The Pirate Next Door (13 page)

The door opened. Mrs. Fairchild entered, her gown rustling faintly. She closed the door and waited.

Grayson turned to her. She might stand calmly, but trepidation and anxiety flared in her eyes.

“My lord,” she said before he could speak. “I have come to give notice. I know I have only just arrived. I will stay until you find someone suitable, if you like.”

Grayson studied her for a time. She stood perfectly composed, the respectful governess speaking to her master, but deep in her eyes flickered a restless anguish that he well recognized. She met his gaze tranquilly, but her right hand clenched until the skin whitened.

At last he said, “Request denied, Mrs. Fairchild.”

She blinked. “What? But Robert said he told you everything. Certainly you would not want a woman like me with your daughter…” She trailed off.

Grayson held up his hand. “Mr. Jacobs told me you two once had a steamy and illicit affair. And that you ended it yourself. I am curious. Why?”

She flushed a dull red. “My lord, why do you think? He was young—he did not need me clinging to him, did he, an aging woman who could only drag him into shame?”

“Ah. So you broke his heart for his own good.”

She looked panicked. “Broke his heart?”

“These things do not always resolve neatly. I will be blunt. I need you here. I do not have time to look for another governess. I need Jacobs, too, and I need him close to Maggie. I am sorry if you are uncomfortable. You and Jacobs will just have to come to some kind of agreement.”

Mrs. Fairchild opened and closed her pretty mouth a few times. “I will find another governess for you, my lord. And stay until she arrives.”

Damn it. “No.” When she blinked in astonishment, he hurried on. “Look, Mrs. Fairchild, you must be Maggie’s governess, and only you. Alexandra chose you. She said you were the very best. Anyone else will be less so, and I want only the best for Maggie.”

“There are many competent governesses, my lord, who would be eager for a position in a viscount’s household.”

He raked his hand through his hair. “Yes, but you see,
Alexandra
sent you. Understand? If you leave, she’ll blame me.”

Her brows furrowed. “Why should she?”

“Because she believes I am the worst excuse for a father since King Herod. You should have read the letter she sent me, outlining everything I was doing wrong. And I have been doing absolutely
everything
wrong. I know that; I’ve only been a father for six months, and I was a pirate for nineteen years.”

“Pirate—?”

“I have never had any training for the job. I only saw what the missionaries had done, and I swore to God I’d do the opposite. They never broke her spirit, but they certainly tried.”

Mrs. Fairchild said, “Oh,” but Grayson barely heard her.

He remembered the tight politeness of Alexandra’s
note explaining that daughters of lords in Mayfair should neither wear breeches nor soiled pink concoctions that had been made for ballrooms several seasons ago. Grayson had not had a chance to explain that he’d bought the pink frock in Jamaica in a fit of rage. He’d purchased it because the garment was the direct opposite of the horrible gray dress they’d stuffed Maggie into. Maggie should be wearing the loveliest gowns money could buy and should be smiling and laughing, not dour and quiet, like the missionaries wanted her to be.

The lady shoppers in the secondhand clothier where he’d so incompetently searched for the gown had found him amusing. They’d taken pity on him and helped him find the sweet pink thing they’d said a young girl would love. They had been right. Maggie had been so pleased with the gift that she’d refused to take the dress off for days.

Alexandra had written, stiffly, that Maggie needed morning dresses and walking dresses and dresses for rides in the park, for outings to museums, for visits to the theatre with her father or herself—not, he noted, both of them together. She also needed a proper and well-trained governess, not to quash her, but to teach her how to become a graceful and lovely young woman.

If Mrs. Fairchild left him, Alexandra would write him another letter equally as polite and pointed. Or she’d stand before him, bathing him in a sorrowful look, and express her disappointment in him.

He eyed Mrs. Fairchild, who looked a bit stunned. “Will it help if I beg?” he asked.

“My lord—”

He abandoned the polite viscount, who was doing him no good, and resurrected Captain Finley, terror of the seas. “Mrs. Fairchild, I do not have time for histrionics.
You and Mr. Jacobs will have to talk through your problems and reach some conclusion. But do not let it distract you from taking care of Maggie. Make her your first priority. Understand?”

Mrs. Fairchild’s stare was a mix of amazement and outrage. “But, my lord—”

“No buts, Mrs. Fairchild. Dismissed.”

She gazed at him for one more astonished second, then snapped her mouth closed. Giving him a look that told him King Herod was a pleasant and forgiving gentleman compared to him, she turned on her heel and strode out the door.

There, Grayson thought as he closed it behind her. I am not as bad at this as Jacobs thinks.

“M’lady, I vow to you, there are no pins to be had!”

Alexandra looked into Mr. Priestly’s red and exasperated face and barely contained her glee. She sat demurely at Grayson’s desk in his cabin perusing an out-of-date lady’s magazine. “Do you mean, Mr. Priestly, that in the entire Thames estuary, not one shop possesses ladies’ dressmaking pins?”

“I give you my word, I looked!”

She heaved an aggrieved sigh. “Mr. Priestly.”

“M’lady,” he almost wailed.

She shook her head. “My silk became torn last night when his lordship rescued me. I cannot possibly mend it with implements for repairing sails. I must have pins, silk thread, and the thinnest of needles. Why is this so impossible?”

Priestly mopped his brow. He’d worn a haggard look all afternoon, and the last time she had ventured on deck to summon him, he had actually fled her.

“M’lady, my men went up and down, searching. They
asked; they looked in shops. They found no pins and no needles and no silk thread.”

Alexandra smiled secretly at the thought of Grayson’s rough-looking pirates shambling through the streets asking for ladies’ dressmaking pins. Still keeping her expression dark, she feigned a heavy sigh. “I suppose it is not your fault. Someone will simply have to send to Town for another gown. Or I will have to go.”

His lips thinned. “M’lady, I was ordered explicitly by Captain Finley himself that I am not to let you off this ship.”

“Yes, indeed,” Alexandra said. “He also ordered you to obtain for me whatever I needed. Did he not?”

“Yes, but—”

“I need a change of clothing. I cannot possibly wear my theatre gown all day and all night. Perhaps you can send your men into town again to a secondhand clothing shop. They will have ready-made garments. I will write down my measurements.”

“I do not think,” Mr. Priestly said carefully, “that the sailors will obey an order to go into a shop and purchase lady’s clothing.”

“And a nightdress, if I am to sleep here. And a few pairs of stockings, and some garters.” She tapped her cheek. “That young man called Thomas is about my height and girth. Perhaps he could try on the gown, make certain the fit is right—”

“No!” Priestly shouted. His voice filled the room. A sailor above peered in through the opened skylight. Priestly balled his hands, shaking, his face red. “Mrs. Alastair, I can take no more. I have brought you ribbons and combs and oranges and magazines—”

“None of them
Le Belle Assemble
,” she put in.

“M’lady, I could not find one! All I could find was
Le Beau Monde.
And I do not speak French.”

She tapped the journal on the desk. “It is three months out of date. And they are all in English, Mr. Priestly.”

“I do not read ladies’ magazines,” he said desperately. “You have made me and my men a laughingstock. You sent us out for oil of jasmin, and I do not even know what that is!”

She gave him a severe look. “Really, Mr. Priestly, there is no need to shout at me.”

“There is need. I am at the end of my tether. What the devil do you want me to do?”

“Restrain your language for a start, sir. I am only asking for the accoutrements I will need if I am forced to stay here. Surely the viscount does not expect me to shiver in a torn garment and exist on grog and biscuits.”

“He expects us to,” Priestly muttered.

“I do not believe the viscount thought it through when he ordered you to keep me here.”

“No,” he agreed fervently. “But I can’t let you go ashore, m’lady. He’ll peel the skin off my hide and hang it up to dry, then nail the rest of my body beside it.”

His lips were white, his breathing fast. A little foam flecked the sides of his mouth.

Alexandra felt pity for him, but she could not relent just yet. “Then I must have a change of clothing. You see that.” She sighed. “Or you will have to take it up with the viscount.” She frowned, pretending to think. “Please tell young Thomas that I am particularly fond of yellow.”

Priestly stared at her, fists tight. Then he cried “Gaahhh!” and stormed from the cabin.

It had grown quite dark by the time the viscount returned to the
Majesty.
The stars were out, thick and bright
against the dark throat of night. Alexandra gazed at them from the quarterdeck. In Town, so many lights from houses and passing coach lanterns, not to mention the smoke from chimneys and the fog or clouds that habitually hung over the city, obscured the stars. Here, the wind parted the clouds and allowed the beauty of the night to shine through.

Alexandra smoothed the cotton of her yellow gown, proudly brought to her by young Thomas. She’d relented in her suggestion that he try the clothes on for her, and had written a note with her measurements for Priestly to give to a clothier. The gown did not quite fit, but it would have to do.

She sighed and continued to study the stars. Stargazing always reminded her of home, of the rolling green swards of Kent, of happy summers spent lying in sweet grass, feeling as if she were falling upward into the stars, dreaming dreams great and glorious.

A heavy step sounded behind her, and presently, she sensed him next to her, his bulk of warmth and his masculine scents of musk and the night. He leaned on the rail, his strong arms taking his weight, the wind from the sea lifting his blond-streaked hair.

She did not, as she longed to, fling her arms about him and joyfully cry his name. She continued to watch the stars and the horizon, as if it made no difference that he’d joined her.

“Alexandra,” he began. His baritone flowed over her like cool water in the heat. “I have been captaining ships since I was eighteen years old. I have faced frigates that outgunned me and hostile islanders ready to boil me up for supper and the fiercest pirates on the seas. And never once in that long career have my men disobeyed my or
ders or threatened a mutiny.” He turned his head and looked at her. “Until today.”

She felt her face heat, but she kept her voice innocent. “I only asked for the things I needed, my lord.”

Grayson choked back a laugh. The battle between her and Priestly must have been fierce. Only months ago, he had seen Priestly boarding a frigate, pistols blazing, a cutlass in his teeth, fighting like mad and roaring obscenities. But this afternoon Priestly’s face had been tinged gray, and his dark-circled eyes wild with terror. “She sent us off for women’s undergarments, sir. And cream to keep off wrinkles. She hasn’t got any wrinkles! And she told us the wrong name, so we had to keep asking and asking.”

Grayson had worked hard to keep from bursting into laughter. He imagined his men running from shop to shop desperately seeking wrinkle cream and garters. He had known that Alexandra, with her independent spirit, would chafe at her confinement, but he had anticipated her trying to climb over the side and attempting to steal a boat and row it by herself. Her choice of how to fight back was delicious.

“How long do you plan to keep me prisoner, my lord?” she asked primly.

He looked out over the water again. The ship rocked a little at its anchor. “The danger is so great, Alexandra.”

“Well.” She traced patterns on the varnished wooden rail. “You could simply send a few guards to my house while I prepare for my soiree. Which is in two days, by the way. They could make themselves useful hanging garlands and carrying tables about.”

“I do not think they’d like that any more than buying wrinkle cream. Did you really ask Thomas to try on gowns?”

She looked contrite. “I decided I would not at the last.”

“I imagine he was thankful.”

He could stay away from her no longer. He closed the distance between them and slid his arm around her waist.

She looked up at him, her eyes soft. “I must go home.”

“But I want you to stay.”

“It is impossible.”

He drew his hand up to cup the swell of her breast, and leaned to the fragrant curve of her neck. She closed her eyes. “But perhaps,” she murmured. “I could stay a little longer.”

She smelled so good. How he could have ever thought another woman would satisfy him, he did not know. Sara had been a bird made to fly away. Alexandra was made of sterner stuff, though she appeared frailer than the robust Sara. But Alexandra would keep her feet firmly on the ground, stand at his side. Sara had been a wild spirit, true to none but herself. Alexandra would remain steadfastly loyal to whatever man she chose.

Lucky man.

It had been not even a full day and night since he’d made love to her, but his body was still hungry. His hands wanted to tumble her hair, to soothe the heat of her skin, to slide over the curve of her hips. He wanted to taste her mouth and her female places and let his tongue drive her to madness once more.

His cabin was only steps away. He could grow fond of his cabin.

He slid his hands beneath her hair and slanted his mouth across hers. He could taste her anger, her frustration, but despite this her lips softened for his, returned his gentle pressure. At last, with a small sigh of surrender, she dropped her head back and closed her eyes. Her hands came up to rest on his chest, fingers curled.

So little time. Only a few weeks to know her, to explore her, to love her. And then the chaos of his life would come to a head and he and James Ardmore would meet a final time.

Too soon. He had not known what gifts life would give him. He’d never dreamed he would grow to love his daughter until every breath she took was his breath too. He never knew his heart could expand like this, never knew such feelings could find their way into the cynical, hard-bitten Grayson Finley. He only knew he wanted to tarry here a while, with Alexandra and this newfound hunger.