Captive Embraces (21 page)

“Yes, I'm real, not a myth.”

“Sirena, that cargo the pirates took belongs to Regan van der Rhys.”

“Not any longer. Now it belongs to you,” Sirena laughed. “It was fair game. We didn't take it from Regan's vessel, the pirates did. There is a difference. I didn't attack Regan's ship,” she said firmly.

“He'll bloody well kill the pair of us,” Tyler laughed nervously.

“Do you plan on advertising the fact that you're in possession of his cargo?”

“No ... but—”

“Then he will never know who sunk the pirate ship or who has his cargo. Unfortunately for the scurves, they repelled the attack and paid with their lives.”

Some of Tyler's color was returning. “What should I do with the cargo?”

Sirena shrugged, “You have several alternatives. You can sell it on the black market in Ireland or, if worse comes to worse, you could sell it back to Regan. I should think he'd pay handsomely for its return. Don't forget I get my finder's fee if that's what you do.”

“We could bloody well end up in Newgate or strung from the end of a yardarm for this little stunt,” he said, scowling.

“Only if your mouth begins to flap,” Sirena said coolly. “And before that happens, I'd shut it for you, Tyler. For good, if necessary. Think about it. Right now, you're as guilty as the rest of us.”

As Sirena strolled back to her cabin, she bubbled over with laughter. Regan's, cargo. What a stroke of luck! Poor Tyler, he'd never be the same!

 

Regan was in the taproom of the White Dove when word reached him that his ship had limped back into port after being plundered at sea. He stood still, his eyes shocked, as he listened to the sailor's report. He tried to clear his rum-filled head. His tongue was thick and his muscular body moved sluggishly as he tried to grasp the seaman by the arm to demand more information. “What pirate? Was it a woman?” he shouted hoarsely, a murderous glint in his eye. The sailor, frightened for his life, jerked his arm free and backed away from the wild Dutchman.

“I only came here to give you the news as I was instructed. What's this you ask me about a woman pirate? How am I to know if there was a woman,” the sailor shouted belligerently. “Go to the wharf yourself and see with your own eyes. All I know is your cargo is aboard another ship and yours limped into port. Your captain told me to inform you the reason word hasn't reached you before this is because he took time off the Cornish coast to shore up your ship well enough to sail back to London.”

Regan looked about wildly at the interested, amused faces that surrounded him. It was clear they thought him insane. How could he explain about the notorious Sea Siren to these grog-soaked individuals. If he wasn't careful, they'd lock him away in Bedlam. Goddammit, it had been his biggest cargo so far in his fledgling business, and one that would have paid handsomely. Suddenly, his brain cleared and he tore from the room as if the hounds of Hell were on his heels.

He flagged down the first hackney he spotted and told the driver he'd pay double for a quick ride to King Street “I'll wring her neck, damn her!” he shouted viciously into the clear night air.

The ride through the city of London did little to cool Regan's temper. Stopping before Sirena's house, he raced to the wide double doors and kicked at them like a petulant child. Frau Holtz, her hair standing on end, opened the door and immediately backed off when she saw the wild look in Regan's face.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

The woman blanched and brought her clenched fist to her mouth. Incensed, Regan tore her hand away and demanded an answer. “Answer me or I'll break your arm and old bones don't mend quickly. Where is she?”

“In her room. The second door from the top of the landing,” Frau Holtz whispered fearfully.

Sirena had been in the process of reading a note when she looked up and saw Regan framed in the doorway, filling the opening, murder in his eyes. Sirena held a letter opener loosely, wary and angry at this intrusion. “Don't come any closer,” she said vehemently, brandishing the slim blade.

Regan's face contorted with rage. He leaped over a low footstool and slapped her, the palm of his hand drawing blood from her lip. Sirena tried to sidestep the blow and lost her balance just as Regan reached for her flowing hair. He grabbed a handful of the ebony tresses and pulled her to him, ignoring her scream.

“Attack my ship and steal my cargo. Oh, no, not again! Never again!” he shouted. “When I'm finished with you you're going to cry for mercy, beg my forgiveness. In the end you'll beg me to kill you. I warned you, and this time I mean what I say. I've had enough!” he shouted, each word distinct, his voice venomous and full of hate. “You've gone too far!” Intent on his own fury, his hold loosened. With one quick motion, Sirena cut up and lashed through her long mane of hair and found herself free.

She backed off and held the knife in front of her. “This,” she said, waving the impromptu weapon, “makes things a little more even between us,” she said coldly. “Why are you here? What's your problem? Whatever it is, we could have discussed it like civilized human beings. You don't belong here. I have a paper signed by you that says you are no longer my husband; so get out and take your rage and your stale, sweaty body out of my room. You make me sick!”

“I'll leave when I'm damn good and ready. First you will tell me where my cargo is and when you plan to pay for damages done to my ship.”

Sirena stepped her way around the room, Regan stalking her like an animal. “Hear this, Regan. I didn't attack your ship. Pirates hauled your cargo to their brig. Not me, understand? I didn't plunder your property.”

“You lie!” Regan hissed. “You'd lie to me with a prayer book in one hand and a rosary in the other. Your entire life is one lie after another. Deceit, trickery, killing are the rules you live by.” He pounced on her and she brought up the letter opener in defense. He had her slender wrist in his strong grip as she frantically tried to free herself. He had her trapped. She brought up her knee and thrust it in the direction of his groin. His yell of pain forced him backward as she reached out with the blade and brought it down and around his cheek. She saw the blood spurt from the wound, and Regan doubled over.

“I hope I crippled you,” Sirena spit viciously. “Go back to your delicious peach and let her nurse your injuries. I hope you die,” she cried. “I told you I didn't attack your ship, and I didn't. You believe whatever is convenient at the time. Just as you wanted to believe Mikel was Chaezar's child. Be glad I didn't kill you because from this moment on you're fair game. You couldn't even give me the decency of hearing me out. No, you come to my house and threaten me and expect me to stand meekly by and take your punishment.”

Kicking her way past him, Sirena turned and looked down at him, disgust and loathing written on her features. “You're smelling up my bedroom,” she sneered. “Now get out of here. If you can't make it on your own two legs, I'll have the servants toss you out the window.”

Regan straightened painfully and looked at Sirena. He blinked as he watched her face break into a smile that stretched from ear to ear. Deftly she reached behind her and grasped a small, silver-backed mirror and tossed it to him. “A small memento of this night. A mistake, but then who will ever know.”

Regan's face drained of all color as he brought up his arm to wipe his cheek with his sleeve. His agate-blue eyes became slits as he looked into the mirror and then at Sirena. “You'll pay for this,” he shouted hoarsely. “If it's war you want, then it's war you'll get.”

“It would seem I've won the first battle. I hope you like the way I've carved my initial on your cheek. Think how nice it will feel when your little darling runs her fingers over it so lovingly. Tell her the S stands for seduction ... hers!” Sirena laughed, the familiar tinkle that grated on Regan's ears and made his teeth rattle.

“I'll see you dead,” he breathed harshly.

“First, you'll have to catch me,” Sirena taunted. “And from now on, you'll be so busy seeing to your cargoes, you'll have little time for me.
Adios,
Regan, don't trip over your own feet on your way out.”

The ache in his groin was intense but he'd never let her know how she hurt him. He'd walk from the room on his own two legs if it killed him. And it probably would, he thought as an ocean began to roar in his ears. His teeth were clenched so hard he thought his jaw would crack as he turned to make his way down the endless staircase. The white line around his grim mouth caused Frau Holtz to catch her breath. She wanted to help him but his forbidding look prevented her from doing so.

Regan had three steps to go before he reached the bottom. Sirena stood at the top of the landing and called his name. She still held the letter opener by its point. The moment Regan turned she threw and the sleek weapon soared through the air and, by some strange fluke, penetrated the toe of his boot. “I did not attack your ship.
I
sunk the pirate ship that stole your cargo. The rules of salvage make the booty mine.” Sirena leaned over the railing and laughed. “Frau Holtz, help him. The poor man seems to be hurt.”

Regan brought himself under control and stalked from the house, the stiletto bobbing from the thick leather of his boot.

“Insufferable bastard. If you ever allow him into this house again, I'll send you to sea, Frau Holtz, and you'll never touch dry land again! Do you hear me?”

Frau Holtz gulped, knowing it was useless to argue. “
Ja
, I hear, Mevrouw.”

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Sirena made her way to her suite and threw herself on the bed, sobing.

 

Regan staggered into his room, his eyes burning with rage as he fell across his bed. He slumped down, his hands grasping his midsection. His mouth was a grim, ashen line as he drew deep breaths into his lungs. She was a bitch! He should have grasped her by the neck and squeezed till her eyes bulged from her head and her tongue turned black. He should have taken her and smashed her against the wall till she was a bleeding, pulpy mass.

He remembered the wound on his cheek and slammed his fist into the hard wood of the headboard. A yowl of outrage escaped him and then he nursed his bruised hand. His blood boiled as he tried to get to his feet, only to fall back on the softness of the bed. He closed his eyes as wave after wave of pain washed over him. There was no doubt in his mind that he could have killed her, stopped her in some way. Why did he always stop short of doing her harm? Why did he allow her to taunt and torment him time and again? Was it because she was in his blood? Because he loved her? How much longer was he going to let her have her way? When was he going to put a stop to it once and for all?

He rolled over on the bed as another wave of pain coursed through him. He had to do something. Make up his mind and stick to a course of action. If only she were more typical, more predictable, then he would feel ... safer.

He ground his teeth together at the thought. He was a man and she was only a woman. A stabbing sensation surged through his groin with such force, he drove his fist into the bed, tearing the sheet. “Bitch! Goddamn murdering bitch!” he groaned.

Hours and half a bottle of rum later, the pain subsided and Regan slept. His dreams were those of a hunted man with a cutlass-wielding Sirena hot on his trail.

When he woke it was with grim determination to do something. She said she loved him, that her life was incomplete without him. Once and for all he would put her in her place and she would never shake loose from it. “I've had enough!” he roared. “Two can play this damnable game!”

War, she called it. Men fought wars, men won wars. Women
caused
wars! This time it would be no different. He would fight her with the one weapon she couldn't resist, he thought smugly, himself. He would lull her into a false sense of security and then he would strike. Then he would pick up his life and lead it without her interference. He had to do it; she was leaving him no choice. There comes a time in every man's life, he told himself, when he has to do the impossible. And this was going to be it, he thought morbidly. It was time Sirena learned the hard way who the superior force was.

Caleb sat with his knees drawn to his chin on the sparkling decks of the
Rana
as his gaze followed Lord Farrington and the workmen who were busily following the dapper gentleman's orders. He watched as gaming equipment and box after box of decorations, befitting an exclusive gambling parlor, were brought aboard. There was a wary look in his dark, luminous eyes as he imagined the expression on Sirena's face should she ever see the way her ship was outfitted. And Caleb was certain that sooner or later she would see it. Lord Farrington had told him, only this morning, that handbills were being printed to be distributed through London.

The argument between himself and the aristocratic lord still rankled Caleb, but he was glad to have won. Lord Farrington had presented the idea of having the hull of the
Rana
opened and a dockside room attached, forever condemning the frigate to be moored to land. Caleb had immediately negated the idea, refusing to alter the ship in any way which would impede her seaworthiness.

The soft lap of water against the hull of the ship had an hypnotic effect as Caleb leaned against the quarterdeck rail. He let his eyes travel to the top of the mizzenmast and wished fervently he was out to sea. The back-breaking hours of being a longshoreman had taken their toll. He knew that particular life wasn't for him, but he didn't give up until yesterday when Aubrey Farrington said the gaming equipment was due to arrive. Until that moment, Caleb didn't believe he had agreed to the lord's proposition. Now, it was a reality.

He watched a gull as it swooped toward the shoreline, then take wing and soar overhead. He wished he had someone to talk to, someone other than Farrington, who only cared to discuss business and profits. When he tired of that subject, he would invariably switch to women. Caleb wished Willem or Jan were aboard so he could exchange sea tales. The two old salts would have plenty to say and would entertain him as they had on many nights in Java. It had been a long time, too long. Thoughts of Sirena and Regan seeped into his mind and he quickly pushed them away.

Lord Aubrey Farrington tapped Caleb's shoulder with the tip of his walking stick. “Cal, the men have been telling me of a pirate operating in these waters. I think it best if we take a few precautionary measures to assure the safety of our profits, and our patrons, of course.”

An old, familiar feeling churned in Caleb's gut as he stared in disbelief. “What did you say?”

“I said there is word of a pirate operating in the waters off the southern coast. A ship belonging to van der Rhys was sacked and came limping into port with the news. I said we should take a few measures to protect ourselves, sitting out here on the wharf this way.”

Caleb's mind raced. Regan's ship! Sirena wouldn't! Not again! He schooled his face to hide his emotions and asked, “What manner of pirate vessel was it?”

“By the stars, Cal, how should I know? A pirate ship, an ordinary pirate ship, whatever that may be!”

Caleb hadn't realized he was holding his breath until the dapper lord uttered his last words absolving Sirena. She certainly wasn't an “ordinary” pirate and, if indeed it was she who sacked Regan's ship, she would have been certain he would know it.

“Well, boy, do you agree we should hire guards?” Aubrey tapped Caleb impatiently with his walking stick again.

“Get that damn thing away from me before I break it over your back! I've told you before I don't like it!” Caleb threatened and Lord Farrington cautiously lifted the stick out of his grasp. “As far as protection from the pirates, that's ridiculous. But I do agree to taking on a few men to safeguard our cash box from the scoundrels loitering about the docks.”

“Yes, I agree,” Lord Farrington said smoothly, “whatever you think best,” he walked away from Caleb, his stick tapping the deck.

An uneasy feeling settled between Caleb's shoulder blades as he got to his feet. His brown eyes narrowed as he stared across the water at the horizon, to another time and another place, remembering ... remembering...

 

At the top of the wide, curving staircase in the Sinclair townhouse on the Pall Mall, Baroness Helen Sinclair marched haughtily in front of her husband, her thin form bespeaking her indignation. She was angry, angry enough to spit, and she minced no words in proclaiming this.

“Make no excuses to me, Charles. You had very poor judgment in inviting Stephan Langdon to my dinner party!”

“Helen, dear,” Baron Sinclair pleaded, “what would you have had me do? When Stephan approached me, he already knew the invitations for your little soirée were out. He simply stated that perhaps his fool of a housekeeper had misplaced it I knew what he was aiming at; I couldn't profess ignorance.”

“Oh, couldn't you?” the Baroness looked down her long nose at her husband. “I should never know why! Charles, when will you learn that Stephan Langdon is ignorant beyond insult?”

Floundering for an excuse as to why he went over his wife's head to invite Sir Langdon to the dinner, Baron Sinclair said innocently, “Stephan seems genuinely interested in our lovely Sirena and she also seems quite taken with him. Perhaps a match is in the making.”

“Over my dead body,” the Baroness muttered as she lifted the hem of her gown to step down the stairs. No sooner had she settled herself on a settee covered in rich ruby brocade when the first-floor maid announced Sirena and Sir Langdon and showed them into the drawing room where the Sinclairs were enjoying the brightly burning hearth.

As always, the Baroness drew in her breath at Sirena's loveliness, who today was wearing a copper-colored silk which enhanced her fragile ivory skin and shining dark hair. Now, why can't Tyler find himself in love with her, the Baroness thought sourly, disapproving of her son's taste in women. She sighed inwardly, realizing that a man like Tyler could never be a match for the fiery Spaniard. Sirena needed a man like Regan van der Rhys to compliment her beauty and spirit. A man who could take control and offer a constant challenge to her. Tyler was yet a boy compared to Regan. How sad that the marriage between the Dutchman and this beautiful creature had gone awry.

“How lovely you are today,” the Baroness said sincerely, extending her hand in greeting.

“Thank you,” Sirena smiled. “Your drawing room is lovely, Baroness.”

“I ordered the materials from your homeland, Sirena, and brought a draper from Spain to see to the decorating. I'm pleased you like it.”

Sirena smiled again and accepted a glass of sherry from the Baron. “Tell me, Sirena,” he asked, “how did you enjoy your trip to Ireland?”

Sirena sipped the cordial and looked at the Baron over the rim of the crystal glass. “It was ... interesting,” she said softly.

“I'd like to see some of the laces you brought back from Waterford,” the Baroness stated.

“Laces and crystal, Baroness. As a matter of fact, you will receive a small gift of the most exquisite glasses I've ever seen. It should arrive in a day or two. As for the laces, I'd love to show them to you. Perhaps later in the week. They are so delicate and novel in design. I must commend Tyler on his choice of investment. A woman never has enough ribbons and laces.”

Baron Sinclair, having little interest in the topic under discussion other than the potential profit to be gained, spoke to Stephan Langdon. “Have you heard that van der Rhys lost a cargo to pirates?”

“Everyone had heard of it,” Stephan said harshly. “And to think they sail in English waters! It's not to be tolerated.”

“I heard the Dutchman was in a murderous mood when the news was brought to him. The story making the rounds is that he seemed a bit tetched, peculiar. He demanded to know if the pirates were led by a woman. Did you ever hear of anything so outrageous?”

Sirena placed her glass on a small table and raised her eyes to Baron Sinclair. The heavy, black fringe of lashes hid the sparkle in her emerald eyes. “Several years ago there was a tale of a woman pirate that originated in the East Indies. They say there was no seaman her equal. She fought and cursed like a man, and was said to be the most beautiful woman ever to sail those waters. Men named her the Sea Siren, but I understand the Dutch East India Company and its stockholders had other names for her.” Sirena smiled, a cool, enigmatic expression that caught Stephan Langdon's eye and interest. “Some say she was a myth, others say she was real and that she still roams the waters searching for prey. I myself inquired of Mynheer van der Rhys if there was any validity to the story since he recently came from the Indies. He told me there was no such person, and, if there was, she's dead now. Knowing this, I don't understand why he should ask about a woman pirate. Perhaps there is something to the rumor that he's a bit unstable.”

all eyes turned to Sirena, listening attentively as she continued. “I've no doubt it was pirates who plundered the van der Rhys cargo. Why, just today, I stopped by Tyler's office and he told me a rather wicked rumor. It seems the pirate offered to sell van der Rhys back his own cargo for double what he paid. Ingenious, wouldn't you say?”

“Quite,” Langdon said, sipping his wine. “Perhaps that explains Regan's foul mood when he came to call on Camilla. That and the confrontation he had with several ruffians who attacked him and left him with a rather nasty cut on his right cheek.”

“You sound so bitter, Stephan,” the Baroness said snidely. “One would believe Regan's fortunes, or misfortunes if you will, were your own.” Baroness Helen shot Stephan a speculating glance. Lifting her tone, she asked, “Speaking of Camilla, how is the dear child?”

“Very content with the betrothal. And, as you know, Helen, Camilla's happiness is foremost in my heart.” Now it was Stephan's turn to throw the Baroness a smirking look. “By the end of the evening she will have him smiling out of his black mood. He's quite enamored of my daughter, you know. One has only to see the way he stares at her. He absolutely dotes on the child.”

“Doesn't it annoy you, Stephan, that the Dutchman is nearly old enough to be Camilla's father? You English, I'm finding, have a tendency to be indulgent with your children,” Sirena laughed, amusement bubbling in her green eyes.

“Camilla needs a strong hand,” Stephan said firmly, defending the situation between Camilla and Regan.

“A strong hand should be her father's responsibility. A girl doesn't need two fathers, Stephan. A husband should be a lover,” Sirena purred.

“She's right,” the Baroness noted sharply. “Whatever were you thinking of to allow Camilla to become involved with the Dutchman?”

Stephan sighed. “The girl has a mind of her own and once she set her sights on him there was little I could do. Besides, he's quite wealthy and a poor, motherless child could do worse, and my little Camilla does love him.”

Regan or his money? Sirena thought nastily. She lowered her gaze and offered the Baroness a conspiratorial wink which the regal lady returned.

The dinner party was a success. Sirena and Sir Langdon were joined by eight other couples and all enjoyed the Sinclairs' lavish hospitality.

Because of the Baroness' maternal interest in Sirena, a broad spectrum of society accepted this visitor from Spain with open arms. She was beautiful, intelligent and rich! If any other qualities were necessary to become society's little darling, nobody found them lacking in Sirena. Her entrance into the closed ranks of London's
ton
was successfully accomplished.

Much later, when the evening was nearly at an end, the other guests gone, and only Sirena and Stephan remained, the Baroness and Sirena withdrew to a far comer of the drawing room while the Baron and Stephan enjoyed a private smoke in the library.

The ladies, left to themselves, discussed a variety of topics—the weather, lace, and the balls which were being held. Finally, the Baroness could stand it no longer. Fully aware of the wary look in Sirena's eyes, she attacked forcefully, intent on learning the truth. “You still love him, don't you, dear?”

“Yes,” Sirena answered softly, turning her face away from the glowing lamplight, her features cast in mysterious shadows.

“And you'll do whatever necessary to get him back?”

“Yes.”

“Even if he loves another?”

“No, not if he truly loved another. He doesn't love Camilla Langdon. He loved me once. He can't have forgotten,” she whispered, the passion of her statement charging the air.

“Just suppose, now I said suppose, that what you say is untrue. Suppose he no longer loves you, can never love you again? What would you do?” the Baroness asked, concern lining her otherwise smooth brow.

“What will I do? I think I should simply die. There's no life in me without Regan. He's mine by right of marriage; my religion forbids divorce. In my eyes we are still married and will remain so until death parts us. Not whimsical secular laws. I won't spend my life being half alive. I want it all or nothing!” The eyes Sirena turned to the Baroness were so filled with grief, so tortured with rejection, the older woman was caught in their glimmering sadness.

“But, dear, what can you do? You can't
make
someone love you!”

“Please, Baroness, no more questions. All I know is I must do what I must do. The circumstances between Regan and myself were my doing and I must try to rectify that mistake in the only way I know how.”

The Baroness gazed at Sirena with genuine fondness. If only Tyler were man enough for this woman, what sons they would have! “I understand, Sirena, I really do. If there is anything I can do, you have only to ask.”

“You are very kind, but this is something I must do alone. But I beg you to remember that I love him.”