Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (30 page)

Moments later, the door was shut against the cold night air and Molly excused herself to hurry upstairs to bed. Bethlyn started to follow, but Ian grabbed her arm and stalled her.

“Kindly explain why you thought it necessary to flirt with John Andre, a captain in the British Army and an aide to General Howe. You know he is an enemy.”

“Your enemy, not mine,” she reminded him. “You forget that I’m a loyal British subject while you only pretend to be one. Are you riled because I flirted with a British captain, or that I flirted with a man?”

“I’m not jealous,” Ian lied, all too aware that he couldn’t stand the thought that Bethlyn might prefer the gallant Andre to himself.

“How very pleased I am for you. I must remind you of our agreement that I pretend to be your dutiful wife; however, with whom I flirt is my own concern. I am rather adept at it, you know.”

An unreasonable fear of losing her surged through him. He now recalled all of the letters from Aunt Penny, declaring his wife a notorious flirt. He’d discounted his aunt’s claims, remembering a plain, plump, and sick child. But the woman who now gazed at him with amber eyes, flecked with gold within the centers, was breathtakingly beautiful. And she was his lawful wife. He could make love to her whenever he wished, and he wanted her now. No matter their differences, he couldn’t get her out of his mind, his blood.

He softened at the thought of winning her affection once more, and his fingers on her arm grew gentle and warm. “I would like to hear about your childhood, too.”

“What sort of ploy is this?” she asked suspiciously. “You wish to know about my childhood, yet you left your child bride behind and sailed away, without a further thought about my welfare.”

“I left you with Aunt Penny,” he reminded her, her frosty, self-righteous attitude dispelling his desire. “I knew you’d be safe with her, and, never forget, it was my money which supported you for the last seven years.”

She pulled her arm away from his grasp. “I can’t forget. I was bought like so much chattel but denied the husband and children I desperately wanted. Can you be a true husband to me, Ian? Can you give me a home life and children?”

He’d like to do just that. He couldn’t. Too much stood in their way for any true happiness. Her father for one. He’d never be able to forgive her father for taking his mother away. The wound ran deeper than a valley, destroying his ability to feel love for any woman, especially this woman. He wanted her in his bed, but each time he looked at her, he remembered his father’s torment. At quite a young age he’d vowed never to fall in love. The pain if the woman rejected him would be too great for him to bear. And if he gave his heart to Bethlyn, the daughter of the man who’d destroyed his father, she might trounce upon it. She was a loyalist, he reminded himself, and an aristocrat. Something he wasn’t.

Too much kept them apart. He couldn’t risk the pain. “Whatever is mine is yours until the moment the marriage ends. That is all I can give to you.” Without a further word, Ian left her and headed up the stairs to seek his solitary bed.

~ ~ ~

She was getting nowhere with Ian. In fact, he barely spared time to speak with her, much less dine with her in the evenings. Molly was her only company, and sometimes Molly mysteriously disappeared, like today when she’d promised they’d go shopping together. However, Molly claimed a previous engagement with an old school friend and left the house shortly after Ian did that morning. So Bethlyn was alone and feeling unaccountably sorry for herself.

The beauty of Edgecomb in the winter couldn’t keep her interest. Soft flurries had fallen the previous night, and when she woke, the landscape was covered in a fine layer of snow. However, the sun now peeped from behind a cloud and the snow was melting. But she found the weather too cold to ramble about the garden, and, inside, Bethlyn grew tired of counting stitches, embroidering a scene which depicted a waterfall and a young deer. She could see to the household tasks, but laying aside her hoop, she knew that Molly did a capable job, having run the house with the housekeeper’s help since the departure of Ian and Molly’s mother years ago.

What to do?

Inspiration came to her in a flash. Running out of the parlor and up the stairs to her room, she rang for Sally, who helped her change into a velvet blue gown whose elbow-length sleeves had a row of tiny white bows around the edge and two large matching bows to hold up the overskirt, beneath which was a white lace underskirt. The neckline was rounded and just an inch under her collarbone.

Sally piled her hair atop her head, and then she stepped into matching slippers and threw on a deep blue cape, fur-lined with a matching hood.

“My, but you look nice, Mrs. Briston, Where are you off to this morning?” Sally asked, her eyes lighting with pleasure at the picture Bethlyn presented.

“Someplace I should have returned days ago.” Bethlyn pulled on a pair of black kid gloves and shot Sally an engaging smile. “And I doubt I’ll be welcome.”

Like a whirlwind, Bethlyn left the room and, before settling in Ian’s carriage, she gave directions to the driver.

Ignore her, will he! she silently fumed to herself as the carriage rolled along the frost-slicked streets. Ian Briston would rue the day he thought he could gain the upper hand with her. She knew him well enough to realize that he wanted to be rid of her, and would gladly do so when he was free of suspicion. But in the meantime, he expected her to sit at Edgecomb and act the docile wife.

Well, she wasn’t docile any longer. She’d never let anyone tell her what she could and couldn’t do. She’d gone through that with her father years ago, having seen the fear on her mother’s face whenever the earl was in residence, forcing her to tiptoe around Woodsley like a timid mouse.

Granted, Ian hadn’t told her she had to stay at home. She could come and go as she pleased on shopping excursions or visits to people’s homes as she’d done just the other day with Molly. Ian hadn’t been with her for these visits. He allowed Molly to introduce her to his friends instead of doing it himself, and it was this slight which irritated Bethlyn more than his highhandedness or the fact that he expected her to do whatever must be done to save his colonial hide.

She’d felt quite embarrassed for Molly and humiliated for herself at the surprise she’d seen on people’s faces to learn that Ian Briston had a wife … a wife he’d never claimed for seven years.

“He might wish to keep me locked at Edgecomb, but I refuse to allow him a moment more as indisputable head of Briston Shipping,” she spoke aloud in the carriage. And she meant every word of this.

Ten minutes later when she flounced into Briston Shipping, closing the door loudly behind her, Mr. Eakins glanced up sharply from his perch behind his desk. She expected him to rear up like a rooster and order her out. She even prepared herself for the large man named Demming to come forward with brawny arms and attempt to lift her from her feet and throw her onto her backside on the street. Her pride still smarted from that incident. However, Mr. Eakins came forward with an apologetic smile on his face and bowed.

“My most humble apology to you, Mrs. Briston. Please excuse me for my behavior to you that day you were looking for your husband. I had no idea who you were.”

Bethlyn felt taken aback for a moment. “I told you who I was that day, sir.”

“Again, forgive me. I didn’t know Mr. Briston was married. He informed me the next day about my … treatment … of you. Forgive me, ma’am.”

Bethlyn didn’t care for Mr. Eakins, but she could see he was sorry for what he’d done and he called to Demming, who apologized also. She was surprised by this turn of events, but even more surprised that Ian had actually informed his employees that she was his wife.

“I accept your apologies,” she told the two men. “But never treat anyone who enters this office again in such a fashion. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Briston,” they mumbled in unison, and both of them looked sheepish.

“I should like to see my husband,” Bethlyn said.

Mr. Eakins squinted. “Mr. Briston isn’t in this morning, ma’am. Would you care to speak to Mr. Gibbons instead?”

“Yes, my husband’s secretary will do for now.” Following behind Mr. Eakins, he led her upstairs through a carpeted hallway and knocked on an oak door. At the words “Enter”, Mr. Eakins opened the door and stood aside for Bethlyn.

“Mr. Gibbons,” he spoke to the curly blond-headed man whose head was bent over a large ledger book which rested on a large desk, “Mrs. Briston wishes to speak with you.” Eakins departed.

Jonathan Marcus Gibbons lifted his head, a startled look in his blue eyes to find Bethlyn standing before him, and she appeared just as unsettled.

“Crane,” she mumbled as the shock caused her to sink into a leather upholstered chair. “I should have known you were Mr. Gibbons.”

He flushed and shut the ledger book. “Yes, well, now you know my identity. I presume you won’t mention anything about me to your friend Captain Andre.”

“I give you my word that I won’t, and only for one reason. Mavis. How is she? Where I may find her?”

Marc laughed. “Hold on, Bethlyn … er, Mrs. Briston, Mavis is fine. We were married shortly after arriving in Philadelphia. Didn’t Ian mention that?”

She shook her head. “Ian mentions very little.”

“I’m certain Mavis would love to see you again. We have a house in Elfreths Alley. I’d bring you there, but with Ian out of the office, I can’t leave at the moment.”

“I’m sure my driver can find the house,” Bethlyn started to rise when Marc glanced curiously at her.

“What did you want here today, Mrs. Briston?”

She’d momentarily forgotten her reason for coming here in her excitement to see Mavis again. She settled a level gaze on Marc. “Most probably I won’t see my husband tonight. No doubt he’ll be occupied elsewhere.” Probably with Lady Cynthia Connors, she thought. “You may inform him that I stopped by to see him and tell him that I shall come again tomorrow. I believe the time is ripe for me to take an interest in the running of Briston Shipping.”

Marc flashed her an encouraging smile. “I shall be happy to relay the message, Mrs. Briston.”

“Call me Bethlyn, and I shall call you by your first name.”

“Marc.”

“Marc. I like that.” She offered him her hand in parting.

“And, Marc, you have exquisite taste in jewelry. I’m certain my husband would have been unable to choose lovelier birthday and anniversary gifts than you.”

Marc appeared uncomfortable. “Yes, thank you, but, Bethlyn, I warrant that this anniversary your husband shall choose the gift for you.”

“I doubt he’ll remember it, and please don’t mention that our anniversary is but a week away. Under the circumstances I don’t wish him to feel obligated.”

“I won’t.”

Smiling her thanks, she left Marc’s office and brushed past Mr. Eakins downstairs with a slight nod of her head. Soon she found herself in a quaint, cobblestone older section of the city, sitting beside Mavis in her kitchen, which smelled of beef stew and freshly baked pumpkin pie.

Mavis poured tea for them, her eyes alight with gladness to see Bethlyn again. “You’ll never know how worried I was that day when Hawk, I mean your husband, took you to Windhaven. I thought never to see you again and feared what he might do to you.”

“He’s a big, arrogant bully, Mavis. But I can say that to you because I’ve known you so long. I could never tell Molly such a thing about her beloved brother. As far as Molly’s concerned, Ian can do no wrong.” Bethlyn sipped her tea and then smiled at her friend. “You seem very happy with Marc.”

“I am!” Mavis gushed, not hiding her happiness. “I love Marc so very much.”

“And you were the one who thought she’d never find love again,” Bethlyn reminded her, a prickle of envy in her voice.

“That’s true, but if I recall, I wished you good fortune, too. Have you discovered love with your Captain Hawk?”

Bethlyn laughed. “That’s another thing. You’re the only one other than Marc and Ian himself who knows about Captain Hawk.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Bethlyn stirred uneasily in her chair, “I don’t know. As much as I disliked being abandoned by Ian all those years ago, my situation was easier. I could hate him, because I didn’t really know him — didn’t know about … Well, you know what I mean.”

“Lovemaking. “

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“That’s what has me confused, Mavis. I should hate the bounder and turn him into the authorities. I can’t, however, and not because of the agreement I made with Ian to free me when suspicion turns away from him. I remember how it felt to be held by him, to be kissed, loved by him. I can’t forget so many things. If I could forget I’d be better off. I could leave Philadelphia and go home again, start life anew. But for some stupid reason, I’d feel so empty without him, so alone. As it is now, he barely speaks to me. I don’t think he trusts me.”

“Do you want him to trust you?”

“Yes.”

“Bethlyn, do you want Ian Briston to love you?”

A shaky sigh escaped Bethlyn. “That seems to be all I’ve ever wanted.”

Mavis sat back, seemingly satisfied with Bethlyn’s answer. “Then if you want your husband, you know what you must do.”