Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (7 page)

“Why you ungrateful, little—”

Bethlyn continued heedlessly on, not caring any longer. She must go on, as if her father never spoke, as if the anger in the depths of his eyes pushed her to continue. “I’ve nothing for which to be grateful, sir. You pushed me out of your life, never took an interest in me. I shall never forget your cruelties to me or to my mother. All these years you’ve expressed your disinterest, dislike, in me. Well, Father, consider that I may feel the same about you.”

Talbot grabbed her arm, hurting her with his strength, but Bethlyn didn’t show her pain. She was too angry. He bent down, and she caught the trace of whiskey on his breath. “No wonder your husband left you. You’ll always be a homely, ordinary little girl. Any man with sense would desert you.”

“As you did my mother.” She twisted away from him. The thought of the new life which awaited her in London caused her to grow bolder instead of cowering beneath his black, unyielding gaze. In that moment she changed from a shy, obedient child into a willful young woman. “Well, I’m not my mother and will no longer run and hide when you’re displeased. You seem to forget that the man I married has truly freed me from your tyranny. I can come and go as I please, do whatever I want with whomever I please. You no longer have a say in my life. For this freedom, I’d gladly be abandoned by Ian Briston again and again. You urged the marriage, because Jessica wanted it. Never forget that, but realize that because of it, I’m my own person. You have no one left to bully now, Father. For the first time in your life, you’re very much alone.”

Wrenching free her arm, she hurried outside and down the long row of stone steps to the waiting carriage. Instantly the driver urged the horses along, and she didn’t take an extra look at the brick-and-flint exterior of Woodsley, didn’t notice that her father had come outside and stood on the bottom step, watching after the carriage with arm upraised as if he’d tried to halt the carriage, or see him thrust his hands into his pockets and lower his head in abject misery.

It was just as well that Bethlyn didn’t see any of this. Most probably she’d have sobbed and ordered the driver to turn around eager to know if her father would have embraced her. As it was, she sat stiffly against the leather and velvet upholstered cushions, her face a mask of indifference. Mavis sat beside her, having no idea of the scene in the Entrance Hall, not realizing that Bethlyn’s face hid a deep pain which welled within her breast.

For Bethlyn, the agony of the final parting with her father tore her in shreds. Somehow, she knew she’d never see him again, and she decided this was just as well. She couldn’t stand any more pain from that quarter.

However, a bitterness rose within her for Ian Briston. It seemed that all her pent-up frustration about her father was transferred to him. For his desertion of her, she vowed to make him sorry. Never mind that he’d given her her freedom and money to do as she pleased. None of that meant anything to her since he’d destroyed her dream of ever having a family life. Briston must think he was well rid of her, that she’d never bother him again. He was wrong there.

Turning towards Mavis, she smiled a secretive smile, a suddenly mischievous light coming into her eyes.

“I’m going to make him sorry, make him rue the day he married me and abandoned me. Before I’m finished, he’ll be on bended knee, begging me to sail to America.”

3

 “Wild, sir, I tell you the girl is wild. I can’t do a thing with her. Between Lady Bethlyn and my grandson, Sir Jeremy Smithers, I’m at my wit’s end. I am quite fond of Bethlyn. It’s hard not to love someone so sweet and beautiful. And I don’t forget how very good she has been to me. Without her, I’d be lost. I tell you I would. She brightens a room just by entering it. But do you think the earl might intervene and speak to his daughter about her unladylike behavior? I’d mark it as a great favor to me.”

Thomas Eversley sipped at his tea, wishing it were laced with something stronger. Seated across from him in a black wrought-iron chair, liberally cushioned with Oriental pillows, was Lady Penelope Evans. A becoming white shawl was thrown over her ample bosom, and the sunlight streaming in through the windows of the garden room highlighted the silver strands of her hair. For a woman past eighty, Penelope Evans was a marvel with her ready wit and quick mind. Eversley had made her acquaintance twice within the last six years. The first time was the day he’d arrived to check on Bethlyn for the earl, to make certain she’d arrived at the St. James’s townhouse safely, and now today, because Lady Penelope had sent word to Briston Shipping that she wished to speak to him.

From her comments about Lady Bethlyn, Eversley wondered if he should have kept a closer eye on the girl. Over the last years he’d heard things about her through the London grapevine, the gossip mill. He didn’t travel in the same aristocratic circles as an earl’s daughter, but he’d been adequately kept up to date about her first ball, the countless rounds of parties — news which surprised Thomas because he’d assumed the chit would rather be cloistered inside with an old woman for company than hobnob with the ton. He’d read about Lady Bethlyn’s startling beauty and discounted the reports as a kindness. Now, however, he was intrigued. Could the girl really have blossomed into a beauty?

Placing the fragile china cup on the small wrought-iron table before him, he gently shook his head at the old woman. “I doubt if the earl would care to speak to his daughter, my lady. They haven’t spoken since she left WoodsIey.”

Penelope sighed, her bosom heaving with the effort. “A pity. I had hoped the two of them would work out their differences. I thought the earl would hasten to advise Bethlyn, because I do so hate to have to write to her husband again and inform him about her behavior.”

“You’ve written to Briston about his wife?” Thomas asked with interest. “What does he have to say?”

“He never writes to me, and I’m perturbed at the man. All correspondence is handled through his secretary, and Mr. Gibbons is the one who answers me. Bethlyn is his wife and he takes no interest in her. I thought Jessica brought him up to be more responsible, but I suppose I can’t expect miracles, considering his father was a colonial merchant and the boy was raised in the wilds. Have you had correspondence with him?”

“Not directly. We correspond through our secretaries. I haven’t seen Briston since he left Woodsley six years ago, on the day of the wedding ceremony.” Thomas momentarily glanced out of the window which faced St. James’s Park, then back at Penelope. “Just what escapade has Lady Bethlyn been involved in now, my lady?”

“Hmmph! Quite scandalous!” Penelope pulled the shawl closer to her, her eyes growing bright and holding a hint of amusement, though her tone sounded convincingly shocked. “Bethlyn and Jeremy invaded one of the most exclusive men’s clubs in London to partake in a game of faro. She dressed in Jeremy’s clothes and pretended to be a young gentleman friend of his. It wasn’t until they were ready to leave that she pulled off the periwig and waved it in the air like a flag for all to see. Needless to say, everyone was horrified, and I had to smooth things over by contacting an old friend of my late husband’s not to cause a scandal. The very idea of a delicately bred young woman being in such a place is terrible to my way of thinking and—”

“You know you’d have done it yourself if you could have gotten away with it, Aunt Penny” came a feminine voice from the doorway.

Thomas and Penelope both turned to see Bethlyn enter the garden room, arm and arm with Jeremy Smithers. Thomas rose, his eyes resting momentarily on the rather plain looking young man in riding clothes, quickly noting his affable smile. His gaze, however, lingered on the young woman, a young woman with the thickest, honey-brown hair he’d ever seen, whose beautiful heart-shaped face was illumined by eyes so liquid and brown he felt himself unable to stop staring. Was this vision in a green velvet and lace riding suit which emphasized every lush curve of her body really the homely little girl who’d left Woodsley six years ago? He found it hard to believe, but when she extended a hand and said, “Good morning, Mr. Eversley,” he knew it was.

With a heart speeded up, and his palms beginning to sweat, he took her hand and kissed it. Somehow he managed not to stare like an idiot at her as he asked her how she fared.

“Quite well.” Her eyes contained a teasing light. “However if you listen to Aunt Penny, you’d swear I was going to the devil, and Jeremy along with me.” She squeezed Jeremy’s arm affectionately.

Thomas cocked an eyebrow, wondering if there was something more to this relationship between Bethlyn and young Smithers other than friendship. He’d make a dutiful report to the earl about his daughter because he felt he must, but he felt a bit of surprise at the stab of jealousy coursing through him at the thought that Bethlyn Briston might be Smithers’s mistress. Of course, she was married, but the marriage was in name only. If Briston was fool enough not to care about his wife, Thomas wasn’t. This exquisite creature who casually lounged on the settee and picked up a large Persian cat to fondle filled Thomas with lust. And he hadn’t felt lust in some time. How propitious for him that his wife had died just six months ago. Maybe, just maybe if he could convince Lady Bethlyn of his worth, he might be able to coerce her into his bed. Just to think such a thought caused him to harden instantly and he retook his seat and placed a napkin over the bulge so no one would notice.

“Our ride this morning was quite invigorating,” Jeremy said and kissed Penelope on the forehead. “You really should have Winston bring round the carriage. The days now are quite lovely and warm.”

“Posh! I’m an old lady and take delight sitting in my garden. I don’t need a jostling carriage ride through the streets of London for amusement. I get enough of that from you two scamps to last me a lifetime.”

Bethlyn’s mischievous giggle drifted towards them. “You know you love us, Aunt Penny.”

The old woman smiled warmly. “I admit it. I do.”

Thomas glanced at his watch fob and rose from the chair. “I have to get back to the office. Thank you so much for the tea, Lady Penelope.”

Penelope extended a hand for Thomas to kiss. “My pleasure, sir. Bethlyn, see Mr. Eversley to the door.”

Moments later, Bethlyn stood by the front door with Thomas. “Has Aunt Penny filled your head with my latest escapade?”

“She has.”

“Dear Auntie. She worries so about me.” Bethlyn bit at her lower lip. “How is my father?”

“Not well, my lady. He suffers from the cold quite a bit, and stays locked in his room mostly. His health is failing, and I fear that soon…”

“He shall die,” Bethlyn finished.

 “Would you care?”

“I don’t know.” For a second she lowered her head, and when she raised it, Thomas noticed an anger in her eyes. “How is my husband?”

“I can’t say,” Thomas truthfully admitted, finding himself swaying nearer to her, quelling the insane desire to kiss her full, sensual mouth. He coughed. “We don’t correspond directly.”

“I trust he has heard of my escapades. Aunt Penny, I believe, writes him quite often about me and no doubt begs him to do the right thing by me and take me to wife. But the bounder has never replied to any of her letters, I wonder if he’d reply to me.”

“I’m certain he would, my lady. You are his wife.”

“I’m not,” Bethlyn replied with a hiss in her voice. “And I need your help to rectify a mistake which my father and stepmother made six years ago.”

Thomas’s blood turned cold, then warmed, instantly realizing the import of her words. “I shall do anything I can, my lady.” And he would.

Rearing back on her booted heels, Bethlyn shot him a devastatingly lovely smile. “I wish you to write to my husband in my name and demand that he either agree to have this marriage annulled or live up to becoming my husband in all ways. Every way,” she emphasized. “I want children, and without a husband I refuse to bear them in disgrace. He must release me so that I can marry again, and hang any scandal this action may incur. I want my freedom, sir, or I want to be a wife. He must make up his mind. If not, please assure him that my scandalous behavior so far will seem as child’s play compared to what I can and will do in the future.” Holding out her hand, Thomas took it. “I trust you’ll see to this matter immediately.”

“I will, my lady.”

Without further adieu, Bethlyn turned away, and like a flash of green was up the stairs, disappearing from his sight.

~ ~ ~