“Blast you both, you’re being unfair—”
“Shut up, Georgie!” Warren growled.
“I won’t. I’m not answerable to you, Warren Anderson, not as long as Clinton is here. So you can just stop right there or I’ll—” She picked up the nearest thing within reach on the desk. “I’ll clobber you.”
He did stop, but whether in surprise that she was standing up to him when she never had before, or because he thought she was serious about braining him, she didn’t know. But Clinton stopped, too. In fact, they both looked kind of alarmed.
“Put the vase down, Georgie,” Clinton said very softly. “It’s too valuable to waste on Warren’s head.”
“
He
wouldn’t think so,” she replied in disgust.
“Actually,” Warren choked out just as softly, “I would.”
“Jesus, Georgie,” Boyd was heard from next. “You don’t know what you’ve got there. Listen to Clinton, will you?”
Drew glanced at his younger brother’s blanched expression, then the two stiff backs in front of him, then his little sister beyond them, still holding up the vase under discussion as if it were a club. He suddenly burst out laughing.
“You’ve done it, Georgie girl, damned if you haven’t,” he crowed in delight.
She just barely spared him a glance. “I’m in no mood for your humor just now, Drew,” but then, “What have I done?”
“Got them over a barrel, that’s what. They’ll listen to you now, see if they don’t.”
Her eyes moved curiously back to her oldest brother. “Is that true, Clinton?”
He’d been debating what approach to take with her, stern insistence or gentle coaxing, but Drew’s unwelcome interference settled it. “I’m willing to listen, yes, if you’ll—”
“No ifs,” she cut in. “Yes or—”
“Blast it, Georgina!” Warren finally exploded. “Give me that—”
“Shut up, Warren,” Clinton hissed. “before you frighten her into dropping it.” And then to his sister, “Now, look, Georgie, you don’t understand what you’ve got there.”
She was looking, but at the vase she still held aloft. It elicited a small gasp from her, because she’d never seen anything quite so lovely. So thin it was actually translucent, and painted in pure gold on white with an Oriental scene in exquisite detail. She understood now, perfectly, and her first instinct was to put the beautiful piece of ancient porcelain down before she accidentally dropped it.
She almost did just that, put it down very carefully, afraid a mere breath could shatter something this delicate. But the collective sighs she heard made her change her mind at the last moment.
With a raised brow that was a perfect imitation of what she had once found so irritating in a certain English captain, she inquired of Clinton, “Valuable, did you say?”
Boyd groaned. Warren turned about so she wouldn’t hear him swearing, which she could hear perfectly fine since he was shouting every word. Drew just chuckled, while Clinton looked extremely angry again.
“That’s blackmail, Georgina,” Clinton muttered between clinched teeth.
“Not at all. Self-preservation is more like it. Besides, I haven’t finished admiring this—”
“You’ve made your point, girl. Perhaps we should all sit down, so you can rest the vase in your lap.”
“I’m all for that.”
When he made the suggestion, Clinton hadn’t expected her to take his seat behind the desk. He flushed a bit when she did just that, his angry look getting worse. Georgina knew she was pushing her luck, but it was a heady feeling to have her brothers in such a unique position. Of course, she just might have to keep the vase they were all so worried about with her indefinitely now.
“Would you mind telling me why you’re all so angry with me? All I did was go to—”
“England!” Boyd exclaimed. “Of all places, Georgie! That’s the devil’s birthing ground and you know it.”
“It wasn’t
that
bad—”
“And alone!” Clinton pointed out. “You went alone, for God’s sake! Where was your sense?”
“Mac was with me.”
“He’s not your brother.”
“Oh, come now, Clinton, you know he’s like a father to us all.”
“But he’s too soft where you’re concerned. He lets you walk all over him.”
She couldn’t very well deny it, and they all knew it, which was why her cheeks bloomed with color, especially when she realized she’d never have lost her innocence, or her heart, to an English rogue like
James Malory if one of her brothers had been with her instead of Mac. She’d never even have met James, or discovered such bliss. Or such hell. And there wouldn’t be a babe resting under her heart that was going to cause a scandal the likes of which Bridgeport had never seen before. But it was so pointless to bring up should-have-dones. And she couldn’t honestly say that she wished she’d done anything different.
“Maybe I was a bit impulsive—”
“A bit!” Warren again, and not even a little calmed down yet.
“All right, so maybe a lot. But doesn’t it matter
why
I felt I had to go?”
“Absolutely not!”
And Clinton added to that with, “There’s no explanation that can make up for the worry you put us through. That was inexcusable, selfish—”
“But you weren’t supposed to worry!” she cried defensively. “You weren’t supposed to even know about my going until after I got back. I should have been home before any of you, and what
are
you doing home, anyway?”
“That’s a long story, wrapped up in that vase you’re holding, but don’t change the subject, girl. You know you had no business going off to England, but you did it anyway. You knew we would object, knew exactly what our sentiments are toward that particular country, and still you went there.”
Drew had heard enough. Seeing Georgina’s shoulders drop under that load of guilt, his protective instincts came to the fore, making him snap, “You’ve made your point, Clinton, but Georgie’s suffered
enough. She doesn’t need all this added grief from you three.”
“What she needs is a good spanking!” Warren insisted. “And if Clinton doesn’t get around to it, you can damned well believe I will!”
“She’s a bit old for that, don’t you think?” Drew demanded, overlooking the fact that he’d been of the same opinion when he’d found her in Jamaica.
“Women are never too old to be spanked.”
The imaginings that disgruntled reply engendered had Drew grinning, Boyd chuckling, and Clinton rolling his eyes. They’d all, for the moment, forgotten that Georgina was even in the room. But sitting there listening to this outlandishness, she was no longer cowed, was instead bristling, and was quite ready to throw the precious vase at Warren’s head.
And Drew didn’t exactly redeem himself when he said, “Women in general, aye, but sisters fall into a different category. And what’s got you so hot under the collar, anyway?”
When Warren refused to answer, Boyd did. “He only docked yesterday, but as soon as we told him what she’d done, he had his ship refitted, and was in fact leaving this afternoon—for England.”
Georgina started, thoroughly bemused. “Were you actually coming after me, Warren?”
The small scar on his left cheek ticked. Obviously, he didn’t like it known that he’d worried about her as much as, if not more than, the rest of them. And he wasn’t going to answer her anymore than he had Drew.
But she didn’t need an answer. “Why, Warren An
derson, that has to be the nicest thing you’ve ever considered doing for me.”
“Oh, hell,” he groaned.
“Now don’t be embarrassed.” She grinned. “No one is here except family to witness that you’re not as cold and callous as you like people to think.”
“Black and blue, Georgie, I promise you.”
She didn’t take his warning to heart, maybe because there was no longer any heat behind it. She just gave him a tender smile that said she loved him, too.
But into the silence, Boyd demanded of Drew, albeit belatedly, “What the devil did you mean, she’s suffered enough?”
“She found her Malcolm, more’s the pity.”
“And?”
“And you don’t see him here, do you?”
“You mean he wouldn’t have her?” Boyd asked incredulously.
“Worse than that.” Drew snorted. “He married someone else, about five years ago.”
“Why that—”
“—good for nothing—”
“—son of a bitch!”
Georgina blinked at their renewed anger, this time on her behalf. She hadn’t expected that, but she should have, knowing how protective they were of her. She could just imagine what they’d say about James when it came time for the big confession. She couldn’t bear to think of it.
They were still commiserating in their own way, with colorful invectives, when the middle brother walked into the room. “I still don’t believe it,” he said, drawing everyone’s startled attention. “All five
of us home at the same time. Hell, it must be ten years at least since we’ve managed that.”
“Thomas!” Clinton exclaimed.
“Well, hell, Tom, you must have come in on my waves,” Drew said.
“Just about.” He chuckled. “I spotted you off the Virginia coast, but then lost you again.” And then he gave his attention to Georgina, only because he was surprised to see her sitting behind Clinton’s desk. “No greeting, sweetheart? You aren’t still angry with me, are you, for delaying your trip to England?”
Angry? She was suddenly furious. It was just like Thomas to put little stock in her feelings, to assume that everything would be swell-dandy-fine now that he was home.
“
My
trip?” She came around the desk, toting the vase under her arm, so angry she forgot she was even holding it. “I didn’t want to go to England, Thomas. I asked you to go for me. I begged you to go for me. But you wouldn’t, would you? My little concerns weren’t important enough to interfere with your blasted schedule.”
“Now, Georgie,” he said in his calm way. “I’m willing to go now, and you’re welcome to come along or not.”
“She’s already been,” Drew informed him dryly.
“Been what?”
“Been to England and back.”
“The devil she has.” Thomas’s lime-green eyes came back to Georgina, flared with upset. “Georgie, you couldn’t be that foolish—”
“Couldn’t I?” she cut in sharply, but then unex
pectedly her eyes filled with unwanted tears. “It’s your fault that I’m—I’m…oh, here!”
She tossed the vase at him as she ran out of the room, ashamed to be crying again over a heartless Englishman by the name of Malory. But she left pandemonium behind, and not because anyone had noticed her tears.
Thomas caught the vase she’d thrown to him, but not before four grown men fell at his feet in their efforts to catch it if he didn’t.
J
ames stood impatiently at the rail, waiting for the small skiff that had finally been sighted on its way back to the ship. Three days he’d waited in this little bay on the Connecticut coast. If he’d known it was going to take this long for Artie and Henry to return with the information he wanted, he would have gone ashore himself.
He almost had, yesterday. But Connie had calmly pointed out that his present mood was a deterrent, that if the Americans didn’t clam up simply because he reeked of British nobility, authority, and condescension, his mood would make anyone distrustful, possibly even hostile. James had objected to the condescension part. Connie had merely laughed. And two out of three had still made his point.
James was totally unfamiliar with these American waters, but he’d decided not to follow the vessel he’d been trailing into port, since he didn’t want to give Georgie any prior warning that he was here. He’d merely assured himself that her ship had actually docked at the coastal town, rather than sailing up the river she had entered. He’d then anchored the
Maiden Anne
just around the point of land that jutted out at the mouth of the river and sent Artie and Henry into the town to find out what they could. But it shouldn’t have taken three days. He’d only wanted to know
where he could find the wench, not details of the whole town.
But they were back now, and the moment they climbed aboard, he demanded, “Well?” only to change his mind and snap, “In my cabin.”
Neither man was overly concerned with his abruptness. They had an earful to report, and besides, the captain’s manner was no different than it had been since leaving Jamaica.
They followed him below, as did Connie. But James didn’t even wait to settle behind his desk before he again asked for an accounting.
Artie was the first to speak up. “Ye won’t like it none, Cap’n…or maybe ye will. That ship we was after followin’, she’s one o’ the Skylark Line.”
James frowned thoughtfully as he slowly eased into his chair. “Now why does that name have a familiar ring to it?”
Connie’s memory had no trouble supplying the answer. “Maybe because as the Hawke, you had encounters with two Skylark ships. One we captured, the other got away, but not before we did considerable damage to her.”
“And this Bridgeport ’ere is ’ome port o’ the line,” Artie added. “There’s more’n a ’alf dozen o’ their ships docked right now.”
James accepted the significance of that with a grin. “It appears my decision to avoid that harbor was a fortuitous one, don’t it, Connie?”
“Indeed. The
Maiden Anne
might not be recognizable, but you certainly are. And I guess that settles the matter of your going ashore.”
“Does it?”
Connie stiffened. “Blister it, James, the wench isn’t worth getting hanged for!”
“Do try not to exaggerate so,” came the dry reply. “I might have been easily visible whenever we bore down on a prize, but I also sported a beard in those days, which you’ll notice I no longer do. I’m no more recognizable than my ship is, and furthermore, the Hawke retired more than five years ago. Time dims all memories.”
“In your case, it must also have eroded good sense,” Connie grumbled. “There’s no reason you have to take any risk a’tall, when we can just as easily bring the brat to you.”
“And if she doesn’t want to come?”
“I’ll see that she does.”
“Are we considering abduction, Connie? Strike me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that a crime?”