Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (58 page)

As Bethlyn dressed for the Arnold wedding on that April morning, her thoughts weren’t on the coming nuptials, but Ian. He’d been called away a month before on a secret mission, and she had no idea when she’d see him again.

“You look so beautiful,” Annie complimented her, and stood back to get a better view of the rose-and-white silk gown with elbow-length sleeves which dripped layers of white lace down to the center of the dress. “I think you’ll outdo the bride.”

Bethlyn didn’t reply, her heart not in the coming festivities. She missed Ian so much and wouldn’t cease worrying until he was home. When a servant announced that Thomas Eversley waited downstairs to escort her to the wedding, she forced a smile which didn’t reach her eyes, but Thomas didn’t seem to notice or to mind when she barely responded to his questions or comments during the wedding party and afterward as they rode home in his carriage.

She’d never seen the usually serious and dour-faced Thomas so animated, but thought nothing of his high spirits when he followed her into the parlor, causing her to feel obligated in offering him a glass of brandy for escorting her to the wedding. In reality, she wanted him to leave so she could go to bed.

“When will Ian be home?” he asked Bethlyn, and settled himself in a comfortable chair for what Bethlyn feared was going to be a long visit.

“I don’t know. I suppose whenever his business is finished. “

“This isn’t his first mysterious absence,” he commented, and swirled the brandy, his eyes intently studying her. “Don’t you wonder at these out-of-the-blue departures?”

Something in Thomas’s words alarmed her, putting her on her guard. The man was subtly prying. Could it be that he suspected that Ian’s absences weren’t related to business but spying? Had he already somehow connected Ian to Hawk? She didn’t believe Thomas was brilliant enough for such an assumption. So why did he stay in Philadelphia and escort her to parties when Ian was gone?

“Certainly I wish Ian was home,” she said, and weighed her words. “I miss him.”

“Is that all you miss?”

“What do you mean?”

Thomas actually snickered and rose from his chair to sit beside her on the sofa. Taking her hand in his, he didn’t seem to care that this bold action had stunned her.

“My dear, you’ve tasted, shall we say, the fruits of the marriage bed, and like all healthy young women left alone for long periods of time, you must be ravenous to taste them again. I offer you my assistance.”

Before Bethlyn was fully aware of Thomas’s intent, his mouth swooped fiercely down upon hers, and his arms pinned her against him with such unbridled strength that she was left gasping and vainly struggling to break free.

For a second his lips broke away and he whispered something incredibly obscene in her ear. Her surprise gave way to anger, and suddenly his ear was near her mouth allowing her access to his lobe. With teeth bared she bit down as hard as she could, feeling the instant taste of blood spring into her mouth. .

Thomas’s yowl of pain deafened her, and when his hand grabbed the injured ear, she broke away and ran to the fireplace and grabbed the poker. Brandishing it, she made a vicious jab in the air, but near enough to Thomas that he realized her intent.

“Get out of my house, you filthy swine! If ever I see you again, I’ll puncture that hideous bulge in your trousers.”

“You’re mad!” Thomas screamed at her, and his usually calm and nondescript eyes burned with hatred, pain — and lust. For a second, he almost lunged towards her, not at all worried about the poker. But he stopped when all of the servants rushed to the doorway, their voices shrill with fear that their mistress was in danger.

“Madam, may I assist you somehow?” the butler, a large and powerful man, inquired in his best teatime voice.

“Yes, you can show this blackguard out and remember never to allow him entry again.” Bethlyn pointed to Thomas with the poker, but she was shaking and she knew that this flimsy thing wouldn’t have saved her from a determined man. And she could see now that Thomas was determined to have her. Why hadn’t she realized this before now?

The butler made a move to grasp hold of Thomas’s arm, but Thomas wrenched away. He looked at Bethlyn, his gaze burning through hers. “You hate me, don’t you, my lady? You’ve always hated me, never thought me good enough for an earl’s daughter, if you thought of me at all—”

“You’re a disgusting individual,” she interrupted, and didn’t bother to hide her contempt. “I don’t know how my father has tolerated you all of these years. I discovered what sort of cargo you were transporting on
Nightingale
.”

The little chit looked so self-satisfied that Thomas felt an ungodly urge to throttle her. He wanted to wipe that self-righteous disdain from her face.

“You are still a stupid, silly child. The earl many times admitted he wished he had sired a son instead of a priggish daughter. Your only claim to his affections, my dear, was that you married Briston and did your wifely duty by opening your legs for him. All your father wants is a grandson to inherit. He has no use for you.” Thomas stopped speaking, seeing the liquid well in those hauntingly beautiful brown eyes. No matter how much she claimed to hate him or how much he liked humiliating her, he still wanted this woman and vowed to have her.

He expected her to surrender to her tears. Instead he felt surprise and grudging admiration when she straightened and, with a great deal of calm, replaced the poker by the fireplace. Then she said without a quiver in her voice, “I suggest you return to England and my father, sir. Whatever your motive was for staying in Philadelphia for so long is indeed gone. I can assure you that if you bother me again, you shall be unfathomably sorry.”

“Oh, I suppose you intend to sic your absent spouse upon me, to have him pummel me to death?” Thomas sneered.

“No. I shall delight in killing you myself.”

The servants behind him tittered and giggled into their hands. More than anything in the world Thomas hated to be laughed at, and his face flamed brighter than a cherry tree. With as much dignity as he could muster, he left the room and the house of his own free will.

Once outside, he strode into the carriage and slammed the door behind him, but his gaze stayed centered on the parlor window, seeing the servants buzzing around Bethlyn like bees until one of them resolutely closed the drapes.

He decided he’d have to hide for the time being, not caring to leave Babcock House, but he knew that the hot-blooded wench would tell Briston, who’d feel it his duty to seek revenge. He’d take a room in a nearby town and would be quite circumspect. The Bristons would never know that he was aware of their every movement.

In fact he might just have a bit of fun at Briston’s expense, he decided, his eyes lingering on the house a bit too long.

“But I’ll break your spirit yet, Bethlyn Briston, I’ll break you and delight in the doing,” he whispered hoarsely and ordered the driver to return to Babcock House.

~ ~ ~

The fire started in the dark of night.

Ian and Bethlyn were wakened by the sound of breaking glass and the servants’ screams from downstairs. Young Annie, whose forehead was covered in blood, ran wildly down the hallways in her nightgown screaming, “Fire, fire! They’re gonna kill us all.”

Bethlyn grabbed her robe and Ian pulled on his trousers and ran shirtless and shoeless down the long staircase to the bottom floor, pulling Bethlyn along with him. From the open door of his study, they saw orange-red flames lapping at the drapes and the walls. One of the women servants rushed to them, crying that the kitchen and dining room were afire.

Ian ordered everyone to leave the house, and within seconds the entire staff with mistress and master watched the stately Edgecomb go up in flames. It was no use to fetch buckets of water from the pump. The fire was spreading rapidly, and the heat was intense.

Many of the servants who’d worked for the Bristons all of their lives cried openly. Tears ran down Bethlyn’s face to see the house she’d come to think of as her home burn away. Ian, however, stood with his arms around her, and shed not a tear, but Bethlyn could feel his pain and knew that it was immense.

In the morning Edgecomb was a smoldering mass of rubble. Only the stone porticoes, like inefficient sentinels, still stood. The servants told Ian that some of them had seen two men lurking around the property before the fire, and deciding they might be hungry travelers had gone outside to offer them food, but the men had turned and run away. About an hour later, after everyone was asleep, the fire had started. Annie, who had been unable to sleep and wanted to borrow a book to practice her reading, was nearly knocked senseless by a flying brick as it crashed through the study window, followed by a lighted torch which instantly set the drapes ablaze.

Ian nodded at the information, the bright sunshine emphasizing the small lines which fanned out from the corners of his eyes and the furrowed line above his brows.

“We’re leaving,” he said, and turned to Bethlyn, his look expressing that she not argue. “Tonight we’ll stay at Babcock House, since Eversley is gone, and I’ll find you some clothes. Perhaps Cynthia will lend you something to wear, because I’m taking you to New York in the morning to stay with Molly where you’ll be safe.”

“All right,” she agreed. “But why can’t we stay in Philadelphia?”

His eyes resembled green glass, hard and without reflection. “Because someone burned Edgecomb as a warning to us. I don’t know who it was. The arsonists could have been rebels who resent my loyalist views or someone who wishes to control us by driving us from our home. Either way, the servants’ lives were in danger. You could have been killed, and I would be unable to bear that, my love. New York is the safest place for you right now.”

Splaying her fingers across his bare chest, she lifted her head to look at him and studied him intently, somehow fearful of losing him. “What about you, Ian? Aren’t you going to stay in New York with me?”

He pulled her close and shook his head, thrusting out his jaw defiantly. “I thought my last voyage would be the end and that I could live peacefully and contentedly here with you, but I see that Captain Hawk will have little rest until this war is won.”

She knew what that meant, and her heart cried.

~ ~ ~

New York was a most exciting place to live. There was much hustle and bustle and a myriad of stores to occupy one’s time. Nothing, however, was as wonderful as being with Molly and Hans and their baby daughter, Greta, named after Hans’s mother.

Ian and Bethlyn found the charming old Dutch house in which the Grubers lived to be quite lovely, and the countryside outside of New York where the house was situated was a welcome relief from the busy city and the red-coated British soldiers who traipsed about. Ian also made friends with Hans, though Bethlyn knew Ian would never approve of his brother-in-law’s mercenary soldiering for the Crown. However, Ian couldn’t admit this was the reason for his distant attitude to either Hans or Molly. Bethlyn finally had noticed how Molly hid her pain at Ian’s rejection of her husband, and Bethlyn intervened, telling Ian to see Hans as the fine young man that he was, and not as America’s enemy, for one day the war would be over.

The week before Ian left New York, insinuating that Briston Shipping took him away, he and Hans had parted on friendly terms. Parting with Ian tore at Bethlyn’s heartstrings, and she silently cursed the cause for which Ian so ardently fought. For his sake she managed not to look crestfallen and to smile and wave as the carriage taking him away rolled down the tree-lined lane. But his passionate farewell kiss still lingered on her lips, and this was all she had for comfort when she cried herself to sleep that night.

~ ~ ~

The days, the weeks, and months dragged by endlessly. A week before Christmas, Mavis and Marc arrived with their curly-haired imp of a son. Nothing was more heartwarming than the sight of little Marc and Greta stretched out side by side on a blanket in the cozy sitting room before the blazing hearth. Everyone was so happy and filled with the spirit of the holidays, but Bethlyn wasn’t. Mavis noticed her forced gaiety, as did Marc.

When Molly and Hans left the room, Mavis took her hand. “Ian will be all right,” she said encouragingly. “He’ll return to you soon.”

“Mavis is right,” Marc agreed, and smiled, looking boyishly handsome. “No one has ever been able to capture the Hawk but you, Bethlyn.”

Tears of gratitude, mixed with fear and longing, sparkled in her eyes, and Bethlyn clutched both of her friends’ hands. “I love you both for trying to cheer me, and I know in my heart that Ian is safe. But I haven’t seen him in seven months. I miss him so much.”

“He’ll be with you soon,” Marc assured her.

“I hope so, I do hope so.”

~ ~ ~

That December Benedict Arnold was found guilty of using army wagons to haul private goods and of illegally granting a pass to a trading ship. Bethlyn received a letter from Peggy Shippen Arnold, elaborating on how her husband was much maligned and also that she had been corresponding with John Andre, who begged to be remembered to Bethlyn.

Somehow the memory of John’s kindnesses to her and the warm hours they spent at Edgecomb seemed a long time ago. Bethlyn suddenly felt very old and alone.