Rock Hard Seal: A Navy Seal & A Virgin Romance

by Rye Hart

  “Were you so sure of me?” Bella demanded.

  “Not at all. I intended to abduct you and ride to Gretna Green if you refused me. I merely needed to obtain your father’s willingness to accompany us.”

  He kissed her tenderly. She would be his Duchess, the woman who had returned his sight to him. Blindness, he realized, was admittedly a physical condition. But sight was a choice as well, and Bella had offered him the choice to see for the first time, love.

  The End

  Lord Pennington’s Christmas Wish

  Chapter One

  The stallion was a magnificent beast, worth every guinea that Lord Richard Pennington had paid for him. A powerful chestnut with a black mane and tail, El Diablo allowed no one but his owner to mount him and that concession had come with painstaking effort, which he willingly bestowed upon the steed. Perhaps it was because he had so much in common with the high-spirited, purebred thoroughbred which the proprietors of Tattersall’s knew to keep for him because of his discerning eye for horseflesh.

  Lady Lenore, his fiancée, had once, in laughing protest, told a gathering of strolling ladies along Rotten Row that horses meant more to His Lordship than even she did. Lord Richard, with a caressing glance of his dark eyes, and a gallant kiss of her hand, had assured her that she was preeminent in his affections and Lady Lenore had been mollified.

  They were to wed in just two months, etching into stone their perfect matrimony in a Winter Wonderland celebration sure to bring envy in the hearts of all attending debutantes.

  El Diablo recognized Richard as his master because Lord Richard had bested him. He had done so with firmness and with kindness, appreciating the animal’s spirit while curbing his wildness. But El Diablo was not content to be subdued and Lord Richard knew it. He recognized the trait. Wildness called to wildness in the bond between the horse and his master: Lord Richard would not surrender sovereignty of his mount, and El Diablo would never completely surrender to the superiority of any rider. Each one, man and horse, had a pedigree, brains, drive, and a level of arrogance which was followed up with the ability to deliver what was expected of them.

  El Diablo was the center of attention when Richard Pennington rode him afternoons on Rotten Row. There was no horse that could compare to him. Nor was there a rider who could compare to Lord Richard in the saddle. Until that day in November when Richard had gone out riding with Lady Lenore and she had proposed a gallop. Ever eager to let El Diablo show his prowess, Lord Richard agreed. They took to Pennington land that Richard had ridden on hundreds of times. He knew every hillock, every slope in the verdant green property that had been home to the Pennington family since the first Earl had been given his title by William III.

  No one could be sure what had happened to make El Diablo, while riding at full gallop, suddenly halt and throw his rider high into the air, only to fall to ground in a crumpled heap. Lady Lenore had been horror-stricken.

  Richard could still hear her voice, months later, ordering and then beseeching him to get up. He recalled her lovely figure, her face stricken with fear and frustration when he told her that he could not move and that she would need to return to the manor and notify his father that medical attention would be required.

  The engagement was, of course, called off. No one would have expected a woman of Lady Lenore’s beauty to wed a man who could no longer be a husband worthy of her. The debutantes regretted the loss of their dancing partner, the married ladies sighed that the handsome young lord would no longer be able to flirt with them, and the dowagers whispered that, now that Lord Richard was unable to fulfill his manly obligations, the third son, Gerald, would one day become the next Earl. Not obviously, of course; Richard Pennington was still the heir and unless he sired a child, Gerald was the nominal heir in any case, but when the time came for Gerald to wed, he would be viewed as the future Earl and not the third son. Such a circumstance vastly improved his matrimonial prospects, although Gerald, enjoying his youth and privilege at university, had no thoughts of his obligations to the title as of yet.

  His father had wanted to shoot El Diablo, but Richard had refused permission. The horse was his property. He would live. No one would ride him now, fearful of what could happen to them, if El Diablo had been able to throw a rider as experienced as Richard. The horse was let out of his stall daily and allowed to run loose within the fenced-in grounds of the pasture, his own master again. Richard could see the horse from his bedroom; once, when the animal had looked up toward the house, Richard had saluted him. El Diablo was the master.

  He dreamed of the beast every night. That was how his slumber passed. During the day, Lord Richard spent much of his time in his bedchamber, even taking a tray there rather than sharing the family dining. His bedroom had been moved downstairs for ease of movement. Lady Constance had hesitantly suggested that a chair with wheels could be obtained so that Richard could move freely about the downstairs, but her son had angrily rebutted her suggestion. His valet attended to his needs, bathing him and dressing him, and enduring the flashes of temper that were as much a part of the ruined young man as his useless legs.

  His father and mother both tried to talk to him about his condition and ways that could at least mitigate his circumstances, but Richard had refused to discuss the matter. To make his point, he had taken to keeping his pistol close by his side at all times; a silent warning that, should his fate become too much to bear, he had the means to bring it to an end. His mother had run weeping from his room at that point, and his father had stood in silence for a long time before taking his leave.

  The pistol was from his days as an officer. Richard, the second of four sons, had followed family tradition and obtained a commission in the cavalry, but when his elder brother and the heir had died of a fever, Richard resigned from the Army and returned home. His father and mother, still grief-stricken, had welcomed him, their hearts were not yet healed from Edward’s death. His younger brothers were still at Cambridge. Richard had accepted the responsibilities of his position and within six months, he was engaged to the very lovely and accomplished Lady Lenore Crittendon, who had made her debut the year before and was acknowledged as the most desirable of prospective wives. The only reason that she had not been married the year she came out was because none of her suitors was deemed good enough for a woman of Lady Lenore’s beauty. That is, until Richard had asked for a waltz at a ball given by the Duchess of Devonshire at which England’s titled elite had been in attendance. All eyes had been on the couple and no one had been surprised, one month later, when their engagement was announced.

  That happy time seemed very long ago. But for the first time since his eldest son’s death, the Earl was galvanized into action. He spoke with medical experts, consulted renowned clergymen, and determined that, whether Richard liked it or not, he had a responsibility to his family. Lady Constance was doubtful of her husband’s plans, but she could think of no better solution. There was help, whether Lord Richard wanted it or not.

  When Cressida Lockwood was ushered into the study, the Earl rose to greet her.

  “Miss Lockwood, you come highly recommended,” he began the interview. At his side, Lady Constance was quietly assessing the self-assured young woman who had responded to her husband’s discreet advertisement for a nursemaid.

  “Thank you, my lord. I have worked with numerous patients deprived of lower extremity movement,” Cressida replied.

  “Yes, and you’ve had some success, I see. Dr. Melcher provided me with details and testimonials.”

  “Dr. Melcher is very kind. There are some cases which cannot be improved, as you know. There are others which, although movement will not return, can be enhanced by building up the strength in the upper extremities. And there are others, although I must caution you that they are few, where the patient has actually regained full mobility.”

  “Oh, Miss Lockwood, if you could do that for our son, we would be so grateful,” Lady Constance said with heartfelt sincerity.

  “
My lady, I will do everything in my power, but it depends upon the extent of the injury. Dr. Melcher examined your son after the accident and it is his belief that some physical ability could be restored to Lord Richard, but there will be much work involved.”

  The Earl looked at his wife. “My son is afflicted with, shall I say melancholy?” he told her sadly. “We have been unable to convince him to be grateful that he is still alive.”

  Miss Lockwood studied the Earl and Countess. She was not an unsympathetic woman, but she wondered anew how anyone could fail to understand the enormity of the change that altered a life when mobility was denied. “My lord,” she said, “I should be very surprised indeed if your son were anything but melancholy. I expect that he is enraged.”

  “Well, yes, he does have rather a temper.”

  “Good,” Miss Lockwood said, rising to her feet. “It’s much more difficult when a patient is lethargic and has already given up. I shall use his anger for his own good. But you must allow me to be the lightning rod for his temper and you must agree not to interfere. He will provoke me, he will threaten me; he will tell me to leave. You must not permit this. If I am to help your son regain his movement, I must be the one who rules him. If you cannot accept those terms, we must not waste any more of each other’s time.”

  Chapter Two

  As the Earl told Lady Constance later that evening in the privacy of their bedchamber, he hoped that he had always been a reasonable man. But to be told his business by a mere girl, one of ordinary breeding.

  “Yes, dearest,” said Lady Constance, putting down her embroidery. “But she does have pluck. You can see that she will not be intimidated by Richard’s ill humor.”

  “She’s likely to yell back at him,” the Earl said. “He will not fancy having a martinet, you know.”

  “He will not fancy having anyone at all, but what else is there to do?” She placed her hand upon her husband’s wrist. “What you have done, in employing Miss Lockwood, could give our son his life back. If he is angry at us now, will he not be grateful in the future?”

  “She did not guarantee her results,” the Earl reminded, wondering now if he had acted in haste. He was so eager to find a solution that perhaps he had been rash.

  “I find her honesty commendable,” Lady Constance defended. “Would you have been more satisfied if she had promised that Richard will ride to hounds again?”

  “No, no, that is true. Thank you, my dear. As always, you restore me to my sense. We shall welcome her into our home as Richard’s nursemaid, and we shall obey her instructions as she requires. I think we cannot place her in the servants’ quarters- “ He paused, the dilemma of how to treat an addition to the household who was neither below nor above the salt proving to be a quandary that he had not considered.

  “No,” Lady Constance said decisively. “She will breakfast in her room, and she will take her supper with Nanny in the nursery.” The nursery was of course empty of children, but Nanny had an honored place among the staff, waiting for the time when there would be a new generation of Penningtons for her to care for.

  “Capital! My dear, you are a treasure. There will be no additional inconvenience to the staff and she will not rise above her station.”

  “I shall see that Hobard befriends her.”

  “Hobard is a bit aloof,” the Earl said, although in truth he thought his wife’s lady made a proper dragon.

  “What other option do we have? They can sit together at church. It will be the ideal solution. You will see. They may become fast friends. I feel so much better, dearest, now that we have settled upon this solution for Richard. Will you tell him?”

  “I?” The Earl was taken aback at the thought of incurring his son’s reckless temper. “No, I shall introduce her to him and then she can take matters from there.”

  “You had better warn her about the ….. pistol.”

  “Yes, of course. I shall do so. Not that there is the slightest likelihood that Richard would ever do anything with it. As a former military officer, he naturally feels that his current incapacity renders him vulnerable and he wishes to be able to protect himself. That is all.”

  “Yes, of course,” Lady Constance agreed, busying herself again with her embroidery. “All the same, I shall be much relieved when she removes the pistol from his room.”

  No one had actually informed Miss Lockwood that it was to be her responsibility to divest her patient of his weapon, but the redoubtable young nurse was accustomed to undertaking those tasks which families found too emotionally troubling. The Pennington carriage fetched her from the inn where she had taken lodgings, and she arrived at Pennington Manor with two valises in her hands and a butterfly net under her arm.

  She was shown to her room by the footman who showed a lively interest in the net. “It’s late autumn, miss. You won’t be seeing many butterflies.”

  Miss Lockwood gave him a forthright smile. “It is not for me,” she explained in a whisper, as if she were sharing a confidence. “It is for Lord Richard.”

  “His Lordship isn’t up to catching butterflies, Miss,” the footman said, uncertain whether to pity the girl for her ignorance or scoff at her for her error.

  “Is he not?” Miss Lockwood asked, removing her gloves. “Perhaps not yet. Thank you for bringing up my belongings. What is your name?”

  “Louis, Miss.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to thank me, Miss. It’s not necessary.”

  “It is very necessary, Louis,” she replied. “Now, will you take me to meet with Lord Richard’s manservant?”

  “Miss? What you want to be meeting with him for?”

  “I must find out Lord Richard’s daily schedule. His manservant will know.”

  Louis was on the verge of telling Miss Lockwood that Lord Richard’s schedule consisted of being bathed and shaved by Rheims, dressed by Rheims, carried by Rheims into another room when his Lordship had a fancy to be elsewhere, which wasn’t very often, placed on the chamber pot by Rheims, and throughout the day, cursing and yelling at Rheims with never a word said in response. But something in Miss Lockwood’s eyes told him that his disclosures would not be welcome.

  Over tea at the servant’s table, he shared his thoughts with the staff. “Don’t know as I’ve ever seen anyone like her. Doesn’t look like she backs off of much.”

  “Is she pretty?” asked Nancy, the parlormaid.

  Louis considered. “She ain’t what you’d call fetching,” he said after some thought. “She’s got pretty eyes, though. Blue they are. And what I could see of her hair underneath her bonnet looked to be somewhere between red and brown.”

  “Russet,” suggested Mr. Lincoln, the butler, who normally would not have encouraged speculation about a new member of the household staff, but in this case, was curious himself.

  ‘I dunno, she’s dressed plainly, I can tell you that. No frills about her.”

  Mr. Lincoln was relieved at this. A servant who did not answer to him was likely to put on airs and he liked his domestic domain to run smoothly, with proper deference paid to him. Hobard was enough of a trial with her lady’s maid status exempting her from his authority. At least this new person knew to attire herself as befitted her station and not display any foolish aspirations to grandeur.

  In her room, Miss Lockwood would not have been surprised to learn that she was the subject of discussion among the servants. She was used to being an object of curiosity and not only among the household staff. Even her clients pondered her station. She was one of the few nurses at St. Anselm’s Hospital to have obtained formal training, but that was because her father, a physician, expected his daughter to answer to the highest medical standards if she intended to follow a career in healing. It had been useless for him to tell her that as an unmarried woman, she had no business taking care of male patients. She had told him that if he would not accept her at St. Anselm’s, she would go elsewhere where her work would be accepted. Her father had discovered that his daughter had medical abilities w
hich deserved respect; if she were a man, he told her after he’d watched one of her patients respond to a treatment she had suggested, she would be an eminent physician.

  Although, as a nurse, she attended to whatever patients were assigned to her, she began to apply special efforts to those who suffered from the loss of sensation and movement. She researched the subject, begging her father to contact specialists in the area so that, through him, she could learn more. She had then begun to take on private patients. Her reputation had grown and doctors in England had begun to contact her regarding patients of their own. Her father, torn between fierce pride in her skill and anxiety that she was conducting herself in a manner destined to bring social isolation and criticism, had finally decided that he could only allow her to do what she would do anyway, with or without his support and blessing.

  Cressida Lockwood, at age twenty-four, had no marriage prospects, no social circle and none of the traditional feminine accomplishments, but what she did have was an indomitable will and a bewitching smile. She was very much like her late mother and Dr. Lockwood suspected that, had his wife lived, she would have wholeheartedly encouraged her daughter in her bold ambition, however unladylike it might have been regarded by others. The good doctor was surprised to learn that his daughter earned a good income from her treatments with private patients. He’d been aghast when he learned what she charged, until she explained to him that clients did not value what was easy to afford. Her rates affirmed her professional attributes.

  Cressida lacked a husband to support her, but she had a respectable income of her own. She was in the process of purchasing a cottage of her own to live in, where she would be near to the hospital and yet independent. The conceit would be that her father was providing her with the residence, a fabrication which Cressida accepted with impatience. But her father insisted. Young women did not make their own way in the world, he cautioned her, and if her reputation suffered, so would her practice.