Captain's Bride (35 page)

“I’m your wife,” she told him, with an attempted
smile, “for as long as you want me.”

He pressed her into the mattress, rolling his hard
body on top of her in a single easy motion. “Forever isn’t long
enough.” He lowered his head and kissed her. It was a demanding
kiss, a telling kiss, and an apology for the past rolled into
one.

If only she could believe it.

They made love again, sweetly at first, then
fiercely, passionately, trying to compensate for the time they had
spent apart. When they finished, Glory rested her cheek against his
chest, listening to the even rhythm of his heartbeat, her pale hair
spread across his torso like a gilded blanket.

“Nicholas, there’s something I’ve been wanting to
tell you.” She shifted, then sat up to face him.

He wound a finger in an unruly lock of her hair.
“Yes, love?”

“It’s about the baby.”

“Glory, we don’t have to talk about this now. We can
wait until you’re ready.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

He drew her hand to his lips and kissed the palm,
encouraging her with his touch, if not his words.

“I shouldn’t have blamed you,” she told him. “It
wasn’t your fault.” She swallowed hard and glanced away, feeling a
jolt of remembered pain.

“Glory, listen to me.” Nicholas sat up on the bed
beside her, tightening his hold on her suddenly cold hand.

“Please. Let me finish. I knew there were problems.
The doctor told me the baby wasn’t sitting quite right. He warned
me to take every precaution. I didn’t tell anyone, not even Aunt
Flo. I wanted the baby so badly, I just couldn’t admit the
possibility that things might go wrong. I tried to be careful, but
I guess I wasn’t careful enough. It was my fault, Nicholas. My
fault, not yours.”

She didn’t notice the tears until he pulled her into
his arms. Then the wetness dripped from her lashes onto his chest,
where it clung in tiny drops, then ran in rivulets till it soaked
the satin sheets.

He let her cry for a time, then held her away.

“I want you to stop blaming yourself. We have no way
of knowing what really happened. God works in strange ways.
There’ll be other children. We’ve already started working on a
second baby.”

She smiled at him through her tears. “We have,
haven’t we?”

“We certainly have.” He rested his cheek against her
forehead. “And I intend diligently to pursue that end every chance
I get.” With that he turned her face with his hand and kissed her
soundly, beginning to demonstrate the truth of his words. They made
love slowly, then slept for a while. It was well past time for the
noon meal when they made their way, arm in arm, down the wide
mahogany staircase.

“I want your things moved into the master suite where
they belong,” Nicholas said.

Foot poised on the stair, she stopped, half glad for
his words, half afraid. Each commitment only buried her deeper.
Still, she’d made her decision—or rather, as always, he’d made it
for her. She was surprised to discover she
almost
felt good
about it. A loud knock at the heavy wooden door interrupted her
thoughts. Isaac answered just as they reached the foyer.

A woman Glory could only have described as handsome,
elegantly gowned and coiffed, clutching the arm of a thin-faced,
foppishly dressed gentleman years her senior, swept past a startled
Isaac before he had a chance to deter her. Glory glanced at
Nicholas, who scowled blackly, then at the woman, who eyed him with
a bold stare and an ingratiating smile, then at the gentleman, who
yawned and looked bored with the whole affair.

“Nicholas, darling,” the woman crooned, her voice
rich and throaty. Her low-cut ruched-silk traveling dress revealed
a great deal of bosom. Her dark hair glistened in the sunlight from
the still-open door while her clear skin looked soft and appealing.
She was a few inches shorter than Glory, though a bit more
full-figured.

“The most dreadful thing has happened,” the woman
continued. “Our carriage broke down just a few miles from here. We
had to catch a ride on a passing hay wagon, of all things. The
driver says it’ll take at least until tomorrow to fix the awful
contraption. I told Arthur I was certain you wouldn’t mind the
intrusion. I just didn’t know where else to turn.” She spread the
painted fan dangling from her wrist, fluttering it in front of her
face. “You don’t, do you? Mind the intrusion, I mean?”

Nicholas took such a long time to answer that Glory
was embarrassed.

“How could my wife and I possibly object to helping
two old friends?” he finally said. “Isaac, show Mr. and Mrs Pedigru
to the Red Room. I’m sure they’ll find it comfortable.”

“Thank you, old boy,” Mr. Pedigru put in. “Don’t know
what could have happened to the carriage. One minute it was fine,
the next . . .’’ He shrugged his thin shoulders in a gesture of
helplessness. Glory chanced a look at the woman and was sure she
caught the hint of a satisfied smile.

“Nicholas,” Mrs. Pedigru put in, “what has happened
to your manners? Introduce us to your lovely wife.” Glory had been
about to make the same request. Then she looked from the woman,
richly gowned in rose silk skirts, to her own simple serge frock,
thought of her un-coiffed hair, and wished she were someplace
else.

“Pardon my thoughtlessness, Kristen,” he said a bit
sarcastically. “May I present my wife, Glory? Glory, this is Arthur
and Kristen Pedigru.”

“Charmed, madam.” Arthur bowed gallantly, bringing
her hand to his lips.

“I’m happy to meet you both,” Glory told them.

“Isn’t she charming, Nicholas?” Kristen said. “Why,
she’s not a bit what we expected.”

Glory bristled, wondering what the woman meant.
Nicholas seemed equally displeased.

“Why haven’t you brought her to the city? Surely
she’s tired of this dreary country existence by now.”

“I’m quite happy right here, Mrs. Pedigru,” Glory
assured her, then wondered for the hundredth time whether Nicholas
had indeed purposely kept her away.

“Do call me Kristen. I’m certain we’re going to be
friends.”

“All right, Kristen.”

“Why don’t you two follow Isaac?” Nicholas suggested.
“I’m sure you’ll both feel better after a rest. You can join us
later. Supper’s at eight. I’ll tell Cook you’ll be dining with
us.”

“That sounds fine,” Arthur agreed. “We’ll see you
then.”

Isaac instructed a servant to bring up their bags,
then led the couple upstairs to their rooms.

“Who are they, Nicholas?” Glory asked, hoping the
Pedigrus would give them some time alone. They were seated in the
sunny morning room, though it was growing late in the day, Glory
sipping tea, Nicholas a glass of wine while they lunched on cold
meats, fruits, and cheeses.

“They’re merely acquaintances. People I knew in the
city.”

“Nothing more?” Glory pressed.

Nicholas met her gaze steadily, as if making a
decision. “Are you sure you want to know?”

She stiffened. “Yes.”

“I could tell you they’re just friends of the family.
I could tell you any number of truths, and it would still be a lie.
Kristen Pedigru is the woman whose clothes were on board
Black
Witch
.”

“Oh, God.” Glory’s hand crept to her throat where a
tiny pulse began to throb.

“I told you before, she means nothing to me.” He
covered her other hand, suddenly cold, with his warmer one. “I
haven’t seen her in months. I didn’t invite her here. I love you,
not her. You’ve got to start trusting me.”

Glory stared out the window across the manicured
lawns toward the river. Several snowy geese honked and fed along
the bank.

“I never professed to be a monk, Glory. I’m a man. I
have needs and desires just like any other man. Kristen was
willing—no, more than willing—to accommodate my needs.”

“She’s beautiful,” Glory said.

“Not nearly as lovely as you.”

“It’s hard for me to think of you with her, doing the
things . . .”

“You mean like last night?”

She couldn’t answer.

“Glory, last night we made love. I’ve been to bed
with other women, but I’ve never made love to any woman but
you.”

She wanted to believe him, she ached to believe him.
She would die if she lost him again. Still, she said nothing.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

Nicholas felt his temper fire. He gripped the napkin
in his lap and tried to sound calm, but his voice came out harsh,
and colder than he intended. “For months I’ve wanted you, loved
you, tried to make things up to you. Tried to prove how much I
care. But a man can only do so much. I swore I’d never chase after
a woman the way my father did, never become so obsessed with loving
someone my manhood would be threatened. I’ve come as close to that
with you as I’ll allow. I’m tired of trying to convince you of
something you should be able to see with your heart.” He threw his
napkin down and shoved back his chair, the sound grating on the
flagstone floor.

“Love me for what I am, Glory. Or don’t love me at
all. It’s up to you.” Without a backward glance, he stormed from
the room.

Glory’s heart twisted. She watched his tall,
retreating figure, the rigid set to his shoulders. In a way he was
right. He’d done everything in his power to prove his trust and
love. Never once had he failed her—not since the strand. Still . .
. If only she could be sure. And now there was Kristen Pedigru.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Glory thought
about going to Nicholas, speaking her heart. But what could she
say? She could lie, say she believed every word he told her—the way
she had before. But it would be just that—a lie. Instead, she
dressed for supper in a sumptuous gown of ice-blue satin, the
décolletage indecently low. She might not trust him, but she loved
him. She wasn’t about to lose him to the likes of Kristen Pedigru!
When it came to female competition, Glory had never been a fool.
Kristen Pedigru had met a demure country wife this afternoon.
Tonight she would meet the belle of Summerfield Manor.

When Glory descended the stairs, Nicholas stood in
the foyer. As she had hoped, Arthur and Kristen waited beside him.
One look at the dark-featured brunette’s hostile face told Glory
she’d already won round one.

Nicholas sucked in a breath when he saw her, eyes at
first dark as he scowled at the low-cut gown, then turning light
with amusement.

“Armed for battle, I see.” He whispered the words for
her ears alone.

“Some things are worth fighting for.” She noticed his
look softened even more.

“I see Nicholas hasn’t lost his fine eye for
clothing,” Kristen said. Arthur seemed not to notice her words, and
again Nicholas scowled. Glory took his arm, determined to act
nonplussed at the intimate exchange.

“I say, my dear,” Arthur said, “you look marvelous.
Captain Blackwell certainly has a knack for attracting beautiful
women.”

“I assure you, Arthur,” Nicholas said dryly, “my wife
is the only beautiful woman I’m interested in attracting.” His eyes
added a bitter
Even if she doesn’t believe me
.

“Such a pity,” Kristen said with a sigh. “So many
will be disappointed.”

Nicholas’s gray eyes turned almost black.

An iron band squeezed around Glory’s heart as the
brunette smiled up at him, and Glory knew a jealousy unlike
anything she had prepared for.

They dined on squab and fresh-caught halibut, the
sauces rich and creamy, the vegetables crisp, the dessert light. It
all tasted like sawdust to Glory. Nicholas was polite and attentive
to her, and polite but distant to Kristen. Determined to remain in
control, Glory matched quip for quip with the dark-haired woman who
fawned for Nicholas’s attention.

“Such a lovely gown,” she told Kristen, referring to
the woman’s gold satin brocade. “It seems Nicholas isn’t the only
one with a good eye—or did you buy this one yourself?”

Kristen tilted her lovely chin. “Madame LaSerre in
Paris. Arthur insists I have only the best.”

“I’m sure he does,” Glory agreed, “at least in those
pleasures he’s aware of.”

Nicholas frowned at Glory, but one corner of his
mouth curved and she wondered at his thoughts.

“I’ve decided to take your advice, Kristen,” Nicholas
announced toward the end of the meal. “Glory and I are going to
spend some time in the city. The Whitmores are giving a ball. I
think it would be the perfect place to introduce my new bride.”

Glory took a sip of her wine to cover her surprise
and still her suddenly trembling fingers.

Kristen seemed surprised as well. “That should
certainly make for some amusing conversation.”

Remembering the terrible weeks following her rescue
from the strand, the way she’d been ostracized and publicly
ridiculed, Glory suddenly felt sick. She wondered if Kristen
Pedigru knew about “the captain’s tart.” Her knowing smile said she
did. It was all Glory could do to keep from running from the
table.

“We’ll be certain to look you up,” Glory said
instead. “Unless of course you’ll be too busy.” She glanced at
Arthur, who looked up from his meringue.

“Nonsense,” Arthur said. “My little pet has plenty of
time. I’m just sorry I’m gone so much.”

“Oh, that is a pity.” Glory said. “What on earth do
you do with yourself while he’s away?”

Kristen smiled tightly. She glanced at Nicholas,
whose lips narrowed in warning. “Frankly, I
have
been a
little lonely lately.” She sighed and batted her long black lashes
at Nicholas. “I think I need to see more of old friends.”

Glory could have killed her. She took a sip of her
wine to calm her temper. They finished the meal in silence, and
Glory excused herself with a headache.

“I think we’d both better go,” Nicholas said, keeping
a firm grip on her arm. It was all she could do to offer polite
good-evenings with a smile on her face.