The Pirate's Desire (15 page)

He said nothing for another long moment. Finally, “I was not trying to disparage your decisions, Lucy. But it’s my job to make sure Ravensbrook’s money is spent wisely. You’ll forgive me, but I have not been able to check the ledgers in six months. I have no idea what is going on.”

Confronted by his calm logic, Lucinda’s ire deflated. She even felt foolish. “Of course.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled a little. “In answer to your question, I leave the day after Christmas.”

“So soon?” she blurted, and then could have bitten her tongue. It wasn’t like she wanted him to
stay!

“The Navy has assigned another mission for my ship.”

Tartly, Sophie said, “Why don’t they use their own ships?”

“They’re running thin, what with the war with the Americans and the war with France going on at the same time.
Tradewind
is a clipper, and one of the fastest ships in the British fleet. She can easily dart in and out of coves and spy on enemy ships. The Navy has rigged her up with additional cannons.”

“For all purposes she’s a war ship.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll be forced to fight the entire war.” Comprehension and sick acceptance wobbled in Sophie’s voice.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Lucinda said. “You’re not a commissioned officer.
Tradewind
is your ship. How can they force you to fight?”

“I want to defeat Napoleon, too.”

“That isn’t the whole story.” Lucinda felt this truth clear to her bones.

Riel gave her a level look, as if trying to decide how much he would tell her. Finally, he said, “If I do not comply, the Navy will look for any reason to impound my ship. Seize it, in other words, and use it until they are finished with it. Even then I might not get it back.”

“But that would be stealing!”

Riel shrugged. “They’ll look for any infraction I might have committed and use it to their advantage.”

“Any infraction?” Lucinda jumped on that interesting tidbit. “And would they find a reason to seize your ship?”

Again, that indefinable pause. Again she sensed that dark something in him, indicating that all was not as it should be with Riel Montclair. Maybe something from his past…or from more recent history. Riel’s edginess now, added to his first mate saying they didn’t want to raise the Navy’s suspicions, combined to make Lucinda very suspicious indeed. What could Riel be hiding that he didn’t want the British government to discover?

“Will you tell me?” she pressed. Lucinda could read nothing in that black gaze, and because of it, guessed he would not tell her the full truth now.

“I am a French citizen,” he said at last. “What better reason could they have to impound my boat?”

A good reason, indeed. But again, it wasn’t the full story. Lucinda wasn’t sure how she knew this, but her intuition rarely led her astray. That same intuition told her Riel would reveal no more. Not now. Maybe not ever. For now she would accept it, but Lucinda vowed that someday, somehow she would discover Riel Montclair’s deepest secret.

Perhaps this knowledge would give her the ability to gain some measure of control over her life—not that she wished him harm. She didn’t. But what if, down the road, she needed some sort of leverage over him? For example, if he refused to let her marry the man she wanted. Knowing Riel’s darkest secret might give her the ability to ensure her future happiness.

The underhandedness of her tentative course of action did not sit well within her, but on the other hand, the thought of gaining this greatest, most ultimate control over her life beckoned like the sweetest treat. One way or another, Lucinda would find out the truth. Then she would choose how to best use that information.

* * * * *

After supper, Riel helped Sophie back to her room. Before he left, she put a quelling hand on his arm. “She can read you, Riel.”

“Lucy?”

“Yes, Lucinda. Of whom else would I be speaking?” Sophie said impatiently. “She knows something is not right.”

Riel knew very well what she meant. Lucy’s pointed questions about his past weighed heavily upon his mind.

“She knows no facts. I want it to stay that way.”

“Why? Don’t you trust her? Do you think she would notify the authorities?” His aunt sounded indignant.

“I don’t want to start the war again,” he said grimly. “She still doesn’t want me to be her guardian. I can see it. I won’t give her ammunition to force me out of her life.”

“You’re making a mistake. You should be honest with the girl. Better now than later, when it can come back to bite you.”

“No. I will not.” Riel didn’t say it, but he didn’t want Lucy to look at him with contempt in her eyes. He had gained her respect. He didn’t want to lose it. And he also must fulfill his promise to Peter. The truth would give Lucy leverage to railroad him out of her life. He could not allow that.

* * * * *

The next morning Lucinda awoke to sunshine sparkling off the snow and bright blue skies. Christmas Eve! And a party to anticipate this evening.

She sprang out of bed, but a glance at the clock told her it was only half past eight. Effie wouldn’t arrive until nine. Well, for once she could dress herself and grab a crust of bread from Mrs. Beatty’s larder. Still much needed to be prepared for the ball tonight. Lucinda could not loll about in bed, waiting for the clock to mark the slow passing minutes until nine o’clock.

After donning a simple cotton frock of light blue and lace, Lucinda brushed her hair until it shone, and then left it lying in long waves down her back. There. Presentable. She nodded at the mirror and went in search of breakfast.

Lucinda perched on a chair in the dining room, nibbling on cold, leftover potatoes, when Riel arrived. He wore his jacket, and the scent of fresh air came with him. Evidently he had been up for some time. “Where have you been?” she inquired.

“I retrieved the ledgers from Mr. Chase.” He poured himself some tea, which Mrs. Beatty had just brought out, along with a tongue cluck of disapproval at Lucinda for eating cold food.

“He’s already up?”

“Yes. Last summer he mentioned he often gets up at five. Since I don’t have much time to check the ledgers, I took a chance he might be up early this morning.”

“I’ve been keeping the petty cash,” she said with some pride.

“Have you?” With a surprising smile that relaxed his features, he sat across from her. “Mr. Chase has taught you well, then.”

“I hope so.” Lucinda decided to broach a subject she’d been thinking about for several weeks. “The Season is only a few months away. I’d like to know what monies are available to me. I need to commission a few dresses made before I go to London.”

“I will figure that out for you today.”

How agreeable he was! Lucinda decided she might like this relaxed, smiling Riel. She smiled, too. “What else have you planned for this day?”

“I will ride the grounds and see how the tenant farmers are faring.”

Lucinda felt proud that she could tell him she’d ridden out only last week. She relayed a full report of a roof that needed fixing, and assorted other odds and ends the people of Ravensbrook needed. One woman needed extra money to pay for a doctor’s care, for she was about to give birth. Mr. Chase had already provided that money.

Respect and approval gleamed in his eyes. “You have done well, Lucy.”

Warm pleasure flushed her cheeks. “Thank you.”

“If you like, I will figure out the money for the dresses now.”

Lucinda felt surprised. He exited from the room, but soon returned with a blue ledger and a parchment. While she finished her meager breakfast, washed down with hot tea, Riel did quick sums on the extra paper. Then he pushed it across the table to her. He’d circled a tidy amount, prefixed by a pound sign.

Lucinda didn’t know if the amount was a lot or a little, or even how many dresses she could buy with it. Of course, she knew the cost of the black dresses the modiste had made for her mourning period, but they had been simply designed gowns—not the latest fashion.

“Is it the same amount as last year?” she asked, trying to make a comparison.

To her surprise, Riel rose and angled his large body into the chair next to hers. Her heart beat faster, overwhelmingly aware of his close presence. He smelled clean, of warm, baked sunshine, and again she felt the raw power of him, carefully controlled, as always.

He pushed the blue ledger before her. His tanned hand rested next to her own. “See. Here is the amount from last year.” His warm breath touched her cheek.

Goosebumps prickled down her arms and Lucinda’s palms felt suddenly clammy. What was wrong with her?
Stop it!
she told herself.

The party could not come quickly enough. She glanced at the book and focused her thoughts. “So the amount this year is less, because of the mourning dresses.”

“Yes.”

Lucinda supposed she would have to make do with whatever the money would buy her. Last year she’d bought twelve new gowns. Perhaps this year she could buy only eleven. Disappointment lodged in her throat.

Absently, Lucinda scanned the other entries on the ledger. She realized the page appeared to be totals of last year’s expenses. The cost of her wardrobe, the expense of food—the amount of which surprised her a great deal—as well as the wages for Mrs. Beatty and the other staff. Her jaw dropped. “Is this how much Mrs. Beatty is paid each
year?
”

Riel glanced at the page. “Yes.”

“But…” It must be a mistake! “But how can she live on that? My dresses for the Season cost six times her yearly salary!”

“True,” Riel agreed with a surprised, but faintly approving look. “But she lives here. She pays no expenses for food or lodging.”

“Still. It doesn’t seem right.” Lucinda felt guilty now for the apparently extravagant amount she’d spent on dresses last Season. And just moments ago, she’d felt disappointed she could only acquire eleven gowns instead of twelve! How many dresses could Mrs. Beatty buy with her meager funds?

Riel’s gaze held hers. “What do you want to do about it?”

Lucinda blinked. “I can
do
something?”

“You are the mistress of Ravensbrook now. You can suggest an increased salary for your staff.”

“But…” Lucinda’s mind swam with the enormity of this idea…and the responsibility. “But where would that money come from? Isn’t all the money used up each month?”

“The crops brought in a little extra last year, and trims can be made here and there.”

“Trims?” Lucinda wasn’t sure if she liked the sound of that.

“Cut back on frivolities. Buy fewer dresses this Season, and give the extra money to your staff. Or give Mrs. Beatty and a few others a Christmas bonus, instead.”

While Lucinda did not like Riel calling her wardrobe a frivolity, she considered his words. It did seem unfair that she should have so much, and her devoted servants, so little.

“If I were to give Mrs. Beatty a bonus, how much do you think would be appropriate?” she asked at last.

His gaze held hers. “You are serious.”

“Yes. Mrs. Beatty has been more than a housekeeper here for the last thirty-three years. She’s been a mother to me, too. She deserves far more than she earns.”

“Have you any others to whom you would like to give bonuses?”

Lucinda named a handful of others, including Effie and Wilson, the butler.

Riel suggested an equal bonus for all, but Lucinda disagreed. Heads close together, they dickered out appropriate allotments for five of Ravensbrook’s oldest and most loyal staff. Lucinda’s dresses for the Season dwindled to eight.

Agreement finally made, Riel leaned back. “You have surprised me, Lucy. In a good way,” he added, when her eyebrows climbed.

“You believed me to be rich and spoilt, and completely selfish?”

“I am happy to see that you are not.”

It felt like a backhanded sort of a compliment. Lucinda wasn’t sure whether to feel insulted or proud. “Remember, you know little about me, Mr. Montclair. Let this be the first of your many lessons.”

A smile glimmered. “I have learned many already.”

“I thought we agreed to forget the past.”

He regarded her, still faintly amused, and his eyes intensely black. “I await you to teach me how wrong I have been.”

Warmth flushed her skin. “Then prepared to be schooled, Mr. Montclair. I have much to teach you.”

He chuckled. “Never will any of your lessons be dull, will they, Lucy?”

She flounced to her feet, suddenly finished with the conversation and the flush searing her skin. “Enough of the games. I have business to attend to, for the ball is only hours away.”

“Leave a dance for me.”

Lucinda couldn’t help but frown. How like him to autocratically demand a dance, instead of asking for one nicely, with an ample helping of humble supplication! “If I lack for partners I will gladly squeeze you in. If not…” She shrugged.

Riel only smiled, clearly unperturbed, which made Lucinda frown a little harder. She would make sure her dance card was filled up, and speedily. Riel Montclair might think he had a right to dance with her, just as he had the right to rule her life and run Ravensbrook, but he was wrong. At least in this small matter, Lucinda would teach him that she was in charge of her own destiny. And her destiny did not include a dance with a certain supremely confident, raven-haired pirate!

“Good day, Mr. Montclair.” She spun on her heel and left him to enjoy his breakfast alone.

A quiet chuckle followed her out. With a flare of indignation, Lucinda wondered if he’d ruffled her on purpose. She felt doubly determined to deny him any dance this evening.

Candles sparkled
in the chandeliers in the ballroom, and punch filled the deep crystal bowl. Delicious Christmas confections adorned the buffet table along the wall, as well. Lucinda could hardly wait to sample them. Mrs. Beatty had baked up a storm all week. It was eight o’clock, and already guests streamed into the house.

“Hello!” Lucinda greeted her oldest and dearest friend, Amelia, and her parents. “I haven’t seen you in ages! How have you been?”

Amelia rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Bored,” she said drolly. “At least until dear Jonathon came to visit.”

Before Lucinda could ask who Jonathon was, a tall man with fashionably trimmed chestnut hair stepped forward and bowed over her hand. “Lady Lucinda,” he said in a smooth drawl. “Amelia did not say how beautiful you are.”

Lucinda smiled, quick to see how very handsome he was, with dark green eyes and classical features. And he was dressed to the minute in the very latest fashion, she noticed. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord.” Clearly he was titled. It seemed a safe assumption to make.

“He’s my second cousin once removed, the Duke of Warrington,” Amelia informed her. She patted her mousy brown hair, scraped back into a tidy bun. At least, it was tidy for now. Amelia was prone to outrageous mishaps, and rarely did she survive one evening without her dress spotted or her hair caught by a passing gentleman’s cuffed sleeve as he raised his arm to sip champagne. Unlikely though it was, this scenario had played out on several occasions.

“I didn’t know you were related to a Duke,” Lucinda teased her friend.

“If only I could be a duchess, then perhaps all of my worldly troubles would vanish.” Meaning her unlikelihood of catching a husband, Lucinda knew. Amelia believed herself too tall and plain. She did not see herself as the witty, clever girl she was, but Lucinda firmly believed the right man existed for Amelia. Someone who would recognize her for the treasure she was.

She took her friend by the arm. “Come, Sophie will want to speak with you again. She’s become my dearest friend over the last several months—next to you, of course.” A step away Sophie sat, chatting with Lady Humphrey. Lucinda introduced Amelia’s parents and Jonathon.

Sophie smiled. “I’m so pleased you could come to the ball. Lucinda has told me all about you. It’s good that young people could come and liven up Ravensbrook.”

Amelia’s parents joked a little about being considered “young people,” and chatted with Sophie.

Amelia plucked at Lucinda’s arm. “Where’s your beastly guardian? I’d love to meet him.” Amelia and her family had been on holiday during Lucinda’s father’s funeral.

“Doubtless he’s about somewhere,” Lucinda said dismissively.

“What does he look like?” Amelia pressed.

Lucinda sighed. “He’s hard to miss. He’s big, with long black hair, like a pirate. His manners are frequently as atrocious.”

Amelia snorted with delight. “He sounds a peach. Let’s find him.”

“Before you go,” the Duke of Warrington spoke behind them, and Lucinda turned, embarrassed that she’d rudely ignored a duke. “If you would be so kind, Lady Lucinda, I would love the honor of a dance later this evening.”

Lucinda promptly extended her dance card. “Take two slots,” she encouraged, and then realized how that sounded. “I mean,” she said hastily, “only if you wish, of course, your grace.” She’d been on a tear all evening, cajoling dances from all the young men she knew. Four slots remained, and she was determined to avoid Riel until every last one was taken.

The Duke smiled and wrote on her card. “I would be pleased to accept two from the most beautiful lady in the room…besides Amelia, of course.” Amelia rolled her eyes at this. “And please call me Jonathon.” His wonderful eyes held hers, telling her he truly meant his words. Lucinda flushed, and felt a little giddy. Clearly he was the most highly titled man in the room—besides Riel, if one could count his French title—and Jonathon found her attractive. With a smile, he moved away, weaving his tall, well-formed body through the guests, heading in the direction of the punch bowl.

Lucinda gave a low squeal. “You do
not
have a duke for a cousin.”

Amelia smiled. “I do, and he’s as nice as he looks, too. Not that I know him all
that
well. He’s one of the distant relations that show up for Christmas and the like every five years or so.”

“Still.”

“Show me your pirate.”

Lucinda’s nerves prickled up and she knew Riel stood right behind her. She tucked her dance card up her sleeve and turned with a smile. “Well, aren’t we fortunate? Here he is now.”

Amelia’s eyes widened a bit, and then narrowed when she turned and saw Riel. She extended her hand. “I am Lady Amelia.”

“Riel Montclair, Baron of Iveny, at your service.” He bowed over her hand.

Amelia flicked Lucinda a glance, eyebrow arched. “It seems Lucinda led me astray. You are well mannered.”

He smiled. “I am pleased someone thinks so.”

Lucinda took Amelia’s arm. “We were just heading to the punch table.”

Her friend refused to budge. “You’ve been so eager to fill up your dance card, Lucinda. Perhaps Lord Iveny would care to take a dance.”

Lucinda shot daggers at her friend. “No, Amelia. Mr. Montclair is…”

“Fortunate to catch you with slots still remaining. It would also be my pleasure, Lady Amelia, if I could sign your card, as well.”

“Well.” Amelia offered a crooked smile. “I would be pleased, too. Thank you, Lord Iveny.”

Riel signed for one of Amelia’s dances and while he did so, Lucinda edged away. When Riel offered Amelia a compliment on her gown, Lucinda crept further afield, and then darted for the punch table, abandoning her friend. With a trembling hand, she poured punch into a crystal glass. Goodness. That had been a close call. Two more slots to fill. Whom could she apprehend next?

She scanned the room, noting that Riel still spoke to Amelia. Good. It gave her more time to find her next unwitting dance partner. Her eyes lit upon a friend’s twin brother. So what if he was only sixteen? He would do. With a grin, she made haste for Timothy.

Blond-haired Timothy reluctantly signed for a country dance; reluctant only because he couldn’t dance well, he told her. Otherwise, he’d be pleased to dance two dances with her, he vowed. His milk chocolate eyes shone with puppy-like adoration.

One to go. Lucinda skirted a clump of elderly matrons and hugged the edge of the ballroom, looking for her next victim. From this vantage point, she could see that everyone enjoyed themselves enormously. A success, then. She and Sophie could feel proud.

Sophie had given her wisdom on all the little elements that would make the party a smashing success—crystal glasses, the lightest confections, the best music, and beautiful linens. Everything had been polished until it shone; chandeliers, the wooden floor…everything. Ravensbrook had never looked so grand, and everyone seemed to be loving it.

However, Lucinda sighed now with frustration. Surely there were more eligible young men! Where was Harry, the eldest son of an earl who lived on the other side of the village?

Maybe his cough had returned.

With a frown, Lucinda stood on tiptoe and scanned the room. Plenty of old men. Strike those.

Her dance card was plucked from her fingers. “One slot left, I see,” Riel said, and with bold strokes claimed the last dance.

Lucinda gasped with outrage. “I don’t remember being asked, Mr. Montclair! Is this how nobility behaves in France?”

“It is how a pirate behaves.” He smiled, showing his teeth. “And that is what you think of me, isn’t it? Your friend Amelia has been most forthcoming.”

The traitor. “You have always known what I think of you. It’s been no secret.”

“Until the waltz, Lucy.” And then he was gone.

Lucinda frowned down at her dance card. Filled now, to be sure. If only she could strike through his name. And he’d taken the waltz! The closest, most intimate dance of all. It was still considered scandalous by some. And it was the last dance of the night. He did want to get on her last nerve. He was deliberately trying to irk her! She growled beneath her breath.

“I see Lord Iveny found you.” Amelia peered at Lucinda’s dance card.

“Thanks so much. Did you steer him to me?”

Amelia smiled. “You really have a thing for him, don’t you?”

Lucinda choked on a gasp. “I do not have any
thing
for him. He drives me absolutely up the wall and down the other side.”

Amelia grinned. “He can’t be all bad. He’s put a definite sparkle in your eyes.”

“A sparkle of rage,” Lucinda informed her. “For a far more pleasant sparkle, I would look upon your cousin, the Duke.”

“Have you any suggestions who might sign my dance card? The pickings look slim tonight.”

“Try Timothy. He signed mine.”

Both Amelia and Lucinda burst into rueful giggles. “You must be desperate,” Amelia said. “But so am I. Wish me luck.” She made her way over to young Lord Fenwick.

* * * * *

The Duke of Warrington was a sublime partner. He whirled with Lucinda through the steps of the Scottish reel, his movements smooth and graceful. Her heart pounded quite deliciously by the end.

He led her off the dance floor. “I’m parched. How about you?”

Lucinda agreed that she could use a sip of punch, and so he crooked his arm, which she happily took. After pouring a splash into each cup, he looked down at her with a surprised, considering smile. “You are an unexpected treasure to find in the wilds of the country. Had I known you were here, I would have wrangled an invitation to visit my relatives much sooner.”

Flattered, Lucinda wondered if he truly meant those words, or if he was a rake of the first order. Amelia had said she didn’t know him that well. And how old was he? Likely about twenty-four. She sipped her drink to cover the uncertain flutters his words caused within her. “Do you often make it to the ton for the Season, Duke?”

He cast her a wicked, charming smile. “Call me Jonathon. And I live in London. May I be so bold to call you Lucinda?”

Goodness, he was smooth, and moved so very quickly. Lucinda knew she was still inexperienced with men, and wondered what seasoned girls might say to him. She offered a calm, hopefully sophisticated smile. “I would be pleased if you would.”

“Good.” He grinned still more. “Would you like to go somewhere and talk for a while?”

Unease flickered through her. “Well…”

“Lady Lucinda’s dance card is full.” Riel spoke from behind her. “She would not like to disappoint the next gentleman in line.”

Much as Lucinda felt a bit of relief at Riel’s intervention, she also felt a smidge of annoyance. However, she would not snipe at Riel in front of Jonathon, for she had no wish to appear like a child before the very handsome Duke of Warrington. Instead, she affixed a serene smile upon her lips. “Jonathon, have you met my guardian, Riel Montclair, Baron of Iveny?”

“Can’t say that I have.” Jonathon offered his hand, and the two men shook. It seemed a bit firm on both parts, if the white knuckles were to be believed. “I’m the Duke of Warrington. Call me Jonathon.”

The Baron stiffened, ever so slightly. “Riel.”

The two men eyed each other for a long moment, and then a puzzled frown flickered across Jonathon’s features. “Have we met before…Riel?”

Beside her, Lucinda sensed the palpable tension in Riel’s large body. A glance up revealed no expression on his face, however. “I doubt that, Duke. I do not move in the circles of the London gentry. I own a ship and spend most of my time on the sea.”

“Oh.” The tiny frown lingered, then cleared. “I must have you mixed up with someone else.”

But who? Lucinda had never before met a man as distinctive as Riel. Truly, he was one of a kind. Perhaps in the past Jonathon had met someone with similar features. Perhaps. But she couldn’t forget the way Riel had stiffened. Had he recognized Jonathon? If so, why would he deny it?

The next man on her dance card arrived to claim the quadrille, and with reluctance she bid farewell to Jonathon.

“Until our next dance,” he told her with a mischievous twinkle.

The rest of the evening whirled by in a merry jumble of dances. Lucinda was pleased to see that her friend Amelia did not lack for dance partners. Riel danced with her twice, as did Jonathon. She also noticed that Sophie appeared to be having a wonderful time talking to new friends. Lucinda stopped by a number of times to see if Sophie needed anything, and spent a few minutes chatting with her until the next man came to ask for his dance.

Lucinda suffered through the country dance with young, clumsy Timothy, then another thrilling twirl about the room with Jonathon. Afterward, servants extinguished a few lights, and older people shuffled for the door. It was time for the last dance. The waltz. Riel’s dance.

Lucinda saw his dark head move across the room and felt like a mouse about to be pounced upon by a cat. Couldn’t she escape? Must she suffer one dance in his arms? She cast a quick, longing glance toward the exit.

Amelia appeared by her side. “You’re not going to run out on your last dance, are you?” she said with a sharp, amused glance. “If anyone has reason, it would be me. I hear young Timothy smashes toes.”

“He does,” Lucinda agreed ruefully. Thankfully, the smarting had eased several dances ago.

“The Baron is a fine dancer,” Amelia said. “I think there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

How well Lucinda knew this! “He’s owns another title, actually…in France.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to tell her friend this.

“He’s French?”

“Half French and half English. He chose the English title because the French Revolution abolished all aristocratic titles.” At Amelia’s arched, inquiring brow, she elaborated, “He would be the Duke of Montclair.”

“A Duke in your very own house. And you felt so impressed with Jonathon.”

“Jonathon is different,” Lucinda said defensively. “Riel… I don’t think either title means anything to him.”