Storm Read online

  Panting breath and the stumbling pace of small feet through long grass, announced the arrival of Flynn, come to check on the orphaned lamb again. It was now part of the daily routine.

  "He's growin' big," the boy exclaimed when he saw the creature tottering about in the small pasture.

  "Certainly is."

  "Just on milk from the bottle?"

  "That's right, and a nibble on grass in the pasture."

  The boy dropped to a bale of hay and kicked his feet, still watching the lamb. "There must be something special in the milk to make him grow. He's nearly as big as me."

  "I daresay he'll be bigger soon."

  "I'm too small for my age, because I was sick when I was born and nearly died."

  Storm looked over at the boy.

  "That's why Ma worries about me. Thinks I'll never be strong and tall like other boys."

  "I see."

  "Do you think I will?"

  He smiled. "I am sure you will. Sometimes it takes a while to catch up, that's all."

  "But I'll never be like you."

  "Why not? I had to grow into my boots too, you know. Just like you will."

  Solemn, the boy looked at Storm's boots. "Thick boots to keep the Bumble Trout away."

  "Indeed."

  "They ain't real, are they? The Bumble Trout."

  "No. Absolutely not."

  "She's not so cross about the parrot now."

  Storm was gradually getting used to the boy's habit of switching from one thought to another without warning. "Well, that's good."

  "Is it true what you said about that pirate treasure? Or was that a fib too, like the Bumble Trout?"

  Storm was lifting a bale over the fence and he dropped it with a thud. "Treasure?"

  "What you told her about. I heard you through the door when I was supposed to be abed. Did you make that up too?"

  He groaned inwardly, wondering what else the boy might have overheard. "Er...yes, I made it up. There is no treasure." Didn't want to get himself in hot water with Kate again by inspiring her son to go digging holes in her fields or falling down old mine shafts.She'd just got used to letting the boy come over and visit him. Small steps. Patience.

  Looking disappointed, Flynn chewed on his lip, watching the lamb and swinging his feet idly. "Are you sure there ain't no treasure?"

  "I wish there was, young Flynn. When I was your age I dreamed of finding pirate treasure."

  "And you never found none?"

  "Not a single doubloon. Still...it's good to dream, eh?" Storm reached into his coat pocket and brought out the folding telescope he'd had since he was a boy. "I tell you what, young Master Flynn, we can still keep a look out for pirate ships though. Just in case." So he took the boy to one of his old look-out spots and showed him how to use the telescope. "You can borrow it for a while," he said.

  Thrilled, the boy exclaimed that he would not let it out of his grasp.

  When his mother saw it later she gave Storm one of her disapproving frowns, which were almost as amusing as Olivia's, but prettier. And extremely arousing in a way she could not possibly suspect. "Why would you give such a thing to a boy of barely seven? He'll break it or lose it." Of course, she always acted as if he knew nothing about children. "You spoil him."

  "Why shouldn't I?" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'd gladly spoil you too, if you gave me the chance, woman."

  "You're too generous as it is," came the terse reply. "People will talk. And I don't want Flynn thinking that every time he admires something you'll give it to him. I want him to learn the value of things and how they must be earned."

  Storm nodded. He too believed in a man working hard for the good things in life, not having them drift his way without earning them. "I agree," he said.

  "Gracious. Call out the band and we'll have a parade. Storm Deverell agrees with me at last."

  He laughed. "He can come and work for me in the harvest. An extra pair of hands is always welcome, and I'll teach him about the satisfaction of a good day's labor."

  Now a worried shadow darkened her gaze. "You won't be too hard on him?"

  "For pity's sake woman! Make up your mind."

  She nibbled her lower lip. It was something he'd seen her son doing when he thought he was going to be punished. "But he's very young still and he—"

  "I may not have a son of my own, Mrs. Kelly, but children are not entirely mystical beings to me. I grow weary of your assumption that I know nothing about them. I was a child once, you know. I was not always this handsome bulk of manhood you see before you. And I have five younger brothers."

  Her lashes swept down and up again, slowly taking in the length of his body from toe to hair. "I suppose so."

  "Then I'll thank you to stop presuming that because I'm a man I'm utterly useless and cannot possibly understand."

  Those green eyes flared. "I never said you were useless."

  "I'm not just pretty to look at, you know, woman."

  Finally she cracked one of those guilty smiles and her shoulders relaxed. "Perhaps you'd care to prove that then, by mending my leaking roof before the next Spring shower. I'm running out of pots to catch the rain."

  He scratched his chin, pretending to consider. "What do I get in return, woman?"

  "I'm coming to dinner at Roscarrock, am I not, fulfilling my side of our agreement by playing the part of your tame, undemanding companion?"

  Storm took a step closer and fixed another of her falling curls. "Duchess," he muttered gruffly, "you are neither undemanding nor tame."

  She arched an eyebrow, lips pursed.

  He smiled. "But I'm beginning to like it."

  * * * *

  When he arrived to mend her roof the following day, he found Joss Restarick already at the gate with the same intention in mind. But he didn't have her to himself anyway. Olivia was also there, having taken on the task of tutoring Flynn. He could see he'd have to put up with sharing her. For now at least.

  Besides, she'd kissed him.

  As long as he kept her from kissing anyone else, he could be happy.

  "I suppose we can get her roof mended in half the time with two of us," he grumbled.

  Joss scowled. "I thought you were afeared of the woman. You're spending a lot of time with her."

  He replied dryly, "Sometimes a man has to face his fears head on."

  As they climbed up onto the roof and got to work replacing those leaking slate tiles, Storm was distracted watching her in the yard below, mucking out the stables. He hadn't been able to get that kiss out of his mind, or the fact that she'd finally shared that secret about her son with him. It was gratifying to earn that trust for he knew what it cost her to open up.

  "I hear your sister's coming back to Roscarrock," Joss said suddenly, his tone casual, even offhand.

  Storm sighed and wiped a forearm across his brow. "Aye, Raven is coming home for the wedding." He glanced at the other man. "Why?"

  "I hope she stays out of my way. Engaged again, is she?"

  "No. My sister is off men at the moment, according to her last letter. And I'd suggest you stay away from her too."

  At almost nineteen, his half-sister, was still— in Storm's mind— a girl. Wayward, it must be said, mouthy and opinionated, attracted to trouble like most of her siblings, but still a little sister he would protect under any circumstances.

  "I'll keep my distance gladly," Joss exclaimed irritably. "She's naught but trouble. I only asked if she was coming so I'd know to keep an eye out and avoid her. Better to be forewarned."

  Storm was amused. "Of course." At times like these he was reminded of the other man's youth. "Very wise."

  "Not that I wouldn't hear her coming from several miles yonder."

  "Quite."

  The only girl in the family, Raven had grown up creating drama just to be noticed and heard above all the noise. She'd learned how to get attention from her divorced parents by pitting them against each other. Her mother, Lady Charlotte, used Raven to dig the claws
in and get vengeance on her estranged husband at every opportunity. She liked to remind her daughter that they were two women together in a family of men and she sought to keep Raven by her side by working on her pity, whispering to her about the injustices wrought by men. Meanwhile, True Deverell had fought to keep his daughter with him by force— the worst thing he could have done considering she was just as rebellious and untamable as he had ever been.

  "I'm surprised she's coming here for the wedding," Joss added. "I thought she and your father were still at odds."

  "Hmm. I believe a truce has been achieved. Although who knows how long it will last."

  Lately, due to Olivia's influence, True had softened his approach to raising a daughter and Raven had begun to seek her father's company by choice at last. She'd announced her intention to attend the wedding despite Lady Charlotte's attempts to prevent it.

  "She's always been a brat," said Joss, flicking sweaty hair out of his eyes. "I doubt that'll ever change."

  "Yes. Raven always speaks with fondness of you too," he replied smoothly.

  After a moment the other man said, "Why? What does she say of me?"

  Storm hid his smile.

  "Do take care up there, gentlemen," Kate called up to the two of them, squinting in the sun. "I don't want anybody sacrificing life and limb for my roof."

  "Ma! Come and look. I got all my sums right," a small voice yelled from inside the house.

  They watched her walk out of view and Joss muttered, "'Tis clear she's gother hands full with that boy, eh? Pity."

  Storm frowned. "Pity?"

  "That she be burdened with a son. Not many men would want to take that on. Raising another man's child is a tough task."

  He thought of the resentful blacksmith, his stepfather. "I suppose so."

  "That boy wants discipline too. I'd have thought she'd want a husband to help her take the lad in hand, but she tells me she's no interest in another marriage."

  "When did she tell you that?"

  "At the fete. Made it plain she's not looking for a husband."

  He wondered if Joss had reached this conclusion merely because she wasn't interested in his own attempts at wooing her. "I take it this means you have no more interest in Mrs. Kelly yourself, Restarick."

  "Me? I've got enough women after me."

  "Of course." He hid his smile. "It's good of you to lend a hand with the roof then."

  "Couldn't let you manage by yourself, could I?"

  And he'd wanted to find out about Raven. What was it, Storm mused, that drove men to seek out danger?

  It was inevitable, he supposed. After all, if man never felt the fearless urge for adventure, he would never have left his cave. Or discovered fire.

  * * * *

  Kate had heard them discussing her son, while she stood by the front door, hidden beneath the thick frame of ivy. They must have assumed she was out of earshot.

  "Not many men would want to take that on. Raising another man's child is a tough task."

  "I suppose so."

  A soft, sad sigh moved the leaves by her mouth. It was quite true. Flynn was a handful and she struggled with him, but becoming a mother at seventeen— with no one to support her— had been the greatest challenge in her life. She did the best that she could. Was that enough?

  Behind her, seated at the table, Olivia showed Flynn a complicated arithmetic problem and he absorbed it with far more speed than his mother could. Mentally he was advanced for his age, even with what little schooling she'd managed to provide for him. But physically he was small and not as strong as other boys his age.

  There would always be something for her to worry about. Even when he grew up and left her behind one day the worry wouldn't end.

  She swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened.

  Exhausted suddenly, she leaned her shoulder into the ivy and closed her eyes. This never-ending weariness was something she had not expected when she chose to keep her child and raise him alone in a world where unwed mothers were seen as morally corrupt and exiled from any respectable society. In a world where the father of an illegitimate child was absolved of any responsibility, financial or moral.

  But then what could she have anticipated when she was only seventeen? Barely ten years older than her son was now.

  She might have understood some of the sacrifices she must make, but the love she felt for her child, and the stubborn determination to keep him, had blinded her to many other consequences that would befall them both.

  Only once had Kate considered giving up her child. When she was heavily pregnant, with the looming enormity of unwed motherhood overwhelming her spirit, she had faltered. It was doubtful she could find honest employment with a baby on her hip and she was well aware of that. She had only a few coins left in her glove and the Duquesne family had dismissed her without references when they learned she was in "an interesting condition"— yes, that was how Mellersh's father had referred to her state, before he had his butler send her out of his house forever. The Duquesnes wanted nothing to do with her or the child. They couldn't even refer to it as a human being.

  Standing at the gates of the Foundling Hospital she had almost weakened, almost resolved herself to going inside that bleak building. But then she had felt the child inside her kicking as if to dance, and she heard her father's scornful voice. "Well, well, Missy Proud-foot, look what ye've done now. I always knew ye'd shame us one day. This is where all ye fanciful hankerings have brought ye. Thought yeself to be a grand lady with all ye book reading, but ye no better than a sixpenny whore down by the docks."

  And she wouldn't let him be right. She would keep her child and love it, as any properly wed woman could. Why should she be denied the same joy? Kate would give her child everything she never had. She would prove her bitter father wrong and one day Lord Henry Duquesne and his son Mellersh would be sorry for how they treated her.

  From that moment on she was full of determination, so stubbornly set on her path that she refused to admit how hard it was. Seven years later things had turned out very differently to how she'd imagined, but perhaps it was always so for a mother, wed or unwed.

  She made her choice and she was proud of it. No regrets, no looking back at what might have been.

  Her tears dried she went inside to see if she might glean something herself from Olivia's lesson. Must try to keep up with Flynn somehow.

  He showed her the sum he had learned. "Can I give Mrs. Monday that flower I found?" he whispered to Kate.

  "What flower?"

  "The big one I found on the moor with Mr. Deverell's telescope."

  She'd forgotten about that. Her son had been looking through the telescope from the hill behind their house and spotted a blob of bright red, which, upon investigation, turned out to be a giant coquelicot poppy caught in the reeds of the river.

  "I think that would be a very nice idea," she said.

  As she watched him fetch it from the dresser drawer, she realized it reminded her of one she'd seen recently, but she couldn't think where. Perhaps at the fete, on the milliner's stall.

  Olivia thanked him profusely for her gift and promised she would wear it in her hair at the first appropriate opportunity.

  It made Kate smile, for she really couldn't imagine any occasion that would be appropriate for that restrained lady to wear such a large, bright decoration in her orderly hair.

  * * * *

  On the evening of dinner at Roscarrock, Flynn was to spend the night with his new friend—Sam Smith. The two boys were excited by the prospect, and Kate tried not to worry.

  "You behave yourself, young man," she warned her son.

  He beamed. "I will, Mama."

  "Do I get the same warning, madam?" Storm inquired.

  "Yes."

  Her son had already embarrassed her by commenting loudly on the fact that she wore her best gown for the occasion and telling Deverell, "Look after her. She don't know how to swim and you know how she don't listen to good sense s
o don't let her be drowneded."

  This last remark came about because he had heard Storm say he was rowing them over to Roscarrock in a boat.

  Kate was equally anxious about this mode of transport. "Do we really have to go in a boat?" she asked her escort as he led her down the cliff path in the moonlight that evening.

  "When the tide's in there is no other way, Duchess."

  He helped her into the waiting vessel and then pushed her out into the water.

  "I feel rather foolish all dressed up and sitting in this little boat," she exclaimed, fidgeting with her long white evening gloves and looking down to see if her slippers were getting wet.

  "But you look lovely," he assured her with a grin.

  She scowled.

  He stepped into the boat with her, picked up the oars and proceeded to row them toward the dark lump of island in the distance.

  It wasn't merely her dress that worried her, or the rocking boat. Kate was extremely nervous about meeting his entire family. A few months ago she could never have imagined herself dining at Roscarrock with the infamous Deverells.

  How her life had changed since she managed to get herself stuck in that river. It was remarkable when she paused to consider how fate had intervened that day. If she had never encountered Storm Deverell— due to her own reckless impatience— what might have happened to them?

  She raised her fingers to the butterfly choker and traced the shape of its wings. "Why did you think of me when you saw this?" she muttered.

  "Because you are a butterfly."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Don't make me tell you how beautiful you are again," he groaned, pulling hard on the oars. "It doesn't seem to get me anywhere and you'll just tell me it's not proper."

  She put her hand down, knitting her fingers together in her lap. "Butterflies die if you touch them."

  "No they don't, Duchess," he assured her. "That's not true. But one has to be very, very gentle so as not to damage their wings. A man can't be clumsy, or impatient, or reckless with a butterfly."