The Pirate's Tempting Stowaway (10 page)

The earl looked thunderstruck for a moment, then grinned. “I believe the first improvement to be made is proper dowager quarters.
Do
say you’ll be living with us as part of our family. We dreamed of it even when we hadn’t a farthing.”

Clara grinned back at him. “I would love to.”
 

Joy flooded her. And trepidation.
 

Now that she was no longer on death’s door and had been reunited with her beloved daughter, was playing third wheel to a newly wed couple truly the right way to make a fresh start?

Chapter 10

Clara stared out of her bedchamber window at the gray sea of winter trees and wished they were the ocean.
 

Was the
Dark Crystal
off sailing to distant shores? Were Steele and his crew busy plundering treasure? Rescuing some other damsel? Had he forgotten her already?

Try as she might, she had not yet managed to put him completely out of her mind. She was alone too much with her thoughts. And her thoughts often turned to him.

Clara sighed. She’d been living in the dower quarters for weeks now. She was thrilled to be reunited with her daughter, and the Earl of Carlisle was a lovely man and a wonderful catch for Grace, but Clara couldn’t help but feel like she was in the way.

Even after settling debts, the earl and his new countess had enough projects and responsibilities to make anyone’s head spin. They barely had time for each other, much less for Clara—not that they wouldn’t give it! Both of them would do anything within their power to ensure Clara’s comfort and happiness. But an extra worry was the last thing either of them needed.

What they really needed was each other.

Despite their hectic schedules, Clara couldn’t help but notice the soft looks and fleeting touches the couple exchanged whenever one of them entered a room or passed the other in a corridor. Their love was pure and always present in every moment they shared. This was their chance to truly bond.

Or, at least, it would be if the mother-in-law with absolutely nothing better to do didn’t keep tripping over them at every turn.

Carlisle and Grace made room for their new guest in everything they did. Cozy dinners, romantic picnics, candlelit evenings at the opera. But despite all that—or, perhaps, because of it—Clara felt lonelier in their presence than she had in the middle of the ocean.
 

She felt superfluous every time they were together. Loved, wanted, very much cherished—and unceasingly in the way. Clara wanted to
do
something with her life besides clutter up theirs. Which meant what?

Returning to her parents’ house was out of the question. For her sanity and for theirs. She no longer had enough money to buy an island or an armada, but her bank account was more than ample enough to afford a nice cottage or even a reasonably well-situated apartment.

But “well-situated” where?

Somewhere close, of course. Never more than a few hours’ travel away. By land.

With her husband long dead and her daughter an English countess, Clara had no wish to return to America. But nor did she wish to languish at Carlisle Manor for the rest of her days, shuttering herself in the library to re-read tomes for weeks on end just to grant her daughter and her new son-in-law a breath of privacy.

Oh, who was she fooling? Clara turned away from the frost-covered window and retrieved her book from beside the fire. Of course she would stay here in the dowager quarters of Carlisle Manor. What choice did she have? Even if she purchased a little country cottage or flashy Mayfair apartment, it wouldn’t give her what she suddenly craved more than anything.

Adventure
.

Chapter 11

Steele opened the secretary drawer in the office of the old vicarage and withdrew a wickedly sharp knife.
 

He’d dulled countless blades over the past several weeks as he’d tried to fill his long days with constructive action. Like slicing up chunks of wood. And marrying off his headstrong ward who cared more about giving to charities than she did about securing her own future.

It had been a hellish month and a half, but he’d done the impossible. In a matter of hours, his cousin Daphne would wed her childhood flame, and be out of his hair forever.

No more land-locked vicarage. No more servants and responsibilities and post-boys confused by his ward’s numerous pseudonyms. Just Captain Blackheart and the open sea.

And his crew, of course. His fingers itched to send them all notice that they’d be sailing on the morrow, but he hadn’t become a Naval captain or commander of a pirate ship by being a hasty man. He would summon all hands to deck once his ward was truly leg-shackled, and not a moment before.

Thus, the knives. Part of it was to keep his hands busy, but the other part was pure enjoyment. Slicing away bits of wood to create something else relaxed him even more than a quality glass of port.
 

He had one of those, too, of course. Both vices helped to pass the time.

He kicked his feet up onto the desk and slouched comfortably in the wingback chair. In less than a week, the
Dark Crystal
would not only set sail—she’d be setting course for the Crimson Corsair’s secret lair. Steele would catch him, hogtie him, and either deliver him to the authorities…or let the sea swallow him whole.

Ribbons of wood fluttered to the ground as Steele’s knife flashed. He was so focused on where the map might lead that his block of wood was now little more than a splinter. He set it aside and picked up his glass of port instead.

Weeks ago, he’d laughed when innocent Clara Halton had asked how many treasure maps he’d come across. Pirates didn’t hoard treasure, or bury it, or draw clever little maps so any numbskull with eyes could follow X to the spot.
 

Except for the Crimson Corsair.

Steele lifted his glass to the empty room and wished Mrs. Halton were there to share the moment—and the irony. If she felt like giving him a hearty
Told you so
, well, he deserved it. The Corsair’s men had been forced to abandon a payload in order to avoid being caught red-handed, and they’d sent their captain a coded message with the direction of the temporarily hidden treasure.

A coded message that Blackheart’s spies had intercepted.

Steele had no doubt that the Corsair had no intention of leaving his gold buried for long. In fact, it was entirely possible that he was already en route to its last known location, with the intent to sell every last doubloon within hours of recovering the cargo.

But not if Steele got there first.
 

He had the map in a hidden coat pocket. His blood raced with excitement. He couldn’t wait to set sail.
 

Waiting around for his ward’s wedding to take place was delaying his departure, but it was a necessary evil. It afforded him the security of knowing that once he left London this time, he had no reason to ever come back.

The thought of Mrs. Halton once again sprang to mind, as had vexingly become his custom. He had meant to forget her. Had tried mightily, in fact. And yet all this nonsense with gathering suitors for his ward and ensuring she picked the one who loved her, had made Steele half wish Mrs. Halton had been part of the fun.
 

’Twas just… He’d rather enjoyed having Mrs. Halton aboard his ship. He hadn’t been able to enjoy her company as much as he might have
liked
, what with the earl’s pesky rules about not touching the booty, but still. She was beautiful and curious and clever. Even his men had warmed up to her.

Thank God he would never see her again.

The last thing he or his crew needed was a distraction. Not if he wanted the slightest chance of capturing the Crimson Corsair. The cretin would one day pay for his crimes. But first, he would have to find him.

For all Steele knew, his map was one of many, and the Corsair was already halfway back to his treasure. But if he wasn’t…if there was any possibility of Steele beating him there with a fleet ship and a strong wind at his back…

He drained his wine and then glared at the clock upon the mantel. Today of all days, why must the minutes pass so slowly? He reached for the bottle of port and refilled his glass.

He was tired of Maidstone, tired of Kent, tired of England. If he was stuck on land, he wished it could at least be in a coastal apartment with a view of the sea.
 

Being landlocked for six straight weeks had taught him that one had to go on an adventure to find adventure. Life was at its most exciting when one’s money, ship, or very breath hung in the balance.
 

The rumble of carriage wheels on the thawing road raised his brows. He swung his feet to the floor and carried his glass of port with him to the entranceway to the cottage. He swung open the front door.

His ward and her new husband were alighting from their carriage.
 

“Good morning, lovebirds,” he called out in greeting. “Lost, are we? Now that my ward is married, this is no longer her address.”

Although he fully intended to sign the property over to her at the first opportunity.

Daphne blinked up at him in stupefaction. God’s teeth, Steele loved stupefaction. “How did you know—”

“How wouldn’t I know?” Steele wiggled his brows. As if anything ever happened without his knowledge or against his will. “What with that pittance you call an inheritance, I figured either you’d marry the man you’d rushed into a betrothal with, or you wouldn’t.”

“
Rushed
into a betrothal?” his ward spluttered. “You were the one who invited a random assortment of completely unsuitable men in order to pack me off to the first bidder—”

“Yes, well. I knew you’d have none of it, of course.” After all—they were cousins. He grinned. Daphne would have made a damn fine pirate herself. If she weren’t so bloody
proper
.

Daphne glared at him. She curled her fingers into fists and jerked her gaze toward her husband. “I cannot credit that he lied about forcing me into an unwanted betrothal just so I’d pick someone I
did
want.”

“That
is
devious.” Her new husband swung her into his arms and spun toward the carriage. “But I can’t say I’m displeased with the outcome.”

Steele grinned. He was not a romantical person by any stretch of the imagination, but he rather thought he’d done a fine job uniting this pair.

“What are you doing?” Daphne hissed to her husband. “You can’t just pick me up and turn your back on my cousin without so much as a by-your-leave.”

“Why not?” he returned as he carried her toward their landau. “I’m sure Blackheart does that sort of thing all the time.”

The major was a wise and perceptive man indeed.
 

Although they were already driving away, Steele lifted his empty glass in salute. Those two crusaders were off to spend the rest of their lives in peace and happiness. There was nothing the major wouldn’t do for Daphne and vice versa, ad nauseum.

Steele thanked the gods of the sea that he hadn’t a sentimental bone in his body.

He tossed his wine glass onto an empty sideboard and retrieved his pre-packed traveling bag from the office. His cousin and her new husband were off to settle down and be respectable, but Captain Blackheart?

He had a treasure map to follow.