The Admiral's Heart (3 page)

“I
know
you would have given him up,
Elliott. You would have done that, because you were noble and true.
But it would have broken your heart, and I couldn’t do that to
you.”

And so I had broken my own.

Long moments went by. He pulled his hand out
from beneath her own, and slid it around her waist, fitting it
there just above her hipbone. It felt warm and delicious and
something in her ached, because his hand belonged there, and now,
only now, did she realize how much she had truly sacrificed when
she had made that long ago decision.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I knew I’d hurt you
. . . but I thought it would hurt less than if you’d had to give up
your dog.”

Still he said nothing, and she wondered if
he was angry, hurt, disgusted, or a little bit of all three.

Instead, he asked, “How is your vision these
days, Pippa?”

“As terrible as ever.”

“And yet you wear no spectacles.”

“They’re in my reticule.”

“Put them on.”

“Really, Elliott”—

“No. I insist.”

I am not eighteen again. I am a grown woman
nearing my third decade. Confident.

Maybe.

She opened the little bag, found the
wire-rimmed spectacles, and put them on, bravely looking up at him
from over the top of the lenses so he wouldn’t see how bookish and
plain she looked behind the glass.

“Uh-uh,” he said, quietly, studying her.
“Not good enough.”

And then he put his finger beneath her chin,
and her heart began to melt into a warm puddle in her chest at just
the touch of it against her skin.

She closed her eyes.

“Look at me, Pippa.”

She opened them, shyly—as shyly as if she
were, indeed, eighteen years old all over again, and looked up at
him.

And instantly regretted that she hadn’t put
the spectacles on earlier. Now, his familiar, beloved face was
clearly defined, with no blurriness to soften it. Now, the gray
eyes, keenly intelligent, fringed by long golden lashes, bracketed
by little squint lines in their corners . . . now, the bold,
straight nose, the firm mouth, the chiseled lips . . . all were
there to see in crystal clarity. Unlike many blonds, his skin was
not florid, but tanned and handsome, perhaps because of the ashy,
sandy shade of his hair. She could look at him all night.

But then she wondered what he, seeing her in
her spectacles for the first time, was thinking of
her
,
because he had never suffered a visual encumbrance, and certainly
suffered none now.

Would he find her unattractive, plain,
or—

He kissed her. With his finger still beneath
her chin, he gently tilted her face up to his, bent down, and
kissed her.

It was no chaste thing, that kiss. It was
one of hunger and longing, of deprivation and impatience, of years
wasted and lost that would never be gotten back. She felt his hand
slide around behind her nape to cup the back of her head, to hold
her close, even as his mouth ground against hers and his tongue
came out to lick at the seam of her lips until they parted, and his
tongue thrust inside, finding her own, touching it, tasting it,
making her very soul sigh with bliss.

Oh, Elliott . . .

Her pulse thundered in her ears, and she
pressed against him, damning the layers of skirts and petticoats
that prevented her from getting as close to him as she would like.
The years fell away. All ten of them, plus the five months and the
thirteen days, and she was eighteen again, madly in love with this
man, her very soul soaring with the purest form of joy. She slid a
hand up his sleeve, and around to his broad back, anchoring herself
against his strength, delighting in the feel of his body beneath
her touch. He tasted of peppermint, and wine, and she felt herself
melting inside, growing weak in the knees, even as her longing for
him built within her to the point she didn’t think could be
contained.

Slowly, he drew back, breaking the kiss, his
hand cradling her jaw while his thumb gently stroked her cheek.

Pippa was still trying to draw breath.

“I think,” he said softly, “That that is my
answer to your fears about your spectacles, Pippa.”

Her heart was beating against her breastbone
like the flutter of a hummingbird.

“Now,” he continued, “Will you join me for a
dance?”

She smiled, feeling like that young girl,
once more. “I would be delighted.”

Chapter
3

As evenings went, it was an unforgettable
one.

Pippa was, indeed, eighteen again, because
that was how he made her feel as he guided her through the steps,
young, giddy, foolish, silly, and dancing, spinning, soaring, on
top of the world. Hot and cold and full of wonder, swept off her
feet by this tall and handsome naval hero whom she had never
forgotten, and never stopped loving.

A grand room of candlelight and color,
dazzling gowns of every fashion, hue and description, ladies with
hair powdered and piled high atop their heads and festooned with
all manner of decoration—birds, flowers, jewels, pastoral scenes,
even— showing great expanses of bare bosom and cleavage, sporting
moleskin beauty patches artfully placed near the corner of a mouth,
below a saucy eye. Gentlemen in velvet and hose, brocaded
waistcoats, powdered wigs and high-heeled shoes. The de Montforte
brothers, always dashing and handsome, every one of them drawing
the eye: Lucien, magnificent as duke, resplendent in rich indigo
satin . . . his heir-presumptive, Lord Charles, proud shouldered
and confident, a worthy man, a natural leader, enjoying one of his
last nights in England before duty and fate would take him far
across the sea; Lord Gareth, the bane of the Lambourn Downs,
carefree and light-hearted, never serious, always up for a
practical joke . . . Lord Andrew, brooding, intelligent, creative
and fiery—

And Elliott.

She went through the steps, was passed off
to her brother Seth, to the dashing Captain Merrick, to Captain
Lord—

To Elliott.

The music ended, and she was the happiest
woman in the room, and the only one who was, she assumed, quite
near to swooning because she kept forgetting how to breathe. She
was quite relieved when, her heart beating quite loudly in her
breast, he guided her to the refreshment table, where he ladled
punch into two glasses and pressed one into her hand.

“To you, Pippa,” he said, toasting her, and
his eyes were very dark above the rim of his own glass. He smiled.
“And your spectacles.”

She laughed, despite herself, and their eyes
met. At that moment, an excited, girlish voice cut into her
thoughts.

“Pippa! I am so happy to see you enjoying
yourself, instead of poring over those maps of that infernal place
in Massachusetts that you’re headed off to. And who is your friend,
here?”

She turned, and there, a vision in pale blue
and silver, was the youngest de Montforte, precocious, saucy,
beautiful Lady Nerissa. She had not yet been presented at Court,
was too young to be dancing, but certainly, old enough to be
awestruck by the sheer magnitude of male beauty in the great
ballroom.

And right now, she was staring up at the man
at Pippa’s side, her big blue eyes very, very wide.

It didn’t matter that Elliott—
Sir
Elliott, Pippa thought, wryly—was old enough to be Nerissa’s
father. A handsome, charismatic man was a handsome, charismatic
man, whether he was twenty or forty.

“Elliott Lord,” he murmured, taking the
girl’s hand and bowing elegantly over it.

“
The
Elliott Lord? The famous
one?”

Pippa shut her eyes.

“I am certain any fame I enjoy is of the
in
famous variety,” he said wryly. And then, turning back to
Pippa, “And what is this, my dear? Land in Massachusetts?”

“Something Walter left for me, I’m afraid.
I’m off to America to inspect it when Lord Charles’s regiment
departs next week. I’ll be traveling with them.”

Something in his face changed, like a cloud
suddenly moving over the sun and throwing the day in shadow.

For Elliott, it felt as though he had picked
up a handful of sand, only to have it slide through his
fingers.

“It’s the only reason I came to the ball,
really,” he heard her explain, as though from a great distance
away. “Lucien wanted to meet the captains who would be escorting
the transports, and he arranged to have me go aboard Captain
Merrick’s frigate and on to Boston.”

Over my dead body.

“I see,” he said quietly, wondering what she
would think if he, as an admiral,
un
-arranged it, because he
certainly had the power to do just that. Beside him, he saw that
Lady Nerissa’s eyes had widened in the alarmed realization that she
had said something to cause strife between him and her cousin, and
she was now quietly slipping away.

“So you are leaving, then,” he murmured.

“Yes. It is something I must see to.”

“And you are going . . . alone?”

“I will have my maid with me. And I’ll be
under the capable protection of both Captain Merrick and the man I
presume is your brother, Captain Lord.”

Not if I can help it.

She reached out and laid her little gloved
hand on the gold insignia of his sleeve. “It is late, Elliott. I am
tired. Perhaps—perhaps it is time to say goodnight.”

His voice hardened. “Goodnight? Or
good-bye?”

“I—”

“You are an elusive woman, Pippa,” he said.
“I have only just found you after all these years, and here you
are, running from me yet again.”

“Not running, Elliott, but it would be
impractical to change my plans based on a few minutes spent in each
other’s company. Based on just a dance, and a kiss.”

“Perhaps, then, you need further
convincing.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Perhaps,” he said softly, and there was no
mistaking the intent in his eyes, “You need more than just a
kiss.”

She just stared at him.

“I’ve taken a room at the village inn. Spend
the night with me, Pippa. You’re no young girl of eighteen. Grant
me this night . . . and then tell me that you want to run off to
America.”

He took her hand and bowed over it, his lips
brushing the back of her knuckles through the gloves, and the
breath caught in her throat.

Spend the night with me, Pippa.

Her heart began an ever-increasing
tha-dump
,
tha-dump
,
tha-dump
, within her
chest.

Oh, God help her.

How could she refuse?

# # #

Neither Elliott nor Pippa noticed that the
duke of Blackheath, immersed in conversation with his brother Lord
Charles, had been watching them from out of the corner of his
eye.

Not much got past Lucien, and he was
famously protective of his family. And as far as he was concerned,
family did not mean just his brothers and little sister, for whom
any and all he would gladly have laid down his life.

It also meant his cousin, the daughter of
his own mother’s sister. She might not be a de Montforte, but as
far as Lucien was concerned, she warranted a bit of intervention on
his part, and he was not above providing it.

He knew that she and Admiral Sir Elliott
Lord had once known each other. He knew that something had happened
to drive them apart, and that whatever that Something was, it no
longer bore any relevance, given the way the two had been looking
at each other for the last half hour.

She was from a seafaring family.

He was a hero of England.

She and the admiral would make a splendid
match.

He beckoned a servant with a discreet crook
of one finger.

“Puddyford, the admiral appears to be
preparing to take his leave. Do find out where he is going.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

Moments later, the servant was back with his
report. Sir Elliott had called for his coach and was headed back
into Ravenscombe. Lady Philippa was pleading fatigue and about to
retire to a guestroom.

That would not do.

“Find a way, Puddyford, to detain Sir
Elliott’s driver, and replace him with one of my own. Murdock, I
think, will do nicely. And then send Murdock to me. I have some
instructions for him.”

“As you please, your Grace.”

Lord Charles, resplendent in his new scarlet
regimentals and quite oblivious to the hungry stares that several
nearby beauties were bestowing upon him, turned his pale blue stare
on his brother. “Why the sudden interest in the admiral’s affairs,
Luce?”

“Interest in his affairs? Nonsense.” The
duke gave an innocent little smile, but his black eyes held a
particular gleam that spoke volumes. “I just think it would be
better all around if Sir Elliott remained here at Blackheath for
the night. No need for him to go all the way into Ravenscombe on
such a dark and dreary night when we have plenty of rooms right
here, would you not agree?”

Lord Charles frowned, suddenly uneasy.

But the duke was thinking of the happiness
he’d seen on Pippa’s face when she’d been dancing with the
admiral.

He was thinking of how he could ensure that
they didn’t part and go their separate ways.

He was thinking how nice it would be if they
were both at breakfast together.

No, the admiral was not going to leave and
break Pippa’s heart.

Not if he had any say in the matter.

And Lucien, the Duke of Blackheath, always
got his way.

# # #

Of course, it would not do to be seen
leaving Blackheath Castle with Elliott, even if she was a widow and
quite grown up, because people were wont to talk. And so, Elliott,
ever conscious of her reputation, made his farewell wishes to Lord
Charles and their host, and, retrieving his cocked hat and sword,
went out into the chilly winter night to wait for her in his
coach.