“The tavern?”
“Nay, Virginia.”
“Tonight? You’re scarce fit to sail the ship!”
“I’ll not sail her—Paddy will.”
When he sobered and they were in New York, Sloan hesitated about returning to Lady Alyssa’s house.
Rikky laughed, taunting him. “Are you afraid? Is the lord of countless battles afraid of one slim lass?”
“Rikky, you press me sorely.”
“Wake up, then, Treveryan! You are as bad as she!”
“Umm,” Sloan muttered. “Then let’s get on to your aunt’s house, shall we?”
It was nightfall when they came. Dulce informed them that the ladies had long been abed.
Sloan started determinedly for the stairs. “Lord Treveryan,” Dulce said, “I done told you that they’s asleep.”
“And I heard you, Dulce. Thank you.”
He came to her door, but it was locked. He banged on it. She came, anxiously and half asleep. When she saw him, and the tense thunder about his face, she paled immediately and drew into the room.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him raspily, and in her blue eyes he saw nothing but cool defiance. Yet his heart was touched too; she was in a simple white gown, laced at the throat, and the desire she could kindle too easily touched him like a rampaging fire.
“I must return to London and Wales,” he told her curtly. “I leave tomorrow—with Michael.”
She gasped. “You cannot! He is by law my son. You—”
He caught her shoulders and pushed her heedlessly into the room, back to the bed, where he forced her to sit.
“Sloan Treveryan,” she warned fiercely, “you cannot do this! We are not alone in some desperate place! You cannot push me so and manhandle and—”
He laughed, and placing one booted foot crudely on the bed so as to lean his elbow upon his knee, he produced from his pocket the document that Robert Powell had given him.
“Read it, mistress. I am taking the child. Now, you may stay behind, if that is your choice. I shall go to London and claim him before the king and queen, and he shall be legitimized as my son. Then you will never see him again, for I am finished with traipsing around the world to drag you from one disaster after another. Or…”
He let the word trail.
“Or what?” she spat out furiously.
“I can take you with me. But if you do come, you will stay with me. And you will repay me. Every night that I so choose, you will repay me.”
“I am a widow!” she cried out to him. “How can you be so callous and—such a bastard!”
“Brianna, say whatever you like, feel whatever you like. But I have decided that I can no longer play this game. You will curse me however you like, but under your breath you will still whisper to me that you want me. When I come to my cabin tomorrow night, you will be waiting, bathed and clean and fresh and smelling like roses—and with a meek pretense of eagerness!”
He spun on her then, quickly, and left the room before she could reply. He closed her door and leaned against it—and smiled as he felt the reverberation of her pillow crashing against it.
He chuckled then, certain that Rikky was right. But to be on the safe side he hurried down the hall to the room where his son slept. He stretched out carefully by the little boy, amazed again that the child could be his own flesh—and so very much like him.
Minutes later, he heard a soft scampering of footsteps down the hall. The door creaked open and she entered, and started to tiptoe for the bed.
“Nay, Brianna,” Sloan said softly, and she jumped. “I’ll not take my eyes off him until we’re far at sea.”
“Bastard!” she hissed, and a slight sob escaped her as she ran from the room.
