Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (33 page)

“Perhaps,” he said noncommittally.

With a sweet, lingering kiss from Cynthia, he then departed into the cold night air.

~ ~ ~

Ian walked back to the office and let himself in, determined to get some work done which he hadn’t been able to do because he’d spent the day with Bethlyn and had to explain every time she asked a question about an entry in the account books. He hadn’t minded answering her questions at all, having found her to be highly intelligent, possessing a ready and keen mind. This was one aspect of her personality which had gone unnoticed by him to some degree. Her beauty was unmistakable and her body held untold delights. But the fact that she had brains and beauty only fueled his desire to win her love.

However, once in his office, he found he couldn’t concentrate and left to walk the docks. The mournful clanging of a ship’s bell reverberated through the silence and he noticed the silhouette of a gull circling overhead. The bitter cold didn’t bother him at all, he was so deep in thought.

Bethlyn. Love.

What an absurd notion, he thought as he looked at the watery expanse before him. Cynthia must truly be in love with her soldier to even suggest such a thing to him. He couldn’t be in love with Bethlyn. She was the daughter of the Earl of Dunsmoor, the man who’d forced his poor father into an early grave and ruined his own life and Molly’s by taking away their mother. Love had destroyed his father, and he’d never become besotted by a woman like him. However, wasn’t he already besotted by Bethlyn?

Ian, ever honest with himself, hated to think on that question, posed by his own inner self. But the answer was so clear it leaped into his brain. The woman was all he ever thought about. Even now, her image invaded his thoughts, clouding his judgment.

Her face shimmered before him in the moonlight, and he recalled the feel of her hair within his fingers, the sweet warmth of her lips beneath his own, and the way her body moved when he made love to her. He hardened at the memory. It had been so long since they’d made love that he had the urge to bound home and claim her as his at that very moment.

He didn’t, because his legs felt unable to move, his whole being waited in stunned disbelief at the realization that Bethlyn intended to leave him once suspicion passed from him. He’d truly lose her, and at that moment, he knew he couldn’t let her leave him. He also knew something else, and this knowledge was so shattering that he felt something cold within the center of his heart explode inside him, leaving him with an incredible feeling of warmth and passion, of tenderness and gentleness.

A soft whistle of disbelief through his lips caused him to move and walk as if in a trance. Ian saw no one as he meandered along the side streets though people passed him, and an occasional carriage thundered past. He wasn’t certain where he was going until he found himself at Marc’s door, waiting impatiently for Marc to open it and let him inside.

When Marc opened the door, Mavis stood alongside of him.

“I love her,” Ian told them before either one of them could utter a sound. “I love Bethlyn.”

Marc and Mavis both laughed, and Marc pulled Ian inside while Mavis served up plates of pie for all of them. However, Ian couldn’t eat, because his whole being was satisfied.

He’d already feasted on love.

16

Ian baffled Bethlyn.

For the last few days he’d been more than solicitous of her, even seeming not to mind her days spent at the office. Whenever he wasn’t busy with outside appointments, he managed to be in his office with her to answer her questions. Questions she decided that Marc or Mr. Eakins could have answered equally as well.

In fact Ian was so amenable, so kind to her, that if she wasn’t careful she might mistake this concern for love. But that was one emotion Ian Briston seemed incapable of feeling. Still, he had treated her like his equal, almost like his true wife. He managed to inquire if her room and the meals at Edgecomb were to her liking, and she had no doubt that if she didn’t care for something, he’d immediately substitute something which pleased her.

He constantly kept her off balance, and she had no idea what she should think. Sometimes she very nearly allowed herself to imagine that they might have a future together. But she didn’t. He hadn’t touched her since before he learned her identity. She wondered if he regretted that Cynthia Connors wasn’t his wife. Bethlyn couldn’t forget seeing Cynthia cuddled in Ian’s embrace the night of the play, and his kindnesses to her the last few days made the memory all the more painful — and Bethlyn all the more spiteful to prove to him that he meant nothing to her.

The night of the Shippens’s soiree would more than convince her husband how little she thought about him. For the past week she’d dwelled on Ian and Cynthia, hating herself for caring so much, but aching to cause him as much pain as she felt. He thought he could marry her and keep her cloistered in England while he dallied in America with his mistress. No more, she decided, as she dressed for the soiree.

On this night Ian would free her from this disastrous marriage. She wasn’t even certain that the British suspected he was Captain Hawk. She had only his word on that, and what good was the word of a man who married a young, unsuspecting girl and left her to her own devices? She’d get on with her life and somehow forget Ian — a hard thing to do when even her dreams betrayed her by desiring her husband.

She’d chosen her gown with special care. Molly hadn’t seen it yet, but she didn’t wish to impress Molly. She dressed to enrage her husband. All of the times she’d flirted in London with men about whom she didn’t care a fig, the slightly scandalous activities in which she’d engaged with Jeremy to catch his attention, had all been for naught. The bounder hadn’t cared, but if there was one thing she had learned about Ian Briston was that he was a prideful man.

He hadn’t taken her earlier escapades seriously because of the distance involved. Tonight she’d put his pride to the test and force his hand by giving him a taste of all he’d missed in London.

Smiling like a sly cat as the carriage pulled up to the Shippen House, Bethlyn held her cloak securely about her, preventing anyone from seeing the gown, and her hood hid a great portion of her hair. Molly, with Ian’s help, emerged from the carriage first, and then he held out his hand to her.

Her hand touched his, and for a second an electrical shock jolted her. He hadn’t touched her since the night in the office when he’d massaged her neck. She barely glanced at him, but she felt shaken by the contact.

When they entered the house, Peggy Shippen, with John Andre beside her, greeted them in the foyer. After Peggy made introductions to her parents and her sisters, Ian escorted his wife and sister into the parlor, which was ablaze with lights. Holly and red berries, in celebration of the coming holidays, were wrapped around the marble columns which separated the foyer from the large parlor.

A servant dutifully helped Molly off with her cape, and Bethlyn couldn’t help thinking how sweet and pretty her sister-in-law looked in a deeply flounced pink gown. She’d miss Molly when she left, and a bittersweet sadness filled Bethlyn to realize she might never see Molly again after her return to England.

Ian pulled off his own dark cape to reveal his ebony attire of velvet jacket and trousers, the black boots which rose up to his well-proportioned thighs, and a white, ruffled shirt which contrasted with the bronze coloring of his neck and face. A handsome face, Bethlyn thought, and hated herself for that melting sensation which invaded her legs.

“May I?” he invited, and his hands moved to the neckline of her cloak despite the hovering servant.

“Of course,” Bethlyn replied demurely, but her heart thudded and her palms sweated. Her bid to escape Ian Briston was now to begin in earnest.

Her cloak fell away, and it seemed that all the people in the room turned in unison to look her way. A gasp could be heard throughout the room, and in that second Bethlyn knew the gown had produced the effect she’d planned. Until that moment all of her gowns had concealed her attributes, and she’d made certain that if a gown was too low, a bunch of flowers or a kerchief in the neckline would prevail.

This gown was different.

The ruby satin of the low neckline barely covered her full breasts, the tight-fitting bodice descending into a point and accentuating her tiny waist. She wore the elbow-length sleeves, which dripped in a double cascade of gold lace, off her milky white shoulders. Her full, draped skirt was ruffled in golden lace and festooned with small red roses which were repeated on the ruby slippers. On her neck she wore a garnet-and-gold necklace, and at her ears the matching earbobs set off the beauty of her porcelain complexion.

Her honey-brown hair was a tower of puffs and curls with shimmering rubies and gold dust scattered through the thick tresses. Never had she looked more beautiful, and Ian’s face when he bent near to her was wreathed in unmistakable desire.

“My dear,” he said, and she heard a husky quiver in his voice as he presented his arm to her.

It took all of her courage not to melt at the passion in his eyes, not to give in to her own desire for her husband. But Bethlyn quickly flapped open her fan and refused to take his arm. Snubbing Ian, she walked past him and headed for Captain Andre where she was summarily introduced to the young swains who materialized around them like ants at a picnic.

She flirted outrageously and drank far too many glasses of champagne until her head swam. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Ian standing sullenly by the fireplace, and a certain smugness filled her. The feeling of power which claimed her soon evaporated when she again turned her attention to Ian after a few minutes and noticed he was in earnest conversation with Lady Cynthia.

Her blood boiled, all too aware of the curious stares from the people in the room. Everyone knew about Ian and Cynthia’s past history and watched to see her reaction to the twosome. Well, she decided then and there, she’d give no one, not even Ian, the satisfaction of knowing she was hurt.

Placing a hand on the arm of a young officer — Lieutenant Holmes, she believed was his name but she couldn’t be certain since her attention had been riveted on Ian earlier — she laughed and pretended to be engrossed in an inane joke he’d just told.

“Dance with me, please,” she breathed, and the lieutenant was only too glad to whirl her about the Shippens’s parlor.

When the dance ended, numerous young men came forward to claim her for a partner, and for the next few hours her feet moved in rhythm to the music. She was the belle of the party, and not the least bit happy about it. Her stupid game seemed to have no effect on Ian. In fact he and Lady Cynthia had disappeared, and any sense of triumph had long since faded.

Begging a reprieve from her latest conquest, Bethlyn went to a bedroom which had been set aside for the needs of the ladies present. She didn’t feel the least bit like talking to anyone, and luckily the room was empty except for an old serving woman who dozed in a chair near the window. Bethlyn availed herself of a chamber pot which was positioned behind a large silk screen and, afterward, as she adjusted her voluminous skirts, she heard the door open and the voices of two women as they entered the room.

“I tell you, Cynthia, the woman is the most outrageous flirt” came a high, nasal voice. “In fact, she’s outdone me on the best of my days before Lord Montague took a fancy to me. I don’t know how Ian can stand being married to such a light skirt.”

“Now, now, Letice, you mustn’t be so harsh on the girl. She is very young.”

“Young is one thing. The behavior of a strumpet is something else again. She’s making a huge fool of herself.”

Cynthia Connors laughed. “You’re just jealous because old Montague would throw you out if you even gave an indication that you were flirting. You’re acting like a gossiping dowager. Leave young Mrs. Briston alone.”

On the two women prattled, but Bethlyn had ceased to hear them. Her cheeks burned with humiliation for her name to be bandied about. What was worse to her was that Lady Cynthia had the nerve to defend her to the gossiping mistress of Lord Montague. God, how awful fate was that Ian’s mistress defended her actions, and here she stood behind a folding screen with a chamber pot for company!

She wanted to rush from the room and go home, never to show her face again.

The door closed. The room fell silent except for the gentle snores of the old servant woman. Bethlyn gave a relieved sigh and came from behind the screen only to stop dead-still when Lady Cynthia turned to face her. Cynthia looked as surprised as Bethlyn. Finally Cynthia smiled, and the smile caused the woman’s beauty to overwhelm Bethlyn. No wonder Ian loved her, she found herself thinking grudgingly.