The Pirate Next Door Read Free Page A

perfect face, a fashionably handsome face. But an arresting one all the same.
    Despite the candles, the house was dark, the paneling that lined the walls nearly black. The stairs held the patina of age, and creaked under the viscount’s tread. Alexandra’s light boots barely made a sound. Through open doors she glimpsed rooms where dust sheets had been removed from the furniture. Crates stood about, some without tops, some still shut tightly.
    They entered a bedroom on the top floor, which, she calculated, lay just on the other side of the third-floor rooms in her own house. This room had not been aired—the dust sheets remained on what little furniture filled it and the fireplace had long been cold.
    He strode unerringly to a panel that looked just like all the other panels lining the room. He touched a piece of raised molding, and the wall swung away to reveal a small, square compartment.
    From this, to her amazement, sprang a girl. She was about twelve years old and dressed in a soiled pink silk gown with many ruffles and bows, most of them sadly torn. In her right hand, she held a long and wicked-looking knife. She swept her midnight black hair from her face, revealing sparkling dark eyes under black slanted brows.
    “Papa!” she cried. She flung her arms about the viscount’s waist, dagger and all. “Are you all right?”

Chapter Three
    Alexandra’s lips parted in astonishment. The viscount had a daughter ? None of Lady Featherstone’s research had indicated the viscount had a child, let alone one who looked as though she’d sprung from a Pacific island explored by Captain Cook.
    The viscount dragged the girl into his arms for a fierce, tight hug. His eyes closed as he pressed a long kiss to her tangled curls. His fingers shook the slightest bit.
    “Did he hurt you, Papa?” she asked into his ribcage. “I thought Mr. Ardmore was our friend.”
    The viscount straightened and gently parted the girl’s slim arms from his waist. Alexandra watched him soften his fierce expression to one of studied nonchalance before he answered. “I am perfectly unhurt, sweetheart.” He tousled her curls. “Look, this pretty lady rescued me.”
    Almond-shaped black eyes observed Alexandra with careful interest. The girl had the look of the viscount in the set of her chin, the shape of her lips, the mischievousspark in her eyes, but her skin was dark—the color of milk-laden coffee. She was a beautiful child, but far out of place in elegant and constrained Mayfair.
    Questions raced through Alexandra’s mind: Where was her mother? Was the viscount married? Her heart thumped. Perhaps she would not be able to include the viscount on her list after all.
    But the child was fascinating. Her tight, almost frantic hold on her father told Alexandra that the girl was much relieved to see him still standing. It made her heart ache. But why on earth was she dressed in an unfashionable frilly silk gown more suitable for a ballroom in the middle of the night?
    “What is your name?” the girl asked her calmly.
    Alexandra looked into the bright eyes and read lively intelligence there. “Mrs. Alastair. From next door.”
    “A most brave and beautiful lady,” the viscount added. He slanted Alexandra a smile over his daughter’s head. “She saved me in the nick of time.”
    The girl looked impressed. The viscount’s swarthy hand rested on her shoulder, his grip tight. They made a most bizarre pair.
    “May we give her a reward?” the girl asked.
    Her blue-eyed papa also scrutinized Alexandra. His casual undress unnerved her. Even her husband, who had dropped his breeches for any woman strolling past, had kept himself well covered. This man’s chest, sun-browned and well-muscled, was openly displayed, and he did not even seem to notice.
    The combination of both of them looking at her in unspoken admiration was unsettling. Alexandra found herself foundering beyond her depth, her training by several well-paid and very proper governesses