For the Love of a Pirate (16 page)

“It's going to be rain all day,” she said, peering out the window. “How about a game of cards? Or dice? I can wake Lovey. She's almost done with her afternoon nap. If you think she skins you at piquet, you should see her at loo. Grandy will join us if he hears her crowing when she thumps us. Because he can beat anyone at that.”

“Oh, can he?” Constantine said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, a challenge,” she said. “That will be fun to see!”

The next day the ground was soggy, and a dense fog covered the fields. It was too damp for walking, but they rode out through the mists so Lisabeth could show Constantine how the fog was rolling in from the sea. They rode to the top of a cliff overlooking the water. They tied their horses to the stunted trees and waited, because she told him that by noon, the sun would be up and burn off all the mists.

“You know this?” he asked.

“I live by the sea,” she said. “We know its habits and moods. We have to.”

The sun burst through when it was directly overhead, slicing through the gray, sending down blazing rays like lighthouse beacons, giving the appearance that a heavenly decree was about to be announced from on high. The light highlighted every slate swell on the rolling sea, gilding the curl of each gray wave, and setting an aura around Lisabeth's glorious unbound hair. Constantine silently vowed he'd seldom seen anything so magnificent. The sea, he said aloud, was very beautiful too.

“Too?”
she asked.

He gazed at her. He couldn't say what he wished to. He was an honorable man. He kept trying to remember that. But she wore men's garb again today, and he'd gotten used to it. Instead of appearing bizarre or scandalous any longer, she looked charming, and delicious, he thought. Her hair glowed, her eyes sparkled, and her lips parted in a smile as she looked back at him.

She suddenly rose up on her toes, leaned forward, and kissed him lightly. He froze, too conflicted to take advantage of the sudden, shocking, so-long-desired moment. Instead, he stood stock-still. She backed away immediately.

“Thank you for the thought,” she whispered. Then she tipped him a grin before she turned and sauntered over to her horse. “We'd best leave for home. I have to change my clothing. Mrs. Fellows down in town is expecting us for tea. Remember?”

He nodded, too stunned and angry with himself for not responding. And too worried about what might have happened if he had.

That night, they played cards and dice.

The next day dawned fair and breezy. They went for a ride along the coast, and Lisabeth presented Constantine with a surprise. She'd arranged for them to go out on a sizable ship, owned by her grandfather's company. They sailed along the coastline, while she pointed out all the landmarks and sights that she said had been as easy to read as a primer for her father, and eventually his. The ship sped over the water and rolled with the swelling waves as its sails swallowed up the wind.

A day in the sunlight and wind brought high color to Lisabeth's cheeks in spite of the bonnet she'd tied on. She looked at Constantine.

“You begin to look more and more like the portrait,” she said as they rode home again. “You don't turn red, you're becoming teak. You've the color of a pirate or a fisherman now. What will your London friends think? I hear it's all the thing to be pallid these days.”

“Only if you're a poet, or a Tulip of the
ton
and I am neither,” he said.

That evening at dinner, Constantine had to repress his yawns. He was exhausted.

“Sea air knocks a fellow out,” the captain said, as he eyed his guest. “No shame in going to bed early. Seems to me gents in London get up to all kinds of rigs and nonsense just because they're too wide awake when they should be sleeping.”

“Seems to me,” Constantine said, with a smile at Lisabeth, “that pirates didn't lack for energy.”

“Aye, they didn't,” the captain said. “But you can bet that was because they slept snug in their berths every night.”

Constantine laughed, and had to agree.

But it seemed to him, later that night as he lay abed, unable to sleep, that he was changing. It wasn't just going to bed when he would have been going out for the night in London. Or the increasing pleasure he took in the captain's company. Or even the disturbing, delicious, increasingly strong tug of attraction he felt for Lisabeth. It seemed to him that he was also becoming someone he had never known. London seemed very far away. He was, in spite of all he'd anticipated, very happy and relaxed here.

What was keeping him awake was that he didn't know yet if that was a good or bad thing. He'd come here to find out about his family's past. He was now discovering there was too much about his present he hadn't known either.

He didn't sleep for hours.

Neither did Lisabeth. But she wasn't alone. All her life, when things troubled her, she had conferred with her grandfather. When it was something to do with being female, she talked with Lovey. And when she did, she sat in the kitchen with her, discussing it over a mug of hot, honeyed tea.

“I care for him, yes,” she told Lovey, staring down into the amber contents of her mug.

“That's naught,” Lovey said, tipping another jot of rum into her mug, and then into Lisabeth's. “You care for the vicar too. Do you
want
him?”

Lisabeth sighed. “Aye, Lovey, so I do. From the first. Though then it was because he looked so much like the Captain Cunning of my dreams. When I saw how stiff and proper Constantine was, I changed my mind. By the next day, I'd changed it again, because I swore I saw the man he might have been beneath all that starch. And then, little by little, he became that man. It was as if all the starch were washed away by our rains and blown away by our sea winds.”

She looked up at her old governess. Her eyes pleaded for an answer. “Thing is, am I imagining him, or is he real?”

Lovey shrugged and took a swallow of her laced tea. “Only you can know that. Have you made love to him?”

“I only kissed him, and . . . cuddled, a bit.”

“And did you like it?”

Lisabeth nodded.

“And did he?”

“I think so!” Lisabeth said. “But he pulled away just as it started to become wonderful. And the next time he got the chance, he didn't let it go that far.”

“But he didn't say anything?”

Lisabeth shook her head.

“Then he's being a proper gent,” Miss Lovelace announced. “And he thinks you're a lady. If he didn't want you, he'd say it. But he knows that if he starts serious canoodling, my love, he'll have to marry you. That's a gentleman's code. They'll swive any lass they fancy if they think she's beneath them. And that's even before they actually put her there,” she added with a smile. “But they're proper as parsons with ladies of breeding. Until he decides to declare for you. Do you want him to? Or do you just want some pleasure before he goes away again?”

Lisabeth's eyes widened. “I hadn't thought of it that way.”

“Well, you ought,” Miss Lovelace said. “There's many a lad who's delightful in the night, and a bore when the dawn comes. There's many another who's charming in the day and a boor when night falls. If you want to test him, that's one thing. Then you mustn't expect anything from him. If you want him for all time, that's another thing entirely. Then you should be sure he returns your affection. Now, Liz, my love, you decide what you want. The gentleman isn't involved anywhere else, and you're free as the wind. Do you or don't you want to stay that way? Or just have some fun? That is the question.”

“
He
is involved,” Lisabeth said sadly. “He told me just that. But there's no love on either side. He said that too.”

“Not unusual,” Miss Lovelace said wisely. “At least, not so with gentlemen of title and leisure. If his heart's not involved, then he's free. How long he remains so is up to you, my girl. A woman gets what she dares go after, at least a woman such as you. And a gentleman never goes where he isn't wanted. So it's up to you to show him that he is. In the end, my dear, it's all up to you.”

That was what Lisabeth was thinking when she came to her grandfather's study. She saw the light shining out from under the door, and tapped at it.

“Come in, Lisabeth,” he said.

“How did you know it was me?” she asked, as she entered his room and settled in a chair opposite his, near the blazing hearth.

“I've been waiting,” he said, neglecting to mention he'd been waiting every late night for a week now.

“So you know,” she said.

Her voice suddenly sounded small and uncertain.

“Yes?” he said cautiously, waiting to hear what she'd really come to ask him.

“He said he's ‘involved' with a woman in London. But that he didn't love her, and she doesn't love him. What did he mean?”

He sighed. “Could be anything. But if he said his heart was free, then believe him. He's an honorable fellow.”

Her face brightened. “So I thought! Thank you, Grandy!” She danced over to him, kissed his forehead, and said, in a relieved voice, “Good night, and thank you!”

When she'd left he sat back, deep in thought. So, as he'd thought, Lord Wylde wasn't in love with his fiancée. And also, as he'd thought, anyone would love Lisabeth. He'd been watching Lord Wylde. The man was smitten, and in heat, and no denying it. The captain smiled. He'd hoped for just such an outcome, or he wouldn't have asked the new fellow here to his home, to meet his greatest treasure. Then he frowned. Captain Cunning's great-grandson had better be an honorable fellow, he thought. If he weren't, then he'd be sure to make him one—if he had to.

The next day dawned bright, mild, and clear. A perfect day for getting the last brambleberries, Lisabeth announced at breakfast.

“So if you want to come with me,” she told Constantine, “you'd best dress in rough old clothing, and I do mean a thick sweater and breeches you don't care about ruining, high boots and strong gloves. The berries are the sweetest in the world, but the brambles are fierce. Still, nothing good is easily come by. Dress in the nearest thing to armor that you own, and we'll try to beat the birds to last of the bounty. We'll take buckets, and a luncheon with us. Are you agreeable? Do you want to chance it? Or would you rather do something less dangerous? As for me, I must get them today, or never.”

“I will face the monstrous brambles,” Constantine said, smiling.

“Good!” she said, as she rose from the table. “I'll meet you by the stables in a half hour. We'll take a horse and cart. The best berry patch is a long way from here, and if we're lucky, there'll be too many full baskets for us to carry back without it.”

“I doubt his lordship has such a rig in his luggage,” the captain said as he too rose from the table. “Old, rough, and tough? Where would he wear such stuff in London? I'll see what I can forage for him. Stay a moment more, my lord.”

After the captain returned, and presented him with an armful of donated clothing, Constantine went back to his room to shock his valet.

“Surely, my lord,” his valet said in a horrified tone, “one isn't going out-of-doors in such apparel? One can understand the necessity of donning a seaman's garb for sailing, or fishing. But this!”

“One had better understand,” Constantine said, as he admired himself in the looking glass. “I'm going to pick brambleberries. If I don't wear this, I'm assured that not only my clothing will come home in tatters. And I'm careful of my skin.”

But he didn't look or feel like a careful man today. He wore a ragtag collection. He gazed into the glass and smiled at his image as he saw a tanned man in a baggy fisherman's sweater, long leather gloves, and old breeches tucked into worn scarred boots. This rustic splendor was topped by a dilapidated, floppy hat, the kind that serfs wore, he guessed, a century or two past.

He was humming to himself as he came down the stairs. He smiled at a footman, and went out to the stables.

“Fella's making a fool of himself for her,” a young footman whispered to the butler as he closed the door behind Constantine.

“As he should,” an old footman said, as the housekeeper passed by.

“I don't know about him,” she said, as she went on her way to the kitchen. “I do know she deserves the best. He's a gent all right, but not all of them are good men.”

“There's truth,” Cook spoke up from a corner of the kitchen. “And her taking him untried? Not my idea of a good thing, is that.”

“And pray what do you mean by that?” the housekeeper asked, nose high.

“Don't ‘pray' me, Flossie, my girl,” the cook said. “I knowed you when you was earning yourself a fine improper living in the islands. You know just what I mean! My first husband was a dear, but a sad fumbler when it came to pleasure. My second was just the opposite. What a lover the man was! But he couldn't earn a penny or keep one in his pockets, no more'n he could keep his breeches on when a likely female came along. Don't turn up your nose at me. You remember him. Didn't I blacken your eye over him, that time in Tobago?”

“A lucky punch,” the housekeeper said with a sniff.

“Now,” Cook said, “I've no man at all, but all my memories. And you know the man I think about? A fellow like my first in the day, and like my other in my bed. If Miss Lisabeth thinks she's found the two in one, more credit to her! But so far's I can see, and I watch, they haven't done the deed yet. I'd see it in their eyes.”

“No wonder,” a housemaid said sighing. “He's so high-toned, never a pinch for another girl, nor a wink, nor even an invitation, here or in town. True noblemen are a different breed, just like the fairy stories say. And so she's got to offer, and he's got to take. But he's such a gent, and she's so picky! Who knows if it will ever happen?”