Gabriel's Heart [The Men of Treasure Cove 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (2 page)

It was not an easy feat for her, for he was noticeably larger than her and twice her size. Once the man was standing before her, she had to crane her neck to look up at him. The man was a mountain and unusually hard as he looked down at her with his audacious silvery eyes.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said slowly, leaning over to brush his trousers off.

“You’re quite welcome. Good-bye,” she said quickly as her face heated, before turning and walking toward her destination.

“Wait. You just cannot leave like that,” he shouted, running to catch up with her. “Where are you headed this late?”

She kept walking, trying to ignore him. “That is my business. Good-bye,” she said again with a little annoyance to her voice. She had to get rid of this man. She did not want anyone to know who she was or why she was fleeing.

“It’s a little late at night for a stroll, my dear. Let me assist you safely back home?”

“I am heading home,” she replied curtly.

“Then allow me the honor of escorting you there. It is the least I can do. Sebastian William Gerard Sexton at your service.” He bowed, showing her all the goodwill in the world as if he had not been beaten to a pulp.

“No, thank you. Good-bye,” she said again.

“Well, my dear, since it seems we are both headed in the same direction, would you mind if I walk beside you and keep you company till our paths no longer connect? I would hate for you to come across a highwayman and be taken captive,” he said.

“What you do or where you walk is no concern of mine. Good-bye.”

“At least grace me with the name of my savior,” he asked, trying to catch up with her. She knew she could not give him her real name because if she did, he would be honor bound to see her safely to her destination. So pretending to be a gentlewoman of no rank, she whispered her given name, hoping to dissuade him from following her further. “Penelope.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman, and pray tell, what is your surname?”

“Donavon.”

“So where is home, Miss Donavon?” he asked, and she noticed the smile on his face.

“America,” she whispered.

“The country of savages and beasts. So which are you, my dear, savage or beast?”

“Neither and you are being an ass.”

“My sincerest apology, Madam. I’m just trying to pass the time since you have inundated me with your intellectual wit.”

“Harrumph!”

They walked in total silence through the night. As the dawn began to approach, the seaport of Plymouth loomed ahead. Still they walked in silence until they entered the town. He turned to her and bowed as a large carriage approached.

Stilling in fear, she eyed the ducal crest on the side door and was about to bolt when he took her hand and said, “It was lovely making your acquaintance, Miss Donavon. I’ve enjoyed your intellectual conversations, but I must be off, for my carriage has finally found me. Safe travels, my dear.”

She watched in total shock as the man turned and stepped into the grand carriage. She never flinched, too afraid to breathe. The moment the coach took off, she quickly made haste toward the docks, and soon found the
Widow Maker
.

The large schooner ship was a thing of beauty, and for her it was even lovelier, for it was her trip to freedom. Amazed at the size and sleekness of the ship, she watched as men loaded cargo and supplies for it voyage. They moved about her as if she were invisible, ignoring her and reading the ship for its departure.

“Where is the captain?” she asked a sailor carrying a sack of potatoes, but he never replied, ignoring her as he walked on board the ship. “Please, I have personal business with the captain.”

She needed to make sure the ship was leaving on time. She knew once that coach reached its destination she would be found out, and it would be headed back toward the docks. Still in shock from realizing she had been walking with her intended’s son all night, she shook off the feeling and searched for the captain. She needed this ship to pull up anchor and leave immediately.

So, taking matters into her own hands, she walked the rail that led to the ship. Once on board, she continued to ask, “Where might I find the captain?” Still everyone ignored her.

She had met some ignorant men in her life, but these men took the cake! Turning around, she knew there had to be a room somewhere where the captain might be, and she soon eyed a door to where she assumed the sleeping quarters were. Making her way toward it, she opened it to find a long hallway. Slowly walking and peeking in rooms as she went along, she found sleeping quarters and a kitchen but no captain. At the end of the hall stood an ornately carved door. Not bothering to knock, she entered the room to find an old man sitting before a desk, looking at charts.

“Don’t you know to knock, lad?” the old man asked.

“I am sorry to disturb you, Captain, but I need this ship to leave immediately,” she demanded.

The old man turned to look at the young girl before him, and he smiled. “Well, lass, we leave when the captain says we do.”

“Aren’t you he?”

“No, lass.”

“I need to speak with the captain. It is imperative this ship leaves immediately,” she shouted in frustration.
Where is the damn captain?

“Now, lass, there is nutt’n a thing to worry about. Let me show you a room,” he said as he stood and made his way toward her. She backed up quickly, hitting her head hard on the wall behind her. Everything went black as the old man reached for her.

* * * *

Sebastian cringed when he walked into his father’s library. Just the thought of seeing the old bastard curdled his stomach. He knew not why his father summoned him home, but when the post arrived with the ducal crest, he knew his days of freedom were over.

The only son of the current Duke of Avalon, and the cousin to George IV, the King of England, and tenth in line to the throne, Sebastian did not have the luxury of ignoring the situation. Instead, he did what any good male would do. He ignored it just long enough to get drunk, find a willing wench, and have one last good fight before returning home. Though, of course, he did not plan on getting accosted by those damn highwaymen, nor walking most of the night, but what his father did not know was for the best.

Walking over to the fireplace, he warmed himself while waiting.

Just the feeling of being back in this room brought so many unpleasant memories of whippings, screams, and beatings. Nothing good, but soon forgotten about when he left home at twelve to attend Eaton, never to return until this day, his birthday of all days.

He could not even enjoy his day without his father summoning him home. Curse the man to hell!

“I see that you have finally arrived.” The brittle ominous voice seethed behind him.

“I am here as summoned. Why?” Sebastian replied.

“You are to marry. You will meet your wife on the morrow and marry by the end of the week.”

Turning in a flash, Sebastian saw his father for the first time in fifteen years. The man had not aged well. In fact, he looked like death, if anything could look like death. Not as tall as he remembered, but more rounded in the middle. Balding and oddly yellow-looking, his father looked like a walking corpse. Apparently even death was afraid to take him, for there he stood, reeking of evil and triumph.

Sebastian wanted to laugh. The old man was making no sense. Finally, he had lost his mind, and Sebastian could not be happier. The look on his father’s face held a glimmer of punishment and scorn, and that worried him. He was up to something.

Why couldn’t the old man just die and leave him in peace?

“I cannot marry. I have other plans.” Sebastian said, walking over to the side cupboard and pouring a brandy. Swallowing it in one gulp, he quickly poured another.

“Too bad! You will marry!” his father roared.

“I do not need a wife, nor do I want one. Good day, Your Grace.” Sebastian grinned and began walking past the old man.

“Sebastian, you will marry Lady Penelope Donavon on the morrow. Her father the Duke of Rothesay has agreed to the marriage upon her birth. The Archbishop of Canterbury has already agreed and signed the proxy, with the King’s seal. Her guardian and I signed for both of you in your stead. The wedding is just a formality.”

“You son of a whore! What rights have you?” Sebastian seethed.

“I have every right to protect what is rightfully mine!” he roared in full glory. “And you, my only son, will never take that from me.”

“What in Hades are you talking about? I have never taken anything from you.”

“Oh but you will. Once I die, you will take and squander it all. I have prevented that. Your wife now controls everything. You’ll be given an allowance, but nothing more. Any children from the marriage will inherit and thus so forth. My heir will only keep the title. I have taken care of everything and saw to it that you get nothing.”

Sebastian knew good and well what his father had done. He had taken away his birthright. There was nothing he could do about it. Regardless, with the King’s seal, he was surely already married to Lady Penelope.

Oh god, she could not be!

“Wait! What is my wife’s name again?” he asked.

“Lady Penelope Anne Donavon, the daughter of the late Duke of Rothesay.”

Sebastian just roared heartily. It was too much. Laughing boisterously, he doubled over holding his stomach.

“See here! This is no laughing matter, Sebastian,” his father admonished.

“Oh but it is, for I have already met my wife and she is sailing home to America as we speak!” Sebastian laughed again.

“What the devil are you talking about?” his father asked.

“Lady Penelope Donavon. Flame-red hair, pale with rosy lips and eyes as blue as a summer’s sky?”

“Yes, that is her. You say you two have already met?”

“Yes. I bid her safe travels before she boarded a ship for the Americas. So it was not I who has taken anything from you, but my wife, and she sailed on the morning tide with everything,” Sebastian gleefully informed his father as he headed for the door. “And just so we are clear. I have never asked you for anything, nor will I ever. Thank you for the title, but I have no need for it. I never wanted it. Good day to you, sir.” With that, Sebastian walked away from his father and all he had ever known.

* * * *

Nicholas Sexton, the current Duke of Avalon, watched as his only son, Sebastian, left in a fit of rage. There was nothing more he could do to protect his family name. Too many lies and so much deception over the years, he did not even know what was true and what was not.

He had done everything, trying to prevent the past from coming forward, except for one thing. Walking over to the large desk, he sat in the leather chair and opened the drawer before him. Taking out the pistol and a single piece of parchment paper, he placed them both before him.

With a shaking hand, he began to write his final command. Everything that he had worked for was now sailing on the morning tide. He had to rectify what was soon to be lost before he died. He knew it was not going to be long now. His body had already begun to deteriorate, and he knew it was his own doing, too many whores, spirits, and gambling. He had wasted it all. His only good deed in his life was his son, and even he wanted nothing to do with him.

There was nothing he could do to change his past, but he could change the future.

He knew Sebastian was on the same path as him, and he refused to let that happen. With the flourish of his signature, he folded the paper and sealed the fate of the ducal family, with the crest of his ring. Shouting for his trusted butler, he ordered the man to bring him the jewel-encrusted music box and place it before him.

Slowly opening the lid, the soft melody rang throughout the room. He took off his ducal ring and rolled the letter, placing the ring over it, holding it in place. So many years had passed since his brother, the rightful duke, had passed, leaving him the sole heir of the ducal, and he had nothing to show for it. He had run the family name into the ground, and his coffers were empty. He had no legacy to leave to his son but debts and shame. His only hope was that one day a future successor would find a way to do right by the family and bring it back to the glory it once had. Until that day happened, he knew his family would be cursed.

He alone had changed the fate of his family so many years ago, and he prayed that when he stood before the gates of hell that his punishment was swift.

Closing the lid, he instructed his butler, “Hartford, deliver this to the marquis himself. No other hands shall touch it but his.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the man whispered.

“Go now,” he grumbled.

Nicholas watched as his only friend these last years took the only truth and hope for his family and left.

There wasn’t anything he could do about the matter now.

Taking one last sip of brandy, he picked up the pistol, put it to his head, and pulled the trigger knowing that, upon his death, he would take to the grave all the sins of his forefathers and, rightly so, that was where they would stay.