Captive splendors, p.9
Captive Splendors, page 9
Caleb felt a warm flush creep up his thighs, and his heart beat a little faster at her nearness. The sweet scent in her hair was light and tantalizing. He wanted to still the trembling of her quivering lips, to see the thick, sooty lashes close over her flaming eyes and know that he was the man who could make her sigh in delight as she nestled in his arms. She felt something, too. He could sense it in her slim body as she tried to remove herself from his tight embrace. He released her suddenly, applying Caleb’s Law: Always leave them wanting more, anticipating what might have been.
His eyes became hooded, barely concealing a decidedly mocking gleam. “There are women, and then there are women. The day I decide that you’re a woman, I’ll let you know. Run back to your nursery and put on your slippers before Sirena and Regan see you. Grown-up ladies do not wander about barefoot in a gentleman’s presence, brother or not.”
Wren was infuriated at his derision of her. Childish! Not a woman! She looked almost comical as she swung her arm to strike out. Caleb, anticipating her move, stepped neatly back, and the force of her swing caused her to lose balance, sending her sprawling onto the dew-soaked grass. Caleb made no move to help her to her feet but remained standing, a smile on his face. He shook his head to show her she was indeed not a woman.
Blind with rage and humiliation, Wren reached out and clutched at his ankle with both hands. Before he knew what had happened, he found himself sprawled next to her on the wet grass. “Pig!” she screeched. “You’re no brother of mine! You’re nothing but a disgusting animal!”
“Is that so? Let me show you what a disgusting animal I am,” he growled, grabbing her by the shoulders and drawing her to him. His mouth came down slowly, his eyes staring deeply into hers. His lips were gentle yet demanding as his arms tightened imperceptibly across her shaking shoulders. His fingers found the pins in her hair and deftly undid them; then her long, flowing hair veiled them both as their lips clung together, neither of them wishing to relinquish the moment.
Some small warning device triggered Caleb’s conscience. He had to remember where he was and what he was doing. He was doing his father a favor by kissing Wren and letting her know another man found her desirable. I have to remember that, he told himself as his lips became more demanding, his hands caressing the length of her young body. Why is Regan worried? he wondered inanely as Wren returned his ardor. Somewhere in the deep recess of his mind he heard a soft moan of desire and knew he had won. His lips moved gently and he looked down into her glazed eyes. They were both wrong, Regan and he. Wren was no girl. She was a woman.
His own eyes were dulled with the ecstasy of the kiss, his body relaxed in a warm glow, so that he barely felt Wren move till she was straddling him, her arms pinning his hands to the ground. Struggling with her skirts, she brought up her knee and jabbed him full in the groin. When he wrenched free of her, she doubled her hand into a fist and hit him square on the jaw while he sought to still the spasms in his midsection. “I said you were a pig and I meant it. You’re a disgusting animal. You know I plan to marry Malcolm and you try to seduce me. Animal!” she hissed as she drew back for another blow to his face. Through pain-filled eyes Caleb found himself powerless to avoid it. He took the well-aimed stroke right between the eyes and rocked backward, his knees drawn up to his chest with his arms wrapped protectively around them.
“Damn you!” he cursed hoarsely.
“The next time you think to make a fool of me, Caleb van der Rhys, think again.” Then she laughed, a light, lilting sound that was somehow devoid of humor. It sent Caleb into a near frenzy. God, how he remembered! Sirena had always laughed like that when she had met the challenge of an enemy and won!
“You can lie here and suffer till the cows come home,” Wren said through clenched teeth.
Caleb watched her through a haze of distress as she picked up her skirts and daintily tripped her way back to the house. “Damn you,” he called weakly as a fresh roll of pain coursed through him. He tried to struggle to his knees, only to fall backward again; his sun-darkened face whitened and he gasped in agony. His head throbbed in rhythm with the spasms in his lower regions. Christ, how could Regan have asked him for this “one small favor,” and where in hell had Wren learned to fight like a longshoreman?
It was Sara who found him when she came out to the garden for one last stroll in the London sunshine before leaving with her family. She would have liked to walk through the streets and stamp the sights and sounds of the city on her memory forever, but the thought of appearing in public in the black, drab costume the Stonehams insisted she wear had dampened her resolve. Somehow she knew in her heart she would never see London again. Or Malcolm either. To have had him see her wearing the somber garb of the Puritan sect had cut bitterly into her heart. Fanatics! That was what Malcolm thought of the followers of Cranmer and Calvin. Zealots! Sara gulped down her bitterness but couldn’t swallow it whole. She had no choice but to obey her parents, for now at least. Beset by these unhappy thoughts, she nearly tripped over the figure doubled up on the lawn. She dropped to her knees, her blue eyes brimming with tears, not for the man at her feet, but for herself.
Caleb rolled to one side and opened an eye. Through the swirling red mist which clouded his vision he saw a black, wraithlike figure that seemed to float and come to rest near him. Damnation, he must be dying and the vultures were landing near him for the kill! Damn her soul to Hell and curse that wicked laugh of hers! Just like Sirena’s laugh from those long-ago days at sea!
This couldn’t be happening to him, not to Caleb van der Rhys. Things like this might happen to other men, but never to him.
“Lie still,” the vulture’s voice whispered. “I’ll go back to the house for help.”
With all the strength he could muster, Caleb once again struggled to his knees and held out a shaking arm for Sara to grasp. “No,” he croaked, “don’t go back to the house. I’ll be all right in a few minutes.”
Sara helped him to a sitting position and sat back on her heels, her hands folded neatly in her lap. These van der Rhyses were an odd lot. Whoever would have thought a man like Wren’s brother would be subject to fits? As she waited for Caleb to get his wits together, her own misery surfaced again. Now what was she going to do?
In just the space of a few hours her whole life had been turned topsy-turvy. After throwing herself at Malcolm and having hope reborn in her heart, they had made wonderful, ecstatic love. And when she was certain that he had put his foolishness with Wren aside and realized that love was more important than marrying into a rich family, he had wrecked her dreams. He had told her in no uncertain terms that they wouldn’t be seeing each other again, except perhaps at his wedding to Wren. He had actually held her in his arms and told her that their affair had been a delightful distraction but absolutely over. He was going to marry Wren. And then, most cutting of all, when she had threatened to reveal their affair to Wren, he had laughed. Laughed! He had told her if she wanted to ruin her good name, that was perfectly all right with him, but that it would be foolish on her part and all for nothing. And when she had said she would tell Regan van der Rhys what a bounder Malcolm was, he had claimed that, after all, a man would most certainly understand another man’s weakness when a fetching young girl threw herself at him. And besides, a man never bought a cow when the milk was free.
To make matters worse, when she had tried to tell Wren about her and Malcolm’s affair, Wren had laughed and laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. Malcolm, her Malcolm, would never look at another woman! Malcolm had little use for Puritans and zealots. And then Wren had spoken in a charitable tone and assured Sara that one day she would find a love such as Wren and Malcolm shared. Malcolm was so wonderful, Wren had said with a smile, to have seen through the wiles of another woman and remain faithful. Malcolm had proved to her the kind of man he was. A good man, a fine man, and a man whom Wren loved.
Lastly, and possibly most humiliating of all, Caleb van der Rhys hadn’t seen fit to return any of Sara’s flirtations at lunch yesterday. All he had been capable of doing was to stare at Wren, his dark, thickly lashed eyes lighting whenever she had spoken to him.
Sara watched Caleb now with a detached interest as the white blotches on his face ebbed slightly and his breathing became more normal. With her own future so indefinite, she found it impossible to spare a moment’s sympathy for his suffering. The only thing she was certain of was that her parents weren’t returning home to Surrey, but they wouldn’t tell her where she was being taken. Something was wrong. She had never seen her father so agitated, nor her mother so frightened. Whatever was wrong, Tyler Sinclair was somehow involved. Late into the night the Stonehams had been sequestered in his library. At today’s early breakfast her mother looked as though she hadn’t slept a wink, and her father was curt, almost rude. The most puzzling thing of all was that her father’s mood seemed to have nothing to do with her escapade at the academy.
“I think I can stand now,” Caleb said, clutching her hand as he rose to his feet. His face blanched with the effort and then regained its natural color.
Sara forced her mind to the present and spoke softly, almost whispering. “Do you have these spells often?”
“Spells?” Caleb muttered through clenched teeth. He combed a strong hand through his dark hair as he tried to comprehend her meaning. Spells! “Only when I walk in gardens before noon,” he said, trying to force some sort of smile to his lips.
“I see,” Sara replied primly. “Perhaps you should see a physician or take an herbal tea. Can you manage the walk back to the house?”
Fits! Spells! The pain had subsided and Caleb felt better by the minute. He held out his hand to Sara and smiled winningly. “It’s been my cross to carry, lo these many years. They just come upon me. It’s particularly bad when I’m with a woman. Invariably they take it the wrong way and think my fits are a result of their charms.”
Sara’s blue eyes narrowed. “You’re as stupid and silly as your sister,” she snapped, then walked off, knowing that the man behind her had somehow made a fool of her.
At the mention of Wren, Caleb’s eyes darkened and he stumbled. No woman had the right to do what she had done to him. He’d wring her skinny neck if it was the last thing he did.
Regan van der Rhys had seen Wren run from the garden, her gown clutched in her hands, her bare feet soundless on the terrace. He had continued to watch, a frown on his face, as she had thrust open the doors and raced through them and up the curving stairs. “God damn itl” he had shouted to no one in particular. What could have gone wrong? “If you botched this up, Caleb, I’ll. . . I’ll. . . Damn it!”
He sat on the terrace for a long time before he saw Caleb stagger up the wide walkway. He said nothing as his son collapsed next to him on the iron bench, his eyes dulled, his mouth a grim, tight line.
“Don’t ever ask me to do you any more favors, Father. Physically, I can’t afford you.”
Regan suppressed a grin. “So she got the best of you. Shame on you. How could you have allowed it to happen?”
“The same way you allowed Sirena to knee you. I was caught unawares,” Caleb said hoarsely. “You can just forget your little plan. I’ll have no more part in it. Let Sirena handle it. If you had let her do what she wanted in the beginning, I wouldn’t be suffering like this. When are you going to learn that Sirena’s the one with the answers?” His tone was bitter as he cast an accusing look at his father.
“Sometimes I forget,” Regan replied sadly. “I really thought Wren would be smitten with you. You look just as I did at your age, and women found me irresistible. I had to fight them off with a stick.” Regan laughed. “It’s not true, like father like son.”
“If I had had a stick I would have been better off,” Caleb gasped as a twinging ache washed over him.
Regan’s eyes held an amused glint. “You’ll live through it. I did.”
“Thank you, Father, for your words of wisdom, but you’ll forgive me if they don’t give me much comfort at the moment.”
“A hot soak in a tub, a little rest, and you’ll be as good as new in a month or so,” Regan teased.
Caleb’s eyes widened. “A month!”
“Maybe two. It’s hard to tell. I wasn’t there to see or feel the force of the . . . the impact. It would be best if you set your sights on six weeks, and then if you recover ahead of time, it will be like an extra reward. You’ll live, Caleb. Let this be your first lesson. You need eyes in the back of your head when it comes to women. You can’t ever let them best you in anything, for if you do, they have you right where they want you, in the crook of their little finger, and you’ll be dancing attendance for the rest of your life. You’re the master, remember that. It’s up to you to tame the woman, not the other way around.”
“I can’t say I exactly admire your philosophy, knowing your past and how Sirena has had you dancing attendance all these years.”
“Ah, you’re so young, you don’t understand. It just appears that way to you. I allowed her to do what she did, that’s the difference. Of course she doesn’t know that, and we’ll just keep it our little secret. You have to fool women, lull them into what seems like a false sense of security. For a man of the world, you have much to learn,” Regan concluded calmly as he lighted a cigar and leaned back, his manner amused and arrogant.
“Just remember what I said, Father. No more favors. As far as I’m concerned, Wren can do as she pleases. You’ve heard the phrase ‘ill wind’? Well, your little Wren is an ill wind, and don’t forget I’m the one who warned you.” Caleb rose and made his way from the terrace without a backward glance at his father.
Not for all the nutmegs in Java would Regan have admitted that Caleb was right. He would leave it up to Sirena to take matters in hand. Who could blame him for trying? Poor Caleb. Well, his son would never fall into that trap again. At least he had learned something. The experience had not been a total loss.
Sara Stoneham stood in the dim alcove next to Tyler Sinclair’s study, an intense look on her face. Another secret meeting between her father and Tyler? What could it mean? What was going on? She had to find out. Careful lest someone see her, she sidled over to the heavy double doors and pressed her ear against them, hoping against hope that she would hear something that would give her a clue to what was going on.
The voices were faint, almost unintelligible, but she didn’t move, knowing that sooner or later her father would raise his voice.
“Time is of the essence, Baron. You promised you would help us, and now you want to go back on your word!” Suddenly, as if remembering his station compared with that of Tyler, Jason Stoneham softened his tone. “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist my money be refunded. Immediately. Unfortunately, I cannot wait for money owed me the way I was once able to. Our circumstances have been—er—reduced, to say the least.” Stoneham’s face bore the pitiable lines of defeat. “Excuse me. I wouldn’t ever have spoken to you in such a manner,” he apologized, “but my son, Bascom, and his wife have been hiding at a lodging house near the wharves for over a fortnight. Margaret is beside herself with worry and anguish because she doesn’t know what’s to become of us. Damnation, man! You gave us your word that by noon tomorrow we would all be on our way to the American colonies!” Jason stormed, unable to hold back his fear and discouragement.
Sara, outside the door, could almost see Tyler bristle at her father’s tone.
“Listen to me, Jason. The delay, for want of a better word, is not of my doing. There are hundreds, no, thousands of people of your sect seeking passage to the colonies. Unfortunately, for Puritans like your family who are also considered enemies of the Crown, the problem is increased a thousandfold. You, Jason, are not the only man of your religious persuasion who has lost everything he owned. As a matter of fact, I would think it safe to say that the Stonehams are faring much better than most.”
“Bah! Easy enough for someone like yourself to say. You don’t know what it’s like to be hounded and pursued after being stripped of nearly everything you’ve worked a lifetime to attain.” Jason’s mouth turned down in a bitter line.
“No, perhaps I don’t,” soothed Tyler. “But I warned you. I told you to put a stop to your son’s constant preaching against the Crown. But you refused to heed my advice. Bascom was a holy man, you insisted. He was appointed by God to speak out for the people. For God’s sake, man! We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember. You were an associate in my father’s law practice. Do you think I would cheat you out of a few miserable pounds?”
Jason hung his head in shame. “No, no, of course I don’t. It’s just that the hounds of Hell are on my trail, and I don’t want to see the destruction of my family. Bascom was hasty, unwise, but nevertheless, he is the leader of our congregation. I tell you, Tyler, the change that’s been wrought in him is so astounding it can only be called a miracle. Oh, I know you doubt it when he claims to have heavenly visitations. But what else can account for the fact that once he was a wastrel and now he burns with the light of salvation?”
Tyler reached out and laid a comforting hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I have no right to disbelieve him. It is enough for me that you believe. I only regret that Bascom was so imprudent as to speak out publicly against the King, and in so doing, he has brought the black name of treason upon your family. However true it may be that King Charles boasts of his ‘divine right’ to serve as king and upholds his intolerance of the religious reformer, along with his refusal to call together legal sessions of Parliament, Bascom’s preachings have wreaked destruction on all of you.”
“What’s done is done,” Jason said weakly. “The fact remains that if I am to save my family and any small measure of my savings, we must leave England now!”
“And everything is being done to insure just that,” Tyler assured him. “Already your land holdings have been sold and the money transferred to you. It should be a tidy enough sum to guarantee a pleasant life in the colonies.”
