How To Seduce A Pirate (The Hawkins Brothers Series) (11 page)

CHAPTER
16

In the quiet room,
under the warm glow of lamplight, Holly watched her sister sleep. The
hemorrhage had finally come to a surcease, and Quincy had removed the
shepherd’s purse. Even so, Emma had lost a lot of blood. And Holly waited with
baited breath for the girl to recover.

It was half past
three in the morning, but she was too afraid to close her eyes. What if
something terrible happened to Emma while she slumbered?

Holly looked
over her shoulder instead and studied her husband, reclined in an armchair on
the other side of the room. His eyes half shut, she wasn’t sure if he was
gazing at her or having a waking dream.

A welter of
feelings stormed her breast. Gratitude. Anger. Confusion. What had happened to
him tonight? Why hadn’t he roused when she’d cried for his help? 

She reflected on
the heart-stopping moment she’d realized her sister was in peril, when the
blood had flowed and flowed without end. She’d had to leave her dying kin
unattended while she’d fetched Quincy. And when she’d reached his room, he
still wouldn’t wake. She’d had to shake him, dumped water over him. Holly had
never seen him so lifeless. Was he ill?

And he hadn’t revived
upon entering Emma’s room. She’d had to shout at him to do something before her
sister perished in her arms.

Holly heaved a
trembling breath. In the shadows, Quincy looked ever so forbidding. She was
suddenly unsure about him, about the strange spell that had come over him. But
it wasn’t the right time to broach the disturbing matter.

Her thoughts
returned to Emma and more unsettling emotions rattled in her chest. If she
hadn’t been so flustered by her earlier kiss with Quincy, she would never have
paced her room in frustration or heard the whimpering sounds coming from her sister’s
room next door. The girl would have died alone and in pain. She still might . .
.

Holly pushed
aside her heavy reflections. She wouldn’t dwell on the macabre. Emma was young
and strong. She would live. She had to.

Emma stirred.
“Holly?”

“I’m here,
dear.” She pushed out of her chair and climbed onto the clean bed. “Rest.”

“Holly,” her
voice cracked, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Emma.”

Holly couldn’t
deny it any longer. She had failed to protect her sister. Too distracted by her
marital troubles, she’d allowed a villain to take advantage of the vulnerable
girl.

She embraced Emma.
“I am at fault, not you. I failed to look after you, as proper.”

And she would
never forgive herself for such a shameful mistake.

“You did nothing
wrong, Holly. I—”

“No, dear. I am
at fault. And I will make it right. Who did this to you? Who hurt you, Emma?”

She wanted the
blackguard’s head. He had seduced an innocent adolescent, then abandoned her
with child. He deserved an eternity in hell!

“I—I—” Emma
broke into sobs.

“No, don’t cry.
You must regain your strength. Shhh. Everything will be better in the morning.”

Soon the girl
calmed and drifted back to sleep.

Holly sighed,
her arms still locked around her sister’s shoulders. She wouldn’t press the
girl for answers, not until she had healed . . . if she healed.

A shudder went
through her. First her father had died, then her mother. She had a husband, but
not a marriage partner. And to lose Emma because . . .

Her throat
filled with bitter tears. Slowly she separated from her sister. As the tears
fell, Holly slipped off the bed and paced the rug, restless with regret and
fear.

“You are not at
fault,” came a deep voice from the shadows.

Her shoulders
quivering, she turned toward her husband. “Then who is at fault?” she whispered.
“It is my duty to protect Emma until she marries.”

“It is
our
duty to protect her,” he returned. “She is my sister, too.”

An overpowering awareness
came over her, making her gasp for breath. Another man might have tossed her
sister from the house for becoming pregnant out of wedlock. A truly cruel man
might even have let her bleed to death, citing it just punishment for sin. But
not her husband. He considered Emma family. He considered
her
family.

Something
changed inside Holly at that moment. The sentiment rooted itself in her heart
with a frighteningly iron hold.

Her tears
poured. Quincy moved away from the armchair, his eyes sharp with intent. When
he reached her, he slipped his palms across her cheeks. Air trapped in her
lungs. Without a word, he pressed his lips against her mouth. 

Holly released
her breath, then dragged in another. Her heart thudded, her blood roared in her
ears, but his kiss wasn’t borne of passion, rather something more. It soothed
the soul. In every way, his gentle touch eased her grief and offered her hope.

Her fingers
trembling, she reached for his face. She stroked his skin, rough with stubble,
and returned his buss with an earnest want for true intimacy . . . that of two
connected hearts.

“Rest,” he
breathed over her lips, ending the healing kiss. “Everything will be better in
the morning,” he echoed her own words.

And she believed
him.

~ * ~

When a gentle
hand rocked her shoulder, Holly opened her heavy eyes. She focused on the
cloudy figure hovering above her and soon recognized her sister-in-law, the
Duchess of Wembury.

Oh, no. She had fallen
asleep!

Holly tossed the
blanket aside and jumped from the armchair. “Emma!”

“Shhh,”
whispered Mirabelle. “The girl is fine.”

Holly darted
toward the bed and found her sister pale, but alive and soundly slumbering.
Lady Amy was tucking the covers around her, while Sophia mopped the girl’s brow
with a cool compress.

Holly slumped
her aching shoulders with relief.

“Get some rest,”
encouraged Mirabelle, stroking her spine. “We’ll look after the girl.”

With such
attentive ladies at her sister’s bedside, Holly left the room, grateful for
their support. Her legs wavered as she trudged through the passageway toward
her own room, but she first stopped at Quincy’s door. He must have sent word to
his kin about Emma. She wanted to thank him for that. But she also wanted to
make sure he was all right. She still didn’t know what had caused his dissociative
state last night.

Quietly she
opened the door.

Ensconced in an
armchair, Quincy stared out the window. She hadn’t seen him since he had kissed
her with such healing tenderness. Her heart thumped with quickened beats as she
approached the bed and settled on the feather tick.

Something had
changed between them after the kiss. A bond had formed. He’d offered her solace
during one of the worst moments of her life. She would offer him the same if he
desired. She hoped he desired her help. It would mean he trusted her. It would
mean the start of a new relationship. The one she had longed for since their
wedding day.

“Quincy?”

Slowly he turned
and gazed at her, his deep blue eyes smoldering. A warmth filled her, and she
shuddered at the pleasant sensation.

“How is Emma?”
he wondered, his voice hoarse. There were dark marks under his eyes. His
features were taut. He had suffered a restless night, like her.

She offered him a
weak smile. “Better. Your family is tending to her right now. Thank you for
summoning them.”

He looked back
toward the glass. “You needed help caring for the girl. It will be many days,
if not weeks before she regains her full strength.”

At least she
would
regain her strength, thought Holly . . . thanks to Quincy.

Her heart
throbbed even harder. She clasped her moist hands in her lap. “You look tired.”

“So do you.”

“I’m going to my
room to rest. I—I first wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine.”

He wasn’t going
to offer her a confession, she realized. If she wanted to know the truth about
what had possessed him in the midnight hour, she would have to ask him outright.

She took a deep
breath. “What happened to you last night?”

Quincy remained
silent.

She prodded, “I
cried for your help, but you didn’t come. I shook you, but you didn’t wake.”

His chest
expanded as his breathing deepened, grew louder.

Holly sensed she
was treading on dangerous ground, but she persisted. Something was very amiss
with her husband. She wouldn’t let the matter rest.

“What’s wrong,
Quincy? Let me help you.”

The silence
stretched for several more moments. He flexed his hand, then balled it into a
fist. Over and over. As if fighting for control.

“It was the opium,”
he said at last.

She frowned.
“Opium?”

“It helps me
sleep.”

She remembered
his previous night terror, how he had cried for his mother and sister, how she
had tried to rouse him without success.

“You suffer from
night terrors,” she concluded. “Why?”

As he had his
back to her, she wasn’t able to gauge his emotions, but she sensed the tension
in his body.

“I killed my
mother.”

Holly gasped.
Her heart spasmed as if a fist had rammed her in the chest.
“I’m sorry. I
didn’t mean to kill her”
he had cried in his disorienting sleep. But . . .

“T-that’s
impossible,” she stuttered. “Your mother died from childbed fever.”

He slumped his
head. “I see you’ve been gossiping with Belle again.”

Her spine
prickled at the accusation in his voice. “Your sister isn’t a gossip. She just
wanted me to know . . . to understand you better.”

“Then you
understand I killed my mother.”

“Quincy—”

“She died
because I was born. Let’s not mince words, Holly. I killed her.”

He had the
twisted idea ingrained in his soul and disabusing him of it wouldn’t help
matters. He’d only resist her all the more.

“Bearing a child
is a risk for a woman,” she agreed, “but you are not to blame for what happened
to your mother.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“I ruined their
lives.”

“They? Your
family?”

“Aye.” His voice
dropped. “I remember the way my father looked at me, with such pain in his
eyes. He’d always turn away from me, avoid me.”

“Oh, Quincy.”

“James assumed
nursing duty, rearing us while Father was at sea. He lost his youth, keeping us
in line and tending to our needs. I know how James feels toward me. Resentful.
He won’t admit it, but I know. And then there’s Belle, a girl who grew up
without a mother. And now she is a mother herself, but she doesn’t always know
what to do with her children. At times, I hear her cry in frustration. If our
mother had lived, their lives would’ve been better. I should not have come into
the world.”

Tears rolled
down her cheeks. The anguish in his voice broke her heart. “And the opium
helps?”

“I can’t live
without it,” he said in a flat vein.

“You mean . . . ?”

“I am an opium
fiend, so don’t be disturbed if you have trouble waking me—or if one day you
cannot wake me a‘tall.”

Holly’s heart
dropped. Her world crumbled around her. She felt strapped for breath and hadn’t
any more words.

She grabbed her
skirt and dashed from the room, rushing toward her own chamber. Inside, she slammed
the door and leaned against the cool wood, sobbing.

Her heart
hammered with a sense of panic she hadn’t experienced in years. She suddenly remembered
her father, gambling every night. She remembered the furniture disappearing
from the house. She remembered rooms being shut up until only the sitting
parlor remained. She remembered their meals being sparse, and the manor being
cold in the winter because there wasn’t fuel to heat it.

“Stop, Papa!
Stop this instance!”

Her father
lifted his defeated head. “I cannot stop, Holly. Not until I’ve restored
everything that I’ve lost.”

“If you do not
stop now we will all perish.”

“Holly, trust
me. I will make things right.”

“No,” she cried.
“I do not trust you anymore, Papa.”

 
Holly
staggered toward the bed and collapsed, weeping.

“No,” she
groaned. “Not again.”

Her hope for a
future with Quincy withered away. He couldn’t give her what she wanted—a real
marriage.

A real marriage
went far beyond the marital bed, she had learned. A real marriage was
structured on trust. But she could not trust her husband. Or depend on him. He
was an opium fiend. He had an insatiable obsession. Just like her wastrel
father. And if there was one lesson Holly had learned from her father’s
addiction to gambling, it was that a fiend could
never
reform his
destructive ways.