by Lady Vixen
Spitefully elated, a satisfied smile curving his thin lips, Robert sank back into the chair. Now let Christopher wiggle out of this one, he thought malevolently. I may be shunned and banned, but Christopher will also share the same fate!
Simon, refusing to have one of the servants find Christopher for him, shortly ran him down in his room. When Simon burst into his room Christopher was comfortably perched on the corner of a mahogany table, watching Higgins put a shine on a pair of Hessians.
At Simon's forceful entry Christopher straightened instantly, a wary look crossing his face.
Simon glared at Higgins and said with his usual sharpness, "You leave! I want a word with my grandson."
Higgins glanced at Christopher and at Christopher's slight nod bowed and left the room.
Idly, Christopher asked, "Was it necessary to speak so rudely to him? I value Higgins rather highly, you know."
"Bah! Don't fob me off with such trivial conversation. What I have to say is extremely private and personal, and I don't want anyone else to overhear us. If you wish, I'll apologize to him later."
An eyebrow cocked sardonically, Christopher echoed, "Apologize to him? Now that I must see! You have never apologized to anyone."
"Damnit, quit trying to turn me away! Robert is down below in the study, and he had made a most damaging statement against you." Eyeing Christopher from beneath scowling heavy brows, Simon said bluntly, "He says you are a pirate! A Captain Saber and that there is a price on your head. Is it true?"
Their eyes met, gold clashing against gold. "Well, are you really this—this Captain Saber?"
His gaze never wavered as Christopher nodded curtly, "Yes, I am." He stated the words flatly, offering no explanations, no excuses. What was he to do? Express hypocritical regret? Cry out it was not his fault, but circumstances? Not bloodly likely, he thought fiercely.
The admission, despite his earlier emotion of indifference, was a shattering blow to Simon. He hadn't really believed it—hadn't wanted to believe it. The gold eyes dimmed just a little, and slowly, like a worn-out old man, he sank down into a nearby chair. Heavily he said, "I feared it was so."
Knowing that some explanation would have to be offered, if not the entire truth, Christopher had dreaded this moment. He had hoped he could leave England without Simon's ever learning of Captain Saber. Certainly he had never meant to tell him, had hoped with savage intensity that he would never be hurt by this knowledge. No matter how many times he had rehearsed this scene in his mind, the reality of Simon's weary, almost broken manner was far worse than anything he could have imagined. His teeth clenched, a muscle jerked in the taut jaw; he stared at his grandfather, groping for words that would lessen the blow.
Unable to bear the sight of him so apparently devastated, without the usual thunder and fire spilling from him, Christopher muttered thickly, "Grandfather, I would have spared you this, if I could have. I cannot change what I am or what I have been." Dropping to one knee, his strong brown hand tenderly covering the blue-veined one that still clutched the ever-present ebony cane, Christopher said harshly, "I cannot even ask forgiveness for what I have done. But I did not do it to hurt you or to bring shame on you." With a note of pleading in the deep voice, he went on, "Each of us must live as he sees fit. I do not expect you to approve of what I have done, but for God's sake don't condemn me for being myself, for being what I am—a privateer, an American first by circumstance and then by choice."
Simon's head snapped up at the words, the faded gold eyes boring into the deeper, brighter golden ones fixed so earnestly and purposefully on his.
"An American?" he barked testily.
Christopher nodded tersely. Steadily, his gaze unwaveringly on Simon's face, he declared vehemently, "New Orleans is my home now! My land, my fortune, my future all lie in the United States. And yes, I have been a privateer, the Captain Saber that Robert claims. Yes, I have attacked British ships, I have even," he added deliberately, "sunk them. But whatever I have done, I did not do it to cause you pain or distress." Bleakly he finished, "There was a time I never thought to see you again, when I hated anything, everything British. I've lived my life by my own rules, and I can't claim that I'm sorry for it."
"Admirable," Simon remarked dryly.
Christopher stiffened and stood up. Curtly he said, "I did not mean to bore you."
"Ha! Never said I was bored, did I?" Simon snapped irascibly. "Now you listen to me, coxcomb! American you may be, privateer you may have been, but you're my grandson before all else and my heir, too, for that matter!"
Assessingly, Christopher eyed him, partially encouraged by the irate note in his voice, but still uncertain as to how deeply the confession had cut into him. Simon appeared to be recovering somewhat, even though what he had just learned must have been a terrible wound. Simon did not, however, give him the chance to say more. Sitting bolt upright on the chair, his cane held firmly in one hand, he scowled ferociously at his watchful grandson. "Now then," Simon began aggressively, "I have a few things to say to you sapscull! First, you're my grandson and don't you ever forget it! Second, I don't give a damn what you've done—" He stopped abruptly, remembering Robert and what he had said to him. Pursing his lips in concentration, he said slowly, "Provided you've not deliberately harmed innocent people—and I don't mean those that might have come to grief in the course of your privateering. That is war and that I understand. Unless you have fought unfairly or been cowardly in your attacks." He hesitated, shooting Christopher a gloomy glance. "I am not saying I wouldn't rather you were not this Captain Saber or I don't wish that your first loyalty lay with England. But since it don't I am not one to repine over what I can't change. Point is, you are, as you said, what you are, and I'd be all kinds of a silly fool if I denied you because we disagree politically."
Christopher grinned at him ruefully. "Do you think Robert is going to take that enlightened view?"
Simon snorted. "You leave him to me. That Canterbury tale of his is going no further. I'll see to that!"
"I don't think it will be that easy, sir. There is," he paused, then said carefully, "a certain enmity between us, and I don't believe he will simply shut up because you order him to." Christopher hesitated, uncertain of his next move. He had not planned his denouement, but with the thought of time slipping by and the knowledge that in a matter of hours he would be meeting the American privateer, it seemed his only opportunity to tell Simon of his impending departure. But he could not baldly divulge his plans—Simon would guess instantly that this trip to England had been more than just a personal visit, and it would cause him even more pain. Captain Saber he might be able to forgive, but a spy? Christopher thought not. Inspiration saved Christopher as he realized he could use Robert as his excuse for departure.
"I think," he said slowly, "it would be best if I left for America. Tonight. Before Robert has any chance to cause trouble. Once this war is over"—he threw Simon a mocking smile—"this war you pay little heed to, my privateering activities will cease to be a danger. Then I can return. Until then, I'm afraid, sir, I can't risk staying."
At Simon's balky look, Christopher said candidly, "Jennings-Smythe knows who I am. He recognized me and can point me out as Captain Saber."
His jaw thrust out stubbornly, not quite convinced, Simon asked, "How will you leave? There are no ships sailing for America."
"I can leave tonight for France. From there I can catch a ship sailing for the West Indies. Or Cuba. Whatever it doesn't matter; eventually I'll manage to reach an American privateer sailing in those waters or a ship that is going to run the blockade of the Gulf. Don't worry, I'll get back to New Orleans. It'll just take time." Coolly and deliberately he stifled any remorse at these lies— better his grandfather believed this than know of that American privateer.
Simon didn't like it, but he saw the danger clearly. Still, not wanting to see him go, he argued, "Why must it be tonight? Why not tomorrow or the next day?" He knew the answers as soon as he spoke the words. Any dela
y, now that Robert was speaking openly of Captain Saber, could be fatal. An icy fear clutched his heart at the thought of Christopher in chains and on the gallows, and Simon said almost inaudibly, "You're right. You must go tonight."
The soft words tore at Christopher, knowing as he did how much the older man must be dreading this parting —didn't he dread it as much?
"Grandfather," he coaxed persuasively, "it will not be like the last time. This time you know where I am headed and you know that I will be back. Soon. I promise."
Without haste Simon stood up. He could not say the words of farewell, not yet. They would have another moment alone before this evening ended and Christopher left. Then perhaps he could bid the boy adieu without this silly moisture in his eyes.
Without meeting Christopher's eyes, he muttered gruffly, "After dinner tonight, I'll want another word with you in my study. After that you may slip away. In the meantime I'll talk to Robert. Tell him I couldn't find you and that his story is a Covent Garden farce. Tell him he'll have to say it to your face in front of me before I'll believe it's not just a spiteful tale. That should keep him quiet until tomorrow sometime. By that time you should have reached Dover. I warn you, though, to waste no time. I will try to keep Robert at bay as long as I can, but the very most I can fob him off will be a day or two."
Christopher nodded. "And the ladies? What will you tell them?"
Simon let out his breath in a rush. "Simply that you have been called away to France on urgent business and they are not to talk of it. Anyone else that asks after you will get the same answer. Sooner or later they'll stop asking." Then regarding his boots, he muttered fiercely, "You just get yourself back here safe as soon as you can."
Christopher stared at his grandfather, not bothering to hide what he felt. With that charming warm smile so few people ever saw on his lips and the usually hard gold eyes soft with unhidden love, he said haltingly, "I'm sorry it has to be like this. And I'm sorry you'll have to make excuses for me. Next time, I promise you, there will be no need for such a hasty departure."
"By God, there had better not be!" Simon barked irascibly. His eyes bright with suppressed emotion, he stumped from the room growling, "I don't know why I waste my time with you! Here's Robert waiting in my study for me, and now thanks to you I have to go turn him up sweet to keep his mouth shut. And just when I was warming up to a grand disinheritance scene too!"
For a long time, a very long time, Christopher regarded the doorway through which Simon had disappeared. There was a sadness within him, a dull ache in his heart. Roughly he pulled himself back to the task at hand and rang impatiently for Higgins to rejoin him. Jesus, he decided derisively, he was getting like a maudlin milkmaid, and deliberately he switched his thoughts, wondering idly how Robert was taking Simon's orders.
Unfortunately when Simon reached his study, it was empty. A sharp inquiry of Twickham elicited the puzzling information that Master Robert had departed with Nicole's maid Galena.
"With one of the maids?" Simon repeated. "What is he doing with one of the maids?"
"I really couldn't say, sir," Twickham replied politely. Catching the fire in Simon's eye, he added quickly, "I did hear Miss Nicole's name mentioned though, and Edward Markham's. It was something to do with Brighton Park. Perhaps Miss Nicole sent Galena with a message for one of the coachmen to fetch her and Mister Markham from the park and Master Robert decided to go instead."
"Perhaps," Simon agreed noncommittally. It seemed unlikely, yet Robert had spoken of seeing Nicole. Perhaps they had gone for a ride. At this hour? With Edward Markham? Now that sounded odd. Very odd.
CHAPTER 34
It was odd. Edward Markham was with Nicole, but not at her invitation, or even pleasure. He had indeed put into effect his plan to abduct her—and luck seemed to be on his side.
The hiring of the carriage had been done with a minimum of effort. Even the weather smiled on him, the afternoon being a lovely fall symphony of crisp biting air and gold and scarlet leaves. Nicole did come to the park escorted only by Galena and exultantly Edward had watched them disappear down one of the many pleasant walks in the park. From his vantage point just outside the park he waited impatiently for Nicole to complete her walk, refusing to think of the dismal possibility that she might join friends in the park.
Nicole took a longer stroll than usual, her thoughts on Christopher and the scene in the library. The brisk walk cleared her head somewhat and released a portion of her pent-up frustration and unhappiness.
She was glad, she told herself fiercely, that Christopher was leaving. It was best. With him gone, with no possibility of seeing him, knowing he was on the other side of the world, and more than likely with a number of new female conquests, she would at last be free of this silly, lingering emotion she had for him.
It was Galena who finally curtailed the walk. Galena did not like walking and thought her mistress mad to walk when she could ride, and after suffering in silence for quite some time, she finally said to Nicole, "Miss Nicole, don't you think we should start home now? It's almost five o'clock and you did not make arrangements for anyone to meet us with a carriage."
"I suppose you're right, Galena. Very well, home we will go."
Shortly thereafter they reached the main gate to Brighton Park and started the long walk to the house on Kings Road. They had not walked but a few steps when Nicole was genuinely thrown off balance by Edward's distracted and distressed air as he almost literally ran up to her.
"My dear!" he cried affectingly. "I have such dreadful news! I do not know how to tell you! But they felt it best if you heard it from one of your own family."
Nicole blanched, her first thought being of Christopher. The topaz eyes nearly black with apprehension, she clutched Edward's arm in a painful grip. "What is it? Tell me, damn you! What is it?"
"Lord Saxon!" Edward said dramatically. "He is dead! Not but a short while ago he suffered a fatal stroke. Come, they need you! Hurry!"
In something like shock Nicole numbly let Edward hustle her across the busy street into the waiting coach. Such was her very real sorrow and anguish that she paid no heed to the fact that Galena had been left standing dazedly in front of the park, nor spared a thought as to why the inhabitants at Kings Road had thought him the best person to break the news to her.
Nearly paralyzed by the staggering news, Nicole, as Edward had counted on, paid very little attention as to where they were going. Blindly she stared out the coach window; at first she did not realize that they were traveling swiftly in the wrong direction.
Edward watched her covertly from his seat on the other side of the carriage. Now, dear cuz, you won't fob me off! he thought maliciously. In two days' time or less we will be married—sooner than that you will no longer be the innocent virgin you are now. I'll see to that! He smiled a very nasty smile as he contemplated the pleasures that would soon be his. Time enough to break her to his will, he thought with satisfaction, and a spiteful expression crossed his face.
Nicole saw that expression and it woke her instantly to several things—Galena was not with her; they should have reached Kings Road some minutes ago; and finally sitting up and taking a quick reconnaissance of the passing scenery, she realized in a flash that they were not even traveling in the right direction. They were heading north!
Slowly she sank back against the seat, her face smooth and bland; stemming the furious flood of anger that was boiling in her veins, her brain was functioning at an almost-frenzied pace. Edward had obviously duped her and bitterly she cursed her own stupidity. She should have suspected him to try such a trick sooner or later— it was so like him, she thought contemptuously. He must plan on a Gretna Green marriage . . . unless he had murder on his mind. She could not totally discount that possibility, and Nicole regarded him with consideration. No, she decided finally, not murder—he was too cowardly for that! But even cowards will murder if driven too far, she reminded herself uncomfortably, and Edward must be desperate indeed to have undertake
n such a rash scheme.
Suddenly she frowned. Not so rash if Lord Saxon had truly suffered a fatal stroke. It would be hours before anyone would even have a moment to spare for her, to wonder at her continued absence. Had Edward cleverly seized upon a tragic event to serve his own needs? It was a frightful thought, and all the fear and sorrow she had felt when he had first given her the news of Lord Saxon's death came rushing back.
"Edward," she said at last, "I know we are not going to Lord Saxon's. I gather we are eloping to Gretna Green. But tell me the truth, is Lord Saxon truly dead or did you merely say that to get me into this coach?"
Edward had expected all sorts of recriminations from his cousin. He certainly hadn't planned on her calm demeanor, nor on any real concern about Lord Saxon. And because it caught him unprepared, he told the truth. "To my knowledge Lord Saxon enjoys his usual robust health."
At Nicole's look of scorn he added defensively, "Well, I had to tell you something that would shake you, throw you off stride. What else was I to do?"
"You spineless jellyfish!" she spat contemptuously. "What else could you do? I'll tell you what else you could do—you could order this carriage stopped immediately, and I will pretend this distasteful episode never transpired. You may have me in your power at the moment, but I'll tell you this, cuz," she drawled the word cuttingly, "nothing will make me marry you! You are going to look rather silly when I refuse to repeat the wedding vows."
With an ugly expression in the blue eyes Edward snarled, "I wouldn't talk quite so bravely if I were you! By the time we reach Gretna Green, you will be more than happy to marry me . . . especially since by that that time you may well be carrying my child! Certainly I shall have done my part to insure that it is so. I am taking no chances, cuz, of being thwarted, so don't look for help from the Saxons! Unless they overtake us within the next few hours, which isn't likely, they will be of no use to you. Not even Lord Saxon would stand behind you once he realized that you were a maid no longer and that there was the possibility of a child."