Later, he made love to her again slowly, trying to tell her with his body what he could not yet say. He could not explain, even to himself, the depth of his need for her. Why it should be Jem, the daughter of the very man he sought revenge against, remained a mystery. The haunting prophecy of the gypsy whispered in his mind, but he pushed the thought back.
Jem rained kisses upon his face and lips, cradling Nick's head against her heart. In a low voice, she spoke of her love for him, whispering the words into his hair to keep him from hearing.
But he did.
Jem, the traitor’s daughter. A rare and precious gift he thought never to have. He held her for a long time, still wanting her, knowing he must leave her, for now.
Tonight, he would confront William Manning, no longer able to postpone the inevitable. He would ask for his identity and confession. Nick’s grandfather would have to be content with only that and not the man himself. Nick would not destroy Manning for the sake of the woman who lay in his arms. He wished Jem never to know what brought him here. Or what her father was.
A choice, a chance, had been bestowed upon Nick. The Devil it seemed, had a sense of irony. The Dunbars kept what they claimed, and he claimed this lovely, eccentric girl who lay next to him. His lot would be Jem's, whether she willed it or not.
When Nick left this cursed island tomorrow, Jem would be going with him.
10
William Manning rubbed at the ache in his chest, willing the pain to go away, knowing it would not. “I’m coming Maureen,” he said softly to his dead wife’s portrait. “Soon.”
Maureen said nothing, of course, only staring at him, a gentle smile on her lips from her perch above the mantle in his study.
His sweet Maureen. Dead for so many years, but always alive still in his heart. Dead because ofhim. He'd paid dearly for his part in the betrayal of the Dunbars, his punishment, a lifetime without Maureen.
“I’m sorry, my love. I have done the best I could.” He turned from the portrait to the pages of his confession lying atop his desk.
George Corbett, his greatest friend and his accomplice in treason and duplicity for twenty years. George, who told William to attend that damned house party at the Duke of Dunbar's. George, who knew exactly where those papers were hidden and knew exactly who to sell them to for the greatest amount of money. George, who arranged William'sdeath. George, who was content to allow William to shoulder the blame for all of it.
William looked back up at Maureen’s portrait. She was posed with her hair down, one hand protectively over the gentle swelling of her belly where his son lay. “You're dead because of me.” William dabbed at one eye, his voice breaking in the empty study. “I only did it because I was young and stupid. Father cut me off, but I wouldn’t set you aside. I should have trusted that we could find our own way, but I was a coward then,” William muttered to himself. “And I am now.”
Maureen continued to smile serenely down at him, encouraging him to speak. “I'm very frightened, my love. The Devil has come to Hamilton. Finally. I have made arrangements to keep Jane Emily safe, in case George means to do her harm. And I think he does. Or she doesn’t wish to wed Augustus, which I am certain she does not.” He stopped and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t wish her to know I am a traitor, my love, unless there’s no other way. Selfish of me, I’ll admit.”
It took several weeks of convincing on William’s part for George to come around and realize that the Devil was in their midst. “Why does he not just declare himself?”George mused after cards the other night.“What do you think he wants Willie?”
“I think, George,"he’d said “that he wishes to toy with us, as a cat does a mouse.”
George had shaken his head, so arrogant and full of his own self importance.‘The Crown would never allow him to hurt me. I’m the Governor of Bermuda. I think we should wait, Willie, and let him approach us.”
William thought George a great fool. “A great fool,” he whispered.
No oneevercrossed that cursed family and expected not to pay. William would pay the price, gladly, as long as Jane Emily was safe.
Rubbing his eyes, he walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. If not for Jane Emily, he would have confessed his crimes long ago. It would be such a relief to finally be free of the past. George claimed to have not seen his erstwhile houseguest for several days and thought perhaps the heir to Dunbar left of his own accord, but William knew the man wasn’t gone, only waiting. He wanted something, and he imagined it was a signed confession. Perhaps, he even meant to take William back to England in chains. Truthfully, he no longer cared. He was ready.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Sir?” Gladdings, the head butler of Sea Cliff, poked his head into the study.
“Yes?” William took another sip of the brandy. His head ached as dreadfully as his chest. “It's not time for dinner yet Gladdings, is it? And where is Jane Emily? I haven't seen her all day.”
Gladdings, a tidy man who arrived on Bermuda a bond servant and ended up at Sea Cliff, bowed slightly. “Dinner will be ready at half past seven, sir. Miss Jane Emily is upstairs and should be down shortly.”
“Where’s she been all day? Fishing, I suppose?”
Gladdings nodded. “I believe she left a basket with Cook.”
William smiled. Jane Emily was the joy of his life. He adored her eccentric habits, though he never encouraged them.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Gladdings, is there more?”
