sally’s help, and Molly flitted in and out of the room to borrow a hair ribbon or a pair of Bethlyn’s new slippers, Bethlyn wondered about the wisdom of sleeping in the room next to Ian’s. Granted, the room was larger and much more beautiful than the guest room. It had belonged to Jessica Briston, and though the room no longer reflected the woman’s personal tastes, Bethlyn could almost imagine her as she sat before the ornately carved dressing table, brushing her thick mane of dark hair.

  Was it because of Jessica that Ian felt unable to love her? Was it because of who her father was? More important, did she want to love Ian? The memories of their nights together still haunted her. She’d never thought lovemaking could be so wonderful, or that she’d crave the man’s hands upon her after what she’d learned about him. But she did, and she almost hated herself for wanting him.

  “Which pair should I wear, Bethlyn?”

  Molly’s voice broke into her thoughts and Bethlyn noticed that she had a red satin slipper on her right foot and a green one on her left.

  “I’d say you look like a Christmas wreath.”

  “Which one goes with this dress?” Molly asked, and giggled at Bethlyn’s remark. She turned and the berry colored satin swished about her legs.

  “The red ones.”

  “I think so, too.” Molly took off the green shoe and replaced it with a red one. “I do so love your gown. The color suits you so very well.”

  Bethlyn glanced at her reflection in the mirror, somewhat unconcerned with her appearance. The forest green of the very low-neck gown enlivened her eyes and caused the unusual color of her hair to be more noticeable. With the large pendant at her neck, set with emeralds and pearls, and the companion ear bobs, she looked extremely elegant. However, her appearance was of little concern to her since Ian barely seemed to acknowledge her existence anyway.

  “I trust I shall do,” Bethlyn mumbled, and grabbed for a velvet black cape with hood.

  Moments later, Bethlyn and Molly sauntered into the parlor where Ian rose from a large, overstuffed chair. In a brown velvet jacket with black trousers and high knee boots, he looked so handsome that Bethlyn felt a catch in her throat.

  “We’re ready to leave for the play,” she told him, and couldn’t keep the appreciative gleam out of her eyes.

  “So, I see,” he said, and took in both their appearances, not bothering to hide the lustful gleam in his eyes as his gaze speared Bethlyn’s.

  Bethlyn felt somewhat flustered and started to turn away when she felt Ian’s hand on her arm. “I have something for you. Perhaps you might indulge me by wearing it tonight.”

  From inside his breast pocket, he withdrew a gaily wrapped tiny package and placed it into her hand. “Happy wedding anniversary.”

  Bethlyn’s fingers curled around the gift. She felt stunned that he’d remembered. Or had Marc reminded him?

  “A present!” Molly cried. “Do open it, Bethlyn, or I shall die of suspense this very moment.”

  Slowly she opened the package and then the satin-lined box. Inside was a delicately wrought spray brooch in a gold and enameled-silver setting, garnished with rubies and diamonds. “How lovely,” she breathed, and allowed Ian to take it from her and pin it on the front of her gown. His fingers brushed the tender flesh above her breasts, and a hot, surging heat rushed through her.

  “Thank you for the gift,” she told him, sounding wooden.

  “Goodness, Bethlyn. Aren’t you going to show your appreciation by giving Ian a kiss?” Molly asked, a mischievous grin on her pretty face.

  Bethlyn felt herself coloring at the request, but she lifted her head and kissed Ian’s cheek.

  “You can do better than that,” he mumbled, and his arms locked around her waist, pulling her against his hard frame. His moist, warm lips devoured hers, and when he drew away, her mouth burned with fire.

  Extending an arm to her and Molly, he smiled. “Shall we go?”

  ~

  The play proved to be a delightful comedy, and afterward everyone milled about the theater. Colorful silks and satins mingled with the scarlet-coated soldiers. Bethlyn, Ian, and Molly left their box and wandered among the upper crust of Philadelphia society.

  To Bethlyn’s surprise, Ian kept her at his side and introduced her to his acquaintances, many of whom she’d already met with Molly. His hand constantly stayed at her elbow, guiding her through the crowd and whispering choice pieces of gossip to her about each of the people she met.

  “Lord Montague is a senile old man, but he keeps a beautiful young woman as his mistress. However, his mistress doesn’t care that he’s addled in the head, only that he’s wealthy,” he told her before the man and woman in question made their way to them.

  And so it went for the next hour. Ian never left her side except to fetch her a cup of punch. She felt comfortable with him, almost as if she truly belonged to him. She might be his wife, but no one would guess they led separate lives and would soon divorce. Bethlyn didn’t wish to contemplate the end of her marriage at that moment. The brooch he’d given to her earlier was a reminder of his thoughtfulness. His gift had touched her in a way she couldn’t fathom, because somehow she knew that Marc had kept his word and hadn’t reminded Ian of their wedding anniversary. She knew without a doubt that Ian had chosen the brooch for her, and the realization that he’d taken the time out of his day to shop for her meant more than the actual gift to her.

  From the kiss he’d bestowed upon her earlier, and the solicitous way he hovered around her, she wondered if his attitude towards her had changed. Might he also want their marriage to last? She di
dn’t dare hope such a thing. Not yet. But the thought intrigued her immensely.

  John Andre broke into her thoughts when he approached them with a very pretty young blonde beside him. He introduced the young lady as Peggy Shippen, proclaiming her as one of the loveliest Philadelphia belles.

  “Oh, John, what a flatterer you are,” Peggy crooned up to John, but she didn’t dispute his remark. She turned her attention on Ian and Bethlyn, who were joined by Molly at that moment. “My parents are giving a soiree next Saturday evening. I wish to take this opportunity to invite all of you in my parents’ absence tonight. Please say you’ll come.”

  Ian bowed to her. “We’d be most pleased to attend.”

  “How divine. I shall inform my parents.” She shot them a dazzling smile and presented her hand to Andre, who placed it on his arm. “I see some other acquaintances and must speak to them. Adieu until Saturday.” Peggy Shippen and John Andre breezed through the crowd in a montage of a lavender lace and crimson cloth.

  “Such a flighty creature,” Molly noted, her nose wrinkling in disdain. “I don’t know what John sees in her.”

  “Miss Shippen is a pretty young lady, and we know how John adores attractive women. It seems Peggy has earned a place in John’s heart, Bethlyn,” Ian said, not hiding his complacent grin.

  “John is my friend,” Bethlyn countered, not really minding if John Andre squired Peggy Shippen.

  Molly asked Ian to fetch her a cup of punch, and as Ian walked away, Bethlyn kept her gaze trained on him. Clearly, she found him to be the most handsome man in the room. The British officers in their colorful uniforms couldn’t compete with Ian’s good looks. Just watching him caused her silly heart to pound harder, and for the first time in weeks she entertained the idea of going to his bed that night. To think about being in his arms again caused thrills of excitement down to her very toes.