Pirate of My Heart: A Novel (14 page)

Chapter Fourteen

T
he low fire was the only light in his bedchamber as Dorian walked in and shut the door behind him with a small click. He walked over to a chair beside the fire, rubbing the back of his neck. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying not to think, and then removed his coat and tossed it over the back of another chair. Sitting down, elbows braced on his knees, he blew out a long breath and buried his face into his hands.

What was he doing? Playing with her like that?

Images of people and places he hadn’t thought of in years paraded across his memory. Captaining his own ship had turned out even more satisfying than he’d dreamed. He enjoyed every aspect of his life—making deals for goods that other men couldn’t seem to get their hands on; courting contacts and business associates with a natural charm that made easy friends of everyone; the surge of his heart pumping when life on the high seas turned dangerous, when it demanded nerves of steel, decisive leadership, and the thrill of overcoming odds time after time after time.

She’d called him a pirate and in a way, it was true. He looted pockets using calculated charm instead of sabers, plundered relationships to achieve his goals, and even turned off the internal voice which whispered he’d gone too far when he accepted a midnight offer from a beautiful woman with greed on her mind. He’d been living a charmed life and he hadn’t dreamed that anything or anyone would ever change that.

Kendra’s face flashed behind his closed eyes as he pressed his fingers against his face. What had she done to him? Like a cannonball being fired at his middle she’d exploded into his perfectly happy life and blown it to bits. It didn’t make sense. It was as if he stood on the edge of a steep cliff unable to stand against the cyclone coming right at him. There didn’t seem to be any stopping this fast-fall obsession.

A pair of violet-hued eyes had quite simply ruined him.

With a short, hard exhale of breath he stood and removed all but his drawers. The fire barely made enough light to see the bed but he was too exhausted to light a candle. He edged around to the side, turned back the edge of the coverlet, and slid into bed. His elbow slammed into something solid, something soft. He sprang back. Something was in his bed! No, not something . . . someone!

It moved toward him as he leapt from the bed and grasped his pistol from the bedside table. As soon as he had it pointed at the bed he heard a low chuckle. Prickles of unease ran up and down his back and then outrage burst through him as Angelene’s dark head poked out from the covers.

“
You
.”

“Hello, Dorian.” A bare shoulder showed above the top of the coverlet.

“Angelene, what do you think you are doing here?” He knew the answer—it was hammering at his head in a tap, tap, tapping way but the shock had yet to wear off. Trap! This was a trap—his body and brain screamed at him to run.

“I would think that would be obvious,” she purred. She started to sit up, covers clutched fetchingly to her chest. “Tell me you don’t want me here.”

Dorian swallowed hard and looked away. “Angelene, please, get dressed and get out.”

She chuckled with throaty certainty. “Come now. I always get what I want and I want you. I will make you very, very happy, Dorian.”

Dorian looked back at her, incredulous. “I have tried to be polite. I have tried to spare your feelings, but I see that my efforts have been wasted. If you do not leave, immediately, I will. I would save your reputation if possible. Angelene, think what you are doing.”

“Oh, I have thought of nothing else.” Her gaze was like a searing iron with her brand on it across his chest. With a big inhale, Angelene threw back her head and let out a bloodcurdling scream. Dorian dove for his pants and yanked them on. A moment later the door burst open as Angelene’s father and two other guests who were staying in rooms down the hall, rushed into the room. Her father’s face turned ashen as he took in the sight that met his eyes.

“What in blazes!” His gaze swung to Angelene as she clutched the coverlet to her throat. “Daddy,” she screeched, “he seduced me!” She began to cry, real tears streaming down her face.

Dorian stood motionless in the trap that was tightening around his throat. He was finding it hard to breathe. “Mr. Monteiro, I assure you that I was not seducing your daughter. I’m sorry to say it, but I found her in my room waiting for me.” He wasn’t sure how to go on. As much as he disliked her, he despaired of seeing her chances of ever making an honorable marriage disappear like a puff of smoke.

Angelene burst into a fresh round of tears at his words. “Forgive me, Daddy,” she cried. “You saw how he danced with me earlier and then, and then, he kissed me in the garden. Before I knew what was happening, I was coaxed in here.” She peeked up at her father, tears still bright in her wide, blinking eyes.

Monteiro started to rush Dorian but one of the other houseguests held him back while the other, a young gentleman who couldn’t keep his gaze off Angelene, closed the door and made shushing sounds to them all.

“He’ll pay for this, my dear. I promise you that,” Monteiro hissed with an outraged glare toward Dorian. “We will leave and you will get dressed. Be quick about it. I am taking you home.” Turning to Dorian, he shook off the restraining hands and stood as tall as his frame would allow. Shaking with anger he stated. “I will discuss this matter with your father, sir. You shall be called to account for your despicable actions.”

Dorian said nothing to that. He was a grown man and his father would never interfere in his life unless asked to. Dorian watched as they all quit the room. He gave Angelene one last look, a look of pity, before following them out.

Angelene looked as she always did when about to win the desires of her heart.

Angelene looked smug.

Kendra closed her eyes, a dreamy smile on her lips, and leaned out the open window of her bedchamber, breathing in the cool night air. Had there ever been a more perfect evening?

Dear God, he’s the one, isn’t he?

Her smile grew into a soft laugh as happiness expanded inside her chest, filling her with an almost painful joy. She wanted to remember his kiss, but she was saving that. First she had to remember every smile, every touch, being in his arms while they danced, even that ghastly man had turned out part of her fairytale. All fairytales needed a villain and the way Dorian had rushed to her rescue, so brave and so strong! She inhaled and then let out a big sigh.

American pirate captains were very nice indeed.

A sudden rustling sound from across the yard jerked her attention to the outdoors. She poked her head further out the window looking from side to side and then, as two large figures came around the side of the house, she pulled back inside the darkness. She straightened, skirting around to the side of the window, and pressed her back against the wall. Leaning ever so slightly toward the open window she was just able to make out a voice.

“So, where’s my money, my friend?”

It was Uncle Franklin’s voice. Who was he talking to out in the middle of the yard at a time like this? Kendra leaned a little more toward the window, her ear coming around the frame, but still kept her back pressed to the wall so that she couldn’t be seen.

A low chuckle, one that sounded strangely familiar, answered her uncle. Wait. Was that the sound of coins jingling? “You’ve won at last, Franklin. Your description of her was, ah, not exaggerated. You’ve truly foiled me. Well done.”

Uncle Franklin laughed with a hearty sound Kendra had never heard from him before. He must have realized how loud it was as he cut the bark off and took to whispering. “She is something, isn’t she? But that’s not even the half of it. She’s so . . . pleasant. Yes, yes, that’s the word. She’s brought sunshine into this house and I should hate to see her go and the gloom reappear I assure you, but then it must be so if we are to have what we want, eh? Why, she made me a rhubarb pie yesterday, slaved over the thing for hours I’m told to get it just right, just because she heard it was my favorite. I shall miss her!” He sounded louder and magnanimous. “She’ll make a fine wife, that she will. Make a man happy, I say.”

Oh dear.
She
had made a rhubarb pie yesterday. They were talking about
her
!

“Yes, well, I fear I’ve misstepped on making a good first impression.”

“Heh.” Her uncle’s voice growled. “You were just over eager. Understandable. Quite understandable. Let’s have you out to dinner. You’ll make a better impression here at home with us than standing in a crowded ballroom vying with all the other men for her attention. She was belle of the ball. I couldn’t keep track of how many she danced with.”

“One in particular is worrisome.”

“Yes, that Dorian Colburn. Something will have to be done about him.”

The voices paused.

Kendra’s mind reeled with everything she had heard, but the greatest, strongest thought was the knowledge that they might harm Dorian. Peeking around the window frame, she saw the face of the man speaking to her uncle. Her heart sped up as the moonlight cast a shadowy pall on his sharp, angled face. It was him. The man who had forced a kiss on her. She shuddered.

Why was Uncle Franklin talking to him like they were some sort of partners? And why was Uncle Franklin acting like he was plotting something? What was this bet they had? It didn’t make sense. Her relatives had been kind to her of late and she had thought, hoped, and prayed that she was being accepted into their family. She bit her lower lip while hot pinpricks of tears scalded behind her eyes. Her nose swelled and she sniffed—a loud interruption in the dark quiet. Oh, no! They’d heard her! Her hand rose to her mouth as she shrank back from the window.

Lord have mercy, what if they saw her?

With legs that trembled and a painful throbbing against her temples she rushed to her bed, eased under the covers, and turned on her side toward the wall.
Don’t let them come to the window. Please, God, keep me safe, keep me safe, keep me safe.

Her heart was roaring in her ears so that she wondered if she could hear anything should they come to her window to investigate. Taking short breaths, she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on calming down. Uncle Franklin wouldn’t hurt her, she was sure of that, wasn’t she? But it sounded like he wanted that horrid man to court her. Oh, stop thinking like that. Trust in the Lord, remember? He had promised to be her Father now that she was an orphan and she was going to hold Him to that promise!

Finally, after several minutes of silence, she started to breathe evenly again. A few more minutes and she mustered up the courage to turn her head and look toward the window. Nothing was there but a wide breadth of moonlight spilling through the half-open curtains. Big, deep breath.
Thank You, Lord.

More moments of silence went by and then she took a deep breath and by slow degrees turned over and slid out of bed.

She would not be sleeping with the window open this night.

Dorian was fully clothed and pacing the length of his room when he received his father’s summons. As he walked into the library, he saw the other occupant in the room, his stern face accusing him. Clayton stood up and motioned for Dorian to take the seat opposite Don Monteiro. “Mr. Monteiro has told me what he walked in on tonight, son.” Clayton sighed. “Dorian, I’m sure there is some kind of . . . explanation—” He stopped and leaned against his braced hands splayed on either side of the desk.