Captive Embraces Page 15

  “There is no need for further discussion,” Regan replied coldly. “We are divorced. It is just as well you came here today, there’s something I want to tell you. I’ve met someone. I plan to marry her if she’ll have me. So you see, Sirena, it really is over between us.”

  Please, dear God, help me, Sirena prayed silently. Don’t let me falter now. With every ounce of strength within her, Sirena steadied herself. Her emerald-green eyes flashed a warning as she met his gaze. Her words, when they came, surprised her, for they were as completely controlled as Regan’s.

  “I want to be certain I understand.” She enunciated each word slowly and carefully. “We are divorced. By your decision. You plan to marry another. Everything you’ve taken from me by what you claim is your right, I will reclaim. You may have it now, but,” she said so faintly that Regan had to strain to hear, “I will get it back. You won’t spend one cent of my money on another woman. What’s mine is mine. Not yours, no longer ours, but mine! Believe what you will, do as you wish, but consider this the only warning I’ll give you. Oh, over one other matter,” she added casually. “I looked over the agreement you made with Señor Arroya. I’ve made a slight change as the gentleman said was my prerogative. I no longer want a profit statement. I want more shares of this company. See to it that the matter is handled. In three days it will be the first of the month.”

  “You want what?” Regan bellowed in outrage.

  “I want my payment to buy extra shares in your company. I have great faith in you, Regan. I know that if you work twenty hours a day as I did in the nutmeg fields you will make me a rich woman. You should have learned to read Spanish. It is the bottom line on the contract you signed. Your bold, brave signature rests directly beneath it. Shares, Regan, and don’t stint yourself.”

  “The law—”

  “I’ve had enough of you and your damnable laws. I’m sick and tired of you telling me what I can and cannot do. You have no choice in the matter. Think of it this way; it will increase your capital to improve the business. Play me fair, Regan, else I’ll kill you. I can’t make it plainer than that. And don’t think I’ll shed tears of remorse. There is no judge in this land who would convict me when they learn what you did to me. In case you’re not aware of the fact, the Valdez fortune has come into my hands. If one has enough money, judges and lawmakers can be bought. Just as husbands can be.”

  “If there is one thing which sickens me, Sirena, it’s a jealous, spiteful woman,” Regan sneered.

  Sirena’s laugh tinkled off the walls. “A rich, jealous, spiteful woman!” Again, her green eyes flashed dangerously. “It would be advisable for you to work your fingers to the bone ... for me. And if I am in a generous mood, then I will allow you to continue ... ,” she laughed again, “... to continue to make a living for me. Adios, Regan.”

  Regan watched her leave, her loose-limbed stride regal and confident. Damn woman! He sat down slowly on the hard chair and put his head in his hands. She had come to England, for him. Why had he been so bull-headed and so cold to her? Just the sight of her had almost driven the breath from his body. She hadn’t changed since he had last seen her, damn her. If anything, she was even more beautiful. His heart thundered in his chest. It had been all he could do to keep from crushing her to him.

  What had he done? God in his Heaven couldn’t have convinced him she would ever have overcome her despair and come to him. He had believed her implicitly when she cried that she would never leave Mikel’s grave. And here she was, threatening to ruin him as she had almost done once before. A wild, frightening feeling churned in his guts as he recalled the dangerous glint in her eyes. He had seen that look before and had seen the results of the emotions behind that look—when she had mowed down the scurrilous pirate, Dick Blackheart!

  When she had enjoyed her escapades as the Sea Siren, Sirena had waited for the day when she could repay Blackheart for what he had done to her and her sister. That day had come, just as she had known it would. And now she was threatening to ruin something that he, Regan, was building. Not this time, Sirena, Regan thought as he gritted his teeth. He groped for some way to protect himself from her. Some way to get his hands on a healthy income that had nothing to do with the money he’d vested for Sirena. Something apart from the business.

  Over and over he mulled things in his mind and his logic kept bringing him back to the same point. Camilla Langdon. Daughter of Sir Stephan Langdon, a wealthy landowner and financier.

  Actually he had been seeing quite a bit of Camilla since coming to England. Not that he sought her out; she just seemed to be at every party or dinner he attended and had more or less attached herself to him. Recently, whenever asked to a social function, it was assumed he would bring Camilla with him.

  A forced smile tightened on Regan’s lips. He could do worse than a lovely, young, fair-skinned heiress, couldn’t he? And he’d already told Sirena that he intended to marry. Well, perhaps it was a bit before the fact. He knew instinctively that Sir Stephan would welcome the alliance. As for Camilla, he would swear she was hot for him. Besides, what better way to protect himself from Sirena’s allure than to be a happily married man?

  Sirena collapsed in the coach, heart-racking sobs engulfing her body. Jacobus cradled her in his thin, sinewy arms and let her cry. He cursed the Dutchman silently and wished him a slow, painful death. Poor Capitana. There was no need for her to suffer so. If this was what dry land was going to do to the crew and captain of the Sea Spirit, then it would be best to return to sea. He knew in his heart that the Capitana would never depart as long as the Dutchman was here in this hellhole known as London. He made a mental note to speak to Jan and the other crew members and see if they could think of something that would ease the Capitana’s anguish. Love was for fools, he reasoned. The sea and ship were his only loves. They didn’t break your heart. If he ever went over the side he would go straight to the bottom and not fight the inevitable. He would rest in his watery grave, in the arms of his only true love, the restless sea.

  Pale sunshine was streaking the sky when the carriage finally stopped at Sirena’s new home. Inside her room, with the door closed, Sirena looked about like a trapped animal. Why had she said what she did to Regan? Where had all her good intentions gone? What had possessed her to threaten him the way she did? Because he hurt me, she cried silently. He rejected me. He plans to marry again. I had to do what I did. I couldn’t let him see how he hurt me, I just couldn’t let him see.

  Anger abruptly shot up her spine and flushed her cheeks. Regan had ruined everything. Now, as before, it was up to her to do something. She raised her eyes to the heavens. Oh, God, I love him. I want him back. I want him to love me. The niggling voice returned. He loves another.

  “In a pig’s eye!” The ornate, feminine dressing table suddenly found itself leaning haphazardly against the wall, the decanters of cologne and perfume spilling over the thick carpet. A sliver of mirror and a hairbrush smashed against the door and landed in a heap side by side. Down came the draperies as her fist shot through a pane of glass. She looked in wide-eyed wonder at the slim scratch which ran the length of her thumb. She lashed out at the bed and ripped the coverlet and threw it across the room. Her hand found the andiron by the fireplace and she set about whacking whatever fell into her path. “Get rid of me like one of your foul cigars, will you? Marry somebody else, will you? I’ve ruined you before and I’ll do it again. I’ll make you pay for what you’ve done to me!” she screeched. “You married me. You’re mine!” she screamed as Frau Holtz rushed into the room, Jacobus behind her.

  They looked about at the devastation and quietly closed the door. There was nothing they could do. The Mevrouw had to work things out for herself. She wouldn’t thank them for interfering in her rampage. “No,” the housekeeper said to Jacobus, “there is nothing for us to do. The Mevrouw will make a decision and she will live with it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  On the Pall Mall, near Charing Cross, the townhouse of the Baron a
nd Baroness Sinclair presided over the affluent neighborhood. The heavy fog which had descended upon London had all but obscured the impeccably tended garden which made passersby pause to enjoy its symmetry and formal landscaping. It seemed to those who had occasion to walk by frequently that the Sinclair garden boasted continually blooming flora regardless of the season. This was mostly due to the efforts and foresight of the Baroness Helen Sinclair herself, who was now tapping her foot impatiently on the library floor and piercing her husband, Baron Charles, with a steely look.

  “One would think Tyler would be here to welcome us back to London after our holiday in the country.”

  “Perhaps the boy had pressing business at the office and he hasn’t realized the lateness of the hour. Besides, this weather brought traffic almost to a standstill,” Baron Charles said quietly.

  The Baroness looked down her long, aristocratic nose and frowned. “When are you going to stop defending Tyler? He’s no longer a boy, but an eligible man. You’ve been too indulgent for too long,” she criticized. “How many times have I warned you that he requires a strong hand.”

  “My dear,” the Baron sighed, “on the one hand you tell me he’s no longer a boy and on the other you advise me to take a strong hand with him. Every young man must sow his wild oats before he settles down and it will serve to make him a better husband. I was allowed a few oats in my day and haven’t I made you a good husband?” The Baron winked at her roguishly, hoping to erase the frown from her face.

  “Yes, you’ve been wonderful,” the Baroness answered honestly. “But, Charles, a few oats are one thing. The rascal is sowing an entire field! It has to stop; his reputation is beginning to suffer and then where will he be? We must step in and take a firm hand just the way we did when he was smitten with Camilla Langdon. You must admit, Charles, that if we hadn’t stepped in at that time he would have married that snippet.”

  “Now, now, Helen, I don’t think Tyler’s reputation will be damaged. You must admit he’s more enterprising than those ridiculous fops who walk the halls of Whitehall hoping to be invited to the King’s Court. Tyler is a respectable businessman, just as I was.”

  “True,” the Baroness reluctantly conceded, “he does have that. But you must admit it was only because we insisted upon him doing something with his life that he read for the Law. Just as your father insisted you do. It was a wise move on our part and I thank God for it. But it doesn’t excuse Tyler from his social behavior. You can’t have forgotten how frantic we were when he insisted he wanted to marry that scheming little Camilla!”

  “He was immature then. Surely, you can understand his attraction to the young lady. She was and still is a beautiful woman.”

  “A poor woman. A poor relation!” the Baroness spit. “And to think I brought her into our home along with that ne’er-do-well father of hers, Stephan Langdon.”

  “My dear wife, Camilla’s impoverished state is something she cannot help,” the Baron pointed out kindly.

  “I expected you to say that,” Helen sniffed. “Camilla and her father are your relatives. And don’t tell me you haven’t been paying their bills! Why couldn’t you send them away somewhere where they wouldn’t be a constant threat of embarrassment?”

  “In truth now, my dear, where could I send them? Camilla would just pine away for London’s society and Stephan would literally die if he were away from his clubs and gaming houses. I can’t take the responsibility for their lives. If all it takes is an occasional loan and I have it to give, where’s the harm? I consider the matter closed.” Charles’ tone indicated this was an old argument which had been worked over time and again between himself and the Baroness, and both stood firmly and intractably in their feelings toward the Langdons.

  “Very well,” the Baroness agreed. “But one last thing, Charles. Is it true what I hear about Camilla and that Dutchman keeping serious company with each other? Van der Rhys is his name, I believe. I certainly hope it is. Then I can rest easy knowing that Tyler will have to put her out of his mind once and for all.”

  “I heard it said at the club that Stephan himself was boasting of the wealthy Dutchman’s interest in his daughter. Another source close to Camilla said she is already selecting her trousseau.”

  The Baroness’ face brightened and her blue eyes sparkled at her husband’s words. She patted her carefully coiffed hair and smiled. “That means Tyler is safe until some other designing female gets her hooks into him. I believe I’ll have a small sip of wine, dear, my throat feels dry. Perhaps it will ease my annoyance over Tyler. We will wait exactly fifteen minutes and if he hasn’t arrived, we’ll dine without him.”

  “The hour isn’t that late, dear. Tell me, have you heard anything more about this van der Rhys. I know the ladies are forever gossiping behind their hands when an acceptable man comes to town. Every mother within miles will be trying to rid herself of her marriageable daughters.”

  “We have spoken on the subject,” the Baroness remarked coyly. “Actually, there is not much to discuss. He’s a handsome brute and seems to be making success in his importing-exporting enterprise. I’m given to believe he’s quite wealthy and is considered very, very eligible. Lady Constance told me, when she came to call, that he was received socially and has been invited to every social function that was held while we were away on holiday. She said the men hold him in respect and the women fawn over him.”

  The Baroness turned her attention to her round-faced husband. It was true what he had said. He did make a good husband and he was an excellent father, even if somewhat indulgent. Of late, however, he was becoming forgetful, and he could ramble on for hours of things that had happened in the past She reached over and patted his hand affectionately.

  “I think I hear Tyler now,” the Baron said smiling. He rose from his chair to greet his exuberant son and clasped him firmly on the shoulder.

  “Welcome home, Mother,” Tyler said, leaning to kiss her powdered cheek. “I had some pressing details at the office, else I would have been home earlier. ”Señorita Córdez arrived yesterday. I’ll be dining with her tomorrow to go over business affairs. Now tell me, how was your holiday?”

  “We missed you,” the Baroness sniffed elaborately. “One would think you could have driven out to see us at least once.”

  Tyler winked at his father. “Mother, I toiled in my offices from sunup to sundown and came home to fall exhausted into bed only to start over again the next day. The Córdez affairs have taken so much of my time I’ve done little else. And, Father, there is something I’d like to discuss with you after dinner.”

  “Does it concern the Señorita Córdez?”

  “Yes, her affairs are in fine shape and there’s an abundance of capital which must be invested. That is what I’d like to discuss.”

  “Tyler, did the Señorita approve of the house and the furnishings?” the Baroness asked inquisitively.

  “She was effusive in her praise, Mother. She asked me to tell you she would call as soon as possible to thank you herself. She’s quite a remarkable woman.”

  “In what way,” Baroness Helen asked.

  “Well, for one thing, she’s beautiful. She is every inch a lady and, as you already know, extremely wealthy. She is intelligent, forthright and I think, Mother, you will grow fond of Sirena.”

  “Oh, Sirena, is it?” the Baron chuckled.

  Tyler correctly interpreted his mother’s look and immediately reassured her. “Mother, have no fear. I have no plans of marriage for the present or in the near future. In fact, I’ll go one step further and assure you that I’ll never marry.”

  “That is a rash statement, Tyler,” his father said, frowning.

  “You can’t mean it,” the Baroness gasped.

  Tyler laughed, a low, husky sound which pleased his mother. “I have no desire to marry. And why should I? I have quite a choice among London’s most desirable young women. It would be a pleasure to give each and every lady the benefit of knowing me and appreciating my charms. Rest
easy, Mother,” Tyler amended, “I’ll be careful not to tarnish my reputation beyond redemption.”

  “If what you said is true, Tyler, then I have no hope of grandchildren to daddle on my knee and fuss over.”

  “Somehow you do not strike me as the grandmotherly type. However, I can always change my mind.”

  The Baroness sent her son a slanted look and told him not to be too hasty in his decisions. “Perhaps one day the right girl will come along and you’ll know what to do.”

  Tyler laughed and linked his arm through her’s as he led the way into the dining room, winking again at the Baron.

  At that moment the Baron would have given up his entire fortune to be Tyler’s age again, with London’s society at his feet.

  After dinner, Tyler followed his father into the leather-furnished library and settled himself with a glass of port. His eyes scanned the massive shelves as he slouched into the deepness of the chair. The Baron held out a fragrant cigar and, after both men lit up, Tyler spoke. “Father, what do you think of my investing some of Sirena’s capital in Ireland? I’m told there is a great demand for linens and laces. I was thinking of taking a trip there to investigate the business. Perhaps Sirena would like to go and observe first hand what her money would be vested in. I plan to broach the matter with her tomorrow. If my calculations are correct, she could double her investment in a year’s time. Providing we can import according to schedule.”

  “It sounds like a wise selection to me. I’ve looked into it myself, as a matter of fact. Perhaps you could make a few investments for me while you are there. At any rate, you seem to have worked it out, although possibly the woman may not want to make the voyage to Ireland.”

  “It’s only a matter of a week’s sailing, winds prevailing. What concerns me is her husband, pardon, ex-husband. The animosity between those two is so thick you could slice it with a knife. My guts tell me he’s not a man to be pushed or coerced and that’s exactly what this arrangement he made with Señor Arroya is doing.”