My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1) (11 page)

Chapter 11

Two hours and several changes of topic later, Anne sat in Addison’s carriage, relaxed and languid. Meanwhile, he sat on his bench all handsome with his dark, auburn hair disheveled from the wind. But, his silvery-gray eyes glittered in the lamplight, no doubt angry at the amount of Scotch she’d imbibed. Her eyelids felt as if sandpaper were behind them—tired and scratchy. Shrugging, she tore her gaze away from those captivating eyes, lest she stir the fire he’d ignited in the study.

The gentle rocking of the carriage reminded her of being upon the deck of a ship. Now, there was something she had been comfortable with, life on the sea.

She’d not consumed that much alcohol in over a year, not since that fateful night Jonathon Barnet had ambushed them. The night of intense sword fights and Jack hiding like the coward he was. Certainly not the type of man whom a disheartened, young, married girl would fall in love with and bare him two children.

Her heart slowed its rhythm, recalling the man with whom she presently shared the carriage.

Glancing again at her companion, Anne wasn’t the least stunned he fairly glared in her direction.

“What?”

No blinking, no displeasure, only an intense gaze . . . and the sickening-sweet smell of Scotch.

“Nothing, I am just curious.” Not only did his muscular frame fill his side of the carriage, his powerful presence and tension flooded the area.

Knowing full well the dangers of giving into his curiosity, it was not in her nature to shy away from such an opening.

That was the thing about whiskey. It kept away the inhibitions.

“Curioussss about what?” Her vision blurred for just a moment, and her brain felt as if it were swimming in her skull.

“I’ve been considering an experiment and the outcome of such experiment.” He leaned forward, propping his large hands upon his knees.

“And, what issss thissss esssperiment?” She narrowed her eyes.

The slow smile that stretched his lips and sudden bright gleam in his dark-lashed eyes should’ve raised a red flag right away, but in her inebriated and lethargic state, that flag didn’t fly as soon as it should have.

“How many glasses of Henry’s Scotch did you pilfer, anyway?”

“How dare you sssay I ssssstole them. Henry was gracioussss enough to offer me thossse lassst few.”

He chuckled, sending a familiar tingle into her lower belly.

“Aye, the sly chap that he is.” His fingers tapped methodically upon his knees, in tune to her increased heartbeat. “How many?”

Counting mentally and biting the inside of her cheek, she cocked her head to assist in calculating the proper number. Why this was important to him, she’d no idea.

She shrugged, giving up on the count. “I don’t know . . . ssssix?”

He sighed, “Just as I suspected. You’re properly foxed.”

Raising her brows, she watched him grin, that same all-male, seductive smile that produced a massive shiver all the way from the base of her spine to her skull.

“Fosssed?” She’d never admit that to him. “I highly doubt that.
Phfft
.” Anne knew she only made that sound when she was properly foxed—which only helped to disgruntle her more—so, she turned her head to stare out the window, even though it made her quite dizzy.

“No? That’s refreshing, then. No lady would ever get in that state.” She could still hear the smile in his voice.

“I tried to warn you.” She refused to look back at him.

“You’re truly not in your cups then? I mean, since you’re not a lady—”

“I assssure you, I’m not.” Why was it so hard to convince him?

“Then, you’ll not mind when I do this . . .” The rustle of his jacket and the creaking of the floor boards startled her as he leaned forward, as fast as a streak of lightning, and pulled her bodily onto his lap.

She’d no time to struggle as he adjusted her skirts, her bottom resting in his lap. The carriage continued to rock, and it was only natural in her astounded state to place her arms on his shoulders to keep her balance. A hard bump lifted her slightly from her perch and threw her forward against his chest. Grunting, he grabbed her about the waist to steady her.

Dizzy now, and attempting to keep the Scotch from coming up into her throat, Anne leaned forward—just for a moment until she could get her bearings—and rested her cheek along the warmth of his collar bone. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the masculine scent of his skin, stalling the wave of dizziness engulfing her. His hands were gentle, yet firm, as they held her waist. Swallowing to reduce the sudden dryness in her mouth, she continued to lie there. The swaying of the carriage, his scent, his hands on her, all created a soothing atmosphere.

Heavy lidded and lethargic, she sighed as his closely shaved jaw leaned into her cheek.

“Anne?”

Concern and uncertainty penetrated her slow thoughts, and a distinct hardness beneath her bottom she had no urge to acknowledge reminded her she should move away.

One of his hands began a circular, rubbing sensation on her lower back. Sighing again—what was wrong with her?—she kept her eyes closed.

Blackness enveloped her.

The slackness of her body and the steady breath that touched his neck told him she’d fallen asleep. He continued to massage her back, smiling into her cheek as his jaw touched her there.

He’d admired her spirit tonight, allowing Isabel the excitement of aiding in the planning of their wedding, whilst he knew Anne seethed inside about their nuptials. The gamine smiles she’d bestowed upon his friend awakened a jealousy he’d never imagined he’d suffer. Henry was, after all, a charmer, but it did little to assuage the envy he’d felt all evening with each tantalizing stretch of her full lips, the twinkle in her eyes. Her unrelenting scheme to show him her worthlessness as a wife grated on his nerves, but the explosive encounter in the study all but erased that attempt from his mind.

Still burning with the heat of it, his manhood surged to the point of discomfort just remembering, and the warmth of her derriere pressed snugly into his loins didn’t help one bit.

He itched to make her smile and laugh as she had tonight for Henry and Isabel, to make her happy. She was fiery, and tempestuous, rebellious, and proud. Surely, he’d be crazy to want to possess such a woman.

But, he did.

Wanted to possess her in mind and body, to feel her tempest beneath him and all around him. But, how to accomplish it? She was like no woman of his experience or acquaintance. No lady would ever behave the way Anne Morgan behaved in his presence. She rejected him and encouraged him at every turn. Perplexing, and stimulating.

The carriage came to a stop. Addison cradled her in his arms and glanced down to where her long lashes brushed her pale cheeks. His stomach plummeted as if someone had thrown a fist into his gut.

There seemed to be only one way to possess her. He’d have to show her that her past would not define her or their marriage. He didn’t care if she had no privileged upbringing, or if she’d never been referred to as ‘lady’ before now. He’d not allow her antics to fuel his temper. That was the only way to win her over. He’d have to play along until she realized she would be his wife because he had decided it would be so.

John opened the carriage door, and Addison maneuvered Anne carefully through the opening. He smiled at John’s raised eyebrows, the contrast between the whites of his eyes and his caramel-colored skin pronounced.

“Don’t ask.”

John shook his dark head. Addison climbed the steps to the house, and then carried his charge to her room. He dared not remove her clothing for fear his erection would linger all night.

Kicking open her door, he placed her carefully in the center of the bed. She emitted a sigh and his gut twisted in desire.

“Bloody Hell.” Growling seemed to become a regular emission from him since meeting this fiery redhead.

Addison extinguished the bedside candle and stormed from the room before an urge to climb in bed alongside her trumped his better decision-making process.

He strode over to the wash basin in the corner of his room, splashing cold water over his face, neck, and arms until his blood cooled somewhat. Dowsing his hair helped even more.

Next, he threw open the curtains to allow the silvery glow of the moon to bathe the room in its bright light. Stars speckled the darkened sky.

Sighing—another annoying habit he’d acquired of late—he fell back onto his large bed, crossed his ankles, and stared up at the ceiling.

Tomorrow, after verifying his ships had made port and unloaded their stores, and re-loading his newest shipment of rice and Henry’s tobacco, he’d take Holt for a ride on his horse. Perhaps show the lad how to brush and care for it, too.

Every day, he’d show Holt something different: the rice fields, his workmen, his office, and even take him for a ride on one of his ships. There was a brilliant light in the boy’s eyes that shone with intelligence. He’d make a fine son.

A son.

He had a son. Two sons and a daughter, now. Within a matter of days, he’d acquired an entire family. He now had an obligation to more than himself. A strange and exhilarating feeling.

Addison closed his eyes, potential future happiness filling his heart.

But, first, he’d need to see how far Anne Morgan was prepared to go to push him away.

Chapter 12

Ferocious pounding on Anne’s bedroom door matched each shot of pain through her skull. Stretching only intensified the discomfort.

“Anne?”

Would the tiresome woman ever sound pleasant? Apparently, Sarah was annoyed with her, or perhaps that was just her normal voice. Whatever it was, it hurt her head.

“Aye, Sarah, I’m awake.”

“The babes are in need of a feeding.” Sarah grouched from the other side of the door.

Her breasts ached at mention of her little ones. “Aye, I’ll be there in a moment. Thank you.”

“Humph.” She heard the old woman’s steps as she retreated down the hallway.

Grabbing her head, Anne threw her feet over the bed, gazing down at the wrinkled gown she’d slept in from the previous evening. Blushing, she could only imagine Addison’s reaction to her cuddling on him before she fell asleep. He’d been a complete gentleman, and put her to bed, unharmed.

Anne hurried as much as her pounding head would allow, and entered the nursery. Garrett and Frederica cooed from their cribs. Smiling through the haze of pain, she sang to them while she fed each in turn, rocking them and enjoying their company.

Eliza entered just as she was laying the babes down again to go wash up.

“Good morning, Mrs. Morgan.” Her British accent made her sound extra cheery.

Now that her headache had trickled down to a dull thud, Anne could converse normally, or perhaps it was the genuine smile that went all the way to Eliza’s doe-brown eyes. “Morning, Eliza.”

“The babes have been fed, aye?”

“Aye.” She patted the older lady’s hand. “Thank you so much for helping with the children. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“Oh, no need to thank me, dear. Those lads and that little lady are precious.”

Anne smiled, “All the same, thank you.” She gave the woman a quick hug, surprising her. “You’re a wonderful woman, Eliza Teach. You’ll have to join us for dinner this evening.”

Eliza had the grace to blush. “Thank you for the invitation, Anne, but I’m otherwise occupied each evening. Lord Blackhurst has given me the charge of teaching the children, and the men and women, how to speak and understand our English language.”

Anne felt her brows rise with curiosity. “He teaches the slaves English?”

Eliza nodded, “Aye. A fine man you’re marrying, too. He buys whole families, gives them a home, and makes sure they always have clean clothes, a place to sleep, and food on the table. Not too many landowners along the Ashley can say they are so kind to their slave-folk.”

Not knowing how to feel about the kindness of the arrogant and infuriating man who made her blood boil, and her body hum, all she could do was nod.

“I do not doubt it. Now, I must see to going into town.” She hugged the older woman again, and exited the nursery.

By the time she’d made her way to the dining area, where the delicious scents of breakfast floated in the air, it was mid-morning. Having a sour stomach after the amount of Scotch she’d consumed did not precipitate finding out if the food was as delicious as it smelled. She did, however, find herself wondering if Addison were in the house somewhere, waiting to throw her drunken shame in her face.

The more she thought on it, the angrier she became at him. He’d accused her of being foxed, manhandled her onto his lap, and stoked a fire in her like no other when in Henry’s study.

The only way to combat these feelings was to distance herself from the marriage. No good, decent, respectable gentleman would wed a pirate.

She finished her plate and strolled down to the servants’ quarters to find Raphael.

She found Sarah, instead, as she worked on a list of some sort.

“Is Lord Blackhurst at home? I did not see him at breakfast.”

Sarah leaned back, crossing her arms before her. “He’s gone to the warehouse, I suppose. Does most mornings, very early.”

It felt awkward standing there, asking after the lord of the house.

Anne nodded, “Good to know. Thank you.” She hadn’t the foggiest notion what Raphael did during his daytime hours when she wasn’t asking him to accompany her places. “Is Raphael about?”

Sarah pointed to the door leading out into the yard. “I believe he’s gone out to the stables to help muck out the stalls with Mr. Knox.”

“Thank you. I’ll go talk to him there.”

Sarah’s grunt followed her out the side exit into the yard. The now-familiar sound of hammering and chatter from the servants and workers who continued their construction on Cranford Hall met her ears. The sun peeked in and out of low-hanging, white, puffy clouds, and the breeze blew the scent of magnolias up from the long expanse of lawn down to the dock at the river.

Anne shielded her eyes to see the hustle and bustle of the people around her. There were quite a few lads and gentlemen in the rice fields behind the barn and to the east of the property.

Horses neighing from the barn guided her toward Raphael. He and John worked silently next to one another, shoveling straw and mucking the stalls. A very elegant and sturdy white horse stomped two stalls down from the men. The bay horses that drove the carriage stood peacefully in the adjacent stalls.

Bypassing John and Raphael—and the way they stared at her as they stopped their shoveling—Anne walked over to the horse. He was quite magnificent; sixteen hands high, silken coat, and an immaculately trimmed mane of silvery gray hair. Addison’s eyes had been the same color in Henry’s study.

Shaking her head to clear the lusty thoughts, she stepped forward and rubbed the side of the horse’s neck, and then his warm muzzle. Anne looked over to see John Knox leaning on his shovel, watching her with dark, chocolate eyes, and sweat pouring from his dark hair. His light blue shirt was open at the neck. His trousers were loose and airy, like his shirt, and he wore dark sandals.

“Don’t think anyone besides Lord Blackhurst has ever gotten that close to that horse before.” He wiped his brow. “That horse likes to stamp and scare everyone away. All but master Blackhurst. He got him trained just for him.”

“He’s just a big baby.” The horse nudged her hand as if wanting more when she stopped her caress.

John laughed. Raphael stopped shoveling long enough to roll his eyes.

“What does Lord Blackhurst call him?”

“We call him Apollo, my lady.” His face split into a grin when Anne pressed a kiss on Apollo’s nose. “He likes you.”

She scrubbed the horse between the ears. “I would love to ride you, Apollo, but first I would like to visit Elizabeth Browning.” She stepped away and motioned Raphael over. “Might we travel to Charles Town?”

Shrugging, her hulking bodyguard rested his shovel against the barn wall and stood waiting for her.

She caught John still smiling in her direction. She smiled back. “How long have you worked here, Mr. Knox?”

“Nigh on three years, Ma’am. Been here since Lord Blackhurst first bought this land, and me.” He swiped his hand across his brow, catching the moisture that was about to drip into his eyes. “You can call me, John, Ma’am. Nobody calls me Mr. Knox exceptin’ that tax man.” He grinned, white teeth contrasting with the darkness of his skin.

Anne laughed, “Very well, John. And, you may call me Anne. No need to call me ‘Ma’am.’”

He nodded and rested his shovel next to Raphael’s. “I’ll go on and fetch Artie to ready the boat for you. Should I tell Mr. Blackhurst you’ll be back by supper?”

Bloody hell, even the workers thought she needed to report to the lord of the house. She wouldn’t allow herself to be frustrated at others though—she’d reserve that for the master, himself. She nodded her head, even while she seethed inside at having anyone tell him her whereabouts.

“Sure, John, how nice of you.” She bit the inside of her cheek while the two men exited the barn to ready the boat, pacing back and forth on the dirt floor of the barn. The smell of manure invaded her nostrils. Her brain churned and turned on this idea and that one. How to continue inciting the ire of Addison Blackhurst, and how long until he cried off?

Convincing him she was no lady seemed to do the trick, so far, but that had other consequences, as well. Of course, the episode in the study was unplanned—not entirely unwanted—but it had indeed shown her he had been irritated by her unladylike comment, and the jealousy he felt toward Henry.

Jealousy? How strange he’d been upset by her natural enjoyment of Henry and Isabel.

She strolled in a thoughtful daze out into the sunlight, down the lawn, and onto the trail that led to the small dock where she knew one of Addison’s men and maybe Raphael awaited her. She passed John who dipped his head with a smile as he went by. Raphael helped her down into the now-familiar longboat captained by the short and stocky Artie.

“Off to town again, Mrs. Morgan?” His beefy hands grabbed the oars as she sat on the middle bench. Raphael moved to the rear of the small vessel, sending it rocking to one side.

“Yes, please, Artie. I would appreciate it very much. I do apologize for the short notice.”

“It’s no never-mind, my lady. My job, it is.”

The job she’d assigned herself—that of ridding herself of an unwanted husband—consumed her thoughts during the journey. The task at hand should come easily to her. Pushing him away could not be so difficult, certainly. He was an arrogant, overbearing man that instantly ignited her temper. Why she’d so desperately wanted to kiss him . . . well, that was another matter entirely.

She shifted uncomfortably on the bench, recalling the soft pressure of his lips, the trails of fire his hands left upon her skin. The anticipation of seeing him sent her heart thumping.

She longed to hear the deep timbre in his voice and watch passion darken his eyes to a deep, glittering silver. Not even the men she’d fancied herself in love with had affected her in such a way. Her first, and thankfully dead, husband married her for her father’s riches.

The attraction had been juvenile, and one-sided. She’d fled the city with Rackham soon after her husband declared his plan and that he preferred men. She’d lost her innocence to Rackham, and even envisioning his touch at the time didn’t make her fan herself as she did now.

What in the bloody hell was the matter with her?

Thumping her head with the palm of her hand was the only way to keep her mind on track with her strategy. That plan continued today with more anticipated unladylike behavior.

The deep-blue day gown she wore today did not play into this behavior, however. Frowning down at her beautifully outfitted body, she knew it might become a problem, but she’d deal with that later. Knowledge that she still kept a small, jeweled dagger in her right boot made her a little more comfortable.

Feeling the braid she’d thrown together again this morning, she sighed. Wearing her old trousers and trench coat, with her men’s hat pulled down low over her face would have sufficed, but she’d not get the town talking if she showed up in those old digs. That talk would involve being recognized, instead of the gossiping she preferred. Arriving in a proper gown . . . now, that would raise Addison’s brow.

Tucking away her plan for now, she allowed Raphael to help her down to the street from their hired conveyance, in front of the Browning town home. In the morning light, it was just as magnificent today as it was the previous day. Squaring her shoulders, she marched up to the front door and tapped the knocker to the door three times. The bushy white eyebrows raised high above spectacles and balding head of Elizabeth’s servant greeted her again today.

“Mrs. Morgan to see Mrs. Browning, again, sir.” She pat her braid, nervous for some reason at the man’s perusal.

“Yes, my lady. This way.” He lowered his eyebrows and motioned her into the parlor, as before. Perhaps he always greeted company with raised brows.

“Thank you.” He shut the door behind her, and Anne found Elizabeth already sipping her morning coffee.

“I told Hobbs I spied you through the window.” Her dark eyes twinkled over the rim of her cup.

Anne sat on the chair opposite Elizabeth at the small parlor table. She inhaled. “I love the smell of the river blowing through the air in the mornings. The scent is so pleasing and calming.”

“Aye, I am the same. That is one of the delights of living here in Charles Town, isn’t it? Not too far from the sea.” She poured Anne a cup of steaming brew. “Although, sometimes it can be hazardous.”

Anne took the proffered cup, smiling. “Hazardous? How so?”

“Oh my, you’re not originally from here, I take it.”

She shook her head. It wasn’t a direct lie, but she’d lived within the city walls prior to her pirating days.

Elizabeth’s eyes grew large, inhaling a breath and exhaling right before she began, her face lit with excitement. “Oh, we had a run of pirates terrorizing us, here and off the coast, for many years. Why, even Blackbeard decided to pay us a visit and tried to extort money from us. He has been killed though.”

“Blackbeard, you say? How horrible for everyone. I do hope the pirate problem has been resolved.” It was imperative she distance herself from her old ways, she knew. She wanted to be far away from those old friends and enemies. However, she couldn’t help sending up a small prayer for her old, misunderstood friend.

“I believe so. Pirating is no longer much of an issue along the coast. There are a few incidents here and there, but nothing as harrowing as years past.”

Elizabeth leaned toward her, whispering as if there were ears pressed to the closed doors or outside of the windows. “You know, there are still quite a few seedy taverns down by the docks that some pirates have been reported as being seen from time to time. I would have loved to see them up close.” She shuddered, taking a sip of her coffee. “From afar though. Fascinating, pirates.”