Authors: Stephanie Stevens
The captain nodded.
A call from a mate forced the captain to take his leave. Tiffany wandered to the upper deck and looked down at the activity below. Idle sailors lingered against rows of riffraff. The dock was alive in a chaotic sort of way. Having her fill of the sights and sounds, she moved to stand at the prow.
Her hair blew back with the slight breeze. Turning her face to the sun, feeling its warm caress, she grabbed the rail to balance herself against the sudden gentle rolling of the anchored ship.
Lifting her head again into the breeze, she closed her eyes.
Feeling a sadness in her heart, Tiffany tightly shut her eyes, trying to prevent the tears from falling. Behind her lids, smoke gray eyes and a mouth whose corners tipped in smile appeared.
"Princess!"
Eyes flying open, she felt a momentary jolt of happiness, then turned, gazing down from her perch to the deck below. Smoky gray eyes and a mouth whose corners pulled up into a smile greeted her.
"Well, well, Thurston. Fancy meeting you." Rory moved uninvited to the table Alan occupied. Straddling a chair, he drawled, "Why, wasn't it just yesterday, or was it the day before, you were at Wentworth 'paying your respects'?" Rory paused, stopping a passing serving wench to retrieve his mug of ale. After drinking and slamming down the mug, which caused Alan to jump nearly out of his skin, Rory asked casually, "So what brings you to London?"
"Ah ... I ... er, that is to say, I have business to attend to."
"Really?"
Refusing to be intimidated, Alan gathered courage and asked pointedly, "What business brings you here?"
"Why, my brother's, of course."
Alan's head snapped from left to right when Austin and Brent suddenly appeared--drawing chairs, flanking him. Austin straddled his, crossing his arms across its back, leaning toward Alan, while Brent sat stretching his long legs before him. Both brothers turned, grinning at him.
Alan looked nervously from brother to brother as introductions were hastily made. He cared not much for the secretive smile and glint of danger in the probing eyes of Austin's, nor was he at ease with the almost too casual smile of Brent. Alan wished to be anywhere but here, but could find no plausible excuse to leave. Instead he asked, "What brings you chaps to London?"
Austin lit a cigar, blowing a curl of smoke at Alan; he replied in a silky voice, "A bit of Barencourte goods is missing."
"Surely you chaps have insurance to cover the loss?"
With cigar clenched firmly between even white teeth, Austin stated, "That's not the point. We Barencourtes are a possessive lot and like to keep what's ours."
Brent casually added, "Besides, the 'goods' are priceless. Worth far more than its weight in gold."
"Or someone's life, for that matter," added Austin, a grin of pleasure etching his face as he regarded Alan.
"We intend to recover it," Rory added, stopping a serving wench, ordering another round.
"No matter what the cost or at whose it is," Austin stated quietly.
Alan did not miss the ominous quality of his voice, and swallowed hard.
*
"Go away, Clinton." She watched him move up the gangplank.
"Not without you, Princess. You must know that by now."
"Oh, I know
everything,
you deceitful man."
"Yes, I know you found the papers, Princess. I know you read them." Clinton moved casually toward her. "Come down from there and we can discuss the matter."
"If you come a step closer, Clinton, I swear I'll jump." Turning, she looked down at the dirty waves lapping against the sides of the ship, and the bile rose in her throat.
Clinton did not miss the ashen hue of her face, and moved. He knew she would not jump, but he feared if a roll hit the ship suddenly, she'd be tossed over. "Come down off there and we shall discuss this intelligently."
Tiffany stubbornly refused, tossing her head.
"Madam, if you do not come down off of there, I shall advance, and when I reach you and after I bring you to safety, I will thrash you for putting yourself and the baby in danger."
Tiffany believed him. To salvage her pride, she negotiated, ' 'I shall come down only if you step back and promise not to whisk me away."
Clinton smiled at her words. "You have my word as a gentleman, Princess. I shall step back." He did so. "And I will not whisk you away unless you want me to."
Moving down the steps toward him, she exclaimed, "Want you to! Are you mad? I ran away from you."
"Aye, that you did. Are you well? You look tired." The purple circles under her eyes and her pale skin prompted him to ask.
His voice was like a soothing balm to her low spirits. She nearly drowned in the smoky depth of the eyes that held her. She wanted nothing more than to lean against him, knowing his broad shoulders would never tire with any burden. She wanted it all to be as it was before. But the wound, though small, was still tender, and her anger still new. Stepping back, she replied sharply, "I am not fine. You have seen to that! You lied to me, deceived me, and betrayed my love. Damn you, Clinton, I don't want to love you anymore! I can't even believe I could love such a deceitful, ruthless man as you."
Tears of anger welled quickly; she brushed them away and turned to hide their flow, lest he see.
"Is it so bad loving me, Princess?" he asked gently, his voice like a sweet caress. "What difference do the papers make? Of what consequence are they?"
"I believed," she stammered, "believed I was more to you than another conquest, another infernal contract." She rallied. "You lied to me, betrayed me; I am nothing more than another possession you wanted and ruthlessly obtained."
Leaning gracefully against the rail, arms crossed negligently across his chest, Clinton replied, "I never lied to you, Tiffany. I may have deceived you by not telling the all of it, but lie, nay, I did not." He shrugged. "As to being another possession, make no mistake, Princess, you are mine as much as I am yours." Pausing to brush an errant curl from her face, he continued, "I don't regret the measure I took to have you."
Tiffany gasped at his casual and self-righteous attitude over what he had done, and slapped his hand away. "You conceited man. You are despicable. You pulled on the strings as if we were only puppets, never giving the freedom of choice."
Clinton turned her to face him. "Make no mistakes, Tiffany, the marquess had a choice in the matter.''
Breaking from him, she cried, "Choice. You made sure no one had a choice--not Alan, not his father." Shaking her head, tears spilling, she added, "Or me."
"Perhaps you should speak with the marquess about his choice in the matter."
"He is a victim, just as I. How can you so easily dismiss your own ruthlessness?"
A smile etched his face; easily he replied, "I had no other choice. I wanted you, above all else." He lifted her tear-streaked face. "And I love you above all else. If you were one bit honest with yourself and gave up this childish charade, you'd admit that whatever it is I've done matters not, for you love me as well."
She angrily spun away from him, heading toward her cabin, but was stopped by his words and did not mistake the promise etched in them.
"Tiffany. I give you tonight to make your choice. Tomorrow I'll make it for both of us." He pushed off the railing and departed.
She stared after his retreating figure till he disappeared in the crowd.
Pushing the empty plate away, Tiffany, full and contented, sat back.
"Oh, Captain Faulkner, your chef outdid himself." She smiled, thinking the salmon tender, the shrimp delicious, and wine delicate. "I could not eat another bite."
The captain motioned for the first mate to clear the plates. "Do you mind if I enjoy a cigar with my port, my lady?"
"If you open the window a crack, I'd not mind." The mate complied and the captain lit his cheroot, the aroma wafting in the air, reminding her of Clinton's rich cigars.
The mate placed a plate of bonbons and chocolate mousse before her. Tiffany smiled at the captain and commented delightedly, ' 'This is my favorite dessert. Perhaps I can eat a little more."
The mousse was sinfully delicious and the bonbons heavenly, and belying her words, she not only ate her mousse but the captain's as well.
The captain escorted a very full and drowsy Tiffany to her cabin. He made sure she was settled in before he left for the deck.
In the shadows he saw the tall, dark-clad figure of a powerfully built man move with easy grace up the gangplank to the deck.
"She's asleep and settled for the night," the captain said as he pulled out a cigar, offering one to Clinton.
"Did she eat well?"
The captain smiled, wondering what the hell was going on, but being a seafaring man, did not ask. Instead he replied easily, "Everything, including my dessert."
The flash of white even teeth was seen in the night. "Good!" was Clinton's reply. He turned and disappeared into the night.
Fondling the ample bosom of the bar maid perched on his lap, Alan turned, blurry eyes focusing on Austin, who was between the ripe bosom of a serving wench, lapping up ale he purposefully ladled on her. He thought, The Barencourte brothers are an awesome lot. Pretty decent chaps.
"Ah, guv'nor, 'eres a room at top we can go fer 'is," she squealed, trying to get off Austin's lap.
"Aye, love, 'tis early yet. Perhaps later, you and your friend Sally--" he nodded to the wench with Alan, "--can entertain us gentlemen properly. What you say, Thurston?"
Alan blinked, clearing his vision. "Why ... I thinks that's a rich idea, Aus."
"Guv'nor! Ye be expectin' Sally and me to take ye all on?" she howled, winking slyly to Brent.
"A menage a trois, love. You ladies are skilled, are you not?"
"You be daft, guv'nor, 'eres six of us total."
"Ah, yes, love. Perhaps two menage a trois!"
A shrill laugh escaped the heavily painted mouth, causing the hair on Brent's neck to stand at attention. He sat back, smoking his cigar, drinking his brandy, watching his brothers get Thurston roaring drunk. He idly wondered how Clinton made out and wishfully hoped Tiffany was in the
Barencourte coach heading back to Wentworth, though odds were against it. So Brent resigned himself to a long night.
Another shrill laugh reached his ears. He thought distastefully of the evening ahead. He would pull rank on Rory and go with Thurston, and leave Austin and Rory with the hyena.
Much later, Clinton entered the smoky, noisy inn and was directed to the private room in the back. Entering the room, he saw that seated at the table were his brothers. A very drunk and very disheveled Alan sat between Austin and Rory. Alan smiled crookedly at Clinton before his head fell upon Austin's shoulder. Austin shoved it off and it promptly fell against Rory's shoulder.
The two whores had finished buttoning up their dresses, catching the bag of coins Brent threw at them. As they left, Sally winked at Clinton and raised a brow. Clinton ignored her, instead reached over and poured himself a brandy.
"Well, brother, what we have here is a very drunk marquess," Rory remarked, pushing Alan's head back onto Austin's shoulder.
"Yes, Clint," chimed Austin, who pushed Alan again, but this time Alan held his head up for a moment and began to sing a bawdy ditty. Austin shoved Alan's face down on the table, silencing him.
"He has eaten, drunk, and been bedded properly. Although it would have been cheaper if we just killed him, to my way of thinking," Austin said as he reached to pour himself a drink.
Clinton smiled and shook his head. "We promised you satisfaction, Austin. You assured me there would be no blood."
"You would doubt my word? I'm merely saying it would have been cheaper to kill him, that's all."
A loud bang on the rear door interrupted them. The door banged open, and in swaggered Tristan with two burly seamen.
"Ah, Trist, you got my message," Austin called.
A smile etched from ear to ear, Tristan walked over to the table, pouring a measure of brandy, and after sipping it, said, "I want you to know, Austin, your request pulled me from the thighs of a lovely wench." He took another sip and proceeded, "If it weren't for my sister-in-law, I'd have ignored it."
Tristan looked down at Alan, then up at his brothers, asking, "Who the hell is this?"
"This is your cargo, brother." Austin smiled at Tristan, who pulled Alan's head up, and Alan, with a lopsided grin, called out "Hallo" to Tristan.
Tristan released his hold, and Alan fell forward onto the table. Tristan motioned to the two seamen, who hoisted Alan up between them as if he weighed no more than an ounce, and walked out the door.
"What will you have me do with him?" Tristan asked.