The Pirate Next Door (22 page)

She kissed his chest, melding her lips to his curve of muscle. He lifted her tangled hair, letting cooling air touch her neck.

“Grayson,” she whispered. “You must leave England. Take Maggie and go.”

His breathing slowed, but the pulse in his throat beat harder. He scraped his hand along her jaw and lifted her head. His blue eyes were dark. “Why do you say so?”

The tears she’d fought to contain now spilled from her. They wet her face and dropped to his skin. “Mr. Henderson told me what you’d promised Captain Ardmore. Grayson, you must not let him. You must not finish the bargain.”

He stroked the pad of his thumb across her cheek. “Sweetheart. I have no intention of letting him kill me.”

“But you promised—”

“Of course I did. He had his sword at my throat and a rope around my neck. I would have promised him anything if he’d only keep me alive so I could protect her.” He stroked her hair. “I have in my life been afraid, deeply afraid, but I had never been afraid
for
someone. But you should have seen her, Alexandra. She was so small, so thin in those damned awful clothes. That’s why I bought her that ridiculous frock. I wanted to see her alive, not half dead like they tried to make her.” He drew a breath. “I would have sold my soul to Ardmore to keep her safe.
I had not felt that protective of anyone since—” He stopped. “Well, since my mother died.”

She spied the pain deep in his eyes, one that echoed in her own hollow heart. “I know that your mother was killed. I am sorry.”

He lifted her from him, his softening erection sliding from her. He cradled her in his arms again, gliding his hand beneath her hair. “She was younger than I am now. She was so fragile. I hope my father is rotting in hell.”

She flinched from the anger in his voice. “Perhaps he felt remorse,” she offered. “He shot himself, did he not?”

“No.” His jaw hardened, the light in his eyes going bleak. “I killed him.”

Alexandra’s breath stilled. “You could not have.”

“I could and I did.” His eyes were even colder than Ardmore’s had been. “I had to. He was going to shoot me.”

Alexandra shivered. She thought of her own father, a genial, kindly gentleman who had loved reading and his gardens. She could not imagine him lifting a pistol and shooting anyone, let alone his own wife and child. “I am sorry.”

He regarded her without heat. “The inquest ruled he committed suicide. But I think the servants suspected. They told me to go. In case anyone guessed the truth.”

“And you became a pirate?”

He moved his shoulders in a shrug. “Not right away. I began as a simple sailor on a merchantman. Nimble and light enough to climb the lines. I learned a great deal about sailing long before the pirates caught up to us.”

“And you joined them?”

He shook his head. “They captured me. And the rest of the crew. I was young enough and strong enough to work, so they kept me alive. Most of the others they mur
dered or drowned. I watched friends be put to the sword, while I tried to pretend I was too callous to care. I had killed my own father, hadn’t I? But I would have died of despair if it had not been for Oliver.”

“Oliver, your manservant?”

“He was not my manservant then. He was the pirate’s cook and surgeon. He took me for cook’s mate, thus saving me from the drunken, sodomite captain.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “He nearly killed me with work, but he taught me how to survive. When the frigate rescued me a few years later, I begged them to keep Oliver alive. Then, when the time was right, Oliver helped me get rid of the idiot captain and take over a fine frigate loaded with guns.” He grinned.

“You did not murder the captain, did you?” she asked fearfully.

“Set him adrift. All trussed up.” He stroked her hair softly. “He was a fool, but I am not a murderer. I did not believe in torturing or killing. Waste of time.” His lips twitched. “I built myself quite a reputation. I heard that crews longed for me to board their ships so they could have harrowing tales to tell their grandchildren. Well, I obliged often enough.”

She traced the ridge of his collarbone. “Did you ravish the lady passengers?”

The chill in his eyes dissolved, and he shook with baritone laughter. “Oh, love. No, sweetheart. Only you.”

Her heart pulled. “Don’t.”

“Laugh? Why not? You make me laugh for the delight of you.”

She touched the swell of his lower lip. “Please do not make me love you.”

His smile turned wicked. “I want you to love me. I want you to touch me. I want you to sleep bare for me.
I want you to beg me to take you against a wall, my lady passenger.” He nipped her fingers.

She withdrew her hand. “Grayson.” She cast around for an easy way to open the subject. None came to her. Outside, a carriage rumbled past, very near to the house, and somewhere upstairs, a clock chimed, sonorous and slow.

There was no way to tell him. Not easily. She looked into his eyes, savoring the deep blue warmth there, the warmth that she would erase with her next words. She drew a deep breath. “Grayson,” she said. “Captain Ardmore asked me to marry him.”

Beneath her, his body stilled. As she had feared, the warm contentment left his eyes and they became fixed, hard and glittering.

“He what?” His voice was low, savage, more frightening than if he had shouted. “When?”

“This afternoon. In my house.”

He sat up abruptly, lifting her from him and shoving her onto the empty space at the end of the chaise. He rose to his feet and stood over her, naked, every muscle in his body tense. “He came to you.”

She nodded wordlessly. She clutched her crumpled bodice to her bare breasts.

“You let him in?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

She shook her head. “He just appeared. He tricked my maid into admitting him. I ought to scold her, but I don’t have the heart.”

He swung away from her and marched to the door. Still
naked, he yanked it open and bellowed into the hall. “Jacobs!”

In a few short moments, she heard booted feet on the stairs, and then Mr. Jacobs appeared in the doorway. He betrayed no surprise to see his captain standing there nude, or Alexandra sitting on the chaise, clutching her bodice to her breasts.

Grayson did not even try to hide himself. He jabbed his finger at Jacobs, his bronzed arm a contrast to the pale flesh of his backside. “Ardmore entered Mrs. Alastair’s house today. Tell me how the hell he got past my guards.”

Jacobs blinked. His dark eyes swam with fear. “I don’t know, sir. I—”

“Pull the guards and have them flogged.”

“No!” Alexandra flung out her hand, then grabbed her bodice as it slipped. “It was not their fault. He must have tricked them, too. I am certain they were no match for him.”

“True, sir,” Jacobs said hastily. “If anyone should be flogged, it’s me. I should have noticed. I was—not paying sufficient attention.”

“I set you to take care of Maggie,” Grayson snapped. “You cannot be eleven places at once, though I believe I know what place you
were
in.” Jacobs flushed. “Never mind, Jacobs. Just take care of it.”

“Yes, sir.” Jacobs saluted, pivoted, and was gone.

Grayson closed the door. When he turned back to Alexandra, his eyes had chilled, and his face was rock-hard. She had never before seen him completely enraged, excepting when he’d come to take her from Ardmore’s ship. She’d witnessed him frustrated, fond and loving to Maggie, teasing, seductive, charming. Now she faced a man filled with cold, ruthless anger.

He came back to her, stood over her. Part of her delighted in his nakedness, in the perfect blend of muscle and sinew that made up his body. The other part cringed before his fury.

“Alexandra,” he said evenly. “What did you tell Mr. Ardmore?”

She lifted her chin. She would be brave. “I answered that I would marry him. If he promised to let you live.”

For a moment he only looked at her, his face hard and quiet and bleak—the face of a pirate captain who had kept a crew together and uncaught for seventeen years. She saw in a flash that Ardmore had underestimated him by a long way. So had the Duke of St. Clair. Here was a man who played by no one’s rules, a man who would be a deadly and merciless enemy. She wondered if she had just made him hers.

“You will not,” he said, still cold. “You are mine.”

On the other hand, she mused, his high-handed arrogance could be quite grating. She drew herself up. “Are you the only person who is allowed to sacrifice himself, Mr. Pirate? He wants to kill you. I want you to live.”

He glared at her. “By going to him? You think that will save me?”

“He promised.”

“Only because he knows that you are more important to me than my own life.”

Her heart pounded. “That is not true. You tease me, yes, and you make me fall in love with you, but I am only the woman who lives next door. A passing fancy. I will go out of your life, and you will forget me and watch Maggie grow up and be happy.”

He stared at her as if she’d run mad. “A passing fancy? You?”

A tear rolled down her cheek. “I know perfectly well
you have loved other ladies. There was Maggie’s mother, for one, and Madame d’Lorenz, and others. You are accustomed to moving on. I will be like—” she cast around for a thought—“like a bird on your hand. You enjoy looking at it, then let it fly away.”

His eyes flared blue rage. He closed the distance between them in a flash, leaning to her and seizing her arms. No loving embrace. His hands crushed her. “Do not ever say that. It is not the same thing. Do you understand me?”

She stared. “Not really.”

“Understand this, Alexandra. If you go to him, I will kill him. I don’t care if you are wrapped in his arms; I will murder him and think it a good day’s work. I am not afraid of Captain bloody Ardmore.”

She whispered, “Grayson.”

“You want to love a pirate?” He tapped his chest. “
This
is what a pirate is. I do what I please and I obey my own laws. I will not allow anyone to touch those under my protection, and I will cut down any enemy who tries.”

She forced herself to look into his eyes. “I was right about you. You decide how things should be, and then you toss over anyone in your way to see them done. No matter what.”

“I know. I have just said that.”

She reached to brush his shoulder. His bronzed muscle jumped under her touch. “Including me. You must not finish the bargain, Grayson. Maggie needs you.”

“I thought you understood. I have no intention of letting him take my life. He broke the damned bargain as soon as he dragged you into it. He could not resist the chance to twist the knife. He is vengeance-mad. Just like his brother.”

“Poor Mr. Ardmore.”

He gave her an irritated look. “Do not waste pity on
him. He is a vicious mother’s son. He is feared for a reason.”

She sniffled. “Mr. Henderson said that about you, too.”

A feral grin lit his face. “Did he? I am glad he thinks so. Keeps him in his place.”

“He proposed to me, too.”

Grayson stopped. His gold lashes hid his eyes once, twice; then the blue gleam of them returned to view. “Henderson. Proposed to you.”

“Yes. His offer was much better than Captain Ardmore’s. He comes from Kent, as do I. He offered me a home in the country with dogs and children.” She broke off wistfully. “It is so beautiful there, Grayson. All green hills and gentle skies. I was happy there, and I did not even realize it.”

He took her hands in his. “Is that what you want? A home in Kent?”

She shook her head. “I do not know anymore. You cannot be a child again, can you? With people to love and protect you—so well that you do not even notice it.” She looked away. “I am not certain what I want.”

“Did you accept Henderson, too?”

“No.”

He relaxed slightly. “Good.”

“I told him I would think about it.”

His grip crushed her again. “Alexandra, good God. How many other men proposed to you today? What about Jacobs and Priestly? Don’t tell me Ian O’Malley wants you, too.”

She gave him a look of reproof. “I have barely spoken to Mr. O’Malley, though he did once pay me a compliment. Mr. Jacobs seems to be in love with my Mrs. Fairchild, and I am certain Mr. Priestly dislikes me intensely.” She paused thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should send him a
small gift by way of apology for abusing him so.”

The scar at the side of Grayson’s lip pulled his mouth down. “You will not send Priestly gifts. And you will tell Henderson your answer is no.”

That high-handedness again. She said, “I know he is not on the list, but he does have all of the necessary qualities. The right breeding, a good taste in dress, his own fortune. Additionally, he is rather handsome—”

“He wears spectacles.”

“Yes. They give him an air of seriousness, don’t you think?”

“No, I think he looks like a fish.”

“That is uncharitable, Grayson. He has been quite kind to me—apart from kissing me and abducting me, of course, but that was only on Mr. Ardmore’s orders.”

He brought his face close to hers. The heat of his anger and his passion touched her. “Alexandra, you are not marrying Henderson. He is loyal to Ardmore and will not desert him, no matter what he tells you. All Ardmore’s men worship him, God knows why.”

“He
is
rather compelling. Mr. Ardmore, I mean.”

His grip tightened. “Tell me you will not marry either Ardmore or Henderson.”

She gave him a challenging look. “I will not marry Mr. Ardmore if you promise you will not let him murder you. If you will take Maggie and flee him.”

“I told you that I have no intention of letting him kill me. Or of leaving England.” He paused. “I notice you did not mention Henderson.”

“I will consider Mr. Henderson’s offer. Unless I am given a better one.”

He growled low in his throat, rather like an annoyed bear. “Alexandra, I have many things to do. I have a French agent in my kitchen and Burchard running about
London like a loose cannon. Not to mention Jacobs and your governess making sheep’s eyes at each other in my upstairs rooms. I have plans in motion that need attending.” He leaned to her again. “But after that, you and I are going to have a talk. A long talk.”

“That would be a nice, for a change.”

His eyes narrowed. “A change from what?”

“Whenever we converse, we usually end up kissing. We never finish our conversations, I have noticed.”

His smile returned, hot and sinful. “I had noticed that, yes.”

“Did Madame d’Lorenz tell you where the French king was?”

He stared at her a moment, then let out a barely breathed curse. “And how do you know about Madame d’Lorenz and the French king?”

“I drew the conclusion. Mr. Ardmore told me she worked for Napoleon, and he lied about her when I first met her. Or did not tell the whole truth anyway. Mr. Henderson said something about her trying to use Captain Ardmore for her schemes. I imagine that the king is on Captain Ardmore’s ship, awaiting transport to France.” She shook her head. “Why you men believe this is all so secret, I do not know.”

He scowled. “A
very
long talk.”

“If you wish, but I am quite busy myself. I will have to shut up my house for the rest of the summer, whether I marry or simply return to Kent with the Featherstones.”

A muscle moved in his jaw. “I will have everything resolved by tomorrow. And then we will converse.” He paused. “But first, I want to kiss you.”

She looked up, her pulse speeding. “Should you not go and speak to Madame d’Lorenz about the French king?”

“Yes, I should.” He leaned down, nuzzling the curve of
her neck. He touched his lips to her throat. She closed her eyes. “On the other hand,” he whispered into her skin, “she can wait a little while longer.”

Excitement laced through her. She bunched his sleek hair in her hands and sought his lips with hers. His arms came around her, and he lowered her to the chaise, his warm, hard body molding to hers once more.

Alexandra returned home via the garden and the gates that connected to the mews. She fervently hoped that no stray stableman or night soil remover would choose that moment to use the path, as she scurried through the gate and across the green patch of lawn to her back door. The twilight air hung heavy with the scent of roses, and the fountain trickled a soothing stream.

Her body felt loose and supple, as though she could stretch like a cat, then curl in a ball and drift to happy sleep. But unlike a cat, who could choose when it liked to repose on a hearth rug, Alexandra had things to see to. Mr. Ardmore had said he’d send Mr. Henderson that evening. If so, Alexandra could have a firm talk with Henderson and persuade him to help her. It was all very well for Grayson to vow he would never let Mr. Ardmore kill him, but what Ardmore could do in retaliation worried her very much. She really needed to speak to Mr. Henderson.

First, however, she must bathe and change her dress. She had not yet spoken with Joan about her letting Mr. Ardmore into the house, and the thought of doing so wearied her. Mr. Ardmore did as he pleased, just as Grayson did. Poor Joan was as much Ardmore’s victim as was Alexandra.

She lifted her crumpled skirt and glided upstairs to the sitting room. Grayson had helped her back into her che
mise and bodice, but the gown was wrinkled beyond hope. Her hair, she saw in the hall glass, was a mess. Anyone glancing at her would guess what she had been doing.

As she passed the sitting room on the first floor landing, she thought again about her list of suitors reposing there in the drawer. Such silliness. Why hadn’t she remembered that many a couple in the fashionable world chose their mates by a careful set of criteria, to their mutual unhappiness? Their lists were satisfied, but their hearts were not. No wonder so many men took mistresses and so many ladies took lovers.

She would destroy it. Determined, she opened the sitting room door.

Mr. Bartholomew and Lord Hildebrand rose from their respective chairs and faced her.

She stopped, stunned. As one, the two men looked her up and down, and she blushed to the roots of her hair. Why hadn’t she first hastened to tidy herself? At the soiree, her suitors might have suspected that she and Grayson had become lovers; her dishabille now would remove all doubt.

“Madam,” Jeffrey called up the stairs. “His lordship and Mr. Bartholomew came to call. I put them in the sitting room.”

Alexandra winced, suddenly understanding why Grayson became so enraged with guards who let enemies slip past them.

Mr. Bartholomew was studying her, looked slightly shocked. Lord Hildebrand raised an ironic brow and made a delicate sniff. Alexandra felt as though she were boiling inside. She remembered the scent of lovemaking that had clung to Mr. Ardmore. No doubt the same scent clung to her now.

She could run. She could scream and dash up the stairs and lock herself in her room. Or she could square her shoulders and face them. Perhaps she could claim she was climbing trees with Maggie. They would believe that, would they not?

Would climbing trees explain the mark Grayson had left on her neck when they’d made love a second time? A love bite, he’d called it. She’d never heard of such a thing. But she’d seen it on her throat, stark and nearly purple, as she’d buttoned her bodice before the mirror in his drawing room. Did her loose hair cover it sufficiently? Did she dare pull the locks over her shoulder to make certain?