Captive Embraces (32 page)

The last patron gone, the bolt secure, Lord Farrington began to count the night's profits. From time to time he smiled happily as he divided the money into separate piles. Caleb watched him, a strange look lighting his eyes. In one night he had become a successful businessman, seduced his father's betrothed and antagonized Sirena. In the last few hours he had left the last vestiges of boyhood behind. He had found love.

When Camilla had crept from the bunk to return to the gaming hall, he had felt no remorse, only complete satisfaction. All the other times and all the other women meant nothing. This time it had been different. Camilla was special.

He sighed happily as he watched Lord Farrington fill two pouches with the profits and separate what they would need to pay expenses.

When Camilla had bent over his naked body and whispered in his ear that she would return, he had thought he had died and gone to Heaven. Clutching her to him, he had kissed her ardently till she was breathless. Gently, he had pushed her away. “Another time,” he had whispered in her ear.

“No,” Camilla had panted. “Again! Again, Caleb,” she had said, slipping her gown off her shoulder so he could see one creamy, coral-tipped breast.

Caleb had licked dry lips and straightened her gown. “Another time,” he had stated firmly. Some instinct had cautioned him that this was not the time to satisfy their wants. Another long, passionate kiss and Camilla, her breathing harsh and ragged in the quiet cabin, gathered up her reticule and left, but only after bestowing on Caleb a long and promising look.

“I will count the hours and the minutes,” she had whispered.

Caleb grinned and forced his attention back to the present. “Well, how did we do tonight?” he asked.

“With what we took in tonight, we could both live comfortably for a long time. But that's not the end of it, eh Caleb, my boy? A toast, Caleb, to our success,” Aubrey Farrington said, pouring wine into two goblets. “To our continued success,” he said, regarding Caleb over the rim of the glass. His rheumy eyes narrowed slightly when he noticed the expression on Caleb's face. He had seen that look before, worn it himself as a matter of fact. “And which of the ladies offered you her favors? Don't deny it, lad, it's there on your face.”

Caleb shrugged and drained his goblet, not offering any explanations.

“You'll soon discover you have your pick of women, and most will want to crawl between the sheets with you. Do yourself a favor, lad. Taste them all and don't tie yourself to one. There's a long life ahead, long and profitable, and if you play your cards right, it will be very enjoyable.”

Farrington laughed at his little witticism and Caleb joined him, leaning back and stretching his long, muscular legs in front of him. He was completely relaxed. When he moved, Lord Farrington was reminded of a large, jungle cat who had felled his prey. Caleb enjoyed his women and made the best of his lusty appetites. Whatever, if he were to indulge his manly prowess, he wouldn't pay too much attention to the profits.

 

Stephan Langdon burst into his darkened house calling for Camilla at the top of his voice. He had never been so furious with her in her whole life! It had taken all his control not to thrash her there on the gambling folly in the presence of Regan and Sirena. She had very nearly ruined their plans and he would see it never happened again. That romantic dalliance with Regan's son had very nearly cost them the marriage to the wealthy van der Rhys.

Bounding up the stairs toward Camilla's room, the rage welled up in him, reddening his finely drawn features. He knew if he didn't get himself under control Camilla would be the worse for it. “Camilla! Camilla, you little fool! I mean to see you, so open this door!”

Camilla had been lying against her pillows dreaming of Caleb's strong embrace and ardent lovemaking when she heard the front door bang shut announcing her father's return. She knew he would be angry with her and she sincerely hoped he would leave her to herself until morning. She wanted nothing to interrupt her languid thoughts of the tall, dark-eyed young man whom she had only this night discovered was Regan's son. Caleb was vital, daring and enthusiastic. Regan was a strong, fascinating man, but he was so staid, so mature. He lacked imagination. That was the difference, Camilla decided. Regan had never attempted to take her to bed. He treated her as though she were a mere child whose head was empty of everything save a new gown or pretty hats. Regan had never even thought to scratch her surface to find the sensuous woman who lurked beneath. But Caleb, yes, Caleb was quite a man. His youth was appealing, exciting, with a wild, urgent quality no woman could resist.

“Camilla! I mean to see you! Open this door!” For a fleeting moment Camilla was frightened. She had never heard this rage in Stephan's voice directed at her. This was the tone he used with lazy servants or insolent shopkeepers who plagued him for payment. With a shock she remembered this was the voice he had used with her mother, leaving her sobbing and tearful.

“The door is open, Father. Please come in,” she said sweetly, ignoring his frame of mind. She would have to keep her wits about her.

Stephan entered. “What in the world were you trying to prove this evening, daughter? Don't you know you very nearly destroyed the betrothal between yourself and the Dutchman?” He advanced on her and she resolved he would not obtain the advantage and reduce her to a cloying, crying weakling. As he had done with Mother, a little voice echoed through her head.

Standing erect, tiny chin jutting in defiance, Camilla faced her father. “Calm yourself. Regan was quite satisfied with my explanations. Besides, Caleb is his son, or didn't you know? He would never suspect his son of being interested in his fiancée. Regan has very definite scruples and, naturally, attributes the same to his son.” She had kept her voice steady, had even ended her little speech with a stifled yawn.

Stephan grasped her arm in a hurting hold. “So say you! But you didn't see him when he couldn't find you. There was murder in his eyes, and I don't think he would have stopped to consider who the young man was! As for you, he would have snapped you in two!”

Camilla wrestled free, tears stinging the backs of her eyelids, but she managed to say, “Perhaps. But he was very different with me. And he didn't murmur a word about calling off the wedding.”

Stephan was not satisfied with his daughter's assurances. “You can't be smug where the Dutchman is concerned,” he growled. “Regan can't be made the fool, like Tyler Sinclair, or even be trifled with, like his son. Now get your wits about you, you little ninny!” He shook her violently to punctuate his words.

“Get your hands off me, Father,” Camilla sneered, her voice low and seething. “I tell you nothing has happened between Regan and myself. But perhaps it should! Caleb is much more to my liking! And rich, too! As for Tyler, don't underestimate him, Father. He's not quite the fool you think him!” Roughly, she pushed him away from her. “Ooh! If I had any sense at all, I would quit this whole business and run to Tyler and beg him to tell his parents about us! The Baron and Baroness would accept me if I promised never to have another thing to do with you! It's
you
they object to, Father, not me!”

With lightning speed Stephan brought up his hand and cracked her soundly on her face. Camilla staggered backward, tears springing from her astounded eyes.

“So this is what I get for being a devoted father! Treachery! Bah! You are like all women, faithless, traitorous! Like your mother!” He loomed over her, his face contorted with hate. “I should have done away with you when I did away with her. I should have known you would leave childhood behind and grow to womanhood!” He spit the word “womanhood” as though it were the name of a leprous disease. “As for our plans, they will be executed on schedule. You will marry van der Rhys. After we have secured his fortunes, if you wish, I will make you a lovely young widow. Until then, see you behave accordingly!” He stalked from the room, leaving Camilla nursing her wounded face.

She stared after him, horror mingled with astonishment dulling her pansy eyes. Until this moment she had never been frightened of her father. She had always thought his remarks concerning widowhood were in jest. He had often threatened to do away with Tyler if he became a nuisance, but he had actually seemed serious when he said he
would
rid her of Regan. A chill crept up her spine when at last she was able to face the statement he had made concerning her mother. “... I did away with her!” A nightmare memory of her mother's face as the coach drove out the drive flashed before her. Her eyes so empty and hopeless, that simple gesture of lifting her hand to wave good-bye.

“Oh, God! No, God, no!” Camilla gasped, sinking to her knees on the thick carpet. “She knew! Mother knew what he was doing to her!”

Frau Holtz stamped around Sirena's suite going through the motions of helping her mistress dress. The hour was very early, the sun was just breaking over the horizon. The woman's pinched face clearly stated she thought this marriage to Stephan Langdon the most foolish idea the Mevrouw had ever dreamed up. More than foolish, outright stupid! Frau Holtz disliked Sir Stephan Langdon intensely. Whenever she was in his presence, it was all she could do to keep from sweeping him out of the house like a spider.

“You can stop overdramatizing the situation, Frau Holtz. I've explained my reasons to you and enough has been said,” Sirena spoke commandingly. I've decided to marry Stephan and the matter is closed. Now will you help me get ready or should I call Wren?”

“
Nein
. You'll do no such thing. The poor little child needs her sleep, and she doesn't have to remember the day you make a fool of yourself,” the Frau answered tartly.

“Then hurry and get my shoes out of the clothes press. Stephan will be here any moment.” Sirena turned to look in the mirror, patting her hair into place. It promised to be a long day. Her own wedding this morning and Regan's this afternoon. How she would manage to get through it, God only knew. She wrung her hands anxiously, trying to bring some warmth to them. Her whole body was like ice and there was a pounding in her temples. Covertly, she risked a glance at Frau Holtz, some part of her praying the old woman would tie her to the bed and refuse to allow her to leave the house with Stephan. Taking a deep breath, she knew her fate had been sealed. She herself had arrived at this decision and would follow through with it, regardless of the black cloud looming over her. Sirena cast her thoughts and apprehensions away and made a supreme effort to brighten her spirits. She told herself that Stephan was past fifty years of age and his demands on her would be few and far between. And if he should become overzealous in his duties as a husband, she would make short work of that! She meant to keep the upper hand in this marriage and Stephan had better make no mistake about it.

“I wish you would allow me to come with you, Mevrouw. You will need a woman to be with you.” The Frau's voice had softened and she was sympathetic, as though Sirena were going to a funeral and would need the support of a friend.

Reaching out her hand and touching the Frau's sleeve, Sirena answered in a like tone. “This is something I must do alone, good friend. Thank you for your offer.”

“Where is the ... the ceremony to take place. Why couldn't you have arranged to have it here?”

“Stephan has a friend who has kindly offered us his home in the outskirts of the city. We will be met there by the clergy. Immediately after, we will return to London, in time for Camilla's wedding to Regan.” In spite of herself, Sirena nearly choked on the words. “As you know, Stephan will be living here with us. He's already moved a number of his belongings here. He is leaving his house on Drury Lane for Camilla and ... her husband.” The last phrase was uttered in a whisper and nearly broke the Frau's heart.

“Mevrouw, I would rather see you face pirates than see you with this man Langdon. There's something about him that frightens me. Don't ask me to explain it, I can't.”

To offset the impact of hearing her own suspicions spoken by Frau Holtz, Sirena laughed uneasily. “You've seen me deal with pirates, and they are men, just as Stephan is a man. Why do you doubt my ability to deal with him?”

“Because a pirate is a pirate. It is there for all the world to see. This Lord Langdon wears many faces, and my instincts tell me he's not the person he would have the world think he is.” Again, Frau Holtz's face crumpled into worried lines.

“Don't worry about me. If it ever comes to dealing with Stephan, rest assured, I'll know how to go about it!” Even to herself, her voice sounded less assured than her bravado.

Before the footman could announce him, Sirena heard Stephan's carriage wheels on the drive. Picking up her beaded reticule from the bed, and with a cursory glance in the mirror, Sirena swept from the room with a last instruction, “Kiss Wren for me, Frau Holtz, and tell her I'll be getting home rather late. I'll see her in the morning!”

Stephan waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. When he saw her, his eyes lit in appreciation. There was no denying it, Sirena was a beautiful woman, and she was bringing more into this marriage than social status and money. He knew he would not have been half as smug if he were marrying a rich, old woman who would lend him social acceptance as well as an indefatigable supply of funds. As important as it had always been to him, Stephan was discovering, once having gotten it, there were some things more important than money.

Sirena swept down the stairs toward him, her apricot silk gown bringing a fresh, healthy tint to her cheeks and throwing her shining ebony hair into contrast As she pulled on her matching gloves, she looked up and smiled at him. “Are you ready, Stephan?”

“More than you'll ever know, darling,” he reached for her gloved hand and pressed his mouth to her fingers. “You'll need a wrap, Sirena. The morning is still chilly.”

“I have it here,” she remarked, pointing to a dark brown capelet trimmed with sable. Stephan took it and placed it about her shoulders. His touch against her flesh held a distinct possessiveness and Sirena shuddered slightly. An impulse compelled her to run from this man, run as far away as she possibly could, yet she stood her ground and pulled the capelet around herself as though warding off a blast of cold air. Stephan did not seem to notice, and led her out the door to the waiting coach.

It was so early in the day little activity took place on the streets of the city. Few merchants were up and about at this hour and the citizens, who loitered about the pubs and alleys, were usually worse the wear from the tippling the night before. In the quiet, the bells of St. Paul's rung out, welcoming the new day, to be joined by the melodious chiming from St. Peter's, St. Olave's, St. Botolph's, St. Dunstan's, St. Sepulchre's and, finally, Barking Church near Hounditch Road, denoting the city limit.

They had made exceedingly good time through London, owing to the desolation. Within the hour they were embarking upon White Chapel Street past Goodman's Field to the home of Anthony Webster, where the exchanging of vows would take place.

Stephan became increasingly unsettled by Sirena's silence and watched her as she smoothed the folds of her gown between nervous fingers. “Sirena, tell me you're not angry because I declined to have Tyler Sinclair be our witness. Please try to understand, darling, Anthony Webster is the only witness we need. It seemed unreasonable to drag Sinclair all the way out into the country with us.”

Sirena lifted her head. “I don't understand your objections, Stephan. It is only natural I would like to have a friend present at this important event. However, I acceded to your wishes; let's make no more of it.” Her tone was cool and reserved, but her fingers still plucked anxiously at her dress.

“You really are a winsome child, darling,” Stephan whispered as he put his arm around her and drew her close for a kiss.

Sirena's blood froze and she strangled on her panic. She pushed him politely away, murmuring something about crushing her gown and wanting to look as lovely as possible on this most special day.

Stephan's gray eyes became like shards of ice at her rejection and his already thin mouth pinched tightly, thrusting his stubborn chin outward. Sirena looked at him and wondered that she had never before seen the lines of cruelty in his face. Finding himself beneath her scrutiny, Stephan smiled in what he hoped was a display of affection and released her from his embrace.

“Poor child, every woman has the right to be nervous on her wedding day,” he soothed, patting her hand affectionately.

For an answer, Sirena turned her head and gazed out the window at the passing scenery, wondering why in heaven she was here with a man she did not love, could never love, traveling down the road to marry him.

As the coach swung up a wide, curving drive canopied with oak, Stephan reached into his smartly tailored vest and noted that his timepiece had just struck the hour of eight. The watery sunshine had now blossomed to a full golden splendor and promised a beautiful day. “Happy is the bride the sun shines on, darling,” Stephan recited, watching for Sirena's reaction. It peeved him greatly that she was pensive and distracted rather than graciously, or even coyly, exuberant over their coming marriage. Regardless of how attractive Sirena's fortune was to Stephan, his ego demanded his bride be flatteringly excited over sharing his name and his bed.

The Webster home came into view, and Sirena saw it was constructed of fieldstone and heavy hewn timbers, giving it a rustic charm. Once inside, however, the rustic gave way to gracious furniture and bright, airy rooms. Anthony Webster, a man close to Stephan's age, greeted her warmly, his bovine, brown eyes smiling into hers.

Weakly, she returned his smile and thanked him for offering his hospitality. “Think nothing of it. Stephan is one of my oldest friends. I was more than happy to oblige.”

“Then you will be driving to London with us to attend Camilla's wedding,” Sirena said with certainty, relieved she would not have to share the carriage all the way back to the city alone with Stephan.

Anthony Webster seemed at a loss for words. “Why, no, er . . . that is . . . ” His eyes flew to Stephan.

Smoothly, Stephan interjected, “Sirena, darling, you have our own wedding to think of, why must you dwell on Camilla's? In fact, Anthony finds it impossible to attend the fair. He has other plans for today concerning his political ambitions. Don't you, Anthony?”

“Yes, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I was so sorry to refuse, but there was little help for it. Now, let us not stand here wasting time. Justice Tallman is waiting in the drawing room.” Squire Webster took hold of Sirena's arm and escorted her through the hall to the flower-bedecked drawing room. “I hope you approve of the decorations.” Once again his eyes went to Stephan, who had followed them into the room.

Near the mantel stood a short, rotund gentleman of the cloth, who smiled in greeting. Seeing him standing there brought Sirena's panic so close to the surface, she nearly turned and ran. In fact, she would have if Squire Webster hadn't had such a firm grip on her arm.

The next few minutes swept past Sirena's consciousness in a blur. She realized vaguely that she had signed the marriage contract. She heard Justice Tallman recite the vows and she heard her responses. Her finger, where Stephan had placed an impressive, square-cut, emerald ring, felt heavy and strangely cold. At last, when the ceremony was completed, Stephan embraced her. Her lips were bloodless, her vision foggy, her hands atremble. What had she done? Why had she married Stephan Langdon?

When they were alone once again in the coach returning to London, Stephan kept his arm about her and insisted upon kissing her. When she felt his tongue probe her lips, she was hard pressed not to display her disgust. His tongue was soft and felt thick against her mouth and too smooth, too wet, like a thing alive, like something she could find living a dark existence beneath a rock in the garden.

“Stephan, please,” she protested. “Control yourself! We've still Camilla's wedding to attend; would you have me appearing mussed and wrinkled?”

“To hell with Camilla's wedding,” Stephan said against her mouth, his hands groping beneath her skirts. “I've waited too long to claim you, Sirena.”

“Stephan! Please!” she shoved him away with what she hoped was a smile. “You can't miss your own daughter's marriage! What would Camilla think of me if I kept her father from the most important day of her life?”

Reluctantly, Stephan pulled away, straightening his waistcoat and adjusting his trousers. “You will have your way for now, Sirena. But I warn you; I find you the most desirable woman I've ever met, and I'll be waiting for tonight. Darling,” he added as though the endearment were an afterthought.

Sirena looked into her husband's eyes and saw there a terrifying lust. Stephan meant every word he said. Why had she never noticed how glitteringly hard his gray eyes could be? Why had she supposed that Stephan's interest in sex would be merely perfunctory? He had never made advances or pressed her for her favors until this moment. She had been mistaken in assuming that age had dulled his appetite for the nuptial bed. Now, glancing at his slim, athletic body, she realized what a fool she had been.

“I've brought along a trifling surprise to celebrate our union,” Stephan announced, reaching beneath the seat to withdraw a wicker basket. Opening it, he revealed two crystal glasses and a bottle of white wine. With an expert economy of motion, he poured the wine into the goblets and handed her one. “To us, darling.” He clicked the glasses together and drank heartily.

The wine was cool to her throat and Sirena drank greedily, holding out her goblet for more. “It's delicious, Stephan.”

“I'm delighted you like it, darling. I've saved another bottle for tonight.”

Hearing his words, Sirena gulped the wine down, feeling it warm her innards. God, she thought, she would need a whole bottle to herself if she were to get through the hours ahead with Stephan. She had been so purposeful about throwing stumbling blocks in Regan's path she thought nothing of what marriage to Stephan would mean. Regan, she thought, taking another long drink. Camilla would be going home to spend her wedding night in Regan's bed while she would be left to Stephan! She drank again.

Stephan sipped at his wine, savoring the fruity flavor, his eyes darting to his new wife. “I'm glad you like it so well, Sirena. I'll arrange to import it for our wine cellar.”