The big man looked away, refusing to meet William's eyes.
William nodded. “Yes, well, then possibly you understand. She died, by the way, only a few years after I came to Bermuda. Childbirth. I told her, confessed to her what I had done and the shock and disappointment caused early labor. She wouldn’t look at me, even as she bled to death upstairs, struggling to bring my son into the world. She and my boy died,” his voice broke, “in my arms. She never spoke to me again, my wife dieddisgustedwith me and what I’d done.” His voice raised an octave and he thanked God that Jemma was still upstairs. “So, you see, my lord, I have been well and dulypunished.I have lived aneternitywithout her. I killed the very thing I loved most. A far worse punishment than even the infamous Devil of Dunbar can mete out.” William took a great heaving breath.
“You have my confession, and you may take me to hang if you wish. I would have your word that if I hand you this paper, give you my name, that you will leave my family, and particularly my daughter, alone. You will leave the Corbetts alone.” William held up the paper. “It's all there, Devil. Your family’s honor will be restored. I will go with you tonight and you may kill me at your convenience.”
* * *
Nick listenedto Manning’s speech and wished he could do as the poor, pathetic man before him asked, for surely killing Manning would be doing him a great service. But he found he could not.
“Have you ever been in love, my lord?”
Nick looked up at the portrait of Maureen Manning and saw Jem.
“I killed the thing I loved most.”
The words, so like the gypsy’s prophecy spoken to Nick on that long ago night sent a prickling, a foreboding through him, and he squashed it down. He glanced back at Maureen Manning again and cursed himself for feeling sorry for the woeful man before him. Nick had his confession. He was taking Jem. Manning he would leave to the fates.
“I have no intention of killing you, nor taking you to London in chains.” Nick put down his glass. “You have my word that your family will not be harmed. Now, I would have your confession,” Nick nodded to the paper Manning held, “and your true name.”
Suddenly, the door to the study burst open, to reveal the corpulent form of Governor Lord Corbett.
“Pardon my interruption.” Lord Corbett sneered as he strolled into the study, an ugly look on his florid features. “I knew if I left you alone, Willie, for a minute,” he raised a finger to emphasize his point, “that you'd fall on your knees whining and sobbing like a virgin on her wedding night. I told you I would handlethis.” Corbett waved a be-ringed hand towards Nick.
“George.” Manning's face turned red as he faced his friend, his eyes popping in agitation. He laid his hand on the desk, concealing the written confession from Corbett’s wondering glance.
Corbett, sweat clinging to his forehead, walked to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. “Thank goodness I got here before you did something stupid,” he spat.
“I’m not sure what you mean, George.” Manning’s fingers crawled over the paper containing his confession to the edge of the large desk. His eyes flitted to the side.
“Good evening Governor Lord Corbett.” Nick flexed his large fingers, wanting to snap the man’s neck like a bit of kindling. Corbett deserved to die, but that chore would need to wait. He wanted nothing of this evening to hurt Jem, especially not the duplicity of her father and her father’s best friend. Once he and Jem were well away, Corbett would be dealt with. There were other ways to destroy the Lord Governor and in light of Corbett’s sins, Nick thought killing too quick.
Corbett turned to Nick, lips curled in distaste. “Good Lord, your eyes are as ghastly as they say. No wonder your mother screamed as you were first placed in her arms.”
Nick flinched. Everyone in London knew the tale of his birth, it was no great secret, but hearing Corbett say the words out loud still caused a twinge across Nick’s chest. “I would be mindful, Corbett, of what you say to me.”
Corbett's eyes flickered with a hint of fear before narrowing once again. He lifted his chin and replied, his words thick with arrogance, “Youshould be careful of what you say tome.” He wiped his upper lip. “You are on my island. My domain. All answer to me.”
“Yes,” Nick said softly. “All commanded by a traitor. One wonders what the Crown will think aboutthat.”
Corbett paled a bit but otherwise maintained his composure. “Traitor?” He sipped his brandy. “You've no proof of anything. The ramblings of your drunken sire are not enough to hang a man. Certainly, they weren’t enough to convince anyone of his complete innocence, though I suppose your grandsire kept him from being thrown into prison.
Nick raised his glass in a mock salute to Corbett. “Indeed.”
“Did I tell you,” Corbett’s mouth turned into a malicious grin, “that I played cards with your father? What an incredible waste of title and privilege. He drank like a fish. He found himself so in debt once during a card game that he tore the buckles off his shoes. How we laughed at him.”
Nick said nothing. He wished only to leave, not stay and be baited by the likes of George Corbett. His eyes ran to the piece of paper that Manning now clenched in his hand.I’ve given my word.
“And, let's not forget your dear mother, Charlotte. A more silly, frivolous woman I’ve yet to meet. I’m told she was so drunk she thought your father was joking with the gun and actually put the end of the weapon in her mouth.” Corbett shook his head. “She loathed you. Simply, loathed you.”
“George,” Manning’s face had grown ashen. “Please, don’t say more. His lordship was just leaving.” Manning shot Nick a nervous look.
“Oh, please don’t fuss, Willie. We’re just catching up, aren’t we?” Corbett sipped his drink and regarded Nick carefully. “I wonder that you didn’t just rip off that eye-patch and declare yourself the other night.”
“I wonder that you didn't dispose of me, when you realized who I was.” Nick’s temper flared at the man’s pompous arrogance. “Oh, but then you aren't sure who will come looking for me. And, it’s a dangerous thing, to attempt to murder the heir to Dunbar. You got lucky with my father, I’ll grant you that, but my grandsire and myself,” Nick scratched his chin, “we are not quite so weak.”
Corbett’s hand trembled slightly as he took another small sip of his brandy, but his face remained frozen, hatred for Nick stamped across his features.
“And there is Dorthea, your daughter, to think about.” Nick dipped his head. “Who knows what could happen toherif I don’t return. What instructions I may have left?”
