A Brother's Honor (20 page)

“I could say the same thing of you.”

As he grinned, she savored the vestiges of passion on his lips. She put her arm across his chest and snuggled close to him. She did not want the magic to end, for she wondered if she could ever be as happy again as she was at this moment.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“I would guess it was used by smugglers. Or it might be even older. Mayhap it is a priest hole.”

“A what?”

Dominic smiled. “A place where English Catholics hid their priests from the fury of the Reformation, when to be discovered meant a heretic's death by fire.”

“How horrible!” When he put his hand over hers, Abigail touched the ring on his left hand. “You never have told me why you wear this. All you told me was that the ring is a family heirloom. What is its odd design?”

“It was my father's wedding ring.” He brushed her hair back from her forehead. “I am his only son, so when he died during the Terror, it came to me.” Kissing her lightly, he traced the high arch of her cheekbones with his fingertip.

She batted his hand away and ordered, “Stop that!”

“Why?”

“Because I cannot think when you do that.” She laughed as he lifted a single eyebrow. “All right, I
can
think, but only of one thing.”

“Exactly.”

At his satisfied tone, she shoved away his hand again. “You still have not answered me. What is this odd design?”

As he held up the ring to catch the sunlight, a distant loneliness softened his eyes. She wanted to ask what he was seeing in memory's mirror, but she waited for him to speak.

“You know of the Terror?” he asked.

“After the French Revolution?” She shuddered. “I have heard awful stories.”

“Such as?”

“What anyone has heard of King Louis and his family being guillotined.”

He nodded as he twisted a strand of her hair around his finger. “And have you heard of the others who died for no reason other than that they owned land or had a title or simply were declared an enemy by the new dictators?”

“'Twas the people who ruled.”

“
Chérie
, you are judging France's revolution through American eyes. It was nothing like your fight for freedom from English rule.” His mouth tightened. “Madness infected a whole nation. Great ideals were prostituted to serve those who grasped for power. That is why we welcomed Napoleon.”

She bit back the retort she would have made weeks ago. To think of Napoleon as the savior of France went against everything she believed, but she did not want to argue with Dominic. Not when they were lying in the warm afterglow of love. “And your family became victims of the Terror?”

“My father arranged for me to be taken by my mother from Paris, ordering her to hide, so neither of us could be found. She took me to Bordeaux, but she spoke often of Château Tonnere du Grêion. In English, Castle Thunderstone.”

“Thunderstone?” she gasped. “That is why you were so surprised when I told you about Aunt Velma's stories.”

He kissed her forehead. “Exactly,
chérie
. It was where my father lived before he was swallowed by the shadows of hate.”

“Your father lived in a castle?”

“There are many who reside in a castle besides the family that owns it. My mother is proud of her peasant heritage and the years of service her family gave to the
duc's
. Those who once lived in Château Tonnere du Grêlon are scattered before the Terror's tempest.”

“Have you looked for them? You might have other family.”

“To no avail. My mother can tell me little, save that my father died bravely. I wear this ring to honor his courage.”

Taking his hand, she moved it so she could see the design more clearly. The design was a slash of lightning cutting through a rock. “Thunderstone,” she whispered. “Castle Thunderstone. That sounds so awe-inspiring.”

“Whatever it was, it is gone. Nothing for me waits there, so I have chosen my own life.” He smiled. “And it had been a very good one up until the day I found a rare prize awaiting me on an American ship.”

As her fingers combed through his hair, she whispered, “And that caused your good life to change?”

“Need you ask,
chérie?
My life has been good, but it has taken a turn for the better now.” His smile melted into her lips. When his arms tightened around her, she knew he wanted to be done with talking so they could savor this desire that refused to be quiescent again.

That pleased her, as well. She wanted this pleasure for as long as it could be hers. Once they left this haven he had found among the eaves of the springhouse, they would be surrounded by the war again, forced to be enemies. Here, there was only joy. Here, there were better things to do than to argue about things that could not be changed. Here, she could delight in joy … and love. She loved Dominic St. Clair. That was one thing she doubted would change as long as they both lived.

But she knew how short a time that could be.

Chapter Fifteen

Abigail could not help staring. She had never seen so many glorious gowns. Even the richest shipbuilder in New Bedford would have looked like a poor relation amid the splendor in this London townhouse. Scents of sweet perfumes swirled around her like the dancers in the middle of the large ballroom. Light from the crystal chandeliers overhead bounced off the gems that were liberally scattered among the guests, perching in upswept hair or clinging to fingers. Even a simple walking stick in a gentleman's hand glistened with what was obviously gold.

And Abigail was elegant, too. The pearl white dress had been one of Clarissa's and hastily altered to fit her. It was finer than anything she had ever worn, because the fabric seemed to float about her, drifting about her ankles like a cloud with every motion. The one bit of color was provided by the pink rosebuds at the center of her bodice and on the lace at the hem of her short sleeves. Lady Sudley had been disappointed that there had not been enough time to have matching rosebuds sewn onto Abigail's white slippers.

Hearing Dominic's laugh beneath the lilting melody played by the orchestra in a gallery above, she pulled her gaze from the ballroom to see his smile. “
Chérie
, you look like a young girl with a new doll.”

“I feel like a doll. I cannot believe Abigail Fitzgerald is in a place like this.”

He put his finger to her lips. “Take care what you say. Even your true name could be a betrayal here.”

She nodded, chastised. She could not allow her excitement at this grandeur make her forget why they were here. “How long?” she whispered.

“How long until what?”

“Until we slip away to find your friend.” She was careful not to speak Evan Somerset's name.

Dominic laughed as he adjusted his white gloves that matched his waistcoat and cravat beneath his black coat. His breeches took on a silver sheen in the candlelight. “Have you learned to read my thoughts before I utter them?”

“I have seen how you are eager to devise any excuse to slip out of the house. It takes very little imagination to guess why.”

“I hope you are the only one with that imagination.” He became somber. “When I take my leave, I will let you know.”

“You? I thought—”

“It would best if you stayed here,
chérie.
”

“I thought you trusted me,” she said, not willing to be cut off.

“I do. That is why I am leaving you here to cover my absence with some tale that I am certain you can spin with ease.” He sighed. “It is the harder task I am giving you, but where I will be going is no place for you.”

She grasped his hand. “Do not forget I am a sailor's daughter. Where you will be going cannot be that different from places I have been before.”

“True.” He eyed her up and down. “So you know how much attention you would call to us if you arrived there looking as lovely as you do now.”

With a smile, she plucked at the lapel on his coat, her fingers lingering against the front of his waistcoat. “So that is why you insisted on this dark coat. You will blend in with the shadows.”

“I have come to like the shadows.” His eyes narrowed, but the sparks of desire within them could not be concealed. “I will miss them,
chérie
, now that we are away from Sudley Hall.”

“We will have to find new shadows.”

His fingers swept along her face in a swift caress. “Or the bright sunshine, so I can see all of you quiver as I watch the pleasure on your face.” He looked past her, and his tone changed. “Thank you so much, my lady, for inviting us to join you this evening.”

Lady Sudley fluttered a befeathered fan in front of her face and smiled. Even though she was dressed much more grandly than the simpler frocks she had worn in the country, the lady's warm expression remained the same. “You are very kind, when you should be chiding me for failing to introduce you to my other guests, Mr. St. Clair.”

Abigail saw how hard Dominic fought not to flinch when Lady Sudley spoke his name. As if it were of the least consequence, she said, “Lady Sudley, you had spoken to me on the way to London about meeting Mrs. Amsterdam, that she would be eager to talk with anyone from Canada. Would you be so kind as to introduce me to her now? Dominic has been anxious to speak with a friend he saw arrive a few minutes ago, but, dear heart that he is, he did not want to leave me alone.” She continued to prattle, borrowing liberally from Clarissa's chatter, until Lady Sudley nodded.

“Thank you,
chérie,
” Dominic whispered as he squeezed her hand before walking away.

She kept her sigh silent and put her best smile on her lips as Lady Sudley led her to meet the women grouped together on one side of the dance floor. Quickly Abigail learned all she needed to do was nod and smile. That kept her from having to explain her accent that identified her as an outsider.

As she edged from group to group, always keeping an eye on the door in hopes that Dominic would return soon, her arm was grasped. She started to pull it away, then smiled at Clarissa, who gave her a beseeching glance before looking back at the short, thick-waisted man beside her.

Startlingly white hair sprang from his head in every direction. He was dressed in elegant clothes, but his shoes squeaked as he took a step toward Abigail. She wondered if his shoes, like his waistcoat which strained across his wide belly, protested against the extra weight they had to contain.

“Abigail, this is Sir Harlan Morris,” Clarissa said, relief easing the strain on her face. “Sir Harlan, my friend Abigail—”

“How nice to meet you,” Abigail hurried to say before Clarissa could reveal too much. She wished Dominic had chosen a name other than his own when he had introduced himself to Clarissa and Newton. That he had been in great pain was his only excuse, one she understood well, but now she had to take great pains herself to prevent anyone from recalling that a French smuggler by that name commanded a ship in Napoleon's blockade.

“And you, miss.” His eyes slitted as he appraised her openly. “I was just telling young Lady Clarissa here that—”

“Oh, excuse us,” Clarissa said, interrupting him as hastily as Abigail had her. “I told Mama that I would bring Abigail to her as soon as I found her in the crowd. Have a pleasant evening, Sir Harlan.”

Abigail was steered away from the bulbous man before she could do more than nod toward him. As Clarissa led her with rare speed through the ballroom, Abigail asked, “What is amiss?”

“That man!” She shuddered, an expression of distaste contorting her face. “He comes to London seeking a possible wife for his horrid son. I don't know why Mama and Papa invited him this evening.”

“Just because they invited him here does not mean they would allow his son to call on you.”

“I would think not!” Her eyes nearly popped from her head. “No decent person would allow that.” She started to add more, then sighed as her name was called by one of the dowagers. “Abigail, you are so fortunate that you have found the man of your dreams, so you need not go through this Season having to be at the beck and call of every mother and father with a son they wish were wed.”

Abigail chuckled softly as Clarissa went to speak with the dowager. Her smile vanished when her own name was called and she turned to see Sir Harlan coming toward her. A single glance at the door told her that Dominic had not yet returned. Forcing her smile back in place, she greeted Sir Harlan politely.

It was going to be a long evening.

Abigail hoped no one noticed how often she passed by the door that opened onto the stairs leading down to the front foyer. Like everything else in the Sudleys' London home, the staircase was perfection. Not a hint of dust nor a single gouge marred its beauty. Admiring it and the artwork edging the walls in the upper corridors would be her excuse for wandering in this direction so frequently.

Where could Dominic be? She had no idea how big London was, but it could not be that far by carriage to the river and to the port area she knew was called the Pool. He had suggested that he knew several people who could assist in getting both of them out of England. How long would it take to find one of them?

She remembered to smile each time a dowager walked by and to nod at the gentlemen. She was safe from their attentions because everyone believed that she was Dominic's wife.

Dominic's wife
.

The warmth from deep within her unfurled like the softest flower petal. She was not sure how she had changed so completely in the past fortnight, but she could no longer imagine a life without Dominic in it. She wanted to savor his teasing laugh, his enticing eyes, his touch that led her to ecstasies she had never imagined.

Yet she knew too well that his life was his blasted ship. She had seen the life her aunt had, waiting always for the few short weeks when her uncle returned home before sailing again. This love of the sea was an alluring mistress no woman could compete with.