by Nancy Butler
He hadn’t even signed it.
Oh, and which name would he have used? she asked herself wretchedly. He’d acquired so many names ... Simeon Hastings, Madman MacHeath, Mackie the Cripple, even Mr. Broadbeam. He’d lived so many lives, and she didn’t care about any of them, only the life that he now ultimately refused to share with her.
With awful care she set the glass down on the desk, and then began to gather up the wrapping paper.
“Well, my girl, you’re taking this like a fine little soldier. I thought it would be all tears and swooning and calling for the smelling salts.”
She looked at him and shrugged. “You know me, Father. I never cry.”
Then her face crumpled, and she let out a long, shivery sob. “Oh, Papa ...”
Prescott moved from behind his desk like a shot. He held Alexa in his arms in the next instant. “There, my sweetheart. I know ...”
“He was so ... I was ...”
“I know,” he murmured. “Why the devil do you think I offered him a place? I could see it in your face, Lexie. The same look I saw in your mama’s dear face for thirty years, whenever she looked at me. But you can’t force a man into anything. He’s changed a great deal from the willing lad he once was ... Not that I was disappointed in him, mind. He never backed down from me an inch, and you know I always admire that kind of grit.”
Alexa tried to rally herself while he delivered this disjointed, rambling speech. For all she knew, that was exactly why he was doing it. Finally, she managed to stifle the last of her sobs. She blotted her eyes with her father’s substantial handkerchief and rubbed her chin on his shoulder.
“Thank you, Papa. I’ve missed being cosseted, and I’ve especially missed being hugged.”
He tightened his hold on her and set a firm kiss on her forehead. “So have I, Lexie. Indeed I have.”
* * *
Her birthday dawned to bleak skies. The air was laden with moisture, and a dense fog hovered over the river, sending exploratory fingers up into the village. Prescott came home from the shipyard for his luncheon and seemed determined to inject some humor into the meal. Alexa smiled wanly at his sallies as she picked at her salmon.
“I’d like you to come down to the shipyard with me after lunch,” he said at one point. “No time like the present to get you started.”
Her gaze darted up from her plate. “But you never said ... you never agreed—”
“Indeed I did. I promised MacHeath I would find you something worthwhile to occupy your time besides withering on the vine in London. I thought you understood.”
“Papa ... how is it that for seven years you disregarded my pleas to come home, and then in one short session MacHeath managed to convince you?”
He shrugged. “The man’s a dashed fine advocate, Lex.”
His voice softened. “And he told me how bitterly unhappy you were ... like a falcon in a cage, he said. I am ashamed to say that I never took your requests seriously. I couldn’t imagine that you weren’t having a splendid time in London. I thought you only brought up coming home to bedevil me, because there’s nothing you like as much as a good brangle.”
“You thought I was just being contrary? Oh, Papa, I was never more earnest in my life.”
“So I comprehend.” He rose and held out his hand. “And now we’d better get to work. I’ve just gotten a commission for a sailing yacht from the Earl of Stovings—”
“But you don’t build yachts—”
“I will be building them now. In fact, I’m thinking of putting together a special team of designers.”
* * *
As Alexa and her father walked beneath the wrought-iron arch that led to the shipyard, she couldn’t help but notice a workman on a ladder. He was applying a coat of dark blue paint to the metal sign that hung above their heads. Her father made no comment, so she swallowed her curiosity and followed him into the brick building where his offices were situated. He settled her at a desk in a small room on the ground floor.
“There are some invoices I’d like to go over with you, so you can get an idea of who supplies us with materials.” He patted his coat pockets and muttered, “Drat, I seem to have left my reading glasses upstairs in the workroom.”
“I’ll fetch them,” she said.
“Yes, you do that.”
As she went up to the first floor, the sound of the creaking stairs was music to her ears. She had been up and down them so many times, she knew exactly where the loose boards lay and which of the risers had been chipped along their edges. She recognized the seagull-shaped stain from the time she had dropped a bottle of India ink and used her pinafore to blot it up. These small things had not changed in seven years, and every one of them welcomed her back.
The designers’ workroom held drafting tables for six men set up at even intervals. It was usually a bustling place, but it was empty now; she assumed the men were off having lunch at the Mermaid. Her father’s glasses were not on any of the worktables, and as she started toward his office, she realized there was something different about the room beside it.
As far back as she could remember, it had been used as a storage space. But now it was furnished like the workroom, with a drafting table and a bank of flat files. Upright stands of drawing pens and pots of brushes lined the window ledge. A man she did not recognize was bent over the table, his upper body set in dark profile before the large window.
He looked up as she stepped into the room. “My father believes he left his—”
It took her several seconds to be sure of his identity, and another several seconds for her to remember to close her mouth.
He was attired in a coat of claret-colored Melton over a waistcoat of striped silk. Below this he wore black broadcloth breeches and a fine pair of boots. His neck cloth was snowy white, and his hair had been trimmed into stylish disarray. There was nothing of MacHeath here, nothing except the deep-brown hair and the silvery-brown eyes. And the fold of a shirtsleeve pinned neatly up at the end of his right arm.
“I’m sorry to surprise you like this,” he said with a grimace. “But your father would have his little jest. I see what you mean about him being hard to withstand once he sets his mind on something.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked in a parched voice.
“Working?”
“But he said you’d refused his offer. He said you’d gone away.”
“Mmm. I sailed off to Nat’s right enough.”
“But apparently something has changed your mind. Were my father’s terms too tempting to refuse? Is that why you came back?”
He growled softly, tugging at his crisp neck cloth while his eyes reproached her. “You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?”
“Why should I make things easy? You hurt me, you and your damned pride.”
“Ah, yes ... my damned pride.” He shifted his gaze to the window, where a gray mass of clouds hovered close over the village. This was nothing more than he deserved—her anger, her scorn.
“But I’m all past that now,” she added. “I am done with waiting for you.” She gave a little toss of her head, to cement her lack of concern.
“It’s only been five days, Alexa.”
She sketched one hand in the air. “What does it matter, ten years ... five days. The point is, I am finally over you.”
“The devil you are!”
“It’s true,” she said. “If you wouldn’t stay with me after I poured out my soul that day in the drawing room, if that wasn’t enough to convince you that we belonged together, then there is no help for you. I say go on back to Nat Tarlton and good riddance.”
“Nat doesn’t want me,” he said with a frown. “He all but parted my skull with a belaying pin for leaving you here.”
“Good for him,” she murmured.
He reached his hand toward her. “Don’t turn me away without a fair hearing, Alexa. Not a second time.”
“Then, tell me this … why did you leave? How could you just sail away?”
He looked down, and then shot her a wry glance through his brows. “Because I’m a boneheaded clot?”
“There is that,” she said starchily, schooling herself not to smile. Her catechism was not yet finished. “But it’s hardly an excuse.”
“This is all new to me, Alex,” he said haltingly. “Two weeks ago I couldn’t imagine having these feelings, I barely felt anything at all. And now I am completely at the mercy of them, tossed like a ship in a gale. To use your own words, please spare me a little consideration.”
“Go on ...”
“After I left, I kept thinking about what you’d said. About not having chosen my life. About cherishing the good things. And I thought about my stubborn pride. I’d always believed it was a good thing, being proud.” He leaned toward her. “But I’ve since realized there are two kinds of pride ... the kind that makes you stay on the right side of things, that helps you keep your head up. But my pride was a coiled snare that trapped me, that kept me from ever reaching out, from ever asking for anything or taking anything that was mine by right.”
He paused and glanced at her, seeking some sign of weakening. Her chin was up, canted in judgment, but her eyes were focused on him, bright blue and unwavering.
“I felt such terror when I thought Finch was going to lop off my hand, it ... it humbled me. All my false pride just shattered. And there was Quincy, baiting me, reminding me that I would never, ever get to touch you again. Something broke loose inside me then, Alexa.”
His words came faster now. “The thought of losing you for all time ... God, there were so many things I wanted from you that I’d never dared ask for, because I felt so unworthy. But I saw in that moment that I could be as worthy as any man—if you were beside me. But then it was all being wrenched away. Whether Finch maimed me or killed me, I could never be with you.”
He drew a breath and looked up, his eyes wide and earnest. “And that is why I screamed. From the agony of that loss ... that the instant I realized what I wanted, beyond everything, all my options were gone.”
“Then, I ask you again,” she said in a low voice, “why did you sail away?”
“When I left here I thought I was doing the right thing. I still believed Finch had broken me. It wasn’t until I got to Nat’s that I realized the truth, that he’d really freed me.”
He fidgeted with a stick of charcoal. “I ... I ... Damn it, Alexa, I was barely out of the harbor when I started to call myself a blasted fool for leaving. But I kept on sailing. I had that, you see. I thought the sea would be enough. But heading back to Nat alone ... it felt empty and pointless. I wanted you there with me, minding the tiller, trimming the sail.”
She leaned back against the opened door. “You can always find someone else to go sailing with you, Simeon.”
He flung the charcoal across the room, and then followed in its wake until he was standing before her. “Is that what you want? For me to go off and find some other infuriating hoyden to fall in love with, because I just might do—”
Alexa threw herself at him, tugging his mouth down, kissing him for all she was worth. Which was considerable. He caught her around the waist, pulling her right up against him until their bodies meshed. There was hunger in his kisses and in the unleashed strength of his arms. She arched into him, savoring his taste and his scent, the things she had missed so keenly and thought never to have again.
He was all smoky heat, as he coaxed her mouth open and let his tongue dance against hers. She responded with a drawn-out moan, feeling her insides clench as he pressed her into the door and probed her mouth even more deeply. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, the rippling muscles shifting urgently under her palms as he drew her even harder against him.
Eventually he pulled back from her with a breathless groan. “I’d sail through hell for that, sweetheart,” he murmured raggedly, “let alone across Lyme Bay.”
This is the MacHeath I know, she sighed to herself. The old, dearly loved MacHeath, with mischief lurking in the wry twist of his cheek and heat simmering in his eyes.
Her own eyes flashed up at him. “Ah, but will you sail away again once you’ve had your fill of me?”
He gave her a swift grin. “I’ve only gone away but once, Alexa. The first time was not by choice, if you recall.”
“Then, you’re here to stay?”
His eyes narrowed. “I do have a few stipulations.”
“Oh, here it comes ... you don’t want my money, you don’t want my—”
“Hang your money,” he growled softly, tightening his hold on her waist. “You are welcome to keep it. Though I might even help myself to a bit of it every now and then. Ned needs a cottage in Cornwall where the air is warm. And I’d like to send something to Eb and his wife for helping us.”
“And what about you … don’t you want anything for yourself?”
“I want a ship, Alexa. But I’ll earn that in time. I’m to be in charge of your father’s new venture, designing sailing yachts for the gentry.”
“So you’ll have another Siren Song.”
He shook his head. “No, I was thinking of calling this one the Infuriating Hoyden.”
She laughed out loud. She’d missed his teasing as much as anything about him. Once she’d managed to contain her chuckles, she reminded him that he still hadn’t told her his stipulations for staying.
He tipped her head back until their gazes met, and then set one finger on her mouth. “I want no more stolen interludes, no more stolen kisses. What I want from you I will take openly. Agreed?”
“Yes,” she said as a little thrill shuddered through her. “So am I to be your kept woman?”
“You are.” He lowered his head and angled his mouth over hers. “Kept in my heart,” he murmured against her lips. “For all time.”
She relaxed against him, savoring the slow, sweet kisses that he lavished on her like warm honey.
He raised his head and whispered gruffly, “Will ye have me, Alexa?”
She looked up at him, her eyes bright with joy. “Oh, Simeon,” she murmured with a tiny throb in her voice, “you finally asked me. I’ve only been waiting thirteen years. Time was, I thought I’d have to have to clout you over the head and force you to marry me.”
He shook his head in wonder at her bemused, awestruck tone. “That was infatuation,” he reminded her.
“Oh, not anymore,” she proclaimed boldly as she twisted her hands in his hair and tugged his head down, leaning up on tiptoes for better access to his mouth. He didn’t require much coaxing, setting his mouth over hers, kissing her, caressing her, until she was nearly scalded by the fierce heat that radiated from his lean body.
When at last he shifted her back over his arm, his breathing was ragged, his eyes the color of jet. His dark gaze swept her, telling her without words what he felt. There was ardent need in that look and tenderness and something very much like relief.
He traced a fluttery kiss over her cheek. “This is for you, Alexa,” he murmured silkily. She clung to him, waiting eagerly for him to once again claim her mouth.
Instead, he gave a low chuckle and slipped a small pouch into her hand.
She pushed back from him abruptly. “If that isn’t the dirtiest trick, MacHeath! And to play it on me twice in one lifetime.”
“Open it,” he said with a puckish grin.
She rolled her eyes as she emptied the pouch into her hands. The jewelry he’d pawned for her, the ear bobs and her rings, lay scattered in her palm.
“I took the mail coach to Dagshott before I came here. Nat loaned me the money to redeem them.”
She put the ear bobs into her pocket and slipped on her two rings. A third ring lay in her palm, a single, stunning sapphire set in gold. Her eyes widened.
He took it from her hand and held it up. “You still haven’t said yes, Alexa,” he teased, twirling it under her elegant nose. “I would appreciate it if for once in your life you gave in without an argument.”
“But—”
>
“See,” he said, as if to a heavenly jury. “It’s never an easy road with this one.”
She clutched the lapels of his fine coat and shook him. “Yes,” she said. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
“You’ll have me to husband, then, one-handed, beknighted fellow that I am?”
“Put the ring on my finger, Simeon,” she muttered softly. “Before I change my mind.”
He slipped it on, and then entwined his fingers with hers, holding her fast. He was startled when a teardrop fell onto the back of his hand.
“Are you crying?”
“No,” she said, swiping her sleeve across her cheek. “I never cry.” She gave a little, hiccuping sob. “Never. But I’m so ... It’s so ...”
“Come here, my shrew,” he said gently as he tucked her against his side and raised up the hand that now bore his ring. “Do you like it? I wanted to match your eyes—I told the jeweler the stone had to be the color of the sea at dawn. He probably thought I was a bit daft.”
“It’s perfect,” she said with what she hoped was her last sniffle. “I just can’t believe Nat loaned you enough money for this.”
“It wasn’t Nat. And I didn’t take to the High Toby, either, in case that’s what you’re thinking. I came by the money honestly enough—I sold my pistols in Exeter. They were a matched pair of Mantons and fairly valuable. I ... I imagined I wouldn’t be needing them any longer.”
Her eyes grew instantly wistful. “Now you’ll be the falcon in a cage, Simeon. This life will be so tame compared to what you had before.”
“No, Alexa. Not at all. This is the life I want, it’s what I was always meant to do.”
“Are you sure, really sure?”
He turned her around and pointed to the drawing he’d been working on. “Look at this ... it’s a sketch for the first of my new ships. They’ll be sleek and up-to-date, Lexie, and fast. Your father’s looking into the new steam-powered ships, but I want no part of them. I’m a sailing man, you know. I can’t give up the wind and the canvas.” There was no arguing the enthusiasm in his voice. “I’ll have her on the water by spring.”