My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1) (12 page)

Anne smiled, nodding. “Aye, fascinating, indeed.” Truer words were never spoken, she supposed. If there were one word that could describe her life in the past, it was that. But, how to make it work for her now, without exposing her identity to the world, or to her future husband?

“You say there are some taverns? I should like to see them, too.” That was right. She’d been to a couple with Calico Jack, even speaking to Blackbeard on one occasion, herself, whilst waiting for a bag of gold for some goods they’d pirated along the coast.

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed, her eyes worried. “Oh my, dear. You mustn’t really do it.”

Feigning disinterest, Anne swallowed her coffee and shook her head. “I only speak of curiosity, Elizabeth.” Resting her cup upon the table before them, Anne placed her hand on the older lady’s. “Now, on to what I’ve come for. I would like to thank you for all of your daughter’s lovely clothes, Elizabeth, truly. You have my lifelong friendship. If you ever need anything . . . anything . . . please, send for me.”

Color rose in Elizabeth’s cheeks. “You are very welcome, dear. I can already see Lenore’s gowns fit you beautifully, and this one brings out the color of your eyes. How beautiful a green they are, too.”

Looking down at her gown, she had to agree the coloring was just to her taste. The deep color highlighted her pale skin, too. Anne stood and hugged her new friend. “Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome, m’dear.”

“Now, I must be on my way. I’ve stopped to give my humble thanks, and I’ve decided to see a bit of Charles Town.”

Concern marred Elizabeth’s voice. “Dear, you must be very careful.”

Anne grinned, “You’ve seen Raphael. I’ll be fine. Just a bit of sightseeing.” And, a tavern or two to visit. Gossip would travel fast, she hoped.

After saying their goodbyes, Anne asked Raphael to drive her into the heart of town, not far from Addison’s warehouse, she supposed. Then, she sent him off to fetch some items of which she really had no use. No need for her bodyguard to chaperone her visits to The Hound and the Hare. Remembering it well, she marched down the long alleyway, passing a few surly folks along the way who gave her strange looks, and headed to the end of Bay Street.

The blasted gown may cause a bit of trouble. Pushing open the misshapen, wooden door below the tavern sign, the eyes that greeted her reiterated that thought. Inside, the tavern remained as it was on her previous visit a couple years before: darkly lit, musty, eerily quiet, but the smell of freshly baked bread and soup filled the room. The Hound was known for its biscuits. The grumble of her stomach reminded her she’d not eaten breakfast, or lunch.

The tavern keeper eyed her warily, his blue eyes following her every movement as she sat at the table farthest from the doorway. Sailors and dockworkers alike milled about, and eyes watched her from the dark corners. Other patrons became visible in the smoky recesses of the tavern, their lit cigars blazing in the darkness. Some things never changed. However, this time, most would not recognize her, all prissied up and wearing a fancy gown.

Anne Bonny had always worn trousers and a hat, with fiery, red hair, and would have never been caught wearing a gown . . . at least that’s what the Wanted poster featuring
The Pirate Anne Bonny
near the door fairly said, minus the wearing a gown bit.

She was no longer Anne Bonny. She just hoped no one in this room would compare her looks to that of the gal on the poster. She took a calming breath. Her father had probably paid off the Governor of Charles Town as well as her jailors.

“What are ye havin’, lady?”

Must everyone call her that? Not sighing or stamping her foot was quite an accomplishment at the moment. A slightly disheveled blonde with rouged cheekbones and bright, red lips eyed her with contempt, her cleavage all but spilling over the top of her low-cut gown. Smiling would not be a good idea here.

“Ale. And, biscuits with gravy.” It was best to be curt in these places. If a pin dropped, it would be easy to find in the quiet that followed her demand.

Someone stood, their chair dragging along the floor as they got up. Another man with dark, oily hair and a pointy nose lit a cigar, the fire at the end illuminating the creases in his face, the blackness of his eyes. She’d seen him before, but could not place his face to a specific memory. Perhaps she’d sailed with his crew a time or two, or sliced him with her dagger. A quick, mental shrug removed him from her mind.

When her food arrived, she pulled her dagger from her boot, in plain sight of every person in the tavern, and stabbed it into a biscuit, looking at as many of them as she could see in the dim light. The tavern keeper’s face showed surprise, his dark brows raised high above his eyes. The oily man in the seat near the door narrowed his eyes upon her. Two men not far from her stopped speaking, but continued on after a direct look in their direction. The tavern wench glared and then proceeded to the business of delivering ale to her customers.

Nearly wolfing down the food in her starvation, the delicious gravy slid down her throat, and she washed it down by drinking the entire pint of wheat ale. Resisting the urge to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, she remembered she was the woman who would soon be Lady Blackhurst of Cranford Hall, and not a pirate.

Should she announce her name and that she was Lord Blackhurst’s bride? No English lord would come into the likes of this tavern, but how to get her presence noticed in such an unfashionable establishment without completely ruining the pains her father had taken to remove her past discretions?

Shaking her head, she realized she hadn’t thought this through. Now, she’d have to figure out a way to start the gossip.

The door to the tavern opened, and most everyone turned to see who entered. Everyone, except her. She wasn’t interested in the least. She just hoped they left her to her own devices. The tavern wench let out a gasp, then squealed in delight as she rushed toward the front of the tavern. Obviously, she was happy to see the new patron.

Moving her dagger around the leftover gravy on her discarded plate, Anne was stumped. She needed to be seen to be talked about.

She could hear the bar maid coming up behind her. The gossip would spread around Charles Town like wildfire if she used the right avenue. Perhaps she’d ask the wench where the more gossipy, hoity-toity folks frequented. First, she’d order another drink.

“Another ale if you don’t mind, girl.” It was quiet all of a sudden.

“I would mind, very much, madam.” So matter-of-fact that masculine English voice, yet laced with sarcasm and arrogance.

Anne shrugged.

This had turned out to be better than gossip. Addison had found her himself.

Chapter 13

The morning had been agonizing to say the least. Addison had a fitful night of sleep due to a frequent urge to stalk over to Anne’s room, throw off her covers, and lie down beside her. She’d been foxed and passed out, sleeping soundly, but it hadn’t stopped him from fantasizing all evening of the various ways he could awaken her, and make love to her until the sun came over the horizon at dawn. The heat and tension that crackled in the air when she was near him turned him into a fire keg, lit and ready to explode.

He was either in a state of frustration, angry and rash, or arousal, sweating from trying to maintain some semblance of politeness. Raking a hand through his hair and swigging whiskey seemed to be in direction correlation to her arrival. Whatever it took, he’d extricate the memory of Anne from his dreams.

Leaving his rooms, he rounded the stairwell and entered the nursery. The little ones were quite taken with him and he visited them nightly, before bed, and in the early mornings before beginning his day.

The messy mop of dark, auburn hair swirled atop Garrett’s head never ceased to put a smile on Addison’s face. The infant seemed to sense him in the room every time, for his large, green eyes would always be open and staring straight at him as he peeked over the crib. No sooner would he see the boy’s eyes, than the young lass would perk up and coo for his attention.

Frederica’s doe-brown eyes, chubby cherub face, and fists and legs working back and forth greeted him, too. The urge to grab up the little urchins and cuddle them was too hard to resist, each and every time he visited.

He gave little Freddie a smile and cradled her first, rubbing her soft, silky cheek with the back of his knuckles, falling a little more in love with her every rock of his arms.

Giving her a kiss, he laid her down beside her brother, and scooped up the boy. He pushed a fat, pudgy fist into his mouth as he smiled, large dimples appearing on each cheek. Chuckling, he gave Garret a walk around the room. “Cheeky fellow, already, eh?”

The answering babble that came from the tiny person in his arms had become a ritual.

“You’re a Blackhurst now, so I see you’ve gained a family trait.” He smiled down at the boy as he placed him beside his sister.

He said his farewells for the morning, and strode down to the family dining area. Delcie awaited with his customary breakfast, a delicious concoction known as grits in the Carolinas. The dish was always smothered in butter and cinnamon, with a side of poached eggs.

Sitting in the silence, wolfing down the eggs and then the grits, he allowed thoughts of Anne to creep into his thoughts, but only a few times.

A wicked tongue and wit were common among his male companions, but it was quite unique in the female variety. The wide, full-lipped smiles and gestures at Henry’s dinner party still managed to affect him, both with desire and extreme jealousy.

Brows furrowed, he frowned down at his empty plate.

And, that was the crux of it . . . he couldn’t recall becoming jealous of any man in his life. Not even his older siblings who were the esteemed and established wealthy lords of the realm.

The woman was making him positively daft.

He shook his head hoping to force her from his thoughts. He finished his breakfast, and rode Apollo with a vigorous pace about the fields. James found humor in the speed Addison put to rowing them to Charles Town. Though, none of it had any effect on the constant thoughts of his flame-haired vixen.

His
.

The possessive word stuck in his mind. Anne Morgan was not a woman to be possessed. At least, she didn’t know she would be, as of yet. He’d need every weapon in his arsenal to bring her around, and he was determined to possess her.

During the entire morning, he worked relentlessly on the books and ledgers, discovering extra monies to purchase perhaps another merchantman. One of his ships was due for a hull-scraping, and another needed repairs from a recent bout with tail winds and a coral reef. He walked the docks, checking over the condition of his ships that were in port to be loaded.

Henry made an appearance early in the afternoon.

“Just stopping by on my way to an appointment with the Governor. Wanted to tell you that we love her.”

“Pardon me?” Once his friend had stepped through the door, all Addison could envision was his future bride’s flashing smile, and alluring, sparkling eyes as she laughed with Henry on the settee.

Henry’s white teeth flashed as he plopped onto the chair before Addison’s desk. “You sound a bit grumpy today, old chap.”

Raking his hand over his scalp, he sighed and threw his head back against his chair, and looked up at the ceiling. “I’ve quite a bit on my mind.” Breathing in a deep, calming breath, he relaxed his head and looked at the smile still plastered on his friend’s face.

“You mean a beautiful, fire-haired woman.”

Not wanting to dignify that remark, he pressed his lips together in a tight smile. “You approve, then, I take it?”

“Aye. As a matter of fact, you’re requested for tea and brunch tomorrow at one o’clock.”

“She’d be delighted, I’m certain of it. She was quite enamored of you and Isabel.”

Henry’s dark brows rose. “Of me?” Chuckling, he stood, placing his hands in his pockets, blue eyes twinkling. “Why, if I weren’t quite mistaken, I’d say you were jealous.”

Before he could deny the truth, Henry laughed again. “You’ve gone and done it, Ad. I say, I recognize this feeling.” Henry reached out and offered him his hand. “Congrats. Congrats, again, my friend.”

Addison had no idea to what he spoke, but it was becoming quite infuriating. “Done what, Henry?”

Turning on his heel and heading for the door, his friend swiveled, then gave him a wide smile, his hand on the knob. “You’ve gone and fallen in love with her, haven’t you?”

The door closed with a thud, the bell above it twinkling merrily.

While he’d spent the night and morning envisioning his bride in various stages of happiness, desire, passion, and determining how on earth he would possess her, he was now convincing himself Henry was the crazy one. He’d only known the woman for a few days. Exasperating, vexing, witty, delicious, intelligent, determined . . . those were only a few of the ways he would describe her.

But, was he in love with her?

He sailed back to Cranford Hall in a daze. Spying young Holt jerked him from his musings. The boy played with a stick on the front lawn near the pond.

He’d promised to show the boy his horse. Eliza stood nearby diligently keeping her eye on her young charge. Smiling, he thanked the stars above for sending him the woman who gave so much and asked for nothing in return. Teaching numerous slave children the English language, had been a lifesaver, not only to him and his plantation, but to the people he had grown to love in his own way.

Addison fetched Apollo, riding him to where Eliza and the boy stood. When Holt noticed the large steed trot near him, his emerald eyes widened and he squealed with delight. Addison smiled, waving. “Hello, Holt.” He patted the horse’s sleek neck. “This is Apollo.”

He slid down from the saddle and lifted the boy to sit atop the horse. The excitement in the boy’s face, his dimples clearly pitted in his tiny, pale cheeks, teeth flashing, and the wide-eyed wonder in his green eyes, made Addison’s heart swell.

Pleasing Holt, just in that moment, gave him a particular sense of delight he’d not yet had the opportunity to experience.

Holt kicked his chubby legs as if knowing the steed should react. “Ride!”

“Ho, there, Holt. You’re not quite ready to go on your own, lad.” He held Apollo’s reins with a firm grip to keep the stallion from answering the movement of Holt’s vigorous actions. While many stallions would buck off the nuisance, Apollo behaved himself in Addison’s presence through rigorous training.

“He’s a bit impatient, Lord Blackhurst. He soaks up everything I show him like a sponge.” He turned to see Eliza’s indulgent smile, and puffed out, pride-filled chest.

Smiling, he turned back to the boy as he fumbled with the reins.

“Sounds like his mother,” he uttered under his breath.

Holt took that moment to smack him under the chin with one of the legs he kicked around, and Addison found it difficult not to chuckle. That was precisely the reaction his mother would give as well. “Whoa, there, lad.” Holt smiled down at him, all dimples and wild, auburn curls.

“Shall he be safe up there on your stallion?” Eliza’s normally stern tone resonated with concern.

“Eliza, Apollo was trained by the best and has a demeanor unlike any stallion I’ve raised. I’ll bring Master Holt up to the nursery in a while. We’re going to ride along the river.”

“Aye, he’ll be over-the-moon then. I’ll go see if the twins are up.”

Calling them by that name would take some getting used to as they looked nothing alike. Freddie and Garrett were so close in age, they must have been born on nearly the same day.

“Bye, ‘Liza!” Holt shrieked, his thrill at being atop the horse making his voice raise an octave higher.

Holt squealed in displeasure when he scooped him from Apollo.

The boy pouted, his full lip sticking out. “Ride.”

“We’re going to ride together, son.”

He led Apollo over to the mounting post beneath one of the large oaks next to the pond. With the boy in the crook of his arm, he mounted Apollo one-handed using the post.

“
Wheeee
!”

Addison grinned, giving the boy the reins, while holding him around his middle to steady him. He nudged Apollo with his heels and the horse trotted slowly toward the house. Addison placed his hands lightly over Holt’s where he gripped the reins, and assisted him in steering them around the house, and down toward the river.

They spent a good half hour riding—Addison laughing, Holt squealing with delight—before returning to Cranford Hall. He dismounted first and turned back to lift the boy from the saddle. His chest swelled with pride watching the glow of euphoria spread across the lad’s face. He wished to see the growing smile more often.

“Now, you be a good lad every day, and I shall see that you have a proper ride the following day. Can you do that, son?”

“Aye. Please.” Holt squealed in delight again as Addison sent him on the ground.

They walked hand-in-hand back to the nursery, to an awaiting Eliza, who maintained an indulgent smile for the boy no matter the occasion. He’d seen that look many times while she read to the slave children. She was the most spectacular find for him since John Knox and his family.

“Bye, Ad.” Holt gave his hand a small squeeze.

Addison bent down, chucked him under the chin, and ruffled his mop of hair. “Until tomorrow, lad.”

“He’ll be expecting this treatment every day, milord.” She smiled, her brown eyes sparkling.

“Aye, we’ve made a gentleman’s agreement with Apollo to see him every day.”

“Good. Do you wish to speak with Mrs. Morgan?” Gray brows rose high above her eyes.

Bloody Hell. He’d just been able to remove her from his mind for a short while during his occupation with Holt. He did wonder how she spent her idle time during the day.

“Aye, can you tell me where she might be?”

“She’s gone to town, early this morning, I believe.”

Town? Early this morning? How long had she been gone? Frowning, he thanked Eliza and headed down the stairs to find Sarah. If anyone knew where Anne might have gone, it would be his housekeeper. He was sure Raphael would be with his mistress.

Finding her in her usual spot at the servants’ table, going over the ledgers for the stores, she grunted upon spying him. Before he was able to utter his question, she grumbled. “She’s gone somewhere with Raphael and Artie down river, milord.”

Nodding, he thanked her, walked out the back, grabbed up Apollo’s reins, and led him to his stall in the stable. John walked through the stable doors, probably upon hearing him speaking to his horse.

Brushing Apollo with a steady hand, he talked while working. “John, did you happen to see Mrs. Morgan leave this morning? Or, perhaps know where’s she was travelling?”

“Aye, sir. She’s gone to a Mrs. Browning’s home. She’s been gone for some time, though. Should I have gone with her?”

Dread and concern for her safety assailed him. He had no idea at her past, and from what or whom she ran. Her father had not stated, but it was imperative she be known as Cormac’s niece, and not his daughter. Could she be in danger?

“No, John, she’s got Raphael. He’s a bit intimidating if you had not noticed.”

John chuckled, “Yes, sir. He’s sure easy to talk to though. Got kind eyes.”

“Aye, he’d protect her if she were in trouble.” There was nothing for it. The urge to find her, to chase her down, was too great. “However, I’m going to go find out where she’s gone.”