Virginia Henley (12 page)

In her silent misery Emma railed at her mother for having abandoned her to a life that was so joyless, it was no longer worth living. In her mind she divided her life into two periods, before the O’Toole celebration, and after it. That was the day her nightmare began.

Because her days were so bleak, Emma dreamed almost every night. She dreamed of her mother, but never with pleasure. The dreams were filled with accusations, recriminations, and tears. Her recurring dream of Sean came again and again, always starting the same, but now ending differently.

Emerald lay on a stretch of sugary sand in the sunlight. A delicious sense of anticipation spiraled about her, dancing
on the soft sea breeze that ruffled her dark curls. She felt a sense of joy that went beyond happiness, for she knew that soon, soon he would come to her. She kept her eyes closed until she felt a flutter, like a butterfly wing, touch the corner of her mouth. She smiled a secret smile and slowly lifted her lashes.

He knelt before her, watching her intently, his dark pewter eyes brimming with laughter. Holding his gaze, she came to her knees slowly and knelt before him. They needed no words, yet the longing to touch was like a hunger in the blood. At the same moment each reached out to the other to trace with their fingertips … a cheek, a throat, a shoulder. Emerald’s hand brushed his heart and felt it thud beneath her fingers. He was the perfect male. He was her Irish Prince. He bent to capture her lips with his, but when he was a heartbeat away, Sean turned into Joseph O’Toole. “I’ve decided to take you. I have Amber, but I want you too!”

Emma awoke covered with guilt, for in the dream she had been willing to go with him so that she could join her mother. “I hate Ireland and I hate the Irish,” she whispered. Emma had never hated before, but now she became intimately acquainted with that dark emotion. She hated Irma Bludget, she hated her father, she hated the O’Tooles, and secretly she even hated her mother.

    
W
hen Amber regained consciousness, Montague and her children had been gone a day and a night. Though she did not know it, she had a dislocated shoulder, three broken ribs, and a bruised kidney. When she tried to move she found it so painful that she simply lay there hoping someone would come to her aid.

When night fell once more, she had such a raging thirst upon her that she crawled across the floor to the door. When she found it locked, she did not have the strength to break it
open. Amber drifted in and out of consciousness until day dawned once more.

Using her left arm, she pulled herself across the room to a copper jug that held blue delphiniums; flowers she had placed there in longing anticipation of Joseph’s visit. Had that only been yesterday? It now seemed like a lifetime ago. She pulled out the dead flowers and tipped the jug to her mouth. It tasted so foul, she spat out the first mouthful, but realizing she had no alternative she took three gulps and swallowed them in rapid succession. The brackish water not only stank, but it had a horrid metallic taste.

Then she remembered the brandy decanter Montague kept in the cupboard along with his riding crop. She got to her knees and reached up onto the shelf. Her pain almost made her drop the decanter. With a shaking hand she lifted it to her lips and swallowed some of the fiery liquid. A bloodred rose bloomed in her breast, and as she drank down more of the amber liquor, it seemed that her pain lessened.

Amber used the copper jug to smash the lock on the bedchamber door. It took a long time and all of her energy. When she regained her breath, she slowly donned the only clothes she had—the clothes Joseph had removed when they unknowingly made love for the last time. With bravado she fastened the amber drops Joseph had given her onto her ears.

The two flights of stairs were such an ordeal that she literally snaked down them on her belly, an inch at a time. The boxes with all her belongings that had been stacked in the entrance hall were gone, and she realized all she had in the world were the clothes on her back. Using her left arm, she pulled herself up to look in the entrance-hall mirror. She recoiled with shock when she saw her reflection. Her face was bruised black from brow to chin. When she let go of the hall table, she fell back onto her right shoulder. The pain of the impact nearly made her faint, but she held on and when
the pain subsided, she realized the fall had pushed her shoulder back into its socket and all she felt now was an aching soreness.

The larder was empty; the servants had done a thorough job of cleaning before they departed. In the herb garden she found chives and parsley growing and devoured all that was edible. Amber’s fractured ribs prevented her from getting fresh water from the well, but the bucket had a couple of inches still in the bottom that she thirstily drank down.

She knew she must get to Ireland and Joseph; he was her only hope. When darkness fell she crawled almost two miles to the village and waited for one of the fishing boats that departed at dawn. They stared at her as if she were a specter, then finally one of the Anglesey fishermen recognized her. They took her across, back to the homeland she hadn’t set foot on for seventeen years. Amber took off her gold wedding ring and pressed it into the man’s hand after he had helped her ashore. “My thanks; I have no further use for this,” she whispered.

T
he
Sulphur
sailed into the Thames estuary in the late afternoon and navigated the wide river past Tower Wharf and the brooding Tower of London. At the old Customs House the ship was inspected and allowed to carry on to the Pool of London.

“I’ve been thinking we should get a place of our own, rather than accept Montague’s hospitality,” Joseph declared.

Although Sean had been anticipating another encounter with Emerald, he agreed wholeheartedly that it was best not to put Joseph under the same roof with Amber Montague. “That’s a good idea. Until we’ve had a chance to look about, we needn’t let Wily Willie know we’re even here for a couple of days.”

Wily Willie, however, knew of their arrival within the hour. He received a note from the Customs House and another from the Navy Office near Tower Wharf that the O’Tooles had arrived aboard their schooner the
Sulphur.

Sean and Joseph carried their trunks up on deck just in time to see the Admiralty vessel, the
Defense
, slide into the berth beside them. Aboard was William Montague, his son, John, and his nephew Jack.

“Well, that was good timing,” William called heartily.

Too bloody good
, thought Sean.

“I’d no idea you’d be in London this month, but you are more than welcome. Is all well at Greystones?”

“Couldn’t be better,” Sean replied before Joseph could open his mouth. If the swine had had a hand in their trouble, he’d learn of it soon enough.

“Jack, John, bring their trunks aboard,” Montague ordered, and immediately the two young men disembarked from the
Defense
to do his bidding.

Sean summoned the crew. “Meet us in one month, right here, lads. If we’ve had enough before then we’ll swim home,” he said with a wink.

“Bring the
Brimstone
when you return, I’m tired of Sean giving the orders,” Joseph joked. Then the brothers turned serious for a moment. “Help Granddad if you can,” Joseph urged.

“Go with God,” Sean blessed, “may He hold you in the palm of His hand and not squeeze.”

As they boarded the
Defense
, Sean could feel in his bones the only one genuinely glad to see them was young Johnny, who attached himself to Sean’s side like a Siamese twin; the boy’s admiration was manifest.

“This calls for a celebration,” William Montague boomed with a hearty handshake to each, “and I have just the place in mind for red-blooded young rakehells like yourselves. When my brother, Sandwich, returned from the fleshpots of the East, he founded the Divan Club. I guarantee you’ve never seen anything to compare.”

Jack looked eager, while Johnny looked alarmed, Sean thought silently. He didn’t imagine Joseph was in the mood for a brothel either; the only woman his brother lusted after was Amber. Sean admitted a degree of curiosity. He hadn’t been exposed to the customs of the East, and wasn’t averse to broadening his mind even at the expense of his morals.

The five men went below to the captain’s cabin, where
Montague poured fine French brandy and proposed a toast. “Here’s to the sins of the flesh!”

Sean saw Montague’s glance flick to Joseph, and the seeds of suspicion again found a fertile place in his mind. He wondered if Joseph’s thoughts mirrored his own, but if they did, he was doing a damn fine job of disguising them. Sean decided to share his suspicions with his brother. He would warn him about Montague playing cat and mouse with him regarding Amber, he would suggest that Montague could have informed on their grandfather, and he would hint that the earl was dying.

Jack Raymond said something off-color and Sean watched Joseph throw back his head in laughter. Tomorrow would be soon enough, Sean decided. He’d let Joseph enjoy his first night in London.

    
O
n the carriage ride to the Divan Club, Montague entertained them with the story of the Earl of Sandwich’s grand tour. “To be different my brother chartered a ship in Italy that took him to Greece, Cyprus, and Egypt. He became fascinated with the sultan of the Ottoman Empire, a despot who ruled with pomp, splendor, and cruelty, especially over his harem. My brother became influenced by the Moslem religion with its acceptance of polygamy and subjugation of women. It has much to recommend it. When women know their place, life is much more pleasurable.”

Sean watched Joseph’s mouth tighten and his eyes narrow and knew his brother couldn’t stop thinking of Amber. It would be a miracle if they got through the evening without coming to blows!

Stepping through the portals of the Divan Club was like entering another world. The air smelled of incense; Eastern music made by flutes, sitars, cymbals, and other strange instruments floated through the rooms.

In the first chamber they were greeted by eunuchs who
offered a colorful array of garments, turbans, and daggers. The choice was theirs, they could keep on their own clothes or change into Eastern garb. William Montague led the way, choosing a flowing robe belted with a sash and a gold turban and dagger to match. His nephew Jack followed suit, choosing a peacock robe and silver dagger.

The O’Toole brothers were bemused. Joseph declined the ridiculous attire when he saw how ludicrous Montague looked. Johnny, torn by the choice of following his father’s example or risking the insecurity of removing his own clothes, asked Sean, “What about you?”

Sean hid his amusement, not only at Johnny, but at the whole masquerade. The fancy robes didn’t challenge his masculinity, but he knew his sense of humor would get the better of him if he decked himself out in full regalia. Sean compromised by removing his shirt and jacket, then donned a cream djellaba over his own breeches. Johnny smiled with relief and did the same.

The five men were ushered into an inner room that was lavishly decorated to give the impression of splendor. The walls were mirrored, the floor covered by Oriental carpets strewn with brocaded hassocks and cushions. In the center was a fountain with a naked nymph spouting water from her nipples. Potted palms completed the suggestion of a desert oasis. Sean bit his lip.
All it lacks is a bloody camel
, he thought irreverently.

A door opened to admit five females carrying small trays. They wore diaphanous pantaloons, and though their faces were veiled, their breasts were completely bared. Each female knelt, abasing herself while offering up a demitasse of Turkish coffee. As Sean rolled it about his tongue, he knew it was laced with something he could not put a name to.

Laid across each tray was a flagellum. Montague and Jack Raymond picked up theirs immediately and brandished them with a flourish. Montague, seeing the O’Tooles’ lack
of response, explained, “These are slave girls to do your bidding and obey your commands. If they do not please their masters, they expect to be whipped.”

“Do I not get to choose my whore?” Joseph asked with sarcasm.

Montague laughed. “These five are merely drink slaves to quench our thirst. Beyond that door are myriads of maidens to choose from who will slake our other needs, no matter what they are. Do not think to choose just one, polygamy is encouraged here.”

The wide doors were thrown open by two enormous black eunuchs to reveal a harem filled with scantily clad beauties lying upon divans. The room was warm and slaves stood around the chamber’s perimeter, wafting huge ostrich-feathered fans. Beaded curtains led to private alcoves, or the gentlemen were free to indulge in the midst of the harem in true orgy fashion.

Montague prodded a female with his flagellum. When she fell on her knees before him, he lay down upon the divan she had vacated and proceeded to point at the other women he wanted.

Joseph threw himself down on a cushion next to three houris smoking a hubble-bubble water pipe. He wasn’t in the mood for whoring, but he was willing to try an intoxicant or two. Johnny was glued to Sean’s side, so O’Toole did his best to encourage the youth to lose his apprehension and relax a little. Sean’s glance rested upon the youngest-looking girl in the room. He nudged Johnny’s arm. “Why don’t you talk with that one, she has a very sweet face.” When Johnny took his suggestion, Sean selected the female with the cheekiest face.