“I became friends with a lad named Pen. He was about my age, but small in size. We both worked the sails, and Pen was as nimble as a monkey. When I was seventeen, we docked in Tangier, Morocco for a few weeks to sell our gain and to take on supplies and water. I learned something then that changed my life forever.”
Lucinda shifted in her chair. A horrible fascination glued her attention to his words. And sickness plagued her, too, knowing she was about to learn how Riel had killed someone.
Riel stood and paced.
“I went below deck to grab my boots to go into town. I saw Pen, then, changing his clothes…her clothes, I realized in shock. I don’t know how she’d kept it a secret for six months on that ship. Anyway, she turned and saw me and begged me to keep her secret. I told her it was too dangerous. She had to get off the ship. If any of the men found out…” Riel shook his head, and looked far away, as if into the past.
“She refused, and we argued, loudly. She jumped off the ship, onto the dock. I tried to follow her, but the first mate, a man by the name of Desalt, stopped me. I could tell by his grin that he’d heard us arguing. He knew Pen was a woman. I warned him off, but he just laughed at me.”
Riel remained silent for a moment. “I tried to follow Pen, but I couldn’t find her. Stupidly, I stayed out late, drinking. It was dark when I got back to the ship. Pen wasn’t back. Desalt wasn’t there, either. I slept off the alcohol, and the next morning Desalt was back. Pen wasn’t. I asked if he’d seen her. He gave me a greasy smile and said, ‘Make it worth my while, an’ I’ll tell you.’”
Riel clenched his fists at the memory. “I was scared. He could have done anything to her. But whatever he’d done, it had lined his pockets. I watched him all day. At dusk he left the ship, and I skipped duty to follow him.”
Lucinda listened with bated breath. So far, it didn’t sound like a tale of murder. Rather of a young man worried about his friend. When Riel didn’t speak for a long time, she scanned his face. It looked tortured.
At last he said, “I…” That one word sounded guttural, and he cleared his throat. “I followed him.” Riel’s voice grew unnaturally quiet. “He entered a house in the worst section of town…a brothel, I could tell. As he went in, a man came out. A tall aristocrat, who looked self-satisfied. He fiddled with his cravat, tweaking it as if he were some preening bird. He wore a top hat, he had dark hair, and he was young; I guessed about twenty-four. He looked out of place. It didn’t look like an establishment for an aristocrat.”
Riel drew a breath, as if girding himself to go on. “After Desalt went inside, women started screaming. Upstairs, it sounded like. I ran in and up the stairs. Three or four women stood in a doorway, shrieking. One fainted. I ran inside and stopped. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Pen lay on the floor, half dressed…like a tramp. And…and blood was all over her.” His voice sounded thick, now. “Desalt was shaking her, yelling at her. She didn’t move, so he put his hands around her throat and throttled her, and screamed even louder.”
Riel gripped the table, as if for support. “Something inside me snapped. I launched at him and dragged him off her. I punched him again and again. I couldn’t stop. All I saw was blood…Pen’s blood…and Desalt’s.” He drew a long, shaky breath.
“Desalt fought me back. He swung a chair at me. I grabbed it and yanked him forward so hard his head cracked on a dresser. It sounded like a gunshot. He fell to the floor and didn’t move.
“Soon after, men in British military uniforms swarmed into the room. Your father was there, Lucy. He asked what had happened. Only one woman spoke English. I was in shock, and held Pen in my arms. I couldn’t speak. Desalt was dead. Pen was dead. The soldiers carted me off to their ship. Captain Hastings wanted to sort matters out with the British consulate, since all of the people involved were English. Well, I was half English, but that was close enough. He didn’t want trouble with the Moroccan government.”
Riel sat down and buried his head in his hands. “The Duke of Warrington was the Consul under the British Consul-General, James Matra, at the time.”
Lucinda gasped.
“He wanted me to hang for murder—for both Desalt’s and Pen’s. Preferably on the British warship. But he’d accept turning me over to the Moroccan government, or extraditing me to London to swing. He wanted to prove to the Sultan that the English are tough on their own.
“Captain Hastings spoke on my behalf, but I didn’t understand why. I’d talked to him in the brig and tried to tell him what had happened. I confessed to killing Desalt. I signed my own death warrant by admitting it, but I was ready to die. I had killed a man in a violent rage. Desalt had not even harmed Pen. She was dead when he arrived.” His voice broke. “I killed an innocent man.”
Lucinda could keep silent no longer. “He was not innocent! Desalt had obviously sold Pen into prostitution. The customer he forced upon Pen killed her. Desalt was as guilty as the actual murderer!”
“No. It was my fault. I should have tried harder to find Pen that first night. But I got drunk, instead.” Self-disgust roughened Riel’s voice. “I failed her, and then I killed a man.”
Lucinda waited, knowing there was more.
After a moment, he continued. “I burned to know who had killed Pen. In my gut, I thought it was that aristocrat I’d seen. While Captain Hastings pled for leniency for me, I sat in a cabin packed with people; news people, Moroccan officials, and the ghoulish and the curious. I saw all sorts of people…and then I saw him. The man who had left the brothel that night. He wore no top hat, but I knew him. I shouted, ‘That’s him!’ He didn’t even flinch. His lips curled into a sneering smirk, just like they had night.
“The warped bastard!” Riel said now through his teeth. “One of my shipmates heard me. He asked what I meant, and I told him.
“The trial progressed, and I fully expected to hang the next morning. But somehow—I’ll never know how, or why—Peter took the Consul aside and convinced him to let me go. Then he spoke to Sultan Mawlay Sulayman’s men. I’ll never know what your father said to any of them. But I was a free man. Peter advised me to leave Morocco immediately. He arranged for me to set sail on an English ship the next morning. Before we sailed, my friend from the pirate ship stopped by and told me the aristocrat was dead. They’d jumped and killed him in the street the previous night. He was the son of the British Consul, the Duke of Warrington. Jonathon’s older brother.”
Stunned, Lucinda said, “So Jonathon did recognize you. He must have been at your trial.”
“Yes. What he doesn’t know is that I’m responsible for his brother’s death, too.”
“What?”
“I named him to my friend. I knew what could happen. Even worse, he could have been innocent.”
“But he wasn’t.”
“No. My friend coerced a confession from him. He was guilty, all right. And he hadn’t given Pen the money he’d promised Desalt, either. That’s why Desalt was so upset that night, and why he attacked Pen.”
“What an awful story!” Lucinda felt sickened. What an awful brother Jonathon had had. What a horrible influence upon an impressionable young boy.
Riel stood again. “So you see, I am a murderer. Twice over. I am responsible for the deaths of two men.”
“They were both awful men. Criminals!” Lucinda jumped to her feet. At last, she felt relieved. Riel was guilty of nothing. “Jonathon’s brother deserved to hang. But he never would have stood trial, not with his father as Consul, and peer of the Consul-General. Justice was served, Riel.”
“Perhaps. But Desalt is dead. I killed him with my own hands. He was a greedy swine, but he didn’t deserve to die.”
Lucinda did not agree. “It was an accident, Riel,” she said softly, and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “You didn’t mean to kill him. He cracked his head on a dresser. The dresser killed him!”
A ghost of a smile touched Riel’s lips, but soon vanished. “I would have beaten him to a bloody pulp. Murder was in my heart.”
“Riel.” She moved to face him. Her gaze ran over his features. His eyes looked as black as pitch, and the blunt lines of his face were taut with self-condemnation. “Riel,” she said again, and touched his cheek. “My father did not think you were guilty,” she whispered, “and neither do I.”
Disbelief flickered. “You don’t?”
“No, Riel. It’s time to forget the past. Think instead about the man you have become.”
“You see value in me?” He sounded vulnerable.
She gave a breath of a laugh. “Do I see value in you?” She loved him! “You are the most honorable man I’ve ever met. My father was right about you.”
“So you will allow me to stay in your life, as your guardian?”
“I won’t chase you away, if that is what you are asking.”
“It is all I am asking…for now.”
Her heart beat faster when she looked up at him. But she could read nothing on his face except for a smile. “Then you will leave tomorrow?” Disappointment lodged in her heart.
“I promised suppliers a shipment.”
“All right.” He was a ship’s captain. It was his life. At least it wasn’t his first love. Hope unfurled. So much had happened in the last few weeks. Perhaps she needed to give herself time to grieve for Sophie, and to come to grips with what Jonathon had done to her. She needed to heal. Learning the secrets of Riel’s past finally put to rest all of her doubts and fears. He was honorable and fair…the man she’d always hoped and believed him to be. And he would return to her.
But still she did not know what he felt for her.
“When will you be back?”
“By your birthday, Lucy. Will that be soon enough?”
Three long months. “Of…of course.”
His gaze ran gently over her face, as if trying to memorize every detail. “Let’s go over the ledgers together.”
* * * * *
Riel left early the next morning, before she was up, as he’d told her he would when they’d scoured the ledgers together the afternoon before. She’d enjoyed every one of those quiet minutes, working at his side, and feeling the occasional brush of his arm, and inhaling the clean masculine scent that was just Riel. Sometimes, when she leaned close to him, he would pull away after a moment, as if determined to put distance between them
It hurt. Lucinda did not understand him at all. But then again, everything about her life had been pretty muddled for the past few months. It might be best that he’d decided to leave for awhile. She repeatedly told herself this as she went about the daily tasks of Ravensbrook in the months that followed. Perhaps by the time he returned, she would have her head on straight.
Lucinda still suffered through nightmares which replayed the night Jonathon had tried to rape her. She awoke gasping with fear…and always before Riel rescued her. Why?
The days passed slowly. Lucinda felt terribly alone, and she hated it. She missed Sophie, and grieved for her friend as she tended the garden they’d planted together. The little rose bush bloomed hardily, as did the other plants.
The summer slowly slipped into late August, and Amelia invited her to stay for a week at their house. Lucinda enjoyed that happy time. She also noticed that Timothy Fenwick came to call more than once.
“He’s sweet on you,” she giggled to Amelia one day. They sat on the wide swing which hung from the Carlisle’s largest oak tree.
“Perhaps I’m sweet on him, too. He does have a charm about him.”
“A cute, puppy dog charm.”
Amelia said nothing, and Lucinda felt instant concern. Perhaps her friend had taken her comment the wrong way. “You know I like Timothy, Amelia.”
Her friend pushed off with her toes, and they started swinging again. “I know you do. I must say, I never thought I’d fall in love with a younger man.”
“You’re in love?” Lucinda squealed and hugged her. “Oh, Amelia! I’m so happy for you!”
Amelia pinkened, and a happy smile lit her face, which was never less plain than now. “He’s already declared himself to Father, but we’ve decided to wait until he’s twenty, at least. Perhaps he will change his mind by then.”
“Amelia! He will not. He is totally besotted with you, and you know it.”
Amelia smiled again. “And what about you, Lucinda? Have you admitted yet that you’re in love with the Baron?”
It was Lucinda’s turn to fall silent. “I do love him,” she admitted.
“I knew it all along.”
“But so many things have happened between us. I was a brat for the first year, and then chased Jonathon…and then everything else happened.” Lucinda had at last told her best friend everything that had happened in London…and about Riel’s past, too. Amelia agreed with Lucinda. Riel was guilty of nothing at all.
“So you don’t know how he feels about you.”
“Why would he have any feelings for me? I was a shrew to him half the time, and the other half I pushed him away, and ran away. I’ve been such a fool, Amelia. And he left on this last voyage so fast I think he was glad to see the back of me.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am sure of nothing with that maddening man! He drives me up the wall and down the other side.”
“Did he say when he’ll be back?”
“October.”
“When at last you’ll turn twenty. Didn’t your father want you to wait until then to marry?”
“Yes. But I see no one in sight to marry. Perhaps I will turn into an old maid.”
Amelia looked at her with sympathy and amusement. “Lucinda, come visit me after your birthday. Promise me.”
Lucinda’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Of course. Now, tell me again…when did Timothy actually propose?”
* * * * *
October, 1814
The summer months passed with excruciating slowness for Riel. True, he’d promised a shipment to a longstanding, faithful buyer, but he also longed to be with Lucy.
Hopefully, the time apart would allow things to settle between them. Lucy had needed time after Jonathon’s attack and Sophie’s death to recover. And to process the revelation of his sordid past.
Riel still did not know how Lucy felt about him, but she did believe he was innocent of murder. That fact allowed the deepest wound inside him to begin to heal. Sophie had tried to convince him of the same thing for years, but Riel hadn’t been able to accept her words. Instead, he’d felt consumed with guilt over his actions…and the fear that he might repeat them one day.
But he hadn’t, not even in the one brief, blinding moment when he’d wanted to kill Jonathon.
At last, Riel allowed himself to accept God’s forgiveness for his past sins. And at last he began to forgive himself. One day in his cabin, he dropped to his knees and in wonderment thanked God for his grace and forgiveness, and for the healing that finally soothed his heart.
And Riel hoped—perhaps foolishly—that Lucy might nurture deeper feelings for him. He remembered the tenderness in her eyes when she’d told him she believed he was innocent, and the vehemence with which she’d insisted he was an honorable man. Could she possibly love him?
The days of summer slid past on the high seas. Standing on the humming deck of the Tradewind, with the wind driving her at a fast clip through the choppy seas, cleared Riel’s mind of all but one most important fact.
He loved Lucy, and he wanted her to be his wife. He needed her with a ferocity that shook him. Falling in love had never been in his plans, but if there was the slightest chance she might love him even a little…
When Riel got home, he would find his answers. He loved her, and he’d pursue Lucy until her smart, pretty mouth finally admitted
what she truly felt for him.
October arrived, and so did the end of his successful voyage. Two days later, Ravensbrook’s tall, three story stone structure loomed around the last copse of trees. Riel’s heart beat faster. Lucy. At last, he’d see her.
Would she meet him at the front door, with her blue eyes soft and smiling?
He wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms and hold her close.
He was almost home. Would he at last find a home for his heart, as well?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The crunch of wheels on the drive made Lucinda hurry to her bedroom window. A groomsman ran up to the matched pair of blacks hitched to the black carriage. A familiar carriage. She gasped. Riel!
He was here! For some reason, she’d believed he would arrive on her birthday, still two weeks away.
Lucinda could not speed fast enough down the stairs. She peered out the front window. The carriage door opened without the driver’s assistance. So like Riel. And then, as her heart skipped and bumped with joy, Riel vaulted up Ravensbrook’s steps, his strides long and lithe, as if he couldn’t wait to burst inside.
The butler opened the door with a bow and a flourish. “Lord Iveny.” Wilson refused to speak to a nobleman without using his full title.
“Wilson.” Riel’s tall, muscular frame filled the doorway and his gaze immediately focused upon Lucinda.
With a trembling smile, she moved forward. “Riel.” Once again, his sheer size, and the intensity that was only Riel, hit her heart hard, making it race.
Uncharacteristic shyness slowed her steps. She loved him. More than ever before, this certainty stabbed her with the force of a lightening bolt. She loved him with all of her heart, but what could a wonderful man like Riel possibly feel for her? A ward thrust upon him. An ungrateful one for that matter, and one who had caused him no end of grief over the past two years.
In two strides Riel closed the distance between them. He caught her hands and looked down at her, his dark eyes steady and curiously intent. “Did you miss me, Lucy?”
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