The Admiral's Heart (4 page)

Pretending to be retiring for the evening,
Pippa had gone to her rooms only long enough to grab her cloak.
Then, ducking outside through a servant’s entrance, she had pulled
the hood up over her head against the damp night air, and, with the
mist spattering her spectacles, found Elliott’s gleaming black
coach.

She knew it was his, because it had an
anchor on the door.

Even so, she was relieved when, as she
neared the vehicle, the door opened from within and there he was,
waiting for her.

“It’s cold out here,” he murmured, tucking a
blanket around her shoulders with tender care. “And the devil only
knows where my damned driver is. Been waiting for him for the past
ten minutes.” He reached out and took her hand. “I trust you got
away, unseen?”

“Unseen,” she said, a little
breathlessly.

“Good, I—”

There was a voice outside. “Sir
Elliott?”

The admiral frowned, put a finger to his
lips, and opened the door, leaning well forward so his large form
blocked anyone from being able to see inside the coach.

“Oi’m Murdock, sir. The duke sent me t’
droive ye into Ravenscombe, ‘e did. Seems yer own man took
ill.”

“Ill?”

“Aye, sir. Had ‘imself one too many shrimp
out in the servant’s quarters, ‘e did. If ye’re ready to leave, we
can be off now, sir.”

“Yes, of course I’m ready. Carry on.”

He shut the door, frowning.

Pippa met his gaze. “They serve
shrimp
in the servant’s quarters? How odd.”

“Well, I suppose that when one is a duke,
even the servants eat well.”

“Still. Shrimp?”

The coach remained unmoving, and inside its
cold confines, their breath made plumes of fog.

Growing impatient, the admiral rapped on the
roof. “Drive on, please.”

With a start, the vehicle began to move. He
leaned back against the squab across from her, filling up the space
in the darkness, his long legs just inches from her own. She was
very aware of him, not only of what he must be thinking, but of the
sheer physicality of him. Elliott, with his wide shoulders and
commanding height, stuffed into this coach when the quarterdeck of
a warship would have been a more fitting setting.

Elliott, no longer a boyish youth.

Elliott, in whose bed she was destined to
spend the night.

She shivered with excitement and
longing.

“I would not have thought it possible,” he
said, in the close darkness of the coach, “for you to grow even
more beautiful over the years, Pippa, but time has been good to
you.”

“You are too kind, Elliott. I never really
felt beautiful, you know.” She tensed as he moved his leg slightly,
so that his buckled shoe nudged up against her slipper. She
wondered if either of them would be able to wait until the reached
the inn to make up for so much lost time.

Elliott was thinking the same thing. But he
was a patient man, quite accustomed to getting exactly what he
wanted. He would not take Pippa here in the cramped confines of a
coach. She deserved better than that.

And she would have it.

Nevertheless, there was a part of him that
wasn’t quite as patient, and that part of him was, at the moment,
swelling painfully against his breeches in a way that made it
exceedingly difficult to get comfortable.

“So, do you still keep a dog?” she asked,
and he could see her soft smile, the gleam of her perfect white
teeth caught in the glow from the coach lanterns. “Because if you
do, we could never make a go of it, I’m afraid.”

“I’m not home enough to keep a dog,” he
said. “It would not be fair to the animal.”

“I’m sorry for leaving you all those years
ago.”

“We have a lot to catch up on, Pippa. But
not if you go running off to America.”

“I won’t be gone for long. I’ll come
back.”

“Even if you were only to spend just a day
there inspecting the property, the crossing, and the return, will
take months. Even an hour spent without you, Pippa, is too long, as
far as I’m concerned. Don’t go. I beg of you.”

“I will think on it,” she returned, and he
saw her look outside into the darkness beyond the window, worrying
her bottom lip. She looked charming in her spectacles, adorable,
and he lamented the fact that she had been so shy and
self-conscious, that she had refused to ever let herself be seen by
him in them.

He moved his leg a little closer to hers,
letting his ankle touch hers.

Now, this was nice.

Quite nice indeed.

“Pippa, I have—”

The coach suddenly slowed and then, came to
a halt.

“Why are we stopping?” she asked,
confused.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” He picked
up his hat where he’d laid it on the seat, pushed open the door,
and stepping down into the muddy road, found the driver bending
near a front wheel.

“Sorry, sir,” the man said, knuckling his
forelock. “This ’ere wheel, it ain’t rollin’ roight and Oi’m just
’avin’ a look to make sure all’s as it should be.”

“It felt perfectly fine from within the
coach.”

“Aye, well, sir, it didn’t feel so foine
from up on the box, beggin’ yer pardon Oi am, sir. But everything
seems toight, though Oi’d best check the other three wheels as
well.”

“They are fine. Get back on the box and
proceed, if you will. I haven’t all night.”

Faintly annoyed, Elliott turned and climbed
back into the coach. What the devil had that been all about?

They began moving once more.

“What was the problem?” Pippa asked.

“The devil only knows. Blackheath’s driver
can’t be expected to know my vehicle like my own man does, I’ll
grant him that, but he’s imagining things if he thinks there’s
anything amiss with the wheels.”

“I hope he didn’t hear us talking. I’m
supposed to be back at the castle, safely snuggled in my bed.”

“Oh, you will be safely snuggled in bed soon
enough, Pippa, but not your own. Mine.”

She gave a nervous little laugh, and felt
her insides beginning to melt at the thought of what pleasures
awaited her in that bed.

“In any case, as I was about to say—” He
swore under his breath as the coach slowed to a stop once more.
Snatching up his hat yet again, Elliott shoved open the door,
stepped down into the rutted road, and found Blackheath’s
ridiculously inept driver doing something up at the head of one of
the horses.

“
Now
what?” he thundered.

“The rein fell off.”

“
What?
”

“It fell off, sir.”

“Look, I may be a mariner and know more
about the workings of a bloody ant-hill than I do those of a horse
and coach, but I know that reins don’t just fall off— ”

“No, sir, this rein ’ere, it just fell off.
Oi’m tellin’ ye, sir, ye can ’ave a look if ye don’t believe me,
but no sooner did the nags start moving when all of a sudden loike,
it fell off.”

“Well, fix it, then, and this had better be
the last time we stop, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. ’Twill just be a few minutes
while I put it back onto the bit.”

Elliott turned and stormed back to the
coach.

“For the life of me, I don’t understand how
Blackheath tolerates such incompetence,” he muttered, climbing back
into the vehicle. “I never heard of such a damned ridiculous thing
in my life.”

Pippa sat on the seat across from him, an
amused little smile playing about her mouth. “Why, Elliott. One
would think you’re in a hurry to get somewhere,” she murmured, and
even in the dim light, he could see the humor in her eyes.

“This nonsense keeps up, I won’t be
responsible for what I do to that idiot out there.”

She actually laughed.

Despite himself, he found himself smirking a
bit, too, because it was hard not to be affected by Pippa’s cute
lopsided smile, hard not to be affected by Pippa herself, and as
the coach began to move once more, Elliott pulled out his watch,
held its face up to the window so as to catch the faint gleam of
light coming in through the vehicle’s lanterns outside, and stuffed
it impatiently back into his pocket.

“Shouldn’t be more than another ten minutes
before we reach that damnable inn,” he grumbled. “That is, if the
other rein doesn’t just . . . fall off.”

He slid his leg back over to hers once more,
and this time, had just reached out to lay a hand on her knee, when
the coach stopped yet again.

Elliott exploded. “Hell and damnation, what
the
devil
is it this time?”

“Really, Elliott, since when did you curse
so much? My bleeding ears.”

“Since this short trip into the village has
been plagued with nonsense from the beginning, that’s when! At this
rate, we’d get there faster if we were to walk!” Once again, he
slammed out of the vehicle, and, his breath frosting the night air,
stalked angrily toward this utter fool that Blackheath had the poor
fortune to have in his employ.

“What is it this time?” he snarled. “The
other rein? A puddle in the road? Highwaymen? You’d better have a
damned good reason for this latest delay, or so help me God—”

“Er, beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but the horse
‘as diarrhea.”

“
What?
”

“Oi said, sir the horse—”

“Can’t he move and poop at the same
time?”

“Well, ’e could, sir, but it would make an
awful mess of the coach, sir, as well as my livery, which Oi loike
to try an’ keep clean, sir—”

“Let me guess, he got into the shrimp as
well, right?”

“Wot?”

“How far are we from the inn at
Ravenscombe?”

“Oh, Oi’d say maybe a half mile at best,
sir— ”

“Very well, then. Since you seem incapable
of getting me there under your own direction, I will sit here on
the box with you to ensure that I actually reach my destination
tonight.”

“But sir, it’s startin’ to rain and—”

“I’m in the damned Navy, I’m sure I know
what it’s like to get wet! Now get on the damned box, take the
damned reins, and get this damned vehicle into Ravenscombe before I
really lose my temper!”

Moments later, both high-ranking admiral and
lowly servant were seated on the box, the former scowling beneath
the brim of his hat, the latter flustered and worried, for he had
instructions, very specific instructions from his Grace, to do all
within his power to ensure that the admiral did not reach his
lodgings in Ravenscombe and was brought back to Blackheath Castle
for the night.

And as Murdock sat there, pale, nervous, and
uncertain, he wasn’t sure whose ire he dreaded more.

That of this stern-faced sea warrior sitting
beside him on the box . . .

Or that of his Grace the Duke of Blackheath,
when he returned to the castle—alone.

Chapter
4

The rest of the short journey passed, of
course, without incident. Arriving at the Speckled Hen Inn, Pippa
slipped out of the coach before the driver—kept occupied by
Elliott—could see her, hurried across the damp courtyard, and stood
waiting in the common room. The hour was late, the room deserted.
Moments later, the admiral joined her, took her hand, and led her
up the stairs, leaving her to wonder at the bizarre set of
circumstances that had delayed their arrival.

But as Elliott pushed open a door, lit a
candle from the fire that had been left burning in the grate by a
chambermaid, and stood there, so tall that he seemed to hold up the
low ceiling, she forgot all about the coachman’s strange behavior,
and thought, instead, of the years she had sacrificed.

Despite the fire, the room had a damp chill
to it, and outside, rain began to pelt the leaded glass panes of
the window.

Pippa stood somewhat uncertainly, her nerves
tingling with anticipation. Would he find her beautiful, after all
these years? She, who was nearly in her third decade, she, who no
longer had the nubile body she’d possessed that one time they had
made love? She, Pippa?

Elliott, removing his hat and cloak and
placing them on a peg near the door, had his own worries. Would she
still desire him after all this time? He, no longer a young and
dashing captain, but a man who’d seen years of service at sea,
years that had weathered his skin, left his body with a scar here,
another there? He, who had never stopped loving this woman, whose
heart was still fully owned by her, he—who might not be all that
she would want him to be? He, Elliott?

He had this one night to convince her to
stay here in England. One night to convince her of his love, the
true direction of his heart, and the folly of chasing after some
ridiculous piece of land in a faraway place that she certainly
couldn’t need or care much about.

Outside, the rain began to fall harder,
pinging against the window pane.

One night.

“Guess we got here just in time,” Pippa
said, removing her gloves.

“I could have done with it being a hell of a
lot sooner,” the admiral returned, and began unbuttoning his
coat.

Pippa moved forward, smiling a bit shyly,
and placed her hand over his, stopping him. “May I do that?”

He returned her smile, and let his arms fall
to his sides. She stepped closer and reaching up, began to slide
each button through its hole.

She had just gotten to the third one down,
when his arms went firmly around her, his big, broad hands slid
down the small of her back, and there, settled just above her
bottom, drawing her close up against him.

He was a sculpted god in the candlelight,
his face one of angles and planes, his hair, which he had left
unpowdered, catching the glow from the fire. All those years ago,
it had curled boyishly behind his ears, and this, it still did, for
he wore it rather unfashionably short, save for the wrapped
sailor’s queue that hung between his shoulders. She reached up,
slid her palms beneath his lapels, and tilted her head up as he
lowered his own to claim her lips in a kiss.