Love's Patient Fury (The Deverell Series Book 3) (35 page)

“Oh no, I do not think you will harm her,” Rensdale said, but he had started to perspire. “How long do you think you can stay like that, with the knife to her neck? It’s only a matter of time until I win.”

Varian’s eyes darkened. “It’s only a matter of time until Lucien reaches us. I suggest you run. Quickly. The men you sent to grab Merry are being tracked by a Shawnee Indian while you tarry with me. Pitt is most capable. Do not doubt, he will not fail his mistress. I won’t need much time. Lucien is a grim fate, but I assure you the last thing you want is for Pitt to get hold of you.”

The two men locked eyes likes snarling beasts.

Whether Varian was merely engaging in a ploy or not, or if he had known in that all omniscient way he had that Lucien would  find them with the aid of Mr. Pitt, Merry would never know and would never ask. Everything changed all at once. In a stream of motion, a fast moving blur, she saw the door open. Her father and his men flooded chamber. And then it all started to move even faster, so fast that Merry’s mind barely kept up. She saw the gun pointed at Varian.

“NOOOO….” The words went out of her mouth as the bullet went into him. The sound of his knife hitting the ground had a hard, final clank to it. The firm hold of his powerful muscles vanished from her, then his body to the ground as well. Lucien’s men hadn’t understood Varian was saving their lives, and then her panic kicked up another notch as the bullets began to sound. She was yanked to the ground by Varian, and buried beneath his body.

She would never know how long it took from the first bullet until her father understood what had happened here. She would recall no detail in her life ever clearly. Not Rensdale being shot and killed. Her father and Uncle coming to her. Everything else would be lost to her beneath the terror she had felt, lying under her motionless husband as his blood made a bed for them on the floor.

They were pulled apart. Uncle Andrew had his coat in hand and was trying to stem the flow of blood from Varian’s chest. Her father was talking to her, but she could not catch the words. There was yelling, footsteps, and men all around. She tried to break free of her father to go to Varian, but Lucien suddenly wrapped her in his arms and pulled her back to his chest.

Her limbs wanted to break free of her father’s hold and somehow they wouldn’t manage it. She had no idea how unsteady she looked as she said, “Get him home to Bramble Hill now, Papa. I want him safe...” and before her father could answer her, Merry fainted.

~~~

It took a moment for Varian to realize where he was and the cause of the red hot pain shooting down his left side. There was the soft glow of a waning fire behind the grate, and his dark gaze floated the room, seeing everything and settling nowhere. The last thing he remembered was the shot and Merry’s sweet face slipping into darkness in front of him. He fought to clear his head and orient his senses. Clarity came with agonizing slowness. It was then that he felt her, Merry at his side laid curled in sleep, her head resting on his unbound shoulder, baby Kat tucked into the cushion of her breasts. He felt the tension uncoil from his body. He was back at Bramble Hill. Merry was safe. Was it possible…?

“Your son is well.” The gruff voice pulled his gaze from the pleasant picture of his wife and warned that the relief he felt was perhaps ill-timed. Lucien Merrick was sitting in a chair beside the bed. “He is down the hall with Kate and that stupid Irishman who brought him here. He asked to sit with you, but I told him I wished to speak with you first. Do you understand the position you have put me in? You went to war with the British Government from my home.”

“I did not go to war with the British Government. I went to war with evil men who destroy with reckless disregard the lives of the innocent to profit from this war that good men stand idly by and allow to continue.”

“And marrying my daughter? What was that? Protection against your treason?” Lucien shook his head and looked away. He knew Varian would not answer that question. He also knew the accusation was untrue. He refocused his thoughts and said, “I know you will not tell me, but I cannot help to wonder if this is how you planned it to end.”

In the older voice there was tension and tightly leashed ribbons of displeasure, frustration and fury. Quietly so as not to stir his wife, Varian said on a glib voice, “More or less. Though perhaps not executed quite as well as I had hoped. One would think that years of careful planning would have worked out with a better result than this.” Black eyes locked with blue. “The less certainly being not with my ship lying in rubble at the bottom of Falmouth harbor or my son nearly killed or a bullet in my shoulder. And never with Merry put in the middle of all this.” That made Lucien stiffen. He was still Lucien Merrick. Varian was at times still Morgan. An arched brow. A low laugh. “A strategic error. I did not anticipate that Rensdale would be able to get Merry from
you.”

Lucien was quiet for a moment. It was then Varian noticed Andrew Merrick hovering in the corner of the room.

“I suppose I owe you thanks for saving my life,” Varian said. “How did you find us?”

Andrew stepped out of the shadows. “Your man. Pitt. Shawnee Indian. Honor bound to you. Correct? It made him a force to reckon with when we set him the task to find Merry. ”

“Yes. I brought him with me from my home in Virginia to watch over Merry. A fierce warrior and a tracker. We had chance to cross paths in the Caribbean. I saved his life. To pay his debt of honor Pitt insisted on serving me until the debt was returned. I made Merry his task to settle his debt to me.”

Lucien made an approving nod, even while his lips held a slight puckering of his internally contained fury over Varian’s reckless endangering of Merry. “A wise act. Shawnee are a brave and skilled people. He’s an excellent tracker. We could use a man like him in the Foreign Office. However, I told him he would be released from his debt to you if he found my daughter. May I assume that is agreeable to you?”

Varian nodded weakly.

“Good,” Lucien said. Then, “We’ve come up with a plan. We thought we should present it to you if you have an inclination to remain in England.”

“I would call it far-fetched,” Andrew put in cautiously. “Not clever at all.”

Lucien smiled stiffly. “However, not clever is often times more successful in capable hands than the best made plots in clever hands. We have every reason to believe it should put the matter of Morgan behind us all forever.”

Ignoring the jab, Varian said, “You do realize that to assist me now would be treason?”

Lucien sat back in his chair, rigid and out of temper. “Treason? How dare you insinuate I would contemplate treason. And you are far from your best reasoning if you think we would assist you in that endeavor. It is not treason to root out criminals in our Government. Andrew has penned a correspondence to Whitehall outlining how
he
discovered the corruption in our government offices, his want to take charge of the investigation and see the process to a thorough and complete conclusion. You can be assured he will not end his investigation until he has rooted out and brought to justice every corrupt hand betraying the crown. As for Morgan, we merely wish for Lord Andrew to accept the credit he is due for his service to the Foreign office having rid the world of a notorious pirate. Should not the public know that Morgan is dead?”

Amused and intrigued, Varian said, “Ah,” and then let the pause develop artfully, before he added, “How unlike the Merricks to take credit for their service. I should have known better than to worry you would engage in treason.”

Lucien replied. “Exactly. A simple plan. Far-fetched. I think it will serve us all the better.”

Then Andrew put in, “Leave the matter to us, Varian. This time it will be resolved forever.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Varian stepped through the doorway and there in the center of his bed, fully dressed in traveling attire, huddled on her knees, and all but concealed by a wild cloud of black hair was Merry quietly retching into a washbowl. Kat lay close at her side, one of her mother’s long curls laced through her pudgy fingers, gently pulling and swatting it.

Frequency and youth
. He had to kill the impulse to laugh. Merry would kill him if he laughed. She would be fast to temper, as miserable as she surely felt. The girl was fast in every shift of mood. It was part of her charm.

Kat’s sweet cherub face with wide doe eyes of almost total black turned to him. He couldn’t kill the impulse to smile at his daughter. He lifted Kat into his arms, then cupped Merry’s chin and tilted her face until bluebell eyes peeked from within her arcade of un-brushed locks.

Softly and gently, he said, “I will have Netta bring you something small to eat and tell Tanner we won’t be traveling to Falmouth today.” He watched the emotions flash across Merry’s face. They ran the full gamut before she settled on a single emotion. Love. Then, he added, “When were you planning to tell me, or does honesty only apply to me? You know after the difficulties you had with Kat I wouldn’t have wanted you sailing to America carrying my child in you.”

Merry jerked apart her curls and in a blink her face was angry and decidedly not pretty.
Maternal Volatility. A storm driving a storm.

“Why do you think I didn’t tell you, you insufferable man. You are too protective of me. I am not made of glass. You would do well to remember that occasionally outside of bed, as you have finally learned to do while we’re in it. At least you don’t treat me like glass in your passion. An absurd contradiction you should explore. If I had told you about the babe you would never have gone to London, though you needed to. I am perfectly capable of a journey by sea, you insufferable man, least you forget I sailed with your child in me once before. You were not bothered by it then.  If you think I am going to let you free of your promise to take me....”

Another attack of nausea. Her words and face were lost to the washbowl. He noted she was particularly sharp of temper this time.  The love he felt for her expanded his heart into something wonderously painful. He watched her until it was over and then dropped a kiss on her dark curls.
Stubbornness, always stubbornness.  God help them both.

“I am going to London tomorrow to meet with my man of business. It’s past time we set up house somewhere, Little One. I own lots of houses. Where would you like to live?”

Struggling against another wave of sickness and struggling for air, a short, harsh, “Virginia,” was all that came from her lips.

“We will go to America next year after the birth,” Varian promised her. “But I won’t tolerate you sailing while you’re pregnant.”

Merry blushed and clamped her mouth shut. She hated that word.
Pregnant
. Battle won. Varian smiled, enchanted by her youthful absurdity and took note that she’d better get more comfortable with that word. 

“Where would you like to live, Merry? In London? On a country estate? A farm? A shack? If you want something I don’t already own, I can buy whatever it is you want for us. I will be content with four walls that don’t rock without your relatives. I am not staying in your father’s house a day longer than necessary.”

Merry gave a tired shrug, shook her head and threw up. When she collapsed back against the pillows, Varian set the bowl on the table and pulled a quilt over her exhausted form. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. It was a good sign the nausea was passing that she didn’t swat at him.

“America will be there next year, Little One. There is no reason for us to argue over this. We have a lifetime, Merry. I gave you my word we will go. As soon as you can safely travel we will go. I am a man of my word.”

Merry nodded limply and her eyes drifted closed. She was a touch pale, but so beautiful, kitten soft cheek pressed into linen, tiny white fingers tucked beneath chin, and curled into a small ball hugging his pillow. Varian watched her until Kat’s fretting prompted him to leave so Merry could rest.

Merry was asleep by the time he left the bedroom. As he walked toward the stairs, talking softly to Kat as she playfully slapped at his face with fleshy hands and struggled with an utterance that sounded like ‘Mama,’ Varian was swept by the certainty that at long last back on English soil he would never leave it again.

A decade he had spent at sea. A decade roaming the world. The decade before Merry. It was nothing more than a grim memory, those days before Merry, almost as though they were only shadows and unreal. Better forgotten. 

Twelve months in Cornwall with Merry and look at his life. Here he was, baby in arms, baby in wife, son settled in America, and about to engage in an act of treason with the Merricks, yet certain all the days of his life were ahead of him to share with his family without worry and fear. Gads, he had even made a peace pact with Lucien Merrick. It was preposterous in every way.

Varian was halfway down the stairs before he began to laugh. The force of it hit him so hard he sank with an uncharacteristic lack of grace onto the steps and surrendered to the laughter, savoring his love for Merry, the joy of his children, and the enchantment simple pleasures could bring to a man’s life. He was laughing like a madman.

Kat tensed, frightened by the loud, rumbling waves from her father. She looked at him, wide eyed and face taut, about to cry and then she didn’t. She gave him a smile instead. Merry’s smile. He laughed harder. Merry’s daughter in every way. Kat loved laughter.

He let the humor run its course, not giving a damn what anyone thought of him. Face pressed into Kat’s dark curls, eyes closed, he felt each presence as it arrived.
Ah, the shouting had been heard.
Too alert of a response from the troops to be here from only his laughter. The glass comment will never pass without a lecture.

At last able to speak, not opening his eyes, he said in a voice a trifle unsteady, “Moffat, you may have Tanner take the carriage away and bring in the luggage. We are not going to Falmouth today.”

His words brought a proper response and immediate action from Moffat, who had certainly been shocked by Merry beyond showing reaction to His Grace being sprawled on the steps laughing like a lunatic.