Sylvie Sommerfield - Noah's Woman (2 page)

"Yes. Laura has taken the baby and vanished. It will take a great deal of money to trace her. Remember, unless you want to take over Gregory's and my care completely, you must help me. Gregory must be the only heir to the Hamilton fortune . . . or, as your illegitimate son, you must provide for him. I think if Jessica finds out all I know about you, she'll soon remove her fortune from your care. Perhaps," she added softly, "she might even look closer into the death of her parents."

"You are truly a bitch."

"Yes, I suppose I am. But no more than you are a murderer and a scoundrel. Now, what are you going to do to protect Gregory . . . and yourself?"

"I'll start a search, but it must be done very carefully and quietly."

"I don't care how we do it, but we must destroy any obstacles between Gregory and the Hamilton fortune. Remember, if I don't succeed, you could go down with me."

She turned to leave, and Charles Brentwood

watched her with malevolent hatred in his eyes. One day, he meant to remove her from his life. One day, when Jessica was gone, he would find a way to silence the only witness to the misdeeds of his past.

Chapter One

18 Years Later

Charity Gilbert sat on a pile of stones in what Josine would have called a very unladylike way. Her petticoats were bunched between her legs and her bare feet swung indolently back and forth.

The sunlight caught the flame of her pale blond hair, and her leaf-green eyes glittered in pleasure. Pleasure was a thing Charity had had very little of in her young life and she grasped it, gobbled it ravenously, whenever and wherever it appeared.

Beth Knight sat close to her, her dress primly covering her black-stockinged legs, revealing only the tips of her high, laced, black shoes. She and Charity were exactly the same age. Although neither knew her real birthdate, Josine had told them they were born

on this date and shared it, and that was good enough for them.

Beth was as different from Charity as day was from night, and she worshiped Charity with single-minded devotion.

Where Charity was adventurous and robust in her race to meet life, Beth was delicate and often afraid of her own shadow. Charity never ceased to amaze her.

Beth's hair was thick and black as a starless midnight, and her heart-shaped face was dominated by eyes the color of amber brandy. At nearly nineteen she was very slender and willowy.

Charity's body had blossomed in the past three years, and she had the curved figure Beth envied but would never have. Although Charity had a very slim waist and long, slender legs, she had developed a woman's body. She just wasn't aware of the effect it had on others. She was fast becoming a brilliant beauty.

"Really, Charity," Beth said in a mild and humorous tone, "You know Mrs. Gilbert has our best interests at heart. That's why she gave you her last name. We have to decide what we are going to do."

"I want to know my own last name, like you know yours," Charity said firmly. "And I don't want to be apprenticed so I can learn to be a . . . a maid, or a cook, always going around and saying yes sir and no sir."

"But it has to be done. And we should be grateful she's allowing us a choice. Most of the girls our age are apprenticed without even being told what their

duties are. We have to learn to be self-sufficient. You heard Mrs. Gilbert say so, or we'll be . . . be . . ."

"Street walkers." Charity chuckled at Beth's embarrassment. "Whores, who live in the gutter."

"Charity! Must you be so"

"Honest?"

"Explicit."

"Beth, you read too much. Every day you come up with words you hardly understand. I don't want to be on the streets. I want"

"What? Do you know?"

"Yes, I know." Charity's voice softened and her eyes looked inward at her own dreams. Dreams she knew she could share with Beth and only Beth. All others would laugh at the aspirations of a nameless orphan. "I want to have enough wealth to live in a fine home. I want to have so many pretty gowns that I can't wear them all in a lifetime. I want to ride in a carriage with two white horses to draw it. I want to travel and see all the marvels of the world. I want to live, not just exist, wondering where the next mouthful of food will come from and whose hand-me-down clothes we'll be wearing next year."

"You know those kind of dreams are just thatdreams. We have to be realistic. It's time for us to face the fact that those kinds of things are out of our reach. Mrs. Gilbert is going to place us soon and we have to accept it . . . or . . . you know the orphanage will not be able to support us forever. Charity . . . we have to choose, and I . . . I'm so afraid."

"Afraid of what? It will be work, and we've done our share since we were old enough to walk."

''No, I'm not afraid of work."

"Then what?"

"I'm afraid we'll be separated. You're the only real friend I have. What shall I do if Mrs. Gilbert forces us to apprentice so far apart I'll never see you again?"

"Beth, we've talked about this before and I've always promised you, one way or the other, we'll be together. I've never broken a promise, have I?"

"No . . . but"

"No buts. We'll find a way." Charity's voice held the same firm quality that could always comfort Beth. She lifted the weight of her thick hair and closed her eyes, raising her face toward the warmth of the sun. "Oh, it's such a glorious day. I wish we were free."

"Free? What would we do with freedom if we had it?"

"Go to the park and walk through the grass in our bare feet. Wade in the pond and sleep beneath one of those huge oaks." Charity laughed.

"And be hungry within a few hours and not have a shilling," Beth added dryly.

"How practical." She grinned at Beth. "Dear Beth, you were born to be a wife. You could run a household like Mrs. Gilbert runs this place. Efficiently and very practically."

"Well, one of us has to be practical," Beth replied. "You're too much of a dreamer."

"Yes, I guess I am," Charity said thoughtfully.

"Charity." Beth reached out to touch her hand, all laughter gone from her eyes. "I don't mean to sound condemning. You are a dreamer, and I admire you

for that. I am too afraid to dream. I wish all your dreams would come true, really I do."

"Well, if my dreams ever come true, you'll be right beside me. Now, speaking of hunger, do you suppose we could charm Mrs. Douglas out of something? I'm hungry enough to eat anything."

"Let's go try. But for heaven's sake, put your stockings and shoes on or she'll be scandalized, lecture you on propriety for an hour, then turn you over to Mrs. Gilbert who will lecture you again like she's done a million times."

With an exasperated sigh, Charity reached for her discarded stockings and began to draw them up over her slim legs.

The window of Josine Gilbert's office looked out upon the back of the orphanage property. Charles Brentwood stood gazing out the window with his hands in his pockets, watching the scene some distance away.

He was a distinguished-looking man whose vitality belied his fifty-two years. His hair was thick and still a vibrant gold brown, and he kept himself in excellent physical condition. Charles Brentwood gave the impression of perfect gentility. Only if his mask slipped could one see the fierceness in his eyes and the hungry look of greed that lingered there. He was a man who saw no limits to what he should be able to possess . . . if he wanted it.

Behind him Josine sat at her desk, making out a receipt for the very generous sum of money Charles had just donated to the orphanage. He had been a

source of financial help for the past two years, and Josine didn't want to question his motivation. She was too grateful for his much needed help.

Certain that he was unobserved, Charles watched Charity draw the black stockings over the creamy flesh of her legs. Flesh he wanted to touch.

He smiled as he turned from the window. Josine had risen and he didn't want her to see what held his attention. She handed him the receipt with a warm smile.

She was a tall, slender woman and her eyes were level with his. Her salt-and-pepper hair was parted in the middle, arranged in two braids, and wrapped neatly about her head. Her face revealed nothing of her age, for it was unlined and smooth, but her light blue eyes told of a woman who had seen much and knew much. Charles was well aware of the keen mind behind those eyes, and he had cultivated her carefully to keep his true interest in the orphanage his own secret.

Charles had carved a nîche in the business world with craft, guile, and a total lack of conscience. He regarded the world as a challenge, a challenge he never walked away from. What Charles Brentwood wanted, he set his mind to . . . and usually got. What he wanted now was the sweet innocence of Charity Gilbert.

"Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Brentwood," Josine said. "You have no idea how we have come to depend on your largesse."

Charles smiled his warmest smile. Of course he

knew how dependent she was on his money; he had carefully planned it that way.

"Think nothing of it, dear lady. My wife has always had a special place in her heart for the orphaned and the infirm."

"I know," Josine sympathized. "And how is your wife?"

"Still confined to her bed. She will be so until"He paused dramatically, magnificent in his sorrow"until she is with us no more." His voice caught on a seeming constriction in his throat. He could have laughed to see the concern and deep sympathy in Josine's eyes. "That is the reason I've come to see you today. I must speak to you about one of your wards. A Miss Charity Gilbert."

"Charity?"

"Yes. It seems my wife needs more help than I can provide since my time is so consumed with business matters. I know you apprentice your girls, and I would like to have Charity in my home as a companion to my wife."

"How convenient. I was just searching for the proper place for Charity and for Beth."

"Beth?"

"She is Charity's closest friend. In fact, I think Beth is more sister than friend. They are of the same age and have been here since . . . well, for most of their lives. It will be most difficult to separate them. But both need to be placed soon. Both will soon celebrate their nineteenth birthdays and they must have training so they can find a place in life. I will not have any of my girls on the street."

"No, of course not. Perhaps I will question some of my friends and see if a place can be found for Charity's friend. You do the placing, do you not? I mean, it is not left up to a childish whim?"

"Of course not. Your offer is very kind, and you have been very generous. You may consider it agreed upon. I'm sure Charity will be grateful too."

"Yes, I'm sure she will. My home is a very fine one, and I will see that she has separate quarters. I will also see she is supplied with proper clothes and a few shillings to compensate her for her time. I'll make certain she gets proper training for the position I want her to fill."

"How did you know of Charity?"

"It seems a friend of my wife acquired a girl from here and on occasion she saw and spoke to Charity here. She feels that Charity is exactly what my wife needs."

"Mrs. Stewart?"

"Yes, Mrs. Stewart. Her word is good enough for me. I shall take Charity and train her well. You need not worry."

"Then it is agreed. I will speak to Charity When would you like to come for her?"

"If you agree, I will come for her Sunday afternoon."

"Very good. And thank you again, Mr. Brentwood. I'm sure you will not be disappointed in Charity."

"I doubt if I will," he said, smiling. "I doubt if I will."

Charles left Josine's office, content with the progress of plans that had been initiated over a year and

a half ago. As he seated himself in his carriage, he thought of the first time he had seen Charity.

He had escaped the confinement of his wife's sickroom and the cloying scent of death that always seemed to cling to it. He hated being chained to her withering body and longed for the soft flesh and sweet scent of someone healthy . . . and young.

He had claimed a need to finish some work and gone out for a drive in his carriage so that he could get his wife out of his mind. He was passing the orphanage when he saw her. He had donated money to the Safe Home Orphanage before, and wondered how he had missed this gloriously pretty girl. Then, he had discovered the apprentice policy Josine Gilbert had begun when she first established the orphanage. It had been very well accepted, and a number of her children had grown and gone on to make good lives for themselves. The policy made Charles's plan simple.

He had watched, finding out how Charity spent what free time she had, and had seen her blossom. Now, he could wait no more. His first step was to get her into his home. All the comforts and pretty clothes and gifts he could supply would eventually bring her to his bed. If there was anything Charles was good at, it was seduction. Had he not seduced his wealthy wife when she was younger and taken her to his bed, knowing the marriage would be forced? He had wanted her and her money, and he took both casually. Now he had his wife's wealth, and Charity would be his pleasure.

Sunday he would go to the orphanage, and he was sure Mrs. Gilbert would have Charity prepared to go

with him. Tonight he would go home and make the arrangements. Of course, Charity's quarters had to be far enough away from his wife's room so that she would be unaware of what was going on.

His body trembled with the visions he conjured up. There was no one who could not be bought, and Charity's life was a drab and empty one. Once she saw how generous he could be, her surrender would follow swiftly. He could see and feel and smell her young naked body beneath him.

Charity tried to ignore the chiming bell that had awakened her every morning of her life. She burrowed her head beneath her pillow. She absolutely did not want to get out of bed this Sunday morning. The day was gray, and she had heard steady rainfall most of the night. It meant she would be confined inside, and that thought made her groan inwardly.

But the long, barracks-like room in which she slept with over fifty other girls of various ages was alive with chatter and the bustle of rapid dressing.