The Pirate Next Door (15 page)

“Don’t know, madam.”

Alarm touched her. She recalled Grayson’s warnings about Burchard. She thought about Mr. Ardmore and his dangerous rage, which had already caught her in its crossfire twice.

Jeffery offered, “He is a proper gentleman, madam. Came in a proper carriage. With proper horses.” His tone grew admiring.

“Think, Jeffrey. Is it Mr. Burchard?”

Another vigorous head shake. “No, madam.”

That left Mr. Ardmore. Alexandra drew herself up. “Please tell him I am not at home.”

He hesitated. “Don’t like to, madam.”

“Jeffrey, it is part of your duties to turn undesirable callers away.”

“I know, madam.” He twisted his large, gloved hands. “Only he was very insistent. And he
looked
at me so. He called me a good lad when I finally said I’d fetch you.”

“For heaven’s sake, I have already been abducted once. I have no wish to repeat the experience.”

“He doesn’t look like a pirate, madam. He wears a proper gentleman’s clothes, all fine and respectable like. Goes to a proper tailor. And has golden spectacles, all shiny.”

Alexandra’s heart missed a beat. Mr. Henderson.
In her house
.

“Jeffrey,” she said quietly. “Bring the poker.”

Mr. Henderson was pacing the oriental carpet in the front reception room, his head down, his hands behind his back. He wore his usual subdued black suit, looking once again like a vicar without a collar. Fading bruises outlined his left eye and the left side of his mouth.

He looked up as Alexandra entered. His eager smile
froze when Jeffrey stopped beside her with the iron poker in his beefy hand.

Alexandra gave him a cold stare. “You are not welcome here, Mr. Henderson.”

Mr. Henderson held his white-gloved hands palm out. “I give you my word, Mrs. Alastair, I did not come to harm you in any way.”

“What am I to think, sir? Our last two meetings caused me much harm. What will you do to me this time whilst apologizing for the previous two indignities?”

He winced. “I promise—on my honor as a gentleman—I am quit of Captain Ardmore and his schemes. I told him so. Any moves against you will be made without me.”

“I am not certain that comforts me, Mr. Henderson.”

“What I mean to say is that I want to keep you from all harm. He has no right to pull you into his games with Finley.”

“Viscount Stoke,” she corrected.

His expression turned pained. “Captain Finley is nowhere near good enough for you. He is a barbaric pirate who has not set foot in England since he was a lad of twelve. He sees, he wants, he takes. He does not abide by any rules but his own.”

So she had noticed. “His lineage is an old and respected one,” she pointed out. “Or he would not have become the viscount.”

“He may have the family connections, but he knows nothing of our world. His parents died violently—I do not know the story, but I know that his mother was murdered. He ran away to sea right after—can’t really blame him.”

“Yes, I had heard that.” He was confirming Mrs. Tetley’s rumors. She imagined a young lad, no older than Maggie, confused, heartbroken, utterly shocked by his
sudden and terrible loss. Her heart wrung for him.

“He had no upbringing at all,” Mr. Henderson went on. “Unless you count being captured by pirates and trained to be one of them an upbringing. I, on the other hand, stayed safely in Kent and went off to Oxford.”

“I come from Kent,” Alexandra replied, for something to say.

“You see? I am English through and through. Finley, for all he is a viscount, is an outsider all the same.” He paused. “You would not happen to have heard of the insignificant village of St. Mary’s Newbridge, would you? My family has a house near there.”

She blinked. “Good heavens. I lived only two villages away, in Little Marching.”

His smile beamed, wide and straight-toothed. “We are neighbors then. I know Little Marching well. I visited my cousins there in the summers, and we made nuisances of ourselves chasing sheep and clambering about in the mud. Do you remember Fox Hollow?”

Her caution thawed slightly. “I do, indeed. I learned to climb trees there.”

“I learned to fall out of them.”

Alexandra permitted herself a smile. “I do not remember a family called Henderson.”

“They were my mother’s sister’s family. Name of Bancroft.”

Memories rose. “Oh, yes, I do remember. My mother and Mrs. Bancroft were on quite friendly terms. The boys were a bit unruly. They both went into the army, I believe, and are now splendid officers.”

“Randall and Cecil, yes.” He grinned. “I was the horrible little tow-headed cousin who ran after them.”

“Come to think of it, I might remember you, after all. I used to run and hide from the three of you.”

Mr. Henderson clasped his hands. “I am so pleased we discovered this. I must write Randall and Cecil and tell them I have met you.”

“That would be splendid. Remember me to them, of course.” She glanced sideways at Jeffrey, who looked a bit confused, then said, “The fact that we are truly neighbors does not make me trust you, Mr. Henderson. Nor does it explain why you are here.”

He smiled a bit ruefully. “I came to talk to you. You did tell me that if you saw me again, you would speak to me.”

“That was before you abducted me and made me breathe that awful concoction. And I did not give you leave to call on me.”

He held his hands out. “I am here now. Please let me speak with you—a real conversation, just as if we were old acquaintances from Kent.” He motioned to the chair near the window. “I can sit there. And you can sit all the way over there.” He pointed to the divan on the other side of the room. “And your lad here can remain ready with the poker.” He glanced at him. “If you must strike me, Jeffrey, please try not to tear the coat. My tailor only delivered it this morning. Oh, and not the face. The honorable Viscount Stoke has already managed to render it almost unusable.”

Jeffrey studied Mr. Henderson’s bruises with professional interest. “His lordship did that?”

“Indeed, he did.”

The hero worship in Jeffrey’s eyes rose to new heights. “He’s a dab hand at boxing then, is he?”

“Following no rules but his own, yes.”

Alexandra broke into this male exchange. “Mr. Henderson, do not be ridiculous. We cannot have a conversation shouting across a room.”

“Then give me leave to call on you properly. To—to take you driving in Hyde Park, like an old family acquaintance might do. Please.”

His words rang with longing and sincerity. She reminded herself that his apologies outside the theatre had also been profuse, just before he’d wadded the handkerchief into her face. Although—her thoughts went back over that conversation, clearer now after a few days of rest. He had not promised then that he would not help Mr. Ardmore. He’d only expressed regret that he had. Today, on the other hand, his first words had been a promise—on his honor—that he would never harm her again. A true gentleman never broke his word.

But was he sincere, or was he only pretending to be a true gentleman?

She sighed. Two weeks ago, her life had been predictable, structured, compartmentalized. And then Viscount Stoke had moved in. And now up was down and right was wrong, and she had no idea whom to trust. Mr. Burchard had transformed himself from respectable acquaintance to pirate villain; now Mr. Henderson was trying to move from villain to respectable acquaintance.

“I am uncertain why you even wish to continue to see me, Mr. Henderson.”

He slanted her a sheepish look, which he tried to soften with a faint smile. “Because I find myself in love with you, Mrs. Alastair. Completely and hopelessly in love. I have never met a woman like you.”

Alexandra stared at him in pure shock. “Mr. Henderson, you forget yourself.”

His look was anguished. “I have no right to say these things, I know, but I cannot help myself. The way you confronted Captain Ardmore-and me-was little short of astonishing. You have won my greatest admiration.”

Alexandra glanced at Jeffrey. Jeffrey had lowered the poker and looked not at all displeased with Mr. Henderson’s declaration. In fact, he looked a little teary-eyed.

“Mr. Henderson, I hardly think—”

“I know. I know. I do not deserve to ask for your love or even your friendship, but please give me a chance. Just a chance to prove myself worthy of you. Please.”

“If this is another trick of Mr. Ardmore’s I think it a poor one.”

“No—never. I swear to you. Upon my honor. Would I be more convincing on my knees?”

“No, do not—” She flushed. “Please get up, Mr. Henderson. You look silly.”

He remained kneeling on the carpet, staring up at her adoringly. “I beseech you, Mrs. Alastair. I have behaved badly. Let me try to make it up to you. Give me that at least.”

Oh, dear. Jeffrey’s lip was trembling now. She had no doubt about whose side
he
was on.

“If you will please get up before someone sees you and sit down like a sensible person, I will think about it.”

Mr. Henderson smiled in enormous hope. “Anything you like, my most darling Mrs. Alastair. I am your devoted slave.”

Jeffrey choked back a sob. Mr. Henderson climbed to his feet, but he did not sit down. He remained standing, wearing a look of abject devotion.

Alexandra said, “Grayson—the viscount—said that Mr. O’Malley was Maggie’s devoted slave. Is he correct?”

Mr. Henderson nodded, seemingly unsurprised by the abrupt change of subject. “Oh, yes, you should have seen him on the
Argonaut
when we crossed from Jamaica.” He looked faintly amused. “She wrapped him around her little finger. He’ll do anything for her. I say that it is because they are both of one height, but O’Malley claims that they are both outsiders, striving against the restrictions of the bloody English.” He stumbled to a halt. “Beg your pardon. His words.”

“I see.” Her curiosity rose, despite her misgivings. Mr. Henderson was in the position to explain many of Mr. Ardmore’s cryptic statements. She had given up trying to obtain a straight answer from Grayson. Whenever she asked questions of Grayson, he would kiss her or suggest she sleep naked, and her resolve would simply depart.
“Maggie traveled on Mr. Ardmore’s ship? Why, when the viscount has his own ship?”

Mr. Henderson lifted his brows. “You do not know?”

“No,” she said cautiously. “We should sit down and discuss it. Jeffrey, tell Annie to bring tea. You may leave the poker with me.”

Jeffrey, looking slightly disappointed, departed on his errand. The poker was heavy in Alexandra’s hand. She carefully set it on a polished table near the door, close enough to snatch up if need be, but far enough away to let Mr. Henderson know she was willing to trust him—if he made no sudden moves.

Mr. Henderson gave her a sage look. “You want to pry information from me? Well, no matter. You deserve to know.”

She motioned him to sit, not at the chair next to the window, but on the divan where she and Lady Featherstone had reposed the day of the accident, the day Mr. Henderson had so rudely kissed her. She perched on a chair near the center of the room, positioning herself between him and the door. “Please proceed,” she said, inclining her head.

Mr. Henderson laced his gloved fingers and darted a glance about the room as if for inspiration. “Finley brought Maggie back to England courtesy of Captain Ardmore. You did know that?”

“I know very little. Excepting that Captain Ardmore is terribly angry at Grayson, mostly over Maggie’s mother. And did I hear Captain Ardmore accusing Grayson of murdering Captain Ardmore’s brother?”

Mr. Henderson nodded. “It is a sad tale. I am not certain I understand it all myself. I signed on with Ardmore after it was all over, so I was not there to witness it.” He blew out his breath. “But I will tell you what I know.
Captain Ardmore had a younger brother named Paul. Ardmore rather doted on him. From what O’Malley tells me he just about raised him, as their parents passed away when Ardmore was only fourteen. Well, Paul married and had children. His wife and two daughters had traveled by ship from Charleston to Roanoke, in Virginia, to visit her family. On the way back to Charleston, the ship was boarded by pirates, and all aboard were murdered.”

Alexandra touched her lips. “Oh, dear.”

“Paul nearly went mad with grief. He had taken up a seafaring career as a merchant captain. He sold his ship, and purchased a refitted frigate, which he called the
Argonaut
. He sailed up and down the coast hunting pirates for ransom or simply sinking their ships and killing them. I do not know if he ever found the pirates who had murdered his wife and children. My Captain Ardmore, who had already quit working with Finley, eventually joined him.”

Amy entered the room at that moment, bearing a tea tray. She set it down on the table near Alexandra, shot Mr. Henderson a flirtatious look—he reddened—then she departed.

Alexandra was too absorbed in the story to reach for the tea. She said, “So Captain Ardmore truly is a pirate hunter?”

“He is. That is why I joined him. We search for pirates, overcome them, and turn them over to whatever government wants them most. When we come upon them besieging a ship, we show them no mercy.” His words were clipped.

She hid her shiver by reaching for the tea, warming her suddenly cold fingers on the pot. “What happened to Captain Ardmore’s brother?”

Henderson rose to accept the cup Alexandra handed
him. He remained standing, fingering the cup’s handle. “One day, Paul Ardmore decided he would bring in or destroy the crew of the
Majesty
, Finley’s ship. He was a bit mad by that time. He knew that Ardmore and Finley were enemies; or at least, deadly rivals. Ardmore was not with him. He might have stopped him.” Henderson’s voice went soft. “I think Ardmore is torn between blaming Finley for what happened and blaming himself.”

“What did happen?” Alexandra asked, her throat tight.

Henderson looked at the cup in his hand as if just remembering he held it. He abruptly seated himself on the nearest chair. “Disaster happened. Paul Ardmore, as I said, was a bit mad. Finley warned him off, or at least that’s what Finley claims he did. But Paul should have known better than to approach Finley. Finley is—I beg your pardon—a mean mother’s son when he is provoked. Only a fool would try to take him.” He sighed and lifted his teacup, correctly crooking his slender fingers. “But Paul was a fool by then, so I am told.”

Alexandra gripped the arms of her chair. “Grayson sank the ship?”

Henderson shook his head. “
He
says he veered off, knowing it was Ardmore’s brother and not wanting to engage him in battle. But Paul drove straight at him. He had the wind on his side, and he rammed the Majesty. There was no chance to avoid him.” He took another absent sip of tea. “They fought, ship to ship, man to man. In the end, Ardmore’s brother died, shot through the heart. Finley has always maintained that he himself was shot early on, and that he spent the entire battle writhing in agony on the deck. He says he had no idea what went on in the fight. Ardmore, of course, doesn’t believe him.”

“He carries the scar,” Alexandra said, staring into the middle distance. She touched her fingers to the place just
under her own left shoulder, where the jagged round mark rested on Grayson. “Of the bullet. Just there.”

She heard in her mind the frantic shouts, the boom and roll of cannon, the crack of a pistol shot, the stink of gunpowder and smoke. She could see Grayson crumple to the deck, his linen shirt stained red, writhing in pain, helpless.

There was a marked silence. Alexandra returned her gaze to Mr. Henderson. His gray eyes behind his spectacles told her he knew perfectly well under what circumstance she’d seen the bullet scar on Grayson’s chest. Her face heated. He remained still, his eyes hard as polished stone. She reminded herself that for his innocuous looks and his curate-like clothes, he hunted pirates for a living. Hunted them, and won.

She went on hastily. “How did all this lead to Maggie returning to England on the
Argonaut?
”

Mr. Henderson’s look did not thaw. He had changed from the decorous gentleman who knew how to hold a teacup to a dangerous man who shared his master’s hatred. “Ardmore finally caught up to Finley again this past December in Jamaica.”

Alexandra connected the pieces. “After Grayson had found Maggie.”

“We caught him alone, Ardmore and O’Malley and Forsythe and me.” His lips went tight, his eyes remote as he watched a distant memory. “I am not terribly proud of what we did to him, but we did not know about Maggie then.”

Chill spread through her body, coursing through every limb, cooling her blood to her very fingertips. Her closed, protected little world recoiled at this invasion of violence and black hatred. She remembered the tension in Captain Ardmore’s cabin, the quavering moment when Gray
son had stared with hot rage into Ardmore’s eyes, and Mr. Henderson had trained a loaded pistol on Grayson. One wrong word, one wrong movement, and death would have descended upon them.

“Captain Ardmore let him go,” she said, with difficulty.

Henderson nodded once. “Because of Maggie. Finley used her to bargain himself out of a tight spot and save his own worthless skin.”

Anger stirred in her. “He would do anything for Maggie. I know that. The bargain must have been hard for him.”

Silence fell between them like a crackling curtain. Outside, hooves clattered and carriage wheels rumbled, and the shrill cries of street vendors sounded over them. “Of course he would not have told you,” Henderson said finally. He drew a quick breath. “Captain Ardmore agreed to help Finley get Maggie to England. And in return—Finley forfeits his life to Ardmore.”

Alexandra’s jaw dropped. Horror rose through her, along with a surge of anger and grief. “
What?
”

The door swung open. Jeffrey came trotting in, oblivious of the tension in the room. “Her ladyship, madam.”

Lady Featherstone bustled in behind him, her gray eyes sparkling. “Alexandra, I—” She broke off, catching sight of Mr. Henderson, who had sprung up to stand stiffly in the middle of the carpet. Her plucked brows rose. “I beg your pardon.”

Alexandra’s heart pounded so hard she thought she would be sick. Forfeit his life? Those were the unspoken words he’d kept from her. The same words Mr. Ardmore had not said to her. They’d known the truth, all of them—Mr. Jacobs and Mr. O’Malley and Mr. Henderson. Grayson’s daughter had traveled safely to England aboard
Mr. Ardmore’s ship, and Grayson had promised to lay down his life for it.

She clenched her shaking hands and turned blindly to her friend. The correct polite words tumbled from her lips. “Lady Featherstone, this is Mr. Henderson. He is an old acquaintance from Kent.”

Lady Featherstone’s gaze became thoughtful. Alexandra could almost hear the words rattling in the lady’s head: young, handsome, old family acquaintance—married?

Mr. Henderson bowed. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

“How excellent to meet you. You are attending Alexandra’s at-home tonight, are you not?”

He gave her a half smile. “I do not have the pleasure of an invitation.”

“But you must come. An old acquaintance, so happily found again? Alexandra would be glad to see you there.” She darted a meaningful look at Alexandra.

Cornered, Alexandra could only reply, “Of course, Mr. Henderson. If your duties do not prevent it, I would be pleased for you to attend.”

Mr. Henderson bowed again. “I would be most honored.”

“Excellent!” Lady Featherstone exclaimed. “We begin at nine o’clock.”

Jeffrey banged the door open again. “Viscount Stoke!” he bellowed.

Grayson walked in leisurely, calm as you please, taking in Mr. Henderson and Lady Featherstone without surprise. But of course, he would have seen them arrive. He seemed to know all the comings and goings of her house.

Lady Featherstone gave a surprised yelp, then recovered and extended her hand. “Oh. Your lordship, how delightful.”

He advanced, smiling his lazy smile. Only an hour before, that smile would have melted Alexandra to a quivering puddle, but Mr. Henderson’s story had left her rigid and cold.

“The delight is mine,” Grayson said. He lifted Lady Featherstone’s ring-studded hand to his lips and pressed a brief kiss to it.

“My word.” Lady Featherstone almost simpered. Grayson slid his gaze to Alexandra, lowering his right eyelid in a half-wink.

His shirt was laced, his dark coat buttoned. His bronzed throat showed in the V where his cravat should have been. He wore smooth leather gloves on his large hands and polished boots on his feet. His sun-streaked hair was pulled back in a neat queue. His blue eyes, despite his wink, his heated smile, told her nothing.

Lady Featherstone beamed at him. “Lord Stoke, you are certainly attending Alexandra’s at-home.”

“Indeed, I would not miss it.” He slid Alexandra another difficult-to-interpret look.

Lady Featherstone trilled happily. “This will be a most interesting evening. Alexandra, you will be the first of the
ton
to host a gathering that Lord Stoke attends. The Duchess of Lewiston will be green with envy.” She gave Grayson a flirtatious look. “We have missed you until now, my lord. I trust this will be the first of many times we see you?”

He inclined his head. “Business has filled my time, my lady. I hope to amend that.”

“I am pleased to hear it.”

Mr. Henderson cleared his throat, cutting through their polite exchange. “I will detain you no longer, Mrs. Alastair.
My lord
, perhaps you will be so kind as to walk me to my carriage.”

Grayson studied him a moment, brow raised. “Certainly, Henderson. I see how you might get lost from here to there.”

Henderson’s expression was cold, tense. Lady Featherstone looked from one to the other in obvious glee, certain she was seeing jealous rivals taking up stances over Alexandra. Alexandra’s dry throat ached.