Yet Riel had sensed her gratitude, too, when he’d escorted her downstairs, and then back from the burial. Almost as if she couldn’t make up her mind about him. Just as he could not decide what to make of her. A spoilt, rebellious, sharp-tongued girl? Or a sweet, vulnerable, caring one? Perhaps both. Sugar and spice.
Riel knew one truth—Lucy was a complicated young woman. But in their battle of wills, he would win. Riel would sign those papers on Friday, and he would be her guardian. It was no longer just because of his word to Peter. Lucy needed him, whether she’d admit it or not. Without a level head to guide her, she would likely take foolish, impulsive risks with her life. Much as he had done at her age.
He gulped back a hard swallow of punch. Riel would not allow that to happen. And he would not allow the ravening wolves Peter had foreseen to devour her, either. Riel had sworn to protect her, and he would; with his life, if necessary.
As Peter had been there for him, Riel would be there for Lucy. He would see her safely married to a fine young man, and then he would permanently return to the Tradewind. The intervening two years would prove a challenge. An inadequate description, he suspected.
Riel smiled. He thrived on challenges at sea, and in life. Lucy would probably be dismayed to learn that he liked her feisty confrontations. Hopefully the Navy’s mission wouldn’t keep him away for long. He didn’t want Lucy to get into trouble while he was gone—although he believed she would be safe enough within the protected walls of Ravensbrook.
Riel scanned the crowd. Then again. Where was she now? Alarm kicked through him when he couldn’t find her.
Finally, after a heart thudding minute, he spotted her talking to the pasty-faced Lord Humphrey and his wife. Lucy suddenly blanched white, and clutched the back of a chair.
Riel frowned.
With barely a parting word to the older couple, Lucy walked fast toward the far corner of the house.
Where was she going? Riel put down his drink and swiftly followed her into the lonely black night.
* * * * *
Once she was around the corner of the mansion and no one could see her, Lucinda ran for the stables. Soft black night enveloped her. The quarter moon barely peeked above the forest, so the earth before her was dark, but Lucinda knew every inch of Ravensbrook, and ran without stumbling for the sanctuary of the quiet stables.
Since learning of the death of her father, Lucinda had neglected her horse, and now she longed for the quiet peace of the animal’s affectionate, undemanding presence.
No grooms were about at this hour of the night, so she slipped into the stable without being accosted. The scent of fresh hay and warm horseflesh filled her nostrils. A tiny part of her relaxed when she at last reached her old friend.
Old Ben snuffled her hair and gave a low whinny of welcome.
“Benny!” She hugged his neck tight, and stroked his nose. “Let me see if there are apples.”
There were, in a sack on the wall, as she’d known there would be. The stable lad always kept it replenished for special treats for the horses.
Old Ben’s lips curled around the apple and he crunched it loudly in her ear.
“You like that, don’t you?” Lucinda whispered. Tears crept down her cheeks. “You’re lucky you’re a horse. As long as you can have an apple, you’re happy.” She pressed her cheek into his neck.
“I hate it all, Benny,” she whispered. “I’d begun to think Riel might be… Oh, I’m such a fool! I wish I could escape. I wish Father was alive, and he’d come home soon, and for all of this to be some awful nightmare.”
Old Ben whickered softly in her hair.
More hot tears slid down her cheeks. Ooh, she was tired of crying! But her life had changed. No turning back. She was truly alone. Except for Riel.
Riel. Her fingers clenched into fists. He’d pretended such kindness this evening that her armor against him had finally cracked. She’d begun to believe, just a tiny bit…
Hurt and anger simmered in her. He was a pirate. He must be, for he met all of Lord Humphrey’s descriptions of those despicable, greedy privateers. And yet Riel had tried to trick her into thinking he did legitimate work for the Navy. Why had she believed him, even for a moment? Especially after overhearing that suspicious conversation with his disreputable-looking first mate.
What had her father been doing on a pirate ship? Or perhaps for that brief span Riel had done actual, bona fide work. But the basic truth of the matter was, Riel was a privateer. Self-admitted. And therefore, most likely a pirate.
Then Lucinda realized a far worse truth. The British government sanctioned his activities. Why else would they order him to work for them? Therefore, in the eyes of the British government, his despicable exploits would not disqualify him from being her guardian, nor lord over Ravensbrook. The English government championed him, for he rid the seas of innocent French merchant ships.
The French. He even dared to plunder his own countrymen! What sort of a man was he?
A grasping, greedy monster—if truly he was one of the pirates Lord Humphrey had described so vividly. If so, it wasn’t a stretch to believe he would plot to steal from Ravensbrook, too.
Swallowing back a soft gasp of distress, Lucinda impulsively yanked open the stall door and led Old Ben out. With quick, fumbling movements, she fit on his bit and bridle, and then urged him to the door. Outside, the moon shone faintly behind the trees. It was dark, but that did not stop her. Nor the lack of a saddle. She’d often ridden bareback. Although it was most unladylike, she hadn’t cared at ten and she didn’t care now, either.
What did following rules and social proprieties get her? Nothing. Certainly nothing that mattered, like her father back alive. Or the right to expel Riel Montclair from Ravensbrook.
She found a stool to stand on, and anchored her fingers in Old Ben’s mane.
“Lucy.”
Riel. His tall, broad body loomed in the darkness. Now, knowing more clearly the type of man he must be, his black presence felt dangerous; just as it had when she’d first met him on the steps of Ravensbrook.
Lucinda chose not to answer. Grasping Old Ben’s mane more securely, she sprang upward, but Riel gripped her waist, stopping her. With a gasp of surprise, she stumbled back onto the stool. It wobbled alarmingly, and with a cry, she fell.
Strong hands dragged her up against a hard chest. Lucinda shoved at Riel, in a panic trying to free herself. To her surprise, he let her go.
“What are you doing?” His French accent sounded faintly ominous in the dim light.
Lucinda stepped backward. “Going for a ride, can’t you tell?”
“At night?” He sounded faintly disbelieving.
Lucinda found Old Ben’s bridle and urged him to stand next to the stool again. “I often ride at night. Not that it’s any of your business.” Of course, usually she rode under the full moon, when bright light illuminated the landscape.
He said nothing for a minute, but watched her carefully. “It is not worth the risk to your neck, or to the horse.”
Lucinda gritted her teeth. “You are a fine one to talk about risks. Forgive me, but I would think a man such as yourself would live more…dangerously.”
“What is that supposed to mean, Lucinda?”
Lucinda. She felt a spark of triumph. She had prickled under his skin. Perfect.
Not bothering to answer, she hopped back up onto the stool and worked her fingers into Ben’s mane again.
“Stop.”
“Or what?” Anger surged. “Will you spear me through the heart with your cutlass? Or do you save your finest blades for achieving spoils of a more valuable nature?”
“You speak in circles.” Frustration edged the deep tone. “Come down.”
“No.” Again, she bent her knees, readying to spring up, but a large hand closed around her wrist, forestalling her.
“I cannot allow you.”
Frustrated beyond all reason, Lucinda twisted to free herself. “You can’t stop me.” She twisted h
arder. “Let me go, you barbarian!”
“I am responsible for your safety.”
She hated his calm, reasonable voice. A voice smooth and slick with lies. “I don’t care,” she spat through her teeth. “You will let me go now, or you will know the consequence.”
An eternal moment of dangerous silence elapsed. “Are you threatening me, Lucy?” His soft voice didn’t fool her. Now his true, black nature would emerge. And she knew from past experience he might respond with brute force. If he lost his temper, would he hurt her?
She should be frightened, and she was. But pushed beyond all reason, she taunted, “Now will your civility molt away? Will the true snake you are emerge at last? How will you make me suffer if I do not submit to your will?”
“You do not know what you are saying.”
“I do!” she suddenly screamed at him.
Old Ben trotted sideways.
“You are frightening your horse.”
“Let me go!” she sobbed out.
Suddenly, it was all too much…Riel, continually calling her Lucy…learning he must be a devious, cutthroat pirate…her father irrevocably dead… She twisted again, harder, and then she reared back and kicked him with all of her strength. To her satisfaction, she heard his indrawn breath of surprise. Hopefully pain, too.
“Let me go, you dastardly pirate! Unhand me this very minute.”
“No.” Hands curled hard around her waist, he dragged her off the stool again. Her feet touched solid earth. His grip loosened, moving to her arms, but she knew if she tried to escape they would become like painful, iron shackles.
“You are a brute. A fiendish brute,” she hissed, shaking with rage.
The pale moonlight illuminated the dark lines of his face. “Explain your words to me.”
“I need to explain nothing.” She twisted again, not caring how fruitless it was.
“You have called me all manner of names. A brute. A barbarian, a snake and a fiend.”
“Don’t forget pirate,” she said, glaring. “That’s the most accurate description of all, isn’t it?”
An uncomfortable moment ticked by. “Why?”
“Because that is what you are. Admit the truth at last, Riel.”
“I am no pirate.”
“You lie.” She struggled again, hard and viciously. It surprised him, for she slipped free. It was also so unexpected that she stumbled to her knees. She sprang to her feet again, but he was already before her, blocking her path.
“Don’t touch me,” she whispered, backing away. “I cannot bear it. You tricked my father! How could he have trusted you?”
“Who has told you lies about me? Lord Humphrey?”
“The only lies told are the ones said by you! You say you do legitimate work for the Navy, but that is a lie too, isn’t it?”
“You think your father boarded my vessel and took part in pirating activities?” Disbelief cut through his harsh voice.
“No. But before my father boarded your ship, what were you? A privateer. You admitted as much yourself.”
“Yes.” His tone sounded guarded. “But I do not…”
“Lord Humphrey remedied my ignorance about the nature of privateers. Apparently, they are greedy opportunists. Under the full champion of the British flag they devour French merchant ships. All who dare try to stop their plundering are killed. And their cargos…French cargos…are stolen and used to fill the coin coffers of the privateer owners.”
“I have done none of those things.”
“So you say.” How could she possibly believe one word he said to her? She knew he kept secrets. How could she possibly trust him? “Do you know what I find most despicable?”
He did not answer; hopefully reeling from her well-placed blows to his crumbling fortress of lies.
“You are French,” she hissed. “How could you attack and steal from your own countrymen?”
“I fight against Napoleon. He is no friend of my family.”
“Your English family, or your French family?”
“Neither!” His voice whipped. “Did you know Napoleon sided with the Jacobins during the Reign of Terror?”
“Yes.” Lucinda knew a little about that bit of history. “But he did not take part in the killings, did he?”
“It does not matter. He favored the blood bath in the name of ‘order.’ My grandfather and uncles were executed then. If you want to point to a bloody opportunist, look to Napoleon. He is no friend of my family. He is a war mongering dictator, and with the help of Joseph Fouché instituted a police state in France. I could say more,” he said grimly. “But that is enough.”
So that explained why he fought on the side of the British. It did not explain, however, his activities aboard his privateer ship. “I understand. Still, it remains that you are little more than a pirate. Perhaps that is why you can afford a townhouse in London. And how you can own your own ship.”
“I do not steal…”
“Never? Tell me you have never stolen in your entire life.”
He did not answer.
Lucinda felt a sickened stab of victory. Surprisingly, it hurt, like a knife through her own heart. “I have proven my point. Stop pretending to be a man you are not. I know the truth.”
He closed the distance between them. “I am not a thief, nor a pirate.” His harsh voice shook with suppressed emotion. “You speak of things you know nothing about, Lucinda. You slander my character based on a few words from a weasel such as Humphrey.”
“He merely stated facts…”
“Facts that do not pertain to me!”
Lucinda’s heart pounded, and for a minute she did not know what to say next. He had refuted every one of her arguments. He said he was not a pirate. Or a thief. Was she to believe him now? Part of her did believe him, heaven help her. Was he telling her the truth?
It didn’t matter. Too much was at stake. She could not trust him with Ravensbrook, for an error in judgment on her part right now could dearly cost not only herself, but Ravensbrook, and everyone else on her estate.
Much as it sickened her to twist the knife home when she was uncertain of her facts, now was her final and best opportunity to drive him off for good; to make him hate her as she surely should hate him. Guilty or not, he would despise her next words. “I will not believe you until you provide proof.”
“How am I to provide proof?”
“It is impossible, isn’t it?” She let that sink in. “Just as it is impossible that I will allow a man such as yourself to run Ravensbrook. Leave now, Mr. Montclair. Let this be the end of our unsavory acquaintance.”
She sensed, rather than saw his hands clench into fists. She stood still, waiting. He could hit her, or he could leave. The first was an extreme measure she steeled herself to endure. Either way, a triumph.
Long seconds ticked by. Trepidation, and also an unwelcome pinch of shame coursed through her. She could well be falsely accusing him of deeds of which he was innocent. And yet here she was, levering possible untruths to pry him out of her life. Did the end justify the means? In that moment, she just did not know.
Finally, his voice came quietly through the night. “Stable your horse, Lucinda.”
Uncertainly, she wavered, trying to read his expression. Was he giving up? Was this his last request to her? At last, without a word, she did as he bid.
After Old Ben was safely in his stall, she discovered Riel waiting for her. The sliver of the moon, now shining above the trees, gilded his powerful black frame in silver.
He said, “Promise me you will not take your horse out again at night.”
Lucinda stood very still. Who was he, to be making demands? “I promise you nothing.”
“I am not leaving Ravensbrook, Lucinda.” Determination bit through that low tone. “And if you ride your animal at night you will know the consequence. I will not let a foolish girl be the death of herself or her horse.”
Each of his words hit her like a punch to her heart. She had failed. He was not
leaving, after all.
“No documents have been signed, Mr. Montclair. You are not lord over me yet. By Friday you will be gone.”
“We will see, Lucy. We will see.”
He walked beside her back to the mansion; a dark, unsettling presence. Anger simmered in him. She sensed it as palpably as her own heartbeat. Yet still he had not snapped. Still he insisted upon staying. Why? Why would he choose to remain?
Except to keep his word to her father.
An honorable act.
When they neared the house, Lucinda hurried ahead of Riel, not wanting to see him any longer. She felt disturbed—even ashamed by her accusations. Was he innocent, after all?
On the other hand, he was angry with her. Hadn’t she achieved her ultimate goal, then? To infuriate him more and more—step by step—so he’d ride off and never return?
Lucinda hadn’t known her small bit of victory could feel so empty. Her acquaintanceship with Riel Montclair was tearing her up inside; more with every passing hour. The end could not come soon enough.
Chapter Seven
Thursday morning Lucinda awoke late. The reception had gone on past midnight last night, and she had collapsed in bed exhausted, both physically and emotionally, at one a.m.
The funeral was over, and her father buried.
Pressure built in her eyes, but she did not cry. Last night she had cried enough for a lifetime.
After a long while, she rang for Effie to help her dress.
A disturbing idea, half-remembered from her restless dreams, returned as she readied for the day. She considered it, and then expanded upon it. Hope flickered, but mixed with a healthy dose of fear. Yes. It was the perfect plan to rid herself of Riel Montclair forever. Today was her last chance to convince him to leave.
Lucinda had no desire to see Riel this morning. Not yet. He was the chief reason why she’d gone to bed so distraught last night. The man disturbed her every second she was near him. For the remainder of the evening, she had sensed his gaze upon her, watching to be sure she didn’t run off and attempt any more foolishness. It irritated the part of her that cherished her independence and freedom. The part that did not want a guardian of any kind.
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