Pleasures of a Tempted Lady (8 page)

She lay beside Jake now on the inn’s narrow bed, stroking his back and humming low, as she did every night.

“Meg?”

“Hm?”

“I miss Mama.”

She sighed. “I know, darling. So do I.”

Poor, sweet Sarah. She was a fisherman’s daughter from Maine. Utterly beautiful, with raven-dark hair and obsidian eyes but skin as pale as ivory. Mesmerized by her beauty, Caversham had asked her father for her hand in marriage. When the man—a fair judge of character—had refused to give his approval, Caversham had kidnapped her by force. No one said no to Caversham and got away with it. Meg had learned that lesson quickly.

Caversham had found an ordained minister who, when presented with enough money, had agreed to marry him to Sarah. When Caversham had discovered Meg floating in the ocean a year later, Sarah was seventeen, just a bit younger than Meg. But there was an enormous difference between the two young women. Despite her innate beauty, Sarah was a rough country girl who’d had little schooling and was nearly illiterate. Meg, though circumstances had forced her family into genteel poverty, was an English lady. Her grandfather had been a viscount, her aunt was a countess, and her mother had ensured her daughters were raised to be proper young debutantes.

When she’d recovered from her ordeal at sea, Meg had begged Caversham to return her home to Antigua. But as
soon as she opened her mouth and the cultured English accent emerged, an idea had formed in Caversham’s head.

He’d wanted a lady wife, but no real English lady would ever have him. He dreamed of bringing Sarah back to England and parading her about like a prize. She was beautiful, that was true. But the moment she opened her mouth, her rough American drawl would give her away as what she truly was—a nobody.

So he assigned Meg the task of turning his wife into a proper lady. She was to educate Sarah and instruct her on the etiquette of London society.

Sarah tried, but she’d never understood the point of Meg’s teachings. It wasn’t natural for her to curtsy or titter like a well-bred English girl, and her forthright American nature would forever set her apart from the
ton
.

“You won’t leave me like Mama did, will you, Meg?” Jake asked, yanking Meg out of her memories.

Meg slipped her arm around the boy’s thin waist. “Your mama didn’t want to leave you, Jake. She was sick and she died. She wanted nothing more than to be with you until you were big and strong and could take care of yourself, but God decided to take her early. Only He knows why.”

Jake didn’t seem convinced. “I don’t think she wanted to take care of me. Not like you do.”

Meg flinched. There was some truth to his words. Sarah had spent the last years of her life in a haze of pain and fear. While Jake’s birth had given Meg a reason to fight and be strong against Caversham, it had seemed to deplete Sarah. When Jake was a toddler, she’d become thin and sallow, and days went by in which she didn’t get out of bed. When she finally died—of unhappiness even
more so than the fever, Meg thought—she was just a shell of the girl she once was.

“Remember how I told you that different people love in different ways?” she said to Jake. “Well, that’s the way it was with your mama. She showed you love every time she smiled at you. Don’t you remember?”

Meg did. Sarah had the widest, most beautiful smile of anyone she’d ever known.

“Yes.” Jake snuggled closer to her. “But I like the way you love me better.”

She kissed the back of his head but didn’t respond. She understood, but it made her uncomfortable that Jake favored her over his own mother. She supposed it was common among children who spent the majority of time with particular caregivers rather than their natural parents, but she wished it was different. She wished Jake had been able to heal Sarah like he’d healed her. She wished Jake could have known the true nature of his mother, of her sweetness and kindness, of how she’d kept Meg sane in the early days.

But that would never be. Not now.

She held him until he slept, taking deep, peaceful breaths beside her, and then she eased out of the bed and sat by the window, gazing down over the street below. It was not yet nine o’clock in the evening, and there were still a few pedestrians and dusty carriages making their way down the cobbled street.

She needed a plan. In London, in the public eye, with her twin having the same name she did—

She bowed her head, resting her forehead against the cool glass. Serena would be in grave danger. God, what was she going to do?

If Caversham… or his brother… came across Serena, she would certainly introduce herself as the Countess of Stratford, not Meg, and so much time had passed that Meg and Serena probably weren’t as identical as they’d once been.

Beyond separating herself physically from Serena, there wasn’t much Meg could do. By showing her face in London she would be plunging everyone she cared about into peril.

Meg chewed on her lower lip. The best thing she could do was keep her reappearance as secret as possible. Maybe she could mislead him somehow—make Caversham think she’d escaped elsewhere. Or that she’d been lost in the storm. After all, the poor little jolly boat had barely made it through.

A soft knock sounded at the door. Rising, she hurried through the small parlor area and answered it, not wanting to awaken Jake.

Will stood at the threshold. She looked at him, one eyebrow raised, and he gave her a rueful smile.

“I was worried about Jake. Did he settle in well?”

It warmed her that he cared for the boy’s welfare. He had seemed to from the beginning.

Her gaze wandered up his tall, strong frame, scanning the narrow hips and the way his waistcoat hugged his broad shoulders, until she met his dark eyes. A shudder started at the base of her spine, rushing upward in a warm flush.

The way he looked at her—it had always heated her. That hadn’t changed.

“He’s settled in just fine,” she replied.

“He’s adaptable, that one.”

She smiled, glancing over her shoulder at Jake. In the dim light, he was a small lump beneath the blankets. “He is.”

“Well… I just wanted to check—”

“Stay.” The word popped out before she had time to think about it. Her voice was breathless. She gave a shaky laugh. “Just for a few moments. It’s early yet, and I’m not tired.”

“Neither am I.” He stepped inside, his movements tentative, and she shut the door behind him, then walked a few steps to close the door leading to the bedroom, leaving it slightly ajar so she could hear Jake if he awoke.

She turned back to Will. “Please sit down.” She gestured to the chaise longue pushed against the wall beside the tall window. The room was too small to allow anything more than that one piece of furniture.

He lowered himself onto the striped chintz and then gestured for her to sit beside him.

Her heart began to pound. For the past few days, she’d kept her distance from him for a reason. She was afraid of getting too close, of remembering, of being confused by all those old feelings.

“Sit.” The word was a soft command, and memories flooded through her. Will was kind, fair, and generous. A gentleman through and through, but he had been an officer in the Navy, and he knew how to command men.

Meg lowered herself beside him. The chaise was small, and their thighs brushed. Such a subtle touch, but it resonated through her. It had been so long since she’d sat next to a man… and this man… the only man she’d ever loved… She almost felt dizzy from the reality of it.

After a moment of silence, she said, “I’ve been
wondering why you left the Navy,” struggling to keep her voice—and her emotions—steady.

He stared at her for a second and then tore his gaze away to look at the large, dusty portrait of a nondescript countryside on the wall in front of them. “I wish I’d brought us a drink,” he murmured, “but I didn’t…”

She began to rise. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re thirsty. I didn’t think—”

He laid his hand on her thigh, lightly pushing her back into the cushion. “No, Meg,” he said quietly. “It’s just… Well—” He pushed his fingers roughly through his hair, then squeezed the back of his neck. “Well, the reasoning behind everything I’ve done for the past eight years makes me appear to be such a damned fool.”

“A fool?” she asked, confused. “You’re not a fool.”

Will grimaced. “I sold my commission because I wanted to give you a stable home after we married. I didn’t want to marry you and then be apart from you three-quarters of the time.”

Perhaps he hadn’t changed so very much. He’d told her something similar eight years ago.

“So I quit the Navy and bought a shipping business in London,” he finished.

“How does that make you sound like a fool?” On the contrary, it confirmed some of the traits she’d always admired about him. She’d met many gentlemen during that short Season she’d spent in London with Serena. Most of them looked to be searching for a wife to stick in some country house and bear their children while they went on their merry way, taking mistresses, carousing, and traveling without the company of their lonely, homebound wives.

She’d never wanted that kind of a husband. She wanted a partner. A friend. A lover. Someone who’d remain by her side through everything. Will would have been that man.

“It makes me sound like a fool,” he said, “because I was never going to marry you. I spent six years planning for an impossible future.” His lips twisted in self-recrimination. “The world sees me as the man who wasted years of his life waiting and planning for the woman—the marriage—that would never be.”

“I don’t see you that way,” she said softly. “I see you as noble. I wish…” She broke off, took a deep breath, and continued. “I wish that I had been there. I… would have waited for you. If I was in Antigua, it would have been me making those plans with you. Not my mother.” Her voice cracked on the last word. She’d never, ever forgive Mother for what she’d done to Will.
Ever
.

“How is it possible that no one knew you were alive for all that time?”

She clasped her hands together tight in her lap. “I attempted to communicate with you, and with my family. I missed all of you so much. I wanted my old life back so badly.” She closed her eyes. “I ran away once, a month after Cav—after he’d plucked me out of the ocean. We were in Haiti, and I thought if I could just get to Port-au-Prince, I might find someone to help me.”

“What happened?”

“He found me,” she said simply. But it hadn’t been so simple. He’d stripped off her drawers and whipped her until she’d bled. Then he’d thrown her into the room she shared with Sarah, and Sarah had nursed her wounds. She swallowed. “There were a few more attempts in the months after that, but I never got as far as I did the first time.”

His hand covered hers. “I’m sorry, Meg.” Gently, he squeezed her fingers. “If I knew his name, I could send people after him. We’d find him, and we’d—”

“No,” she said, interrupting him. “It’s not that easy. He has too many connections. He knows too many powerful people.”

“I wish you’d let me be the judge of that.”

She shook her head stubbornly.

Will sighed, relenting for now. “Did you give up in your attempts to run away?”

“Eventually. I knew it would be no use. And Sarah didn’t have the strength to run. She needed me, especially after Jake was born. And Jake needed me, too.”

“You were a prisoner, and you were trapped.”

“Exactly.”

“What finally convinced you to try to escape again?”

“After Sarah died, he grew… worse.” She took a moment to find her breath. “He’d kidnapped her and forced her to marry him, but he loved her in his own way. Her death snapped the final string of his humanity. After that, I truly feared for myself and Jake. Especially Jake.” Wrapping her arms around herself, she shuddered. “And then, two years ago, he began a smuggling scheme between the West Indies, Ireland, and England. Between his increasing violence and our proximity to home, I couldn’t resist the opportunity.”

Will stiffened beside her. “You say he was a smuggler?”

“A smuggler and a pirate,” she admitted, the misery thick in her voice.

Will studied her, as if by staring hard at her he could somehow delve within her and absorb the answers he sought. “The
Freedom
’s mission was to capture a smuggler
who’s been running rum into Cornwall this time of year for the past two years.”

Meg looked away. She couldn’t tell him she was glad he hadn’t found Caversham. He wouldn’t understand. “No one told me that was why you were at sea,” she said softly. “I’ve kept you from your duties.”

His hand, which still lay over her clasped ones, tightened, and his other hand moved up to cup her cheek, gently turning her head to face him. “It’s not important. Compared to returning you to your family, it’s nothing. In any case, Briggs will pull anchor tomorrow. He’ll head back to Cornwall to patrol the coast.”

She hoped Mr. Briggs didn’t find Caversham. Caversham would crush the man under his boot heel.

She’d seen it done. Caversham’s ships were vessels of war, first and foremost. She’d heard the boom of cannons and seen fiery ships slip below the ocean’s surface. She would never forget the screams of dying sailors.

He’d always locked her, Sarah, and Jake in their quarters when they were pirating. In his arrogant way, he had assured them they’d be safest there, that his own ship was not in danger. And it never had been.

She’d often gazed out the porthole at his victims, half hoping they would capture Caversham’s ship, even sink it. But no one had ever boarded one of Caversham’s vessels unless he was specifically invited by its captain—or captured.

“Look at me,” Will said. There it was again—that soft command.

She realized her eyelids had slipped shut. She forced them to open.

His hand was soothing and warm on her cheek, and
it didn’t move as he gazed deep into her eyes. “I know you’ve been taught to fear this man. I know eight years with him has made you distrustful and afraid. But you must remember, he’s only a man. Just like the rest of us, he cannot be infallible. You must trust me. Trust that I will help you, and trust that I will keep you safe.”