Renegade (8 page)

“Rebecca Beckett,” Eugenia sounded faintly amused. “You remember Mr. McKee Baird, I’m sure?”

And then she surprised him. “No. Should I?”

He couldn’t help it; he smiled at her bright falseness. She blinked, and he watched the way awareness crept into her gaze. Oh, she remembered him all right. His grin grew, just to see how she would react and was gratified at flush that rose on her cheeks.

Here, in the parlor, in the bright afternoon sun, she looked differently than she had in the twilight and shadows. More formal, less adventurous. She was wearing a dress made from pale green cotton, with a half inch of Carrickmacross
 
lace at her cuffs. That little detail made her seem more of a lady than he’d imagined. He’d bet that she was wearing a corset this time, too.

Almost against his will, his gaze slid down her body, searching for her feet. She shifted slightly—uncomfortable under his gaze?—and he saw shoes peeking out from under her skirt. No, this young lady was most certainly the proper Miss Middleton and not the free-spirited Becks he’d meet almost all those weeks ago.

She cleared her throat. “I apologize, Mr. Baird. That was rude of me.”

“Call me Mac.”

She glanced at her mother, but Mac refused to be distracted. No, Rebecca Beckett Middleton might be off-limits to him, but that didn’t mean he had to quit looking at her. He liked the way his gaze made her blush. Was she remembering the way he’d kissed her? And that kiss had barely scratched the surface of the pleasure he could show her.

Eugenia spoke up, now, breaking the silence with her usual efficiency. “How is Thomas’s girl?”

Becks’ smile was tired, but pleased. “Much better. Her fever broke, at least.”

“Was it the influenza?” Of course she’d be concerned.

“I don’t think so, but it’s hard to say. The younger ones are supposed to stay away from Seelay for a few days. I told Thomas and Gretel to rest themselves.”

He could see Eugenia gathering the teacups onto the tray from the corner of her eye. “Of course. Thomas’ stables will manage well enough without him for a few days. He’s done a fine job training young Levi.”

Mac wondered if they were deliberately ignoring him. So he uncrossed his arms, the movement drawing Becks’ attention. Her gaze flew to his face, and then she flushed and looked away. “Again, I’m sorry, Mr. Baird.”

“Mac.”

A slight nod, uncertain. Who was this young woman, so hesitant around him? Where was the daring girl who climbed trees in her bare feet? “Mac.”

He smiled, and she closed her eyes with a slight wince.

“Can I help you, Miss Middleton?” Her eyes met his once more, in alarm, but he nodded to the covered basket she had tucked in her elbow. Becks stared down at it, as if she’d forgotten it was there.

Eugenia came to their rescue. “The tending basket goes back in the supplies pantry, dear.”

Pale blue eyes blinked once at her mother, and then she sighed. He wondered if it was in relief or frustration.

He should have let her escape. She was obviously flustered around him… or maybe just exhausted. There
were
hallows under her eyes. A gentleman would have inquired after her health, and then let her make her excuses to leave him.

He wasn’t a gentleman.

Instead, he took a step towards her, and then another. She didn’t retreat, but stared at him, her head cocked slightly to one side. He remembered that from their last meeting—her ability to
really
look at him. He wondered what she saw.

Mac stopped within arm’s reach. He was close enough that she had to tilt her head back slightly. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, but then reached out and slipped the basket off of her arm. “Here,” he kept his voice low. “Let me help you return this.” She tightened her grip on it slightly, but then released it when he tugged.

Her lips parted slightly, but no sound emerged. Maybe she hadn’t intended so say anything, but he suddenly wanted to taste her again, to
really
taste her. Not like either of those kisses under the oak; he wanted to strip this silly dress off of her and see her knees again, and taste the salt air on her lips.

Belay that, Mac. She’s not for you.

Eugenia cleared her throat slightly, and he could hear the smile in her voice when she said behind him, “I think that’s a fine idea, McKee. You could use the time to get to know Rebecca Beckett a little better.”

And just like that, he remembered why he was here, why his partner had manipulated him into being here, and would do her best to keep him here. And if it was one thing that Mac hated more than being told what to do, it was being manipulated.

So he offered his arm to Becks, who rested her hand on it. He took the time to notice how tanned it was, with a pale scar across the back, before glancing back at her mother. “Of course, Eugenia.” The informality was purposeful, but judging from her chuckle she wasn’t offended. “After all, someone has to tell her the truth.”

“What truth?” Becks’ question was sharp, sharper than anything she’d said since stepping into the room

But he led her out of the parlor without answering.

CHAPTER FIVE

He was here.

He
was here. He was
here
.

No matter which way Becks thought of it, it still seemed unbelievable. He’d come back. He’d come back to sit with her mother in the parlor and drink tea.
Drink tea
? What kind of pirate had tea with old ladies? What was he up to?

But Eugenia had seemed perfectly at ease with him. Of course, she always appeared to be in control of the situation, but if her smug smiles meant anything, she’d been pleased to be having tea with this McKee Baird.

Was
he a pirate, as he seemed? Or a smuggler, like Pearl had guessed? Or just a friend to her mother? Or—Becks managed not to gasp at the thought—was he something
more
to her mother?

He led her from the parlor without answering her question about the truth, but Becks’ mind was too jumbled to notice. Instead, she focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and not on his forearm, so warm beneath her fingers. She was sure her cheeks must be bright pink.

He let her slip through the door first, and in order to get into the foyer, they’d have to pass the stairway. Becks knew that they couldn’t both fit abreast through the narrow passage, so she hurried her pace to move ahead of him. Unfortunately, she wasn’t paying close enough attention to how much space she really had, and her left hip smashed into the bannister.

Gasping in surprise—and no little bit of pain—she rebounded off the stairs, and slammed into him. Oh God, could she be any more embarrassed?

Apparently she could, because just as she felt herself tipping back towards the bannister again, his arm slipped around her waist and pulled her against his chest.

He was… hard. Had she not noticed that the last time he held her? Was it the suit that made him seem harder? The cotton of his lapels was smooth under her palms, but didn’t feel quite right on this man. And since when was she an expert on what felt right on a man? She closed her eyes on a groan, and tried not to feel safe, cradled against him. He smelled faintly of cinnamon, which seemed to fit him. Funny, her hip didn’t hurt anymore.

“Miss Middleton?”

She refused to open her eyes. “I’m sorry… I’m not…” She took a deep breath, trying to regain some control, and almost choked on it when it only brought her breasts into closer contact with his chest. “I’m usually not so clumsy.”
Possibly a lie.

“I don’t mind.”

“I do.”
Definitely a lie.

“Well, I’m happy to catch you again if the need ever arises.” She could hear the faint grin in his voice, and was mortified to think that he was laughing at her. She opened her eyes to berate him for holding her so close, and forgot what she was going to say.

In the dim light of the foyer—there was never enough money to waste on lighting rooms during the day, when the sunlight would do just as well—he fairly glowed. His skin was bronze, and he had the most unusual eyes. She would have called them brown, except that would be a disservice. They might have started off as brown, but there was enough gold in them to appear… almost copper. She’d never met anyone with that particular shade of eyes, and whatever she was going to say was lost when she noticed how beautifully they caught the light from the window.

He certainly was… mesmerizing, wasn’t he?

She was being an awful ninny, and just as soon as she could form a thought, she’d apologize for gaping up at him. Any moment now…

As if he could sense her discomfort—
another lie
, she was imminently comfortable in his arms, and where had
that
realization come from?—one of his dark brows rose in amusement. Last month, even in the dark, she’d noticed a dimple over his left eyebrow, and it deepened now. She was struck with the silliest urge to touch it, to smooth it.

To see what he felt like.

Oh gracious sakes alive, she was a complete fool, and why couldn’t she stop? She needed to say something—
anything
—to make her sound sophisticated and cultured and not like a gaping schoolgirl held in a gorgeous stranger’s arms. But no matter how frantically she searched for something clever, no matter how she sifted through her jumbled thoughts, the only words on her tongue were
dimple
and
lips
, and she sure as certain wasn’t going to say
those
things
.

Pearl probably wouldn’t have trouble coming up with something to say, to put this intriguing stranger back in his place. But as Becks felt his fingers splay across her back, flexing slightly as if to push her closer to him, she found that she didn’t want to put him in his place. She rather liked him right here, in this place.

And that was when she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she’d gone mad. He was probably an opportunistic pirate-murderer, here to plunder Beckett and ruin them all, and she was perfectly happy to be trapped in his arms.

Maybe Seelay
had
given her the influenza. My, it was a touch warm in here, wasn’t it?

“Miss Middleton? Are you—?”

“I’m fine!” Becks blurted out, and then flushed again at her waspish tone. “I’m fine,” she repeated softer, taking another deep breath. “I just don’t… I don’t make a habit of falling into strange men’s arms.”

He smiled then, and
Lord
he had a nice smile. All teeth and gums and lines on each cheek too perfect to be dimples and over before she’d gotten her fill of it. Had she thought it was warm before? She was positively breathless now. His chest was hot under her palms, and she resisted the urge to curl her fingers around his lapels.

“I’ll catch you, Becks. Anytime you need me to.”

She slowly straightened, wondering what he’d meant by that. Had he meant it to sound so… so intimate? Had he meant to promise her that?

“Why are you here, Mac?” She hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but his oddly comfortable confession has startled it out of her.

He just stared down at her for a long moment, and she couldn’t look away from those compelling copper eyes any more than she could stop her heart beating. Right now, it felt like it might beat out of her chest.

“Your mother would say that I’m here to court you.”

Well, that was probably the last thing Becks could have imagined, if she’d had to guess what he might have possibly said. Court her?
Court her?

He must be mocking her, now. Angry that she’d been distracted by him—his eyes, his smile, that dimple—she flattened her hands against his chest and tried to push herself away. He resisted for just a moment, and then released her. She tried to feel glad that she’d overcome her apparent momentary lapse of reason, but it was obvious that he’d let her go.

“But…” He pretended great interest in the basket of supplies she’d carried up from Thomas’s house, now draped over his right arm, and she pretended that she wasn’t interested in whatever it was that he was about to say. “I told her that I’d tell you the truth.”

“You will?” she all but breathed, inwardly cursing herself for feeling so… so
soft
at his words.

He looked at her strangely, and then he shook his head slightly and looked away. “Yes.”

“Why are you here, Mr. Baird?” Becks took a step back. Anything to put more distance between them, afraid of losing her reason again.

“You called me Mac before.” He was apparently fascinated by the portrait on the landing, judging from how carefully he studied it. “I liked it.”

“It doesn’t seem proper.”

“Are you always proper, Becks?”

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry at the sound of her name on those lips. “I confess…” She looked down at her hands, now clasped in front of her. “I’m not.”

“Really?” She heard the lightness in his tone, and glanced back up to see him smiling at her.
Oh God
, that smile. She had to look away. “I had no idea.”

“Teasing isn’t very gentlemanly, Mr. Baird.”

“Mac.”

“Fine. Mac.”

“And I wasn’t teasing you. I was remembering the last time I got to catch you.”

He
would
have to bring that up again, wouldn’t he? “Again, not very gentlemanly.”

“Catching you?”

“Bringing it up.”

“Well, you’ll find that I’m as improper as you are.” She sucked in her breath at that, wondering what he meant. But he clarified, to her relief and secret disappointment. “I haven’t been accused of being a gentleman in long time.”

“Really?” Becks didn’t bother hiding her surprise. He was dressed like a gentleman, and had been taking tea with her mother like a gentleman. In fact, if she hadn’t seen him barefoot and muddy on the bank of her river, she would have guessed he was a Charleston planter… albeit one without a barber.

“Really.” He smiled again, and she liked the way his face creased. His smiles were sudden and over quickly, but the lines around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes told her they were frequent.

Lord have mercy, what had they been talking about? Oh yes… “Well, do you think you could at least try?”

“To be improper?”

“To be a gentleman.”

He gave a little mocking bow. “For such a proper young lady, I’m sure I could make an attempt to remember how.”

She didn’t quite hide her snort of laughter. Had she exchanged barbs with such a handsome man before? If so, McKee Baird had chased the experience from her memory. But the realization reminded her than she knew nothing about him.

“Why are you here, Mac?” Maybe he’d answer her this time.

“Your mother has invited us to stay for a few days.”

“‘Us’?” Dear Lord, he wasn’t married was he? Surely Eugenia would have mentioned that pertinent little fact?

“My crew and myself. You might remember Robert?”

Oh, had she been holding her breath? She hadn’t realized until she let it out. “Your crew? So you are pirates?”

“Madam,” he said with mock sternness, and she found herself smiling, “I gave you my word already that I wasn’t a pirate.”

“A smuggler, then?”

“Ah.” That was it, just
Ah
. He stared at her long enough to take five or six breaths—not that she was counting or anything—and then cocked his head slightly to one side. “Your mother said this basket goes in the supply pantry? Is that down in the kitchen?”

His attempt to change the subject was half-hearted at best. She just raised one brow, and crossed her arms. He held her gaze a moment more before grinning sheepishly.

“I’m your mother’s… business partner.”

“‘Business partner?’”

His chin dipped slightly, as if acknowledging the disbelief he surely heard in her voice. “We visited last night, and Eugenia invited us to stay for a bit.”

“‘Visited
’
?” Becks wondered why she wasn’t more irritated at the way he was dancing around the subject.

“You sound like a parrot I once met.”

“Your flattery isn’t working, Mr. Mac.”

He laughed, and
Heavens
! If she’d thought his smile was nice, the way it struck with the speed of August lightening… his laugh was even better. His head canted backwards and his shoulders shook and she could tell that he laughed often.

But then, as quick as his smile, his laughter cut off, and he was grinning down at her. “It’s possible that I might have inadvertently led Major Creel to believe that I was courting you—” Becks did snort at that. There’d been nothing “inadvertent” about the way he’d tricked Creel. But he just smiled again in acknowledgement. “Well, Eugenia thinks that having me on hand for a few days would make that lie more credible, and Major Creel might change his tune with a little competition.”

“But it’s not really competition, is it?”

“No.” His mouth hardened, and she wondered how the same pair of lips could look so inviting and intimidating at the same time. “And I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. Your mother knows that I’m not interested in marrying, or in tying myself to any one place.” His voice was flatter than it had been a moment ago. “At all.”