For the Love of a Pirate (6 page)

“I'm afraid your father was a terrible disappointment to him. But not a shock, never that. Your grandfather always spoke of the bad blood in the family. Yet he respected the bounty that blood had brought him. Isn't that curious? Your uncle didn't warn you about this taint in your family? It consumed your grandfather. He threw away both portraits as soon as your father scandalized the name. My grandfather was happy to take them. You didn't know any of this?”

“As I said,” Constantine said, “they kept it from me. I knew nothing of it.” He paced away a step, and then looked back up at his great-grandfather. “And,” he murmured, as though to himself, “if anyone else finds out about this, I'll be ruined.”

“Ruined?”

He saw her confusion. “I'm known as a moderate man, I try to be a gentleman,” he explained. “It's more than a title or what school one attends. It's a way of life. I belong to many clubs that I value, I have worthy friends and acquaintances and . . .” He closed his lips before he mentioned his fiancée. If her grandfather had told Lisabeth the whole story, then she already knew. If not, the less she knew about him, the better. He'd have to discover what she knew before he left this place. This wasn't the time for it, though.

“The point is,” he went on, “they all think they know me. As did I, myself. But now this! Pirates? Highwaymen? Criminals lurking in my family tree? My fortune comes from crime and mayhem? It's outrageous. In some circles, I'd be immediately ostracized. At the very least, mocked.” He shuddered. “I can picture the caricatures now, in every window in town. If it were to become widely known I might never be trusted again. Many people believe blood will tell.”

“And you're one of them?” she asked curiously.

He shrugged. “I was. But now I think about it, I doubt it. Why, just look at my ancestors and me. I never felt the urge to command a pirate ship, I assure you. Nor would I ever hold up a coach on the public road, or a private one. I'm law-abiding and enjoy life lived moderately. No matter the financial need, those are just not things I would do, believe me.”

She did. Then she sighed. “But look at the royals,” she said. “If one goes back to the day they first sat on the throne, there isn't a royal line that wasn't forever cheating and killing, murdering and stealing, and no one thinks less of them for that.”

He shook his head. “I'm not a royal, thank God. I suppose a Viking ancestor could be excused. Even a murderous Norman. But anything closer in time to me—and you'll admit a father and a great-grandfather aren't exactly antiquity—would reflect upon me. Upon my character and my position. I'd rather these facts never left this room.”

She laughed. It was an unexpectedly merry sound in the deep velvet quiet of the house. “But everyone here knows about your ancestors! They look up to your great-grandfather, and I don't just mean his portrait. He was generous to the villagers and to the men who worked for him, and that was fully half the men who lived here. He brought prosperity to a poor little fishing village. That prosperity lasted. Our men don't have to risk their necks bringing in perfumes and brandy from France if they don't choose to, because Captain Cunning had brought in jewels and gold long before the wars with France started. Why, when your poor father was shot, the whole district turned out for his funeral, and wept buckets, I'm told. The news got beyond this room ages ago.”

Her expression grew serious. “Is it someone you care for whose opinion you worry about?”

He nodded, because if he didn't, and she knew about his plans for marriage he'd look like a fool, or a liar.

“Ah,” she said. “Well, I can't understand that. We don't practice ancestor worship here, nor do we spend time blaming a man for what his father did. Or even for what he did. Most of the people here at Sea Mews have the most extravagant histories! Bloody awful, but a man can change and a woman must, as Grandy always says.”

Constantine blinked. Ladies never said “bloody.” Neither did gentlemen, unless there were no ladies about, and they were inebriated. But she said it casually and didn't seem to think a thing wrong with it.

“Take young Platt there,” she said in a lower voice, tipping a shoulder toward the footman who stood near the hearth, still sleeping with his eyes open. “He's quiet and respectful, and his idea of a day off well spent is sitting by the river with his feet in the water, hoping he doesn't catch a fish because that would be a bother. His father was a drunk and a villain. Went through the family money, earned more seafaring . . .” A little smile appeared on her lips. “We prefer to call making a living from the sea that's not from shipping or fishing ‘seafaring,' you see. ‘Piracy' is not a happy word. I suppose because you're hanged for acts of piracy, even just for
being
a pirate. At any rate, then the fool came home and drank the roof off from over his head. Grandy gave his son, young Platt, a position here for the sake of his father and his grandfather, who were, though a bit hasty, and maybe a trifle flawed, still loyal men.

“Most of the people who work here have family histories. Many have interesting ones of their own,” she said with a secretive smile. “One day you must ask Miss Lovelace about her past. During the day, literally, I mean. She's sober as a mouse until evening falls.” She cocked her head to the side. “Does everyone in London care so much for what a man's family was? Rather than what a man is?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Well, at least, anyone who matters. And so if they knew about my father and great-grandfather, I'd be a figure of fun to some, one of pity to others, and considered a shady character by many more. I only wonder how my uncle managed to keep the thing secret so well.”

“Well, I know your father was disinherited and cast out by your grandfather, and in turn, your great-grandfather had estranged himself from the family.
His
father was very moral, a friend of Cromwell, I believe.” Her smile became wicked, reminding Constantine of the young man in the portrait above her. “So you don't have to fret. Wickedness seems to skip a generation in your family. The bad blood probably won't appear in you. You'll never pass a jewelry shop window and feel a sudden urge to break the glass and carry away the pretties, and any pretty lasses in your path. But your son, now . . . I'd beware if his infant playmates had silver rattles.”

Constantine's eyebrows lowered. She was far too amused. At his expense. Her bright topaz eyes sparkled, her mouth curled up in a catlike grin. He seldom saw a grown female look so much like a cheeky boy, but it suited her. She was, he became aware again, a damned fine-looking young female, warm and soft-spoken. Standing this close to her, he realized the fresh wild scent of her reminded him of sun-warmed meadows of red clover and wild poppy, very unlike the intriguing, teasing French perfumes that the women he knew wore. But no decent woman he knew would be with him at this hour of the night, with only two inept guardians in sight, unless she was interested in getting him in her bed.

That thought didn't appall him, exactly.

She gazed up at him, studying his face, as though seeing things in it that he had never seen, looking as fascinated by him as she was by the portraits of his ancestors. The room was chilly, yet he felt the glow radiating from her and was drawn to it like a freezing man seeking a fire. It seemed to him that she'd drawn closer. It was dark and suddenly warm and they were alone in the wonderfully quiet darkness. Her full pink lips parted in a smile. Her head slanted. Her lashes fluttered down to douse the sparkle in her topaz gaze as his head dipped toward hers—until he realized he could see her eyelashes so plainly because he was moving closer.

His head reared up and he took a quick step back, feeling as though he'd stood too close to the edge of a precipice. A shudder ran through his body, whether because of his narrow escape or because his senses jangled from suddenly interrupted desire he didn't know. But he felt both relief and frustration.

Of course she was tempting, he told himself. He was a man and she was a lovely young woman, and more, she seemed free of all the constraints of polite society. He doubted she was a loose female. She was merely an oddity, as outrageous in her speech, candor, opinions, and likely also in her behavior, as any of his bizarre ancestors whom she so admired.

She was an interesting woman and a promising-looking one. But he had no time or reason to contemplate her. He had to ignore how appealing she was. He had a mission. He'd been assaulted by an impossible truth. Charlotte's father had had him investigated and never discovered any of this, he was sure, or he certainly wouldn't have been allowed to so much as approach her, much less become engaged to her.

But was his secret safe? Even in this little obscure village? Or might it one day escape and make his life miserable? He had to discover all, and mend all too. He must find out all about his wretched heritage, see how far the knowledge ran, stopper up what he could with money or charm, or promises, or threats. And then leave this place and his sorry history behind him, forever. Constantine put his hand on his vest pocket, withdrew his watch, and glanced at it. He stiffened. This place must have bewitched him. It was past midnight, and here he stood, as good as alone with an unmarried young woman, with only the chaperonage of a sleeping old woman and a comatose footman. And the young woman had a rogue of a grandfather who had already said he wanted Constantine as a grandson-in-law. Constantine blinked. Was he mad to have lingered so long in such jeopardy?

He bowed. “The hour is later than I could have imagined,” he said. “I'm sorry to have kept you awake so long. May we continue this conversation tomorrow?”

“Certainly,” she said, as coolly as though she hadn't sensed the strange moment that passed between them. “I ride before breakfast. Would you care to join me?”

Constantine frowned. He kept town hours. “Perhaps,” he said evasively. “But if not, then may we speak at luncheon, say?”

She laughed. “Say anytime all day. I have few pressing errands. Oh, there are visits to make to neighbors and chores to do in the garden, I love to garden. But we've not had anything as interesting as yourself here for many a day. And you are a guest. If you want me, just ask for me, and I'll be glad to bear you company. Good night. Young Platt will show you to your room. The house is enormous, and you could get lost in the dark. And Grandfather sleeps with his pistols under his pillow. Habit, I suppose.”

Constantine repressed a shudder, bowed, and gratefully left, with young Platt trudging behind him.

“Well, well, well,” Lisabeth whispered, as she looked up again at Captain Cunning on his dark windy beach. “Could you have guessed that you'd pass down your looks, sir, and not a breath of the life that was in you? The same wicked brows, the same beautiful eyes. Sometimes I think I can see a spark in them that had to come from you. But he's such a stick! Such a pity, what a shame.”

The painted eyes seemed to sparkle.

Lisabeth's own smile returned. “No, sir,” she said, with another curtsy to the portrait, “you are entirely unique, utterly without compare. And I'm grieving for it, disappointed and let down. I actually tried to see if I could discover life and fire in him. I thought I almost had. But you have more, even painted on canvas as you are. He was tempted, I'd swear to it. But then appalled.
Appalled!
Can you believe my folly? Now, that,” she murmured to herself as she turned to go wake her old governess and steer her up to her bed, “is what comes from falling in love with an illusion.”

“Nay, lass,” Miss Lovelace said from behind her. “Not an illusion. You're right. There wasn't a thing wrong with old Captain Cunning, or his grandson, nor never was. Hearty lads, with heads and hearts in the right place, even if their actions weren't always proper, nor legal. But they weren't mean or cruel, and they didn't harm anyone if they could help it. Only,” she added with a little sigh, “in their line of work, they often couldn't help it.

“You'd have loved either of them. And they, you,” Miss Lovelace said sadly. “But that's not to be. Nor will your heart be broken. Heartache is what comes of trying to fit the illusion to what isn't there. I'm pleased you know it so soon. The lad looks like them, but he's nothing like.”

Lisabeth tilted her head. “Lovey? I never thought! Did you know them?”

“I knew his father. Charming fellow. Bright and fun-loving. A rascal, in the nicest way, of course.” She sighed. “They're gone now, all those bright, clever young men.”

“His son isn't like him at all,” Lisabeth said sadly.

“Yes. That's his tragedy. He was ruined by his uncle, I think. Brought up proper as a parson, with not a speck of life left in him. Too bad. But be kind to him, Lisabeth, for he'll never know what he missed, except in his dreams. And he's been trained to ignore them.”

Lisabeth sighed too. “I suppose it's also because it skips a generation. All that wildness and courage.” She grinned. “Now, maybe if I can stay unwed until Lord Wylde's son grows up—now there would be a man for me!”

“Nay, don't be foolish,” Miss Lovelace said. “And blood doesn't skip. It races, it flows, and it may tell, if it isn't stopped up too soon. Lord Wylde's blood's grown thin and sluggish. He's got just enough to get him through the life he chose, but it wouldn't be enough for you, or any lass with spirit.”

Lisabeth smiled at her beloved governess. Esther Lovelace was a scandal and a delight. She was well read, well bred, and had lived badly. She knew literature, history, art, and music, and even more about life. Lovey was small and busy, with snow-white hair, bright blue eyes, and a plump smiling face. She looked like a retired cook or nursemaid. But she'd been a governess in her younger days, before she'd met Lisabeth's grandfather. She'd been hired by him, as had many of their servants, both those who could still serve and those who now lived in this big old house in retirement. They'd taught Lisabeth loyalty, as well as how to wink at dishonesty if it was for a good cause. They were, for all their age, a lusty, lively crew. Lisabeth grew up learning how to speak well, and freely.