Pirate's Golden Promise (32 page)

In a swift movement Cort parted the mink cape to reveal her much pregnant shape. He grabbed her by the arms. His strong fingers dug into the fur of her cape, and Wynter winced under his assault.

“You're carrying a child, Wynter.”

She was baffled by the anger on his face. “Of course I'm carrying a child, Cort. You can see that I'm to deliver soon. Whatever is wrong? Aren't you happy about the baby? Don't you want our child?”

His lips grew white. She felt his fingers apply more pressure. Why did he look at her as if he loathed her?

“Tell me about Morgan.”

“Morgan? Henry Morgan?” she asked blankly, wondering what he had to do with the subject of their baby.

“God! If you were a man I'd beat you within an inch of your life right now.”

“If I were a man, Cort, I wouldn't be in this condition!”

“Always the snippish tongue. You haven't changed, Wynter.” His hands fell away.

“Cort,” she said, her voice softening. “Why are you so angry with me? Is it because of what happened that night with Henry before he let you return to the
Sea Bride?”
She realized that was the problem when she noticed a muscle throbbing in his jaw. “I had to lie to you about loving Henry to protect you. I pretended that I craved his touch or risk your life in the process. I loved you too much to see you dangling from a hangman's noose on Gallows Point. You must believe that I loved you and lied to save you. Cort, listen to me, please.”

Imploring hands reached out to him, but he pushed her away. “I thought you'd make up some sort of story, Wynter, and I don't believe you.”

Indignation and hurt coursed through her to be called a liar by him. After the deception he pulled on her on the
Sea Bride,
she thought he had a great deal of nerve to call anyone a liar. “Why not?” she asked, and practically sputtered. “Henry never made love to me, and that's the truth.”

“How incredibly malleable you think I am. You can actually stand there and lie to me, tell me that Henry Morgan never made love to you. Good God, woman! You're having the man's child. Now I know why you came to Lindenwyck and passed yourself off as my wife. You expected to weave yourself into my aunt's graces and earn a place here for you and your bastard. What happened, Wynter? Did Morgan tire of your tantrums? Didn't papa's ‘pet' please him?”

She slapped him so hard that the sound echoed in the quiet room, and she felt certain it had been heard by anyone who might be listening outside the door. But Wynter didn't care. Anger overflowed at Cort in such abundance that she'd have gladly strangled him at that moment. How dare he believe such awful things about her? She'd gone through hell on Port Royal, and then again when she had thought that Cort had died because of her. She had loved Cort, still loved him, but she wouldn't allow him to heap guilt upon her. Not after what she'd done to save his life.

“I can't help what you believe about me, and I won't try to sway your opinion of me. But you had better accept the truth when you see it, and believe that this child I carry is yours. A Van Linden. Legally, my child isn't bound to you for it hasn't your name. But I'd rather bear this baby out of wedlock than be tied to you by a piece of paper and a ring. I've offered the truth to you, and you've rejected it. Now I reject you.”

She pulled the diamond betrothal ring from her finger and tossed it to him. It landed on the Persian rug near the fireplace. “This is the first time I've ever removed your ring,” she said. “This is the last time I shall ever see it, or you. I leave Lindenwyck tonight. Farewell, Cort.”

Where she found the courage to walk the distance to the door without faltering or turning around, she didn't know. From the vestibule she heard the muffled laughter of guests as they began arriving for the party. Her hand was on the knob when his covered hers.

Their eyes locked. “Don't leave, Wynter.”

“You wish me to stay?”

Cort nodded.

“Do you believe the child is yours?”

A terrible silence greeted her ears. Say something! she inwardly screamed. Admit you love me, admit the baby is yours!

Finally he said, “I admit only that I've thought of no one, nothing but you, over the past months. You kept me alive after the attack, your face in my dreams, the memory of your body pressed into mine. Your kisses, your love. Without you, I'm incomplete. I admit this to you. Whether I accept what you've told me—” Cort shrugged his massive shoulders. “Let's say that now that I've seen you again, touched you, I can't live without you. I only know that I want you, and if you leave I'll find you.”

No matter what he believed, she knew it was hard for him to admit even this bit of love for her. She'd played her part well on Port Royal, so well that she had earned Cort's undying hatred. How could he be expected to accept her story? As she looked into his eyes, filled with anger and pain, she knew she couldn't leave Lindenwyck. She loved this man. Wynter trembled when she said, “You're a very selfish man.”

He smiled, apparently sensing her change of heart. Before he threw open the door, he said, “You should dress for the party. I want my ‘wife' to outshine every woman here tonight.” The look she gave him was one of incredulity. She went upstairs to her room and didn't see Cort return to the spot where the ring had fallen and place the ring in his pocket, next to his heart.

“Come on, ma'am. Everyone's arrived for the party. You must hurry and dress.”

Wynter sat in her chemise before the dressing table. The chill in the room ran through her, but the cold discomfort barely penetrated her brain. Instead of seeing her own reflection in the mirror, she saw Cort's face as he had looked earlier. She felt unable to function, and the thought of celebrating the arrival of St. Nicholas held no appeal.

“I think I shall beg off,” she told Mary. “I don't feel well enough to pretend that nothing is wrong.”

“But, ma'am, nothing is wrong.” Mary carried a turquoise velvet gown embroidered in gold and silver on the bodice and on the sides of the large puffed sleeves. Because of the gown's absence of a waistband, it fell in graceful folds to the floor when Mary held it up for Wynter's reluctant perusal. “Your dress is beautiful, and Captain Cort is alive and home. Why aren't you happy?”

Why wasn't she happy? She should feel euphoric. After all, the man she loved was alive and had returned to her. But how could she rejoice when she knew how much he hated her? Cort thought terrible things about her, things she had purposely done to cause him to hate her. But what she'd done had been perpetrated to save his life.

If he had ever loved her at all, why didn't he believe her?

“Send my regrets to everyone, Mary. I won't attend the party.”

Mary disappeared with a frown on her face. Wynter went to her bed and snuggled under the covers. Minutes later the door to her room unceremoniously opened, and Cort entered with the dress thrown over his arm.

He threw the gown on the bed.

“Get up and get dressed.”

Wynter sat up. “I don't feel well enough to attend the festivities. Convey my regrets to Lena, please. And don't enter my room without knocking.”

“Your room? This is my room, dear ‘wife.' I don't fancy the custom of sleeping in separate bedchambers. And I don't care for a bossy wife. You will obey me, Wynter, or I shall be forced to admit we were never married.”

“You'd admit your child is a bastard?”

Cort stiffened. “I don't believe the child is mine.”

“Then I pity you, Cort. If you won't allow me to leave Lindenwyck, and you don't willingly claim the baby is yours, then leave me some dignity by finding quarters elsewhere.”

“You'd like that, I know, but I won't sleep anywhere but here, my love. When I lie next to you in the dark, you shall not think of Henry Morgan, ever again! Now get yourself out of bed and come downstairs. My aunt awaits your presence.”

Cort stalked towards the door, believing that he'd made his point, when her voice stalled him.

“Why don't you tell your family we aren't married? I wonder why you haven't already done so.”

He turned. His aristocratic profile was shadowed, and she could barely make out his features. All she saw was the imperceptible stiffening of his shoulders.

“I made you mine on the
Sea Bride,
Wynter. No man takes what belongs to me. You're mine until the day you die.”

Her voice shook as did her hands when she leaned forward. “You're keeping me here to punish me for a wrong you believe I committed against you. For the last time, Cort, my love spared you from Henry Morgan. If not for me, you'd be long dead.”

“If that is how you prove your love, I should take extreme displeasure in your hatred.”

He walked out of the room and slammed the tall oaken door behind him. In a matter of seconds Mary was back.

“Would it do any good if I told Captain Cort again how you planned his escape from Port Royal? I tried to tell him once on the
Sea Bride,
as did Jan, but he wouldn't listen to us.”

Wynter took Mary's hand and squeezed it. “You're a good friend to me,” she told the servant woman. “However, Cort is filled with pride and pain … pain which I've caused. I doubt if anyone can explain about Port Royal. He simply won't listen. Now help me dress, Mary. I've a party to attend.”

Cort's presence at Lindenwyck was accepted by the Van Lindens' friends and neighbors as not out of the ordinary. Since he'd been away for ten years, and many of them had never met him or heard of his apparent demise, he wasn't pressed with questions. No one expressed other than friendly interest in him, and Cort was glad. He didn't wish to dwell on the past years, and most certainly he didn't want to think about the peculiar situation in which he found himself at the moment. Wynter was in his mind, his heart, and his soul. And damn her, he cursed to himself as he downed a huge goblet of wine. Why did she have to still be so beautiful, even carrying another man's child? His loins wantonly ached for her. He didn't know how he'd restrain himself when he crawled beneath the sheets with her later that night. His self-control would be put to the test, and he doubted he'd pass. He still desired her, and God help him, he would want her for the rest of his life.

He hoped she'd put in an appearance. Already Rolfe was glancing his way, and by the inquisitive arch of his brow, Cort knew that Rolfe would make it his concern to discover Wynter's absence. Rolfe's fondness for Wynter hadn't gone unnoticed by Cort. He'd spotted it immediately, and Cort vowed that Rolfe wouldn't take Wynter from him. He'd lost a woman he thought he loved to Rolfe, but he wouldn't lose Wynter to him. Not if his life depended upon it.

Instead of Rolfe wandering in his direction, Katrina appeared by his side. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes glowed like twin stars. She was still beautiful, extremely voluptuous. And when she spoke, he knew she was still Katrina.

“I've thought of no one but you all of these years, Cort,” she said softly. “I hoped you'd return to Lindenwyck one day, and you have. I still love you, will always love you.”

Cort's blond head bent low and touched hers. “I think, dear cousin, that such sentiments should be reserved for your husband.”

“Don't spurn me, Cort—”

Wynter's voice interrupted them. “I'm sorry to intrude.”

Cort glanced at Wynter. Despite his resentment towards her, he couldn't help but smile at the lovely picture she made. Her hair was piled upon her head and hung down her back in long, sausage curls as was the style in England. The turquoise of her gown enhanced the high spots of color on her cheeks. The fact that she was heavy with child didn't detract from her incredible beauty. Once again Cort wondered if he'd be strong enough not to touch her.

“Katrina was just leaving to speak to Rolfe. Weren't you, Katrina?”

Cort handed Wynter his arm. Katrina threw back her head and left them in a huff.

“I hope I didn't break up an important conversation between you,” Wynter said. She suddenly felt out of place here, the intruder. Katrina had more right to be here, more reason to stay by Cort's side than she did. After all, Cort had loved Katrina, and from the familiar way his head had rested near hers, he still did love her. Her heart cried, but she refused to allow Cort to see her pain. She didn't want him to belittle her love for him again.

“Come, let me introduce you to the few old friends I have here.” Cort led her to a group of people, unaware that Wynter believed he still loved Katrina Van Linden.

Lena smiled and mingled among her guests, the children being her favorites. A few of them ran constantly to the window and looked out into the bitter cold night. “When will St. Nicholas arrive?” they asked, and were told he'd arrive when they settled down.

“You must be good children,” Lena told them with a smile.

“I've been good!” piped in Mikel.

“So have I!” cried another little boy.

Wynter didn't miss the grin on Cort's face. She knew he must be reliving moments from his own childhood when he and Rolfe had been as close as brothers, before Katrina destroyed their relationship.

Trays of pastries were laid on a long table in the dining room. Wynter especially liked the breads called “wights” which were baked in the shape of a child in swaddling clothes. She tenderly touched one. When she glanced up, Cort's gaze bore into her, and she felt her face burning.

The children were gathered near the door by Lena and other doting parents. Mikel was handed a large sheet which he and some children spread in front of the huge, elaborately carved front door.

“Perhaps the cold keeps St. Nicholas away,” voiced Mikel worriedly after he and the children waited and nothing happened.