Captain's Bride (33 page)

“How was your ride?” Brad asked, hazel eyes
light.

“Chilly,” she told him, adding, “but I suppose I
enjoyed myself.”

“Splendid,” Brad said. “There’s something about the
winter air that revives one’s lagging spirits.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Nicholas put in.

Glory noticed he watched her all evening, no longer
with that strained, worried look, but with a bit of the old hunger.
She refused to admit she felt it, too.

They went into Tarrytown the following day. Glory
already felt stronger, healthier somehow. Nicholas surprised her by
ordering an entire wardrobe of dresses, gowns, shoes, jackets, and
mantles, in serge, flannel, camel’s hair, and merino for day; silk,
crepe, velvet, and satin for evening, all in rich colors. True to
his word, Nicholas refused to let her choose even one gown of dull
hue.

By the time they arrived back at the hall, Glory was
exhausted, yet she felt an exhilaration she hadn’t known in weeks.
That night after supper, Nicholas escorted her upstairs to her
room. The hallway was empty, lit by flickering candles set in brass
sconces. She could feel his hand at her waist, his breath a whisper
against her hair.

“Thank you for the clothes,” she said softly. “I’m
sure they’re going to be lovely.”

“No matter how lovely they are, they won’t do you
justice.”

Feeling a rush of warmth to her cheeks, she watched
him for a moment. With the worry lines gone from his face, he
looked roguishly handsome, even a little younger.

Without thinking she lifted her hand to his cheek.
Abruptly she pulled away. “I’d better go in.” She turned to take
her leave.

“Not yet.”

Before she could protest, he pulled her into his arms
and captured her lips. Though the contact was brief, Glory’s knees
went weak. She hoped Nicholas hadn’t noticed, but his satisfied
smile said he had.

The following morning Nicholas roused Glory early,
insisting she ride with him. Dressed in fawn-colored breeches,
shiny black Wellingtons, a snowy white shirt, and a cashmere coat,
he met her at the foot of the stairs. Glory wore a new sapphire
velvet riding gown that Nicholas had paid extra to have finished in
a rush. She had to admit it felt good to be dressed in beautiful
clothes again. She knew her father would have approved. Then she
thought of the tiny infant she also mourned and fought an urge to
return to dreary black.

“I have a surprise for you,” Nicholas told her,
taking her arm and guiding her from the room. Isaac, the ancient
black butler who had come to the estate from the city, stood in the
foyer, holding Nicholas’s warm woolen overcoat. He helped Nicholas
slip it on. Glory found the old ex-slave a quiet reminder of home,
his warm smile and cheerful manner always brightening her day.

Wearing the fur-lined mantle over her habit, Glory
clung to Nicholas’s arm. They moved through the vaulted foyer and
out beneath the portico. The sun shone brightly through the
leafless trees, but its heat was lost in the brisk winter air. They
headed straight for the stables where several soft whinnies sent a
thrill of pleasure up Glory’s spine. How long had it been since
she’d ridden along the land beside her father’s rice fields? How
long since she’d felt the excitement riding always stirred?

Nicholas led her to the pasture beside the massive
stone bam where a lovely chestnut mare and a tiny foal raced across
the snowy fields.

“That’s Siren’s Song,” he told her proudly. The foal
is Windsong. They’re yours.”

“Mine?”

“We can race the colt or you can keep him for
breeding stock, whichever you choose.”

“Oh, Nicholas. They’re beautiful. I don’t know what
to say.”

“How about starting with thank you?”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Of course a kiss would be better.”

Glory hesitated only a moment. She rose on tiptoe to
kiss his cheek, but Nicholas turned his face at the last instant,
and her lips closed over his. His hard arms pulled her against him,
and Glory’s heart began to race. She knew it was unseemly to kiss a
man—even one’s husband—out in the open in the middle of the day,
but couldn’t persuade herself to end the embrace.

Nicholas coaxed her mouth open with his tongue, then
teased the inside, sending shivers along her spine. Glory heard a
tiny mewling sound and realized the sound was coming from her.
Shaken and more than a little embarrassed, she pulled away. Bright
color stained her cheeks.

“Come on,” Nicholas said, inordinately pleased with
himself, it seemed to Glory. “The groom has our horses saddled and
waiting.”

They rode along the country lanes, Glory loving the
feel of the strong animal beneath her. She nudged the big sorrel
gelding faster, and soon they were cantering across the fields. A
low box hedge loomed in their path. Before Nicholas could stop her,
Glory had taken the hedge and reined up on the other side. He took
the hedge with ease, but rode up beside her scowling, furious she
had disobeyed his unspoken order to take it slowly this first
day.

Frowning, he started to speak, then caught her wide,
impish grin—and a look of pure pleasure warmed his light gray
eyes.

“Will you never behave?”

“I hope not.”

He bent down and captured her lips in a brief warm
kiss. “So do I.”

They cantered easily back to the house, where
Nicholas lifted Glory from her sidesaddle. The brisk air had
flushed her cheeks even more than his kiss, and Glory felt more
alive than she had in weeks.

That night after supper, Nicholas again walked her to
her room. He turned her into his arms before they even reached the
doorway. Tonight his gentle kiss turned demanding. He cradled her
cheeks between his palms and molded his mouth to hers. When he
released his hold, Glory’s arms slipped around his neck. She clung
to him, the feelings he stirred so powerful her knees felt weak.
With practiced ease, he kissed and nibbled and tasted until Glory’s
mouth parted of its own accord. His breath tasted of brandy and the
cherries they’d eaten for dessert.

When he’d kissed her thoroughly, he pulled away and,
just for a moment, Glory felt bereft at his leaving.

“Do you have any idea how much I need you?” he
whispered, his voice husky.

She only shook her head.

“I want you back in my bed,” he said, then turned and
walked down the stairs.

Glory entered her room as if she were sleepwalking.
Betsy appeared and helped her undress; then she slipped beneath the
sheets of her huge four-poster bed. I’m falling in love with him
again, she thought as she lay staring up at the velvet canopy. She
shuddered and felt tears welling. Loving Nicholas Blackwell could
only mean more heartbreak. She remembered their time on the strand,
how he had gained her trust and finally her love. Then he’d
abandoned her, purposely ruined her reputation without a second
thought. He’d come to Boston and threatened to do it
again—threatened even to destroy his child. She knew exactly how
ruthless Nicholas could be.

She tossed and turned fitfully, her body feeling
tense and highly strung. Though she fought against it, her mind
conjured memories of Nicholas’s kiss, the warmth of his lips, the
heady male scent of him. Sooner or later he would claim his
husbandly rights. Her body yearned for his touch even now. Once he
possessed her, his power would be even greater than it already
was.

Suddenly restless, Glory shoved back the covers and
moved to the window. The snow had melted away, and a full moon lit
the leafless trees whose jagged limbs broke the landscape into
puzzlelike pieces.

Just like my life, she thought. If only she could fit
the pieces together, maybe she could get a clearer picture of what
she should do.

The next morning Nicholas left for the city,
stopping by her room only long enough to explain.

“I’ve stayed away from my business too long already,”
he had said. “I’ve got to make certain things are running smoothly.
I’ll come back as soon as I can.” He smiled at her warmly as she
sat propped up in bed, the breakfast of warm cinnamon rolls and
coffee he’d brought her resting in her lap. “Try to stay out of
trouble.”

She had smiled at his words, but now, as she readied
herself for the day ahead, she wondered why he hadn’t told her
sooner that he was leaving. Did he have some illicit plans he
didn’t want her to know about? Was another woman involved? She knew
his lusty appetites. It had been months since he’d been with a
woman—at least as far as she knew. The first prickle of jealousy,
and a stab of alarm, snaked down her spine.

Nicholas returned three days later. Three long,
lonely days for Glory. She’d been surprised at how much she missed
him. And terrified by what she imagined he’d been doing.

“I’ll be gone off and on all month,” he told her when
he returned. They were seated at the dining table, supping on roast
venison, new potatoes, and steaming hot fresh bread. “I’ve found
someone to take over some of the management responsibilities. Max
Faulkner. He’s a competent man. As soon as we get things organized,
I’ll be able to oversee the business from here at the hall. We’ll
have time to breed those racehorses we talked about.” He smiled
down at her, eyes flicking for a moment to the lush curve of her
breasts above her green velvet gown. “With mares like your Siren’s
Song and a few good stallions, we should have a fine string in no
time.”

Glory smiled in return, wanting desperately to
believe him and happy just to have him home again.

They rode at every opportunity, bringing fresh color
to Glory’s cheeks and a closeness to their relationship that hadn’t
existed before. Glory wasn’t sure whether to be glad or wary. All
she knew was that every day she spent with Nicholas filled her with
equal parts of happiness and despair.

Each night he walked her to her room. Each night he
claimed a kiss more demanding than the one before. When his hands
strayed down the bodice of her gown, his long fingers slipping
beneath the fabric to stroke her nipple, Glory moaned and pulled
away.

“You said you wouldn’t force me before I was ready.”
One comer of his mouth tilted in a roguish smile. “Are you certain
you’re not?”

Glory swallowed hard. Her body was most certainly
ready. It was her mind that was not. “I . . . I . . . Yes. I mean,
no. I most certainly am not.”

He ran a finger along the line of her cheek. “I won’t
break my promise.” He flashed another smile. “But like most women,
you may not always know your own mind. I won’t be timid in making
the decision for you when the time is right.”

“But . . .”

“Good night, madam.”

That had been two days ago. He’d left again for New
York, cautioning her he’d be gone five days. The cold weather had
ended and an early spring settled over the land. Now, as Glory
strolled through the quiet formal gardens between rows of dormant
jonquils, she absently touched the tightly closed buds that awaited
still warmer weather. During this, the longest of Nicholas’s
absences, Glory had begun to realize just how deeply she had come
to care for him. Her days seemed endless without him. At night she
remembered his kisses, longed for more, then worried that he spent
his time away from her in the arms of another woman.

She moved among the green-leafed plants, the white
buds brushing against her yellow cashmere dress, her thoughts in
turmoil.

“
Narcissus jonquilla
,” came a familiar deep
voice laced with a gentle southern drawl. “Beautiful when they’re
in bloom, don’t you agree?”

Glory spun to face him. “Nathan!” she cried, throwing
herself into his arms. As he held her against him, she could feel
his pleasure at seeing her in the flutter of his heart. Then he set
her away, inspecting her from head to foot.

“Well, it seems you’re none the worse for wear.”

“And you, little brother, it seems you grow taller
every time I see you.” She hugged him again, noticing how handsome
he looked in his dark brown split-tailed coat. For the first time
she noticed he wasn’t alone.

“These are friends of mine, Glory. Valentine and his
mother, Hilly.” A tall, thin Negro woman stood at the side of the
garden, a small boy next to her, his face buried in her calico
skirts.

Glory moved to greet them.

“Hullo, missus,” the woman said in a thick black
accent Glory hadn’t heard in months.

“Hello, Hilly. And this must be Valentine.” She knelt
beside him, and the boy looked up at her shyly, brown eyes round
and a little uncertain. His clothes were patched and worn, but
spotless. “I’m Glory, Valentine. I’m happy to meet you.” He graced
her with a white-toothed smile, then returned to the folds of his
mother’s skirt.

“They need your help, Glory,” Nathan told her. “In
your letters, you mentioned your work in Boston. That’s where these
two are headed.”

“Come inside,” she said. “Out of the cold.”

Once they were seated in the drawing room, sipping
hot cocoa, she pressed Nathan about his involvement with the
runaways—which obviously they were.

“Actually, it wasn’t until I read your letters from
Boston that I decided to take action. Of course I’d read about the
Underground Railroad in the newspapers. It just seemed like such a
risk. After I read your letters, I decided the risk would be worth
it.” He glanced at the two Negroes sitting on the settee before the
fire. “I can already tell you it has been.”

“What can I do to help?” Glory asked.

“Where’s your husband?” Nathan countered. “I think
this is something you should discuss with him.”

Glory was surprised by his words. “After the way he
treated you, I shouldn’t think you’d give a damn what Nicholas
Blackwell thought.”

Nathan grinned at her surge of temper. “At first I
did feel that way. But after you two were married, Nicholas came to
the school to see me. He explained what had happened between the
two of you. He asked my forgiveness and understanding, and welcomed
me as one of the family. I told him I respected him and wished you
both great happiness. I assumed he would have told you.”