“Off to town again, Mrs. Morgan?” His beefy hands grabbed the oars as she sat on the middle bench. Raphael moved to the rear of the small vessel, sending it rocking to one side.
“Yes, please, Artie. I would appreciate it very much. I do apologize for the short notice.”
“It’s no never-mind, my lady. My job, it is.”
The job she’d assigned herself—that of ridding herself of an unwanted husband—consumed her thoughts during the journey. The task at hand should come easily to her. Pushing him away could not be so difficult, certainly. He was an arrogant, overbearing man that instantly ignited her temper. Why she’d so desperately wanted to kiss him . . . well, that was another matter entirely.
She shifted uncomfortably on the bench, recalling the soft pressure of his lips, the trails of fire his hands left upon her skin. The anticipation of seeing him sent her heart thumping.
She longed to hear the deep timbre in his voice and watch passion darken his eyes to a deep, glittering silver. Not even the men she’d fancied herself in love with had affected her in such a way. Her first, and thankfully dead, husband married her for her father’s riches.
The attraction had been juvenile, and one-sided. She’d fled the city with Rackham soon after her husband declared his plan and that he preferred men. She’d lost her innocence to Rackham, and even envisioning his touch at the time didn’t make her fan herself as she did now.
What in the bloody hell was the matter with her?
Thumping her head with the palm of her hand was the only way to keep her mind on track with her strategy. That plan continued today with more anticipated unladylike behavior.
The deep-blue day gown she wore today did not play into this behavior, however. Frowning down at her beautifully outfitted body, she knew it might become a problem, but she’d deal with that later. Knowledge that she still kept a small, jeweled dagger in her right boot made her a little more comfortable.
Feeling the braid she’d thrown together again this morning, she sighed. Wearing her old trousers and trench coat, with her men’s hat pulled down low over her face would have sufficed, but she’d not get the town talking if she showed up in those old digs. That talk would involve being recognized, instead of the gossiping she preferred. Arriving in a proper gown . . . now, that would raise Addison’s brow.
Tucking away her plan for now, she allowed Raphael to help her down to the street from their hired conveyance, in front of the Browning town home. In the morning light, it was just as magnificent today as it was the previous day. Squaring her shoulders, she marched up to the front door and tapped the knocker to the door three times. The bushy white eyebrows raised high above spectacles and balding head of Elizabeth’s servant greeted her again today.
“Mrs. Morgan to see Mrs. Browning, again, sir.” She pat her braid, nervous for some reason at the man’s perusal.
“Yes, my lady. This way.” He lowered his eyebrows and motioned her into the parlor, as before. Perhaps he always greeted company with raised brows.
“Thank you.” He shut the door behind her, and Anne found Elizabeth already sipping her morning coffee.
“I told Hobbs I spied you through the window.” Her dark eyes twinkled over the rim of her cup.
Anne sat on the chair opposite Elizabeth at the small parlor table. She inhaled. “I love the smell of the river blowing through the air in the mornings. The scent is so pleasing and calming.”
“Aye, I am the same. That is one of the delights of living here in Charles Town, isn’t it? Not too far from the sea.” She poured Anne a cup of steaming brew. “Although, sometimes it can be hazardous.”
Anne took the proffered cup, smiling. “Hazardous? How so?”
“Oh my, you’re not originally from here, I take it.”
She shook her head. It wasn’t a direct lie, but she’d lived within the city walls prior to her pirating days.
Elizabeth’s eyes grew large, inhaling a breath and exhaling right before she began, her face lit with excitement. “Oh, we had a run of pirates terrorizing us, here and off the coast, for many years. Why, even Blackbeard decided to pay us a visit and tried to extort money from us. He has been killed though.”
“Blackbeard, you say? How horrible for everyone. I do hope the pirate problem has been resolved.” It was imperative she distance herself from her old ways, she knew. She wanted to be far away from those old friends and enemies. However, she couldn’t help sending up a small prayer for her old, misunderstood friend.
“I believe so. Pirating is no longer much of an issue along the coast. There are a few incidents here and there, but nothing as harrowing as years past.”
Elizabeth leaned toward her, whispering as if there were ears pressed to the closed doors or outside of the windows. “You know, there are still quite a few seedy taverns down by the docks that some pirates have been reported as being seen from time to time. I would have loved to see them up close.” She shuddered, taking a sip of her coffee. “From afar though. Fascinating, pirates.”
Anne smiled, nodding. “Aye, fascinating, indeed.” Truer words were never spoken, she supposed. If there were one word that could describe her life in the past, it was that. But, how to make it work for her now, without exposing her identity to the world, or to her future husband?
“You say there are some taverns? I should like to see them, too.” That was right. She’d been to a couple with Calico Jack, even speaking to Blackbeard on one occasion, herself, whilst waiting for a bag of gold for some goods they’d pirated along the coast.
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed, her eyes worried. “Oh my, dear. You mustn’t really do it.”
Feigning disinterest, Anne swallowed her coffee and shook her head. “I only speak of curiosity, Elizabeth.” Resting her cup upon the table before them, Anne placed her hand on the older lady’s. “Now, on to what I’ve come for. I would like to thank you for all of your daughter’s lovely clothes, Elizabeth, truly. You have my lifelong friendship. If you ever need anything . . . anything . . . please, send for me.”
Color rose in Elizabeth’s cheeks. “You are very welcome, dear. I can already see Lenore’s gowns fit you beautifully, and this one brings out the color of your eyes. How beautiful a green they are, too.”
Looking down at her gown, she had to agree the coloring was just to her taste. The deep color highlighted her pale skin, too. Anne stood and hugged her new friend. “Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome, m’dear.”
“Now, I must be on my way. I’ve stopped to give my humble thanks, and I’ve decided to see a bit of Charles Town.”
Concern marred Elizabeth’s voice. “Dear, you must be very careful.”
Anne grinned, “You’ve seen Raphael. I’ll be fine. Just a bit of sightseeing.” And, a tavern or two to visit. Gossip would travel fast, she hoped.
After saying their goodbyes, Anne asked Raphael to drive her into the heart of town, not far from Addison’s warehouse, she supposed. Then, she sent him off to fetch some items of which she really had no use. No need for her bodyguard to chaperone her visits to The Hound and the Hare. Remembering it well, she marched down the long alleyway, passing a few surly folks along the way who gave her strange looks, and headed to the end of Bay Street.
The blasted gown may cause a bit of trouble. Pushing open the misshapen, wooden door below the tavern sign, the eyes that greeted her reiterated that thought. Inside, the tavern remained as it was on her previous visit a couple years before: darkly lit, musty, eerily quiet, but the smell of freshly baked bread and soup filled the room. The Hound was known for its biscuits. The grumble of her stomach reminded her she’d not eaten breakfast, or lunch.
The tavern keeper eyed her warily, his blue eyes following her every movement as she sat at the table farthest from the doorway. Sailors and dockworkers alike milled about, and ey
es watched her from the dark corners. Other patrons became visible in the smoky recesses of the tavern, their lit cigars blazing in the darkness. Some things never changed. However, this time, most would not recognize her, all prissied up and wearing a fancy gown.
Anne Bonny had always worn trousers and a hat, with fiery, red hair, and would have never been caught wearing a gown . . . at least that’s what the Wanted poster featuring The Pirate Anne Bonny near the door fairly said, minus the wearing a gown bit.
She was no longer Anne Bonny. She just hoped no one in this room would compare her looks to that of the gal on the poster. She took a calming breath. Her father had probably paid off the Governor of Charles Town as well as her jailors.
“What are ye havin’, lady?”
Must everyone call her that? Not sighing or stamping her foot was quite an accomplishment at the moment. A slightly disheveled blonde with rouged cheekbones and bright, red lips eyed her with contempt, her cleavage all but spilling over the top of her low-cut gown. Smiling would not be a good idea here.
“Ale. And, biscuits with gravy.” It was best to be curt in these places. If a pin dropped, it would be easy to find in the quiet that followed her demand.
Someone stood, their chair dragging along the floor as they got up. Another man with dark, oily hair and a pointy nose lit a cigar, the fire at the end illuminating the creases in his face, the blackness of his eyes. She’d seen him before, but could not place his face to a specific memory. Perhaps she’d sailed with his crew a time or two, or sliced him with her dagger. A quick, mental shrug removed him from her mind.
When her food arrived, she pulled her dagger from her boot, in plain sight of every person in the tavern, and stabbed it into a biscuit, looking at as many of them as she could see in the dim light. The tavern keeper’s face showed surprise, his dark brows raised high above his eyes. The oily man in the seat near the door narrowed his eyes upon her. Two men not far from her stopped speaking, but continued on after a direct look in their direction. The tavern wench glared and then proceeded to the business of delivering ale to her customers.
Nearly wolfing down the food in her starvation, the delicious gravy slid down her throat, and she washed it down by drinking the entire pint of wheat ale. Resisting the urge to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, she remembered she was the woman who would soon be Lady Blackhurst of Cranford Hall, and not a pirate.
Should she announce her name and that she was Lord Blackhurst’s bride? No English lord would come into the likes of this tavern, but how to get her presence noticed in such an unfashionable establishment without completely ruining the pains her father had taken to remove her past discretions?
Shaking her head, she realized she hadn’t thought this through. Now, she’d have to figure out a way to start the gossip.
The door to the tavern opened, and most everyone turned to see who entered. Everyone, except her. She wasn’t interested in the least. She just hoped they left her to her own devices. The tavern wench let out a gasp, then squealed in delight as she rushed toward the front of the tavern. Obviously, she was happy to see the new patron.
Moving her dagger around the leftover gravy on her discarded plate, Anne was stumped. She needed to be seen to be talked about.
She could hear the bar maid coming up behind her. The gossip would spread around Charles Town like wildfire if she used the right avenue. Perhaps she’d ask the wench where the more gossipy, hoity-toity folks frequented. First, she’d order another drink.
“Another ale if you don’t mind, girl.” It was quiet all of a sudden.
“I would mind, very much, madam.” So matter-of-fact that masculine English voice, yet laced with sarcasm and arrogance.
Anne shrugged.
This had turned out to be better than gossip. Addison had found her himself.
Chapter 13
The morning had been agonizing to say the least. Addison had a fitful night of sleep due to a frequent urge to stalk over to Anne’s room, throw off her covers, and lie down beside her. She’d been foxed and passed out, sleeping soundly, but it hadn’t stopped him from fantasizing all evening of the various ways he could awaken her, and make love to her until the sun came over the horizon at dawn. The heat and tension that crackled in the air when she was near him turned him into a fire keg, lit and ready to explode.
He was either in a state of frustration, angry and rash, or arousal, sweating from trying to maintain some semblance of politeness. Raking a hand through his hair and swigging whiskey seemed to be in direction correlation to her arrival. Whatever it took, he’d extricate the memory of Anne from his dreams.
Leaving his rooms, he rounded the stairwell and entered the nursery. The little ones were quite taken with him and he visited them nightly, before bed, and in the early mornings before beginning his day.
The messy mop of dark, auburn hair swirled atop Garrett’s head never ceased to put a smile on Addison’s face. The infant seemed to sense him in the room every time, for his large, green eyes would always be open and staring straight at him as he peeked over the crib. No sooner would he see the boy’s eyes, than the young lass would perk up and coo for his attention.
Frederica’s doe-brown eyes, chubby cherub face, and fists and legs working back and forth greeted him, too. The urge to grab up the little urchins and cuddle them was too hard to resist, each and every time he visited.
He gave little Freddie a smile and cradled her first, rubbing her soft, silky cheek with the back of his knuckles, falling a little more in love with her every rock of his arms.
Giving her a kiss, he laid her down beside her brother, and scooped up the boy. He pushed a fat, pudgy fist into his mouth as he smiled, large dimples appearing on each cheek. Chuckling, he gave Garret a walk around the room. “Cheeky fellow, already, eh?”
The answering babble that came from the tiny person in his arms had become a ritual.
“You’re a Blackhurst now, so I see you’ve gained a family trait.” He smiled down at the boy as he placed him beside his sister.
He said his farewells for the morning, and strode down to the family dining area. Delcie awaited with his customary breakfast, a delicious concoction known as grits in the Carolinas. The dish was always smothered in butter and cinnamon, with a side of poached eggs.
Sitting in the silence, wolfing down the eggs and then the grits, he allowed thoughts of Anne to creep into his thoughts, but only a few times.
A wicked tongue and wit were common among his male companions, but it was quite unique in the female variety. The wide, full-lipped smiles and gestures at Henry’s dinner party still managed to affect him, both with desire and extreme jealousy.
Brows furrowed, he frowned down at his empty plate.
And, that was the crux of it . . . he couldn’t recall becoming jealous of any man in his life. Not even his older siblings who were the esteemed and established wealthy lords of the realm.
The woman was making him positively daft.
He shook his head hoping to force her from his thoughts. He finished his breakfast, and rode Apollo with a vigorous pace about the fields. James found humor in the speed Addison put to rowing them to Charles Town. Though, none of it had any effect on the constant thoughts of his flame-haired vixen.
His.
The possessive word stuck in his mind. Anne Morgan was not a woman to be possessed. At least, she didn’t know she would be, as of yet. He’d need every weapon in his arsenal to bring her around, and he was determined to possess her.
During the entire morning, he worked relentlessly on the books and ledgers, discovering extra monies to purchase perhaps another merchantman. One of his ships was due for a hull-scraping, and another needed repairs from a recent bout with tail winds and a coral reef. He walked the docks, checking over the condition of his ships that were in port to be loaded.
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Henry made an appearance early in the afternoon.
“Just stopping by on my way to an appointment with the Governor. Wanted to tell you that we love her.”
“Pardon me?” Once his friend had stepped through the door, all Addison could envision was his future bride’s flashing smile, and alluring, sparkling eyes as she laughed with Henry on the settee.
Henry’s white teeth flashed as he plopped onto the chair before Addison’s desk. “You sound a bit grumpy today, old chap.”
Raking his hand over his scalp, he sighed and threw his head back against his chair, and looked up at the ceiling. “I’ve quite a bit on my mind.” Breathing in a deep, calming breath, he relaxed his head and looked at the smile still plastered on his friend’s face.
“You mean a beautiful, fire-haired woman.”
Not wanting to dignify that remark, he pressed his lips together in a tight smile. “You approve, then, I take it?”
“Aye. As a matter of fact, you’re requested for tea and brunch tomorrow at one o’clock.”
“She’d be delighted, I’m certain of it. She was quite enamored of you and Isabel.”
Henry’s dark brows rose. “Of me?” Chuckling, he stood, placing his hands in his pockets, blue eyes twinkling. “Why, if I weren’t quite mistaken, I’d say you were jealous.”
Before he could deny the truth, Henry laughed again. “You’ve gone and done it, Ad. I say, I recognize this feeling.” Henry reached out and offered him his hand. “Congrats. Congrats, again, my friend.”
My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1) Page 12