Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Lord Havelock's ListSaved by the Viking WarriorThe Pirate Hunter

by Annie Burrows

‘Yes.’ She sighed, dragging herself out of a brief vision of him pulling a pistol from his belt and shooting some random marauder. ‘Actually,’ she said with one part of her mind while another was seeing him metamorphosed into the captain of a ship, his hair tousled by an Atlantic gale rather than his restless fingers, ‘I think you could be anything you set your mind to.’

  * * *

  Anything he set his mind to? No, surely she didn’t mean anything. Oh, he had total confidence he could rise to any form of physical challenge. He was a crack shot, a bruising rider and a long-standing member of the Four-in-Hand club. But nobody, in his entire life, had ever expressed any faith in his ability to put his mind to work. And so far, surely, he’d demonstrated he was a total dunce when it came to organising anything. Even with the help of his lists, he’d overlooked several important issues that any man who exercised his brain occasionally would have thought of before he set off into the winter weather with a brand-new bride in tow.

  Yet she was looking at him as though he’d just done something remarkable. As though he really did have it in him to accomplish...anything.

  He stood quite still, basking in the completely novel sensation of having a female look at him with wholehearted admiration.

  Totally unwarranted admiration, as far as he was concerned. If he hadn’t made such a mull of opening up Mayfield, he wouldn’t have had to go out on the foraging expedition in the first place.

  She’d come to her senses before long. End up wishing him elsewhere, the way everybody always did, eventually.

  She lowered her eyes to the spread on the table. Just as though she’d sensed him bracing himself against the day it happened.

  ‘I think—that is, I hope,’ she said, darting him the kind of look from under those dark lashes that made him catch his breath, ‘that you will be pleased with what I have been about today, as well.’

  ‘I’m sure I shall,’ he said. As far as he was concerned she could have been sitting in front of a fire toasting her toes all day, after looking at him the way she’d just done, merely because he’d managed to rectify one of the blunders he’d made.

  But he couldn’t help wondering what kind of treatment she must have been used to, if it took so little effort to get her to look at him as though he was some kind of...hero...stepped straight out of the pages of a romance novel.

  Not that he’d ever read any, but a lot of girls seemed to do so, then spent hours sighing over characters with odd names and complaining he wasn’t a bit like any of ’em.

  ‘I went exploring,’ she said. ‘And I discovered that all the rooms in the part of the house that used to be let out are in very good order. It looks as if those caretakers of yours have kept them in readiness for tenants to come in at a moment’s notice. So I lit a fire and aired the mattress in the one I liked best,’ she said with a slightly defiant tilt to her chin, as though expecting him to object. ‘And I ironed the damp out of some sheets I found in a linen closet and made up a bed.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news.’

  ‘Oh. I am so glad you don’t mind which room we have tonight,’ she said with evident relief. ‘Indeed, there are so many in a state of near readiness that if you don’t like it you can soon choose another....’

  ‘No, no, I shall be glad to sleep in a real bed tonight, thank you.’ He went to her, seized her hand and kissed it. She really was a treasure. ‘And I don’t care which room you picked. I told you this is your home as much as mine. You must do whatever you like in it. But,’ he added, ‘don’t you see what this means? After the window came away in my hand last night I was beginning to think the whole place had fallen into ruin while I wasn’t paying attention. But now I can write to Lady Peverell and tell her that Julia can come here as soon as she likes. I can get her safely out of that man’s reach before he has a chance to—’

  He shot a look at Gilbey, who was folding up the sack, with the wooden expression of a servant who was listening to a conversation not meant for his ears.

  ‘In fact, I think I shall go and write immediately. Gilbey, instead of hanging around in the kitchen, you can make yourself useful by riding down to the post with it as soon as I’ve written it.’

  ‘Yes, m’lord.’

  * * *

  Mary sat blinking at the swirl of dust that eddied across the kitchen floor after he’d slammed the door on his way out.

  He’d been a bit like a whirlwind himself. Breezing in, delivering his mound of booty, then dashing off to his next task. She couldn’t stop smiling as she pottered about the kitchen. The more she learned about her husband, the better she liked him.

  * * *

  She liked him even more when he turned up for supper on time, praised her cooking to the skies and then tried to prevent her from doing the dishes.

  ‘I thought I’d made my views on that sort of thing plain,’ he growled when she started to carry a stack of plates to the scullery.

  ‘Yes, you did,’ she said. ‘But if the Brownlows aren’t going to return until the twenty-eighth, every useful surface will be covered with dirty dishes by then. It wouldn’t be fair to them to have to come back to that sort of mess.’

  ‘It would serve ’em right for sloping off just when I particularly wanted ’em here.’ He scowled. ‘And if you don’t want the working surfaces cluttered, why don’t you stack the dishes on the floor?’

  ‘I could do that, I suppose,’ she said with a shudder. ‘If you want the house invaded by rats.’

  ‘Point taken,’ he said. ‘Dishes need to be done. But I won’t have you doing them. I made you a vow.’

  For one moment she thought he was going to order Gilbey to do the dishes for her. But then, to her amazement, he stood up, removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

  ‘I shall need instruction,’ he said, as he strode into the scullery.

  He meant to do the dishes himself?

  Well—she’d always thought that it was a man’s actions that revealed his true nature. And after seeing him literally roll up his sleeves to perform such a lowly task, she would never make the mistake of suspecting he was anything like her father, ever again.

  ‘Not that it can possibly be all that hard,’ he said airily. ‘I’ve never met a scullery maid yet with anything approaching half a brain.’

  ‘Have you met many scullery maids?’ she heard herself say, inanely, as she tipped a bucket of hot water into one of the sinks. Still, it was better than blurting out any of the other thoughts swarming round her head. Or simply gazing at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed in wholly feminine appreciation.

  For heaven’s sakes! All he’d done was roll up his sleeves and she was practically dribbling at the sight of his forearms.

  ‘I’m sure I must have done,’ he said, as she handed him a scrubbing brush. And only just managed to stop herself from running her hand up that enticing expanse of sinewy, hair-roughened flesh.

  ‘On their days off. At fairs and such,’ he added, seizing the nearest plate and manfully dunking it into the soapy water. ‘And there was definitely one who used to prowl around the stables after the head groom at...well, never mind where. She couldn’t have had much in her cockloft to throw herself at him the way she did. Without the slightest sign of encouragement, I might add. Remember her, Gilbey? I can see you loitering in the doorway, so don’t bother trying to pretend you aren’t listening to every word. Don’t you have work to do?’

  ‘Yes, m’lord,’ said the groom, before disappearing out into the night to do whatever it was he did for the horses.

  Thank heaven she hadn’t started stroking her husband’s arms. She hadn’t been aware the groom was there, so rapt had she been by the sight of a man, her man, cheerfully engaging in what her father would have scathingly described as woman’s work.

  ‘The tale of me up to my elbows in soapsuds will spread like wildfi
re through the taverns,’ Lord Havelock grumbled, holding out the plate he’d scrubbed for her inspection.

  ‘Perfect,’ she said with a sigh. Then blushed. ‘The plate, I mean,’ she added hastily. ‘At least it will be once you rinse it. Or perhaps I should rinse it.’ She went to take it from him.

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ he said, dunking the plate into the clean water in the next sink over and clasping her about the waist. ‘I am quite capable of doing this, you know.’

  ‘Yes, but if you don’t want people to talk—’

  ‘I don’t care what people might say about me,’ he declared, before dipping his head to kiss her. ‘They can go hang for all I care.’

  She totally lost the thread of what they’d been discussing as he kissed her over and over again, walking her backwards across the room until she fetched up against a wall. The slide of his wet hands up her legs as he impatiently thrust her skirts out of the way, and the thrill of complying as he murmured heated, explicit instructions into her ear.

  The joy of having this man want her so much that he couldn’t even wait to find a horizontal surface to lay her down on thrilled her.

  And the gratitude that came from discovering that for all his impatience to have her, he possessed the self-control to wait until he’d satisfied her, before taking his own pleasure.

  * * *

  It got better every time, with Mary. He’d thought nothing could surpass their wedding night, yet sharing that mattress in front of the fire, the next night, had somehow been even better.

  And as for last night...even when they’d eventually finished ‘doing the dishes’, the fire between them hadn’t gone out. They’d raced up the stairs to the room she’d prepared and torn each other’s clothes off with such haste they hadn’t bothered using the warming pan she’d insisted on filling with embers from the kitchen fire.

  He raised himself on one elbow to look at her. Just look at her. How had he ever thought her plain? Not that she had one of those faces that attracted notice at first glance. No, what she had was an attraction that shone from the intelligence in her eyes, or the warmth of her smile.

  He couldn’t help just sifting her soft, silken hair through his fingers, then fanning it out across his pillow. He liked the fact she didn’t wear it in bunches of fussy ringlets. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if she found it hard to make it take a curl. It was so straight—like her.

  He wasn’t a fanciful sort of man, not normally, but when it came to her hair, he’d surprised himself by comparing it to all sorts of things that another man, the kind of man who was bookish, might work up into a poem. It put him in mind of hot summer nights when, as a boy, he’d stolen away from this house to go swimming in the lake. Naked, he would float on his back in water that had felt like silk against his skin and gaze up at the stars. Stars whose reflection shimmered in the water that bore him up. There seemed hardly any distance between water and sky. He’d got the notion that if he stretched his hands up, he could have touched them, made them shiver the way their reflections all around him shivered. As though he was floating in sky, and stars, and water, all at the same time.

  And when he plunged his fingers into her hair while he was plunging himself inside her, he got the feeling that what he was doing was not just slaking a physical urge, but something more...something almost mystical.

  Her eyes fluttered open, fixed on him and...warmed. Welcomed his presence.

  There was no pretence about it. There hadn’t been a moment of hesitation, followed by the calculated smile he was used to getting from the women he’d taken to bed in the past. She was genuinely pleased to see him when she woke up.

  A strange feeling stirred inside. A feeling of acceptance he hadn’t felt since... Well, he wasn’t sure he’d ever had anyone show such fondness for him, not once they’d got to know him as well as she’d done, over the past few days. He couldn’t remember his mother all that well. He’d been too young when she’d died to work out whether those vague feelings of acceptance had truly come from her, or whether he’d just dreamed them up in his childish need for...for something he certainly never got from his father. His father had definitely never been fond of him. He’d seen him pet his hounds and horses, but never, not once, had he been anything but brusque with his own offspring.

  Things changed a bit when Julia was born. As soon as she could walk she toddled around after him. Wanting him to notice her. Believing he could do no wrong in spite of all evidence to the contrary. Even when she got old enough to develop some discernment, her face would still light up when she first saw him after sufficient time apart.

  Which was one of the reasons why he’d been determined to move heaven and earth to keep her safe.

  Although, what had it cost him, really? Marriage hadn’t turned out to be anything like the irksome chore he’d imagined. By some miracle, he’d found the only woman on earth who could have made becoming a husband a positive pleasure.

  And it wasn’t just because she matched practically every item on the list his friends had helped him make. It was because, in spite of all the ways he’d gone wrong, she appeared to genuinely like him.

  So he kissed her. Well, what else was a man to do when a woman looked at him like that?

  ‘You were looking very serious, just now,’ she said when he broke off to take a very necessary breath. ‘What were you thinking?’

  He was damned if he was going to upset her by telling her she met every criterion on his list of what constituted an acceptable wife. Or admitting that he’d dreaded the prospect of marriage so much he’d actually sought the moral support and guidance of his friends in compiling it.

  And he certainly wasn’t ever going to share, with anyone, that he’d had that moment of...metaphysical madness...diving into star-studded lakes of black silk to find the road to...some spiritual realm where souls could entwine, or some such rot, indeed!

  He’d tell her the first thing he’d thought on waking, instead. Haul his mind back to the arena in which he felt far more at home.

  ‘I was thinking,’ he admitted with a rakish smile, ‘that every time we change the venue for our...conjugal activities, it gets more enjoyable. Do you know,’ he said, shifting over her, ‘I have this...craving to...’ he nudged her legs apart with his own ‘...enjoy you in every single room in this house.’ He nuzzled her neck. ‘Just to see if I’m right.’

  For a moment it looked as though she was going to yield. But then her sinuous, responsive movements turned into unmistakable attempts to wriggle out from under him.

  ‘We can’t...not now,’ she said apologetically. ‘There’s so much to do this morning. If you want to eat Christmas dinner at a decent hour...’

  ‘Hang dinner,’ he said, catching her round the waist just as she was about to leave the bed and pulling her back. ‘And hang decency. We’ll eat whenever what you make is ready.’

  ‘But Gilbey will expect—’

  ‘And hang Gilbey, too. He’ll eat when we do.’

  ‘But—’

  He stopped her mouth with a kiss. And smiled against her lips when, with a sigh, she wrapped her arms round his neck and kissed him back.

  * * *

  It was the happiest Christmas she’d ever known. And it wasn’t just because, at last, she had a secure home, plenty of food to eat and no need to worry about how to pay for it.

  It was because of Lord Havelock.

  He made Christmas Day pass in a whirl of merriment and lovemaking. Which he topped off by declaring it had been the best Christmas of his own life, too.

  ‘Don’t look as though you don’t believe me,’ he said, a touch belligerently, when she gaped at him in surprise. ‘You may as well know, right now, that I never lie. Have never seen the point,’ he finished loftily.

  ‘I didn’t mean to imply you would,’ she said, going to the oven and kneelin
g down to rake embers into the warming pan. ‘It is just, well, it was all so... I mean, you must have had far more grand food and all sorts of entertainments, other years.’

  ‘Oh. Yes, I see what you mean. And in a way, you’re right. I’ve definitely been to a great many Christmas house parties where no expense was spared. But you see,’ he said, gently taking the warming pan from her as she turned and got to her feet, ‘when I was a grubby schoolboy, I always felt I was there on sufferance, wherever I was. And then, when I got older, the same girls who’d been turning their noses up at me all their lives suddenly realised I was a catch and began trying to trap me. Don’t care for being hunted down like a...coursed hare,’ he finished bitterly.

  ‘I see.’ She picked up the lantern, glanced at the kitchen table and smothered a giggle. He’d surprised her, right after dinner, by sweeping the dishes aside, bending her over the table and lifting her skirts. What followed had been wild and wonderful, if a little shocking. ‘It has been the best Christmas Day I’ve ever had, too.’ It had been just as well the table was so sturdy. They’d have shattered a less robust piece of furniture.

  And probably carried right on, in its splintered ruins, until they’d finished what he’d started.

  ‘I meant what I said, you know,’ he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he followed the direction of her gaze.

  ‘What about?’ She’d lost the thread of the discussion while she’d been reliving the way his hands had taken command of her body, while his lips pressed hot kisses into the nape of her neck.

  ‘About wanting to make love to you in every room in this house.’ As if to prove his point, when they reached the door of the room they’d slept in the night before, he kept on walking.

  ‘There must be a dozen bedrooms along this corridor alone.’

  ‘They...they won’t be very comfortable, though,’ she pointed out, hanging back.

  He turned and looked at her keenly.

  ‘It isn’t fair to expect you to put up with another night on a hearthrug, is it? Very well,’ he said with an exaggerated sigh. ‘Let’s be practical.’ He turned back and entered what she’d come to think of as their bedroom.