Pirate Hunter's Mistress (The Virginia Brides) (9 page)

Barbara sighed. “You always intended to turn your money over to him, Marlee.”

“Yes, but I —never intended to care for him.” Tears choked her and she turned her face away, grateful she had an unencumbered view of the beach and sea from the garden room window. Sunlight drenched the coast in warm, golden splotches, even touching her face with a tentative yellow finger through the wavy glass.

She’d signed the document exactly seven days before, in the presence of Mr. Carpenter, Simon—and the baron. Somehow she couldn’t think of him as her husband any longer. Now he was simply “the baron,” a man who had married her to claim her fortune and a man who’d never love her. One would think, since she’d turned everything to his control, that he’d express some gratitude to her. Except for the formal pleasantries one would bestow upon a guest, he’d said nothing to her after the kiss in the hall. And that’s what she was, she reasoned; she was a paying guest in his home.

Oh, he allowed her free rein, she could do anything she wanted and he didn’t seem to care. She saw very little of him and envied Barbara for the time Simon spent with her. How Marlee wished the baron would laugh with her, touch her, kiss her—

“I must go for a walk!” Marlee burst out and startled Barbara. She had to get out of the house or go mad with her own thoughts.

“Wait until I get my wrap, and I’ll join you,” Barbara offered.

“No, no, I want to be alone.” Marlee patted Barbara’s hand and smiled gently. “I need to think.”

Barbara worried her lower lip. “I understand. Please be careful on the beach. Sometimes the rocks are slippery.”

“It seems you know about the rocks?”

“Well, yes, Simon and I have gone for many walks.”

“In the moonlight?”

“Yes,” Barbara admitted with a dreamy expression on her face. “The beach is beautiful at night.”

Marlee remembered how lovely the night had been when she stood within the baron’s arms on the terrace. But she dismissed the memory, so pained by it that she hurriedly rushed into the back vestibule and retrieved a heavy gray shawl from the cloak hook. The color matched her day gown and her sorrowful mood, which was fine because Marlee doubted she’d ever feel lighthearted again.

Crude stone steps which were cut into the cliff fell from the back of the estate to the beach below. Marlee had never walked the beach before, her time having been taken up with coordinating the workmen who would soon descend upon them. She hadn’t approached the baron about colors or materials to suit his taste and she wouldn’t. She’d burn in hell before she’d asked him anything. The house would shine with her handiwork and hang the baron’s taste!

At the base of the cliffs, she removed her shoes and stockings, allowing the warm sand to spill across her bare feet. She felt wild and daring, more than exhilarated by the stiff sea breezes that tangled within the depths of her hair and wrapped her skirts around her legs. For the first time in her life, she was free—or as free as possible under the circumstances—and able to do whatever she wished.

Like an eager child, Marlee ran down the deserted stretch of beach until she grew breathless and her legs ached. Stopping by a large rock, she threw herself down beside it, basking in the noon sun. Soon she felt as warm as buttered toast. A great sleepiness began to overtake her, and she started to doze. She dreamed she heard the baron’s voice in the distance and would have given herself up further to sleep, but the loud cawing of a nearby gull woke her.

For a few seconds, she was disoriented, even imagining she saw a large dark ship, wallowing in the waves before her. Her head cleared and the ship was still there. Then she heard voices on the opposite side of the rock, men’s voices. Soundlessly, Marlee rose and climbed up the rock until she was able to peer over it. About fifty feet away were a group of men, many of whom looked in good need of a washing and proper clothing. Within their midst, stood the baron and Marlee’s heart seemed to cease beating.

Once again, he wore only black. His booted feet were firmly planted in the sand and from the loud tone of his voice, he was issuing orders to the clustered men and pointing to large wooden crates. Marlee saw some of the men lug the crates to one of two longboats before rowing to the ship, waiting in the bay.

What was happening?

“Holcombe,” Arden shouted to one of the men. “Where’s Mr. Oliver?”

“On board ship, Captain. He’s seeing to the repair of the hull.”

“Then take some men and go help him. I won’t tolerate any slacking off in my crew. All must be in readiness. We sail in two days’ time.” Arden fixed his attention on another group of men, so totally absorbed in the activity on the beach that if he’d have glanced upward, he’d have seen Marlee’s shocked face staring back at him.

Her fingers gripped the cool stone as her head spun with the implications of what she saw and heard. Arden was the captain of the ship in the bay. No wonder he loved the sea and spoke fondly of it. He was getting ready to set sail in two days. He was leaving Cornwall, leaving her, and he hadn’t told her. Did he hate her so much that he couldn’t do her the courtesy of informing her that he was leaving? But why should he tell her anything, she who was a tin miner’s daughter and not fit to bear the title of baroness. She meant nothing to him, nothing at all.

Still she remembered the way he’d kissed her. Deep within herself she knew that a man didn’t embrace or kiss a woman in such a way if she repulsed him. She wouldn’t let him get away without bidding her farewell—at the very least she deserved to be told goodbye—she deserved something other than his apathy.

Pulling herself up to the top of the rock, she stood upright and placed her hands on her hips. The wind was brisk now. Her hair tossed darkly about her face, her skirts clung wantonly to her thighs and the white lace hem of her chemise waved like a banner of surrender in the breeze. She resembled a wild, barefoot peasant girl.

“My lord!” she cried loudly and defiantly.

All activity stopped on the beach. The men looked up, their eyes agog at what they saw. “Who is that wench?” one of them near Arden asked.

Arden found he couldn’t reply because he was surprised to see a woman there, a wildly beautiful woman. And realizing that the woman was Marlee took all thought and speech away.

“Hey, sweeting, what can I do for you? What can we do for you?” A leering sailor started forward, ready to claim the fetching sight atop the rock. When two other men made a move in Marlee’s direction, Lark swung about with a vehement oath.

“Get your bloody carcasses to the ship and put your hands to work there! Now go, the lot of you!”

Lark’s dark expression and voice caused the men to quickly scatter and head for the longboat. Lark moved toward the rock and seconds later, he stood before Marlee, gazing up at her. “My lady,” he said with a restraint he didn’t feel.

“There seems to be a great deal of activity here, my lord. Might I inquire what is happening?”

For a few seconds, Arden had the good grace to look sheepish. Then with an inscrutable expression, he said, “The ship is being loaded.”

“I assume the ship is yours.”

“Yes.”

“I also assume that you’re setting sail soon and didn’t have the good grace to tell me.”

“I was planning to inform you tonight.”

There was something soft and seductive in the way he spoke. Marlee’s pulse quickened, her insides began to tremble as Arden’s handsome face weaved a hypnotic spell about her again. And what was most disturbing to her was that he was unaware of the effect he had upon her. She must get away from him or risk complete humiliation if he realized she was succumbing to him. Gaining a foothold on a small jutting ledge on the rock, she started to scramble down, but Arden’s arms reached out for her. In a blinding instant she was enfolded in his embrace, and he held her high above him.

Their gazes met and locked.

“You must be careful on these rocks,” he gently said. “They’re slippery.”

She wanted to look away from him but hadn’t the strength or will to resist. “I can manage.”

“I know,” he said and disarmed her with a smile. “I’ve discovered that about you.”

Her hands involuntarily found their way to his shoulders. “You may put me down now, my lord.”

“I’ve told you not to call me that, and besides, I don’t want to release you. I like holding you close to me.”

Marlee groaned audibly. “Why must you say such a thing to me? Why must you torment me?”

“My wish isn’t to cause you torment, my love. I want only your happiness.”

“At what cost?” she bit out. “You’ve taken my fortune, and now plan to leave me. There’s nothing left for me but torment. I can’t see any hope of a true marriage between us.”

Marlee was surprised that he didn’t see fit to argue with her. Instead, he slid her body down the length of his until she was standing. He touched a wayward curl upon her cheek then caressed the spot with his fingertips. “Sometimes two people are given only a few moments of happiness, Marlee, and that’s all they can hope for.”

What was he telling her? Was he telling her anything at all? Why did she always feel there was some cryptic meaning behind his words? “You’ve taken everything from me and given me nothing in return. What is it you want of me?” she cried and started to pull away, but Arden kept a firm grip upon her wrist. His lips sought and found hers, quelling her words with the spark of his possession.

Marlee wanted to fight him, to punish him for his dismissal of her feelings, but she was powerless within his embrace and weakened by her own desire. A moan of surrender strangled in her throat. “Let me go, please, Richard,” she begged in a husky voice and broke the kiss, frightened that if she didn’t resist, he’d claim her body and soul, that he’d know how much she loved him. “There’s no need to pretend that you care for me; you now control my fortune. I—I won’t hold you to anything else.”

Though her eyes were closed, she felt his gaze upon her face. “I wish to God that you would hold me close to your heart, Marlee. I wish—”

“Captain!” came the booming voice of a sailor some yards away where he waited in a longboat. “Begging your pardon, sir, but Mr. Simon needs your help aboard ship.”

“Damn!” Lark cursed under his breath.

“I’ll return to the house,” Marlee mumbled, more than embarrassed to have been caught in such an intimate exchange. She pulled away from him, but their fingertips remained in contact for a few seconds longer before she drew them away.

“I must speak to you later,” he told her and there was something in his gaze that sent a flash of warmth through her body.

Lark watched Marlee until she’d turned and practically ran down the beach. Minutes later he was standing on deck of the ship where Simon met him. “What was so blasted important that it couldn’t wait?” Lark shot out irritably.

Simon folded his arms across his chest. “I saw what was happening on the beach between you and Marlee. I decided someone had to break up that tryst before it led to—something else.”

“Back off, Simon. I don’t need you playing watchdog.”

“Oh, really? Then I’ll play devil’s advocate instead. What do you think would have happened if I hadn’t intervened? I’d wager you’d have enticed that innocent girl into your bed and made her fall in love with you. Lark, you know good and well that you don’t love Marlee. You know you can never marry her—”

“I know! I bloody well know that she can’t belong to me, no matter what happens.” Lark’s hands raked through his tangled dark hair. For the first time since his altercation with Manuel Silva, there was true agony on his face. “I’m beginning to care for her. Don’t you think I know how futile my feelings are for her? Can’t you see how I’m fighting myself not to love her? If she’d been shallow and vain, a wanton like I’d expected, all of this would have been so damned easy. But nothing is happening like I wished.”

“You have your money now,” Simon reminded Lark. “The ship is ready to sail day after tomorrow. You have everything you wanted.”

“Everything and nothing.”

Simon laid a hand on Lark’s shoulder. “I’m not going with you, my friend. I’ve asked Barbara to marry me.”

Lark had expected as much. “Be happy, Simon. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Lark. We’ve been friends a hell of a long time.”

Lark managed a grin. “Yes, and you’ve never disappointed me. When I was away, you looked after Mother for me. Now, promise me that you’ll see to Marlee. Make certain she’s all right—after I’m gone—after she learns the truth about me.”

“Are you going to tell her or is Carpenter?”

“I’ll tell her,” Lark decided. “I’ll tell her tonight.”

“Will you tell her about Lady Bettina?”

“No,” Lark said and clasped the wooden railing until his fingers hurt. “Marlee need never learn about Bettina’s kidnapping by Manuel Silva. She doesn’t need to know about my betrothal to her. I believe it’s best if Marlee thinks me a ne’er-do-well, a rake of the highest order. If I believe she hates me, then I can tolerate my marriage to Bettina. Knowing she loved me would be too much to bear.”

~ ~ ~

“I want the silver and red dress for tonight, Mrs. Mort. Also, you shall serve us in my room.”

“Us, my lady?” Mrs. Mort inquired of Marlee.

Marlee hung her shawl up on the wall peg, more than aware of Mrs. Mort’s suspicious attitude, as she made her way into the kitchen. “His Lordship and myself, of course.”

“I see, my lady.” The color drained out of Mrs. Mort’s face, and she looked like she might say something else.

“What is it?” Marlee asked.

The housekeeper gave a deferential curtsy. “Nothing, my lady. All shall be as you asked.”

And all would be as Marlee wanted, she’d see to that. Arden had told her he wanted to speak to her later, and she now realized how much she loved him and would miss him. Whether he loved her no longer mattered to her. There was something about the way he’d held her earlier, the primitive fire in his kiss, which ignited a flame within Marlee.

Arden’s loving her wasn’t necessary. She wanted, craved, his possession of her body. She knew that if he sailed away, she’d miss him terribly until his return. She wanted him to miss her, too, to be so miserable without her that he’d hurry up and come home—to her.