The Pirate's Desire (4 page)

“My aunt is in frail health. Besides, your father asked me to watch over you and protect you. That is what I will do.”

“But why?” she said in a reasonable tone. “If it is a promise to my father that is holding you back, I release you.”

“My word was to him, not to you. I will fulfill my promise.”

“But why? Why on earth would you agree to be my guardian in the first place?”

A long pause elapsed. “I owe your father,” he said quietly.

“Why? What did you do?”

“More like what he did for me. The fact remains, Lucy, I will stay here. I will be your guardian, and take care of Ravensbrook. I must return to my ship at the end of this week, however. It will take two weeks to make repairs and put her in dry dock. Then I will return here for good, and I’ll stay until you are safely married.”

He had called her Lucy again. Lucinda crossed her arms, not caring that she might look like a belligerent child. “I require no guardian, Mr. Montclair. You will quickly discover this is a complete waste of your time.”

A smile glimmered. “I hope that is true. Then my next two years will prove agreeably pleasant.”

Lucinda frowned. His next two years would prove entirely
un
pleasant if she had anything to say about it. In fact, the next week would be so disagreeable that he would sail away, never to return!

A faint smile crept to her lips. By hook or by crook, Gabriel Montclair would flee from Ravensbrook before the week was out. Painful though it might be, she already knew the first step to eradicate him from her life.

Her plan was almost laughably simple. The solicitor would receive no letters from her father. She would make sure of it, and then Riel would possess no legal grounds to stay. He would ha
ve no choice but to depart from
Ravensbrook for good.

An end to this current, unfortunate episode could not come quickly enough for Lucinda. And if somewhere in her conscience doubt niggled, she ignored it. She was doing the right thing. Definitely. Lucinda did not trust Montclair one inch, and already she itched most fervently for his dangerous, disturbing presence to vanish from her life.

But first, she must discover more information. “Mrs. Beatty said Father wrote her a letter, as well. Did he send any other letters with you?”

He regarded her shrewdly. “Another for his solicitor. I will pay him a call tomorrow. Mrs. Beatty has been kind enough to tell me how to find him.”

When the solicitor received that letter, there would be no turning back. She would need to act quickly.

Riel said, “One matter remains to discuss.”

“Hmmm?” Lucinda pulled her mind away from the delicious, exciting plot roiling in her head. It had been some years since she’d attempted anything so daring. Her heart pumped faster, just thinking about it.

“Your father. His body will arrive tomorrow afternoon. I assume you will wish to make arrangements for his burial?”

Lucinda’s thoughts fell to earth with a thud. “Yes… Yes of course. I will need to speak to Pastor Bilford in the village.”

“You can ride to town with me tomorrow when I see the solicitor.”

Lucinda did not relish the thought of traveling anywhere in Gabriel Montclair’s close, disturbing presence. But she did need to see Pastor Bilford. Better yet, if all went according to plan, Riel would never visit the solicitor at all. Instead, he would immediately return to his ship.

However, her former optimism failed to return. Her heart felt like a lead weight in her chest. Lucinda had never planned a funeral before. She had been five when her mother had died. Perhaps Mrs. Beatty could give her advice. That was a good plan, for she needed to speak to the housekeeper on another subject, as well. If handled delicately enough, the conversation might prove quite fruitful indeed.

Lucinda signaled for the next course she did not want to eat. Riel Montclair did, however. He ate all of his food—a great deal of it—with obvious appreciation and enjoyment.

Enjoy it while you can,
she thought.
Ravensbrook will not feed you for much longer.

After supper, Lucinda
found Mrs. Beatty in the kitchen, banking the fire in readiness for the next morning. Riel Montclair had retired to the parlor with a small snifter of brandy, and one of Father’s books. Happily, he was unaware of her plot.

“Mrs. Beatty, supper was delicious.”

The housekeeper sent her a sharp glance. “I trust no more rolls ended up on the floor.”

“Of course not.” Lucinda could have felt offended, but the housekeeper had been like a mother to her for the past twelve years. Besides, she deserved the gentle rebuff.

Mrs. Beatty straightened, and dusted her hands on her apron. “Why don’t you like the Baron, miss? Your father sent him to watch over you and Ravensbrook. A blessing that is, to be sure.”

Lucinda didn’t want to get into an argument with the housekeeper. Perhaps to Mrs. Beatty’s way of thinking, Father’s solution would seem like a relief. A man would continue to run things until Lucinda was married. However, Mrs. Beatty had not experienced Montclair’s rough hands on her wrists, and she was also blissfully unaware of the man’s probable pirate associations. Lucinda could not allow him to run Ravensbrook.

At the crux of it, Lucinda wanted to know
why
Riel had offered to manage Ravensbrook in the event of her father’s death. Had her father asked him, or had Montclair volunteered himself? Unless Lucinda could discover firm, unassailable evidence to Riel’s good character—an unlikely prospect—his motivations remained suspect. Therefore, he must go, and speedily. At all cost
s, she must protect Ravensbrook
.

On a more personal note, she also could not bear the thought of Riel—or any other man, if she were honest—ruling her life, or most especially dictating her choice of suitors. She would marry for love, whether the man was “worthy” or not, according to
ton
strictures. Her father had always been able to see the value in people, no matter who they were—title or not. Who knew what sort of guidelines Riel might try to institute for her suitors, and for every other aspect of her life?

She shivered. After living in utter freedom, as she had done for the past two years, and frankly, for most of her life, Lucinda could not countenance the thought of a stranger—particularly a savage, she reminded herself, rubbing her faintly sore wrists—wielding a scepter of authority over her head. No. And that was why she was here now.

“Mrs. Beatty, did you say Father wrote you a letter, as well?”

The housekeeper reached into the front pocket of her apron and pulled out a parchment similar to Lucinda’s own. Only not trampled, of course. She gently ran her fingers over it. “Yes, he did, miss.” When she looked up, tears glistened in her eyes. “And thankful I am for it, too.”

Tears clogged Lucinda’s throat. “You’ll miss him, too.”

“I will, miss. I’ve worked for your father for nigh on thirty-three years, did you know that? He took over Ravensbrook as a lad of twenty when his own father died. A better employer I could never have had.”

Tears slipped down Lucinda’s cheeks, and an answering one rolled down the older lady’s face. “Oh, Mrs. Beatty.” Voice breaking, Lucinda flew into her comforting arms, as she’d often done as a child. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I don’t want to believe it!” She choked on a sob.

“Now then, child. We’ll all miss him, we will. He was a fine man. Not many like him.”

Lucinda finally pulled back, wiping her eyes. “Everything will be all right, Mrs. Beatty. Don’t worry.”

“Why would I worry, child? He’s sent Mr. Montclair to watch over us. If your father trusted him, I have full confidence we can, too. Your father was a good judge of character.”

Unfortunately, Lucinda found she could not fully agree with the housekeeper’s trusting words. She was a good judge of character, too, and Mr. Montclair was not entirely what he appeared to be. A raw edge lived in that man; an untamed side that had told her to beware of Gabriel Montclair from the first moment he’d planted his massive boot on the bottom step of Ravensbrook.

In addition to the logical reasons she’d found to distrust him—namely, his brutish manhandling of her person—a sixth sense whispered that somewhere, perhaps dredged deep in Riel’s past, lived something dark. Perhaps a secret her father had known nothing about. This was more than possible, and unfortunately, another disturbing memory about how her father’s kind heart had been duped in the past flew to mind.

Three years ago, a young man and his pregnant wife had arrived at Ravensbrook, and begged for food and shelter. The woman’s baby bulge had looked suspiciously lumpy to Lucinda, and she’d had a bad feeling about the “husband
”
all along. The dirty, hungry couple had insisted on working for food. Pleased, her father had agreed, and let them sleep in a guest room in the house. In the morning, the two were gone, along with the family’s silver.

No, as much as Lucinda loved her father, she just could not trust Gabriel Montclair.

“Did you need something, Miss Lucinda?” Mrs. Beatty dabbed her eyes with her apron. The letter fluttered in her hand.

Lucinda looked at the note, and then at Mrs. Beatty’s sad face. The letter meant the world to the housekeeper, just as Lucinda’s did to her. Her hastily concocted plan to burn all the letters her father had sent, thereby destroying all evidence that Riel Montclair was supposed to be her guardian, puffed out like a candle.

Although she could sacrifice something of her own to accomplish her goal, she would never dream of
asking for, or destroying,
something the housekeeper cherished.

A sick feeling welled in Lucinda’s heart. “No. Thank you, Mrs. Beatty,” she said softly, and swallowed back an ache of disappointment.

Now, how would she get rid of Riel Montclair? “I came to tell you that Father’s body will arrive tomorrow afternoon. I plan to speak to Pastor Bilford tomorrow about a service.”

Mrs. Beatty straightened her plump shoulders. “I will plan a reception here, miss. You need only say the day.”

“Let’s see. Today is Monday. Perhaps Wednesday evening?”

The housekeeper nodded her approval. “If you agree, I will send a few lads to the village to spread the news. Letters will need to be sent to the prominent families round about, as well as notices to his friends in London.”

“I will write those tonight.” Lucinda knew the handful of aristocratic families to whom Mrs. Beatty referred. They lived nearby, but would expect a personal invitation. The rest of the townspeople would know they were welcome. Her father had been a generous man; giving freely to those less fortunate, offering jobs, lending resources to those starting a new farm…and listening to anyone who had a problem. He’d never met a stranger, and social station meant nothing to him. He was well loved, and his funeral would be well attended.

Tears sparkled in Mrs. Beatty’s eyes. “You are growing up to be a fine lady, Miss Lucinda. I’m proud of you, and I know your father would be, as well.”

Lucinda hoped that was true.

“Thank you, Mrs. Beatty.” With a teary smile, she hugged her old friend, and retreated across the hall to her father’s study, which was paneled to the ceiling with shelves of books. A shabby, blue oriental carpet covered the wooden floor beneath the polished, dark teak desk. She needed to find his address book.

Her father had been meticulously organized, thanks to his many years in the Navy. When he’d retired from the service ten years ago, he had decided to pursue his love of war history, and had ended up becoming a part-time professor at Oxford. His naval career and then his teaching profession kept him away from Ravensbrook much of the time, and Lucinda had eagerly looked forward to the summer months when he was home full-time. She’d often joined him in this study, helping him dust and sort the old tomes. He’d shared his favorites with her, and because he loved history so much, she loved it, too.

Now she sat at his desk and pulled out the top right drawer. The drawer slid smoothly, as she’d known it would. A dark leather book lay on top. A lump welled in her throat, thinking of the many times she’d seen him sitting here, just like this. “Lucinda,” he’d said once, “do you see that dark green volume on the top shelf? Fetch it for me, would you? Have you ever heard of the Boer War?” And that would be the start of an impromptu lesson.

Lucinda brushe
d at the tears trembling on
her eyelashes. Her jaw ached from trying to hold in her grief. But she couldn’t fall apart here, not where the servants might see her. It would frighten them. At all costs, she must appear serene, and try to keep things running smoothly, as Father had done. It was the least she could do in his memory.

The leather book held the addresses of his closest friends. The list was well over two hundred, she suspected. Tonight, she’d write up the most urgent notes, for the people who would actually be able to attend the funeral. Later, she’d hire the printer to engrave notices and send them to the others.

She pulled out parchment and quill, but her fingers stilled over the letter paper. It had been her father’s desire that Riel Montclair be her protector. Could she deny her father’s last wish?

While she did want to please her father, anxiety seeped into Lucinda’s heart when she considered submitting her life to the authority of the man in the next room. Fear punctuated the dark feeling. Everything within her recoiled at the thought. She pressed her hands to her face.

“Father,” she whispered, “why did you do this to me? I know you thought this would be best for me, but he’s the wrong man for the job. Why didn’t you see that?”

She imagined her father in the room, sitting at this very desk. What would he say? In a flash, she knew. With those intelligent gray eyes, hidden behind his glasses, he’d ask, “Why don’t you like him, Lucy? Is it because you know you won’t be able to goad him into behaving like you wish? That’s why I chose him, you know. Choosing a marriage partner is the most important decision you’ll ever make. I trust Riel to help you choose wisely. And I trust him to run Ravensbrook.”

More tears wet her palms. “But I don’t like him, Father,” she gave a miserable sniff. “I don’t trust him. Why did you?”

“Why don’t you trust me, Lucy?” Riel’s deep voice made her jump.

Hastily, she wiped her eyes. “I did not invite you in, Mr. Montclair. Kindly take your leave.”

“I will soon be running Ravensbrook. Perhaps tomorrow you will show me the accounts and ledgers.”

Lucinda gasped. The cheek of him. “I most certainly will not! Mr. Chase, our solicitor, is in charge of the books. He will remain so until I can learn to do them myself.”

“Your father told me that a stipend from a trust is paid out each month for the maintenance of Ravensbrook. Is that true?”

Suspicion again reared its ugly head. Was this what Riel was truly after—Ravensbrook’s fortunes?

“Yes. What of it?” True, her father had set up the estate so Mr. Chase could easily disburse monies into their standing merchant accounts while he was gone. Essentially, with this bit of effort on Mr. Chase’s behalf, the estate could run by itself—except for dealing with tenants and daily practical matters, which she had done. And it meant nothing that Gabriel Montclair knew of these arrangements. Her father could have mentioned it to anyone. It certainly did not mean Montclair could brashly come in and usurp Ravensbrook’s financial reins.

He said, “It was his desire that I relieve Mr. Chase of that burden. I understand the running of an estate, as I own one myself. I am qualified for the job, Lady Lucinda.”

“I don’t care if you’re qualified to juggle melons, Mr. Montclair. You will not touch one pence of my father’s money. Strike that.
My
money.”

A muscle tightened in his jaw. “Mr. Chase will decide that.”

Incensed, Lucinda rose to her feet. “Father’s letter to Mr. Chase states this?”

“It does.”

She pounced. “You’ve opened it, then.”

“No. He told me what he wrote.”

“Did he?” More s
uspicion flared
, followed quickly by anger. “Or did you
force
him to write it, Mr. Montclair? What other liberties will you pretend he granted you? Perhaps in the event of my death, the entire estate will fall to you. Is that it?”

To his credit, he looked shocked. “No.”

“Prove it.” Swiftly, she swept by him, and then waited, arms folded, out in the hall. “Show me the letter Father wrote to Mr. Chase.”

“It is sealed.”

Lucinda smiled. “And if the seal is broken, your claims will prove worthless.”

For a long moment he watched her steadily, his breaths even. “You have quite an imagination, Lady Lucinda.”

“No more outlandish than you showing up on my doorstep with all of these outrageous claims. Suddenly you, a stranger, are to become guardian to me and trustee of the entire estate. I don’t know you from Adam, Mr. Montclair. Excuse me if I don’t take your word as gospel.”

“Come with me tomorrow when I visit the solicitor. You may read your father’s letter as soon as Mr. Chase is finished.”

He sounded so calm, so reasonable. “I will read the letter, you may be sure of that. But just because my father penned the words doesn’t mean they were his wishes.”

Impossibly, his midnight gaze blackened still more. “How could I force your father to write a letter?”

“How am I to know? You crewed on a pirate ship—isn’t that what you said?” She didn’t give him time to respond. “At the very least, you sailed the Barbary coast on a barbaric ship. You admitted that already. I have no doubt you learned all sorts of torture devices while on that unsavory scow.” Another disturbing detail flashed to mind. “You said you’re half French. Perhaps you are part of the French Navy. You captured my father and…and forced him…”

“To appoint me guardian of a belligerent, unmannered girl? Truly, that is an assignment I have always wished.” Black sarcasm cut through his words.