Captain's Bride (28 page)

She wanted to say no, that she needed him beside her.
That being in the same room with Nicholas Blackwell was more than
she could bear. She’d already decided to tell George the truth
about the child she carried, but she wanted to tell him when the
time was right. She certainly didn’t want to embarrass him in front
of Nicholas.

“It would probably be best if you went home,” she
said instead. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He pulled her to her feet, holding each of her cold
hands in one of his own. “Whatever you have to tell me isn’t
important,” he said softly. “I love you. I want to make a home for
you and the child.”

Glory squeezed his hands. “This is all happening so
fast. Give me some time, George.”

He nodded and kissed her cheek, then stiffly left the
house, stopping only long enough to give Nicholas a warning glance
on his way out.

Nicholas watched him go. He hadn’t meant for any of
this to happen. He’d planned to be gentle, explain what had
happened, beg Glory’s forgiveness, then offer marriage. He sighed
to himself. When it came to Gloria Summerfield his jealousy had
always been his undoing. Until he met her, he hadn’t believed
himself capable of the emotion.

“Won’t you sit down, Captain?” Aunt Flo invited,
forever gracious.

“Nicholas,” he corrected. He moved to the chair next
to Glory. “I know it’s Christmas Eve,” he said, his voice softer
now. “I got here as soon as I could.”

Glory laughed bitterly. “Where were you? Iceland? . .
. Why have you come here, Nicholas?”

How could he tell her? What could he say? How would
he ever make her understand? Though he’d prepared for this moment
ever since he left New York, no words would come. He felt so damned
ashamed he wanted to walk from the room and never look back.

But Nicholas was not a coward. “I came to apologize
for what I’ve done to you. There’s no point in pleading with you to
forgive me. Either you will or you won’t, so I’ll say it only once.
I was a fool. I believed the worst of you and never even let you
explain. Now I know the truth. The baby you carry is mine. I want
you to marry me, Glory. I want our child to have its rightful
name.”

Glory just stared at him. “What makes you think it’s
yours?” she asked defiantly, and noticed he didn’t even blink.

“Because you were a virgin. Because everything I
believed about you in the beginning was true.”

“I
was
a virgin, Nicholas. How do you know
there haven’t been others since? How can you be sure the child is
yours?”

He wanted to touch her. To pull her into his arms.
“Is the baby you’re carrying mine?” he asked instead, this time
knowing beyond doubt she wouldn’t lie.

“Damn you! Damn you!”

“The child is mine, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Nicholas felt a surge of joy like nothing he’d ever
known. “We’ll be married tomorrow. We’ll move to my estate in
Tarrytown. My stepmother lives there now, but we’ll move her into
the town house. She prefers the city anyway.”

“How dare you!” Glory fumed. “How dare you come into
my home on Christmas Eve and act as if you belong here? Get out of
this house, Nicholas. Get out of here and never come back. There
was a time when I would have given everything I hold dear in this
world to hear those words. But that time is past. I don’t love you
anymore. There is nothing you can ever say or do to make me marry
you.”

His mouth thinned, but his eyes looked sad, not hard.
“Then you’ll marry this man, McMillan?”

She hesitated only a moment. “Yes. He doesn’t care
who the baby’s father is. He still wants me.”

“That’s easy to understand,” he said softly. He rose
from the chair, his expression carefully controlled. Glory fought a
sudden urge to follow him as he moved toward the door.

At the last instant he turned and looked back at her.
“Do you love him?”

Her hand clutched her throat. “What?” she
whispered.

“I said, do you love him?”

She swallowed hard. “George McMillan is the kindest,
most gentle man I’ve ever met. He treats me like a lady. He
respects my opinion. He’s good and he’s fair and—”

“Do you love him?”

“I’m going to marry him.”

For a moment he stood stock still. Then he smiled,
his face lighting up the way it had on the strand. For an instant
he looked almost boyish, and Glory felt a tiny chip of ice melt
from around her heart.

“You’re going to marry
me
,” he said. Then he
turned and swept from the room.

The clock ticked loudly. Glory didn’t move or say a
word.

“Are you all right, my dear?” her aunt asked. Silk
skirts rustled as she moved to her niece’s side.

“Yes, Auntie Flo.” It was all she could do to tear
her gaze from the doorway. Her voice sounded weak and uneven. “I’m
just tired, that’s all. So very tired.”

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow. When you’ve rested.
You’ll feel better after you’ve had some sleep.”

Glory nodded. She let her fragile aunt pull her
along, guide her upstairs, and coax her into bed.

“Aunt Flo?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Why did you tell Jeremy you’d been expecting Captain
Blackwell?”

“Because I had. I knew both you and your father
couldn’t be that wrong about the same man.”

“Did ye see her, lad?” Mac stepped up beside him.
Nicholas stood at the rail of the
Black Witch
, still dressed
in his black frock coat, staring out at the smooth surface of the
water.

“I saw her.” They were moored in Boston Harbor, just
across from the navy shipyard at Charlestown. Several ships sat in
dry dock, though they were eerily empty, the workers having gone
home for Christmas Eve.

“Well, how did she look?” Mac could barely contain
his excitement. Nicholas turned toward him, and Mac noticed the
pallor that had haunted his friend these past few months had
fled.

“She looked beautiful,” Nicholas told him. “A little
too pale, perhaps, but beautiful just the same.”

When he didn’t add anything more, Mac prodded, “Go on
lad, what did she say?”

Nicholas bristled a little, but his gray eyes were
light. “She says she’s going to marry George McMillan.”

“Who is George McMillan? And how in the devil can ye
stand there lookin’ so calm about it?” Mac practically jumped up
and down upon the deck.

Nicholas smiled, then thought how often he’d been
doing that lately. It felt good to be able to smile again. “Because
I told her she’s going to marry me, and that’s exactly what she’s
going to do.” His eyes flashed the determined look that had changed
him from the frightened little boy who had run away to sea to the
master of a huge shipping empire.

Mac clapped him on the back. “That’s my boy! She
loves ye, lad. She’ll forgive ye sooner or later.”

Nicholas’s smile faded. “I’m not so sure about that,
Mac. But she doesn’t love McMillan, so she may as well marry me.
She’ll have everything she’s ever wanted. Besides, the child she
carries is mine. I intend to see he’s properly raised.”

“You’re sure it’ll be a son?”

“I’d like a boy, of course, but a little girl like
Glory . . . how could that disappoint me?”

“You’re a good lad, Nicky. I always knew it. It was
ye who forgot for a while.”

Nicholas nodded. “I think I’ll get some sleep. If I’m
to face that feisty blonde tomorrow, I’ll need all the strength I
can muster.”

Mac just chuckled. Nicholas took a deep breath,
filling his lungs with the salty sea air. Bright stars twinkled
above him; the snow had stopped, and the air was so crisp and clear
he could almost touch the silver sliver of moon. He felt young and
hopeful, happy just to be alive.

“I’ve spoken with the Reverend Mr. Markham down at
King’s Chapel. He’ll marry us right after the Christmas service.”
George McMillan gripped her hands, suddenly icy though the salon
was warm.

“But I’m still in mourning.”

“I’m sure your father would understand. There’s the
baby to think of. Besides, once you’re my wife, no one will be able
to come between us.”

“I suppose you’re right, George. It’s just that it’s
all so . . . so sudden.” Glory glanced at her aunt, who sat on the
sofa looking worried. “Aunt Flo?”

“Only you can decide what’s best for you and the
child.” She looked at George, her kindly blue eyes resting on his
soft brown ones. “You’re one of the best men I’ve ever known,
George McMillan. You’d make my niece a fine husband, and I’d be
proud to have you in the family. But Glory must think of what’s
best for her, what’s best for the baby. Captain Blackwell is the
child’s father. He has asked her to marry him. She must consider
carefully.”

“As usual, Captain Blackwell didn’t ask,” Glory
countered, “he commanded. There’s quite a difference.”

“You’re a headstrong young woman, Glory. Don’t let
your anger at what is past decide your future.”

“I can’t marry him, Aunt Flo. I could never trust
him. I’d always remember his cruelty and wonder when he might
unleash it again.”

“And George?” she pressed.

“George is my friend and companion.” She spoke as if
he weren’t in the room. “He respects me and I respect him. I’ll
make him a good wife.”

Florence sighed. “Then you must do as George asks.”
Glory turned to look at the man with the handsome face and warm
brown eyes. “Give me a few minutes to change. A woman has just one
wedding day.”

George walked her to the foot of the stairs. “You’re
making me the happiest man in the world.”

Glory only nodded. A hard lump closed her throat, and
tears stung her eyes. She should be smiling, not crying, she
thought, feel happy, not sad. It was all happening so fast, she
tried to convince herself for the hundredth time. She hurried up
the stairs, more conscious of the child she carried than she’d ever
been before. Was she doing the right thing? The child was as much
Nicholas’s as it was hers. Then her mind flashed on the hard sea
captain who had used her and deserted her. A man who could be
brutal beyond anything she’d known. George McMillan would raise her
child, not a man like Nicholas Blackwell. She squared her shoulders
and hurried on up to her room.

“I’m here to see Mrs. Hatteras,” Nicholas told the
tiny little butler who single-handedly barred the door.

“Mrs. Hatteras is not at home.” He tried to close the
door, but Nicholas wedged his boot inside the jamb. “Where is
she?”

The little man didn’t answer.

Nicholas shoved the door open, nearly knocking the
butler off his feet. He strode through the house until he was
satisfied the man was telling the truth, then returned to the foyer
where Jeremy still stood, ramrod straight.

“I asked you once before. This is the last time I’m
going to ask nicely.
Where is Glory?
”

Jeremy glanced at the clock. It chimed the half-hour
just as he looked away. “She’s gone to church.”

“Which church? And you’d better be telling the
truth.”

“King’s Chapel. But you’re already too late. She’s
married to Mr. McMillan by now.”

With a curse so low it sounded like a hiss, Nicholas
set his jaw and hit the door at a run. King’s Chapel was only a few
blocks away. He raced down Beacon Street and turned onto School.
The old church stood on the comer of Tremont, just two blocks in
the distance. Footsteps ringing on the cobblestones, Nicholas
rushed down the street, up the stairs, and into the empty foyer.
From the back of the church he saw Glory standing beside McMillan
at the altar. He could hear the preacher’s words—the ceremony had
only just begun.

Nicholas gripped the end of a walnut pew to steady
himself and slow his pounding heart. Glory clutched George
McMillan’s arm, her face waxen, her smile fixed in place as if she
feared it might disappear. Her plum velvet gown, rich and elegant,
only made her seem more frail. McMillan, dressed handsomely in a
black split-tail coat and ruffle-fronted shirt, smiled down at her,
and Nicholas felt his jealousy flare. He took a deep breath and
brought himself under control. Then he walked down the aisle and up
to the altar.

“I’m sorry, sir, there’s been a mistake,” he told the
minister calmly. “You’re performing the ceremony with the wrong
bridegroom.”

“Who are you?” the preacher asked, gaping up at
Nicholas.

“How did you find out we were here?” George
demanded.

All Glory could see was Nicholas Blackwell standing
tall and imposing, with light gray eyes and a smile meant only for
her. She knew a moment of joy so poignant she felt ashamed. And
furious he could still affect her so.

“Mr. Markham,” she said, feigning a calmness she
didn’t feel, “would you please finish the ceremony?”

“Not until we’ve talked.” Nicholas grabbed her arm
and tugged her gently toward the nearest pew, just out of earshot
from the others.

“Take your hands off her,” George McMillan demanded,
catching up with them, and Glory wanted to scream. First no one
wanted her; now two men fought for her like dogs over a bone. Aunt
Flo sat on the opposite side of the aisle and Glory felt certain
she caught the hint of a smile on the old woman’s lips.

“Let me talk to him, George,” she soothed. “It will
only take a minute.”

George let go of her arm, and Nicholas guided her
into the pew.

“I want you to marry me,” Nicholas said.

“No.”

“The child you carry is mine, Glory. If for no other
reason than that, you’ve got to marry me.”

“George will make a good father. He has plenty of
money; so do I, for that matter. We’ll take excellent care of the
baby.”

Nicholas felt a flash of anger. “That’s not the
point, now, is it? I want that child, and even if you don’t believe
it, I want you. You’re going to marry me, and that’s all there is
to it.”