The Pirate's Desire (22 page)

April, 1814

One morning
in early April, Lucinda read to Sophie from the book of Proverbs. Sophie sat propped up by pillows all hours of the day and night now. It was the only way she could breathe. Her ankles and feet had swollen to three times their normal size, but the quilt covered them from view, protecting her fragile hold on dignity. The foxglove plant did not work as well anymore. And if Sophie took more, she felt nauseous and didn’t eat. So Riel’s aunt had decided to continue her original foxglove regimen. The alternative would only hasten her death.

Right now, Sophie’s eyes flickered open and she appeared to be listening. This encouraged Lucinda to read on. When she paused to turn the page, Lucinda heard the front door close, and then the butler’s voice in the hall. Then the rumble of a deep, accented voice.

Lucinda bolted to her feet. Riel!

She ran out of the room, Bible still in hand.

Riel. In the flesh, talking to George, the butler. Lucinda went very still and her eyes drank him in. Joy and relief washed through her. He stood larger than life. As always, bigger than she remembered. Still, he wore his black hair in that tail and a cravatless white linen shirt. His tan pants cut lean lines down his strong legs and his superfine, dark blue jacket emphasized the broad, muscular power of his shoulders.

In a flash, Lucinda remembered every time she had been close to him: dancing with him, and when he’d carried her up Iveny’s stairs, holding her close. She remembered the raw strength of him. The determined, unbending, indomitable force that was this man, her guardian.

Breaking out of her involuntary trance, she flew toward him. At that moment, Riel saw her. Those black eyes shot through her with the force of a cannon.

Her steps faltered, her heart thumping. “Riel.” No other words came to her mind.

Without a word, he strode for her. A frown knit his brows together.

Lucinda stopped, confused, as he approached. Why was he frowning? Then he shocked her still more when he cupped her face with his big, calloused hands and his black gaze scanned every inch of her features. Her heart fluttered in her breast.

His warm hands felt comforting.

“Lucy, what have you done to yourself?” Concern rumbled in his deep voice.

She relaxed a bit. “Nothing. I’ve just been sitting with Sophie…”

“All the day, every day? Attending to her every need?”

“Yes.”

Anger flashed. “Lucy.”

She frowned back. “This is a fine greeting, Riel Montclair!”

“You look white and exhausted. Like death.” His voice scraped like rough velvet.

She gasped and pulled free. “I do not!”

“You have not been taking care of yourself.” His knuckles gently brushed her cheek.

Lucinda relaxed again and allowed her gaze to tangle with his dark one. He cared for her. At last, she understood him a little. That was why he behaved like a boor sometimes. She offered a tiny smile. “I missed you too, Riel.”

A smile gentled the straight slash of his mouth. “And I you, Lucy.” He leaned close and dropped a kiss on top of her head. “But you must take care of yourself.”

Heart fluttering, Lucinda pulled back. “Sophie’s worse. She requires a lot of care.”

Determination steeled his features. “It is enough, then. I will hire a nurse for her.”

“No!”

He strode toward Sophie’s room. “How is she? I received your letter and came as fast as I could.” He stopped in the doorway to his great-aunt’s room. Shock, followed by anguish, contorted his features. Just as quickly, he masked it and knelt beside the bed. “Aunt Sophie.” His tanned fingers enfolded her small, withered scrap of a hand.

Sophie’s eyes opened and a spark flared to life—one Lucinda hadn’t seen in weeks. “My dear boy,” she whispered. “I…knew it must be you when Lucinda ran off like that.”

Riel glanced at Lucinda, but she could not read his expression.

A paroxysm of coughing seized Sophie’s frail frame. Tears burned in Lucinda’s eyes by the time it finally quieted. Each time it happened she feared that Sophie would not recover, or that the fluid in her lungs would deepen so much that she would suffocate to death.

That helpless fear skewered worry through Lucinda again and again all day long, every day. The grief she felt, knowing she could do nothing for her friend but spend time with her was intolerable. This past winter, Lucinda had begun to pray more than ever before in her life; for Riel’s safety, and for Sophie. If Sophie could not recover, she prayed that her last weeks would be happy, and that she would die in peace, surrounded by those she loved. At last, Riel had arrived home safely. One prayer answered so far.

“Do not speak.” Riel’s voice sounded rough. “Know this. I am home for good, Auntie. The war is over, and the Navy is finished with my ship.”

Sophie smiled and raised her hand a fraction, grasping for Lucinda’s, which she quickly held tight. “Lucinda has taken the best care of me. I am glad you’re home, Riel. We both are.”

Riel spoke a little about his long missions, and then Lucinda felt she should leave the two alone to visit. Quietly, she excused herself and retreated to her room to splash water on her face. Did she truly look so awful?

One look confirmed she did. Her eyes looked wide and sad, and her skin pallid. And she felt exhausted. She hadn’t slept well in ages. Although Sophie’s rooms were located downstairs, her cough woke Lucinda again and again, all night long, and knotted her heart with worry and fear. Sophie would not allow Lucinda or her maid to attend to her at night. She said they needed their rest. True. But Lucinda still could not sleep.

Now that Riel was here, perhaps she could take a nap. Lucinda stretched out on the cotton quilt and instantly fell asleep.

* * * * *

Riel joined Lucinda, who felt much refreshed, for supper. “It is arranged,” he said. “Sophie has agreed to hire two nurses.”

“Two?”

“One for the day and one for the night. You need your rest, Lucy.”

Lucinda felt relieved. The nurses would know what to do for Sophie—more than she did, that was for sure.

After a swallow of wine, Riel said, “It’s not necessary to hover by her bedside every minute of the day. It is not healthy.”

Lucinda trembled with quick temper and slapped her napkin down on the table. “Says who? You?”

“You have done too much. Sophie’s sickness is killing you, too.” The gentleness of his voice undid her, and tears spilled down her cheeks. They came all too readily these days.

“I can’t bear to see her suffer like this, Riel. I want to do something to help her feel better, but I can’t. All I can do is talk to her or read to her.”

“Continue to do those things, then. But take time for yourself, too.”

Lucinda picked at her food. “Is the war truly over?”

“It is only a matter of days.”

“Thank goodness.”

“You are happy to have me home?” That dark gaze held hers, and she sensed a deeper question there. One she was not certain how to answer.

She
was
happy he was home. More glad, perhaps, than she wanted to feel. He still unnerved her more than she liked. And certainly, she still knew none of her enigmatic guardian’s dark secrets, either. But she would speak the truth.

“Yes. I’m relieved you weren’t killed or injured. And I’m glad you’re here…to help me with Sophie.”

“It has been a heavy responsibility. Thank you for taking such good care of her, Lucy.”

“I would do nothing else,” she said quietly.

“Your father would be proud of you. You have developed into a caring and selfless young lady.”

“At last you admit I’ve matured? That I no longer need a guardian?” Her spirit quickened. She enjoyed baiting him. In fact, she had missed him terribly, she realized with a pang in her heart. She was so glad he was home.

He smiled, too, surprising her. “You need a protector. And I will be yours.” Riel forked a bite of meat into his mouth.

“Jonathon calls you my saber rattling guardian.”

“Good. Then he will keep his place,” he said grimly.

Lucinda frowned. “I need to collect suitors, not scare them off.”

“I will separate the wheat from the chaff.”

“
I
will do that, thank you. I will choose my own husband.” Then a thought that had been tugging at her heart for some time spilled out. “But perhaps I should wait until next Season to find a husband. I can’t leave Sophie here, suffering and alone, while I go off to dance and flirt at frivolous fêtes and balls.”

“You surprise me more every minute.”

“That I have finally grown up?”

“Sophie wants you to go to London.”

Lucinda blinked with surprise. “Did she tell you that?”

“Yes. She’s afraid you will refuse to go. She asked me to insist, and to convince you to do so.”

“But…” Tears sprang to her eyes. “I can’t leave her here alone. I won’t!”

“It is her wish.”

“No. I will not.”

Riel remained silent for a moment. “I do not know if she is well enough to transport to London.”

“We do not need to transport her. I just said I will stay here. And that is the end of the matter.” Lucinda bit off a crust of bread. Riel could not force her to go to London, and well he knew it.

“I will speak with Sophie about it.”

Lucinda said nothing. In her mind, the battle was finished. For once, she would have her way, and Riel could do nothing about it.

* * * * *

The next morning, Lucinda found Riel in Sophie’s room. Their heads were close together, and they appeared to be deep in conversation. She stepped back. “I’m sorry. I’ll come back later.”

“No.” Riel said. “This concerns you. I was just about to tell my aunt of your stubbornness, Lucy.”

Sophie glanced from one to the other of them.

“Auntie, Lucinda refuses to go to London. She wants to stay with you.”

A flash of tired spunk sparkled in Sophie’s eyes. “Then pack up my paraphernalia. I’m going to London.”

“No, Aunt Sophie! I am happy to stay here.”

Weak and sick as she was, Sophie set her jaw in a stubborn line. “It is my last wish.” She fixed Lucinda with her bright blue eyes. “Do not deny an old lady her dying wish.”

“But you’re comfortable here. And the move cannot be good for your health!”

Sophie coughed, long and painfully. Then, “What difference does it make? I am going to die, Lucinda. I would rather do it with you and Riel close by.” She coughed for an excruciatingly long minute. Each sharp, wheezing cough felt as painful to Lucinda as a nail piercing her own heart.

Sophie continued on, as if uninterrupted. “And knowing you are enjoying yourself…will make it all the more palatable for me. You can come and tell me…all of the ton doings every day. It will cheer me considerably.”

After this long, halting speech, Sophie coughed for another long minute, and turned an alarming purple. Helplessly, Lucinda stared at the obstinate older woman.

At last she said, “If you insist, Aunt Sophie.”

“I do. Now, you and Riel arrange it all. I need to rest.”

Lucinda kissed Sophie’s forehead, and followed Riel out. After the door closed, she crossed her arms and glared. “
Now
are you happy? This trip will be the death of her. I just wanted to stay here and keep her company!”

“She wants you to go to London. Aren’t her wishes important?”

“Of course. But she can’t risk her health. I’ll go, if she insists, but it would be best if she stays here.”

“Did you not hear her? She has made up her mind to go to London. By now you should know that when Aunt Sophie makes up her mind, there is no changing it.”

How well Lucinda knew this. She frowned at him. “Like a certain nephew of hers.”

He smiled. “Exactly. Pack up. We’ll leave day after tomorrow.”

“But I have no new dresses!” Still, Lucinda dug in her heels.

“We will commission several made the moment we reach London. They will be my birthday gift to you.”

Lucinda blinked. An extravagant birthday gift, and highly inappropriate, too. “It’s not fitting for a man to buy a woman a dress…unless she is his wife.” She then blushed hotly. Why had she said such a thing, and why did she blush so? It mortified her, but she glared at him, trying to hide it.

“I am your guardian. It is my job to see that your needs are provided.” A faint grin tugged at his lips.

Aggravated, she said, “And you care nothing about social mores, do you? Pirate that you are!”

“I am a barbarian through and through, Lucy. It is the man I have become, and the man I will remain.” His own man, in other words, and one who refused to be swayed by society’s persnickety rules. A dangerous man, then, for Lucinda never knew what to expect from him.

“Finally, you admit it.” Frustrated beyond measure, she impulsively goaded, “Will you also admit to the deep, dark secrets of your past?”

His muscular shoulders stiffened slightly. “The past is of no concern to you. Only your future matters. And I will happily guide your steps until you find a man worthy of you.”

“Hmph. We will see about that.”

Riel smiled. “Yes, we will.” He turned on his heel and left her there, steaming.

Must he always have the last word? Not in the final, ultimate battle, Lucinda determined. She would choose her own husband. Riel’s qualifications for “suitability” would not stop her from marrying the man she loved…a man of her own choosing.

And one thing was for certain. That man would be nothing like Riel Montclair. Her husband would be kind and caring, and eager to grant her every wish. This was the type of man she desired. All bossy, arrogant men would be struck from her list.

London was already
in a social whirl when they arrived in mid-April. News of Napoleon Bonaparte’s recent defeat added an air of gaiety to the entire town. Lucinda felt relieved, because it meant Riel would not need to sail on any more dangerous missions. He would not leave again, and she was glad. For Sophie’s sake, of course. And the Silk Scarf Rapist had not struck since last year. All of London had relaxed and now enjoyed the entertaining Season.

Lucinda found Riel’s townhouse to be large and comfortable, and she loved her room, decorated in creams and lace with accents of pale yellow. Fresh yellow daisies filled a vase on her dresser. A similar bouquet graced the dresser in Sophie’s room, which was decorated in crisp whites with sprigs of blue. It suited her to a “T.”

The trip had been difficult for Riel’s great-aunt, but she seemed no worse now than at Iveny. Lucinda was grateful for that, too, and she found herself looking forward to the first tea party, which would be late that very afternoon. Amelia and her mother would attend, as well.

First, though, Lucinda had an appointment this morning with the modiste. As she’d decided to order all of her gowns at once, the appointment would take some time. Of course, Sophie couldn’t come, so it was just Riel and Lucinda in the carriage…most improper, of course, but Effie had a stomach bug, so there was no help for it.

Lucinda felt very self-conscious as Riel opened the door for her to enter Madame Batiste’s modiste shop. It seemed most inappropriate for him to be there—as if he were her husband. In truth, that’s what she feared Madame Batiste would think.

The modiste’s initial greeting alarmingly confirmed this fear. The stout woman wore her black hair upswept in an intricate, tangled do. Her glasses dangled from a cord around her neck and bumped against her ample bosom as she hurried forward to greet them. “Madame, Monsieur Montclair.
Entre, s’il vous plaît!
”

French had been one of Lucinda’s better subjects at Miss May’s, so she understood Madame Batiste all too clearly. Her face flamed. “
Non,
” she said quickly. “Monsieur Montclair…”

“Is happy to help my lady choose her dresses,” Riel interjected smoothly, and directed a surprisingly charming smile at the modiste.

Madame Batiste beamed. “But of course. And you have need of how many gowns, my lady?” she fixed black, beady eyes upon Lucinda.

“Eight,” she said faintly.

“Bon. Sit, sit.” She hurried through a dark doorway.

Lucinda sat beside Riel on a small wicker bench. Her face felt hot, and she hissed, “Why did you let her think that we’re…we’re…” She couldn’t say the word.

“I believed it would make you feel more comfortable.”

“More
comfortable?
” Lucinda edged away from his large, disturbing body. “Yes. I am truly comfortable now, pretending a great pirate like you is my husband!”

“I fail your requirements?” She did not care for his smile. He enjoyed this, the wolf!

“I believe honesty is the best policy.”

“As do I. But you do not wish to endure Madame Batiste’s disapproving glances and wagging tongue throughout this entire ordeal, do you?”

“Of course not. But…”

“I will tell her I am your guardian, if you wish. Madame Batiste…” That good lady had returned. “Lady Lucinda would like to make one thing quite clear…”

“Yes!” Lucinda interjected quickly. “I want no black or brown colors. They are drab, and I despise them.” She felt Riel’s amused glance, but ignored him.

“Of course, Madame.” Madame Batiste elevated her nose. “I would not dream of such colors for your complexion. You are best suited for blues and yellows and pinks. All in the pastel hues, of course.”

“Of course,” Lucinda said. She had never met a modiste so certain of herself. To believe her airs, she’d just arrived from the fashion capital of Paris. “What gowns are fashionable this Season?”

The modiste and her helper presented an array of plates showing different gowns. Afterward, the French modiste drew Lucinda’s attention to a few sample gowns on display in her shop. Several appealed to Lucinda, so Madame Batiste urged her to try them on. She said she would tuck them up with pins so Lucinda could see what they’d look like, fitted to her form.

Lucinda did not like the first one she tried on, but Mrs. Batiste nodded in approval of the second. Pins prickled from her lips as she nipped and tucked the garment to fit Lucinda. At last, she nodded with approval. “Show your husband, Lady Lucinda. I am sure it will please him.”

Lucinda couldn’t very well say she didn’t care what her “husband” thought. She’d taken the easy route, and chosen a lie of omission. This would be her punishment for her sins, then; parading her entire wardrobe before his untutored, pirate eyes. What did he know of fashion?

Holding her head high, she exited the dressing area and swept in state before Riel. “What do you think?”

She didn’t think he would pay the slightest attention. Clearly, fashion meant little to him. Yes, he seemed to possess several fine new jackets, but the rest of his wardrobe remained the same. Tan pants, white linen shirts, and black boots.

To her surprise, Riel’s eyes raked down her form, as if inspecting a potential new scow. Nerves prickled up over her skin…over every place his gaze touched.

“The lines become you,” he told her, and his dark eyes met her own. A flare of heat scorched her at the barely veiled compliment. “Perhaps gold would suit for this dress. It looks like an evening gown.”

“Exactly as I thought!” crowed Madame Batiste. Her lips curled into a smug, cat who’d found the canary smile. “You are lucky to have a husband with a keen eye for what suits you best. Come. Try another gown.”

Lucinda tried on six gowns, and approved six plates. She liked ten in all, but Riel praised eight the most highly. Although she wasn’t sure why she craved his approval, she narrowed her choices to the eight they both liked. Riel said little while she discussed colors and fabrics with the modiste. He seemed satisfied with the gowns she had chosen, and that seemed to be enough for him.

Madame Batiste appeared extraordinarily pleased with the large order, especially when Riel paid half of the amount immediately. She escorted them from the shop with a beaming smile and a promise that the first would be ready in a few days.

Lucinda felt pleased with her purchases and bounced into the carriage with a dreamy smile curving her lips. She imagined wearing her new gowns to the upcoming balls and fêtes.

“You will capture the eye of every eligible bachelor in town,” Riel said. He sat across from her, with his long legs stretched out before him. His black boots just missed the edge of her gown, and Lucinda’s heart thumped once, hard, in her breast. Why must his close presence always affect her so?

“The more suitors, the better,” she returned. “I want to find a husband in the next few months.”

Silence elapsed. “Then I will have my work cut out for me.”

“What do you plan to do?” A tiny frown furrowed Lucinda’s brow. “I will do all of the work. I will dance and chat with them to see who is most suitable for me.”

“But I must check their backgrounds. You do not want to be pursued only for your money, do you?”

Taken aback, she said, “I am not rich, Riel. Remember, I’ve seen the accounts. Why would you say such a thing?”

“You see only the stipend your father’s trust pays the estate each month.”

She blinked, confused. “What are you saying?”

Riel named a sum that the bank held on her behalf, as well as investments and other properties her father owned. “It will all be yours when you marry, Lucy. It’s my job to make sure you marry a man not only worthy of you, but a man competent to run a vast estate like Ravensbrook.”

Lucinda gasped. “Truly, Riel? All that money will be mine when I marry?”

“Yes.”

She tried to digest this new, overwhelming revelation. Now she understood why Riel felt so responsible for her, and determined to honor his oath to her father.

“Thank you for telling me. I will keep that information in mind while I search for my husband.

“That is why I will help you choose. You will have no second chance if you choose wrong the first time.”

“I will listen to your opinion,” Lucinda agreed. “But know this, Mr. Montclair.
I
will choose my husband. Not you.”

“I will approve of him, or you will not marry.”

Hard-headed, as always. Lucinda sent him a narrowed look, but pressed her lips together and said nothing. Words held no sway over Riel Montclair. Actions would prove her ultimate victory. Then Riel would finally comprehend that she was the captain of her own fate. Not him.

* * * * *

Lucinda’s first gown, a light blue, silk organza confection with silver threads, was ready in time for her first ball of the Season. She had enjoyed several tea parties, but she disliked sitting still for long periods of time at those affairs. She’d much rather dance. And far more possibilities for husbands lurked at the balls. Heaven knew, she needed to find an acceptable man within the next few months. At least, she did if she wanted Riel Montclair out of her life by her twentieth birthday. And she did, of course.

Butterflies danced in Lucinda’s stomach when they arrived at the ball. This was the Season she’d looked forward to for her entire life; the sparkling one, where she’d at last meet her perfect man and fall in love. Now only to find him.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” Amelia said. “Look at all the new people here this year.” She looked pretty in a lavender satin dress with lace appointments. Several men had already signed Amelia’s dance card.

Lucinda had tucked her card up her sleeve. She’d rather choose the men she danced with this evening. That meant flitting to the ones she most wanted to become acquainted with, and demurely batting her eyelashes. Perhaps it wasn’t proper, but was definitely more fun. She felt encouraged by all the new faces, too. Perhaps she’d find her future husband this very night!

“Come with me,” she hissed. With a tug at Amelia’s arm, she scooted in the direction of a tall young man neither had seen last year. “Get your card ready.”

With a wry smile, Amelia trotted in her wake. “What would the Baron think of your behavior now, Lucinda?”

“Does it matter? He’s outside talking to a shipping magnate.” She planted herself in front of the new young man. “La.” Lucinda fluttered her fan. “Oh! I beg your pardon. I thought I had made your acquaintance last year. Please, do excuse me!”

The young man grinned and bowed. “But I am pleased to make your acquaintance now. I am the Earl of Hart, Donald Tinsley.”

Lucinda charmingly introduced both herself and Amelia, and secured that fine gentleman’s signature upon both of their dance cards.

“See?” she giggled, and hurried on. To her surprise, a male hand plucked the card from her hand.

“Aha!” The Duke of Warrington’s
green eyes laughed down at her
. “You have left only six dances for me, Lady Lucinda. I assure you, that will not be enough.”

“Jonathon!” With pleasure, the breath caught in her throat as she gazed up at the charming rake she hadn’t seen in a year. As always, his chestnut hair was styled in the latest fashion, and his tailored clothes impeccable. “You may take two dances, if you so insist.”

“Two?” He
tsked
over that, and signed his name with flourish to her card, and then Amelia’s. Then he cupped Lucinda’s elbow. “If I may steal your friend, cousin?” And then he steered her to the punch table. “Where have you kept yourself this past year?” he aske
d, filling a crystal cup
.

“I’ve been mostly at Iveny with Aunt Sophie. Her health is not good.”

“The Baron’s aunt? Is your charming guardian in attendance this year? Or will you require my protective services again?”

“I am here, Warrington.” Riel’s deep voice commanded their attention, and a small frown furrowed Jonathon’s brow.

“Splendid. Then I may relax and enjoy Lucinda’s company. Our two dances this evening will be a start.”

“Have you any slots left, Lucy?”

“A few.” Reluctantly, she handed her card to Riel, who signed his name. To the last dance, she noted with a touch of exasperation. Thankfully not a waltz this time, but rather a quadrille.

Jonathon eyed Riel. A pensive expression narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure we didn’t meet years ago, Montclair? Seeing you again, I feel certain you’re familiar to me.”

Tension stiffened Riel’s large frame. His assessing—perhaps wary—gaze settled on Jonathon. “Not likely. I’ve spent most of my life at sea.”

“Where?” The cruel twist to Jonathon’s mouth indicated he knew that he’d made Riel feel uncomfortable.

Did he relish it? Lucinda felt disturbed, for it seemed so. Certainly, there was no love lost between the two men. Riel disliked Jonathon for some unknown reason, and Jonathon clearly resented it.

Riel shrugged. “All about. The Mediterranean, Italy, Spain.”

Jonathon shook his head. His eyes glinted a cold, dark jade. “Perhaps somewhere else.”

“I think not.” Riel’s cool voice sounded final.

Lucinda glanced from one to the other, and wondered about the strange tension thrumming from Riel again—like the last time Jonathon had asked that same question. Had Jonathon indeed seen Riel before? But where? And why would the idea disturb Riel?

“Perhaps you are right.” Jonathon glanced at Lucinda, and his usual charm chased the darkness from his eyes. “Would you like a glass of punch before the dance begins?”

“Perhaps a sip of water.” Jonathon cut between herself and Riel, and with a light touch at her back directed her to the crystal pitcher filled with water. Lucinda felt it was a rude dismissal of Riel, and sent him an apologetic look over her shoulder. He watched Jonathon, his black eyes hard.

Her first dance partner claimed her hand soon after, and then more young men, including the questionable Fredrick from last year, asked to sign her dance card, and she allowed them. Evidently Amelia had decided to give Fredrick another chance, too, for she presently danced with that young man. Fredrick had gained a little weight over the past year, and the beginning of jowls softened the jaw line of his handsome face.