Pirate's Promise

by Smith, Bobbi

  "My hand," Adam said with some satisfaction as he laid down his cards for all to see.

  Jacques and Paul acquiesced easily, but Antoine, in his drunken stupor, grew annoyed. He glanced down at his rapidly dwindling pile of money and felt more than a little panic-stricken. Though the amounts he'd lost would not have been considered large by a rich man's standards, Antoine's finances were in such dire straits that he could not afford to lose any more at all. His drunken, gaming ways had not been serving him well lately, and during the last few months he had lost nearly all of his young niece's and nephew's inheritance. Even his own funds were running dangerously low, and he was desperate for a chance to regain what little he'd lost.

  Jacques dealt the next hand, and Antoine was almost exultant when he glanced at his cards and discovered that he'd been given two pairs —threes and eights. Confident of a win, he bet heavily. When Paul and Jacques dropped out, he grew even more assured, and when Adam called, Antoine gladly spread his cards out before him. He was so wrapped up in his seeming triumph that he did not notice Adam's reaction. Eagerly, he reached out to rake in what he thought were his winnings.

  "Well, gentlemen," he gloated, "I think I shall call it a day."

  "Wait." Adam snared the drunken man's wrist as he started to scoop up the money. When he had Antoine's attention, he laid down his own hand.

  Antoine was in shock as he stared at Adam's three kings. He flushed in pained embarrassment.

  "Now, If you will excuse me?" Adam sensed that things were getting a bit too serious with Ducharme, so he pocketed the winnings and started to leave.

  Outrage filled Antoine as he watched the stranger stand. "I demand another chance!" he challenged.

  "Antoine!" Paul spoke up, knowing of his quick temper and wanting to avoid trouble at all costs.

  "Antoine, you haven't lost that much," Jacques cajoled. "Besides, you're temporarily out of funds. Perhaps you should call it a day?"

  He stiffened in insult at his friends' interference. Meeting Adam's gaze, he said, "One more hand, Trent."

  Adam had no desire to be drawn into a confrontational situation. "Sir," he began politely, "since you're short of funds, there's no point in playing. Perhaps another time?" He wanted to give the drunken man a graceful way out, but Antoine refused to take it.

  "No, now," he insisted. "I may be short of funds, but I do hold the title to Belle Arbor."

  Jacques and Paul exchanged surprised looks.

  "Belle Arbor?" Adam asked.

  "The Ducharme plantation," he bit out in terse explanation. "I demand one final hand to clear the slate." His liquor filled him with false bravado.

  Now Adam was the one cornered. With pretended ease he returned to his chair. "One hand of poker?" he inquired quietly.

  "One hand, five-card stud," Antoine snarled, determined to win back his money. Writing out a makeshift deed to the plantation, he tossed it casually on the table.

  So it began. The tension in the room was thick as all present gathered to watch. The cards were dealt, yet, when both men examined their hands for the first time, they betrayed no emotion.

  Again Antoine felt victorious as he stared at his pair of jacks. This time the fool had definitely dealt him a winning hand.

  "It was your challenge, Ducharme," Adam prodded, his expression stoic. "Show your cards."

  It seemed all the spectators held their breath as he spread out his cards. A murmur of approval swelled through the crowd as they saw the jacks. When Adam didn't visibly react, Antoine again reached for the pot.

  "I believe the pot is mine," Adam declared, as he laid down three fives.

  A collective gasp came from the onlookers, and all eyes focused on Antoine.

  He was sitting rigidly, staring at Adam's cards in numb disbelief. A shock of realization rushed though him. He felt himself go pale in awful acceptance. He had lost the damned plantation. . . . He knew there was no recourse, so he stood up slowly.

  "Indeed, it is your hand, sir," he agreed stiffly. "I shall send the deed to you late this afternoon.

  "I'm staying with the Whitneys in the Garden District."

  "I'm acquainted with your host." Antoine gave a curt nod and then made an unsteady exit as the crowd moved in closer to congratulate Adam.

  Chapter Five

  The coach moved down the back road at a measured pace as the driver, a heavily built black man named Harlan, directed his team around the ruts and bumps with sure-handed expertise. As they neared a slightly overgrown side road, he slowed and made the turn, pulling to a halt just past the intersection.

  "This is it," Harlan announced to his passengers.

  "This is Belle Arbor?" Becky asked excitedly, clutching at her brother's arm as she got her first view of the magnificent house. When Adam had told her that he'd won a plantation in a card game, she certainly hadn't expected this. Their family home in Charleston was lovely, but it couldn't compare to the majesty of this pillared mansion. "Why, it's beautiful." Her soft tone reflected the amazement that shone in her warm, brown eyes.

  "Yes, ma'am, it sure is," the driver agreed.

  "Ducharme must be a total idiot," Adam remarked scathingly, wondering at what kind of fool would gamble away such an outstanding estate. "Let's drive on up. I don't know if anyone's expecting us or if anyone is even here. He was very vague when I spoke with him about it."

  "Yes, sir," Harlan replied respectfully as he slapped the reins lightly against the horse's backs and headed up the long drive toward the main house.

  The sound of a carriage coming up the drive interrupted Lianne as she labored in the flower garden near the reflecting pond. She straightened up from her arduous task and cast a curious glance at the approaching conveyance. Lianne could see a dark-haired man and woman in the carriage, but did not recognize them. She was not expecting company and wondered who they were.

  As Lianne hurried down the house to meet her unexpected visitors, she paused, suddenly realizing that she was in no condition to be greeting anyone. Because she'd known she would be working outside all day, she had chosen her oldest dress to wear that morning and had tied her thick, lustrous hair back in a tight, schoolmarmish bun. She looked down at her mud-, grass-, and sweat-stained clothing in dismay. Several buttons at the bodice of her gown were undone against the humid heat, and her skirts were heavily soiled from kneeling on the damp earth. Brushing what grime she could from her gown, she quickly rebuttoned the bodice and continued on her way. Lianne knew she bore no resemblance to the lady of Belle Arbor. In fact, with her dirt-smudged face and the loose tendrils of hair escaping the practical knot at the nape of her neck, she appeared more the unkempt servant than the mistress of her home, but at this point little more could be done about it.

  Harlan pulled the carriage to a halt before the front door, and Adam climbed down and turned back to help Becky out. Harlan began unloading their baggage as they stood staring about the grounds.

  "It's rundown, Adam, but I think with a little investment on your part and some hard work, it could be as wonderful as we first thought it was." Becky confirmed what Adam had been thinking. As they'd drawn nearer to the house, they had been slightly distressed to discover that all was not as perfect as it had seemed from a distance.

  "It's perfect for what we need," Adam remarked. Belle Arbor's location near the river and its easy access to the bayous provided him with just the outlets he needed to maintain secret contact with Beau should the need arise.

  "I wonder why no one's come out to meet us yet? Do you suppose there's no one here? Surely Ducharme sent word to let them know what happened."

  "I'm sure there are at least a few servants around somewhere. The house is open. We might as well go in and announce ourselves."

  They had just started up the front steps when Lianne came around the corner of the house. The sight of the driver unloading luggage gave her pause, and she frowned. What was going on? Who could possibly have come here for a visit?

  Then she saw the two stranger
s going up the stairs of her home. The man was tall and leanly muscled. His broad shoulders filled out his expertly tailored, bottle-green jacket, and his long, powerful legs were encased in fawn-colored trousers that fit him to perfection. Lianne knew she had never met him before, because if she had, she would have remembered. He was without a doubt the most handsome man she'd ever seen.

  The woman at his side was as beautiful as he was handsome. Her hair was long and dark, her figure slim. She was wearing a very rich looking, royal blue traveling suit that fit her superbly.

  The contrast between their sophisticated appearance and her own current state of dress was so marked that Lianne felt even more painfully aware of her own woeful condition. Still, she knew that there was no time to even consider changing, for, whoever these two were, they looked as if they were about to make themselves completely at home in her own house.

  "Pardon me, but may I help you?" Lianne asked as she emerged from the shadows.

  The feminine voice that called out to Adam was cultured and refined; the woman he found it belonged to left him staring in surprise. He turned, expecting to see a lady approaching, and instead had found a very dirty, very disheveled young woman standing at the bottom of the stairs. She looked downright filthy. Some of her long, red-gold hair had escaped confinement and was scraggling limply about her dirt-streaked face. Only her wide, sparkling emerald eyes revealed anything positive about her, and Adam found himself caught up in that flashing green gaze.

  "Hello," he greeted her with a smile.

  At his smile, Lianne's breath caught in her throat. Never in her life had she felt such a sudden, overpowering attraction to a man. He was absolutely gorgeous! Her heart lurched in an unfamiliar rhythm, and for a long moment, she was speechless. She made an effort to pull herself together. Though it pained her to think it, she realized that the lovely woman at his side was no doubt his wife, for they certainly made a striking couple.

  Adam continued to speak. "Yes, you can help us. I'm Adam Trent . . ."

  Lianne's usually practical brain was disconnected as she mused . . . Adam Trent . . . what a wonderful, strong, masculine name . . . it suited him. Yes, he definitely looked like an Adam Trent . . .

  "And I'd appreciate it if you could tell whoever is in charge here that the new owner has arrived," he finished.

  His statement left the already light-headed, daydreaming Lianne in shock. What! She crashed back to reality. New owner? What was this idiot talking about? Belle Arbor wasn't for sale. It had been in her family for generations, and it was going to stay that way. Surely he must be mistaken. It wasn't Belle Arbor he was claiming. It had to be another plantation.

  Adam, thinking he had explained everything clearly, continued on up the stairs with Becky.

  Lianne watched them in total confusion. Then, just as they were about to enter the house, she recovered enough to follow them. Hiking up her skirts in a very unladylike fashion, she bolted up the steps after them.

  "Wait a minute!" she called out, confronting them as they were about to go inside. "There must be some mistake."

  "This is Belle Arbor, isn't it?" His response held a note of impatience.

  "Well, yes it is, but . . ."

  Adam scowled, annoyed that Ducharme hadn't notified anyone here of his imminent arrival. The man had had over a week and yet had not sent word of the change of ownership. As he turned to face her, he discovered that the woman was standing there with her skirts still in hand. Her indiscreet pose revealed much, and his dark-eyed gaze was drawn to her very shapely legs and trim ankles. An unexpected jolt of sensual appreciation startled him, and his scowl darkened as he forced himself to look away. His open regard brought an unwelcome blush creeping into her cheeks, and she quickly dropped her skirts.

  "Then, tell the person in charge that I'm here," he repeated sharply, aggravated with himself for the sudden awareness he'd felt for this unkempt, seemingly slow-witted chit. Certain that he'd made his point this time, he didn't pause, but turned and walked on inside the house with Becky.

  Lianne was tired. Sleep had eluded her for days, and her nerves had been stretched taut as her worry about the fate of the plantation had consumed her. But all thoughts of weariness fled as she stared after the couple. Just who in the hell did this Adam Trent think he was, turning his back on her and walking right on into her own house that way! Did he really think he owned it? She frowned.

  Rooted to her place on the porch, Lianne struggled to understand exactly what was happening here, but no rational explanations came to her.

  "Where should I take this trunk?" Harlan asked as he came up the steps behind her.

  His question broke through her consternation.

  "You can put it back in your carriage and be quick about it!" she snapped.

  Spurred to action by the thought of someone actually trying to take over her home, Lianne charged inside leaving a stunned Harlan behind. She dashed into the study where the guncase was located. With shaking hands she pulled her father's best shotgun from the case and loaded it. Belle Arbor was hers and Alex's. It would never belong to another!

  Lianne thought of Adam Trent's casual, demeaning dismissal of her, and her blood began to boil. How dare he speak down to her so! How dare he think that Belle Arbor was his, the arrogant ass! Her mouth thinned to a grim, determined line as she stalked toward the study. She was going to show him just who was in charge of Belle Ardor. She was!

  Adam and Becky were standing in the middle of the spacious parlor admiring their surroundings when Lianne's icy command cut through their conversation.

  "Hold it right there, Mr. Trent!"

  They looked up together to find the woman they'd just spoken with outside holding a shotgun on them. In a protective move, Adam immediately stepped in front of Becky to shield her from possible harm.

  "I want you out of my house right now!" Lianne ordered, motioning with the gun for them to head outside.

  Adam was puzzled. Her house? "This can all be explained very simply if you'll just let me . . ." He started to reach into his inner coat pocket to retrieve the deed, but at the sound of her next threat he froze.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you. I'm a dead shot at this range."

  "Look, miss . . ." He was growing exasperated.

  "Don't 'look miss' me! I don't know who you are or what you're doing here, but you'd better get back outside real fast!"

  Adam tensed as he stared at her in disbelief. Her eyes were glittering dangerously, and her breasts were heaving in indignation beneath the soft, cotton fabric of her gown. He wondered distractedly why he'd noticed. He didn't know who this woman was, but he knew he didn't like anyone holding a weapon on him. He was tempted to try to wrestle the gun away from her. Becky, however, knew her brother very well and placed a light, restraining hand on his arm to stop him.

  "I think we'd better do as she says, Adam," Becky said in a calm tone.

  Lianne gave a tight nod in approval of her sentiment and backed up into the hall so they could pass her without coming too close.

  Adam kept himself between Becky and Lianne as they retreated outdoors. As they emerged from the house, they came face to face with Harlan, who was waiting there with their trunks.

  "Mr. Trent, I wasn't — " His explanation was cut off as he saw Lianne coming outside behind them, shotgun in hand. His eyes rounded, and he backed away from the confrontation. "I thought you said you owned this place!" he said accusingly as he hurried down the steps before them.

  "I do!" Adam bellowed, furious at being so humiliated. "Miss, if you'll just let me show you — "

  "Get down those steps after your driver, mister. Lady, you'd better tell him to do as I say or you might end up a widow!" Lianne stood unmoving just beyond the front door, her legs braced apart, her eyes glowing with a fervent inner fire of rage. She trained the gun squarely upon the hesitating Adam.

  Though Becky knew their situation was serious, a bubble of amusement filled her. It was interesting enough to see this wom
an standing up to Adam without fear, but that she thought them man and wife struck her as truly funny.

  "I don't think there's any danger of that," Becky replied easily. "Come, darling." She drew Adam with her as she led the way down the stairs. Her eyes were twinkling with good humor. Adam slanted her an outraged look. He was not used to backing down in any confrontation, and he found nothing the least bit humorous about their current position.

  Stopping at the bottom of the steps, he turned around to glare at Lianne. Even though he was infuriated by the situation, he couldn't help but admire the sight the woman made as she stood so proudly on the porch, guarding the house. He couldn't imagine how, moments before, he'd thought her slow-witted. She looked like some avenging Valkyrie . . . fierce, protective, passionate. The last thought disturbed him, and he pushed it from his mind. Who the hell was this woman?

  "Miss Lianne . . . have we got company?" Sarah came out of the house and stopped dead in her tracks the instant she saw Lianne, gun in hand, facing down the strangers. She'd been working at the back of the house and realized they had visitors when she heard strange voices.

  "They were just leaving, Sarah," she answered without taking her eyes off Adam.

  "You're Lianne Ducharme?" Adam demanded in surprise. The Whitneys had told them that Antoine was the guardian for his young niece and nephew who were named Lianne and Alex. He hadn't really paid much attention at the time, thinking the history of the Ducharme family unimportant. Now he wondered why Antoine was living in such style in New Orleans while his ward was living here on this rundown plantation in what appeared to be an obvious state of poverty.

  Lianne stiffened at what she perceived as sneering disbelief in his tone. "I am," she replied with dignity.

  "Miss Lianne, what's going on here?" Sarah interrupted uneasily.

  "This man claims he's the owner of Belle Arbor."

  "What!"

  "Miss Ducharme . . ." Adam began as he slowly reached into his pocket to draw out the papers. "If you'll just take a look at this, I think it will clear everything up." He held out the neatly folded title.