Captive Embraces (14 page)

Frau Holtz was scandalized and tapped her foot on the shiny floor to get the Mevrouw's attention. When Sirena still paid no notice, she coughed as though she were strangling on a fish bone.

A smile tugged at the corner of Tyler's mouth and Sirena found it infectious and laughed aloud. Tyler gave her a heavy-lidded wink before he led her to the door, Frau Holtz blowing her nose with gusto in their wake. What would the Mynheer think? It dawned on the old German housekeeper that the Mynheer would not be in a position to think anything. The Mevrouw no longer carried his name and she was free to do as she pleased. Vaguely, she wondered if Sirena would insist on being referred to as Señorita now that she carried the Córdez name again.

Harrumph! she snorted as she again dabbed at her watery eyes. This Tyler Payne Sinclair was a handsome man, she would give him that. And from where she sat she could tell he had breeding and manners. The Mevrouw could do worse!

When the hired coach pulled into the circular drive in front of the massive, white stone building, Sirena was disappointed that the heavy mist obscured her first glimpse of her new home. As she climbed down from the coach, it was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Tyler Sinclair took her hand in his and offered Frau Holtz his arm, escorting them up the cobbled walk to the wide double doors which sported gleaming brass fittings and a bulky knocker. Sirena strained to peer through the gloom, but relented as the wide doors were opened by a young girl. The servant ushered them inside and Sirena suppressed a smile when Tyler pinched the maids cheek, making her flush and stammer a greeting.

“Peggy, see to the ladies' comfort. This is Señorita Córdez and her housekeeper, Frau Holtz.”

Peggy curtsied, uncomfortable under the scrutinizing gaze of Frau Holtz. “Would you like a cup of nice, hot tea, Mrs. Holtz?” Peggy asked quaveringly.

“It's Frau Holtz, not Mrs.,” the housekeeper answered sternly, ready to pull the house staff under her indisputable control. “And we would all like tea to be served.”

“Not for me, if you please, Frau Holtz,” Tyler broke in, then turned to Sirena with his explanation. “I'm sure you're exhausted, and there are matters which I must attend to. Before I leave, I'd like to show you the house.”

Tyler led Sirena into the parlor, which was to the right of the spacious foyer. “Well, Sirena, what do you think? Was my choice suitable or not?”

“It's lovely,” Sirena said sincerely. “It's so spacious and opulent. Even in Cádiz, I've never seen a home like this. And the furnishings! Magnificent. Velvet, brocade, completely to my liking,” she said, running her hands over a rich, sky-blue settee. Everything in the expansive parlor was done in shades of blue. The velvet hangings at the windows were a rich hyacinth color and the tiles in the floor picked up the indigo tones in the matching chairs, strategically placed around the room. The glowing luster of the oak-paneled walls shimmered in the bright, lamplit room. A monster of a fireplace with an intricately carved mantle adorned the far wall. Huge tubs of evergreens stood near the burning hearth, giving a cozy appearance to a corner where a many-tiered bookshelf stood. Colorful paintings hung about, giving added light and beauty. “It's exquisite,” Sirena said as she touched a high-backed chair. “It's very peaceful.”

Tyler smiled happily. My mother will be delighted to hear you approve of her choices. For weeks she's been in a dither. However, if there is anything not to your liking, you are simply to say so and not worry that you will offend her.”

“If the rest of the house is like this, the Baroness has worried needlessly. Tell your mother that I am very pleased and could not have done better myself. Please tell her that I will call on her at the first opportunity to express my thanks in person.”

“You will make her very happy,” Tyler said, hesitating to interrupt her .He was intoxicated by her light, Spanish accent and her flashing green eyes.

When Tyler had made his departure, with the promise to come to dinner the day after next, Sirena turned to Frau Holtz with instructions. “Before we complete our tour, please make arrangements with the footman to bring our luggage from the
Sea Spirit
and inform the crew where they can find us. I have no desire to ride through the city again if things are as unsettled as Tyler told us.”

“Ja,
I was hoping you would not go back near the wharves. Just the thought of those beggars sets my teeth to chattering,” the Frau intoned, her obvious disenchantment with the City of London evident.

Sirena left the Frau to her errand and climbed the stairs in search of her room. After inspecting several opulently furnished bedrooms, Sirena came upon a door to the left side of the second floor which opened on a large, combination bed and sitting room which was obviously meant for her. It was restful and feminine, decorated with care. The satin bed coverings and window hangings were apricot with heavy russet fringe. The low settee and the deep chairs were covered with heavy brocade of the same colors. Cherrywood tables were placed around the room, some accented by silver bowls of cut flowers while others held small, porcelain figurines. A massive painting hanging above the cold hearth cried for attention. Sirena judged it to be a scene of an English countryside in autumn. The rich golds and oranges blended with the apricot furnishings and the rich browns of the thick carpet underfoot.

Alone at last with her thoughts, Sirena's shoulders slumped as she lowered herself onto the settee. How was she to stay by herself in this magnificent house? How was she to carry on a life as Señorita Córdez as though her marriage with Regan had never been? What was she doing here? Why had she come? She had come because of Regan. He was the beginning and end of everything. He was the reason behind her every thought.

Tomorrow, as soon as she awakened and dressed, she would go to St. Dunstan Hill and seek him out in his offices. Street ruffians be damned. She would make him tell her face to face that he no longer wanted her, no longer loved her. She had to hear it from Regan himself. Then and only then would she believe it. Until that time she could dream and she could hope that it was all some macabre misunderstanding.

Sirena was weary, yet she could not close her eyes and rest. Her mind whirled and her stomach churned at the prospect of seeing Regan shortly. As soon as she had seen where his offices were, she knew she would go to him. She had known it when she was still in Cádiz. She had felt the need to see him as long ago as when she had seen the tip of his tops'l skim over the horizon in Port Batavia.

Sirena leaned her head back against the settee, her thoughts swimming with Regan. And when sleep did come, it was to dream of a tall, muscular man with hair the color of ripe wheat.

 

Within a matter of hours Frau Holtz had her domain under control. She issued orders in a firm voice and waved her arms imperiously for all to know that she meant business. Within moments she had the cook in tears, the footman stammering, and the downstairs maid in a state of utter confusion. She swept through the downstairs like a Dowager Queen. She informed the staff she wouldn't tolerate sloppiness, wastefulness, laziness, or slapdash cleaning methods. She also declared she was in the habit of making a daily inspection to see that her orders were carried out and woe be to those who fell short of their mark.

Her tirade over, she demanded a light tray for Sirena and carried it upstairs to her quarters. When she saw her mistress napping, she tiptoed from the room and sat down at the top of the stairs. Listlessly she ate the food, then carried the tray back to the kitchen. She decided she didn't like this place or the people in it. Where in blazes was Jacobus? When the baggage had arrived from the
Sea Spirit,
she was surprised to see that Jacobus was in tow. When she questioned him as to how he had pried himself away from his precious galley, he had answered perfunctorily that he didn't trust the Capitana's luggage to anyone and that he had come along to be certain it was delivered in one piece.

Although the Frau grumbled and complained that she didn't need Jacobus hanging about the house and getting underfoot, she was nevertheless glad to see a friend. Now, she was in search of him. Where could he be? Perhaps she could devil him into a game of checkers. But Jacobus was wise to the way she cheated and he wouldn't make any bones about telling her subordinates about it. She shook her iron-gray head and decided she would make it cards.

She found him in the greenhouse, which was an extension of the kitchens. He was puttering around with a small trowel, a look of confusion on his wizened features. “Madame Holtz,” he said sternly, “there is nothing I don't know about my ship's galley and the sea. However, I don't know anything about flowers except that I like the way they look and smell. Here,” he said extending a delicate bloom for her inspection, “I thought of you when I cut it. I believe it's an English rose.”

Frau Holtz let out a small yelp as she fingered the thorny stern. “You old sea salt,” she sputtered.

“I warned you that the bloom reminded me of you. It's as sharp and thorny as your tongue,” he grinned toothlessly, “yet it is as beautiful as you are.”

Frau Holtz flushed a bright crimson. “Oh scat! You old fool,” she exclaimed as she fluttered her apron as though shooing away a pesky fly. “There's nothing you can do out here; can't your old blind eyes see it's getting dark? I thought we might have a game of cards. Or perhaps just keep each other company. I'm afraid I don't like it here,” she said forlornly.

Jacobus felt drawn to the dour-faced woman. “You've got me to talk with anytime you feel the need for it. While we're out here, tell me what I'm supposed to do in this glass cage.”

Frau Holtz glanced around with a practiced eye and placed her hands on her hips, a look of concentration pulling the corners of her mouth. “Jacobus, I don't care what you do with the flowers. The Mevrouw won't care what you do with them and neither will anyone else. My advice is do whatever you want. No one will know the difference. Why should you care?”

Jacobus shrugged. “I only meant to make myself useful and I really like flowers. I'd like to try my hand at them.”

“Suit yourself,” said the Frau. “Come inside for that game of cards and perhaps another piece of pie?”

Jacobus eagerly followed at the mention of the pie. It was the best he'd ever had and that cook in the kitchen was no fool. It would take some doing to get her to show him how she had made it.

 

As soon as Sirena got up in the morning, she had. the entire household in an uproar. She demanded pails and pails of steamy water for her bath. She had Peggy tending her as a personal maid and the poor girl was all a dither when Sirena insisted she press one gown and then another only to change her mind a third time. Finally, settled in the tub, she asked Peggy to bring her scents from the still unpacked baggage. Peggy handed her new mistress a slim bottle of amber liquid and thoughtlessly Sirena tipped it into her bath water. Recognizing the scent, Sirena slapped angrily at water sending out small showers in every direction.

“Have I done something wrong, Mistress?” Peggy inquired fearfully.

“No, how could you know? Go now, leave me to my bath, I'll call you when I need you.” Sirena's voice was stern and Peggy wasted no time in escaping her mistress' wrath.

Sirena slipped down in the tub, the hot water draining her tension. She was ashamed at having treated Peggy so harshly. The girl couldn't have possibly known that Sirena. disliked the scent she had unwittingly poured into the bath. Civet musk, heady and sensual, wafted to her nostrils. She hadn't worn this particular fragrance since her wedding night. Wedding night! Sirena scorned, reliving her own personal embarrassment. The day had been endless and exhausting. She had married Regan under duress, it had been part of her plan to avenge Isabella's death. At the time she had still held Regan responsible for the treachery committed upon her and her family.

Throughout her wedding day Regan had remained attentively at Sirena's side. Considerate of her needs, introducing her to the guests she had not met before, he was the picture of a delighted groom.

Sirena's nerves had been strung as tautly as the violin strings on which the musicians played. She had passed through the celebration as if in a dream. Nothing had seemed real or to have substance. The food was tasteless, the wine flat, the conversation meaningless.

Later, alone in her room, Sirena had prepared for bed. The windows overlooking the gardens were open, allowing the night breezes to carry the sweet aromatic scents of the flowers and spices inside. She had slipped away from the last of the lingering wedding guests to seek the peace of solitude. As she had climbed the stairs, she had looked back and her eyes had been drawn to Regan. As if her glance were a physical touch, he had turned from his conversation and looked at her and their eyes had locked. After a long moment, she had turned her head and proceeded up the stairs.

By the time she had reached her room, her heart was beating wildly, her pulse throbbing savagely. His one, brief glance had desired her, coveted her, and she had seen that he regretted his promise to free her from sharing his bed. She had recalled the smile that had played about his lips when he made that promise. Could it be he had no intention of honoring it?

In spite of herself, Sirena had taken elaborate pains with her toilette. For a final touch, she had placed a few precious drops of civet musk on her pulse spots; it had enveloped her in a cloud of heady sensuality.

She had arranged a soft, loose knot atop her head with wispy ringlets feathering her brow and the nape of her neck. Satisfied that she created an alluring picture, she had waited ...

Over and over she had rehearsed the scene in her mind. Regan would tap on the door seeking admittance. Hesitantly, shyly, she would admit him. His eyes would cover her hotly, their searing passion and need burnishing her soft flesh. She would stand with her back to the dim lamplight, allowing him to discern the voluptuous outline of her body through her thin lavender nightdress.

He would stand close to her, the musk intoxicating him with desire. His hand would reach out and touch the soft ringlets falling against her cheek and then caress the silky skin of her neck. Roughly, desperately, he would pull her against his muscular body, his breath would come in a light, wine-scented panting. His mouth would seek hers in a long, enveloping kiss. Drawing away, his eyes would burn into hers, pleading, begging her to release him from his promise.

Tormented, Sirena broke from her reverie. That had been her wedding night! Ashamed, she covered her face with her hands. Regan had never come to her room, had never pleaded for her caresses. He had left the house; she had heard his footsteps, had heard his horse's hooves. He had gone to Gretchen Lindenreich's. He had given the Teutonic bitch the satisfaction of knowing that Regan had left his nuptial bed to fly to his Valkyrie's arms and die a little in the throes of passion as she transported him to Valhalla.