The Pirate's Desire (23 page)

Jonathon claimed the supper dance. Lucinda was happy to see he’d returned to his usual, thoroughly charming self.

At the end of the meal, she brought up the question that had been bothering her all evening. She didn’t want to resurrect the previous unpleasantness, but she did need to know the truth. “Do you truly think you’ve met Mr. Montclair before?”

“I do.” Jonathon frowned. “But I can’t recall where. I haven’t visited any of the places he listed.”

“He sailed the Barbary Coast, too,” Lucinda said, finishing her sorbet. “I think he was only seventeen then. It was a long time ago.”

“Truly?” Jonathon’s brows shot upward. “I lived in Morocco with my parents when I was thirteen. My father was a foreign diplomat. Perhaps I saw him there.” His eyes narrowed and hardened, as if trying to see into the past.

Lucinda wondered why Jonathon kept insisting he’d seen Riel before. It sounded so…unsavory. As if Jonathon desired to remember something unpleasant. Her brow wrinkled. Surely Jonathon was mistaken. He must be remembering someone else. Riel was honorable. He’d never take part in anything evil or distasteful. Would he?

Jonathon looked up and saw the expression on Lucinda’s face. “Come now,” he said, and his thinned lips relaxed into a smile. “I’m sure it is nothing. The music has begun. Shall we dance?”

With a relieved return smile, Lucinda took his arm.
See, it’s nothing,
she told herself. Jonathon remembered nothing, because there was nothing to remember.

Lucinda enjoyed herself thoroughly at the first ball of the Season, and danced with quite a few new young men. While most seemed pleasant, many of them seemed more interested in talking about themselves than asking questions of her. However, a good number expressed hope that they’d see her at the next soirée. With this, Lucinda had to be content. To her count, perhaps five men might be interested in her.

A few of the foppish dandies from last year attended, of course, but she’d already ruled them out. She’d give her new prospects a good chance, she decided. It was their first ball, too. Perhaps they were nervous. Next time they might be more relaxed and ready to talk about new topics.

However, despite her determination to give her suitors the benefit of the doubt, so far none of them matched the image she’d begun to sketch in her mind of the man she most wished to marry. Handsome would be nice, of course. And besotted with her would be even better. That way he would be eager to please her, and amenable to all of her wishes. Yes. That would be the perfect sort of man. She had no doubt she’d fall in love with him the instant she met him.

One thing Lucinda did know: she did not want an authoritative man, or a hard-headed, stubborn one, either. Certainly not a man like Riel Montclair, who at this very minute strode toward her to claim his dance…the last dance.

The moist palms of her last partner released her, and she reluctantly stepped into Riel’s arms.

For a few moments they danced without speaking. Unfortunately, the silence made Lucinda focus upon other things…such as how different Riel felt from her last dance partner, and from most of the others she’d danced with this evening. Instead of limp holds and clammy hands, strong, hard muscles rippled beneath her fingertips. He held her securely, with sure confidence. Instead of scanning the room for the next female he wished to dance with—or worse, the gleam of the lecherous ones who’d like to take a stroll in the garden—his steady gaze never left her.

She lowered her eyes under the intensity of his direct appraisal. Thankfully, the dance required that they split apart for a few moments. All too soon, they came back together.

He said, “I see you have danced three times with Jonathon. You allowed him an extra slot?”

“Of course. He is a fine gentleman. He knows how to treat a lady.”

“And I do not?” They twirled apart, and then back together.

“We both know how you would treat me, if given the chance.” She referred to his threat two years ago to swat her.

He smiled. “I am glad I’ve not had to take you in hand.”

“You would not dare lay a finger upon me.”

“I am glad you’ve conducted yourself like a lady these last two years so I would not need to do so.”

Her hand dropped from his shoulder and she jerked to free herself from his touch. Of course, he did not allow it. Alarmingly, he tugged her a fraction closer, instead. His dark eyes gleamed down at her. “You are a grown woman now. I’m proud of the lady you have become.”

She ceased struggling. The man always kept her off balance. How was that? Even after knowing him for two years—of course, he’d been gone much of the time and beyond that, she had avoided him whenever possible. And Sophie had provided a welcome barrier, too. “Do my ears deceive me?” she inquired. “Was that a compliment?”

He smiled, but it looked slightly mocking and warning at the same time. “Do not prove me wrong.”

“What great trust you place in me.”

“I know you well, Lucy. Do not forget it.”

“Soon your threats will have no bite, for I will be married. Then you will have to find a new chatelaine to order about.”

“I have learned my lesson. No more wards for me. You are enough for any man to handle. I would not willingly submit to that noose of responsibility again.”

Lucinda felt a prick of hurt, and said tartly, “If not a ward, then a servant to order about. Men like you need to have power over someone. It is what makes you feel a man.”

Anger flickered in his dark brown eyes, and tension tightened the thick cords of his shoulders. She became aware, yet again, of what a powerful man he was. Her head only reached his chin. She’d seen him lift a whole wagon without help in order to free the leg of the boy who had been crushed beneath it. His hands were big. They felt hard on her waist now, but they had gently tended the boy as he examined his wound.

Several times, those hands been gentle on her. A faint, alarming warmth stole through her at the memory.

“You know little of me as a man, Lucinda.” He released her when the music whispered to a close. The end of the ball.

“And one last thing,” she said. “Please stop signing for my last dance. I’d prefer to leave it open for a special, eligible suitor of my choice.”

Those black eyes narrowed. “Do you mean Jonathon?”

“I mean any man. Except you, of course.” Perhaps that was terribly blunt and rude, but she needed to get her point across.

A muscle tightened in his jaw. Before he could argue with her, she said, “It is not seemly. A guardian should not claim the last dance. It is inappropriate. People might get the wrong idea.”

“And what idea might that be?”

Lucinda frowned. How neatly he’d trapped her into this uncomfortable corner. “You know.”

“Explain it to me.”

Her face heated. “The last dance is special. Surely you know that. It is to be reserved for the gentleman I hold in the highest esteem.” Whom she was interested in, in other words.

“A gentleman chooses where to sign the card. Not the lady.”

“Yes, well…”

He continued smoothly, with a small smile she did not care for, “You fear that by claiming your last dance I am sending a message to every man that you belong to me.”

“Exactly!” Her cheeks felt hot—no doubt they were dreadful spots of color that made her look as if she’d tippled heavily of the alcohol-laced punch this evening. “I do
not
belong to you, Riel Montclair.”

“You are under my protection and authority. I want to make that clear to everyone. Most especially your special gentlemen.”

Anger glowed in her bosom. “You are a power hungry brute, Mr. Montclair. Perhaps I will not allow you to sign my dance card at all!”

He blinked, as if taken aback. Good. “And furthermore,” she flashed, “I would sooner dance twelve times with Timothy Fenwick, who smashes toes, mind you, than
once
with you. You may not have another of my last dances, Baron. And if you sign for it, I shall scribble it out.”

“Lucy.” Contrition flickered.

Good! She spun away and marched off. Let that set him back on his heel. Let him suffer for his arrogant proclamations. Never mind that she’d just attacked him like a shrew. Lucinda shut her mind to this stab to her conscience. Riel Montclair must learn that he could not arrogantly rule her life.

* * * * *

When Lucinda told Sophie about the ball the next morning, the elderly lady’s eyes sparkled for the first time in days. She pushed herself more upright on the pillows.

“It sounds…lovely.” Sophie’s low, raspy cough wheezed for a minute. Then, “You found nice young men to dance with?”

“Ye…es.” Lucinda could not help the lack of enthusiasm in her voice.

“What was…wrong with them?”

“Nothing,” Lucinda said quickly. “They were fine. It will just take time to become better acquainted. Then I can make up my mind about them.”

“A wise choice.” Sophie coughed again, but briefly. To Lucinda’s hopeful ear, she actually sounded better today. “And Riel? Did he…behave himself? I know…sometimes…he maddens you.”

“We madden each other, I think.” Lucinda remembered dancing in his arms last night, and how unsettled she’d felt. And the way she’d instinctively used words to push him away, yet again. And of course the fight they’d had. She was sorry for the harsh words she’d said. She did not, however, want him to feel that he had the right to lay claim to any dance that he wished. No. She’d drawn the line and he must toe it.

“I don’t know why I behave as I do with him,” Lucinda admitted, plucking at the coverlet.

Sophie coughed long and low for a few minutes, but fluttered a dismissive hand at the water Lucinda offered her. “Tell him, then.”

“Tell him what?”

“Apologize.” Sophie’s eyes looked bright. “If you truly regret the way you treated him.”

Did she regret it? In some ways yes, and in others, no. He wasn’t innocent in the matter either, she reminded herself. “I’ll try to behave with more decorum in the future,” she promised Sophie.

“Which behavior do you regret now, Lucy?” The deep voice behind her scattered a prickle of nerves down her neck.

She glanced up at him. “Must you intrude upon a private conversation?”

“I apologize. If you would like, I will return later.”

So amenable. Most unlike him.

Sophie patted the coverlet beside her.

Riel dropped a kiss on Sophie’s cheek, and perched his big frame on the edge of the bed. Disturbingly, his knee brushed Lucinda’s and she surreptitiously edged hers away.

“Lucinda was just telling me about the ball,” his great-aunt said.

Riel’s gaze found hers. “Did she tell you that she has already acquired a dedicated suitor?”

“Really?”

For a moment, Lucinda didn’t know whom he meant, and then she laughed. “Oh. Do you mean Jonathon?”

“Yes. The Duke of Warrington seems taken with you.”

“The Duke…of Warrington?” Sophie’s voice quavered, and she glanced quickly at Riel.

Lucinda said, “Yes. Remember, you met him at the Christmas party at Ravensbrook last year.”

“Yes. But I didn’t…make the connection for some reason.” Sophie glanced back at Riel with a faint frown.

Now Lucinda frowned at the two of them. “Is that name familiar to you, Sophie?”

The older woman opened her mouth, and then shut it again. Riel, on the other hand, regarded Lucinda steadily, with a grim set to his mouth.

Lucinda pressed, “Jonathon said he knows you. You know him too, don’t you?”

“No. But the family is familiar to me.”

“You make them sound so unsavory. Tell me why.”

“I know nothing about Jonathon. But his brother was an undisputable rake.” Riel seemed to retreat to a place far within himself.

Sophie patted Riel’s arm. “You two go on. I need my rest.”

With another kiss on her cheek, Riel followed Lucinda from the room. Once they were out and the door closed, Lucinda said, “Her cough seems a little better today.”

“But she seems weaker. Never has she asked me to leave so quickly. She was tired.”

Lucinda was not so sure. “I think she wants us to talk. That way I can apologize for a few of the things I said last night. But,” she was hasty to make clear, “know that I still do not want you to take command of my dance card again.”

Riel stopped at the head of the stairs. “You want to apologize to me?”

“I don’t
want
to apologize to you. But perhaps I was a bit…harsh in my summations of your character last night.” That he was a power hungry brute, for example.

He smiled, relaxed against the wall, and crossed his arms. He regarded her with some amusement. “Tell me more. This is a rare moment. I must soak up every syllable.”

Lucinda frowned. “You are the most maddening man. I have no wish to stroke your enormous ego any further.”

He chuckled, inflaming her temper still further. Tilting her chin, she swept down the stairs.

Unfortunately, she moved so fast that her toe caught in the hem of her skirts and she tripped. She flailed for the banister, and then pitched forward and tumbled down the stairs.

Pain bit into
Lucinda’s hips, legs and arms in that brief, wild spin…until her head slammed into the banister. Bright sparkles of light danced behind her eyelids. A great shout assaulted her eardrums.

“Lucy!” Boots thumped on the stairs.

“Are you all right?” The voice rumbled near her now, and her eyes fluttered open to see Riel’s dark, concerned face inches from her own. “Are you all right?” he asked again, and she became aware of his great hands running over her arms.

“I…I am fine.” She winced, attempting to sit up. Steadying hands helped her.

“Any sharp pain? Broken bones?”

“I…don’t think so.” Gingerly, she tested each limb. They seemed to work, although twinges of pain made her bite her lip.

“Good.” To her shock, Riel swept her up into his arms and carried her downstairs.

She clutched at his neck. “You must stop doing that.”

“You are afraid I will drop you?”

“No.” Lucinda knew he would never drop her. She felt secure in his arms. Riel would always keep her safe; of this, she felt very certain. All of a sudden, she couldn’t remember why she kept pushing him away.

It alarmed her, and she clutched him harder as weak tears of reaction threatened. She pressed her face into the hollow of his throat and tried to gain control of herself.

Gently, he set her down on the sofa in the parlor and sat beside her. “You are crying.” With a tender frown, he brushed the drops away.

His gentleness was her undoing, and more unwanted tears spurted down her cheeks. His fingers stroked her hair, and the sensation felt soothing and comforting.

“You are bleeding,” he said in a low voice. “Stay here.”

She dried her face with her sleeve. When he returned with a warm wash cloth and other necessary items, she sat quietly, and allowed his gentle ministrations.

“It is only a small cut,” he told her.

Lucinda felt his calloused fingers in her hair and his warm breath on her temple.

An odd part of her wanted to close her eyes and soak up the sensations. And so she did. She liked the sensation of him touching her, she realized with a slow thrum of her heart. Alarmingly, she liked it very much indeed.

Lucinda felt a sense of loss when Riel’s fingers fell away. “Finished.”

She glanced up at him, feeling shy and suddenly vulnerable. His gaze caught hers, and scanned it, as if trying to search deep into her soul.

She wet her lips and offered softly, “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Lucy.” His black gaze fell to her mouth, and for a heartbeat she had the insane notion he just might kiss her.

Her pulse quickened. Did she
want
him to kiss her?

A flush warmed her cheeks, and hastily, she looked away.

Was she crazy? She did not want Riel Montclair to kiss her!

After a hesitation, he rose to his feet and Lucinda felt bereft.

“I will have the housekeeper send in tea,” he said in a harsh voice. He strode from the room.

Lucinda watched his broad back move down the hall and wondered what had just transpired. The fall must have addled her brain. For still she stared after Riel as if she could not drink in every inch of him fast enough.

Again, the truth whispered up from her soul. Her guardian was devastatingly handsome. She liked every line of him—the breadth of his muscular shoulders, his trim hips, the blunt, at times harsh angles of his face. Those direct black eyes and those big hands that had touched her again so gently.

Lucinda put her hand to her forehead. It felt decidedly warm. She must be coming down with a bug. Either that, or she was losing her mind.

Riel Montclair was an irksome, maddening man. Tender feelings for him were not only delusional, but self-destructive. Perhaps she did need that tea…and a nap. That should set the world to rights again.

* * * * *

Riel had wanted to kiss Lucy.

After telling the housekeeper about the tea, he walked out the back door and into the warm sunshine. He headed for the street, walking fast.

Riel had wanted to kiss Lucy, and he still did. It was no use trying to deny it. Or trying to deny why he wanted to lay claim not only to her last dance at the balls, but every other one, as well. His feelings for her had deepened in a wholly self-destructive way. No longer did she only inhabit his dreams. A safe place, because it was unreal, and easily dismissed as the fantasies of an exhausted mind. Now, not only did he still dream of her, but Riel spent much of his day in the same house with her, near her. Smelling her floral scent on the stairs, hearing her talk to Sophie…sharing supper with her every day. No longer could he deny that he savored each of these links to her. Lucy was a feisty, warm and beautiful woman. He liked everything about her.

Riel knew he was becoming too emotionally entangled with her. His job was to find her a husband. Period.

Certainly a position for which he could never apply.

Riel walked faster, trying to shove his unwanted feelings deep into his soul. To exorcise them, for they would only bring him pain.

Lucy did not want him in her life. Over and over again, she had made that abundantly clear. And if—or when—she discovered the truth of his past, she would spit him out for good.

Riel had known for some time that he needed to back away from her, but he couldn’t manage to do it. He liked firing her up. He liked holding her in his arms during that last, most special dance.

Riel allowed his thoughts to go no further. Lucy was not the woman for him. No reputable woman was. His past dictated that he must spend the rest of his life alone.

As far as Lucy was concerned, Riel was her guardian, and that was all. His first and only duty was to see her married. And to protect her from wolves like Jonathon.

His fists clenched, glad to think about a less disturbing topic. That rake wanted to penetrate her life.
Three
dances at the ball. Riel had wanted to grab him by his fluffy cravat and order him to step off. Except Jonathon would have looked at him with amusement and turned to Lucy for validation to stay.

Lucy liked the miscreant. But Riel would not trust the man. Not for one moment. Especially after the way Jonathon had baited him last night. The other man relished his unease. Cruelty lurked in him…better hidden than with his brother, but clear just the same.

Riel didn’t like a few of Lucinda’s other suitors, either. Particularly the one named Fredrick. He’d noticed Amelia dancing with him, too. What did the two see in him? He was a jowly, spoilt mama’s boy, at best. And at worst…long days at sea with the worst of humanity told Riel that Fredrick could possess a vicious side.

If Fredrick coerced more than one dance each evening with Lucy, Riel would discourage that suitor, too. Choosing to dismiss him with less provocation would raise Lucy’s ire, and she’d likely dance with him all the more, just to spite Riel.

How, then, to discourage Jonathon, whom he felt was the worst of the lot? Unfortunately, unless Jonathon made a misstep, or Riel found proof that he was a rake of the first order, he could do little. But he would watch the wolf every minute, that was for certain.

Woe to the rake if he laid an inappropriate hand upon Lucy, or tried to lure her into the garden. Riel’s fists tightened, relishing the thought of dusting that self-satisfied, aristocratic nose until it spurted blood.

Meanwhile, Riel would bide his time. And he’d ask Lucy to favor him with her last dance each evening. Riel couldn’t deny that he wanted it for purely selfish reasons. But it did make a statement, too. One he wanted Jonathon Warrington to heed. Riel was guardian over Lucy, and Warrington would have to come through him to get her.

* * * * *

More tea parties, soirées, fêtes and balls whirled by. Lucinda enjoyed them all. Riel had humbly asked if she would allow him a dance at one ball, and at the next he again asked for the last one. She wasn’t sure why she gave it to him. Especially since she wanted to spend as little time as possible with him. That one, wild moment last week when she’d wanted him to kiss her continued to haunt her, and that would not do. It would not do at all.

Jonathon continued to sign for two of her dances each night; one of which often included the supper dance. She continued to grant the stocky Fredrick one dance, and Timothy often asked for one, as well. The two young men always signed Amelia’s card, too. She was glad her friend’s dance card was almost always full.

So far, Fredrick had behaved himself, but it did seem that he danced a might too closely to her friend tonight. Unseemly. She’d also noticed Fredrick lurking at the punch table for long stretches while others danced. Was it because he couldn’t get a partner? Or because he enjoyed the spiked punch too much?

While Lucinda enjoyed herself, and nightly discovered new ways to encourage interesting conversational paths with her dance partners, it was turning out to be more work than she’d expected. All of the men loved to talk about themselves. Only a few asked about her interests. She found this frustrating. While she did need a husband, she didn’t want a self-absorbed bore. Where was her dream man? This evening, one man had preened the entire dance, another sniffed constantly, and another droned on and on about topics of no importance to her at all.

Boring, boring, boring! Where were the exciting men? She averted her eyes from Riel, who danced across the room with a redhead. True, he agitated her. But she wanted romance, not disturbed feelings.

Why hadn’t she found her future husband yet? Where was the heart stopping romance?
Why
hadn’t she fallen in love?

As usual, Jonathon was the best candidate of all, but right now he danced with a pretty brunette—a Lady Annabelle, she believed—who laughed up at him. Lucinda could not feel jealous. It was just the way Jonathon was. He was as a bee to honey. All women loved him. No wonder she liked him, as well.

Currently, she danced the cotillion with young Timothy Fenwick. Only once had he stepped on her toes this evening. She scanned his face. He wasn’t bad looking in a tall, blond-haired, puppy dog sort of way.

Frustrated with her lack of prospects so far, Lucinda blurted, “Do you find it boring?”

His brows flew up and he accidentally stomped on her toe. “Sorry!” His ears turned beet red. Steps jerky, he directed them both back into the rhythm of the dance. “Boring? Do I find what boring?”

“All of this.” Lucinda sketched a dramatic hand about the room. “You are a man.” Well, barely. “You probably don’t look on balls as women do. But I’ve been to six balls this Season, and five last, and it is always the same. I dance with the same men. Those men talk about themselves, and then we switch partners and it begins again. Where is the excitement?” she implored, not really expecting an answer.

Lucinda struggled to ignore the truth. She did feel prickles of excitement—but with only one man—Riel.

What if he had kissed her the other night?

Lucinda shivered and then blinked, horrified. Had she lost her mind? She must scourge all thoughts of her guardian from her head.

Timothy offered a small smile. “I try to step on one less toe each night. That’s all the excitement I can master right now.”

Timothy was a nice young man. So earnest and awkward, and sweet, too, really. What would he know about romance, or the things her friends in the finishing school had squealed over after lights out? Certainly, none of those things were happening to her. Of course, they did not happen on the dance floor, but out in the garden.

A plan so wicked that Lucinda almost stamped on Timothy’s toe raced across her imagination in living color. She nearly gasped with horror…and delight.

What better way to banish Riel utterly from her thoughts? Not to mention learn if the excitement she’d always dreamed of could exist? It would infuriate Riel, to be sure, but did he need to learn about it?

And Timothy would be the perfect choice to fulfill this most illicit of endeavors.

Impulsively, Lucinda fluttered her hand before her face. “La, I am so hot. Do you find it warm in here?”

“Yes. Why don’t they open the windows?”

“The matrons are afraid of the night airs. They fear taking ill, because then they might miss the next soirée. And all of the juicy gossip, too.”

He snorted.

The music slowed, and Lucinda tugged on his arm. “Will you come with me? I’d like to take a stroll in the garden, but I’m afraid to go alone.”

“Well…” One brow raised a bit. Clearly uncertain, he glanced across the room to where his mother and sister sat.

“Only for a moment. Please,” she cajoled, and felt like a wicked, wicked girl as she did so. Knowingly luring him to a slippery path.

“All right,” he agreed at last. “But only for a moment.”

She grinned. “Thank you.” Taking the arm he offered, she accompanied him out the French doors to the garden paved with stones. It was a large garden, and thick groves of trees bordered the winding pathways. Lucinda urged him toward a dense clump.

Timothy said, “It’s a bit chilly. Do you want your wrap?”

“No.” Lucinda did not feel cold at all, for apprehension and excitement washed by turns through her, leaving her feeling both warm and cold at the same time. Once they were hidden among the trees, she stopped and folded her arms.

Timothy uneasily glanced back at the French doors, which were still barely visible. “Perhaps this isn’t the best idea. If someone saw us, they might get the wrong impression.”

“No one will see us.” Lucinda crept further back into the foliage. With a frown, he edged toward her. “Timothy, I’ll tell you the truth. I asked you out here for a reason.”

“A reason?” Uncertainty edged those few syllables.

“I want to conduct an experiment. An
experiment
only, so don’t get any other ideas.”

“What sort of an experiment?” He sounded suspicious, as well he might.

“Have you ever kissed a girl, Timothy?” She felt quite certain he hadn’t.