The Pirate's Desire

by Jennette Green

  He smiled. “Exactly. Pack up. We’ll leave day after tomorrow.”

  “But I have no new dresses!” Still, Lucinda dug in her heels.

  “We will commission several made the moment we reach London. They will be my birthday gift to you.”

  Lucinda blinked. An extravagant birthday gift, and highly inappropriate, too. “It’s not fitting for a man to buy a woman a dress…unless she is his wife.” She then blushed hotly. Why had she said such a thing, and why did she blush so? It mortified her, but she glared at him, trying to hide it.

  “I am your guardian. It is my job to see that your needs are provided.” A faint grin tugged at his lips.

  Aggravated, she said, “And you care nothing about social mores, do you? Pirate that you are!”

  “I am a barbarian through and through, Lucy. It is the man I have become, and the man I will remain.” His own man, in other words, and one who refused to be swayed by society’s persnickety rules. A dangerous man, then, for Lucinda never knew what to expect from him.

  “Finally, you admit it.” Frustrated beyond measure, she impulsively goaded, “Will you also admit to the deep, dark secrets of your past?”

  His muscular shoulders stiffened slightly. “The past is of no concern to you. Only your future matters. And I will happily guide your steps until you find a man worthy of you.”

  “Hmph. We will see about that.”

  Riel smiled. “Yes, we will.” He turned on his heel and left her there, steaming.

  Must he always have the last word? Not in the final, ultimate battle, Lucinda determined. She would choose her own husband. Riel’s qualifications for “suitability” would not stop her from marrying the man she loved…a man of her own choosing.

  And one thing was for certain. That man would be nothing like Riel Montclair. Her husband would be kind and caring, and eager to grant her every wish. This was the type of man she desired. All bossy, arrogant men would be struck from her list.

  Chapter Sixteen

  London was already in a social whirl when they arrived in mid-April. News of Napoleon Bonaparte’s recent defeat added an air of gaiety to the entire town. Lucinda felt relieved, because it meant Riel would not need to sail on any more dangerous missions. He would not leave again, and she was glad. For Sophie’s sake, of course. And the Silk Scarf Rapist had not struck since last year. All of London had relaxed and now enjoyed the entertaining Season.

  Lucinda found Riel’s townhouse to be large and comfortable, and she loved her room, decorated in creams and lace with accents of pale yellow. Fresh yellow daisies filled a vase on her dresser. A similar bouquet graced the dresser in Sophie’s room, which was decorated in crisp whites with sprigs of blue. It suited her to a “T.”

  The trip had been difficult for Riel’s great-aunt, but she seemed no worse now than at Iveny. Lucinda was grateful for that, too, and she found herself looking forward to the first tea party, which would be late that very afternoon. Amelia and her mother would attend, as well.

  First, though, Lucinda had an appointment this morning with the modiste. As she’d decided to order all of her gowns at once, the appointment would take some time. Of course, Sophie couldn’t come, so it was just Riel and Lucinda in the carriage…most improper, of course, but Effie had a stomach bug, so there was no help for it.

  Lucinda felt very self-conscious as Riel opened the door for her to enter Madame Batiste’s modiste shop. It seemed most inappropriate for him to be there—as if he were her husband. In truth, that’s what she feared Madame Batiste would think.

  The modiste’s initial greeting alarmingly confirmed this fear. The stout woman wore her black hair upswept in an intricate, tangled do. Her glasses dangled from a cord around her neck and bumped against her ample bosom as she hurried forward to greet them. “Madame, Monsieur Montclair. Entre, s’il vous plaît!”

  French had been one of Lucinda’s better subjects at Miss May’s, so she understood Madame Batiste all too clearly. Her face flamed. “Non,” she said quickly. “Monsieur Montclair…”

  “Is happy to help my lady choose her dresses,” Riel interjected smoothly, and directed a surprisingly charming smile at the modiste.

  Madame Batiste beamed. “But of course. And you have need of how many gowns, my lady?” she fixed black, beady eyes upon Lucinda.

  “Eight,” she said faintly.

  “Bon. Sit, sit.” She hurried through a dark doorway.

  Lucinda sat beside Riel on a small wicker bench. Her face felt hot, and she hissed, “Why did you let her think that we’re…we’re…” She couldn’t say the word.

  “I believed it would make you feel more comfortable.”

  “More comfortable?” Lucinda edged away from his large, disturbing body. “Yes. I am truly comfortable now, pretending a great pirate like you is my husband!”

  “I fail your requirements?” She did not care for his smile. He enjoyed this, the wolf!

  “I believe honesty is the best policy.”

  “As do I. But you do not wish to endure Madame Batiste’s disapproving glances and wagging tongue throughout this entire ordeal, do you?”

  “Of course not. But…”

  “I will tell her I am your guardian, if you wish. Madame Batiste…” That good lady had returned. “Lady Lucinda would like to make one thing quite clear…”

  “Yes!” Lucinda interjected quickly. “I want no black or brown colors. They are drab, and I despise them.” She felt Riel’s amused glance, but ignored him.

  “Of course, Madame.” Madame Batiste elevated her nose. “I would not dream of such colors for your complexion. You are best suited for blues and yellows and pinks. All in the pastel hues, of course.”

  “Of course,” Lucinda said. She had never met a modiste so certain of herself. To believe her airs, she’d just arrived from the fashion capital of Paris. “What gowns are fashionable this Season?”

  The modiste and her helper presented an array of plates showing different gowns. Afterward, the French modiste drew Lucinda’s attention to a few sample gowns on display in her shop. Several appealed to Lucinda, so Madame Batiste urged her to try them on. She said she would tuck them up with pins so Lucinda could see what they’d look like, fitted to her form.

  Lucinda did not like the first one she tried on, but Mrs. Batiste nodded in approval of the second. Pins prickled from her lips as she nipped and tucked the garment to fit Lucinda. At last, she nodded with approval. “Show your husband, Lady Lucinda. I am sure it will please him.”

  Lucinda couldn’t very well say she didn’t care what her “husband” thought. She’d taken the easy route, and chosen a lie of omission. This would be her punishment for her sins, then; parading her entire wardrobe before his untutored, pirate eyes. What did he know of fashion?

  Holding her head high, she exited the dressing area and swept in state before Riel. “What do you think?”

  She didn’t think he would pay the slightest attention. Clearly, fashion meant little to him. Yes, he seemed to possess several fine new jackets, but the rest of his wardrobe remained the same. Tan pants, white linen shirts, and black boots.

  To her surprise, Riel’s eyes raked down her form, as if inspecting a potential new scow. Nerves prickled up over her skin…over every place his gaze touched.

  “The lines become you,” he told her, and his dark eyes met her own. A flare of heat scorched her at the barely veiled compliment. “Perhaps gold would suit for this dress. It looks like an evening gown.”

  “Exactly as I thought!” crowed Madame Batiste. Her lips curled into a smug, cat who’d found the canary smile. “You are lucky to have a husband with a keen eye for what suits you best. Come. Try another gown.”

  Lucinda tried on six gowns, and approved six plates. She liked ten in all, but Riel praised eight the most highly. Although she wasn’t sure why she craved his approval, she narrowed her choices to the eight they both liked. Riel said little while she discussed colors and fabrics with the modiste. He seemed satisfied
with the gowns she had chosen, and that seemed to be enough for him.

  Madame Batiste appeared extraordinarily pleased with the large order, especially when Riel paid half of the amount immediately. She escorted them from the shop with a beaming smile and a promise that the first would be ready in a few days.

  Lucinda felt pleased with her purchases and bounced into the carriage with a dreamy smile curving her lips. She imagined wearing her new gowns to the upcoming balls and fêtes.

  “You will capture the eye of every eligible bachelor in town,” Riel said. He sat across from her, with his long legs stretched out before him. His black boots just missed the edge of her gown, and Lucinda’s heart thumped once, hard, in her breast. Why must his close presence always affect her so?

  “The more suitors, the better,” she returned. “I want to find a husband in the next few months.”

  Silence elapsed. “Then I will have my work cut out for me.”

  “What do you plan to do?” A tiny frown furrowed Lucinda’s brow. “I will do all of the work. I will dance and chat with them to see who is most suitable for me.”

  “But I must check their backgrounds. You do not want to be pursued only for your money, do you?”

  Taken aback, she said, “I am not rich, Riel. Remember, I’ve seen the accounts. Why would you say such a thing?”

  “You see only the stipend your father’s trust pays the estate each month.”

  She blinked, confused. “What are you saying?”

  Riel named a sum that the bank held on her behalf, as well as investments and other properties her father owned. “It will all be yours when you marry, Lucy. It’s my job to make sure you marry a man not only worthy of you, but a man competent to run a vast estate like Ravensbrook.”

  Lucinda gasped. “Truly, Riel? All that money will be mine when I marry?”

  “Yes.”

  She tried to digest this new, overwhelming revelation. Now she understood why Riel felt so responsible for her, and determined to honor his oath to her father.

  “Thank you for telling me. I will keep that information in mind while I search for my husband.

  “That is why I will help you choose. You will have no second chance if you choose wrong the first time.”

  “I will listen to your opinion,” Lucinda agreed. “But know this, Mr. Montclair. I will choose my husband. Not you.”

  “I will approve of him, or you will not marry.”

  Hard-headed, as always. Lucinda sent him a narrowed look, but pressed her lips together and said nothing. Words held no sway over Riel Montclair. Actions would prove her ultimate victory. Then Riel would finally comprehend that she was the captain of her own fate. Not him.

  * * * * *

  Lucinda’s first gown, a light blue, silk organza confection with silver threads, was ready in time for her first ball of the Season. She had enjoyed several tea parties, but she disliked sitting still for long periods of time at those affairs. She’d much rather dance. And far more possibilities for husbands lurked at the balls. Heaven knew, she needed to find an acceptable man within the next few months. At least, she did if she wanted Riel Montclair out of her life by her twentieth birthday. And she did, of course.

  Butterflies danced in Lucinda’s stomach when they arrived at the ball. This was the Season she’d looked forward to for her entire life; the sparkling one, where she’d at last meet her perfect man and fall in love. Now only to find him.

  “Isn’t it marvelous?” Amelia said. “Look at all the new people here this year.” She looked pretty in a lavender satin dress with lace appointments. Several men had already signed Amelia’s dance card.

  Lucinda had tucked her card up her sleeve. She’d rather choose the men she danced with this evening. That meant flitting to the ones she most wanted to become acquainted with, and demurely batting her eyelashes. Perhaps it wasn’t proper, but was definitely more fun. She felt encouraged by all the new faces, too. Perhaps she’d find her future husband this very night!

  “Come with me,” she hissed. With a tug at Amelia’s arm, she scooted in the direction of a tall young man neither had seen last year. “Get your card ready.”

  With a wry smile, Amelia trotted in her wake. “What would the Baron think of your behavior now, Lucinda?”

  “Does it matter? He’s outside talking to a shipping magnate.” She planted herself in front of the new young man. “La.” Lucinda fluttered her fan. “Oh! I beg your pardon. I thought I had made your acquaintance last year. Please, do excuse me!”

  The young man grinned and bowed. “But I am pleased to make your acquaintance now. I am the Earl of Hart, Donald Tinsley.”

  Lucinda charmingly introduced both herself and Amelia, and secured that fine gentleman’s signature upon both of their dance cards.

  “See?” she giggled, and hurried on. To her surprise, a male hand plucked the card from her hand.

  “Aha!” The Duke of Warrington’s green eyes laughed down at her. “You have left only six dances for me, Lady Lucinda. I assure you, that will not be enough.”

  “Jonathon!” With pleasure, the breath caught in her throat as she gazed up at the charming rake she hadn’t seen in a year. As always, his chestnut hair was styled in the latest fashion, and his tailored clothes impeccable. “You may take two dances, if you so insist.”

  “Two?” He tsked over that, and signed his name with flourish to her card, and then Amelia’s. Then he cupped Lucinda’s elbow. “If I may steal your friend, cousin?” And then he steered her to the punch table. “Where have you kept yourself this past year?” he asked, filling a crystal cup.

  “I’ve been mostly at Iveny with Aunt Sophie. Her health is not good.”

  “The Baron’s aunt? Is your charming guardian in attendance this year? Or will you require my protective services again?”

  “I am here, Warrington.” Riel’s deep voice commanded their attention, and a small frown furrowed Jonathon’s brow.

  “Splendid. Then I may relax and enjoy Lucinda’s company. Our two dances this evening will be a start.”

  “Have you any slots left, Lucy?”

  “A few.” Reluctantly, she handed her card to Riel, who signed his name. To the last dance, she noted with a touch of exasperation. Thankfully not a waltz this time, but rather a quadrille.

  Jonathon eyed Riel. A pensive expression narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure we didn’t meet years ago, Montclair? Seeing you again, I feel certain you’re familiar to me.”

  Tension stiffened Riel’s large frame. His assessing—perhaps wary—gaze settled on Jonathon. “Not likely. I’ve spent most of my life at sea.”

  “Where?” The cruel twist to Jonathon’s mouth indicated he knew that he’d made Riel feel uncomfortable.

  Did he relish it? Lucinda felt disturbed, for it seemed so. Certainly, there was no love lost between the two men. Riel disliked Jonathon for some unknown reason, and Jonathon clearly resented it.

  Riel shrugged. “All about. The Mediterranean, Italy, Spain.”

  Jonathon shook his head. His eyes glinted a cold, dark jade. “Perhaps somewhere else.”

  “I think not.” Riel’s cool voice sounded final.

  Lucinda glanced from one to the other, and wondered about the strange tension thrumming from Riel again—like the last time Jonathon had asked that same question. Had Jonathon indeed seen Riel before? But where? And why would the idea disturb Riel?

  “Perhaps you are right.” Jonathon glanced at Lucinda, and his usual charm chased the darkness from his eyes. “Would you like a glass of punch before the dance begins?”

  “Perhaps a sip of water.” Jonathon cut between herself and Riel, and with a light touch at her back directed her to the crystal pitcher filled with water. Lucinda felt it was a rude dismissal of Riel, and sent him an apologetic look over her shoulder. He watched Jonathon, his black eyes hard.

  Her first dance partner claimed her hand soon after, and then more young men, including the questionable Fredrick from last year, asked t
o sign her dance card, and she allowed them. Evidently Amelia had decided to give Fredrick another chance, too, for she presently danced with that young man. Fredrick had gained a little weight over the past year, and the beginning of jowls softened the jaw line of his handsome face.

  Jonathon claimed the supper dance. Lucinda was happy to see he’d returned to his usual, thoroughly charming self.

  At the end of the meal, she brought up the question that had been bothering her all evening. She didn’t want to resurrect the previous unpleasantness, but she did need to know the truth. “Do you truly think you’ve met Mr. Montclair before?”

  “I do.” Jonathon frowned. “But I can’t recall where. I haven’t visited any of the places he listed.”

  “He sailed the Barbary Coast, too,” Lucinda said, finishing her sorbet. “I think he was only seventeen then. It was a long time ago.”

  “Truly?” Jonathon’s brows shot upward. “I lived in Morocco with my parents when I was thirteen. My father was a foreign diplomat. Perhaps I saw him there.” His eyes narrowed and hardened, as if trying to see into the past.

  Lucinda wondered why Jonathon kept insisting he’d seen Riel before. It sounded so…unsavory. As if Jonathon desired to remember something unpleasant. Her brow wrinkled. Surely Jonathon was mistaken. He must be remembering someone else. Riel was honorable. He’d never take part in anything evil or distasteful. Would he?

  Jonathon looked up and saw the expression on Lucinda’s face. “Come now,” he said, and his thinned lips relaxed into a smile. “I’m sure it is nothing. The music has begun. Shall we dance?”

  With a relieved return smile, Lucinda took his arm. See, it’s nothing, she told herself. Jonathon remembered nothing, because there was nothing to remember.

  Lucinda enjoyed herself thoroughly at the first ball of the Season, and danced with quite a few new young men. While most seemed pleasant, many of them seemed more interested in talking about themselves than asking questions of her. However, a good number expressed hope that they’d see her at the next soirée. With this, Lucinda had to be content. To her count, perhaps five men might be interested in her.