Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies)

by Lynette Vinet

  “Emmie who?” he asked and, like the hawk he was, he swooped down and kissed her, stilling any further questions and driving any lingering doubts from her mind. He belonged to her, they belonged to each other. Nothing would ever separate them again.

  Carrying her from her cluttered and dress-strewn bedroom, Ian kicked open the door into his and laid her on the large bed.

  For the rest of the day and late into the night, the Hawk and the Dove touched and soared together, ever higher, into a bright and brilliant dawn.

  ~

  Happiness. What a wonderful feeling, thought Bethlyn many times over the next few weeks. She was totally, completely and deliriously happy· Her world revolved around Ian. Each evening she waited for the sound of his footsteps coming up the stairs, and each day she met him on the landing, laughing and clinging to him as he lifted her from her feet and carried her to the bedroom where they didn’t come out until the hunger pains grew too strong to resist the tempting delicacies on the dining-room table.

  Visiting Mavis, however, was the thorn in her perfect world. She loved Mavis, more than pleased about her friend’s pregnancy, but she couldn’t help but wish she were the one who waddled around the house and laughed at her own clumsiness as Mavis did. Mavis and Marc reveled in each added pound, each added inch to her waistline. Every slight change in Mavis’s figure heralded that glorious moment when she and Marc would welcome their first child into the world and their lives.

  One night Bethlyn lay in Ian’s arms. Their bodies were still flushed with passion, but both of them knew that their rest would be brief. The fires still flared within them, and with each act of love, the flame intensified instead of dwindling. But Bethlyn was unusually quiet, and Ian was troubled.

  “Don’t you feel well?” he inquired, and kissed the tip of her nose.

  “Yes, that’s the problem.” Her voice shook. “I’m in perfect health, and I shouldn’t be. By now, I should have morning sickness and be growing as large as a toad, but I’m not. I’ve … failed … you.”

  She gulped back a sob, and Ian gathered her closer to him while he looked into her eyes. “Bethlyn, I love you, love you. A child would be wonderful, but when the time is right, God will grant us this gift. You haven’t failed me. Perhaps I’m the cause of your inability to conceive.”

  “Oh, no,” she quickly disagreed. “Not you, never you. You’re so virile and masculine that the fault must lie with me. My father said—”

  “Forget your father! The man was wrong about many things, and I don’t want to know what he said. He was wrong not to love you, but I’ll make up to you for all those years he ignored you, and for the ones I had a bride and didn’t care. God, Bethlyn, I love you more than life itself. I want you to conceive our child, but I want you more.” His mouth moved to her lips. “I know something we can do.” His voice sounded silky smooth.

  “What?” she asked, already seeming to know.

  “We can practice making a baby until we get it right.”

  “Hmm, I’ve always heard that practice makes perfect.”

  “Let’s see if there’s truth in that old saying.” With that, he brought her atop him, and she immediately straddled his thighs. Her body was ripe and ready for him, and within seconds, he slipped effortlessly inside her.

  “I’d like to practice a long time tonight,” Bethlyn whispered thickly, her body catching fire.

  “Ah, my dove, nothing would give me greater pleasure.” And nothing would.

  ~

  “I’ll be gone for a few months, Marc, so I’ll leave the company in your care during my absence. Remember to contact Eli Templet about that matter I briefed you on the other day.”

  Marc nodded and stood up, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as he waited before Ian’s desk. He looked less than thrilled. “I wish I was going with you.”

  “Mavis needs you. You should be with your wife at this time, not off sailing the seas with me.”

  “God, but I miss the Black Falcon!”

  “So do I, but within the week I’ll be at Windhaven, ready to set sail. The sea is in my blood, and I’ve been away for too long.” Anticipation glowed on Ian’s face.

  “What about Bethlyn?” Marc asked. “How will she take this decision to leave?”

  Ian grinned. “She’s coming with me.”

  “How did she talk you into that?”

  “She didn’t. I asked her. I guess I’m just smitten with my wife and can’t bear to leave her for too long a time. Needless to say, she’ll remain on Windhaven when I take out the ship.”

  Marc regarded him with a bit of awe. “So the notorious and fearsome Captain Hawk has finally been tamed.”

  “Seems that way,” Ian capitulated and flashed a smile. “Now if only I can tame my rebellious bride.”

  ~

  Informing the house servants that they were going on an extended holiday, Bethlyn and Ian sailed away from Philadelphia on the Bethlyn B. with a skeleton crew of Hawk’s most loyal men.

  With the wind blowing in their faces, and their hearts filled with the exhilaration of love, they clung to each other and watched the setting sun bathe the island of Windhaven in brilliant golds and reds as the ship drew nearer to land that afternoon.

  Ian met her gaze, and his face was filled with strength and an inner peace. “We’ve come through troubled waters, but nothing can harm us ever again, Bethlyn. Nothing and no one can hurt or separate us.”

  Though he’d soon leave her to take out the Black Falcon, risking his life for his country, Bethlyn somehow knew he would return, and unsurpassed joy burst within her.

  Leaning against him, she raised her head and looked into the eyes of the man she loved more than her own life and said, “We’ll be together always. Forever.”

  A dark cloud suddenly appeared and skidded across the sky, but Ian and Bethlyn were unaware of it. Their attention was centered on each other.

  24

  Thomas Eversley rammed himself into the woman who writhed beneath him on the bed. Instantly he spilled into her, so overcome by the notion that he made love to Bethlyn Briston that he lost control of himself. But all too soon he opened his eyes and reality intruded. The woman staring up at him didn’t possess brown eyes whose centers were rimmed with gold. He saw not Bethlyn but Grace, a young woman he’d picked up off a London street and taken back to Woodsley in the carriage which bore the Earl of Dunsmoor’s coat of arms.

  Rolling off her, he didn’t bother to stifle his groan of disappointment at his bed partner, unwillingly recalling how the wench had gazed in awe at the lavishly appointed interior of the carriage. Her awe was nothing in comparison to her astonishment when her eyes beheld Woodsley. “I’m really going to stay here with you?” she’d asked as he led her to one of the many lavishly appointed guest rooms. He’d told her she’d stay as long as she did what she was told, advising her that anything she wanted, whether clothes or food, would be hers. She had only to ask. However, she must please him in all ways.

  Thomas shifted to his side, silently admitting that Grace did please him only because she resembled Bethlyn and eased his physical needs. He’d been more than astonished and happy to discover that Grace was a virgin when he took her, and this somehow endeared her to him. He never questioned her about her past or even if she had a family. He didn’t want to know anything about her, caring only that she avail herself to him when his thoughts centered on the Earl’s daughter. But now he was growing restless and bored with Grace for the same reason he’d originally bedded her. She wasn’t Bethlyn Briston,

  “You were wonderful,” Grace said, and snuggled near to him.

  “We should see to our guests.” Thomas rose from the bed and began to dress, missing the flicker of hurt which passed across her face. “I want you to be especially nice to Lord Detweiller. His purse is very large, and he is known for his generosity to beautiful women.”

  Grace sat up in alarm, her eyes wide. “But, Thomas, you told me I’m not like the other women here. I do
n’t want to be nice to him, as you say. I only want to belong to you.”

  “And you do, pet.” He stroked her cheek, his touch calming her. “I would prefer the women I bed not to have lain with too many men. Sexual diseases are repugnant, and I dread contracting one. However, you can be accommodating to men in other ways, Grace. Men like Lord Detweiller, who have a preference for variety in their lovemaking, want something a bit more stimulating and will pay handsomely for a woman to please them in a way their prim and proper wives will not.”

  Thomas stopped speaking for a second and traced her lips with his fingertips. “Your mouth is lovely and finely made. I’m certain you’ll please His Lordship with the special talent you reserve for me.”

  Grace immediately understood and tensed. “I’ll do whatever you want, Thomas, but I won’t like it.”

  “As long as you do it well, my dear.”

  While he dressed, he stood by the window and glanced down at the garden and grounds below him. Superbly dressed men and fashionably attired young ladies strolled prettily in the springtime sun, sipping champagne and eating canapés presented to them by well-trained servants. Mentally he calculated how much richer he’d be after dark. That was when all of the young ladies would parade into the sumptuous drawing room where the Earl and his wife had entertained in grand style at one time.

  Thomas couldn’t help but to smirk at the look of horror on the earl’s face if the man rose from his grave and saw what changes had been wrought at his beloved Woodsley. The house and grounds were still unbelievably beautiful, but Thomas had added gambling in the ballroom and turned the drawing room into an auction room of sorts.

  Each evening wealthy and titled gentlemen traveled from London or other distant cities to partake in a game of faro and then to bid on the beauty of his choice. Thomas wondered why he hadn’t thought of such a delightful and easy way to increase revenue sooner. Grace had mentioned the auction part to him, having read about how the barbaric Americans auctioned off their slaves. She made some sort of a comment about how awful that must be for the women, and, thus, the idea took root in Thomas’s brain.

  He’d enlisted the help of Bartholomew Perkins, his able secretary, to search for the most beautiful and willing women he could find. Within a matter of days, Perkins appeared at Woodsley with twenty women, and Thomas slapped the man on the back, declaring he had wonderful taste where beauty was concerned. Of course many of them were young, some no older than fourteen, having lived most of their lives in abject poverty and brutality. A few looked wretched as they stood in Woodsley’s drawing room in their raggedy clothes and patted down strands of hair which hadn’t been washed in months, maybe even years. Others were from decent but financially strapped families, but Thomas had a keen and perceptive eye. Once these girls were thoroughly washed and dressed and tutored in the art of conversation and manners, any man, be he a duke or a prince, would pay a high price to bed them.

  Some old crone of a serving woman had refused to follow Thomas’s orders to clean them and see to their rooms. His fist on her face turned her into a most docile creature. He had Grace explain to them what was required, and no one expressed horror or outrage. Evidently these girls had had some experience with men, because after they’d been auctioned off to the highest bidders that first time, Thomas heard no complaints from them or from the esteemed gentlemen they serviced.

  The general public didn’t know what happened at Woodsley. Only the richest and most discreet gentlemen, those with a penchant for unusual entertainment and a hefty purse, ever entered Woodsley’s doors. Woodsley had been transformed into a high-class brothel for two months now, but the money garnered from this enterprise had already made Thomas into a very wealthy man. No matter that he’d forced the earl to sign over all of his holdings and wealth to him, Thomas could never get enough money.

  When he went downstairs his manservant informed him that a gentleman waited in the study for him. “He doesn’t seem to know about what goes on here, sir,” the servant whispered.

  “Who is he?”

  “Sir Jeremy Smithers.”

  Thomas didn’t suppress his groan. Milksop Smithers, the grandson of Penelope Evans, wanted to speak with him. God, what now? Thomas wondered. But a spark of hope ignited in him that if Jeremy had returned, then Bethlyn might have come back also.

  Without hesitating further, Thomas greeted Jeremy and offered him a seat.

  “I suppose you’ve heard about Nightingale,” Jeremy said and placed his hands on his knees.

  Thomas nodded. “I was informed that the ship was captured. You seem no worse for wear, considering the ordeal. How is Lady Bethlyn? Shall I see her soon?”

  “When I last saw her, she was fine and quite happy in the arms of her husband. Bethlyn and Ian Briston are very much in love with each other.”

  “How nice.” Thomas was far from pleased over this news. He’d expected Briston to send Bethlyn back to London post haste, already having divorced or annulled the marriage. Then Thomas would be free to pursue the girl and marry her. Thomas couldn’t stand thinking about Bethlyn with that barbaric colonial.

  “I would like to speak with the earl and tell him how Bethlyn fares,” Jeremy told him.

  Thomas turned a concerned face to Jeremy. “I should like to grant your request, son, but the earl isn’t up to seeing guests. His health varies from day to day. And today is one of his poorer days.”

  “But what about all of the people who are here? I know a great many of the men, but the women are strangers to me. If the earl is ill, then why does he have guests milling about the place?”

  Thomas silently cursed Jeremy for his probing questions. Why didn’t the milksop return to his grandmother and leave things alone? He hid his aggravation behind a polished but cool smile. “They were invited before he took ill. He expressed his dismay over his illness, but he wants the gentlemen and ladies to enjoy themselves.”

  Jeremy didn’t question Thomas, because he knew that Nathaniel Talbot had been ill for some time, but he didn’t trust Thomas Eversley,

  “Now, Jeremy, my lad, I hate to cut short our conversation, but I must look after the earl’s guests.”

  Jeremy stood up, and Thomas took him by the elbow, literally steering the young man from the room and into the entrance hall, “I do hope you visit again,” Thomas told him, and shook his hand.

  Suddenly Jeremy found himself outside, vaguely aware that a servant had appeared from seemingly nowhere to open the door for him. “Strange, very strange,” Jeremy mumbled, still in a daze when he got into his grandmother’s phaeton. But he didn’t know what it was that bothered him.

  ~

  After Jeremy’s departure, Thomas wasted no time in ordering his man to pack a trunk for him. He didn’t know how long he’d be away, but he summoned Perkins and advised him on how to handle Woodsley and the office during his absence.

  He’d just pulled on his warm gloves when Grace appeared in his room. “Finished with Lord Detweiller so soon?” he asked nonchalantly as if Grace performed such an intimate act for men every day.

  “Thomas, I did what, you asked, but I hated it.”

  Thomas glanced sideways at her, barely raising an eyebrow. “Did Lord Detweiller pay you well?”

  Grace took a large bag of gold and laid it on his bed.

  Thomas opened the bag and emptied it. A shower of bright round coins spilled onto the counterpane. He grinned his satisfaction. “I see he was more than generous, Grace. As long as you received such a bountiful reward, then you have nothing to complain about.”

  “I don’t want the money! I want you, Thomas.”

  The desperation he heard in her voice angered him. Grace was going to present a problem, and at the moment he didn’t want to deal with her. She’d become too dependent on him, that was it. He must sever the ties thoroughly and completely, force her to accept her lot in life, otherwise, she’d be of little use to him here.

  He was totally unprepared for Grace to throw herself at him s
uddenly, holding on to him as if she were about to drown. He’d warned her over and over that she wasn’t to touch him unless he told her to. Apparently, Grace was so overwrought by the service she’d performed for Detweiller that she wasn’t thinking clearly.

  “Take me with you,” she begged. “I don’t want to stay here without you. I can’t bear for any man to touch me but you.”

  Thomas detested pleading of any kind, and this was the last straw as far as he was concerned. Pulling her off him, he went into the hallway and shouted for Perkins, who immediately appeared.

  Grace followed after him, and Thomas yanked her forward, causing Perkins to break the woman’s fall by latching his arms around her waist.

  “See that this wench is kept busy,” he ordered Perkins. “I have other things on my mind but a clinging, sobbing bitch who fancies herself more than a whore.”

  “But, Mr. Eversley, I thought Grace belonged exclusively to you.”

  “Not any longer. She belongs to any man who’ll pay the price for her ‘special talent.’ And I warrant there are many men here today who’ll seek her out on Lord Detweiller’s recommendation alone. Take her to the gold room and strip her to make certain she doesn’t run away. And, Perkins, when she’s finished with her many patrons, you may avail yourself of her service for nothing.”

  Thomas saw that Perkins was already aroused by this generous gift. “Come, Grace,” Perkins ordered, and dragged her along the hallway.

  “Thomas, please, no!”

  Grace’s pitiful cries didn’t move him. She’d suited his purpose and now she must earn her keep. He turned a deaf ear and headed down the north corridor to the Painted Hallway and into the open colonnade of the entrance hall. His trunk was already in the large coach, and he sank into the thick velvet upholstered seat and heaved a huge sigh.

  25

  The next few weeks on Windhaven were the most wonderful and memorable of Bethlyn’ s life with Ian. They were never separated for long, and when they saw each other, even after an hour’s separation, it was as if they had been apart for months, delighting in touching and feasting their eyes on the other’s face.