“Are you angry?”
He broke into a grin. “No, my love, my beautiful love.” He reached for her. She came into his arms, a shy smile on her face but a small glow in her eyes, the glow of a woman who finally understood her power. He gathered her against him and kissed her hair. “You have made me very, very happy.”
He slept with her. Alexandra thought he would perhaps continue their tumble in bed, but he simply stripped off his clothes and burrowed under the covers and invited her to join him. She did, still in her yellow dress. He lay on his side and tugged her back against him, circling one arm about her waist. She lay in the cradle of his body, feeling herself droop with tiredness.
He slept before she did. The candle in the lantern burned out and darkness filled the room. Behind her, his sonorous, even breathing lulled her. She drifted off soon after that, feeling wanted and happy and wicked.
When she awoke, he was still there. She’d imagined he would slip away in the dark, rising and dressing and disappearing back to Town and leaving her imprisoned again. But he only bellowed to Mr. Priestly to bring them some coffee and bread, and hurry up, they were hungry. After that, he dressed and took Alexandra home.
Two days later, Alexandra rubbed her sore fingers and frowned at the papers piled on her writing table. She’d spent the time since Grayson had brought her home in frantic last-minute preparations for her soiree, made more difficult because Alice, her very proper lady’s maid, had given notice.
Jeffrey and Annie and Amy had been quite impressed that Alexandra had been abducted by pirates and rescued by the viscount. They begged her for the story, of which she gave an edited version. Even Cook did not seem dismayed at her adventures, but then, she’d already struck up a friendship with Mr. Oliver herself. But Alice had packed her bags and departed. No better than she ought to be, the maid’s tight-lipped expression had betrayed, and Alexandra supposed she was right.
Today, Alexandra’s difficulties mounted. The wrong flowers had been delivered, and she was waiting impatiently for the correct ones to arrive; and all the ices had melted because Jeffrey had not stored the containers in the right place in the cellar. The Duchess of Lewiston had written to express her regrets that she could not attend, and Alexandra had paced the sitting room carpet a good hour wondering frantically if her behavior was now the talk of the town. But no other letters telling her the invited guest was suddenly ill or called away came, and eventually, she calmed. Of course, no other cancellations could mean that all wanted to come and examine her through quizzing glasses and lorgnettes, the Mayfair lady who had become a pirate’s mistress.
But dear lord, how beautiful it had been to touch him! He’d tasted so hot and so exciting and so wicked. He’d filled her with longing, and she’d been utterly fascinated by him. His body was so well-formed, a sculpture of lithe muscle and sinew. It seemed a shame not to gaze upon it, to touch it, to taste it.
He’d lain tense under her fingers and tongue, his breathing swift, his pulse rapid. How scalding hot his arousal had been, how firm and stiff, and yet, how velvet soft. She’d never touched a man before, certainly not her husband, who had simply poked at her in the dark and then departed, leaving her numb.
Grayson’s hands had balled to tight fists, his eyes had closed hard, his muscles had hardened, as if he’d been holding himself in with great effort. And yet, he’d lain still and let her touch. He’d not demanded a thing.
She laid down her pen and rubbed her temples again. If he had continued to plead with her, would she have been able to resist? When he’d said in his low voice, I beg of you, she had been hard-pressed not to fling herself into his arms, no matter they had been standing on the quarterdeck at the time, in full view of the ship.
His siren call was clouding her reason. She was Alexandra Alastair and she wanted a respectable marriage and motherhood, not a tumble with a handsome pirate. Did she not? She craved a child more than anything. She could not have one without a proper marriage to a gentleman who would be a proper father. She could not allow Grayson, however handsome, to steer her from that purpose. She had failed the first child of her body. She would not, she must not fail the children to come.
She laid her head down and let out a heartfelt sigh. She had not thought a single sensible thought since Grayson Finley, Viscount Stoke, had moved in next door.
“Madam?”
Alexandra quickly raised her head. Jeffrey stood in the doorway, watching her anxiously. “A gentleman has called to see you, madam.”
Alexandra drew a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her wet eyes. “What gentleman, Jeffrey?”
“Don’t know, madam. I put him in the reception room.”
She waited, but he was no more forthcoming. “Did he not give you a card?”
Jeffrey shook his head fervently. His wig stayed in place while his head moved back and forth. “No, madam. But he told me his name.” A silent moment passed. “Except I’ve forgotten it.”
Alexandra hid a sigh. At least facing her frustrating footman had dried her tears. It was not easy to wallow in sorrow with Jeffrey in the room. “Is he one of the viscount’s men?”
“Don’t know, madam.”
Alarm touched her. She recalled Grayson’s warnings about Burchard. She thought about Mr. Ardmore and his dangerous rage, which had already caught her in its crossfire twice.
Jeffery offered, “He is a proper gentleman, madam. Came in a proper carriage. With proper horses.” His tone grew admiring.
“Think, Jeffrey. Is it Mr. Burchard?”
Another vigorous head shake. “No, madam.”
That left Mr. Ardmore. Alexandra drew herself up. “Please tell him I am not at home.”
He hesitated. “Don’t like to, madam.”
“Jeffrey, it is part of your duties to turn undesirable callers away.”
“I know, madam.” He twisted his large, gloved hands. “Only he was very insistent. And he looked at me so. He called me a good lad when I finally said I’d fetch you.”
“For heaven’s sake, I have already been abducted once. I have no wish to repeat the experience.”
“He doesn’t look like a pirate, madam. He wears a proper gentleman’s clothes, all fine and respectable like. Goes to a proper tailor. And has golden spectacles, all shiny.”
Alexandra’s heart missed a beat. Mr. Henderson. In her house.
“Jeffrey,” she said quietly. “Bring the poker.”
Mr. Henderson was pacing the oriental carpet in the front reception room, his head down, his hands behind his back. He wore his usual subdued black suit, looking once again like a vicar without a collar. Fading bruises outlined his left eye and the left side of his mouth.
He looked up as Alexandra entered. His eager smile froze when Jeffrey stopped beside her with the iron poker in his beefy hand.
Alexandra gave him a cold stare. “You are not welcome here, Mr. Henderson.”
Mr. Henderson held his white-gloved hands palm out. “I give you my word, Mrs. Alastair, I did not come to harm you in any way.”
“What am I to think, sir? Our last two meetings caused me much harm. What will you do to me this time whilst apologizing for the previous two indignities?”
He winced. “I promise—on my honor as a gentleman—I am quit of Captain Ardmore and his schemes. I told him so. Any moves against you will be made without me.”
“I am not certain that comforts me, Mr. Henderson.”
“What I mean to say is that I want to keep you from all harm. He has no right to pull you into his games with Finley.”
“Viscount Stoke,” she corrected.
His expression turned pained. “Captain Finley is nowhere near good enough for you. He is a barbaric pirate who has not set foot in England since he was a lad of twelve. He sees, he wants, he takes. He does not abide by any rules but his own.”
So she had noticed. “His lineage is an old and respected one,” she pointed out. “Or he would not have become the viscount.”
“
He may have the family connections, but he knows nothing of our world. His parents died violently—I do not know the story, but I know that his mother was murdered. He ran away to sea right after—can’t really blame him.”
“Yes, I had heard that.” He was confirming Mrs. Tetley’s rumors. She imagined a young lad, no older than Maggie, confused, heartbroken, utterly shocked by his sudden and terrible loss. Her heart wrung for him.
“He had no upbringing at all,” Mr. Henderson went on. “Unless you count being captured by pirates and trained to be one of them an upbringing. I, on the other hand, stayed safely in Kent and went off to Oxford.”
“I come from Kent,” Alexandra replied, for something to say.
“You see? I am English through and through. Finley, for all he is a viscount, is an outsider all the same.” He paused. “You would not happen to have heard of the insignificant village of St. Mary’s Newbridge, would you? My family has a house near there.”
She blinked. “Good heavens. I lived only two villages away, in Little Marching.”
His smile beamed, wide and straight-toothed. “We are neighbors then. I know Little Marching well. I visited my cousins there in the summers, and we made nuisances of ourselves chasing sheep and clambering about in the mud. Do you remember Fox Hollow?”
Her caution thawed slightly. “I do, indeed. I learned to climb trees there.”
“I learned to fall out of them.”
Alexandra permitted herself a smile. “I do not remember a family called Henderson.”
“They were my mother’s sister’s family. Name of Bancroft.”
Memories rose. “Oh, yes, I do remember. My mother and Mrs. Bancroft were on quite friendly terms. The boys were a bit unruly. They both went into the army, I believe, and are now splendid officers.”
“Randall and Cecil, yes.” He grinned. “I was the horrible little tow-headed cousin who ran after them.”
“Come to think of it, I might remember you, after all. I used to run and hide from the three of you.”
Mr. Henderson clasped his hands. “I am so pleased we discovered this. I must write Randall and Cecil and tell them I have met you.”
“That would be splendid. Remember me to them, of course.” She glanced sideways at Jeffrey, who looked a bit confused, then said, “The fact that we are truly neighbors does not make me trust you, Mr. Henderson. Nor does it explain why you are here.”
He smiled a bit ruefully. “I came to talk to you. You did tell me that if you saw me again, you would speak to me.”
“That was before you abducted me and made me breathe that awful concoction. And I did not give you leave to call on me.”
He held his hands out. “I am here now. Please let me speak with you—a real conversation, just as if we were old acquaintances from Kent.” He motioned to the chair near the window. “I can sit there. And you can sit all the way over there.” He pointed to the divan on the other side of the room. “And your lad here can remain ready with the poker.” He glanced at him. “If you must strike me, Jeffrey, please try not to tear the coat. My tailor only delivered it this morning. Oh, and not the face. The honorable Viscount Stoke has already managed to render it almost unusable.”
Jeffrey studied Mr. Henderson’s bruises with professional interest. “His lordship did that?”
“Indeed, he did.”
The hero worship in Jeffrey’s eyes rose to new heights. “He’s a dab hand at boxing then, is he?”
“Following no rules but his own, yes.”
Alexandra broke into this male exchange. “Mr. Henderson, do not be ridiculous. We cannot have a conversation shouting across a room.”
“Then give me leave to call on you properly. To—to take you driving in Hyde Park, like an old family acquaintance might do. Please.”
His words rang with longing and sincerity. She reminded herself that his apologies outside the theatre had also been profuse, just before he’d wadded the handkerchief into her face. Although—her thoughts went back over that conversation, clearer now after a few days of rest. He had not promised then that he would not help Mr. Ardmore. He’d only expressed regret that he had. Today, on the other hand, his first words had been a promise—on his honor—that he would never harm her again. A true gentleman never broke his word.
But was he sincere, or was he only pretending to be a true gentleman?
She sighed. Two weeks ago, her life had been predictable, structured, compartmentalized. And then Viscount Stoke had moved in. And now up was down and right was wrong, and she had no idea whom to trust. Mr. Burchard had transformed himself from respectable acquaintance to pirate villain; now Mr. Henderson was trying to move from villain to respectable acquaintance.
“I am uncertain why you even wish to continue to see me, Mr. Henderson.”
He slanted her a sheepish look, which he tried to soften with a faint smile. “Because I find myself in love with you, Mrs. Alastair. Completely and hopelessly in love. I have never met a woman like you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Alexandra stared at him in pure shock. “Mr. Henderson, you forget yourself.”
His look was anguished. “I have no right to say these things, I know, but I cannot help myself. The way you confronted Captain Ardmore-and me-was little short of astonishing. You have won my greatest admiration.”
Alexandra glanced at Jeffrey. Jeffrey had lowered the poker and looked not at all displeased with Mr. Henderson’s declaration. In fact, he looked a little teary-eyed.
“Mr. Henderson, I hardly think—”
“I know. I know. I do not deserve to ask for your love or even your friendship, but please give me a chance. Just a chance to prove myself worthy of you. Please.”
“If this is another trick of Mr. Ardmore’s I think it a poor one.”
“No—never. I swear to you. Upon my honor. Would I be more convincing on my knees?”
“No, do not—” She flushed. “Please get up, Mr. Henderson. You look silly.”
He remained kneeling on the carpet, staring up at her adoringly. “I beseech you, Mrs. Alastair. I have behaved badly. Let me try to make it up to you. Give me that at least.”
Oh, dear. Jeffrey’s lip was trembling now. She had no doubt about whose side he was on.
“If you will please get up before someone sees you and sit down like a sensible person, I will think about it.”
Mr. Henderson smiled in enormous hope. “Anything you like, my most darling Mrs. Alastair. I am your devoted slave.”
Jeffrey choked back a sob. Mr. Henderson climbed to his feet, but he did not sit down. He remained standing, wearing a look of abject devotion.
Alexandra said, “Grayson—the viscount—said that Mr. O’Malley was Maggie’s devoted slave. Is he correct?”
Mr. Henderson nodded, seemingly unsurprised by the abrupt change of subject. “Oh, yes, you should have seen him on the Argonaut when we crossed from Jamaica.” He looked faintly amused. “She wrapped him around her little finger. He’ll do anything for her. I say that it is because they are both of one height, but O’Malley claims that they are both outsiders, striving against the restrictions of the bloody English.” He stumbled to a halt. “Beg your pardon. His words.”
“I see.” Her curiosity rose, despite her misgivings. Mr. Henderson was in the position to explain many of Mr. Ardmore’s cryptic statements. She had given up trying to obtain a straight answer from Grayson. Whenever she asked questions of Grayson, he would kiss her or suggest she sleep naked, and her resolve would simply depart. “Maggie traveled on Mr. Ardmore’s ship? Why, when the viscount has his own ship?”
Mr. Henderson lifted his brows. “You do not know?”
“No,” she said cautiously. “We should sit down and discuss it. Jeffrey, tell Annie to bring tea. You may leave the poker with me.”
Jeffrey, looking slightly disappointed, departed on his errand. The poker was heavy in Alexandra’s hand. She carefully set it on a polished table near the door, close enough to snatch up if nee
d be, but far enough away to let Mr. Henderson know she was willing to trust him—if he made no sudden moves.
Mr. Henderson gave her a sage look. “You want to pry information from me? Well, no matter. You deserve to know.”
She motioned him to sit, not at the chair next to the window, but on the divan where she and Lady Featherstone had reposed the day of the accident, the day Mr. Henderson had so rudely kissed her. She perched on a chair near the center of the room, positioning herself between him and the door. “Please proceed,” she said, inclining her head.
Mr. Henderson laced his gloved fingers and darted a glance about the room as if for inspiration. “Finley brought Maggie back to England courtesy of Captain Ardmore. You did know that?”
“I know very little. Excepting that Captain Ardmore is terribly angry at Grayson, mostly over Maggie’s mother. And did I hear Captain Ardmore accusing Grayson of murdering Captain Ardmore’s brother?”
Mr. Henderson nodded. “It is a sad tale. I am not certain I understand it all myself. I signed on with Ardmore after it was all over, so I was not there to witness it.” He blew out his breath. “But I will tell you what I know. Captain Ardmore had a younger brother named Paul. Ardmore rather doted on him. From what O’Malley tells me he just about raised him, as their parents passed away when Ardmore was only fourteen. Well, Paul married and had children. His wife and two daughters had traveled by ship from Charleston to Roanoke, in Virginia, to visit her family. On the way back to Charleston, the ship was boarded by pirates, and all aboard were murdered.”
Alexandra touched her lips. “Oh, dear.”
“Paul nearly went mad with grief. He had taken up a seafaring career as a merchant captain. He sold his ship, and purchased a refitted frigate, which he called the Argonaut. He sailed up and down the coast hunting pirates for ransom or simply sinking their ships and killing them. I do not know if he ever found the pirates who had murdered his wife and children. My Captain Ardmore, who had already quit working with Finley, eventually joined him.”
The Pirate Next Door Page 15