My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1) (9 page)

Chapter 8

Liquid heat. That was how Anne would describe the feeling that traveled from the rapid thumping of her heart, through the fluttering in her stomach and down below. She swallowed; his smile sent a jolt of lust, shocking her senses and stealing her breath. So many emotions coursed through her—terror, fury, and arousal.

The white flash of his teeth, full lower lip, hawk-like nose, and mesmerizing silvery eyes beckoned her with a mischievous sparkle.

She’d not intended to be so offended by his assumption that Jack had been her husband, nor had she intended to spout the truth about the circumstances. Addison had not shown any shock at her words, only a slight irritation passed through his piercing gray eyes.

However, the topic at hand had given her an idea on how to discourage the fine, arrogant—yet charming and handsome—lord into running the other direction. What better way to scare him away than the truth?

Well, mostly truth, and omitting the specific criminal activities.

She’d not tell him she was a wanted pirate, but she’d shock him with some of her life experiences. A right and proper lord of the realm would be hard-pressed to find any stories more adventuresome, scandalous, and downright unnatural.

But, how far to go? She swallowed down all the truths she wanted to impart, and decided to go slowly.

The coaxing, charming smile he gave her increased the thump of her heart and fluttering in her stomach. Anne flipped her braid around with her hand in as much of a feigned display of indifference as she could muster under the circumstances. She studied the deep red ends for a moment likening them to the color of the fire building in her.

“I was married, it is true. And, my
husband
is dead, do not doubt it.” Raising her eyes to the flashing steel of his, she placed the braid in the cleavage displayed by the tightness of her floral stomacher. Heart thundering, his eyes traveled to where the ends of the braid touched her breast. His eyes met hers once again, a heat resting there in the glittering depths, his pupils dilating.

Hoping her fingers did not shake with her growing anxiety, she took her spoon and dipped it into the soup, the warm liquid—so much like that which pooled in the lower parts of her body—helped take her eyes from his.

“
Mr.
Morgan preferred men. So, I ran off with someone who enjoyed the same pursuits as myself.” She took a sip, peeking at Addison beneath her lashes to see his reaction to the scandalous declaration, shrugging her shoulders and pretending to be bored with the subject.

Addison leaned back in his chair, studying her hard, the heat of his eyes never leaving her face. Was he waiting for some sign that she spouted lies? He would be shocked to find out it was the entire truth, all but the name Morgan.

She waited for him to be offended or scandalized, to storm from the room, yell, and call her a harlot. Instead, he shrugged and reached for his spoon.

“That is unfortunate for Mr. Morgan.” He continued to eat his soup, his eyes never leaving her face, the heat of them penetrating some inner layer of her psyche. Reaching,
seeing
.

Anne shifted in her seat uncomfortably, disturbed by his unusual response.

“Certainly a lord should not marry someone so scandalous. I realize reputations are considered important to the realm.” She kept her gaze steady; knowing in her heart Addison Blackhurst hadn’t behaved in a manner suitable for any lord she’d ever heard of. Propriety had, so far, not been his main concern when dealing with her.

His eyebrows rose, a sparkle appearing in the steely gray of his eyes, his full, lower lip lifting in a lopsided grin. The hammering of her heart picked up its staccato beat.

“I rarely conform to the behaviors of my peers or to the realm, for that matter.”

This statement rang true as his eyes traveled blatantly from her mouth down to where the line between her breasts disappeared beneath her gown.

Another collision of heat pooled in the center of her stomach, and in her cheekbones. The man would be the death of her. Not unknown to the caresses of a man or what to expect from coupling, Anne had never felt the sensations now coursing through her body. Desire and lust were two emotions she had trouble recalling so vividly. Any prior experience with attractive males had not included her mouth suddenly going dry, her knees shaking, or the butterflies flitting around in her belly and below.

The way Addison devoured her body with blazing eyes, and the entrancing lift of his lips signaled visions of making love. And, the notion more pleasing results would ensue during the act than her last forays into sexual encounters had her legs trembling.

Making love with “Calico Jack” Rackham had been anything but pleasing for her. She’d suffered the quick, and oft rough, lovemaking because she had been so smitten with the roguish pirate. The episodes had her wondering why men desired the feel of a woman under them so frequently. Of course, he’d found his release easily enough, but she’d never gained any pleasure from the coupling.

Staring at the handsome lord before her, a rush of powerful desire spread throughout her limbs with a languid flourish—a foreign feeling in all her years, yet not uncommon it seemed in the presence of Addison Blackhurst.

She met the sharp silvery-gray of his eyes as they caressed her body, and smiled—tamping down the urge to run from the room in absolute fear. Instead, the memory of the unceremonious way his hand had smacked her bottom in the driveway sent her heart racing.

She must stick to the idea of encouraging him to default on his promise of marriage, regardless of the hunger she suddenly had for him to kiss her senseless.

“I am not a lady. Shouldn’t a lord, such as yourself, marry into your station or on the same level? Like a Duchess or a Countess.” Thoughts of kissing him, trailing her fingers along his neck and arms, was one of many reasons proving why she was not a lady.

“Anne, I’m not interested in a title or what the peerage of England deems an appropriate
lady
for me to marry.”

The second course arrived as their eyes stayed fixed on one another. The two colored women worked diligently, paying no attention to the heat Anne felt so keenly in the room.

“I assure you, I’m no lady.” Addison did an admirable job of backing her into a corner. The need to back off a bit so she could think properly on her next strategy was in order. For one, her wanton thoughts lowered her wits. Two, the lord marrying beneath his station did not appear to be making any mark on her forward momentum.

The steaming roast chicken one of the servants placed before her smelled quite delicious and had her mouth watering for food, even though it had just been desiring something else entirely. Anne broke eye contact with Addison to reach for her napkin and placed it on her lap. She caught him doing the same and she smiled at her plate.

“This smells delicious, thank you.” Delcie, Anne thought her name was, grinned, showing perfectly white teeth, her frizzy, gray curls bobbing as she nodded her head. Both women quickly left the room.

Alone with the insolent man again, friction filled the room like smoke curling and wafting between them. The man frustrated and excited her at the same moment, and she desperately needed to tamp down her attraction to him.

“I’m more concerned with making certain this household prospers, my family prospers, and my business runs well.” He chewed for a moment, swallowed and pointed at her with his fork. “That is why I need a wife. Your uncle so pleasantly insisted you needed a husband.” He shrugged as if that were enough incentive for him.

Chewing on his words and her chicken, she refrained from swearing. Instead, she moved the conversation in a more neutral direction.

“How do you know my uncle?” Not wanting to meet his fierce eyes for the moment, she focused on cutting up her chicken.

“We’re both in the shipping and merchant business. It’s not uncommon for two such gentlemen to frequently be in the same room together. He suggested I needed a wife to help with the large home I was constructing, and knew of a right handy one.”

“I’m not sure my uncle quite knows to what he’s speaking.”

Their eyes met again and Anne could feel her temper flaring at the highhandedness of her father. How dare he do this to her without speaking with her first?

Addison’s eyes took on a sympathetic gleam and he began to focus more on his dinner. Anne sighed in relief, her temper still simmering, but glad for the small respite in conversation.

They ate in silence until their plates were clean. He cleared his throat.

“Would you care for a drink?” He stood and motioned toward the exit, his muscular arm flexing in his jacket. She recognized an olive branch—and a horribly bad idea—when she saw one.

Anne shook her head, not trusting her voice to speak. Spirits did not bode well for her mind or body whilst in the presence of such a compelling man, and who had already set her blood on fire. No, imbibing near him was not the grandest idea.

He smiled, a knowing smile, as if he knew she fought the desire he had sparked in her.

“Of course. I’ll leave you to your evening, madam.” He bowed to her, his smile still in place. “Thank you for the lively conversation. Until tomorrow.”

He opened the door into the hall, but turned to her before exiting. “I forgot to mention it, but we will be attending a dinner engagement tomorrow evening with a long-time friend. I hope you do not mind the late notice. Be ready by five.” Without hearing her answer, the door banged shut.

Anne’s temper flared again. Men! Presuming they could order her about . . . some things had not changed.

She would show him, and knew she would have the perfect opportunity tomorrow evening.

By no means, was she a fit bride for a wealthy lord.

Chapter 9

Addison had spent the evening with a snifter of brandy in hand, and awakened with another splitting headache. A habit he’d acquired since meeting Anne Morgan. He’d awoken in a daze but managed to have a bath drawn. In no time, he was freshly bathed and sitting in his shipping office in Charles Town. He made significant progress with a rice trade shipment, but an inability to spare the paperwork any attention failed to elicit his proper elated response.

Instead, he continued to mull over the fiery redhead who invaded every waking moment of his brain. Her cheeks had been tinged crimson, from desire or anger he was unsure, but the shade added light and fire to her emerald eyes, and the long, dark color of her lashes swept her cheeks as she had avoided his gaze.

The semi-crumpled paper in his hand proved difficult to read, even when reading and re-reading the text. The words were blurry as his concentration centered more on the vexing female under his roof.

His fiancée.

Growling, Addison placed the piece of parchment on the desk before him, grabbed his jacket, and exited the office. He must clear his head of her, quickly. Never before had he been so consumed by a female. Before he knew what he was about, he found himself aboard
Ares
, his fastest and most reliable merchant ship. Only manual labor could push his bride to the back of his mind—for the time being.

Addison spent the afternoon stacking crates of rice and tobacco in the hold of his ship, solidifying the camaraderie with his crew and mates. By late afternoon, he’d spent a good hour in
Jolly Jack’s Tavern
enjoying ale with his first mate, and nearly forgetting the dinner Henry had so abruptly ordered upon him.

With no more than a few hours to spare to return to Cranford Hall, he raced from the tavern and to the longboat awaiting him along the river. Assisting Artie with the rowing allowed him a few extra moments at the house to help John ready the carriage and the horses for the half-hour ride to Henry’s plantation. He arrived in the entryway of the hall with few minutes to spare. He surveyed the room, but all was quiet. Five o’clock had gone by a half hour ago. He wondered if she had even bothered to dress for the dinner party, or if she planned to intentionally cause them to be late.

Gnashing his teeth together—another new habit he’d attained—he determined she probably thwarted him on this as well. Needing to wash the dust from his hands and face, and to change into proper dinner attire, he bounded up the stairs and into his sitting room.

After quickly stripping out of his clothes and washing up, he picked out an adequate vest, trousers, and hose for a dinner with friends. He then dipped both hands in the washbasin and ran them through his hair, tucking any stray strands behind each ear as necessary.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door once more and descended the stairs.

“For someone so concerned with time, you do find it difficult to keep to it yourself.”

He lifted his gaze to the entryway, and sucked in a breath. The raw beauty of Anne Morgan stopped him in mid-stride. Vibrant and elegant, the gown hugged every curve and enhanced the deep, rich sunset tones in her fiery hair.

A pulse ticked in his neck that traveled all the way to his groin. The sudden urge of desire, and his hurried state, making him surly.

“We’re not late, madam. I said five because I know how you favor being late.” His words sounded harsh, even to his own ears.

Her eyes narrowed and her full lips began to move in a silent curse. Had she had something available, Addison was sure she would have tossed it at his head.

Anne clenched the fabric of her gown in both hands and turned to throw open the door. She stormed out into the evening and down the front steps, muttering things beneath her breath the entire while, the Irish brogue present on every word.

Her braid bounced upon creamy, round breasts that were near bursting from the top of the gown. He was a bit uncomfortable at Henry seeing such a beautiful display during their visit.

John took that opportunity to bring round the carriage and stopped before his fiancée, still spitting curses and pacing the drive. He stifled a grin at the ease it took to get under her skin.

Addison stepped forward and opened the carriage door.

“Shall we?” Extending a hand to Anne as she stepped forward to help her into the carriage proved just as interesting. She glared at his hand, raised her chin, and swept right past him and into the interior of the carriage. She fumbled with the voluminous skirts until she was able to fully step inside.

“Bloody Englishman.” She’d not whispered the words. Said them clearly enough, John could’ve heard the uttered curse.

Fighting the urge to laugh, and adjusting the smile he could no longer contain, he bounded through the carriage door and plopped down opposite her on the cushioned seat.

She stared out the small window, ignoring him, her chin jutted out, arms crossed inelegantly across her bosom.

Addison took in her delicate features in the waning light of sunset, its rays illuminating the riot of colors in her simple braid. He was quite surprised she came along willingly to dinner with someone she’d not met. It would have been less of a surprise had she been nowhere to be found this evening. She had no desire to marry him, and he was unsure why she remained in his home.

A sudden unease filled him. She’d said he didn’t want to marry someone like her. Why would she believe that? Was it her past? He was determined to unravel the mystery that was Anne. First, he’d need to make certain she knew she’d be safe, and her children would be safe. Looking at her, sitting so stiff and distant, he knew protecting her would be difficult, but it was an urge he could not fight. She had to open up to him. But, how to approach the subject? Nothing seemed to work so far.

The carriage jolted forward and down the drive.

“Where are we going?”

Still gazing out the window, her question surprised him. He was sure she was prepared to ignore him the rest of the evening, his penance for being late.

Addison sat back and crossed his feet at the ankles, deciding Henry Iles to be a safe topic.

“A plantation not too far from Cranford Hall. A good friend and fellow merchant, Henry Iles and his wife, have invited us for dinner. They had, uh, heard about you and wanted to welcome you to town.”

“How lovely. I shall be delighted to meet them.”

Seeing Anne ‘delighted’ just might be a treat. He raised his brows. What was she up to?

He shrugged it off for the moment.

“Henry has been very helpful in getting my business going. We’re going to be combining our shipments to increase trade and efficiency.”

“What do you trade?”

It was true they’d yet to speak of Cranford Hall and how the property came to be. He leaned forward and she tensed up, squeezing herself further back into the seat.

“We cultivate and trade rice. It’s been very difficult for some to begin in the rice trade here in Charles Town, but I’ve managed to make it profitable. Henry is into tobacco. We’ve just been able to expand our ventures into India and the West Indies.”

Some emotion played across her features, but she quickly shifted in her seat and let her gaze fall on his face. The directness in her green eyes and curiosity gave him pause.

“How long have you been farming rice?”

“Just over two years now. It was quite an undertaking.” He smiled at her interest.

Turning her head back to the window, she ignored his coaxing smile.

“Then, you met my uncle.” Her tone left him no doubt she wasn’t the least bit impressed by the outcome of that meeting.

“Being one of the most successful merchants in Charles Town, it was imperative I meet him. He has helped more than you know.” The land had helped him.

The wife . . . that was yet to be determined.

Studying her as she gazed out the window, he admitted her profile—even the stubborn set of her jaw—portrayed a raw elegance, sophistication even. Unconventional, forward-thinking, and presumably able to meet and overcome the stoutest of obstacles, Anne Morgan—if she’d allow it—just might make an interesting wife.

Anne dared not turn her head, knowing he studied her. Why else would she have tiny gooseflesh tingling along her arms and neck?

“Your uncle has helped you as well.” The deep timbre of his voice propelled delicious feelings straight to her core. His topic, her father, did nothing for the continuance of those feelings. He’d given her the ability to fully be a mother instead of a prisoner. But, he’d failed to ask her, first, how she’d like to accomplish that. He’d simply given her over to this man who, for all he knew, could have abused her or her children.

Although, the arrogant Brit irritated her, he was not an unkind man, nor was he abusive.

“Aye, more than you will ever know.”

Trees and brush flew by the window, darkness masking the colors of summer. There was no reason to stare out at the scenery. The hour was becoming late.

Turning back to face him, Anne knew she’d find those intense, gray eyes upon her, a chiseled jaw, straight nose, and full lips sending that tumultuous fluttering into the belly.

Not turning away was difficult, but she managed it. His lips lifted in one corner as if he were amused by her thoughts of his handsomeness—at least that’s what she heard in her head.

It was time to change the subject. Something much safer than talk of her father, and thoughts of how giddy Addison made her insides, or just how frustrating those feelings were.

A deep breath helped.

“You’re trading your crop after harvest. Do you sail?” Sailing. A topic she could safely discuss.

His lips pulled apart with a grin.

“Aye, captaining my ships is a large part of my business. I have three ships, two out while one is in port, to keep the cargo moving in a good flow. I try to sail with one as much as time allows.”

“Have you had the pleasure of sailing much?” His eyes focused on her mouth.

She resisted the urge to touch her fingers to them, licking them instead. His eyes darted to hers.

“Aye, many times, in fact. It happens to be one of the more freeing activities I’ve found.” His dark brows rose high.

“Fascinating. What were you sailing for?”

Opening her mouth to respond—and to how she would have responded, she wasn’t sure—there was no time to speak. The carriage halted and Anne’s attention was drawn once again to the window. Lanterns held by two gentlemen stood near the entrance of a large plantation home, not unlike Cranford Hall. In the darkness, all she could make out were steps to the large porch, and the pillars stretching from that point to the roof of the third floor of the brick structure.

The carriage door swung open and Addison stepped down.

“Welcome, friends!” A deep male voice greeted them in the lantern light. Addison returned the greeting, and Anne grimaced as his hand reached inside to help her down. She grudgingly allowed him to assist her to the ground, and gave their neighbors a bright smile.

Henry Iles returned the grin, white teeth flashing, and Anne wondered if every male in Charles Town were as good-looking as the two men who stood before her.

Golden hair, clubbed back with a ribbon, sun-bronzed skin, chiseled jaw and nose, and sparkling eyes stared back at her. A few silent moments ticked by.

“Mrs. Morgan, it is a great pleasure to meet you.” He shot an awkward glance at his friend. “Since Addison has been so remiss in his manners, I shall introduce myself.”

His warm hand grasped her fingers as he bowed. “Henry Iles, at your service.”

She allowed her full smile to blossom as he straightened. Henry’s brows rose and he gave a quick look to Addison. Anne followed his gaze to see his lips pursed together and those steely eyes on her face. She turned back to Henry as he extended an arm.

With a grace she hadn’t tapped since her days living with her father, she placed a hand on his proffered arm. “Please, call me Anne. I’m delighted to be here.” Addison stepped in behind them and they climbed the steps to the porch. “I’m so glad for your invitation. I am in need of other company.”

Henry laughed as they walked through the entryway. A very beautiful, dark-haired lady stood smiling at them. Her crisp, sapphire eyes turned up at the corners, dark lashes fanned above. “Oh Henry, stop charming the girl.”

Anne laughed as Henry’s wife stepped forward, lacing her hands through Anne’s arms just as Henry removed his elbow. “I’m Isabel, and I don’t know what I’m going to do with him. It’s a wonder I allow him to leave the house.”

“You’ll have to tell me your secrets.”

Isabel leaned in close, her voice lowered. “No, you’ll have to tell me
your
secret, Anne. How
ever
did you snag Addison Blackhurst?”

Anne dared not turn her head, but was guided by Isabel into a dining area of the house. How
had
she snagged him?

“I’m not sure what you mean?” Isabel guided her to a chair, and the men were not yet following.

“Oh my, you must know that every single female in Charles Town has dreamt of gaining his attention.”

Anne’s look of confusion must have gotten through to her. “I’ve not been in Charles Town for many years.”

“You honestly do not know? Hmmm.” Isabel smiled unsteadily and sat opposite her, placing a napkin in her lap. “It’s of no matter, really. Just curious is all.”

Not wanting to continue along this path, Anne needed to change the subject. She had no idea how to explain the manner in which she and Addison had met. They’d not discussed that particular area of their relationship, and she was at a loss for words on a plausible story.
Ex-pirate, rescued from prison by my father who arranged a marriage?
No. She’d have to figure out a good story if acquaintances were brazen enough to ask questions.

“Addison said he and Henry have been friends since he arrived here. How long have you two been married?”

Isabel smiled, a blush coloring her cheeks. “We’ve been married going on five years now. I’m quite possibly the luckiest woman.”