James hadn’t stopped to reply, was already out the door, so Connie had to shout after him, “You’ll find it a bit difficult doing either, old man! The ship’s already cast off!”
“The devil she has!” was heard from out in the hall, and then as James appeared back in the doorway to stare out the windows at the slowly departing vessel, “Bloody hell!”
“Look on the bright side, Hawke,” Connie said without the least bit of sympathy. “You would only have had a few weeks more with her, until we returned to England. Even if you had considered taking her back with you, from what you’ve told me of her aversion to the motherland, she’d never have agreed—”
“Blister it, Connie, the wench has deserted me, and without a by-your-leave. Don’t talk to me about problems I might have faced, when this one’s knocked me on my arse.”
He ignored Conrad’s derisive short. He stared at the now-empty berth next to the Maiden Anne and still couldn’t believe Georgie was gone. Just that morning she’d awakened him with her sweet lips on his, her little hands holding his face, and what he thought of as her take-me smile, the one she bestowed on him only when they were abed, the one that never failed to stir primitive urges he’d never even known he possessed. Gone?
“No, by God,” he said aloud, then pinned Conrad with a resolute look that made the redhead groan. “How many of the crew have gone ashore?”
“For God’s sake, James, you can’t mean to—”
“I bloody well do mean to,” James cut in, the anger that was starting to rise reflected clearly in his tone. “Get them back while I find out what I can about that ship. I mean to be on her tail within the hour.”
Georgina defied her brother Drew’s order to get herself to his cabin as soon as his back was turned. He’d already promised her a walloping that would have her standing the whole voyage home. Whether that was just his anger talking, or he really meant to take his belt to her, she found she didn’t much care at the moment.
Oh, he was indeed mad, furiously so. She’d merely surprised Drew at first when he turned around and found her standing there grinning at him. And then he’d been alarmed, assuming only some grave catastrophe could have brought her to Jamaica looking for him. When she’d assured him no one had died, his relief turned to irritation. He’d shaken her then for scaring him, but just as quickly hugged her because he really was relieved not to be hearing bad news, and, of course, the fact that she was his only sister and well loved had a little to do with it. It was when she’d casually dropped the news that she’d just returned from England that the shouting began. And this was one of her more mellow brothers, the most even-tempered next to Thomas.
Unlike Warren, who had an explosive temper that no one cared to get on the wrong side of, or Boyd and Clinton, who were too serious by half sometimes, Drew was the devil-may-care rogue in the family who had women chasing after him by the hordes. So he out of all of them should have understood why she had thought it necessary to chase after Malcolm. Instead, he’d been so angry, she’d almost seen some color in his black eyes. If she got a walloping from him, she could just imagine what she’d get from Clinton or Warren, her oldest brothers, when they found out. But she didn’t much care at the moment.
She hadn’t realized when she’d become so excited upon seeing Drew’s ship and had rushed right over to her, that the Triton was making ready to depart, had in fact cast off her lines while Drew was still ranting and raving. She stood at the rail now, the sparkling Caribbean waters separating her from the Maiden Anne more and more, frantically searching the deck of the other ship for a last sight of James.
When she did finally see him appear on deck, his golden hair whipping about in the breeze, those wide, wide shoulders that couldn’t be mistaken for any other man’s, she could barely breathe for the lump that rose in her throat. She prayed he would look her way. She was too far away already to shout and hope to have him hear her, but she could at least wave. But he didn’t look out to sea. She watched him leave his ship, move off briskly down the wharf, and then disappear into the crowd.
Oh, God, he didn’t even know she was gone. He probably assumed she was somewhere on the Maiden Anne, assumed she’d be there when he returned. After all, her belongings were still there, and among them the cherished ring her father had given her. She hadn’t known there would be no time to collect them, not that she cared about them at the moment. What was tearing her up inside was that she’d had no opportunity to say goodbye to James, to tell him…what? That she’d fallen in love with him.
She almost laughed. It was funny, it really was. Love thine enemy—but not literally. A hated Englishman, a despised, arrogant aristocrat, and he still got under her skin, still worked his way right into her heart. So stupid to let that happen, but so much worse if she’d actually told him. She’d asked him one night while his arms were around her and his heart beat steadily under her ear, if he were married.
“Good God, no!” he’d exclaimed in horror. “You won’t see me ever making that fool’s mistake.”
“And why not?” she’d wanted to know.
“Because all women become faithless jades as soon as they get that ring on their finger. No offense, love, but it’s bloody well true.”
His comment had reminded her so much of her brother Warren’s attitude about women that she mistakenly drew her own conclusion. “I’m sorry. I should have realized there had to have been a woman you loved at some point in your life who betrayed you. But you shouldn’t blame all women for the unfaithfulness of just one. My brother Warren does exactly that, but it’s wrong.”
“I hate to disappoint you, George, but there was never a great love in my life. I was speaking of the many women whose unfaithfulness I know of from firsthand experience since I happen to be the one they were unfaithful with. Marriage is for idiots who don’t know any better.”
But she’d already had a feeling his answer would be something in that vein to begin with. In that he was still so much like her brother Warren it was uncanny. But at least Warren had an excuse for swearing he’d never marry, for the abominable way he now treated women, using them without ever letting them get close to him. He’d been hurt really badly once by a woman he’d intended to marry. But James had no such excuse. He’d said so himself. He was simply what he’d told her he was, a reprehensible rake. He wasn’t even ashamed of it.
“Come now, lass, the lad’s nae really going tae beat ye,” Mac said, having come up beside her. “Ye’ve nae reason tae be crying. But best ye get yerself below like he said. Give Drew a chance tae calm down afore he sees ye again and has tae hear the worst of it.”
She glanced sideways as she swiped at her cheeks. “Worst of it?”
“That we had tae work fer our passage.”
“Oh, that,” she sniffed, thankful to have something else to think about, and that Mac assumed she was merely upset over Drew’s anger. She added with a sigh, “No, I don’t suppose his knowing that will go over very well just now. Is there any reason we have to tell him?”
“Ye’d lie tae yer own brother?”
“He’s threatened to beat me, Mac,” she reminded him with a measure of disgust. “And this is Drew, Drew, for God’s sake. I’d just as soon not find out his reaction if he learns I’ve slept in the same cabin with an Englishman for the last month.”
“Aye, I see what ye mean. Sae maybe a little lie wouldna hurt, or just the omission that we were robbed of our money. Ye’ve still the others tae be facing yet, after all, and their reactions will be even worse, I’m thinking.”
“Thanks, Mac. You’ve been the dearest—”
“Georgina!” Drew’s voice cut in with clear warning. “I’m taking off my belt.”
She swung around to see that he wasn’t doing any such thing, but her handsome brother looked as if he would if she didn’t disappear, and quick. Instead she closed the distance between them and glared up at the six-foot-four-inch tall captain of the Triton.
“You’re being an insensiti
ve brute, Drew. Malcolm married another women, and all you can do is yell at me.” And she promptly burst into heartrending tears.
Mac snorted in disgust. He’d never seen a man so quickly disarmed of his anger as Drew Anderson just was.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Georgina had been feeling somewhat better, certainly much more optimistic about the rest of her brothers’ reactions after Drew proved to be so sympathetic to her heartache. Of course, Drew thought all her tears were over Malcolm. She saw no reason to tell him that she never even thought of Malcolm anymore, except when his name was mentioned. No, her thoughts and emotions were centered on another man, one whose name had never been spoken other than to explain he was the captain of the ship that brought her to Jamaica.
She felt bad about deceiving Drew. More than once she had thought about telling him the truth. But she didn’t want him to be angry with her again. His anger had really surprised her. This was her fun-loving brother, the one who teased her most, the one who could always be counted on to cheer her up. He’d managed to do that. He just didn’t know what was truly depressing her.
He would know eventually. They all would. But the worst news could wait awhile more, until the hurt had a chance to heal a little bit, until she found out how badly the rest of them were going to react to what she saw now as a minor thing, at least in comparison to what she would have to tell them in a month or two when they demanded to know whose baby was stretching her waistline. What was it James had said about his brother Jason? He frequently flew through the roof? Well, she’d have five brothers doing it.
She wasn’t sure yet how she felt about the consequence of her brief fall from grace. Scared, certainly. A little bewildered, a little—glad. She couldn’t deny it. It was going to cause all kinds of difficulty, not to mention scandal, but nevertheless, her feelings could be summed up in two words. James’s baby. What else could matter next to that? It was crazy. She should be devastated to think of bearing a child and raising it without a husband, but she wasn’t. She couldn’t have James, and no other man would do after him, but she could have his child, and keep it, and that was exactly what she would do. She loved James too much not to.
The baby, and Georgina’s certainty that it was real and not just a possibility, accounted for her improved mood by the time the Triton sailed into Long Island Sound on the last leg of their journey home, three weeks after leaving Jamaica. And by the time Bridgeport was sighted and they’d turned into the Pequonnock River, which helped form a deep harbor for oceangoing vessels, she was excited to be home, especially at this time of year, her favorite, when the weather wasn’t too cold yet, and the sunset colors of autumn still lingered everywhere. At least she was excited until she saw just how many Skylark ships were in port, three in particular that she wished were anywhere else but here.
The ride to the red brick mansion that she called home on the outskirts of town was a quiet one. Drew sat next to her in the carriage, holding her hand, squeezing it occasionally for encouragement. He was firmly on her side now, but a lot of good that would do her when she faced the older brothers. Drew had never been able to hold his own against them anymore than she could, especially when they were united.
Her cabin boy’s clothes were gone. That outfit had been partly to blame for Drew’s towering anger, so at least that was one thing less the others could complain about. She’d scrounged clothes from Drew’s crew for the voyage, but right now she was wearing the lovely gown Drew had been bringing home to his Bridgeport sweetheart as a present. Likely he’d buy another here to take to his sweetheart in the next port.
“Smile, Georgie girl. It’s not the end of the world, you know.”
She glanced sideways at Drew. He was beginning to see some humor in her situation, which she didn’t appreciate the least bit. But a comment like that was so typical of him. He was so different from her other brothers. He was the only one in the family with eyes so dark they couldn’t be called anything but black. He was also the only one who could be knocked down and come up laughing, which had happened numerous times when he’d rubbed Warren or Boyd the wrong way. And yet he looked so much like Warren it was uncanny.
They both had the same golden-brown hair, which was more often than not a mop of unruly curls. They both had the same towering height, the same features that were entirely too handsome. But where Drew’s eyes were black as pitch, Warren’s were a light lime-green like Thomas’s. And where the ladies adored Drew for his winsome charm and boyish manner, they were wary of Warren with his brooding cynicism and explosive temper—but not wary enough, obviously.
Warren was, without a doubt, a cad where women were concerned. Georgina pitied any woman who succumbed to his cold seduction. Yet so many did. There was just something about him that they found irresistible. She couldn’t see it herself. His temper, on the other hand, she saw all the time, since that was something he’d always possessed, and had nothing to do with women.
Reminded of Warren’s temper, she replied to Drew’s remark with, “That’s easy for you to say. D’you think they will listen to an explanation before they kill me? I rather doubt it.”
“Well, Clinton won’t listen for very long if he detects that ghastly English accent you’ve picked up. Maybe you ought to let me do the talking.”
“That’s sweet of you, Drew, but if Warren is around—”
“I know what you mean.” He grinned boyishly, remembering the last time Warren had chewed off a piece of his hide. “So let’s hope he’s spent the night at Duck’s Inn and won’t get his two cents in until after Clinton’s laid down his verdict. It’s lucky for you Clinton’s home.”
“Lucky? Lucky!”
“Shh!” he hissed. “We’ve arrived. No need to give them warning.”
“Someone will have told them by now that the Triton has docked.”
“Aye, but not that you were on her. The element of surprise, Georgie, just might let you have your say.”
It might have, too, if Boyd weren’t in the study with both Clinton and Warren when Georgina entered, with Drew right behind her. Her youngest brother saw her first and bounded out of his chair. By the time he got through hugging, shaking, and throwing questions at her so fast she had no chance to answer any of them, the two older men had recovered from any surprise she might have given them and were approaching her with looks that said the shaking had only just begun. They also looked as if they just might come to blows to see who could get his hands on her first.
What little confidence Georgina had that her brothers wouldn’t really hurt her, not seriously anyway, departed upon seeing them bearing down on her. She swiftly extricated herself from Boyd’s hold, dragged him back with her so he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Drew, and wisely placed herself behind them.
Peeking over Boyd’s shoulder, no easy matter since Boyd, like Thomas, stood nearly six feet tall—but was still half a head shorter than Drew—Georgina shouted at Clinton first, “I can explain!” then to Warren she added, “I really can!”
And when they didn’t stop, but came one around each side of her barricade, she squeezed between Boyd and Drew to run straight for Clinton’s desk and around it, though she remembered belatedly how a desk hadn’t stopped someone else from getting at her. And it appeared that she’d only made Clinton and Warren angrier by running from them. But her own temper was sparked when she saw Drew grab Warren’s shoulder to keep him from following her, and just barely manage to duck a blow for his effort.
“Blast you both, you’re being unfair—”
“Shut up, Georgie!” Warren growled.
“I won’t. I’m not answerable to you, Warren Anderson, not as long as Clinton is here. So you can just stop right there or I’ll—” She picked up the nearest thing within reach on the desk. “I’ll clobber you.”
He did stop, but whether in surprise that she was standing up to him when she never had before, or because he thought she was serious about braining him, she didn’t know. But Clinton stopped, too. I
n fact, they both looked kind of alarmed.
“Put the vase down, Georgie,” Clinton said very softly. “It’s too valuable to waste on Warren’s head.”
“He wouldn’t think so,” she replied in disgust.
“Actually,” Warren choked out just as softly, “I would.”
“Jesus, Georgie,” Boyd was heard from next. “You don’t know what you’ve got there. Listen to Clinton, will you?”
Drew glanced at his younger brother’s blanched expression, then the two stiff backs in front of him, then his little sister beyond them, still holding up the vase under discussion as if it were a club. He suddenly burst out laughing.
“You’ve done it, Georgie girl, damned if you haven’t,” he crowed in delight.
She just barely spared him a glance. “I’m in no mood for your humor just now, Drew,” but then, “What have I done?”
“Got them over a barrel, that’s what. They’ll listen to you now, see if they don’t.”
Her eyes moved curiously back to her oldest brother. “Is that true, Clinton?”
He’d been debating what approach to take with her, stern insistence or gentle coaxing, but Drew’s unwelcome interference settled it. “I’m willing to listen, yes, if you’ll—”
“No ifs,” she cut in. “Yes or—”
“Blast it, Georgina!” Warren finally exploded. “Give me that—”
“Shut up, Warren,” Clinton hissed. “before you frighten her into dropping it.” And then to his sister, “Now, look, Georgie, you don’t understand what you’ve got there.”
She was looking, but at the vase she still held aloft. It elicited a small gasp from her, because she’d never seen anything quite so lovely. So thin it was actually translucent, and painted in pure gold on white with an Oriental scene in exquisite detail. She understood now, perfectly, and her first instinct was to put the beautiful piece of ancient porcelain down before she accidentally dropped it.
She almost did just that, put it down very carefully, afraid a mere breath could shatter something this delicate. But the collective sighs she heard made her change her mind at the last moment.
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