The Pirate's Desire

by Jennette Green

  Amelia plucked at Lucinda’s arm. “Where’s your beastly guardian? I’d love to meet him.” Amelia and her family had been on holiday during Lucinda’s father’s funeral.

  “Doubtless he’s about somewhere,” Lucinda said dismissively.

  “What does he look like?” Amelia pressed.

  Lucinda sighed. “He’s hard to miss. He’s big, with long black hair, like a pirate. His manners are frequently as atrocious.”

  Amelia snorted with delight. “He sounds a peach. Let’s find him.”

  “Before you go,” the Duke of Warrington spoke behind them, and Lucinda turned, embarrassed that she’d rudely ignored a duke. “If you would be so kind, Lady Lucinda, I would love the honor of a dance later this evening.”

  Lucinda promptly extended her dance card. “Take two slots,” she encouraged, and then realized how that sounded. “I mean,” she said hastily, “only if you wish, of course, your grace.” She’d been on a tear all evening, cajoling dances from all the young men she knew. Four slots remained, and she was determined to avoid Riel until every last one was taken.

  The Duke smiled and wrote on her card. “I would be pleased to accept two from the most beautiful lady in the room…besides Amelia, of course.” Amelia rolled her eyes at this. “And please call me Jonathon.” His wonderful eyes held hers, telling her he truly meant his words. Lucinda flushed, and felt a little giddy. Clearly he was the most highly titled man in the room—besides Riel, if one could count his French title—and Jonathon found her attractive. With a smile, he moved away, weaving his tall, well-formed body through the guests, heading in the direction of the punch bowl.

  Lucinda gave a low squeal. “You do not have a duke for a cousin.”

  Amelia smiled. “I do, and he’s as nice as he looks, too. Not that I know him all that well. He’s one of the distant relations that show up for Christmas and the like every five years or so.”

  “Still.”

  “Show me your pirate.”

  Lucinda’s nerves prickled up and she knew Riel stood right behind her. She tucked her dance card up her sleeve and turned with a smile. “Well, aren’t we fortunate? Here he is now.”

  Amelia’s eyes widened a bit, and then narrowed when she turned and saw Riel. She extended her hand. “I am Lady Amelia.”

  “Riel Montclair, Baron of Iveny, at your service.” He bowed over her hand.

  Amelia flicked Lucinda a glance, eyebrow arched. “It seems Lucinda led me astray. You are well mannered.”

  He smiled. “I am pleased someone thinks so.”

  Lucinda took Amelia’s arm. “We were just heading to the punch table.”

  Her friend refused to budge. “You’ve been so eager to fill up your dance card, Lucinda. Perhaps Lord Iveny would care to take a dance.”

  Lucinda shot daggers at her friend. “No, Amelia. Mr. Montclair is…”

  “Fortunate to catch you with slots still remaining. It would also be my pleasure, Lady Amelia, if I could sign your card, as well.”

  “Well.” Amelia offered a crooked smile. “I would be pleased, too. Thank you, Lord Iveny.”

  Riel signed for one of Amelia’s dances and while he did so, Lucinda edged away. When Riel offered Amelia a compliment on her gown, Lucinda crept further afield, and then darted for the punch table, abandoning her friend. With a trembling hand, she poured punch into a crystal glass. Goodness. That had been a close call. Two more slots to fill. Whom could she apprehend next?

  She scanned the room, noting that Riel still spoke to Amelia. Good. It gave her more time to find her next unwitting dance partner. Her eyes lit upon a friend’s twin brother. So what if he was only sixteen? He would do. With a grin, she made haste for Timothy.

  Blond-haired Timothy reluctantly signed for a country dance; reluctant only because he couldn’t dance well, he told her. Otherwise, he’d be pleased to dance two dances with her, he vowed. His milk chocolate eyes shone with puppy-like adoration.

  One to go. Lucinda skirted a clump of elderly matrons and hugged the edge of the ballroom, looking for her next victim. From this vantage point, she could see that everyone enjoyed themselves enormously. A success, then. She and Sophie could feel proud.

  Sophie had given her wisdom on all the little elements that would make the party a smashing success—crystal glasses, the lightest confections, the best music, and beautiful linens. Everything had been polished until it shone; chandeliers, the wooden floor…everything. Ravensbrook had never looked so grand, and everyone seemed to be loving it.

  However, Lucinda sighed now with frustration. Surely there were more eligible young men! Where was Harry, the eldest son of an earl who lived on the other side of the village?

  Maybe his cough had returned.

  With a frown, Lucinda stood on tiptoe and scanned the room. Plenty of old men. Strike those.

  Her dance card was plucked from her fingers. “One slot left, I see,” Riel said, and with bold strokes claimed the last dance.

  Lucinda gasped with outrage. “I don’t remember being asked, Mr. Montclair! Is this how nobility behaves in France?”

  “It is how a pirate behaves.” He smiled, showing his teeth. “And that is what you think of me, isn’t it? Your friend Amelia has been most forthcoming.”

  The traitor. “You have always known what I think of you. It’s been no secret.”

  “Until the waltz, Lucy.” And then he was gone.

  Lucinda frowned down at her dance card. Filled now, to be sure. If only she could strike through his name. And he’d taken the waltz! The closest, most intimate dance of all. It was still considered scandalous by some. And it was the last dance of the night. He did want to get on her last nerve. He was deliberately trying to irk her! She growled beneath her breath.

  “I see Lord Iveny found you.” Amelia peered at Lucinda’s dance card.

  “Thanks so much. Did you steer him to me?”

  Amelia smiled. “You really have a thing for him, don’t you?”

  Lucinda choked on a gasp. “I do not have any thing for him. He drives me absolutely up the wall and down the other side.”

  Amelia grinned. “He can’t be all bad. He’s put a definite sparkle in your eyes.”

  “A sparkle of rage,” Lucinda informed her. “For a far more pleasant sparkle, I would look upon your cousin, the Duke.”

  “Have you any suggestions who might sign my dance card? The pickings look slim tonight.”

  “Try Timothy. He signed mine.”

  Both Amelia and Lucinda burst into rueful giggles. “You must be desperate,” Amelia said. “But so am I. Wish me luck.” She made her way over to young Lord Fenwick.

  * * * * *

  The Duke of Warrington was a sublime partner. He whirled with Lucinda through the steps of the Scottish reel, his movements smooth and graceful. Her heart pounded quite deliciously by the end.

  He led her off the dance floor. “I’m parched. How about you?”

  Lucinda agreed that she could use a sip of punch, and so he crooked his arm, which she happily took. After pouring a splash into each cup, he looked down at her with a surprised, considering smile. “You are an unexpected treasure to find in the wilds of the country. Had I known you were here, I would have wrangled an invitation to visit my relatives much sooner.”

  Flattered, Lucinda wondered if he truly meant those words, or if he was a rake of the first order. Amelia had said she didn’t know him that well. And how old was he? Likely about twenty-four. She sipped her drink to cover the uncertain flutters his words caused within her. “Do you often make it to the ton for the Season, Duke?”

  He cast her a wicked, charming smile. “Call me Jonathon. And I live in London. May I be so bold to call you Lucinda?”

  Goodness, he was smooth, and moved so very quickly. Lucinda knew she was still inexperienced with men, and wondered what seasoned girls might say to him. She offered a calm, hopefully sophisticated smile. “I would be pleased if you would.”

  “Good.” He grinned still
more. “Would you like to go somewhere and talk for a while?”

  Unease flickered through her. “Well…”

  “Lady Lucinda’s dance card is full.” Riel spoke from behind her. “She would not like to disappoint the next gentleman in line.”

  Much as Lucinda felt a bit of relief at Riel’s intervention, she also felt a smidge of annoyance. However, she would not snipe at Riel in front of Jonathon, for she had no wish to appear like a child before the very handsome Duke of Warrington. Instead, she affixed a serene smile upon her lips. “Jonathon, have you met my guardian, Riel Montclair, Baron of Iveny?”

  “Can’t say that I have.” Jonathon offered his hand, and the two men shook. It seemed a bit firm on both parts, if the white knuckles were to be believed. “I’m the Duke of Warrington. Call me Jonathon.”

  The Baron stiffened, ever so slightly. “Riel.”

  The two men eyed each other for a long moment, and then a puzzled frown flickered across Jonathon’s features. “Have we met before…Riel?”

  Beside her, Lucinda sensed the palpable tension in Riel’s large body. A glance up revealed no expression on his face, however. “I doubt that, Duke. I do not move in the circles of the London gentry. I own a ship and spend most of my time on the sea.”

  “Oh.” The tiny frown lingered, then cleared. “I must have you mixed up with someone else.”

  But who? Lucinda had never before met a man as distinctive as Riel. Truly, he was one of a kind. Perhaps in the past Jonathon had met someone with similar features. Perhaps. But she couldn’t forget the way Riel had stiffened. Had he recognized Jonathon? If so, why would he deny it?

  The next man on her dance card arrived to claim the quadrille, and with reluctance she bid farewell to Jonathon.

  “Until our next dance,” he told her with a mischievous twinkle.

  The rest of the evening whirled by in a merry jumble of dances. Lucinda was pleased to see that her friend Amelia did not lack for dance partners. Riel danced with her twice, as did Jonathon. She also noticed that Sophie appeared to be having a wonderful time talking to new friends. Lucinda stopped by a number of times to see if Sophie needed anything, and spent a few minutes chatting with her until the next man came to ask for his dance.

  Lucinda suffered through the country dance with young, clumsy Timothy, then another thrilling twirl about the room with Jonathon. Afterward, servants extinguished a few lights, and older people shuffled for the door. It was time for the last dance. The waltz. Riel’s dance.

  Lucinda saw his dark head move across the room and felt like a mouse about to be pounced upon by a cat. Couldn’t she escape? Must she suffer one dance in his arms? She cast a quick, longing glance toward the exit.

  Amelia appeared by her side. “You’re not going to run out on your last dance, are you?” she said with a sharp, amused glance. “If anyone has reason, it would be me. I hear young Timothy smashes toes.”

  “He does,” Lucinda agreed ruefully. Thankfully, the smarting had eased several dances ago.

  “The Baron is a fine dancer,” Amelia said. “I think there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

  How well Lucinda knew this! “He’s owns another title, actually…in France.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to tell her friend this.

  “He’s French?”

  “Half French and half English. He chose the English title because the French Revolution abolished all aristocratic titles.” At Amelia’s arched, inquiring brow, she elaborated, “He would be the Duke of Montclair.”

  “A Duke in your very own house. And you felt so impressed with Jonathon.”

  “Jonathon is different,” Lucinda said defensively. “Riel… I don’t think either title means anything to him.”

  Amelia watched him zigzag closer. “I believe you are right. The Baron is his own man.”

  Was that a sparkle of admiration in her friend’s eyes? Lucinda felt an uncomfortable twinge of alarm. “You don’t find him…interesting, do you?”

  Amelia smiled slowly. “I will leave that fascinating man to you.”

  Lucinda felt disconcerted. “That is not what I meant at all!”

  “Isn’t it?” With a knowing smile, Amelia glided across the floor. “It’s time to collect my last dance from young Timothy.”

  Where was Riel now? Lucinda glanced back and forth, still flirting with the idea of making her escape, when she felt a hand on her elbow.

  “You are not planning to stand me up, are you, Lucy?” The deep voice stirred her nerve endings.

  “I thought I might take a breath of air.”

  “It is snowing.”

  “It is?” Lucinda shivered, despite herself.

  The band struck up the strains of a beautiful waltz.

  “Lady Lucinda.” Riel extended his hand, and reluctantly, she took it. It felt warm and strong, and a bit calloused, too. The next moment she was in his arms, with one hand clasped in his and the other resting on his shoulder. The fine fabric of his tailored jacket could not hide the hard muscle beneath. Her heart beat erratically. Upon her waist, Lucinda felt the imprint of each of his fingers. They seemed to sizzle into her flesh.

  The man unnerved her. More so, it seemed, the closer she got to him.

  Riel led her with unexpected grace across the dance floor.

  “You dance well, for a pirate,” Lucinda told him, feeling the need to jar the uncomfortable closeness between them.

  He chuckled. “Perhaps I am not the thorough barbarian you believe me to be.”

  “Oh, you are. Of that I am sure, Mr. Montclair…your titles of Baron and Duke not withstanding.”

  “Sophie told you.”

  “Of course. Do titles mean so little to you?”

  He remained silent for a few moments. “They are not what make a man. Character, honor and integrity do.”

  “And you possess the full measure of each?”

  His half smile looked surprisingly self-deprecating. “I try, Lucy. But I know you’ll believe what you will. You seem to prefer to look upon me as the devil incarnate.”

  “I do not.” Lucinda felt aghast.

  “Then how do you see me? Not with favor. You have made that clear from the first day we met.”

  Lucinda searched for words to describe what she felt for the man who held her so close that she felt very aware of every point where their bodies connected, and of his dark gaze that tangled with her own, demanding her full attention.

  “I think you are wonderful to Sophie.” Lucinda admitted. At the same time, she didn’t want to go overboard and stroke his all confident ego, either. “But to me…your manners leave much to be desired.”

  He pulled her a fraction closer as they went into a turn. Lucinda’s heart beat faster as she caught a waft of the clean scent of his skin. The warmth of his body seemed to seep deep into her pores.

  Riel said in a quiet, low voice, “And are your manners perfectly impeccable?”

  “What?” Flustered, Lucinda couldn’t seem to remember their topic of conversation.

  His midnight eyes narrowed, and his lips twitched. “You are not wool gathering, are you, Lucy?”

  Lucinda flushed. “No. I…I am thinking on matters of other import.”

  “Such as?”

  She grasped for a new topic. “Such as why Jonathon thinks he’s met you before. And you became tense when he asked. Why?”

  He smiled. “How quickly you change the subject.”

  “Answer my question.”

  “If I have met Jonathon before, I do not remember him.”

  He told her the truth; she could see it in his eyes. Then why had he stiffened when Jonathon asked if they’d met? Perhaps he felt wary of anyone who might know some corner of his dark secret. “What are you hiding, Riel Montclair?”

  His hooded gaze looked contemplative. “So little trust between us. Perhaps we should focus on the present, and your future. That is all that is important to me.”

  “The past does not matter?”

&nbs
p; “All that matters is I will see you safely married. And then you need never see me again.”

  His statement hit her like an unexpected blow. “You eagerly await that day, as well?”

  “I look forward to the day when we can finally have peace between us.”

  “I have not been fighting you.”

  “No? You still do not want me here. You don’t want me to be your guardian. It’s written all over your face. You ran away so I could not sign your dance card.”

  “But you pursued me and signed it anyway!” she returned with asperity.

  “Are you displeased?”

  Her face warmed, and she found she could not meet his eyes. “Of course I am displeased. I am forced to dance with a pirate. What girl could want that?”

  “Not you, Lucy?”

  Her eyes finally met his. Cheeks warm, she bit her lip. “If I must, I can endure the horror of it.”

  He drew her close as the waltz slowed to a stop. In her ear, he said, “Good night.” His warm breath fluttered inside that delicate instrument, and then abruptly he turned and was gone. Lucinda stood still, trembling, and watched his broad back disappear into the crowd.

  * * * * *

  Riel could not sleep for long hours after retiring to his room. He paced the chamber, feeling restless and edgy. It disturbed him, more deeply than pleased him, that Lucy still clearly disliked him. Hadn’t he come to Ravensbrook expecting more battles with her? And yet it had not started out that way at all.

  His mind replayed the way she’d involuntarily greeted him. His insides tightened, thinking of it. Their conversations had been civil, too, for the most part. And he’d enjoyed her feisty confrontations. He’d begun to think she might like him a little, and it had felt good.

  But when Lucy had stated that dancing with him was a horror she could barely tolerate, it had cut, like the flay of a cat-o-nine tails.

  Lucy did think of him only as a pirate. Beneath contempt.

  Riel shoved a fist against his temple, feeling the old condemnation struggle for control in his soul once again. And the old doubt, too, tried to slither in like a snake.

  Truly, was he little more than a pirate? At heart, was he no more than the failure he’d been all those years ago? He had been unable to save anyone then. Only Peter Hastings had saved his sorry hide from the gallows.