Sexual Hunger

by Melissa MacNeal

  “Yes, he is. But it’s the subject that leaves one unable to look away—or to catch his breath.”

  This was getting awkward! Maria concentrated on the succession of twirls he led her through, almost as though he didn’t want her to think too much about what he said of his sons. “You flatter me, Lord—”

  “No, my dear, for once I’m enjoying a topic of conversation that brings me great pleasure.” He pulled her closer to execute the next steps, which swayed forward and back before he again led her into a trio of turns. “I haven’t danced like this in years. Thank you for indulging me, Maria.”

  “You’re welcome, milord. I—”

  “Lord Darington! Phillip, Lord Darington, where are you, sir?”

  All turned at the urgent tone of the Galsworthys’ butler as he searched the crowd. “Far side of the orchestra!” someone called out. “Dancing with Miss Palladino, he is!”

  Maria’s partner stood taller, pulling her protectively against his body. The music came to a disjointed halt as each musician followed this development. The ballroom became silent.

  “Begging your pardon, milord,” Cleaver puffed as he trotted toward them. “The courier insisted this message was of utmost importance! A telegram, it is!”

  Phillip smiled apologetically at her. As he accepted the envelope he glanced impatiently about the room. “No need to stop the party on my account!” he announced. “Has my family not endured enough speculation, without you following my every raised eyebrow? Play on, I say!”

  The guests looked quizzically at each other as the lead violinist flipped his music to another song. When Phillip Darington placed his hand on her back to guide her off the dance floor, Maria felt the thrum of his anticipation—along with the steely reserve that made him wait until dancers moved around the floor again and the other guests pretended not to watch him so closely.

  “I’ll leave you to your reading,” Maria suggested, but his hand tightened on her shoulder.

  “If this requires an immediate reply, I shall trust you to help me compose it. I left my spectacles at home.”

  Nodding, Maria remained beside him. Who knew the all-powerful Lord Darington required assistance for his correspondence? But then, his valet would’ve assisted him had this missive been delivered to Wildwood. Only bit players, writing under assumed names, penned their own messages.

  “Damn it to hell, could that telegrapher have written a more contrary hand?” he muttered, thrusting the message in front of her.

  Maria skimmed the small, tight penmanship, her pulse lurching into a gallop. If this message were true—if its author weren’t demanding a ransom payment, then it could only mean—

  “Well?” the man beside her growled. “You’re not getting this excited over an invoice from the fish market!”

  Maria gulped air, not sure whether to laugh or cry. “He’s a pirate!” she crowed. “Jason’s alive and well—and he’s the captain of a ship! He’s been plundering the Darington fleet along the coast of North America, sir!”

  19

  Lord Darington’s face froze. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Pirates disappeared from the high seas more than a century ago.”

  Maria couldn’t pull her eyes from the tiny, embellished printing—not only to be sure she’d read the message correctly, but because her heart suddenly had wings! The last time she’d been with Jason, pillage and plunder were foremost on his mind. Could anything serious have befallen him, if he recalled his love for playing the swashbuckler?

  Although the musicians forged doggedly ahead in their song, everyone else had stopped to stare at them. She longed to read the telegram aloud, at the top of her voice, so all could share this wonderful news: Jason was alive! Jason was alive!

  Not only alive but thriving. The Darington heir was never one to shrink like a violet or bemoan whatever hand Fate had dealt him.

  Her heart rose into her throat. Rubio had predicted this when they arrived, and here it was, come to pass! And as though he sensed she might need him, her brother was making his way through the crowd. “What did you say, sweetheart? What’s the news about your Jason?”

  “Yes! Yes, we must all hear this!” Dora clapped her hands for silence. “Please, Maria! Keep reading!”

  Maria gripped the telegram, caught in the crossfire of Lord and Lady Darington’s gazes…the center of attention because she’d blurted out the news her heart had yearned for.

  Jason’s father cleared his throat. “As we can’t unring the bell, my dear,” he murmured tersely, “you might as well keep reading, so we all hear it firsthand. Start at the beginning, if you please.”

  She nodded. Even though Lord Darington seemed glad this message had arrived, she might have slipped a rung or two on his ladder of acceptability—

  But she’d never been a social climber, had she? Jason Darington had sought her out and courted her, for she would never have presumed herself his equal.

  Oh no, you much prefer being beneath him…between him and the mattress…

  She cleared her throat. Jude now flanked his mother, thank God, in case Dora staged one of her dramas. With the Darington family and Rubio forming a shield between her and the rest of the guests, Maria felt more secure. She also felt Jemma’s glare from across the dance floor: her long-lost brother had taken center stage without even being present. She’d have to find another way to get attention…another audience with whom she could hold court.

  “This is from the office of Darington Shipping in Charleston, South Carolina—”

  “The American headquarters, yes. Please go on,” Phillip muttered impatiently.

  “—and it reads ‘Greetings, Lord Darington, from your shipyards on the southeastern coast of—”

  “I know where they are! Get to the point, for God’s sake!”

  She glanced up at the intense eyes that focused on her. “Yes, milord…it says ‘a man closely resembling Jason Darington has taken command of the Sea Witch, and, after rallying the crew to mutiny against its captain, Terrence Dunner, he has assumed the name of Johnny Conn. To date he has plundered three of our ships as they left port for—’”

  “What in bloody hell is that boy thinking? For chrissakes—”

  “Phillip! If you’d stop interrupting, we’d hear the message!” Dora stepped forward to snatch the paper from Maria’s hand, but her husband grabbed her by both shoulders. “And what the hell are you thinking?” she cried. “Unhand me, damn it! This is my son we’re hearing about!”

  “Mother! Father! Really!” Jude muttered. “Is this any way to behave in the Galsworthys’ ballroom, with everyone looking on?”

  Lord Darington glared at his younger son. “Never forget which side your bread’s buttered on, Jude, nor the fact that your brother holds the knife! Maria, you shall continue with the pertinent details. Now.”

  Maria held the telegram tightly to keep it from rattling. Phillip’s face alternated between the colors of rare beefsteak and boiled potatoes, and in these few minutes he’d become more agitated than she’d ever seen him. She nodded and returned to the message. “‘It seems Johnny Conn and his brigands have attacked other ships, as well, evading port authorities. It is believed he has hidden lucrative cargoes of sugar, cacao, and other valuables in caches all along the eastern seaboard—”

  “Christ Almighty! Have I not paid them enough in tariffs and bribes to—” Lord Darington raked his wavy hair with both hands, looking frantic. “How difficult can it be to follow a rogue ship and capture its crew—”

  “If they believe this Johnny Conn to be your son, Lord Darington,” Rubio said in a low voice, “the authorities have held their fire. And Jason has taken every advantage of it.”

  “We believe he was shanghaied, remember?” Jude watched his father struggle for control, so he chose his words warily. “And often when that occurs, sailors are thrown or dropped onto the ship from trap doors in tavern floors—Amelia Beddow’s brothel, no doubt—and they can suffer blows to the head.”
>
  “Which could explain why, when I locate Jason with my senses and my spirit guides, he does not respond.” Maria’s brother slipped an arm around her shoulder, his dark eyes wide with concern. “If Jason believes he is the pirate Johnny Conn, then he has no idea he’s attacking his own ships!”

  A gasp went up around them. Even as Maria pieced together this puzzling picture of her beloved and his adventures, she couldn’t help thinking how exciting Miss Crimson’s next column might be! Jude reached around her then, to tug another folded page from the envelope. “What else have they sent us, Maria?”

  “And why was I not informed of this earlier?” Phillip rasped. His voice sounded strangled as he tugged at his shirt collar. “This is ridiculous! I pay my partners and the coastal patrol to—utter nonsense, that—”

  “Hush, Phillip!” Dora focused intently on her younger son as he unfolded the remaining page. “Jason has never disappointed us. He must have a very good reason for looting Darington ships—and I suspect some of your seamen have behaved just as corruptly when they might profit from it. Without informing you!”

  But no one was listening to Lady Darington. The room sucked in a collective breath as Jude unfolded a large WANTED poster: Johnny Conn leered proudly at them, wearing a pirate’s bandanna and a gold hoop in one ear. He’d grown a longer mustache, which curved wickedly around his lips and down past his chin.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Maria whispered. She covered her mouth, but it was to hide a smile. He looks so rugged and virile…so damn handsome and indestructible! Just like the last time we made love!

  Jude’s eyes widened, yet he appeared skeptical. “If the navy and the authorities can’t catch him, who took this photograph? Unless Jason’s—”

  “So cocky and confident, he’s circulating the poster himself, to rub the navy’s nose in it. May I?” Rubio took the WANTED

  poster, to look deeply into the pirate’s eyes…to venture into the depths of Conn’s soul by connecting to it on a more ethereal plane.

  A gasp made them all look at Lord Darington. His eyes had grown wide at the sight of the pirate wanted by the law, but he was struggling to remain focused. Pale as a fish’s belly, he was. Getting goggle-eyed, as though he couldn’t breathe.

  Rubio grabbed his shoulders. “Doctor! I say, is anyone here a physician?”

  The other guests looked at each other but no one stepped forward. Phillip wheezed, clutching his chest, and had Maria’s brother not steadied him he would’ve crumpled to the floor. Maria sensed Jason’s father felt such shock and dismay, he’d lost control of his muscular functions. As Rubio lowered him to the floor with Jude’s help, the steely-haired man began to flop and flounder.

  “Phillip! Phillip, for God’s sake, stop it! You’re upsetting everyone!” As Lady Darington raised her foot, presumably to nudge some sense into her husband, Lord Darington’s eyes opened. He focused on his wife with such a venomous scowl that she drew back with a terrified whimper. When his hand clamped around her ankle, Dora screamed and began to kick at him.

  Lord Darington then opened his mouth, as though to renounce her, but an ominous gurgling sound came out instead. His eyes rolled back and his body went slack.

  “Doctor! Surely there’s a doctor in this crowd!” Maria cried as she knelt to loosen his shirt collar.

  “Doctor, my arse! Get him off me! He’s crushing my foot!” Lady Darington’s voice rose to a piercing shrillness and she didn’t stop hollering profanities until Rubio pried Phillip’s large hand from her ankle. “My God, what a beast!” she cried. “And here, in front of all the Galsworthys’ guests!”

  “Let’s get you home, Mum,” Jude murmured tersely, while his sister skirted the scene. As Jemma rushed from the ballroom, her wail rose up the stairway behind her.

  Maria’s heart thudded. She slapped the sides of his face, but Lord Darington didn’t respond. The man who, moments ago, had been dancing with her and then railing about his absent son’s misdeeds, now appeared—

  “He’s gone.” With a sigh, Rubio rose from the floor. His eyes looked as large as chocolate pies and his mane of chestnut hair waved as though an unseen breeze riffled it. “His soul has passed from his body, like a whisper.”

  “But I—I was only doing as he told me—” Maria covered her mouth with a trembling hand. “I’ve never seen him so upset—”

  “Nor so critical of his firstborn. His…heir.” Jude backed away from a truth he didn’t want to acknowledge, even as he wrapped an arm around his mother’s slender shoulders. “Mum, what are we to do about—”

  “Do?” Dora wheezed. “Why are you asking me, when obviously your brother and his pirate cohorts have shocked your father so badly he tried to—to—pull me down with him!”

  Rubio supported Lady Darington from the other side. “I’m so sorry, dear lady,” he murmured. “No one could’ve anticipated this revelation about Jason, not to mention its effect on your husband. We must get you back to Wildwood, and someone will see to Lord Darington’s proper…disposition.”

  “I’ll take her,” Jude said, tightening his hold on his mother’s shoulders. “Come along, Mum. We’ve caused enough excitement for one evening.”

  As they turned, Lord and Lady Galsworthy were immediately behind them. Their host gestured at the orchestra. “You lads, proceed downstairs and Cleaver shall pay you. The rest of you—” He waved his hand to encompass his wide-eyed, silent guests. “Out of respect for this sudden tragedy, we ask you to vacate the premises immediately. No need for good-byes or social niceties. Lady Darington, you and your family may remain as long as you care to, and I shall send someone for an undertaker.”

  “You can’t mean—Lord Darington has really died?” Rowena Galsworthy gawked around Maria, gasping when she saw displeasure that distorted the nobleman’s face. “Oh my God, come along, Dora dear! We must get you away from such a—a malevolent presence! Saints be with us all!”

  The guests parted to allow them an unobstructed path. As Maria fell in behind Rubio and Jude, who guided Dora Darington between them, a sense of separation—of distancing herself from the reality of this blow—wrapped around her heart like a dense, dark blanket. All around her, anxious faces bespoke shock and sympathy. It felt wrong to leave Lord Darington lying lifeless on the dance floor, yet what could she do but follow the others? Maria snatched the offending telegram and WANTED poster from the floor, and then hurried to catch up with Jude and her brother.

  Jemma sat hunched inside the carriage, as though she might faint or vomit. Dora seated herself beside her daughter and then stared straight ahead. Not wanting to be the one Lady Darington’s empty—or accusing—gaze fell upon, Maria crowded in beside her.

  “I’ll follow you to Wildwood,” Rubio said as he looked in at them. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

  As a perplexed Pearson closed the carriage door, Maria sensed they were beyond any help even the most well-meaning medium could provide. Across from them, Jude stared stoically out a window. Jemma’s pathetic sobs echoed inside the otherwise silent coach. Dora sat ramrod straight, her gaze fixed on a point of the vehicle’s upholstered ceiling, inches above her second son’s head.

  And where do I fit in now? Maria fretted. Should she go to the town house and pack, because her benefactor had passed on? When Lady Darington came out of her shock, she would surely blame the one who’d read the message that sent Phillip into his fatal fit. Her beautiful brocaded gown suddenly felt restrictive. She reminded herself to breathe and not panic…to remain a few steps ahead of the shock that had already silenced her three fellow passengers.

  What would Miss Crimson do?

  Ah, therein could be found a solution. At the first lurch of the carriage, Maria braced herself physically and emotionally for what might lie ahead. To collect her thoughts, she composed and revised the opening paragraph of her next column, yet her current reality distracted her.

  Jason…Jason, what have you done? And what am I to do, as a result of it?

  20
<
br />   “I don’t suppose you want to hear what Miss Crimson reported in today’s Inquirer?” Jude sat across from his mother, reading the newspaper by a single dim bulb in the dark parlor because Dora had ordered all the curtains drawn. He sounded tired, but mostly dulled from the deep mourning his mother had declared throughout the house.

  Maria sat on the opposite end of the settee from him, hearing the bait in his voice: Jude was using Miss Crimson to get a reaction—anything—from the woman who’d sat absolutely still, for hours on end, since she’d come home from the Galsworthy ball. Maria’s gaze wandered over Dora’s ebony dress and the dark veil she’d not taken off since the mourning warehouse had delivered them yesterday. Phillip’s funeral couldn’t come soon enough.

  How could she endure another day of this endless emptiness? These hours of suspended animation with only the ticking of the mantel clock to assure her Time itself hadn’t died. Thank God she’d written that column when she’d returned to the town house for the darkest gowns in her wardrobe—which Lady Darington had scowled at because, after all, the dresses had been intended for her trousseau.

  The resounding silence drove Jude to read further. “It says here that Rubio Palladino is partly responsible for locating Jason, and Miss Crimson thanks those readers who sent the information that was so helpful.”

  Dora flinched.

  “And what do you think of this?” he queried, keeping the newspaper between his face and the woman who seemed to ignore him. “Miss Crimson describes the onlookers as ‘shocked’ and ‘aghast’ at the fit Lord Darington pitched, until they realized he had expired in their midst.”

  “Why should I give a flying fig?” Dora’s lips barely moved and her emotional state was hard to gauge behind the dark veil. “My husband, lord of this manor, and my son—the light of my life—are both lost to me. My life is…over. Why should I go on?”

  “Someday the sun will shine again for you, Dora.” Maria glanced over to where poor Jemma sat by herself, bored to tears yet aware the gloom wouldn’t soon disperse. Trapped by her mother’s sense of propriety. “Jemma will find someone to love, and the wedding arrangements will brighten your—”