Man of My Dreams Boxed Set

by Minger, Miriam

  She didn’t get to finish, the door starting to swing open so suddenly that she had time only to scramble on her knees to the center of the cell, where she dropped her head in her hands, moaning to herself. Moaning and wishing so desperately she’d had a moment more to touch her lips to his…

  “Enough, miss. The bastard will pay for his bloody crimes soon enough,” came a sympathetic voice, one of the officers bending down to help her to her feet while the other cursed foully at Jared.

  Meanwhile, Donovan stood outside the door, staring into the cell and saying nothing, his expression as grim as before. But she saw something flicker across his face when one of the officers gave a sharp kick to Jared whose groan made Lindsay pale.

  “Come, let’s be gone from here,” Donovan murmured, his voice oddly strained. A second sickening thud of a boot hitting flesh made Lindsay want to turn and run back to Jared’s side. And she would have if Donovan hadn’t grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the cell and down the passageway while the officers laughed crudely that the legendary Phoenix didn’t seem so bloody immortal now and slammed shut the door.

  None of them heard another groan, pained and raw, nor heard Jared whisper hoarsely, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, “I… love you, Lindsay. Love you.”

  ***

  The afternoon couldn’t have been gloomier when Lindsay stepped from the gangplank onto the Plymouth wharf. A chill wind that smelled of rain whipped at her soiled yellow gown, the sky heavy with clouds as miserably gray as her mood.

  Even the chatter of Donovan and Corisande’s little daughter, Paloma, couldn’t cheer her. The winsome two-year-old clapped her tiny hands and seemed to take delight in everything she saw, especially the prancing white horses harnessed to the carriage Donovan had hired to take them to Cornwall.

  He and Corisande were going home to begin their life as a family, while for Lindsay, Cornwall unhappily meant returning to her father’s house, where she must face Olympia. Yet her stepmother’s expected wrath was truly of no consequence to her at that moment. She turned at the sound of heavy clunking of chains, her heart aching as Jared and his men—Walker, Cowan and all the rest—made their way, one by one, down the gangplank now that all the passengers from the Industry had disembarked.

  True to his word, Captain Billingsley already had a half-dozen wagons waiting to take his prisoners to Dartmoor; jeers and curses filled the air as other passengers turned to watch.

  “Lindsay, we should get into the carriage,” Corisande whispered in her ear, handing Paloma to Donovan. “You’ve come this far unscathed, but you’re still at risk—”

  “Listen to them, Corie,” Lindsay said in disbelief as the jeers grew louder, joined now by those of passersby and sailors from other ships who hooted and spit. “Jared and his men saved those people only last week… and listen to them.”

  She flinched as soldiers from the H.M.S. Clementine were forced to link arms and form a human barrier to hold back the crowd, which seemed to be growing larger and more raucous by the moment, word no doubt spreading throughout the port city that the dreaded Phoenix had been captured at last. Her stricken gaze flew back to Jared, at the haggardness of his face, at his ravaged shoulders, his captors having neglected to give him back his shirt.

  “Lindsay, please…”

  She nodded, the quiet urgency in Corisande’s voice finally making her move, though she could not tear her gaze away from Jared even when she was assisted by a footman into the carriage. Tears stung her eyes because he could yet hold his head so high, not looking to the right or the left, not looking for her, which she knew was done to protect her. But she sensed from the tension visible in his body that he must have glimpsed her—

  “I know that man! Stop, stop—I know him!”

  Gasping, Lindsay gripped the carriage door as a woman burst through the crowd, disheveled and wild-eyed. Dear Lord, it was the same woman, wretchedly ill from seasickness at the time, whom she and Donovan had rescued from the Industry.

  “You’re Jared Giles!” came an unearthly shriek that made Lindsay’s blood run cold and a startled hush fall over the wharf. “In chains, eeee! Only what you deserve! The mighty have been brought low, ha, ha! The Earl of Dovercourt in chains!”

  Chapter 32

  To Lindsay, it seemed no one moved for a horrifying moment while the woman danced a demented jig in front of Jared. Then bedlam erupted, none other than Captain Horatio Billingsley bellowing down from the H.M.S. Clementine, “Seize her! Seize that woman!”

  “Oh, God, Donovan, what are we going to do?” Corisande’s voice broke through Lindsay’s paralyzed haze, Corisande appearing, for the first time in her life, completely at a loss. While Lindsay could only stare as the woman frantically fought off three ship’s officers trying to subdue her, her outraged shrieks rending the air.

  “How dare you! Leave me be! Where’s my Ryland? Where’s my son? Ryland, help me!”

  Dear God, Ryland? In shock, Lindsay sank back against the seat, staring at Corisande, whose face had gone as deathly white as she imagined her own to be.

  “Lindsay, she said Ryland. Wasn’t that the name of the man who married Jared’s sister? Ryland Potter?”

  Numbly, Lindsay nodded as disorderly shouts and jeers once more erupted outside the carriage. Little Paloma began to cry, the noise surely frightening her. Which made Donovan curse so vehemently that all three of them jumped, his voice brooking no argument as he lunged from the carriage and slammed the door behind him.

  “Stay here, all of you! Do you understand me? Just stay here!”

  ***

  Somehow they did, Lindsay so sick at heart she thought she might be ill, while Corisande did her best to soothe Paloma, no matter the bedlam which continued outside for what seemed a very long time.

  At one point a harsh cry was heard urging that all the prisoners be hanged right there on the wharf; it was echoed around them until Lindsay pressed her hands to her ears, trying to shut out the horrible racket as futilely as she could chase away her crippling fear. In her mind’s eye she could see Jared standing tall and unafraid amidst the fray, just as she’d seen him aboard the Vengeance in the heat of a sea chase, which renewed her flagging spirits. Yet it was all so awful—to think that woman might be Sylvia Potter…

  “Lindsay, you know no matter what happens, I’ll do anything to help you,” Corisande said gently when it seemed, finally, that the din was lessening, if only a little. “I can’t speak for Donovan, but he knows my feelings. If not for Jared, I wouldn’t have my husband, or Paloma…”

  Lindsay’s chest grew tight from the tears brimming in Corisande’s eyes; she’d rarely seen her stouthearted friend cry. As Corisande hugged the beautiful little girl in her arms, Paloma amazingly having fallen asleep, Lindsay couldn’t help but be touched that Corisande could already love so deeply another woman’s child. Just as she so clearly loved her husband, even now Corisande craning her neck to look for Donovan out the carriage window, while Lindsay couldn’t look at all for dread of what she might see

  “Oh, Lord, Lindsay, here he comes now.”

  With Corisande’s announcement sounding both apprehensive and relieved, Lindsay lost all ability to breathe as Donovan climbed into the coach and took his seat beside Corisande, his hand tenderly caressing Paloma’s mahogany curls. Yet his expression remained grim, and on a man as swarthily dark as Lord Donovan Trent, it was even more ominous to behold.

  “The prisoners are being taken to Dartmoor just as planned—all of them.”

  Lindsay exhaled in a rush, her gaze jumping to Corisande and then back to Donovan as the carriage jolted into motion. “So… so they’re allowing me to leave?”

  “For now, but they may call you back for further questions. An official inquiry has already begun into Jared’s—the Phoenix’s true identity. Messengers have been sent to London. It probably won’t take more than a few days to summon acquaintances of the Earl of Dovercourt to Plymouth.”

  “And that woman… the
one who recognized him?”

  “Mad as a hatter. Otherwise, they might have tarred and hung your husband this very day. She says her name’s Sylvia Potter, though they got little else out of her before she fell into a fit. She’s been taken to the Three Maidens Inn near the town square and put under guard until the investigation can begin.”

  “So it was Sylvia…” Lindsay murmured, not astonished at all that Donovan knew she and Jared were married. She slumped back, horrified, against the seat. “Sylvia Potter.”

  “Bloody woman should have drowned.”

  Stunned that Corisande had voiced what Lindsay had just been thinking, however cruel it sounded, she couldn’t help but wish that she’d never gone belowdecks on the Industry—but there was nothing to be done about it now. And she didn’t think it wise to discuss Jared further, given the forbidding scowl settling over Donovan’s handsome features as he stared out the window at the passing streets, although the glance that Corisande sent Lindsay told her the matter was far from finished.

  Thank God, for a short while at least, Jared was safe. But, remembering how he’d been so cruelly treated aboard the H.M.S. Clementine, Lindsay drew little comfort that Dartmoor Prison would be any better.

  Meanwhile, she had a trial of her own to face, although it paled next to Jared’s. Yet a full day’s coach ride wouldn’t seem nearly long enough to prepare herself for what was to come once she reached Porthleven.

  ***

  “Disgraceful! Absolutely disgraceful! Just look at you, girl! Look at you!”

  So weary from the journey she could barely stand, Lindsay nonetheless bore Olympia Somerset’s fury just as she always had, silently, stoically, not wanting to make things worse for her poor father even now…

  “Have you nothing more to say? This is utterly scandalous—scandalous! We’ll never be able to lift our heads in the village again! In London! Anywhere!” Throwing the train of her blue silk dress behind her, Olympia paced in front of Lindsay like an outraged pigeon, her massive breasts heaving, her double chin fluttering, her narrow, high-bridged nose positively pinched with displeasure.

  “When we received word from Winifred that you’d disappeared, your father and I were beside ourselves! Who will marry you now? Will you answer me that, my girl? When everyone hears you were found aboard a pirate’s ship? That you were abducted and—and—dear God, I can’t bring myself to even say it!”

  “Ravaged.”

  As stunned silence fell in the lamplit drawing room, Lindsay didn’t think she had ever seen Olympia’s powdered face so red, near hatred distorting her features and blazing from her cold blue eyes.

  “You… you ungrateful girl. To think I allowed you to go to London for the Season and this—this scandal is how I’m rewarded for my generosity! You knew your responsibilities! You could have married well—won a title for yourself, enhanced our family name and position—”

  “And given you someone else to bully?”

  Incredulous that she had spoken up even as Olympia advanced upon her with an ominous rustle of silk, Lindsay didn’t think to back away but held her ground, lifting her chin to take what she had endured a thousand times before—something her father knew nothing about, nor even Corisande. White light burned in front of her eyes as Olympia slapped her viciously across the face, and then slapped her again on the other cheek.

  “Damn you, girl, I’ve borne all I will from you! It’s not enough I must suffer the embarrassment of having your father for a husband—wretched, spineless little man. You’ll not live under my roof another day, do you hear?”

  “And you will never touch my daughter again, do you hear me, Olympia?”

  Lindsay gasped, her gaze flying to the doorway, where her father stood, his face ashen, his hands visibly shaking. Olympia looked startled, a flush creeping past her painted eyebrows, although she threw back her head contemptuously.

  “This is between Lindsay and me, Randolph. It has nothing to do with you—”

  “It has everything to do with me! God help me, woman, have you struck my daughter before this day?”

  Lindsay wasn’t sure if she was more astonished that her father had roared at the top of his lungs, almost incongruous in so slight and graying a man, or that Olympia seemed truly nonplussed, a bejeweled hand flying to her breast.

  “Randolph, please, of course I would never—dear me, no, this is the first time, truly, and once you hear of what has happened— It’s so dreadful! Horrifying! I was just about to send a servant to find you, to tell you Lindsay was home so you might know what your daughter has done, the scandal she’s brought upon us—”

  “If there’s any scandal, madam, it’s that I no longer recognize you as my wife. A pity you don’t lie as well as you’ve a gift for making everyone around you perfectly miserable—and I’ll stomach no more. Leave us! Now, or I’ll summon the footmen to throw you out!”

  Lindsay had never thought she might see the day, Olympia’s jaw dropping, her imperious shoulders slumping, tears swimming in her eyes. But somehow the woman managed to maintain her composure long enough to tilt her fleshy chin and sweep haughtily from the room, though Lindsay heard her stepmother gasp in shock when her father slammed the drawing room door shut behind her.

  “Damned witch. Should have been rid of her years ago.”

  Her own eyes clouded, Lindsay gave a choked laugh, remembering how Jared had once called her stepmother a witch. But in the next instant she flew into her father’s arms and buried her face in his coat as she sobbed ridiculously, for so long and so hard, that he actually began to chuckle.

  That made her stop and draw back from him in surprise, but he had sobered, his kindly gaze full of concern.

  “So tell me about this privateer who’s won your heart. Jared Giles is his name, the Earl of Dovercourt?”

  So astounded she couldn’t speak, Lindsay dropped her gaze to the neatly folded piece of ivory vellum he withdrew from his coat pocket.

  “A letter from Corie. Seems while you and Donovan and their little daughter were asleep in the carriage last night, your friend was very busy. She must have slipped this to the footman somehow when they dropped you at the door; he told me she said I must read the letter straightaway—and then he informed me you were in the drawing room with Olympia.” Tenderly, he lifted his hand to wipe a tear from Lindsay’s face. “Corie has a plan, you know.”

  “She does?”

  As her father nodded, Lindsay had never felt so brilliant a burst of hope, and she couldn’t help blurting out, “Oh, Papa, you would like him, I know you would!”

  “I believe I would, too, and perhaps someday I’ll have a chance to meet him,” came his reply, his expression tinged with sadness. But the next moment found him drawing her over to the far end of the room, keeping his voice low. “There’s much for me to do, and much for Corie to arrange, but all you must do is wait patiently until tomorrow morning.”

  “Wait? But how can I wait while Jared—”

  “Shhh, Lindsay, you’ll have a chance to play a part, I wish not so dangerous a one, but there’s no other way. At least I’ve a chance now to make amends for the years you’ve suffered—”

  “But you’ve suffered, too, Papa.”

  “Yes, but no more. No more.” Emotion welling in his eyes, he squeezed her hands. “I’ve wanted to tell you for some time that I haven’t forgotten the promise I made to your mother so long ago, though it might have seemed…”

  His voice failing him, Sir Randolph Somerset shook his head, but Lindsay didn’t need him to finish to know he intended to do anything he could to help her.

  He already had.

  Chapter 33

  The long night a sleepless torture Lindsay wanted to forget, her only relief came in the morning, after she had rushed through her first real bath since Gijón and then dressed hurriedly in one of the nicest gowns left in her wardrobe and a fine gray cloak. Her father was waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase and together they left the house, neither of them mentioni
ng Olympia at all, as if the despicable woman were already gone from their lives.

  Sir Randolph seemed disinclined to speak, in fact, just as he had become last night after telling Lindsay about Corisande’s letter, except to encourage her to try to get some rest and to mention again that he had much to do. But what he had to do, she hadn’t divined, the crux of Corisande’s plan still unknown to her.

  Even now, as they settled into the carriage, she had no idea where they might be bound, but it became clear after many long, silent moments that they were heading into the fishing village of Porthleven. Was Corisande perhaps meeting them at the Easton parsonage? Lindsay was almost relieved when they rumbled by the cozy stone house with its blue shutters, not because she didn’t want to see Corisande’s three younger sisters and Frances, their motherly housekeeper, but because she felt little like talking to anyone herself, her nerves on edge.

  Her father was so still, so grim almost, occasionally checking his pocket watch and then staring out the window, until finally she could bear the suspense no longer.

  “Papa, will you please tell me—”

  “Good, she looks ready to sail.”

  Her heart rearing at his words, Lindsay followed his gaze to the quay down the hill and a single-masted ship she recognized at once, Oliver Trelawny’s Fair Betty. She could see men moving busily about the deck and sails being unfurled, but what made her mouth drop open in astonishment was that Corisande stood at the starboard railing next to the burly Cornish captain, though she left him and bolted down the gangplank when the carriage rolled to a stop.

  “We’ve no time for good-byes, Lindsay—you must go,” her father urgently insisted as the footman opened the door.

  Almost in a daze, Lindsay obeyed him, allowing herself to give him only a quick, fierce hug before she found herself on the quay, Corisande rushing to her side.