Rebecca (10 page)

“Very well,” he said resignedly. “I will make you an offer, Mrs. Wythe, which you may find satisfactory. I won't be invested formally in my title until court reconvenes in London in the fall. The ceremony is a mere formality, but that is what the British court thrives on. Play the role of my wife until then and, if you wish, I will give you the annulment you so desperately crave.”

Suspiciously, she asked, as she faced him, “What do I need to do to play the role of your wife, Nicholas?” Her gaze did not leave his face to look at the rain which was beginning to splatter hysterically against the windows.

“Act as if you care for me in public. Serve as the chatelaine of Foxbridge Cloister. Be my hostess when we entertain.”

“Nothing else?” she asked, snidely. She did not trust his sudden benevolence.

His wintery laugh sounded again, freezing her heart in the middle of a beat. Nicholas played the role of his satanic double so well that it continued to frighten her. She knew he was capable of violence, but he fought to control those powerful urges within him. Beneath the civilized veneer, he was as savage as any beast of the forest. He stood and stepped toward her. He did not touch her. That in itself was terrifying, for, before this, he had never resisted the impulse to caress her. Her eyes were held by his fury. Her warm tan paled as she wondered whether he was going to break the contract before it was agreed upon on this storm-wracked ship.

“Sweetheart, if I had wanted to rape you, I would have done it long ago. Don't convince me now that I should do so.” His voice rose as he struggled to be heard over the increasing screech of the wind. “Is it a bargain?”

She sat on the bunk again. She had to escape from the man who frightened her far more than the tempest. So softly he had to lean forward to hear her, she whispered, “I will do as you have stated for the six months until you have your hour in court, Nicholas, if you will give me an annulment at that time. No more and no less.”

Bending, he kissed her fiercely. The strength of his body bent her back over his arm. When he lifted his mouth from her bruised lips, he said, “That seals our bargain. A bargain made without compassion sealed with a mockery of love.”

As he sat beside her, but did not offer to hold her again, Rebecca knew that she had hurt her husband fiercely by her acceptance of his cold-blooded offer. All that had grown between them in the halcyon days on the ship had been destroyed in a few contemptible words. The rest of their journey would be as it had been during the trip from her family's cabin to the great port of New York City. Only hateful words and baleful looks would they share.

She hid her face in the pillow and wept in sobs that were swallowed by the louder cries of the wind. Not once did he look at her or consider comforting the woman who had severed any chance they had had of bridging the pain to offer the affection they both craved.

Chapter Five

Rebecca clutched her bag more tightly as the carriage turned from the shore road to drive past a gatehouse which would have dwarfed her family's home. The grandeur of the landscape continued to awe her. It was so civilized compared to the wild woodlands where she had spent most of her life. Even the small villages with their houses built so close to each other had a finished aura that the rough cabins would never be able to emulate. This magnificence was far beyond what she had imagined.

When she felt an arm slip around her shoulders, she looked up into Nicholas' smiling face. She had never felt less like smiling. The sight of this impressive estate reminded her more strongly than ever that she was Lady Foxbridge and that she belonged to the man by her side. She reminded herself that the time she must spend at Foxbridge Cloister would be bearable because she knew it was only for a short time. Either Keith would arrive for her soon or she would be released voluntarily from their marriage by Nicholas once he had gone to court. She did not understand why he wanted her to be with him at the investiture of his title, but she would honor the promise she had made. That vow left her life controlled ever more tightly by Nicholas Wythe.

From the moment she and Nicholas made their bargain aboard the
Neptune's Prize
, they had settled into an unsure relationship that was unlike anything else she had ever known. In the presence of others, nothing seemed to have changed. He was as pleasant as ever, for he joked and teased her and found opportunities to touch her as if he truly cared for her. Only in his hooded eyes could she see his black fury. In private, it was a completely different situation. From the time the storm was past until they landed a week later, he never came into their room if she was awake. She began to doubt that he used the cabin at all, for he was always absent when she woke. When he had to come into the room when she was there, he was stiffly polite.

She had longed to reach out to him and tell him that it was foolish to act like enemies when they had been on their way to becoming such good friends. Then she knew that he did not want her friendship. He would be satisfied with nothing less than her love. That she could not give him. Instead she had waited in misery for landfall. Until he cut her off from him, she had not realized how much she had grown to enjoy his company during the long sea voyage. So many things she wanted to tell him, but he would not let her have a chance.

On the long trip north from Plymouth, he had been only a bit more pleasant to her. As he had during the days of traveling to New York City, he had retrieved his book from his bags and read it as the hired carriage took them to Foxbridge Cloister on the west shore of England.

Questions had taunted her as the miles passed. So little she knew of her future home. Even its name suggested luxury and wealth. She longed to know who lived there and what her daily life would be like. She wished to discover the names of their neighbors and determine what her social obligations might be. Knowing it was futile to ask Nicholas, for he spoke to her only when absolutely necessary, she stared at the front of the carriage and tried to calm her fear.

The facts were made clear by his silence. She had to face what waited for them in this huge house alone. She could not depend on Nicholas to be of any help to her, for he did not hide that he hated her as much as she had despised him when he had taken her away from Keith.

Or that is what she had thought until he suddenly put his arm around her.

“Sweetheart, don't look so frightened!” Nicholas said comfortingly as he saw the despair in her eyes.

“I can't help it!” His touch undammed the flood tide of fear in her.

“You are coming home.”

She looked out of the carriage at the sweeping expanse of lawn quilted with groups of huge trees in a pattern unlike the wild disorder of Connecticut. “This isn't home to me.”

“It will be.” He grinned at her unspoken protest. “Rebecca, there is no need to be afraid. Our nations are no longer enemies. The peace treaty should be signed soon. After all, during the war, we weren't enemies, were we? Our timing is always wrong. We waited until the end of the fighting to start our own battles.” His light expression vanished on the breath of his heartfelt sigh. “Don't worry. My family will be delighted that I have wed such a lovely lady.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek that was shadowed by her best bonnet.

Her eyes widened at his motion, but she said nothing. She was unable to speak past the lump of fear in her throat. If she had had her choice, she would have preferred facing an Iroquois alone in the woods than meeting Nicholas' family on this palatial estate. When the massive stone house, built in the Elizabethan style of two centuries before, came into view along the curving driveway edged by gardens, her eyes widened even farther.

Staring at it, she forgot even Nicholas' sudden warmth. She had never seen such a tall building. That this monstrously gigantic edifice could be a home was even more astonishing. What she had envisioned was paled by the reality. Through the small window of the carriage which had met them at the inn in a nearby village, she could see only a portion of the house, which was three storeys high. Around it were stone walls built with arches to separate different courtyards. Flower beds were filled with petals blossoming in a variety of beautiful colors. With so many things to see, she did not know where to look first.

As impressed as she was with the house, Rebecca was shocked when Nicholas told her that they had been on the property of Foxbridge Cloister since before they had reached the small village by hired coach. The village and the surrounding fields overseen by the tenant farmers belonged to the Cloister. Looking from his studied smile to the huge house, her hands clenched on the velvet seat of the carriage belonging to Lord Foxbridge. Nicholas had sent a boy for it and to give his family the news that he was on his way home.

By her side, Nicholas watched her with concealed worry. As they had come closer to his family's home, his disquiet had increased. Belatedly, he became concerned about how Rebecca would adjust to this life of relative ease as Lady Foxbridge. All her life she had toiled to help her family make a home in the forestlands of Connecticut Colony. At the Cloister, she would be expected to direct the labors of a household of servants. She must greet callers and pay morning visits herself on their neighbors who, by this time of the year, had come from London to spend the summer in the comfort and luxury of their ancestral estates.

For himself, the change would not come readily, either. When he had left for the Colonies, he had never expected to succeed his brother as lord of Foxbridge Cloister. That the fool had managed to get himself killed in a duel while his younger brother was facing death daily across the ocean seemed ironic. Yet what he had to relearn would be simple in comparison to what waited for Rebecca.

His thoughts were interrupted when the carriage stopped in front of the double doors on which were carved the Foxbridge family crest. The door of the vehicle was opened by the driver, who wore the pale green livery of the estate. “My lord?” he asked, politely, but with a hint of curiosity.

Nicholas gave his wife his wry grin and stepped out. He waved aside the driver and helped Rebecca himself. For a moment they stood side by side, as he gave her a chance to look at what soon would be familiar to her. He told Sims, the driver, to take the carriage to stable. They would not be needing it further.

A slow smile spread across Nicholas' face as he regarded the grey stones of the Cloister. Until now, he had not realized now much he missed this place which had been home during his childhood. His memory's eye could pick out which third-floor window he and his brother had once used to crawl out into a tree and run away for a night of childish adventure. Nicholas had been the daring one, and Brad had followed his lead in all their expeditions. His older brother had depended on him to look after him. Nicholas' departure had added to Brad's slow fall into the decadence that surrounded the young men who made London and the country estates their playgrounds. He shook his head in sorrow at the waste of his brother's life.

Once more he looked at the nursery window. The tree had been cut down, but the memories still were hale. In his memories, Brad would not be only a name on a stone in the family graveyard behind the chapel at the end of one wing of the house. In his heart, his brother would be kept safely as the youngster who had joined so enthusiastically in his younger brother's pranks.

Rebecca gazed at the stone house with its three wings forming the letter “E” in the style of its time. She had no idea of the bittersweet memories her husband was experiencing. For her this place held nothing but unknowns. Leaded glass was shaped in diamonds in the windows of the two upper storeys. On the ground floor, clear glass and stained glass alternated in the arched windows, which were more than ten feet in height. She wondered how the interior floors would appear when colored with the reflections of the sunlight through those lovely windows.

“It looks like a church,” she whispered in awe. “Not like my church. Like the ones we saw in New York City and here in England.”

He smiled, pleased with her candid appreciation of the home he loved. “It was a church. Or a monastery, actually. With the dissolution of the monasteries under King Henry the Eighth, it became my ancestors' home. When I show you around later, you can see sections of the original building.” Glancing up as the front door opened, he placed her trembling hand on his arm. “Ready, Lady Foxbridge?”

“No!” she replied, but grinned. He knew she remained uncomfortable with her acquired title, and he had delighted in using it to tease her during their long voyage from America. That he jested with her as he had not done since the storm warmed the coldest part of her frozen soul. She dared to be honest with him again. “I don't think I will ever be ready, Nicholas. I want to run back home.” She glanced to the west where her family were separated from her by incalculable miles of salt water.

He squeezed her fingers. “You will do fine. Just be yourself, and everyone will be as charmed as I was the first time I met you. Did you know that I thought you were the most delightful child I had ever met?” He looked around with pride at the house and the lawns before his eyes returned to rest with the same possessiveness on her. “I never imagined that day that I would survive and be able to bring you here.”

Her face remolded into an expression of the unease which echoed in her voice. “Nicholas, I don't know if I can … if I should … continue with this charade. It isn't right to lie to your family.”

“Charade? You are my wife.” He gave her a roguish smile before he asked far more coldly, “Are you breaking our agreement, sweetheart? You vowed to continue as my wife until my title is invested upon me.”

“I know, but, Nicholas—”

“It will not take more than a few months. Then you can run back to your sainted Keith Bennett with enough money settled on you to satisfy even his greed.”