Christmas Wedding Belles: The Pirate's Kiss / A Smuggler's Tale / The Sailor's Bride

Chapter 2

THE path down to the creek was treacherous in the dark and the frost, but Daniel had walked there sufficient times in the past to leave at least a part of his mind free to think on other matters—and tonight that other matter was Lucy Spring. He could still feel the soft imprint of her body against his, and smell the flower perfume of her hair, a summery fragrance, lavender or rose or jasmine. Daniel was not sure which it had been. It was a long time since he had had the luxury of strolling in an English country garden, but the scent and the memory of her still filled his senses.

He ached for her, his body still alive and sharp with arousal. He could think of nothing but the taste of her and the need to take her to bed. It was frightening, as though all the years they had been apart were cancelled out, counting for nothing, as though the youthful passion that had fired his life then had reawoken and was concentrated solely in her.

She had saved him from capture. Fatally, he had not been paying attention. His mind had been distracted. The day before he had had the melancholy duty of visiting Newmarket, to tell the mother of one of his crew that the lad—a boy of fourteen—had died of a fever contracted in Lisbon back in the autumn. Breaking the news had been a dreadful experience. The woman had looked at him with so much grief in her eyes, but had said no word of reproof. Daniel had wanted to pour it all out—how he had nursed the boy himself, praying desperately for his recovery, how they had thought he was improving only to see him slip away from them so quietly that the moment of his death had come and gone in a breath. He knew there were no other children to support her or comfort her through her grief. He had left a big bag of gold on the table, knowing that it was not enough, that it could never replace the only son who had run away to sea and died on a pirate ship.

He ran a hand over his hair. On the way back to the coast he had ridden hard, trying to outrun his demons, but they had stayed with him at every step. When the winter fog had come down as he reached the outskirts of Woodbridge, he had stabled the horse at the Bell and sought to drown his sorrows in ale. He had sat alone in the bar. No one had approached him. Either they’d known who he was, in which case they would not have dared speak to him, or they’d thought he looked too grim to be good company. For that was the truth of it. Once it had been enough to know that he was doing the King’s work, even if he was doing it outside the law, but now he felt old and sick of the fight. He had not seen his sister, his only family, for two years now. He was damnably lonely. And seeing Lucinda, holding her close in his arms, feeling her warmth as he pressed his mouth to the softness of her hair…That had almost been the undoing of him. He had not wanted to let her go again. He had watched her walk away, and it had been the hardest thing he had ever done.

It had been such a long time. He’d thought he had forgotten her. Now the vividness of his memories and the ache of his body told him it was far from over, no matter what Lucinda said.

But there was such bitterness between them. Daniel pushed the dark hair back from his forehead. She had called him selfish, and it was true. He had not thought, in his arrogant, youthful carelessness, what it must have been like for Lucy, left at home in the stifling atmosphere of the vicarage, fending off those spiteful tabbies who would be enquiring every day as to when he was returning to make her his bride. As the weeks had slid into months, and the months into years, with no word from him, what must she have thought? How must she have felt, sitting at home waiting for him? Could he really reproach her for breaking their betrothal and accepting Leopold Melville instead?

Daniel paused, listening for sounds of pursuit, but the night was silent. Not even the call of an owl penetrated the dark woods.

The worst thing was that Lucy’s reproaches were well founded. He had assumed that she would always be there for him. He had been complacent, certain of her love for him. For a while after he had joined the Royal Navy the sea had become his mistress, to the exclusion of all other loves. She was demanding, imperious, dangerous, exciting. She pushed all other thoughts from his mind. And then the Admiralty had approached him to leave the relative security of the Navy and strike out as a privateer, gathering information, working beyond and outside the law. It was made clear to him that he would be denounced as a pirate from the start, in order to give his apparent betrayal more credibility. The idea had appealed to his recklessness, and he had not thought then of Lucy, or home, or anything beyond the excitement of the moment. He had been a damnable fool. He had thought that one day he could go back for her and everything between them would be as it had been.

Eventually word had come to him that she was married, and the shock of it had brought him to his senses. He had realised what he had lost. But it was too late. Now he knew they could never go back.

The challenge came out of the darkness and he gave the password. One of the crew stepped onto the path in front of him. Even though the Defiance was a privateer, his men were drilled as on a regular Navy ship, disciplined and sound.

‘Welcome back, sir.’ Daniel’s deputy, Lieutenant Holroyd, sounded relieved. The crew were jumpy as cats when he was ashore. ‘There is someone to see you.’

The Defiance was berthed in a deep, wide tidal pool, close under the trees of Kestrel Creek. The tide was high and Daniel could step aboard from the bank. It was one of his favourite moorings, but it was a dangerous one given the length of time it took to sail out of the creek to the open sea. But then nowhere was safe for a pirate. That was one of the things that had attracted him to the life in the first place—The freedom and the sense of risk. He had been young then, and dangerously wild. These days he realised that he valued a cool head as much as reckless courage.

There was a lamp burning in his cabin, spilling warm golden light across the papers on his desk and illuminating the still figure of the man who sat waiting for him.

‘I heard that the Riding Officer was out,’ Justin, Duke of Kestrel said, rising to greet him. ‘I am glad to see you made it safely back.’

Daniel shook his hand. He had worked with Kestrel for the last five years, providing the Admiralty with intelligence on French shipping movements during the Wars, chasing the French from British shores, smuggling refugees from Napoleon’s regime. Daniel liked Justin; he was tough but fair. They were also linked by the marriage of Daniel’s sister Rebecca to Justin’s brother Lucas, but they seldom referred to their family connection. Their relationship was strictly professional.

‘Chance almost caught me,’ he said now. ‘He’s good, but I think someone tipped him off.’

Justin Kestrel’s brows snapped down. ‘Norton?’

‘It must be.’ Daniel threw his damp coat across the back of a chair and loosened his stock. Many people thought that John Norton, the infamous pirate and French spy, had died alongside his mistress in the wreck of his ship five years before, but Daniel knew better. He had seen the ravages of Norton’s piracy along the Suffolk coast of late, and knew that Norton was using Daniel’s own name to cover his tracks. He had sworn to bring Norton to justice once and for all.

‘We are trying to catch him,’ Justin said.

Daniel’s mouth set in a grim line. ‘So am I,’ he said. ‘Before he sullies my name for ever with his cruelty.’ He shot Justin Kestrel a look. ‘That might seem strange to you, Kestrel,’ he said, with a lop-sided smile. ‘Honour amongst thieves…’

Justin shifted in his chair. He was a big man, and the cabin seemed almost too confined for him. He looked at Daniel directly with his very blue eyes.

‘There was another matter that I wished to discuss with you, de Lancey. You may not have heard that your cousin, Gideon Pearce, has died.’

Daniel absorbed the news and found that he felt nothing at all. Years ago his cousin had denounced him as a traitor and a disgrace to the family name. The only family that mattered one whit to him was Rebecca.

‘As you know, he was childless,’ Justin Kestrel continued. ‘You are now Baron Allandale.’

Daniel’s mouth twisted derisively. ‘I am no such thing. He disinherited me.’

‘No, he did not. At the end, it seems, blood was thicker than water.’

Daniel raised his brows. That had surprised him. ‘Nevertheless,’ he said, ‘I cannot inherit as a wanted criminal.’

Justin Kestrel put the brandy glass down. The lamplight shone on the richness of the amber. ‘The government wishes you to take up your title. They think it is time you came in to port. They are willing to grant a public pardon. Should you wish to continue a career at sea they will offer you another commission in the Royal Navy, as a commodore.’

‘A promotion?’ Daniel said dryly. ‘Is the Home Secretary also willing to state that I have been working in secret for the government the whole time?’

Justin Kestrel shifted. ‘With some persuasion, perhaps. Spencer is a reasonable man, and he has served at the Admiralty so he understands your role.’

Daniel grimaced. The government was notoriously and understandably reluctant to reveal the names and activities of their spies. He knew they would far prefer that he disappear quietly to live in the country.

‘They must want me to turn respectable very much,’ he murmured. ‘I wonder why?’

Kestrel seemed to be choosing his words carefully. ‘You are a peer of the realm now, and you are seen to be flouting the King’s laws. If you were to carry on as a privateer after this you would be beyond pardon. Already some of your activities—the smuggling, for example—place you technically outside the law, no matter that you engage in it in order to obtain information.’

Daniel laughed. ‘I engage in it in order to obtain good French brandy,’ he said.

‘Precisely.’

There was a silence.

‘There is a very fine estate in Shropshire,’ Kestrel continued, ‘and another in Oxfordshire.’

‘It is a long way from the sea.’

‘Perhaps you might wish to settle down, though—marry, even…?’

Daniel’s thoughts flew instinctively to Lucinda. Where had that idea come from? Two hours before he would have said that marriage was the very last thing he would ever contemplate. Marriage and piracy were fundamentally opposed. Yet here was Justin Kestrel with the suggestion that he might be married off and settled in Shropshire with a wife and family—the 28th Baron Allandale, respectable at last. And he was getting into dangerous waters, for he was thinking of Lucinda in his life and in his bed, her warmth thawing the cold loneliness that had ambushed him of late, her love fending off the darkness that threatened his soul.

He shook his head sharply. He was mad even to think of it. Lucinda hated him for his callous disregard for her feelings all those years ago, and anyway, respectability bored him. It was deadly dull.

He thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘And if I refuse?’

Kestrel raised his brows. ‘Are you going to?’

‘Yes, I think I am. I like my way of life too much to give up now.’

Kestrel grimaced. ‘Think about it before you turn us down. It’s a good offer. If you refuse, then Spencer will cut you loose and in the end you will surely hang.’

‘Despite my service to the Crown over the years?’

‘Despite that.’ Kestrel nodded towards the brandy bottle. ‘Officially you are outside the law, de Lancey.’

‘You drink my brandy,’ Daniel said. ‘You order my brandy.’ All the same, he knew Justin was right. In his dealings with spies and smugglers and criminals he had, inevitably, blurred the line. If he refused to conform now, to come into port and accept his barony, he knew the government would deny he had ever worked for them—and he could not prove it. He would be cast adrift.

‘I do drink your brandy,’ Justin Kestrel agreed. ‘I am a hypocrite. I like your brandy. I like you, de Lancey. Too much to see you hang. Think of your sister if you won’t do it for any other reason.’

That, Daniel thought, was below the belt. If anything was likely to sway him it was the thought of all that Rebecca had suffered for him in the past. But now she was settled with Lucas and their growing family. Would his return add so much to her happiness? He knew that the answer was probably that it would. He knew it, but then he thought of the stifling tedium of life on land and he shook his head. He could never go back to that now.

‘It is too late. The answer is no.’

Justin Kestrel’s expression was impassive. ‘I am sorry for it, but I am not surprised.’ He held out a hand to shake Daniel’s one last time. ‘You are on your own then, de Lancey. Goodnight.’

After he had gone, Daniel lay down in his bunk with his hands behind his head and thought about Justin Kestrel’s offer. He cared nothing for having a title, and he had thought that he would care nothing for the estates, but conscience, which had hardly troubled him these ten years past, stirred uncomfortably, reminding him of all the people whose livelihoods depended on him now. He could not simply neglect his estates and let them go to ruin, taking people’s future with them. With the title came responsibilities—responsibilities he did not want to be burdened with. Was that not what he had always done, now he came to think of it? Had he not run from those who depended on him? Run from his duty? He had preferred the reckless excitement of the hunt to facing up to his responsibilities at home.

He thought of Lucinda, waiting for him in vain all those years and telling him in no uncertain terms that very night that the love that had been between them was long gone, even if they both knew that the flame of their wild passion was scarcely extinguished. If there had been a way back from that…But there was not. There was no way back to the past. He knew that. Nor could he see himself settling to the life of village squire. But he would write to Rebecca and see if there was a way she might help the people of Allandale on his behalf.

And tomorrow he would take the Defiance out to sea and outrun his memories. He would hunt down John Norton. And he would make sure that he never saw Lucinda again. This time he would make sure that he forgot her.

Chapter 3

‘LADIES, ladies,’ the Duchess of Kestrel said reproachfully. ‘Your concentration is wandering today.’ She closed her copy of King John and placed it on a side table. ‘I know that Shakespeare’s histories may not be the most romantically engaging of his works,’ she added, with a slight smile in Eustacia Saltire’s direction, ‘but I thought it was the type of improving book that would suit our little reading group. My dear Mrs Melville—’ here Lucinda jumped guiltily ‘—pray tell me, what do you think of the piece?’

Lucinda gulped. She had not been thinking about Shakespeare’s King John for the past ten minutes, for her thoughts had been occupied by a far more compelling character—that of Daniel de Lancey. Truth to tell, she had been thinking about him from the moment she had left him the previous night until she had fallen into a restless sleep at about three in the morning. Then she had dreamed about him: disturbing, passionate, heated dreams, full of half-remembered desire that even now caused her limbs to tingle and a burning and undeniable ache to fill her.

She realised that Sally Kestrel was still looking at her, a flicker of concern in her very green eyes.

‘You look a little too warm, Mrs Melville,’ she murmured. ‘Are you sure you are not running a temperature? Have you taken a chill, perhaps?’

‘I…no, I do not believe so.’ Lucinda struggled to push away the mental images of herself entwined in naked consummation with Daniel. She felt hot and bothered and aroused. She had prided herself on her cool common sense for years, and now she realised that she was afire with lust—and for a man she did not even like any more. It was maddening. It made her furious. And it was typical of Daniel de Lancey that he could do this to her.

‘I do find the room rather stuffy,’ she excused. ‘I think I shall take a walk down to the cove and take some fresh air.’ She turned to Eustacia. ‘Would you care to join me, Stacey?’

Miss Saltire, a lively brunette, looked glum.

‘For my part I would adore it, Mrs Melville, but Mama has forbidden me to go out whilst the weather is so inclement. She thinks that I might turn my ankle or catch an infection of the lungs or ruin my looks with frostbite.’

Lucinda caught the Duchess of Kestrel’s eye. ‘Dear Letitia is very careful,’ the Duchess observed wryly. ‘Perhaps if you took the gig, Mrs Melville, then the groom could drive and Stacey could wrap up in warm blankets?’

Stacey looked even gloomier. ‘It is a capital plan, cousin, but Mama would not approve. She fears a carriage accident in icy weather.’

Lucinda nodded. She understood Mrs Saltire’s concerns. There were so many things to be afraid of in her world, especially when Eustacia was her only defence against penurious old age. Lucinda knew that Mrs Saltire could not bear for Stacey to lose her looks or run off with an unsuitable man, or do anything that might risk their futures. But she also saw the slump of Stacey’s shoulders, and wished that Mrs Saltire might allow her daughter a little more latitude—or Stacey would rebel with the very behaviour her mother dreaded.

She went up to her room to wrap up warmly and fetch bonnet and gloves. Although it was not much past two in the afternoon, the sun was already beginning to sink in the west as she made her way along the track that led from Kestrel Court down to the cove. The path plunged deep into the pinewoods and the air was fresh with the sharp scent and loud with the song of the birds. Lucinda walked quickly, glad to feel the crisp chill of the breeze on her face. She had been active all her life, loving to walk and ride, and sometimes the determined staidness of life in the Saltire household chafed at her. Out here, in the open air, she felt a lift of spirits.

She had gone only a little way along the track when she heard the sound of hoofbeats and, turning the corner, espied Owen Chance on his bay mare, making his slow way towards her from the direction of the cove. Remembering the events of the previous night Lucinda immediately felt guilty for her part in helping Daniel evade capture. She liked Owen Chance. It was a pity that instinct and an older loyalty had set her against him.

There was a deep frown on Owen Chance’s forehead. The sort of frown, Lucinda thought, that a man might well wear when he had failed to capture a notorious pirate. Nevertheless, his expression lightened when he saw her, and he reined in, removing his hat and bowing with a flourish.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Melville! I trust you are well?’ He looked around. ‘Miss Saltire does not accompany you on your walk?’

Lucinda smiled at the transparency of his interest. It was clear that the poor man was as besotted with Stacey’s dark prettiness as she was taken with his charm and dashing character. It was only a shame that the whole affair could come to nothing.

‘Not today, I fear,’ she said, and saw his handsome face fall with disappointment. ‘I am going to the cove,’ she continued, with determined cheerfulness. ‘Are you travelling from that direction, sir?’

Owen Chance frowned again. ‘I am, ma’am, but I would urge you against such a walk today. It will be dark within a couple of hours, and there is talk of the smugglers being out tonight. If you could take word back to Kestrel Court and ask them to lock all the doors safely at dusk…?’

Lucinda’s heart jumped. Could the smugglers be Daniel’s men? She had no illusions, and knew that Daniel’s shady business would necessarily involve him in smuggling as well as piracy and goodness only knew what other nefarious activities. And Chance had almost caught him the previous night. If he planned a trap tonight then he might achieve what he had singularly failed to do before and take Daniel prisoner. She could not, for the life of her, repress the flicker of apprehension that ran through her body at the thought.

She cleared her throat. ‘How vastly frightening,’ she said, hearing the false brightness in her own voice and hoping that Owen Chance would ascribe it to excitement rather than nervousness. ‘I expect they are a desperate bunch?’