My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1)

by Synclair Stafford

  “I’m to have a wife.”

  Henry sat very still for what seemed quite a long time. Addison chewed the inside of his cheek as the news churned in his friend’s mind. Then, Henry threw back his head and laughed, his blond hair bounced against his starched collar.

  Addison scowled and glanced around the room for liquor, a bottle of any kind would do.

  Henry’s laughter trailed off, his tanned face sobered, and a frown creasing his brow. “You do not joke.”

  “No. We’re to be married very soon. I told her the marriage would happen in one week, but she is proving to be somewhat . . . difficult.”

  Henry leaned forward, concern marring his features. “Difficult? You mean, she’s not willingly entered into this?”

  Gnashing his teeth together, he met his friend’s eyes. “Aye, I entered into it willingly. The bride, well, she is taking her time.”

  “Good God, man. You must let me meet her!” One side of his mouth lifted in a smile. “She is not tripping over herself to rush you to the altar? Isabel will definitely need to be introduced.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea at the moment, Henry.”

  “Oh nonsense, I insist. You shall escort her to dinner tomorrow night. We must meet her.” Henry’s enthusiasm did nothing for his headache.

  Tossing the buxom vixen in the storeroom of his home, then swallowing the key . . . well now, that might work—for a while anyway. He would not be able to keep her hidden away indefinitely, he knew. He sighed.

  “I suppose we can attempt it. But, I warn you, she is unlike any woman you’ve ever met.”

  Henry stood and clapped him on the shoulder, his teeth flashing in a wide smile. “Aye, I can see that by the amount of spirits you imbibed last night. By the way, you should wash up. I can smell that alcohol on you, old chap.”

  “Noted,” he nodded, then grimaced at the jolt of pain the movement pushed into his brain.

  “Good God, man,” he chuckled. “She’s not such a chore, is she?”

  He didn’t dare shake his head again, so raised tired, and quite likely, blood shot eyes to his friend. “She is as beautiful as your Isabel, but has a rebellious nature and a flaming temper along with it.”

  Rocking back on his heels, Henry’s brows wiggled. “A challenge, eh? Sounds like the perfect woman for you, my friend.”

  A groan escaped him, not sure if it was because he knew his friend was correct or the state of his body, and then promptly fell back into his chair.

  Irritated by Henry’s laughter, he rested his head on the back of the chair and stared at the wooden ceiling.

  “Love does not come easy, my friend. You have to work for it. Now, six o’clock. Don’t be late or Isabel will have my head.”

  Addison waved his hand in Henry’s direction. “Yes, yes . . . we’ll be there.”

  “Good day, Ad.” The door resounded with a loud thud that reverberated in his aching head as Henry left the office.

  Addison released the growl he’d been holding in since Henry’s entrance.

  It took the rest of the morning and early afternoon, slaving over paperwork and loading a shipment of rice, for his headache to completely vanish. He’d had plenty of time to think about Anne and how to tackle her stubbornness.

  The vessel he was expecting on the morrow would bring a shipment of silks and spices from Barbados. Perhaps he could please Anne by allowing her the pick of some silks before he traded them amongst Charles Town’s establishments. Hoping to sweeten her up, he had come up with a few ways to woo her into niceness before the dinner party with Henry and Isabel.

  By the time he reached Cranford Hall, and after a short ride on his stallion, it was nearing dinner. Delcie, his cook, spied him on his horse in the drive as she rang the supper bell. Her chocolate brown skin and dark eyes were in stark contrast to her white-toothed smile as she waved in his direction. He smiled and nodded.

  Making sure to properly groom and clean George, the thoroughbred he’d purchased from Henry, was his first priority every evening. He would never ask the people who worked on the farm to perform tasks of which he was perfectly capable.

  A dash of water and soap to his hands and face in the basin in his room before making an appearance for dinner was in order. He strolled through the servants’ entrance and up the stairs, and then took care of washing up.

  On leaving his room, he heard the soft coo of an infant. Curious of the two other children in his home, he followed the delicate noise into the nursery across the hall. Not familiar with the smaller humans, he found a strange grip on his heart as he looked down into the first wooden crib he came upon. A pair of large, doe-brown eyes blinked up at him. The baby girl’s eyes were wide and open, while the little lad next to her slept peacefully. One fat fist shoved into her mouth, she cooed as he allowed her to grab his finger with her other hand. A smile of all gums spread behind the hand in her mouth.

  Addison found himself babbling nonsense to her, and determined to find a wet nurse to make sure Anne didn’t become too stressed attempting to feed both infants. On his way below stairs to the dining room, he made a silent promise to the babies and Holt, he would provide for them and love them until his dying day. Strange how such tiny persons could steal his heart on sight.

  Walking into the dining room, the delicious scent of Delcie’s roasted chicken wafted throughout the room. His stomach grumbled as steam rose from the delectable dishes aligned along the sideboard table in the back of the room. His eyes instantly found an unruly head of fiery, sunset hair, braided to one side of an elegant, long neck. Anne’s back was to him. She gave no indication she realized his entrance.

  Blood rushed through his body, and the nerves in his fingers itched to feel the smooth column of her neck and the creamy expanse of shoulders bared to the top of her gown. Addison moved into the room, prepared to enjoy her beauty more fully; high cheekbones, full, pouty lips, slightly tilted nose and long, dark lashes.

  Her back stiffened immediately at his movement. She raised her chin.

  “I thought dinner was served promptly at six, sir. It seems I am not the only one who is in need of a curfew.”

  He walked around to the opposite side of the table, facing her, as she took a sip from her teacup, bringing his eyes directly to her mouth.

  Surprised at her blunt speech, he raised a brow in her direction. “Mere lateness is common, madam. It’s the total disregard for arrival that prompts the curfew.”

  Sitting to table, he smirked slightly as her nostrils flared ever so slightly. He’d scored a direct hit. The violent flashing of those emerald green eyes gave it away.

  Placing a napkin in his lap, he thanked Josey, the kitchen help, for bringing him a bowl of soup. He sipped.

  “I trust your room is sufficient. You know, Sarah placed you in my room not expecting my return so soon. A slight mix up.” He paused to see how she’d react. “The children are doing well?”

  There was a pause in her voice, but she answered with a reluctant nod. “Aye. They are doing wonderfully, thank you.”

  “Eliza is quite taken with them. Their father would be proud to know they thrive.”

  Her spoon in mid-air, Anne’s chin lifted defensively. Interesting. Had he said something wrong?

  “Their father was a bastard. They would thrive with or without your help, sir.” She raised sparkling eyes, challenging him to refute her claim that she could take care of her own.

  Addison set his spoon in the bowl, extinguishing surprise at the insensitive description of her dead husband. He was not, however, surprised by her angry tone. It seemed he sparked that in her freely. “That is unfortunate about your husband, madam. But, the children will have a bright future here.”

  “He was not my husband.” The sparks in her green eyes matched the mulish set of her chin.
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  The bluntness with which she spoke intrigued him. Was she mad? Did she not want the comforts of his home and security? William Cormac had said plainly that she had been widowed.

  One side of her mouth curled up in a mocking grin. She spoke to get a rise out of him, but why?

  He raised a brow at her, the pulse ticked at the base of her throat, and the freckles disappeared and reappeared on her breasts beneath the top of the gown as she breathed. His pulse drummed, heavy with the sudden tension in the room.

  “Widows generally become widows through the death of a husband.”

  She pressed her lips together then halfway opened her mouth to speak.

  “Ah, so there is no need to have you sleeping in a separate room, then, madam? You’re scandalized and not afraid to admit it?” He allowed a half-grin escape at that thought. Her full lips moved slightly, her mouth clamped shut again, cheeks stained with color. “Be that as it may, the children will now reside under my roof and benefit from the influence of a man who is very much alive.”

  Anne remained silent, but clearly infuriated, licking her lips. He felt himself harden watching the emotion play across her smooth features. The freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose blended with the red staining her cheeks. She gripped her spoon, white knuckled, in her left hand. At any moment, an errant flying object could sail in his direction.

  “You do not want to marry me.”

  Of all the words he’d anticipated from her, she surprised him yet again. Would their conversations always go thusly; a war of words and wits, anger and quick-tempers?

  The vehemence with which she spoke made him all the more determined that she be his wife. He wanted to marry her, just to irk her temper.

  Acquisition of land and his life’s dream were both prevalent in his mind, but taming Anne Morgan was a larger challenge at hand.

  He’d no idea why he wanted to tame her; only that her ability to flare his temper and lust all at the same moment were both new to him. Strangling her would be simpler. Spanking her would be more desirable.

  Shifting uncomfortably, he tamped down lustful thoughts.

  “I’ll be the judge of that, Mrs. Morgan.” Leaning forward with a wicked grin, he rested his elbows on the table, then methodically folded his hands before him. “Tell me, madam, why I would not wish to wed a widow with children by a bastard who was not her husband?”

  Chapter 8

  Liquid heat. That was how Anne would describe the feeling that traveled from the rapid thumping of her heart, through the fluttering in her stomach and down below. She swallowed; his smile sent a jolt of lust, shocking her senses and stealing her breath. So many emotions coursed through her—terror, fury, and arousal.

  The white flash of his teeth, full lower lip, hawk-like nose, and mesmerizing silvery eyes beckoned her with a mischievous sparkle.

  She’d not intended to be so offended by his assumption that Jack had been her husband, nor had she intended to spout the truth about the circumstances. Addison had not shown any shock at her words, only a slight irritation passed through his piercing gray eyes.

  However, the topic at hand had given her an idea on how to discourage the fine, arrogant—yet charming and handsome—lord into running the other direction. What better way to scare him away than the truth?

  Well, mostly truth, and omitting the specific criminal activities.

  She’d not tell him she was a wanted pirate, but she’d shock him with some of her life experiences. A right and proper lord of the realm would be hard-pressed to find any stories more adventuresome, scandalous, and downright unnatural.

  But, how far to go? She swallowed down all the truths she wanted to impart, and decided to go slowly.

  The coaxing, charming smile he gave her increased the thump of her heart and fluttering in her stomach. Anne flipped her braid around with her hand in as much of a feigned display of indifference as she could muster under the circumstances. She studied the deep red ends for a moment likening them to the color of the fire building in her.

  “I was married, it is true. And, my husband is dead, do not doubt it.” Raising her eyes to the flashing steel of his, she placed the braid in the cleavage displayed by the tightness of her floral stomacher. Heart thundering, his eyes traveled to where the ends of the braid touched her breast. His eyes met hers once again, a heat resting there in the glittering depths, his pupils dilating.

  Hoping her fingers did not shake with her growing anxiety, she took her spoon and dipped it into the soup, the warm liquid—so much like that which pooled in the lower parts of her body—helped take her eyes from his.

  “Mr. Morgan preferred men. So, I ran off with someone who enjoyed the same pursuits as myself.” She took a sip, peeking at Addison beneath her lashes to see his reaction to the scandalous declaration, shrugging her shoulders and pretending to be bored with the subject.

  Addison leaned back in his chair, studying her hard, the heat of his eyes never leaving her face. Was he waiting for some sign that she spouted lies? He would be shocked to find out it was the entire truth, all but the name Morgan.

  She waited for him to be offended or scandalized, to storm from the room, yell, and call her a harlot. Instead, he shrugged and reached for his spoon.

  “That is unfortunate for Mr. Morgan.” He continued to eat his soup, his eyes never leaving her face, the heat of them penetrating some inner layer of her psyche. Reaching, seeing.

  Anne shifted in her seat uncomfortably, disturbed by his unusual response.

  “Certainly a lord should not marry someone so scandalous. I realize reputations are considered important to the realm.” She kept her gaze steady; knowing in her heart Addison Blackhurst hadn’t behaved in a manner suitable for any lord she’d ever heard of. Propriety had, so far, not been his main concern when dealing with her.

  His eyebrows rose, a sparkle appearing in the steely gray of his eyes, his full, lower lip lifting in a lopsided grin. The hammering of her heart picked up its staccato beat.

  “I rarely conform to the behaviors of my peers or to the realm, for that matter.”

  This statement rang true as his eyes traveled blatantly from her mouth down to where the line between her breasts disappeared beneath her gown.

  Another collision of heat pooled in the center of her stomach, and in her cheekbones. The man would be the death of her. Not unknown to the caresses of a man or what to expect from coupling, Anne had never felt the sensations now coursing through her body. Desire and lust were two emotions she had trouble recalling so vividly. Any prior experience with attractive males had not included her mouth suddenly going dry, her knees shaking, or the butterflies flitting around in her belly and below.

  The way Addison devoured her body with blazing eyes, and the entrancing lift of his lips signaled visions of making love. And, the notion more pleasing results would ensue during the act than her last forays into sexual encounters had her legs trembling.

  Making love with “Calico Jack” Rackham had been anything but pleasing for her. She’d suffered the quick, and oft rough, lovemaking because she had been so smitten with the roguish pirate. The episodes had her wondering why men desired the feel of a woman under them so frequently. Of course, he’d found his release easily enough, but she’d never gained any pleasure from the coupling.

  Staring at the handsome lord before her, a rush of powerful desire spread throughout her limbs with a languid flourish—a foreign feeling in all her years, yet not uncommon it seemed in the presence of Addison Blackhurst.

  She met the sharp silvery-gray of his eyes as they caressed her body, and smiled—tamping down the urge to run from the room in absolute fear. Instead, the memory of the unceremonious way his hand had smacked her bottom in the driveway sent her heart racing.

  She must stick to the idea of encouraging him to default on his
promise of marriage, regardless of the hunger she suddenly had for him to kiss her senseless.

  “I am not a lady. Shouldn’t a lord, such as yourself, marry into your station or on the same level? Like a Duchess or a Countess.” Thoughts of kissing him, trailing her fingers along his neck and arms, was one of many reasons proving why she was not a lady.

  “Anne, I’m not interested in a title or what the peerage of England deems an appropriate lady for me to marry.”

  The second course arrived as their eyes stayed fixed on one another. The two colored women worked diligently, paying no attention to the heat Anne felt so keenly in the room.

  “I assure you, I’m no lady.” Addison did an admirable job of backing her into a corner. The need to back off a bit so she could think properly on her next strategy was in order. For one, her wanton thoughts lowered her wits. Two, the lord marrying beneath his station did not appear to be making any mark on her forward momentum.

  The steaming roast chicken one of the servants placed before her smelled quite delicious and had her mouth watering for food, even though it had just been desiring something else entirely. Anne broke eye contact with Addison to reach for her napkin and placed it on her lap. She caught him doing the same and she smiled at her plate.

  “This smells delicious, thank you.” Delcie, Anne thought her name was, grinned, showing perfectly white teeth, her frizzy, gray curls bobbing as she nodded her head. Both women quickly left the room.

  Alone with the insolent man again, friction filled the room like smoke curling and wafting between them. The man frustrated and excited her at the same moment, and she desperately needed to tamp down her attraction to him.