The Pirate Next Door (12 page)

She needed to return home. She had a soiree to plan. Lady Featherstone would wonder where on earth she’d gotten to. She wanted to see for herself that Maggie had arrived safely home, though she reasoned that Grayson would see to that himself quickly enough. He trusted this Ian O’Malley, though Alexandra was not certain she did.

Jeffrey would bother Cook and not attend to his duties, and Amy and Annie would find excuses to shirk their responsibilities; Alice had said she’d leave if she had to take up where they slackened. Alexandra had a dozen things to attend to, thank you very much Mr. Pirate, even if they did not involve finding a French king and avoiding pirate hunters. Besides, Alexandra had half a dozen possibilities about that French king floating in her head. She really wanted to discuss them with Grayson, and also with Mrs. Fairchild, who knew much about the French and the exiled king. None of which she could do if she were stranded here.

Anything in the world
, he had said. Priestly was to cooperate, or risk a flogging.
Well, we shall see about that, Mr. High-and-Mighty Pirate Viscount Stoke.

Serve him right for making love to her like that, for ripping the cover from her heart and letting emotions she had never intended anyone to see out into the light of day. He had spoken to her the words of her daydream:
Lovely lady, may I taste you?
And then he’d put his mouth on her and stirred fires inside her that she’d never known existed. She felt all stretched and tired and achy and far, far too pleased. Drat him.

“What is the head?” she asked Priestly now, curious.

“It’s—ah—in the bows. You go up, and you sit on the
hole—um.” He looked her up and down. She waited. “It is outside,” he blurted.

She let her brows climb to her hairline. “Outside?”

“Yes,” he finished weakly.

“Well,
that
will never do. Do you not have a watering closet or commode anywhere?”

Priestly pointed at the door, his feet already moving to his escape. “I’ll just see what I can do, m’lady.”

He fled. Alexandra set down her napkin. She had not corrected the “m’lady” to “Mrs.” She decided she could only be so cruel.

McDaniels’s shop was unenlightening. By the time he and Grayson reached Marylebone, the sun was high and city traffic was dense. The shop sold little trinkets, snuff boxes, letter boxes, dainty letter openers, and the like, all kept on high shelves on the ground floor behind the proprietor’s counter.

The proprietor was not there, but his daughter was, to wait on customers. She was pretty, charming, and very French. Though she was young enough to have been born in England after her parents had made the crossing from France, she spoke with a thick accent and fluttered her eyelashes a great deal. She said “zat is so” or “I zink” every other sentence.

Grayson saw no evidence of a rotund French king stuffed into a back room or looking out of a window next door, but then, he had no chance to search as he liked. He would have to return another time, and either force his way in, or have the Duke of St. Clair charge in with
the weight of the Admiralty behind him. The smiling, flirting young woman gave him no clues.

Grayson pretended interest in nothing except purchasing a pretty ink bottle for Maggie. He chose one with an enameled stopper depicting a pair of young lovers chasing each other through a meadow. Their lacy, old-fashioned costumes were splashes of gaudy color on the green landscape. Maggie would like it.

Maggie ran to meet him when he entered his house on Grosvenor Street. She threw her arms about him and he lifted her and hugged her tight. He wondered anew how he’d produced this marvelous and beautiful child. That Maggie had been the result of his callow youth still stunned him.

“Come and see my new governess,” she said. “She is most beautiful. I am glad Mrs. Alastair chose a beautiful governess. It will be much easier to pay attention to her lessons in French.”

Grayson set her on her feet. “She knows French?”

“Fluently. She also knows Greek. But the letters are all funny, not at all what the missionaries taught me.”

Grayson grinned at her. “You ought to see Chinese. They write in tiny little pictures.”

Her eyes widened. “Truly? Why can’t we write in tiny little pictures? It would be so much easier.”

Grayson started to agree, then saw Mrs. Fairchild gliding down the stairs to them. She really was an exquisite woman. If Alexandra had not already wrapped herself around his senses, he might have decided her worth pursuing. But he had Alexandra—

He should be sated, having drunk his fill of her, having driven himself deep inside her. But every memory of her breath on his skin, her scent, her taste, the fires of her touch made his arousal twitch in eager anticipation.
When can we have a go again? it kept asking. When, when?

She was on the
Majesty
in care of Priestly. Grayson had but to travel back down river, climb aboard and—well, climb aboard. Alexandra was a sweet, delicious woman, and he never wanted her to be more than steps away. But he had too many things to take care of first. Life was not fair.

He swallowed his frustration. Mrs. Fairchild reached the ground floor and curtseyed. “My lord,” she said in her smooth contralto. “Is Mrs. Alastair safe?”

He inclined his head. “She is. She’s staying aboard my ship for a time.”

“I see.” Her expression told him she did not see, and did not like the situation, but was hesitant to say so.

He went on, trying to think of words an employer might speak to a governess. “Is your chamber to your liking, Mrs. Fairchild? The house is old and dusty, not to mention dismal and dim, but at least the roof does not leak. Is there anything else you need?”

She nodded politely, light catching in her sleek, dark hair. “My chamber is quite adequate. I need nothing more.” She hesitated. “However, I would like to speak with you on an important matter.”

Grayson stripped off his gloves and tossed them onto a table. “It will have to be later. I have an unfortunate amount of business to attend. Maggie, where is Jacobs?”

“Walking about in the garden,” Maggie said promptly. “I cannot imagine why; there are no flowers or anything. Not like Mrs. Alastair’s garden. We will have to ask her who made her garden and hire him to do ours.”

Grayson nodded absently. “Whatever you like. Mrs. Fairchild, I’ll speak to you later.”

He strode past them, not missing Mrs. Fairchild’s an
guished look. He grumbled silently. Why could she not be sixty and have a mustache? Maggie might want a beautiful governess, but the glum way Jacobs was shuffling through the barren garden made Grayson wish for a hideous one. He did not need Jacobs to be distracted just now. Grayson being distracted by Alexandra was bad enough.

He watched Jacobs from the dining room window for a moment, then summoned the young man inside and closed the door.

Jacobs wandered idly about the room, brushing his fingertips to the dark sideboard, the table. “Found the Frenchie king yet, sir?”

“Jacobs.”

Jacobs looked up at his sharp tone. It struck Grayson on a sudden just how young his first officer was. Jacobs was twenty-five, and had signed on to the Majesty at the tender age of twenty. Because Robert Jacobs possessed great competence and intelligence, as well as a cool head in an emergency, Grayson had come to rely on him in the most complicated and dangerous situations. He had never stopped to think about how little worldly experience the young man actually had.

He continued. “Ardmore is going to try to take me down any way he can, bargain or no. Including using Mrs. Alastair to do it.”

The abstracted look left Jacobs’s face. “I gathered that, sir. Are you still going to meet him as planned?”

Grayson gave a nod. “Of the outcome of that meeting, I am no longer certain.”

“Good, sir. I did not like to see you capitulate so tamely.”

“For Maggie, it was necessary. But you see the problem.
You can never be sure what he has in mind. He’s always been a tricky bastard.”

“You do not have to tell me that, sir,” Jacobs said fervently.

“What I do have to tell you is that I want Maggie protected. Always. Ian looks after her, but when all is said and done, he works for Ardmore. I want someone with Maggie I can trust with her life.” He stopped. “That is why I am assigning you to stay with her at all times.” Jacobs’s head jerked up. Grayson went on ruthlessly. “You are to sleep in the room next to hers, take your meals with her, and go with her everywhere, whether it’s outings with the governess or shopping for vegetables. I want you her constant companion.”

Jacobs had whitened during his speech. “I am not certain I am the best person to protect her, sir.”

“There isn’t anyone better.”

“Oliver—”

“Has much to do. He is busy cooking our meals and looking after us, and besides, I need him for other things.” Grayson paused, and then decided to approach the problem head-on. “Whatever is between you and this Fairchild woman, resolve. Understood?”

“Sir.” His look was anguished. “She is not just a woman. She is
the
woman.”

Ah, here it was. “Explain yourself, lieutenant.”

Jacobs stared at the tabletop. “Remember when I first joined you, sir? You asked why a lad fresh out of Oxford wanted to go to sea. And I said, to forget a woman.”

Grayson watched him. “Mrs. Fairchild?”

Jacobs blew out his breath. “It was incredible, sir. You have seen her. She is even more beautiful now, if that is possible.”

“She was married?” Grayson asked.

Jacobs nodded. “Oh, yes. To a
don
. Hell, he was one of my own tutors. That is how I met her. She was married and ten years older than I.”

Grayson chuckled. “Good on you, lad.”

Jacobs flashed a smile that told Grayson it had been all that, and more. “I fell devilish hard. You know what it is like when you’re that young. You met Sara when you were twenty or so, did you not?”

Grayson nodded. He had been twenty-two when he’d first seen Sara. The South Pacific to him had always been a place of happiness. He remembered the sharp scent of tropical flowers, the warm air on his skin, the tranquil sound of ocean on white sands—all these memories were woven into his first glimpse of Sara. He’d taken one look at her exotic, dark-haired beauty and her flashing, midnight eyes, and fallen hard. Ardmore had introduced her, his arm firmly about her waist, and had given Grayson a look that said see-what-I-caught-you-can’t-have-her. When Ardmore and she had strolled away, Sara had looked back at Grayson, sending Grayson a wink and a promising smile. Three days later, while Ardmore was conducting business elsewhere, Sara had climbed into Grayson’s bed. When Ardmore had returned, he’d tried to kill Grayson.

Why hadn’t the stupid idiot confessed that he’d been madly in love with the woman? If Grayson had known that, he would have left her alone. Maybe. But he’d been young and blind, and Ardmore had been arrogant and proud. Grayson had assumed his friend had been finished with Sara and was handing Grayson his leavings. It would not have been the first time Ardmore had discarded a lady and directed her to Grayson for comfort.

The incident had ended the four-year partnership of Finley and Ardmore, the co-captains of the
Majesty
who
feared nothing on the seas. Ardmore had quit him, and Ian O’Malley had gone with him. Oliver, the pirate who had saved Grayson from a cruel pirate captain when he was fifteen, chose loyalty to Grayson and the Majesty. So had begun a long and dangerous rivalry, which had escalated to open hatred after the death of Ardmore’s younger brother, six years later.

“It is easier to fall when you’re young,” Grayson agreed, looking into Jacobs’s miserable eyes. “But not always sensible.”

“Precisely. I damned well wasn’t sensible about anything, sir.” He made a wry grimace. “
She
broke it off. Not me.”

“That was a long time ago.”

He shook his head. “Five years, two months, and three days. And still the only music I hear is in her voice.”

Grayson exhaled slowly. He sympathized because he knew exactly what Jacobs meant. Alexandra’s lovely voice whispering his name had driven him to mad heights of desire. He would never forget it.

“I know,” he said. “Some women can turn you inside out, and damned if you know why.” He shook his head. “But I need you, Jacobs. You are the only I can trust for this. You know Ardmore; you can anticipate him. But you cannot if you are walking head down in your own misery. Talk to Mrs. Fairchild. Argue it out with her. Give her a good tumble if you have to.” He paused. “After you make certain Maggie is safe with Oliver or me, of course.”

“She wants to leave, sir. She said she would speak to you about it.”

Grayson rubbed his jaw. “Yes, she already tried to corner me for an appointment.” What he really wanted was a bath and a change of clothes—that and another few
hours in bed with Alexandra. But as ship’s captain, he was used to having to solve the personal problems of his crew. A pirate with woman troubles was a sad sight, indeed. Grayson’s usual remedy was to pat the man on the back, hand him whatever alcoholic beverage was a specialty of the country they were in, and say, “Have at it, lad.”

Jacobs’s problems were a little more complex and a lot more troubling. This was the first time the young man had been anything other than his efficient, somewhat ruthless, self.

He said to Jacobs, “Find her and tell her I will speak to her now.”

“I will send Oliver for her.”

Grayson ground his teeth. “Whatever you like. Just get her here.”

Jacobs fled.

Grayson spent the intervening moments staring out into the garden, or what would have been a garden if his tight-fisted predecessor had spent the money to cultivate it. His impatience prodded him to do something, anything, to speed his task to conclusion. He should be back at the shop, shaking the pretty young Frenchwoman until she blurted out where her father had taken King Louis. He should be making an efficient list, like Alexandra’s, with little codes next to each item that distinguished its importance. Instead, he drummed his fingers on the windowsill, waited to pry into his first officer’s love affairs, and fought off his thoughts of the past.

He had not thought about Sara in a very long time. She had left him—that was that. He’d never expected to hold her anyway. She’d been like a wild tropical bird, an out-of-reach blossom no one could pluck, a creature no one could cage. She’d moved from her native Polynesia
across the seas, slipping away from Grayson as easily as she’d slipped away from Ardmore to begin with.

Grayson remembered clearly the last night he’d seen her. They’d put into port and Grayson had stood on his quarterdeck, watching the stars and the weather. She’d come to him and simply told him she would not be traveling on with him. He’d grown angry, but she’d remained firm.

“Sometimes you call me ‘bird,’ ” she’d said in her husky voice. “Give me your hand, Grayson.” He’d complied, bemused, and she’d opened his hand flat. With her slim fingers, she’d drawn feather-light lines on his palm. “Bird rests here. You close your hand, try to trap it, what do you do?” She curled his fingers into his palm, pressing them tight. “Poor bird. She dies.”

Grayson had looked down at his closed fist, frowning. She gently pried open his hand and touched the palm again. “The bird is here, for a time. Then she flies away. Alive. And free.”

“To another hand,” he’d said regretfully.

She’d flashed him her beautiful smile. “Perhaps. Or perhaps one day, the bird flies back.”

She’d kissed him on the lips, a faint echo of the passionate kisses they’d shared below decks in his cabin, then she was gone, lost to the night.

Now he stood in chilly England, with the sky clouding over and blotting out the sun. He had found a woman who’d made the memory of Sara pale and fade, and what was he doing? Taking her into his arms and showing her the passion that burned and raged inside him? No, here he stood, alone, in this cold and dark house, waiting for Ardmore to make a move, and trying to keep the Admiralty satisfied so they would not arrest him and his crew. His man of business had explained that if he were
arrested and convicted of piracy, his title, estate, and money could be seized by the crown, and Maggie would be left destitute. He could not let that happen, even if he had to toady to St. Clair for the rest of his life.