Free A Pirate for Christmas: A Regency Novella by Anna Campbell Page A

a boy?”
    “My mother could never settle in England—or to her marriage to my father. She returned to Scotland once she’d delivered the heir and the spare as required. With her duty done, she felt free to follow her inclinations. By all reports, my father was pleased to be rid of her. It wasn’t a happy union. You must know some of this. The village is a hotbed of gossip.”
    “Naturally, there were stories. But nobody knew what happened to your mother after she left, and your father certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone. It was all such a long time ago.”
    “That makes me feel old,” he said with that flashing amusement that was so much a part of him. To her regret, he released her arm and faced her, shaking his head. “For shame, Miss Farrar.”
    “You’re not old. You’re…you’re just right,” she said, and blushed even hotter than she had when she feared he’d guessed her
tendre
for him.
    “Why, thank you,” he said, and she knew he was trying not to laugh.
    With great effort, she put aside her discomfort. If he was in the mood to confide, nothing would drag her away. “But surely you had a home in Scotland?”
    “My mother remarried when I was nine. A rich lawyer from Edinburgh. We lived with him and his four daughters for a couple of years, although Mamma was soon restless and unhappy again. She wasn’t cut out for marriage.”
    “That doesn’t sound like much fun.”
    He made a dismissive gesture. “I liked my stepfather and it was fun having sisters, when they weren’t driving me mad with their giggling. But I was only there for two years. I went to sea when I was eleven.”
    The quiet stables fostered intimacy. The pleasant fug of horses and leather and hay lulled Bess into a feeling of warmth and comfort and safety. “What happened to your mother?”
    “Ten years ago, she fell from a horse taking a fence that nobody in their right mind would attempt. She broke her neck.”
    Poignant emotion tightened her throat. He seemed to have nobody. She could hardly believe he’d lived a life so devoid of affection. For a man of his generous spirit, that was a tragic waste. The same lunatic heart that danced at the sight of him urged her to fold him tight in her arms and promise he’d never be alone again.
    She resisted the impulse. He was a proud man and her pity would appall him. “I’m sorry.”
    “So am I. For all her faults, I loved her, and I think I was the only person in the world who came near to understanding her.”
    She placed her hand on his arm and tried to ignore how the contact made her pulse skip. “Did you see your father after leaving Penton Wyck?”
    She caught a fleeting glimpse of long-held and well-hidden sadness. “We met three times, twice when I was a lad, and once when I was in London as a young officer. We were too unfamiliar with each other to form any real bond, despite our blood ties. Did you know him?”
    “When I was a child. He was very like your brother. Quiet. Conscientious. Kind. But I was too young to know him well.” She squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”
    “It helps. I feel like I’m drifting in fog. There’s so much I don’t know—and everything here is so settled and longstanding. I’ve mostly lived aboard ship. Occasionally a vessel would feel like home, my first command in particular. She was a darling. But—”
    “It’s not the same as this house where your ancestors have held sway since the Wars of the Roses.”
    He placed his bare hand over hers where it circled his arm. His touch jolted her with raw shock. “Exactly. I knew you’d understand. So when it comes to this place, I appreciate your thoughts. I’m used to handling a ship, not a great estate.”
    They walked toward the stable doors, arm in arm again. “I’ve run my father’s household since I was twelve. I’m rather in the habit of taking charge. After my mother’s death, I had to. Papa will happily go without eating for a week when he’s