The Pirate's Desire

by Jennette Green

  She wanted to surrender to him.

  But she couldn’t. Hadn’t she fought all of these years not to surrender to his power over her?

  But she wanted…

  He put her from him, and bewildered, she stared up at him. Riel’s dark eyes looked as black as midnight, and his breaths sounded harsh. “Was that better than Timothy?” he said roughly.

  Lucinda struggled to remember who Timothy was. “It…it was longer,” she managed to say tartly, at last.

  Riel chuckled then, deep in his chest. “Better than adequate?”

  “If you are waiting for praise, you will not receive it. Somehow, Mr. Montclair, I suspect you have far more experience turning girls’ heads than you have let on.”

  “Perhaps it is the woman who has turned my head.”

  Confused, and heart fluttering, she eyed him. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Never mind, Lucy. You have concluded your experiment. I trust I will not find you kissing young men in the garden again.”

  She would certainly not be skulking in the garden with him again. Nor would she kiss him again! She had just discovered that he possessed the power to disturb her far more deeply than she’d ever dreamed possible. Perhaps it would have been prudent never to find out.

  She inclined her head. “I have concluded my experiment. You may rest at your ease.”

  He smiled. “Never do I rest at my ease with you, Lucy.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  If Lucinda had wanted to find excitement, she had found it; in the arms of Riel Montclair.

  Lucinda gave Riel a wide berth after their improper, sizzling kiss. Every time she saw him now, her heart bumped and skittered, and all she could think about was his warm lips on hers.

  It was most improper…but she had agreed to it! And now she must live with the consequences, which were alarming. She felt more excruciatingly aware of him now than ever before. Each time she brushed by him on the stair, and even worse, each dance in his arms, was exquisite torture. Riel continued to ask for her last dance, and she irrationally continued to give it to him. More balls, tea parties, fêtes and soirées passed by as May melted into June.

  At the same time, Sophie’s health began to slip. Although the glorious days were bright and sunny, her cough grew no better. The doctor possessed no words of encouragement. When Lucinda asked what could be wrong, he raised his hands and shook his head. Lucinda tried not to set much store by his obviously gloomy outlook. Sophie had never put much stock in a doctor’s opinions. Always she’d confounded their dreariest predictions.

  But now she didn’t. Day and night, Sophie sat propped up so she could breathe, and she never left her bed. Although her feet were covered, Lucinda saw they were more swollen than ever, and Sophie’s racking cough kept her awake late into the night. It hurt Lucinda, listening to those painful coughs and gasps for air and she often cried herself to sleep. During the day, she spent every minute she could with Sophie, either talking with her, or reading from the Psalms in the Bible, which Sophie had requested.

  If that wasn’t enough, the Silk Scarf Rapist struck again in early June. London had been lulled into a false sense of security, since the rapist had not struck for an entire year. Newspapers screamed that the vile criminal had abducted and raped another debutant, and abandoned her to wander the dark streets of London alone, hands tied behind her back, and blindfolded with a silk scarf.

  Worse, Lucinda was acquainted with Lady Annabelle, the victim. Horror filled her heart, and she could not seem to stop imagining what had happened to the other girl. How terrified she must have felt, and how alone.

  The morning after the crime, Riel stopped Lucinda in the hall.

  “You heard what happened.”

  “Of course.” The news had broken last night, and this morning Lucinda felt like a wreck after listening to Sophie cough all night. Plus, terror had crawled through her, thinking of poor Lady Annabelle. She’d been abducted in the park. No one had seen her vanish, and she’d been gone for ten long hours. “No one is safe anymore.”

  “I am glad you understand that.” The harsh lines of Riel’s face softened as he looked at her. “Then you will agree to go nowhere alone. Everywhere you go, I will be with you.”

  “I never go anywhere alone now,” she felt it necessary to point out.

  “Lucy.”

  “Fine. I will accept your close presence wherever I go.” Then she blushed a little. What was she saying, close presence?

  “And no more escapes into the garden.”

  Now her cheeks burned. “I learned my lesson last time, believe me.”

  She could not read his expression. “So, you agree?”

  Lucinda crossed her arms. “Yes. For once I will meekly follow your every dictate. You may rest at your ease, Mr. Montclair.”

  Now he did smile. He leaned forward and his lips brushed across hers in the briefest of caresses, shocking her. “Thank you, Lucy.”

  Heart racing, she watched him stride down the hall. She crossed her arms tighter against herself. However, she still felt the warm imprint of his lips upon hers, and the pleasure of it stole her breath. She liked his touch and his kisses entirely too much. She should have slapped him, of course. Except he’d surely meant the kiss as nothing more than a chaste caress. She knew this, but her heart irrationally longed for it to mean something more. She inhaled deeply, for the faint scent that was uniquely Riel lingered.

  Her guardian was a good, honorable man. Even gentle and kind, too, when it suited him.

  These involuntary admissions made her bite her lip as she watched him disappear into the kitchen. An insane part of her wanted to run after him, to take his arm and talk to him…about anything. She wanted to spend more time with him. For they spoke little in the townhouse anymore—almost as if he’d been trying to avoid her during these past few weeks, as well.

  Had she lost all good sense?

  Lucinda turned on her heel and headed upstairs. Riel was a dangerous pirate, she told herself, trying to drive some logic into her brain. A man like him did not belong in her life. Didn’t she feel certain he still concealed a dark, deadly secret?

  Lucinda didn’t want to believe that anymore. She didn’t want to believe it at all.

  * * * * *

  Riel let himself into Sophie’s room a few minutes later, cursing himself for kissing Lucy again. He’d tried to avoid her these past few weeks, and just now, when she’d agreed to follow his directions so he could keep her safe, he’d felt so grateful that he’d kissed her.

  No. That wasn’t entirely true. He’d kissed her because he’d wanted to. He’d taken the flimsy excuse of a chaste, approving kiss and run with it. At least this time he’d had the sense to end it before taking it too far.

  “Riel.” Sophie’s raspy whisper drew his attention to his aunt, who sat propped up against the pillows. Her nightgown looked fresh and clean, and decorated with little sprigs of bright blue embroidery, but the crisp garment couldn’t improve the gray cast to her skin, nor draw attention away from her sunken cheeks. Her eyelids slid halfway closed.

  “Auntie.” He took a seat beside her and took her frail hand in his. “How are you feeling?”

  “Don’t…waste…breath. What is wrong…with you…and Lucinda?” She exhaled Lucy’s name in a long slur.

  Riel tightened his grip. “We are fine.”

  “Riel.” Sophie’s eyes widened into a glare and then relaxed again. “Tell…truth.”

  “I kissed her, Auntie. Twice.” Riel stood and paced. Her silence meant she wanted to hear more, so he told her. All of it.

  To his surprise, a smile ghosted Sophie’s lips, and a faint sparkle brightened her eyes. “That’s…wonderful.”

  “No, it’s not, Auntie,” he said grimly. “I’m not fit for any woman. Least of all Lucy.”

  Sophie frowned gently. “Have…you still…not forgiven…self, Riel?”

  Riel gripped the back of his neck with one tense hand. “How can I? A man is dead be
cause of me.”

  “It’s…more than that.” Sophie sucked in a long breath. “Tell me.”

  Sophie had neither the time nor energy for him to dissemble, and Riel didn’t want to. He needed to confide in someone. His feelings were eating him alive. Before he could speak, Sophie fluttered her fingers. “Sit…Make me tired…watching you.”

  Riel did as she asked, and again enfolded his great-aunt’s hand in his. He gently stroked the back.

  “I’m afraid, Auntie. I’m afraid that someday I will do it again.” At last, he spoke his deepest fear. “That I’ll lose my temper and kill someone in a rage.”

  Shock flickered across Sophie’s features. “Never! Was special…circumstance.” She coughed and choked and gasped.

  Riel’s heart thundered with heavy, apprehensive beats until she quieted. Then he continued the conversation, as he knew she wished. “No, Auntie. I lost control. Rage consumed me. It might again.”

  Sophie’s hand gripped his. “Has it…since then?”

  “Never.”

  Sophie squeezed his hand. “And…it won’t…again. Forgive self…Riel.”

  Riel dipped his head and gazed at the woven rug on the floor, not wanting even Sophie to see the film of moisture covering his eyes. “I can’t.”

  “You’ve…asked God…to forgive you.” Sophie gasped for breath for a moment, and determinedly pressed on. “Is your…judgment…of yourself…more right than his?”

  “No, but…”

  “God has forgiven you. You…must, too.” Sophie closed her eyes, and struggled to catch her breath.

  Riel thought about what she’d said. It made sense, but it was difficult for him to accept. At last, he said, “I will try, Auntie. But I’ll never be good enough for Lucy. You see only the good in me. She sees the worst.”

  Sophie’s eyes fluttered open. “You’re a foolish…boy.” She drew a long breath, and disturbingly, a faint rattle sighed through it. “Do you…love her?”

  “No!” The denial came deeply and vehemently. He abruptly stood and paced again. “I cannot, and I will not be that foolish, Aunt Sophie. No future is possible for Lucy and me. You have a gentle, understanding heart, but if Lucy found out the truth she would hate me. And she’d look at me with rightful contempt.”

  Sophie’s jaw set in a stubborn line.

  Riel kissed her forehead. “Do not look at me like that. We both know I’m not fit to be her husband.”

  Tears glistened in Sophie’s eyes, and she gripped his hand with a shadow of her old strength. “Forgive self, Riel. Life…too short…for regrets.”

  Riel would regret forever that one black day thirteen years ago. It had delineated his life thus far, and would continue to tarnish his future. He was too much of a realist to pretend otherwise.

  But when Sophie looked at him, her old eyes bright with tears, a part of him softened. “I’ll try,” he said, with another gentle kiss on her brow.

  But how? How could he forgive himself? He could never accept what he had done. Even worse, what if he snapped, and did it again? He could never rest at his ease or get close to anyone—especially Lucy—as long as that possibility remained in his black heart.

  Chapter Twenty

  A few days later

  Lucinda had anticipated the masquerade ball for weeks. The thought of dancing with mysterious, masked men had thrilled her. Instead, when she slipped into the ballroom that evening, she found the masks gave the ball a sinister feel, what with a rapist on the loose. Was he one of the gentry? In what costume might a rapist clothe himself?

  Lucinda stood near the wall, watching the doings through her gold mask on a stick. Tonight she wore the gold silk gown for the first time, and if anyone asked, said she was Marie Antoinette.

  She spotted Timothy Fenwick, who wore a knight’s armor with a sword at his hip. Since their aborted kiss in the garden, he had steered quite clear of her. Lucinda supposed she deserved it. But she’d also noticed that since the kiss, Timothy had gained a new boldness. He asked many girls to dance, and frequently signed Amelia’s card twice.

  Perhaps her improper advance had not ruined him, after all.

  She involuntarily searched for Riel. It took only a second to find him, for she always possessed an innate sense of his location.

  Riel had come as himself. A pirate. He wore a white linen shirt, open below the throat, and it sported loose sleeves, cuffed to a band about his wrists. He also wore a wide belt, a wicked looking dagger, black breeches and his usual black, battered boots. He only lacked an earring.

  He certainly did not lack for female attention. Lucinda couldn’t help but notice the bevy of women eyeing him as if he were the first course…or perhaps dessert. The bolder of the bunch fluttered their dance cards beneath his nose. She averted her eyes from the trollops circling him, even now.

  “Lucinda.” Jonathon stood at her elbow. His smile curved below his black mask. He’d arrived as a bandito, and looked very dashing, too, dressed all in black, with a saber at his hip. “You look lovely.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes, trying to look her part—although she wasn’t quite sure how Marie Antoinette had behaved. “Why, merci, Jonathon.”

  “May I sign for the first dance?”

  “Of course.” Lucinda became aware that Riel watched them. A faint frown drew his brows together. He’d prefer it if she never danced with Jonathon at all. Perversely, she offered Jonathon a bright smile. “I hope you’ll wish to sign for more than one dance.”

  Jonathon grinned wolfishly, showing his teeth. “If I could, I would steal you from all others, Lucinda, and keep you for myself. However, with your guardian glaring at me as he is, I will content myself with two. May I have the supper dance again?”

  Lucinda grinned. “I would be very pleased.” She did not imagine the frown lowering Riel’s brow as Jonathon took his time over signing her card.

  Next, Fredrick stepped up. “May I have a dance, as well?” He sounded faintly surly, but she allowed him to sign, too.

  Abruptly, he turned and headed for Amelia, whose brows twitched together. At that moment, Timothy stood by her side. Faintly, Lucinda heard Amelia tell Fredrick, “I told you ‘no.’ Now leave, if you please.” Fredrick whirled and stormed off.

  Jonathon had apparently noticed the same scene. “It appears Fredrick has lost the favor of my dear cousin.”

  “He dances a bit too close from time to time.”

  “He is a knave,” Jonathon said. “Amelia is better off without him. As would you be.”

  Lucinda glanced at her card. Fredrick did make her feel uncomfortable. Perhaps she should stop dancing with him, too. “Well, it’s just one dance.” Then she saw the one for which he’d signed. The waltz! It was bad enough to endure that barely appropriate dance with Riel. But Fredrick? She bit her lip. “I suppose I will endure.”

  The music struck up, and Jonathon led her onto the dance floor. Lucinda quite forgot all about Fredrick as the night whirled away. At least she forgot about him until late in the evening, when he arrived to claim his waltz.

  Fredrick pulled her quickly into the whirling throng and held her much too close. She smelled alcohol on his breath and wrestled to maintain a proper distance between them. Jonathon was right. She’d been foolish to let Fredrick sign her dance card again. No wonder Amelia had denied him a dance. In point of fact, she couldn’t remember Fredrick dancing with many people at all during the last few weeks.

  Now she knew why.

  Fredrick stepped too quickly to the music. Lucinda dragged her feet a little, trying to slow him down, but he paid no attention. He hustled her toward the far corner of the room. Fury blazed in his small, pebbled eyes and he gripped her hand too hard. He ground out, “Why won’t your friend dance with me?”

  “Loosen your grip, sir.” Lucinda was tired of fighting the devil. “In fact, release me at once. I am finished with this dance.”

  “Not until you answer my questions.”

  Lucinda twisted her hand, trying
to free it, but Fredrick only squeezed harder. The bones in her hand squished together, turning her skin white. Pain skewered up her arm and tears sprang to her eyes. “Stop at once! I will not answer until you behave with decorum.”

  He jerked her closer, and growled in her ear, “Why won’t Amelia dance with me?”

  His breath smelled quite unpleasant. Of alcohol and stale kidney pie. Lucinda gritted her teeth. “Because you are a lout!” She stamped hard on his toe. Unfortunately, he wore boots and she, only thin satin slippers.

  Now his fingers pinched deep into her waist, and she involuntarily cried out in pain.

  He snarled, “You two tramps think you’re above me. Is that it? You think I’m dirt beneath your fine shoes.”

  He was hurting her. Blood pounded in Lucinda’s head, and fear tainted her bravado. He’d steered her near the door to the garden. What did he intend to do? How could she escape him?

  If only she could reach the butter knife she’d strapped to her shin! But lacking all other recourse… No help for it. Lucinda must employ the method her father had taught her to disable a man. She hauled back and kneed him in a most tender location.

  Her thick skirts and petticoats likely softened the blow, but Fredrick still blanched and doubled over. Unfortunately, he did not loosen his grip. He recovered quickly and continued to drag her toward the garden door.

  “Stop!” Lucinda dug in her heels. Unfortunately, the loud music and even louder chattering voices swallowed up her cry.