Captive Splendors (2 page)

Sara's hyacinth eyes were watchful as she and Wren prepared for bed. “Are you really going to take a drive with Mally tomorrow?”

“Sara Ann Stoneham, stop calling Malcolm
Mally.
Yes, I'm going for a carriage ride with the man I'm going to marry. Not another word, Sara Ann,” Wren shouted as she dived under the covers, her amber eyes peeping out from behind the satin-edged quilt.

“Very well,” Sara acquiesced. “As your infamous Sea Siren would say, ‘It's your neck!'”

The hour was late, the night dark and silent as the hackney carrying Sirena and Regan van der Rhys made its way through the winding, narrow streets devoid of people and noise. As dark and silent as my thoughts, Sirena mused as she peered through the dirty panes of the carriage. The hack was taking the route from the docks to Tyler Sinclair's house, the same route she had taken with Frau Holtz nearly nine years ago when she had come in search of Regan. Bitter memories stained the joy at seeing Wren again. Whenever she thought about the time she had been forced to live in England, she knew a hatred almost as strong as that which she still harbored for the memory of Stephan Langdon. Pressing her shoulder securely on Regan's as he rolled against her in sleep, she felt a small knot of something akin to fear weave its way around her stomach. How did Regan feel about returning to England? Returning not only to England, but to the house of his former wife. What would the flowerlike Camilla be like now that she was married to Tyler? By now, with the lapse of time, childlike Camilla would be a woman fully grown, complete with a woman's wiles. Would she tease and flirt with Regan, and what would be Regan's reaction? Sirena sighed. She wouldn't find out this evening, that was for certain. Dawn would soon be approaching. The Sinclair household would be asleep and unprepared for guests. Surely Tyler wouldn't mind that she and Regan were arriving a week ahead of schedule. Nothing annoyed Tyler.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she recalled their days in Newgate Prison. In truth, that experience was probably the only thing that had ever annoyed good old Tyler. And if the truth were told, he had probably enjoyed every minute of it.

Sirena sighed again, wearily. That had been so long ago. Another time, another life. Unconsciously, she reached out to touch Regan, to reassure herself that he was still there. How wonderful he felt, so hard and firm. And how vulnerable he looked in sleep. Her bottle-green eyes lighted up momentarily as she realized that Regan was not in the least vulnerable. Well, perhaps in one area, where Wren was concerned. How eager he was to see the girl, to wrap her in his arms and make the sounds all fathers make when they look at their beloved daughters. Even though Regan and Sirena had adopted Wren, they couldn't have loved her more if she had truly been theirs. Was this because they had produced four strapping boys who one day would be like Regan and Caleb? Sirena often wished she had given Regan a daughter of his own. No matter, Wren was their daughter, and that was enough. She carried the van der Rhys name, and Sirena was her mother and Regan was her father. And little Wren had five brothers who loved her dearly. Especially Caleb.

The hackney came to an abrupt halt and Regan was jostled from his comfortable position against her shoulder. “Good God, Sirena, are we finally here?”

Sirena patted his arm. “Now, Regan, remember your promise to me. You won't demand that Wren be awakened. Morning is soon enough. As a matter of fact, it would be wise to insist that neither Camilla nor Tyler be awakened. Your promise, Regan.”

Regan grinned. “I must have been drunk when I agreed to such a promise, sweetheart.”

“Not drunk, darling, just in a rather compromising position.”

“One of these days I'll manage to be one step ahead of you, Sea Witch,” he said fondly.

“I miss the children and I want to return to Java as quickly as possible. That was part of the promise.”

“You're jealous of Camilla. I've felt it ever since we approached English waters,” Regan teased.

“You're a bull, Regan, and I'm not jealous. If she makes one false move in your direction, it's
your
eyes I'll scratch out!”

Regan shuddered. She would do it, too. She might be the mother of four strapping boys and the stepmother of two other children, but she could best him in any way she chose and he knew it, not that he would ever admit it to her. Even now, after all these years, she was still as slim and fast as she had been when he first met her. Little did she know that he was aware that she still practiced daily with her rapier. One day he had by chance overheard her telling Frau Holtz that it was the only way to keep fit. As usual, she was right, he grimaced as his hands found their way to his midsection. Too much good food and rum would ruin the best of men. Not that he overindulged, but it was so easy to throw caution to the winds when a man was happy and contented. Regan was more happy and contented than he had ever been in his life, and now that Wren would be going back to Java with them, his cup would run over. The only thing missing was Caleb. If Cal would only see fit to make his home with them in Java, he swore to all the Gods in Heaven that he would never sin again. What more could a man ask?

“Do try to be quiet, Regan. We don't want to awaken the entire household.”

“My dear, I will walk on tiptoe, as though I were walking on eggs. You need to have no fear of my awakening your dear friend Tyler.”

“You're baiting me, Regan. Morning is only a few hours away, and sleep is what you need.”

“If you're trying to tell me I'm getting old and feeble, you can bite your tongue, young woman. I can still outshine that Sinclair, and well you know it. I'll tell you one thing: I'm not looking forward to seeing either him or Camilla. I gave you my word that we would leave as soon as it was decently possible. I'll keep my word. No noise, I'll sleep in your arms, and you'll wake me at the first early light. I want to see what manner of young lady our Wren has become.”

Giggling like two small children, Regan and Sirena followed an aging servant up the curving staircase.

“Reminds me of the time I spent three days in Clarice's brothel.” Regan grinned as he pinched Sirena on the thigh.

“If you think I'm going to ask you to tell me about
that
little escapade, dear husband, you're wrong. I'll take it up with you tomorrow,” she said, her eyes glinting dangerously.

“A slip of the tongue, sweetheart. You know how boastful I am at times. It was Dykstra who spent three days there. I merely stopped by to see how business was doing.”

“You kept that—that—
establishment
in business all by yourself. Don't blame Captain Dykstra,” Sirena hissed.

“Well, I do feel a certain responsibility for him. After all, I did take him there, and Clarice . . . what she did . . . actually . . . You're right, we'll discuss it tomorrow. Suddenly I feel so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“If I were you, I'd sleep with them open the rest of the night,” Sirena warned ominously.

The moment the door closed behind the servant, Regan gathered Sirena in his arms and kissed her passionately. God, how he loved her. He had baited her on purpose just to see her respond with anger. It was his way of proving to himself that she still loved him. He had to see her anger to know for certain that their love had not banked, that it could be rekindled in a moment with a few choice words. Right or wrong, he had to do it, and Sirena understood and played the game right along with him. God, how he loved her. Even more now than on the day he had married her for the second time.

 

Tyler Sinclair descended the stairs with the same worried expression on his face as he had worn when he had finally drifted off to sleep. He felt his stomach churn as the housekeeper told him that the van der Rhyses had arrived unexpectedly during the night and insisted that the Baron and the Baroness remain undisturbed.

“Is the Baroness ready for breakfast?” the housekeeper asked.

“The Baroness is feeling under the weather this morning. Have one of the maids bring her some mint tea and a sweet roll in about an hour. She will be down for luncheon with our guests.”

Good Lord, what am I going to say to Sirena? he wondered as he seated himself at the breakfast table. Perhaps he was worrying about nothing. Both of them might really like Malcolm Weatherly. No one likes Malcolm Weatherly except Wren, he answered himself. Camilla had said that Malcolm could pass muster in a dark room, but this was the bright light of day, and both Sirena and Regan were clear-eyed and as sharp as axes.

Tyler bit into a sweet roll and chewed with a vengeance. Two more rolls and two more cups of coffee laced with rum—or was it three cups of rum laced with coffee?—and he was ready to meet any and all challengers, providing they didn't carry a rapier or a cutlass. Damn it, he was feeling the edges of drunkenness and it was still breakfast time. To be cut down in his prime! “Never mind the coffee, just give me the bottle,” he demanded of the cook.

“But, Baron Sinclair, your kippers are ready, and Cook prepared them especially for you.”

“Kip, kip, kip,” Tyler hiccuped drunkenly. “The child is nothing more than a little kipper, that's what she is.”

“Do my eyes deceive me, or are you drunk?” Sirena's melodious voice called out from the doorway. “Two hours past dawn and you're in your cups.” Camilla must be up to some of her old tricks to make Tyler resort to spirits so early in the morning, Sirena mused. Tyler was no sot; at least he had never been one before. On the other hand, being married to Camilla should be reason enough to turn to drink. Hadn't Regan tipped the bottle more than usual during his short-lived marriage to that fair petal of flowerhood? A wide smile broke across Sirena's face as she patted a perspiring Tyler on his head. “I can forgive you anything, Tyler, since you've been so generous to give our Wren a home and take care of her.”

Tyler extended a shaking hand to grasp Regan's and finally conceded failure when he couldn't establish contact.

“You resemble a fish out of water, Sinclair,” Regan said, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. No self-respecting man drank at dawn, or what passed for dawn in this damnable country. Camilla was undoubtedly leading Tyler a merry chase. Suddenly Regan grinned as the thought struck him that, but for the grace of God, he could be walking in Sinclair's boots. Mercifully there was a God, and every day he thanked Him for his good fortune.

Tyler thought the van der Rhyses a striking pair. Regan looked as fit and agile as a man twenty years his junior. Only a slight salting of gray at the temples hinted that it was almost nine years since Tyler had last seen him. He noted happily that Sirena had been treated well by the passage of time. A vague aura of maturity about her belied the sparkle in her extraordinary green eyes, and she wore her hair in a more sedate style, rather than loose and flowing. But her figure was still trim and girlish. Tyler had a vision of Sirena as she had looked aboard her ship, her long, tawny legs revealed by tatter-edged breeches cut up to her curvaceous hips, the salt spray glistening on her skin, her dark hair free to blow in the wind. He knew that beneath her wide skirts and decorous manner still lived the beautiful Sea Siren.

“Tell me, Tyler, how is your business thriving?” Sirena asked.

Tyler flinched. Damn her, she knew something was troubling him, and she hadn't changed a bit. She knew it had something to do with Wren; he could feel it in his bones and see it in her sea-green eyes. There was nothing for him to do but tell both of them the straight of it. With any luck, they would listen with open minds and hear him through. Mentally he squared his shoulders and stood up, his back to the seated couple. He fixed his gaze out the window, on a tree swaying in the early-morning breeze, and watched a sparrow take wing.

Sirena and Regan exchanged glances and waited patiently for him to speak.

“You were never one of my favorite people, van der Rhys,” Tyler began, “but you, Sirena, were always like a sister to me. I agreed to look out for Wren and act as her guardian while she was here at the academy. I've done the best I could, but you, Sirena, filled her head with so many tales of the Sea Siren and all that rubbish that there was little I could do when it came to things of that nature. She's devious, something I found very hard to accept. Camilla tells me that all young girls are impressionable and devious; she calls it women's wiles. What I'm trying to say to you is that Wren fancies she is in love with and wants to marry a man named Malcolm Weatherly. She plans to have him ask for her hand. The young man is a dandy, a fop of the worst sort.”

“What's this tale you're peddling, Sinclair?” Regan demanded, leaping from his chair. His intentions were clear to Sirena, who reached out for his arm.

“Regan, hear him out,” she pleaded.

“Thank you, Sirena,” Tyler said quietly, grateful for her interference. All signs of inebriation gone, he proceeded to tell them what he knew. “You see, I was unaware of this affair until very recently, and then I learned about it quite by accident From what I've been able to gather, Wren met this Weatherly while at the academy. She was shopping in town when she happened to make his acquaintance. She continued to see him without the knowledge of her teachers or the headmistress. This is what I meant about her being devious, or wily, if you prefer. Now that I have the straight of it, I can tell you the whole story. After the nightly bed check made by the dormitory housemother, Wren would slip out and meet Weatherly somewhere on the grounds. It seems that one night the headmistress couldn't sleep and decided to go to the library for a book. It was there that she discovered the two lovers in what she termed a ‘shocking embrace.' The headmistress then questioned Wren, who had the good sense to tell the truth. In turn, the matter was brought to my attention with the request to remove Wren from her classes. She came here with a friend of hers, Sara Stoneham, who was a party to the affair. Sara would let Wren back into the dormitory at night after the lovers' tryst. Her parents are due to arrive in London within the next few days to take her home. I'm afraid they're quite shocked by the whole matter. They're Puritans,” he added, as if that explained everything.