OCTOBER SWEPT IN, and as Marcus advanced to a marvelous age of six weeks, he surprised his mother by settling down for longer stretches at a time, sometimes even sleeping through the whole night. Of course, Cerynise had to be prepared to devote herself entirely to fulfilling his needs once he woke, for he’d be outraged if he had to wait. She gladly yielded him that favor, for she rather enjoyed not being awakened to his demands in the middle of the night.
It was late afternoon on a decidedly nippy day. Beau hadn’t yet returned home from work. The baby had been recently fed and, at present, was sleeping in the nursery. Hatti’s granddaughter, Vera, a young woman of eighteen, had been ensconced as the boy’s nursemaid and was now watching over him in his room. It had been established from the first that after the final feeding at night or upon the parents’ retirement to their bedroom upstairs, the girl would return to her own room in the servants’ quarters, allowing the couple the joy of tending their child in the privacy of their chambers, if such a need arose.
Surveying herself in the long, standing mirror in the dressing room, Cerynise was of a mind to think that except for a fuller bosom, no other evidence remained of her having given birth only a few weeks ago. The delicate clinging cloth of her chemise displayed a waist that was once more slender, and hips and thighs that were sleek and trim. Bridget had learned to create elegant coiffures for her, but for a more casual evening at home, Cerynise’s hair had been coiled sedately on top of her head and softened by a few wispy tendrils falling against her neck. The maid had helped her into a soft creation of olive green and burgundy paisley, the rounded neckline, cuffs and hem of which were trimmed in the darker reddish hue. It was just the sort of thing that suited Cerynise’s mood on this cozy autumn afternoon.
Accepting a burgundy shawl from Bridget, Cerynise adjusted it around her shoulders to properly hide her bosom. The fact that her breasts were much fuller now definitely made the garment more than a little risqué, for she was nearly overflowing the scooped décolletage.
“The cap’n is bound ta admire ye, mum. He won’t be able ta help it,” the maid said with an approving smile.
Cerynise felt her own senses racing. “I feel as giddy as a schoolgirl receiving her first beau,” she admitted with an effervescent smile. “Are you sure I look all right?”
“Like the beauty ye are, mum,” Bridget assured, laughing softly. She could sense her mistress’s excitement over the coming evening and was wont to imagine that she’d be just as thrilled once Stephen Oaks became her husband and they could share the marital bliss that Cerynise and Beau Birmingham seemed to enjoy.
Cerynise fretted a little longer, wanting to look her best for her husband. “You wouldn’t tell me that if there was something wrong, would you, Bridget?”
“Mum, take my honest word for it,” the maid warbled cheerily, “ye’re as close ta perfection as the master will be able to bear.”
Cerynise drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’m just a little nervous, I guess.”
Bridget patted her hand. “Ye needn’t be, mum, for ’tis no lie that ye’d be fetchin’ even in an ol’ sack.” The maid stepped to the door and paused there to gaze back at her young mistress. “Ye’re a vision, ta be sure, mum.”
Bridget took her leave, and as the sounds of her hurrying footfalls drifted back through the silence of the house, Cerynise continued to ponder her reflection, trying to imagine how she might look from Beau’s perspective. No slightest evidence remained of that mere slip of a girl whom Germaine had once ridiculed as Sticks. Indeed, with her round breasts nearly overflowing the cloth boundary, she looked rather voluptuous for a woman approaching ten and nine years of age. She smiled as she remembered Beau pausing at the dressing room door that morning to take in the view as she stepped into the bathtub. The fact that he had been physically affected by the sight brought a smile to her lips even now. Time hadn’t allowed him to assuage his lusts, which made his homecoming this evening even more anticipated. Still, Cerynise was wont to savor the memory of her handsome husband standing there completely dressed and fully aroused. The remembrance of the moment heightened her own excitement, and with a sly smile, she paused to dab a delicate fragrance in the cleavage between her breasts.
Making her own way through the bedroom, Cerynise glanced toward the huge tester bed where Beau had held her so tenderly and with dutiful restraint since Marcus’s birth. It was not to say that they hadn’t given themselves over to a fair amount of passionate kissing and erotic caressing during the past weeks. Indeed, if it had been left up to her, they’d have resumed their relations much sooner, but Beau had been afraid of hurting her. Now it was their night. Thus, it was with a light step that she went downstairs to await his return in the study which, except for their bedroom, had become their favorite sanctuary.
A breeze had sprung up from a northerly direction the night before, and a small fire had been lit in the fireplace to banish the chill that had invaded the study. Securing the cozy mood of the room, Cerynise flipped down the slats of the plantation shutters covering the windows and turned down the lamp that had been left burning on a table. A chaise lounge, residing in front of the fireplace, invited her to the comfort of its soft Moroccan leather and the tapestry pillows that cushioned its sloping end. It was where she most often reclined with Marcus in her arms while Beau worked at his desk only a short distance away.
Smothering a yawn, Cerynise relaxed back upon the chaise and readjusted the pillows behind her back to a more comfortable position. With the warmth radiating from the fireplace she had no need of the shawl and allowed it to fall away from her shoulders. Then she leaned her head back to await the sound of her husband’s return. In swiftly advancing degrees, she yielded to the increasing weightiness of her eyelids.
It seemed no more than a moment before a familiar awareness began to penetrate her befogged slumber. Struggling upward from her nap, she lifted drooping eyelids for a brief peek and then, closing them again, smiled sleepily. Her husband was sitting on the chaise beside her, having doffed his coat and waistcoat, stripped away his cravat, and loosened his shirt to the waist. The amused smile he wore assured her that he had been watching her.
“Good afternoon, my pet,” he murmured when she finally managed to lift her eyelids and keep them open.
“I must have dozed off,” she mumbled drowsily, trying to sit up. “And here I had intended to greet you at the door.”
Beau leaned over her, preventing her escape as he pressed his lips to the fullness swelling above the shallow top of the bodice, very near a pliant peak hidden beneath. “I didn’t mind, my sweet. I was enjoying the view.”
She giggled. “Brief though it was.”
He glanced up at the clock on the mantel. “I came home thirty minutes ago.”
Her brows gathered in confusion. “That long? But why didn’t you wake me?”
“As I said, I was enjoying the view.”
Cerynise reached up and, slipping a hand in the opening of his shirt, caressed the muscular firmness. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“So am I,” he breathed, bending near again, this time to caress her lips with his own. Her mouth parted eagerly beneath his, and he enjoyed a slow, languid search of the honeyed depth.
Cerynise sighed in contentment as he sat back. “You convey me away to ecstasy with your kisses.”
A black eyebrow raised to a skeptical angle. “I thought I only did that when we made love together.”
“Oh no, sir. Your kisses are very fine indeed.”
He came near again, this time tracing his tongue with tantalizing slowness over her breasts, venturing across a swelling mound, dipping into the fragrant trough, and then rising again to the peak, much like a ship crossing a rolling sea. Tugging her gown down from her shoulder, he bared a pale pink crest and halted her breath as he leisurely stroked a warm, wet brand across it, causing Cerynise to shiver as a delicious excitement rippled through her.
“Do you like that?” he queried, lifting his mouth to tease hers.
“You know I do.” Cerynise sighed, looping an arm behind his neck as he drew her up with him. Their mouths played in sweet union as his fingers progressed to the back of her gown and unfastened it. With a shrug of her shoulders, she swept it forward and pulled free of the bodice as he held the cuffs. Beau clasped an arm behind her and, lifting her until her hips were off the chaise, quickly banished the gown to the floor. He continued to ply her lips with kisses as his fingers plucked open the buttons of her chemise. The undergarment fell open, spilling the lustrous orbs into his eager grasp. His mouth took possession, setting off a flaring ecstasy in her loins.
“Have you locked the door?” she whispered, threading her fingers through his thick hair as his hungry mouth devoured the swelling softness.
“I couldn’t resist with so beautiful a captive close at hand.” The brush of his breath warmed a pliant nipple as he rasped out an answer. “I’ve been thinking of this all day, my sweet.”
“So have I.”
His hand slid underneath her petticoat and advanced over the top of a stocking. Then he pulled back in surprise and stared at her in amazement. “You’re not wearing any pantalettes, madam!”
Cerynise smiled coyly as she drew an imaginary C upon his chest. “Are you scandalized?”
“Absolutely,” he replied with a chuckle, belying his answer with a provocative search upward.
Cerynise moved to welcome him and gasped as small jolts of sizzling excitement began to surge upward from her womanly softness, setting her on fire for him. She writhed beneath his touch, wondering how long she could bear such rapture without being completely swept away. “Don’t rush me, Beau,” she begged breathlessly. “I want to wait for you.”
He yielded to her plea and, standing back, began to unfasten his placket. She kicked off her slippers and, rising to her knees before him, tugged the tail of his shirt out of his trousers and pushed the garment over his shoulders. Her hands returned to stroke the hard, muscular ribs and followed his falling pants to caress his manly loins. Beau might as well have been frozen, so enraptured was he by her artful fondling, except that flames began licking upward through his being, threatening to consume him in one quick rush. He closed his hand over hers, for the moment forestalling her bold handling of his person.
“My plea is the same as yours, madam,” he murmured huskily. “Give me a moment to cool down, and then we’ll get on with the business at hand.”
He kicked free of his boots and shed the rest of his clothes. Then he came back to her in all of his naked glory. Pressing close against him, Cerynise moved her breasts temptingly against his chest, teasing him until he moaned softly and clasped them greedily in his hands for another taste of the delectable fare. Soon their mouths and tongues blended in a rapacious search, and with eyes dark with desire, Cerynise drew him back with her upon the chaise. He came willingly, slipping an arm behind her and pulling her astride him as he took the place she had left. He freed the fastening at the waist of her petticoat and rose up to draw it over her head, leaving her clothed in nothing more substantial than a camisole and a pair of silk stockings fastened with frilly garters. The petticoat was thrown to the floor, forgotten in his haste. Lifting her slightly, he resettled her over the fiery shaft and pressed fully home. Cerynise gasped as his warmth filled her, making her tremble with the pure, shimmering ecstasy of it.
Beau enfolded her within his arms for a moment, enjoying the feel of her bosom against his chest and her womanly softness sheathing him as he kissed her eyes, her cheek and her softly yielding mouth. His lips slid down the graceful column of her throat as he breathed, “It seems like forever since I held you this way.”
“Oh, yes,” she agreed, arching her back to allow him free access. A soft gasp was snatched from her as his mouth enveloped the pinnacle of her breast. It seemed to pulse in eagerness beneath the wet, fiery torch, and she almost mewled in disappointment when he lay back upon the chaise. Yet when his fingertips moved to where they were joined and began to work their magic, she became a fascinated prisoner and, in quiescent repose, drank in each delicious stroke.
Her sultry eyes delved into his, conveying her deepening arousal as she began to move against him, deliberately drawing out their pleasure in long, leisured strides. Beau’s own breathing grew harsh and ragged as she made love to him with an inventiveness that matched the studied art of a sultry temptress in her shuttered den. She touched him provocatively, brushing her fingers over his male nipples, his hardened ribs and between his steely thighs as her tongue passed languidly over her upper lip. Holding his gaze captive, she moved her hands over herself, inviting his hands to follow wherever she led, and they did, making her catch her breath as he answered with his own creativity. She sucked her breath in through her teeth at the scintillating sensations flooding through her and then leaned forward, bracing her hands on the uppermost part of the rolled end of the chaise to offer the swelling mounds to the warmth of his mouth. They hung temptingly above him, like golden ripe fruit bejeweled with pink crests. His hands eagerly clasped their fullness, and he nigh devoured them as her rhythm became more intense. He seized her buttocks, urging her onward until both of them were driven by the rapture that burst upon them, sweeping them to dizzying, soaring heights. Caught in the midst of this lofty flight, Beau strained upward against her, feeling totally regenerated by the pulsing heat of her. He had never experienced such a thing before, and yet it was utterly thrilling to go on and on and on.…
When reason finally drifted back to them and he pulled his wife down upon his chest, Beau was still struck by the wonder of it all. He pressed another kiss upon her lips as her fingers lightly stroked his arm.
“That was extremely nice.” Cerynise sighed contentedly.
“The best I’ve ever experienced,” he admitted. “I’m so relaxed now, I can hardly lift my arms.”
“Please don’t,” she whispered. “I like them around me.”
He clasped her close, moving his chest beneath her in a slow, undulating caress of her breasts, and was amazed to feel himself tightening within her.
“Oooh,” she crooned, “that’s even nicer.”
“You do strange things to me, woman,” he murmured huskily.
“I’m glad. It assures me that you won’t go searching beneath other skirts.”
“Nay, never that. I’m quite content getting under your skirts.”
“I’m hungry.”
“For what?”
A giggle escaped her as she raised her head to search his smiling face. “Real food.”
“Then I suppose we’d better get dressed again.”
“Still, I hate to leave such delights,” she replied, moving her hips against him.
“Make up your mind, woman,” he urged with a chuckle, clasping her buttock. “Me or real food.”
“I’ll have you later.” Laughing at his feigned growl of disappointment, she pushed herself upright until she sat astride him once again. “As for now, a nursing mother must be nourished.”
He stroked a forefinger beneath a white droplet trembling on the tip of her nipple and brought it to his mouth to taste. “No wonder Marcus likes you so well,” he commented, making a show of licking his finger. “You taste nice.”
Cerynise wiped away a tiny pool that had collected on his chest. “I’m not very tidy.”
The blue eyes glowed back at her. “Marcus and I don’t mind.”
“Come, husband,” she urged, dismounting him. “I’m really, really hungry.”
She turned away to pick up her garments, drawing him off the chaise in a bounding leap. He lightly slapped her buttocks, making her straighten and look at him with a querying smile.
With a casual shrug he gave her a jaunty grin. “When you offer such temptations to me, my dear, you can expect some kind of response. And since I’ve had you for the moment, I’ll have to restrict myself to an affectionate pat. Now get your clothes on, woman, so we can eat, or by my word, I’ll make you serve my pleasure again.”
Laughing at his antics, Cerynise complied. After they had donned their clothes again, they hurried upstairs for a quick check on their son and a more tidy cleansing before returning to the dining room.
The long dining room table had been set for two at one end of the table. Glasses of wine had already been poured and were awaiting them beside their place settings. Beeswax candles cast a warm glow over the array of crystal, china and silver as Beau gallantly pulled out a chair for his wife. Slipping it forward beneath her, he bent over her as she settled into the seat, motivating her to lean back for the slow caress of his lips against her throat.
“I enjoy looking at your breasts from this angle,” he whispered, “but I think I hear Jasper coming, and I don’t like the idea of sharing such sights with another man.”
Gathering the shawl together, Cerynise assumed a gracious image of a proper young mistress well before the butler arrived with their soup. Beau couldn’t help but smile at the contrast between her present sublime poise and that lusty vixen who, moments earlier, had driven him on with wild, passionate frenzy. He was as susceptible to her as any puppet. All she had to do was maneuver his strings, and he’d dance to whatever tune she played.
As the servant departed, Beau raised his goblet in toast to her. “To you, my love. May you never grow tired of stirring my pleasure and filling my heart with joy.”
Smilingly she dipped her head in gracious acknowledgment of his salute, and then, after taking a tiny sip, she raised her glass in like response to him. “To you, my darling knight. May you never grow wearied of slaying dragons and saving this damsel from distress and boredom.”
“The pleasure is all mine, madam,” he rejoined with a warm, meaningful twinkle in his eyes before quaffing his wine.
The lobster bisque was superb, as was to be expected with Philippe as chef. So were the winter vegetables and the roast fillet of beef with cornichon tarragon sauce. Cerynise relished it all like an eager child, drawing a chuckle from her husband.
“I don’t know how you manage to stay so trim, my love. With what you eat, you should be rolling down the halls.”
Teasingly she licked her fingers for his benefit, evoking his laughter. “Between you and Marcus, I’m sure you’ll both help me use it up.”
“The way that little pig grunts when he’s nursing, he’ll undoubtedly consume it all for himself.”
“Now don’t be jealous,” Cerynise cajoled sweetly. “You’ll have as many chances to gain my attention as you could possibly want.”
Beau braced an elbow on the corner of the table and leaned toward her with a leer. “Promise?”
Her eyes glowed back at him, conveying such a vow to be duly sworn to.
After dinner they returned to the study, but only to talk, hold hands and kiss. Soon, Hatti’s granddaughter, Vera, rapped on the open door to draw their attention.
“Mastah Marcus is awake now, Miz Cerynise, an’ he’s a-squallin’ up a storm.”
“Duty calls,” Cerynise drolly sighed to her husband and, leaving him with another kiss, went upstairs to feed their son. After finishing off the last of the wine in his goblet, her husband followed to the nursery. Vera had wisely dismissed herself, allowing them to enjoy their child in the privacy of their chambers.
After nursing Marcus, his mother readied his nightly bath, and the doting parents joined in this endeavor, laughing together at the many faces their son made in reaction to being bathed in warm water and then dried in a soft towel. After placing an indulgent kiss upon the tiny head, Beau departed the nursery, leaving his wife to rock and sing their baby to sleep while he soaked in a bath of his own.
Some time later Cerynise left her slumbering son in his bed and slipped into the dressing room to find a scented bath awaiting her. Hearing a faint tinkle in the bedroom, she stepped to the door of the adjoining chamber and found her husband withdrawing his hand from a wine goblet that he had just placed on his bedside table. He was sitting in bed with the covers drawn up around his waist, looking for all the world like he was ready for a long night of sensual delights. His eyes swept her in a slow caress as he asked, “Planning on standing there all night?”
“Absolutely not,” Cerynise eagerly replied. “Give me a moment to get a bath.…”
“You needn’t bother with a nightgown,” he warned her as she returned to the dressing room. “It may get ripped.”
“Yes, sir,” she called back. “Anything you say, sir.”
“And hurry!” he urged. “I’ve been waiting for a whole quarter of an hour and am nigh besotted thinking about you.”
Cerynise hurriedly stripped away her clothes, bathed and brushed out her hair before slipping into a negligee that Beau had bought for her earlier in the week. It could hardly be called a garment, for it was made of the filmiest, silkiest white cloth she had ever seen. It was long and flowing with sleeves that did the same. After touching perfume to her throat and down her arms, she paused and then, with a smile, dabbed several droplets between her breasts again. She slipped her feet into white satin mules and doused the light. The gossamer fabric billowed out behind her until it seemed as if she floated into the bedroom on airy wings.
The emerald eyes took in the sights with a lusting greed that left her breasts fairly tingling. Beau held out a hand, inviting her to hurry, and then swept down the covers beside him. Pausing beside the bed, she lifted the negligee off her shoulders and let it fall unheeded to the floor.
When she slipped into bed, Beau was immediately there, gathering her close. This time it was he who made love to her, startling her with the passion he exhibited. Although infinitely gentle with her, he was more adventurous with her now that she was no longer pregnant. He remained heedless of her breathless pleas, delighting in his ability to bring her to frenzied heights of eagerness. Panting and writhing as if she were caught up in an insatiable quest that would never be fulfilled, she became a bit impetuous herself and made bold to copy his manner until a deep, guttural moan broke from him. As his manly hardness surged into her warmth, Cerynise rose up to meet him and, with quickening ardor, answered his deep thrusts. Once again they soared on shimmering wings of ecstasy, letting their hungering ardor sweep them ever upward.
When finally they floated down to earth again, they snuggled together in their bed, and with a blissful sigh, Cerynise laid her head upon Beau’s shoulder as her fingers idly caressed his chest. The world outside their home had ceased to exist for her, for it was all here in her husband’s encompassing arms.
The back door slammed early the next morning, and Beau and Cerynise both glanced around as Moon came charging into the dining room in an anxious dither. Beau had just finished his breakfast when the old tar halted near his chair.
“The blighter’s dead, Cap’n! They found him on the docks this morn’n’ with his belly sliced open from stem to stern.”
“Who in the world are you talking about, Moon?” Beau queried, pushing away his plate.
“Wilson, Cap’n. He was as stiff as a frozen cod. Must’ve been gutted late last night.”
Beau glanced at his wife and saw that the color had drained from her cheeks. He could imagine that Moon’s morbid explanations were a bit too lurid for her. Laying a hand upon hers, he excused himself and then motioned for the tar to follow him into the study. Closing the door behind them, he asked the man, “Do the authorities have any idea who might have killed him?”
“Nay, Cap’n. He’s been hidin’ out in an ol’ run-down inn from what I heared from someone this morn’n’. No one I talked ta had seen a trace o’ him since ye sent yer men ta search for him. Then, all o’ a sudden, there he was, curled up with a knife in his belly. It don’t seem likely that Wilson would’ve let a stranger get close enough ta stick him, so’s I’m a-thinkin’ he knew the fella what did it an’ maybe trusted him more’n a mite.”
“That might definitely be the case, Moon. Since there were so many men looking for him, Wilson would probably have been wary of anyone approaching him. But we may never know the answer to that riddle now.”
“This means yer li’l girlie is safe now, don’t it, Cap’n?”
“I hope so, Moon. I truly hope so.”
Several days later, Jasper answered the summons of the front door knocker with his usual dignified poise, but his stiff jaw slowly descended when he recognized the two who were standing before the portal. The last time he had seen them was the night before he and the rest of the servants had risen at the crack of dawn and absconded with the paintings that belonged to his present mistress. From their startled expressions, it was fairly easy to ascertain that Alistair Winthrop and Howard Rudd were just as surprised to see him.
“I was wondering where you had vanished to,” Alistair jeered. “Now I know. I just never figured you for a turncoat.”
“Had that been the case, sir, I would have stayed with you,” the butler answered him loftily. For the life of him, Jasper couldn’t manage a lie for the sake of graciousness and tell them that it was a pleasure to see them again. “Whom do you wish to see, sir?”
“My ward, of course,” Alistair informed him caustically. “Please tell her that I’ve come to call.”
“Mrs. Birmingham, you mean,” Jasper pointedly corrected. “If you’ll wait there, sir, I’ll tell my mistress that you’re here seeking her favor.”
Feeling no compunction to extend the usual hospitality of the house to them, the servant closed the door in their faces, leaving Alistair nearly bouncing up and down in outrage.
“Seeking the bitch’s favor,” he squealed in an outraged whisper. “Why, I’ll tear that bastard’s heart out with a crowbar for leaving us in such a blooming mess.”
“You couldn’t have paid him anyway,” Howard Rudd reasoned, and then sought to counsel his companion. “Now you saw how fast Sybil skedaddled when you lost your temper and told her that you didn’t have enough funds to hire more and that she’d have to do all of our cooking and cleaning. So I must urge you to keep tight rein on your temper while we’re here. Flying into a blooming snit won’t suit our purposes in the least if we have any hopes of luring the girl away with promises of her paintings being returned to her.”
“I wish we could’ve brought one with us just to entice her.”
Howard Rudd heaved a sigh of lament. “Most unfortunate that we weren’t able to get our hands on any of them.”
“I still say that dealer in the gallery knew where they were in spite of the fact that he was so incensed by our accusations and claimed we were daft.”
“Didn’t help that you bruised him up a bit,” Rudd chided.
“I may yet finish him off if I find out that he was lying to us.”
“Now don’t be so forceful with the girl. As we’ve seen in the past, Captain Birmingham isn’t at all the gentle sort. Bruise his wife, and he’ll search every ship leaving the docks just to get his hands on us. Throwing us into the bay will hardly placate him as suitable recompense.”
“Are you sure you saw him at the shipping company?”
Rudd’s lips flapped in a heavy emission of his breath, attesting to his exasperation. “How could I mistake him after our last visit with him? I assure you, the sight of that man has been forever branded upon my memory.” With a trembling hand the barrister took out a handkerchief and wiped his glistening brow. “Still think it’s damn foolish of you to try this when he’s only a few blocks away.”
“You said he won’t be home for another couple of hours. We’ll be long gone before he arrives.”
“Jasper poses a problem. Have to bribe him or something or he’ll be telling the captain we came. We’ll be lucky to sail away from here with our carcasses intact.…”
“I’ll leave that matter to you. If the girl won’t come peaceably, then I’ll have no other choice but to take her. We’ll meet up at that old abandoned farm outside of town.” Alistair glanced aside at his accomplice and arched a brow as he noticed how much the man was shaking. “Are you sure you can cover my rear if our lure fails?”
The lawyer gulped and nervously patted the bulk beneath his coat. “I wish there was some other way to handle this. I hate firearms.”
“We don’t have much time left,” Alistair snapped. “Our funds are running out.”
“Should have sold more of your aunt’s possessions before we left. Had we done so, we’d have had the time and resources to see this thing done properly.”
“Don’t fret so much. You know it sours your stomach.”
Cerynise had gone to the kitchen to show Marcus off to Philippe while the baby was wide awake and sweetly attentive to the faces that came close enough for him to peruse. The chef was jovially giving the child his first lessons in French, declaring that Marcus would be highly appreciative of the language once he started sailing to foreign shores like his father. The child was responding to him with happy gurgles, drawing chuckles of delight from both chef and parent, but when Jasper came rushing in, Marcus quickly shifted his consideration to the highly agitated butler and puckered his brows in a curious frown.
“Madam! Prepare yourself,” Jasper urged excitedly. “In fact, you’d better give the baby over to Monsieur Philippe before I tell you who is at the front door requesting to see you.”
Cerynise clasped her baby more securely in her own arms, clearly bemused by the butler’s anxiety, and inclined her head to assure him that she had the situation well in hand. “Who is it, Jasper?”
“Mr. Winthrop and Mr. Rudd, madam.…”
Cerynise swayed in a stunned daze and quickly passed the baby over into the arms of the chef, who grew alarmed at her sudden pallor. “Madame! Are you all right?”
She nodded stiffly and begged him, “Please take the baby out to Vera.…”
Without another word she turned and left the kitchen ahead of Jasper, who paused to give Philippe instructions of his own. In the dining room, Cerynise waited for the butler to join her and then bade, “I’ll receive the visitors in the parlor, Jasper.”
“Madam, are you sure?” he questioned worriedly.
“They wouldn’t dare harm me here in my own home.”
“Even so, madam, I cannot bring myself to trust the men. They’re scoundrels through and through.”
“That may well be true, Jasper, but I’m curious to know what they’re doing here and what they want of me.”
“No good, I fear.”
“I’ll hear them out. That’s all.”
Cerynise went into the front room on the north side of the house while Jasper reluctantly complied with her wishes. He opened the front door to admit the two, and then announced, “Mrs. Birmingham will see you in the parlor.”
Stepping past the servant, Alistair strode into the front foyer and then, sweeping off his hat and tossing it back to the man, approached the study, on the opposite side of the house.
“The other way, sir,” Jasper corrected, his ire rising as he took note of his former employer’s interest in the room, where an older painting of Cerynise’s was hanging above the mantel. It was one that her husband had especially reserved for himself, an English country scene of a thatched-roof cottage nestled beside a stream in the midst of a wooded glade. Personally Jasper had always considered it one of her best landscapes.
“Haven’t I seen that painting before?” Alistair asked, turning a calculating frown upon the butler.
Jasper’s nose lifted imperiously. “I wouldn’t know, sir.” Once again he extended his hand in the direction of the parlor. “Mrs. Birmingham is awaiting you in here, sir.”
Howard Rudd passed his own headgear to the servant and smoothed down the lapels of his wrinkled frock coat before he followed Alistair into the parlor.
Jasper set the hats aside on the entrance table and stepped to the door, gaining his mistress’s attention. “Do you wish tea or refreshments, madam?”
Howard Rudd eyed the large cabinet standing against the wall and licked a coated tongue over his parched lips as he took note of the crystal decanters residing on a silver platter there. “Glass of brandy if the captain wouldn’t mind.”
“Nothing at all,” Alistair stated with emphasis, his eyes narrowing warningly as they shifted to the barrister, who was growing noticeably disconcerted by the ordeal of entering the domain of that seafaring worthy who had once set them on their ears. “We won’t be staying that long.”
“I’ll have a cup of tea, Jasper,” Cerynise replied, letting them both know that she was the one to whom the butler had spoken and the only one in the room with the authority to make such decisions.
Despite the moments that she had been allowed to compose herself, Cerynise realized she hadn’t been expecting the sudden surge of abhorrence that had swept through her when she had settled her gaze upon the two men. Almost a full year had passed since she had last seen them, but that hadn’t been nearly enough time in her mind. She didn’t regret in the least that at their last confrontation her husband had taken Alistair up by the scruff of his neck and the seat of his pants and sailed him overboard into the Thames. She only wished Beau was here now, watching over her with his usual care.
Alistair appeared thinner than before, she surmised. Dark circles were evident beneath his eyes, and his clothes were ill fitting and rumpled, far different from what his appearance had been in London. The portly solicitor appeared equally disheveled, his bulbous nose perhaps even more unsightly with the netting of broken veins that crisscrossed it. His eyes were red and watery, as if he suffered some allergy or perhaps repercussions from liberally imbibing in strong spirits.
Cerynise reluctantly extended an invitation for them to take a seat across from her, making an earnest effort to appear cordial. Her only reason for permitting them into the house was to learn what they were up to, and the best way to hasten that information along was to convey a modicum of civility. “Do forgive my surprise, gentlemen. I’m sure you can believe that your visit here is most unexpected. In fact, you’re the last people I anticipated seeing today.”
Alistair’s unwieldy lips slipped upward unctuously. “Oh, no doubt, my dear girl, and I apologize most sincerely for startling you. But having come so far to see you, we couldn’t bear to wait a moment longer. Our ship docked only this morning, and we hastened here with all possible spee—”
Bridget entered, looking quite fetching in a neat black gown, a frilly white apron and a starched white cap adorned with lace. Though the maid met neither man’s gaze, she sensed their acute surprise and a strong hint of distress on the part of the solicitor as she went to her mistress. Bearing a tray upon which resided a cup of tea and the usual pitcher of cream and bowl of sugar, she offered the small tea service to Cerynise, who added sugar and cream to her cup. After laying a napkin across her mistress’s lap, Bridget took her leave with quiet aplomb, winning for herself an ever-so-brief smile of approval from Jasper, who was hovering near the door.
“You were saying that you came here from your ship,” Cerynise reminded Alistair, noticing that he had not yet fully recovered from his astonishment at seeing Bridget in her house. “For what purpose?”
“To make amends, madam,” Rudd interjected. He shot a quick glance toward Alistair, as if seeking approval for his statement. “That’s it, isn’t it? All the way here Mr. Winthrop talked of nothing else, how he had wronged you. The man has been tormented with remorse. If you would but hear him out, madam, I’m sure you won’t regret it.”
Alistair was still struggling with his irritation at finding not only Jasper in the Birmingham household, but Bridget as well. He indicated the indomitable butler with a jerk of his oil-slicked head as he broached the subject to Cerynise. “How many more servants came with him?”
“All of them,” she answered forthrightly and was quick to note the darkening rage on her former tormentor’s face. Taking a bit of revenge upon the man, she set the spur deeper. “My husband gave them enough funds to make the journey, but by then, they were already making plans to leave you.”
Alistair jabbed a finger in a southerly direction. “Did they bring that painting across the hall with them?”
“Of course,” she rejoined, feeling a keen sense of pleasure to assure the rascal of that fact. She further needled, “In fact, they brought all my paintings with them, five of which have already been sold for a considerable sum…twenty-six thousand dollars to be exact.”
Rudd choked suddenly and coughed against the bile that promptly rose into his throat. “A glass of water,” he begged the butler. “I need a glass of water.”
Solicitously Cerynise inquired, “Are you all right?”
Rudd cleared his throat, managing to gasp, “Will be as soon as I get some water.”
Alistair silently smoldered. It was obvious now that the enticement they had planned to use would have no effect since the paintings were already in her possession, but he couldn’t help but think of all that money they could have had…if not for Jasper. He’d wring that confounded butler’s neck yet!
The barrister clutched the glass of water which the servant brought back and gulped down half the contents to ease the acidic burning in his throat. The liquid only washed it down to his stomach, where the juices soon began to ferment and erupt upward again in small gaseous bubbles. Rudd knew the signs only too well, and his distress deepened.
Cerynise returned to the business at hand, briskly warning them, “My husband will be averse to you coming here in his absence. He has instructed Jasper to watch over me. Naturally anything you say will be witnessed by him.”
Rudd cast a quick, wary glance behind him at the indomitable butler and tried to soothe the lady’s fears. They would have to come up with another ploy very, very soon or his companion would resort to his usual heavy-handed tactics. “How can we assure you there’s no need of such precautions, madam?”
“By stating your business and then leaving,” Cerynise answered succinctly.
Rudd pressed his fingers to his lips to hide a burp. Then, clearing his throat, he lifted a hand to her in appeal. “Our business is most private, madam.…”
“If you’re suggesting that Jasper be excused, Mr. Rudd, then I’m afraid I won’t be able to hear you out,” she informed him bluntly. “My husband has instructed Jasper not to leave my side while there’s some question of my safety. And as I distinctly remember, you both have proven quite untrustworthy in my presence.”
“We need some papers signed,” Alistair announced, as if it pained him to admit that fact.
Rudd shot him a look of surprise, received a warning frown in return, and then cleared his throat again sharply, trying to dislodge another belch. “Yes, of course.” He lifted a hand to his companion, giving him the honors. “Mr. Winthrop would like to explain the necessity.”
Alistair made an earnest effort to do such a thing. “Well…ah…on further evaluation of my aunt’s will, Mr. Rudd, here, found a clause which decreed that I would have to show just cause for not taking on the responsibility of your wardship, requiring both a court appearance and a signed affidavit from you to serve as a release. Until those two events occur, I cannot claim my inheritance.”
Howard Rudd breathed a sigh of relief at the plausibility of his companion’s stratagem and eagerly nodded in agreement. “A bit awkward for Mr. Winthrop’s creditors, having to wait so long.…Why, just to ask your compliance, we had to scrape up the funds to sail here.”
In some confusion, Cerynise peered at the lawyer. “Do you mean to say that I must appear before a judge and, in his presence, sign a document releasing you from all obligations as my guardian?”
“That’s it exactly,” Alistair affirmed in his companion’s stead and shot a glance toward Jasper. The butler was staring off into space, but Alistair had no doubt that the man was closely attentive to what was being said.
“I see no difficulty in going before a judge here in Charleston and signing such a document, as long as my husband’s lawyer has a chance to read it over first,” Cerynise reasoned.
Alistair winced for her benefit. “But therein lies the difficulty, my dear. You must return to England to make such an appearance.”
“That’s absolutely out of the question.” Cerynise waved a hand to dismiss the merest possibility that she would go to such lengths for them. “If the matter cannot be resolved here in Charleston, then it shan’t be done at all, at least not until my husband and I return to England on another sea voyage, but that won’t happen until early spring.”
“And in the meantime, I’m bereft of funds.” Alistair shook his head dolefully.
“I’m sorry, but I’m unable to relieve your plight.” Cerynise was not at all sympathetic. Had Alistair asked for such a thing before their departure from England, then she’d have gladly gone with Beau to carry out the man’s wishes, but Alistair had been far too adamant about taking possession of her.
Rudd snapped his fingers, as if an idea just came to him, and tested the notion out on Alistair. “You remember that judge who made the crossing with us, don’t you?”
The thinner man inclined his head almost warily, following the solicitor’s lead. “Of course.”
“Well, he’s a proper English magistrate. If she signs the papers in front of him, it would be the same as being in an English court of law.”
“That’s right,” Alistair agreed, smiling at the idea. “All she’d have to do is accompany us to the inn where we’ve all taken rooms and have him witness the event. That would serve our purposes very nicely indeed.”
Rudd seemed extremely pleased with himself for having thought of the ruse. “Would you allow us to take you to see the judge, madam?”
Cerynise scoffed at the idea. “Not without my husband.” And for good measure she added, “And a good dozen of his men to make sure we’re not waylaid.”
Rudd’s face fell forthwith. All their hopes to take possession of her peaceably seemed futile. What were they to do? It was obvious she was too well guarded in her home for them to expect to be able to escape with her with any degree of success. And, of course, there were the servants, who could identify them.
“Are you suggesting, madam, that we would resort to that kind of duplicity?” Alistair asked in growing outrage.
Cerynise smiled serenely. “Perhaps.”
With a growl Alistair launched himself out of his chair and was across the room in a thrice, snatching Cerynise out of hers. Jasper gave a warning cry and dashed forward to defend her, but he gave no heed to the danger of passing Rudd, who, upon seeing his approach, seized a bronze bookend from a nearby table. The weighty piece crashed down upon the butler’s head, spilling him forward to the floor, where he lay unconscious at the lawyer’s feet.
Cerynise’s scream seized Philippe’s heart in the kitchen. Snatching up a meat cleaver, he raced into the hall with Moon following rapidly behind. By then, Alistair had already tossed his captive over his shoulder and was striding into the foyer with Rudd advancing swiftly on his heels.
Philippe espied them as he raced from the hallway. “Put zee madame down!”
Alistair made the mistake of opening the front door, which the master of the house had just been about to push inward. Beau had been summoned home by Cooper and, upon his arrival, had heard screams from within. It was the sight of his wife lying over the sly weasel’s shoulder that sent his temper soaring. Drawing up a knee, Beau slammed it with brutal force into Alistair’s stomach, doubling the man over with a painful gurgle. Deftly whisking Cerynise off the crumpling one’s shoulder, Beau swept her to her feet and then quickly drew back a fist to finish thrashing Alistair. In the next instant he found himself facing Howard Rudd, who had nervously snatched forth the pistol he had been carrying in his coat. Despite the fact that the solicitor’s hands were shaking dangerously, he had cocked the weapon and had it aimed generally in the direction of the captain’s irate frown.
“B-back away from the d-door!” Rudd stuttered and tossed a quick look behind him at the two men who were almost upon him. “S-stay back, or I w-will kill the captain! So help me I will.”
In the face of such a threat, Philippe and Moon could do naught but stumble to a halt.
“D-drop the cleaver,” Rudd ordered the chef, trying to keep the bore of the pistol centered between the sapphire eyes as he cast another worried glance toward the two. Carefully the cook laid his makeshift weapon down upon the floor.
“Now, C-Captain,” the barrister urged, stepping past Alistair. “You and your wife m-move to the north end of the p-porch…very carefully now.”
Beau complied, drawing Cerynise with him. She was clinging to him, trying to place herself in front of him as a shield, but he would have none of it. With an arm clasped about her waist, he held her firmly against his side.
Rudd caught Alistair’s elbow and, hauling him upright, pulled him through the doorway. His companion was suffering too much to be of any help, and Rudd shoved him toward the front steps of the porch with a command. “Run to the horses.”
“Get the girl,” Alistair croaked weakly, clasping his arms across his belly. His pain was so intense he feared his vitals had been ripped asunder.
Beau swept Cerynise behind him and glowered at the two. “Over my grave!”
Alistair feebly swept a hand to indicate the captain and rasped, “Shoot the bloody bastard!”
“Nooo!” Cerynise cried, trying to thrust herself forward in front of her husband, but he refused to comply with her efforts and held her behind him.
Rudd snorted, denying the wisdom of his companion’s command. But then, it wasn’t the first time he had mentally questioned the intelligence of Alistair Winthrop. “Aye, and let the rest of them kill us,” he derided, and then snapped, “Get to the horses.”
Alistair hobbled hurriedly toward the hitching post where the reins of their mounts had been secured. Snatching the lines free, he hauled himself astride with a painful grimace. “Come on, Rudd. Let’s get out of here.”
Now that he had some open space between himself and his horse, Howard Rudd could breathe a little easier, but he was still wary of the captain. A man with a fiery temper was not to be trusted. “T-try anything, C-Captain, and you or y-your wife will die, and if y-you die, your wife will be at our m-mercy. Th-that much I promise.”
He backed down the path over which Alistair had recently trod and, swinging into the saddle, slammed his heels into the sides of the rented gelding. He lit out amid a noisy clatter of hooves, leaving Alistair struggling to catch up.
Beau ran to the street and watched the pair ride away. They made a turn, but it was not in the direction he had hoped. They were heading farther inland, possibly toward open country, away from the docks.
Cooper was just arriving from his trek to the shipping company. Having sped there by foot, the young man was clearly out of breath and energy from his race back, which his employer, being well rested and frantic for his wife’s safety, had covered in half the time.
Philippe, Moon and some of the other servants had come out onto the porch. It was Moon to whom Beau gave an order. “Find the sheriff, tell him what the blackguards tried to do, and urge him to gather up a posse and go after those two. If he needs descriptions, he can stop by here on his way out. I’ll gladly tell him what those frogs look like.”
“Aye, Cap’n!” With a casual salute, Moon hurried off to fulfill his behest.
Beau climbed the porch steps, slipped an arm around his wife, and swept her into the house. In the parlor they found Bridget kneeling on the floor beside Jasper. The butler was sitting up, holding a wet compress against the back of his head while the maid was wrapping a strip of cloth around the pad to hold it securely in place.
“I’m afraid I let my guard down, sir,” Jasper apologized, lifting a brief glance toward Beau.
“I understand it was you who sent Cooper to fetch me.”
“Yes, sir. At least I had Monsieur Philippe send the young man to warn you that your wife had visitors. I’m extremely thankful that Cooper found you in time.”
“I’m grateful for your quick thinking,” Beau responded. Hunkering down on his haunches, he asked solicitously, “How do you feel?”
“Like my head is twice as large as normal,” the butler answered dryly.
Beau chuckled. “It doesn’t appear to be.”
“Bridget told me that Mr. Winthrop and Mr. Rudd have managed to escape, sir.”
“Aye, but I’ll let the sheriff search for them.”
Jasper thought that an especially prudent decision. “It’s best not to leave the madam right now. They could come back, sir.”
Marcus’s outraged squalls could be heard coming closer, and Cerynise stepped from the parlor to find Vera hurrying down the hall from the kitchen. The girl was clearly relieved to see her mistress. “I’ve done e’erythin’ I could ta quiet him, Miz Cerynise, but he’s a-wantin’ ta be fed.”
“I’ll take him, Vera.” Holding out her arms to accept her son, Cerynise moved to meet the young woman. The baby’s outraged cries quieted immediately in his mother’s arms, and eagerly he started rooting at her breast. Cerynise took him to the study and, behind a closed door, hastily plucked open the buttons of her bodice as she sank to the cushions of the sofa. When the portal was swung open again, she glanced around as Beau entered. Securing their privacy, he pushed the door shut behind him and joined his wife on the sofa.
It amused Beau to see his son searching with birdlike fervor through the cloth of Cerynise’s gown. When the babe found nothing to assuage him, disappointed wails erupted, evoking a chuckle from his father. Cerynise finally managed to bare her breast and settled the infant against it. That was all it took. The boy latched onto her nipple with the greed of a glutton.
Her eyes glowing with love, Cerynise caressed the small head and then glanced up at her smiling husband with that same adoring gaze. “I would have missed you both terribly if Alistair had succeeded in taking me away. I’d have pined my heart out.”
“No less than I, madam, but I would have come after you,” Beau murmured reassuringly, bestowing a kiss upon her temple as he laid an arm behind her on the back of the sofa. “Did that toad say why he wanted you?”
Cerynise repeated what the two men had told her and grew a bit incensed as she recalled their demands. “Alistair actually wanted me to travel all the way to England with them, but when Rudd suggested that I could sign the papers in front of an English magistrate who came over on the ship with them, I said I’d do so, but only with you and an escort to protect us. That was when Alistair became irate. Mr. Rudd hit Jasper when he tried to come to my aid. One thing led to another.” She heaved a sigh, mentally rebuking herself. “I shouldn’t have agreed to see them. Jasper was fearful of some trick, but I ignored his warning.”
“Hopefully they’ll be caught, my pet. If they are, then we won’t have anything more to worry about.”
“Do you suppose that Redmond Wilson was somehow in cahoots with them? But why would they kill him if he was working for them?” She frowned suddenly, remembering what they had said. “According to Alistair, their ship docked only this morning, so unless they lied, they wouldn’t have been here at the time of his murder.”
“Alistair may have just said that to lead us astray, but it seems unlikely that Wilson was killed by strangers. Considering the number of men I sent out to look for him, the culprit was probably someone he knew and trusted.” Beau shrugged. “Who knows?”
Cerynise looked down again at Marcus who was still ravenously sating his hunger. She smiled impishly as she lifted her gaze again to her husband. “At times his voracity reminds me of when you made love to me and proved yourself just as starved for appeasement.”
Beau looked appalled at the comparison. “To my knowledge, madam, I’ve always tried to be gentle with you. When have I ever suckled you so unmercifully?”
“When you were delirious, my love,” she replied, rubbing his thigh. “My nipples were quite tender afterwards.”
The dark brows flicked upward briefly, conveying his chagrin. “Forgive me, madam, but considering my growing desire to have my way with you, I’m sure I was out of my head with lust for you.”
“And quite feverish, too. I thought I was dreaming until I felt the pain of your entry, but by then, I had become a willing participant in your marital initiation. Whether you know it or not, my love, you gave me pleasure even then, though you were so sick it might not have been your intent. Still, I felt somewhat slighted when I realized afterwards that you hadn’t even kissed me.”
Beau didn’t care to explain that he had always been reluctant to kiss the harlots he had sought out to satisfy his manly cravings. It was not until he had kissed Cerynise on their wedding day that he had actually become appreciative of that delectable practice. “I, too, thought it was a dream, but I’m glad it wasn’t.” He reached up to slip a finger through the tiny hand that kneaded her breast. “If I hadn’t been alerted to the fact that you were carrying my child, madam, I might never have realized that you needed or even wanted me. For a time I was convinced that I was the only one who felt like that.”
“We made a beautiful son together,” Cerynise replied, dropping her head briefly on her husband’s shoulder. Reminded once again of what those two scoundrels had tried to do to her, she shivered. “Hold me close, Beau. I need to be reassured that I’m safe in your arms.”
Beau willingly obliged her, pressing his lips to the nape of her neck before spreading more kisses over her cheek and moving on to her mouth. When at last he leaned his head near hers and gazed down with doting pride upon his nursing son, the baby cut his eyes to look up at him. For barely an instant, Marcus stopped feeding and gave his father a happy gurgle. Then, with renewed dedication, he returned to his feast.
Several days passed before Sheriff Gates dropped by the warehouse to inform Beau of his lack of success in capturing Alistair Winthrop and Howard Rudd. Though the lawman and his posse had scoured the countryside west of Charleston several times since the botched kidnapping, they had found no trace of the culprits. However, the sheriff had received reports that led him to believe that Alistair and Rudd might have fled back to England on the first ship available. Two men fitting the descriptions that Beau had supplied were seen boarding a ship which had set sail before his deputy could go and question its captain.
Beau sincerely hoped the two were gone, but he would need irrefutable proof that the scoundrels were still aboard the vessel when it set sail before he could feel assured of his wife’s safety. Although he considered Alistair and Rudd rather thick-witted at times, they had spurts of shrewdness which left him little choice but to suspect that they were not above faking their flight by devious methods. After he had checked with the captains of several ships inbound from London, which had docked the same day Alistair and Rudd had supposedly disembarked, Beau had failed to find their names on the lists of passengers. Yet, when he had gone to other vessels that had entered the port as much as a week earlier, his suspicions had been confirmed. Their arrival had been well in advance of Wilson’s murder. Having now become cognizant of the lie they had deliberately told for some unknown purpose, he was convinced that they were completely dedicated to creating any fabrication to achieve their own ends, perhaps even for the purpose of hiding a foul, murderous deed.
His mother and father came in to stay with them for a few days to get better acquainted with their grandson. It was gratifying for both Beau and Cerynise to see the older couple so engrossed in the little one, whose comical faces and bright-eyed cooing elicited their delighted laughter. To celebrate the new addition to the family, the four, bedecked in all their finery, went to the theater to watch the American actor, Edwin Forrest, in a production of Othello. Since it was the first evening that she and Beau had gone out in elegant garb since Marcus’s birth, Cerynise wanted to look especially nice for her husband. Her cream-colored satin gown, which bared her shoulders sublimely, was bejeweled with tiny seed pearls and other diminutive beads that shimmered in the light. Her hair was dressed on top of her head, and a creamy plume curled coyly behind an ear. The cameo and pearl choker graced her throat, and pearl and diamond earrings glittered at her ears.
In all, Cerynise created a beautiful, radiant vision that drew more than a few admiring stares from other men. Germaine Hollingsworth’s own newly acquired escort stared agog until the petite brunette jabbed him surreptitiously with her elbow, quickly drawing his attention back to her. Even so, during the performance, Germaine caught him avidly perusing her tawny-haired rival through her opera glasses, which he had apparently borrowed for such a purpose.
“If you can’t keep your eyes off that little tart, Malcolm McFields, I’m going home!” she hissed in an huff. The actor’s booming voice made it necessary for her to repeat her threat in a somewhat louder tone, but in an abrupt moment of silence that ensued in the play, her last words were loud enough to draw sharp gasps of astonishment from the theater-goers and startle the performers. Germaine froze in sudden humiliation as she felt nearly every eye upon her. She saw the Birminghams glance around briefly, but they seemed much more interested in the performance than with her. The play resumed, but Germaine’s attention had now been ensnared by the four. It nettled her sorely when Beau pulled his wife’s gloved hand within his lap. As much as the conjecture disturbed her, she just couldn’t imagine him ogling another wench in Cerynise’s presence or her absence, which made Malcolm’s effrontery all the more angering. Germaine glared askance at her escort, but after suffering through such a painfully embarrassing ordeal, she was unwilling to issue another verbal reprimand lest she find herself completely flustered by a similar occurrence.
Reluctantly Malcolm handed the glasses back, but that didn’t stop him from casting fleeting glances toward the tawny-haired goddess who sat close beside her husband in the Birminghams’ box. His continuing fascination proved too much for Germaine to bear. Indeed, after her disappointment over losing Beau Birmingham to one whom she had once sneeringly called Sticks, she had little patience to contend with another smitten swain. The last act was barely underway when Germaine tried once again to claim Malcolm’s attention and realized it was again centered on Cerynise. She promptly carried out her threat and left him to peruse the other woman as much as he desired.