“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I c-couldn’t. I c-couldn’t bear to remember it. That first time, on the ship, in the morning it all c-came back to me.”
“Dear God!” he said softly, finally understanding what had driven her from him.
“But he’s not dead,” she said, raising her head from his chest. “Don’t you see that? He must be here somewhere.”
“It could have been just coincidence, Channing using those words.”
“No!” she cried, shaking her head violently. “No, it isn’t, I know it isn’t. Channing even looks like him. It’s as if he’s c-come back in Channing’s body.”
“Now you’re being foolish,” he chided gently, rubbing her back as she trembled like a sapling in a gale.
Godfrey Channing stood in the trees and watched in cold jealous rage. Only a lover would hold a woman like that. She was clinging to Edward Caxton with all the intimacy of a woman who’d just climbed out of his bed. She was no virgin, she was a whore who’d given herself to a nobody, a mere country squire, a foppish nitwit with neither fortune nor lineage. He took an involuntary step forward out of the shelter of the trees.
As if sensing the movement, Caxton raised his eyes, looked over Olivia’s head towards the trees. Godfrey stepped back hastily but not before their eyes had met. It was a brief contact but it was enough. Channing now knew what was familiar about the man. He’d seen those eyes before, been subjected before to that hard, sharp, contemptuous look.
This man who called himself Edward Caxton was the man who’d bought his culling. Just as the foul fisherman had not been what he had seemed, so Edward Caxton was not the insipid, fawning hanger-on in the king’s presence chamber that he seemed. And he’d taken his prize from him.
Olivia took a deep sobbing breath as she felt Anthony’s sudden alertness. “Is he there? Did he see us?”
“Don’t worry about him.”
“But if he saw us, he’ll tell people.”
“I’ll take care of Godfrey Channing,” Anthony said grimly. “Did he hurt you?”
“He tried to kiss me.” She shuddered again, scrubbing her hand across her mouth. “I’m so frightened of him. He must know Brian. He must. How else would he know to call me that? Brian must have told him what he did to me; they must have talked about me. And now he’ll tell everyone that he saw us together.” Her voice was rising alarmingly and Anthony hushed her gently.
“I’ll take care of it,” he repeated.
“How?” She looked helplessly at him.
“Just trust me.” He paused, then said deliberately, “In this at least you can trust me to do something without the promise of financial reward.” Both eyes and voice challenged her for an explanation.
The warmth of a minute earlier vanished, leaving Olivia cold and empty again.
She answered the challenge with one of her own. “Why did you c-come here? Won’t you draw attention to yourself? If my father was home, he’d ask questions. I thought you needed to avoid that.”
“I happen to know he’s not here.”
“Yes, I suppose you would know that. You must have spies.”
“Yes, I do.” He looked at her in frustration, controlling his anger at her arid tone. It seemed he’d solved one puzzle, only to be faced with another. “Is that part of what makes me so wrong for you, Olivia?”
“You said yourself you’re no gentleman. You don’t act by the rules of honor,” Olivia said slowly.
“Is that what this is about?” he demanded. “It never seemed to trouble you before.”
“In the dream, such a thing as acting honorably didn’t seem to matter,” she said. “But now I’m awake I find that it does.”
Honor! His father had dishonored his mother. Their child had been born in dishonor. His father’s family under the shield and buckler of honor had rejected the dishonored infant, abandoned him without a qualm to survive or not.
Anthony said bitterly, “Honor is a luxury not everyone can afford, my dear Olivia. And when I see how much dishonor is perpetrated in the name of honor, I’m glad it’s beyond my reach.”
“My father is honorable,” she said in a low voice. “He would not do a dishonorable act.”
Anthony looked at her bleakly. There seemed nothing to say to this unspoken comparison.
“I will leave you here,” he said, his voice without expression. “I will take care of Channing and see what I can discover about this Brian character. Spies have their uses,” he added with an ironic smile. He turned and mounted his horse, riding off down the driveway without a backward glance.
Olivia went slowly back to the house. She had accused Anthony of dishonor. But what other word was there for a wrecker? The most despicable, cowardly act of thievery. Piracy and smuggling-they were swashbuckling, daring. Piracy certainly was thievery; smuggling was not considered such. Smugglers merely deprived the loathed revenuers of their equally loathed taxes. Even her father took delivery of smuggled cognac.
She thought of the taking of the Dona Elena. That had been stealing, no question. But he had stolen from barbarians. He had freed the slaves, given them the ship. It had seemed at the time like a fair fight, a legitimate cause.
She sat on the window seat, looking out through the open window at the sea. She felt emptied of all emotion; even her fear of Brian had faded somehow. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. The day was sunlit and yet it seemed gray. The sea sparkled and yet it seemed dull. Everything was lifeless and pointless.
Chapter Fifteen
Brian Morse set down his wine cup as someone banged on the door of his chamber in the Gull at Ventnor. “Who is it?”
“Channing.”
“Come in, dear boy, come in.” He didn’t rise from his chair as Godfrey entered. An eyebrow lifted as he took in his visitor’s appearance. Lord Channing looked less than immaculate for once. Dust coated his boots and coat; his stock was twisted; the plume on his hat was seriously windswept. He had blood on his cheek.
“You look as if you’re in something of a hurry,” Brian observed, leaning forward to pour wine for his visitor.
Godfrey drained the cup and then refilled it before saying, “I rode hell for leather. Something’s happened.”
“Oh?” Brian’s eyes sharpened. “Your pursuit of the fair Olivia has met a snag?”
“She’s a whore,” Godfrey spat out.
“Oh, no, dear boy. You must be mistaken. Pure as the driven snow, I’d swear it.”
“Then you’d be forsworn! She has a lover.”
“You begin to interest me,” Brian said. “Tell me all.”
He listened, meditatively rubbing his aching thigh, as Godfrey poured out his tale, repeating when he’d finished, “She ran from me. Ran straight into the bastard’s arms.”
“Why did she run from you? Did you frighten her? I told you to tread carefully with her.”
“You also told me she was a virgin!”
“Mmm. I’m surprised, I must confess. She was always such a timid creature.”
“She said your name,” Godfrey remembered. “Just before she ran, she said your name.”
Brian’s expression lost its air of mild amusement. “Why would she do that? What did you say to her? Did you tell her I was here?”
“No, of course not. I’m no fool.” Godfrey shook his head. “I was trying to soften her up, tease her a little. You told me she had a pet name as a child. I called her ‘little rabbit’ to make her feel at ease.”
“You did what? ” Brian got to his feet, wincing as his leg took his weight. His face was suffused with rage. “You idiot! I didn’t tell you to say that. Did I?”
Godfrey had a temper of his own and it was running high already, but instinctively he backed away from Brian Morse, who had his stick in his hand and looked as if he was about to use it. “What harm could it do?” he muttered sullenly.
“What harm? It was a private name. One only I used,” Brian said furiously.
“She could have forgotten. It was a long time ago.”