The Golden Cross (58 page)

The arguing outside grew louder, and Aidan realized that someone had opened the door. “Go away, there’s no one here for you,” Lili called in her most commanding voice. Aidan heard the rustle of her skirts as she moved toward the door.

“I’m searching for Lady Lili.”

Aidan’s heart contracted at the sound of Sterling’s voice. She cringed beneath the thin blanket that covered her, hoping he would go away and forget he had ever found this place—how
had
he found this place? Why had he come? To berate her? Accuse her?

“If it’s a procuress you fancy, you’ll have to go elsewhere. But if it’s Lili you seek, you’re in luck. I’m Lili.”

Heaven above, was her mother going to
speak
to him?

“I’m Sterling Thorne, and I’m searching for a woman called Aidan. The tavern owner said I might find her with you.”

“How do you come to be wearing Aidan’s gold cross?”

Beneath the blanket, Aidan pressed her hand over her mouth. By heaven, Witt Dekker
had
told him the truth! He must have explained how he murdered Orabel, or perhaps he told Sterling that Aidan herself had given the cross to him.

“Please.” Sterling’s voice was lower now, and frankly pleading. “Aidan is my wife. She carries my child. And though I don’t know who you are or what you intend to do, if you lay one hand upon her or harm the baby, I’ll—I’ll not be responsible for my actions.”

Aidan heard her mother’s cackling laugh as the door creaked. “Come in, Dr. Thorne,” Lili said, her voice surprisingly pleasant. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. I’m Lili O’Connor, your mother-in-law.”

Aidan closed her eyes and groaned. For a moment, hearing the desperation and resolve in Sterling’s voice, she hoped he had come to find her. That hope withered with Lili’s announcement.

Slowly she sat up, letting the blanket fall to her lap, looking across the empty space toward the door where Sterling stood. The blood had faded from his strong face, leaving him ghostly in the shadows, but the sight of him was powerful enough to steal her breath away.

“Aidan.” He took a step toward her, then stopped, and she thought she saw a flicker of anxiety in the depths of his soft blue eyes. “I’m not sure what’s happening here, but first, I have to know—you haven’t done anything foolish, have you? The baby is all right?”

So that was it. He came, not out of concern for her, but out of fear that she’d found someone to rid her of the child.

“The baby is fine,” she answered, her hand automatically going to the slightly rounded bulge under her skirt. She swung her legs to the floor, then straightened, assuming the most dignified position she could manage on the low bed.

She took a deep breath and tried not to look at him. Better to get the truth out in the open, tell him everything. Then, at least,
when he left, he’d understand the confusion in which he’d been entangled.
The truth shall set you free
.

Sterling gave her a lopsided smile. “I came back to the
Heemskerk
as quickly as I could,” he said simply, his eyes wide with pain and unspoken questions. “You were gone.”

“Dekker?” she asked, lifting her brow.

“Dekker is dead.” Sterling looked pointedly around, then glanced at Lili.

“Go ahead, sit,” she said, waving him toward a three-legged stool near Aidan’s pallet. “Make yourself comfortable, talk things over with Aidan. And don’t mind me, I’ll just, er—”

“Doesn’t Bram need you?” Aidan suggested.

“Yes, that’s right, he does.” Lili picked up her shawl from the table. “I’ll just go and check on things at the gaming tables.” She paused and flashed a wide smile at Sterling. “So nice to meet you, Doctor.”

Sterling nodded in response, then sighed in relief when she had gone. As the door closed, he sank to the stool and leaned toward Aidan. “Aidan, what were you thinking? I have been frantic half the day and all night, fearing that you had come to harm. I’ve been everywhere searching for you.”

“Sterling—” She reached out, about to take his hand, then decided that touching him was a bad idea. She drew her hand back and crossed her arms as tight as a gate. “You don’t have to pretend.” She let her eyes drift to her own golden cross around his neck. “I know Dekker told you … things. He was an evil man, and he swore that he would tell you the truth and a pack of lies if I did not pay him ten thousand pounds when we arrived in Batavia and a thousand pounds per month for the rest of his life.” She laughed hoarsely. “I suppose I don’t need to pay him now, but the truth is out.”

“No, the truth is yet to be discovered.” Sterling’s eyes flashed toward her and she could see no lingering gleam of affection in his gaze. “Yes, Dekker gave me the cross, and he bid me ask you about
it. But when I couldn’t find you, I was told to search for you here. And now I find that the tavern keeper is your friend, and the procuress claims to be your mother.”

“She is,” Aidan sighed. “Or rather, she was—she’s not procuring any more. And yes, Bram helped Lili raise me after my father died. And Orabel, the girl you found murdered, was my best friend.” She clenched her jaw to stifle the sob in her throat and struggled to maintain her composure. “I am no fine lady, Sterling, no matter how hard Van Dyck tried to paint me as one. I am an heiress only because he was generous. He called me a great artist, he said I would be special.” Her voice broke miserably. “For a little while, I believed him.”

Her heart constricted so tightly that Aidan could barely draw breath to speak, but she forced the words out: “I loved you; I wanted to be the wife you needed. I didn’t even know about the inheritance until Dekker demanded that I give him half. My father always said we were descended from Irish kings, but that was a very, very long time ago.”

Sterling did not answer, and Aidan could not look up at him. He might be feeling any number of things—horror, revulsion, anger, even pity—but she could not bear to see any of those things in his eyes.

“There is one other thing I would have you know.” She lifted her hand in a flash of defensive spirit. “I am not one of the tavern girls. Lili was quite strict with me as I grew up here. I have done many things of which I am ashamed, but never did I give myself to a man … the way I gave myself to you.”

She paused, awaiting his response. There was nothing else to say.

“Aidan,” he whispered, with a coolness marred only by the thickness in his voice, “I love you. This is a surprise, yes, but why does it matter? I have always loved the things that are different about you, though you can’t seem to love those things yourself.”

She did look up then, and saw that his eyes glowed with the clear, deep blue that burns in the heart of a candle flame. “I can
tell you that I love you until the ocean runs dry, but you won’t believe me … until you learn to love yourself as God created you. Why can’t you accept who you are?”

“What?” She choked on her words. “I know who I am! And I am not proud of the things I’ve done! Half the men in yonder tavern know me as Irish Annie, and I will not have you take me into your arms, knowing you will resent her for the rest of your life—”

“Aidan, darling.” In one movement he left the stool and sank to the floor in front of her. She lifted her hand, prepared to push him away, but he drew her into his arms. She twisted in his embrace, seeking to free herself, but he was always more powerful than she. He gently rocked her back and forth, whispering small comforting sounds into her hair.

“Go away,” she cried, her face buried in his shoulder. “You don’t want me. You want a fine lady, someone you can be proud of.”

“I’m proud of
you.”
His hand ran over her hair, smoothing the tangles. “Don’t you know how I adore you? I am in awe of you, Aidan, and the past doesn’t matter.”

“It does!” She tilted her head back to look into his eyes. “Everything matters to the people here. You cannot be respectable unless your father and grandfather were received by the governor, you cannot be good unless your family owns a thousand acres in Europe.”

“None of that matters to me.” His gaze clung to hers, watching her reaction to his words. “Aidan, you’ve spent all your time trying to be something you are not. Be true to the gifts God has given you. Van Dyck was right; you are an artist. Your sin has not been wrong
doing
, but wrong
being
. You’ve tried to be what everyone else expects, you’ve tried to do everything apart from the one who created you.”

“Not any longer.” She lowered her head, resting her cheek upon Sterling’s chest, just above his heart. “I surrendered my life to God weeks ago,” she murmured. “And even though I thought
you didn’t want me anymore, I didn’t get mad at God again. I just came … home.”

“Home?” She heard the smile in his voice. “Home is where we are, Aidan, where we are together.”

Silence, as thick as wool, wrapped itself around them as she sat in his embrace. A group of seamen walked by outside, their laughter filtering through the wooden door.

“What would you have me do?” she finally whispered, scarcely daring to hope for Sterling’s response.

His hand was gentle as he caught her chin and lifted her face to his. “You are my wife and my love,” he said, his blue eyes gleaming in the lamplight. “I want you to come with me, to make a home with me, to be the mother to our child. Take my name, take my life, take all that I have. And never doubt me again, Aidan. I am a man of honor, and I do not give my love so lightly that I could take it back again.”

Hope flooded Aidan’s soul, and she slipped her arms around his neck. “Every time I closed my eyes, I saw your face,” she whispered. “’Tis a picture my heart could not erase, no matter how hard I tried.”

A tremor caught in her throat as a tender smile came to life on his lips. He loved her—for herself, as she was, with no deception between them. And when they kissed, it seemed to Aidan that she had finally come home.

A
idan twirled slowly in front of the large looking glass in her bedchamber, admiring for the twentieth time the burgundy satin gown Sterling had ordered for the governor’s reception. Though privately dissatisfied with the results of the latest Tasman expedition, Governor General Anthony Van Diemen had announced a grand reception to honor the sea captain and the only truly noteworthy accomplishment of the voyage—the discovery of the revolutionary young artist, Aidan O’Connor Thorne.

Sterling stepped into the room and caught her hand, pressing it to his lips. “Are you ready, darling?”

“Yes.” She picked up the small cape that fitted over the gown, a delicate creation of sheer silk. Falling from her neck to just below her elbows, a cape was the most elegant way to modestly conceal a blossoming pregnancy.

Sterling led her out of the small house they rented, then presented her to the uniformed coachman who helped her into the open buggy. The coachman smiled at her, touched the brim of his cap, then nodded respectfully to the doctor. “The governor sends his regards,” he said with a bow. Then he took his place at the rear of the carriage and whistled to the groom, who cracked the whip and sent the horses trotting off toward the governor’s mansion.

Aidan breathed in the fresh air of the open road and smiled in delight. Beside the road, green-white ripples of surf glistened in the sun, and the cloudless sky glared hot and blue overhead. It was a perfect June evening—a good day to leave behind her painting
and enjoy her husband’s company. Though their honeymoon aboard the
Heemskerk
had certainly been enjoyable, Aidan knew it would never compare to the simple bliss of having her loving husband alone in her own house.

With easy familiarity, she rested her hand on Sterling’s knee and leaned against him. “Will they all be there, do you think?” she asked. “Tasman, Visscher, Holman, and the other officers?”

“All of them,” Sterling answered. “Even Lina Tasman and Jan Van Oorschot, the man to whom she is newly betrothed.” He took Aidan’s hand and pressed it to his lips. “They would not dare risk offending the governor by their absence. Everyone who is anyone in Batavia will be there to see your paintings and offer their congratulations to Governor Van Diemen’s latest discovery.”

Aidan felt a warm glow flow through her. In the month since the expedition’s return to Batavia, she had been lauded and praised. Governor Van Diemen had proclaimed her a genius, a beauty, and a genuine lady, and her brilliant doctor husband suddenly found himself with more patients than he could handle. Strangely enough, none of the society matrons who invited her to tea seemed to know anything about her former life. Even Van Dyck’s children and housekeeper, who certainly knew of Aidan’s unsavory past, had not dared to say anything against the governor’s favorite artist.

The carriage slowed to a halt on the pebbled drive, and the footman sprang to open the door. “Just be yourself, love,” Sterling whispered, squeezing her arm before slipping out of the carriage.

Aidan followed, then stood on the carriage block for a moment as the footman fumbled with the elaborate train of her skirt. The governor’s mansion sat only a few yards from the beach, and lovely yellow-and-white-striped tents had been set up on the lawn. The guests mingled over the grass and under the shady tents, but more than a few turned as Aidan waited on the carriage block. Standing there, like a statue, Aidan felt the pressure of a hundred pairs of eyes upon her—and the heaviness of public expectation.