Annabelle knew how much the British wanted to capture this blackguard, and Bethlyn Briston might be the key to finally ending his reign of the seas. If she told the authorities about Bethlyn’s involvement with Hawk, she’d be arrested and hung as a traitor, and Ian would be free. But she discounted this idea, knowing Della would have to admit any knowledge she possessed, and she’d given the woman her word and wouldn’t break it. The poor thing did deserve the chance to turn her life around and marry William Potter.
She considered going to Ian directly, but might not Ian resent her for telling him? She wanted Ian, but didn’t wish for him to realize she possessed a great deal of information about things to which only a well-trained spy would be privy.
What to do? After hours of tossing and turning, she decided to take her late mother’s advice. When in doubt, do nothing.
Nothing for now.
~
The summer months passed in a flurry of ocean drenched days and moonlit nights. For Bethlyn, having to reside on Windhaven when Ian took out the Black Falcon, the moments passed slowly. But whenever he returned, her joy and love knew no bounds. She dreaded leaving this sun-kissed paradise, but the day finally arrived.
Ian had recently come home, having been gone for two months this time. They lay in each other’s arms, watching the morning sun color the sky like an artist’s palette, Bethlyn nestling in the crook of his arm. Her honey brown hair flowed across his chest, and he absently twisted a strand between his fingers.
She felt satiated and content, dozing off for a few seconds, barely hearing Ian’s voice.
“We must return to Philadelphia tomorrow.” Realizing what he’d said, she opened her eyes and moved her head to see his face. He looked as unhappy as she felt.
“I’ve been expecting it,” she said, and felt a lump thicken in her throat.
Ian held her tightly. “I happened to cross paths with a privateer out of New York. The British have fled Philadelphia for New York. General Washington and the patriots are in control of the city.”
“Oh, Ian, this is what you’ve wanted for so long.” Amber sparks of pleasure danced within her eyes, but she realized he didn’t share the same emotion. “What’s wrong?”
Heaving a ragged sigh, he sat up. “The war is far from over, Bethlyn, though I’m happy about the news. But New York is still under British control, It seems that Captain Hawk is meant to have no rest.”
“You’re going to New York.”
“Eventually. Not right away. Marc should have some important information for me by now, and I still have to run Briston Shipping and keep up the pretense of being a loyal Tory. I doubt Philadelphia is free of all British spies.” He fell silent for a moment, then said, “My trips to New York will, I hope, not involve a great deal of corning and going. I’d much prefer staying at Edgecomb with you.” Tilting her chin, he gazed deeply into the fathomless pools of her eyes. “I don’t want to neglect you, sweetheart, or have you think I’m not interested in making our baby. Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled his head down and whispered against his lips, “Then by all means enjoy yourself.”
~
Thomas Eversley was far from enjoying himself.
He’d arrived in Philadelphia four days earlier from New York on a rickety coach which had been driven by the most surly and arrogant colonial he’d ever met. The man had been rude, not even bothering to help him with his trunk, small thing that it was. All of the clothes and possessions Thomas had packed for this travesty of a trip were probably still aboard the Jessica, if not on the backs of some filthy, scavaging privateers.
Even three months after the incident with Captain Hawk and his doxy weren’t enough time to wipe away the total humiliation Thomas had suffered. His face still burned at the memory, and more than anything he wanted revenge against the malicious twosome. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to face the crew of the Jessica again; their mocking laughter still echoed in his ears.
He’d been lucky that one of the crew had lent him a jacket; otherwise, he’d have suffered a terrible chill on the ocean when the sun went down that first day. No one, however, had volunteered a pair of pants. He knew he could have ordered someone to undress, but he hadn’t wanted to, fearful he’d be forced overboard. The men weren’t in the best of moods.
The three small longboats had drifted for two days, and by the time a British passenger ship out of Liverpool had rescued them, Thomas was hungry and filled with such an incredible thirst that he never thought to get enough to drink. Never again did he want to be without food and water.
The ship docked at New York just as General Clinton, who’d taken over General Howe’s Philadelphia command in early May, arrived. By the middle of June, the last British troops left Philadelphia, and now New York was the hub of the social scene — something which Thomas didn’t get to enjoy.
He felt the fates had cursed him by falling ill with a fever and an aching sore throat which kept him abed for more than six weeks. Thanks to General Clinton’s concern for his harrowing experience, and the fact that the man was more than eager to learn facts about Captain Hawk and this Dove person, Thomas recuperated at his residence.
Thomas told him very little, but from a contact of Clinton’s, a man who appeared at his bedside one afternoon calling himself Mariah, he learned that the Dove was first heard of in Philadelphia. How the Dove, a rebel poetess, came into contact with Captain Hawk was unknown. But this man had heard that Thomas was interested in gaining revenge, and having been a contact of a British officer who’d met with an early and ignominious end, he could perhaps gain a foothold by going to the city of brotherly love and seeking out a Miss Emmie Gray.
And this was exactly what Thomas decided to do on this very warm September afternoon.
His step, despite his recent illness, was spry as he climbed out of the carriage before the imposing white house. Upon arriving in the city, he’d made inquiries at Briston Shipping about Bethlyn and Ian Briston and discovered that they were on a holiday. Much perturbed by their absence, he decided to pursue the information he needed from this woman named Emmie Gray. He could never bring himself to query Ian Briston about the notorious Hawk and his whore. Though he knew that as a businessman in the shipping industry, Briston might possess some information about the pair, Thomas would never suffer the final humiliation of revealing to the arrogant young bounder about his run-in with Captain Hawk. Wouldn’t the nervy Briston just adore hearing every nasty, juicy detail?
Minutes later, Thomas found himself ensconced in the Babcock parlor and watching the very lovely and innocent-appearing Emmie Gray pour him a cup of tea. But Thomas wasn’t fooled by her demure appearance in the high-necked blue gown or those downcast eyes. His New York informant had spoken to him at length about Emmie Gray, or rather that Emmie Gray was a fraud.
She was a trained British spy who had been intimately involved with a certain late Lieutenant Holmes, but she’d lost her value to the British now, because her face was too widely recognized by the Philadelphia citizenry to mingle among them and gain information. And since inheriting a large fortune, which Thomas learned was controlled by Ian Briston, she’d lost interest in the spy business, preferring to be a woman of leisure.
This Emmie Gray was most suited to leisure and other things having to do with soft beds, Thomas thought, and felt himself harden. Her full, sensual lips belied her innocent act. The slight brush of her hand against his when she handed him the cup aroused him, and he didn’t miss the glimmer of lust in her eyes. He sensed she’d been without a man for too long. She needed to be kissed and bedded — very soon.
He couldn’t imagine a more enjoyable way of spending his time in Philadelphia than having Emmie Gray’s slender body writhing beneath his — that was until he decided how he was going to entice Bethlyn Briston into rushing back to England and into his large, imposing bed at Woodsley as his wife.
“I hope you find our fair city t
o your liking, Mr. Eversley,” Annabelle said in a satin-smooth voice.
He hated it, but he smiled. “Most charming.”
She sipped her tea and set down the cup on the low table in front of the sofa and hesitated. “I know, sir, that you mentioned you were connected with Briston Shipping, but I fail to see why you would choose to visit me.”
“Don’t you, Miss Gray?” Thomas cocked an eyebrow at her, his cup poised in midair. “The connection should be obvious, since Ian Briston is executor of your estate. I enjoy knowing every interesting facet of Briston’s life. His wife is the daughter of the Earl of Dunsmoor, my employer. I hope to be able to give the earl a favorable report on his son-in-law.”
It had been a shot in the dark, but Thomas took the gamble by purposely mentioning Briston. He hadn’t known what this woman looked like before he met her, just that she was connected to Briston and she was a spy. He desperately needed something to pin on the man if he were somehow going to pull Bethlyn away from him. And he believed that Emmie Gray was it. An emotion of momentary pain and — could it be love — flickered across her face at the mention of the man’s name.
Perhaps all wasn’t paradise in the Briston household. Why else would Ian and Bethlyn take an extended trip if not to put distance between Ian Briston and this delectable spy?
“Mr. Briston has been quite accommodating,” she said.
I bet he has, thought Thomas, and stifled his lecherous smile. “You’re very fortunate to have such a prominent man as an adviser. In fact, you’ve been quite lucky the last year. I heard about your near escape from bloodthirsty savages and your dangerous trek through the wilderness to safety. And now you’ve inherited this beautiful home. I wonder if there isn’t anything you can’t achieve, Miss Hastings. “
“I—” She broke off. “What did you call me?”
Thomas put down his cup and smiled, a crafty expression in his eyes. “Your name is Annabelle Hastings, I believe.”
Annabelle swallowed hard. “How … how did you learn about me?”
Thomas silently applauded her for not lying. “I have my sources.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “Now what can we do about it?”
Annabelle didn’t flinch from the probing stare. “Pray, tell me, sir.”
“First, you can tell me all you know about the Dove.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Eversley, but my information about this person is sketchy, at best.” Annabelle settled herself comfortably against the sofa cushions. “A pamphlet of poems was published and the citizens went quite mad over the Dove, and he or she became a great favorite.”
“My dear Miss Hastings, I was led to believe you were a more than adequate spy, but I must change my opinion. You seem not to know this person’s sex.”
Annabelle hid her affront behind a sweet smile. “No one knows for certain, sir.”
Thomas smirked. “I can tell you with no hesitation that the Dove is a woman, a most beautiful and well-formed woman, I may add. I had a run-in with her and her cohort, Captain Hawk, some weeks ago. However, both of them wore masks to conceal their faces.”
Annabelle leaned forward, her interest piquing. “And you escaped with your life? That is most intriguing, Mr. Eversley.”
“Call me Thomas.”
“Thomas. Tell me about this Hawk and Dove.”
She listened intently as Thomas recited the incidents after the Jessica was seized, leaving out the part about his release in the buff. He ended it by saying, “I’d be most grateful if you happen to stumble upon any information at all. I want to trap this Hawk and his ebony-haired whore.”
“I can see why you would,” Annabelle commented. “If I do find out anything, where may I reach you?”
Thomas sighed, waving his hand in aggravation. “I have a room above Crosskeys Tavern, but needless to say, I’m quite put out by not finding the Bristons at home. That secretary fellow of his told me they’re on a long holiday. I had hoped to be invited to stay at Edgecomb.”
“Well I trust they’ll return soon and will offer their hospitality.”
Bitch, thought Thomas, you could invite me to stay here. But he realized after a few silent moments that Annabelle Hastings didn’t intend to say anything else on the subject.
Finally he rose and kissed her hand. “I trust that I may be allowed to call upon you again, Miss Hastings.”
Annabelle quickly withdrew her hand, and she frowned. “Refer to me as Emmie Gray. For all intents and purposes, Annabelle Hastings is dead.”
Thomas reached out a finger and stroked the smooth line of her jaw. “Ah, my dear, I believe that she is very much alive.” He laughed at her look of rebuke. “l shall see you again, and I will call you Annabelle when alone. The name suits you. Good afternoon … Annabelle.”
Closing the door behind him, Annabelle leaned against it. She trembled and hated herself for being shaken by Eversley’s visit. The man was handsome and she’d felt drawn to him at first because he resembled Luther, her stepfather, bringing back bittersweet and sensual memories better left forgotten. But then he’d mentioned Ian, and she sensed that he knew she loved him. Yet it wasn’t this knowledge which unsettled her.
Eversley’s recounting of the incident with Captain Hawk and the Dove had interested her, and she’d fleetingly wondered how this ferocious sea pirate had connected with the Dove, a woman whom Thomas professed to be a raven-haired beauty and was last in Philadelphia.
An intriguing puzzle, but one which Annabelle only pieced together when he’d mentioned the long absence of Ian and Bethlyn Briston, Ian — a man who ran a shipping enterprise and spent a great deal of time at sea. A man whom she knew pretended to be a loyalist but was in actuality a patriot. And then there was his wife — the daughter of an earl, the woman who had been Captain Hawk’s whore. She’d been blackmailed by Della Trammel, supposedly to keep the fact of her status as a privateer’s doxy from her husband.
Might she have paid a small fortune to Della, not because she didn’t want her husband to know about Hawk, but because she was protecting her husband who was Hawk?
Annabelle felt her knees buckling and held on to the doorknob. God in heaven, that was it! The Bristons weren’t on an extended holiday at all, not unless one considered capturing and raiding British ships as holiday amusements.
Ian Briston was Captain Hawk, and his wife was the Dove. She knew information for which the British would pay dearly and which Thomas Eversley wanted with a zealousness only rivaled by religious fervor.
Annabelle felt rather powerful at that moment as the life flowed back into her limbs, and she retired to the parlor to gaze out of the lacy curtained window at the street scene outside. The Bristons’ fates rested in her hands. Ian’s fate. Bethlyn Briston meant nothing to her.
She didn’t have to ask herself what she should do. She’d already made up her mind. Most certainly she didn’t need any more money even if she was of the mind to leak information. For one thing, the rebels controlled Philadelphia, and she doubted anything would be done to Ian here if she did contact General Clinton in New York, or that dark specter of a contact Holmes had used named Mariah.
Another reason, and this was the most important one in Annabelle’s mind, was that she loved Ian Briston and would never betray him. However, she couldn’t get rid of Bethlyn as the Dove without incriminating Ian as Captain Hawk.
“A rather touchy situation,” she mused aloud, but knew also that she’d never tell Eversley, Let him think that the Dove was dark haired. He’d never suspect that the earl’s blonde-tressed darling wore a wig to confiscate British ships. But she’d deal with Bethlyn soon enough. And Hawk…
She’d deal with him in the most pleasurable way possible.
~
Ian glanced at Marc, who’d just entered his office. On his desk lay a great deal of paperwork which required his signature, though Marc had been quite efficient in running things during his absence. However, the last week the man’s mind had been taken up with thoughts of Mavis
and their new son, a fine, healthy little lad who was destined to grow up to be a handsome heartbreaker.
“Any news yet from Eli Templet?” Ian asked, and frowned when Marc shook his head. “That’s odd,” Ian mused aloud. “We should have heard something from him long ago.”
“You’re right,” Marc agreed, and sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk. “I’ve wondered the same thing myself, but the wilderness is a hazardous place. Anything could have happened to Eli. You know, Ian, he isn’t a young man any longer.”
“I know, but Eli, for all of his seventy years, is still an able spy and proficient scout. Something must have happened to him.”
“Shall I send someone to search for him?”
Ian considered for a moment before saying, “No, I’ll give him another month or so. But I had thought to have this business with Emmie Gray resolved by now.”
Marc left him to his paperwork, but Ian found it difficult to concentrate on such mundane matters. What had happened to Eli Templet? It was unlike him to take such a long time investigating matters which could prove crucial to the war. He’d left for the Pennsylvania wilderness around the time that Ian and Bethlyn had gone to Windhaven. That was months ago. Eli should have returned by now. He had a good mind to search for Eli himself, but he couldn’t leave Philadelphia at the moment.
An undercurrent of tension ran through the city. Since the rebels were now in charge under the command of Major General Benedict Arnold, and the Continental Congress and State Government returned to Philadelphia, the city had been in the throes of a severe inflation and wheat shortage. The citizens blamed the loyalist businessmen who remained for these predicaments, claiming that their prices were too high. For years inflation had presented a problem, but now with scarcity of goods and the public outcry for Tory heads, Ian felt an unrest and a foreboding. Some of the men he’d known for years, men loyal to the Crown, were being charged with treason against the American government.
Would someone come for him one day and cart him off to a trial where he’d be found guilty of treasonous conduct because he gave all the indications that he was a loyalist? Would he be hung? The way things were going, Ian wondered. He’d never be able to admit he was Captain Hawk or a patriot. On one hand, he could count those people who knew that Captain Hawk and Ian Briston were one and the same. General Washington knew, but he wasn’t in Philadelphia and wouldn’t help him anyway. Long ago, they’d agreed that if he ever got into some dire situation, Washington would avow no knowledge of him or raise a finger to help him. Otherwise, he’d be of no use to his country if he happened to escape.
Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) Page 39