My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1) (6 page)

They eyed one another as she assisted him tightening the reins on either side of the horse. He hefted the saddle from the side of the stall after she had placed the blanket upon the bay’s back. Not one extra breath or exerted reaction crossed his features, as if the saddle were but a feather to his hulking biceps.

She eyed him as he tightened the belt, and the gentle hand he placed upon the horse. If she blinked, she would have missed the kind gesture of his beefy hand.

A gentle giant he was, and quite frightening to look upon. Her bodyguard.

Her father had really outdone himself on his choice. Although Raphael was probably near her father’s age, he was fit and burly, bald and rough, and the best part . . . he could not complain or reprimand her for her behavior. Or, perhaps he’d been chosen just for the purpose of quietly observing her every move.

Whatever the case, the time she’d observed him while he’d been observing her, had been enough for him to become dear to her heart. Like the giant, scary uncle she’d never had.

And, he had knowledge that she did not. He’d been with her father for many years here in Charles Town, so he could escort her wherever she needed to go.

“Raphael, do you know where an Elizabeth Browning resides on Tradd Street?”

He ran his hand along the horse’s rump, concentrating on making sure the horse and her bindings were sound. She knew he heard her every word, as that was his job, even if he gave no outward indication he had done so. Finally, he nodded and shooed her toward the carriage in the far corner of the barn.

“Of course you’d know where she lives. I’d also love to know your conversations with my father.” She mumbled on her way to the carriage. The man had to know so many things, but with no way to tell her. Why Blackhurst? Why order her to marry at all?

Twenty minutes later, and an unsuccessful attempt to assist Raphael attaching the horse to the carriage—he refused to allow it—she sat inside the conveyance as it darted from the stable and out into the drive.

Anne relaxed back into the cushioned seat, and rested her hands behind her head, crossing her feet at the ankle. Not a ladylike pose, and the position aided in convincing herself she was indeed not adequate as a wife.

Amazing how the idea of being free for a little while gave her such a relaxed feeling. She sighed.

The carriage came to a shattering halt, and she was thrown forward, unceremoniously on the floor. She sputtered a string of curses.

They’d had no time to even go down the dirt drive. The bay horse whinnied, drowning out her mutterings. Quite put out, she pulled herself from the wooden floor.

Bristling, she gave the door a vicious shove. It slammed backward, making a loud bang as it smacked against the side of the carriage.

The single step creaked as she crammed her boot down upon it to land onto the dirt drive. The horse stamped a hoof to her right, neighing. No doubt cursing as she began to do as well.

Heat bloomed high on her cheeks as the swear words left her mouth. Directing her enmity to her bodyguard, she yelled up to where he perched atop the driver’s box. “What the bloody devil . . .?”

Only, her words were cut off, and quite rudely, by a deep, pompous, British voice.

Chapter 5

The gall of the woman, to disobey him so blatantly, when he’d agreed to marry her, give her a home, and provide for her child.

“I say! Where do you think you’re speeding off to in my carriage, sir?” Addison shouted. The horse’s excited noises drowning out his voice.

The man atop the carriage gave him a querying glance, his dark brows drawn together, but said nothing.

A burly man quite threatening in his appearance, the gent was certainly no one Addison had ever met before. He was bald, tanned, muscular, and a determined frown marred his features. Place a patch and an earring in his lobe, and he’d resemble a pirate more than any coachman he’d ever seen.

The man shook his head then flicked his gaze to the carriage below, indicating he direct his question to the inhabitant of said carriage.

Addison strode determinedly towards the vehicle to find the door springing open with a loud crack. A woman exited uttering many foul words to no one in particular. He halted, waiting for her to step down to the gravel.

Addison’s eyelid twitched, and the blame for the neurotic condition lay solely at the minx’s feet. He’d waited nearly an hour for her to appear before realizing she was already disobeying him.

“What the bloody devil . . .?” An Irish lilt accentuated her words as she stared up at her driver. She placed her hands with a furious grip upon both hips after the step down to the ground, her cheeks pink with indignation. A long braid hung over her shoulder with frizzy, red strands escaping like flames reaching for much-needed oxygen. Her breasts heaved with each breath, nearly popping forth from the top of the same confounded gown she’d been in earlier.

Her pique intent upon her driver, she hadn’t noticed him watching her.

The reasons her father—or
uncle
as he’d been demanded to call her—had traded her hand for the generous sum of money and prime land were now obvious to his mind . . . Anne Morgan was quite mad. The man had mentioned her widowed state. She’d obviously killed her previous husband with her disobedience and foul temper. Or, perhaps the poor gent suffered from a dent to the head by a flying teakettle.

“I’d say the devil was me, Madam. Although, you will inform me why you’ve decided to steal my carriage.”

Some of the steam flew out of him as her green eyes narrowed on him, grabbing up the sides of her skirts in both hands, and marched up to stand before him.

The pit of his stomach lurched and felt as if it had plummeted into the bottom of his boots.

He admitted, if only to himself, that she was magnificent in her fury—magnificent in the same way as lightning destroying the main mast during a ferocious storm—beautiful and fiery. By the stubborn set of her jaw, he knew he was about to witness more of her spitfire disposition. A thunderous temper.

And, a temper that led to her deliberate refusal to attend him in his study, the destruction of his property, and stealing away in his carriage without permission.

He set his jaw as she poked one finger into his chest, an angry twist to her plump lips, and deep green eyes sparkling.

“I’ve not stolen it, you blasted man. Sarah said you’d not mind your future bride the use of it. I would have returned.”

He gave her a glare. “I would not mind putting my future bride over my knee, either.” His voice rang husky even to his own ears.

Words, or those more closely resembling fragmented mutterings, sputtered from her lips and her eyes squinted. “You would not dare.”

He lifted a brow. Suddenly, and to his utter surprise, he found himself all too serious about throwing her over his knee—right there in the drive. “Wouldn’t I? Thieving is a punishable offense, you know.”

“But, I did not steal it. I would have returned prior to dinner.” Recognition registered, if the slightly widened eyes were any indication. Then, she started to back away.

“You did not ask permission, Madam. The definition of that is stealing.”

The wild uncertainty in her widened eyes made him feel as if he were about to subdue the fiercest animal in the wild. He took a step toward her, an excited, electric pulse pushing him to devilry.

She must have seen the fury in his eye, for she turned on her heel, grabbed up her skirts once more, and ran. An unexpected display of shapely calves appeared above the tops of her dark boots, spurring him further.

He ran after her with a grin, a strange devil urging him on. Making quick work of catching up to her, he grabbed the back of her gown. The rending of fabric shredded the air just as she kicked her feet in a sudden turn and pounded on him with her fists.

“Blasted woman! Stay still!” He deflected a fist.

“No! I will not!” A series of unintelligible curses followed.

Anticipating a swift kick to his shin, he bent down, scooped her up, and deposited her unceremoniously over his shoulder. An ‘oomph’ whooshed from her as she landed.

“Put me down, you . . . you . . . you . . . horse’s arse!” She struggled, but one squeeze from the arm around her legs, and a sharp smack to her bottom, and she stilled as if frozen.

“More of the same will accompany that, and your nether region will be quite red if you continue to fight me, Madam.”

“Oh!” Exasperation and fury were mixed in her husky voice.

Addison gave no mind to the driver or what the brute might think of his handling of his mistress, as if she were a common street doxie, nor did he care. He strode back to the house, up the front steps, and down the hall to his study. Opening the door with one hand, he dropped her into the nearest chair, the soft thud of her bottom hitting the cushion. She emitted a low growl, her hands balled into fists.

“How dare you!”

His gaze was drawn, once again, to her sparkling green eyes, down her creamy neck, and to the bosom that so enticingly struggled to escape her gown with each breath.

“Do you like what you see?” Surprised, his gaze returned to see her magnificent eyes and her raised chin. She’d caught him red-handed, ogling her like a man who frequented unsavory taverns. Never mind the fact his pulse had begun to pound, a sudden surge of lust hitting him square in the gut, and lower.

Her chin rose higher.

He nodded. “Aye, your body and features are quite pleasing.” No use in denying it, but it felt damned strange to spout to a lady she was worth eyeballing, and without offering any apologies.

Perplexed over his barbarous behavior in the last ten minutes, he settled in the chair behind his desk. “The personality and temperament leave me wondering, however.”

Damnation.

Aye, the brandy had definitely had an influence on him, an adverse and bewildering effect. He dared not touch any more liquor. Who knew what other impulsive remarks he might utter, or actions he would carry out. His brain was already muddled with the fog of the drink, even though the exertion exhibited during their struggle had aided him in reducing said fog.

Good God, he’d just bodily carried her inside his home and spanked her along the way. He’d just insulted her in no uncertain terms, as well. What the bloody hell was the matter with him?

She clamped her mouth shut, biting off a curse, he was sure.

He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together.

“Since you have forgotten my earlier request to meet, we will have that discussion now.”

She folded her arms across those lovely breasts, eyes narrowing, yet again. “That was no request.”

“No? Well, it was the least you could have done after having destroyed my property.”

“I had just received terrible news.” She said it as if she were trying to justify her foul temper.

“Do you always destroy items that are not yours when you receive bad news?”

She gave him a tight smile. “Do you always get foxed during the day and force your guests over your shoulder?”

It was difficult not to sit back, sigh, and run his hand through his hair. He felt a twitching of skin under his left eye. She was positively infuriating. And, his reactions to her were just as vexing.

Her eyes lit with interest as she looked about the room, leaning back more comfortably in her chair. “This is a fine study.”

“There are entirely too many things to break in here.” He could not resist.

She cocked her head to the side, and he could not help watching as the ends of her braid caressed the top of one breast, highlighting more freckled, creamy skin.

He scrutinized her exposed shoulder, her long neck, then let his stare rest fully on her face. Her look could only be described as deliberate as she returned his stare with a mixture of rebellion and fury. He was thankful for the concealment from the desk as his trousers began to tighten with sudden arousal.

Damnation, what a spitfire. Undaunted, unafraid, and unashamed of his perusal of her body, she sat with her back straight and accusing eyes on him. He wanted nothing more than to take her over his knee and give her backside another good whack, and to hear the faint, Irish accent that painted her speech when riled.

And, Addison wanted
her
—he had no doubts that she would probably fight him, tooth and nail. Her green eyes, damning him to all the fires of Hell said so. Bloody vexing that the thought roused his manhood to its full erect state, stretching his breeches to the breaking point. He reached for his liquor glass with no thought to an earlier idea of refraining.

“I believe there was a topic you desired to discuss with me,
My Lord
?” She said the last with seething intent. Unfolding her arms, she pushed up from the settee and perused the bookcases throughout the room, giving him a delicious view of her profile.

He leaned back in his chair, trying to adjust the uncomfortable position the hardness tenting his breeches had left him. He’d be damned if he’d let her know how she had already affected him.

“Aye.”
Desired
, most assuredly.

She touched a book here and there as she slowly walked the room. Her delicate fingers caressed the spines. Her shoulders were thrown back, her back straight.

“Well, might we begin? I had planned to retrieve a wardrobe from a friend of my uncle.” He noticed, then, a large rip in her skirt, probably from their struggle in the drive.

“Might you simply change for dinner?” It was a reasonable question.

She turned those emerald eyes on him.

“I’d not have a stitch on if I changed, sir. This is my only gown.”

He groaned at the vision her statement provoked, a painful thump of a heartbeat in his manhood. She was direct and not the least bit shy about such inappropriate subject matter. Never in his life had he encountered a woman like her.

“Then, you’ve a friend to visit. I see.”

She turned back to her perusal of his book collection.

“Aye. That’s what I was doing when I was so rudely accosted.”

Suddenly feeling the cad, he bit back a retort, thankful she could not see the frown he displayed. “The wardrobe you wish to retrieve is close to Cranford Hall?”

She shrugged without turning. “Tradd Street in Charles Town was the address my uncle provided in his missive.” She emphasized the last word as she removed a book from the shelf.

She had no idea the distance between his home and town. She might have been gone for days had he not stopped her escape.

“It’s just as well, then, Madam. Travel by carriage to Charles Town can take anywhere from two to three days’ time depending on the mud and terrain. May I suggest one of my men row you to Charles Town in one of the long boats?”

“Aye, I would prefer the river more than the carriage.” She replaced the book, turning to look at him over her shoulder. “I shall fetch Raphael and we can be on our way.”

“You may go after our discussion.” He cleared his throat, readying the words he’d rehearsed the entire hour he had waited for her to appear in his study the first time. “I am in need of a wife to see to the running of this household. I have agreed to provide a roof over your head, become your husband, afford the protection of my name and honor. This was your uncle’s wish. Since you shall be staying here permanently, and your son as well . . .”

“Sons,” she turned to face him. “And, a daughter.” A smile curved her lips—a gamine smile at that—assailing him with another jolt of lust.

He focused on her words. “Sons? A daughter? Holt appears to be the only boy I have here in my home.”

“Then, you need to look again, sir. My newest son and daughter are in the crib in the nursery.”

He eyed her suspiciously. A test, perhaps?

“You’ve had more children?”

“Aye, they all come with me. You take me. You take them.”

He did not care how many children she had. He loved children. Visions of family gatherings swirled through his mind, and his pulse quickened. Still, it was the lady herself of whom he was quite unsure.

“That is neither here nor there, madam. The fact remains, you must obey my rules if you’re going to reside here.” He gave her a direct and meaningful look. “First rule: no destruction of my property.”

She quirked a dark auburn eyebrow, a slight smile played about her full lips.

“Rule two: you shall treat everyone in this house with respect, including me.”

A blush crept up her neck to stain her cheeks an enchanting pink.

“Do you think to give me rules, sir?” She’d folded her arms across her bosom again, her eyes narrowing.

“Rule three: you shall abide by the vows of marriage, obeying your husband.” Smiling, he laced his fingers behind his head as he leaned back. “Although, it is general practice on the plantations in this area to whip obedience into servants, I do not use that practice. However, I could make an exception for a wife.”

Her nostrils flared. “You wouldn’t dare.”