For the Love of a Pirate (20 page)

He smiled now, had held her close and kissed her, but she didn't know him well enough to know what was going on behind his eyes. She hadn't known even when they'd kissed just moments ago. All she knew was that she wanted more.

Most of all, she could not forget, in slow and deadly detail, that when they'd made love, his ecstasy had ended at the precise moment he'd realized she hadn't shared it. Not because he'd failed her as a lover. But because he'd realized she'd never had a lover before.

Lisabeth composed herself. It was done. He was a proper gentleman and would do the right thing. Now she'd have to meet his friends and discover his world, and more than that, find out if by her entering his life, she would end his pleasure in it. His friends' reactions would tell her much.

She drew a deep breath. She didn't know if she could live the rest of her life doing the right thing, with the wrong man. Or the wrong thing, with the right man. But she'd been raised to trust her instincts, and she couldn't stop now.

“Lead on,” she told him, placing her hand on his sleeve. “I'm eager to meet them.”

“E
nchanted,” the faultless Sir Blaise said as he bowed over Lisabeth's hand.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Sir Kendall said as he took her hand in turn.

Lisabeth curtsied. She couldn't think of one word to say to these two gentlemen. Sir Blaise was beyond handsome. He was slender and exquisitely dressed; his immaculate clothing didn't bear a speck of road dust, although he'd just arrived at Sea Mews. His golden hair was brushed back from a pale and noble brow, his eyes were blue; his face looked as though it should be carved on a priceless cameo. Sir Kendall was gruff but polite, dressed like a man about town, handsome in an intensely masculine way, and obviously fit as a fiddle.

They bowed to her, and then looked at their friend Constantine. Who looked, she thought, as though he were in his element for the first time since she'd met him. Her heart sank.

“Fell in on you,” Kendall told Constantine apologetically. “But worried about you, y'see.”

“Lord Wylde is an old friend,” Sir Blaise explained smoothly to Lisabeth. “And since he's usually as predictable as a mantel clock, we began to fret when he didn't return when he said he would.”

“I sent you letters,” Constantine said.

“The post,” Blaise said with a shrug of one shoulder. “I daresay it's not that promptly delivered between here and London. Be that as it may. We see you breathe, and we are content. We'll leave.”

“Won't hear a word of it,” the captain said. “You'll stay to dinner. And for as long as you like after that. We have more bedchambers than guests, so please make yourselves at home. Daresay you two have been round the world, but I'd wager you have never explored our part of the world, have you? Well, you're welcome to do it from here. That is,” he added, with a challenging look to Constantine, “if your friend Lord Wylde agrees?”

He wants to know if Constantine will tell his friends about his new wedding plans, Lisabeth realized. It was a rude and crude test, and maybe even insulting to Constantine. But she didn't say a word. She needed to know too.

“I'm delighted to have them stay, thank you, if it's not too much trouble,” Constantine said.

“Wouldn't have asked if it was,” the captain said.

“Maybe we can take them out on that delightful fishing boat Lisabeth's friends took me on?” Constantine said innocently. “And perhaps you fellows would like to go berrying too?”

Lisabeth hid her smiles. Sir Blaise looked astonished, Sir Kendall, horrified.

“We've much more to see than berries and fish,” she assured them. “Good trout fishing, excellent sailing, good riding, breathtaking views from the cliffs, and a fine inn, down the road.”

“But first, if I may, I'd like to show them my family: my father and my great-grandfather,” Constantine said, “the fellows I discovered when I came here. Captain, would you mind?”

“Be proud,” the captain said.

“And Lisabeth,” Constantine added, “would you mind narrating their rich histories for my friends?”

She smiled so broadly she was sure she glowed. “I'd be happy to, my lord,” she said. “But first, surely, they wish to refresh themselves. You are staying on, gentlemen, aren't you? I'd like to pass the word to Cook, so she can try to outdo herself.”

Constantine's friends looked at him.

He nodded.

“Be happy to,” Sir Kendall said.

“Delighted,” Sir Blaise said.

“Wonderful,” Constantine said. “What a good idea. My long-lost relatives are best seen by moonlight anyway.”

His friends looked puzzled.

Lisabeth laughed.

It was the last time she would laugh aloud, and mean it, for some time.

“By God!” Kendall exclaimed that evening, as Constantine held the lamp up to the portrait of his great-grandfather. “The spit and image of you, Con. But then again, he's nothing like you.”

“Exactly,” Blaise commented as he scrutinized the portrait. “He's dashing, Con. Charming and moral you are. But dashing?
That
, you never were. It's the eyes, I think,” he said as he stared up at the picture. “His eyes hold wicked secrets that delight him.”

Con? Lisabeth thought. She'd never heard him called that, nor had he encouraged her to use that name. But his friends had used it all through dinner. She'd kept still. She'd had nothing to say but inane polite things to his guests anyway. She didn't really know them. Now she wondered if she really knew Constantine.

Dinner had been pleasant; the gentlemen from London had taken it upon themselves to keep the conversation going. Blaise was obviously used to entertaining the company at dinner. Gruff Sir Kendall was positively loquacious when the subject turned to horses, hunting, fishing, or riding, and Constantine turned it that way whenever conversation lagged. It seldom did. Dinner had been very entertaining. Except that Constantine himself said little, nothing about her, and not much to her.

He didn't even look at her fondly. He was cool and collected, once again the stiff, formal fellow she'd first met. Was this the man who had made such passionate love to her? Was he the one who had asked her to marry him just this morning?

Constantine told his friends his family history with never an apology or a defense. Her grandfather had kept silent, watching his friends as closely as she did. Sir Blaise and Kendall were by turns shocked, amused, and fascinated. And yet, Lisabeth thought, Constantine had claimed that knowledge of his ancestors' wicked past would ruin him.

But Blaise and Kendall seemed to enjoy the stories, and then enjoyed discussing them over a glass of port with the captain in the salon. Then they excused themselves.

“Tired as the devil after a day of traveling,” Kendall said.

“All that fresh air!” Blaise said in horror. “I need a night to recuperate from it. Then too, Con has also told us we must be up early, as he's going to go riding with us to point out the sights. So good night, Captain, and good night, ladies. We'll see you in the morning.”

They bowed, and left the salon. The captain went off to bed, and that left only Lisabeth and Constantine, and Miss Lovelace, snoring in her favorite chair by the hearth.

Then, at last, Lisabeth rose, and looked at Constantine with inquiry. “What's the matter?” she asked him quietly, her eyes searching his. “Have you changed your mind? I'll understand. So will my grandfather. But I must know what's going on.”

He turned a surprised face to her. “Going on?” he echoed. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“You didn't tell them about us,” she said.

He smiled. “How could I? Remember, my dear, I am nominally still engaged to Miss Winchester. I want your name to be left out of any gossip until the day I am free to tell everyone.”

She nodded. “I see,” she said. “But it's more than that. You—you've changed. You're cool with me. You don't look at me the same way, or speak to me the way you used to do, even just this morning. It's as though a mask has come down over your face. You're the way you were when you first came here. Cold, mannerly, and . . . slightly superior. I don't recognize you.”

“You obviously do, if you remember how I was,” he said with a slight smile. “No, I'm just joking now,” he added when he saw the anger flare up in her eyes.

He walked to her and held her by her shoulders, but at arm's length. He sighed. “First,” he said. “I can't make love to you anymore, not here, and not now. It would betray your grandfather's hospitality. It also might become known by my friends. It wouldn't do your name any good, or mine. I'm not a scoundrel. You're not . . . an easy bit of muslin I chanced upon.”

“I was,” she said stonily.

“Once,” he said. “If that. Whatever happened was my fault. I lost my self-control. Listen, Lisabeth, I'm not yet free, not in the eyes of Society. I will be. On that day and from then on, everything will be out in the open. Until then I must play at being the man I was before I met you. And you have to understand, I still want you. I can't forget our time together. But this is a new time, one in which we must keep this a secret between us.”

“Are you going to tell Kendall and Blaise?” she asked. “They
are
your best friends.”

He thought a moment. “Yes. Tomorrow, when we're out riding. I won't tell all, but I'll explain that I've changed my mind about Miss Winchester, and that I want to marry you. I'll ask for their help in anything that might arise, and I know they'll give it to me. But I won't say anything that might reflect on you. There's no need for them to know everything. Believe me,” he said on a slight smile, “knowing that I've changed my mind will be enough to shock them senseless.”

Her eyes searched his. “No kisses?” she asked softly. “No physical contact at all?”

“I'm not a cad,” he said gravely. “I lost my head once. I won't do it again, even though I dearly wish to. Now, go to sleep. I'll stay on a week or so more with my friends. Then, we'll ride for London. Within a week, I'll settle matters with Miss Winchester and then see it appears in the newspaper. Then I'll send for you and announce our pledge for the world to see. Please understand. Please wait.”

She nodded. “I will.” But then her chin rose. “But only for a few weeks more. And if you find when you return to London that you've returned to your senses, I'll understand.” She poked a finger into his cravat. “Understand that.”

“And if our one moment of forgetfulness proves fruitful?” he asked. “What about that? Would you expect me to forget that too? I promise you, I would not.”

She shrugged. “Then you'd remember. I can't stop that. But I'll never wed where there is no love. Not for the sake of a child, or myself. Be easy. I understand that there's not much likelihood of that. After all, it only happened once.”

“But you'll tell me?” he persisted. “As soon as you know?”

She cocked her head to the side. Her smile was not merry. “Yes. No. You'd never know. Forget it for now.”

“I can scarcely forget it if time is of the essence,” he said.

“So far,” she said, “it is not. Don't look for trouble. Go on and do what you must, and understand that I'll do the same. Good night, Lord Wylde.”

He caught her hand as she turned to go, his expression angry. He pulled her toward him, stared into her eyes a moment, then bent his head and kissed her. Their kiss was long and fervent, and they clung to each other. Then he drew back.

“See?” he said in a shaken voice. “I've already gone back on my word. I'll leave in a few days. I can't trust myself for much longer than that.”

“I wouldn't mind if you forgot yourself,” she said, touching his sleeve.

“I would,” he said. “Good night, Lisabeth. Trust me. I'm leaving sooner because when I'm with you I can't trust myself.”

“But I don't care,” she said.

“I do,” he said. “I can't help that. If you want me, understand that this inconvenient morality of mine is as much part of me as my eyes or my nose. It is what makes me what I am. I'm not my father or great-grandfather. Don't marry me because I remind you of them, marry me in spite of what I am.”

She nodded.

He bowed, and left her.

“He's a good man,” Miss Lovelace said into the silence of the room. She yawned. “Too good for the likes of me. But he'll never give you a moment's worry when you're finally wed.”

“He never said he loves me, not once,” Lisabeth whispered.

Miss Lovelace rose from the chair slowly and with difficulty. “Well, that's a gentleman for you.”

“Yes,” Lisabeth said bitterly. “He won't lie.”

“Didn't say that,” Miss Lovelace said on another huge yawn. “He won't say ‘bip,' not he, until he's free to say it.”

“He did things he wasn't free to do,” Lisabeth said.

“He's a man. He's not a saint, or a man milliner. You wouldn't want him so straitlaced and proper he didn't sometimes give way to temptation, would you? Proves he's human. Now, what's the matter? You look as though you're going to cry.”

Lisabeth shook her head. “How will I ever know how he really feels about me? Especially if I don't get my courses? I don't want to lie to him but I don't want him to marry me just because of one mistake.”

“He wouldn't be the first or the last to do it. But you're making the stew before you've caught a fish. Wait and see. Now, give me your arm, I'm to bed, and so are you. And it's a lucky thing your young man isn't the type to go creeping up to your chamber by night. Morality will keep him in his whole skin. The captain keeps a loaded horse pistol by his bedside. Why, one night I remember, he heard a creaking below stairs, and he was up and out of bed and down the stairs in the altogether two seconds later. Had he not seen it was a cat in time, there'd have been cat all over the dining chamber wall.”