Dark Before the Rising Sun (14 page)

“Thank you. It would be an honor.” Sir Morgan glanced beyond Rhea, to where the Duke of Camareigh and Dante Leighton were still standing in silence. “Your Grace, by your leave?” Sir Morgan bowed slightly, before turning to Dante. “Captain, this is not quite the manner in which I thought we should be ending our association, but certainly preferable to one of us ending on the bottom of the sea. I cannot say it has always been a pleasure knowing you, but it has always been a challenge,” Sir Morgan admitted. “I fear that I shall be the only one to miss the figurehead of the grinning red dragon. Certainly not Bertie Mackay. You gave him too much competition, not to mention stealing much of his glory.”

“Captain.” Dante held out his hand in friendship and farewell, reflecting that he respected and liked the captain of HMS
Portcullis
, and was relieved that they would no longer find themselves in conflict. “I wish you well.”

“Thank you. Let us hope that Bertie Mackay is of a similar mind when I return to the Carolinas. And, from what I've heard downstairs in the taproom, I may have a hotheaded Irishman to be worrying about as well,” Sir Morgan said with a wry grin. Then with another courteous bow he started for the door.

The Duke of Camareigh's voice halted his progress. “You will be in London awhile longer, will you not?”

Sir Morgan halted abruptly, for the question sounded like a command. Turning around, he faced the duke with a look of surprised inquiry. “No, as a matter of fact, I shall be leaving within a day or so. I shall travel to Portsmouth and, perhaps, time permitting, to my home in Wales.”

Lucien seemed to be having a difficult time gathering his thoughts. His gaze kept returning to his daughter, as if still disbelieving of the incredible turn of events, and unwilling still to accept that there might not be anything he could do about the situation, or the circumstances surrounding it.

“I should like to have a few words with you, Sir Morgan, since you have firsthand knowledge of my daughter's experiences in the colonies. Perhaps, if you would not mind waiting for me in the taproom, we could discuss that, as well as certain other matters I am curious about,” the duke requested, his tone less peremptory this time. “I fear that we will not have the opportunity to talk later, for my daughter and I shall be leaving for Camareigh within the hour.”

Sir Morgan nodded, his glance straying to Dante, who seemed startled by the news of his wife's impending departure. “I shall await your pleasure, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Sir Morgan. I shall be but a few more minutes.”

As the door closed on Sir Morgan, Lucien held out his hands to his daughter, his expression no longer forbidding. “It is true?” he asked simply.

“Yes, Father. I had not wished to tell you in this manner. Not about the baby, or about the marriage, I wanted to tell you and Mother together, at Camareigh. I wished you both to share in my happiness. Even Dante did not know until this moment,” she explained, her gaze uncertain as she glanced at her husband, for she had yet to discover how he felt about the child.

It was Dante's turn to feel that events were moving beyond his control. “It would seem there is quite a lot happening here without my knowledge,” he said quietly, his glance questioning. “Is it true? Have you decided to leave with your father?” he demanded, but his expression was doubting of any such thing.

Rhea nodded, confirming his worst suspicions. “Dante, my mother is ill. I must go to her now. When you and Sir Morgan entered, my father was just beginning to tell me about her illness. Please try to understand. I must go to her. She must know that I am safe.” Although her eyes were beseeching, her voice made it only too clear that she had made up her mind to leave with her father, and nothing he could do or say could change that decision.

There was a glint of satisfaction in the duke's eyes as he said, “I shall have a maid sent up to pack your clothes. You will, of course, wish to change,” he added, distaste settling over his harsh features as he noted the buckskin skirt and the strange sandals with their rawhide straps entwined round Rhea's calves. “It will be drafty in the carriage,” he commented, saying nothing further. “My carriage is below. We can be on the outskirts of London within the hour if we do not delay,” he added, his meaning clear as his eyes rested on the indolent figure of his son-in-law.

“Fresh teams of horses await our arrival at several inns along the route, so we shall waste no time in seeing your mother. And, of course, Francis and Robin and the twins will be thrilled to see you, my dear,” the duke added, and Dante, who was a man not above suspecting another's motives, received the distinct impression they were being cleverly manipulated by the duke.

“Do they know that I have returned?” Rhea asked eagerly.

“I am the only one who knows. I did not wish to raise their hopes unnecessarily. Until I arrived in London, and, indeed, actually saw you with my own eyes, I was not certain you had even returned to England aboard that ship. I was, however, quite prepared to question its captain concerning your whereabouts should you not have been aboard,” the duke explained, and he sounded almost sorry that he had not had that pleasure.

“I shall inform the coachman of our plans and have him send up a couple of footmen to carry down your trunks,” he said, changing the subject and apparently having thought out every detail except, perhaps, for one.

And that detail was making himself comfortable at the table, his plans very much his own as he contemplated the duke, wondering if next the duke would try and order him from the room, which wouldn't come as a surprise, for it was more than obvious that the duke would enjoy nothing better than to send the captain of the
Sea Dragon
packing; and right out of his daughter's life.

“I trust it shall not disturb your schedule, Your Grace, if I have a word in private with my wife?” Dante asked quietly, his sarcasm like the cutting edge of a knife.

Lucien would have liked to deny him, or so it seemed as he stared at the former privateer as if he had outrageously requested a piece of the moon.

“I am certain those footmen you'll have sent up will be quite the strapping fellows, and more than happy to stand guard at the door should I be so foolish and try and leave, accompanied by my wife,” Dante said with bitter mockery. “You need have no fear on that score, Your Grace, for I shall always know where to find Rhea.”

“Father, please,” Rhea asked. “Dante
is
my husband and the father of my child. I would like to have a few minutes alone with him,” Rhea requested. “I have to change my clothes regardless, and you did wish to have a word with Sir Morgan, Father,” Rhea reminded him, exerting a certain subtle persuasion of her own.

“Very well, but I shall not be long in conversation,” the duke said, finally conceding temporary defeat. But he was obviously reluctant to leave the two of them alone together, which was only too insultingly clear to Dante. He knew the battles were not over yet and was not surprised to hear the duke add a parting shot. “Remember, my dear, the footmen will be right outside the door should you need assistance.”

Rhea's eyes followed her father's progress across the room, and not until the door closed on his tall, commanding figure did she glance away. And it was only when Dante saw her shoulders shaking that he realized that she was crying.

“Rhea?” he inquired, and there was a new note of tender concern in his voice. “Are you ill? Shall I call for a doctor? Or your father?” He was worried enough to offer even that.

“No,” Rhea answered huskily. “I am just happy. Until now, being back in England has felt like a dream. There was no reality to it until I saw my father standing at the door and heard his dear voice. Suddenly the horrible nightmare seemed truly over. I felt all my fears vanish and I knew that I had really come home,” Rhea explained, feeling an overwhelming contentment as she rested her head against Dante's shoulder.

Her eyes were closed and she did not see the strange expression on Dante's face. “You have felt safe and happy with me, haven't you, Rhea?”

She glanced up in surprise. “Of course I have.”

“And you are still pleased to be my wife?”

“Of course I am.”

“And to be carrying my child?”

“More happy than I could ever tell you,” Rhea answered, her eyes holding his for a long moment while she searched that pale grayness for some hint of his feelings about the baby.

“Good. Although it would have changed little had you felt any regrets. You are the Marchioness of Jacqobi, and the child you will give birth to will be a Leighton. And that is the name of the family you have become part of, whether you like it or not. To call yourself a Dominick is no longer your right. Nor will your home ever again be Camareigh. Remember that, Rhea Claire,” Dante warned her, and the intensity of his gaze frightened her.

Yet she replied calmly. “I accepted that when I wed you, Dante. I love you and always shall, please remember that,” Rhea told him, and she began to feel some of the angry tension leave his body.

“I shall hold you to your word,” Dante promised her.

“Dante, you are pleased about the baby?” Rhea asked shyly.

But no words could have surpassed the look of tender passion which spread across Dante's face, erasing the harshness that sometimes made him seem so remote.

“You will never escape me now,” he murmured, his mouth lowering to hers, and they both found comfort in that intimate touching.

“I wouldn't be able to even if I so desired, for soon I shall be so big, 'twill be difficult for me to get to my feet, much less run away,” Rhea jested, yet the thought did give her cause for concern when she remembered how large her Uncle Richard's wife, Sarah, had become when she was expecting her first child. And with that thought, Rhea found herself wondering if Sarah had had a girl or a boy. And what other events had occurred at Camareigh while she had been absent this past year. There would be so much for her father and her to discuss on the journey.

“I cannot persuade you to stay?” Dante asked softly, his teeth nibbling along her parted lips. “I promise I shall not be long about this business of the treasure, for the crew grows impatient to be about their new lives of leisure.”

“Please, Dante, do not make this any more difficult than it already is,” Rhea begged as she fought off the aching longing she always felt when in his arms. “I must go,” she said adamantly.

“I shall miss you,” Dante whispered against the fragrant softness of her hair. “I haven't slept alone in many months. How shall I keep warm?”

“I shall instruct one of the serving girls to put an extra comforter on your bed, but that is all,” Rhea offered, a warning glint in her eyes, but she was quickly succumbing to the sensual pleasure of his touch, her resolve fading as she felt his hand caressing the tender curve of her breast.

There was silence in the room until the sound of approaching feet along the corridor beyond the closed door penetrated Rhea's awareness and she freed her lips from Dante's. “Dante, I think there is someone at—”

Dante sighed, thinking they'd had a damned sight too many interruptions at this inn. He reluctantly released Rhea from his embrace as the knocking continued. “No doubt one of your father's eager watchdogs,” Dante commented with an unpleasant glance toward the door.

Dante stood in front of the fire, staring broodingly into the flames while the two serving girls bustled about, packing the colorful gowns they'd admired the night before. Dante kept his back to the room, unwilling to participate in Rhea's departure, but when he heard the exclamations of pleasure from the girls as they helped Rhea dress, he couldn't resist the temptation of a glance.

Dressed in the pale primrose gown with the wildflowers and butterflies dancing across the voluminous skirt, she brought all the warmth of springtime into the chilly room. The gold hair had been confined in a simple twist on the back of her head, and it was with a certain sadness that Dante watched the ivory smoothness of her shoulders disappear beneath a blue velvet cloak.

Dante returned his gaze to the flames. He felt none of the warmth of the hearth, for at the back of his mind was the worrisome thought that once the duke had Rhea back at Camareigh, he would do everything within his power to destroy their marriage.

Dante felt a gentle touch on his arm and, glancing down, stared hard at the small hand with his ring on the third finger.

“You
will
come soon?” Rhea asked, understanding his fears.

“Very soon. I trust you will be on the lookout for me. I doubt whether your father will allow me through the gates of Camareigh,” Dante predicted. Lucien Dominick would not give up without a fight.

“I am sorry that your first meeting with my father was so unpleasant, but you must admit that the circumstances of our marriage are a bit unusual. And you must allow him a certain dismay at having discovered that I am wed to a man he thought may have kidnapped me.” Rhea was hoping desperately that Dante and her father would be more understanding of one another. “Just give my father time to accept you, Dante. When he comes to see how much in love we are, he will raise no further objections to our marriage. The rest of my family will be anxious to meet you, especially my mother. You will adore her, Dante. She is just as wonderful as my father, only less severe. In fact, she is the only one who can tease him, and she never fails to steal a smile from him,” Rhea told him. As she spoke of her family she became more anxious to see them again.

“Indeed?” Dante said with a smile. “Your mother must be a remarkable woman. I shall look forward to making her acquaintance.”

“I think you and she will get along quite well together. Unless, of course, you anger her. She does have a temper. But she does not stay mad for long. Why, even Robin—” Rhea was saying when she suddenly remembered something. “Conny!”