All the while she thought of Addison, and warred with herself over her future. Still believing she did not need a husband, none of her priorities had changed. And, if she weren’t careful, her heart would suffer.
No. She wanted—needed—to be a widow, to raise her children, and not with a husband to order her about.
Keeping her distance from the pleasures the sultry English lord had already shown her what was paramount to her sanity, and her heart. And, what good would it do her to fall in love with him?
Placing the sleeping babies in each of their cribs, she heard commotion in the hall as the steaming buckets of hot water were being lumbered up the stairs and into her room.
Thanking each man as they left her room, she shut her door with a large sigh. Running her fingers through her braid to disengage the rows, she grabbed a hairpin from her dresser, knotted her disheveled locks into a plump bun atop her head. Not being one for fashionable hair styles, the outcome of her ministrations were probably more disheveled than to begin with. Shrugging out of her gown and under garments then tossing them upon the bed, she strode toward the steaming copper tub.
A generous bar of lilac-smelling soap rested on her washstand. She took a long sniff and plopped it and a washcloth into the water. Climbing over the rim, a soft moan forced her lips against her teeth as her muscles rebelled against this new hurdle. With care, she eased her limbs under the surface. Resting her head on the back of the tub, she allowed the heat to soak into her sore limbs. It had been quite some time since her body had been through such strenuous work. Spending months on end working on a ship, sword fighting, fist fighting, and hoisting herself up the rigging . . . those were the days her body had been in prime condition.
The workout she’d received in the storeroom today brought her thoughts back to the arrogant, yet exciting and irresistible, man who seemed to be intruding on too many of her thoughts.
Had he returned to the plantation?
And, would he attempt to make love to her now, in his ‘proper place’? Just the idea of it prompted her stomach to flip-flop, and that new, unfamiliar tingle in her lower nether region roared back to life.
“Bloody Englishman.”
She sat up, lathered the cloth, and began washing her neck and arms, reliving the feel of his caress everywhere the cloth trailed. A grumble escaped her as she raised a leg to scrub each one with vigor, turning her skin pink. The smell of lilacs filled her nostrils. She inhaled deeply, blowing out the breath slowly to calm her nerves.
It was then she realized she’d forgotten to grab a towel from the washstand.
“Great.” Turning, he dangled the blasted towel like a carrot she couldn’t reach.
“Forgot a vital element, I see.” A seductive breathiness accompanied his statement.
Startled, Anne sloshed water up and over the rim of the tub as she turned to the doorway. Leaning casually against the jamb, as if he’d been watching a game of whist, his gaze intent upon her ministrations.
“How long have you been standing there?” She refrained from crossing her arms over her nearly visible breasts. Her nipples were covered by a random fluff of bubbles, but the whole top of her was bared to his view.
His gaze remained riveted upon her as he pushed away from the door and sauntered further into the room. She couldn’t drag her gaze away from his tall, muscular frame. Swallowing hard, his deep, silver eyes darkened with . . . desire?
“Only a moment. I wanted to make sure you made it home safely, but you ran off so quickly.” He shrugged as he rounded the tub, the towel in his hand taunting her. He turned back to her.
Despite the urge to sink further into the tub, she raised her chin. “Raphael hadn’t left me and was able to bring me back.”
His eyes fell to the tops of her breasts. They tingled as if he’d physically caressed her, the nipples hardening and a jolt of awareness racing to her loins.
“Aye, he is the only reason I’ve decided not to lock you in your room.”
His sudden smile paralyzed her, enough so that she had no reply to such a high-handed statement.
“He’s a good deterrent for anyone wishing to do you harm.”
Unfolding the towel, he spread it wide, and stood before the tub, never taking his eyes from her.
All she could do was gaze up into those sterling pools, her stomach in knots.
“Aye. I imagine that’s why my uncle pays him.”
“Anne, are you going to get out?” He stared pointedly at her breasts.
Pursing her lips together, gripping the sides of the copper tub, it was all she could do not to throw the soap at his head. “Not with you standing there.”
“The longer you sit there, all wet and naked, the more I’ll feel like getting in there with you.”
They stared at one another for a long, tense moment. She had a mind to see if he’d really do such a thing, but knew she’d be lost should he disrobe and get into the water with her, naked.
Cursing him beneath her breath, and the most delicious thoughts he invoked, she hoisted herself into a standing position, a blush creeping up her cheeks. He did not look away for one second.
She gave him a raised brow. “Well?”
Lips stretched into a breathtaking grin, he wrapped the towel around her shoulders as she stepped down onto the floor. Her wet feet slapped upon the floor as she hurriedly moved away from the heat radiating from him, and possible capture. She wrapped the towel tightly around her upper body, tucking a corner of the towel into itself above her breast.
“I hope the bath was to your liking.”
She raised her chin. He was far enough away. “Yes, thank you.”
To her horror, he moved toward her, slow and deliberate. She put a hand to the towel to hold it in place, fearing he might rip it from her. There was a part of her hoping he would, but she didn’t want to entertain that thought. She needed her wits about her.
“I find it difficult keeping my hands off you.”
Lifting her eyes to his as he stopped before her, he pushed a damp curl back behind her ear.
“Dinner should be ready.” She had to escape somehow, or she would be lost.
“Aye, you are correct.” His lips lightly brushed hers. She could not help but lean into it, and respond.
Leaning back, a lopsided grin pulling one side of his full lips up, he held her shoulders.
“Delcie will wonder where we are.”
She nodded, eyes widening as he turned away from her and pulled his shirt from the top of his breeches.
“You’ll not mind if I make use of the tub while the water is still warm?”
He pulled his shirt up and over his dark head, exposing rippling back muscles, and full, wide shoulders that tapered into a narrow waist. Biting her lip, she realized he pulled off his boots and would be taking off his breeches soon.
Not waiting around to be tempted by him again, Anne grabbed her gown from the bed and ripped clean under garments from the top drawer of her wardrobe.
“I’ll make Delcie aware you shall appear after your bath.” She darted into the adjoining dressing room, slamming the door on her way out, just as he was unlacing the ties on his breeches.
“Good lord!” she breathed, leaning back against the dressing room door. The man’s physique would be the death of her. She’d seen many a man without his shirt, but bloody hell, he was a right fine specimen.
Dressing quickly, Anne braided her hair, pulled on a pair of Lenore’s satin heels, and rushed out through the opposite door into the hallway. Heart pounding and senses tingling, she found her way down to the family dining area and eased into a chair opposite the head of household’s proper place.
No sooner had Delcie entered with the first course, than Addison sauntered into the room, his auburn hair slicked back from his head,
looking refreshed and devilishly handsome.
“You bathe with speed, my lord.”
“I didn’t want to miss your company, my lady.”
A snort would have been unladylike, and so that’s exactly what she did. He sat across from her, Delcie grumbling at him for not getting his napkin on his lap quick enough.
The cook placed bowls of soup before them, and the smell of the fresh biscuits permeated the room as they were laid on napkins beside the bowls.
“Biscuits! These are better than The Hound’s by far.”
The tavern’s storeroom immediately came to mind with his casual statement, which was what he was going for, she guessed.
“I’m sure. There’s nothing like Delcie’s biscuits.”
They ate in silence for a few awkward moments, but the absence of conversation wore on her worse than his pointed stare. “Eliza tells me you allowed Holt a ride this afternoon. Thank you.”
A smile played about his lips.
“Aye. He is a natural rider, and sits a horse quite effortlessly. He quite enjoys the ride.”
“You are building another stable. Will you have more steeds or will you add more farm animals?”
“I’ll need to buy a few more work horses, but the plan is to allot for more swine and cattle. I’ve many slaves here to feed, so increasing our provisions is imperative.”
“You treat them kindly. I’ve not seen any plantation so interested in teaching the West Africans the English language.”
“While I do not agree with owning a human being, it is the way of the world until we can move to change it. However, there is nothing to say I cannot make sure they want for nothing, have the means to communicate with anyone, and are clean and well-cared for.”
He’d taken such an interest in his slaves. Her father owned slaves as well, but he hadn’t taken the time to teach them anything. While they were fed and had roofs over their head, they weren’t the happiest lot.
Curiosity got the better of her, and since they were in something of a truce at the moment, she pressed the issue.
“For someone who thumbs their nose at slavery, you’re managing better than most. What brought you to the Carolinas, anyway?”
Their eyes locked for a moment, her stomach flip-flopping about like a land-locked fish.
“Third sons of Earls have two options in England, take up the good book, or go into the Royal Navy.” He threw his napkin onto the table and leaned back, a wry smile lifting his lips as if he kept a secret. “I wanted to be a pirate.”
She nearly choked on her food. Did he know of her past? What had her father told him? Impossible.
But, he’d surprised her yet again. A lord choosing piracy over aristocracy? With his coloring, muscular physique, and determination, he’d make a fabulous pirate. A dashing, too seductive, pirate.
“Oh?” It was time to extricate these traitorous notions, to set herself apart from this tension. All Addison’s fault, surely. With the cool grace of a lioness leaping upon prey, she leaned back in her chair, indicated her surroundings with a wave, and found his eyes once more. “There’s not much luxury to be made like this, or fortune, in piracy.”
He regarded her. “You speak as if you have experience.” The wry smile still lingered on his lips.
Smiling, she brought her attention back to the food before her. “Need I remind you? I’ve been to Tortuga.” Meeting his eyes, seeing a pulse ticking in his throat from where she sat, she decided to press her luck.
“You aren’t going to go on about how you’re not fit to wed me, yet again?”
She pursed her lips. “But, I am not fit.”
The silver orbs, rimmed in green, glowed once again.
“We fit well together, earlier.”
Chapter 17
Addison had no idea what in the seven hells he was about. What had gotten into him? While she’d spent the time explaining how she was no lady, he’d been inadvertently showing her a side to him he’d never known existed—restless, uninhibited, impulsive.
He never spoke in such a taunting, deliberate way in the presence of a woman. He certainly wouldn’t make wild, sudden love to one in a storeroom of a tavern. The very memory of the episode both perplexed and stimulated him.
His blunt reminder of their foray in The Hound and the Hare managed to incite her emerald gaze to stare in his direction, her cheeks dashed with a charming shade of pink. Her eyes darkened with heat at the memory he invoked. She was not unaffected. Blood rushed directly to his groin. He wanted to hear the moan spill from her full, luscious mouth, just as in the storeroom, over and over again.
Bloody hell.
He shifted uncomfortably in place, knowing if he let the air between them simmer, he’d find himself buried inside her, right there on the dining table.
“I detected a slight lilt to your words when you’re in a huff. Scottish?” He took a fork full of a slightly tepid piece of meat, which didn’t remove his lust-filled thoughts. She exhaled, silent for a moment while rubbing the back of her neck.
Shaking her head, she frowned. “Irish.”
He rolled the flavorless meat with his tongue, wishing he were tasting her. “I’d always just assumed your . . .” Clearing his throat he realized he had vowed to keep that knowledge secret, “. . . uncle hailed from Scotland.”
“No, Ireland, born and bred.” She gave him a wry smile, “I suppose that’s why I have a bit of a temper.”
He chuckled at that bit of cheek. “A bit?” Looking up, he caught her sparkling, emerald eyes narrowing on him. He gave her a smile, hoping to see her lips stretch wider. “You’re not going to use that spoon as a weapon, are you?”
“I’d have already thrown it if I were going to do that.” Her lips twitched.
He wanted to kiss her, to taste the wine from her lips she’d sipped. To undress her slowly, lay her on his bed, and fan her fiery, sunset hair upon the sheets.
“I do believe you.” He ran a hand through his hair, shifting in his seat again. “I’ve a dinner guest arriving in two days. I know you were expected at Isabel’s for the . . . planning.” Her smile wavered. “However, I would like for you to join us for dinner.”
Her shoulders dropped into a more relaxed pose at the mention of delaying the wedding plans. “Are you certain you wish me to be there?”
“Do not go on about not being a lady again. Besides, you don’t know the fellow, nor he you. It is strictly a friendly meeting. He’s an old friend, and a great asset to Charles Town.”
Her eyes widened. “An asset? This must be a person of some importance. And, you would like me to help entertain him? Are you quite mad?”
He frowned, “Madam, you will retain some semblance of decorum for this guest, and as my future wife.”
The smile he’d desperately wanted to coax from her lush lips appeared, but not for the reasons he’d anticipated. He was doomed. “Who is this person?”
“The Royal Governor of South Carolina.”
She laughed, “Of course, the Governor. I should be honored.”
Smelling trouble, he didn’t doubt she’d try to show him her unworthiness as a mate. “I trust you’ll be at your best.” A truce was in order, and it was not a good time to continue their spicy banter, entertaining as it was. Her smile, anticipation, all pointed to mischief, but she radiated the trait, and it suited her.
An impish gleam shone in her green eyes.
There was no denying he wanted her.
Wanted her with a passion he’d not felt, ever. First, he’d have to break down her shield. Wiping his mouth, he stood. If he didn’t leave, he’d either throw her over his knee or bend her over yet another table—and the latter seemed an imminent possibility.
Seven hells.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to Ap
ollo. In my hurried state this afternoon, I did not properly attend him.”
Their eyes met meaningfully, an emotion passing in her eyes that he could not name.
He spent the next half hour making certain Apollo was brushed, washed, fed, and bedded down for the night. The entire time he spent reliving the feel of Anne, her fire, her passion. Her mysterious past determined her current actions. The harder she convinced him of her unworthiness, the more he saw a determination and pride that he admired. He resolved he would change her mind, or be damned.
Holt’s tiny voice carried on a breeze from the rear of the plantation. Eliza stood with the boy as he grabbed at the darkening night. Holt’s pursuit of a bug that glowed yellow every now and again brought fond memories to mind. As a lad, he’d played the timeless game quite regularly with his brothers.
Grinning, he joined the fun, swiping his hand above the boy’s head and catching the tiny insect. Cupping his hands together, he knelt before Holt, then let him peek between his fingers to display their small prisoner. Holt’s eyes grew wide as he looked to Addison with awe.
“Me! Me!” The insect flew off, and Addison grabbed Holt by the waist, pulling him up to sit on the top of his shoulders. “Wheeeeeeeeee!”
“Eliza, you may come for young Holt in a while. I’m going to take him down to the river for a turn.”
She nodded, smiling at them fondly. “Aye, Lord Blackhurst. I think he’d love that.”
“Is Mrs. Morgan still in the dining area?”
“No, milord. She’s with the twins, I believe.”
“Bye, ‘Liza.” The lad shouted as he spurred Addison’s ribs as if riding Apollo.
“I’ll be back, little lad.” She laughed as she turned toward the house.
They took off down the grass walkway to where the River Ashley meandered with silent dignity along the back of the property. The full moon reflected effortlessly from the water, illuminating the area. A torch would only diminish the ambiance.
My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1) Page 15