My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1) (5 page)

He’d signed a contract to acquire William Cormac’s daughter, the avenue he’d taken to add the land he coveted for expanding his rice plots.

Gulping down glass number two burned a trail down to his belly.

She’d just stood there and stared at him like he’d been rude to interrupt her during her pique, her chest heaving and as she panted, she blew wisps of hair away from her lips. Her shoulders lay bare, squared, and a creamy shade of ivory.

He downed another gulp as each image grew more vivid than the last.

He’d memorized the seductive curves of her body, and his own temper began to flare.

He’d given her a strict order to attend him in the study.

Where the bloody hell was she?

Chapter 4

With no intention of obeying Lord Blackhurst’s high-handed demand, Anne combed her fingers through the mess of her hair. She sectioned off three pieces, by feel only, and jerked it into a braid down one side, and then threw the long plait over one shoulder. Her eyes scanned the green gown, the color of sprigs of mint, as she smoothed down the unrelenting wrinkles. Three slow intakes of breath through her nostrils and exhales through her mouth helped to calm her temper to a dull simmer.

A difficult feat, to say the least, to tamp down her anger, and it had taken her many years to achieve. She knew she must find something else to calm her nerves.

There would be no speaking to his lordship in her current state.

How dare the man order her about before even introducing his high and mighty self? And, he’d just barged into the room. Sure, she’d been destroying items in his room, and she’d feel guilty about it later. But, for now, he’d been quite rude to give her instructions in such a haughty tone.

The real truth of the matter was, her last few years were full of people with no respect. Crass, cruel people with no manners, and she’d survived in less than savory living conditions. But, damned if she'd permit the proper, English lord who thought to become her husband to forget his manners.

Anne paced the room, clenching and unclenching her hands. Wearing a path into the rug helped, right?

Her father must be mad to force this upon her. Why would she need a husband? He’d given her the perfect avenue to start over with the whole widow façade, but did she have to marry? Another marriage, or any entanglement with another man, was repugnant. Especially with a man she knew nothing about.

Wait, she knew something about him. In the few minutes she’d been in his company, she’d learned the man had all the character of a pompous, English donkey, and exhibited an arrogance that came with his aristocratic upbringing.

Anne stopped pacing long enough to agree he was handsome, however.

Recalling him standing there, through her previous haze of rage, he had been tall, almost as tall as the doorframe, itself. She’d not seen the color of his eyes, angry as she was, but she was able to recall the strong, chiseled jaw, hawk-like nose, dark brows, and a dark shade of unruly, reddish-brown hair tousled around his head as if the wind had blown the locks right before he barged into the room.

But, he was insufferable, and that trumped his obvious pleasing appearance—at least that’s what she told herself.

Aye, she would ignore Lord Blackhurst’s demand to meet him in the study or to immediately clean up her mess.

She strode through the bedroom door and around the perimeter landing to the nursery where she knew her children waited. They were just the medicine she needed to assuage her fury.

She smiled as she entered the room to find Eliza slumbering in a nearby chair, an exhausted Holt curled up in her lap.

The man had been informed of her son through his dealings with her father, she was sure. But, did he know about the other two? Likely, he did not. She had to smile at the thought. Hopefully that would scare him off, discourage him from marrying her.

Nodding her head, Anne decided she would make the man refuse to marry her. Just like she’d forced her father to disown her, she’d force this man to jilt her. Then, her father would have to allow her to live out her life as a widow. Certainly, no other man would have her afterward.

How hard could it be to follow through with the plan?

The man already found her atrocious, as his furious eyes and condescending tone had said earlier. Just wait until he learned she had not one child, but three. And, Blackbeard’s ghost, what a disagreeable wife she’d make.

She didn’t have the first inkling of how to be a domesticated woman. Sure, she’d been trained at a young age to run a household, but all of that had been forgotten—and had bored her to tears—after she’d sailed off with Rackham. She didn’t sew, knit, darn, or had even the faintest idea what to do with a needle, other than to stitch up a wound.

Her skills at the proper cleaning of the household or cooking were sorely lacking. She’d always gotten her food from the galley on the ships she’d sailed or the disreputable taverns she’d visited. Keeping her body clean, and the ability to take care of herself . . . now, those were skills to which she excelled. Shooting a pistol, cleaning a sword, and protecting her body were skills she’d been able to hone and become quite an expert.

She patted her ankle for the small dagger she kept on the inside of her boot.

Some habits were hard to kick.

No, she’d never make a suitable wife for a proper English lord.

Nor, did she wish to become one.

With her new course of action, Anne strode over to the crib near the window. A peek inside showed the two infants kicking their chubby legs about, both having a fist in their rose-colored mouths.

“Hello, my darlings.”

Her voice sent their arms and legs flailing, and their eyes to focus directly on her. Her breasts thumped with the familiar ache, she reached for Garrett, adjusted her gown for access, and placed his mouth near her throbbing breast. He began sucking immediately, and a jolt of love and a slight pain assailed her.

She smoothed his hair with her free hand as he suckled. He was hungry, but began to close his eyes with contentment almost immediately.

Freddie cooed from the crib.

Dare she try to nurse them at the same time? Glancing behind her to the door, she made certain no one stood there. She also took a quick look at Eliza to see she still slept soundly. Not one to shy away from a challenge, Anne pushed down the top of her gown so both breasts were now freely accessible to the hungry babes.

Garrett still sucked vigorously from the right. With her free hand, she reached down and, scooped up Freddie in the crook of her arm. Turning, she spotted an empty chair near the open door.

Closing the door with one foot, she sat in the vacant chair, made sure Garrett was adjusted properly, and guided Frederica’s open mouth to her other exposed breast.

Anne smiled, sighed, and let her head fall back against the chair in relief and contentment. There was nothing like feeding her children. The amount of love she felt for them all could not be described in words.

The time she sat there, suckling her children, allowed her to calm down and think of a scheme to annoy her father’s choice of husband.

She’d have to think of many ways to scare him off, for she had witnessed, herself, the stubbornness of the Englishmen in Nassau. Besides, what had bloody-well led him to agree to marry her?

Her father mentioned he was in need of a wife. Someone to give orders to the household servants and organize soirees, no doubt. He would be sorely disappointed in the woman he’d taken on as wife.

After both babies had their fill, and both snoozed in her arms, she cradled them a little longer before placing them back in the crib. A good hour had passed since Lord Blackhurst had uttered his rude demand.

Re-adjusting her gown so her breasts fit snuggly inside, Anne realized she’d have to make her visit to Elizabeth Browning, the woman from her father’s letter. She’d promised an entire wardrobe, if those words could be believed. The proper attire for a woman of Charles Town would take some getting used to, she knew. But, she would also make sure she had a side wardrobe that would shock some sense into the Englishman. That would surely aid her in scaring him off.

The typical fare of her previous profession of long coat, breeches, vest, boots, and hat should do the trick nicely, and it was one, to which, she had become well-accustomed.

Who wanted a wife who dressed so brazenly?

A smile escaped.

Anne marched from the nursery and back around the landing, then found another set of stairs leading down to the level below. The servants’ stairs would lead her directly where her silent companion had been led for the duration of his stay.

She would find Raphael and have him accompany her to Miss Browning’s home, and then figure out how to go about purchasing the men’s attire she’d require for part of her scheme.

The second story remained quiet as she bypassed it upon the stairs. At the bottom, the room opened to the kitchens and a large pit stood directly across from her. The delicious smell of meat roasting above the fire caused her belly to growl. Although the heat poured from the flames, the entire lower level maintained a habitable temperature due to the fact the floor, ceiling, and walls were built entirely of a white-colored stone. Several open doorways led from the kitchen in all directions.

A few slaves busied themselves in the kitchen, all with chocolaty, brown skin. Many of them gazed in her direction with raised eyebrows, but kept at the duties they were performing.

Anne noticed they wore soft clothing, pastels or whites that were an airy, light fabric. The shirts had puffed sleeves, wide necklines, and the skirts were long, but did not include voluminous underskirts. They looked positively comfortable and cool.

Taking note of some of the items she wanted to purchase for herself, she ventured down the hallway to which Sarah had ordered Raphael earlier. She peered in many opened doors to see if Raphael were inside, quite impressed by the cleanliness and ample space of each room. The servants were certainly treated nicely and respectfully here at Cranford Hall.

Each servant’s room had a small window, comfortable bed, dresser, and a small side table with a chair. She wondered if the servants’ accommodations mirrored those in typical English manors.

Not having any success finding Raphael this direction, nor any sight of Sarah, she retraced her steps, heading down another hallway. Perhaps Sarah would be taking stock in the storeroom. She could inquire of her companion’s whereabouts.

She found Sarah and Raphael at a table, munching on bread and cheese. The older man chomped methodically, his eyes lighting on her for a moment before resuming his avid attention back to his plate.

Sarah’s eyes met hers. “What are you doing in the kitchen, Miss?” Her mouth turned down as she chewed.

Anne rolled her eyes and took a seat at the table on the opposite side of the pair. “You act as if I’ve never been in a kitchen before. I suppose I’m not allowed in here?”

Raphael continued to eat, hearing the conversation but paying them no heed. Of course, he had that same stoic expression on his scarred face as when he’d rescued her from her prison cell, even while devouring his bread.

Sarah grunted. “You’re allowed anywhere in this house, but your kind aren’t supposed to want to come in the kitchen.”

Anne chuckled.

“My kind? Why, whatever do you think I am? Certainly not a proper English lady. Do I sound English to you?”

She raised a brow at the older lady. Did she believe Anne some kind of aristocracy, or a pompous, titled person like Lord Blackhurst?

Narrowed brown eyes stared pointedly at her. “I can’t say that I rightly know, Miss, but I do hear some Irish when you’re being surly.” She thought for a moment. “Only, I didn’t think an English lord would marry just anyone off the street.”

If Anne could smile any wider, it would have been a feat. “Oh, but I am just anyone off the street.”

English lords preferred titled ladies to wed, after all. This was just one more reason for him to excuse himself from the wedding.

Sarah’s brows rose for a mere second, then her tone lowered to a grouchy level. “Can’t say that surprises me, what with your brazenness, I guess.”

Anne gave her a nod. Now, if she was a proper lady, and Sarah truly thought her so, the older woman would never deign to speak to her in such a forthright way.

She tapped twice on the table with the palm of her hand. “So, I need a carriage.” How was that for brazen?

“Whatever for?”

Anne raised a brow. Her father must have thought her really in need of a firm hand. The woman was deadly for speaking her mind.

“Does it matter? I’m to be the woman of the house, aye?” She’d not survived on a pirate ship for so long not knowing how to use any means necessary to get what she wanted. Even fibbing about becoming the lofty lord’s wife.

“Aye.” Dark eyes narrowed.

“Well?” Anne found her temper slipping at the outright mulishness of the housekeeper. She’d name her next mule Sarah.

The lady sighed, a dramatic sound worthy of any theatre. “Very well.” She glanced to Raphael, who, of course, sat silently awaiting his next order. “You’ll find Lord Blackhurst’s carriage in the stable. I’m sure he’ll not begrudge his future bride the use of it.”

Anne tried not to bristle at being called a bride, even after referring to herself in such a manner just moments ago. Instead, she jumped up from her seat with a rush of energy.

Raphael rose after her, stalking out the side door of the kitchen.

“Thank you, Sarah. I shall return before dinner.”

The older lady’s head shook back and forth. “We eat at five, Miss. Do not be late.”

“Oh, I shall not.” Anne smiled as she followed Raphael through the door to the side yard, deciding to annoy her future husband, even more, by being late.

The barn doors were open, and the sunlight filtered in to rest near the bay horse that Anne assumed pulled the carriage. Raphael stepped forward and grabbed the reins from a hook on the wall. She grinned at him and he grunted, a typical response she was coming to know quite well from her bodyguard. From this point forward she would take the forced sound to mean aye, Anne, you’re always right. She smiled briefly at her cleverness.