A Brother's Honor (24 page)

“I shall not marry that—that thing!” Abigail cried.

“Yes, you will.” Sir Harlan regained his composure and smiled. “You must never show anything but obedience to Clive. He needs to be treated with respect. Don't be like the other one.”

“What other one?”

“Clive's last betrothed. She unfortunately met with an accident before the wedding.”

“Accident? What kind of accident?”

“Her neck was broken. Most unfortunate, don't you think?”

“He did
that
to her?” She looked at Captain Fitzgerald and noted that his expression was studiously benign. He would not admit he had rid himself of his wife the same way. “If she was murdered, you—”

Sir Harlan put his finger directly in front of her face. “It was an
accident
, Abigail. To suggest otherwise might cause needless trouble. Cooperate, or you might find it as uncomfortable for you here. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, you do.”

He turned and yanked a bell pull. “I think it would be best if you retired now, Abigail. You will join us for dinner.”

“I would rather not.” She touched her cheek.

“My son does not dine with us. He eats in his private rooms. I suggest you join us, my dear, rather than dine with him. Since Clive has seen your loveliness, I think it would be wise to limit your meetings.” He cleared his throat. “Young men sometimes can be overcome with the longing for their bride before the wedding.”

“You need not be delicate with me, Sir Harlan.” Abigail smiled. This was exactly the opening she had been waiting for. “Mayhap Captain Fitzgerald failed to mention that I am no longer a maiden. I know about a man's desires.”

As she had hoped, Sir Harlan flushed and rounded on Captain Fitzgerald. “Arthur, you said nothing of this!” Her dream of escape was dashed as he continued, “When? Is there any chance she could be pregnant?”

Captain Fitzgerald nervously pulled at his collar. “'Tis possible. She and the Frenchman who is in your jail traveled across England from where the
Republic
went down.”

“And you were this Frenchman's lover?” the baronet demanded, scowling at her.

She folded her arms in front of her and gave him her coolest smile. “Captain Dominic St. Clair is a very charming Frenchman, Sir Harlan.”

He sniffed. “This causes a bit of a problem. The child must be Clive's. There must be no question of that. It would be a shame not to wed him to your daughter. Not only does he find her appealing, but she has attributes I would like to see in my grandchildren.” He shrugged. “We will know within a few weeks. The wedding can be delayed until then.”

Abigail hid her smile. A lot could happen in a few weeks. Only a few weeks ago, she had been sailing on the
Republic
, believing it was bound for the Caribbean. Since then, she had lived through disaster and found ecstasy. Surely in the same amount of time, she could devise a way to save both her and Dominic from their fates.

Chapter Seventeen

A silent servant led Abigail up the stairs to the room which would be hers while she waited for Sir Harlan to be satisfied that she was not pregnant. The woman had glanced at the mark on Abigail's cheek in shock, but said nothing.

Abigail kept her gaze on the floor tiles which peeked from beneath a carpet runner that covered the middle of the corridor. She wondered if it would be possible to pretend she was pregnant. No, that would be useless, because Sir Harlan would be determined that any child that was not his son's would not survive to be born. Even deep in her thoughts, she noticed more than one door opening furtively so an inquisitive servant could peer out at the woman chosen to marry Clive Morris.

The thought sent a shiver of disgust along her. No wonder Clarissa had been so appalled at the idea that her parents had invited Sir Harlan to their gathering. Although Abigail was curious why Sir Harlan was so desperate for a bride for this son and why Captain Fitzgerald had agreed for her to be that bride, she tried not to think of the horror of the creature's touch. Only Dominic had caressed her like that. She did not want that monster to.

“Miss Fitzgerald, these will be your rooms,” the maid said.

“Thank you,” she said in a toneless voice. To release any emotion would free all her agony.

She fought the temptation to surrender to her grief again.
Not in the hall
, the warning rang through her mind. If someone saw her collapse in tears, Sir Harlan would be informed posthaste. She did not want to give him any more satisfaction at her pain.

The door closed behind her. Stiffly she crossed the antechamber to find another room beyond. Standing in the doorway, she leaned back against the door frame and closed her eyes. Mayhap if she opened them slowly, she would find this was just a nightmare. Then she could awake in Dominic's arms in the grand bed at Sudley Hall as his kisses swept away these horrible memories.

When her eyes opened, Abigail sighed. She had not escaped. The bedchamber before her was decorated in soft shades of rose and green. The high bed was topped with an enticing pile of lacy pillows that matched the thin curtains pulled back from French doors that led to a balcony. Chairs were arranged comfortably, and another door must open to a dressing room. It was lovely, perfect for Sir Harlan's future daughter-in-law, but it was a prison.

Stumbling forward, Abigail dropped onto the bed. She hid her face in the satin covers, wanting to call out to Dominic to rescue her, but he was suffering his own hell in that odious jail. Their adventure, which neither of them had guessed awaited them when they set sail, had come to an ignoble end. While he died at the end of a rope, she would be ravaged by that half-witted beast.

Hands stroked her shoulders. She bit back a scream and looked up. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she saw a black-haired woman standing behind her. The tall woman's simple gown and tightly drawn back hair labeled her a servant. She had many more freckles than Abigail.

“Who are you?” Abigail asked.

“My name is Tessie. I am here to help you.”

A pulse of hope exploded through her, but she dampened it. Tessie was here to serve as her maid, not assist her in escaping.

“Miss Abigail, calm yourself.” Tessie's voice was sedate, although her wide eyes belied that serenity.

“How can I be calm?” Abigail crossed to the double doors opening onto a small balcony overlooking the valley. “How can I be calm when I know Dominic is in prison and I am being condemned to torment here?”

“Dominic?” The maid's eyes grew even wider. “So it is true what is being whispered. You were with a French spy.”

Abigail was no longer amazed how quickly gossip spread. “He is not a spy. He was just trying to get both of us out of England.” She sighed, not wanting to tell the whole story again. “Why are they doing this to us?”

“Surely you heard about Sir Harlan seeking a bride for his want-witted son.”

“Yes.”

“Yours is not the first father to offer his daughter in exchange for the amount of money Sir Harlan has promised any father who gives his daughter as a bride for Clive.”

She choked, “Money?”

“Five thousand pounds at the wedding and five thousand more when the bride gives birth to a son.”

Abigail dropped onto a chair and stared at her clasped hands. Too late, she understood why Captain Fitzgerald had brought her on this voyage. Value … she had some value for him. How many times had he said that during the trip down from London? For the first time in her life, he had said. He could make money from her while he sold her to a madman and his idiot son. It was all the sweeter for him because now he had a final revenge against her mother, for he was destroying her daughter's life as well.

“Sir Harlan wants to be sure I'm not pregnant before he marries me to his son,” she whispered.

Fury strained Tessie's kindly features. “So he really plans to wed you to that thing he calls his son?”

“Yes.”

“What will you do?”

“What I must.” She raised her head and clenched her fists on the arms of the chair. “He fears that I am pregnant with Dominic's child. I think he should be unsure about that for as long as possible.”

“I will tell him nothing.” She dropped to her knees beside Abigail's chair. “I know you have no reason to believe that, Miss Abigail, but you can trust me. That beast attacked my sister after taking a fancy to her.” Her face grew hard. “Clive was a kindly lad, as gentle-hearted as a babe. 'Tis those men who watch over him. They have goaded him to become the beast he is. I do not want to see anyone else hurt like she was.”

“And like his last betrothed was.”

Tessie nodded. “That was horrible.”

Abigail hesitated. If Sir Harlan had instructed Tessie to say these things, then she was about to betray herself. She needed an ally in this house.
And you did learn to trust Dominic
, her heart reminded her. “So you will help me hide the truth?”

“Aye, Miss Abigail. I will be silent. I do not like this at all.” She clucked her tongue as she stood. “I do not like them making you marry poor Clive. Let me know what you need me to do, and I will. Sir Harlan will never learn the truth from me.”

“Thank you. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your kindness.” She squeezed Tessie's hand.

Tessie blushed, then said, “I have finished unpacking for you, Miss Abigail. You will be staying here while your father goes back to ready the
Torch
for sailing.”

“I know.”

Abigail rose and walked out onto the narrow balcony. She ran her fingers along the waist-high wall. Her heart contracted at the ultimate cruelty inflicted on her. With her room overlooking the village, her balcony offered her a view of the hideous prison where Dominic was being held. She wondered how much worse it was on the inside.

She would not be a victim of Captain Fitzgerald's greed. She repeated that vow again and again. She intended to prove to him and Sir Harlan that she would not dance when they pulled the strings. She would foil their plans.

The only thing she did not know was how.

Captain Fitzgerald left to oversee the loading of the
Torch
exactly on schedule. Abigail made a point of not telling him farewell. When he returned, she would be forced to marry Clive. When he returned, Dominic would be hanged. That much had been made clear during the intolerable dinner when Captain Fitzgerald and Sir Harlan had toasted one another over and over until they dropped in a drunken stupor by the table.

Captain Fitzgerald's departure did not lessen the horror of her days as one rolled into another until a week had passed. Abigail woke each morning, dreading the day to come. If she tried to hide in her rooms, a servant was sent to rout her out with a question about her health. Even Tessie's efforts to waylay the servant were unsuccessful. Abigail knew Sir Harlan was seeking any sign that she was pregnant. With Tessie's help, she kept him guessing.

It was the afternoons she dreaded, for that was when she had to let Clive call on her. One afternoon, she had dared to protest going into the parlor to meet Sir Harlan's son and suffering another battering. The beating Sir Harlan had given her had been worse than his son's pawing.

As she stood by the parlor door to repeat the torment of pretending that Clive would be human today, Abigail saw Sir Harlan marching down the hallway from his study. He was as pompous as a rooster strutting in his yard and about as witless.

“Is it time for your visit with Clive already?” He chuckled, his belly bouncing beneath his waistcoat. “How the morning has flown!”

“It has not for me.”

Again he laughed and patted her shoulder with feigned sympathy. She pulled away. She had no interest in his hypocrisy. Tessie had told her why Sir Harlan had gone to this elaborate plan to find a bride for his son. Sir Harlan's wife remained in London, detesting her husband's company as much as Abigail did. An older son had died without any legitimate issue. That left only Clive to give Sir Harlan the grandchild he needed to inherit his estates, which he did not want to give to his wife or brothers. He planned to gain himself a legitimate grandchild, even if it cost him ten thousand pounds and left Abigail as broken mentally as his son.

“Abigail, my dear, the wonderful glow of health you had when you arrived is fading.” He tweaked her cheek. When she moaned as he pinched where her skin remained tender after her last session with Clive, his smile broadened. “You must get outside more. I have arranged for you to go into Morristown tomorrow morning for your next fittings for your wedding clothes.”

“Morristown?” she repeated, shocked he was going to let her leave the house. Then she realized he had guessed the truth that she would not flee and leave Dominic here to die. The very thing that gave her the strength to endure this could be the same thing that destroyed both her and Dominic.

“I will send my coachman with you. Orr will make sure nothing happens to you. Let the villagers see how lovely my future daughter-in-law is.”

As the parlor door opened, Sir Harlan made a quick excuse to leave. Abigail had discovered that he could not abide being in his son's company. Not that she blamed Sir Harlan.

The larger of Clive's two guards, a coarse-speaking man named Fuller, smiled. “Right on time, aren't you, Miss Fitzgerald? Eager to see your sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she answered honestly.

When he sputtered with astonishment, she pushed past him to see Clive standing by the fireplace at the far end of the room. It had been the truth. She wanted to see her sweetheart, for it had been more than a week since she last had had a chance to speak with Dominic. As she stared at the man she must marry, she thought of Dominic's warm embrace. The only thing she needed to fear when she was in his arms was that she would be driven mad by the exquisite ecstasy they shared.