My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1) (8 page)

Anne gave her a heartfelt smile. “Thank you so much, Elizabeth. You are truly a life saver.”

Elizabeth patted Anne on her shoulder. “You’re very welcome, my dear. I’ll be down in the parlor going over some of cook’s pantry numbers should you need me.”

“Very well. I shan’t be long.”

She disappeared around the corner and Anne heard her retreating footsteps upon the stairs.

She bit her lip and began to dig through as many of the chests, still astonished she’d acquired such a fabulous wardrobe.

Countless minutes later, and at the bottom of one of the older chests, she found the most thrilling item of the day’s treasure . . . dark breeches and flowing, white blouses.

No respectable lord desired a wife who dressed as a man.

Anne returned to Cranford Hall a bit later than she’d planned. The delay was indeed intentional. However, she had the unexpected opportunity to become better acquainted with her new friend, Elizabeth Browning.

It was a relaxing afternoon, although she spent most of it wondering why Addison Blackhurst would agree to a wife with a child. He’d stated he needed someone to run the household, but many women in town were apparently standing in line for the job. Was she crazy for not wanting such an advantageous match with him? She’d not thought to inquire as to his obvious source of wealth. Had he earned it from the plantation? Why did he live in the Colonies when surely he’d be more comfortable in England?

She frowned, wondering how much her father had discussed with the man. What did her father gain from the deal, or what had Blackhurst gained? Surely, he did not know of her past.

She shook herself from her thoughts to help Raphael with the numerous chests they were able to transfer by a secondary boat tethered to their longboat. He’d given her a good glare as if she were unable to accomplish such menial things, but she was having none of it.

“Don’t you dare give me that look, Raphael. I’m no lady, and I can bloody well carry my own things.”

She grabbed two smaller boxes and strode purposefully up the front steps and through the front entrance. No one was about in the entryway, so she began her trek up the steps. Stopping midway up, she realized she had no idea where she was to sleep.

Sarah had placed her in the lord’s room earlier, but surely that could not be correct.

Bypassing Addison’s rooms on the left, she continued on until she found a room that was not under construction, which happened to be beside the nursery. Perfect! She’d be near her babies.

Thinking of them, she dropped her packages on the bed in the room she’d chosen—a less intimidating and masculine room—far away from
him
, and headed to the nursery. It was time for a feeding anyway.

She opened the nursery door to find the room empty. The crib contained neither of the twins.

“Had you been polite enough attend dinner, you would have found out where your rooms were, and to where you might find the children.”

The huskiness and slight edge to his voice sent a small shiver down her spine, but she was able to keep from flinching. She smiled at the spark of anger in his voice. Her intentional lateness had raised the proper response. Although, her heart raced and her stomach rioted with nerves as she turned to face him.

He was too handsome by far, and she felt it to her toes. The doorframe seemed to shrink as he stood there; anger flickered in his magnificent eyes and his tanned face taut with irritation. Anne stared at his mouth for a moment, noting the bottom lip plumper than the top.

Blinking, she brought herself out of her scrutiny of his physical appeal.

“Am I to have a curfew then, my lord? I merely retrieved a wardrobe and remained to speak to my new friend, as politeness dictates.”

She walked toward him, preparing to leave. With him standing so tall and compelling, she just could not breathe at the moment. Even with the irritation plain in his eyes.

One large hand moved to rest on the doorjamb. He leaned casually as if he could stand there all evening.

“It appears you need a curfew.” His stony gaze traveled from hers down to where the fluttering in her stomach began.

She raised her chin, determined not to take the bait. “We are not yet wed.”

“At dinner, we would have discussed that particular activity. I have obtained a special license. We shall be wed at the end of the week.”

She sputtered, trying to make sense of his words.

He smiled in a devilish way that worked on her nerves, and all other pulses within her body.

“That is absurd. We shall not wed in a week.”

“Oh, aye, Mrs. Morgan. Your uncle’s wishes, and I’ve given my word. He wanted to make sure you were right and properly wed and your son protected.”

She stalked toward him, hoping he would move aside. If he did not, she would push her way through the door.

He removed his hand from the doorframe and allowed her to slide to his left. Just as she reached his side, he threw out a hand and grabbed her by the elbow.

“I’m not ready to be married. I—I—I have no wedding gown.”

He smiled down at her as she tried to pull away, all white teeth and wolfish grin. His silver eyes glittered as he stared at her bosom. “You can go without a gown.”

She pulled on her arm just as he pulled her forward.

“Release me.” There had to be some sense to this conversation, although a delicious jolt of pleasure settled among her limbs at the mere thought of being nude in his presence. “You know I cannot very well get married naked.”

“I do?” His arm wrapped around her back, pulling her in tighter to the hardness of his body. Her legs bumped up against his thighs and her stomach squeezed closely to his groin. She swallowed, having no voice to protest as heat radiated from him. That, and the decidedly hard evidence of his desire pressing firmly into her abdomen.

She fixated on his lower lip; the full, plump one. The thud of her heart and blood pounding through her veins left her unable to struggle, her knees quivering.

With aching slowness, his mouth came closer.

She raised her chin to look into his eyes and found them heavy lidded and gazing at her mouth. A hot, tingling sensation and searing liquid heat traveled all the way to her toes.

He was going to kiss her.

And, she could not deny the desire to melt into it.

In the moments she waited for the impact of those full lips, Anne lowered, then closed her eyes. The will to pull away faded into the warmth of his fingers upon her elbow. Tilting slightly forward unwittingly, and while her heart thumped heavily in her chest, she waited.

And, waited.

He stepped back, leaving a sudden coolness from the missing heat from his big body.

Her eyes fluttered open. He stared steadily back at her, a strange, intense heat in his steely eyes.

The warmth of his fingers released her arm.

Until now, she had never felt the heat in her cheeks or the rise of the flush creep so high on her neck and face, ever in her life.

His lips parted into a flashing grin of straight, white teeth.

A charming, all-male grin.

“Eliza has the children with her in the sitting room.”

She could have slapped him. She clenched her fists. She could plainly see he
knew
she expected him to kiss her, and that she was going to allow it; was, in fact, looking forward to it.

“Oh!” It was as much as she could muster without flying into a rage.

Instead, she stalked passed him, and stomped as unladylike as she could into the hallway, and down the stairs to the sitting room to find her babies.

The rascal had turned the tables on her.

Chapter 7

The next morning, Addison held his head in his hands, his elbows resting on the desk in his warehouse. He’d spent the latter part of last evening, furiously mucking out horse stalls in Cranford Hall’s barns, alongside John, his most able and trustworthy farmhand. John had stayed silent as they worked together to clear out the stalls.

When a few hours of vigorous labor hadn’t released all of the pent up frustration—and desire from the close call of kissing Anne Morgan against his better judgment—he’d taken to his room and emptied an entire bottle of brandy. He’d awoken to a pounding head and a foggy brain.

But, had that lessened the thirst for one redheaded, spoiled, tempestuous widow hell-bent on driving him insane? He no longer wanted to entertain the answer.

Not only did his brain thump behind his skull, but his manhood had been hard and throbbing as well. After a long swim in the creek that ran along his land—land now belonging to him because of his deal with the devil, as he’d like to call William Cormac—he’d calmed his blood, temporarily.

That left his aching head and trying to make sense of the paperwork involved in trading to new areas of the continent, including India and the West Indies.

“Are your business prospects so dire as that?”

Addison lifted his head, winced at the pain shooting through his skull, and grimaced at his friend and fellow merchant.

“My prospects? Aye. Business? No. It’s doing exceedingly well, if you must know.”

Henry Iles smiled widely as Addison maneuvered his body into a more businesslike position by sitting up in his chair. Henry’s sun-bronzed hair and blue eyes were an eye-catcher to single and married women alike. His friend stood nearly as tall as Addison, himself, with a lean waist, and well-muscled arms and legs.

Henry was married, however, and happily. Something that Addison hoped to attain someday.

He sighed and let his head drop forward again into his hands. He was doomed.

“Aye, very well indeed. When we begin shipping together next month, we shall both benefit from these prospects.”

Henry took a seat opposite Addison at the desk.

Addison looked up slowly and nodded. Henry narrowed his blue eyes, tapped his fingers against one another, and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. “You look as if you’ve had a rather rough evening, my friend.”

“Would that I could explain it to you properly, Henry. But, aye. A bottle of brandy will cause a devil of a headache.”

Addison would have liked to mention the voluptuous body of an ill-tempered widow would also cause a different type of ache, but he kept that to himself.

Henry’s brows drew together.

“Bloody hell, old boy. We have been friends going on three years and I’ve yet to see you in this state. What happened?”

Addison had known Henry since he’d first stepped foot in Charles Town two-and-a-half years before to start his venture. He’d been astoundingly helpful in the purchase of farmland, crops, and everything else he’d needed to be successful. Already a prosperous tobacco merchant, Henry had been in Charles Town for ten years. He’d been a loyal and trustworthy friend to Addison, and he’d come to depend upon Henry quite frequently. Even Henry’s wife, Isabel, had become as close to him as a sister.

Addison sighed, knowing he’d have to tell Henry sooner rather than later. The gossip would abound in town anyway, and would be apparent when everyone was invited to the wedding feast.

Raising his eyes to stare back at his friend, he grimaced again . . . not only from the splitting of his head, but the news he was to impart.

“I’m to have a wife.”

Henry sat very still for what seemed quite a long time. Addison chewed the inside of his cheek as the news churned in his friend’s mind. Then, Henry threw back his head and laughed, his blond hair bounced against his starched collar.

Addison scowled and glanced around the room for liquor, a bottle of any kind would do.

Henry’s laughter trailed off, his tanned face sobered, and a frown creasing his brow. “You do not joke.”

“No. We’re to be married very soon. I told her the marriage would happen in one week, but she is proving to be somewhat . . . difficult.”

Henry leaned forward, concern marring his features. “Difficult? You mean, she’s not willingly entered into this?”

Gnashing his teeth together, he met his friend’s eyes. “Aye, I entered into it willingly. The bride, well, she is taking her time.”

“Good God, man. You must let me meet her!” One side of his mouth lifted in a smile. “She is not tripping over herself to rush you to the altar? Isabel will definitely need to be introduced.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea at the moment, Henry.”

“Oh nonsense, I insist. You shall escort her to dinner tomorrow night. We must meet her.” Henry’s enthusiasm did nothing for his headache.

Tossing the buxom vixen in the storeroom of his home, then swallowing the key . . . well now, that might work—for a while anyway. He would not be able to keep her hidden away indefinitely, he knew. He sighed.

“I suppose we can attempt it. But, I warn you, she is unlike any woman you’ve ever met.”

Henry stood and clapped him on the shoulder, his teeth flashing in a wide smile. “Aye, I can see that by the amount of spirits you imbibed last night. By the way, you should wash up. I can smell that alcohol on you, old chap.”

“Noted,” he nodded, then grimaced at the jolt of pain the movement pushed into his brain.

“Good God, man,” he chuckled. “She’s not such a chore, is she?”

He didn’t dare shake his head again, so raised tired, and quite likely, blood shot eyes to his friend. “She is as beautiful as your Isabel, but has a rebellious nature and a flaming temper along with it.”

Rocking back on his heels, Henry’s brows wiggled. “A challenge, eh? Sounds like the perfect woman for you, my friend.”

A groan escaped him, not sure if it was because he knew his friend was correct or the state of his body, and then promptly fell back into his chair.

Irritated by Henry’s laughter, he rested his head on the back of the chair and stared at the wooden ceiling.

“Love does not come easy, my friend. You have to work for it. Now, six o’clock. Don’t be late or Isabel will have my head.”

Addison waved his hand in Henry’s direction. “Yes, yes . . . we’ll be there.”

“Good day, Ad.” The door resounded with a loud thud that reverberated in his aching head as Henry left the office.

Addison released the growl he’d been holding in since Henry’s entrance.

It took the rest of the morning and early afternoon, slaving over paperwork and loading a shipment of rice, for his headache to completely vanish. He’d had plenty of time to think about Anne and how to tackle her stubbornness.

The vessel he was expecting on the morrow would bring a shipment of silks and spices from Barbados. Perhaps he could please Anne by allowing her the pick of some silks before he traded them amongst Charles Town’s establishments. Hoping to sweeten her up, he had come up with a few ways to woo her into niceness before the dinner party with Henry and Isabel.

By the time he reached Cranford Hall, and after a short ride on his stallion, it was nearing dinner. Delcie, his cook, spied him on his horse in the drive as she rang the supper bell. Her chocolate brown skin and dark eyes were in stark contrast to her white-toothed smile as she waved in his direction. He smiled and nodded.

Making sure to properly groom and clean George, the thoroughbred he’d purchased from Henry, was his first priority every evening. He would never ask the people who worked on the farm to perform tasks of which he was perfectly capable.

A dash of water and soap to his hands and face in the basin in his room before making an appearance for dinner was in order. He strolled through the servants’ entrance and up the stairs, and then took care of washing up.

On leaving his room, he heard the soft coo of an infant. Curious of the two other children in his home, he followed the delicate noise into the nursery across the hall. Not familiar with the smaller humans, he found a strange grip on his heart as he looked down into the first wooden crib he came upon. A pair of large, doe-brown eyes blinked up at him. The baby girl’s eyes were wide and open, while the little lad next to her slept peacefully. One fat fist shoved into her mouth, she cooed as he allowed her to grab his finger with her other hand. A smile of all gums spread behind the hand in her mouth.

Addison found himself babbling nonsense to her, and determined to find a wet nurse to make sure Anne didn’t become too stressed attempting to feed both infants. On his way below stairs to the dining room, he made a silent promise to the babies and Holt, he would provide for them and love them until his dying day. Strange how such tiny persons could steal his heart on sight.

Walking into the dining room, the delicious scent of Delcie’s roasted chicken wafted throughout the room. His stomach grumbled as steam rose from the delectable dishes aligned along the sideboard table in the back of the room. His eyes instantly found an unruly head of fiery, sunset hair, braided to one side of an elegant, long neck. Anne’s back was to him. She gave no indication she realized his entrance.

Blood rushed through his body, and the nerves in his fingers itched to feel the smooth column of her neck and the creamy expanse of shoulders bared to the top of her gown. Addison moved into the room, prepared to enjoy her beauty more fully; high cheekbones, full, pouty lips, slightly tilted nose and long, dark lashes.

Her back stiffened immediately at his movement. She raised her chin.

“I thought dinner was served promptly at six, sir. It seems I am not the only one who is in need of a curfew.”

He walked around to the opposite side of the table, facing her, as she took a sip from her teacup, bringing his eyes directly to her mouth.

Surprised at her blunt speech, he raised a brow in her direction. “Mere lateness is common, madam. It’s the total disregard for arrival that prompts the curfew.”

Sitting to table, he smirked slightly as her nostrils flared ever so slightly. He’d scored a direct hit. The violent flashing of those emerald green eyes gave it away.

Placing a napkin in his lap, he thanked Josey, the kitchen help, for bringing him a bowl of soup. He sipped.

“I trust your room is sufficient. You know, Sarah placed you in my room not expecting my return so soon. A slight mix up.” He paused to see how she’d react. “The children are doing well?”

There was a pause in her voice, but she answered with a reluctant nod. “Aye. They are doing wonderfully, thank you.”

“Eliza is quite taken with them. Their father would be proud to know they thrive.”

Her spoon in mid-air, Anne’s chin lifted defensively. Interesting. Had he said something wrong?

“Their father was a bastard. They would thrive with or without your help, sir.” She raised sparkling eyes, challenging him to refute her claim that she could take care of her own.

Addison set his spoon in the bowl, extinguishing surprise at the insensitive description of her dead husband. He was not, however, surprised by her angry tone. It seemed he sparked that in her freely. “That is unfortunate about your husband, madam. But, the children will have a bright future here.”

“He was
not
my husband.” The sparks in her green eyes matched the mulish set of her chin.

The bluntness with which she spoke intrigued him. Was she mad? Did she not want the comforts of his home and security? William Cormac had said plainly that she had been widowed.

One side of her mouth curled up in a mocking grin. She spoke to get a rise out of him, but why?

He raised a brow at her, the pulse ticked at the base of her throat, and the freckles disappeared and reappeared on her breasts beneath the top of the gown as she breathed. His pulse drummed, heavy with the sudden tension in the room.

“Widows generally become widows through the death of a husband.”

She pressed her lips together then halfway opened her mouth to speak.

“Ah, so there is no need to have you sleeping in a separate room, then, madam? You’re scandalized and not afraid to admit it?” He allowed a half-grin escape at that thought. Her full lips moved slightly, her mouth clamped shut again, cheeks stained with color. “Be that as it may, the children will now reside under my roof and benefit from the influence of a man who is very much alive.”

Anne remained silent, but clearly infuriated, licking her lips. He felt himself harden watching the emotion play across her smooth features. The freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose blended with the red staining her cheeks. She gripped her spoon, white knuckled, in her left hand. At any moment, an errant flying object could sail in his direction.

“You do not want to marry me.”

Of all the words he’d anticipated from her, she surprised him yet again. Would their conversations always go thusly; a war of words and wits, anger and quick-tempers?

The vehemence with which she spoke made him all the more determined that she be his wife. He
wanted
to marry her, just to irk her temper.

Acquisition of land and his life’s dream were both prevalent in his mind, but taming Anne Morgan was a larger challenge at hand.

He’d no idea why he wanted to tame her; only that her ability to flare his temper and lust all at the same moment were both new to him. Strangling her would be simpler. Spanking her would be more desirable.

Shifting uncomfortably, he tamped down lustful thoughts.

“I’ll be the judge of that,
Mrs.
Morgan.” Leaning forward with a wicked grin, he rested his elbows on the table, then methodically folded his hands before him. “Tell me, madam, why I would not wish to wed a widow with children by a bastard who was not her husband?”