The Pirate's Desire (3 page)

One particularly frightening incident sprang to mind. When she was twelve, during a horrific rainstorm, a frantic knock had sounded at the door of Ravensbrook. Lucinda stood behind her father as he spoke to the beggar outside. Wind and rain lashed down, and the low growl of thunder electrified the air. The man had begged for shelter, and her father told him to take cover in the barn. Lucinda, however, had noticed that the man’s hard, shifty eyes looked younger than his gray beard suggested. And a plump belly bulged beneath his tattered cloak. What hungry vagrant possessed a fat belly?

She’d warned her father of her observations, but he’d said it didn’t matter. “Kindness counts, Lucy. We are to help those in need.” While she agreed with her father’s sentiments, even at that tender age perhaps her heart was too cynical to harbor the kindness that had exemplified her father’s life. She’d wanted, both then and now, to be more like her father. She’d tried to believe that Father was right about the homeless man. Unfortunately, the next morning their best horse had vanished, along with the vagrant. Later, they’d learned a murderer from two towns over had escaped from jail the previous night. It was the same man. Luckily, he had harmed no one at Ravensbrook.

Her father’s heart had always been in the right place, but he’d been duped before. It could have happened again.

Lucinda knew next to nothing about Montclair, except for what her father had penned, and what Montclair himself had told her. It wasn’t enough. At all costs, she must protect Ravensbrook. The future and security of the estate and its servants lay in her hands. With her father gone, making the right choices now was not only her responsibility, but her imperative duty.

Frankly, she felt she was being generous, allowing Montclair to stay in her home. Of course, once the solicitor received this letter, she would not legally be able to turn him out. Briefly, she considered burning it. Then horror bumped through her. How could she destroy her father’s last words to her? She could not, no matter the misery it might inflict upon her later.

Montclair’s cool, shrewd gaze regarded her. “You misjudge me, Lady Lucinda, if you think I will break my word to your father.”

“Ravensbrook needs no manager, Mr. Montclair. And I need no guardian. I have lived without one for the last two years. I will survive for another two, as well.”

“It is my understanding you stayed with a friend during the Season in London.”

“And a satisfactory solution that was, too.”

“Except your friend is to be married, and her mother no longer plans to return to London.”

How did he know that? She frowned. “Other arrangements can be made for next Season.”

“Other arrangements have already been made. I have a townhouse in London. You will live with me.”

Lucinda gasped. “That would be
most
inappropriate. Unless you have a wife…” Somehow, she sorely doubted this. His next words confirmed it.

“No. My great aunt, however, will serve as chaperone both here and in London. She will arrive on Wednesday morning.”

The presumption of the man! He clearly had made these arrangements the moment her father had drawn his last breath. And, from his disheveled appearance earlier, he had made haste to gallop to Ravensbrook, as well. Why? Was it because he wished to get his hooks into an estate as grand and profitable as Ravensbrook as speedily as possible?

Fear prompted her next, sarcastic words. “Only your aunt? Have you no other relations who lack a roof over their heads?”

The bridge of his nose pinched white. Uncharitably, she was glad. In some warped way, it only seemed fair that he be as miserable with this arrangement as she. Perhaps he would decide to leave. Her spirits lifted at this happy thought.

His dark eyes bored into hers. “I understand that you have received a shock, Lucy. But being rude to me will accomplish none of your goals.”

“Do
not
call me Lucy.” Anger surged at his impertinence, and at the walls closing in around her. The man clearly possessed a will of iron. “Only Father called me Lucy. You do not have that privilege.”

“I understand that you are unhappy. You are grieving your father…”

“Don’t patronize me!” Lucinda trembled where she stood. “I am Lady Lucinda, and I will thank you to leave my house this instant. I cannot countenance your presence!”

Now he did stand. “Lucy—”

“Do
not
call me Lucy!” Fury flared higher, and anguish, too. She did not want to accept any of this. Her father’s death. This…this disturbing man moving into her home, telling her what to do…none of it. Without coherent thought, she grabbed the roll from her plate. “I want you
gone!
” She flung it at him. “I want you gone now!”

The roll glanced off of his forehead, and for a split second Riel stared at her in shock. Pleased, Lucinda grabbed for another one, which lay beside her knife, but before she could throw it, something sharp and feral flashed in his eyes.

Lightening fast, he seized her wrist, twisted it, and forced her to drop the bun. She found her arms wrenched up behind her and felt a knee in her back, forcing her to the floor. She gasped in shock and pain. Her arms hurt, twisted up as they were.

“What…what are you
doing?
”

Just as swiftly, his grip on her arms loosened. He put a hand under her elbow to help her up. “
Pardon
. I am sorry,” he murmured roughly. “I did not intend…”

She twisted free of his touch, breathing hard now with shock and indignation. “How dare you? I want you gone this instant! You
are
a barbarian, just as I thought from the beginning. Mrs. Beatty!”

“No.” His hand shot out for her wrist, but he checked the movement before making contact. It was a wise decis
ion
, for Lucinda just might have kicked him. Although, when she remembered the look in his eyes moments before, she may not have, after all. The man
was
dangerous, as she’d sensed from the very first.

She heaved a breath, fighting for calm. Perhaps she had been hasty, throwing rolls at his head. But now she knew for certain with whom she was dealing. A dangerous, brutal rogue. One she must evict from Ravensbrook immediately, at all costs.

“Let me explain,” he said in a low voice. His dark gaze now looked troubled.

Mrs. Beatty appeared in the doorway. “You called, miss?” She frowned when she saw them both standing. “Is there a problem with the food?” Her gaze fell to the roll on the rug, and her gaze unerringly went to Lucinda. “Is something amiss?”

Gabriel Montclair spoke first. “A misunderstanding.”

“
No,
” Lucinda hissed. “I understand you perfectly now.”

“I apologize. I acted without thinking.”

Mrs. Beatty entered the room with a frown. “What happened?”

Lucinda cried out, “What happened is he
attacked
me…”

“After you threw a roll at my head and reached for another,” Riel put in. “As I tried to explain, I reacted without thinking. In battle, it can mean the difference between life and death.”

“But this is not a battle!” Lucinda fluttered her hand at the washed silk walls of the dining room. “You are in a civilized home, with…”

“Apparently, an uncivilized young lady.” Mrs. Beatty said. With two fingers, she plucked the roll from the floor.

Lucinda gasped. “You can’t take his side, Mrs. Beatty. He manhandled me. He twisted my wrist most painfully!”

Mrs. Beatty frowned. “Why were you throwing rolls at your guest, Miss Lucinda?”

“He is not my guest.”

“No. He is your father’s,” the housekeeper replied. “Mr. Hastings left a letter for me, as well. I am sure he would be shocked to see you treating his guest so discourteously, Miss Lucinda.”

Why was Mrs. Beatty taking Montclair’s side? Couldn’t she see that he was not
to be
trusted? That he was a dark, primitive heathen? Lucinda glared at Gabriel Montclair, who now regarded her with a steady, implacable look. Impotent frustration welled in her. What could she do? With the housekeeper siding against her, how could she ever get this man to leave her home?

Mrs. Beatty withdrew to the door, her lips pressed tight. “Are you ready for your next course?”

With a frown, Lucinda sat. “Yes, Mrs. Beatty.” Perhaps she was going about this the wrong way. Losing her temper had not been smart.

More reasonable thoughts finally entered her head. Her behavior had been childish, too, which chagrinned her. Over the past year, she’d endeavored so hard to grow into the sort of young woman of whom her father would be proud. She’d wanted to surprise him with her newfound maturity when he returned home.

Now he never would.

Tears stung her eyes. Lucinda still wanted to make her father proud. Regardless of this goal, however, somehow she must convince Montclair to leave Ravensbrook. At once.

A tomb of silence ensued until the next course of pork chops and scalloped potatoes arrived. Riel picked up his knife and sliced into his meat. “Clearly you do not like me, Lady Lucinda.”

At least he had stopped calling her Lucy. A small victory. She gave him a thin-lipped smile. “How clever you are, Mr. Montclair.” In fact, he possessed only one redeeming quality; his unwelcome presence prevented the agony of her father’s death from completely taking over her mind.

“Why?”

“I am a lady, and will not be rude. However, know this: Ravensbrook is my heritage. I will not entrust it into the care of a stranger. Furthermore, I will allow no one to rule over me, either. Least of all you, a complete stranger. Regardless of what you told my father, I have never heard of a Baron of Iveny.”

Riel took a bite. “I assure you, I own land in France and a townhouse in London, as well as a ship. Facts beyond that are no business of yours.”

“So you
are
hiding something.”

“Do you wish to know my entire past history?”

“Tell it all,” Lucinda agreed. “I would like to know the complete truth of your background…if, indeed you will tell me.”

The black brows met again like a thundercloud. He did not like his honor questioned. Perhaps he would tell her the full truth, after all.

She waited, tapping her fingers on the table, pretending impatience. Never could he sense, even for a moment, that she truly wanted to discover every bit of information about him. This realization disturbed her, until she told herself it made prudent sense. After all, the more she knew, the better she could discern his weaknesses and assess the threat he posed to both Ravensbrook and herself.

And he was a significant threat, as she already knew quite well. His brutish behavior when he’d manhandled her had proven it. She must gather ammunition to boot him out of Ravensbrook before it was too late—no matter what her father had wished. Montclair must have duped her kind-hearted parent. Why else would Father put such a dangerous man as lord over her? The barbarian had hurt her! Her wrists still stung, and one thumb mark still reddened her skin.

If he could do so much damage in an instant, she shuddered to consider the damage he could cause to Ravensbrook—and to herself—during the next two years.

Riel spoke in a low voice. “I was born in Roué, France, twenty-eight years ago. My mother was English, my father French. My father squandered the family fortune in games of chance, and he lost our house in a poker match. When I was fourteen, I went to sea on a merchant ship.”

He looked down and rubbed his nail—clean now, she noticed—into the design on the fork. “Conditions were bad,” he finally said in a rough voice. “We sailed to the Barbary coast. I did not realize…” After a moment, he went on. “I escaped when I could. At seventeen, I jumped an English ship bound for the Mediterranean. It wasn’t much better. I will spare you the details. One thing led to another, and I now own my own ship. In addition, I have been working closely with the Royal Navy for the past two years.”

That wasn’t the whole story. Lucinda sensed he withheld information. But what? Was it that dark something she’d sensed from the beginning? She looked into his black eyes and found no answers.

Still, she did not know how to respond to his tale. It rang with truth. She could well imagine him living rough years on the high seas, and on the Barbary coast, too. The area was known for slave trading and pirates.

So, she’d been right from the first. He was a pirate…at least, he’d likely served upon a pirate ship at one point, or perhaps for several years. That would account for the rough edge she’d sensed in him, tempered, however, by the thinnest veneer of civility. Also, it would account for his brute strength and quickness to react when threatened. As she’d suspect
ed, he’d learned none of his savage behavior
from his association with the Royal Navy. Instead, likely on a cutthroat ship.

She cleared her throat. “You said your father lost all of your family land. How can you own land in France, then?”

“A relative passed away. It is not a large estate, but it pays for itself, with a little extra to keep up my house in London.”

Lucinda thought through all she had learned, and tried to figure out how to best lever each bit of knowledge to her advantage. “You must love the high seas, then. You’ve been sailing for what, fourteen years? And you help the Navy.”

“I am happy to use my knowledge of ships for good, rather than evil, if that is what you mean.”

It wasn’t, but Lucinda grasped this new information and plunged on, determined to wiggle her foot into this door of opportunity. “Don’t you want to keep working with the Navy, then? And save the world from evil-doers?”

He frowned faintly.

“I mean,” she said more clearly, “I see no reason for you to leave your ship just to be a guardian to me.” A flash of inspiration arrived. “You say your great-aunt is coming. She can do the job just as well.”