Chapter Four
Unaware of the drama unfolding below, Baroness Camilla Langdon Sinclair slid out from her ruffled, canopied bed and stretched luxuriously, cupped her hands around her protruding stomach and sighed happily. Soon she would be a mother. If someone had told her she would ever welcome this state in her life, she would have laughed. Tyler was so happy, and the way he doted on young Wren was how he would dote on their own child. Even more so. Dear, sweet, wonderful Tyler, who loved her and understood her. Tyler was wonderful. Life was wonderful. The sun was shining and she was glad to be alive. The child growing inside her was the fruit of her and Tyler’s deep love. Nothing would ever destroy that love; she wouldn’t allow it.
With the help of her maid, she bathed and dressed in a becoming gown of soft gold, cleverly designed to conceal her condition. As if she wanted to hide it. Why had she listened to that prudish seamstress who had said it was unseemly for a “lady-in-waiting” to reveal her condition? Reveal it! God! She wanted to flaunt it! To shout about it from the rooftops! And all the while to sport her burgeoning belly and milk-heavy breasts in a declaration of womanhood fulfilled. She wanted the whole world to know she was expecting a baby. She would walk with her shoulders thrown back and belly thrust forward in full evidence. She wanted Sirena and Regan to know how happy she was.
Camilla tilted her head and listened. How quiet the house was. By now, with the newly arrived guests, the house should be ringing with Wren’s happy laughter and Regan’s boisterous good humor. On the other hand, as Tyler had worried, things might not go well once Wren informed them of her intentions. Well, she, for one, wasn’t going to worry about it. Nothing was going to spoil her good mood. After all, Wren was already eighteen years old. And hadn’t she, Camilla, been secretly married at the same age?
Camilla Sinclair had been little more than sixteen when she had first laid eyes on Tyler Sinclair. Her father, Stephan Langdon, had been distantly related to the late Baron, Tyler’s father, through marriage. It had been a sun-kissed summer when she had traveled to Knightsbridge with Stephan to spend a few weeks at the Sinclairs’ summer home. It had been no secret to her that Stephan was considered the black sheep of the family and was barely tolerated by the Baroness while the kindly Baron believed in letting bygones be bygones and had warmly welcomed them into his home.
During that glorious summer she and Tyler had fallen madly and impetuously in love, much to Stephan’s greedy pleasure and the Baroness’s dismay. Even repeated warnings to Tyler that his mother would disinherit him if he continued his dalliance with Camilla had not dampened his ardor. They were in love; that was all that mattered, and later, when it had seemed that the Baroness would have her way and they would be separated, Camilla and Tyler had run off to be married.
At first Stephan Langdon had been overjoyed with the alliance between his only child and the wealthy Sinclair son. But when Tyler had decided to reveal his secret marriage to his parents, Stephan had reconsidered. “Don’t do it,” he had said. And Tyler, young and still several years away from the time when he would inherit a large part of the Sinclair estate, had heeded his words.
Tyler had thought that it was his skin Stephan had been bent on saving. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that Stephan Langdon had known the Sinclairs were intractable and that Tyler would most certainly be disinherited, leaving Langdon not only with the burden of a daughter but also with that of an impoverished son-in-law. Tyler would have been disinherited and ostracized, and, along with him, Stephan would have found himself an outcast. He had known the Sinclairs would have avenged themselves on him for his part in the romance and banished him from their society.
The main reason Langdon had been acceptable to his peers was because he had had the Baron’s endorsement. Without that, and because of his sullied reputation, he would have been cast like a leper from the fashionable drawing rooms he so coveted.
Innocently, and with Camilla’s consent, Tyler had agreed to keep their marriage secret. It had been understood that when he reached his majority, he would lay claim to Camilla. But Stephan had not been able to wait five more years to ease his financial predicaments. When Regan van der Rhys had arrived in London and word of his extraordinary wealth had spread, Stephan had adroitly placed his daughter in conspicuous proximity to the Dutchman. Circumstances, which had been unknown to either Stephan or Camilla at the time, had led to her marriage to Regan.
She had been a girl then, Camilla now reasoned, a foolish, self-centered girl who had easily been led by her calculating, conniving father. The only honesty she had ever displayed had been her love for Tyler. Everything and everyone else had been a farce. Even in another man’s arms—Regan’s, Caleb’s, little matter whose—it had always been Tyler. Tyler, who knew her for herself, her virtues as well as her faults, especially her faults. Tyler knew them all and loved her in spite of them.
Camilla smiled a self-satisfied smile and patted her swelling abdomen. It had taken quite a few years to become pregnant with this child, but now she had all a woman could ask for. A husband, a child about to be born, and the freedom to be herself and reach out for what she wanted.
While Camilla preened and pampered herself, Wren was pulling one day dress after another from the tall clothespress. This one was disregarded because it wasn’t her most becoming color. That one because it didn’t suit her mood.
Her eyes spewing amber sparks, she caught a glimpse of herself in the pier glass at the far end of the room. A flush rode high on her ivory cheeks, making her eyes sparkle and snap like a flame and contrasting with the unruly spill of her dark hair. Malcolm Weatherly had never brought her such excitement as had Caleb’s arrival. Although infinitely handsome in his own right, Malcolm looked pale beside Caleb.
Now, why did I think that? she questioned herself. Malcolm was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. And if the way he turned women’s heads was any measure of her opinion, she couldn’t be more correct. Malcolm had the good looks of an aristocrat blended perfectly with the charm of a rakehell. Women couldn’t resist him. His black, crisply curling hair, which tumbled casually over his broad forehead and accented his sleepy-lidded, laughing eyes, gave him a boyish air. And with his sensuous smile and lithe, graceful build, it was little wonder women found him attractive. And not just young women like herself. Older women, too, more sophisticated women, seemed fascinated by him. His grooming was impeccable and his demeanor beyond reproach. Malcolm carried himself with an almost studied affectation, while Caleb just . . . Caleb just moved, effortlessly, with the natural grace of an athlete. Beside Caleb, Malcolm’s carriage appeared almost mechanical.
How uncharitable I’m being, Wren scolded herself. Malcolm loved her and she loved him. Hadn’t she thrown caution to the winds and practically alienated Sirena and Regan? This was no time to start having doubts about her feelings for Malcolm. Her own impulsive words of anger rang in her ears, and the vision of Regan’s pained features swam before her, making the flush on her cheeks burn like fire. I meant every word I said, she defended herself to the mirror. Sirena and Regan have lived their lives, are still living it, and I will do the same, with or without their approval. She jabbed her finger toward the mirror for emphasis and turned with renewed vigor to rummage through the clothespress. She finally settled for a shimmering apricot silk which enhanced her high coloring and set off her flaming eyes to perfection.
“Wren, Wren, I’ve just come from the garden, and you won’t believe whom I saw there!” Sara cried as she closed the door behind her, her blue eyes alight with excitement. “Malcolm and another man, a man to end all men, the kind of man we used to whisper about at the academy. Magnificent! Absolutely magnificent!” She swooned girlishly. “Wren, I swear he makes Malcolm look like a farmer.” Unmindful of the cross expression on Wren’s face, she burbled on. “I must ask Tyler to introduce him to me. We would go so well together, for he has hair as dark as shadows and skin like bronze. Magnificent! With my fairness, we would compliment each other perfectly!” With a carefully hidden slyness, Sara observed Wren’s reaction to her words. She knew if she threw Wren at this stranger, the girl would balk and become more enamored of Malcolm than ever before. But perhaps if she pretended an interest in this man herself, Wren might be persuaded to forget Malcolm and leave him to Sara.
Wren swiveled around and grasped Sara by the arm, her amber eyes shooting sparks. Her mouth set in a grim, tight line, she hissed, “That’s my brother you’re speaking about, and no, you wouldn’t compliment each other. Caleb is a man, not a boy, and you’re only a silly, foolish schoolgirl. And if you ever call Malcolm a farmer again, I’ll—I’ll pull out all your hair! Do you hear me, Sara Stoneham?”
“Mercy sakes, Wren, what’s gotten into you? I was only teasing you. You’re upset because Sirena and Regan are here, and now all your bad deeds are coming home to roost. Maybe you’re what Mother used to call a bad seed,” Sara declared loftily.
“Damn your eyes, Sara, I’m not a bad seed and well you know it!”
“Of course not, little bird, ladies always speak profanity. Damn your eyes, indeed! If my mother ever heard you speak like that, she’d forbid me to associate with you. As it is, this will probably be the last you’ll see of me once my parents come to save me from your bad influence. It was because of you I was expelled from school, wasn’t it? And since you’ve become so sensitive about your brother, as you call him, I’ll just wager my pearl comb against your silver bracelet that I can have him falling over his own feet for me within an hour!” Sara turned to hide her smile from Wren. Her ploy just might work. It had been no mere sisterly defense of a brother that had made Wren get her back up. And was she mistaken, or was Wren’s defense of Malcolm something of an afterthought?
“Don’t make me laugh, Sara. Caleb would never find himself smitten with a child like you. And a wager it is. An hour from the time you meet him.”
“Wonderful. I’ll flirt outrageously. The way you and I used to practice at school. Remember you said I had the longest lashes and would have men falling at my feet the day I made my debut into society?”
“I remember,” Wren said through clenched teeth. Why did she have this terrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach? Sara was a wonderful friend, who had made living away from home bearable. And here she was, treating Sara like an unwanted piece of baggage. Caleb could do worse, she sniffed. “I’m sorry, Sara. You’re my best friend and I shouldn’t treat you so shabbily. Please don’t be angry with me,” she entreated, her tone softening in apology as she touched Sara lightly on the shoulder.
“I’m not angry,” Sara said, her smile wide and gentle. “I just don’t think Malcolm is the man of your dreams. Caleb, now, seems like a lusty, seafaring man, the kind your infamous Sea Siren would have gone after. He’s not your real brother, Wren,” she remarked distinctly, to make sure her friend understood what she was saying.
Wren’s heart thumped. She herself had thought the same thing the moment she had set eyes on Caleb. He looked just like Regan, except for his dark hair and eyes. Sara was right. Caleb was the kind of man the Sea Siren would want for a lover. Wren sighed. Malcolm was the man she wanted. He was the man she wanted to marry.
“Caleb is a philanderer, Sara. He loves women. All women. I think his sole mission in life is to see how many young virgins he can bed before he takes a wife, if he should ever decide to take a wife, that is. I’m certain he’s left a trail of swooning women from one port to the next. Caleb is not the marrying kind, and I want to get married and have children. With Malcolm,” she added coolly, her youthful expression composed.
Sara’s stomach churned at Wren’s words. Not if I can help it, my friend, she thought viciously. She had to do something, anything, to make Malcolm aware of the mistake he was embarking on. Perhaps her first idea was best. She had seen the way Caleb had looked at her in the garden. And hadn’t Wren said he was interested in women? It wouldn’t hurt to turn her wiles on him and see what effect that had on Malcolm. If Malcolm realized a man such as Caleb van der Rhys was interested in her, he would give up his mad idea of marrying Wren. Sweet, innocent, puritanical Wren. No, that was wrong. She, Sara, was the Puritan. A fallen Puritan. Yes, she would flirt with Caleb, and she would do it as soon as they sat down at the luncheon table.
“Are you ready, Sara? You know how fussy Camilla can be when her meals are late. If we delay any longer, we’ll be the last into the dining room, and I want to be the one to introduce Malcolm to Sirena and Regan.”
“I’m ready now,” Sara said, patting a stray lock of hair into place. She looked every bit as beautiful as Wren, with her delicate good looks and in her pale blue, clinging gown. She would endeavor to stand next to the dashing Caleb so that Malcolm could see how well they looked together. Just like honey and cream, she thought, and smiled secretly.
Regan took one look at Malcolm Weatherly and almost exploded in anger. Sirena laid a gentle hand on his arm to quiet him as she, too, appraised the dandy through narrowed eyes. Then her glance shifted to the tall, dark giant of a man who entered the room. “Caleb!” she cried, rushing to him and throwing her arms about him. “How wonderful to see you!” Suddenly she found herself being lifted from the floor and swung around in a circle.
Caleb laughed. “You’re more beautiful than ever, Sirena.” He set her down gently, his arm protectively cradling her shoulders as he extended his free arm to his father. “It’s good to see you, Father. You look as if the burdens of parenthood haven’t been too taxing. Tell me, how are my four brothers?”
“Hale and hearty and looking forward to the day they see you again. When are you coming back to Java? Where are you bound now?” Regan asked, clapping his son on the back.
“Wherever the sea takes me. The affairs of the Dutch East India Company are in capable hands. I told them not to expect me for at least a year.”
A momentary twinge tugged at Regan. The boy was free to do what he wanted whenever he wanted to. His own carefree days were long behind him. He felt Sirena grow still beside him. How well she knew him. She, too, had sensed his brief, restless urge. He smiled down into her eyes, all thoughts of envy and freedom forgotten. She was all the pleasure he would ever need.
“So,” Regan said jovially to his oldest son, “you haven’t cut a wide enough swath with the gentle sex, is that it?”
“From Java to Sumatra,” Caleb laughed. “I thought I would take a chance and see what America has to offer.”
“They have wild Indians in America,” Sirena remarked fearfully.
“And do you think my son is no match for an Indian? For shame, Sirena,” Regan chided.
“It might be advisable if you laid back your rapier and took up the bow and arrow. I don’t think the women of the world will take to a baldheaded Dutchman.” Sirena smiled fondly at Caleb.
Malcolm Weatherly stood on the sidelines, a smile pasted on his face. He thought everyone was displaying incredibly bad manners. Wren’s parents hadn’t even acknowledged him. The Baroness, despite her bloated condition, had not seen fit to welcome either him or her guests, and Wren was conspicuously absent. And this overgrown clod of a Dutchman was getting all the attention he himself should be getting as Wren’s intended. He noticed Caleb’s attire, and he admitted to himself that the man’s easy elegance annoyed him. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what his tailor did, he would never look like the giant standing in the middle of the room. He watched as father and son lit cigars without offering him one. How long, he wondered, could he keep this ridiculous smile on his face? Peasants, the lot of them! He needed a drink. If these bumpkins could smoke cigars in Baroness Sinclair’s parlor, then he could have a drink.
Seeing Malcolm’s movement to the liquor cabinet, Sirena turned and smiled winningly, her emerald eyes glowing. “You must excuse our bad manners.” Her voice was low, musical—almost seductive, Malcolm thought as his eyes widened in interest. “We haven’t seen our son in a long time, and it’s just that we’re happy to be together again under the same roof. I’m sure you understand and will forgive us. Pour me a glass of wine,” she said boldly. “And then let us sit here and have a chat. By the way, I’m Sirena van der Rhys, and the fair-haired man is my husband, Regan, and, of course, you’re Malcolm Weatherly. Wren spoke of you this morning.” Sirena nodded sweetly as she accepted the glass of wine and downed it in one swallow, to Malcolm’s acute discomfort. She wanted to tell him to fill her glass again, because she would need the dulling effect of the wine to get through this luncheon. What a fop he was, she thought with distaste. Oh, Wren, how could you?
“Would you care for another glass of wine?” Malcolm asked quietly. She must be a sot, he thought maliciously.
“If you insist,” Sirena said, holding out the goblet. “Fill it to the brim.”
To the brim! Malcolm’s mind raced. If she drinks, what does van der Rhys do? he wondered as he handed the glass to her, careful not to spill any of the burnished liquid.
Sirena allowed her soft hand to come in contact with Malcolm’s long, slender fingers. She glared directly into his eyes and then coyly lowered her lashes. If he was the fool she thought he was, he would take this as a hidden invitation to a deepening friendship, or worse. She preferred not to put a name to whatever he might think it was. She sipped at the wine, the glass held provocatively in her hands as she met his eyes repeatedly.
Regan gave Caleb a gentle nudge. “Another five minutes with Sirena, and the dandy will forget why he’s here. A wager, Cal?”
“I may have not learned too much, Father, but I did learn that it’s only a fool who would lay odds against Sirena.” Both men threw back their heads, the slim cigars clamped between strong white teeth, and laughed uproariously.
Startled, Sirena turned to look at the two men she loved most in her life. She gasped, and then a warm, delicious feeling spread through her entire body. They were hers, Regan by marriage and Caleb by an invisible bond established between them long ago. They belonged to her, for now and forever. The delicious aura stayed with her till Regan and Caleb glanced at her again, each giving her a sly wink. They knew what she was doing with Malcolm, and both of them approved.
This is a woman, Malcolm thought wildly. And I’m man enough to handle any woman. Women always fell at his feet, begging for his favors. Even Lady Elizabeth Rice, who could count a king among her lovers, was so smitten with him that she had confided the secret of the King’s jeweled collar. But Sirena would never beg for favors, nor would she grant any. This woman would never fall at a man’s feet, his or anyone else’s. Sirena was a woman worthy of a man’s challenge.
“What are you thinking, Malcolm?” Sirena purred, her eyes boldly meeting his.
“I was thinking that now I know where Wren acquired her beauty and grace.” He smiled broadly, moving a step closer so that he could delight in the delicate, elusive scent of her perfume.
Sirena lowered her eyes to hide their dangerous glitter. Wren had her beauty, indeed! Was it possible that Malcolm didn’t know Wren wasn’t her and Regan’s daughter? As she sipped her wine, Sirena speculated. If Malcolm was a bounder, and from every indication, along with Tyler’s word, he was, then he must think he was wooing an heiress. She wondered if his feelings for Wren would be as ardent if he knew that the van der Rhyses were under no obligation to bestow a dowry on Wren or otherwise include her in any inheritance. What would his reaction be if she told him?
Sirena glanced over at Caleb again and was surprised to note that his attention was directed on the doorway behind her instead of on Regan, who was exuberantly describing the “civilization” taking place on Java since Cal had last been there. Curiously, Sirena turned and saw that Tyler had entered the drawing room with Camilla on his arm. She turned back to Caleb, whose expression was something bordering between astonishment and disappointment at Camilla’s obvious pregnancy. So, Sirena thought, the young pup half expected that Camilla would be waiting for him to return to her after all these years. Think again, Cal. Camilla has other things on her mind.
Smiling, Sirena made the first move toward Camilla and clasped her in a fond embrace. The old wounds because of Regan had long since healed between them, and Camilla’s acceptance of Wren into her household had firmed their friendship. “You’re more lovely than ever,” Sirena said warmly. “Approaching motherhood certainly becomes you. Doesn’t it, Regan?” She turned to her husband, who she knew was waiting to see how she would greet his ex-wife before committing himself to any display of emotion.
Looking at Camilla, Regan was hard pressed to believe he had once been married to her so many years ago. She still looked barely more than the nineteen years of age she had been when they had first met. Yellow-haired and with violet eyes whose look of innocence belied her actual experience, Camilla was still as fetching a woman as he had ever seen, aside from Sirena, of course. He was quick to note the expression on Caleb’s face, and it occurred to him to wonder again if there had ever been anything between Camilla and his son. Regan sighed. That was long ago, and he really didn’t want to know. However, he couldn’t have blamed Caleb for his interest in Camilla. She had been and still was as graceful and winsome as a spring daffodil.
Regan stepped forward and put his arms around Camilla, kissing her soundly on the cheek. “Sirena is right, little one. You’ve never been lovelier.”
Tyler beamed with pride over his wife and inwardly felt greatly relieved that the van der Rhyses seemed to hold no ill will against her, which could have put a strain on his friendship for them. He knew all about Camilla’s past, her duping Regan into marriage with her, her affair with Caleb, and none of it meant anything to him. He knew, without a doubt, that he had always been Camilla’s one true love.
Only Malcolm stood back from the chatter and bandied compliments. When he did allow his eyes to travel to Camilla, he was careful to avoid looking at her swollen midsection. His lip curled in spite of himself as he mused that pregnant women who displayed themselves in public were as appealing as sows with suckling piglets. He noticed that he had come under Sirena’s green gaze and occupied himself with the contents of his wineglass. He hoped she wasn’t capable of reading his mind.
Sirena’s one glance at Malcolm told her all she needed to know. She had seen that same contempt for women on another man’s face, a man she had married to spite Regan. Stephan Langdon, Camilla’s father, had died at the point of her own sword for his contempt of women, and her hand now itched for the weight of a rapier to put an end to Malcolm Weatherly. She knew, beyond a doubt, that she would never allow a marriage between him and Wren to take place. If she had had any doubts before, they were all behind her now. Wren, too, had suffered at Stephan’s hands, and Sirena wondered why she couldn’t see the sadistic similarities between the two men.
As though bidden by her thoughts, Wren and Sara entered the drawing room. Without a glance in Sirena’s direction, and ignoring Malcolm completely, Wren moved toward Regan, the silk of her apricot gown rustling softly. Sirena glanced at Caleb, who seemed to have forgotten his disappointment over Camilla and not even to have noticed Sara, whose white-blond hair and pearly complexion was set off by the delicate blue shading of her gown. Caleb’s attention was centered on Wren, who by now was firmly within Regan’s embrace. Sirena softened toward the daughter of her heart when she saw the barely disguised look of pain leave Regan’s eyes.
Malcolm carefully avoided Sara’s searching gaze. He never knew how she had managed to become friends with Wren so soon after he had refused to accede to her pleas to meet her whenever she could slip out of the academy. How fortunate that he had discovered her father’s falling from grace with the Crown and his near bankruptcy. Imagine, if he had saddled himself with Sara before he had learned the truth about her family’s finances! It was impossible for him to fathom why she had befriended Wren when she knew he had thrown her over for the amber-eyed girl. It really didn’t matter to him that Sara was Wren’s friend as long as she kept quiet about having been his lover. Malcolm smiled, a churlish lifting of the lip that showed strong white teeth. Sara would never spill that sack of beans; the damage to her reputation would be irreparable. He even doubted that Wren would believe Sara, no matter how convincing her tale might be.
While Camilla drew Sirena aside to exchange news, and Tyler and Regan began to discuss business agreements concerning the handling of certain estates, Wren and Sara gathered about Caleb, leaving Malcolm to entertain himself. Malcolm had never encountered such an inhospitable group of people. He wasn’t in the habit of being ignored, especially if there were women present. And what of Sara, so blatantly flirting with the younger van der Rhys? Even Wren seemed to have forgotten his existence as she hung on Caleb’s every word. If he hadn’t known that Wren was Caleb’s sister, he might even become jealous.
Sirena glanced over Camilla’s shoulder at Malcolm Weatherly. She didn’t fail to notice his chagrin at being excluded from the little celebration. One might think that if he really loved Wren, he would be jealous of the attention she was giving Caleb. Then the truth dawned on Sirena. Weatherly didn’t know Wren wasn’t Caleb’s half sister. He couldn’t know; otherwise he would feel threatened by Caleb’s presence. She almost laughed aloud until it occurred to her that Malcolm thought she was old enough to be Wren’s mother. Sirena sniffed and threw her head back in a haughty gesture of indignation. Malcolm Weatherly would have a healthy shock coming to him when he discovered that Wren was not the wealthy heiress he thought she was.