For the Love of a Pirate (7 page)

“Let be, my love,” Miss Lovelace said. “You'll find a right mate, and a true love. And maybe both in the same man!”

“Amen!” Lisabeth said, laughing.

And giggling, they made their way up the stairs to their beds.

L
isabeth got ready for bed slowly, not like hours earlier, when she'd gone through a wild scramble trying to dress exquisitely for her lofty company. She was a woman who only bothered to dress well for church or a neighbor's occasional dinner invitation, and she usually wore her day gowns until they wore out. Tonight she'd searched through wardrobes and sent the maids scurrying, looking for pins and combs and ribbons—for all the good it did, she thought grumpily.

She'd come in from the damp and was going to say hello to her grandfather, until she saw the stranger standing there in his study. Even though she'd met few gentlemen, she knew the visitor could be no other than the nobleman from London her grandfather had told might be arriving. She hadn't expected him so soon; she'd never expected him to look the way he did. Lord Wylde! He was really beyond her wildest dreams. He was the very opposite of his name. He was calm, contained, well mannered; well bred, handsome as he could stare, and seemed at ease in all company. Lean, dark, and elegant, he was nevertheless the image of his wicked ancestor; but also the perfect civilized gentleman.

Best of all, she'd thought, he was real, and really there! He must have actually been considering their fathers' mad pact. She couldn't believe her good fortune.

So she had rushed upstairs and bathed and dressed as though for a party. Her hair was dried, brushed till it crackled and shone, and then tied back behind her head, so it fell in curls on one shoulder. She'd worn her lucky golden locket at her neck, the one with a miniature of her mother's face in it, and had decided on a deceptively simple russet gown. It had long sleeves, for the weather, a low neckline, for fashion, and a high waist that she hoped made her look more statuesque. She'd looked in the glass and sighed. There was not much she could do about that. She was small. The fashion was tall. But they'd be sitting at dinner, and maybe he wouldn't notice.

That wasn't to say she had fallen in with her grandfather's ridiculous plan. She didn't even know the man, and had just recently been told about his existence. Lord Wylde might turn out to be a fool; he might be toplofty—she'd thought she'd caught a hint of that in his expression. Until he'd flashed that smile! It had been so sudden and so charming. Maybe too charming? she'd worried. He could even be a wastrel, looking for a way to improve his fortunes. She needed a man who was wise and considerate,
and
self-supporting. But her grandfather was wise. He wouldn't have invited a rogue to meet her, whatever sort of pact his son had made.

Whatever Lord Wylde was, he was the most exciting thing that had happened to Lisabeth since . . . forever, she guessed.

She'd rushed down the long stair to the study, where her grandfather always entertained before dinner. At least, where he always entertained those few important guests they'd had. Their life was simple, their visitors, the same. Her grandfather's many business acquaintances were merchants, often well-to-do, but seldom paragons of good manners. This would be, she'd thought, the first time they'd actually ever entertained an honest-to-goodness nobleman, a true
gentleman
. She'd paused at the door to the study, taken a deep breath, and walked in.

Their visitor had been standing by the hearth, talking with her grandfather. He'd been wearing simple black-and-white evening dress, but his closely fitted jacket was perfection, and his high white neckcloth gleamed even in the intermittent light. She saw a glimpse of his white shirt and a peacock-blue waistcoat, with a golden fob hanging at his lean waist. His legs were long and muscular. He was so splendid he took her breath away. This was the man Grandy wanted her to marry? She'd been half inclined to say “I do” instead of “good evening.” How lucky could she be?

He'd turned, looked at her, bowed, and smiled, his teeth as white as his impeccable linen.

Her heart had raced. She'd curtsied. She hoped she didn't make any mistakes in speech or actions this evening. Lovey had taught her manners, but she'd never tried them out in such high company.

So she'd spoken. And so had he.

And it turned out he was nothing like the man she'd been hoping for. He was a stick, a priss, an arrogant muttonhead, more concerned with the proprieties than life itself. But he looked so much like the man she'd loved since childhood, Lisabeth felt confused and cheated. So now she slipped her night rail over her head, reached for a thick comfortable robe, tied it tight, opened her door and tiptoed down the stairs in search of comfort.

She found it where she always had. A light was still on in his study. She eased the door open. Now there was a fire in the hearth, and a lighted lamp on his desk. He knew. He always knew.

“Thought you'd be down here sooner or later tonight,” her grandfather said. He gestured to a deep chair by the hearth. “Sit down and tell me about it.”

She plucked a pillow off the chair, and clutching it in front of her, sank to the thick carpet in front on the hearth instead, as she'd done since she was a child.

“It's ridiculous,” she said. “Impossible! But I know you meant well,” she told him. “You always do. And so I thank you for your trouble, I do. Still, I have to tell you that though I'll be nice and I promise to be gracious for so long as he stays here, that's that. Can you forgive me? I don't mean to be unappreciative, I don't want to put you into a pet after all your pains, but Grandy, I have to be myself.”

“Wouldn't want you to be less,” Captain Bigod said gruffly, his smile so tender it was slightly loopy. “I just wanted to give you a chance to meet him. Can't meet his kind out here in the back of beyond, y'know. Not that there's anything wrong with the fellas hereabouts,” he added hastily. “And if you set your sights on one, I wouldn't stand in the way, 'less I had good reason to. But the truth is, you're two and twenty and you don't seem to love any fella at all.”

“Except you,” she said with a tender smile.

He didn't answer; he just gazed at her fondly. As she knew he would. He smiled, because he knew she was playing him like a fiddle, and even so, he appreciated her. She was his sunrise and sunset, and they both knew it.

She was such a pretty little thing, he thought again, as he had since the day they'd brought her to him, an hour after she was born, and placed her in his arms. Her ma had died producing her, and his clever, foolish son hadn't much cared about anything but seeking amusement after that. But at least he'd left his father that babe in his arms.

Now, of course, his granddaughter was grown, and in his eyes, even prettier. He knew no higher compliment for a woman, and he'd known all kinds of females in his time. Because in his experience, a beauty was a standoffish kind of female, as impressed with her looks as those looking at her were, and his Lisabeth surely wasn't that. In fact, she didn't think much of her looks at all! And a gamine was a lass who was perky but full of backtalk, and his Lisabeth wasn't that either. A handsome woman belonged on a coin or a locket, but not in a man's arms. He'd met Originals but all they ever wanted to do was run rings around a fellow and impress him with their wit. His late wife had always been described as a good woman, and he'd loved her dearly, but she'd been called that because her looks had never been more than passable. That had been good enough for him, but she'd lamented her appearance, and so ignored it, as he did.

As for the wenches he'd known, and he'd known many, he wouldn't even think of them at the same time he did his granddaughter.

His Lisabeth had them all beat. She had wit and looks and charm, and it all came naturally to her.

She had everything a man could want. She was small, but also just the right height to have to look up to any man of stature. She was well spoken and so kind that he'd never heard her talk down to any man. Even though she could, he thought, she was that well educated. He'd seen to it. There was nothing worse than an ignorant person in his eyes, man or woman.

She was perhaps too fetching. He feared for her when he saw the way men looked at that lush mouth, and then the lavish form beneath it. But they didn't dare look at her that way when he was there, and if they did, they never did again, not if he was there to see to it.

The trouble was, he was getting on, and he worried because he knew he wouldn't be there to protect her forever. She needed her own man; she needed a husband for that.

“I liked the cut of his jib,” he said now. “He's a gentleman through and through. Not a bit standoffish or puffed up, like some I could name.”

“Oh, Grandy,” she said on a long disappointed sigh. “But of course he's standoffish and puffed up. That's the problem.”

“Just getting used to his surroundings,” her grandfather said. “Give him time. Some fellas need time to loosen up. He's smart, of course, well, his father was a clever fellow too. And his looks . . .” He stared at the ceiling of his library, as though trying to summon up the right words.

She laughed. “Yes, I know who he looks like, but he's nothing like him at all.”

“Yes,” her grandfather went on as if he hadn't heard her, “like his father, the spit and image. And more like the great captain hisself, only more modern looking, o'course.”

Lisabeth turned her head and studied the portrait near the window. She frowned as an awful thought occurred to her. “Grandy! You didn't threaten him in order to get him here, did you? Is that why he came? No wonder he was so stiff and unbending.”

“No,” he said with great mock offense. “I did not. What do you think I am?”

“I think you're devious, and determined to get what you want. But I know you'd never lie to me,” she said. “So it was probably only a veiled threat, wasn't it?”

He didn't answer. She thought she detected the pink of a flush under the stubble of his beard. She laughed. “Aha. That might explain a lot. At least he's smart enough to be a little wary of you, and me. Well, a visit to us won't do him any harm. So you told him the tale and he came to meet me? Why? And he's seven and twenty, you said. So why is he still unmarried? Do you know anything about that?”

He shrugged.

“Well,” she said. “I expect we'll find out soon enough.”

He breathed easier. He'd hidden the London paper, so she couldn't learn more about young Constantine Wylde than what she might find in the
Peerage
. No need for her to know the fellow had promised himself to another. In his experience there was many a slip twixt a word and a vow. That could be decided, and discussed, later.

“Grandy,” she said slowly, “please don't get your hopes up. I don't care for him much. But I'll try to at least be polite. As for him? He might have agreed to see me because he's a gentleman and it would be the right thing to do, especially because of what you said his father and mine wanted.” She paused and looked at him suspiciously. “Although why you didn't tell me about that sooner I still don't know.”

“Wanted to give you the chance to make your own pick,” he said piously. “Since you didn't, I figured it was time to let you in on what your father wanted.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I'm curious about what my father wanted, and it may be that this Lord Wylde is too. But don't forget, whatever he is, he's a lord, and a rich one, and in London Society. I'm just a girl from the countryside.”

“You're well dowered and well brought up, pretty as a picture and smart as a whip!”

“But we aren't Society. And he is.”

“We're Society hereabouts!” he roared.

“Hush! Want to wake the whole house? We may be Society hereabouts, Grandy, but we also have a history that folks around here don't care about.”

“They do too,” he said. “They're proud of us.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But our family isn't one most gentlemen would brag about.”

“Well, his family did worse,” he retorted. “And I'll have y'know,” he said in agitation, “none of
us
never died in no commission of a crime neither!”

“That's because they were never caught.”

“Well, there you are. Nor never would be. Clever as they could hold together, all your ancestors, and lucky too, because luck counts, y'know. As for me, I made
my
money in business, good investments and such, missy, and don't you forget it.”

“But your father didn't,” she persisted.

“Well, neither did young Wylde's!” he said triumphantly.

She sighed. “All I'm saying is that I'll be polite. But I don't want
you
to expect anything else. I don't. What his father and mine wanted doesn't matter.” Her eyes widened. “Unless you mean to hold me to it, whatever I think?”

“'Course not!” he said promptly. “You don't have to take him if you don't want him.”

She nodded. “Right. If I don't like him, you'd understand. So if he doesn't want me either, you'll have to understand that too.”

“If he hasn't lost his wits after one look at you,” he said, “why, I'll eat my own beard!”

She frowned. “I wish you would. Whatever possessed you to try to grow such a ratty-looking thing, anyway?”

He looked guilty, and stroked his ragged, grizzled beard protectively. “Well, I told you I went to see some old mates when I was in London too, and they wouldn't have recognized me without it. I wore one when I was a lad.”

“So why don't you shave it off now? Don't tell me the widow likes it!”

“Her name is Mrs. Twitty,” he said with awful dignity. “Ain't her fault her man up and died.”