The Pirate's Desire (17 page)

“No?” Amusement twitched his mouth, and for the first time that morning, tension seemed to relax from his broad shoulders.

“Of course not. I want to have fun. I’m tired of being stuck here at Ravensbrook.” Lucinda became aware that she might sound like a spoiled child. “I mean, I love it here, and Sophie has made it even more fun, but I want to go somewhere different. Do something new.”

“I can understand that.”

“It’s why you love the sea,” she guessed.

“Yes.” He replaced the poker and paced back. “I think Sophie wants to return to Iveny. She puts on a brave front, but she feels ill.”

Lucinda nodded with understanding. “She wants the comfort of home and her friends.” It was exactly what Sophie needed. Why hadn’t she seen it?

“I’ll need your help to convince her it is all right to go home.”

Riel needed her help? Lucinda stood up too, and shut away the lick of depression she felt at the thought of her friend leaving. Of being alone at Ravensbrook. “Do you think I will manage well enough on my own?”

“Will you?” His dark gaze held hers. It seemed like a test, and Lucinda stiffened her spine. Isn’t this what she wanted—freedom, and the chance to prove to Riel that she could run her life without his intervention? “Of course. Mrs. Beatty and Wilson are here. I’ll be fine.”

“I am placing my trust in you, Lucy. Do not disappoint me.”

“What sort of trouble could I get into here, in the dead of winter? There’s nothing to do!”

“You will obey me about the Season? If Sophie cannot go, neither will you.”

“I will go with Amelia and her mother.” One month in London would be better than none.

Riel looked down at her. Unreadable emotions flickered through his black eyes. “I feel like I am shirking my word to your father. I am the one who should be here, watching over you and taking you to London.”

“I’ve told you before that I need no guardian. Let me prove it to you.”

He growled and thrust a large hand into his hair. It looked smooth, scraped back into that tail. Lucinda wondered if it was. She stood still, watching the play of emotions over his blunt, angled face, and the thick bunching of muscles under the deceptively civilian veneer of his superfine jacket. He was a big man, and he was strong. She remembered the feel of him, dancing with him last night, and her cheeks warmed.

“You may go with Amelia, as long as the Carlisles don’t stay with Warrington.” His dark gaze focused on her once more, and then unexpectedly dipped to run over her flushed cheeks. She drew an unsteady breath, and willed herself to stop standing there like a ninny, staring at him. His gaze drifted to her mouth, and then rose to meet hers.

Lucida blushed again, feeling warmer. “Very well. Shall we speak to Aunt Sophie now?”

He stared at her for another moment, as if trying to comprehend the reason for her blush. Lucinda wished for nothing less. She didn’t want Riel to gather any misconstrued ideas.

“Are you coming?” Gathering up her skirts, she turned and swept from the room. Time to convince Sophie to return to Iveny.

* * * * *

When Riel readied for bed that evening he felt satisfied with the day’s accomplishments. Sophie had reluctantly agreed to return to Iveny, and Lucy had agreed to abide by his rules concerning her upcoming Season. He’d also written a note to Lady Carlisle.

Riel wanted to be present for Lucy’s time in London, but knew it was unlikely. It bothered him, for he’d promised Peter he would protect her at all times. Was he skirting his duty in order to protect his ship?

Logic told him she would be fine. Lucy had sworn she did not want to become involved with any men during this Season. Knowing this, Riel felt relatively certain the wolves would circle her, biding their time until next year.

Lucy had also agreed to be chaperoned, and had sworn she would spend no time alone with any young men. Riel did trust her, although he did not necessarily trust the young bucks of the ton. Warrington would be there, and Riel distrusted him; for more reasons than were perhaps fair. At the very least, he felt certain the man was a rake. Lucy, sweet, innocent and beautiful, would be choice prey for a man like Jonathon.

Fury surged in him at the thought. His fists clenched, and Riel forcibly ordered himself to relax.

No harm would come to Lucy. It would not. Riel tried to shut his mind to the thought of someone closing in on her with the goal of despoiling her innocence…of hurting her. His heart pounded harder, and his jaw hurt from clenching it.

He needed to be there. Much as he tried to convince himself that Lucy was in no danger—that it was only his past and his promise to Peter rising up to warp his mind—it didn’t help. Riel felt a sick feeling in his gut. Lucy would be easy prey for a felon.

He strode to the mirror and forced himself to look himself in the eyes. They looked black and fiercely wild. Slowly, he relaxed, willfully focusing into the present.

The past was done. Desalt and the other man were dead. Lucy was in no danger like Pen had been. Maybe it was a good thing Riel would miss Lucy’s Season. Ever since seeing Warrington, the past had flamed up, again and again haunting him. He might not be as objective as he’d like to be. In fact, he just might find trouble where none existed. Never did he want to make a mistake like that again.

Lucinda would be in no danger under Amelia’s mother’s eagle eye, nor under Sophie’s, either. And, more importantly, Lucy had no intention of getting serious about any young man this year. So the potential danger would be minimized.

Next year would be the dicey one. Riel hoped for Bonaparte’s defeat by then. Even if not, Riel would watch Lucy like a hawk every minute of next year’s Season. Even if it meant losing his ship.

* * * * *

After Riel left for his ship and Sophie left for Iveny, each day at Ravensbrook seemed to stretch out into unbearably long and empty hours. Lucinda missed the chats she and Sophie had enjoyed over tea each morning in the conservatory. Mrs. Beatty was willing to talk if Lucinda lingered in the kitchen after breakfast, but afterward, the housekeeper attended other chores about the mansion. Lucinda felt very alone.

She cajoled Mr. Chase into teaching her more about Ravensbrook’s accounts, but even that took up little of her day. Lucinda missed having someone to talk to.

She even missed Riel. Quite against her will, she remembered again and again how he had said goodbye to her, that day after Christmas. Of course, first he’d told Sophie goodbye in the parlor.

Afterward, Lucinda followed him outside to his carriage. She’d told herself it was because she wanted a breath of the crisp, fresh air.

After tossing his large bag into the carriage, Riel had turned to her, looking larger than ever in his black greatcoat. The blunt angles of his face seemed sharper that morning, his eyes blacker, his mouth sterner.

“Will you write?” she found herself asking. Then hastened to add, “So I will know when to expect your return.”

“Will you write to me, Lucy?”

An unexpected flutter trembled through her heart. “If you would like me to, I will.”

“I would.” His quick response and the directness of that black gaze unnerved her.

“Very well, then.”

“So agreeable.” His lips curved, faintly mocking.

Their relationship had leveled out yesterday, and Lucinda was glad. Now she said pertly, “You are a difficult man to please. Do you wish for sugar or spice?”

He smiled then, a full one. “I like both, in equal measures.”

Her heart pounded unexpectedly fast. Feeling slightly daring, she extended her hand. “Then here is the sugar, Mr. Montclair.”

His warm fingers closed around hers, and to her shock, he raised her hand to his mouth. The touch of his lips warmed her skin like fire. He lowered her hand a little, but still held it. “And the spice?”

Lucinda’s face felt hot, and she tugged at her hand. “Release me, or I will show you!”

He chuckled, and released her. “There is my Lucy. I will miss you.”

Lucy felt quite unable to say anything at all. His Lucy? She was not
his
Lucy! Except, why did she watch his carriage until it disappeared into the forest? Why did her life feel so empty without him in it?

She was bored, that was the problem, Lucinda told herself as the days crept by from January to February to March. She spent occasional afternoons with Amelia and other friends, and while those times were fun, it didn’t remedy the despondency in her spirit.

She did not miss that maddening man. He hadn’t even had the decency to write her one letter! She’d posted two. Both newsy tidbits, but nothing of a personal nature. One she’d carefully signed, “Your obedient servant, Lucinda.” The description made her snort with laughter, and she felt certain he would catch the irony she intended. If he received them. If his ship had not sunk, and he was not at the bottom of the sea.

Lucinda tried not to dwell upon these stomach turning possibilities. He was fine. He was Riel, larger than life, and in command of every situation. No one would dare fire upon his ship. …Would they?

Lucinda wrote weekly to Sophie, too, and Sophie replied nearly as often. Her handwriting looked spidery, and sometimes shakier than others. She claimed she was fine, but little hints told Lucinda that all was not as it should be. Once, Sophie mentioned the doctor had been out twice in one week. One time she mentioned lying abed and being bored to tears. Lucinda worried about Sophie’s health. And she wondered if Sophie would be able to make it to London for the Season.

Lucinda finally wrote Sophie in the middle of March, when she was so bored one day she couldn’t stand it any longer, and asked if she might visit Iveny for a little while.

That was when Sophie wrote her the truth. She was not well enough to receive visitors, and she would be unable to make it to London.

May, 1813

On May 1st,
Lucinda packed up the new dresses the village modiste had made for her, along with various cases, valises and her reticule, and traveled with Amelia and her mother to London. She was excited to finally be able to go, short as the Season would be for her, but she still was worried about Sophie. At least Riel’s great-aunt felt well enough to invite Lucinda to stay for a week after her visit to London was over. Lucinda had quickly and gratefully accepted.

Lucinda and the Carlisles arrived at the rented townhouse on a warm London afternoon. Amelia’s family, while titled and owned land in the country, was not rich. One month of renting a townhouse in London was all they could afford. Lucinda had offered to pay for her room and board, but they would not hear of it.

Amelia was terribly excited that Lucinda could stay with them. On the night of their first ball, she exclaimed, “I’m so glad you’re here! We’ll have such fun. And maybe some of the young men who flock to you will grant me a dance, as well.”

“Pooh,” Lucinda said. “You’ll have your own string of suitors, just begging for dances.”

Amelia rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Please. In a perfect world, that may be so, but we both know the truth. I can bear it. Now tell me, who do you think will be there tonight?”

The girls giggled over possible lists of attendees while Effie and Amelia’s maid, Betsy, finished their upswept hairdos.

Amelia wore a deep purple creation that complemented her light brown hair, while Lucinda wore aqua blue. She hoped the village modiste had truly made the silk gown in the latest fashion. If not, then Lucinda intended to order several additional new dresses during her stay in London.

“Girls!” called Lady Carlisle. “We’re ready to go.”

The Marquis of Elderidge’s house overflowed with fashionably dressed people.

“Lady Victoria told me this is
the
ball of the Season,” Lady Carlisle whispered as they made their entrance. “Everyone who is anyone will be here.”

“What a coup,” Amelia said under her breath. “And perhaps arriving late in the Season will deliver us a useful advantage.”

“What do you mean?”

“By now they’re likely bored with one another. We are fresh faces. Fresh fodder for the rumor mills. Look.” She nudged Lucinda’s shoulder. “They can’t help themselves.”

Lucinda noticed the elderly matrons staring at them. They sat in chairs with their backs to the wall. Carefully coiffed gray hair jiggled as they bent their heads to one another, whispering assiduously.

Despite herself, she giggled. “You are awful, Amelia. But perhaps you are right.”

“Ladies.” Lucinda immediately recognized that smooth tenor and whirled.

The Duke of Warrington was just as handsome as she remembered. He wore a crisply tailored, chocolate tailed coat, and buff breeches with highly polished shoes. He bowed over their hands, but lingered over Lucinda’s. His green eyes looked deeply into her own. A flash of mischief lurked in them. “Now the Season may begin.”

Lucinda blushed, but beside her, Amelia snorted. “We’re wise to your tricks, cousin. Save your practiced charm for the dimwitted ladies.”

“It is not flattery when it is the truth, cousin. Lady Lucinda, may I be the first to sign your dance card?”

“Of course.” She hoped she sounded polished and sophisticated.

“May I be so bold as to take two?”

“I would be pleased, your grace.”

“Jonathon,” he rebuked softly. “And may I still call you Lucinda?”

Lucinda smiled, trying to appear both worldly and confident. She wasn’t certain how well she pulled off the fiction. “Of course.”

A swarm of young men soon descended upon Lucinda and Amelia. Some were tall, and some short. Some were nice looking, some merely foppish. A few fumbled over their tongues in their eagerness to sign Lucinda’s dance card. Many signed Amelia’s, as well. A faint blush tinged Amelia’s cheeks when a stocky, but good looking, blond young man asked to sign her card before he asked to sign Lucinda’s. Lucinda felt pleased for her friend.

The evening twirled away in a delicious progression of sparkling lights, sumptuous food, and unending dance partners. Lucinda was relieved to discover that her modiste had done her proud. The aqua silk gown matched, to the minute, the highest fashion.

Lucinda had never enjoyed herself more. It was just what she needed after the long, uneventful months at Ravensbrook.

The Christmas ball flitted through her mind. So did the man who had claimed the last dance. Riel was not in London and she was glad, she told herself. She did not miss him. Not at all.

Lucinda forced the image of her dark guardian from her mind.

Of all the men she danced and chatted with that evening, she liked Jonathon the most.
He had a sharp wit
—
cutting, sometimes
—but he was always unfailingly courteous to her. He’d claimed the supper dance, so Lucinda sat beside him during the evening meal.

“This is not your first Season,” he said. With excellent manners, he cut a bite of meat.

“No. I was seventeen last year, but halfway to eighteen. My father agreed I could come early with a friend of mine.”

“And now you are a beautiful young lady, fully grown.”

A blush warmed Lucinda’s cheeks.

“Where is your saber rattling guardian this eve?” The Duke asked casually, but Lucinda sensed his sharp interest.

“He is on his ship, fighting the French.”

“I understand he is half French.”

“Yes. How did you learn that?”

Jonathon cut another portion of meat with swift, deadly slices. “I have my sources.”

Lucinda eyed him with caution. “Why are you so interested in the Baron?”

“I want to be sure you are properly cared for. That is all. If he is absent, perhaps I could be of assistance. I would be happy to warn off any threatening tigers.”

Lucinda smiled. “And who would save me from you?”

He chuckled sharply, as if her question caught him by surprise. In that moment, his teeth vaguely resembled fangs. “How right you are. But I will sheath my claws to assist a maiden in distress. I plead on my honor that you may trust me.”

Now his teeth merely looked normal again. Lucinda decided she was becoming fanciful. “Thank you, my lord, but Lady Carlisle is chaperone to both Amelia and to myself.”

“And what if a young man tries to whisk you into the garden? Will Lady Carlisle beat him with her reticule?”

“No. But I would kick him. I assure you, my father taught me how to inflict grave bodily harm upon a man.”

Jonathon chuckled again, but with clear delight now. He raised his glass. “Lady Lucinda, you are a rare treasure. You will enlighten this boring Season no end.”

“Thank you…Jonathon.” Lucinda felt more at ease now. She had drawn a line and the Duke had laughingly agreed to toe it.
See, Riel,
she mentally told her absent guardian.
I don’t need you after all.

The rest of the evening passed quickly and enjoyably. Only one thing disturbed Lucinda. Although she had no desire to choose a husband this year, none of the young men she danced with came close to fitting the bill. Some appeared to be in love with themselves, and talked ad nauseam about their card games and other exploits, some were tongue-tied—perhaps she should give them another chance—and others appeared to be dandies or rakes, and again, full of themselves.

Perhaps she’d judged them too harshly. Still, the only man capable of providing interesting conversation appeared to be Jonathon. It pleased Lucinda to dance the cotillion, the last dance of the evening, with Amelia’s cousin. The evening ended with laughing good humor.

On the carriage ride back to the townhouse, Lucinda said to Amelia, “Well? Did you find any interesting men? What about the blond one?”

“Oh, he was nice. He even asked for another dance after my card was filled. Perhaps next time.” Eyes glowing, Amelia looked out into the night. “What about you?” Her voice sounded dreamy.

“Not so lucky, I’m afraid. I found fault with all of them, except for Jonathon. Perhaps I am too picky.”

Amelia turned with an arched brow. “Do
not
get caught up on Jonathon. He is a rake of the first order.”

“I know you’re probably right. But the others seemed…I don’t know.” Lucinda sighed.

“Boring?”

“Yes.”

“What are you looking for?” Now interest sharpened her friend’s tone.

“I don’t know. A man capable of talking of matters besides cards or fencing would be nice.”

“You want an interesting man. A strong man?”

That description instantly brought Riel to mind. “No.”

Amelia smiled. “Of course not. Then who do you think you want, then?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I’m being too particular. Maybe I need one of those card playing men, after all. They’d happily live at their club, and I’d run Ravensbrook as I see fit.”

Amelia snorted. “And what of love? Doesn’t that enter your marriage equation?”

“Love would be nice. But I must be practical.”

“You want a man you can boss around?”

“Must you be so vulgar, Amelia?”

“I am asking a question. Do you want a man you can lead around by the nose?”

Lucinda gasped at her plain speaking friend’s nerve. “I don’t know. I’d never thought about it before.”

“Choose one of those men
only
if you want to be bored for the rest of your life,” Amelia advised. “For me, I would go for the spark.”

“Spark is a bundle of trouble and maddening to boot. In fact, I would sooner tie a stone around my neck and jump in the middle of the lake,” Lucinda retorted at once, knowing her friend referred to Riel. “I will allow no man to rule me, Amelia. Never will I submit to one of those bossy, arrogant creatures. Of that, you may be sure.”

“Mmhm.” Amelia had the audacity to grin. She gazed out the window again, doubtless dreaming of her blond-haired Prince Charming. Probably he was all goodness and light, contrasted with a certain pirate’s black charm.

Amelia believed Lucinda felt a spark of attraction for Riel. Her friend couldn’t be more wrong.

Lucinda crossed her arms and left Amelia to daydream of happily-ever-afters with her prince. Real life would never be so simple, but Lucinda did not say so. She didn’t want to crush her friend’s naive, romantic dreams.

* * * * *

May whirled by. Still Lucinda received no letter from Riel. To be sure, she no longer expected to receive one. How would the post find her in London, at the Carlisle’s rented townhouse? Besides, if Riel returned unexpectedly, he would likely dock in London. Perhaps one day he would arrive out of the blue and crash her wonderful party.

Lucinda told herself not to think about her guardian. In fact, so far, Riel’s guardianship was working out just fine. He was never present! It was all working out for the best.

Lucinda enjoyed every tea party, every fête, every supper and ball. Amelia did, as well. Lucinda thought she spied stars in her pragmatic friend’s eyes. Either those, or tears. The blond young man—Fredrick—paid Amelia intermittent attention. When he spoke to Amelia and danced with her, Lucinda observed him to be attentive and charming. At other times, especially when he was talking to another girl, he behaved as though Amelia were invisible. Frequently he looked right through Amelia when walking by with another girl on his arm. Lucinda had never witnessed her friend feeling such wide mood swings; by turns elated and then despondent.

“If you ask me, he’s too much trouble,” Lucinda told Amelia in late May. They sat in Amelia’s room. Only a week remained of their stay in London.

“But he truly likes me. When we are together, I can see the affection in Fredrick’s eyes,” Amelia sighed, with her elbows on the window ledge. She gazed—moonily, in Lucinda’s estimation—outside. The street lamps cast warm light into the dark streets.

“He is not constant. It’s like he wears different personalities for different people. Maybe he does like you,” Lucinda conceded, “but he doesn’t treat you as well as you deserve to be treated.”

“As Jonathon treats you?” Amelia’s tone sounded cutting. Clearly, Lucinda had hurt her feelings.

“I’m sorry, Amelia. But yes, like Jonathon. He’s always charming and a complete gentleman. Never does he ignore either you, or me.”

“At least Fredrick is not a rake.”

“Isn’t he? Amelia, he chats up every girl in the room.” Lucinda bit the bullet and spit out the hardest words she’d ever needed to say. “He has even tried to flirt with me.”

Amelia flew to her feet. Her gray eyes hardened to stormy ice, and she trembled. “Get out, Lucinda.”

“I did not…”

“Get out!”

Tears stinging her eyes, Lucinda fled from the room. She hadn’t meant to hurt Amelia, but she had spoken the truth. She wanted to shake Amelia free of the strangling web Fredrick wove about her friend’s heart. Clearly, he was stringing Amelia along. Lucinda believed it would please Fredrick if every girl in the room fell in love with him. But clearly, Amelia refused to see this truth.

Lucinda didn’t want Amelia to be angry with her, but she didn’t want to apply platitudes to salve her friend’s ego, either. Amelia deserved a nice young man, and Fredrick wasn’t one. But how could she make Amelia see that for herself?

The days wore on. Amelia behaved in a stiffly polite fashion toward Lucinda. At parties, she boldly tried to claim more of Fredrick’s attention. Lucinda detected contempt in the blond man’s eyes. Did Amelia see it? If she did, she made no mention.

Two nights before they were to go home, a horrifying scandal broke. It reduced these dramas to the petty standing they deserved. Terror swept through the gentry of London.