Hope stared at the man standing before her, hardly daring to believe her eyes.
When Lord Falkland insisted upon speaking to her in private, she nodded her assent. A spark of apprehension filled Nathaniel’s eyes before he frowned and dashed across the gloomy room as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. Gavin, on the other hand, barely looked her way. Instead, he and Falkland exchanged a glance that caused Hope’s nerves to tighten even further before he joined Nathaniel.
As the shock of seeing him faded into a raging fury, she regretted agreeing to speak with him.
Feeling returned to her legs, and Hope slowly rose. With one hand perched on his hip, Falkland slid his fingers over the gold trim of his waistcoat and studied her. His dark hair was pulled back and tied with one of his gaudy bows—this one a bright purple that matched the satin of his waistcoat. He tugged at his white cravat.
“My dear, I must say I expected a more amorous greeting.” His stern jaw flexed as his green eyes scoured her, claiming his possession.
Hope cast a quick glance at Nathaniel and Gavin leaning against the far tavern wall, their eyes peeled in her direction. “The last time I saw you, Arthur, you were walking away from me as I was being auctioned off into slavery. What are you doing here?”
“I came for you.” He grinned and took a step toward her, holding out his hand.
Hope backed away. “I urge you to keep your distance, sir, or my friends will be upon you.” Moist heat suffocated her, stinging her nose with the putrid smells of the tavern.
Lord Falkland cast a dismissive glance at Gavin and Nathaniel and chuckled. “Harmless rodents, by all appearances.” He pouted. “And when did you begin to call me sir again, my sweet one?”
Hope cringed at the sound of Falkland’s pet name for her. “I don’t know what your true purpose is for being here, nor do I care. But if you think to make amends for what you did, you are sorely mistaken.” Belying her outward composure, she grabbed a loose curl at her neck and tugged upon it. Lord, help me. Why are You doing this to me? She had at one time hoped with all her heart that she would see this man once more. Now that he stood before her, she couldn’t be sure of anything.
His eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head. “You have changed. You are stronger. More defiant.” He raised one brow and leaned toward her. “I find it quite alluring.”
Hope’s stomach knotted. “Did you expect me to run into your arms?”
“You are beautiful.” He brushed a knuckle against her cheek, but she jerked out of his reach. He frowned. “Will you at least hear my explanation?”
“Pray, get on with it.”
“I did not abandon you to the fate you assume.” He laid his cane atop the table with a clank and straightened the cuffs of his sleeves. “Do you remember Mr. Garrison?”
A vision of the stocky, puffy-faced man at the auction block came to Hope’s mind, renewing her revulsion and fear. “The merchant who nearly purchased me? How did you...?”
Arthur smiled.
Hope blinked. “He was your man?”
“Yes. And I paid him quite handsomely to purchase you. All money lost, of course.” He sighed and patted his money pouch like an old friend.
The jangle of coins grated over Hope. Her mind reeled, and she gulped for a breath of fresh air, not the stagnant muck that infiltrated the tavern. “For what purpose?”
“To keep you safe, of course. Captain Grainer had his heart set on selling you. Though I tried desperately to dissuade him, I could not.” He shrugged. “My only other option was to purchase you myself. And my plan would have worked, too, if that poor excuse for a hero”—he pointed toward Nathaniel—“hadn’t swept in to the rescue.”
Hope’s anger cooled. So Arthur hadn’t abandoned her, after all. He gave her a conciliatory smile, and Hope waited for her heart to leap as it always did at the sight of him. But then a vision of Lady Falkland—Arthur’s wife—lifting her pert little nose in the air blasted through Hope’s mind, and Hope’s anger returned, deflating her heart. “And what would you have done if your plan had worked?”
“Why, send you home safely on one of my ships, of course.” He furrowed his brow in concern. “Do you think I would ever do anything to harm you? I love you, sweet one. I always have.”
Hope’s knees turned to pudding, and she sank into her chair. He loves me still. “What of your wife?”
Lord Falkland knelt beside her and reached for her hands, but she snatched them away. “I meant to tell you about her, I truly did.” He sighed and looked down. “But there was never a proper time.”
“A proper time?” Hope shouted, drawing the gaze of Falkland’s two men sitting at the next table. “You promised to marry me,” she whispered, seething.
“And I still intend to, my dear. All in good time.” He placed a hand on her leg, and Hope shot to her feet, knocking her chair over behind her. Not long ago, his touch would have sent waves of heated pleasure through her, but now his hands felt as cold as ice.
A look of genuine pain sparked in his eyes. “My wife is quite ill. The doctors do not expect her to live much longer.”
“She looked quite well to me,” Hope snapped.
“’Tis an insidious disease that does not manifest itself in obvious ways.” He flattened his lips and sent her a look of appeal. “I cannot tell you how taxing it has been.”
Hope rubbed her brow, unsure whether to believe a word this man said. “Taxing? How taxing can it be when your wife lies near death and you are bedding another woman?”
“Can I help that I fell madly in love with you?” He stepped toward her again “It was not my intention.”
Hope eyed him, searching her heart for any scrap of affection, any spark of tenderness remaining for this man. His expression beamed with a charming appeal that normally sent her heart fluttering, but now all she felt was confusion and doubt.
“So you see,” he continued, “I have been ardently searching for you for months, until I discovered Mr. Mason had a ship berthed in Kingstown and came straightaway.”
“And as I have already inquired, for what purpose? You have a wife.”
“Nothing has changed between us, my sweet. Nothing. We are still betrothed. I still intend to marry you.” He inched toward her, sweeping his gaze over her hair, her lips. “I have a ship. I can take you back to Charles Towne post haste, and we can carry on as if none of this nightmare had ever occurred.” He waved a hand through the air as if to dismiss the agony she had suffered over the past months.
He still loved her. He still wanted to marry her. Wasn’t that what she had longed for? Wasn’t that what she had endlessly cried for after he’d abandoned her? Hope’s heart wrenched. She glanced at Nathaniel and back at Arthur. That Nathaniel had rejected her proved no honorable man would ever want her. If she didn’t accept Arthur’s proposal, she would most likely spend the rest of her days alone and unloved.
Never alone and always loved. The soft voice filtered through Hope, soothing her and lifting her spirits.
Falkland’s scent of lavender crept over her, but instead of setting her senses aflame as it used to, nausea brewed within her belly. How could she ever go back to this man? Not only was he married, but his love paled in comparison to the love of God. Hope gazed into his green eyes. And she knew. She knew she no longer loved him, no longer needed him. She wondered why she ever had.
Thank You, Lord.
Hope clasped her hands before her and thrust out her chin. “But this nightmare did occur, your lordship, and you are right, I have changed. I find I no longer have a shred of affection for you. Indeed”—she could feel Nathaniel’s piercing eyes upon her from across the gloomy room—“my affections lie with God, and with another.”
“God, bah.” Lord Falkland glared at Nathaniel. His brow crinkled. “I see.” He faced her. “But what would I have expected from a woman who so freely offers her wares to any man with interest.”
“How dare you!” Hope slapped his face, and his head snapped to the side. Fingering his jaw, he grinned. “I have learned much about Mr. Nathaniel Mason over this past month. I would hate to see the young merchantman’s business ruined before it has begun.”
Fear spiked through Hope, and she stepped back. Her bare foot landed in something almost as cool and slimy as the man before her. “What are you saying?”
“Shall I spell it out for you, my sweet one? Either you come with me willingly and remain my mistress, or I will ruin your lover. Mark my words, I will ruin his business, I will ruin his reputation, and Mr. Nathaniel Mason will end up a beggar on the streets.”
Nathaniel took up another pace across the sticky floor. He crossed his arms over his chest, scratched the back of his neck, then crossed his arms again. Why did Hope give that pig Falkland an audience after what he had done to her? And the odd look on her face when she first saw Falkland. Shock ... anger ... love? The chaotic spin of his own emotions made it impossible to tell.
Hope had committed her life to Jesus, yet since then, she had betrayed Nathaniel’s trust, thrown herself at Gavin, and now appeared to be falling back into the trap of that charlatan, Lord Falkland. And after Nathaniel had rescued her from near slavery, had given up his ship, had endured over a month of starvation, discomfort, and danger. He didn’t know whether to be angry at his losses, at her betrayal, or be sorry for her quick slip away from the Lord back into her old ways.
Regardless of the pain she’d caused him, Nathaniel longed for her to remain true to her faith. O Lord, please help her to do the right thing.
Gavin’s whistling began to chafe over Nathaniel. The man had not said a word or even looked at Nathaniel. Instead, he spent his time kicking a piece of stale bread across the floor.
Across the tavern, Lord Falkland advanced toward Hope. She backed away, and it took all of Nathaniel’s resolve to stop himself from charging toward them and pummeling the man to the floor. Nathaniel peered through the shadows and craned his neck, but he could not make out Hope’s expression or hear her words. Two things were sure. Lord Falkland made a heartfelt appeal, perhaps even begging for her forgiveness. And Hope was listening. Though she seemed to resist at first, now her shoulders slumped, and she sank back into her chair.
Falkland snapped his fingers, and his two men leapt to their feet and flanked Hope. Nathaniel started toward them, wondering how he and Gavin were going to take on three armed men. Turning, he gestured for Gavin to follow, but the man’s attention remained riveted on the floor. “Take heed, Gavin.” But still his friend ignored him. When Nathaniel faced forward, it was to an advancing Lord Falkland. Hope shuffled at his heels.
Falkland held up his hand. “Calm yourself, Mr. Mason. Your lady is unharmed. Or should I say, my lady.” He chuckled.
Nathaniel’s heated blood stormed through him.
The pompous fop halted and tapped his cane on the wooden floor, the sound as hollow as Nathaniel’s heart. Behind Falkland, Hope’s head remained bowed.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Nathaniel asked.
“I’ll make it simple for you, Mason, since you are a simple man.” Falkland gave him a malicious grin. “Miss Hope and I have reconciled our differences, and she has agreed to set sail with me this evening for Charles Towne.”
Nathaniel’s throat went dry. His heart seemed to collapse in on itself. It couldn’t be true. Not after all they’d been through. Not after her encounter with God. “Hope?” He peered around Falkland. He must hear it from her lips. “Is this true?”
Hope lifted her head, then quickly looked down again. Her eyes pooled with tears. For him? For Falkland? For her shame? Fire and thunder, he was weary of trying to figure her out.
Falkland cleared his throat and looked at her.
“’Tis true,” she muttered.
Falkland brushed invisible dirt from his satin coat. “But I do wish to thank you, Mason, for keeping her safe thus far.” He turned toward Gavin. “And I believe I owe you five pounds, Mr. Keese.”
Gavin shuffled forward, and confusion rattled through Nathaniel.
Plucking out his money pouch, Falkland counted the amount into Gavin’s outstretched hand.
“Gavin?” Nathaniel’s voice came out like sludge from the bilge.
“I’m sorry, Nathaniel.” Gavin pocketed the coins, their clank piercing Nathaniel like arrows.
Hope gasped, and a sob escaped her lips.
Falkland’s brows shot up. “Oh, of course—you didn’t know. Mr. Keese is the first mate aboard my ship. After you purchased Miss Hope, I offered him five pounds to follow her, both to ensure her safety and keep her from, shall we say, any liaisons.” He shot a quick glance at Hope, then leaned toward Nathaniel with a grin. “I know how enchanting she can be, and I wouldn’t want her sullied before she was returned to me.”
Hope’s shoulders fell beneath Falkland’s insinuations.
Nathaniel shook his head, the fangs of yet another betrayal sinking deep into his gut. “You work for him?”
Gavin gave a half smile. “You know me, Nathaniel. I love an adventure, especially one that pays. How could I resist?” He lowered his gaze, but not before Nathaniel thought he saw a spark of remorse.
“Enough of this frivolity.” Falkland tapped his cane as if that put an end to things. “I shall bid you adieu, Mr. Mason.” He nodded toward Nathaniel, then faced Gavin. “Are you coming?”
In a flourish of satin and lace, Falkland swerved about, grabbed Hope’s arm, and escorted her from the tavern, his men and Gavin following on their heels.
Nathaniel stumbled backward into his chair. Hope did not spare him a backward glance.