by Linda Ladd
She frowned, trying to shake off the burgeoning worries. She did have friends, she reminded herself. Both Odette and Billy were in much the same situation as she. They had never been to America before, but they seemed only happy about it, showing none of the fears that she felt. She would have them with her and a way to make a living, for Rosalie had already offered her a place in her company. What more could she ask?
A dark, bearded face rose in her mind to taunt her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see it. Donovan MacBride, her legal husband for weeks now, and nothing less than a stranger. Her feelings about him had been strong from the beginning. First, a strange, fearful attraction, then hatred, and now she could almost think that she liked him, though she found him impossible to understand. He could be so cruel—she had certainly seen that side of him—but he had had a legitimate right to be angry with her then. Lately, however, he had been nothing but kind, and he had stepped forward to protect Billy and her against the British officers.
Nevertheless, she couldn't really say she knew him. She wondered briefly if anyone did, even Brace and the rest of his family, if he had any. He had promised to wreak revenge on her, to make her suffer. Had he relented to her? Or was he only biding his time to see it done? His black eyes seemed to follow her constantly of late, inscrutable, but still able to raise gooseflesh upon her skin. What was he thinking when he looked at her? She had a feeling she would never know that, unless he wanted her to. She jumped as a low voice sounded just behind her.
"I thought you might need this."
Donovan's hands touched her, placing his warm woolen cloak around her shoulders, his fingers lingering there as Alysson turned to look up at him.
"Thank you. I'm sorry if I awoke you when I left the cabin."
"I wasn't asleep."
He leaned back against the rail beside her, the moonlight creating inky shadows around his eyes and mouth, making her wonder if he looked at her or out to sea. Uncomfortable not knowing, she transferred her own gaze elsewhere.
"The stain on your face is almost gone now."
Alysson glanced up at his unexpected comment.
"Only because I have nearly scrubbed my skin away, so I would not arrive in New York as a blackamoor."
Donovan laughed softly, amused by the old Shakespearean term she had used. “Are you anxious about landing?"
"A little."
He said nothing in answer, and as the silence between them drew out for an embarrassingly long interval, Alysson strove to end it.
"Will you tell me about your country? Is it really as wild and fierce as I have heard?"
Donovan braced his hands on the rail, and Alysson watched the wind whip his black hair.
"Yes, it is wild and huge, at least a hundred times the size of England, or more, now that Bonaparte has sold us the Louisiana Territory."
Alysson tried to comprehend such a vast land as he continued. “Most of it is still unexplored and untamed, with wild forests where no white man has ever set foot. It is said there are high mountains and wide, swift-flowing rivers that would dwarf your Thames."
Alysson listened with rapt attention. “And the red-skinned savages? Do they eat white babies as I have heard?"
Donovan twisted his head to look at her, then chuckled. “They are primitive people, but not as heathen as that. They are proud and fierce and fight for their lands, and there are many around New York State. But since the war, they are peaceful, unless incited by the British against us. You mustn't be afraid of them. They would never attack New York."
Alysson smiled. “I think you are very proud of your country."
"We are free there, and we will never tolerate the tyranny of England or any other country to compromise that freedom."
Alysson thought about his words for a moment, thought of the power her father had wielded so ruthlessly over his servants and his family, thought of Billy's scarred back at the hands of British seamen.
"I think I shall like it in America,” she murmured.
Silence reigned for a time again, until Alysson reached out hesitantly to touch his sleeve. He looked down at her, and she took a deep breath, determined to set things right between them before they parted company on the morrow.
"Before we land and go our own ways, I want you to know that I am very sorry about all the trouble I have caused you. I know you didn't want to marry me, and I know you hate my father, and me as well, but I do want you to know that I appreciate your bringing me to America and giving me my freedom. And also for helping Billy as you did.” She paused for breath, then held out her hand, smiling uncertainly. “I would like for us to part as friends, if you think we could."
Her smile faded when he did not answer or take her hand, and her first thought was that he was refusing her friendly overture. Then he gave a low laugh. His arms came around her with whipcord quickness, pulling her tightly against his hard chest. She was drawn to her toes, his mouth attacking hers with warm, relentless passion that sent her blood surging madly. Her knees weakened, and she slid her arms up his chest and around his neck as the kiss continued, long and breathless and devastating, until Alysson could no longer think.
"We'll be much more than friends, sweet,” Donovan muttered hoarsely against her lips. “I want you, I've wanted you from the first, and I'm going to have you."
Pleasure that defied reason wafted over Alysson, caressing her like a slow warm wind. He wanted her! He didn't want an annulment! And she wanted him! She did! She wanted to be his wife! She gasped weakly as his mouth moved to the side of her throat, his long fingers tangling in her hair to pull her mouth back to his.
"I can give you anything you want, your own house, servants, jewels. As my mistress, you'll be safe from other men who might take advantage of you."
Alysson stiffened in his arms, then pushed her palms against the broad expanse of his chest. She breathed deeply, feeling slightly sick, and insulted. She controlled her voice, but could not eliminate the hurt threading through her words.
"You only want me for a mistress?"
Donovan's hands dropped away from her. He leaned against the rail, his voice quiet.
"No, I am offering you my protection and every earthly luxury and comfort that I can possibly give you. I want you with me, but I can't have strings binding us that would be hard to break. Your father has made any other kind of arrangement between us impossible, and you know it."
"I see,” she said softly, trying not to show just how humiliated she felt. “Then I am sorry, but I shall have to say no."
Donovan didn't say anything for a moment, then he reached out, lightly touching her bright hair.
"Perhaps you should think about it before you refuse me so quickly. You want me as much as I want you. The way you kissed me a moment ago told me that."
Alysson could not look at him. “Perhaps I do, Mr. MacBride, but not enough to be kept by you. I told you once that I would never become a man's mistress, not under any circumstances, not yours, or any other man's."
She left then, and Donovan shook his head as he watched her move away, her golden hair glinting in the moonlight. It was the height of irony. All the long weeks he had spent trying to argue himself out of wanting her, out of asking her to become his mistress, and she had turned him down flat, making the whole thing a ludicrous joke.
She had driven a wedge between them as he had not been able to bring himself to do. But it was for the best, he knew that. His brain had told him all along that he should stay far away from Alysson Tyler. Her father was an enemy; she could be an enemy. But even though he knew that and knew it well, the hot currents of desire that shook him every time he looked at her had won the battle with his common sense.
Rosalie would have to be the one to keep an eye on her in New York, for despite the independent pride Alysson Tyler had just thrown in his face, she was too young and too innocent and too damn beautiful to be left on her own. He was only the first man of many who would make the very same proposal that she had spur
ned so haughtily tonight, and one day she would probably accept. But it would never be him. He sighed heavily, bleak eyes on the moonlit sea stretching out before him.
It was late the following afternoon when the Halcyone sailed into the deep, dark blue water of New York harbor. Most of the passengers stood at the railings in anticipation of the landing while their servants and various crewmen carried heavy trunks and portmanteaus to the main deck in readiness for disembarkation.
Alysson stood at the midship railing with her friends, and a lump rose in her throat as she looked out over the waters to the southern tip of Manhattan Island. The sun was setting, gilding the distant city and glittering in the water stretching out between them.
"I can't believe it,” she murmured to Odette, who stood beside her.
"Oui, it is most exciting to see it at last! Is it not, Billy?"
Billy took his eyes from a large U.S. Navy frigate anchored in the harbor, the stars and stripes of its flag fluttering in the brisk wind.
"Aye, ’tis good to be ‘ere."
Milton stood close on the other side of Alysson, and as he leaned near and pointed across the water, she detected the ever-present odor of wine on his breath.
"There, that spot of green with the trees? That's the Battery."
The three newcomers looked with interest as he continued. “Over yonder is the Hudson River, but we'll be sailing up the other side of the island on the East River. The MacBrides have their warehouses near Beekman's Slip."
As they sailed onward to enter the great river channel, Milton continued to point out streets and landmarks, but the names meant little to Alysson. She looked at everything eagerly: the ships at anchor, sails furled and decks deserted, tall masts spiking the sky like drawn swords, and the shoreline of the city, with its wharves and slips, one after another in close succession. Even as late in the afternoon as it was, the bricked streets and buildings were bustling with people, while seagulls wheeled and screamed over the water and quays.
Alysson turned her attention back to Milton as he pointed out a distant steeple rising above red-tiled roofs and verdant treetops.
"There's St. Paul's Chapel, see, the tallest steeple there. It's just down Chatham Street from the Park Theater. Rosalie intends to go there to find work for us."
At the mention of Rosalie, Alysson glanced around and found the red-haired actress on the quarterdeck in conversation with Edgar and Donovan MacBride. Her brows drew down, and she looked quickly away, feeling the same hurt and humiliation that she had experienced the night before.
"What is wrong, chérie?" Odette followed Alysson's eyes, then smiled knowingly. “You do not wish to leave Monsieur MacBride's company, oui? He has been most attentive to you since the British stopped us."
Billy and Milton were talking together about the horseracing tracks so popular in the city, and Alysson lowered her voice.
"I think he is arrogant."
Odette smiled. “Perhaps he has reason to be, eh? But did you not say only a week ago that you thought you had misjudged him?"
Alysson looked out over the busy wharves, debating whether or not to confide Donovan MacBride's insulting proposal to Odette. Why shouldn't she? Odette could be trusted.
"That was before he asked me to become his mistress."
She heard Odette gasp, then looked at her to find the young French woman leaning against the rail, her hand held weakly to her breast.
"Non? Mon Dieu, what a lucky femme you are. Will you go with him tonight, then?"
Alysson frowned in annoyance. “Of course not. I turned him down."
Odette's eyes widened in disbelief. “But he is beautiful, so tall and dark, and he is so rich! It is a dream come true for one new to America!"
"Not for me. I never intend to be kept as a man's plaything."
Odette shook her head, her eyes going to the big handsome man that Alysson had so foolishly rejected. His black eyes were on Alysson in a way that made Odette feel quite giddy, even though she was not the object of his attention. She had no time to comment on his burning look, for Captain MacBride came striding down the deck toward them.
"Ladies.” He greeted them with a smile, tipping his hat. “We will be landing soon, and I wish to take this opportunity to bid you farewell, for I will be employed elsewhere shortly."
Alysson smiled, truly regretful at having to say good-bye to Brace MacBride. Though she had seen little of him because of his duties, she had liked him from the beginning. “Perhaps we will meet again, Captain MacBride. We intend to find employment at the Park Theater, and I hope you will do us the honor of attending one of our performances."
"It will be my pleasure, indeed, if I am still in New York. As soon as my ship is armed and provisioned, I intend to sail for New Orleans. I have recently acquired a plantation there."
"Then I hope Halcyone will do her duty and calm the waves and make your voyage a safe one. If we do not meet again, I will remember your part in this crossing with fondness."
Brace glanced at his brother and found Donovan watching their discourse with the utmost interest. He grinned at Alysson. “I am quite sure, Miss Tyler, that we will meet again. Until that time, I bid you goodbye. And to you, Mademoiselle Larousse, a fond adieu."
Odette smiled after him. “I have heard much of this New Orleans. It is very French, they say. Perhaps I should sail there with the handsome captain."
Alysson laughed. “Oh, no you don't! I need a friend here in New York!"
A short time later, they were joined by Rosalie and Edgar as the Halcyone was maneuvered into the docking slip.
"Girls, be ready to leave at once, for we must find lodgings for the night. We must stay together until we are settled in a boarding house."
Alysson and Odette nodded, and Rosalie moved away again with Edgar in tow to oversee the unloading of their theatrical trunks. The crew brought the bow of the ship into its berth with skillful ease. Eager to be off the MacBride ship at last, Alysson took Odette's arm and hurried her toward the gangport. Billy and Milton joined them, handing them across the wooden gangplank to the slip. Milton gallantly tucked Alysson's hand in the crook of his arm, then offered his other arm to Odette, as they made their way toward the brick quay, where longshoremen already waited to unload the cargo.
"Look there, Milty, who is that lady? Such élégance!” Odette asked, and both Alysson and Milton turned to look where she indicated.
An open landau drawn by two magnificent Arabian horses sat quayside, and inside, upon the plush gold squabs, sat a beautiful lady dressed completely in white. She wore a wide-brimmed white straw hat bedecked with yellow roses, and even from their position several yards away, Alysson could see she was quite lovely, with jet-black hair caught to one side in flowing ringlets,
Milton grinned, tipping his tophat appreciatively to the lady in white. She nodded slightly, then returned her regard to the newly arrived ship.
"That, my dears, is the Countess Marina Kinski. No doubt here to welcome her lover and benefactor home from the sea."
Odette looked quickly at Alysson, and Alysson looked away from the countess.
"White seems a bit inappropriate for the lady,” Odette said, giggling.
"Ah, but that is the countess's trademark. She is rarely seen in any other color. Donovan MacBride gave her that matched pair in keeping with her penchant for white. He bred them himself, if I was told right, and they are worth a small fortune. I wonder if he expects to be met with such open enthusiasm? Rumor has it that he had cooled their relationship somewhat before he sailed for England."
Alysson put her attention on Billy, who was securing a hired carriage for them, intentionally not looking at the woman in the landau. She felt strangely betrayed, and she was glad when Rosalie hurried up in her usual brusque, businesslike manner.
"Edgar is staying here to see to the baggage, so come along now before it grows dark."
Alysson walked with them to the waiting conveyance, fighting an intense desire to look back at the Ha
lcyone one last time. Her good intention was the loser, and just before she was to step into the carriage, she turned to find Donovan MacBride moving with his long, pantherish strides toward the wharf and the beautiful woman awaiting him there. He looked in Alysson's direction before she could look away, and their eyes locked for one brief instant before she resolutely turned her head away and allowed Milton to hand her into the carriage.
She settled back beside Billy in the seat facing away from the ship, as Milton joined them and closed the door. She did not look back as the driver called out to the horses and the wheels rattled over the cobblestones of Beekman Street. Donovan MacBride was part of her past now, she told herself firmly. She was starting anew in America, and she didn't need him. She would make her new life a wonderful one, and she would do it on her own. But nevertheless, she could not smile as her friends did, and she felt cheated and forlorn and unhappy as she rode away from the man she had vowed to forget.
Chapter 9
In Alysson's dream, Donovan leaned over her, his black eyes softly searching her face, his fingers gentle upon her brow. He smiled in a tender way, and she raised her arms up to welcome him. She frowned as something tugged persistently at her shoulder, disappointed as his dark, handsome face began to dissolve from her mind. She opened her eyes reluctantly to find Odette's face instead. She groaned, pulling the lace-edged pillow over her head. Odette was not to be put off and the pillow was jerked away.
"Do not be such a lazy, Alysson! Everyone but you is at breakfast, dressed and ready for the celebration!"
The mention of breakfast brought Alysson up amid the crisp white bed linens, rubbing sleepy eyes as Odette shook her head, making her dark, beribboned curls dance.
"You must dress quickly, and you must wear something very cool. Mon Dieu, if this New York is not a terrible hot place! The streets, they are like fire beneath your feet!"