The Pirate's Tempting Stowaway (17 page)

She opened the wooden chest hulking in the corner and stared.

Not alcohol. Not even weapons. Every shelf of the tall chest overflowed with wooden animals, carved in cunning lifelike poses. Coiled snakes, sleeping kittens, panting dogs, belching frogs, birds poised to take flight. She pulled a baby hedgehog into her palm to admire the attention to detail required to carve hundreds of perfect spines.

The door swung open.
 

Steele strode in, knife in hand. He stopped dead when he saw her. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” She started to close the chest, then thought better of it. “Did you do this? Carve all these animals?”

“Er…Me?” He shoved his hands behind his back.

She narrowed her eyes. “I saw you walk in here with a knife.”

“I take knives everywhere.” He tossed it from hand to hand. “I’m a pirate.”

She held up the baby hedgehog. “But did you—”

“Yes.” He slipped the knife into a drawer. “It means nothing. Shipboard carpentry is as important as any other task.”

She gestured toward the shelves. “This isn’t carpentry. It’s art.”

He shrugged. “It’s how I passed the time when I was pressed aboard a Navy vessel and couldn’t escape. It’s not art. It’s an old habit and a bad memory.”

She could only imagine what a nightmare that would have been. And how strong it had made him. “They’re beautiful pieces. Why don’t you give them away if you don’t wish to look at them?”

“They’re mine,” he said simply. “I don’t share my memories.”

“Not your memories. Your art.” She set the hedgehog on the table beside her. She wished he could realize how rare such talent was. “It could be cathartic.”

He rolled his eyes skyward. “I’m not going to become a fashionable woodworker with a shop for the idle rich on Bond Street.”

Her lips curved. Probably not. “You could if you wished to.”

“Unlikely. I despise London.”

She tilted her head. “How about Bath?”

He grimaced. “It’s landlocked.”

“It has
some
water. The River Avon runs through it, and the city center is less than thirty miles from the Bristol Channel.” She couldn’t speak to the beauty of it, however. It had been decades since she was last in the area. “Somerset is more coastal than Bath. If I recall, there are lovely villages close to shore. Which is prettier, Weston-Super-Mare or Burnham-On-Sea?”

He raised his brows in amusement. “This will apparently come as a shock, but…I dislike land in general. All land.”

She frowned, pricked by a nameless frustration. “Perhaps that’s just because you haven’t any. If you possessed a home close to the water—”

“I’ll pass,” he said dryly. “I don’t need or want a house. People are always bequeathing such things to me. The last property I inherited, I gave to my ward as a wedding gift.”

She blinked at him in astonishment. “You have a ward?”

“I did,” he clarified. “Now she has a husband. And her old vicarage back. Much like now you have your daughter back.” Steele turned toward the wooden animals and slammed the doors to the chest closed. “The point is that you are searching to create roots, whilst I slice mine away every chance I get.”

She studied him. “No. You’re bringing them with you. You say you despise land, but these shelves are full of precisely the sorts of animals one might spy on a promenade in the park. With your talent, you could as easily carve skulls or pistols if that’s what you wished. Instead, you carve hedgehogs.”

“Perhaps I like animals best when they’re inanimate. Can you imagine a live dog? I might have to
pet
it.” He gave a mock shudder.

She stepped forward and pointedly adjusted his cravat. “Perhaps you miss aspects of England more than you admit.”

He nipped her lower lip. “I’ll miss
you
. But the sea is my home. It’s where I feel alive.”

Her heart fluttered. She would miss him, too. That was why she was searching so hard for middle ground. Someplace they both could call home. “Where did you live before you were pressed into service?”

“London.” His lip curled. “That’s why I despise it.”

And of course that was where her daughter lived. Where Clara would be spending most of her time. “And before that?”

“Kent.” With just a word, he seemed lost in thought.

“Do you despise it?” she asked softly.

His eyes cleared. “Maidstone is miles from the coast.”

“But did you like it?” she insisted.

He lifted a shoulder. “I suppose. As a boy. Before my parents died.”

Her heart twisted. “They died when you were young?”

He swallowed visibly. “Consumption. I watched them die. That’s why I have an intimate knowledge of the symptoms.”

“That’s how you knew I wasn’t truly afflicted?”

He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t…completely certain.”

Her stomach dropped at the implication. “You assured me that I did not have consumption. You insisted I accompany you.”

“I know what I
said
. I just wasn’t…certain.” He smiled. “Now I am. See? I was right all along.”

“You
lied?
”
She slammed her fist against his chest. What if he’d been wrong? What if she’d infected his entire crew? What if her mere presence would have killed them all? “I believed you. That’s why I came. I trusted you, and I blindly followed you across Pennsylvania and onto this boat…”

He an arrogant shrug. “Charisma is the mark of a good captain.”

She snatched the last wooden carving from off the table, hands shaking. “I will brain you with this baby hedgehog and knock the charisma right out of your head.”

“You wouldn’t,” he assured her. “It’s ‘art.’”

Cursed man. Fingers shaking, she yanked open the chest door and slammed the hedgehog back onto its shelf. “You may laugh all you wish, but the ‘idle rich’ do have loose purse strings and an eye for the unusual. If what you need is money—”

“I have plenty of money. What I like is adventure. Risk.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. “That’s why you risked quarantining yourself with a consumption victim?”

He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, they were haunted. “Hearing that word brought back the panic and despair I’d felt as a child. I wanted to save my parents so viscerally that I would have happily sold my soul to give them back their health. When I saw you… When you didn’t have the worst of the symptoms but had been left to die anyway…”

She swallowed. “You…panicked?”

“Viscerally.” He pulled her to him and claimed her mouth with his. “You’ve been twisted about my heart from the moment I met you. There was no way I could leave you behind.”

She pulled back from his kiss. “That’s precisely what you’re planning to do the moment we sight land.”

“Not my plan.” He held on tight. “I’ll be right here on my schooner. You’re the one who’s leaving.”

“Come with me,” she said impulsively. The very idea was mad. Reckless. “I’ll find a splendid little cottage—”

“No.”

“—by the sea—”

“Find your piece of land, Clara.” He let her go. “Make your home. You deserve to be happy.”

She wrapped her arms about herself. “I want you to be happy, too.”

He gestured at his ship. “I
am
happy.”

She nodded dully. He
was
happy. Here, on his ship. Without her.
 

He hadn’t asked her to join him. She couldn’t have accepted even if he had. A life like that was too much risk, too much uncertainty.
 

Too far from home.

Chapter 21

When the schooner docked in London, the thunderclouds clogging the sky with sheets of rain matched Steele’s dark mood perfectly. Much like the last time he’d deposited Clara with her family, he didn’t expect to ever see her again.
 

Unlike the last time, such a fate now twisted his stomach in knots.
 

Lightning rent the sky. Because of the downpour, there was no sense riding horseback. He summoned a hack instead and climbed inside with her. Yes, he supposed Clara was perfectly capable of returning to the Carlisle estate without his interference—after all, she’d managed to make it to the docks and onto his ship without the least bit of trouble.

But the truth was, he wasn’t certain if he was ready for her to leave him yet. Even worse, he wasn’t certain if he ever would be.

Inside the carriage, he plopped down next to her and hauled her close. For warmth, he assured himself. For her own good. Now that she was healthy, he didn’t want her falling ill again. Or truly needing to move to Bath to partake of their godforsaken “restorative waters.” At least here in London, there was always a chance, however slight, of meeting again.

“Thank you.” Clara lay her head against his chest and nestled closer.

He nodded gruffly. He wasn’t certain if she was thanking him for hiring a carriage or providing body heat or not making her return alone. Devil take it, a large part of him wished she didn’t have to return at all.

Foolishness, of course. She had a daughter. She wanted roots. This was where their paths diverged. He couldn’t give up his life to join hers any more than he could expect Clara to wait around for him to drop by for brief visits between voyages. No one should ever have to give up their own happiness to ensure someone else’s.

But,
oh,
how he wished he could have it both ways.

His chest tightened. Of all the disastrous outcomes that could befall a pirate captain, the infamous Blackheart had fallen in love. Leaving her behind was ripping him inside out, and he hadn’t even left yet.
 

 
Steele held her a little closer and touched his nose to her hair. Who would keep her safe while he was at sea? He swallowed. He wasn’t certain which was the worse future—that Clara might be lonely, or that she would find someone new. Someone with a house and family and roots. Someone delighted to live in a landlocked home and share his bed with Clara.

“Carlisle Manor,” rasped the driver as the hack rattled up the winding gravel path.

Steele’s gut churned. As he swung Clara out of the carriage, he clamped his jaw tight. ’Twas the only way to keep from blurting words that would be ruinous to them both.

Yet he couldn’t help but hold her a for few heartbeats more than strictly necessary before finally placing her on the ground. He’d been tempted to carry her right up to the threshold, but it would only have delayed the inevitable. From this moment on, both of them would have to walk on their own.

The door opened before they even reached the front step, thanks to the earl’s well trained, silent servants.

Clara motioned the butler back inside. She waited until the door latched closed and then lifted her chin. “Steele…”

“Gregory,” he interrupted before he could stop himself. “I don’t recall if I’d mentioned my Christian name.”

“Gregory,” she repeated, as if tasting the syllables on her tongue. Her eyes twinkled. “No, I believe your orders were to call you ‘Blackheart.’ I admit, I rather liked it.”

So had he. Steele gritted his teeth. He should’ve
stayed
Blackheart. Pirates didn’t develop hopeless attachments to women like Clara. First-naming each other for their farewells was as pointless as spooning water out of a sinking ship.

Her smile wobbled. “Can you stay for a pot of tea?”

“No time. I’ve a barrel of port waiting for me back on my schooner.” He tried for his signature, devil-may-care swagger, but he couldn’t even work up a lackluster grin. He didn’t want port. Or tea. He wanted
her
.

“Do you have to go back?” She blushed, but forged on. “That is, I know you’ll be off at first light to hunt the Crimson Corsair, but…the bunk in my dowager quarters would certainly sleep two.”

His hands went clammy. Of course he wanted to spend the night with her, but that wasn’t the true invitation. Stepping through that doorway meant more than spending a night on land. It meant meeting her daughter. Sharing their home, if only for a few hours. Clara wasn’t offering him a night’s rest—or even her body. She was offering permanence and predictability. Security and stability. A different kind of life. One that felt like death.