For the Love of a Pirate (14 page)

He nodded. Useless to say he enjoyed himself. Although, right now, with the sun coming out and the warmth of the day drying him, it didn't seem as horrible as it had been. He watched as Lisabeth took off her hat and shook her honey-colored hair until it spilled over her shoulders, gleaming in the sunlight. Then she unbuttoned and pulled off her oiled slicker, and reached up to plait her hair so it didn't fly in her face. His eyes widened. She wore an old fisherman's sweater over a pair of breeches. His morning didn't seem at all unpleasant now. It was amazing how a ragged old sweater was transformed when it covered a lithe young woman. He thought he might have a word with some of the men he knew in the theater world when he got back to London. A man could make a fortune. A revue with females dressed as males would be even more titillating than the usual bits of gauze and gossamer the dancers performed in. Except, he didn't know if it would be allowed, because it might offend public morals. He was willing to find out.

“Oh,” she said, rising to her feet and dusting off her hands. “Company.”

A tall, rangy rider on a dark horse was picking his way down the strand toward them. The man wore a tilted hat, and proper riding garb. He was well dressed, Constantine thought, or at least better clothed than the usual local men. As he came closer it could be seen that he was also young, with a thin face and intense blue eyes. His dour face lit up when he saw Lisabeth, but the look he turned on Constantine was guarded, and instantly forbidding. His hand snaked into his jacket. When it appeared again, he was holding a pistol, and still staring at Constantine.

“M
iss Bigod,” the lean man said as his horse came closer. He halted, doffed his hat, and shot a suspicious look at Constantine. “Is everything all right?”

Constantine drew himself up in annoyance. He wasn't used to being regarded as though he were a threat to any young woman. Then he felt his toes squelch in his boots. He remembered what he was wearing and what he must look like. He stood tall, nonetheless.

“Everything is fine, Mr. Nichols,” Lisabeth said, laughter in her voice. “This reprehensible-looking fellow is no bother to me. In fact, he looks as he does because I just took him out on William's boat, with Frank and Henri, and I might add, all they were catching were fish. This gentleman is our houseguest. Lord Wylde, may I present our local revenue official, Garner Nichols? Mr. Nichols; Constantine, Lord Wylde.”

The revenue official's expression didn't change. He nodded. “I'd heard you'd arrived,” he told Constantine. “After all these years. Thinking of taking up the family business, my lord?”

“Hardly,” Constantine said, “I came to learn about the family business. Captain Bigod invited me, and as someone who always had a keen interest in genealogy, I was fascinated by the tales he told me. Say, rather,
am
fascinated,” he added, with a smile for Lisabeth, in order to annoy his interrogator, because it was clear that if the dour revenue man had any smiles, they were only for her. He saw Nichols's expression grow taut, and was pleased at his good guess.

“I had no dealings with your father, he was before my time,” Nichols said. “But I grew up in the district and your family history is one of the reasons I took up my profession. Captain Cunning has become a great folk hero. But he was, begging your pardon, my lord, for all his swagger and bravado, only a thief, and woe to the innocent man caught in a web of his design. My own ancestor was one of those unfortunates, who just happened to be crew on a ship that your ancestor commandeered. If your stay with us is in the interest of research, you can drop in at my office, it's a few miles from this village. I'll have stories for you too. But they won't be as charming as the ones you've heard in the inn. That, I guarantee.

“Good day, Miss Bigod,” he said, clapping on his hat. “My lord,” he said with a curt nod, turned his horse, and rode off down the rocky strand.

Constantine stared after him. “That fellow might have hated my forebears,” he mused, “but I believe he wanted to bite my head off just because I was walking with you.”

“He's a good-hearted man,” she said. “Only so serious!”

“About you, at least,” Constantine said, looking down at her. “Revenue men and sailors? And how many others? I'd no idea you had so many suitors.”

“Aye,” she said, laughing, “I do. But sometimes a lot is not very much. As Lovey taught me, Good Queen Bess had many suitors too, only none suited her.”

“And none suit you?”

“None have,” she said with a shrug, and started walking up the beach.

“You don't worry about that?”

“Worry? Oh, that I might end up a spinster? No,” she said, smiling up into his eyes. “One day I'll find a fellow I want. Then God help him, because I'll never let him slip away.”

Constantine walked on at her side. At the edge of the beach, they entered a grove of stunted trees and shrubs. Nothing grew tall or straight this near the sea, because of the constant winds, but as they went on, the narrow sandy path turned to an earthen one, and the trees became more abundant. The day was growing warmer but they walked in leafy shadow, the sea and the forest combining to make a pleasant earthy scent of early autumn. There was a scent of spring in the air as well.

“How do you do it?” Constantine marveled. “You got as thoroughly splashed as I did, you were there with the fish as well, but I stink of fish guts and low tide, and you still smell of perfume. It's freesia, is it?”

“What? Oh.” She laughed. “I suppose so. I've a friend who frequently travels to France, and he brings back such lovely soaps and scents for me. Yes,” she said, turning to him with a wicked grin. “There is an advantage to having a slew of suitors, I suppose. And there's another reason Nichols keeps his eyes on me. He's after something aside from my hand. Several others in manacles would make him just as happy, I think.”

Constantine lost his smile. “And you condone smuggling?”

She looked at him wide-eyed. “My lord, we live by the sea, and from the sea. We'd fight like madmen against Napoleon, and in fact, many of our young men do, in the royal navy, the army, and on the waters of the Channel as they sail out for fish, and other goods. But free trade is a fact of life here. If it disturbs you, I suggest you leave us, and now.”

He held up a hand. “Please don't take offense. I'm a proper fellow, not a blind or deaf one. All London trades in free trade. I'm not blaming anyone. I just failed to realize that the revenue man had good reason to stop me. He was only doing his job. Does he really think I'm interested in going to sea as a pirate?”

“No. Well, I don't know. But he knows your history; it's the talk of our little village. And it's his job to be suspicious. Don't worry. Next time I see him, I'll assure him that you're the furthest thing from a pirate on the land or the sea.”

“You say that as though I should regret it.”

She stopped, and cocked her head to the side. “In truth,” she said, on a sigh. “You look very piratical at the moment.” He was mussed, his hair disarranged by the sea wind, his clothing appalling, and now his face was like the one she'd seen before she met him, and so as familiar to her as her own. And yet he wasn't the man she'd hoped to one day find in reality. She reached up and brushed back a lock of his hair from his forehead.

He couldn't stop his eyebrow from going up. Ladies of breeding didn't touch gentlemen they scarcely knew, not even with their gloves on. Her fingers were bare, and warm, and where she'd touched him his skin tingled.

She laughed. “But no. It's all in the eyes, and those eyes are in a portrait. Because it's not in your heart or mind. You're more a preacher than a pirate, and that's that. There's nothing wrong with that, but it confuses me at times. I suppose it confuses others as well.”

“It confuses me,” he whispered. She was so close, she was dressed like no woman he'd ever known, or wanted to, but she was so damned appealing. He found it difficult to understand why.

She raised her hand, put it on the back of his neck, reached up on her tiptoes, closed her eyes, and kissed him lightly on the lips.

He felt her lips, soft against his own, and his arms went around her. Hers had been a light kiss, a query. His response wasn't. It wasn't thought out and it wasn't gentle. It was surprised for only a heartbeat, and then it was full acceptance. She tasted delicious. He pulled her closer and opened his mouth against hers. She gasped and he touched her tongue with his, and felt a sudden surge of desire for more of her. He ran his hands along the rough sailor's sweater, gathering her closer still, and feeling the warm, vital female form beneath. He slipped his hand up inside the oversized sweater and reveled in the ease of it as he felt warm flesh and the way her soft breast peaked as his hand cupped her.

She wriggled closer to him, her eyes closed. He deepened the kiss, suddenly aflame, suddenly lost to everything but his senses as they responded to the warm, willing female in his arms.

He lowered his mouth to her neck, and she threw her head back and shivered. He put his other hand under the sweater to caress her silken back. The bud of her breast hardened in his palm, and she gasped.

And then he remembered who he was, and who she was. It took every ounce of his control, but he was well schooled in control. He dropped his hands, and drew back, appalled at himself.

“Forgive me,” he said in a shaken voice. “I'd no right.”

“You did,” she said in a voice no more steady. “I kissed you, remember?”

He wanted to apologize, but stayed still, shamed and chagrined, realizing that what he'd done was as good as a declaration. Her grandfather's scheme had worked. He felt cold, then hot, and altogether like a fool. Had he been lured to this fate? She had, after all, kissed him. His expression of contrition turned to one of horror.

She saw it. “You are not caught, my lord,” she said, affecting unconcern. “Nor have I, or will I, ask for more.”

His eyes widened, because he suddenly wondered if he might. “But we kissed,” he said stiffly. “And more.”

“So we did. And not much more. Anyway, it doesn't signify. This isn't London.”

He was, at that moment, very glad of it.

She turned her back and began walking again.

“Can you forgive me, and forget it?” he asked, coming up beside her, and trying to see her averted face. “I will confess to your grandfather, of course. And beg his pardon as well and take whatever consequences ensue.”

She wheeled around and scowled. “
That
you will not! I've already forgotten it. He doesn't need to know. Be done with it, sir. It was an impulse, and a test. You passed with flying colors. You're an honorable fellow. Forget it.”

He wanted to ask what sort of test, but didn't dare. Talking it out might lead to more. He certainly wished it would, but dreaded it at the same time. So he bowed, and walked on beside her, relieved, guilty, and confused. Her grandfather knew he was engaged to marry, but hadn't told her. Or had he? Was this a cleverer trap than he'd expected?

But, no. He'd swear she was no actress. She was, however, light and fire, charm and temptation. That made her a better snare than even her sly old grandfather could have fashioned. Did the captain know that? Was that what he was betting on? Time for him to go then, Constantine thought. Past time.

But he certainly didn't need to add to the infamy surrounding his name. He decided that he'd go back to her house, stay another day until he was certain the incident was well past, and then go home where he belonged, and trust to fate that his terrible history stayed here, where it belonged.

They walked on in silence; her head was down, watching her boots. He watched her.

“Are you in love with anyone in London?” she asked suddenly.

“No!” he replied before he could think. But “no,” was the right answer, he realized. Love was never a part of his forthcoming marriage.

“Well, you did ask me about my romantic situation,” she said, mistaking his abrupt answer for anger.

“So I did,” he answered warily.

“So, tit for tat,” she said. She glanced up at him. “Anyone in love with you?”

“No,” he said more carefully. That too was true. “Still, I am rather . . . involved with a young woman at present.”

More he would not say. He needed Lisabeth's good will now. It wasn't strictly the truth, but it wasn't an out-and-out lie.

“Ah,” she said. And smiled at him. “You know why it happened at all, Sir ‘Involved'? That kiss? Out here, in the forest, near the sea, dressed as you are—and likely never are—you look more like the man in the portrait than the fellow who came down from London. Want to go for some proper fishing tomorrow?” she asked suddenly, with another mercurial change of subject. “We have a grandfather trout the size of a whale, but he's clever and shifty as the pickpockets you have in London. If you do catch him, we'd appreciate it if you threw him back. Oh, you'll get the credit, but that way you leave something behind for the rest of us to try to attain.”

“You fish?”

“Of course,” she said, laughing. “I love to fish, in river, stream, and sea. I swim like a fish as well, I sail, I ride. I can dance too, and bake, and sew a fine seam if I put my mind to it. But I'd rather read a book.”

Every word she said disqualified her more for the life of a wellborn lady of the
ton
. Riding and dancing was expected. Sewing was acceptable. But reading books made her a bluestocking, and baking was something a servant did, and fishing and swimming, not the sort of thing any lady admitted to.

They came in sight of the long meadow that led to the drive to her grandfather's house.

They paused. He was searching for something to say. She was staring at him. She grinned again, pulled his head down, gave him a quick peck on the lips, not enough to signify, but enough to make him want to pull her close again. But before he could, she danced away, and left him, with laughter, as she ran back to her house.