My Runaway Heart (36 page)

"Lindsay, she said Ryland. Wasn't that the name of
the man who married Jared's sister? Ryland Potter?"

Numbly, Lindsay nodded as disorderly shouts and jeers
once more erupted outside the carriage. Little
Paloma
began to cry, the noise surely frightening her.
Which made
Donovan curse so vehemently that all three of them jumped, his voice brooking
no argument as he lunged from the carriage and slammed the door behind him.

"Stay here, all of you! Do you understand me? Just
stay here!"

***

Somehow they did, Lindsay so sick at heart she thought
she might be ill, while
Corisande
did her best to
soothe
Paloma
, no matter the bedlam which continued
outside for what seemed a very long time.

At one point a harsh cry was heard urging that all the
prisoners be hanged right there on the wharf; it was echoed around them until
Lindsay pressed her hands to her ears, trying to shut out the horrible racket
as futilely as she could chase away her crippling fear. In her mind's eye she
could see Jared standing tall and unafraid amidst the fray, just as she'd seen
him aboard the
Vengeance
in the heat
of a sea chase, which renewed her flagging spirits. Yet it was all so awful—to
think that woman might be Sylvia Potter . . .

"Lindsay, you know no matter what happens, I'll do
anything to help you,"
Corisande
said gently
when it seemed, finally, that the din was lessening, if only a little. "I
can't speak for Donovan, but he knows my feelings. If not for Jared, I wouldn't
have my
husband,
or
Paloma
.
. ."

Lindsay's chest grew tight from the tears brimming in
Corisande's
eyes; she'd rarely seen her stouthearted friend
cry. As
Corisande
hugged the beautiful little girl in
her arms,
Paloma
amazingly having fallen asleep,
Lindsay couldn't help but be touched that
Corisande
could already love so deeply another woman's child. Just as she so clearly
loved her husband, even now
Corisande
craning her
neck to look for Donovan out the carriage window, while Lindsay couldn't look
at all for dread of what she might see

"Oh, Lord, Lindsay, here he comes now."

With
Corisande's
announcement
sounding both apprehensive and relieved, Lindsay lost all ability to breathe as
Donovan climbed into the coach and took his seat beside
Corisande
,
his hand tenderly caressing
Paloma's
mahogany curls.
Yet his expression remained grim, and on a man as
swarthily
dark as Lord Donovan Trent, it was even more ominous to behold.

"The prisoners are being taken to
Dartmoor
just as planned—all of them."

Lindsay exhaled in a rush, her gaze jumping to
Corisande
and then back to Donovan as the carriage jolted
into motion. "So . . . so they're allowing me to leave?"

"For now, but they may call you back for further
questions. An official inquiry has already begun into Jared's—the Phoenix's
true identity. Messengers have been sent to London. It probably won't take more
than a few days to summon acquaintances of the Earl of
Dovercourt
to Plymouth."

"And that woman . . . the one who recognized him?"

"Mad as a hatter. Otherwise, they might have
tarred and hung your husband this very day. She says her name's Sylvia Potter,
though they got little else out of her before she fell into a fit. She's been
taken to the Three Maidens Inn near the town square and put under guard until
the investigation can begin."

"So it was Sylvia . . ." Lindsay murmured,
not astonished at all that Donovan knew she and Jared were married. She slumped
back, horrified, against the seat. "Sylvia Potter."

"Bloody woman should have drowned."

Stunned that
Corisande
had
voiced what Lindsay had just been thinking, however cruel it sounded, she
couldn't help but wish that she'd never gone
belowdecks
on the
Industry
—but there was nothing
to be done about it now. And she didn't think it wise to discuss Jared further,
given the forbidding scowl settling over Donovan's handsome features as he
stared out the window at the passing streets, although the glance that
Corisande
sent Lindsay told her the matter was far from
finished.

Thank God, for a short while at least, Jared was safe.
But, remembering how he'd been so cruelly treated aboard the H.M.S.
Clementine
, Lindsay drew little comfort
that
Dartmoor
Prison would be any better.

Meanwhile, she had a trial of her own to face, although
it paled next to Jared's. Yet a full day's coach ride wouldn't seem nearly long
enough to prepare
herself
for what was to come once
she reached
Porthleven
.

***

"Disgraceful! Absolutely disgraceful! Just look at
you, girl! Look at you!"

So weary from the journey she could barely stand,
Lindsay nonetheless bore Olympia Somerset's fury just as she always had,
silently, stoically, not wanting to make things worse for her poor father even
now . . .

"Have you nothing more to say? This is utterly scandalous—scandalous!
We'll never be able to lift our heads in the village again! In London!
Anywhere!" Throwing the train of her blue silk dress behind her, Olympia
paced in front of Lindsay like an outraged pigeon, her massive breasts heaving,
her double chin fluttering, her narrow, high-bridged nose positively pinched
with displeasure.

"When we received word from Winifred that you'd
disappeared, your
father
and I were beside ourselves!
Who will marry you now? Will you answer me that, my girl? When everyone hears
you were found aboard a pirate's ship? That you were abducted and—and—dear God,
I can't bring myself to even say it!"

"Ravaged."

As stunned silence fell in the
lamplit
drawing room, Lindsay didn't think she had ever seen Olympia's powdered face so
red, near hatred distorting her features and blazing from her cold blue eyes.

"You . . . you ungrateful girl. To think I allowed
you to go to London for the Season and this—this scandal is how I'm rewarded
for my generosity! You knew your responsibilities! You could have married
well—won a title for yourself, enhanced our family name and position—"

"And given you someone else to bully?"

Incredulous that she had spoken up even as Olympia
advanced upon her with an ominous rustle of silk, Lindsay didn't think to back
away but held her ground, lifting her chin to take what she had endured a
thousand times before—something her father knew nothing about, nor even
Corisande
. White light burned in front of her eyes as Olympia
slapped her viciously across the face, and then slapped her again on the other
cheek.

"Damn you, girl, I've borne all I will from you!
It's not enough I must suffer the embarrassment of having your father for a
husband—wretched, spineless little man. You'll not live under my roof another
day, do you hear?"

"And you will never touch my daughter
again,
do you hear me, Olympia?"

Lindsay gasped, her gaze flying to the doorway, where
her father stood, his face ashen, his hands visibly shaking. Olympia looked
startled, a flush creeping past her painted eyebrows, although she threw back
her head contemptuously.

"This is between Lindsay and me, Randolph. It has
nothing to do with you—"

"It has everything to do with me! God help me,
woman, have you struck my daughter before this day?"

Lindsay wasn't sure if she was more astonished that her
father had roared at the top of his lungs, almost incongruous in so slight and
graying a
man,
or that Olympia seemed truly
nonplussed, a bejeweled hand flying to her breast.

"Randolph, please, of course I would never—dear
me, no, this is the first time, truly, and once you hear of what has happened—
It's
so dreadful! Horrifying! I was just about to send a
servant to find you, to tell you Lindsay was home so you might know what your
daughter has done, the scandal she's brought upon us—"

"If there's any scandal, madam, it's that I no
longer recognize you as my wife.
A pity
you don't lie
as well as you've a gift for making everyone around you perfectly miserable—and
I'll stomach no more. Leave us! Now, or I'll summon the footmen to throw you
out!"

Lindsay had never thought she might see the day,
Olympia's jaw dropping, her imperious shoulders slumping, tears swimming in her
eyes. But somehow the woman managed to maintain her composure long enough to
tilt her fleshy chin and sweep haughtily from the room, though Lindsay heard
her stepmother gasp in shock when her father slammed the drawing room door shut
behind her.

"Damned witch. Should have been rid of her years
ago."

Her own eyes clouded, Lindsay gave a choked laugh,
remembering how Jared had once called her stepmother a witch. But in the next
instant she flew into her father's arms and buried her face in his coat as she
sobbed ridiculously, for so long and so hard, that he actually began to
chuckle.

That made her stop
and draw
back from him in surprise, but he had sobered, his kindly gaze full of concern.

"So tell me about this privateer who's won your
heart. Jared Giles is his name, the Earl of
Dovercourt
?"

So astounded she couldn't speak, Lindsay dropped her
gaze to the neatly folded piece of ivory vellum he withdrew from his coat
pocket.

"A letter from
Corie
.
Seems while you and Donovan and their little daughter were asleep in the
carriage last night, your friend was very busy. She must have slipped this to
the footman somehow when they dropped you at the door; he told me she said I
must read the letter straightaway—and then he informed me you were in the
drawing room with Olympia." Tenderly, he lifted his hand to wipe a tear
from Lindsay's face. "
Corie
has a plan, you
know."

"She does?"

As her father nodded, Lindsay had never felt so
brilliant a burst of hope, and she couldn't help blurting out, "Oh, Papa,
you would like him, I know you would!"

"I believe I would, too, and perhaps someday I'll
have a chance to meet him,"
came
his reply, his
expression tinged with sadness. But the next moment found him drawing her over
to the far end of the room, keeping his voice low. "There's much for me to
do, and much for
Corie
to arrange, but all you must
do is wait patiently until tomorrow morning."

"Wait? But how can I wait while Jared—"

"
Shhh
, Lindsay, you'll
have a chance to play a part, I wish not so dangerous a one, but there's no
other way. At least I've a chance now to make amends for the years you've
suffered—"

"But you've suffered, too, Papa."

"Yes, but no more. No more." Emotion welling
in his eyes, he squeezed her hands. "I've wanted to tell you for some time
that I haven't forgotten the promise I made to your mother so long ago, though
it might have seemed . . ."

His voice failing him, Sir Randolph Somerset shook his
head, but Lindsay didn't need him to finish to know he intended to do anything
he could to help her.

He already had.

Chapter 33

The long night a sleepless torture Lindsay wanted to
forget,
her only relief came in the morning, after she had
rushed through her first real bath since
Gijón
and
then dressed hurriedly in one of the nicest gowns left in her wardrobe and a
fine gray cloak. Her father was waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase
and together they left the house, neither of them mentioning Olympia at all, as
if the despicable woman were already gone from their lives.

Sir Randolph seemed disinclined to speak, in fact, just
as he had become last night after telling Lindsay about
Corisande's
letter, except to encourage her to try to get some rest and to mention again
that he had much to do. But what he had to do, she hadn't
divined,
the crux of
Corisande's
plan still unknown to her.

Even now, as they settled into the carriage, she had no
idea where they might be bound, but it became clear after many long, silent
moments that they were heading into the fishing village of
Porthleven
.
Was
Corisande
perhaps meeting them at the Easton
parsonage? Lindsay was almost relieved when they rumbled by the cozy stone
house with its blue shutters, not because she didn't want to see
Corisande's
three younger sisters and Frances, their
motherly housekeeper, but because she felt little like talking to anyone
herself, her nerves on edge.

Her father was so still, so grim almost, occasionally
checking his pocket
watch
and then staring out the
window, until finally she could bear the suspense no longer.

"Papa, will you please tell me—"

"Good, she looks ready to sail."

Her heart rearing at his words, Lindsay followed his
gaze to the quay down the hill and a single-
masted
ship she recognized at once, Oliver
Trelawny's
Fair Betty
. She could see men moving
busily about the deck and sails being unfurled, but what made her mouth drop
open in astonishment was that
Corisande
stood at the
starboard railing next to the burly Cornish captain, though she left him and
bolted down the gangplank when the carriage rolled to a stop.