Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (27 page)

“Are you feeling better? You’d have been killed by that bloody colonial and he probably wouldn’t have stopped.”

Bethlyn managed a smile of gratitude to the handsome young man. “l owe you my life. If not for you, I’d be dead now, I suppose.”

“Don’t even think such a thing, miss. I’m glad to have been there to help you.”

“May I have the pleasure of your name, Captain?” Instantly he rose to attention and bowed to her, taking her still trembling hand in his.

 “Captain John Andre at your beck and call, miss.” He planted a warm, sweet kiss on her hand.

“Well, Captain John Andre, I’m most pleased to meet you. I’m Bethlyn Briston.”

“Are you related to Ian and Molly Briston?”

“Yes, I’m Ian Briston’s wife.”

A look of complete surprise passed across his face. “I had no idea Ian was married. I’m acquainted with both Ian and his sister, Molly. Many nights have I spent at Edgecomb and delighted in their company.”

Bethlyn didn’t bite back the sarcastic retort which rose to her lips. “It seems you’re not the only one who didn’t know of my husband’s marital status. That beetle-faced little man at the office didn’t know, either.” She sighed tiredly. “I would love a nice bath and clean sheets to sleep in. I’ve traveled a long way to find my husband.” She startled and glanced around. “My package…”

“You mean that brown sack? I’m afraid the carriage claimed it. I noticed it was torn and trampled. If you wish I’ll go back and retrieve it for you.”

Bethlyn shook her head; nothing was going right for her today. She’d just lost her two best gowns and nearly been crushed to death. What other unforeseen tragedy could happen?

“I wish I could find my husband,” she muttered.

 “Then find him you shall,” Andre said in a rush, and rose to his feet. “I’ll get a carriage for us and before you can say Jack Rabbit, you’ll be at Edgecomb, safe within the loving bosom of your family.”

Bethlyn wasn’t certain how loving and safe she’d be, but tears misted her eyes at John Andre’s kindness to her. Once again he came to her rescue. “I do appreciate your help, Captain Andre.”

White teeth flashed in his olive-complexioned face. “Call me John. All of the fair ladies in Philadelphia do, and you, Mrs. Briston, are the fairest of the fair.”

“Ah, I believe you have the soul of a poet.”

Andre made a slight bow. “Among other things, dear lady.”

~ ~ ~

 “A wife? I don’t believe it!” Molly Briston sat in the parlor of Edgecomb with Bethlyn and John Andre. An amused smile lit up her pretty face, which was framed by dark wispy curls. Her eyes, the color of hazelnuts, filled with curiosity at the disheveled young woman who claimed to be her sister-in-law.

Bethlyn sipped her tea slowly. A large lump lodged in her throat. God, Briston hadn’t told his own sister he’d been married seven years ago! She felt so humiliated she wished to find a hole in the floor and sink fast away. However, she hid her emotions as she’d done all those years ago with her father when she’d been hurt. “You’re quite shocked, Molly,” she said kindly. “But it’s true. The marriage took place shortly after my stepmother died.”

A shadow of sadness passed quickly across Molly’s pretty face. “She was my mother. I still miss her and remember her. However, Ian commands that I never mention her name in this house. That’s a very hard thing to do.” Molly suddenly brightened and embraced Bethlyn. “I’ve always wanted a sister, and now I’ve got one. How delicious! And how thrilling it will be when Ian sees you again.”

“Yes,” Bethlyn commented, pleased that Molly accepted her, but she didn’t believe for one moment that Ian Briston would be so glad to see her again.

~ ~ ~

After bidding a fond farewell to John Andre, Molly showed Bethlyn to her room on the second floor of the large and luxuriously furnished mansion. Bethlyn had been able to see very little of the outside of the house, since she and John had arrived after dusk had fallen. She had seen that it was a grand, elegant-appearing structure. Two massive chimneys stood on either side of the three-storied mansion. The third floor contained two dormer windows while the other windows were in the Palladian style.

A newel staircase led up to the second-floor landing, and Molly opened the arched doorway of a room at the end of the hall. “I hope you like this bedroom. It’s the prettiest guest bedroom in the—” Molly halted, and two red splotches marred the perfection of her face. “But you aren’t really a guest now, are you? Perhaps you’d care to stay in the bedroom next to Ian’s, the one which was my mother’s?”

“This is fine,” Bethlyn assured her, and smiled. She didn’t feel as if she were the wife of Edgecomb’s master, and she doubted she’d be staying long. The guest bedroom was fine with her. Molly left her to get acquainted with the room. The walls were painted a buff color, and the ceilings were pearly white, while the paneling was a warm brown. She especially liked the green-and-yellow-print counterpane and the lime-green drapes on the double windows which flanked a large marble fireplace.

On one side of the room stood a hand-painted silk screen which depicted delicate-looking birds, perched on thin vines with a volcano in the background. Moving the screen aside she found a white porcelain bathing tub with brass-clawed feet. Moments later, Molly came back, followed by two servant girls who carried buckets of warm water which they promptly poured into the tub. Under Molly’s arm was a fine lace nightdress.

“I’ll loan you one of my nightgowns and I’ll have Sally alter one of my dresses for you until we can go shopping tomorrow. I know of the sweetest little dressmaker. She makes absolutely wonderful clothes. I do look forward to shopping with you, Bethlyn. You’ve just arrived from abroad and must be up on all the latest fashions. Oh, how lovely it will be to have a woman to shop with, to share secrets!”

Molly’s gushings caused Bethlyn to feel extremely guilty. The dear girl never questioned her as to how she’d come to Edgecomb with nothing, not even a decent pair of shoes. She was so trusting and kind that Bethlyn embraced her and assured her they’d be the best of friends.

She sincerely hoped this would prove true, but she doubted it would come to pass. Not if Ian Briston had a say in the matter.

13

Weariness propelled Ian Briston from the foyer and up the flight of stairs to his room. He was even too tired to eat and had never been so aggravated in all the years he’d run Briston Shipping. Couldn’t anyone do anything correctly? he wondered. Must he personally oversee every small problem? He and Marc had returned earlier that evening after a day spent seeing to the outfitting of a new ship. No sooner were they in his office than Eakins had barged in, intent upon telling him about an incident which had happened during the day, but Ian had waved the man away; in fact, he actually almost growled to silence him. He’d felt unable to concentrate on trivialities and informed Eakins he’d have to brief him in the morning. Leaving the office, he headed for home, a sticky feeling clinging to his clothes despite a sudden cooling of the warm Philadelphia temperature. The mid-November heat was unusual, and he hoped that fall would soon arrive. Ian had grown tired of the city already and longed to feel his feet on the deck of a ship once more.

He wanted something else, too, or rather someone, but he didn’t dare think about her.

So, climbing the stairs, he resolved to wash away the accumulated sweat and grime of the day, then crawl into bed and sleep — and forget. Removing his frock coat, he moved soundlessly along the carpeted corridor, stopping abruptly by one of the guest bedrooms. He noticed that the door was ajar.

A flickering candle, burned down to the nub, barely illuminated the covered figure sleeping on the large bed. But from the shapely contours and curves of the person, Ian discerned that a woman rested beneath the thin coverlet. Strands of light hair fanned the pillow and hid the profile of the woman, but Ian couldn’t help but smile. A surge of desire and amusement rushed through him. Suddenly he no longer felt tired, because he knew that the woman who slept so peacefully wouldn’t be sleepy for long. The moment he’d kiss her, she’d awaken and open herself to him like a dewy flower.

Hadn’t that always been the way with Cynthia? The many nights she’d visited Edgecomb, on the pretext of seeing to Molly so she’d be forced to spend the night in this room, had always ended in the same fashion. He’d come to her after Molly was asleep, and they’d made passionate love until both of them were spent. No woman in Philadelphia could match Cynthia’s beauty and, he doubted, her insatiable appetite for lovemaking. Ian knew she had other lovers and he didn’t mind. Cynthia, long a widow, professed no interest in marrying again. Why not take advantage of what she offered? Perhaps her soft, pliant body would erase another woman from his thoughts for a while. At the moment he didn’t want to think, only feel.

Entering the room, he found it stuffy and opened the window. A sudden fresh, cool breeze floated into the bedroom and caused the candle to sputter and die. In the darkness Ian quickly shucked his clothes and joined the woman he believed to be Cynthia in the bed.

His long, well-muscled body fit snugly against the curve of her derriere when he pulled her against him. What was this? A nightgown. He wondered when the lusty Cynthia had started to wear nightgowns. Enfolding her in his arms, he breathed in the intoxicating scent of her hair. She smelled wonderful, felt like satin in his arms. His hand trailed lazily across a full breast, instantly feeling the nipple harden beneath the thin nightdress. He smiled because even in sleep Cynthia’s body responded to his touch.

His lips kissed the nape of her neck and his tongue followed the curve to the valley between her breasts. A. trickle of perspiration met his lips and he licked it away, breathing her name against the silken flesh.

The woman moaned and slowly turned her face. He felt her lips meet his, and her kiss was gentle but laced with the promise of passion. Ian’s loins felt on fire. Never before in all his couplings with Cynthia had he felt so protective of her or kissed her so tenderly as he did at that moment. Only one woman had ever stirred such feelings within him, and he didn’t want to think about her.

He positioned the woman so that her body was beneath him and felt her arms embrace his neck. She kissed him sweetly and slowly, almost as if she were half awake. Ian wanted her fiercely, and his hands stroked the satiny softness of her lower body, finding the pulsing center of her womanhood beneath the nightgown which rode above her thighs. His desire was quite evident and pulsing to enter her, and at that moment he would have thrust inside her except the woman moaned.

“Oh, Hawk,” she whispered in a sleepy, husky voice. Ian’s head shot up. Blood pounded through his veins.

Cynthia had never called him Hawk; she didn’t know anything about Hawk. Who was this woman who responded to his kisses?

“Who are you, madam?” His voice sounded vicious to his own ears, so it was no wonder that he felt the woman stiffen, and though he couldn’t see her eyes in the darkness, he guessed sleep fled and that they were round and full of shock. He didn’t expect the frightened and bloodcurdling scream which followed,

“Help! Someone help!” She clawed and pushed at Ian, knocking his body from her when she kicked out at him and attacked his bulging manhood with her foot.

Ian groaned and doubled over on the floor. He saw shooting stars for a moment and didn’t realize that Molly had entered the room and held a candle aloft until he heard her voice cutting through the air.

“Whatever is the matter?” Molly cried and placed the candle on the bedside table.

From his vantage place on the floor Ian couldn’t see the woman on the high rice bed, but he knew she had scrambled off the mattress and stood beside Molly from the two pairs of feet he saw on the other side.

“A man is in here,” the woman said in a breathy voice. “Call the constable.”

“A man?” asked Molly, and a hint of panic could be heard in her tone.

“I kicked him. He’s on the floor — over there on the other side of the bed.”

Ian sensed her apparent fear and indecision and didn’t relish his sister running off, screaming for help. He didn’t want the servants to see him in such a state. He called out her name and saw Molly’s nightgown-clad legs moving toward him. Glancing up, he saw her face bending over him. Her hands came up to her mouth in a gesture of shock. Pulling the bed sheet off of the bed she managed to cover him. “Are you hurt, Ian?”