Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (62 page)

“Oh, yes, Doctor, please,” she eagerly voiced, and the shock of Ian’s death abated a tiny bit. “I need to know if I’m having a child. I have to know.”

~ ~ ~

Thomas was disgruntled and disgusted. Just like the chit to throw up all over him! He’d changed from his stained jacket and shirt, having to borrow one of Sterling’s shirts, which was less than fine. He gulped down more than his share of the captain’s whiskey while he waited for Hanover to finish with the girl.

“What in the deuce is taking so long?” he queried in a voice which sounded like a growl.

Sterling shrugged, more than soothed by the whiskey’s effects as his eyes grew heavy.

Thomas, seeing that Sterling would soon be snoring, stalked out of the man’s cabin and headed down the hallway to his own. His face was mottled in rage to think that Bethlyn was going to pretend illness to keep him away from her. Well, she was his wife now, and he’d spent too many damn aggravating nights thinking about her body and imagining how it would feel when he entered her. She wasn’t going to deny him this pleasure. He’d see to that!

He very nearly bumped into Hanover as he came out of the cabin. The man shook his hand, beaming at him. “Congratulations, Eversley. They’re both fine!” And then Hanover left him.

What in the hell was he jabbering about? Thomas thought, pushing open the cabin door.

Before his eyes was the most unbelievable sight he’d ever seen, rivaling his most intimate dreams and fantasies about Bethlyn Briston. Waiting in the doorway, with mouth agape, he could barely swallow when Bethlyn turned towards him. She wore an exquisite nightrail, one of the elaborate creations he’d purchased in New York for her and placed in the cabin wardrobe, fashioned of the sheerest pink chiffon and white lace at the low neckline and long, flowing sleeves. Honey brown hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders in abundant waves, and the centers of her brown eyes danced with amber sparkles. Her lips resembled wet and luscious strawberries, and they seemed to beckon him near to her.

“You’re … too … beautiful,” he gasped, unable to realize that this woman, the woman of his erotic fantasies, was dressed like this to please him, and that she was going to give herself to him without a fight. He felt himself hardening, incapable of controlling the lust which shot through his very body like thousands of arrows.

“Thank you, Thomas.” Holding out a glass of wine to him, he took it from her like a mesmerized mouse under the watchful eye of a cat.

She lifted her own glass. “What shall we drink to?”

“Us, my dear. Only to us.”

Their glasses clinked in a toast, but Thomas could barely drink his wine. Already he felt drunk, not from alcohol but from the beauty of this woman.

Bethlyn’s perfume drifted to him, enveloping him within her scent. Her fingers grazed his when they placed their glasses on the table beside the bunk, and her hair slid sensuously across his lips. He had to have her, needed her with such a fierceness that for the first time Thomas was frightened by the intensity of his need. But still he grabbed for her and pulled her to him, delighting in the feel of her swelling breasts against his chest, loving the way his hardness rested against her abdomen.

Kissing her, he was more than a bit surprised to discover that she kissed him back. “Don’t you intend to fight me?” he asked, suspicion coating his voice.

“No, dear Thomas, I don’t. And before you ask why, I shall tell you.” Moving from the circle of his arms, Bethlyn pirouetted before him, the sheer and lacy creation she wore swirling around her in a sea of pink-and-white froth. “This gown is most beautiful, as are all the other ones in the wardrobe, and I applaud your taste. I find that I love pretty clothes and a man’s attentions. And you seem quite willing to accommodate me.”

“Be assured that I will,” he said, sounding smug. Bethlyn flashed him a beguiling smile which made his already fast beating heart nearly gallop out of his chest.

“I do hope that you mean that,” she observed, “because in the coming months I shall need you more and more.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I shall show you then.”

Before him, she removed her gown, allowing him to see all of her radiant beauty. She was more beautiful than any woman he’d ever lain with, more glorious in her nakedness than his own wanton imaginings. Her breasts were high and deliciously full and kissable. No wonder Briston had been enamored of her, so besotted he’d finally fouled up a mission. Who would be able to think straight when this woman, whose small waist and rounded hips, which tapered to perfectly lovely legs, was home waiting for him? But now Bethlyn waited for him and his eyes feasted on the hidden center of her womanhood, openly licking his lips in anticipation of tasting her delightful sweetness fully.

“Bethlyn, show me how you love, my sweet.” Thomas began to remove his pants, but her words stopped him.

“Don’t you see, Thomas? Didn’t you notice the bulge here?” She placed a protective hand on her abdomen.

“Yes, so?”

“So, I’m carrying a child. A child the world will believe is yours. Aren’t you quite thrilled?”

His hand reached for her wrist and he held it in a taut and painful grip. “You’re having Briston’s bastard? Is this some sort of a trick to keep me from touching you?”

“No, why would I trick you? Ask Dr. Hanover. He confirmed my pregnancy, and my child isn’t a bastard.”

He could tell she spoke the truth. Pregnant with Briston’s child. Good God! He couldn’t stand it. He thought he was free of the man, but now Bethlyn was going to have a child to remind him of Briston for the remainder of his life. For an instant he thought about causing her to abort the baby, but he wouldn’t do that, realizing he needed this child to cement his future. Marrying Bethlyn Briston wasn’t enough. The legal ramifications of his claim as head of Briston Shipping had been questioned by some of the attorneys who represented the company, and he’d decided that a marriage to the earl’s daughter would ensure his claim. Yet the child might indeed make all of the difference, and no one would ever have to know he wasn’t the father.

“Thomas,” he heard her voice. “Don’t you want me any longer?”

“Yes, I want you, Bethlyn, but not until after you deliver Briston’s whelp. I’m disgusted to even think of taking you with his child growing inside you. I hated the man, hated him more than any man on this earth. He had everything I’ve ever wanted and he never had to work for it. All was given to him. He thought he could dismiss me as unimportant, but he’ll remember me. Believe me, he’ll remember me. And as for this child…” He stroked her abdomen with lazy fingers and delighted to feel her flinch. “When it’s old enough, I’m going to send it away to school, anywhere, as long as I don’t have to see the little bastard. And as for you, well, you’ve gained some time, but when you’ve recovered from the birth, I shall take you in violence and pain for what you’ve done to me.”

“I’ve done nothing to you!”

“Having Briston’s bastard is enough! I don’t even want to look upon you.”

Pushing her away, Thomas didn’t care that she’d stumbled and fell onto the bunk. He’d had his fill of her for now.

~ ~ ~

The tears streamed freely down Bethlyn’s cheeks as she huddled on the bunk. She cried from fear, from desperation, loneliness and sadness, but also joy. Finally after months and years of longing, her dream was going to come true. And for the next seven or eight months she didn’t have to worry about Thomas claiming his husbandly rights. She’d gambled on the assumption that he’d leave her alone once he knew she carried Ian’s child. Thank God, she’d been correct about the man hating Ian so much that a child growing within her would dissipate his lust. Yet she’d live in dread, knowing that Thomas intended to send away her child one day. If only Ian hadn’t died …

“If only your father had known about you,” she whispered to their unborn child.

~ ~ ~

Nearly eight months pregnant and growing larger every day, Bethlyn finally arrived at Woodsley. Not the least bit sad to be off of the ship, she did regret arriving home, married to Thomas. In fact, she hated it, but Thomas had kept his word during the long voyage and never touched her, finding quarters for himself in another cabin. His absence allowed her time to think, and she decided that once her father realized what a monster Thomas was, that he’d threatened his grandchild, the earl would save her from this madman.

Seeking her father’s help was uppermost in her mind when servants she’d never before seen lined up in the Painted Hall for introductions. She barely listened as each servant curtsied or bowed and curtly stated his or her name. Her hope-filled gaze was on the stairway, waiting for her father to appear and somehow make things right for all of the years he’d ignored her by rescuing her from Thomas. But when they neared the end of the long line, which seemed even longer because of the lack of personal warmth, she realized he wasn’t coming downstairs.

“My lady, I’m so happy to see you again.”

Bethlyn noticed for the first time the old, plump woman who was last in line when she grabbed her hand.

“Tessie, Tessie, is it really you?” Bethlyn joyfully cried, and immediately embraced the Woodsley housekeeper. Finally there was one servant left whom she remembered and could call her friend.

“Indeed it is me, my lady.” Large tears gathered in the corners of Tessie’s eyes.

“We have much to discuss,” Bethlyn said. “First off, you must tell me how my father fares and advise me on running the household.”

“Oh, oh — my lady,” Tessie made a muffled sound and clasped Bethlyn’s hand tighter.

“Enough of this prattle!” Thomas broke in, having watched from a distance. “All of you are dismissed.”

Immediately everyone left, silent as snowfall, except for the choked sobs from Tessie which grew fainter as she made her way to the kitchen.

“Thomas, I wished to speak with Tessie. She was my friend and…”

“The woman isn’t housekeeper any longer. I found her to be impertinent and brash, and much too old for the strenuous duties involved, so she helps the cook. Mrs. Pemberton has the job now, but I gather you didn’t hear when she introduced herself and stated her job. Your mind was wandering.” It was almost as if Thomas could read her thoughts, and she didn’t hide her resentment.

“My father thought highly of Tessie. Surely he didn’t agree to sending her to the kitchen,” she persisted, not about to let the matter drop. “As mistress of Woodsley I insist she be made housekeeper again. If not, I shall petition my father.”

Thomas shook his head, devilment shining in his eyes. “If that is your wish, then please do ‘petition’ your father, but you will have to do it in the Woodsley Burial Grounds. The earl died nearly two years ago.”

The room spun precariously around her, but Bethlyn managed to make it to a chair alongside the wainscoted wall. She couldn’t believe her father was gone. She’d known he’d been in ill health, but she never thought she’d arrive home to discover he was dead. But Thomas had known this for some time. He should have told her, but he delighted in playing games, even more so when he possessed a trump card as he did now with no one to save her.

She grudgingly realized that had her father been alive, he most probably wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help her. Truly, he had hated her, and she must come to terms with this once and for all. Finally she lifted dry, condemning eyes to Thomas.

“You should have told me long ago. Your silence in the matter was extremely cruel.”

‘‘I’m a cruel man, as you shall soon discover once you’re delivered of your brat.”

Bethlyn winced, but raw courage filled her at a new thought. “I remember, as you’ve told me often enough. But since Father is gone, then I’ve inherited Briston Shipping. It seems you’re at my mercy, Thomas.”

“Does it?” he remarked, his voice sounding much too pleasant. “My dear Bethlyn, looks can be deceiving. Do you imagine that I traveled to America on a solicitor’s salary? If so, you’re more naive than I imagined. But I shall clear all of this up now. Before your father died, he turned over all of his fortune and the company to me. You are at my mercy.”

Bethlyn rose up, fury in her face. “You must have tricked him! He’d never have disinherited me like that.”

“He hated you.”

“Not that much.”

“Believe what you will.”

She didn’t know what to believe. No matter how much her father may have disliked her, hated her even, he’d never have turned over his entire fortune to Thomas, a mere solicitor, no matter how indispensable. Thomas must have manipulated him. But how?

Squaring her shoulders, she shot him a look of dark rebellion. “As Ian’s widow I own the colonial end of Briston Shipping. And I don’t intend to turn it over to you.”

Thomas sighed his aggravation, but he looked more than pleased when he said, “I’m your husband now, Bethlyn. We signed no agreement as to property before our nuptials, so whatever you own is mine. Without my say-so to withdraw funds, you’re as penniless as a church mouse.”

He’d duped her again!

Rather than stay there and argue further, she turned headlong and rushed up the stairs to the security of her room. She ached for a good, long cry.