Pirate's Golden Promise Page 2

  “How lovely,” Wynter breathed. Impulsively she kissed his cheek and found it felt soft like peach fuzz with that day’s growth of hair. Dazzling him with a smile of gratitude, she allowed him to tie the ribbon around her wrist. “I’ll treasure it always. Now wish me good luck for I’ve already made my birthday wish and hope it comes to pass.”

  Fletcher didn’t have to ask what wish she had made. He knew she had dressed to please Lord Adam Somerset, not him. He wanted to warn her about Somerset, to let her know that more than one servant girl had been heavy with his bastard, but he didn’t. Fletch knew his position well. For all their friendship, he and Wynter were not equals.

  “Luck to you,” he retorted more sharply than he intended.

  Wynter looked wounded. “Fletch, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Have a grand time tonight.”

  When it seemed he had nothing else to say, she started to leave the stables, but he grabbed her arm. “If you ever have need of me, let me know.”

  “You’re the best friend in the world to me.” Wynter shot him a smile, pleased that he no longer frowned but not realizing how much in love he was with her.

  Wynter hurried away from him into the cold of the Cotswold evening. The sun had slipped behind the hills, enclosing the area in a grayish-purple haze. But Wynter halted her hurried gait and stopped a distance from the house, appraising it, almost as one who had never fully appreciated its gray stone beauty. She realized with a start that McChesney Manor, snuggled in the sweeping hills and gazing out at the vast panoramic expanse of greenish-gold fields and grazing sheep, was the most awesome sight she’d ever seen in her life. Not that her life was filled with awe-inspiring sights. Something about the many mullioned windows, blazing with lights and sparkling like gold dust in the dark encroachment of night, nearly moved her to tears.

  A lump formed in her throat, and suddenly she understood her father’s love for this place. She hadn’t fully understood his pride in his ancestors, his home, before now. Always he professed a love for them, and tried to instill this in her. “You’re a true McChesney,” he had told her many times. And by God, she was! At that moment, as Wynter gazed at the house, crowned with triangular-shaped pediments on all four sides of its Tudor exterior, she felt a sense of belonging.

  The house had been built during the reign of Henry VIII by Sir Neville McChesney to house his wife and three children while he sought the arms of his mistress at court. Despite his indiscretion, his wife insisted that he be buried in the detached chapel some 400 yards from the house. Wynter had grown up hearing tales about the wayward knight of whom she didn’t approve, but a sadness overtook her when she thought that one day she would leave McChesney Manor forever.

  A huge tear rolled down her cheek. Wynter brushed it aside and ran the rest of the way to the house. When she reached her room, where Maddie waited in a dither, Wynter warmed her hands before the fireplace, then removed her cape.

  “You shouldn’t have run off for so long,” Maddie scolded her. “Your father has been pacing the hallway, waiting to escort you downstairs.”

  “I’ve looked everywhere for you,” Walter said, pretending displeasure when she met him in the passageway moments later. But his face glowed with love, and Wynter knew he wasn’t angry with her.

  Hooking her arm through his, she felt the red velvet of his doublet warming her skin. She smiled up into his still handsome face, framed by the curly, black periwig that hid his silver hair. The warmth from his gaze caused her to wonder for the thousandth time how he had come to marry a guarded woman like her mother, who seemed only to show affection for Lucy. Many times Wynter was envious as the two sat conspiratorially together. She possessed her father’s love and approval, and this caused her not to miss a mother’s affections very much.

  “I visited Fletch,” she said and showed him the silver ribbon attached to her slim wrist. “He gave me a birthday remembrance.”

  Walter studied her for a moment before speaking. “Fletch is a good enough fellow, but I’ve grander plans for my daughter than a stable boy.”

  “Oh, Papa, Fletch is my friend. I’d never consider him in any other way.”

  “Still, you must discourage his gifts to you. My daughter shall marry a wealthy man, a man who will bring honor to our family.”

  “Have you picked the man for me, Papa?”

  “I have.”

  Wynter faltered a bit. Suppose he had chosen some doddering old man for a husband, or someone young and ugly but with a large purse? “Who?” she asked through white lips.

  Walter smiled, seeming to enjoy her momentary discomfort which he knew he’d soon end. “Your mother has pined all these years because your grandfather left his assets and home to Lord Somerset. My dream is to attain Somerset House by marriage. The young man has already spoken to me about you, and if you will have him, I will approve the union.”

  “Papa!” Wynter squealed, causing guests to lift inquiring eyebrows as they made their way down the oak staircase. “He asked to wed me, truly?”

  “He did. I had thought Lucy his choice, but he insists he loves you. I don’t believe in thwarting true love, so marry your young man with my blessing, if that is your desire.”

  “It is!” Impetuously she kissed his cheek and walked the last remaining steps into the drawing room as if on a cloud. She scanned the many smiling faces but didn’t see Adam. Would he never arrive? she wondered, eager to accept his proposal, which she felt sure would be made that night.

  Debra walked over to them, a sour expression on her long, pointed face. “Your bodice is scandalously low, miss.”

  “This is the fashion, Mother.”

  “You like men’s eyes upon you. I had thought you might grow up differently, but you’re not a whit better than she was. You resemble a trollop!”

  “Mother!” Wynter exclaimed, and Walter took Debra’s arm in a ropelike grip.

  “My dear, you’re unwell,” he said smoothly, not wishing to draw attention to them.

  “I am not ill,” she ground out through even teeth.

  Walter felt her forehead. “Aye, you are. You’ve a fever. I shall escort you to your room. A pity you must miss the celebration.”

  At first it seemed to Wynter that Debra was about to protest, but she apparently thought better of it. “I don’t need you to take me upstairs. I’ll gladly go on my own.” Before departing, she threw them both a baleful glance.

  “Papa, why did she say such a horrid thing to me? Who did she mean? Why does she hate me so?”

  “Now, now, pet. Your mother is tired. I suspect the strain of the evening is too much for her. You know how she detests celebrations of any kind. Smile and enjoy yourself.”

  The music began to play. Wynter forgot Debra as handsome young men whisked her onto the floor, all eager to impress the younger daughter of Lord Walter McChesney, wealthiest man in the Cotswolds. She basked in their approving glances and chivalrous displays, and they flocked around her as if she were the only ewe in the pasture. She drank too much wine punch until she grew giddy and light-headed.

  Wynter soon grew bored. Granted, the young men were handsome in their fashionable court dress of bright-colored waistcoats with wide cuffs. Their fine linen shirts with lace edges, and their breeches, rosetted at the knee with a deep lace-edged frill, caught her attention as did their long, narrow shoes and colored stockings and periwigs. But because they all looked like mincing peacocks, anxious to please and flatter her, her attention was drawn to the corner of the room where Lucy was engaged in conversation with Lady Estelle Montgomery and a man in a dark brown coat.

  Since the death of Lady Montgomery’s husband last fall, it was rumored she had taken ten lovers. However, Wynter couldn’t fathom the woman’s charms. After all, she must be 30 if she was a day, and to Wynter’s young eyes, that was quite old. Yet dressed in her golden silk ball gown, cut low to reveal an ample portion of bosom, Estelle looked far from old. Her honey-brown hair curled delicately around her face, and h
er luminous eyes fastened like a lock on the gentleman beside her.

  Was he her lover? Wynter wondered and reluctantly approved the woman’s taste in men. Wynter appreciated the high sheen of his thick blond curls, hanging to the nape of his neck and clinging to the tops of his ears. She noticed his clothes were foreign in appearance but made from the finest velvet. His collarless coat was buttoned down the front of his powerful torso to just above his knees. The medium-length sleeves were turned back to reveal a cream-colored shirt with scalloped edges, and his trousers were fashioned from the same brown velvet as the coat. Instead of stockings and shoes, he wore black boots, and though they were out of fashion, they were made of the softest leather.

  Wynter cast long, appreciative glances in his direction. Never had she seen a more perfectly formed man, or such a tall one either. The muscles of his back strained against the material of his jacket as if he were used to the outdoors and found the formal clothes somewhat restrictive.

  Lady Montgomery placed a manicured hand on the man’s arm and continued her conversation with Lucy. Wynter sauntered toward the group.

  “Lady Montgomery, how pleasant to see you again.” Wynter sparkled like a sapphire in the candlelight.

  “Ah, Lady Wynter. How you’ve grown.” The woman pecked her cheek, not seeming very pleased to see her. Estelle eyed her like a dog who intends to fight over a bone. “Soon you’ll be married, I warrant.”

  “I hope to marry quite soon.”

  “I’ll get a glass of punch,” Lucy said, aware that the conversation had shifted from her.

  Estelle shook her head sadly when Lucy walked away. “I had thought Lady Lucy would be well married by now. I understood from your mother that Lord Somerset had called on her twice. Perhaps a marriage will be forthcoming.”

  “Perhaps,” Wynter replied, but didn’t state who she thought the bride might be.

  “Will you introduce us, my lady?” The blond giant with a foreign accent spoke then, his tawny eyes having already settled on Wynter.

  Wynter blushed as Estelle made the introductions in seeming reluctance. “This is Captain Cort Van Linden, an acquaintance of my late husband.” She turned to the captain. “And this lovely creature is Lady Wynter McChesney, the birthday girl.”

  Wynter winced, disliking the way Estelle made her sound ten years old. Birthday girl, indeed! Very soon she’d be married to one of the finest catches in England, and she wondered what the winsome widow Montgomery would say then. However, Wynter hid her aggravation and extended her hand behind a facade of polite charm.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, sir,” Wynter said smoothly, though her heart raced as his mouth touched her hand in a lazy kiss. “The life of a sea captain must be quite exciting.”

  Slowly he withdrew his lips from her hand and she took it back, feeling suddenly as if she were ten years old under his intense perusal.

  “It has its moments,” he said and smiled a dashing smile.

  “Is your ship a merchant vessel?”

  “Yes.”

  She decided from his appearance that he must be a very rich sea captain. “Have you ever run across pirates? I’ve heard they’re quite fierce.”

  His smile broadened into an amused grin. “I have, and I think you’d be surprised if you met one face to face. Many of them are quite civilized and would fit into a gathering such as this with little problem.”

  At first she was wont to believe him, but she’d heard and read so many tales about sea pirates that she said, “I think you’re teasing me.”

  “No, Lady Wynter, I am not,” he said in his Dutch accent. “Perhaps one day you shall meet one of these notorious pirates and learn for yourself.”

  Before Wynter could reply, Estelle tugged at the captain’s coat sleeve. “We must pay respects to Lord McChesney.”

  The captain nodded to Estelle and bowed formally to Wynter. “A pleasant birthday, little one.” He grinned, appearing to take as much delight as Estelle in treating her like a child.

  What’s wrong with them? Wynter pondered, the heat of anger scalding her cheeks red. She was 17 years old tonight. Not a child any longer, though she realized she was small-boned and not as tall as Lucy. But she wasn’t a child! Soon she’d be the bride of Lord Somerset and mistress of Somerset House—a task no child could undertake.

  Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and when she spun around, there was Adam in his bright green attire, the dark brown wig slightly askew from the strong winter wind. His blue eyes shone with pleasure at seeing her, and her gray gaze settled happily on his face.

  “I’m so glad you’re finally here,” Wynter said. “I was becoming quite bored in a conversation with some foreign sea captain, a friend of Lady Estelle Montgomery’s.”

  Adam’s eyes wandered to where the fetching widow, her sea captain beside her, spoke to Walter. Wynter noticed that Adam flushed. “Yes, well, the widow likes a variety of men.”

  “Really, my lord? Do you know this from personal experience?” The thought that Adam might find Estelle attractive or that he might have actually been one of her lovers bothered Wynter a great deal, and she wondered if Maddie were right about him. But when he took her hand and gently pressed it to his mouth, Maddie’s warning words vanished.

  “I’d prefer to observe you, my sweet.”

  Trills of excitement coursed up her spine. Adam loved her!

  “I must speak to you alone,” he whispered in her ear.

  Wynter flicked shut her silver-and-blue lace fan and motioned for him to follow her into the hallway, very much aware that Captain Van Linden’s gaze followed them out of the drawing room.

  She led him into a curtain-enclosed alcove beneath the oak staircase. Inside the small enclosure, Adam pulled her into his arms and kissed her with such passion that her head swam. She had never been kissed by a man before, and was not quite certain how to respond. When he broke away to speak, she was only too glad not to have his lips upon hers. “I’ve thought of doing that for days, weeks, my love. When I spoke to your father, I had no idea whether you’d accept me as a husband. He has spoken to you, hasn’t he?” Adam asked uncertainly.

  “He has.”

  “And?”

  “I accept your proposal.”

  “My darling girl!”

  Adam pulled her to him again, nearly suffocating her in his embrace. The seeking of his lips against hers caused her stomach to heave. The game of love was new to Wynter, and she wasn’t quite sure she liked it so far. When Adam’s hands pawed at her, crushing the bodice of her gown, and slipped between the valley of her breasts, she went white with shock.

  “Please, don’t!”

  “We’re to be married soon. Let me make love to you now, at this moment.”

  “Here? In this tiny nook?”

  “There’s a sofa here,” he said thickly. “I’ve wanted to love you for such a long time. I’ve wanted you ever since we were children, and I thought I’d have to marry Lucy. But your father was understanding. He gave permission for me to marry you. I can’t wait until we’re married, sweeting. I really can’t.”

  He started to squeeze one of her breasts as his lips trailed along the base of her throat. This wasn’t what Wynter had in mind. Love couldn’t be so driven, so ugly. Adam loved her, she loved him. Then why must he grab at her gown as if she were a common trollop, some serving wench? She was Wynter McChesney, the beloved daughter of her father, a man who could claim lineage back to the time of the Conqueror. She wouldn’t allow liberties to Adam right now … not when he frightened her so.

  “I’d rather wait until our wedding night.”

  “Sweet,” his voice rasped, and he held her tighter. “I have needs and can’t wait until then. I want you so!”

  At that instant the curtain was pulled aside, and candlelight from the hallway spilled into the alcove.

  “You are a randy puppy,” the Dutch accent growled. “The lady wishes you to release her.”

  Adam sprang away from Wynter instantly, causin
g her to flounder against the side of the sofa until she righted herself.

  “I think you should not interfere, sir, in something which isn’t your concern!” Adam declared, his voice filled with anger.

  “But near rape is my concern. And I advise you to collect yourself or I shall be forced to inform the young lady’s father. I suggest you get a cooling cup of punch and think over the matter, sir.”

  Adam paled before the man’s imposing frame, the dangerous glint in his tawny gaze.

  “If you weren’t with Lady Montgomery, a dear friend of mine, I’d challenge you,” Adam said.

  “Don’t let her ladyship sway your actions. I’ll gladly meet you wherever and whenever you choose.”

  Adam swallowed hard, so hard that Wynter noticed it in the dim light. He smiled valiantly and appeared much younger than his 24 years.

  Adam turned to Wynter and kissed her hand. “I apologize to you, my dear. I lost my head. Your beauty overwhelmed me.” He then spoke to the captain. “The young lady shall soon be my wife. I meant no disrespect. Dueling with you would accomplish little. Please accept my apologies. Now, I shall get some punch for us.”

  Politely excusing himself, Adam left Wynter and her rescuer alone. The man held the curtain aloft, and she wasn’t aware how the material of her gown had fallen low across her breasts, so low that only the nipples were concealed, or how the ribbons in her hair hung in loose strands down her back. Never in her life had she looked more lovely and more vulnerable, but Wynter didn’t realize this and mistook the concern shining in his eyes for amusement.

  “Are you hurt, little one?” he asked.

  Anger rose in her, hotter than a boiling kettle. “I am not a ‘little one,’ and I’d appreciate it if you’d mind your own business. Adam wouldn’t harm me. We’re going to be married!”

  “Then more’s the pity for you.”

  “I don’t want or need your pity, Captain.”

  “Evidently you like being pawed, having a man force his attentions upon you. But your Somerset is a young pup who doesn’t know how to handle a woman, much less a girl.”

  Her cheeks burned as brightly as her eyes. “And I suppose you know all about handling women, Captain. I shall have to ask Lady Montgomery about your qualifications.”