The Pirate's Tempting Stowaway (18 page)

He should walk away before he hurt her even more.

“London wouldn’t be a completely terrible place to call home, would it?” Her eyes were luminous.

There. Was he satisfied? He’d dallied long enough that even she was no longer pretending that they were talking about just one night.

“Clara…” His words died. What was there to say? Any sentence that began with
I love you, but…
would cause more harm than good.

“I promise, ’tis not a bad place to put down a root or two,” she said quickly, her smile wobbling. “There are a plethora of trees you could cut down to make your carvings.”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

He didn’t care a whit about trees. Carving was what he did when he was lonely. As long as they were together, he would never be lonely. But he couldn’t stay. Put down a root or two. He loved her too much to risk resenting her for tying him to land. But nor could he force himself to walk away.

“Wait for me,” he demanded between kisses. “Say you will.”

Her breath caught. “Truly? You’ll come back to me after you’ve caught the Crimson Corsair? We don’t have to live here. I’ve money of my own, and—”

“No.” His throat convulsed. That wasn’t what he’d meant at all. “I can’t live a boring, respectable life, love. Not even with you. But I would absolutely be willing to spend every moment on land in your company.”

“Every moment on land?” She pushed him away, her cheeks darkening. “What does that mean, precisely? A day or two here and there, between adventures out on the ocean? Decades of never knowing when—or
if
—you’d be coming home?” She laughed humorlessly. “I misspoke. This wouldn’t
be
your home, would it?”

“And you?” He gripped her arms. “Could you spend the rest of your life on a schooner?”

“Of course not. Roots don’t grow on ships. They grow on land. This is where I have to be. This is where my daughter is. She’s my family. But she doesn’t have to be my
only
family. You could—”

“Why must I be the one to give up everything? I’ve offered to spend every minute I’m not at sea with you. Voluntarily confine myself to land, just to spend more days together. Is London your home or your gaol?
 
Must you be shackled by your bloody roots? We’ve already proven that my bunk on the
Dark Crystal
is more than adequate for—”

“Adventures on a pirate ship isn’t
life
, Gregory. It’s a game. A holiday. A moment of fancy.”

“It’s a dream,” he corrected. “A dream I’m actually living. It’s the realest thing I have, next to my love for you. I’ve offered to share it with you, to make it
our
dream, but if you can’t picture yourself sharing it with me—”

“I love you, too, blast it all.” Her chin trembled. “Do you think this is the life I want?”

“What
do
you want, Clara?” He grabbed her to him, desperate to make her see. “Do you even know?”

“Of course I know.” She twisted away. “I don’t want to lose my second chance for a home. I don’t want to lose time with my daughter. I don’t want to go back to a lonely, cold existence. Of being close to everything and part of nothing. I don’t want to be drift less.”

“That’s what you don’t want. What do you
want?
” He jerked her chin up and forced her to meet his gaze.
 

You,
was all he hoped she’d say.
I want you
. Three little words and he would’ve made any compromise to have her. To keep her.

But she said nothing.

He let go of her chin as if touching her had scalded his fingers. In two strides, he was back in the carriage. The iron wheels were already pulling away.

Captain Blackheart would be returning to his ship alone. ’Twas what he’d known would happen. The only outcome that let them both keep their dreams.

He wished it didn’t feel like they’d lost everything.

Chapter 22

For the first time since becoming captain of his own ship, the feel of the rolling waves tilting the deck beneath his feet filled Steele with neither a sense of victory nor of adventure.

Instead, the familiar quest for balance made him feel lonely.

He had everything he wanted. His schooner. His crew. His freedom. But what he really wanted was…Clara.

Sparks flew as metal clanged against metal.

He tried to keep his focus on the master gunner’s cutlass. Sailors had been known to lose as much blood from practice fights as from the real thing.

“Mind your left, Hughes!” the boatswain yelled from a safe position well out of arm’s reach. “If you can’t beat the Cap’n when his brain ain’t working, you’re dead in a skirmish!”

“I shouldn’t be in a skirmish,” the master gunner shouted back as he swung his cutlass to block Steele’s strike. “I should be in the gunroom, keeping the powder dry.”

“He means keeping his
breeches
dry,” the quartermaster called out, to the delight of the crew.

Steele could end this fight. He ought to do so. But his mind was elsewhere as he lunged and parried to the choppy rhythm of the waves.

She loved him. He’d known it even before she’d told him so. But love hadn’t been enough.

The cutlasses clinked hard enough to send a reverberation all the way up his arm. He ignored it.

It wasn’t like he’d asked her to choose between him and her family. He’d wanted her to choose him to be
part
of her family. He’d said so, hadn’t he?

Er…had he?

Wind whistled past his ear as he narrowly dodged a wild swing from the master gunner’s cutlass.

He’d—very correctly—informed Clara that it would be unfair to expect him to give up all his freedoms, but what had he offered her in return?
 

The choice between an empty bed whilst he and his crew were on voyages or a future devoid of the family she’d fought so hard to be reunited with. The life of a pirate’s mistress.

No wonder she hadn’t said yes.
 

“Where’s your brain, Captain?” one of the swabs dared to shout. “You can beat old Hughes blindfolded!”

“He’s mooning over his
siren
,” the boatswain cooed.

The deck erupted in whistles and catcalls.

“Where is Captain Clara these days?” the galley cook called out.

“Mayfair,” Steele muttered as he deflected the master gunner’s next parry. Not that he was obsessing over her whereabouts. Much.

He might not be in London, but that didn’t mean there were no eyes keeping watch over Clara. She had left her parents’ home for dowager quarters on her daughter’s estate almost immediately, and hadn’t left Carlisle Manor since. It sounded miserable.

He hoped she was happy.

“What’s she doing there?” the galley cook called back. “If you miss her so much, why don’t you just marry her?”

Steele froze as the image washed over him. The idea was so astounding, so tantalizing, that at first he didn’t even notice the stream of hot liquid trickling down his chin.

“First blood!” the master gunner whooped, lifting his cutlass over his head in victory. “I got first blood!”

Steele shook his head. He hadn’t lost to the gunner. He’d lost the fight—and his heart—to Clara, months before.
 

If anyone was going to marry her, by God, it was going to be him.
He
would be the one to make her happy.
He
would be the one to give her a home.
He
would be the one to go to sleep every night with the woman he loved tucked safely in his arms.

Starting this very day.

Steele tossed his blade aside and bodily removed the sailing master from the helm in order to take the wheel. His body thrummed with happiness and a healthy dose of nervous anticipation. He wiped the blood from his jaw and grinned at his men.

“Gentlemen,” he announced with a swagger. “Let’s go to London and fetch a bride!”

Chapter 23

The next months were the loneliest of Clara’s life.

Her four-poster bed felt too big. Too empty. The blankets, too cold.
 

The view from her dowager quarters had changed from brown to green, but even the onset of spring could not lift her spirits. The ground was too stationary. The sea of trees never brought what she longed for most.

Gregory Steele. Captain Blackheart. The pirate who had stolen her very soul.

“Mama?” Grace must have entered the sitting room while Clara gazed out the window. “Are you thinking about him again?”

Clara turned from the window and shook her head. She never stopped thinking about him. She should never have confessed the cause of her melancholy to her daughter. “I was thinking about…Vauxhall.”

“You were thinking about your pirate. Do you know where he went?”

Clara shook her head. “I never will.”

“What if Oliver could find him? Would you go to him if you knew where he was?”

She would fly there with nothing more than her arms. That was why it was best for her never to know. “My place is here with you, darling.”

With a smile that could warm the stars, Grace stepped forward and embraced her mother. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Clara stroked her daughter’s hair.
This
was why she’d crossed an ocean when she was barely strong enough to hold herself upright. For Grace. A daughter was worth any sacrifice. ’Twas simply part of being a mother. “Have you plans for the evening?”

Grace stepped back and clasped her hands, her eyes shining. “Lord and Lady Sheffield are hosting a ball. You can’t have forgotten?”

Clara had, in fact, forgotten. Nor did she feel like dancing. She smiled anyway. “Of course not. It will be a splendid time.”

The sound of a throat clearing caused them both to turn.
 

Ferguson, the butler, stood outside the open doorway to Clara’s sitting room. “Mrs. Halton, you have a guest.”

Her heart sank. She supposed she should count herself fortunate that several of Society’s elderly matrons had decided to welcome her into the fold, but she found their frequent calls for tea tedious, rather than invigorating. Even the butler’s face was pinched.

Ferguson’s eyes were apologetic. “I left him in the—”

“I don’t ‘stay put,’” interrupted a deep, familiar voice. “I’m only in town for the day, and it sounds like your presence is needed elsewhere—”

Steele
. Lungs catching, it was all Clara could do not to fly into his arms and hold on for dear life. Her heart thundered. His laughing eyes, unshaven jaw, arrogant swagger—all of it filled with so much love and longing that she thought her heart would burst with the wanting of him. She was so full of hope, despite the foolishness of such a thing. He was only in town for the day.
 

Her heart twisted. She’d yearned to see him again, longed for just this moment…only for her heart to break all over again when he took his leave and left her behind. She would have to be strong. She couldn’t let him—or Grace—see how deeply his presence affected her.
 

How badly she wished to throw herself into his arms and beg him to stay.

She knew better, of course. She’d always known. He didn’t belong to her. He belonged to the sea.