Captive Embraces (17 page)

She smiled as she recalled her interview with the noted dressmaker, Mrs. Wittcomb, earlier that day. The small birdlike woman had arrived at Sirena's invitation and proceeded to measure lengths of pattern muslin. Mrs. Wittcomb, her mouth full of pins, had stood back to survey a hem and thought she had never seen a better model for her expertise with the needle. The Spanish woman was slim and lithe yet well fleshed in important areas. The smooth ivory tones of her skin could complement almost every color of the spectrum and her dark hair was a relief against her cool, incredibly green, dark-fringed eyes.

“I'll take this and this and this,” Sirena said quietly. “And you mentioned a particular bolt of fabric. May I see it now?”

Mrs. Wittcomb reverently unwrapped a length of cloth from its protective layer of rice paper and held up a shimmering length of serpentine green silk that seemed to light up the room. Sirena drew in her breath and handled a corner of the fabric. “Perfect, Mrs. Wittcomb. Now, this is the way I would like you to fashion the gown.”

The tiny woman's mouth dropped open as she listened. “Can you do it?” Sirena asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

The seamstress nodded, her eyes perplexed. “Madame, I feel I should tell you that such fashions have not been worn in London.”

Sirena shrugged. “That is no concern of mine. Stitch this gown first, exactly as I described it to you. How soon do you think I can have it?”

“A fortnight?” Mrs. Wittcomb answered hesitantly. This would be an important account for her and she was grateful to have been chosen on the suggestion of Mrs. Wilks, Sirena's cook. Once the merchants and vendors learned there was a rich woman new to England, the Spanish lady would be besieged and she, Mrs. Wittcomb, would have little chance for her trade. “Madame, you're certain...”

Sirena's bottle-green eyes flashed but her voice was quiet and controlled. “Very sure.”

Mrs. Wittcomb lowered her head and pursed her mouth. Such a lovely woman, yet with this particular gown she would be an overnight scandal. Well, she was paid to sew and not to speculate on the morals or choices of wealthy ladies.

Sirena smiled again as she remembered how Mrs. Wittcomb had bustled out of the house, burdened with her bolts of fabric and a scandalized expression pinching her features.

A calculating gleam shone in Sirena's eyes. The gown would be a sensation and she could almost predict Tyler's reaction to it. There was no denying he was an attractive man. If she were careful and shrewd, she could pit him against Regan and see if jealousy was the answer. It was a shame to use Tyler this way, yet desperation called for desperate measures. The difference between men and women was not so great. If she could feel jealousy because Regan planned to marry again, Regan could easily find himself eaten with jealousy over her relationship with Tyler. Sirena frowned, her delicate, arched brows puckering low over her blazing eyes. If Regan ever should marry, she knew she would be like a wild jungle animal. But Regan wasn't married ... yet.

Shaking off thoughts of impending doom, Sirena straightened her shoulders and glanced about the opulently handsome drawing room. Everything boasted the sheen of newness and was obviously designed for comfort. The crimson settee and the matching armchairs were placed intimately near the open hearth. Rich, vibrant oil paintings adorned the paneled walls, adding warmth and color. Heavy draperies shot through with thread the color of recently minted gold hung at the windows and long paned doors leading to the side yards. In the center of the Italian marble mantle a large, trailing fern rested in a silver bowl. The fronds were tapered, long and graceful, and glistened like uncut emeralds. It was a pleasing room and Sirena was comfortable in it. The subdued lamplight glanced off a nearby cherrywood table bearing a silver tray with a decanter of ruby red wine. For a brief moment she felt guilty using Tyler the way she intended. Pushing away the uneasiness, she decided she would make it all up to him when she and Regan were together again.

While she waited for Tyler, she allowed thoughts of Caleb to creep into her mind. She wondered how he was faring and realized again how she had hurt him with her rejection. Even when he said he understood her feelings, she wondered if he really did or if he had said it to allow her to save face.

Sirena was jarred from her thoughts as Frau Holtz ushered Tyler Sinclair into the room. The old housekeeper watched as the gallant knight brought Sirena's hand to his lips, then gazed deeply into her eyes. Harrumph! she snorted as she backed from the room, closing the carved mahogany doors with a loud bang.

Tyler looked at Sirena and smiled approvingly. “Allow me to say how lovely you are this evening.”

“You may,” Sirena laughed and the formality was shattered. “Please, sit down and let us get this bothersome business done with so we can enjoy dinner.”

After an hour, Tyler gathered his papers together and placed them carefully in a smart leather case. “As you can see, you're a very wealthy woman, Sirena. Are you satisfied with the way I'm handling your investments?”

“Quite satisfied. You mentioned prospects in Ireland. Are you certain my investment will be recouped by the end of the year?”

“Oh yes, but I would like you to make an inspection and see for yourself. My thoughts were to leave as soon as possible, but I looked into the sailing schedules and the only ships leaving port for Waterford are those of Regan van der Rhys. We'll have to wait till the first of the month to see what opens.”

“I'll have to think about it, Tyler. I'll let you know,” Sirena said quietly, her mind racing. Why did she have to book passage on another ship when her own sat in the harbor? If she were careful, she might be able to manage something. She smiled slightly. Everything was working out just as she planned, in fact better. “There is one other matter I'd like to discuss with you before dinner is announced. I went to see my ... I saw Regan yesterday and I'm sorry to say we didn't part on the happiest of terms. I told him I was taking advantage of my prerogative for shares in his company in lieu of cash exchange.”

Tyler laughed, “Very clever, Sirena. Would you care to join me in my practice? I can use a helping hand.”

“No, I have no head for business,” Sirena smiled. “Tell me about your practice, Tyler. Do you enjoy it?”

“Yes and no. If I were as rich as you are, I think I'd be a scoundrel living off my income. My father, the Baron, turned over the business to me several years ago. It's a sort of tradition in my family. It is thought to be the cure for keeping first-born sons from becoming outright reprobates,” he laughed.

Sirena liked the sound of his low, lusty laughter. “In time you'll require a son of your own to take over the tradition. Tell me, is there a lady somewhere in your affections?”

Tyler sobered at her words. “One day perhaps. For now, I enjoy my position as a bachelor. I must admit,” he grinned, “at times it gets to be a bit of a bore dodging matrimony-minded females. As I said, I'd like to be a scoundrel, a dashing rake without conscience, who loves a woman and leaves her without a backward glance.”

“But, Tyler, Tio Esteban warned me that you already enjoy that reputation,” she giggled.

“Ah! balm for my soul! What I actually meant was I'd like to be a highwayman, something wicked and unlawful, a rogue. I think everyone dreams of an exciting life. When I was a boy I wanted to be a notorious pirate with a patch over my eye. Unfortunately, I learned that to legitimately wear one I should have to lose my eye. As I grew older, I had a desire to rob from rich and beautiful women while I kissed them scandalously, leaving them breathless with only warm affection in their hearts for me. However, when I approached maturity I had no desire to hang by my neck, so I relegated my dreams to oblivion and began to practice law.”

“I can understand how dry it must be after your exciting dreams,” Sirena cooed. “Ah, there is Frau Holtz; come, dinner is ready.”

Sirena enjoyed the elaborate dinner of roast duckling as Tyler regaled her with tales of his many near trips to the altar. Frau Holtz was beside herself as Sirena laughed and complimented the dashing Tyler Sinclair. She became alarmed as Sirena's eyes took on a sparkle and her wit became pronounced.

When the dinner was over, the housekeeper was in a state bordering shock when Sirena offered to play her guitar for the Englishman. Quietly, she withdrew from sight and listened as Sirena softly strummed the strings, testing the chords. Her audience of one sat in rapt attention as she began the opening strains. Frau Holtz knew immediately that Sirena was going to play a flamenco. “Poor man,” the Frau muttered to herself, shaking her head, “he hasn't a chance.”

When Tyler first heard the tone, he thought it was the guitar. The sound blossomed and poured forth, spilling into the hushed corners of the room with perfection and clarity of pitch. Sirena's voice.

She sang the flamenco with inspiration and her audience of one was caught up in the music's passion. It was Frau Holtz, standing outside the door, who understood the sweetness and the poignancy behind the notes. Sirena might be looking at the Englishman, but she was singing for the Mynheer, wherever he was.

The song over, Sirena lifted her eyes and felt a sharp jab of disappointment that it was not Regan who was sitting across from her. It should have been Regan with his sheaf of white-blond hair falling low on his forehead, his agate eyes loving her, devouring her. In-steady, she looked into dark eyes filled with admiration and interest. Sirena was flattered; Tyler was a most attractive man. Handsome actually, and if she weren't still in love with Regan, she would have found it very easy to be attracted to him.

She smiled coyly, refusing to play again. Tyler's praise was genuine and enthusiastic. Sirena rose, indicating the evening was over. Graciously, she extended her hand and, as always, Tyler touched his lips to it.

“Thank you for a most enjoyable evening, Sirena. We must repeat it someday soon. I'll be in touch with you in a day or so. Good night, Sirena.” His lips touched her hand again and lingered there a moment longer than necessary. Sirena felt the current of emotions run between them. How easy it would be to fall into his arms, offer her mouth for his kisses. She was lonely, so lonely, and she knew somehow that Tyler was also looking for a relief from the same thing. There was a bit too much bravado in his voice when he said he had no plans for marriage. Sirena suspected that Tyler was in love with someone who did not return his affections. How easy it would be to console one another, to reach out for the warmth of another, the tenderness, the affection. But where would it lead to? She had nothing to give him. Her heart was Regan's. And if her instincts were correct, Tyler was floundering in the same lonely sea.

Their eyes met. “Good night, Tyler. Sleep well,” she said softly.

 

Dockside, at the Owl and Boar, Caleb was talking to an aristocratic gentleman by the name of Lord Farrington. The interminable fog was still hampering trade, so Caleb had taken to whiling away the hours at the inn, enjoying the brew and the company of a particular serving wench the boisterous patrons called Sally.

Over the period of days since Caleb had met at the inn with Regan, Lord Farrington had conscientiously engineered a continuing acquaintance with him. The stylish, older gentlemen had watched with interest whenever Caleb carelessly tossed a generous handful of uncounted coins on the stained table to pay for his meal and ale. To the nobleman's eye it seemed that several fierce-looking thugs, who were regular patrons of the Owl and Boar, also had more than a cursory interest in Caleb's overflowing pockets.

“Have you been waiting long, love?” asked Sally as she ambled seductively over to Caleb, swinging her ample hips and greeting him with a slow smile.

Caleb, who was well into his cups, reached for her and swung her down onto his lap, burying his face in the soft skin of her throat.

“Tush now, sir!” Sally pretended indignance. “How you men do handle a poor girl. By a Jew's eye, I'd swear it'd been years since you had a tumble instead of last night. Here, here,” Sally laughed, disentangling herself from Caleb's arms, “let me show you the new ribbons I bought at the Change with the coin ya gave me.” Sally brought her fingers to her bosom and leaned over to show Caleb the bright, pink ribbon she had woven into the laces of her soiled and dingy chemise. “Now, don't that do somethin' to ya, love?” she asked, noting the way Caleb's attention was focused upon the swell of her breasts. He was a handsome devil, and any wench on the wharf would be glad to have him put his shoes under her bed.

“It does something, all right,” Caleb groaned, holding Sally tighter and reaching inside her bodice, making her squeal.

Lord Farrington's attention was again brought to the two thugs who now were lingering near the stairs. Sally seemed to notice them too and a silent look passed between them. Turning to Lord Farrington, Sally giggled, “Surely you won't be missing myself and the young lord here for a few minutes, will you? Heave to, sailor,” she said to Caleb, rising from his lap and pulling him to his feet. “You and me go upstairs and Sally will take you to the moon. Heave to, now.”

Dizzy-headed, Caleb stood and lurched after Sally as she tossed her red curls and called out greetings to a familiar face.

Caleb was in a stupor, there was no doubt about it. How could any man who drank a bottle of rum expect to do a woman justice when the prospect of sleep was more attractive? Farrington realized he should have warned young Caleb about flashing around the coins he carried and the small pouch of gemstones which hung from his belt. It was clear that Caleb had hardly any knowledge of the evils of the city. It was not unheard of for a doxie and thieves to conspire together and to roll a man while he was engaged in romantic pursuit. And now, for the past hour, Lord Farrington had noticed the two ruffians eyeing Caleb and watching his every move. And when Sally had given her silent signal before leading Caleb up the stairs to the bedroom, Farrington knew without doubt what the end results would be.