Brazen Temptress (30 page)

Finally, she caught a hint of dawn, as spidery threads of light started to drift through the ragged curtains of the carriage. Not long after that the horses turned from their course and ambled up a winding drive. They drew to a halt, and the carriage doors swung open.

At first the shock of daylight blinded her, and she blinked and turned her head away from the painful sunshine. Her guards caught her roughly and shoved her headlong into the brilliance.

She landed on her feet and for a moment stood there, her cramped limbs burning at this sudden freedom. Slowly, she raised her head and studied her surroundings.

She didn't know what she expected, but it was hardly the bucolic splendor around her. Great oaks and willows graced a wide green lawn. Neatly tended beds of spring flowers bloomed in vibrant reds, yellows, and whites along the drive. Beyond the manicured grass lay freshly tilled fields, some of them bursting with the first verdant blush of spring, sturdy growth shooting up from the rich, black earth.

Out here in the freshness of the morning, a breeze ruffled over her, carrying with it a tang so sweet, so salty and familiar that when she strained her ears, she swore she heard the whispering hush of the sea close by.

Slowly, she turned and found herself staring at the most remarkable house she'd ever seen. She hardly knew anything about architecture, but she could tell the house was old, very old. It rose three stories above her, the stonework graced with ivy and flowering vines. On those stones that were exposed, elaborate carvings of grotesque creatures and villainous fiends peeked out, as if warning those who dared enter that they did so at their own peril.

There was something vaguely familiar about the animals and figures and their arrangements, as if she'd seen them before.

"In with you." Her guard prodded her toward the massive oak doors before them. She looked again at the carvings above her and made out letters tangled within the devil's menagerie of carvings. Just before she was shoved through the heavy doors, she made out the ancient script.

Hawthorne Hall.

She turned around and found the Lord Admiral following in her wake.

He smiled at her, the corners of his mouth barely rising from their usual menacing line. "Welcome home, Baroness Hawthorne," he said. "Enjoy your lofty status while you have it, for I don't intend for the likes of you to wear my title any longer than necessary."

Given what Captain Johnston had told Julien about the Lord Admiral, he knew he couldn't rescue Maureen without help, so Julien rode for Mayfair.

He found his brothers-in-law still up, holding court in the Marquess of Trahern's private office, toasting their own fortitude at having survived their wives' social events for the Season.

"... I would rather take another trip to the Russian court in January," Giles Corliss, the Marquess of Trahern, was saying as Julien was ushered in, "than have to endure launching another daughter into this hellish Marriage Mart." He looked up. "Julien, there you are, you devil. Don't let Sophia see you. She's boiling mad you didn't show your face tonight. She was counting on you to cause a stir or some sort of scandal to ensure that her party was a complete success."

"I think I can do that tonight, even to Sophia's satisfaction," he told his brother-in-law.

From a corner Charles rose up from an oversize chair. "Uncle Julien, what the devil! Where's Maureen? I thought the two of you would be —" His mouth froze open, the words halted in his throat, all eyes now bearing down on him.

Especially his father's. Giles's intelligent, measured gaze moved from his son back to Julien.

"Maureen?" Webb Dryden, the Viscount Weston, asked from where he lounged in a chair near the fireplace. His legs were propped up on Giles's desk and he held a glass of whisky. "Now, this sounds interesting." A wide grin split his face. "I have a feeling Sophia is about to get her scandal and much more. Do tell, Julien. I want to hear all of it before she and Lily divide up your carcass over your latest
on dit."

Julien waited for a moment as the butler moved about the room refilling glasses and then left, closing the door behind him.

"Maureen is my wife."

Giles let out a low whistle, his gaze snapping over his son. "You knew about this?"

Charles nodded. "But where is she, Uncle Julien? She said she could find you at Vauxhall on her own."

Giles stared at his son as if he were seeing him for the first time. "You let Julien's wife venture into those gardens alone?"

Charles turned a bright shade of red. "She was rather determined." He took a large gulp from his own glass, then admitted the truth. "She fired her pistol over my team and sent them running when I refused to allow her to leave."

Both Giles and Webb looked at each other and then burst out laughing.

"I like her already, Julien," Webb said.

"I did my best," Charles said miserably, slinking back into his corner chair.

"I don't blame you, Charles. Maureen has a way about her," Julien admitted. "She can give new meaning to the word
stubborn."

Giles's expression grew serious. "But she's missing?"

Julien nodded. He looked from one man to the other. He'd never been very close to his brothers-in-law, and what he was about to tell them would test all their loyalties.

Yet what choice did he have? He had little time left if he was to save Maureen.

"I'm about to ask you both to commit treason. To give aid to a known American spy and privateer. But it is a matter of life and death." He looked over the now deadly-serious faces studying him.

Webb tipped his head. "What are you telling us? That this Maureen is all these things?"

"No." Julien squared his shoulders. "I am."

"Who lives here?" Maureen demanded, planting her feet in the middle of the entryway and facing the Lord Admiral.

The Lord Admiral dismissed the guards and took Maureen by the arm. "Why, you do, my dear. As the Baroness Hawthorne, this is rightfully your home. Let me show you around before you have to depart."

Maureen stared at the man as if he'd gone mad. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Baroness? I thought you would enjoy it," he said, towing her down a long hallway, the walls decorated with portraits of Hawthorne family members. "Your great-great-grandparents, if I am not mistaken," he said, nodding toward a matched pair of portraits.

He leaned forward, running a finger over the frame and checking it for dust. Then he looked up at the handsome man in fashions at least eighty years old. "Poor man; has your father's weak chin about him. A weakness that has fortunately left the Hawthorne lines now."

Maureen stared at the Lord Admiral. "You not only tried to murder my father, you stole his house, his title — you took everything away from him because you couldn't have my mother."

He raised his fist as if he was going to strike her, but he paused in midair when she didn't cower or back down.

After a moment he lowered his arm, straightening his jacket and regarding her with the expression of an overtaxed parent.

"Your father was the one who stole everything from me." While his features maintained their control, his voice held a manic edge. "Ellen loved me. She was to be mine. Then your father tricked her, deluded her, turned her against me." The man's gaze finally turned as wild as his accusations. "He killed her."

Maureen shook her head. "You stole her life from her. As surely as you stole my father's title, his identity."

"I didn't steal a thing, you little fool." He caught her by the elbow and towed her farther into the house. "But imagine my surprise when the search for an heir turned out to be me. The next in line. Such a surprise. A fair trade for all I'd lost."

Hardly that, Maureen thought, seeing beyond the mock humility of a man who hadn't known a modest sentiment a day in his life. "So why did you bring me here?"

"So you could see what you've been working so hard for. Seemed a shame to have you die before you saw what you might have had. A glimpse of heaven, one might say, before you join your father in hell."

Maureen yanked her elbow out of his grip. "Take this place and the title. I don't care for any of it. Just let me and my son go, and we'll never set foot in England again."

The man laughed. "Your mother made nearly the identical plea when she came to me. Come, I will show you what I offered her."

He led her up a staircase and down a hall. He threw open a door to a beautiful room. A lady's room. Delicately striped wallpaper hung over the walls, lending a soft rosy hue to the room. A beautifully carved canopied bed, with lacy curtains and pink silk coverings, took up most of one wall. A dressing table sat ready and waiting before a gilt mirror, a selection of brushes and toiletries lined up as if their mistress had just arisen and left for her morning repast.

"Your mother's room. She could have kept it, you know. She could have been the mistress of this house. Been my wife." He turned from the untouched splendor of the room, his face twisted with ugliness. "She spurned my offer and left me."

"So let her daughter go and keep your title and lands."

He laughed. "I have the same answer for you as I did for her: never."

He pushed her out of the room and closed the door carefully. "You can't fool me that you don't want all this. That is why you're here, why you've been smuggling for all these years — to raise enough money to bribe your way back into my title and my home." His eyes narrowed. "You have your mother's cunning. But unfortunately, none of her charms."

He grabbed her again and hauled her back downstairs. Throwing open a door to a room off the entryway, he beckoned her to come in.

She approached cautiously but then entered the grand room. Models of ships were displayed on every wall. Old barques from the fifteenth century, Navy ships of all ratings, merchantmen, Dutch traders. Every kind of seagoing vessel imaginable.

She glanced up at the wide windows at the end of the room. The room afforded an unobstructed view of a small, private bay. From the lay of the land and the color of the water, she judged they weren't far from Sheerness, somewhere on the Kentish coast.

"You wouldn't even be here if your father had died the traitor's death he deserved," the Lord Admiral said from the middle of the room.

"My father was never a traitor," Maureen told him.

The Lord Admiral looked down his nose at her. "The Admiralty board disagreed. But they lost their nerve when it came to sentencing him. He should have died, but they granted him clemency. Life in prison. He should have died there. That was supposed to be how it would happen."

"Unfortunately for you," Maureen told him, "my mother prevented that. She loved my father and helped him escape. So despite all your efforts, they still had the life together you would have denied them."

"As I said, I underestimated your mother's cunning and intelligence. I have no doubts as to how she convinced that imbecile brother-in-law of hers, Will Johnston, to help her."

"Captain Johnston? He's not related to my mother."

He studied her for a moment. "You don't know. All this time in their house, and you never made the connection." He laughed as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "I can see that all the years I've kept Will on half pay have him sufficiently cowed. I told him I could have him court-martialed for aiding an escape, but I allowed him his freedom instead because I thought Ethan had died. As it turned out, Will was of more use to me in my debt and under my control."

He stepped closer to her. "Lady Mary is your mother's younger sister. You've been living with your aunt and uncle all these weeks. Quite ironic, really, but brilliant on my part. I knew they'd watch you even closer, ensure that you wouldn't escape."

Maureen took a deep breath, her mind reeling. It was unbelievable and yet ... it made sense. She remembered Lady Mary telling her about her sister.

My sister eloped, and she and her husband were nearly caught by my father.

All the times the lady had showered her with attentions that one would extend only to family rather than a prisoner.

Maureen didn't know what to believe anymore.

The Lord Admiral paced back and forth. "Imagine my surprise when I received an intelligence report that your father was still alive. And had turned to piracy." He clucked his tongue. "How dare he take your mother into such a life. It killed her. I knew right then and there, he deserved the death he'd escaped all those years before."

Maureen shook her head. "You ordered the destruction of the Alliance?"

"Of course. I had to ensure he would never return. That he and his daughter never saw the shores of England again."

"So you hired de Ryes," she whispered.

The man let out a sigh of disgust. "I should have taken care of that assignment myself instead of trusting one of my lesser captains to see to the removal of the Alliance. He assured me Captain de Ryes was not only eager for the gold I was offering for the destruction of the Alliance but quite capable of the deceit necessary to infiltrate their ranks."

"And he succeeded. You got what you wanted. The Alliance was finished that day."

"I wanted more than just the Alliance finished. If he had been the man I was promised, you would have died that day as well."

"He might as well have killed me, after my father died and your fleet sunk our ships."

"Yes, that might have been true, but the idiot had gone and married you first." Again the man's eyes glazed over. "He let you go when you were supposed to die."

Julien hadn't let her go, she'd fled his ship — not that the Lord Admiral would believe her.

"Little did I know he'd had time not only to marry you but to get a brat on you as well."

"Ethan," she whispered.

"Yes, Ethan. One of my agents followed you to Greenwich and witnessed that happy reunion. How sentimental of you to name the brat after your father. Did you think that would make his claim to my title that much stronger?"

"I told you, you can have the title and the house. I don't want any of it. Just let Ethan go."