Chapter 26
Six months later
Annabelle ran her finger over the gold mask on her dressing table. Lady Hamilton’s annual masquerade ball was this evening, and Liza would come any moment to help her dress.
It was hard to believe that only one year had passed since Shadbolt and Grieg had come for her with an appeal for aid.
She smiled, remembering her friends’ ill-fitting clothing as they sat in the drawing room with tiny teacups, and the familiar ache spiked in her heart, knowing she wouldn’t see them again. And Hawke . . .
Annabelle closed her eyes. Court had explained Hawke’s reasons for leaving, and while she did not agree with them, at least she had come to understand.
But understanding did not ease her longing for him.
There had been times she’d thought she’d heard his voice in a crowd or glimpsed him on a street corner, but once she discovered she’d been mistaken, she felt the loss of him all over again.
Saying goodbye to the crew, to Calypso’s Quest, to Court had been physically painful, and she felt the loss still, always aching.
She missed them all so badly that she rarely allowed herself to remember her time at sea.
It helped to think of it as a different life or one that had belonged to someone else.
This was her life now, and she might as well make the best of it. “Another ball, Mr. Fox, and you know what that means: a hot ballroom with loud music and dull conversation.” She touched the figure’s little wooden nose. “But at least there will be pastries.”
Mr. Fox, as usual, did not respond. He stood silently beside a sparkly rock and an old key in the spot where her spyglass had once been, among perfume bottles and hair combs, watching her with worn eyes.
The ache spiked again, as she knew it would.
The bedchamber door opened, but instead of Liza, Annabelle’s mother entered.
Annabelle moved to stand, but her mother motioned for her to remain in her seat.
“I hope you will be pleasant this evening,” the countess said, “rather than acting dour and cynical as you’ve done of late.
” She moved to stand behind her daughter, speaking to her through the mirror.
“A gentleman prefers a lady who smiles at him. And you could at least pretend to be interested in his conversation.” She smoothed a curl over Annabelle’s folded ear.
“You were completely awful when His Grace called on you last week.”
Annabelle disciplined her expression rather than allowing her distaste for the man to show.
The Duke of Anglesey may be one of the wealthiest men in the kingdom, but he was also one of the dullest. She did not think it possible to remain sane while listening to the man recount every detail of each racing horse in his stable.
The countess rested her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “I would encourage you to make more of an effort if we are to see any success.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Her mother gave a nod and turned to inspect the dress hanging on the wardrobe door.
The garment was made of a beautiful champagne-colored satin brocade.
The overskirt split to reveal a petticoat with layers of lace flounces.
More lace bordered the neckline and draped from the bell-shaped sleeves.
The dress was splendid, and while Annabelle was not enthusiastic about an evening of coquetry, she was pleased for the opportunity to wear it.
“I am certain you can repair the damage you’ve done with the duke,” her mother said.
“Remember to laugh at his jokes and compliment his dancing.” She lifted the gloves from Anna-belle’s bed, examining the fingers—no doubt for cleanliness.
“The Baron of Westcott and Lord Piedmont are very good prospects as well.” The gloves apparently passed inspection, and she returned them.
“And it is rumored Lord Rushford will be in attendance tonight. I hear he is wealthy and quite eligible. Do make a good impression, dear.”
Annabelle had never heard of Lord Rushford, but it didn’t matter. She knew what to expect. Another self-important aristocrat who would expect to be flattered and fawned over. She blew out a breath. “I will, Mother.”
Lady Hamilton had outdone herself this year.
The ballroom was decorated with hothouse flowers that smelled wonderful, even over the press of bodies in their layers of warm clothing.
Gilt candleholders were hung throughout with crystals, making the room sparkle and glow as the orchestra’s music filled the air.
Gowns and jewels and feathers created a kaleidoscope of color in the candlelight as dancers stepped and twirled across the floor. The masks added a further layer of intrigue.
Annabelle made a particular effort to pay attention to the Duke of Anglesey’s horse conversation, but she could not force herself to hang on his words and laugh at his jokes as her mother would have preferred.
As soon as the opportunity presented itself, she made an escape, hoping he would not find her again.
As the hours passed, Annabelle danced, listened to gossip, and ate pastries—slipping one into an inner pocket for Liza.
The night had not been as dull as she’d expected, but she had had enough.
Surely her mother was ready to leave. She walked around the edge of the room, hoping to find her without meeting another gentleman in search of a dance partner.
When she came upon her mother, the countess was speaking with a man in a long black coat. The feathers on his black mask came to a point over his nose, reminiscent of a crow or perhaps a hawk.
“My dear, there you are,” her mother said as Annabelle joined them. “I have been having a lovely conversation with Lord Rushford.” The countess’s smile was overly bright, as was her tendency when speaking to a person of particular importance. “My lord, here is my daughter, Lady Annabelle Bradford.”
“How do you do, my lord?” Annabelle curtsied. She watched the musicians, not wanting to give the impression that she was in any mood for a dance.
Lord Rushford bowed. “My lady.”
“Oh, there is Lady Hamilton. Do excuse me,” Annabelle’s mother said, making a departure that was far from subtle.
Annabelle stifled an irritated sigh. Now that they had been formally introduced, it would be rude for Annabelle to depart as well. Which was precisely as her mother had planned.
She felt Lord Rushford’s gaze on her and glanced up. From behind the mask, his eyes were alert as he watched her. The rest of his face was shadowed. She did not like that she was unable to read his expression.
She turned toward the dance floor. “Do you enjoy London, my lord?”
“On occasion,” he said. “I have actually come to the city in search of a friend of mine. I’d hoped she would be here tonight, but I have not seen her. Perhaps you might be of help?”
“I will try. Who is she?”
“Allow me to describe her. She is small but very bold and extremely opinionated. Not one to hold her tongue when she has something to say. You know the type. Stubborn. And she is rather prone to glare, especially at me.”
Annabelle glanced at him again. “She sounds . . .” She searched for the word. “Difficult.”
“Oh, she definitely is difficult. But I would not change her. Not for anything.”
Annabelle nodded, pretending to understand. The man’s presence was disconcerting, and she could not entirely understand why. She curtsied. “I do hope you find your friend, my lord. If you’ll excuse—”
“Would you care to dance, Lady Annabelle?” He offered his hand.
She was tempted to decline but was certain her mother was watching. “Yes, thank you.” She took his hand, surprised at how pleasant she felt when she did.
She and Lord Rushford lined up with the other dancers and faced each other.
The music began. The men bowed, the ladies curtsied, and then the couples stepped forward, joining hands to spin around one another.
The dancers turned, taking the hand of the person next to them and weaving through the line until they met up once again at the end.
Lord Rushford held Annabelle’s hand, and they turned to skip through the tunnel beneath the other dancers’ raised arms.
“You are a very fine dancer, my lord,” she said.
“It is my natural agility. I am very nimble-footed.”
A shock went through her at the familiar words, and Annabelle froze, her blood draining away. “Hawke.” She whispered his name, hardly daring to say it aloud. It couldn’t be him. She wouldn’t allow herself to believe it.
The couple following collided into them, and those behind, until the entire formation was ruined. Confused and irritated voices sounded all around.
Hawke pulled her out of the way and to the side of the ballroom. He said something to her mother about her being overheated and needing air, and a moment later, she was on a bench in Lord Hamilton’s garden.
And Hawke was beside her.
“Breathe, Belle.”
The smirk beneath his mask was unmistakable. It was him. How had she not seen it before? “Hawke, what are you doing here?”
Lantern light gleamed on the black feathers of his mask. “I told you. I’m looking for my friend.”
Annabelle jumped to her feet, frowning. So many emotions battled inside her, she snatched at the easiest. She scowled.
“Ah.” His smirk widened. “I have found her.”
She tried to ignore the fluttering in her chest. “You cannot impersonate a nobleman. The penalty is very severe.”
He leaned casually, resting his arm across the back of the bench. “Remarkably, it is no charade. It is the truth. I am Lord Rushford.”
Annabelle pressed her fists against her hips, incredulous. “You are an earl? How can that be?”
“The title was bestowed upon me quite recently by Their Majesties in gratitude for an enormous amount of Spanish silver.”
“You gave the treasure to the Crown?”
“Not all of it, of course,” he said. “There are some very wealthy buccaneers who are right now probably placing extravagant wagers and buying up all the rum in the Caribbean. Courtney and I did encourage them to manage their finances responsibly, but . . .” He shrugged.
Annabelle was glad to hear that both crews had shared in the fortune.
“I am now the proud owner of a castle in Somerset and the beautiful countryside surrounding,” Hawke said. “There is a sea view, of course, with a wonderful harbor, perfectly sized for a ship or two. And an old pirate captain has made himself at home in the dowager house.”
Annabelle’s breath caught at the mention of Court. Was he truly in England?
“I must say,” Hawke continued, “the houseguests are a bit eccentric. One has spent hundreds of pounds on hats, and another has purchased every sort of weapon imaginable, and when he is not sharpening blades, he looms silently in the halls. The chef and the carpenter sing Jacobean battle songs so loudly that I fear they will incite an uprising. And, in spite of the army of maids, one guest insists upon cleaning all the floors daily as well as adding rocks to my windowsills; the collection really is getting quite out of hand.”
Her heart beat hard against her ribs. It felt like a dream.
“Is this all true? Please do not tease me.”
“It is all true.” He stood, untying her mask and dropping it onto the bench. “There you are.” The humor was gone from his voice. He cupped her cheek. “I have missed you, Belle. More than I can say.”
Annabelle’s insides melted at his touch. She closed her eyes, leaning against his palm. Voices sounded nearby, and she startled, pulling away. She glanced around. “Hawke, we should not be here alone.”
“Ah, yes, your reputation.” He took her hands, drawing her to him. “I would not assume to seek your affection without offering a proposal of marriage.” He brushed her hair away from her face.
Instinctively, Annabelle pulled a curl to cover her ear.
Hawke pushed the curl back away. “Don’t hide yourself away, Belle.
Not from me. Not from anyone. Not any piece of you.
You must be all of yourself.” He kissed the bent tip of her ear.
“I’m in love with every part of you. And you must be able to be both the lady of London Society and the pirate princess. You should never have to choose again.”
He put his arms around her and leaned forward, but Annabelle pressed her fingers to his lips, stopping him.
She reached behind his head and untied his mask, pulling it away.
His face was so familiar, and yet the sight of it still stole her breath.
“Hawke, if you had come to me with no title, with no ship, with nothing, it would be enough. You are enough.” She dropped the mask onto Lord Hamilton’s shrubbery and rested her hands on his shoulders. “You always have been.”
He smiled, pulling her in tighter. “Now I really am going to ruin your reputation.”
“I do hope so.” She chuckled softly against his lips before giving herself over fully to his touch, soaking in the feel of him.
Hawke’s kiss filled up all her empty places, mending the hurt. He was everything—her life, her love, her future. And Annabelle hoped through her own kisses that he felt the same.
She pulled away as a realization hit. “Hawke, I don’t even, know your given name.”
“Barnaby,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “But do not tell the others. I’ve endured enough years with the nickname ‘Barnacle’ to last a lifetime.”
Annabelle chuckled again.
“Enough talking,” he said with a teasing growl as he kissed her neck.
She combed her fingers into his hair, intentionally dislodging the ribbon holding back his queue. She preferred to see his curls free. “Aye aye.”
Hawke tipped his head, one brow raised as his lips pulled in their familiar smirk. “Aye, aye, what?”
Annabelle smiled as she kissed him, whispering the words she knew he wanted to hear. “Aye, aye, Captain.”