“What…what are you doing?”
Just as swiftly, his grip on her arms loosened. He put a hand under her elbow to help her up. “Pardon. I am sorry,” he murmured roughly. “I did not intend…”
She twisted free of his touch, breathing hard now with shock and indignation. “How dare you? I want you gone this instant! You are a barbarian, just as I thought from the beginning. Mrs. Beatty!”
“No.” His hand shot out for her wrist, but he checked the movement before making contact. It was a wise decision, for Lucinda just might have kicked him. Although, when she remembered the look in his eyes moments before, she may not have, after all. The man was dangerous, as she’d sensed from the very first.
She heaved a breath, fighting for calm. Perhaps she had been hasty, throwing rolls at his head. But now she knew for certain with whom she was dealing. A dangerous, brutal rogue. One she must evict from Ravensbrook immediately, at all costs.
“Let me explain,” he said in a low voice. His dark gaze now looked troubled.
Mrs. Beatty appeared in the doorway. “You called, miss?” She frowned when she saw them both standing. “Is there a problem with the food?” Her gaze fell to the roll on the rug, and her gaze unerringly went to Lucinda. “Is something amiss?”
Gabriel Montclair spoke first. “A misunderstanding.”
“No,” Lucinda hissed. “I understand you perfectly now.”
“I apologize. I acted without thinking.”
Mrs. Beatty entered the room with a frown. “What happened?”
Lucinda cried out, “What happened is he attacked me…”
“After you threw a roll at my head and reached for another,” Riel put in. “As I tried to explain, I reacted without thinking. In battle, it can mean the difference between life and death.”
“But this is not a battle!” Lucinda fluttered her hand at the washed silk walls of the dining room. “You are in a civilized home, with…”
“Apparently, an uncivilized young lady.” Mrs. Beatty said. With two fingers, she plucked the roll from the floor.
Lucinda gasped. “You can’t take his side, Mrs. Beatty. He manhandled me. He twisted my wrist most painfully!”
Mrs. Beatty frowned. “Why were you throwing rolls at your guest, Miss Lucinda?”
“He is not my guest.”
“No. He is your father’s,” the housekeeper replied. “Mr. Hastings left a letter for me, as well. I am sure he would be shocked to see you treating his guest so discourteously, Miss Lucinda.”
Why was Mrs. Beatty taking Montclair’s side? Couldn’t she see that he was not to be trusted? That he was a dark, primitive heathen? Lucinda glared at Gabriel Montclair, who now regarded her with a steady, implacable look. Impotent frustration welled in her. What could she do? With the housekeeper siding against her, how could she ever get this man to leave her home?
Mrs. Beatty withdrew to the door, her lips pressed tight. “Are you ready for your next course?”
With a frown, Lucinda sat. “Yes, Mrs. Beatty.” Perhaps she was going about this the wrong way. Losing her temper had not been smart.
More reasonable thoughts finally entered her head. Her behavior had been childish, too, which chagrinned her. Over the past year, she’d endeavored so hard to grow into the sort of young woman of whom her father would be proud. She’d wanted to surprise him with her newfound maturity when he returned home.
Now he never would.
Tears stung her eyes. Lucinda still wanted to make her father proud. Regardless of this goal, however, somehow she must convince Montclair to leave Ravensbrook. At once.
A tomb of silence ensued until the next course of pork chops and scalloped potatoes arrived. Riel picked up his knife and sliced into his meat. “Clearly you do not like me, Lady Lucinda.”
At least he had stopped calling her Lucy. A small victory. She gave him a thin-lipped smile. “How clever you are, Mr. Montclair.” In fact, he possessed only one redeeming quality; his unwelcome presence prevented the agony of her father’s death from completely taking over her mind.
“Why?”
“I am a lady, and will not be rude. However, know this: Ravensbrook is my heritage. I will not entrust it into the care of a stranger. Furthermore, I will allow no one to rule over me, either. Least of all you, a complete stranger. Regardless of what you told my father, I have never heard of a Baron of Iveny.”
Riel took a bite. “I assure you, I own land in France and a townhouse in London, as well as a ship. Facts beyond that are no business of yours.”
“So you are hiding something.”
“Do you wish to know my entire past history?”
“Tell it all,” Lucinda agreed. “I would like to know the complete truth of your background…if, indeed you will tell me.”
The black brows met again like a thundercloud. He did not like his honor questioned. Perhaps he would tell her the full truth, after all.
She waited, tapping her fingers on the table, pretending impatience. Never could he sense, even for a moment, that she truly wanted to discover every bit of information about him. This realization disturbed her, until she told herself it made prudent sense. After all, the more she knew, the better she could discern his weaknesses and assess the threat he posed to both Ravensbrook and herself.
And he was a significant threat, as she already knew quite well. His brutish behavior when he’d manhandled her had proven it. She must gather ammunition to boot him out of Ravensbrook before it was too late—no matter what her father had wished. Montclair must have duped her kind-hearted parent. Why else would Father put such a dangerous man as lord over her? The barbarian had hurt her! Her wrists still stung, and one thumb mark still reddened her skin.
If he could do so much damage in an instant, she shuddered to consider the damage he could cause to Ravensbrook—and to herself—during the next two years.
Riel spoke in a low voice. “I was born in Roué, France, twenty-eight years ago. My mother was English, my father French. My father squandered the family fortune in games of chance, and he lost our house in a poker match. When I was fourteen, I went to sea on a merchant ship.”
He looked down and rubbed his nail—clean now, she noticed—into the design on the fork. “Conditions were bad,” he finally said in a rough voice. “We sailed to the Barbary coast. I did not realize…” After a moment, he went on. “I escaped when I could. At seventeen, I jumped an English ship bound for the Mediterranean. It wasn’t much better. I will spare you the details. One thing led to another, and I now own my own ship. In addition, I have been working closely with the Royal Navy for the past two years.”
That wasn’t the whole story. Lucinda sensed he withheld information. But what? Was it that dark something she’d sensed from the beginning? She looked into his black eyes and found no answers.
Still, she did not know how to respond to his tale. It rang with truth. She could well imagine him living rough years on the high seas, and on the Barbary coast, too. The area was known for slave trading and pirates.
So, she’d been right from the first. He was a pirate…at least, he’d likely served upon a pirate ship at one point, or perhaps for several years. That would account for the rough edge she’d sensed in him, tempered, however, by the thinnest veneer of civility. Also, it would account for his brute strength and quickness to react when threatened. As she’d suspected, he’d learned none of his savage behavior from his association with the Royal Navy. Instead, likely on a cutthroat ship.
She cleared her throat. “You said your father lost all of your family land. How can you own land in France, then?”
“A relative passed away. It is not a large estate, but it pays for itself, with a little extra to keep up my house in London.”
Lucinda thought through all she had learned, and tried to figure out how to best lever each bit of knowledge to her advantage. “You must love the high seas, then. You’ve been sailing for what, fourteen years? And you help the Navy.”
“I am h
appy to use my knowledge of ships for good, rather than evil, if that is what you mean.”
It wasn’t, but Lucinda grasped this new information and plunged on, determined to wiggle her foot into this door of opportunity. “Don’t you want to keep working with the Navy, then? And save the world from evil-doers?”
He frowned faintly.
“I mean,” she said more clearly, “I see no reason for you to leave your ship just to be a guardian to me.” A flash of inspiration arrived. “You say your great-aunt is coming. She can do the job just as well.”
“My aunt is in frail health. Besides, your father asked me to watch over you and protect you. That is what I will do.”
“But why?” she said in a reasonable tone. “If it is a promise to my father that is holding you back, I release you.”
“My word was to him, not to you. I will fulfill my promise.”
“But why? Why on earth would you agree to be my guardian in the first place?”
A long pause elapsed. “I owe your father,” he said quietly.
“Why? What did you do?”
“More like what he did for me. The fact remains, Lucy, I will stay here. I will be your guardian, and take care of Ravensbrook. I must return to my ship at the end of this week, however. It will take two weeks to make repairs and put her in dry dock. Then I will return here for good, and I’ll stay until you are safely married.”
He had called her Lucy again. Lucinda crossed her arms, not caring that she might look like a belligerent child. “I require no guardian, Mr. Montclair. You will quickly discover this is a complete waste of your time.”
A smile glimmered. “I hope that is true. Then my next two years will prove agreeably pleasant.”
Lucinda frowned. His next two years would prove entirely unpleasant if she had anything to say about it. In fact, the next week would be so disagreeable that he would sail away, never to return!
A faint smile crept to her lips. By hook or by crook, Gabriel Montclair would flee from Ravensbrook before the week was out. Painful though it might be, she already knew the first step to eradicate him from her life.
Her plan was almost laughably simple. The solicitor would receive no letters from her father. She would make sure of it, and then Riel would possess no legal grounds to stay. He would have no choice but to depart from Ravensbrook for good.
An end to this current, unfortunate episode could not come quickly enough for Lucinda. And if somewhere in her conscience doubt niggled, she ignored it. She was doing the right thing. Definitely. Lucinda did not trust Montclair one inch, and already she itched most fervently for his dangerous, disturbing presence to vanish from her life.
But first, she must discover more information. “Mrs. Beatty said Father wrote her a letter, as well. Did he send any other letters with you?”
He regarded her shrewdly. “Another for his solicitor. I will pay him a call tomorrow. Mrs. Beatty has been kind enough to tell me how to find him.”
When the solicitor received that letter, there would be no turning back. She would need to act quickly.
Riel said, “One matter remains to discuss.”
“Hmmm?” Lucinda pulled her mind away from the delicious, exciting plot roiling in her head. It had been some years since she’d attempted anything so daring. Her heart pumped faster, just thinking about it.
“Your father. His body will arrive tomorrow afternoon. I assume you will wish to make arrangements for his burial?”
Lucinda’s thoughts fell to earth with a thud. “Yes… Yes of course. I will need to speak to Pastor Bilford in the village.”
“You can ride to town with me tomorrow when I see the solicitor.”
Lucinda did not relish the thought of traveling anywhere in Gabriel Montclair’s close, disturbing presence. But she did need to see Pastor Bilford. Better yet, if all went according to plan, Riel would never visit the solicitor at all. Instead, he would immediately return to his ship.
However, her former optimism failed to return. Her heart felt like a lead weight in her chest. Lucinda had never planned a funeral before. She had been five when her mother had died. Perhaps Mrs. Beatty could give her advice. That was a good plan, for she needed to speak to the housekeeper on another subject, as well. If handled delicately enough, the conversation might prove quite fruitful indeed.
Lucinda signaled for the next course she did not want to eat. Riel Montclair did, however. He ate all of his food—a great deal of it—with obvious appreciation and enjoyment.
Enjoy it while you can, she thought. Ravensbrook will not feed you for much longer.
Chapter Two
After supper, Lucinda found Mrs. Beatty in the kitchen, banking the fire in readiness for the next morning. Riel Montclair had retired to the parlor with a small snifter of brandy, and one of Father’s books. Happily, he was unaware of her plot.
“Mrs. Beatty, supper was delicious.”
The housekeeper sent her a sharp glance. “I trust no more rolls ended up on the floor.”
“Of course not.” Lucinda could have felt offended, but the housekeeper had been like a mother to her for the past twelve years. Besides, she deserved the gentle rebuff.
Mrs. Beatty straightened, and dusted her hands on her apron. “Why don’t you like the Baron, miss? Your father sent him to watch over you and Ravensbrook. A blessing that is, to be sure.”
Lucinda didn’t want to get into an argument with the housekeeper. Perhaps to Mrs. Beatty’s way of thinking, Father’s solution would seem like a relief. A man would continue to run things until Lucinda was married. However, Mrs. Beatty had not experienced Montclair’s rough hands on her wrists, and she was also blissfully unaware of the man’s probable pirate associations. Lucinda could not allow him to run Ravensbrook.
At the crux of it, Lucinda wanted to know why Riel had offered to manage Ravensbrook in the event of her father’s death. Had her father asked him, or had Montclair volunteered himself? Unless Lucinda could discover firm, unassailable evidence to Riel’s good character—an unlikely prospect—his motivations remained suspect. Therefore, he must go, and speedily. At all costs, she must protect Ravensbrook.
On a more personal note, she also could not bear the thought of Riel—or any other man, if she were honest—ruling her life, or most especially dictating her choice of suitors. She would marry for love, whether the man was “worthy” or not, according to ton strictures. Her father had always been able to see the value in people, no matter who they were—title or not. Who knew what sort of guidelines Riel might try to institute for her suitors, and for every other aspect of her life?
She shivered. After living in utter freedom, as she had done for the past two years, and frankly, for most of her life, Lucinda could not countenance the thought of a stranger—particularly a savage, she reminded herself, rubbing her faintly sore wrists—wielding a scepter of authority over her head. No. And that was why she was here now.
“Mrs. Beatty, did you say Father wrote you a letter, as well?”
The housekeeper reached into the front pocket of her apron and pulled out a parchment similar to Lucinda’s own. Only not trampled, of course. She gently ran her fingers over it. “Yes, he did, miss.” When she looked up, tears glistened in her eyes. “And thankful I am for it, too.”
Tears clogged Lucinda’s throat. “You’ll miss him, too.”
“I will, miss. I’ve worked for your father for nigh on thirty-three years, did you know that? He took over Ravensbrook as a lad of twenty when his own father died. A better employer I could never have had.”
Tears slipped down Lucinda’s cheeks, and an answering one rolled down the older lady’s face. “Oh, Mrs. Beatty.” Voice breaking, Lucinda flew into her comforting arms, as she’d often done as a child. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I don’t want to believe it!” She choked on a sob.
“Now then, child. We’ll all miss him, we will. He was a fine man. Not many like him.”
Lucinda finally pulled back, wiping her eyes. “Ever
ything will be all right, Mrs. Beatty. Don’t worry.”
“Why would I worry, child? He’s sent Mr. Montclair to watch over us. If your father trusted him, I have full confidence we can, too. Your father was a good judge of character.”
Unfortunately, Lucinda found she could not fully agree with the housekeeper’s trusting words. She was a good judge of character, too, and Mr. Montclair was not entirely what he appeared to be. A raw edge lived in that man; an untamed side that had told her to beware of Gabriel Montclair from the first moment he’d planted his massive boot on the bottom step of Ravensbrook.
In addition to the logical reasons she’d found to distrust him—namely, his brutish manhandling of her person—a sixth sense whispered that somewhere, perhaps dredged deep in Riel’s past, lived something dark. Perhaps a secret her father had known nothing about. This was more than possible, and unfortunately, another disturbing memory about how her father’s kind heart had been duped in the past flew to mind.
Three years ago, a young man and his pregnant wife had arrived at Ravensbrook, and begged for food and shelter. The woman’s baby bulge had looked suspiciously lumpy to Lucinda, and she’d had a bad feeling about the “husband” all along. The dirty, hungry couple had insisted on working for food. Pleased, her father had agreed, and let them sleep in a guest room in the house. In the morning, the two were gone, along with the family’s silver.
No, as much as Lucinda loved her father, she just could not trust Gabriel Montclair.
“Did you need something, Miss Lucinda?” Mrs. Beatty dabbed her eyes with her apron. The letter fluttered in her hand.
Lucinda looked at the note, and then at Mrs. Beatty’s sad face. The letter meant the world to the housekeeper, just as Lucinda’s did to her. Her hastily concocted plan to burn all the letters her father had sent, thereby destroying all evidence that Riel Montclair was supposed to be her guardian, puffed out like a candle.
The Pirate's Desire Page 3
