She was from a seafaring family.
He was a hero of England.
She and the admiral would make a splendid match.
He beckoned a servant with a discreet crook of one finger.
“Puddyford, the admiral appears to be preparing to take his leave. Do find out where he is going.”
“Yes, your Grace.”
Moments later, the servant was back with his report. Sir Elliott had called for his coach and was headed back into Ravenscombe. Lady Philippa was pleading fatigue and about to retire to a guestroom.
That would not do.
“Find a way, Puddyford, to detain Sir Elliott’s driver, and replace him with one of my own. Murdock, I think, will do nicely. And then send Murdock to me. I have some instructions for him.”
“As you please, your Grace.”
Lord Charles, resplendent in his new scarlet regimentals and quite oblivious to the hungry stares that several nearby beauties were bestowing upon him, turned his pale blue stare on his brother. “Why the sudden interest in the admiral’s affairs, Luce?”
“Interest in his affairs? Nonsense.” The duke gave an innocent little smile, but his black eyes held a particular gleam that spoke volumes. “I just think it would be better all around if Sir Elliott remained here at Blackheath for the night. No need for him to go all the way into Ravenscombe on such a dark and dreary night when we have plenty of rooms right here, would you not agree?”
Lord Charles frowned, suddenly uneasy.
But the duke was thinking of the happiness he’d seen on Pippa’s face when she’d been dancing with the admiral.
He was thinking of how he could ensure that they didn’t part and go their separate ways.
He was thinking how nice it would be if they were both at breakfast together.
No, the admiral was not going to leave and break Pippa’s heart.
Not if he had any say in the matter.
And Lucien, the Duke of Blackheath, always got his way.
# # #
Of course, it would not do to be seen leaving Blackheath Castle with Elliott, even if she was a widow and quite grown up, because people were wont to talk. And so, Elliott, ever conscious of her reputation, made his farewell wishes to Lord Charles and their host, and, retrieving his cocked hat and sword, went out into the chilly winter night to wait for her in his coach.
Pretending to be retiring for the evening, Pippa had gone to her rooms only long enough to grab her cloak. Then, ducking outside through a servant’s entrance, she had pulled the hood up over her head against the damp night air, and, with the mist spattering her spectacles, found Elliott’s gleaming black coach.
She knew it was his, because it had an anchor on the door.
Even so, she was relieved when, as she neared the vehicle, the door opened from within and there he was, waiting for her.
“It’s cold out here,” he murmured, tucking a blanket around her shoulders with tender care. “And the devil only knows where my damned driver is. Been waiting for him for the past ten minutes.” He reached out and took her hand. “I trust you got away, unseen?”
“Unseen,” she said, a little breathlessly.
“Good, I—”
There was a voice outside. “Sir Elliott?”
The admiral frowned, put a finger to his lips, and opened the door, leaning well forward so his large form blocked anyone from being able to see inside the coach.
“Oi’m Murdock, sir. The duke sent me t’ droive ye into Ravenscombe, ‘e did. Seems yer own man took ill.”
“Ill?”
“Aye, sir. Had ‘imself one too many shrimp out in the servant’s quarters, ‘e did. If ye’re ready to leave, we can be off now, sir.”
“Yes, of course I’m ready. Carry on.”
He shut the door, frowning.
Pippa met his gaze. “They serve shrimp in the servant’s quarters? How odd.”
“Well, I suppose that when one is a duke, even the servants eat well.”
“Still. Shrimp?”
The coach remained unmoving, and inside its cold confines, their breath made plumes of fog.
Growing impatient, the admiral rapped on the roof. “Drive on, please.”
With a start, the vehicle began to move. He leaned back against the squab across from her, filling up the space in the darkness, his long legs just inches from her own. She was very aware of him, not only of what he must be thinking, but of the sheer physicality of him. Elliott, with his wide shoulders and commanding height, stuffed into this coach when the quarterdeck of a warship would have been a more fitting setting.
Elliott, no longer a boyish youth.
Elliott, in whose bed she was destined to spend the night.
She shivered with excitement and longing.
“I would not have thought it possible,” he said, in the close darkness of the coach, “for you to grow even more beautiful over the years, Pippa, but time has been good to you.”
“You are too kind, Elliott. I never really felt beautiful, you know.” She tensed as he moved his leg slightly, so that his buckled shoe nudged up against her slipper. She wondered if either of them would be able to wait until the reached the inn to make up for so much lost time.
Elliott was thinking the same thing. But he was a patient man, quite accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted. He would not take Pippa here in the cramped confines of a coach. She deserved better than that.
And she would have it.
Nevertheless, there was a part of him that wasn’t quite as patient, and that part of him was, at the moment, swelling painfully against his breeches in a way that made it exceedingly difficult to get comfortable.
“So, do you still keep a dog?” she asked, and he could see her soft smile, the gleam of her perfect white teeth caught in the glow from the coach lanterns. “Because if you do, we could never make a go of it, I’m afraid.”
“I’m not home enough to keep a dog,” he said. “It would not be fair to the animal.”
“I’m sorry for leaving you all those years ago.”
“We have a lot to catch up on, Pippa. But not if you go running off to America.”
“I won’t be gone for long. I’ll come back.”
“Even if you were only to spend just a day there inspecting the property, the crossing, and the return, will take months. Even an hour spent without you, Pippa, is too long, as far as I’m concerned. Don’t go. I beg of you.”
“I will think on it,” she returned, and he saw her look outside into the darkness beyond the window, worrying her bottom lip. She looked charming in her spectacles, adorable, and he lamented the fact that she had been so shy and self-conscious, that she had refused to ever let herself be seen by him in them.
He moved his leg a little closer to hers, letting his ankle touch hers.
Now, this was nice.
Quite nice indeed.
“Pippa, I have—”
The coach suddenly slowed and then, came to a halt.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked, confused.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” He picked up his hat where he’d laid it on the seat, pushed open the door, and stepping down into the muddy road, found the driver bending near a front wheel.
“Sorry, sir,” the man said, knuckling his forelock. “This ’ere wheel, it ain’t rollin’ roight and Oi’m just ’avin’ a look to make sure all’s as it should be.”
“It felt perfectly fine from within the coach.”
“Aye, well, sir, it didn’t feel so foine from up on the box, beggin’ yer pardon Oi am, sir. But everything seems toight, though Oi’d best check the other three wheels as well.”
“They are fine. Get back on the box and proceed, if you will. I haven’t all night.”
Faintly annoyed, Elliott turned and climbed back into the coach. What the devil had that been all about?
They began moving once more.
“What was the problem?” Pippa asked.
“The devil only kno
ws. Blackheath’s driver can’t be expected to know my vehicle like my own man does, I’ll grant him that, but he’s imagining things if he thinks there’s anything amiss with the wheels.”
“I hope he didn’t hear us talking. I’m supposed to be back at the castle, safely snuggled in my bed.”
“Oh, you will be safely snuggled in bed soon enough, Pippa, but not your own. Mine.”
She gave a nervous little laugh, and felt her insides beginning to melt at the thought of what pleasures awaited her in that bed.
“In any case, as I was about to say—” He swore under his breath as the coach slowed to a stop once more. Snatching up his hat yet again, Elliott shoved open the door, stepped down into the rutted road, and found Blackheath’s ridiculously inept driver doing something up at the head of one of the horses.
“Now what?” he thundered.
“The rein fell off.”
“What?”
“It fell off, sir.”
“Look, I may be a mariner and know more about the workings of a bloody ant-hill than I do those of a horse and coach, but I know that reins don’t just fall off— ”
“No, sir, this rein ’ere, it just fell off. Oi’m tellin’ ye, sir, ye can ’ave a look if ye don’t believe me, but no sooner did the nags start moving when all of a sudden loike, it fell off.”
“Well, fix it, then, and this had better be the last time we stop, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. ’Twill just be a few minutes while I put it back onto the bit.”
Elliott turned and stormed back to the coach.
“For the life of me, I don’t understand how Blackheath tolerates such incompetence,” he muttered, climbing back into the vehicle. “I never heard of such a damned ridiculous thing in my life.”
Pippa sat on the seat across from him, an amused little smile playing about her mouth. “Why, Elliott. One would think you’re in a hurry to get somewhere,” she murmured, and even in the dim light, he could see the humor in her eyes.
“This nonsense keeps up, I won’t be responsible for what I do to that idiot out there.”
She actually laughed.
Despite himself, he found himself smirking a bit, too, because it was hard not to be affected by Pippa’s cute lopsided smile, hard not to be affected by Pippa herself, and as the coach began to move once more, Elliott pulled out his watch, held its face up to the window so as to catch the faint gleam of light coming in through the vehicle’s lanterns outside, and stuffed it impatiently back into his pocket.
“Shouldn’t be more than another ten minutes before we reach that damnable inn,” he grumbled. “That is, if the other rein doesn’t just . . . fall off.”
He slid his leg back over to hers once more, and this time, had just reached out to lay a hand on her knee, when the coach stopped yet again.
Elliott exploded. “Hell and damnation, what the devil is it this time?”
“Really, Elliott, since when did you curse so much? My bleeding ears.”
“Since this short trip into the village has been plagued with nonsense from the beginning, that’s when! At this rate, we’d get there faster if we were to walk!” Once again, he slammed out of the vehicle, and, his breath frosting the night air, stalked angrily toward this utter fool that Blackheath had the poor fortune to have in his employ.
“What is it this time?” he snarled. “The other rein? A puddle in the road? Highwaymen? You’d better have a damned good reason for this latest delay, or so help me God—”
“Er, beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but the horse ‘as diarrhea.”
“What?”
“Oi said, sir the horse—”
“Can’t he move and poop at the same time?”
“Well, ’e could, sir, but it would make an awful mess of the coach, sir, as well as my livery, which Oi loike to try an’ keep clean, sir—”
“Let me guess, he got into the shrimp as well, right?”
“Wot?”
“How far are we from the inn at Ravenscombe?”
“Oh, Oi’d say maybe a half mile at best, sir— ”
“Very well, then. Since you seem incapable of getting me there under your own direction, I will sit here on the box with you to ensure that I actually reach my destination tonight.”
“But sir, it’s startin’ to rain and—”
“I’m in the damned Navy, I’m sure I know what it’s like to get wet! Now get on the damned box, take the damned reins, and get this damned vehicle into Ravenscombe before I really lose my temper!”
Moments later, both high-ranking admiral and lowly servant were seated on the box, the former scowling beneath the brim of his hat, the latter flustered and worried, for he had instructions, very specific instructions from his Grace, to do all within his power to ensure that the admiral did not reach his lodgings in Ravenscombe and was brought back to Blackheath Castle for the night.
And as Murdock sat there, pale, nervous, and uncertain, he wasn’t sure whose ire he dreaded more.
That of this stern-faced sea warrior sitting beside him on the box . . .
Or that of his Grace the Duke of Blackheath, when he returned to the castle—alone.
Chapter 4
The rest of the short journey passed, of course, without incident. Arriving at the Speckled Hen Inn, Pippa slipped out of the coach before the driver—kept occupied by Elliott—could see her, hurried across the damp courtyard, and stood waiting in the common room. The hour was late, the room deserted. Moments later, the admiral joined her, took her hand, and led her up the stairs, leaving her to wonder at the bizarre set of circumstances that had delayed their arrival.
But as Elliott pushed open a door, lit a candle from the fire that had been left burning in the grate by a chambermaid, and stood there, so tall that he seemed to hold up the low ceiling, she forgot all about the coachman’s strange behavior, and thought, instead, of the years she had sacrificed.
Despite the fire, the room had a damp chill to it, and outside, rain began to pelt the leaded glass panes of the window.
Pippa stood somewhat uncertainly, her nerves tingling with anticipation. Would he find her beautiful, after all these years? She, who was nearly in her third decade, she, who no longer had the nubile body she’d possessed that one time they had made love? She, Pippa?
Elliott, removing his hat and cloak and placing them on a peg near the door, had his own worries. Would she still desire him after all this time? He, no longer a young and dashing captain, but a man who’d seen years of service at sea, years that had weathered his skin, left his body with a scar here, another there? He, who had never stopped loving this woman, whose heart was still fully owned by her, he—who might not be all that she would want him to be? He, Elliott?
He had this one night to convince her to stay here in England. One night to convince her of his love, the true direction of his heart, and the folly of chasing after some ridiculous piece of land in a faraway place that she certainly couldn’t need or care much about.
Outside, the rain began to fall harder, pinging against the window pane.
One night.
“Guess we got here just in time,” Pippa said, removing her gloves.
“I could have done with it being a hell of a lot sooner,” the admiral returned, and began unbuttoning his coat.
Pippa moved forward, smiling a bit shyly, and placed her hand over his, stopping him. “May I do that?”
He returned her smile, and let his arms fall to his sides. She stepped closer and reaching up, began to slide each button through its hole.
She had just gotten to the third one down, when his arms went firmly around her, his big, broad hands slid down the small of her back, and there, settled just above her bottom, drawing her close up against him.
He was a sculpted god in the candlelight, his face one of angles and planes, his hair, which he had left unpowdered, catching the glow from the fire. All those years ago, it had curled boyishly behind his ears, and this, it still did, for he wore it rathe
r unfashionably short, save for the wrapped sailor’s queue that hung between his shoulders. She reached up, slid her palms beneath his lapels, and tilted her head up as he lowered his own to claim her lips in a kiss.
The moment his lips touched hers, hard, demanding, hungry, Pippa knew she was lost, that she would leave this room changed forever, for she felt as though she had finally come home. There was no other way to put it, no other way to put a name to the feelings that were aroused just by being in this man’s arms. She moaned softly as his tongue came out to push against her own and his mouth ground against hers, seeking closer contact, a fusing of kindred souls and two hearts that beat to the same drum. His hands pressed harder behind the small of her back, roved down and over her bottom, and brought her close, so close that she could feel his arousal shoving hard against her pelvis, even through the layers of her skirts.
Desire flared through her.
Bliss was his mouth against hers, the heat of his body engulfing her, his hands so warm and strong as they held her against him. Anticipation was the hot, solid length of him pressing against her, the feel of hard chest muscles beneath his waistcoat, the bed that waited just a few feet away.
Slowly, ever so tenderly, he broke the kiss.
“Turn around,” he murmured, and as she did, she felt his hand, so warm, so roughly calloused, so tender, brushing her nape. She was keenly aware of the heat of his body just behind her now, dwarfing her. Elliott, right here in this room with her. Elliott, for whom she had always held a candle, even throughout the short years of her rather dull marriage. Elliott, who was running his hand up the side of her neck, gently tugging her ear lobe between thumb and forefinger, leaning down to plant a kiss there, his breath warm against the sensitive skin. She trembled deep inside. A moment later, he slowly began to pull the pins from her hair.
“Do you know, Pippa, the loneliness a man feels while all alone out on the vast ocean?” he murmured.
The Admiral's Heart Page 3
