A Pirate for Christmas: A Regency Novella Read online

  Her lips tightened at his teasing. Just as nobody flirted with her, nobody teased her either. She wasn’t sure she should encourage it. This playful discussion made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. She was a self-willed woman past first youth. She was unused to men treating her as an object of desire. But surely she wasn’t mistaken about Lord Channing’s interest.

  Unless after a month penned up at the Abbey, he was bored enough to flirt with anything in skirts. That lowering thought crushed her stirring excitement. This man had been around the world. Even someone as inexperienced as Bess saw that the girls would be mad for him wherever he went. A staid village maiden wasn’t likely to get him in a stew.

  She regarded him without favor. “My lord, I’m beginning to think I should have asked Mr. White to stay.”

  He ignored her remark. Her history with him indicated that he had a great capacity to ignore what he didn’t want to hear.

  “Miss Farrar, you must be the prettiest lassie in the village, because you’re the prettiest lassie I’ve ever seen,” he said softly, and for a resonant moment, teasing receded and something more profound hovered between them.

  He smiled fully, just for her. And her heart turned a triple somersault in her chest. It was the oddest sensation. The breath jammed in Bess’s throat as she stared into his eyes, drowning in rich green velvet. Somewhere at the back of her mind, a voice warned her that bearding this particular lion in his den was a foolhardy act. The pirate earl was a danger to more than ships of the line.

  Suddenly she no longer felt like the wise ruler of her own little kingdom. Instead she felt like an untried girl confronting the eternal mystery of potent masculinity. She surged to her feet, smoothing uncreased skirts in an attempt to hide her disquiet. “I…I must go.”

  She expected him to laugh at her again. A man as worldly as this would have no difficulty divining her purely female reaction to him.

  He stared up at her from the sofa. Unsmiling. Then the predatory expression drained from his face and he looked almost harmless. Or at least as harmless as a man of his attractions could manage. “Don’t rush off. You must have come with a specific purpose, something a letter won’t accomplish.”

  “My letters didn’t accomplish anything,” she responded shakily.

  “Well, perhaps a request in person will achieve what they didn’t,” he said easily, slouching against the back of the couch. “Come, Miss Farrar…” He broke off. “You signed all your letters E. Farrar. What does the E stand for?”

  She didn’t even think of refusing to answer. “Elizabeth. But everyone calls me Bess.”

  She caught a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “I like it.”

  Standing up and away from him did wonders for her confidence. Her usual spirit revived. “I can’t imagine an occasion where you’ll use it.”

  When his lids lowered, he once more became all sensual threat. “I certainly can.”

  “Lord Channing—”

  “Why did you come here, my charming Miss E. Farrar?”

  “Not to be mocked,” she retorted. “I came here for the Christmas donkey.”

  Chapter Two

  Rory studied the bonnie lass standing in front of him, the woman who strangely seemed to imagine she could push him around. Damn her, she had more effrontery than any arrogant officer ordering a humble midshipman to jump to his duties.

  By rights, her presumption should be annoying. Instead he was charmed. And intrigued. And attracted in a way he couldn’t remember feeling before.

  Through his turbulent life, he’d seen more beautiful women than he deserved. He’d desired and conquered, and called himself a lucky dog for the privilege. But he’d never felt so lucky as when he’d barged in on Ned struggling to bring this headstrong female into line.

  Poor Ned. Bess Farrar was too heady a brew for his palate. But for a captain who’d sailed the seven seas and lived to tell the tale, she was the perfect fit. That demure gray dress with its high neck and narrow lace collar would fool the rest of the world, but never him. She might see herself as a tame household cat, but he’d immediately read her tiger soul.

  “Are you calling me an ass, Miss Farrar?” he asked, and relished the shock in her deep blue eyes.

  It was fun to keep her off balance. Every time he set her reeling, she lost that daunting air of determination and looked younger and sweeter. He hadn’t missed how flustered she’d been when he’d called her pretty.

  Good God above. His compliment shouldn’t have surprised her. Every man in Penton Wyck must be in dire need of spectacles.

  Because she was pretty. Hell, she was beautiful, with her strong-boned face and haughty nose and stubborn chin. On the ocean, circumstances changed in a second and peril arose from nothing. Dry land, apparently, offered the same challenges.

  He immediately recognized that his destiny lay with those pure features under that severely restrained luxuriance of wheat blond hair. His future had marched into the great hall, bamboozled Ned, then turned her magic on Rory himself.

  This woman was meant for him. He wasn’t sure yet what he felt about it, but the conclusion was inescapable.

  “Pardon?”

  If he hadn’t been so bedazzled himself, he’d almost pity the confusion in her spectacular eyes. “You said you’re looking for the Christmas donkey.”

  His nonsense at last cracked her solemnity and she laughed, a low musical sound that he could listen to for the rest of his life. Miss Farrar delivered an impact mightier than any Atlantic storm. All a sailor could do was batten down the hatches, hold the helm steady, and pray that he reached safe harbor.

  “Oh, I really have convinced you I’m the rudest creature in the world,” she said. “No, I mean a real donkey. Her name’s Daisy and she’s the centerpiece of the nativity play.”

  “And I own this fabulous beast?”

  “Yes. Your late brother let us use her at will. But I didn’t want to take your permission for granted.”

  He spread his arms across the back of the sofa and stretched out his legs. “Hence cornering me in person on this issue, instead of bombarding me with letters as you have about everything else.”

  She made a helpless gesture. “You probably think I’m exceeding my authority.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Probably?”

  She blushed most delightfully. “Very well, then, definitely exceeded my authority. But time grows short and my intentions are good.”

  His lips took on a wry twist. “Many a fine ship has foundered because of the captain’s good intentions. Good intentions never saved a man from drowning.”

  “Unless that well-intentioned onlooker plucked that drowning sailor from the waves.”

  He laughed in soft appreciation. He’d known immediately she wouldn’t be an easy prize to win. She was clever and used to having her own way. Which only made the game more interesting, by heaven. “I’ll give you that point.”

  She looked surprised again. “Are we counting points?”

  “We most certainly are.” When he stood, she faltered back across the worn Turkey carpet. She wasn’t afraid of him, but at some female level, she recognized the claim he placed upon her. Powerful currents of attraction and resistance eddied between them. He’d need all his skill as a navigator to plot a safe course through these hazardous straits. “You’d better show me this donkey.”

  “There’s no need for us both to brave the cold, my lord. All I need is your permission, and I’ll take her into Penton for tomorrow’s rehearsal.”

  Daft lass. As if, having found her, he meant to let Miss Farrar escape so easily. “I have a fancy to see Daisy.”

  “But it’s about to snow.”

  “Then there’s no time to waste.”

  That lush mouth, a promise of passion if Rory had ever seen one, set in a mutinous line, and she regarded him from across the room as if he represented a strange and potentially dangerous new species. “You’re a very unusual man, Lord Channing.”

  He smiled
at this outspoken lassie. “You have no idea, Miss Farrar.”

  “Is it because you’re a pirate?”

  For a moment there, he’d felt in control of the situation. The feeling had unfortunately been fleeting. He slammed to a halt on his way to the door and stared at her in astonishment. “What on earth did you say?”

  She looked shamefaced and made an apologetic gesture with one hand. “I’m sorry. Perhaps you don’t like people to mention your former occupation.”

  “My former occupation,” he repeated very slowly. “As a pirate.”

  “The story’s all over the village.”

  “Aye?”

  “You must have expected people to talk about you. And given you’ve been such a recluse since your arrival, it’s inevitable that rumors are flying.”

  “Inevitable rumors.” Rory paused. “That I’m a pirate.”

  Miss Farrar studied him and devil take her, understanding filled her lovely face. “Seeing you were free to take up the title, I imagine that you’ve reformed.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

  She eyed him uncertainly, but plowed on. He commended her determination. “There’s no need to feel awkward about your past crimes, my lord. Here at Penton Wyck, we take people as we find them.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes.” Her tone firmed. “When we do find them.”

  He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “You’re about to start nagging again. I feel it in my piratical bones.”

  She made a conciliatory gesture. “I know you think I have no right to lecture you. After all, I’m only the vicar’s daughter.”

  He didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “That would sound more convincing if you injected a wee ounce of genuine humility into your tone.”

  She cast him an impatient glance. “Penton Wyck is small and isolated and the residents rely on each another. We rely on the lord of the manor most of all.”

  “If my brother wasn’t well, I can’t imagine he was a mainstay of the community.”

  “But he was. All right, he wasn’t out amongst us as much as he might have liked, but he played his part. He employed the villagers in the house and on the estate, he supported those in need, he attended church until he was too sick to manage it. We all sincerely mourned him when he passed away. He was a good man.”

  A horrible thought struck Rory, and he frowned. “Were you in love with him?”

  She met his gaze. “I did love him. He was the kindest man I ever knew. Everyone in Penton held your brother in the highest esteem.”

  Relief flooded him, completely disproportionate to the length of time he and Miss Farrar had been acquainted. Her feelings for his brother hadn’t gone beyond friendship. “I’m sorry I didn’t know him.”

  “So am I.”

  “Now you’re saddled with an unknown master.”

  Her voice was sincere as she stepped closer. “You don’t have to stay unknown.”

  “And already talk is raging—I’m a pirate, and worse, a pirate from Scotland. I’m surprised the villagers haven’t made for the hills. What else are they saying?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  He could tell from her expression that there was more. He guessed that his unmarried state at the grand old age of thirty-two left him open to accusations of chasing the lassies. Especially when coupled with the ludicrous pirate rumors.

  “Now I suppose you want me to fill the house with servants,” he said in a long-suffering tone. Of course he intended to staff the Abbey—even someone who’d spent his life aboard ship understood enough about great houses to understand that they needed a crew. But there was something pleasurable in having a pretty girl look to his welfare.

  “You certainly need help.”

  “I like the simple life.”

  She didn’t grace that with a reply. “What happened to all the furniture? The great hall used to contain more than just two uncomfortable chairs.”

  “It discourages visitors.”

  “Not all of them.”

  “No.” If he’d known the woman at the other end of those admonishing letters was so breathtaking, he’d have requested a meeting straightaway. “According to the lawyers, my brother had the place cleared while he was in Italy with the idea of renting it, then nothing came of the plan. There’s piles of furniture scattered between the attics and the barns.”

  “I don’t remember the house being this gloomy either. When I was a girl, his lordship often had parties. A highlight was Christmas dinner for the villagers, then a ball that night.”

  When he’d learned about his unexpected inheritance, Rory had just docked in Portsmouth after a stormy voyage from New South Wales. He hadn’t welcomed the change in his circumstances. He’d spent the last month struggling to accept jettisoning a career he loved in favor of landlocked life in an England less familiar than any ocean.

  Now he felt a pang that his parents’ difficult marriage had turned his brother into a stranger. The late earl had featured largely in recent discussions with lawyers and men of business. But for the first time, listening to Miss Farrar, he gained a sense of George as a man and not just a predecessor. “My brother died at an age when he was capable of siring an heir. In fact, I always assumed he’d married and had children. I never expected to inherit.”

  “In that case, you should appreciate my advice,” she said, humor making her blue eyes sparkle.

  He had a sudden, extremely cunning thought, worthy of the pirate king she accused him of being. “You’re clearly a resource, Miss Farrar, and one I’d be a fool to ignore.”

  “Oh?”

  The suspicious syllable made him want to laugh. She was quick, this miracle of a lassie. His abrupt change of attitude would strike her as unlikely. “I’ll put you in charge of preparing the house for Christmas.”

  She straightened and regarded him warily. “Surely a permanent housekeeper is a better solution.”

  “Is the task too much for you?” he said in a pitying voice intended to lift her hackles. “After all, it’s so much easier to give orders from afar than get your hands dirty addressing the problem.”

  “I’m busy with the play.”

  “And here you are, telling me Penton Wyck is suffering because I don’t employ enough people. I’m guessing with my brother’s absence, life has indeed been tough these last few years. That’s too bad of you, Miss Farrar. You’re either deceiving me about local hardship, or putting your own selfish wishes ahead of your neighbors’ needs. What would that reverend gentleman, your father, say? Especially at this time of goodwill to all men.” He clicked his tongue and settled a benevolent and innocent expression on his face.

  He caught a swiftly hidden flash of guilt. “My father would say that it was inappropriate for an unmarried lady who is no relation to play mistress of a bachelor household.”

  Ah, mistress was such a bonnie word. Although if he wanted Miss Farrar in his bed, he already knew he’d have to persuade her to marry him.

  Rory wondered why the prospect didn’t make him yelp with horror. He’d always avoided entanglements carrying any whiff of forever. Half an hour of Miss Farrar’s company and he was itching to call the banns.

  Until today he’d been sailing rudderless all his life. Now he had accurate charts and the wind behind him.

  Did she share this powerful affinity? Their conversation ranged beyond the usual polite nothings one exchanged with an acquaintance, and a respectable lady at that. But he’d learned from her letters that she wasn’t the most conventional of creatures, for all her harping on duty and obligation.

  “Come, Miss Farrar,” he said in a chiding tone. “It’s clear that you and my brother worked together for the common good. Won’t you extend me the same courtesy?”

  “You’re not like your brother.”

  “Surely your reputation will be safe if you’re surrounded with a crowd of helpers.”

  She sighed. “You think I’m absurd.”

  He hid
a smile. He thought her instincts right on the money. His intentions were far from pure. Although he meant marriage, he also meant to gain her gloriously sensual surrender. She was made for his bed. And he intended to see her there before too much longer.

  It wasn’t yet snowing, but Rory could smell it on the air as they left the house through the warren of kitchens and storerooms. Miss Farrar strode along beside him with a firm ground-eating countrywoman’s gait. She was more at home on dry land than he was. Although he gradually found his feet in this new life he must learn to inhabit.

  A flush marked her cheeks. Perhaps because of the chill wind, perhaps because she was with a man who stirred her blood. He dearly hoped the second reason was the right one. He’d lent her a greatcoat for their excursion to catch Daisy, and between that, the scarf she’d drawn from a pocket and tied over her shining hair, and her sensible half-boots, she looked ready to march to China.

  “I hope you know where to find Daisy.” His breath formed clouds as he spoke. Odd to be so perishingly cold and so overheated at the same time. “It’s too cold to go to the ends of the estate.”

  “Haven’t you seen her?”

  He shook his head. “I might have. I’ve inspected so much livestock in the last few weeks that all the cows and sheep and pigs have become a fog in my mind. I’m a man of the sea, not a farmer.”

  She sent him a sympathetic look. “You’ll have to learn fast, or every fellow north of London will try to cheat you. What you need is a good steward.”

  “Do you know someone?”

  “Not in the village. And Banks, your brother’s steward, retired last year. His son is working as assistant to Lord Leath’s man down in Yorkshire. Perhaps the chance of promotion and a return home might coax him back.”

  “You see?”

  “See what?” she asked and to his satisfaction, didn’t withdraw when he took her elbow to help her over a muddy patch.

  He’d never touched her before. Her arm was strong and slender in his grasp, and even through several layers of good English wool, he could swear he felt her vitality. Touching her certainly helped to keep out the cold.