Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (29 page)

For the next few days Bethlyn’s time passed in a whirl of shopping trips with Molly, during which she was fitted with the most fashionable gowns and accessories. When the purchases later arrived at Edgecomb, Bethlyn’s bedroom was strewn with undergarments of the finest lace, nightrails of whisper-thin material, silk shoes, and hats in every style and color to match the satin, silk, and velvet dresses which the servant girls dutifully hung in the wardrobe.

“Goodness, Bethlyn, there’s hardly any more room to hang up your dresses,” Molly commented, and draped a long strand of pearls around her pretty neck, observing herself in the pier mirror. “I’ve never seen so many clothes at one time.”

Bethlyn finished slipping into a lavender gown with a pointed bodice, trimmed in alabaster-colored ruching which matched the lace on the elbow-length sleeves. A middle-aged servant named Sally closed the many hooks on the back of the gown, and Bethlyn broke away to peer in the same mirror as Molly. She smiled, pleased with her appearance. It had been a long while since she had worn anything comparable to this satin gown, which had been made especially for her by a well-known Philadelphia dressmaker. For the first time since leaving London she felt she looked quite pretty. Her eyes sparkled with an amber twinkle within their depths, and she allowed Sally to pull her hair atop her head with soft curls framing her face and baby-fine wisps at the nape of her neck.

The gown was possessed of a low neckline which Bethlyn realized showed too much decolletage, but she genuinely liked this dress and hated to take it off. So, she reached for an ivory lace kerchief and placed it within the valley of her breasts. She twirled around the large bedroom, instantly coming to a dizzy standstill when she heard Ian’s voice from the open doorway.

“So this is what you ladies do all day while I slave away at the firm.”

Molly giggled and rushed to him, kissing him on his cheek. “You’re home early. How wonderful. You’re going to dine with us tonight?”

Ian inclined his head, his green eyes bright. “Yes, Captain Andre will join us.”

“Oh, I better advise Cook. Come, Sally, we must see to the preparations.” Taking off the pearl necklace, she placed it on the dressing table, then Molly and Sally withdrew from the room.

Ian leaned against the doorjamb with folded arms, and his gaze raked over Bethlyn, causing an all-too-familiar blush to consume her face, her whole body. She hated when he looked at her in such a possessive, scrutinizing fashion. It was almost as if he remembered their nights together … nights which would never happen again. She silently reminded herself that she was his wife, but a wife in name only now that she knew the truth about him. Whatever had happened between them on the
Black Falcon
and Windhaven was over. Yet how was she going to convince her traitorous body of that fact? Whenever she saw him, and thankfully she didn’t see him very often, her legs always managed to go weak and she felt breathless. Like now.

She mustn’t let Ian know how much she still wanted him. Their love was doomed from the start. No two people could be so ill-suited to each other. Molly had made mention of a certain Lady Cynthia Connors, and it was from what Molly hadn’t said that caused Bethlyn to infer that Lady Cynthia and Ian had been more than passing acquaintances. Perhaps they still saw each other. Her heart hurt to think about Ian and this other woman. But, once again, she reminded herself that Ian had never wanted a wife, especially not her for a wife. She meant nothing to him except as a means to an end. They had made a pact: her freedom from him in exchange for her silence about Captain Hawk.

She’d honor their agreement, but she didn’t have to allow the overbearing, pompous man to know this. She enjoyed keeping him off guard. “Shame on you, Ian.”

Ian cocked his head. “What have I done?”

She turned away and straightened her hem. “You invited John Andre for supper. Do you hope to get information about British activity from him? I like him and I don’t approve of your using him.” Tilting her head in his direction, she flashed him an impish smile. “I think he might be quite interested in my tale about the infamous Captain Hawk.”

Ian entered the room, and in an instant he had whirled her about. His large hands imprisoned her elbows. “Bethlyn, don’t taunt me. I hate game-playing, and you know this. Mention anything about what you know, and I can’t vouch for your safety.”

“Or your own.”

“I’d be lying if I said I cared nothing for my safety. I do. I also have an innocent sister to protect and don’t want her dragged into any of this because of your rebelliousness. I know you’d love to get even with me for the way I left you on our wedding day — for everything. I can’t change the past, and I’m trying to atone for my treatment of you.”

Bethlyn shrugged off his hold; her eyes now blazed with a challenging light. “Yes, I can see you are. All of these clothes, the jewelry. But I’ve received trinkets and baubles from you for years, Ian. Of course you don’t remember what you sent to me, because you never picked any of them. However, I will tell you that your secretary, Mr. Gibbons, has marvelous and expensive taste. I see now that all of this,” and she gestured around the clothing strewn room with her hands, “is meant to buy my silence. You don’t trust me to keep my word to you, so you treat me like the child you married and deserted.

“Instead of a pat on the head, you indulge me with fripperies, hoping that I’ll keep your secret for a handful of trinkets.” Bethlyn grabbed the pearl necklace from the top of the dressing table and flung it at him, hitting him in the center of his chest before it clattered to the floor, The strand broke, causing seed pearls to roll across the room.

“That is what I think of your gifts to me! Not once have you given me anything chosen with your own hands, and I no longer care. Yet I gave you my word I would keep my silence about Captain Hawk, and I shall. Never fear, Ian. I promise you I won’t tell. And that is more than you’ve ever given to me.”

Her breasts heaved with her fury. Her face was flushed, and her eyes incredibly bright. She saw a muscle twitch in his cheek, and she guessed she’d made him angry, but she didn’t care. She’d gladly ride out the brunt of his anger to gain some response from him. Since he discovered she was his wife, he’d kept his distance and been coolly polite. At night she could hear him moving around his room and then he’d leave and wouldn’t return home until quite late. She figured he saw Lady Cynthia. He probably didn’t need his secretary to choose gifts for his mistress, and this was the main reason she unleashed her temper. She was jealous of a woman she’d never met. He waited before her in silence, and this rankled her further. “Have you nothing to say?” she demanded.

“I believe you’ve said it all quite well, my dear.”

She nearly gave in to the inclination to stomp her foot in outrage. “Pompous, arrogant..”

“I know, Bethlyn. No need to finish your sentence. I need a bath before John arrives. Finish dressing and meet us downstairs in the dining room. And be on your best behavior.” He winked at her and grinned before he left the room.

“Boob!” she finished the remark she’d have made earlier, and in a huff she threw her gold-plated hairbrush at the door.

~ ~ ~

The evening passed in quite a pleasant fashion. John Andre praised the food, the company, and his compliments to Molly and Bethlyn warmed Bethlyn’s heart. She’d missed the compliments from the gentlemen she’d known in London, and Andre with his good-natured warmth caused her very much to want to be viewed as pretty again. She found herself flirting outrageously with him, not because she was interested in him romantically, but because she sensed that Ian was quite peeved over her actions. A sly smile curved her pretty mouth whenever Ian glared at her from across the dining table.

After supper the four of them sat in the parlor. From his pocket, John withdrew the small sketchbook she’d noticed the day she first met him. Holding it out to her, she saw a charcoal drawing of herself.

“How very talented you are!” she gushed. “May I keep it?”

John beamed, his excitement at pleasing her evident in his eyes. Tearing off the sheet, he handed it to her.

“To the most beautiful lady I’ve ever met,” he said grandly and stood up to bow before kissing her hand.

Bethlyn curtseyed. “You, sir, are a true gentleman.”

Molly giggled and tapped Ian’s arm with her fan. “I think Bethlyn has an admirer, dear brother.”

Ian remained silent, pretending to be engrossed in a card game with his sister, but his gaze constantly wandered towards his wife and Andre. Moments later, Bethlyn gave Andre her arm and requested they stroll around the estate. When the parlor doors shut on the lavender and scarlet clad figures, Ian threw down his cards. “I’m weary of this game.”

“I believe you’re agitated over John’s attentions towards Bethlyn,” Molly said with a knowing gleam in her eyes.

“Molly, sweet, I’ve never been jealous of anyone in my life.”

“Did I say jealous? That’s your word, not mine.”

 “You think that, however.”

Molly gathered the cards together and couldn’t suppress the pleased smile which curved up the edges of her lips. “I admit that I do. You know, Ian, I don’t understand why you never told me you had married Bethlyn. Really, seven years is quite a long time to keep it a secret. Frankly, I don’t want to know your reasoning. I probably wouldn’t like what I hear. Whether you believe it or not, I’m not a child.” She noticed his indulgent smile and reared upward. “I’m fully grown. I am, and I can tell when a man is in love with a woman. And, my dear brother, you’re in love with your wife.”

“Molly, this is none of your…”

“Concern? Yes, it is. I want you to be happy; I’ve prayed for you to find a woman who can touch that hardened heart of yours with love. Ever since Mother left — and I will say this, so get that scowl off of your face — you’ve changed from a loving person into a piece of ice. Mother left not only you, Ian, but me as well. I hope not to become hard like you.”

“Thank you ever so much,” he said with a sarcastic lilt to his voice.

Molly sighed and reached over and took his hand. “You’re not Father. Remember that. I think that our parents never truly loved each other. If they had, then Mother wouldn’t have left him for — that man. They must have married for the company’s sake. But you have a chance to change things and not repeat their mistakes. Don’t lose your wife. I can see by the way she looks at you that she loves you.”

What a romantic Molly was, Ian thought, and felt a surge of tenderness for his sister. Yet he couldn’t discount her words, because they held many truths. When had his dark-haired moppet of a sister grown up to be so wise? However, he sincerely doubted that Bethlyn loved him. She detested him now that she knew the truth about him.

And love her? No, he didn’t love her. He might desire her, but not love, never love. He wouldn’t love any woman and risk the pain his own father had suffered. Still, he ached to have Bethlyn in his bed, to hold her in his arms, but he couldn’t touch her, wouldn’t risk her rejection of him.

As far as he was concerned, nothing had changed. Bethlyn was still his wife until the day he freed her … but love? Never love.

Ian cleared his throat and sent a slicing glance at the open doorway, framed by a pediment, from which his wife and Andre now entered. Her usually pale cheeks were flushed from the chilly night air, and Ian noted that she must have thrown John’s coat over her shoulders to protect her from the cold. Had John Andre’s arms warmed her, also? He couldn’t help but wonder, and felt rather surprised at the jealous feeling which stung him.

They laughed together, and Bethlyn handed back the coat to John. “Thank you for a lovely time in the garden. I hope I didn’t bore you with my prattle about my childhood.”

 John slipped into his coat. “Never, dear Bethlyn. I enjoyed hearing about Hallsands and that prude of a governess. What was her name again?”

“Miss Grosvenor.”

“Exactly.” Andre’s eyes slid to Ian. “I never did learn about how you and Ian met.”

Bethlyn shrugged, her happy smile dissolving. “I’m certain the story would bore you, John, dear. In fact, come to think on it, the whole meeting and our marriage has been rather a large bore.”

Bethlyn didn’t miss the scowl which crossed Ian’s face as she sat down and poured a cup of tea, holding it out to John, who dutifully took it and lowered his eyes in seeming embarrassment at Bethlyn’ s forthrightness. It was only when Molly engaged him in conversation that the atmosphere lightened. Half an hour later, John stood to leave and invited the three of them to the opening of the Southwark Theater, an endeavor dear to his heart, since he had been instrumental in painting the colorful backdrops and was the producer of the light comedy to be presented.

“We call ourselves Howe’s Thespians, in honor of General Howe, of course,” he explained. “I can’t believe Philadelphia has been without a theater for so long.”

“If I recall,” Ian said, “Congress closed it because the theater was thought to be extravagant and dissipative during a time of war.”

“Tsk, tsk, man. Even brash colonials deserve some amusement. I expect to see you on Sunday night.” His words were meant for all of them, but his gaze centered on Bethlyn when he spoke.

Bethlyn extended her hand after Molly, and her palm was rewarded with a gallant kiss. “We shall be there,” Bethlyn promised.