Brazen Temptress (21 page)

Julien looked at the lad closely.

A chill of premonition ran down his spine. There was something all too familiar about the lad.

As if he'd seen him before but couldn't quite place him.

Unable to help himself, he started down the lane to get a better look.

"Why, hello there," Julien said, stopping at the gate.

The boy regarded him warily from beneath his oversize cap. Neatly dressed, clean, and polished, the boy was hardly a servant or apprentice on an errand.

" 'Ello," he said back.

"That turnover looks mighty good," Julien commented, hoping to elicit more than a one-word response.

After the boy took another serious bite of his treat, he grinned, then turned a bit more talkative. "It is. Mrs. Landon made it."

"Mrs. Landon? She must be quite a cook."

"Oh, she's more than a cook," his newfound friend said, warming to his story. "She takes care of me and Aunt Pettigrew. She can be rather cross at times, but I don't mind. Not when she makes turnovers." He smiled up at Julien.

It was then he saw why the lad looked so familiar. He found himself staring into his own face when he was of the same age.

This close, Julien noticed the moss green eyes and the familiar reddish hue of the boy's hair that, with time, would darken to a deep chestnut.

A trait that ran deep in the D'Artiers line.

Julien's throat closed, and he found himself unable to speak.

It couldn't be. Maureen would have told him, wouldn't she?

He finally managed to choke out the only question that came to mind.

"What is your name, lad?"

The boy rose up proudly on his toes. "Ethan Hawthorne, sir."

"That's a fine name," Julien said, struggling to keep control of his emotions.

" 'Twas my grandfather's name," Ethan said in a rush, obviously happy to have an audience, and a male one at that. "Though I never met him. My mother says he was a brave man and a great sea captain as well. I mean to go to sea someday and be just as famous."

Or just as dead. Suddenly, he didn't want to see this boy grow up. He'd already missed so much. "You have a few years before that," Julien told him.

Ethan frowned. "You sound like my mother. Why, I'll be eight next February."

Eight.
Julien didn't need to do the math. The lad had been born in February 1806. Nine months after ...

Julien shook off the tidal wave of emotions threatening to swamp him.

Ethan Hawthorne was his son. His son. His and Maureen's.

How could she have kept this secret?

She'd had plenty of opportunities to tell him. He'd offered his life to help her regain her ship and crew, and she had still withheld the one thing he should be a part of — the life of his son.

"Would you like to see the model I made of my ship?" Ethan was asking. "I could go in and get it." Then the boy stopped and looked back at the house. "But you'll have to wait. I can't go in right now. My mother is talking with Aunt Pettigrew." He rolled his gaze skyward as if such woman stuff was beneath two men such as themselves.

"That's fine, Ethan. I promise to come back someday soon and you can show me your model, and if you want, we can go down to the docks and visit some ships so you can make another model."

Ethan grinned from ear to ear. "Really? You'd do that for me?"

Julien nodded, unable to say anything for fear he'd tell the lad the truth.

There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you, son.

He glanced up at the house.
But first I am going to deal with your mother.

"Come now, Aunt Pettigrew, there must be someone left who can help me?" Maureen asked, pouring another cup of tea.

Aunt Pettigrew's sitting room was much as Maureen remembered from her years of living in the house. Bright and cheery, it was stuffed nearly to capacity with her aunt's treasures.

The small India chest with its many drawers and strange carvings that her father had given her aunt, the countless stitcheries that Aunt Pettigrew had worked over the years hanging from every available space, her precious porcelain knick-knacks crowding every inch of the mantel. Lace curtains framed the two windows that looked out on the back garden, and a fireplace took up the rest of the other wall.

Aunt Pettigrew's ginger cat, a permanent fixture in the room, lolled in the morning sunshine pouring through the windows.

"Please try and think, Aunt Pettigrew. There must be someone!"

Her aunt's mouth set in a stubborn line. "I'm all there is left of your mother's family."

This was not the news Maureen wanted to hear. ''But there must be someone on my father's side. With him dead, someone must have inherited his title."

For a second Aunt Pettigrew looked as if she were on the verge of telling her what she wanted to hear, but then the lady's eyes got drowsy. "Your father's title?" She shook her head. "That's all gone, my dear. All of it. Reverted to the crown when he died."

"But he must have had family, or a house, or friends?"

Her hand fluttered to her wrinkled brow. "I don't remember, Maureen. It was a long time ago. At my age I'm lucky I can recall how to get home from Sunday services, let alone your father's family history. I don't think there is anyone there who can help you."

Maureen slumped back on the sofa.

"Is it so bad?" Aunt Pettigrew asked. "This business you are involved in?" The lady reached over and gently brushed the slight bruise on Maureen's cheek where the Lord Admiral had struck her the night before.

While Aunt Pettigrew knew full well what Maureen did to support them, she never referred to her smuggling activities other than as "this business."

"Not so bad, Auntie," Maureen told her, patting the woman's hand and smiling. "Nothing that should keep me away from you and Ethan for much longer."

"Ethan," Aunt Pettigrew said with a smile. "What a joy he is to my life, Maureen. He brightens my days."

"It is I who should be thanking you. You keep him in school and make sure he is safe. If he were with me, he would be in constant danger."

It wasn't until her son had been five that she realized why her father had left her marooned with Aunt Pettigrew. The sea was no place for a child. Not a bright, inquisitive boy like Ethan. And though Maureen missed him terribly when she was away, she knew he was better off living with Aunt Pettigrew. And at least she could visit every few months when she needed to lay low.

As if on cue Ethan came flying through the sitting-room door. "I met a man outside, and he wants to take me to the docks so we can visit ships!"

Maureen came out of her seat in a flash. Her own experience with the press gang recently told her how dangerous it was for a young boy to be about alone. "How many times have I told you not to go near the docks?"

"I wasn't going alone," Ethan said. "My friend is going to take me."

"And who might he be?" Maureen asked, not waiting for Ethan's answer but stalking outside and down the walk to give the stranger a piece of her mind about luring small boys down to the docks on false pretenses.

But outside, the lane was empty, except for a few stray chickens.

Ethan had followed close on her heels. "He's gone," he said, disappointment tinging his words as he looked past his mother, up and down the lane.

Maureen dropped to her knees and embraced her son tightly. "Ethan, you can't go down to the docks alone or with a stranger. You just can't."

If I lost you, I would be lost,
she wanted to tell him.

He squirmed out of her grasp. "Mother, don't. Some of the other boys might see you."

"Of course," she said, rising from the ground. Her son was growing up, and she wished for the days when he came running to her and threw himself into her open arms.

"Well, if I can't hug you, at least tell me how your lessons are going."

"While Ethan launched into a long list of complaints about the additional studies the local reverend who tutored him had recently added, she looked at her son and saw him as if for the first time.

To her amazement she realized how much he looked like Julien. How had she never noticed it before? Probably because she hadn't wanted to see the amazing similarities.

But there was the way Julien walked, steady and sure, with a confidence born of generations of aristocrats. The flash of his green eyes as he told her about a recent visit to the Royal Observatory and how he'd been able to look through the telescope. And finally, his wide grin, so full of boyish charm.

Ethan had been
her
son for so long; now she realized he was as much Julien's as hers.

And if something happened to her, what would become of Ethan? Aunt Pettigrew couldn't live forever, and Ethan needed someone to see to his future.

If it came to it, she could only pray that Julien would offer his protection to his son. Beyond that there were Julien's sisters. Safe within the circle of the Weston and Trahern families, the Lord Admiral would never be able to harm the boy.

But until that day she couldn't let her son go.

She still had unfinished business with Ethan's father, and she had to make sure that this time, if she were to trust Julien, it wouldn't end the way it had in the past.

Ethan's accounts were winding down, and Maureen smiled at her son. "What say you and I raid Mrs. London's turnovers again?"

The boy beat a speedy course up the path, with Maureen following close behind.

In her haste she didn't see the man slipping from between the buildings down the lane and heading quickly toward the docks.

For the next three days, Maureen didn't see hide nor hair of Julien.

As for her unscheduled trip to Greenwich, Lady Mary had been angry at Maureen's disappearance, but once she saw the faint bruise on Maureen's cheek, her outrage at the Lord Admiral's treatment outweighed any indignity over Maureen's unexplained outing.

However, the lady vowed that their social schedule must be maintained, and with the liberal use of an ointment and rice powder, Lady Mary was able to conceal the faint print of the Lord Admiral's fist on Maureen's face.

Throughout the social whirl, Maureen kept a strict vigil for Julien, but he was nowhere to be found. She could hardly ask as to his whereabouts without drawing attention to him, so she did what she would have done aboard ship.

She kept a steady watch.

Besides, he would have to appear at the Trahern masquerade, which was only a few days away. Of that she was sure.

Well, more like hopeful.

With the Lord Admiral's vow to see her hang growing closer to reality each day, she considered making a break for the coast and leaving England.

But then what would she do? There would still be a price on her head, and she could never see Ethan without endangering her son.

Even that option, as unlikely as it was, now appeared lost. The Lord Admiral, obviously sensing her unwillingness and possible flight, had doubled up his watch, making another escape from the Johnston house impossible.

He'd even added additional outriders to Lady Mary's carriage to ensure that Maureen didn't bolt from one of her social obligations.

Every night when they returned from their parties and balls, Maureen would take the steps to her attic room two at a time, hoping to find Julien there waiting for her, but all that ever greeted her was the empty chamber.

She hadn't given up hope that he would find a way to free her men and ship, but with each day she wondered if perhaps Julien D'Artiers's luck had finally run out.

And hers right along with it.

The night before Lady Trahern's masquerade, Maureen and Lady Mary arrived home early. Retiring to her room, Maureen unlatched her window, as she had done every night since the Weston ball, and slipped into her bed.

She didn't know what time it was when the shadowed figure crept through her window, but the creak in the floor brought her bolt upright, knife in hand.

He didn't say anything at first, just stood and stared at her. Clothed entirely in black, with the moon behind him, she couldn't see his features, but she knew it could be only one man.

Julien.

His tall figure towered at the foot of her bed, more a menace than the comfort she thought seeing him would be.

And when he spoke, a chill and anger rang from his voice like she'd never heard before, at least not from him.

"How long did you think you could keep your secret from me?"

Secret? she thought. What secret did she have from him? Then, as if on cue, a soft, haunting breeze whispered through the window, fluttering the meager curtains ever so softly. Gooseflesh broke out over her bare arms.

He took a step closer. "Tell me, Reenie, did you plan to ever tell me?"

She didn't say anything. What could she say? There was only one thing that would strike such a possessive, protective hard edge to his words.

"Ethan," she whispered. He'd discovered the truth about Ethan.

"Yes, dear wife. Our son. Ethan. I ask again, did you plan on ever telling me about him?"

Angry herself over his recent disappearance, she started to rise from the bed. She wore only her shift, so she yanked free one of the blankets from the bed and wrapped it around her before she faced him. "No. Not unless I had to."

"Unless you had to? What does that mean?"

"If ... if all this didn't work," she shot back. "If in the end I went to the gallows. Then I planned to tell you. Or at least your family. Tell someone who could protect him."

He was quiet for too long. "And why wouldn't you have told me otherwise?"

She shook her head. "I didn't want to. Ethan is mine, Julien. He's all I have left in the world. I won't give him up."

"Did it ever occur to you that I would never ask you to?"

She glanced away.

When she didn't answer him, he continued. "I can't walk away from him. Not now that I know."

"Yes, you can. You walked away from me."

Silence filled the room again. He paced the few feet between the window and the door. "How was I to know you were alive? That you carried my child? I thought you were dead."