For the Love of a Pirate (13 page)

He'd passed a quiet afternoon writing letters to London. One to his fiancée, to say that the business he was attending to would take longer than he'd thought, but that he'd be back as soon as he could. And one to each of his two best friends, to tell them he'd learned much, needed to know more, and would see them when he returned. He was still too irked with his uncle to even let him know where he was.

“So, I hear the local lads are mad about you, my lord,” the captain said, as he handed Constantine a glass of wine.

“I don't know about that, but I'm certainly taken with them,” Constantine said.

“Cod's liver!” the captain said, laughing. “You? And the local lads? Nonsense. Wine and water. No, I only meant that you didn't put on any airs with them and they liked that. No man here expects you to be his friend! They know their places.”

“But they were my father's friends, and my great-grandfather's too,” Constantine said.

“Nay, that they never were,” the captain said. “It wasn't the title, mind. Captain Cunning was their leader, and no man is the equal to his leader. As for your da—he was a lad suffering growing pains, eager to befriend anyone kinder to him than his father, and that would be about anyone.”

“Too true,” Miss Lovelace said unexpectedly from the depths of a deep chair. “Many noblemen roister in their youth, and with the most unsuitable characters. Why, just look at King Hal. He was a friend to every sot and criminal in the lowest taverns of England. Poor Falstaff,” she said on a sigh, as she took an audible swallow of wine.

“He should have known better,” Lisabeth said. “Royals just use people.”

“Ah, but Falstaff tried to use Prince Hal,” Constantine said.

“The pair of them were bloody fools,” she countered.

The captain laughed. But Constantine was shocked again. He was spared the effort of a reply. He saw a bony finger raised from the deep chair, as Miss Lovelace murmured, “Now, now, my love. What did I tell you? The gentleman isn't used to females talking so freely.”

Lisabeth gazed at Constantine. “True?” she asked him. “Are you offended?”

It seemed to him that she'd taken a battle stance. It looked odd to see a delicious young woman stand, legs apart, hands on hips, a challenging look in her eyes. Her back was to the fireplace, her gown was very thin, he could see how very shapely her legs were. He knew what he wanted to challenge her to, and was shocked again. This time, at himself.

“I am not offended,” he said carefully. “I always consider the source. Obviously, you have had an unconventional upbringing, and mean no offense by what you say, while such an utterance from a young woman raised in the
ton
would be the reverse.”

Constantine saw a flash of disappointment cross her face. He hadn't meant to rankle her. In fact, he was annoyed with himself now, not her. He'd sounded so priggish. But still and all, he was right. Even so, for the first time in a long time he found he didn't know what to say next.

“The gentleman is entirely right,” Miss Lovelace said. “I failed you, my dear.” There were tears in her voice.

Lisabeth hurried to her side, sank to her knees, and clasped her governess's hand between her own. “Never!” she said angrily. “You never did! Why, how would I know about Prince Hal and Falstaff at all if it weren't for you? You taught me well, Lovey, honestly, you did.”

Miss Lovelace's voice was clotted with emotion. She peered around the side of her chair, and looked at Constantine. “I had a fine education, my lord,” she said. “That's true. But since my family lost all their funds, and I was orphaned young, I led a life of servitude, first working for distant cousins as a governess, and then forced to acquire positions I could find through employment bureaus. But in either case, I'd no life of my own. And so when I reached the age of five and twenty, I discovered I could no longer bear it. Well, no, that isn't exactly so. I didn't discover it alone. It was Roger, a footman in the house where I was employed, who helped me discover myself.

“We ran away, Roger and I,” she went on dreamily. “We shipped out on a fair tide, to meet his friends in the Caribbean, where he said he could make a new start and become rich. The difficulty was that his friends were—how shall I say it? Oh, the whole truth, then. They were brigands. And Roger, while an excellent fellow, and gifted with a silver tongue, was not so handy with a knife.”

Miss Lovelace heaved a long sigh. “And so I soon found myself alone, a widow without any benefits of widowhood, since Roger and I never exchanged vows, in a strange land, far from home. I refused to beg. I found a way to support myself full well. I took up a trade that I suppose I ought to be ashamed of now, but which at the time I found to be lucrative.” She glared at Constantine. “Think what you will, my lord. But being under the . . . influence of one man at a time for half an hour was far more to my liking than to be under the power of one man for the rest of my life.”

Constantine couldn't think what to think. Was this ancient woman confessing to prostitution? He was far out of familiar territory now. He shot an agonized look to the captain.

“That's over and done, Lovey,” the captain said quickly. “Long gone and long since. Thing is, my lord, I was touring the islands one year, looking to my investments, and heard of this lady who could quote whole books, even in her cups! Well, I needed a governess for my Lisabeth, none had suited her, and if they did, they didn't suit me. My girl was always one to know her own mind, a handful she was. Then I met Miss Lovelace. And so there it was. I interviewed her, and in spite of her occupation, found her to be a gentlewoman, and eager to return to England and settle down.”

“I was much older by then,” Miss Lovelace said sadly. “Quoting Shakespeare held more of a chance for me to earn a living than my previous occupation. Men appreciate minds, you see, but only if they are presented in the proper casings.”

The captain cleared his throat. “Well, there it is. Would you believe that just because of my rough exterior, there was many an educated lady who didn't want to work for the likes of us? But not Miss Lovelace. So I introduced her to my Lisabeth, and they hit it off right away.”

“You were in the Caribbean?” Constantine asked Lisabeth.

“Yes, and on the Continent too,” she said, lifting her head. “My knowledge doesn't come just from books, my lord, but because of travel, and of course, because of Lovey here. I never had the patience for formal learning, but Miss Lovelace had a way of getting me interested in reading and writing and such. I was a wild young thing, and she was the only one who could tame me.”

“And not your grandfather?” Constantine asked, amazed.

She laughed, and giving her governess's hand a final pat, rose to her feet. “Grandy? Oh, he roars like the north wind, but he never frightened me.”

“Too true.” Her grandfather chuckled. “Oh, here's Mr. Bell coming, looking pregnant with news. Dinner must be ready.”

Constantine took a deep breath. He'd thought he was a flexible fellow. But the closer he became to this odd family, the more shocked he was. It was obviously imperative that he learn whatever else he could from them. It was of paramount importance that he charm them completely, and then leave them forever, with no hard feelings. He thought he could do that. That was, if they could just stop astonishing him for a while.

“You don't have to do this, you know,” Lisabeth said the next morning, as the sun rose.

“I know that,” Constantine said. “But I have gone sailing. I don't get mal de mer. And I'd like to see this coast from the seaside. I'm very grateful your grandfather arranged this for me. But tell me. The men we're going to sail with. Who are they?”

They stood on the stony beach and waited for the light to rise. Just now, it only gilded the waters, far off. Again, Lisabeth wore men's clothing, but as she wore a thick oilcloth jacket, a sailor's cap, and high black wading boots, Constantine didn't find her distracting this morning. Still, even with her hair and shape covered, there was no mistaking her for a boy. Her fine features were feminine and pure, her mouth and cheeks were blushed by the cool morning breeze, and her eyes danced with sunlight and laughter. Constantine realized he was wrong. This morning he found her only a little bit distracting.

“Well, first,” Lisabeth said. “It's not a sailing ship, as such. Grandy wanted you to see our world as the folk around here usually do. We don't have a pirate ship so we can't see it as your great-grandfather did, and Grandy's ships are all at sea, but at least you can get a glimpse of our world as your father saw it. We're going in a fishing smack. The men aboard will be William, Francis and Henri. They're bound to show off a bit. But don't worry, they're excellent sailors. And the weather bids to be fair. Good thing you borrowed the clothing Grandy gave you though. We'll be soaked, because that's the way of it.”

And she smelled like freesias, he thought. Even though the air was redolent of sea and salt, standing close to her was like standing in a spring garden.

“Look!” she shouted, shielding her eyes. “Here they come!”

A fishing smack, its nets hung high near its sails, came scudding toward the beach, to them.

“Oi! Lisa!” a man's voice called. “Wade in, luv. We'll hove to, but there's only so close we can come.”

She marched into the water. Constantine followed, realizing that the old waders he'd been lent had a hole in a toe. But he marched beside her until they came close to the little fishing smack, and then he saw two rough-looking men lean down and haul her on board. Another extended a hand to him, and he clambered aboard as well.

It was a fair day, in late summer, and it was bidding to become sultry. But he was thoroughly wet, and the small boat stank of fish and fish guts. He was appalled. But well trained. None of it showed on his face as Lisabeth introduced him to the roughly dressed crew: tall William, red-faced Francis, and handsome, constantly smiling Henri.

The boat turned, and they steered out into the open sea.

“We can pull in a mess of fish even as we show you the land,” William said above the sound of the snapping sails. “No worries there. Lisa will point out the sights. We have to haul in the nets. We may get a storm later, so we have to make hay—or fish—while the sun shines,” he said, guffawing.

But it was only William and Francis who threw the nets out and pulled them in. And only those two upended the nets and dealt with the showers of flipping silvery fish. Because Henri stood next to Lisabeth and caught her whenever the ship tipped, and smiled and looked into her eyes and not at the scenery or the catch, all the while.

This was nothing like any fishing Constantine had ever done. He'd stood in silvery Scottish waters and cast for salmon, and in rough-running streams in England for hours, waiting to lure a trout. He'd thrown a line into turquoise waters in Italy, and watched dolphins racing with yachts he'd been passenger aboard. He'd never sailed in a rocking boat that was more of a skiff, getting salt water dashed into his eyes every time it dipped, sliding on fish blood and guts, and all the while, seething at how Henri kept closing in on Lisabeth, while she tried to point out interesting sights along the shoreline to her guest.

After what seemed an eternity, the boat turned.

“Time to get you to safe harbor, missy,” William said. “And time for Henri to finally do some work. We did most of it, so now he does the scaling and gutting before we get to market.”

“But my friend,” Henri whined. “How can you be so cruel? Me, I am a Frenchman. You expect me to ignore a beautiful woman and concentrate on feesh? Bah!”

“I'll ‘bah' you,” Francis said. “We did our share, now you do yours. Pleasure to have had you aboard, my lord. Sorry we couldn't talk more. But they were running, and so were we.”

“I'm delighted that you took me,” Constantine said. “Thank you.”

“There's manners,” William said with approval. “Careful you don't slip on that slimy patch there. Here's where we leave you.”

Constantine looked out. He saw a different beach, and a deserted shore.

“Good,” Lisabeth said. “We'll go through the wood and be home soon enough.”

She took William's hand, and stepped off the boat. She sank up to her hips and then marched toward the beach. Constantine sighed and then did the same, slogging through the water beside her. When they reached the shore, she turned and waved a hand in farewell at the fast-disappearing boat.

“Henri is a Frenchman?” Constantine asked, as he tried to stop shivering. It wasn't cold. He was just clammy and soaked.

“Yes,” she said, as she sat on a rock, pulled off a boot, and tipped its watery contents into the sand.

“Your suitor?”

She laughed. “He wishes it were so, but no.”

“Still, a Frenchman. We
are
at war,” Constantine said as he too sat and tried to drag off his own leaking boot.

“Not with Henri,” she said. “He's not a spy. The men rescued him off the coast, near France. He was trying to get away from trouble. He always is. He flirts because he's Henri. But he's harmless, in all ways. They were done with guillotining people, but he only took the side that seemed to be winning, and the little emperor's men were after him. The English were shooting Frenchmen. But fishermen weren't hunting anything but a living, especially if some of their catch came in bottles with French markings. Henry is charming, but very careful of his neck.”

She tilted him a merry look. “And as you know, cautious men don't appeal to me. By the way,” she added, as he tried to decide whether to be insulted or not. “That little voyage didn't turn out the way I thought it would. You hardly got a chance to see a thing. But when the fish are moving, the men must move with them. Next time—if you wish there to be one, that is—we'll go out on a bigger boat and see things in comfort. Still, you were gracious, and I thank you for that.”