Dare To Love (28 page)

“No, you are mistaken,” Thomas nodded,
continuing to stare at the man coming near.

The Yank extended out his hand for shaking,
“Yes, I’m sorry, but you two are related, correct?”

Thomas surveyed the man cautiously, too
relaxed by far, he wore a long green coat over an open shirt,
exposing his neck and chest. His boots were worn, but expensive.
His belt housed a magnificent holster with, no doubt, an exquisite
sword. “Yes, a brother, and you are?”

“Captain Whitlock,” he pronounced, lowering
his voice. “Tim, to my friends, I own my own cargo ship. I was on a
voyage to Sri Lanka with your brother.”

Thomas raised his eyebrow. The chap could
come in handy. “Were you now?”

“How’s that brother of yours? Betcha he’s
married now with a gaggle of kids, ain’t he?”

Thomas’ smiled dropped, “No Tim,” he said
despondent, “My brother is deceased.”

Tim could not believe what he was hearing,
“Dead? Jesus, what happened? That guy was invincible!”

“Yes,” Thomas relayed, “I agree. Murdered…at
sea, ten years ago.”

Tim stood agape, “Ten years? Unbelievable…I’m
so sorry,” he apologized, shaking his head and being summoned over
for payment. “Excuse me,” he stated, walking away from the two
lords.

Devin and Thomas both eyed the Yank standing
at the payment window. Thomas wanted to continue speaking with the
man about his brother, but then they heard their names being
formerly announced into the span.

The twosome stood arrogant and confident
within the French Parliament. Without blinking, their buoyancy and
eminent aristocracy was bestowed release of the Captain’s daughter
without further delay. Anne appeared a few moments later. She could
have easily passed for a sister, Thomas thought, as she glided
towards the two landed gentry. Black hair, eyes as green as
emeralds, still as thin, but not as beautiful as she once was; an
evident scar from the tip of her temple down to her chin screamed
mistreatment. She stood motionless now, staring at the Englishmen
before her.

“Lord Hollinger?” She questioned, immediately
recognizing and remembering his solid attractive façade. She would
identify him anywhere; clapping eyes on him several years ago in
her first and only season, practically following him around the
ball that night like a puppy. She was spellbound, a loss for words,
she never expected her father to send him to her rescue.

Thomas stepped into her, “Why cousin, I am so
glad to see that you were treated well.”

Anne’s heart began to pound and gazed at the
members of Parliament. “Why yes,” she lied, “…I told you in my
letters that I was treated well.”

“Yes, yes you did, and I have a surprise,”
Thomas remarked, clearing way for a view of a lively Devin. “Your
betrothed.”

“My betrothed?” Anne blinked with the
humorous shock. She immediately recognized him as well. “Lord
Hale?”

“My sweet,” he played along, grabbing her
into his arms and tasting her. Oh, sweet, sweet justice…and the
irony!

General Duroc had been standing a few feet
away from Anne in case there was a problem and raised his eyebrows
at the absurd flaunt, “Take her, we are quite done with her
antics.”

Thomas bowed to the man. “Good day, General
Duroc, you should be hearing my decision soon,” and the two men,
along with Anne in tow all began their wade through a grove of
French cavalier stuck-up noses, when they heard…

“Not yet.”

Thomas turned around and eyed a flamboyant
French aristocrat standing isolated. An exotically handsome man
with long black ringlets surrounding his sun-tanned face, the man
was dressed in his flashy red silks and gold ringed fingers and
stood proud and arrogant, narrowing his blue eyes on Anne.

“And who are you?” Thomas inquired,
curious.

“Antoine Bruneau,” Devin voiced with
distaste.

Anne immediately closed space between Thomas
and herself, she was afraid of Antoine, scared of what he might do.
Antoine was a callous lover, oftentimes beating and tying her up
naked for days. She instinctively wrapped her hand around Thomas’
elbow and squeezed it tight.

Knowing this female reaction coming from
fear, Thomas placed his protective hand over hers and leaned into
Devin. “I take it you two are already acquainted?”

Devin grabbed Anne to him and pushed her
behind his back. “She’s mine Antoine and I am taking her back.”

“You haven’t asked permission.”

Devin lurched towards Captain Whitlock and
borrowed his sword. Swinging around him, he met Antoine’s sword
that was already at attack and pointed towards his chest. “Is this
permission enough?” “Oui.”

“Duel!” Members of the Parliament shouted,
all encircling the two men on the brink of murder. Tables were
scooted aside, chairs were lifted and rugs were rolled up, people
all around created a ring just to make room for the two heated
opponents.

Thomas ran towards his friend, “You do not
have to do this, Devin. This was not part of the deal.”

“No friend, but I must, I really must,” Devin
eerily stated, maintaining constricted meditation on the dastardly
rat. “My honor is at stake, or should I say my sister’s honor.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows and knew exactly
what he was implying. Everything fell into place. Katrina’s ease
the first time they were together, her continued acceptance of
their liaison. Antoine Bruneau had been Katrina’s first lover?

Antoine Bruneau, illegitimate son to Empress
Josephine’s second cousin was not the least bit surprised to see
Lord Devin Hale again. His sister was indeed, a tasty morsel. Even
if Monsieur Hale insisted under gunpoint above a pot of boiling
oil, he would have never married the fille.

Anne ran to Thomas immediately and wrapped
her frightened arms around his waist. “Lord Hale does not have to
defend my honor, what is he doing?”

Thomas nearly laughed aloud; it was so
blatantly obvious that the girl wanted to touch him. Anne began to
run her fingers up the small of his back in her failed attempt at
seducing him. He unhooked her grip and pulled her aside. “He is so
in love with you Anne, never got over you,” Thomas joked, watching
Devin expertly match every position of Antoine’s swordfight.

Devin winced, and then tripped slightly when
he overheard Thomas’ ridiculous proclamation. Lunging for the man,
he shoved his sword towards Antoine’s shoulder. “I must confess,”
Devin announced craftily, “That I once held the record at Pembroke
for the most victories,” he assuredly passed on, clipping Antoine’s
shoulder and watching it turn red. “Awe, that felt good, I rather
like seeing you bleed.”

Antoine was embarrassed; no one had ever
nipped him before! He ran towards Devin and whipped his sword
towards his challenger’s head and tried to behead him. Devin fought
him off quite skillfully; breeching his strain with both strong
arms, crisscrossing his sword into Antoine’s other shoulder, making
him lose blood there as well.

Gasps were heard throughout the great hall,
there were even some claps and cheers. Antoine Bruneau was not as
popular as he so thought. With his left hand up in the air, Devin’s
right sliced the atmosphere towards his competitor. Competitor,
hah! The man was an amateur, Devin found out, as he continued to
mark up Antoine’s sweet and sour face.

Anne attempted another seduction, as Thomas
stood near her again. His body was so enticing; she could not help
but lust after the man. “You married now Lord Hollinger?”

Thomas gazed away from the continued
swordfight and down at Anne, “Yes, how did you guess?”

“Lucky woman, your wife.”

Thomas grinned, “I am the lucky one,
Anne.”

“So she has your heart?” Anne asked with her
own twitter patting. “No other woman can entice you to her bed?”
She asked, wide-eyed, fingering the crest of her exposed bosom.

Thomas eyed her hand for a moment, and then
looked way. “No other, Anne. The lady owns my desire as well.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN

The end of each day had been the hardest for
Gwendolyn. With every sunrise, there was hope and expectation that
Thomas would be filling her doorway and whisking her away to
Wilderbrand to be with him. But with every sunset, came despair,
and Gwendolyn quickly withdrew her confidence. Determining it was
best not to tell Mary that her father was alive, Gwendolyn chose
silence as well, and each day hurt her like a stake through her
heart.

She wished he would come to his senses and
realize he had made a mistake. She was so sure on that night that
they made love that Thomas was hers forever. Pleasing her every
time they touched, wrapping her arms around his chest and gaining
reassurance that she was in her rightful place; talking to him in
between kisses, sharing further experiences about Mary. He was so
perceptive to what she desired, he responded ultimately, each and
every time. One moment in particular, he was lying on his side with
his elbow bent, holding up his head with his hand. He looked
absolutely wonderful in that lazy pose; she just had to collide
with him once more and kissed him. She leaned into him, touching
his chest and he grabbed her head and kissed her deeply. Her hands
roamed his sinewy backside and he covered her body with his,
thrusting his hardness into her warmth. She had never felt anything
so perfect, all sense of time, vanished. So overwhelmed with
emotion, she began to release tears of joy and he softly kissed the
moisture away from her face. She should have confessed her love for
him right then and there but did not want to be susceptible to his
rejection. Only now does she understand that his finesse included
simulating reciprocal fondness. What a fool she was for thinking
that they could resume being a genuine family. He must have
concluded that they could never be. Trying to hypothesize the
excuses he had lined up in his head…He was pledged to another
woman…he was intoxicated that evening and was not thinking
straight. But his intimacy did not indicate the latter, he was so
earnest in his compassion for her…and oh God, she was utterly in
love with the man and he fled with complete utter silence?

That was the worst, really, not hearing from
him at all. She felt she deserved some kind of an explanation. But
where were the letters? Their friendship merited some sort of
clarification. What was he thinking? How could he live with
himself? Hold his head up high and know that he took advantage of
their familiarity and still recite his vows? What was she to him
now? No longer his friend, he said he could not continue mutual
esteem without touching her, so he chooses absence? Not his
mistress by reason of the two duration’s she was with him, she had
still been his wife. His wife? Huh! Even that covenant was not
sacred enough; he still found a way to complete his pledge to
Katrina. It must her, Gwendolyn realized. The serpent incarnate
with blonde hair and blue eyes, keeping her tight grip on the
reigns of her husband’s whereabouts. Having a taut hand in
everything he did, said and went. Gwendolyn learned firsthand what
kind of controlling person Katrina was. She never did let Thomas
out of her sight during the whole extent Gwendolyn was there and
she had even been a victim to her venom. Thomas must have confessed
his final affair with Gwendolyn, and therefore, knowing Katrina’s
personality, must have assigned him strict limitations.

But what Gwendolyn was most unhappy about was
the fact that Thomas would never be able to see his children. When
she thought him passed, Gwendolyn used to speak to the heavens and
imagine him listening, she would ask him if he had seen what his
daughter did that day and sometimes when a peculiar gust of wind
would blow through her hair, she believed she received his
answer.

She was being punished, she figured;
reprimanded finally for ignoring him time after time, treating him
harshly when they were younger. She used to love to tease him,
challenge him, argue with him and even run away from him. How dare
she think by treating him so unfairly would be rewarded? She would
take it all back though, every single minute of it if she could
have a second chance. But she did have a second chance and there
would be no third. But stubborn as she was, Gwendolyn believed it
was not over between them, she felt so in her heart. But where were
those letters? Tommy Hollinger used to be her shadow, her tail, his
surfacing had always been counted on, taken for granted; for God’s
sake the boy was always following her! Oh God… he was always
following her! Why couldn’t the man be pursuing her now?

Six months expectant, Gwendolyn hobbled along
the dirt path towards St. Paul Church. She passed several villagers
on their way towards town and they all stopped by to say hello.
Gwendolyn greeted the passersby with a friendly nod and then waved
goodbye. Some of the advantages of being away from the upper
classes and living in the country were that no one judged you. Her
Great-Aunt was very well loved within the community, and therefore,
any respect that was lingering with her passing was now bestowed to
her niece. Phyllis later spread that Charles had fled to London to
demand Gwendolyn’s hand in matrimony, they were still seen together
in town; they must have gone through with the marriage for no one
raised an eyebrow to her condition—it was a normal course.