Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Lord Havelock's List\Saved by the Viking Warrior\The Pirate Hunter (6 page)

Damn Morgan for foisting this guttersnipe on him. Obliging him to leave, just when he was beginning to coax Miss Carpenter out of her shell.

Still, he supposed this little test had proved that she was capable of coming out of it when sufficiently roused. She'd been shaking like a leaf, but she'd managed to speak out against what was clearly a gross injustice.

For the sake of a child.

He pulled up short, turned and glanced back at her.

To find her gazing back at him, with a rapt expression on her face.

She hid it at once, by bowing her head and turning away, but he'd caught something in her look that had been encouraging. It was approval. And warmth. And, not to put too fine a point on it, something that verged on downright hero worship.

There would be no trouble getting to speak to her next time he paid a call. He could use the pretext of telling her how the boy had settled in to his new life. And take it from there.

‘I want me penny,' said the boy, the moment they emerged from the great church door into the drizzle that they'd gone inside to escape.

‘Your what?'

‘My penny,' said the boy. ‘That other cove said as how you'd give me a penny if I lifted his purse, then ran straight into you and let you catch me.'

‘I,' said Havelock firmly, ‘am not going to give you a penny.'

‘I might have known. You swindler...'

‘I'm going to give you something better,' he interrupted.

‘Oh, yeah?' The boy's face brightened.

‘Yes. I'm going to give you that job I promised. A man has to keep his word, you see? Especially when he gives it to a lady.'

Chapter Four

O
vernight the drizzle drifted away, leaving the sky cloudless. When the girls awoke, there was a layer of frosted ice on the inside of their bedroom window.

They shivered, red-nosed, into their clothes and rushed downstairs to the warmth of the parlour.

The moment she got downstairs though, Mary wished it wasn't quite so cold in their room, or she could have found some excuse to stay there. For her aunt was still upset with her over what the girls had told her of their outing to Westminster Abbey.

‘I cannot think what came over you,' said Aunt Pargetter as she poured Mary's tea. ‘To have raised your voice to Mr Morgan...'

‘I am sorry, truly sorry, if my behaviour has offended you.'

‘It didn't offend me,' said Lotty, wrapping her fingers round the cup that contained her own, freshly poured, steaming hot tea.

‘Nor me,' added Dotty. ‘I only wish I'd had the courage to speak up for the boy when that nasty verger threatened him with gaol. He couldn't have been any older than Will.'

‘It wasn't a matter of
courage
,' Mary protested. She wasn't a courageous person. Not at all. ‘I just...' She shook her head. To be truthful, she had no idea why she'd picked that particular moment to finally speak her mind. She just... She'd had to endure so much, in silence, for so long. She knew what it felt like to have nothing. To be at the mercy of strangers. And yesterday, it was as though a lifetime of resenting injustice, of knowing that the strong naturally oppressed the weak and trampled down the poor for being of no account, all came to a head and erupted without, for once, her giving a fig for the consequences.

‘I just couldn't help myself.'

‘I'm not denying you were right to
feel
as you did,' said Aunt Pargetter. ‘But to risk driving away such an
eligible
suitor, by openly
challenging
him like that...'

‘Mary did just as she ought,' said Mr Pargetter, folding up his newspaper and getting to his feet. ‘The consequences must take care of themselves.'

A tense silence hovered over the breakfast table after he'd left the room. Until Dotty cleared her throat.

‘You know,' she said, ‘it didn't do Mary any harm in Lord Havelock's eyes.'

‘No,' added Lotty. ‘He looked at her as though he thoroughly approved of her standing up for the boy.'

‘Hmmph,' said her aunt. ‘Well, I suppose that is something.'

And though her aunt let the subject drop, the atmosphere remained tense throughout the rest of the morning, as they all waited to see if either of the gentlemen would call upon the house again.

Either Dotty or Lotty kept a vigil by the window, while Mary kept close to the fire, steadily working her way through a basket of mending.

Until at length, Lotty let out a squeal of excitement.

‘It's him! Them! Both of them! They've just got out of their carriage!'

Her cousins rushed to the mirror to check their appearance, before dashing to the sofa and striking relaxed poses. Which were only slightly marred by the way their chests rose and fell so rapidly.

It puzzled Mary to see the girls greet Mr Morgan with such enthusiasm, when his callous behaviour the day before had shocked them all so much.

She could have understood it if they'd flown to Lord Havelock's side, and showered
him
with praise, and pulled
him
down on to the sofa between them.

Instead, he was left standing just inside the door, watching them with a kind of amused disbelief.

Couldn't they see how...superior he was to Mr Morgan, in every way? When she thought of the way he'd lifted that boy out of the verger's reach...

Just as she was reflecting that she'd never seen a man use his physical strength to protect the defenceless before, he turned, caught her watching him and smiled at her.

Her stomach gave a funny little lurch. Her heart sped up.

She hastily lowered her head to stare at the sewing that lay in her lap.

She
wasn't
interested in him, not in the way Lotty and Dotty were interested in Mr Morgan. She just...she just couldn't deny it was flattering to have such a handsome, personable young man smile at her like that.

She hadn't been able to forget the look he'd shot her as he'd left the Abbey with the pickpocket still held firmly by his collar, either. Or the feeling that had come over her when he'd defended her from the verger's censure. It had washed over her again, several times the night before, while she'd been trying to get to sleep.

And it positively surged through her when he took a chair, carried it to her side and sat down.

‘I bring good news,' declared Mr Morgan once the flurry of greetings had died down. ‘The Serpentine has frozen over. Hard enough for us to go skating, if you ladies would enjoy it?'

Dotty and Lotty beamed and clapped their hands, saying what a wonderful idea it was. Just as though the incident the day before had never happened.

‘You will be coming with us, won't you, Miss Carpenter?' said Lord Havelock, with a hopeful smile.

She shook her head.

‘I cannot skate,' she said with what felt suspiciously like regret.

Regret? No! She didn't want to spend any more time than she had to with these two men. They both made her uncomfortable—Mr Morgan because of his harsh manner and Lord Havelock because of the tendency she had to say far more than she should when she was with him. And for feeling that she could say it to him. And most of all—she had to be honest with herself—because she found him so...attractive. Which made him downright dangerous.

‘I will teach you,' said Lord Havelock, somehow turning up the warmth in his smile in such a way that she wished it wouldn't be such a terrible idea to draw closer to him and warm herself at it.

‘Oh, Mary, please! You have to go,' begged Dotty.

‘Yes. For we cannot go out and leave you here on your own,' pointed out Lotty.

And they both really, really wanted to go.

There was nothing for it but to surrender with good grace.

With cries of glee, the girls took her upstairs to ransack their wardrobe again, going back down only when all three of them were swathed in gloves, scarves, boots and several extra layers of petticoats.

Her cousins sat one on either side of Mr Morgan in the carriage, which meant that she and Lord Havelock were sat next to each other, with their backs to the horses.

Once they'd tucked luxurious fur rugs round their legs, they set off. Even though the carriage was very well sprung, and they had far more room than the three squeezed together on the opposite seat, every so often the jolting of the carriage meant that their legs bumped. Whenever she felt the warmth of Lord Havelock's thigh pressing against hers beneath the concealment of the fur, everything else faded into the background. The chatter of her cousins, the buildings at which she was pretending to look through the window—none of it reached her senses. Once or twice, he made an attempt to speak to her, but she wasn't able to give a coherent reply. It was a relief when they arrived, and the gentlemen got out so they could help the ladies down.

Lotty and Dotty stuck close to Mr Morgan, which meant Lord Havelock was left to escort Mary.

She laid her gloved hand on his outstretched arm and let him lead her to the frozen expanse of water, besides which several enterprising people had set up various stalls to earn what money they could from this unexpected cold spell.

The men hired skates from a booth where a ruddy-cheeked woman helped to fit them over their boots.

Dotty and Lotty rushed on to the ice, shrieking with laughter and clutching at each other for support as they almost fell over. Mr Morgan went to their rescue, offering them one arm each. Clinging to him, the trio set out, wobbling and giggling, across the frozen lake.

Which left her alone with Lord Havelock.

‘Come, you need not be afraid,' he said with a sincerity that made her wish she could trust him. Made her wish she could let go of her habitual distrust of the entire male sex, just once.

‘I won't let you fall.'

It wasn't falling she was worried about. It was the increasing frequency with which she was having foolish, feminine thoughts about him. Foolish, feminine reactions, too.

She gave Lotty and Dotty a wistful look. They weren't tying themselves up in knots about the wisdom of plastering themselves to a man and relying on his strength and balance to keep them from falling over. They were just enjoying themselves.

There were skaters of all ages, shapes and sizes twirling about on the ice. All looking as though they were having a splendid time. Life didn't offer many opportunities like this, to try something new and exciting. And the ice probably wouldn't last all that long. She might never get another chance to have a go at skating.

When had she last let herself go, the way they were doing? Living in the moment?

Having fun?

When had she got into the habit of being too afraid to reach out and attempt to take hold of the slightest chance at happiness?

She reached out and took the hand Lord Havelock was patiently holding out to her, vowing that today, at least, she would leave fear on the bank, launch out on to the ice and see what happened.

What happened was that the moment she set her feet on to the slippery surface, she very nearly fell over.

With a shriek that sounded remarkably similar to the ones erupting from her cousins' lips, she grabbed at Lord Havelock, who was maintaining his own stance with what looked like total ease.

‘I hadn't thought it would be so hard to just stand upright,' she said. ‘How do you manage to make it look so effortless?'

He shrugged. ‘I've skated a few times before. But I had my share of falls the first time I tried it, I can tell you. If you have any sense of balance, you'll get the hang of it in no time.'

Mary made a tentative effort to let go of his arm. Each of her legs promptly attempted to go in opposite directions. How vexing. It was only by clinging to Lord Havelock that she could even manage to stay upright.

‘Perhaps you will fare better once we get going,' he suggested. And then, without waiting for her agreement, made a move that somehow set them both gliding away from the shore.

‘See? That's better, is it not?'

‘Not,' she gasped, clinging to his arm for dear life. She had no control over the situation at all. Whenever she attempted to wrest it back, her feet went skittering off all over the place, resulting in her having to clutch at him with increasing desperation.

Though neither Lotty nor Dotty looked any more accomplished. They were both clinging to Mr Morgan with what looked like the same desperation she felt, though being far more vocal about their slips, shrieking and laughing with an abandon that she almost envied.

‘Oh! Oh, dear,' she gasped as, once again, her outside leg shot off on a course she hadn't expected.

‘This will never do,' said Lord Havelock. ‘You'll fare a lot better if you let me put my arm round your waist, see, like this.'

He did so, tucking her into his side, and then pushing off with the leg that was nearest her own. She felt the power of it propelling them forward as he reached across her front and took hold of her other hand.

‘My lord, I'm not at all sure this is quite proper,' she squeaked in something very close to panic.

‘It's only like a sort of dance hold.'

That was true. But in a dance they'd only be as close as this for a moment or two, whilst turning into a new figure. Not plastered to each other from hip to shoulder for as long as he chose to keep them like that.

‘Please,' she begged him. ‘This is making me feel...' warm. Yearning. Excited ‘...most uncomfortable.'

He glanced down at her. She was sure her cheeks must be bright red.

‘I beg your pardon,' he said, with a sigh of what sounded like regret. ‘I did not mean... That is, I do not want you to feel I'm taking advantage. Let me just steer us both across to the side, there, and you can catch hold of that tree and see if you can manage to stand up on your own, now you've had a bit of a go.'

‘Thank you,' she managed to say, since it was the polite response to the gentlemanly way he'd reacted to her protest. But it wasn't easy to thank him for finding it so easy to let go of her. It meant he wasn't all that keen on having her hang on to his arm. Though why she should find that so disappointing she couldn't think. What on earth was the matter with her?

‘Thank you,' she gasped, again, when he'd delivered her to the promised tree, untangled their arms and helped her to get a good hold on a low branch. ‘Oh, dear, this is most awkward.' Her legs were shaking so much, she felt sure he must be able to see it. She glanced his way, expecting to encounter a look of masculine scorn, only to find that he'd taken up the kind of stance she'd seen fielders take on a cricket pitch. As though he was braced to catch...her. Should she fall.

He had very strong, very capable hands. She'd thought so the day before, when he'd had hold of the little boy.

‘How did he go on? The little boy you took home with you yesterday?'

He blinked.

‘It was very good of you to offer him work, instead of letting Mr—' She broke off as the branch she'd been holding showed signs of giving way. With a wobble, and a lunge, she got hold of another one.

‘I couldn't bear to think of him being thrown in prison. It's been on my mind all night. I'm glad,' she said, lifting her chin, ‘that we are a little apart from the others so I can ask you about it.'

He didn't reply straight away. In fact, he looked a touch...uncomfortable.

‘You don't mind me asking you about him, do you?' Oh, dear. Perhaps she shouldn't have said anything. But it felt so very strange being alone with him like this, under the shelter of the tree. Not that they were alone, exactly. There were dozens of other people whizzing about on the ice. Yet there was a certain intimacy about the way there was nobody else within hearing distance. An intimacy that she'd instinctively tried to dispel.