Emily's Seduction (21 page)

“I was thinking of accompanying the
Sophia
when she sails.”

“Aye, it’s good to make a clean break. Put some distance between yourself and the problem.”

The problem? Was that all Emily was to become to him? A troublesome ghost of his past? The thought twisted in his guts like soured wine.

“That girl will be better off.” Nothing could disguise the satisfaction in Nicolo’s voice.

That satisfaction brought Alex to his feet. He couldn’t spend another moment here without saying something he’d regret. Nicolo couldn’t be blamed for what he was. That Dutch devil had turned him. He’d been young, impressionable when he’d been captured and exposed to the devil’s ways.

Why do you make excuses for him when you won
’
t excuse yourself?

He could just hear Emily saying the words. What would he answer her? That Nicolo couldn’t be expected to have stood up to the devil because he was not a Dalton? Because he hadn’t been schooled in the twin fires of Alex’s father’s stern Protestant work ethic and his mother’s fervent Congregationalism?

So was that what this boiled down to? Pride?

“I could never live up to you, Alex. Do you have any idea how that feels?”

Nicolo’s words startled him out of his thoughts. The echo of desperation touched him, melted his resentment. Sympathy for his old friend rose. His eyebrows snapped together and he sat again, this time remaining on the edge of his seat. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“I hated him every bit as much as you did. I wanted him dead so badly my stomach used to ache with it. I plotted and planned and prayed. But I was such a coward. I couldn’t make that move. Then you did. And you didn’t even plan or try to protect yourself; you just walked in there and did the deed. I saw your face, the satisfaction you took. You are a hunter, a killer, a leader among men. I am nothing. I could never have done that. I’d have been caught, vomiting my guts out at all that blood, the savageness of it.” Nicolo smiled, a wistful look in his blue eyes. “You came to us a boy and I dismissed you as a spoilt blue-blood, a weakling. But you grew into something I can never be.”

“I didn’t get her out of there. I allowed our child to be born a bastard.”

“What man can work miracles? Even a true warrior?”

“She should have been my wife. I ought to have protected her.”

“You did what you could. But don’t fool yourself that you would have been happy with her. She was no wife for you.”

“Careful.” The words were forced out of Alex—he practically growled them.

“She was weak and you despised her weakness.”

Alex sprang out of his chair and found his hand wrapped about Nicolo’s nightshirt. “I’d call a man out for saying less.”

Nicolo laughed. “Will you kill the man you struggled to save?”

Alex released Nicolo’s nightshirt then forced himself to take a deep breath.

“Alex, it showed in your face every time you spoke her name. You knew she was too weak to ever survive an escape. Do you remember what we went through? The fear, the need to keep our heads, the deprivations at times? And the entire time needing to make sacrifices for a helpless infant? Do you imagine she could have held up under it?”

Alex’s chest burned with the need to shut Nicolo’s words off. To deny them. “It would have been up to me to make sure she held up.”

Nicolo waved him off. “As I said, no man can work miracles. You knew she’d never make it and you knew you’d never be able to leave without going through him. You knew you’d have to sacrifice yourself and, if you did, she’d perish without you. It was a situation without a chance for success.”

Bristling all over, Alex turned away from Nicolo. He let his arms fall to his sides and made fists. “Shut up.”

“You found a jewel of a woman, one with a woman’s type of strength. Idealistic, soft-hearted, but with a nature stubborn enough to stand up to you. God, of course I was envious. I also hurt for you because I knew it would end like this. The past still holds you in chains as surely as it does me. The things we can never tell our wives stand between them and us. It can never work.”

“I told her.” Alex almost whispered the words. They seemed too terrible to be said aloud.

There was a long pause.

“You did?” Nicolo’s voice rang with awe.

“Yes, everything.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said she understood.”

“And does she? Can she?”

“No, she pities me.”

“Ah, see there, it is like I suspected. There is no hope.” Nicolo’s voice echoed both the certainty and despair in Alex’s heart.

* * * *

“—very heavy debt but still better to bear debts than depredations.”

Alex sat in Brigit Forbes’ parlour listening to her read her latest letter from her Congressman cousin.

She laid the letter down and smiled, two dimples popping out on either side of her well-shaped mouth. “Goodness, who would have thought our politicians could have finally come to that reasoning? Those of us who paid for depredations through our profit margins knew this ages ago.”

The widow of a somewhat well-off Philadelphia merchant, Brigit had been struggling for several years to keep the business he left to her afloat. Alex had often helped her with financial decisions or connections. They had also been lovers on and off when his presence in Philadelphia had allowed.

He lifted the dainty steaming china cup of tea and took a drink. The fruity taste hit his tongue and he grimaced. Emily was correct. It
was
too sweet. Totally insipid. He would prefer coffee. But Brigit didn’t even keep it in her house. She preferred to keep English manners and English ways.

“What will you do now, Alex?”

It was an excellent question and one he didn’t want to answer. The engagement to Emily and the prospect of actually marrying her had awakened him to how much he wanted children. Children he could openly claim and love in practical ways every day. It had been assumed for a long time by nearly everyone that he would make Brigit an offer.

Should he?

The question shocked the hell out of him.

Well, maybe he ought to consider it. He had to get on with living, didn’t he?

As was an old habit, albeit a horrid one, he examined her, tearing her apart feature by feature and looking for a reason to reject her. He couldn’t find one, of course. With her raven hair and milk-white skin and a cameo-perfect face, she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.

He tapped his fingers on his thigh.

Oh, yes, she was beautiful and yet…what? All afternoon, her musical voice had prattled on in his ear, talking of the matters that interested her. He’d barely been able to attend to it. Had she always been so deadly dull? So consumed with profits and manifests? She reminded him in a way of Sexton himself. However, it was one thing to chat with Sexton about the Exchange at a supper party, but it would be an entirely different matter to live day in and day out with the feminine equivalent.

What was the matter with him? He’d always admired her devotion to her business. She had keen business sense; she had simply lacked experience in the beginning. It had been his pleasure to help her but she didn’t need his help now.

He tapped his fingers again.

What the devil was he doing here? Yes, she’d invited him for tea and he’d put her off long enough. Cornelia was giving him grief over it. But, really—what the devil was he doing here?

“Alex?”

He started then stared into her irritated eyes. “Yes?”

“I asked you a question.”

He offered her a smile, turning the full force of his charm on her to ease her ire. “You’d best ask it again.”

“I asked, what will you do now?”

“I was thinking just now that I will probably go with the
Sophia
when she sails.”

A mysterious feminine half smile curved Brigit’s mouth and she looked down and to the side. “Do you know, I had the most unshakable notion that you might have asked your little artist to marry you?”

He felt his smile freeze . “Whatever made you think I would do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She took a sip of tea then set her cup back in the saucer with a clink. “It is just that you have always been so idealistic and…how to put it? So with your head in the clouds.”

He chuckled. “Me?”

She laughed, her dark blue eyes twinkling fondly. “Yes, you.”

“I don’t think you have the right man.”

“I am sure I do. Mr Alexander Dalton.” She laughed again and a slight blush tinged her cheeks. “Your cousin Mrs Hazelwood has been throwing me at your head for years now. I had long feared her over-zealousness in doing so would end our friendship.”

“Why should that have been? I wouldn’t hold the actions of another against a friend.”

“Yes, but you and I are so utterly unsuited. We should have driven each other mad within a fortnight. I never understood how she could think we would suit.” Brigit shrugged. “Still, when I thought you might make an offer to that little waif, it did tweak my pride a bit.”

“Did it?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral, trying not to reveal that speaking of Emily gave him a pain in his chest.

“Well, certainly. I mean, she is so very young, so obviously untried and…”

“Yes?”

“Well, she’s not quite… I mean, she’s not very attractive, is she?” She laughed softly, nervousness sounding beneath.

He gave her a level stare. “Brigit—”

“Oh, please, do not take me the wrong way. She’s very talented and seems quite kind. She’ll make someone a sweet wife but not a gentleman like you.”

Anger heated his blood, which was foolish because Brigit was just a materialistic, vain and—all right, admit it—a shallow, grasping woman. Had he really kept company with women like Brigit and Maggie all this time? Yes, he had. In fact, he had preferred their shallow aspect because they could never penetrate under his skin and see into his hollow soul. Emily had seen him as he was and it had not been a pleasing thing.

“Brigit, Miss Eliot is a beautiful young lady to my eyes.”

Brigit’s lips compressed and she looked down at her teacup.

He continued, “And she has many other excellent qualities. You are correct she would make any man a fine wife. But she’s too fine for a gentleman like me.”

Brigit rolled her eyes. “That’s a ridiculous notion. She’d count herself lucky to win a gentleman of your calibre, any young woman in her position would. She’d jump at the chance. But, if you feel this way, I am surprised you haven’t offered for her. You and she are so alike.”

“So you’ve already said. But you’re wrong—we are very different.”

She shook her head. “Alex, I saw how you looked when you first told me that the Senate had passed the Naval Bill. You looked more alive than you have in ages. Now that this fight is over, I can only wonder what you shall do with yourself.”

“I told you, I plan to sail with the
Sophia
.”

“It won’t make you happy. You always come home from these voyages more restless than when you left. They simply distract you, they mark time. You need something real in your life, something idealistic to strive for. This is why we should never have suited.”

“How can you have known me all this time and yet held to such a false opinion of me?”

“How can you not know yourself? I think you had better marry your funny-looking little idealist before she gets away from you.”

* * * *

At home, in his study that evening, Alex couldn’t find peace. Brigit’s words kept haunting him.

He took a deep drink of Scotch and let the burn slide down his throat. Yes, it had exhilarated him the moment he’d heard that the Senate had passed the Naval Bill. All that remained was for Washington to sign it. Surely he would. There was a provision in the Bill that, if the United States made peace with the Barbary pirates, then the Navy wouldn’t be sought. But what chance was there of peace now?

The country would finally have the standing Navy it needed to be safe against not only rogue pirate nations but also the twin depredations of both the French and the British. The United States could become a force to be reckoned with. And knowing that did give him a powerful sense of satisfaction. Of having played a small part in such an accomplishment.

This was all Emily wanted. She was a woman, denied a public life in which to satisfy those needs. So she did so through her art. And his selfish desire to hold her to himself, his need to protect her at all costs, even against her own desires, had stifled her free expression.

It had been wrong. She wasn’t like other women. She would always need more from life.

She’d been correct to hold him in contempt for that.

Suddenly it came to him what he must do.

* * * *

“Excuse me, Miss Eliot.”

Emily looked up from the book that she had been reading to Mrs Hazelwood as the old woman embroidered a pillowcase and focused her attention on the maid, Sally, who stood in the doorway of the parlour.

“There’s someone here to see you,” Sally said. “Mrs Daily.”

Emily didn’t know anyone named Daily. She looked to Mrs Hazelwood.

Mrs Hazelwood smiled. “Well, go on then, have your visit.” She turned to Sally. “You may tell Miss Eliot’s visitor to wait in the kitchen for her.”

Emily went to the mirror in the stairwell and smoothed her hair. Who could possibly be coming to see her? She followed the aroma of baking bread into the kitchen. The cook and her two granddaughters were seated at one end of the large wooden table, chopping carrots and peeling potatoes. They were casting furtive, curious glances at the other end of the table where a tall, thin woman sat. She was dressed in a light grey gown with a simple white chemise-tucker. Her large hazel eyes were intelligent and lit with warmth as Emily approached.

“Miss Eliot?”

“Yes,” Emily replied.

She smiled and stood. “Do you think we could take a walk in the garden? It is such a lovely day. I do believe April is in the air.”

Emily nodded. “Yes, of course.”