The Pirate's Desire (5 page)

She flushed. “No. But to gain control of his estate…”

Riel gave an abrupt bow. “I will take my leave before I say something I regret. Good evening, Lady Lucinda.”

Muscular shoulders tense, he brushed by her, and strode down the hall. He took the stairs two at a time, and then Lucinda heard the hard clomp of his boots overhead.

Quick breaths still heaved in her bosom. She felt a little ridiculous, standing there. Perhaps she had gone over the top, accusing him of belonging to the French Navy. Nor did she truly think he’d forced her father to write those letters.

On the other hand, could he have tricked her father into trusting him? Yes, indeed. Father had been sharp and quick, but his kind heart was his weakness.

It was bad enough, the idea of Riel becoming her guardian and ruling her life. But him taking over Ravensbrook and all of its finances, too? No. It was too much.
Never.

Lucinda realized that she’d been mistaken to think she had to burn all the letters her father had sent. Only one must be destroyed—the sealed missive to Mr. Chase. With that dispatched, Riel Montclair would have no claim to Ravensbrook, whatsoever.

Simple, then. Mr. Chase’s letter would mysteriously disappear. And then so would Riel Montclair.

Lucinda awoke early
the next morning. Knowing her father’s body would arrive that afternoon brought fresh, aching misery. She did not want to get out of bed. However, she must. This morning, she must send Gabriel Montclair packing.

With Effie’s help, she washed and dressed in her only black crêpe dress. Unfortunately, more black frocks would be required for the mourning period. Lucinda made a mental note to speak to Mr. Chase about advancing her clothing stipend for the necessary garments.

Lucinda hated black, and more so, the idea of spending her limited clothing allotment for the unbecoming garments. But for her father, she would do nothing less than give him the honor of a full black mourning time.

“Do you want breakfast in your room, Miss Lucinda?” Effie asked, hovering at the door.

“Yes, please, Effie.” She opened a drawer and plucked out a handful of folded and sealed parchments. It had taken her an hour last night to write the dozen invitations to her father’s funeral on the morrow. She handed them to her maid. “Please give these to Mrs. Beatty. And when you return, please tell me the whereabouts of Mr. Montclair.”

“Very good, miss.” The door softly clicked shut. While Lucinda sat to wait, plans flitted through her mind, like buzzing bees seeking the brightest flower. Depending upon Effie’s report, she was ready to spring into action.

With a light knock, Effie returned. Lucinda found that her palms were damp with nervous perspiration, but she adopted a calm demeanor. “Thank you, Effie. Did you locate our guest?”

The maid
poured tea into a delicate, rose patterned china cup. “He’s ’aving breakfast, he is.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Effie. I believe I will take a leisurely meal. No need to return for an hour.”

“Of course, miss. Thank you.” Effie flashed a small grin and hurried out the door, no doubt eager to spend her extra fre
e, precious moments with her
friend Henry, who worked in the stables.

After a moment, Lucinda peeked into the hall. All clear. Good. No servants, and no Riel Montclair. Straightening her shoulders, she swept into the passageway as if she had every right to be there…as, of course she did, Lucinda reminded herself, swiping damp palms against her dress.

The hall opened up a few steps later into a small rotunda arching over the circular grand staircase. Lucinda peeped over the railing and listened to the faint clank of dishes in the far off kitchen. No footsteps approached. No one was about to witness her underhanded deed.

Dashing on light, quick toes, she gained the door to the sumptuous guest quarters, located just on the other side of the rotunda. The door handle felt smooth and cold beneath her clammy hand. Trepidation pounded in her heart. What if he was inside?

He isn’t. Stop being foolish.

Heart fluttering like a bird, Lucinda opened the door and slipped inside.

The open, dark blue curtains allowed in a stream of sunlight. The room was the exact image of her own, with three great windows straight ahead, a neatly made bed, flanked by bedside tables, and an armoire on the left wall, just beside the door. Instead of being decorated in yellows and creams, however, this room was more masculine, with a palette of dark blue and heavy, mahogany furniture.

Carefully, she edged into the room and cast a quick glance around the side of the armoire.
As if he would be hiding back there,
she chastised herself. Instead, she spotted his worn canvas sea bag. Was that the only piece of luggage he owned, or would more be arriving?

She then realized another disconcerting fact about her unwelcome guest. He had no valet. All nobles retained a valet.
Was
he a noble at all? Or was that merely a fabrication?

The certainty that she should not trust him intensified. Lucinda felt more determined than ever that she must succeed in her mission right now.

The letter. Where was it? She must find it, and quickly, for he could return at any moment.

Lucinda swiftly checked his sea bag, and felt embarrassed when her fingers ran over every article of his clothing. Thankfully, no one was about to witness her disgraceful actions.

Nothing there. Feeling a little warm, she regained her feet and scanned the room. Where might he have put the letter? Provided it wasn’t tucked in his jacket this very moment.
Please, God, no.

Of course, perhaps the Almighty wasn’t listening to her. He couldn’t be too pleased with her behavior. And what of her father? What would he think?

Lucinda tried to ignore these prickles to her conscience as she circled the room, searching in the drawers of a small desk, atop the bedside tables, and on the fireplace mantle above the smoldering fire; everywhere, even the top of the armoire. Finally, she put her hands on her hips and surveyed the room. Either he carried the letter with him now, or he’d hidden it. Either way meant he distrusted her.

She frowned. Riel Montclair would not win. He would not gain control over herself or Ravensbrook. If he had hidden the letter, she would surely find it!

She knelt beside the bed, checked under it, and then gripped the mattress with two hands and pushed upward
. It was heavy, and barely budged
.

She put her shoulder to the mattress and shoved upward again. Good. It rose a few inches. Speedily, her fingers slipped under the drooping bed coverings and searched for the letter.

Nothing. She moved down the bed, and heaved it up again. When she reached the far side of the bed, perspiration dampened her skin and her carefully coiffed hair straggled in tendrils against her cheeks. Effie would wonder what she’d been about. No matter. This was the last place to check. Surely he didn’t have the letter on his person.

With all of her strength, Lucinda shoved up on the mattress. Pain skewered like a knife down her back. Her muscles were unused to such exertions. Her fingers fluttered, searching…searching… They brushed paper.

Spirit soaring with elation, she snatched out the folded parchment. Sure enough, Father’s flowing script read, “Mr. Chase.”

She’d found it. Lucinda sat back on her heels in triumph.

A red wax seal secured it, as Riel had said. Now that she’d found it, should she read it? Or quickly destroy it? A longing to read her father’s words warred with her need for haste. Perhaps if she hid the letter in her bodice, she could carry it to her room and read it there.

A small click sounded at the door. Lucinda’s pulse exploded in fright, and she whipped a glance over her shoulder. Riel! Sure enough, the door knob turned.

With horrified, shaking fingers she shoved the letter into her bodice, trying to work it down so he couldn’t see…

“Lucy.” Displeasure thundered in the deep voice.

She sprang to her feet, still turned away from him, struggling to fix her bodice.

A hard hand jerked her around to face him. “Why are you in my room?”

“I…I came to see that all is to your satisfaction…”

Alarmingly, his dark, pirate eyes fell to her bodice, still askew. Worse, a small corner of the parchment peeked out. “What have we here?”

“Nothing! Unhand me at once.” She struggled, but his grip held her immobile. Worse, the tanned fingers of his other hand reached for the corner of the parchment. She slapped his hand away.

“How dare you!”

“Then give the letter to me.”

“Never!” she gasped, and struggled in a sudden, wild fury to free herself. She must escape now with the letter, or she’d be chained to this man for the next two years. “Get your hands off of me!”

She twisted hard to the right, and suddenly found herself slammed back hard against him. His rock-solid chest imprinted her back, as did every angle and plane of his body. She gasped still further, and a hot blush rose up her skin. “Unhand me a
t once, you…you barbaric pirate
! I cannot believe you would
treat a lady in such a manner
!”

“A true lady would not behave as you are.” The arm he’d clamped around her waist held both of her arms immobile, as well. She felt his warm breath on her neck and unaccountable shivers raced down her skin. In her ear, he said, “Now I will retrieve my letter.”

“No.” She struggled, but to no avail. In helpless frustration she watched his fingers swoop for the parchment, which poked up beyond the edge of her bodice. His tanned knuckles brushed her sensitive skin, and Lucinda shuddered, feeling that she might die of embarrassment. She reared back, away from his touch, but unfortunately, that only pressed her more closely into his solid, muscular body. Tears welled in her eyes. “You monstrous beast,” she hissed. “Unhand me at once!”

The parchment slipped free, and in that instant she found herself free, as well. She whirled, flushed with temper. “How dare you touch me in such a manner? And…and
steal
…”

“Do not speak to me of stealing,” he said in a dangerous tone. Was that a flicker of amusement in his gaze? Impossible. Nothing about this situation was funny.

Lucinda trembled with finely controlled rage. “Fine. Keep the letter. But know, Mr. Montclair, that I will protect Ravensbrook and my servants with my life, if necessary. I will
never
allow this estate’s monies to pass through your covetous hands.”

Any suspicion of amusement fled. “You care nothing for your father’s last wishes, then.”

“My father trusted too easily. He has been duped before.”

“He was too quick to see the good in someone, you mean?”

“Exactly! So you admit you deceived him?”

“I see he did not perceive his daughter to be the selfish, spoiled young lady you are.” He slipped the letter into his jacket pocket. “Have you always behaved like this, Lucinda?”

She did not like the dark way he said her full name. “I am merely trying to protect myself and everything I hold dear. I wish for you to leave. I can handle everything well enough on my own.”

“You have made it clear to me that you are an immature young woman who lacks respect for others. Peter was right. You do need a guardian. Unfortunately for both of us, I am his choice. I will be your guardian, Lucinda, you may be sure of that. And you will come to treat me with respect.”

“Respect is earned, Mr. Montclair.”

“It is also learned, Lady Lucinda.”

She did not like the steady, hard look in his eyes, and decided it was time to make her exit.

He spoke softly, just before she closed the door. “I will leave for the solicitor in one hour. If you wish to come, you will be ready.”

Lucinda jerked the door hard, and its slam reverberated down the hall. The gall of the man! The utter cheek. Trembling, she stalked to her room and slammed that door, too.

She stood there, shaking. She had lost. Worse, she felt embarrassed and humiliated. An ache gathered in her throat. She’d been right from the start. He
was
a savage, through and through. What would he do to her—or to Ravensbrook—once he gained full control of both?

In an hour, the solicitor would read the letter and her fate would be sealed.

Tears welled and she stumbled to the bed. It wasn’t fair! None of it. Father’s death, living under Riel’s boot for the next two years… Why did it have to be?
Why?

Lucinda wept softly, in abject misery. Father’s death was bad enough. She could not suffer
through
Riel’s domineering rule over her life, too. And Ravensbrook. What did he intend to do with Ravensbrook, once the full financial reins fell into his hands?

* * * * *

Riel wondered what he had gotten himself into. He owed Commodore Hastings his life, but becoming a guardian to his daughter seemed like a stiff sentence to pay in return. Lucy was as fiery and strong-willed as they came. Clearly, she did not want him to be her guardian. Worse, the idea of him taking over Ravensbrook’s finances seemed to have pushed her over the edge. She distrusted him completely. But why? Why would she hate him, when she barely knew him?

He thought through their confrontations; two of which he had resolved by force. A technique which had clearly inflamed her hatred for him. But what else could he do? Allow her to run off with Peter’s letter and burn it?

Never. His jaw tightened. With his last breath, the Earl of Ravensbrook had begged Riel to watch over Lucy. To protect her. Riel had sworn on his life that he would. Lucy was mistaken if she thought she could run him off.

He frowned, and analyzed each of their confrontations again. Perhaps he was handling her the wrong way. Instead of telling her the way things would be, perhaps he should suggest the ideas first. Instead of treating her like an unruly new sailor, he could treat her like his first mate. He could listen to her views.

Lucy was upset about her father’s death. Maybe that, in addition to all the changes in her life that Riel represented, was too much for her to handle right now.

As Riel gathered the necessary items for the visit to the solicitor, he decided he’d try to be more understanding. If Lucy agreed, they could go about his guardianship as a partnership. Provided, of course, she agreed to behave like an adult.

He would make Lady Lucinda realize that cooperation would be much more pleasant than war.

* * * * *

Lucinda rode soberly to town in Montclair’s black carriage. Riel glanced at her several times, perhaps wondering why she rode so placidly across from him.

Probably waiting for her next histrionic fit.

Lucinda averted her face and silently looked out the window. A sick knot clenched in her stomach as she slowly accepted the fact she could do nothing to change her future. Riel would become lord over her. And how would he treat her, after the way she’d just treated him? It didn’t bear thinking about. He’d proven how dangerous he could be; twice, in as many days.