For the Love of a Pirate

by Edith Layton

  Looking at Constantine now, Lisabeth saw a handsome, athletic-looking gentleman. Even though his breeches had grass stains on them, and his boots were smudged, he didn’t seem to care. Perhaps because he knew his valet would correct that. He was well read, he was cultured, he was perhaps still a bit of a prig, but he had a lovely sense of humor and he seemed a genuinely good man. The pirate, she conceded, might not have been. This Lord Wylde was a good deal more of a man than the vague outline of the dashing rogue she had imagined he might be. And for all his prudishness, his kisses and caresses had been sheer magic. She couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  And when Lisabeth did the things Lovey had recommended, such as flirting just a little, and wearing clothing guaranteed to make him notice her, or saying something off-color and then looking innocent, to put him off balance, she saw more of the man Lord Wylde might be. Because then, if she looked at him when he didn’t realize she was watching, she saw a breathtakingly handsome rogue with the hot look of a devil in his eyes—if he was looking at her. He’d changed in more ways than that. She’d seen the prissiness melting off him, his distant manner thawing, as though the tight cage that had been built around his inner self were crumbling.

  She didn’t know if he knew it. She did though. He was becoming, day by day, the man she’d hoped to find. Now she just had to discover a way to keep him.

  Chapter Eleven

  It rained too hard for berrying the next day. But it was a perfect day to wander through Sea Mews, looking at portraits, hearing stories about the people who were portrayed, riffling through ancient logbooks and maps.

  “Your family turns out to be far more moral than mine,” Constantine finally told Lisabeth sadly.

  She laughed, but by now he knew her well enough to know he wasn’t being mocked.

  “Not at all,” she said. “The difference is that my family went about their business in less spectacular fashion. And then too,” she added with a grin, “they were never caught. The family motto was caution. Your family did things in an extravagant way. Every other generation, that is. My people were more consistent. Aside from my poor foolish father, they became practically stolid as time went by.”

  “Stolid?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

  She shrugged. “My grandfather is a pillar of the community.”

  He thought a moment. “I see. But you must realize that your community is different from most, and far different from mine.”

  She put her head to the side, considering this. “That’s true. But now that you’re here, can you honestly tell me that your community is so far superior to ours? I do read the London papers, you see. And it seems to me that there’s much more scandal involving infidelity, drinking, carousing, even dueling, among the upper classes than in any class here. And as for damage to property and crime in London!”

  Constantine went still. She read the London papers! Then she surely must know of his situation. Why had she kissed him? “You read the London papers?” he asked carefully.

  “Yes, when I can get my hands on them, and that isn’t all the time. Grandy gets them, a day late, of course, in order to follow business trends. If there’s a paper that has particular news he wants to save, that’s exactly what he does: he saves it. I tell him again and again that I’m too old for fashioning paper boats out of them anymore, but ever since I was six, and did that with an edition that had an article on sugar futures, he doesn’t trust me. I must admit,” she said, grinning, “it made a fine boat! Must have got all the way to Spain, or so I imagined then.”

  “Ah, I see,” he said with relief. She obviously never saw his engagement notice. Now he remembered that the captain had brought it to London to flourish in his face when they’d met. “But you read the gossip and scandal sheets. I venture to say that if you had such items in your local paper, you’d read much of the same about your friends and other villagers.”

  She laughed. “I don’t need a newssheet for that! I just drop down to the tap at the inn. You hear everything there. If it isn’t spoken aloud at the inn, you can hear it in whispers, over tea in any parlor in town. And I promise you, there’s never news of duels and mad bets on horse races, or of some poor fellow blowing his brains out because he lost his family home in a game of chance. There may be talk of someone flirting when they shouldn’t, or even whispers about someone considering leaving his wife, or of a wife leaving her husband. If anything like that happened, it would spread across town in an hour. It seldom happens because the shame of it would be unbearable.”

  Constantine couldn’t tell Lisabeth that London, apart from being bigger, had the same taboos. Because that might mean he’d have to tell her the reason for his visit here, how it had to do with unbearable shame too, and that he’d only come to prevent his ancestors’ pasts from becoming gossip that might reach the ears of London.

  “And yet your father and mine were considered heroes?” he asked instead.

  “Aye,” she said. “Because they were amusing. Everyone had sympathy for your father, and tolerated my father’s follies. And too, everyone believed they’d grow out of such antics.”

  “But your household staff …” Constantine said carefully. “They have histories involving all that and worse.”

  “Ah. The vicar told you all,” she said. “But the past is forgiven here. Isn’t it so in London?”

  “No,” he said simply. Again he wondered when he should leave this place. Surely Miss Winchester must be wondering what was keeping him. He’d written to say he’d been delayed on business.

  She’d written to say she understood. He hadn’t heard from her again. But he’d been drawn to her in the first place because she was, after all, a sensible person. As he had been. He wondered if he still was.

  Best if he told Lisabeth he’d be leaving by the week’s end, he decided. He’d learned all he’d come here to discover, and she was, even with all her sauciness and strange upbringing, an intelligent, understanding woman. And she hadn’t kissed him again, or even looked like she was going to. He knew that—he’d been watching, her lips most of all.

  “It’s going to be rain all day,” she said, peering out the window. “How about a game of cards? Or dice? I can wake Lovey. She’s almost done with her afternoon nap. If you think she skins you at piquet, you should see her at loo. Grandy will join us if he hears her crowing when she thumps us. Because he can beat anyone at that.”

  “Oh, can he?” Constantine said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Oh, a challenge,” she said. “That will be fun to see!”

  The next day the ground was soggy, and a dense fog covered the fields. It was too damp for walking, but they rode out through the mists so Lisabeth could show Constantine how the fog was rolling in from the sea. They rode to the top of a cliff overlooking the water. They tied their horses to the stunted trees and waited, because she told him that by noon, the sun would be up and burn off all the mists.

  “You know this?” he asked.

  “I live by the sea,” she said. “We know its habits and moods. We have to.”

  The sun burst through when it was directly overhead, slicing through the gray, sending down blazing rays like lighthouse beacons, giving the appearance that a heavenly decree was about to be announced from on high. The light highlighted every slate swell on the rolling sea, gilding the curl of each gray wave, and setting an aura around Lisabeth’s glorious unbound hair. Constantine silently vowed he’d seldom seen anything so magnificent. The sea, he said aloud, was very beautiful too.

  “Too?” she asked.

  He gazed at her. He couldn’t say what he wished to. He was an honorable man. He kept trying to remember that. But she wore men’s garb again today, and he’d gotten used to it. Instead of appearing bizarre or scandalous any longer, she looked charming, and delicious, he thought. Her hair glowed, her eyes sparkled, and her lips parted in a smile as she looked back at him.

  She suddenly rose up on her toes, leaned forward, and kissed him lightly. He froze, too conflicte
d to take advantage of the sudden, shocking, so-long-desired moment. Instead, he stood stock-still. She backed away immediately.

  “Thank you for the thought,” she whispered. Then she tipped him a grin before she turned and sauntered over to her horse. “We’d best leave for home. I have to change my clothing. Mrs. Fellows down in town is expecting us for tea. Remember?”

  He nodded, too stunned and angry with himself for not responding. And too worried about what might have happened if he had.

  That night, they played cards and dice.

  The next day dawned fair and breezy. They went for a ride along the coast, and Lisabeth presented Constantine with a surprise. She’d arranged for them to go out on a sizable ship, owned by her grandfather’s company. They sailed along the coastline, while she pointed out all the landmarks and sights that she said had been as easy to read as a primer for her father, and eventually his. The ship sped over the water and rolled with the swelling waves as its sails swallowed up the wind.

  A day in the sunlight and wind brought high color to Lisabeth’s cheeks in spite of the bonnet she’d tied on. She looked at Constantine.

  “You begin to look more and more like the portrait,” she said as they rode home again. “You don’t turn red, you’re becoming teak. You’ve the color of a pirate or a fisherman now. What will your London friends think? I hear it’s all the thing to be pallid these days.”

  “Only if you’re a poet, or a Tulip of the ton and I am neither,” he said.

  That evening at dinner, Constantine had to repress his yawns. He was exhausted.

  “Sea air knocks a fellow out,” the captain said, as he eyed his guest. “No shame in going to bed early. Seems to me gents in London get up to all kinds of rigs and nonsense just because they’re too wide awake when they should be sleeping.”

  “Seems to me,” Constantine said, with a smile at Lisabeth, “that pirates didn’t lack for energy.”

  “Aye, they didn’t,” the captain said. “But you can bet that was because they slept snug in their berths every night.”

  Constantine laughed, and had to agree.

  But it seemed to him, later that night as he lay abed, unable to sleep, that he was changing. It wasn’t just going to bed when he would have been going out for the night in London. Or the increasing pleasure he took in the captain’s company. Or even the disturbing, delicious, increasingly strong tug of attraction he felt for Lisabeth. It seemed to him that he was also becoming someone he had never known. London seemed very far away. He was, in spite of all he’d anticipated, very happy and relaxed here.

  What was keeping him awake was that he didn’t know yet if that was a good or bad thing. He’d come here to find out about his family’s past. He was now discovering there was too much about his present he hadn’t known either.

  He didn’t sleep for hours.

  Neither did Lisabeth. But she wasn’t alone. All her life, when things troubled her, she had conferred with her grandfather. When it was something to do with being female, she talked with Lovey. And when she did, she sat in the kitchen with her, discussing it over a mug of hot, honeyed tea.

  “I care for him, yes,” she told Lovey, staring down into the amber contents of her mug.

  “That’s naught,” Lovey said, tipping another jot of rum into her mug, and then into Lisabeth’s.

  “You care for the vicar too. Do you want him?”

  Lisabeth sighed. “Aye, Lovey, so I do. From the first. Though then it was because he looked so much like the Captain Cunning of my dreams. When I saw how stiff and proper Constantine was, I changed my mind. By the next day, I’d changed it again, because I swore I saw the man he might have been beneath all that starch. And then, little by little, he became that man. It was as if all the starch were washed away by our rains and blown away by our sea winds.”

  She looked up at her old governess. Her eyes pleaded for an answer. “Thing is, am I imagining him, or is he real?”

  Lovey shrugged and took a swallow of her laced tea. “Only you can know that. Have you made love to him?”

  “I only kissed him, and … cuddled, a bit.”

  “And did you like it?”

  Lisabeth nodded.

  “And did he?”

  “I think so!” Lisabeth said. “But he pulled away just as it started to become wonderful. And the next time he got the chance, he didn’t let it go that far.”

  “But he didn’t say anything?”

  Lisabeth shook her head.

  “Then he’s being a proper gent,” Miss Lovelace announced. “And he thinks you’re a lady. If he didn’t want you, he’d say it. But he knows that if he starts serious canoodling, my love, he’ll have to marry you. That’s a gentleman’s code. They’ll swive any lass they fancy if they think she’s beneath them. And that’s even before they actually put her there,” she added with a smile. “But they’re proper as parsons with ladies of breeding. Until he decides to declare for you. Do you want him to? Or do you just want some pleasure before he goes away again?”

  Lisabeth’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “Well, you ought,” Miss Lovelace said. “There’s many a lad who’s delightful in the night, and a bore when the dawn comes. There’s many another who’s charming in the day and a boor when night falls. If you want to test him, that’s one thing. Then you mustn’t expect anything from him. If you want him for all time, that’s another thing entirely. Then you should be sure he returns your affection. Now, Liz, my love, you decide what you want. The gentleman isn’t involved anywhere else, and you’re free as the wind. Do you or don’t you want to stay that way? Or just have some fun? That is the question.”

  “He is involved,” Lisabeth said sadly. “He told me just that. But there’s no love on either side. He said that too.”

  “Not unusual,” Miss Lovelace said wisely. “At least, not so with gentlemen of title and leisure. If his heart’s not involved, then he’s free. How long he remains so is up to you, my girl. A woman gets what she dares go after, at least a woman such as you. And a gentleman never goes where he isn’t wanted. So it’s up to you to show him that he is. In the end, my dear, it’s all up to you.”

  That was what Lisabeth was thinking when she came to her grandfather’s study. She saw the light shining out from under the door, and tapped at it.

  “Come in, Lisabeth,” he said.

  “How did you know it was me?” she asked, as she entered his room and settled in a chair opposite his, near the blazing hearth.

  “I’ve been waiting,” he said, neglecting to mention he’d been waiting every late night for a week now.

  “So you know,” she said.

  Her voice suddenly sounded small and uncertain.

  “Yes?” he said cautiously, waiting to hear what she’d really come to ask him.

  “He said he’s ‘involved’ with a woman in London. But that he didn’t love her, and she doesn’t love him. What did he mean?”

  He sighed. “Could be anything. But if he said his heart was free, then believe him. He’s an honorable fellow.”

  Her face brightened. “So I thought! Thank you, Grandy!” She danced over to him, kissed his forehead, and said, in a relieved voice, “Good night, and thank you!”

  When she’d left he sat back, deep in thought. So, as he’d thought, Lord Wylde wasn’t in love with his fiancée. And also, as he’d thought, anyone would love Lisabeth. He’d been watching Lord Wylde. The man was smitten, and in heat, and no denying it. The captain smiled. He’d hoped for just such an outcome, or he wouldn’t have asked the new fellow here to his home, to meet his greatest treasure. Then he frowned. Captain Cunning’s great-grandson had better be an honorable fellow, he thought. If he weren’t, then he’d be sure to make him one—if he had to.

  The next day dawned bright, mild, and clear. A perfect day for getting the last brambleberries, Lisabeth announced at breakfast.

  “So if you want to come with me,” she told Constantine, “you’d be
st dress in rough old clothing, and I do mean a thick sweater and breeches you don’t care about ruining, high boots and strong gloves. The berries are the sweetest in the world, but the brambles are fierce. Still, nothing good is easily come by. Dress in the nearest thing to armor that you own, and we’ll try to beat the birds to last of the bounty. We’ll take buckets, and a luncheon with us. Are you agreeable? Do you want to chance it? Or would you rather do something less dangerous? As for me, I must get them today, or never.”

  “I will face the monstrous brambles,” Constantine said, smiling.

  “Good!” she said, as she rose from the table. “I’ll meet you by the stables in a half hour. We’ll take a horse and cart. The best berry patch is a long way from here, and if we’re lucky, there’ll be too many full baskets for us to carry back without it.”

  “I doubt his lordship has such a rig in his luggage,” the captain said as he too rose from the table. “Old, rough, and tough? Where would he wear such stuff in London? I’ll see what I can forage for him. Stay a moment more, my lord.”

  After the captain returned, and presented him with an armful of donated clothing, Constantine went back to his room to shock his valet.

  “Surely, my lord,” his valet said in a horrified tone, “one isn’t going out-of-doors in such apparel? One can understand the necessity of donning a seaman’s garb for sailing, or fishing. But this!”

  “One had better understand,” Constantine said, as he admired himself in the looking glass. “I’m going to pick brambleberries. If I don’t wear this, I’m assured that not only my clothing will come home in tatters. And I’m careful of my skin.”

  But he didn’t look or feel like a careful man today. He wore a ragtag collection. He gazed into the glass and smiled at his image as he saw a tanned man in a baggy fisherman’s sweater, long leather gloves, and old breeches tucked into worn scarred boots. This rustic splendor was topped by a dilapidated, floppy hat, the kind that serfs wore, he guessed, a century or two past.