How To Seduce A Pirate (The Hawkins Brothers Series) (8 page)

Her features
dropped. A shadow crossed her face. A shadow of bitter regret. And comprehension.
He had finally made his sentiment clear: there would be
no
real marriage
between them.

She pulled her
hand away and retreated one, two steps before she turned and headed for the
door, closing it softly behind her.

CHAPTER
12

Holly smeared
the oil paint across the canvas with her hands. She had always painted with a
brush and gloves, but she couldn’t achieve the effect she now desired with such
implements. The tools hindered her efforts to release the emotional wreckage
that had run aground in her heart, and she scratched and swirled the mesh of
colors: bright ochre and sunset orange, cinnabar red and indigo blue.

Her hands were
crusted and stained. Her fingers throbbed. But the nonrepresentational work,
the first she had ever produced, captured her dreams and regrets unlike any
objective art.

When she slashed
the last bit of paint, the layered bursts of color and maddening whirlpools
cried out her feelings for her, and she sighed in release.

 The floorboards
creaked under shifting weight, not her own, though. She grabbed a linen rag and
wiped her hands as she turned in the stool and confronted her husband, seated
in a chair in the corner of the room.

Her heart
expanded, ached in her chest. The blue of his eyes so closely matched the blue
on the canvas, she realized. He was in the turbulent work, wound together with
every other sentiment and trial.

“How long have
you been watching me?” she asked in a listless voice, her energy spent.

“A few hours.
Perhaps more. I don’t really know.”

His throaty
voice sounded almost tender, and she resisted the hope it triggered in her
soul. He had made his feelings toward her perfectly clear—he loathed her. She
had usurped his life, the act unforgiveable. And her foolish dream of a real
and intimate marriage had been shattered like broken glass. All that remained
was the possibility of a formal partnership where they might exchange
pleasantries over an occasional meal.

She shuddered at
the cold reflection. “What are you doing here?”

“I haven’t seen
you in two days. Emma mentioned you often shut yourself in your studio if
you’re upset or grieving.”

“Did she?” Holly
dropped the rag on the table and removed her body apron. Her legs wavered, and
she grasped the stool for support. “Well, she misinformed you. I was just
distracted with my work. It happens on occasion. I lose sense of the passage of
time.”

“Have you
eaten?”

“I have not. And
why do you care?”

His features
remained smooth, thoughtful. “I’m not unreasonable, you know?”

Holly approached
the sunny window and rotated her stiff shoulders. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“If you want a
lover, take one.”

She stiffened.
“I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t expect
you to live without companionship. I’ll claim any babes you might have, you
needn’t fear.”

She grabbed the
window sill and squeezed the wood until her knuckles turned white. Her belly
churned and the impulse to send something flying across the room, preferably
toward her husband’s “reasonable” head, overwhelmed her. She resisted the urge,
though. A fit would not change her grim situation.

“A fair
compromise, I suppose,” she said without concealing her acrid tone. She
returned to the table and doused a rag with turpentine before scrubbing her
flesh. “What day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

“If you will
excuse me, I think I’ll rest.” After wiping her hands clean, she headed for the
door, averting her eyes from Quincy. “I have an engagement with your sister this
afternoon.”

He queried
softly, “Are you going to run to her and cry foul every time we have a
disagreement?”

Her heart
spasmed. She turned toward her husband, still ensconced in the chair, and
neared him until she hovered above his shameless head. “I have an invitation
from your sister to help plan Lady Amy’s wedding. Fret not,
husband
. I
won’t betray your disgusting offer to the duchess.”

And before
losing her remaining poise, Holly stormed from the studio and slammed the door.

~ * ~

“Whatever is the
matter, Holly?”

Holly lifted her
head and glanced at the other women seated around the table, each holding lace
or ribbon or other wedding samples.

“I’m tired, is
all,” she replied, forcing a smile. “There is nothing the matter.”

Sophia snorted
beside her. “We all know what they can be like at times.”

“They?” asked
Holly.

“The Hawkins
brothers,” said the duchess from across the table. “For all their charms, they
can also drive a woman to madness with their stubborn faults.”

“Are you sure
you’d rather not speak of it?” Amy poured her another cup of tea. “I’m certain
we can help.”

The ladies were
ever so generous and kind, but Holly was convinced they could not repair the
brokenness between her and Quincy. She recalled the night he had held her
wrist, trembling with grief and disappointment that he had such a wife as
her
.

“Holly, what is it?”
Amy thrust a kerchief into her palm. “Tell us, please.”

Was she crying?
Heavens, how embarrassing. Holly dabbed at her eyes. She’d intended to keep her
emotions firmly suppressed, to release them only in the safety of her art
studio, but under the ministrations of her sisters-in-law, she’d been unable to
restrain her despair. And now, under their concerned expressions, she also couldn’t
repeat that nothing was the matter.

“We had a
dispute,” she said instead, keeping to the truth without revealing any of the
crude details. “I don’t know how to resolve it, though.”

“Hmm.” Sophia
picked up a pin and a square of ivory satin. “Whenever James and I have a
dispute, we play a game.”

Holly pinched
her brows together. “A game?”

“A game of
chess.” She stabbed the square of fabric with the pin. “Loser pays a forfeit.”

An intriguing
thought. Holly wondered, “What sort of forfeit?”

“Absolute
submission—usually in bed.”

Holly felt her
cheeks warm, but the other women chuckled.

“I invite Edmund
to dinner and have a hardy meal prepared,” said Amy with a sly smile. “He loves
food. Once he’s devoured the fare, the disputed matter is usually forgiven or
forgotten.”

“So you see,”
said Mirabelle. “Each one of my brother’s has a weakness to be exploited. I’m
sure you’ll find Quincy’s and settle the matter soon. Give it a little more time.
You’re newlyweds, my dear.”

Their candor was
welcomed, but unhelpful, thought Holly. Her trouble with Quincy stemmed from
herself.
She
was the disputed matter. How to play a game or prepare a
meal that would make her husband forget he had
not
married the woman of
his dreams?

Holly considered
carrying the hurtful secret in private for the rest of her married life, but
she also considered the burden of doing such a thing. The crushing weight would
destroy her one day, she was sure.

In a small
voice, she admitted, “He will not forgive me.”

Amy cupped her
hand. “Forgive you, Holly? For what?”

Her heart
cramped and she heaved a giant breath. “I am not like the rest of you,” she
whispered. “I’m a notorious artist with a sordid past. Quincy had hoped to find
and marry a better woman, like his brothers before him.”

The ladies
around the table exchanged silent glances, and Holly instantly regretted her confession.
She had placed the women in the awkward positions of both agreeing with her
husband and still comforting her.

Holly attempted
to excuse herself when Sophia grabbed her other hand in an unbreakable hold, keeping
her from moving an inch.

“Should we tell
her?” the exotic beauty asked.

“I believe so,”
returned Amy.

Mirabelle
remained quiet, reflective. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I would hardly
think so,” countered Sophia. “If she ever tells another living soul, we’ll
confess her identity as Lord H. I don’t believe she’d ever risk such scandalous
exposure, not with a teenage sister to marry off.”

Holly balked.
Were the women about to
blackmail
her? Heavens, whatever for? What had
she done to deserve such iniquitous treatment?

Oh, why hadn’t
she remained silent about her personal troubles with her husband? She should
not have confessed such intimate details to his family, clearly. It was wholly improper.
And she would pay for her folly by suffering under the threat of extortion!

The duchess
finally nodded in agreement. Her umber eyes fell on Holly. “We all have a past,
my dear.”

Holly twisted
her hand, trying to free herself from Sophia, but the woman clamped down even
harder.

“It’s all
right,” Holly rushed to express before any more uneasy confessions were
revealed. “I should not have bothered you with my private concerns.”

“You are always
welcome to come to me with your concerns, Holly.”

“And to me,” said
Sophia.

Amy smiled. “And
to me.”

“We are
sisters,” the duchess resumed, “and we support one another.”

“Always,” said
Sophia and Amy in unison.

Holly blinked.
Were they going to blackmail her or initiate her into a sisterhood? She stopped
struggling and listened with intent.

“Who am I?”
asked Sophia. “Where have I come from?”

Under the
woman’s darkening gaze, Holly quivered. “You are an heiress from the West
Indies. Your late father, an Englishman, and your late mother, a Portuguese
lady, owned a plantation on the island of Jamaica.”

Sophia lifted a
cunning brow. “It does sound very respectable, does it not? In truth, I am the
daughter of a pirate and a whore. I was raised in a brothel until the age of
twelve when my mother insisted I earn my keep on my back. I refused and left
her to live with my mad father in the jungle. After his death, I took his
stolen riches and came to England.”

Holly dropped
her jaw. “You . . . You are not . . .”

“Telling the
truth?” A wicked light sparkled in her bay brown eyes. “Oh, but I am.”

Holly believed
her then. Her sophisticated ensemble belied the dangerous, even venomous tone
in her voice—a tone no proper miss could ever wield.

Hesitant, Holly
turned toward Lady Amy. “Are you the daughter of a duke and duchess?”

“I am.” She
angled her head, her golden curls bobbing. “But as a child, I was abducted by
Gravenhurst.”

“Your former
husband?”

“Yes,” she said
in a low voice. “You see, my father had wronged the marquis, terribly so, and
in revenge, Gravenhurst had taken me away from my family. I escaped into the
rookeries before he could kill me and found sanctuary in a foundling asylum.”

“Goodness,”
breathed Holly, captivated by the unfolding account.

“I eventually
found work in a notorious house called the Pleasure Palace, where I danced in
disguise as the foreign princess, Zarsiti, enticing rich men to part with their
gold coins.”

Holly’s jaw
remained in position this time as she grew accustomed to the fantastical tales.
She next peeked at Mirabelle under lowered lashes. “I’m not even going to guess
your past, Your Grace.”

The duchess
chuckled. “I was raised by my father and brothers. My mother died from
childbed fever
shortly after giving birth to
Quincy.”

Holly gasped.
Quincy had shouted his mother’s name in his troubled sleep, she remembered. And
he had begged the woman for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what, though?

“My father was
pressed into navel service when James and William were just boys,” she went on.
“Stolen from his family without the chance to even say farewell, he remained
imprisoned aboard the naval vessel for ten years. He was treated heinously
during that time, so when the naval vessel was attacked by pirates, my father
turned traitor and joined the pirate crew. He sailed the Caribbean for two
years under the pirate captain, Dawson.”

“My father,”
added Sophia.

“Yes.” Mirabelle
smiled. “Dawson saved my father from the brutal life of a pressed seaman. Soon the
two men became friends, and Dawson released my father from service with his
fair share of the booty. Finally, my father returned home. Reunited with my
mother, they had three more children, and my father took to piracy as a career.
He purchased a schooner, named it the
Bonny Meg
after my mother, and
raided the high seas for many years before he grew ill and handed command of
the vessel over to my eldest brother, James.”

Holly’s eyes
widened. “James is a pirate?”

“Was a pirate,”
corrected Sophia. “He once roamed the waves as Black Hawk.”

“What?” cried
Holly. “
The
infamous rogue?”

His wife smiled
with pride. “The very one.”

“He’s retired,
though,” assured Mirabelle. “All of my brothers are retired from piracy.”