The Pirate's Desire

by Jennette Green

  Although she could sacrifice something of her own to accomplish her goal, she would never dream of asking for, or destroying, something the housekeeper cherished.

  A sick feeling welled in Lucinda’s heart. “No. Thank you, Mrs. Beatty,” she said softly, and swallowed back an ache of disappointment.

  Now, how would she get rid of Riel Montclair? “I came to tell you that Father’s body will arrive tomorrow afternoon. I plan to speak to Pastor Bilford tomorrow about a service.”

  Mrs. Beatty straightened her plump shoulders. “I will plan a reception here, miss. You need only say the day.”

  “Let’s see. Today is Monday. Perhaps Wednesday evening?”

  The housekeeper nodded her approval. “If you agree, I will send a few lads to the village to spread the news. Letters will need to be sent to the prominent families round about, as well as notices to his friends in London.”

  “I will write those tonight.” Lucinda knew the handful of aristocratic families to whom Mrs. Beatty referred. They lived nearby, but would expect a personal invitation. The rest of the townspeople would know they were welcome. Her father had been a generous man; giving freely to those less fortunate, offering jobs, lending resources to those starting a new farm…and listening to anyone who had a problem. He’d never met a stranger, and social station meant nothing to him. He was well loved, and his funeral would be well attended.

  Tears sparkled in Mrs. Beatty’s eyes. “You are growing up to be a fine lady, Miss Lucinda. I’m proud of you, and I know your father would be, as well.”

  Lucinda hoped that was true.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Beatty.” With a teary smile, she hugged her old friend, and retreated across the hall to her father’s study, which was paneled to the ceiling with shelves of books. A shabby, blue oriental carpet covered the wooden floor beneath the polished, dark teak desk. She needed to find his address book.

  Her father had been meticulously organized, thanks to his many years in the Navy. When he’d retired from the service ten years ago, he had decided to pursue his love of war history, and had ended up becoming a part-time professor at Oxford. His naval career and then his teaching profession kept him away from Ravensbrook much of the time, and Lucinda had eagerly looked forward to the summer months when he was home full-time. She’d often joined him in this study, helping him dust and sort the old tomes. He’d shared his favorites with her, and because he loved history so much, she loved it, too.

  Now she sat at his desk and pulled out the top right drawer. The drawer slid smoothly, as she’d known it would. A dark leather book lay on top. A lump welled in her throat, thinking of the many times she’d seen him sitting here, just like this. “Lucinda,” he’d said once, “do you see that dark green volume on the top shelf? Fetch it for me, would you? Have you ever heard of the Boer War?” And that would be the start of an impromptu lesson.

  Lucinda brushed at the tears trembling on her eyelashes. Her jaw ached from trying to hold in her grief. But she couldn’t fall apart here, not where the servants might see her. It would frighten them. At all costs, she must appear serene, and try to keep things running smoothly, as Father had done. It was the least she could do in his memory.

  The leather book held the addresses of his closest friends. The list was well over two hundred, she suspected. Tonight, she’d write up the most urgent notes, for the people who would actually be able to attend the funeral. Later, she’d hire the printer to engrave notices and send them to the others.

  She pulled out parchment and quill, but her fingers stilled over the letter paper. It had been her father’s desire that Riel Montclair be her protector. Could she deny her father’s last wish?

  While she did want to please her father, anxiety seeped into Lucinda’s heart when she considered submitting her life to the authority of the man in the next room. Fear punctuated the dark feeling. Everything within her recoiled at the thought. She pressed her hands to her face.

  “Father,” she whispered, “why did you do this to me? I know you thought this would be best for me, but he’s the wrong man for the job. Why didn’t you see that?”

  She imagined her father in the room, sitting at this very desk. What would he say? In a flash, she knew. With those intelligent gray eyes, hidden behind his glasses, he’d ask, “Why don’t you like him, Lucy? Is it because you know you won’t be able to goad him into behaving like you wish? That’s why I chose him, you know. Choosing a marriage partner is the most important decision you’ll ever make. I trust Riel to help you choose wisely. And I trust him to run Ravensbrook.”

  More tears wet her palms. “But I don’t like him, Father,” she gave a miserable sniff. “I don’t trust him. Why did you?”

  “Why don’t you trust me, Lucy?” Riel’s deep voice made her jump.

  Hastily, she wiped her eyes. “I did not invite you in, Mr. Montclair. Kindly take your leave.”

  “I will soon be running Ravensbrook. Perhaps tomorrow you will show me the accounts and ledgers.”

  Lucinda gasped. The cheek of him. “I most certainly will not! Mr. Chase, our solicitor, is in charge of the books. He will remain so until I can learn to do them myself.”

  “Your father told me that a stipend from a trust is paid out each month for the maintenance of Ravensbrook. Is that true?”

  Suspicion again reared its ugly head. Was this what Riel was truly after—Ravensbrook’s fortunes?

  “Yes. What of it?” True, her father had set up the estate so Mr. Chase could easily disburse monies into their standing merchant accounts while he was gone. Essentially, with this bit of effort on Mr. Chase’s behalf, the estate could run by itself—except for dealing with tenants and daily practical matters, which she had done. And it meant nothing that Gabriel Montclair knew of these arrangements. Her father could have mentioned it to anyone. It certainly did not mean Montclair could brashly come in and usurp Ravensbrook’s financial reins.

  He said, “It was his desire that I relieve Mr. Chase of that burden. I understand the running of an estate, as I own one myself. I am qualified for the job, Lady Lucinda.”

  “I don’t care if you’re qualified to juggle melons, Mr. Montclair. You will not touch one pence of my father’s money. Strike that. My money.”

  A muscle tightened in his jaw. “Mr. Chase will decide that.”

  Incensed, Lucinda rose to her feet. “Father’s letter to Mr. Chase states this?”

  “It does.”

  She pounced. “You’ve opened it, then.”

  “No. He told me what he wrote.”

  “Did he?” More suspicion flared, followed quickly by anger. “Or did you force him to write it, Mr. Montclair? What other liberties will you pretend he granted you? Perhaps in the event of my death, the entire estate will fall to you. Is that it?”

  To his credit, he looked shocked. “No.”

  “Prove it.” Swiftly, she swept by him, and then waited, arms folded, out in the hall. “Show me the letter Father wrote to Mr. Chase.”

  “It is sealed.”

  Lucinda smiled. “And if the seal is broken, your claims will prove worthless.”

  For a long moment he watched her steadily, his breaths even. “You have quite an imagination, Lady Lucinda.”

  “No more outlandish than you showing up on my doorstep with all of these outrageous claims. Suddenly you, a stranger, are to become guardian to me and trustee of the entire estate. I don’t know you from Adam, Mr. Montclair. Excuse me if I don’t take your word as gospel.”

  “Come with me tomorrow when I visit the solicitor. You may read your father’s letter as soon as Mr. Chase is finished.”

  He sounded so calm, so reasonable. “I will read the letter, you may be sure of that. But just because my father penned the words doesn’t mean they were his wishes.”

  Impossibly, his midnight gaze blackened still more. “How could I force your father to write a letter?”

  “How am I to know? You crewed on a pirate ship—isn’t that what you said?” S
he didn’t give him time to respond. “At the very least, you sailed the Barbary coast on a barbaric ship. You admitted that already. I have no doubt you learned all sorts of torture devices while on that unsavory scow.” Another disturbing detail flashed to mind. “You said you’re half French. Perhaps you are part of the French Navy. You captured my father and…and forced him…”

  “To appoint me guardian of a belligerent, unmannered girl? Truly, that is an assignment I have always wished.” Black sarcasm cut through his words.

  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.

  Chapter Three

  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 free, 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 at 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!”