Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (35 page)

“Do you know that it was your hair I fell in love with first?” he asked her, burying his hands within the exquisitely soft and verbena-scented locks.

“I presume it wasn’t the day we married,” she said, growing breathless when a hand slipped to her breasts and fondled their ripe fullness. .

“It was the night I attacked
Nightingale
. However, if I’d known what I do now about you, I’d have paid more attention to the child I married.”

Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she straddled his thighs, pulling herself closer to him until she felt the tip of his probing manhood. “It wouldn’t have mattered, Ian, because I wouldn’t have been ready for you then. I was much too young to know about love.”

“And now?” His voice was coated in desire so thick she barely heard him.

“I want you so much that I ache.”

“Oh, Bethlyn, my sweet wife, I’ll gladly ease your pain.”

The kiss he then bestowed upon her lips caused her to cling wantonly to him. Her fingers explored the muscular broadness of his shoulders, feeling the muscles bunching beneath them as he gathered her to him. In their sitting positions his lips never left hers, scorching her mouth with smoldering heat. She trembled in his arms from fiery emotions she’d suppressed for weeks, wanting him so fiercely that her body literally knew an emptiness only Ian could fill.

She broke away from his mouth’s possession momentarily. “I want you so much, Ian, that I can’t wait a moment longer. Please, please…”

His lips slanted across hers, and he plunged deeply into her, taking the breath from her. Never before had she known such exquisite sensations, reveling in the driving force of his manhood within her. They clung to each other like two people on a high precipice, knowing that at any moment they’d fall to earth but delighting in the spiraling descent.

Whimpers of ecstasy and husky groans sliced through the room, growing more intense with each mating thrust. Bethlyn imagined herself flying through the air as the pleasure grew and grew, then burned through her very being. When the moment Ian tensed and released himself into her with one final, heart-stopping thrust, she felt that her body exploded into multicolored flames.

He pulled her down with him upon the mattress, their bodies still entwined. They lay like this for some minutes, listening to their mingled breathing and the beating of their hearts. Suddenly Bethlyn began to weep.

“What’s wrong?” Ian asked in alarm.

For a second she could barely speak, but she managed to gulp back her tears. “I’m so very happy. My dream came true.”

He stroked her hair, her cheek. “What dream is that, my darling?”

“The dream of being loved by my husband.”

Ian kissed her. “Never doubt that you’re loved by me.”

Pure love shone in Bethlyn’s eyes when she smiled at him. “I know you love me, but only part of my dream has come true. There’s still one other thing I want to make all of my dreams a reality.”

“What’s that?”

Bethlyn colored, suddenly shy to say it, not certain how Ian would feel. “I want to have our child, Ian. I want a baby.”

“Hmm,” he said, considering her with passion-laced green eyes while his hands began a renewed exploration of her body. “That’s a tall order, but I think I’m up to making all of your dreams come true.”

“Oh, Ian, do you really want a child?”

“Let me show you how much, Bethlyn, Your dreams are now mine.”

When his lips teased at her nipples, causing the flame to ignite within her once again, he loved her leisurely and with so much passion that Bethlyn had no doubt all of her dreams would come to pass.

~ ~ ~

Nathaniel Talbot felt unbearably weak, but he refused to give in to the sickness which plagued him. Even now, as he penned the note to his daughter, he could hardly gather the strength to move the quill across the parchment. But he must warn her, must do the only noble thing he’d ever done for the girl.

His penmanship was ungodly awful, and he wondered if he were fortunate enough to find a loyal servant to send the note to Bethlyn would she be able to decipher his handwriting. He prayed so, prayed she’d realize the seriousness of the situation.

Thomas Eversley was slowly killing him.

Nathaniel knew this and could do nothing to stop the man. It was now too late to save himself. He hadn’t realized that the acute stomach pains, the loss of his hair, and the weakness he’d suffered over the last two months were due to arsenic poisoning. He’d trusted Eversley to care for him when he first started with what he thought was the grippe. Nathaniel nearly laughed, but he was so weak he couldn’t summon the strength. All of his energy was in moving the quill across the paper.

“Bastard,” he mumbled, and leaned against his pillow for a moment as a wave of nausea rolled over him. He’d thought Thomas was his friend, at the very least a trusted employee. His condition proved the opposite. All of those evenings he’d sat discussing business with Thomas, drinking the wine the man offered to him, wine from his own stock which he realized now had been doctored with arsenic. He’d been a trusting, blind fool, imagining himself to be invincible. But Thomas wanted him dead, and by the time Nathaniel realized he was being poisoned, it was too late.

The door to his room was locked. He, the powerful Earl of Dunsmoor, was a virtual prisoner in his own house. A house which Thomas now used as his own, and Nathaniel didn’t doubt that the papers he’d been forced to sign, giving Thomas control of Briston Shipping, were the two reasons Thomas wanted him dead. But he’d only signed the documents because he felt too ill to run the company himself, having no idea at the time that Thomas was slowly killing him.

With heavy lids, the earl forced himself to keep his eyes open, watching the sunshine stream through the windows. He’d thought a great deal about death lately and wondered if when he died would his soul meld with the sun. He wanted to think he’d see Jessica again, but she was no doubt an angel and he’d be … Well, he didn’t wish to think about what private hell awaited him. He’d taken Jessica from her husband, seduced her actually, until she was so besotted with him and the passion he introduced her to that she couldn’t be blamed for their sin. Matthew Briston had been a less than passionate man, from what he remembered about the man. If Matthew had truly loved her, he wouldn’t have let her leave with her seducer.

“Jessica, I hope you’re waiting for me,” Nathaniel whispered softly, a painful ache in his stomach.

But he couldn’t dwell on what awaited him in death. He had to concentrate on finishing this letter and try to find a servant to smuggle it out. That, however, would present a problem. Thomas had hired strangers, and he knew they were loyal to Thomas. Somehow he must find a way to get this note to his daughter.

Bethlyn. His mind wandered. He remembered her as a plump, white-faced little girl, who was so frightened of him that whenever he looked at her she’d tremble.

He hadn’t wanted to frighten his own child, but she resembled his first wife so much that he couldn’t bear to gaze upon the girl without thinking of the hatred between him and the woman who was her mother. He’d never wanted to marry Bethlyn’s mother, a rich heiress whose parents were dead and with no living relatives. His own parents had arranged the match to unite two wealthy families, and he’d probably have continued in that existence, but then Jessica entered his life; he didn’t care about his family or morals. All he wanted was her, greatly relieved when his wife suddenly died because he wouldn’t be forced to suffer a scandal.

But Bethlyn intruded upon his life, and he’d sent her away, too caught up in his passion for Jessica to care about the girl. He’d pay for that, probably was paying for his neglect now with his life.

Nathaniel contented himself with the knowledge that Bethlyn was safe with her husband. But she must be warned about Thomas. Somehow he knew that since Thomas lusted after Woodsley and the company, he would also lust after Bethlyn, for without her he’d never be accepted into polite society, and Thomas needed to forget his low birth.

“Write,” he commanded, and he did. However, all he could muster the strength to do was pen, “Thomas poisoned me. Beware, daughter.”

He’d done it.

Feeling incredibly tired, Nathaniel placed the quill on the bedside table and the letter beneath his pillow. Somehow he’d find someone to send it to his daughter, but first, he must sleep. His eyes felt so heavy he couldn’t keep them open a moment longer.

He dreamed that Jessica waited by the foot of his bed, looking lovelier than he remembered. She held out her hand to him, and taking a deep breath, he took it. He felt himself rising up to meet her.

Feeling strong and youthful, they embraced, and as one, they walked into the sunshine.

Two hours later, one of the servants Thomas had hired unlocked the door of Nathaniel’s room and discovered that the Earl of Dunsmoor was dead. Thomas was swiftly informed.

Thomas, never one to take things on faith, hurried up the stairs to convince himself that Talbot was dead. One look at the earl’s ashen face and the feel of his cold flesh convinced Thomas.

“Bury the body in the family cemetery, and say nothing about the earl’s death to anyone. As far as the world is concerned, Talbot still lives, but is ill and has put all business matters into my hands,” he informed two of the male servants. “See that the linen is changed and lock the door. No one is to ever enter this room again.”

The servants nodded, and within the hour the earl was buried in an unmarked grave, and a pretty servant girl began to change the sheets. When she took the pillow from the bed, her attention was diverted by the appearance of one of the men who’d buried Talbot.

“Now, what would you be wanting, Ned?” she asked slyly, licking her lips because she knew very well what he wanted.

Ned leered at her partially clad bosom and closed the door to the room. “I’ve been thinking that I’ve never had the use of such a bed as this one. Would be a shame to close up the room before I had a chance to mate with you on the earl’s bed.” A second later, he’d pushed the willing girl onto the bed and quickly unbuttoned his pants while she raised her skirts. In their passion and the heated movements of their flesh, they weren’t aware that a letter slipped from the mattress to land on the floor between the bed and the night table.

And there it would remain until the person for whom it was written discovered it.

17

Never had Bethlyn been so happy.

Each morning she awoke beside Ian, her lips aching for his kiss which he was only too glad to bestow upon her. And then she’d arch towards him, oblivious to everything but her husband and the wonders of her own body.

More than anything she longed to give Ian a child, a tangible proof that she loved him and would be true to him, but her flux began earlier than expected that month, disappointing her. Yet. she felt confident that soon she’d become pregnant, and perhaps the child would cause Ian to see the folly of continuing his masquerade as the nefarious Captain Hawk. She hoped so, because whenever she mentioned to him about giving up his privateering, he’d retreat into stony silence after telling her to drop the matter.

Still, she worried he’d be found out and arrested. What would happen to him? To her? She dreaded thinking about the consequences. However, Ian came home one afternoon and told her they no longer had to worry. He’d had it from good authority that no one could prove Hawk’s identity, and since he hadn’t taken out the
Black Falcon
after capturing the British frigate Jersey some weeks ago, the British had grown lax in their investigation.

One sunny but bitterly cold day, some two days before Christmas, Bethlyn decided not to go to the office that morning. She’d been given some other account books by Ian to mull over during the week, and now she decided to stay home and oversee the cooking and decorations for the holidays. She’d been remiss in her duties as mistress of Edgecomb, but now that she felt secure in her role as Ian’s wife, she determined to look after things.

Besides, Molly, who was regarded as mistress by the household staff, had been more than willing to turn over the running of the house to Bethlyn, And Bethlyn knew the reason for that was a handsome German soldier who Molly met in secrecy once or twice a week. When she didn’t see Hans Gruber, she walked around like a lovesick calf, barely hearing anything anyone said and showing no interest at all in the holidays. The girl was clearly in love, and she had confided to Bethlyn that Hans wanted to marry her, but she feared Ian would claim she was too young to wed and wouldn’t approve.