For the Love of a Pirate (3 page)

Which is how it came to be that when the door at Sea Mews was flung open to see who was pounding on it in the gathering dusk, Captain Bigod saw Constantine standing there, with a pistol in his hand.

Captain Bigod took a step back. Then he drew himself up, planted his legs apart, and seemed to swell to fill the doorway. “So, you've come to end the bargain by killing me?” he demanded. “Well, can't say as to how I'm not shocked, because I am. That's a paltry thing to try to do and I didn't expect it from you. Your father would be ashamed of you, lad.”

“What? Oh,” Constantine said. “This.” He looked at the pistol in his hand as though seeing it for the first time. “This wasn't for you. We've been lost for hours, and my coachman told me to go armed if I went to ask directions. Sorry.” He slipped the pistol into his jacket.

“Not saying as to how that ain't a bad idea,” the captain said magnanimously. “But didn't you see the marker, down the road? Says ‘Sea Mews' clear as anything.”

“I couldn't see my hand in front of my face.”

“Aye, it is getting dark. C'mon in.”

“I will and gladly,” Constantine said. “But I've a coach; a coachman; a team of four, one of which cast a shoe; a boy riding him; a footman; and a valet. Have you accommodations for them as well?”

“For them, and all their uncles and cousins,” Bigod said happily. “I'll send my servants to help them out, and stow them accordingly. If there's one thing we have here at Sea Mews, it's room, good fires on a chilly night, and good food. Welcome, welcome. Taunton, go see to the gentleman's horses and servants,” he told an elderly butler who was standing nearby. “And send someone up to get the sea view room ready for him. We'll have dinner together once we get you warm and dry. C'mon,” he said to Constantine. “A swallow of brandy will take the chill off. It's going to rain, y'know.”

“I do,” Constantine said, and repressed a shudder, because the dampness seemed to have gotten under his skin.

He stepped into the house and looked around. If he hadn't known the crusty old captain lived there, he'd not have believed it. It was a manor house equal to any he'd ever seen. The hall was high and wide, and the tiles on the floor were marble, and gleamed. There was a staircase beyond; it twinned in the middle and went up both left and right from there, leading to a gallery on the second floor. The furniture he saw was of old carved wood, heavy and luxurious. He could smell fresh burning fire-wood and a delicious dinner on the air. And that air was wonderfully warm. There were no painted ceilings or frescoes on the walls, but otherwise it was a house that spoke of comfort and riches.

He followed his host, both relieved and cautious.

The room the captain led him to surprised Constantine. Not the array of oddments that the captain obviously had collected in his travels, but the fine leather-bound books. Constantine walked in behind his host, who headed straight for the bookcase on the far wall. This gave his visitor a chance to inspect the room. He smiled with pleasure when he noticed a lively fire roaring in the hearth, and lamps everywhere lit and glowing. The curtains were drawn against the night. The room was both sumptuous and cozy, far more pleasant a place than he'd have expected from the brash old sea captain's appearance. And then, as he strolled over to the fire to warm his hands, he noticed that a little old woman was sleeping in a deep leather chair at the fireside.

“Perhaps we ought to go somewhere else,” Constantine whispered.

The captain turned his head. “Oh, it's Lovey, is it? Never mind. If she's had her tot, a cannon won't wake her; if she hasn't, she'll be lively company. My daughter's governess,” he added. “Or used to be. Now she just lives here. Everyone does,” he mumbled absently. “Better if she does wake up. Be blamed if I can remember the book I'm looking for. Wouldn't be here a'tall if I hadn't sent old Taunton scrambling to see to your arrival, and if I wasn't looking for something good and old, better than I usually partake of. Well, special company and all. Ho, Lovey!” he bellowed so suddenly that Constantine's shoulders jerked. “Give us a hand here, will you?”

The old woman's eyes fluttered open. She glanced up, looking unfocused, Constantine thought.

“Where's the good book, eh?” the captain demanded.

The old woman sat up, blinked, and then frankly goggled at Constantine. “But where are your manners, Captain?” she asked in a strangely youthful, teasing voice. “Who's the handsome lad?”

“He's here for Lisabeth,” the captain said. “Lord Wylde. You remember, and if you don't, no matter. Where's the damned good book?”

“Aren't you going to introduce me?” the old lady asked, looking very much offended.

“Aye, here's Lovey, Miss Esther Lovelace, my lord,” the captain said. “Lovey, here's Lisabeth's intended.”

Constantine frowned.

“Now, must I ask you again, woman?” the captain bellowed. “What's the book?”

“It is the volume of Plutarch's Lives,” Lovey said with enormous dignity. “The very rock upon which William Shakespeare built his immortal plays. Do you attend plays, Lord Wylde?”

“What? Who? I?” Constantine said, confused by her sudden change of demeanor, from icily formal to downright kittenish when she addressed him. “Why, yes. I do enjoy the theater.”

“And so will dear Lis-Lisabeth,” she said, putting her hand over her mouth as she hiccupped “She's never been, you know. To the theater, that is. She's been to local plays, church pageants and the like, of course. But
how
lovely that you will be taking her to the London theater. ‘The world's a s-stage,'” she said, her chest leaping with another hiccup. “As the bard said. It's too bad that she has not yet seen famous thespians tread upon it, isn't it? Name a number from one to twenty,” she commanded, so suddenly Constantine wasn't sure whom she was talking to. But she was staring at him.

“Ah, eighteen,” he said.

She smiled, closed her eyes, sucked in a long breath, and held it. Her pale face was growing pink when she let it out in a sigh. “That's done it,” she said with satisfaction. “No more hiccupping. So inelegant, you know. But now you're here, and all will be well. And end well. As the bard—No!” She frowned at the captain, who was about to touch a book on the shelf he was squinting at. “That's never the book. Higher, the next shelf. Yes, there.”

Governess indeed! Constantine thought. If she had been, he shuddered to think what she'd taught her young charge. The old woman was either addled or drunk.

When the captain pushed the volume she'd pointed to, the bookcase swung back to reveal another room, complete with what looked like a fine array of bottles and a serviceable counter to put them on. Constantine had difficulty keeping his expression serene. This house was elegant. It was the only thing he'd seen so far tonight that was. A raven might move into a dove's nest. It couldn't change its feathers to suit its new nest. The captain was beneath him; his people were too. All that there was left to do was to meet the captain's daughter, tell her that he was already spoken for, make sure no one was angry enough about it to make a public fuss, and then he could leave this place forever, and good riddance.

He might have to pay the captain a goodly sum for his silence. But Constantine had enough money, and he knew no price was too high to pay for his continued respectability.

“Ah, here we are. Good brandy, old enough to vote!” The captain chortled. “Care to join me?”

“I'll have the Jamaican rum,” Lovey said quickly. “I was drinking it and reliving old memories. The islands were where we met, Captain, remember?”

“Can't hardly forget. Took you aboard there and hauled you home again after your man passed on. When I heard you were a governess before you met him, ran away, and sailed with him to nowhere, the thing was simple. My Lisabeth needed a woman of learning and spirit. You'll have your rum. But I was talking to young Wylde here. So, my lord. Care for a tot? This one,” he said, squinting at the bottle, “was your father's favorite of a damp night.”

“Thank you,” Constantine said. “I will.”

He accepted the glass the captain handed him, and sipped some of the dark liquid. It was a potent brandy, and drinking it was a strange feeling, because it was the first time he'd actually had a living link to his father, his preferences and personality. Hs uncle never told him anything personal about the man, and as it turned out, what little he had told him was false.

“Ah!” the captain said, turning around eagerly. “Here's our Lisabeth! Lizzie, come meet your . . .” He saw Constantine's expression, and changed what he was about to say. “Won't make your mind up for you, Lizzie, my love. But come on in and meet Lord Wylde.”

Constantine turned to see the woman his father had selected for him as his bride. He breathed a great sigh of relief.

If she'd been a beauty, he would have had a more difficult time rejecting her. He'd always had a soft spot for a beautiful woman. If she'd been a taking young miss, all airs and graces, he might have felt like a monster in denying her. But this! She was a plain little thing in a plain day gown, the hem liberally spattered with mud. Her hair was wet and pressed down flat, her nose pink from the weather, and she had no graces at all because she stood stock-still, gaping at him. Her eyes, he thought absently, were fine, the color of topazes, and very bright. At least the poor creature had something of feminine merit. He decided to be kind to her, because he doubted she'd had a hand in this, any more than he had. And it was easy to be kind to such a female. He'd always been taught to be considerate of those less fortunate.

He gave her a melting smile.

Those great topaz eyes blinked.

“How do you do?” he said, and bowed, feeling as foolish as if he were bowing to a barnyard creature.

She ducked an answering bow. “How do you do?” she echoed. “I was out walking. Then the rain began. I look a fright, excuse me.”

“Aye, you do,” her grandfather said. “Look like you got dragged through a hedge backward. Go up and change. I'll have Cook hold dinner.”

She flashed a sudden smile at Constantine. “I won't make you wait long,” she said, and fled the room.

“She'll clean up better, you'll see,” the captain said. “Have a seat. Or do you want a wash before we eat? Lovey, go upstairs and have a lie-down until dinner.”

“I'll do, right here,” Lovey said, her eyes crossing and closing as she tried to stare at their guest.

Constantine bowed. “I think I would like to freshen up, thank you,” he said. He had many things to say to his host, but this was neither the time nor place. But he'd say them this very night, so there'd be no mistaking his intentions. And the foremost of those right now was to leave this madhouse as soon as he could.

C
onstantine changed into correct evening clothes and then came down the stairs. An ancient footman told him that the captain was waiting for him in his study. Constantine joined him, feeling horribly overdressed, since the captain was still in the casual attire he'd worn when his guest arrived. Although he felt vaguely foolish in his knee-high breeches, tight fitted jacket, shining linen, and correctly tied neckcloth, Constantine reminded himself that a well-dressed gentleman was always dressed correctly.

He was offered another glass, this one of aged Spanish sherry, and was sipping it, appreciating its age and fire, when his eye was caught by a movement at the doorway. A lovely woman appeared there, and was staring at him. Constantine stopped sipping. Captain Bigod was grinning. Miss Lovelace smiled. But no one bothered making an introduction. The young woman was still looking at Constantine, so he recovered enough poise to bow.

“Good lord, Captain,” he drawled. “You didn't tell me you had two granddaughters. And this is . . . ?”

She giggled.

The captain guffawed.

Miss Lovelace, in her chair by the fire, tittered.

Lord Wylde's smile vanished. His face became expressionless. He suddenly realized who she was, but didn't see the jest, didn't mean it as a joke, and didn't like being laughed at.

The young woman stopped smiling. She curtsied. “I am the captain's only granddaughter,” she said. “So far as I know.”

The captain laughed. Constantine winced.

“Now, Lisabeth,” Miss Lovelace said. She wagged a finger. “Too ripe a jest, my dear.”

“It was my mistake,” Constantine said in a deadly calm voice. “I apologize. Your appearance must have so dazzled me that I couldn't see clearly at first.”

The young woman's lips curled. It was not a friendly smile.

“Told you she'd clean up good,” the captain said, grinning.

Constantine suppressed a groan. This was going to be a long night.

It was the strangest dinner Constantine had ever sat through. He was appalled, amused, and fascinated. The captain's household was eccentric, his servants either so old Constantine wondered if they could successfully teeter around the table with the soup or wind up falling facedown with it, or so young that they didn't seem to know their left side from their right. Miss Lovelace was entirely sober when she sat down, and as the dinner went on, she slowly drank herself almost under the table, or at least down to her elbows, tittering all the way. The captain and his granddaughter didn't seem to notice. Strangely, the food was some of the best he'd ever dined on. It was simple, fresh, and well prepared, and wonderfully good.

Yet, stranger still, the woman he'd come to tell he couldn't marry her obviously didn't like him. She was remote, even a bit disdainful, and largely ignored him, when she wasn't sneering at him. Constantine felt relieved, of course, but also a bit confused, a little annoyed, and entirely fascinated.