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Authors: Heart of the Storm

Rexanne Becnel (32 page)

BOOK: Rexanne Becnel
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“
Y
ou should take her home now!” Lloyd Haberton stated. “Get her away from his foul influence while you can. And pray that Johnstone will still have her.”
Eliza glared daggers at her uncle. If she hadn’t been so completely rattled when her father had hustled her into his carriage, she would have demanded to ride in the vehicle carrying her brothers. By the time she realized her mistake, however, they were underway. Now she had reached her limit with her uncle’s overbearing ways.
“You need not speak of me as if I were not present, Uncle Lloyd. For your information, I will not return to London until I am quite ready to do so. And I am not in the least interested in
having
Michael Johnstone, as you put it, no matter
what
his opinion of me might be.”
“I was not thinking of London,” her uncle angrily shot back. “After this shameful episode your only chance is to retire to the country and hope some goodhearted rustic will overlook your scandalous past and offer for you!”
It was a cruel blow, and it found its mark. Eliza gasped and had to fight down a monentary panic. What if Cyprian did not come … Then she rallied. “Is that
what you did after
your
shameful episode? Did you retire to the country and marry some rustic?”
“Eliza!”
She turned at her father’s rebuke. “You are all very conveniently overlooking the fact that Cyprian is Uncle Lloyd’s son! Call him your bastard, if you will,” she said, glaring back at her uncle’s now furious face. “But the fact remains that you abandoned his mother and therefore him. Our family has been cruel enough to Cyprian; I will not be a part of any continuing cruelty toward him. I refuse to abandon him again.”
“But I did not know she bore the child,” her uncle vowed. Then his gaze shifted uncomfortably to Aubrey, who sat silent for once all ears and eyes as the adults around him did verbal battle. “I don’t think this subject is approprate.”
But Eliza ignored the last part of his words. “What would you have done if you had known?” She leaned forward in the rocking cab of the coach and pinned him with her eyes. “How would you have dealt with Cybil then? Would you have married her?”
“I … well, no … no, I was betrothed to Constance. I could not have broken my vow to her,” he added defensively.
“You were already betrothed? That means … that means you always intended to abandon them.” Eliza sat back in the hard seat, horrified.
“Father?” Aubrey put in from his spot against the door. “Is that true?”
Lloyd’s stare switched from Eliza to Aubrey. “No, no, son. I … I would have provided for them. Bought them a cottage. Seen to his schooling.”
“Perhaps you should tell him that,” Eliza suggested.
“That won’t make any difference!” Lloyd swore. “It’s too late. It became too late the minute he stole Aubrey. Even though my son is returned to me, he still has my money.” Then he gasped. “My money!” At once he
pounded on the roof of the carriage. “Driver! Stop! Turn around. We need to go back for my money!”
“Cyprian is your son, too!” Eliza shouted furiously. “But you value your money more than the son you sired. I’m surprised you agreed to put up a ransom for Aubrey, all things considered. And you didn’t once admit that without Cyprian’s involvement Aubrey might still be crippled,” she reminded him in a scathing tone. Then turning to Aubrey she added, “Take note, cousin, of how much your father values his children.”
“Oh, but you are wrong, Eliza,” Aubrey countered most sincerely. “Father and mother were so happy to see me—and to see me walk right up to them. He cried for joy, you know. He really did.”
Eliza wanted to stamp her foot in frustration.
Whose side are you on?
she fumed silently at her cousin.
But then she saw how her Uncle Lloyd stared at his son, how his eyes went to Aubrey’s legs and then back to his innocent young face. How love for his child shone in his eyes despite the other emotions that contorted his features. He hesitated now in the middle of trying again to attract the driver’s attention, his arm upraised and his mouth open wide, staring in sudden confusion at his young son.
Aubrey was most assuredly a master of manipulation, Eliza recognized in that portion of her mind that could still be rational and observant. The child did not say another word. He didn’t need to. He just stared at his father, speaking volumes with only his guileless blue eyes.
Oh, but he was so like his older half brother. It was not just the raven-dark hair and piercing blue eyes they’d both taken from their father, but also the personality traits they so obviously shared. They were both stubborn to a fault; each had a willpower that frustrated everyone; and they both possessed an uncanny ability to manipulate the people around them. Cyprian was an
expert at it and Aubrey seemed to have the same natural talent.
When her uncle fell back against the hard leather seat, Eliza turned her head toward the window. The fringe-edged shade was pulled down and laced at both corners to keep the damp December wind out. But still she stared at the shade as if through an open portal that revealed a wondrous landscape, wild and beautiful. But any scene she viewed was purely in her mind, though no less wild and beautiful. For it was Cyprian she saw in her mind’s eye, and she knew there was nothing more wild and beautiful than him.
A lump rose in her throat and fear forced her eyes closed. She was cold and lonely, though in the midst of her family, and the thought that Cyprian might not come tortured her. Tears fought for release, but she willed them back. She would not cry in front of them, not even her father, for they would all know she cried for Cyprian, and that would only make things worse. They hated him; he hated them. If she were to keep
all
of them, she would need to be strong, stronger than she’d ever had to be in her short, sheltered life. But she would be, she vowed with renewed determination.
With a cleansing sigh she clutched her hands together in her lap. She meant to win in this battle of wills, though she would have to defeat her father, her uncle, and Cyprian. But she did have allies, she realized. She had Aubrey. And Oliver, Xavier, and Ana were on her side. Even Perry was leaning her way. She could only pray that together they were enough.
 
“Not another word.” Cyprian cut Xavier off with a menacing glare. Ana, however, was not so easily cowed. She picked up a muslin apron and tied it around her waist.
“So much for men being stronger and braver than
women,” she muttered, as if to herself. But she knew it carried to Cyprian.
“You don’t understand any of this, Ana. So kindly mind your own business,” he finished in a decidedly unkind tone.
“I happen to think Eliza is my business,” she stated as she handed a bucket to Oliver. “Fetch water,” she ordered. Then she began to assemble a variety of herbs and spices on the wide table. “Eliza and I have become quite close. I consider her very like a sister, and I admire her for her courage.” She raised her head and fixed Cyprian with her dark mysterious gaze. “She knows her mind and is not afraid to pursue a course that will bring her happiness—even if that course is fraught with obstacles. Which is more than I can say for you,” she added flatly.
Cyprian sent her a murderous look and his hands tightened into fists. “If she’d wanted to stay she could have. She
chose
to leave. I did not run her off.”
“She chose to go to her mother and she invited you to dinner! That is a far different picture than the one you attempt to paint.”
“Christ!” Cyprian spun on his heel and stalked to the door. “I’m leaving.”
“Don’t forget your money,” Ana called out to him. “I know how much you value it. I only hope it brings you comfort tonight and all the long nights to come—”
The slam of the door was her only answer. Still, Ana was not perturbed, and a faint smile curved her lips.
“Was that smart?” Xavier asked, his voice worried.
But she only slanted a wider smile at him. “I think so. He is just too hurt and angry to think straight right now. But he’ll come around.”
Xavier grinned and walked up to her to take her in his arms. “How did you come to be so wise?”
Ana laughed. “You can ask me that after all I went through to teach you about love?” Then she glanced
over at Oliver who had watched the entire scene with the empty bucket in hand. “Go fetch the water,” she ordered him once more. “Just because that Haberton fellow has agreed to Aubrey’s demand that you captain a ship for him does not mean you do not have chores around here.” She smiled up at Xavier then. “Oh, and Oliver, don’t hurry back.”
As he slipped out the door, Oliver heard her laugh and the rumbling murmur of Xavier’s reply. No man was immune, he supposed as he crossed to the well. Xavier had succumbed to love despite a mighty battle against it. Now Cyprian was fighting it.
Whose love would
he
resist, he wondered. Then he chuckled. Why resist? So long as she was comely, with a fair face, long silky hair, and a ripe young body, he could think of no reason at all to resist falling in love. Then his brow wrinkled at the thought. He’d been a long time without a woman. Since Xavier and Ana plainly did not want his company, perhaps he should take a stroll and see what the village over the hill had to offer in the way of female companionship.
 
Cyprian did not ride this time. He’d worn out his valiant steed once already, so this time he stalked away from the cottage on foot. He did not mark his direction; he was too furious with Ana to care. What right had she to interfere? If he’d wanted her advice, he would have asked her for it.
The dry, frozen grasses crackled as he strode across a fallow field. Beyond the barren branches of a stand of birch, the church spire of tiny Dunlop was barely visible. England was ugly in winter, brown and grim. Not the sort of place he cared for, not when he could be on the pleasant isle of Alderney or Madeira’s beach of perpetual June.
He slowed as he approached a roadside grotto, one of many that dotted England’s roads and highways. He
could go to Madeira, he told himself, breathing hard at his exertion. He could sail tonight if he wanted to. But what about Eliza?
Cyprian came to a halt. Maybe Ana was right. Maybe he should accept Eliza’s invitation. It was plain she wanted him. Hadn’t she come to him yesterday—though not without a little prompting from Xavier. Hadn’t she given herself to him without hesitation, without holding back a thing? To even think of the joy he found in her embrace sent a surge of heat to his loins. Ah, Eliza.
He frowned and stared blindly about. If she did want to make a life with him … His thoughts were confused and his emotions a tortured maze that pitted a lifetime built upon vengeance against a future that promised a sort of happiness he’d never considered before. But Eliza came with a price. Her family was a part of her—a part she wouldn’t give up, even for him.
He swore a vile oath. Why wasn’t
he
enough for her? Why couldn’t she forget about them—
But he understood why. It was not her way to abandon the people she loved. She hadn’t abandoned Aubrey and she wouldn’t abandon the rest of her family. He was the only one she had no trouble leaving behind.
Yet Cyprian knew better than that. She hadn’t turned away from him. She’d extended a hand to draw him into her family.
“Ah, Christ,” he muttered, raking his hands through his hair. Then a childish call and an answering bark drew his attention. When he turned, he spied a boy bent under a canvas sack of sticks that jutted out several feet on either side of him. He appeared about the same age as Aubrey, and despite his awkward load, he trotted at a goodly pace in the wake of a small, brown-and-white speckled dog.
The boy and his furry companion were oblivious to Cyprian’s presence, for the little dog was busy searching either side of the path, trying to scare up a field mouse
or a hare to chase, and the boy was eagerly following his pet’s progress.
“Atta boy, Spot. Keep after them. Oh! There’s one! Get ‘im! Get ’im, fellow!”
The dog tore off after some invisible creature that scurried beneath the dead meadow grasses. The boy started to chase after them, but his wide load of kindling unbalanced, and firewood and boy both tipped over.
In a minute the dog was back with his young master, panting and licking him, while the lad heaped praise upon his pet. “Good boy. You gave him a real go there, laddie.”
He was in the midst of rebalancing his load when a sharp whistle turned his head around. “I’m here, Da’.”
As Cyprian stood quietly observing the scene from beside the grotto, a man pulling a small two-wheeled cart came over the hill.
“Danny, come here, lad. Up on the cart wit’ you, for it’s downhill from here on.” The woodcutter lifted both the boy and his load up onto the already heavily laden cart. Then down the hill they began, cutting through the field on a cowpath.
The boy’s laughter and the father’s rumbling replies drifted up to Cyprian, as did the little dog’s excited yapping. But their conversation was not what held Cyprian’s attention. What drew his gaze and kept it focused upon them as they made their slow descent to the village was the warmth they exuded. Father and son.
BOOK: Rexanne Becnel
5.86Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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