The Pirate's Desire (14 page)

Lucinda looked down. “Yes. You could say that.”

“Then behave like the sweet young lady you are when he returns. Riel is a good man. He’ll listen to your wishes and treat you with respect. Do the same for him. He’ll take good care of you. You need only trust him.”

And that was the crux of the matter. Lucinda wasn’t sure how far she should trust Riel Montclair. Although she knew for sure—and was relieved—he wasn’t a thief, the rest of his life remained a closed, shadowy book.

How much did Sophie know of her great-nephew’s past? Was she aware of the secret he still hid from the Royal Navy? What about the dark something she sensed from his past? Perhaps they were the one and the same secret.

If Sophie did know his secrets, she undoubtedly loved him enough to overlook them all.

Crowning all of these uncertainties, however, was the fact that Riel Montclair disturbed Lucinda deeply, every time she saw him. And she wasn’t sure why, dark secrets aside.

“I will try,” she told Sophie now. “But I cannot promise roses in winter.”

“An interesting analogy.” The older lady eyed her. “But you will try?”

After a moment, Lucinda said, “Yes.” A difficult admission, but wasn’t she almost eighteen now? Time to put the past to rest. And time to fully accept that Riel would be her guardian, and the trustee of Ravensbrook. That wasn’t to say she
wanted
him to be her guardian. But it was high time to move forward. To grow up and accept what she could not change. She just didn’t know what her future, with Riel in her life, might look like.

“Good.” Sophie pulled another sheet from the packet. “He included a note for you, too.”

He did? Fingers suddenly trembling, Lucinda accepted the folded parchment. Her full name,
Lady Lucinda
was penned across the front in a bold script. Riel had written to her. For what purpose?

She flipped the edges open.

August 16, 1812

Lucy,

I know you hate it when I call you Lucy, but I cannot think of you by any other name, for it is how your father always spoke of you.

I do not like the circumstances under which we parted. I do not want enmity between us. When I come back, I would like to start again, if you will allow it.

I remain, ever yours,

Riel

Odd flutters beat in her breast. She took a steadying breath and refolded the parchment. Riel had asked again for a new start. Would she allow it? What might that relationship look like?

A flush warmed her skin and she placed the note on the table. What was wrong with her? Why did peace with Riel feel far more dangerous than war?

“Well?” Sophie spoke up. The bright blue eyes looked shrewd.

“He wants a fresh start, as we were talking about.”

“And will you give it to him?”

Lucinda willed her pulse to settle back to a normal rate. Perhaps she’d been out in the sun too long. She gave a small nod. “I will do what I can.” It was all she could promise.

September and October passed, and on October 29
^th
, before nudging into cold, drizzly November, Lucinda turned eighteen. Mrs. Beatty fussed mightily over this special birthday, and she turned it into a delightful celebration by preparing Lucinda’s favorite meal of chicken, mashed potatoes and lemon cake. A few close friends, including Lucinda’s oldest friend Amelia, who had been visiting northern England during Commodore Hastings’ funeral, came to share in the celebration. Sophie gave Lucinda a book on gardening, which Lucinda received with delight. She missed the absence of her father keenly on that day, but the presence of both Amelia and Sophie helped to diminish the pain.

November slipped into December, but no further letters arrived from Riel. Lucinda sensed that Sophie was beginning to fret about her great-nephew’s safety again. Rumors circulated every day of ships down, and men lost. Could Riel and his ship become one of those casualties? Or had it already happened, and they hadn’t yet heard?

* * * * *

December, 1812

With the advent of cold weather, Sophie suffered more breathing attacks, which left her gasping for air. Coughing spells always brought on these frightening episodes. Sophie told Lucinda that the cold weather exacerbated her bronchorrhoea every year. The attacks scared Lucinda to death. Sophie’s blue face and her short, panting breaths sped Lucinda’s heart up to a panicked crescendo. The spells often happened when Sophie walked about the house.

A particularly bad spasm happened in mid-December. Lucinda had steered the gasping Sophie to a comfortable chair, but as much as Sophie leaned back with her eyes closed, the fast trot of her breathing didn’t slow. Her face slowly turned purple, and Lucinda began to weep.

“Mrs. Beatty!” she cried out. “Mrs. Beatty, come quickly!”

The housekeeper ran out of the kitchen, swiping floured hands on her apron. “What is it, miss?” And then she saw Sophie. “La, Lady Sophia!” She pressed the thin, birdlike hands between her own worn, capable ones. “We’re right here with you, my lady. Don’t fret. All will be well.”

Gradually, Sophie’s breathing slowed to normal, and her face lost its bilious hue. Instead, it looked gray and wan.

“I’ll fetch tea,” Mrs. Beatty said at once, and bustled back to the kitchen.

Sophie lifted her hand, and let it flop back down. It was clearly too much of a strain for her to complete the action. “I wish to lie down. Lucinda. Would you fetch…”

“I certainly will. I’ll be right back.” Lucinda called for Effie, who ran for her strapping young man from the stables. Henry carried Sophie as gently as a butterfly to her room. Sophie’s maid, who had been given the morning off, returned shortly thereafter and tucked up the old lady into bed. The doctor arrived, and left looking serious. He said she needed complete bed rest for two weeks. He also recommended that Sophie hire a nurse.

Lucinda crept back in the late afternoon to see how Sophie fared. To her relief, Sophie sat propped up against pillows, sipping tea.

“Oh, my goodness, I’m so glad you’re all right,” Lucinda exclaimed, and impulsively ran and carefully hugged the older lady. “I was so afraid…”

Sophie smiled. But up close, Lucinda saw that gray still tinged her face. Worry beat a staccato rap against Lucinda’s ribs. “The doctor said…perhaps a nurse would help.”

“No nurse!” Sophie snapped sharply. “It would feel like an angel of death hovering over me all the time.”

Lucinda bit her lip. Tears formed in her eyes. Sophie reached for her hand and patted it, her expression softer. “Don’t fret, child. I’m too ornery to die yet. Besides, I told Riel I’d be here when he returned, and so I shall.” The familiar frown pinched her brows, and Lucinda felt a sudden, intense surge of irritation with Riel. Why hadn’t he written to his aunt again? How could he allow her to suffer worry like this?

“I’m sure we’ll hear from him soon,” she said instead, and changed the subject. “Doctor Greer said you’re to have complete bed rest for two weeks.”

“Pooh,” Sophie said promptly. “Perhaps a day. Maybe two. Life is too short to waste lying abed, closed off from the world. No, thank you.”

“But he’s a doctor. Don’t you think he knows best?”

“I’m sure he
thinks
he knows best. But I’ve learned doctors don’t know every blessed thing. I’ve proved a dozen wrong. According to them, I should be lying in a coffin by now. No. I’ll keep living life as I see fit.”

Lucinda smiled. “I hope I have half your spunk at your age.”

A bit of Sophie’s old sparkle twinkled back. “You’re on your way, child. I think you and I are more alike than you think.”

Lucinda was glad her friend was doing better. But soon it would be Christmas. Sophie had said nothing, but it was easy to guess she wanted Riel home for Christmas.

At least he could send a letter!

Riel, where are you?

Lucinda had never thought she’d do it, but right then she winged a prayer heavenward that Riel would come home soon. Solely for his aunt’s sake, of course.

* * * * *

December 23, 1812

Impatience bit into Riel as he watched the snowy countryside slowly roll by. The Navy’s missions had taken far too long. And still they had scheduled another operation for after Christmas. Napoleon’s forces had retreated from Russia and been decimated on their return journey home. The Royal Navy wanted to press the advantage during this opportune time. Just Riel’s luck that the
Tradewind
was one of the fastest clippers in the world. Perfect for spying and firing on enemy ships.

The Royal Navy paid him well for his trouble, but Riel unfortunately did not have the option to say no to their “requests.” Either he com
plied, or else
the
Tradewind
would be impounded. Riel wouldn’t allow it. At least this way, the Brits were pleased with his service, and less likely to go poking into his past, looking for reasons to seize his ship.

Soon the war would be over; at least, Riel hoped so.

He’d felt anxious leaving both Lucy and Sophie on their own for so long. He was supposed to be Lucy’s guardian, but instead he’d been
skimming the Portugese
coast, playing war games with his old homeland.
Bonny, give it up,
he thought grimly.
Enough already.

Would he find all was well when he reached Ravensbrook? Was his aunt in good health? He knew winter was the worst time for her. And what of Lucy? Would she give him a fresh chance to be a part of her life?

Riel hated how he’d left her. Furious with him. Humiliated. He hated that he’d made her feel such things. When he reached Ravensbrook today he hoped he’d find the glimpses of the Lucy he’d seen before that last, disastrous confrontation; a caring young woman who’d been concerned for his aunt before she’d even met her. A young woman capable of deep love and loyalty, evidenced by her wretched grief for her father and the affectionate, considerate way she spoke with Ravensbrook’s staff. He looked forward to her feistiness, too.

But no more tests. No more battles. Riel was weary of both, and hoped Ravensbrook might be a place of rest for him during the next year and a half. He’d been uprooted so many times in his life; from France, and then from ship to ship. Iveny was a home, but he still saw it as Sophie’s. And the townhouse in London felt like an empty shell. Fool that he was, part of him longed for Ravensbrook to be a true home for him. A place where he could gather his strength before venturing back into the world.

A harsh chuckle caught in his throat. A useless fantasy, unless a certain blond spitfire decided to share Ravensbrook with him.

Riel dropped his head against the back wall of the carriage. No. He was likely leaving one war zone and entering another. Perhaps he should rest for the battle ahead. Still thirty minutes to go.

Lucinda stood
on a ladder, hanging the last of the delicate, glass blown ornaments on the fragrant Christmas tree. Late afternoon sunlight glinted in the large room, reflecting off the snow outdoors. Sophie was taking a nap, and Mrs. Beatty put the finishing touches on supper. Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve.

She tied the last ornament to the branch and surveyed her work. Glass baubles of red, yellow and blue shimmered on the tall, perfectly formed fir tree. A delicate angel of gold leaned forward, her wings outstretched, as if trying to peer down into the family’s Christmas and see what it was all about.

More Christmas items, carefully saved, year after year, decorated the room. An ancient porcelain nativity, which had been her grandmother’s, rested on a small secretary. Golden candlesticks flanked it. Christmas greenery, along with red bows and mistletoe, decorated every corner of the parlor, morning room, dining room, study and ballroom. Already Wilson had laid a fire in the grate and its warmth licked through the parlor.

Lucinda loved Christmas. Like a child, she still expected bright, wondrous things to happen. It always seemed like anything was possible at Christmas time.

She returned her attention to the tree. It looked perfect…except one glass horse was crooked. Carefully, she adjusted it, and then smiled.

“It is beautiful.”

Lucinda froze. That deep, accented voice. Her heart set to bumping so fast she felt it might hammer right out of her chest. She turned so quickly that her foot slipped on the ladder. With a cry, she wobbled, and in that moment Riel dropped his bag and lunged forward to catch her.

She fell hard against him, but he didn’t stagger. Hard muscles rippled against her, and in that moment she felt the raw strength of him, holding her as if she were a feather.

“Riel.” Warmth scorched her cheeks, and he allowed her to slide down so her feet touched the floor.

Dark eyes glimmered down at her and the faintest suggestion of a smile tugged at his lips. “Lucy.” The one word was surprisingly gentle.

She stepped back. “What…what are you doing here? We received no note. Your aunt has been so worried!”

“My mission ended. I thought I would get here faster than a letter.”

For some reason, Lucinda couldn’t stop herself from scanning every inch of him. She’d forgotten how very big he was. His broad, muscular shoulders filled out his superfine black jacket, and as usual, his cravat-less white linen shirt left the strong, tanned column of his throat exposed. Dark gray breeches accented the lean cut of his hips.

Further warmth scorched Lucinda’s face and she jerked her gaze back to his face, in a heartbeat taking in his black hair, still pulled back in that barbaric pirate tail, his eyes, such a dark, dark brown, and the faint stubble at his jaw.

Lucinda drew a quick breath and stepped back another foot. Why couldn’t she form a coherent thought? At last, one flew to mind. “Your aunt will be relieved to learn you are safe.”

“And what of you, Lucy? Or do you still hate me?”

Lucinda licked her lips. She did not hate him. But he did unnerve her, as he had done from the beginning. She lifted her chin. “I am ready to begin anew, if you are.”

He smiled, and she almost didn’t recognize him with laugh lines crinkling from his eyes and a groove dimpled into his cheek. “Truce?”

“Provided you give me no reason to regret it.”

He laughed. “Feisty Lucy. I have missed you.”

He had? Lucy watched him pick up his bag. How like him to carry his own baggage. Well, he must, since he had no valet. An unconventional man, but she had known that from the beginning. It was one of the reasons why their rapier clashing of wits was so invigorating…and so maddening. She never knew what to expect from him.

He headed for the door.

“Dinner is at six,” she offered.

Riel grinned over his shoulder, and butterflies took wing in her stomach. She heard his boots clomp up the steps.

Lucinda sat down hard on a nearby stool. What in the world was wrong with her? It was as if she hadn’t seen a man—any man—in months.

Well, truly, she hadn’t. At least, no eligible men. But
Riel
certainly was not eligible.

Good thing she and Sophie had planned a big Christmas party for tomorrow night. It had been too long since she’d socialized with others of her own age. A few young men she knew would come, and while Lucinda was still too young to enter the marriage mart with any serious intent—since her father had requested she wait to marry until she was twenty—Lucinda could certainly have fun in the meantime. And fun she would have, dancing with
those
young men.

It had been months since any sort of gaiety had entered her life. Months since her first Season in London. Christmas might prove to be very exciting indeed.

* * * * *

After Riel unpacked, he went in search of his aunt. He passed Lucy, hard at work in the study, arranging evergreen bows on the mantle. She’d drawn her lower lip between her teeth, and she looked very serious about her task. He smiled to himself, remembering her manner of greeting him home. Falling into his arms.

He grinned, knowing it wouldn’t have been her choice of greeting at all. But the satisfaction he’d felt, holding her small, soft body against him for that one moment, while she stared up at him with those big blue eyes, kicked through him again. He’d felt completely certain in that moment that Lucy did not hate him at all. Her eyes had roved over him afterward and pink had touched her cheeks. Something about him had set her back on her pretty little heel.

Riel chuckled. Maybe Lucy had not intended to greet him warmly, but he felt warmly greeted after all. The few days he could spend at Ravensbrook should prove interesting.

He knocked on his aunt’s door.

“Who is it?”

Did Sophie’s voice sound more weak and quavering than before? He cleared his throat. “It is Riel.”

A gasp and a clatter sounded. Then a rapid shuffle and the door flung open. “Riel!” His aunt flung herself into his arms and he held her tight, feeling the short, gasping breaths that shuddered through her thin frame.

“Aunt Sophie,” he said gently. “You need to sit.” Without waiting for her to protest, he scooped her up and carried her to a comfortable chair. He pulled up another beside it so he could sit and talk to her.

To his surprise, Sophie slapped his hand the instant he sat down. “You naughty, irresponsible boy! I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“I’m sorry, Auntie,” he said softly. “I’ve been at sea for the past few months. Mostly off the coast of Portugal.”

The bright blue eyes glimmered with tears. “Still, you naughty boy. Worrying an old woman.”

“How are you?” His stern expression urged her to tell the truth.

She fluttered her hand. “My health is no better, no worse. I don’t wish to speak of it. Tell me about you. Are you well? Have you seen Lucinda?”

He smiled. “I have.”

His aunt’s gaze sharpened. “And does that smile mean peace exists between you at last?”

“One step at a time, Auntie.”

“She’s a fine girl, and I count her one of my dearest friends now. Don’t you dare hurt her. I know how callous you can be sometimes.”

“Has she told you tales of my wicked deeds?”

“No. Are there more?”

Sophie knew about his past, and thought of it the way Lucinda’s father had. He felt grateful for Sophie’s blind love and support, although he knew he didn’t deserve it. “Lucy might think so.”

“Put it in the past. She’s agreed to give you a fresh start.”

Riel nodded. It confirmed what Lucy had already told him. “She told you that, too?”

“Well, she said she’d try. And that’s the best anyone can do.”

Riel smiled faintly. “The next few days should prove interesting.”

“
Days?
Gabriel Montclair, don’t tell me you’re leaving in a few days.”

“Spies say Bonaparte’s forces have retreated from Russia. They suffered grave losses. We must press to the finish.”

Sophie twisted a ring on her finger. “Are you in danger, out on those wild seas?” she asked bluntly.

Riel didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to worry his aunt still more.

Sophie swatted at his hand again. “Stop looking at me as if a dash of truth might do me in. Always give me the truth, no matter what. Promise me.”

“Yes. It is dangerous. But
Tradewind
is one of the fastest ships in the world. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not a fool. I can see the truth, even when you hide it.”

Riel smiled and said softly, “I’ll be fine, Auntie. Don’t worry.”

Sophie nodded. “Help me to the dining room. Supper’s about ready. Then I want you to tell me all about your adventures.”

* * * * *

Lucinda dressed with care in her favorite lemon and cream dress for dinner. The mourning period for her father was over, and she was glad, for she was sick to death of the dismal black. Bright, fresh colors suited her far better, and they lifted her spirits as well. And as far as mourning her father—she always would. It made no difference what color she wore.

“You look beautiful this evening, miss,” Effie said with approval. The maid loved to arrange Lucinda’s hair just so, but usually Lucinda didn’t want to take the time required to achieve Effie’s works of art. Tonight she did. She wanted to show Riel how much she had matured. How sophisticated and grown up she was, at long last. She wanted to make it clear she was an adult now, and fully capable of running her own life.

Lucinda looked in the mirror at her long blond hair swept up in curls and coils, with tendrils kissing her cheeks. Thanks to Effie, she looked older than her eighteen years. Maybe she even looked twenty; the effect she had wished to achieve. “Thank you, Effie.”

Lucinda slowly descended the stairs to the dining room. So many conflicting emotions continued to churn in her about Riel’s return. First was the alarming way he’d caught her in the parlor. And how she’d felt in his arms. Lucinda refused to think long on that. He had startled her, that was all. Fright from her fall had scrambled her brain.

Riel, for all the polished veneer of civility he wore, was not a man with whom to trifle. It remained to be seen if peace could exist between them. She’d try, as she had promised Sophie, but if he vexed her, or made unreasonable, autocratic demands, she would be unable to help the consequences.

Sophie and Riel already sat in the dining room. Riel sat at the head of the table, with Sophie on his right side. Lucinda chose to sit on his left, across from Sophie. His presence sent prickles of awareness dancing down her skin.

This would not do, not at all. Lucinda focused on smoothing her napkin across her lap.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Lucinda?” Sophie exclaimed, patting Riel’s hand. Her eyes sparkled as they hadn’t in months. “Our dear boy is home!”

Lucinda cast an uncertain glance at her guardian. Riel was hardly a boy. Instead, every inch a man.

His calm, level gaze met hers, and a hint of a smile curved his mouth. “I think Aunt Sophie still thinks I am four years old.”

“Pooh,” Sophie retorted with a smile. “But you’re just as precious to me now as you were then.”

Red touched Riel’s blunt cheekbones.

Delighted, Lucinda said, “What was he like as a boy? Always into scrapes? Playing with frogs?”

Riel smiled, and Sophie laughed merrily. “I only visited him once, before the French Revolution started. He was four, and cute as a bug with his black hair and mischievous twinkle. He was forever running off into the forest, catching bugs, and digging ditches to see the water run by. His parents had a pond and he floated boats made of leaves and bark across it. Even then the sea ran in his blood, I suppose. His grandfather—my brother—was a sea captain in England long ago.”

Lucinda asked Riel, “So you always wanted to go to sea?”

“After my father lost my home in that poker bet, it seemed the only thing to do.”

“Didn’t you have relatives you could go to?”

“I felt ashamed. Because of the French Revolution, we’d lost our title. My father lost our land. I wanted to prove I was a man and could make it on my own.”

“And so you did.”

After the briefest hesitation, he raised his glass to his lips. “And so I did.” A shadow blackened his gaze, and then it vanished.

Lucinda wondered about that dark look. What events from his past could still shadow his present? What secrets was he hiding? The ones he didn’t want the Royal Navy to discover?

“Has Lucinda told you?” Sophie chirped up. “We’re having a big bash tomorrow night. We thought Christmas Eve would be the perfect day, since people will want to be home on Christmas day.”

“A party?” Riel glanced at Lucinda.

“A ball,” she corrected.

He sent his aunt a frown. “You haven’t exerted yourself, have you?”

She fluttered a dismissive hand. “Of course not. Lucinda and I planned everything together, which was the best part. Then I let her and Mrs. Beatty do all the real work.”

Riel returned his attention to Lucinda. “Mr. Chase approved the funds?”

“Of course.” A bit of irritation prickled. “I’m not irresponsible.”

Mildly, he said, “I did not mean to imply you were.”

Lucinda fell silent, and fingered her fork. Riel was barely home and already he was asking questions and clearly distrusting the wisdom of her decisions. It bothered her, and it hurt.

“You know, Riel—Mr. Montclair—Ravensbrook has survived just fine without you here. We’ll manage just as well when you leave again.” Lucinda dared to push it a bit further. “You
are
leaving, aren’t you? When might that be?”

Sophie stared at her; probably shocked by her atrocious manners. Lucinda’s gaze tangled with Riel’s dark one.

He took a while to respond. Then, quietly and softly, he said, “Shall we rekindle the war, Lucy?”

“No. But please respect my decisions. Mr. Chase and I have handled things just fine for the last six months. I want you to trust that between the two of us, we might possess a brain that equals yours.”