Kiss of a Traitor (43 page)

“I have no intention of marrying him,” she said, causing Terrance’s frown to grow. “I was merely playing for time. And I have to tell you I gained a great deal of pleasure in thwarting Marlene’s grand plans. Should I ever marry, I expect I shall wed an American, not a British lord.”

The solicitor looked taken aback.

She patted his arm. “Now, dear Terry, you have no need look so appalled. I know you are British to the bone, as am I. But I find a certain charming appeal in this rough country and its courageous people. I have no desire to return to Britain and Society.”

Willa mistook the young man’s expression. “You speak of Captain Brendan Ford, do you not?” he asked.

Now it was her turn to look shocked. “How did you learn of Brendan?”

“My father and I may be British, but not necessarily to the bone,” he said to her bemused look. Bowing, he exited the room with his father shuffling alongside.

“Explain yourself. Why did you prevent me from challenging the will?” Marlene ripped off the veil, tossed it aside, and paced the study floor, her fists balanced on her slim hips.

Digby collapsed into a wing chair and draped one leg over the chair arm. Lighting a cigar from the taper on the side table, he drew on it, releasing a stream of blue smoke. “It would avail you naught and draw attention to the fact that you loathe your stepdaughter and are greedy for your late husband’s wealth. We cannot afford an inquiry into Bellingham’s death.”

Marlene halted by the bookcases. She patted her hair, which the veil had disordered, back into place. “How crass you are, Tom. This has naught to do with greed. I want only what is rightfully mine. And if you will recall, George is in the ground, communing with the worms. What can the authorities do now, for pity’s sake?”

He flicked his ashes onto the expensive rug. “How did you dispose of the remainder of the poison?”

“I secreted it in the garden shed.” Her gaze swiveled to his. “Why?”

“And the bottle of laudanum?”

She spread her hands. “I have no notion. I suppose ‘tis still in George’s bedchamber.”

“Get it!” he said as he crushed out his cigar in a porcelain dish.

She sailed out of the room with Digby following her. “Why are you so overset?” she asked while they ascended the stairs and negotiated the hall to her husband’s suite.

“Willa is suspicious of her father’s death.”

“Rubbish,” she retorted with a toss of her head. “She knows naught. She cannot harm us.”

“I beg to differ, my dear.” His jaw was so tight, the words nearly vibrated. “Should she possess that bottle, she can cause us a great deal of mischief.”

They entered the room. “The bottle is right there.” She pointed to the bedside table.

The bottle was gone.

When they retired to the study in silence, Digby closed the door to prevent their conversation from being overheard by Willa or the servants.

“What now?” Marlene asked. She plopped down on the couch and sprawled her limbs in a suggestive manner.

Frustration clawed at Digby’s throat. Marlene’s mind was on sex again, as it always seemed to be. She was insatiable. He desired to reap something more tangible from this relationship than pussy, regardless of how agreeable it was. And now he saw it all slipping away. After pouring a tumbler of strong whiskey, he sipped at it while he brooded over their dilemma, voicing his thoughts aloud. “We must prevent Wilhelmina from marrying Baron Montford, whoever he is, before she turns twenty-one. Should she be unable to find and wed him, all Bellingham’s assets revert to you.”

“And all that lovely money will come to us,” she chimed in.

He gave her a narrow-eyed look. “Think, Marlene. Should we allow Wilhelmina to pursue her own sweet course, we may be obliged to wait for up to four years to collect. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but another four years of sitting about, dependent on your stepdaughter’s charity and biding one’s time, is hardly the path either of us desires to take.”

She stretched with a sultry smile and slipped the bodice of her dress downward to reveal her breasts. “Speaking of desire—”

Digby whirled and hurled the brandy glass against the fireplace brick. When he came back around, she recoiled from his angry look. “Christ, Marlene,” he roared. “Do keep your mind on the problem. At times I despair of your having any thoughts other than those concentrated in your cunt.”

Her lips formed a pout, and she tugged on her dress until it covered her. “You have no need to fly into a panic. In point of fact, I cannot conceive of waiting that long. Should the bitch succeed, I end up with naught. Dare I ask what you suggest as an alternative?”

He drove stiff fingers through his hair. “Damme. You stagger the imagination.” He stabbed her with a glare. “Let us understand each other. Time grows short. I trust you are convinced of the necessity to take action with all possible haste. As I see it, we must thwart Willa’s efforts permanently and put a period to her wedding any man.”

“I concede your point.” She licked her lips and wagged a finger at him. “For shame, Tom. You do believe we should arrange for poor Wilhelmina’s
accident
sooner rather than later.”

“Exactly,” he said and began to disrobe with a lack of haste that brought a moue to settle on Marlene’s lips. “The sooner the better.”

Brendan Ford’s escape from the Georgetown garrison and Francis Marion’s continual raiding in eastern Carolina spurred fury and action among the British in February of 1781. Incensed by his inability to capture or contain the rebel general, Lord Francis Rawdon, who assumed the position as field commander of the King’s forces after the departure of Cornwallis, launched a campaign to scrape the wily Swamp Fox from Britain’s hide for good. He sent out Lieutenant Colonel John Watson with five hundred Tories, “for the purpose of dispersing the plunderers that infest the eastern frontier.”

While Watson prepared to hunt Marion, Thomas Sumter called on the Swamp Fox to join him in an attack on Fort Granby. Marion decamped to connect with Sumter and left Captain Ford in North Carolina under Plato’s care. The captain had come close to death during the harrowing ride from Georgetown to a safe refuge in the Great White Swamp, but due to Plato’s skills and knowledge of Indian medicine, he pulled through and was on the mend. He voiced his frustration at Marion’s decision to leave him behind, complying only out of respect for his commander and vowing to join the fight again as soon as he was capable of sitting upon a horse.

Marion missed linking up with Sumter. By the time overwhelming odds forced Sumter to withdraw from Fort Granby, Watson took up his commission to rid the state of the Swamp Fox. Marion received no word of Sumter’s retreat and was traveling to the rendezvous when he learned of Watson’s approach and intentions. Marion knew the coming fight would prove decisive. Colonel Watson was Britain’s attempt to destroy, once and for all, the deepest pocket of patriot resistance. Marion’s men had no hope of reinforcements. The fighting would be bloody and man-to-man. Conflict had never daunted Marion, and now he rode head-on and ordered his troops to stage an ambush for Watson’s troops. After killing twenty Tories and Watson’s horse, Marion retreated. By the standards with which generals judged battles in the guerrilla war, Marion had bested Watson and won the day.

Watson and Marion met again at Mount Hope Swamp and once more at the Sampit River nine miles from Georgetown. When Marion fell upon Watson’s troops and sent them fleeing, Watson said with bitterness, “Marion and his men will not sleep and fight like gentlemen, but like savages, are eternally firing and whooping around us by night, and by day, waylaying and popping at us from behind every tree!”

Then calamity struck. Colonel Doyle and the New York volunteers discovered and captured Snow Island while Marion was sparring with Watson. The Tories crossed to the island after a bloody exchange of fire, and Colonel Ervin retreated with no time to spare, leaving the worst of the wounded partisans behind. Marion heard of the attack and rushed to Snow Island. Along the way, his large force melted away, one by one, the unprofessional soldiers drawn to their farms, crops, and families. Marion had only seventy men left in his brigade by the time he reached the island.

Marion viewed with dismay the destruction of the camp. Doyle had destroyed his horde of supplies, which had taken so much effort and time to accumulate through raids and forays. And the island no longer provided a safe refuge. Marion led his men from Snow Island in search of Doyle to punish him for the sacrilege he had committed.

Willa bought back Jwana from James Broom immediately after the reading of the will. True to her word, Carrie Broom had employed Jwana as her personal maid and kept her from harm. Her eyes watery, Willa hugged Jwana. “I dared not fetch you until I could be quite certain it was safe,” she sobbed.

Jwana stroked Willa’s hair. “It be a’right,” she crooned. “Miss Carrie been real good ta me, an’ I knows you be bringin’ me home.”

When they retired to Willa’s bedchamber, Willa apprised Jwana of Colonel Bellingham’s will. “Papa freed you to go wherever you wish and do whatever you want.”

Jwana gave Willa a look tinged with hurt. “Why I be leavin’ you an’ gonna live anyplace ‘cept Willowbend? You be wantin’ me ta go?”

Willa clasped the older woman’s hands. “Not so; not in the least. I want you to remain with me … as a paid servant not a slave. I was merely thinking of after the war when Plato returns. With the money Papa left you and Plato, you can marry and buy your own farm should that be your desire.”

Jwana sniffed and walked away to the chest-on-chest to tidy the cluttered items on its top. “Now why you be thinkin’ I wants ta marry dat half-wild black Injun? An’ even if’n I did, I ain’t goin’ nowhere till I see you birth dat child you be carryin'.”

Willa glanced down at her belly to where its slight bulge hid behind the fullness of her skirt. “How did you know?”

Jwana huffed, looking up from her housekeeping efforts. “You be thinkin’ I can’ tell when ma child’s gonna have a baby? I done seen it in yur bright eyes an’ de glow on yur face. An’ dat dress, it be near burstin’ at de seams ‘cross yur bosom. Dat baby be as plain as dem spots on yur horse’s hide, if’n you knows wot ta look fer.”

Willa bit her lip and sank into a chair beside the fireplace. She had hoped her pregnancy would remain hidden for a while longer. Marlene and Digby still posed a threat, though Digby had moved back to his quarters in Georgetown. The house now belonged to Willa, and she was disinclined to tolerate his constant presence. She sent him packing on the day after meeting with the solicitors. Should Digby or Marlene become aware of her pregnancy, it might be the final straw that would goad them into a hasty act.

“Don’ you be worryin’ none,” Jwana said with a knowing look. “Dem polecats, dey don’ know not’in'. But you not gonna hide dat belly much longer.” She pulled out a rag from her apron pocket, moved to the dressing table, and swiped at the dust.

“Indeed,” Willa conceded with a sigh, “and I fear they may try to harm the child once they know. They will see it as a threat to their gaining control of Papa’s money.”

Jwana gestured with the rag. “Ain’t nobody hurtin’ you an’ Cap’ain Ford’s baby. Not while I still got breath.”

Warmth seeped into Willa’s face at the mention of Brendan Ford. She drew up her legs into the chair, hugged them to her chest, and gazed into the flames on the hearth. She had refrained from dwelling on Brendan and the circumstances under which she last saw him. Yet he invaded her thoughts at the oddest times, causing her to lose track of time and place. And at night she tossed in her bed, bedeviled by the remembrance of his touch, her body heating as though he lay next to her. Was he alive? She would sense it in her soul were he not. She had heard nothing from Plato but expected this lack of communication. They were far away. In North Carolina. If truth be told, in her weakest moments she convinced herself they were not so very far—merely a two day’s ride. Were it not for the child beneath her heart, she would be tempted to jump on Cherokee and race to Brendan’s side. But another motive kept her from following that urge. Brendan had no earthly desire to see her again.