For the Love of a Pirate

by Edith Layton

  “Good day, Miss Bigod,” he said, clapping on his hat. “My lord,” he said with a curt nod, turned his horse, and rode off down the rocky strand.

  Constantine stared after him. “That fellow might have hated my forebears,” he mused, “but I believe he wanted to bite my head off just because I was walking with you.”

  “He’s a good-hearted man,” she said. “Only so serious!”

  “About you, at least,” Constantine said, looking down at her. “Revenue men and sailors? And how many others? I’d no idea you had so many suitors.”

  “Aye,” she said, laughing, “I do. But sometimes a lot is not very much. As Lovey taught me, Good Queen Bess had many suitors too, only none suited her.”

  “And none suit you?”

  “None have,” she said with a shrug, and started walking up the beach.

  “You don’t worry about that?”

  “Worry? Oh, that I might end up a spinster? No,” she said, smiling up into his eyes. “One day I’ll find a fellow I want. Then God help him, because I’ll never let him slip away.”

  Constantine walked on at her side. At the edge of the beach, they entered a grove of stunted trees and shrubs. Nothing grew tall or straight this near the sea, because of the constant winds, but as they went on, the narrow sandy path turned to an earthen one, and the trees became more abundant. The day was growing warmer but they walked in leafy shadow, the sea and the forest combining to make a pleasant earthy scent of early autumn. There was a scent of spring in the air as well.

  “How do you do it?” Constantine marveled. “You got as thoroughly splashed as I did, you were there with the fish as well, but I stink of fish guts and low tide, and you still smell of perfume. It’s freesia, is it?”

  “What? Oh.” She laughed. “I suppose so. I’ve a friend who frequently travels to France, and he brings back such lovely soaps and scents for me. Yes,” she said, turning to him with a wicked grin. “There is an advantage to having a slew of suitors, I suppose. And there’s another reason Nichols keeps his eyes on me. He’s after something aside from my hand. Several others in manacles would make him just as happy, I think.”

  Constantine lost his smile. “And you condone smuggling?”

  She looked at him wide-eyed. “My lord, we live by the sea, and from the sea. We’d fight like madmen against Napoleon, and in fact, many of our young men do, in the royal navy, the army, and on the waters of the Channel as they sail out for fish, and other goods. But free trade is a fact of life here. If it disturbs you, I suggest you leave us, and now.”

  He held up a hand. “Please don’t take offense. I’m a proper fellow, not a blind or deaf one. All London trades in free trade. I’m not blaming anyone. I just failed to realize that the revenue man had good reason to stop me. He was only doing his job. Does he really think I’m interested in going to sea as a pirate?”

  “No. Well, I don’t know. But he knows your history; it’s the talk of our little village. And it’s his job to be suspicious. Don’t worry. Next time I see him, I’ll assure him that you’re the furthest thing from a pirate on the land or the sea.”

  “You say that as though I should regret it.”

  She stopped, and cocked her head to the side.

  “In truth,” she said, on a sigh. “You look very piratical at the moment.” He was mussed, his hair disarranged by the sea wind, his clothing appalling, and now his face was like the one she’d seen before she met him, and so as familiar to her as her own. And yet he wasn’t the man she’d hoped to one day find in reality. She reached up and brushed back a lock of his hair from his forehead.

  He couldn’t stop his eyebrow from going up. Ladies of breeding didn’t touch gentlemen they scarcely knew, not even with their gloves on. Her fingers were bare, and warm, and where she’d touched him his skin tingled.

  She laughed. “But no. It’s all in the eyes, and those eyes are in a portrait. Because it’s not in your heart or mind. You’re more a preacher than a pirate, and that’s that. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it confuses me at times. I suppose it confuses others as well.”

  “It confuses me,” he whispered. She was so close, she was dressed like no woman he’d ever known, or wanted to, but she was so damned appealing. He found it difficult to understand why.

  She raised her hand, put it on the back of his neck, reached up on her tiptoes, closed her eyes, and kissed him lightly on the lips.

  He felt her lips, soft against his own, and his arms went around her. Hers had been a light kiss, a query. His response wasn’t. It wasn’t thought out and it wasn’t gentle. It was surprised for only a heartbeat, and then it was full acceptance. She tasted delicious. He pulled her closer and opened his mouth against hers. She gasped and he touched her tongue with his, and felt a sudden surge of desire for more of her. He ran his hands along the rough sailor’s sweater, gathering her closer still, and feeling the warm, vital female form beneath. He slipped his hand up inside the oversized sweater and reveled in the ease of it as he felt warm flesh and the way her soft breast peaked as his hand cupped her.

  She wriggled closer to him, her eyes closed. He deepened the kiss, suddenly aflame, suddenly lost to everything but his senses as they responded to the warm, willing female in his arms.

  He lowered his mouth to her neck, and she threw her head back and shivered. He put his other hand under the sweater to caress her silken back. The bud of her breast hardened in his palm, and she gasped.

  And then he remembered who he was, and who she was. It took every ounce of his control, but he was well schooled in control. He dropped his hands, and drew back, appalled at himself.

  “Forgive me,” he said in a shaken voice. “I’d no right.”

  “You did,” she said in a voice no more steady. “I kissed you, remember?”

  He wanted to apologize, but stayed still, shamed and chagrined, realizing that what he’d done was as good as a declaration. Her grandfather’s scheme had worked. He felt cold, then hot, and altogether like a fool. Had he been lured to this fate? She had, after all, kissed him. His expression of contrition turned to one of horror.

  She saw it. “You are not caught, my lord,” she said, affecting unconcern. “Nor have I, or will I, ask for more.”

  His eyes widened, because he suddenly wondered if he might. “But we kissed,” he said stiffly. “And more.”

  “So we did. And not much more. Anyway, it doesn’t signify. This isn’t London.”

  He was, at that moment, very glad of it.

  She turned her back and began walking again.

  “Can you forgive me, and forget it?” he asked, coming up beside her, and trying to see her averted face. “I will confess to your grandfather, of course. And beg his pardon as well and take whatever consequences ensue.”

  She wheeled around and scowled. “That you will not! I’ve already forgotten it. He doesn’t need to know. Be done with it, sir. It was an impulse, and a test. You passed with flying colors. You’re an honorable fellow. Forget it.”

  He wanted to ask what sort of test, but didn’t dare. Talking it out might lead to more. He certainly wished it would, but dreaded it at the same time. So he bowed, and walked on beside her, relieved, guilty, and confused. Her grandfather knew he was engaged to marry, but hadn’t told her. Or had he? Was this a cleverer trap than he’d expected?

  But, no. He’d swear she was no actress. She was, however, light and fire, charm and temptation. That made her a better snare than even her sly old grandfather could have fashioned. Did the captain know that? Was that what he was betting on? Time for him to go then, Constantine thought. Past time.

  But he certainly didn’t need to add to the infamy surrounding his name. He decided that he’d go back to her house, stay another day until he was certain the incident was well past, and then go home where he belonged, and trust to fate that his terrible history stayed here, where it belonged.

  They walked on in silence; her head was down, watching her boots. He watched her.
/>   “Are you in love with anyone in London?” she asked suddenly.

  “No!” he replied before he could think. But “no,” was the right answer, he realized. Love was never a part of his forthcoming marriage.

  “Well, you did ask me about my romantic situation,” she said, mistaking his abrupt answer for anger.

  “So I did,” he answered warily.

  “So, tit for tat,” she said. She glanced up at him. “Anyone in love with you?”

  “No,” he said more carefully. That too was true. “Still, I am rather … involved with a young woman at present.”

  More he would not say. He needed Lisabeth’s good will now. It wasn’t strictly the truth, but it wasn’t an out-and-out lie.

  “Ah,” she said. And smiled at him. “You know why it happened at all, Sir ‘Involved’? That kiss? Out here, in the forest, near the sea, dressed as you are—and likely never are—you look more like the man in the portrait than the fellow who came down from London. Want to go for some proper fishing tomorrow?” she asked suddenly, with another mercurial change of subject. “We have a grandfather trout the size of a whale, but he’s clever and shifty as the pickpockets you have in London. If you do catch him, we’d appreciate it if you threw him back. Oh, you’ll get the credit, but that way you leave something behind for the rest of us to try to attain.”

  “You fish?”

  “Of course,” she said, laughing. “I love to fish, in river, stream, and sea. I swim like a fish as well, I sail, I ride. I can dance too, and bake, and sew a fine seam if I put my mind to it. But I’d rather read a book.”

  Every word she said disqualified her more for the life of a wellborn lady of the ton. Riding and dancing was expected. Sewing was acceptable. But reading books made her a bluestocking, and baking was something a servant did, and fishing and swimming, not the sort of thing any lady admitted to.

  They came in sight of the long meadow that led to the drive to her grandfather’s house.

  They paused. He was searching for something to say. She was staring at him. She grinned again, pulled his head down, gave him a quick peck on the lips, not enough to signify, but enough to make him want to pull her close again. But before he could, she danced away, and left him, with laughter, as she ran back to her house.

  “Tomorrow,” she called back over her shoulder, “we go for the grandfather trout. And if it rains, I’ll bake you a pie!”

  He laughed in spite of himself, and watched her run away, wishing he could chase her, because he was sure he could catch her if he tried.

  They didn’t catch the grandfather trout. They caught some others, got chilled to the bone when clouds covered the sun, and ran all the way back to the house, laughing, before the downpour soaked them to the skin. He tried not to look at her in her drenched clothing. She ignored him. Then they changed into warm clothes, and spent time in front of the hearth in the salon, listening to the captain’s stories about fish he had caught, had heard of being caught, and wished he had caught. The old fellow was, Constantine discovered, very amusing.

  Then they had dinner, and after that, he discovered that Lisabeth could play the pianoforte, and sing very well indeed. He was about to go to bed, when the captain proposed a hand or two of piquet, and Constantine discovered that Lisabeth could play cards even better than she could sing. And although he kept losing and watching the captain, it was a wink from the old fellow that indicated it was Miss Lovelace who was cheating like a bandit.

  Lisabeth pursed her lips when she saw his expression and then laughed until she was breathless, but only after Miss Lovelace had gone to bed. The captain left soon after, leaving Constantine and Lisabeth alone before a comfortable fire. It was too comfortable for Constantine. He stood immediately. He’d been going to tell Lisabeth he was leaving the next day, but didn’t want to remain downstairs in the night alone with her for any reason. Tonight she’d dressed like a lady, in something green and clinging, though he’d begun to realize it didn’t matter how she was clothed. There was always something alluring about her. He couldn’t decide if it was her attitude, and so something she did on purpose, or his own confused attraction to her. At any rate, he knew being alone at night with her was no way to find out.

  He said good night and went up the stair to his bed. He’d decided there was no hurry about leaving. However he watched, and he did, Lisabeth didn’t look at him with desire. That was reassuring. It was also mildly annoying. He went to bed, musing about it.

  The next day they rode out and visited with several villagers, Constantine was filled up with stories about his father and his great-grandfather, along with lashings of tea, fresh home-baked buns, and fresh sweet cream. Dinner that night was tasty, but both Constantine and Lisabeth were too full to eat much of it. After dinner, they played a home version of the forbidden game of hazard, where Miss Lovelace again skinned everyone else at the table.

  Days passed into a week. And then two. Lisabeth continued to attract Constantine, but he thought possibly not on purpose. He didn’t attempt anything but light banter. That amused her. Time flew by. He was scarcely aware of its passing, though he felt as though something were loosening inside him. His tension about his secret family history had vanished; perhaps, he thought, because it was not only not secret here, but actually admired. He felt freer, more relaxed, even younger, perhaps, he thought, because of the fresh sea air and exercise and good food. And the good company.

  Constantine discovered that Lisabeth loved animals, books, laughter, and wicked men. Lisabeth got him to tell her about his life as a boy, and he was shocked to see the pity in her eyes.

  “Your uncle never let you romp free?” she asked one afternoon, while they picnicked on the smooth green grass on a hill near an ancient bridge that crossed over a rushing silver brook.

  “No,” he said. “I see now it was because he worried that my wild side, the side he feared, would come out if I weren’t under strict control.”

  “But you haven’t a wild side!” she said. “Poor fellow.”

  “Poor fellow?” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

  “Well, when we met you were horrified by your ancestors. But now I think that was not only because you were afraid people in London would find out about them, but also because you were just a bit”—she held her thumb and her forefinger a centimeter apart—“afraid that such wildness lurked in yourself. Don’t fret,” she said. “It doesn’t.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “In truth,” she said, “I am. No, listen. You know how taken I was by Captain Cunning’s portrait. Now I realize that was because I was a very lonely, imaginative little girl. Now I can see that your great-grandfather might have terrified me in person. You are, after all, everything like him, and nothing like him, and I find I prefer a mannerly pirate, after all.”

  “Lonely?” he asked, focusing his attention on that and trying to ignore the rest of what she’d said. Those were waters too deep for him to measure. Especially with her sitting in the sunlight, her hair sparkling with shifting rainbow lights, her bonnet still tied but resting on her back. He noticed that because the front of her was too dazzling to look at directly.

  “Yes,” she said, with a shrug that made him finally look at what he’d been avoiding all afternoon. “Grandy was always off on business. The village children were nice to me, but they had chores and duties. I spent most of my time with Miss Lovelace.”

  “An interesting choice of governess companion,” he said carefully.

  “Yes. But you mustn’t judge her too harshly. I knew what she did to survive, she told me herself. That, I think, was her way of teaching me to never even consider such a thing.” She fixed a direct gaze on his. “You gentlemen think prostitution isn’t such a bad thing, well, if you didn’t, there wouldn’t be any, would there? But it’s dreadful. It’s what turned Lovey into … such an admirer of alcoholic spirits. She told me everything about the trade, with no dressing it up. Running away with a lover was one thing. That happens to both
ladies and commoners, and is excusable, I suppose, if their love lasts. But selling oneself day after day and night after night to whoever has a few extra pence in his pocket? That’s pure hell, whatever you gentlemen think.”

  Constantine couldn’t speak. He could never discuss this with a lady. He could, though, he realized, and perhaps had, discussed it with a female who wasn’t a lady. She was right, at the same time that she was utterly wrong to talk about it with him. And, he saw from her sudden smile, she knew it.

  “Well, the sun is sinking,” she said, rising and putting a hand over her eyes so she could scan the sky. “And the breeze is growing chill, but there’s no rain coming. On the way here I noticed that the oaks are laden with acorns. The berry bushes are definitely ready to harvest. We make preserves and jams that are a treat with scones. So, your lordship, do you think you’d care to come berrying with me tomorrow?”

  She was smiling at him as though she thought he was too straitlaced to go berrying like a peasant. He’d been about to finally tell her he’d be leaving. But he’d never gone berrying.

  Lisabeth hid her smile as they rode back to Sea Mews. She hadn’t been so happy for weeks, perhaps in her entire life. He’d changed. It wasn’t just that he was no longer the immaculate gentleman of fashion. She’d been impressed at how handsome he’d been when he’d arrived at Sea Mews, like a picture in The Gentleman’s Magazine. But the moment she’d spoken with him, she’d longed for him to be more accessible, more human, more the man she’d fallen in love with long before she’d met him.

  She’d talked with Lovey about it. She hadn’t dared confide in Grandy or he’d drag the poor fellow to the altar without further delay. Lovely had led a terrible life, but if there was one thing she knew as well as she knew Shakespeare, it was a man’s desires. Even the most reasonable man, Lovey had said, might be ruled by his brain. But he was also steered by his body.