Instead, the familiar quest for balance made him feel lonely.
He had everything he wanted. His schooner. His crew. His freedom. But what he really wanted was…Clara.
Sparks flew as metal clanged against metal.
He tried to keep his focus on the master gunner’s cutlass. Sailors had been known to lose as much blood from practice fights as from the real thing.
“Mind your left, Hughes!” the boatswain yelled from a safe position well out of arm’s reach. “If you can’t beat the Cap’n when his brain ain’t working, you’re dead in a skirmish!”
“I shouldn’t be in a skirmish,” the master gunner shouted back as he swung his cutlass to block Steele’s strike. “I should be in the gunroom, keeping the powder dry.”
“He means keeping his breeches dry,” the quartermaster called out, to the delight of the crew.
Steele could end this fight. He ought to do so. But his mind was elsewhere as he lunged and parried to the choppy rhythm of the waves.
She loved him. He’d known it even before she’d told him so. But love hadn’t been enough.
The cutlasses clinked hard enough to send a reverberation all the way up his arm. He ignored it.
It wasn’t like he’d asked her to choose between him and her family. He’d wanted her to choose him to be part of her family. He’d said so, hadn’t he?
Er…had he?
Wind whistled past his ear as he narrowly dodged a wild swing from the master gunner’s cutlass.
He’d—very correctly—informed Clara that it would be unfair to expect him to give up all his freedoms, but what had he offered her in return?
The choice between an empty bed whilst he and his crew were on voyages or a future devoid of the family she’d fought so hard to be reunited with. The life of a pirate’s mistress.
No wonder she hadn’t said yes.
“Where’s your brain, Captain?” one of the swabs dared to shout. “You can beat old Hughes blindfolded!”
“He’s mooning over his siren,” the boatswain cooed.
The deck erupted in whistles and catcalls.
“Where is Captain Clara these days?” the galley cook called out.
“Mayfair,” Steele muttered as he deflected the master gunner’s next parry. Not that he was obsessing over her whereabouts. Much.
He might not be in London, but that didn’t mean there were no eyes keeping watch over Clara. She had left her parents’ home for dowager quarters on her daughter’s estate almost immediately, and hadn’t left Carlisle Manor since. It sounded miserable.
He hoped she was happy.
“What’s she doing there?” the galley cook called back. “If you miss her so much, why don’t you just marry her?”
Steele froze as the image washed over him. The idea was so astounding, so tantalizing, that at first he didn’t even notice the stream of hot liquid trickling down his chin.
“First blood!” the master gunner whooped, lifting his cutlass over his head in victory. “I got first blood!”
Steele shook his head. He hadn’t lost to the gunner. He’d lost the fight—and his heart—to Clara, months before.
If anyone was going to marry her, by God, it was going to be him. He would be the one to make her happy. He would be the one to give her a home. He would be the one to go to sleep every night with the woman he loved tucked safely in his arms.
Starting this very day.
Steele tossed his blade aside and bodily removed the sailing master from the helm in order to take the wheel. His body thrummed with happiness and a healthy dose of nervous anticipation. He wiped the blood from his jaw and grinned at his men.
“Gentlemen,” he announced with a swagger. “Let’s go to London and fetch a bride!”
Chapter 23
The next months were the loneliest of Clara’s life.
Her four-poster bed felt too big. Too empty. The blankets, too cold.
The view from her dowager quarters had changed from brown to green, but even the onset of spring could not lift her spirits. The ground was too stationary. The sea of trees never brought what she longed for most.
Gregory Steele. Captain Blackheart. The pirate who had stolen her very soul.
“Mama?” Grace must have entered the sitting room while Clara gazed out the window. “Are you thinking about him again?”
Clara turned from the window and shook her head. She never stopped thinking about him. She should never have confessed the cause of her melancholy to her daughter. “I was thinking about…Vauxhall.”
“You were thinking about your pirate. Do you know where he went?”
Clara shook her head. “I never will.”
“What if Oliver could find him? Would you go to him if you knew where he was?”
She would fly there with nothing more than her arms. That was why it was best for her never to know. “My place is here with you, darling.”
With a smile that could warm the stars, Grace stepped forward and embraced her mother. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Clara stroked her daughter’s hair. This was why she’d crossed an ocean when she was barely strong enough to hold herself upright. For Grace. A daughter was worth any sacrifice. ’Twas simply part of being a mother. “Have you plans for the evening?”
Grace stepped back and clasped her hands, her eyes shining. “Lord and Lady Sheffield are hosting a ball. You can’t have forgotten?”
Clara had, in fact, forgotten. Nor did she feel like dancing. She smiled anyway. “Of course not. It will be a splendid time.”
The sound of a throat clearing caused them both to turn.
Ferguson, the butler, stood outside the open doorway to Clara’s sitting room. “Mrs. Halton, you have a guest.”
Her heart sank. She supposed she should count herself fortunate that several of Society’s elderly matrons had decided to welcome her into the fold, but she found their frequent calls for tea tedious, rather than invigorating. Even the butler’s face was pinched.
Ferguson’s eyes were apologetic. “I left him in the—”
“I don’t ‘stay put,’” interrupted a deep, familiar voice. “I’m only in town for the day, and it sounds like your presence is needed elsewhere—”
Steele. Lungs catching, it was all Clara could do not to fly into his arms and hold on for dear life. Her heart thundered. His laughing eyes, unshaven jaw, arrogant swagger—all of it filled with so much love and longing that she thought her heart would burst with the wanting of him. She was so full of hope, despite the foolishness of such a thing. He was only in town for the day.
Her heart twisted. She’d yearned to see him again, longed for just this moment…only for her heart to break all over again when he took his leave and left her behind. She would have to be strong. She couldn’t let him—or Grace—see how deeply his presence affected her.
How badly she wished to throw herself into his arms and beg him to stay.
She knew better, of course. She’d always known. He didn’t belong to her. He belonged to the sea.
She gathered her breath and her wits and turned to her daughter. “Grace, this gentleman is Captain Steele.” She turned back to Steele with pride in her voice. “And this lovely young woman is my daughter, Lady Carlisle.”
“Steele,” Grace mused in a teasing voice as she raised a delighted brow toward her mother. “And here the ‘gentleman’ reminded me of someone a bit more…nefarious.”
“That I am.” Steele dipped an exaggerated bow. “Captain Blackheart, at your mother’s service.”
“Not mine?” Grace asked with a laugh, far more charmed than offended.
“Not anyone else’s.” Steele strode toward Clara, sank his fingers into her hair, and kissed her soundly. “I missed you, damn your hide.”
She loved the whisper of his words against her lips. “And I you.”
Despite the implicit scandal, she couldn’t bring herself to step out of his embrace. Not when he was all she had thought about, dreamt a
bout, for weeks on end.
His black hair was longer than she remembered. Wilder. There was a new scar along his jaw. He was just as big, just as strong, just as overwhelming as he was in her memories. As he had been when he scaled the wall of the Corsair’s terrifying cave to join her in her hiding spot. As hot and hard and irresistible as he had been when they had celebrated their victory over death back in his private bunk.
“We set sail at dawn and won’t be back for a fortnight.” His ice blue eyes held her captive. “There’s room for you in the captain’s cabin.”
Her blood rushed in her ears as her breath caught. To say she had merely missed him, missed their shared adventures, would be an enormous discredit to the long nights she had lain awake, wishing she could be two Claras at once. Here, with her daughter, and there—wherever there might be—aboard the Dark Crystal. In Steele’s arms.
But she was not. She could not. No matter how fervently she wished otherwise.
She tried to keep the agony from her eyes. “Thank you for your very tempting offer. But this is my home now. I belong here.”
Steele’s eyes shuttered.
Ice clutched Clara’s heart. He would not return in a fortnight. Not if she did not go with him. This had been her final chance.
Grace touched her fingers to the back of Clara’s hand. The one that was still clutching Steele’s arm.
“This is my home, Mama,” Grace said softly. “But it needn’t be your cage. You will always have a home wherever I am, but you are welcome to have another home anywhere you please.”
Clara jerked her startled gaze toward her daughter. Love and hope filled her chest.
“I want you to be happy, Mama. If that means having Captain Blackheart in your life, then he’s quite welcome in mine, too.” Grace smiled at Steele. “When you safely return her in a fortnight, there’s lodging for you in the Carlisle Manor guest quarters. That is, unless my mother intends to find room for you elsewhere…” She tilted her chin in the direction of her mother’s bedchamber.
Clara’s heart tripped. Grace was happy, which meant Clara could be happy. She didn’t need land to have a home. She simply needed to be loved.
Steele was the missing piece of her heart. She regretted ever letting him out of her sight. She had feared for his life, feared losing him—but she had lost him already, simply by being too afraid to hold on. Anyone could die at any time. She had learned that lesson well. But it didn’t mean to waste one’s life worrying about what one could not control. It didn’t mean not to live.
She wouldn’t lose him a second time.
“My traveling bag is at the foot of my wardrobe,” she admitted shyly, finally daring to hope. “It’s packed and ready.”
Grace’s mouth fell open, but Steele’s lips curved in satisfaction rather than surprise. “I bought you a new pistol. One from this century.”
“How romantic,” she said with a laugh. For him, it probably was. And she wouldn’t change him for the world. She bit her lip and peered up at him. “I don’t have a gift for you…unless I can count trying my hand at woodcarving. I’m afraid my carvings look more like misshapen blobs than squirrels, but I was hoping maybe it was something we could do together.”
A surprised laugh burst from Grace’s throat. “Those are meant to be animals? I thought you’d developed a hatred for trees.”
“I couldn’t find you a monkey.” Steele’s eyes softened. “So I carved you one. Several of them. The aft cabins look like a circus. Barnaby’s scared to enter.”
Clara grinned. She’d missed the superstitious boatswain. She’d missed everything. But most of all, Steele.
“I love you,” she said and pressed a kiss to his mouth before he could respond. She broke from his grasp only long enough to dash into her bedchamber to collect her bulging traveling bag.
The moment she reappeared, Steele swept her up and into his arms. “I’ve a mind not to let you go until we’re leagues from shore. You may need to be quarantined in the cabin the first week or two.”
She cast him a slow, seductive smile. “I intend to follow all of the captain’s orders.”
Steele’s eyes heated in promise. He swung toward Grace without setting Clara back on her feet. “Lady Carlisle. ’Twas a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Grace impulsively pressed a kiss to Steele’s scarred jaw. “Thank you for bringing my mother home. And for making her happy.”
“Have I?” Steele’s gaze was full of wicked intent. “I’ve only just begun.”
Chapter 24
“Mind the boom!” Clara called out as her daughter and son-in-law stepped perilously close to the gaff sail.
It was a beautiful summer day, and they were so dazzled by yellow shimmer of sun against the endless blue waves that they paid no mind at all to where they were walking.
“All hands to the pilothouse,” the quartermaster called out. “It’s time!”
Grace and her husband watched with wide eyes and startled faces as the crew of the Dark Crystal thundered topsides past the skids and toward the fore hatch.
Clara already stood before the pilothouse. Marlowe, the sailing master, was inside navigating the wheel whilst his captain stood on deck, hand in hand with Clara.
“Swabs, stewards, and salty dogs,” the quartermaster boomed out.
“What about the earl and the countess?” called a voice from the back. “And that toff they brought.”
“Swabs, seamen, and respectable toffs,” the quartermaster clarified with a huff. “We are gathered here today, in front of God—”
“—and the ocean—”
“—and the sun—”
“—and Cap’n Blackheart—”
“—and his stowaway—”
“Ain’t a stowaway anymore. Now she’s ’is bride.”
“Siren,” muttered the boatswain, then winked at Clara.
“—to witness their joining in holy matrimony.” The quartermaster raised his cup of port.
The crew erupted in cheers.
Clara could barely hold onto her groom’s hands, she was laughing so hard. The men were having as much fun with this as she and Steele were. Mugs of wine clanked together from every corner of the deck.
“Pay attention!” the quartermaster barked. “Now then. Who gives away this brim mort to a crafty jack tar like Blackheart?”
“I do!” shouted the entire crew. “And if he don’t take her, I will!”
Lord Carlisle elbowed his way through the masses to reach the pilothouse, Grace at his side.
She turned laughing eyes toward her mother. “Mama, how…legal is this ceremony?”
“Perfectly,” Lord Carlisle interrupted before Clara could answer. He gestured toward the “respectable toff” cowering beside the spare spars, face green, both hands on his stomach. “I procured a special license and a clergyman to sign it, just in case.”
Clara beamed at her daughter and son-in-law with fondness and joy. Both had sworn never to set foot on a boat again, but had agreed to sail down the Thames to the North Sea for the ceremony. From there, they would return to Carlisle Manor by carriage—whilst Steele, Clara, and the rest of the crew headed off into the horizon.
She squeezed his hands in pleasure at the deal they had struck. One month at land, one month at sea, now and forever. The perfect compromise. They would be home for holidays and to spoil any children. And there would still be plenty of time for adventures. Starting this very day.
“What’s next?” the quartermaster hissed.
Steele squeezed Clara’s hands and grinned. “The ring.”
“The ring!” yelled the quartermaster at top volume.
More cheers rang out and mugs clanked.
Steele pulled a sparkling gold band from an inner pocket and slid it onto Clara’s finger, his eyes solemn. “I forged this ring with gold procured from every vessel I plundered before I met you. From this day forward, you will share every experience, and own my heart. You, Clara Steele, are the greates
t treasure I have ever found.”
“I now pronounce you man and wife!” the quartermaster bellowed.
Steele crushed his lips to Clara’s.
She twisted her fingers into his hair, pulling him to her and holding on for dear life as he dipped her backward for dramatic effect.
The crew’s delighted shouts were deafening.
“What do you say?” Steele murmured into her ear. “Shall we greet the swabs as man and wife?”
“We should greet every day as man and wife.” Clara licked her husband’s lips with a slow smile. “And every night. Perhaps we should start right now.”
Heedless of the cheering crowd, Steele swung her into his arms and drove through the masses toward his private cabin without a backward glance.
Clara twined her arms about his neck and held on tight.
Epilogue
Rumor had it the Crimson Corsair had been last glimpsed in Whitby. This time, Steele would catch him.
His wife was at the helm, both hands resting on the wheel. With the wind whipping through her long black hair, she looked as much a part of the Dark Crystal as the carved figureheads at the bowsprit of a galleon.
Clara’s suggestion had been to recruit other crews to aid in the Corsair’s capture. That had been a such a sound idea that there were no fewer than six additional schooners flanking the Dark Crystal as they raced up the Yorkshire coast.
Steele reached for his wife and pulled her into his arms.
“The wheel—” she protested, laughing, as his lips covered hers.
The wheel would be fine. There were countless experienced sailors standing at the ready to guide the schooner. The sailing master was at the helm within moments.
Steele ignored them all and concentrated on kissing his wife.
He would never admit it aloud, but what he loved the most about days like this was not the thrill of the chase or the dazzle of sunlight sparkling across blue-green waves, but rather enjoying all those things with Clara at his side. Or in his arms. Or in his bed.
Married life suited him, indeed.
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