I wonder, he thought, how much Lord Tilden values his daughter’s life? A thousand pounds? Ten...?
A dinner table that took a year and seven months to finish and could seat thirty people was Wesley Tilden’s pride and joy. He’d worked as hard on the table as he had on the house, all in the hours that he was not farming or shipping or sailing one of his own vessels. He still found it hard to lay abed after six in the morning. And he still beamed with joy when his family and guests sat around that table for the evening meal.
It was here that Alicia faced her greatest trials these days. Not only was she self-conscious about her condition, but Bryson continued to be a regular guest, and now Geoffrey Seavers occupied a space at the long table.
She tried to avoid Geoffrey’s eyes during the meal, but almost every time she looked up, she found him staring at her. When Wesley Tilden put down his fork for the last time, she sighed with relief. She could finally leave the table.
"Would you like me to walk with you outside, Alicia?" Bryson asked.
"Thank you, Bryson," she replied quietly. "I think not. I feel like being alone."
He shrugged off his disappointment and joined the men in the study. She joined the women, who tended the young, nursing them or tucking them in, while the men sampled Wesley’s brews and tobacco, the latter of which Alicia found stank horribly and watered the eyes.
Alicia had no one to tuck in and soon became bored with her needlework. She was too restless to sleep, too anxious to sit, and too confused to talk. She excused herself from the sitting room early, fetched her shawl from her room, and stepped out into the night.
The stars seemed closer to the ground in Virginia. They were brighter. The air was clearer, of that much she was certain. But however clear, cool, fragrant, and jeweled the night, it did nothing to help her understand the complexity of her situation.
"It does refresh," Geoffrey’s voice said behind her. She whirled, looked at him, and made to pass him.
"Alicia, don’t go. I’ll keep following you until you talk to me.
"There is nothing we need to discuss."
He reached into his pocket and withdrew the necklace. She remembered it instantly and felt her heart jump when she saw it again. "You left this behind," he said.
"I didn’t feel I had a right to it, sir. It belongs to the Bellamys." She tried again to pass him.
"No, Alicia, I am not ready for you to leave," he said, holding her arm.
"If you force me to scream, I promise you my father will come down hard on you."
"You won’t scream, love, just because I touch you."
"Don’t be too sure, Geoffrey, I—"
"If you force me to, I will explain my interest in your child."
Alicia stared at him, shocked.
"It’s true, isn’t it? You carry our child."
Alicia let out an exasperated gasp. That she was one of the last to realize her condition seemed absolutely ridiculous. But nonetheless, her mother and now Geoffrey had apparently guessed the situation.
He chuckled a little. "You’re just a tiny bit fuller than when you left me. And your eyes just a bit brighter, I think. I’m willing to stand responsible."
"Why would you do that?" she asked in all sincerity. "Why would you convict yourself of your thievery, your lies..."
"Because you are my wife and you carry my child."
"No," she said stiffly. "No, my lord, I am an actress who was paid handsomely to play the part of your wife. And the child I carry may not be yours."
He grabbed her arms and pulled her close, his green eyes angry and his jaw tensed. His hand slid to her belly. "Do you hate me so much that you would slander yourself? Alicia, I have come to make things right!"
"Too late," she breathed. "Again, my lord, you have come too late."
"Tell me that what you feel for me has changed," he said, his voice hoarse and quiet.
Tears came to her eyes and she ground her teeth in frustration. She did not want to be hurt or angry. She wanted him to matter so little that she felt nothing when she faced him.
"Has what you feel for me changed?" she asked him. "You told me to go where I would; you would see the bargain through and be done. Has that changed?" she asked, stressing every word carefully.
"I could not bear to lose you."
"Truly," she said, a tear coursing its way down her cheek. "Or did you perhaps see yet another dowry waiting for your ardent pursuit?"
"Alicia, no..."
"And with another wedding, another dowry, you can perhaps build twenty ships: a fleet that would rival even the Tildens’."
"Your love is all I sailed here to find," he whispered. "Only your love, Alicia." And his mouth came down on hers, overwhelming her with the familiar taste and texture that sent her mind reeling with excitement. A sob escaped when he released her.
"My love, Lord Seavers? I offered you that long ago, but you would not take it."
"I was a fool."
"And is it a coincidence that your love and my family name have come all at the same time?"
"Damn the family, it is you I want!"
"Never! I would never be sure! I will marry someday, Lord Seavers, and perhaps the lucky man will marry my purse, but at least I will be sure what he wants. With you it could always be more lies, more bargains."
"You are mine, Alicia, whether you give credence to that or not. You will not marry another while I have breath in my body."
"You cannot stop me!" she said with bravado.
"I can! And one day soon I will taste that sweet flesh again!"
Her hand came out of nowhere and struck his cheek, a ringing slap that left her palm red and sore and his cheek embarrassingly pink. He grabbed her again, again crushing her to him, his arms pressing her tightly against him as his mouth sought hers, devouring her, tasting her sweet freshness.
And he was above her, looking through her with those green eyes, the eyes she could not forget, the eyes that haunted her every dream, every memory.
"This battle wears on too long, Alicia," he said.
"You know how to fight with fire and swords, Geoffrey. I know how to fight in this kind of war."
"I will not give you up."
"You will have to one day, my lord. I belong to no man."
"You are mine!"
"I am my own!"
He released her gently and let her collect herself. She did not let it show that her knees threatened to give way and spill her on the ground.
"Aye, my love, you are your own. But I will not cease until you promise to share your life with me."
"Then you will exhaust yourself, my lord, and become too tired to seek your next fortune."
She turned and walked hastily toward the house, her shoes clicking on the veranda as she crossed to the door. Just inside, she paused to look at her reddened palm and a slow smile crossed her lips. Without further pause she climbed the stairs.
Preston stood just outside the study, from which poured smoke and loud male voices. The next to enter was Geoffrey, his pace somewhat less hurried than Alicia’s had been. Preston gave a nod and took a drink from the glass he held.
"Do you have another one of those?" Geoffrey asked.
"Aye, but you’d better take it in your room." Geoffrey’s perplexed look caused Preston to laugh softly. "Your cheek, my lord, bears the mark of my sister’s hand."
Geoffrey smiled in embarrassment. "If there is as much passion in her yielding, it will have been worth it."
Eighteen
Geoffrey returned to the garden with his drink. He touched the cheek that Alicia had slapped, but it did not pain him now. And he recounted her words, their argument, giving more credit to what Alicia was made of than he had before.
He knew much of her history— enough at least to draw some conclusions. She had been owned all her life; indentured to this family or that, though there were no papers of sale or indenture. She had to earn her meals in some way or another, whether working in a tavern or playing the p
art of Lady Seavers. Here had come the first opportunity in her life to be a member of her natural family, and owe only love in return for being fed.
Perhaps she had earned the right to fight him. He had, after all, been one of the many to use her to his own ends. And he had reinforced her fear to trust, with his love words and passion in the night and detachment in the morning light. He had taught her how to mistrust him.
He roamed the grounds of the manor in the darkness of night, musing over a bush, leaning against a tree. The brandy had warmed his heart and cooled his head, and now he held an empty glass. The house was darkened and quiet when he considered it time for him to be asleep. He climbed the stairs to his own room and paused briefly before Alicia’s door.
And then he was looking down at her with a light feeling in his chest. Her hair was spread on her pillow, her dark, sooty lashes resting peacefully on her cheek. He had been robbed of the right to look at her loveliness: first by his own stupidity and later because her family protected her from him, not knowing they protected her from her own husband.
He could not resist the urge to reach out and touch the silken skin, and he gently brushed her cheek with his finger. Ah, you are everything I dreamed a woman could be, my Alicia, he thought passionately. Beauty, wit, charm, and devotion. And how you fight! Such pride and fire! And when that stands beside a man, it makes success and good fortune. Only a fool would cast it aside and not appreciate its worth.
You think I’ve come for another handsome dowry, my love, but you are wrong. I’ve come to claim you and to keep you safe. I will build you a mansion and slipper your feet in silver. And for that I will work—harder than you’ve ever seen a man work. I will not need food when you satisfy the hunger that’s grown in me with your lips. And I will not need wine, for just to look at you makes me grow dizzy with desire. Alicia, how can you deny that I love you…
As his mind rambled over his words of devotion, she sighed softly and turned, throwing her covers partially off. He smiled to himself as he thought how angry she would be to know that in her sleep she exposed herself to his view, the thin material of her nightdress covering her body inadequately. He imagined her beauty ever increasing as she grew with child.
He reached down gently to cover her and quietly stole out of her room. Sleep is impossible, he thought, when all I have dreamt of for months is to hold her close, feel her resting safely beside me…
When the sun rose, Alicia’s eyes opened slowly. She smiled again, at the visions and dreams that had danced through her head all through the night. She sat up and stretched lazily, throwing her legs over the edge of her bed, and her eyes spotted a glass on her dressing table. She frowned as she looked at it and moved to pick it up. She wrinkled her nose at the sharp smell of Wesley’s spirits inside the glass.
She didn’t have to wonder long at how the thing came to be there; neither Preston nor her father would steal into her room while she slept.
She knew the hour to be long after the men had breakfasted and left for their duties, for the house below her was quiet and still. On her way to breakfast alone, she passed the closed study doors and she could hear Geoffrey’s voice from within.
"The letters do not convict him, but call for his return to England under guard, where he will be tried and very likely hanged. It will not fill the need for vengeance in me, but it will serve as best as can be expected at this late date."
"And where do you go?" Preston’s voice asked.
"It would not be considered unusual to see me about the wharves, do you think? After all, my ships will put in to port whenever their repairs are complete and a crew can be found. Plague wiped out most of my crew."
"Then you think to find him here? I can’t imagine him putting himself within a thousand miles of either of us again."
"The last that was heard was that he booked passage out of England to the Colonies when even his brother would not support him. I intend to find him. Rodney waits near the wharves now, in watch."
"Anything to report on my sister’s mood?" Preston asked.
Alicia crept closer, nearly pressing her ear to the door.
"You saw the mark yourself. She does not come gently to heel."
Alicia felt her face bum with anger. To heel! How dare the blackguard!
"Did you tell her what you’ve done?"
"I told her I’ve come to make things right, but she will not hear me. She’s every right to hate me, but I can’t let this drag on too long." He cleared his throat. "There are a dozen good reasons why we must end this trouble between us and settle ourselves to a more stable life—marriage."
"My parents have a handsome dowry set aside for her."
She could hear Geoffrey’s laugh from outside the door and she was enraged. She considered bursting through the study doors, but even that would not satisfy her anger. The idea of my dowry is amusing, eh, Lord Seavers? she thought. I suppose you think it is very nearly yours. Well, we shall see about that! And she fled from the hall to the dining room.
"The dowry will take care of the heavy fine I am to pay immediately," Geoffrey said with some humor. "When I would have expected the king to have me drawn and quartered, he offered to let me buy off his anger."
"A reasonable conclusion," Preston said. "Especially since your death or imprisonment will not fill his purse."
"Ah, but the truth feels good," Geoffrey said. "All those months that I struggled with the lies wore on me. I could not even see how I loved Alicia, the pain of betrayal stung so deep."
"I wish you had told me from the beginning."
"Lies cause a man to lose faith in everything, my friend. It fairly gnarled up my soul. But that is past and now I’ve a criminal to catch and a woman to seduce. Wish me well."
"Tread gently, rogue," Preston chuckled. "She may well scar you before you are able to reach her heart."
Rodney Prentiss leased a small and quite inadequate room in the business district near the wharves. He asked around among the sailing men to see if anyone had information regarding Culver Perry, lately known as Lord Perry in England. Nothing turned up. His description fit many: tall, blue-eyed, ruggedly handsome, and most usually dressed in finery. Aside from the clothing, he was every other man on the street: no marks, strange affectations, or mannerisms. An accent fresh from London was not noticeable here; the grand majority of settlers were from England. Rodney had nothing to report when Geoffrey arrived.
"We will continue to look, ask, and make ourselves available to anyone who thinks they might have seen him."
"And the letters?" Rodney asked.
"I’ve given them to Randolph Hussley, His Majesty’s guard, judge, and captain here. They’re in safekeeping. And they cannot be stolen from me."
"Can they be bought?" Rodney asked.
"I think not, as the papers relate the incidents to the Tilden family. When I have the chance, I shall thank Alicia from the bottom of my heart for turning out to be a Tilden."
Rodney laughed under his breath. "And is the lady in good keeping?"
"I am only sorry you must stay here, my good man. She’s looking good and your old eyes will feel new when you’re able to see her again."
"Aye, and how did she receive you?"
Geoffrey immediately rubbed the cheek that had been slapped. "She will fight me every step of the way."
Rodney’s ruddy old face broke into a bright smile. It made his heart glad to know the lass had lost none of her determination as she suffered the changes in her life. "Aye, she’ll have none of you."
"You needn’t be so damned pleased about it. I’ll find the way to court her, mark me."
"Aye, you’ll court. You’ll earn this one or come up empty."
"I fail to remember what I did to you to cause this lack of sympathy you have for me. You love it best when I’m punished."
"Never that, lad. I admit I gain a fair amount of pleasure when the lass will not give in to your every whim, but she does not punish. She only assures you of the worth of what yo
u fight for."
Geoffrey thought for a moment and, with a nod, conceded. Aye, she was worth all he’d been through. But he could not let her test him much further. He had made up his mind: he would let her have it her way for a while, but time was short. There was building and birthing to be done. And always the chance he would be called home to England to stand by his charges.
"Let’s get on the streets, man, and see what we can find. I can’t stay here long, I’ve got to talk to a man about a bride."
"No need for you here, lad, if the Tilden home is where you need to be."
"I’ll see to this first. I’d rather have something firm to tell Lord Tilden before I return. I’d like to have an idea where that bastard Perry is hiding."
The town produced nothing. Geoffrey found it as impossible to get answers as Rodney had. By the end of the second day, Geoffrey had nearly concluded that Perry had not made it to Virginia after all, but sought some other haven. With Rodney’s blessing, he returned to the Tilden manor.
Wesley Tilden could be found in his study, going over the accounts, a complicated mass of figures resulting from harvest and preparations for winter. The Tildens did a good deal less sailing in the colder months, and storage, contracts for spring trading, and buying for the next planting made his days wild where his accounts were concerned. He was usually pleased to see Geoffrey, but this time he did not greet the young man with much warmth.
Geoffrey eyed the rolling pages, ink splotches, and look of frustration on the elder Tilden’s face.
"It appears, my lord, that even with five sons you could use an extra hand here."
"It is perhaps because of my sons I need a hand. They produce for me, true, but they produce a business that is impossible to understand."
Geoffrey laughed. "But would you scoff at more ships and another manager, my lord?"
"I have no lordship here, Geoffrey. Relax on your titles a bit. I am a farmer and merchant."