Chapter 4
Garrett’s gut contracted into a tight fist. For an instant, he stared at Caroline, wondering if she was playing some odd sort of jest. Then her wide-eyed gaze locked with his and he knew this was no joke. The intensity of her challenge jolted him, and in astonishment, he took an involuntary step back on his bad leg. Sweet Jesus! Blinding pain knifed up his hip and white lights danced in his head. He fought the waves of faintness that threatened his balance and covered his dismay with an affected cough.
“. . . Garrett’s family and mine have shared a friendship for generations,” Caroline was telling the major. “Garrett and my brother Reed—”
“Your cousin Bruce will oppose this marriage,” Whitehead interrupted. “He has expressed a desire to wed you himself.”
Garrett regained his composure, forced what he hoped was an affectionate smile to his lips, and concentrated on what Caroline and the major were saying. He knew enough about Whitehead to suspect that the Englishman had a personal motive for showing such concern for his hostess’s marital affairs. Boy-lover or not, Whitehead was a shrewd opponent and an absolutely fearless soldier under fire.
Caroline moved closer to the British officer, and her voice became softer. “Yes, I know.” She sighed. “That knowledge has made me decide to accept Garrett’s proposal sooner than I would have, were that not the case. Bruce and I are first cousins. Too close in blood to ever produce healthy children. I realize that in England—”
“Yes, I see your point,” Whitehead agreed. “My own uncle is married to-his first cousin, and their first child was born with a harelip—a terrible deformity. It has shadowed his entire life. He rarely leaves the country house.”
“Exactly,” Caroline replied. “Bruce never mentions it, of course, but there is already a weakness in our bloodline. Children have been born that . . .” She trailed off and spread her hands helplessly. “There is a rumor that in my grandmother’s time, one male member of the family was kept locked away. How could I—in Christian conscience—be party to another such tragedy?”
Major Whitehead glanced at Garrett with cool appraisal. “And you, sir, you wish to wed the lady?”
Caroline’s petticoats rustled as she swept back to his side and took his hand in hers. “Oh, he does, Major.” This time, it was her hand that tightened on his. “He loves me, truly.”
Garrett barely contained his laughter. Damned if the jade wasn’t as artful an actress as any high-priced whore he’d ever paid good silver for.
Whitehead raised his goblet of cider in salute. “You love the lady or her estates?” he asked directly. “It is no secret that Mistress Steele could buy and sell our mutual friend Lord Archer without missing the change.”
Garrett glanced down at Caroline and tried not to throttle her. She was smiling at him sweetly but, as she tilted her head up to look into his face, her luminous dark eyes were filled with an unspoken warning. Agree or be exposed as the rebel they seek! Amusement turned to a slow-burning anger. He’d never liked threats.
“When has a lady’s wealth ever detracted from her desirability?” Garrett asked, draping an arm casually around Caroline’s shoulders. “It’s true that the captain wants Mistress Steele for himself. That’s why he’s concocted these ridiculous charges to discredit me, instead of combing the woods and swamps for the real traitor.”
“I agree,” Whitehead said. “A wanted man would hardly seek refuge in my headquarters.” He pursued his thin lips and looked thoughtful.
“We would deeply appreciate your help, Major,” Caroline implored.
“You are both serious in this matter of this marriage?” Whitehead asked. He was a tall man, olive-skinned with brown eyes. His wig was neat, simply styled, and expensive; his red and white military uniform was impeccable. His most striking feature was the saber scar that ran from the corner of his left eyebrow across the bridge of his strong nose.
Garrett nodded. He didn’t know why Caroline Steele was playing this dangerous farce, but he intended to find out. For now, he would let her move the game pieces.
“You must know that Mistress Steele’s brother is a prisoner of the crown, charged with piracy.” Whitehead’s eyes narrowed. “I have already informed the lady that there is a possibility that Reed Talbot can be released with proper legal counsel, but it will be very costly. Ten thousand pounds sterling to start. Are you willing to part with that much if she becomes your wife?”
Garrett heard Caroline’s soft hiss of breath. “Ten thousand pounds?” she echoed.
The major shrugged. “Ten thousand minimum. The barrister is very influential. If he takes your case, it will be strictly confidential. The fees may run much more. Your brother has enemies who wish to make an example of him. Naturally, if I interceded in this, I—”
“Naturally,” she said. “Whatever you think is fair. Reed is innocent—a victim of unlucky circumstance. I will give any amount to have him back alive.”
“And your cousin . . .” Whitehead left his words hanging in air.
“Bruce would never agree to releasing so much money from my estates,” she said, “but Garrett loves my brother. They have been friends for years. Whatever it takes, we will gladly pay.”
The major smiled. “Then I believe we can come to some agreement. I would advise you to proceed with the nuptials at once. If Captain Talbot learns of your plans, he will—”
“Thank you, Major Whitehead,” Caroline said. “We will take your advice and marry immediately.”
“We appreciate your support,” Garrett said. He could see why Whitehead would agree to the marriage. He stood to collect an immense bribe. But why, he wondered, why would Caroline Steele want to force him to marry her? She was young and attractive. With her immense wealth, she could have her pick of titled Englishmen. Why not choose someone of her own class—a man who brought more to the union than a single tobacco plantation?
“My congratulations to you both,” Whitehead said. He crossed the room and took Caroline’s hand, lifting it gallantly and brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “If I were not married, I might have considered courting her myself. It is the rare bridegroom who takes such a lovely and well-dowered widow to his bed.”
Before Garrett could reply, a dragoon appeared in the open doorway. “Major Whitehead, sir,” the soldier said. “The dispatches you were waiting for have arrived from Head of Elk.”
The major nodded. “I’ll come at once.” He glanced at Caroline and Garrett. “If you two will excuse me, I have official business to attend to.”
Garrett waited until he was alone in the room with Caroline before speaking. “We need to talk,” he said. “Now.”
“I can explain,” she began.
“You’d better. But not here, someplace private.” He removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders. Outside, where I can be certain we’re not overheard.”
She nodded. “The maze beyond the herb garden.” She shrugged out of his coat and he caught it before it slid to the floor. “I’ll take my cape,” she said. “It’s cold out, and you’ll need your coat yourself. Can you walk that far?”
“Your concern is touching, madame,” he replied wryly. “After you.”
Silently, he followed her from the room, through the kitchen, and around the house to the brick walk that led through the herb garden. Caroline had paused only long enough to put on her green cape and pull the hood up over her auburn hair. Garrett couldn’t help noticing that the bottom of the cloak swayed as she walked. The hem brushed the heels of her shoes as she moved gracefully away from the shadows of the brick kitchen past the triangles of lavender, marjoram, and chives, to the formal expanse of lawn and carefully clipped hedges.
As they neared the entrance to the maze, she glanced back over her shoulder to see if they were being followed. “We’ll go to the center,” she said. “There’s a bench there, and shelter from the wind.”
Each step was agony as knifelike pain shot up Garrett’s hip and down his leg. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he swore under his breath, but he kept walking. Caroline took a right turn, then a left, and then another left, turning and twisting down the crushed oyster shell path that led through the boxwood maze until he had lost all sense of direction. Finally, when he thought he could go no farther, she made one last series of turns into what looked like a solid wall of greenery. He stopped, eyesight blurred by his throbbing wound, not certain which way she had gone. Even when a peal of bubbling laughter drifted through the interlaced boxwood, he still couldn’t find the opening. “Caroline,” he called. “Where are you?”
To his surprise, a low gate of hedge opened almost at his right hand. “This way,” she said.
He ducked his head and stepped into the heart of the maze, a lush oval of lawn, statuary, and flowering shrubs, about twenty feet across. In the center of the clearing stood a carved cedarwood bench, a small peach tree, and a miniature well. The shrubs and the tree were winter barren, but even now he was speechless at the exquisite beauty of the hidden garden.
“Do you like it?” she demanded. Her eyes twinkled with delight as she spread her hands and spun around once like a schoolgirl. “My great-great-grandfather built this maze for my great-great-grandmother. Lacy’s Garden, it’s called, and the story is that the maze is haunted. On nights when the moon is full and it rides the clouds like a great ship at sea, they say you can see Lacy and James’s faces reflected in the well.” She laughed again, low and mischievous. “They say you can hear him calling her name sometimes. ‘Lacy . . . Lacy.’ And they also say—”
Garrett caught her shoulder and jerked her around to face him. “To hell with ghost stories! Why did you tell Whitehead we were to be married?”
The sparkle faded from her gaze, replaced with stubborn will. “We are. And we will be wed today—tomorrow at the latest.”
“Have you lost your wits, girl?” The audacity of her! His anger was tempered with admiration. His black stare had been known to intimidate a drunken Carib Indian, yet this spoiled little minx didn’t flinch. “I’ve no intention of taking a bride. And if I did, it would be one of my own choosing.”
“Nay,” she flung back, twisting free of his grasp.
He couldn’t hold her and remain upright without hurting her, so he let her step away. “Nay, indeed,” he repeated. “What game is this you’re playing? Are you pregnant with some man’s bastard that you need to find a husband so quickly?”
She drew back her hand to slap him. He threw up an arm to block her blow. “I warned you never to try that again,” he said coldly.
“How dare you insult me!”
He’d seen his share of angry women before—heard his portion of tears and spitting curses. But Caroline offered none of these familiar retorts. Instead, her brown eyes narrowed and darkened to the color of old oak. Her sensual lips tightened to a thin line and her chin firmed. If she’d had a pistol in her hand, he’d have ignored his injured leg and dived for the nearest cover. “What am I to think,” he answered, “when you proclaim me your betrothed without so much as a by-your-leave, madame.”
“You have ruined my reputation,” she said, with only the slightest tremor in her husky voice. “You have ruined me, and therefore you must make an honest woman of me. If you do not, I’ll be the laughingstock of every decent man and woman in the colony.”
“That is hardly my problem.”
“No?” She balled her small hands into tight fists at her sides. “But it shall be if I exposed you to Major Whitehead—if I tell him that you forced yourself into my bed.”
“What do you want of me?”
She took a deep breath. “Can we sit? It’s rather intimidating to have you glowering down at me.”
“Why me? A woman of your wealth—”
“You were my brother’s friend—are his friend,” she corrected. “You claim to be loyal to England and you are not already married. Are you?” She looked up at him anxiously.
“No. I’m not married.” He followed her to the bench and eased himself down on it. It was all he could do to keep from groaning in relief as he took the weight off his leg.
Caroline sat on the far end and half turned toward him. “I shall be honest with you,” she said.
“Thank God for that.”
“My cousin has kept me a virtual prisoner in my own home since my husband’s death,” she said. “Now he is trying to force me into marriage.”
“For your money.”
She nodded. “Exactly.”
“Not to be unexpected, certainly. Women of your class—”
“I am a Talbot by birth,” she said proudly. “A Talbot of Fortune’s Gift. This land has been handed down to me from my mother and her mother, back to Great-great-grandmother Lacy. The women in my family don’t allow themselves to be manipulated by men, not by their fathers or their husbands.”
“An interesting concept. But again—why me? Why not someone—”
“Will you cease arguing long enough to hear what I have to say?” She didn’t raise her voice, but her tone became frosty. “You needed my help and I risked my life to give it to you. Now you may pay that debt by marrying me.”
He grimaced. “You’d rather give your wealth to me than keep it in the family by marrying Cousin Bruce.”
“Not a real marriage, you dunce,” she snapped. “A marriage of convenience. We would keep separate beds, and I would keep control of all that is mine.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “And what do I get from this one-sided bargain?”
“Your life, for one thing.”
“You’d betray me?”
She swallowed. “If I have to,” she said softly.
“Your brother’s friend.”
“We are in perilous times,” she answered. “Sometimes it is necessary to do things one would never consider in kinder situations.”
“If I was this rebel traitor they’ve accused me of being, what’s to keep me from choking the life from you and making my escape?”
She chuckled. “You’re no murderer, Garrett Faulkner. Besides, you’d never find your way out of the maze. You’d be trapped here with the evidance.”
A lock of curling red hair fell over her eyes and Caroline brushed it away, tucking it under the edge of her lace cap. The green wool hood framed her oval face, and he was struck by just how lovely she was. Who would believe a devious mind lurked behind such a facade?
He took a deep breath and tried once more to unravel the mystery. “I can see why it would be to your advantage to marry, but why me? You hardly know me. I could be a profligate, a rogue.”
“You are. At least from what I know of your reputation, you are. A scoundrel. What can you say for yourself? The grandson of an indentured servant with a failed naval career behind you? A man with a taste for blooded horses and cheap women? Heir to what? A thousand acres of played-out tobacco land.”
“Twelve hundred acres,” he replied. “And not all played out.”
“You are a poor planter at best, sir, and with our fortunes affected by this rebellion, you are not likely to become any richer in the near future.”
“What will you offer me?”
“Money. A great deal of money.” She lifted her chin and stared at him with regal arrogance. “You shall have a tenth share of my inheritance—more money than you or yours could imagine.”
“And you want in return?”
“I want your name and protection,” she said. “I want my brother ransomed, and I want your promise—in writing—that our marriage will be annulled in five years’ time.”
“Five years?”
“Yes. Naturally, I will give you a living allowance now, but the bulk of your reward will come on the day our annulment is final.”
“You think I’m the sort of man who would marry a woman for her money?”
Caroline shrugged. “We’ll soon see, won’t we?”
Her barb stung like that of a black wasp, and he felt his face flush. The truth was, he found her offer tempting. With Caroline’s money, he could buy another ship. And with a ship, he’d find a crew and fight the British again—something he’d not been able to do in the months since his vessel had gone down off Lewes with most of his men. “A marriage of convenience only,” he repeated softly. “Does that mean I am to watch while you flit from man to man and perhaps gift me with children?”
It was her turn to flush. “I sleep alone!” she retorted. “I shall continue to do so. No word of gossip has ever touched my name . . . until last night.”
“If we did make this bargain, how can you be certain we could obtain an annulment at the end of five years?”
“We will both swear that the marriage has never been consummated.”
He scoffed. “You’re a widow. That’s a difficult point to prove.”
“Not for an heiress to Fortune’s Gift,” she said. “For a high enough bribe, I could find a judge to rule that that you were incapable of functioning as a husband.” She smiled and raised a palm to ward off his anger. “Not that I would, you understand. You may put all the blame on me. You may claim anything you like, as long as I remain in control of Fortune’s Gift and all its wealth.”
“I think the two of us under one roof would soon come to murder,” he said.
“There is no need for you to remain on Fortune’s Gift. Naturally, your own plantation will require your attention. I need only your name and the title of wife to a man known to be loyal to England. I am quite capable of managing my own affairs.”
“I see.” He turned his head away. Who would have thought it of Reed’s sister? The damnable wench. She had him in a trap and was twisting the bonds. “This is not a decision to be made lightly,” he said. She remained silent. Ignoring his pain, he rose and walked to the far side of the garden. A wife . . . It was the last thing he wanted, but if she brought with her the chance of a ship under his feet once more . . .
Caroline had no idea he was Osprey. If she did, she’d not have made the offer. The British had spread the word that he’d betrayed his crew and ship—that he’d deliberately sailed into a trap. He hadn’t. He hadn’t even been at the wheel that night his ship had gone down; he’d been flat on his back in his cabin with a musket ball in his shoulder. But he’d had only his best friend Noah to confirm his story, and a black man’s word meant little. But if Reed Talbot was alive—if he could be ransomed from the British—Reed would vouch for him. His name would be cleared and his honor restored.
The memory of the hearing burned in the pit of his stomach like gall. The Continental high command had charged him with cowardice and treason. They’d demanded to know why forty-four good men had gone to their deaths, and Garrett had been one of only four survivors. He and Noah had lived, Reed had been wounded and taken prisoner. A fourth man had survived the battle and been shot trying to escape.
Garrett sighed. The captain always goes down with his ship. But not this captain. His friends and crew had fought bravely and died one by one while he lived to tell about the battle. It was a thing that made for poor nights’ sleep, a thing that twisted and turned inside a man and made him want to seek revenge.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he whispered. The only reply was the lonely cry of a fish hawk high overhead.
In the past months, he and Noah had harried the British, seizing dispatches, cutting loose moored vessels, doing whatever they could to harm the English military. Even though he had gone to every friend of his and his father, no one would help him get another ship—no one would let him sign on to fight aboard another captain’s privateer. Now Wesley Steele’s widow might give him that opportunity.
He wondered just how far he could trust Caroline. Reed and Wesley had both been strong for independence; Wesley had shed his life’s blood for it. Why then was his widow such an ardent Tory? Or was she?
He glanced back at Caroline. She was sitting as he’d left her, hands clasped in her lap, eyes down. A passerby would think she had nothing more on her mind than the cut and color of a new gown.
She would vex his life beyond belief—he knew it. If he did as she asked, men would say he wed her for her money. And it would be true. Damn it to hell! He wanted nothing more than to fight for freedom. He had no time for a spoiled beauty and her demands. He’d always loved women, but war was no time to take a wife. If he married her, he’d be responsible for her safety. And if he didn’t, he’d be hard put to get away from Fortune’s Gift with his neck intact.
Straightening his shoulders, he returned to the bench where she waited. “I want a ship,” he said.
She smiled. “I have lots of ships. I forget how many, but surely one will suit you.”
“Then—”
“Wait,” she interrupted. “There’s one thing more. You’ve heard of my sister Amanda?”
“You have no—Oh, you must mean the black girl your father raised. Her name is Amanda?”
“Yes. Amanda Talbot.” She stared at him as if daring him to contest the fact.
“What of her?”
“She’s black.”
He scowled. “I believe we’ve covered that point. What about her?”
“Amanda is not a slave. She’s a free woman.”
“Fortune’s Gift has never owned slaves. That’s common knowledge.”
“You have no objections to Amanda?”
“It depends on what she does. I don’t know the girl.”
“She isn’t a girl. She’s a woman. And this is her home. She and her son, Jeremy, will continue to live in the house as part of my family.”
“So?”
“You don’t care if a black woman eats at your table?”
He laughed. “My mother died when I was born. A black woman nursed me, wrapped me in nappies, and taught me manners.”
“I allow no black man or woman to be mistreated on Fortune’s Gift,” she warned.
“Mistress Steele, are you serious about making a bargain with me or not?”
“I’d make a bargain with Lucifer himself to save Fortune’s Gift and my people.”
“Then I accept your offer. I will give you my name, and you will give me a ship and access to your fortune.”
“Within reason,” she said.
“Of course.” He took her hand. “A kiss of peace to seal our contract, madame?”
“I think not,” she replied haughtily. “There will be time enough for that at Oxford Church.”