How To Please a Pirate (24 page)

“Why not? Don’t most women want marriage more
than anything?”

“My mother is not most women,” she said,
grinding her teeth. Gabriel had slid his arm around her and started
teasing a nipple with one hand while he traced her ear with the
other. “She’s what French philosophers call a free spirit. She says
marriage is a brand of female slavery. The only way a woman can
maintain her dignity is to belong to herself.”

“Well, that’s an original view,” he said.
“Though I gather she didn’t mind accepting gifts from men.”

“Oh, no, that was never an issue. ‘Take money
from a man,’ she’d say. ‘Jewels and carriages, a house if you can
manage it, but don’t take his name.’”

Jacquelyn sighed.

Gabriel stopped teasing her breast and
tightened his grip around her, but said nothing. She was grateful
for his wordless understanding.

“Even if my mother gave consent to the ruse,
we’d have to find an agreeable gentleman she’d be willing to settle
on. Besides, they would have to declare that they’d been married
secretly all these years, since before I was born, or I’d still be
considered a bastard. ” Jacquelyn mentally tallied up the months
left before the Drake barony would be declared extinct. “It would
take too long. You must wed soon.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Before the season turns.”

“Only if we stay here,” he said.

“What?” She rolled back to face him.

“If there’s one thing my stint at piracy
taught me, it’s that the world is wider than I ever imagined,” he
said. “We could leave England with that treasure, Lyn, and set
ourselves up for lady and gentleman anywhere in the world.”

The possibilities dazzled her speechless.

“Think of the places we could go. Some of the
islands in the Caribbee are beautiful beyond belief—green and blue
jewels rising from the turquoise sea,” he said wistfully. “And
there are even a few dots of land left there where I haven’t
outstayed my welcome. Or if island life isn’t to your taste, we
might make for the Colonies.”

“I can’t picture you hacking out a homestead
in the wilderness when our own little war party of savages has
already bested you here,” she said, belly jiggling as she
remembered the girls’ farcical rendition of aboriginal
Americans.

“No need, when I have the coin to fit out a
fleet of ships. We could settle in Boston or Charleston,” he said,
warming to the idea. “I could turn respectable and run a legitimate
shipping business.”

“From pirate to merchantman?”

“A shorter step than pirate to titled
gentleman, believe me. But to have you by my side, I’d even return
to piracy,” he said, planting a kiss on her cheek.

She decided to put scripture to practice and
turned the other one to him as well. He complied and then moved up
to kiss first one closed eyelid, then the other.

“To hear Mr. Meriwether tell it, that would
be no sacrifice at all,” she said as pleasure washed over her. “‘A
merry life and a short one’ is how he described piracy. But a
pirate vessel is no place for your nieces. Would you abandon them
to some boarding school?”

“No, we’ll take them with us wherever we go,”
Gabriel said with a grin. “So piracy is out then, though I suspect
Daisy has an aptitude for it.”

She swallowed a laugh. “You may be right.”
Then her face grew serious. “And what of Mrs. B?”

“She could come, too,” he conceded. “Meri
would insist upon it if only to insure the continued flow of cherry
pies to his belly. Besides, we’ll need Mrs. B. to ride herd on the
girls.”

“And what about Timothy? And Father Eustace?”
she said pensively. “And all your tenants and crofters? With you
gone, the Crown will have an excuse to appoint a protector of the
estate. A new lord who cares nothing for the old families here
might well raise their rents so high, they’d be forced off the land
to starve.”

“Seems to me I was once almost murdered to
avoid that very calamity,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“And yet none have suffered under my benign neglect. Surely a new
lord would be similarly inclined.”

She didn’t find him funny. Or convincing.

“It’s not a chance you can take. Like it or
not, you are no longer the second son of a gentleman who may pick
and choose a life for himself. You are Lord Drake of Dragon Caern,”
she said softly. “Nobility has its privileges, but it also comes
with duties. It is your obligation to care for these people.”

“Even if I will it otherwise?”

“Especially if you will it otherwise.” She
palmed both his cheeks, the rough stubble of his beard pricking her
skin. The truth pricked her heart even deeper. “If you do only what
pleases yourself, you’re no better than a tyrant.”

“Remember who you’re talking to, Mistress.”
He turned his head and pressed a soft kiss into her palm. “A pirate
has no rule but his own wishes.”

“You are no longer a pirate,” she said,
willing it to be true.

“And neither am I a lord by any measure but
name,” he said. “Not yet.”

“But you will be,” she said with
assurance.

Gabriel tipped her face toward him and she
thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he just looked at her as
if he were trying to burn her features into his mind.

“Do you ever tire of being right all the
time?” he finally said.

“Frequently,” she admitted. “But only since I
met you.”

He lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss of
bittersweet regret. It wasn’t the flame of passion they’d shared in
the night, but the connection between them in the gentle brush of
their lips was even more real for its lack of blinding desire. When
he pulled away, she blinked back the tears that threatened to salt
her cheeks.

“Kiss me again,” she urged.

“That might lead to another. You’ve a naked
man in your bed who generally wakes in a friendly frame of mind
even without the benefit of a beautiful naked woman beside him.” A
wry grin tugged at his mouth. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend
to keep.”

“I never do.”

He took her mouth again and she melted into
him.

And for quite some time, neither of them made
any promises at all.

Save the promise of pleasure, given and
received.

“If I want anything done right, I must do it
myself,” Catherine Curtmantle muttered under her breath as her
coach breasted Dragon Caern’s drawbridge. “As usual.”

Hugh was no use whatsoever. The worthless
twit couldn’t even manage to debauch a virgin and get himself
decently killed over the debacle. Instead he’d muffed the
ravishing, lost a swordfight to Gabriel Drake and been humiliated
before the nobility of a dozen shires by that horrid, unruly gaggle
of Drake children. If Hugh couldn’t oust Lord Drake from the Caern,
whether by guile or by force, Catherine decided she would have
preferred widowhood.

A weak husband was decidedly worse than no
husband.

So now it was up to her to make certain
Gabriel Drake never married.

The obvious choice was to seduce him.

Catherine patted her new wig with feline
smugness, enjoying the irony. Tight-fisted Hugh had to part with
some of his carefully hoarded coin to outfit her in the latest
fashion so she could seduce the man her husband hadn’t been able to
kill.

Not that Hugh was privy to her plans, of
course. Hugh didn’t have the intelligence to appreciate the
subtleties of their situation. He was perfectly willing to commit
adultery himself. But Catherine knew Hugh would be far less
sanguine about his wife doing the very same thing.

“At least I’m not seducing a child,”
Catherine said, basking in the glow of moral superiority. Then she
reached into her bodice and hitched her breasts up a bit. She
looked down to admire the effect. She was sure it wouldn’t be
visible straight on, but from this angle, one pink nipple peeped
from behind a froth of lace at her bodice. If it weren’t daytime,
she’d have dabbed a bit of rouge on it, to make sure the alluring
little nub stood out. But the real trick to artifice was that it
should seem not to be so.

A seduction should proceed naturally, at
least as far as the man knew. They might own everything and think
they held all the power, but a wise woman could control every

encounter. Catherine knew with the right
motivation, a woman could turn a man’s head as neatly as she
directed the biddable gelding she rode for pleasure, with a tug on
his bit and the judicious use of spurs.

It shouldn’t be too hard to arrange for
Gabriel to view her from above. After all, he was a tall man.

If she could manage to meet with him in his
library, she might open one of his many tomes and invite him to
peek over her shoulder at some fascinating passage. If she held the
book just so, he’d not be reading very long.

Men were so blessedly predictable about such
things.

She thought about inching the other nipple up
as well, but decided that while one might be taken for an innocent
error in her toilette, two exposed love buttons would be a tad too
fast, even for a seduction. Satisfied with her preparations, and
slightly excited by the sight of her own tight nipple, she drew a
deep breath as the coach rumbled to a stop.

The door opened and she allowed the gawky
stable boy to hand her down from her seat. When she murmured her
thanks, he blushed dark enough to fade his freckles.

Must have caught a peek,
she thought
smugly.

The round housekeeper met her at the tall
arched entry and escorted her to the solar with instructions to
wait there upon ‘the master’s pleasure.’

Yes, indeed, the master’s pleasure was her
chief aim. Not only would she keep Gabriel from marrying, she’d
enjoy the process.

He was still as darkly handsome as the day
she jilted him for Hugh Curtmantle. And if Catherine did say so
herself, she was still considered the local beauty. Two such pretty
people would doubtless find mutual attraction undeniable. She’d
long since lost interest in Hugh’s grunting attentions, but the
chase was always the most delicious part of any affair.

She was determined to lead Gabriel Drake a
merry one. And once she’d seduced him into bed, she was even
prepared with one those cunning ‘French Letters’ to protect herself
against another confinement or some horrid disease. Even though
Gabriel Drake looked the picture of health, who knew where a pirate
might have dipped his wick.

Catherine was determined that any ‘votary of
Venus’ who breached her defenses would find himself sheathed in the
little lamb’s bladder she had secreted in her reticule. She’d even
imagined the naughty game she might play when she drew the pink
ribbons of the condom tight on Gabriel’s erection.

All in all, this was shaping up to be a
capital plan.

“Oh, Baroness Curtmantle! There you are.”

It was the chatelaine who breezed into the
solar, out of breath and flushing prettily. She ducked a quick
curtsey. Catherine had met her at the ball. What
was
her
name?

No matter.

“I’m here to see Lord Drake,” Catherine
informed her loftily. “The housekeeper was supposed to deliver the
message that I’ve come calling, but perhaps you might see to his
lordship’s whereabouts and apprise him of my presence. I cannot
believe he’d keep me waiting longer than a snatched breath.”

“Actually, Lord Drake sent me to fetch you
with his compliments,” the chit said. “He is elsewhere engaged at
present, but wonders if you’d be pleased to join his party in the
garden.”

Catherine pursed her lips. “Why? Are his
nieces producing another play?”

The young woman had the grace to look
chagrined. After all, it was not often one had to endure the sight
of one’s husband being nearly roasted alive. Catherine would have
been thoroughly humiliated had not most of the ball guests chosen
to believe Hugh was a willing participant in the charade. He was
declared a ‘damned good sport’ by one and all. Catherine had wanted
to sink into the very earth.

“Actually, yes,” the young woman said. “Some
families sing. Others recite bad poetry. The Drake children seem to
be gifted in the thespian arts. The girls are performing for Lord
Drake’s guests this very moment.”

“How droll!” Catherine waved her fan
languidly before her. “And whom are the little darlings threatening
to immolate this day?”

The woman—Miss Lark? Sparrow? No, Wren, that
was it!—Mistress Wren had the effrontery to frown at her
briefly.

“Lady Curtmantle, none here hold you
responsible for your husband’s reprehensible behavior,” she said in
clipped tones. “But perhaps you should be thankful that Lord Drake
chose an unconventional method to teach your husband humility
rather than render you a widow.”

Catherine’s jaw dropped. No servant—and what
was this woman if not merely a servant who carried heavier
responsibility than most?—no servant should speak to her in such a
manner.

“Shall I deliver your regrets to Lord Drake
or would you care to follow me?” Miss Wren asked.

“I know my way to the garden,” Catherine
said, narrowing her eyes at the cheeky Miss Wren. “Perhaps you are
unaware, but Lord Drake and I were once close friends, exceedingly
close friends. I am certain he would not condone your insolent
tone.”

“Forgive me if my tone offends you, my lady.”
The chatelaine cocked her head. “Close friends, you say? It was my
understanding that you were once Lord Drake’s betrothed, but
perhaps I’ve been misinformed.”

Catherine lifted her chin. “Servants’ gossip
is not to always to be trusted.”

She rose majestically and swept past Miss
Wren.

“Oh, then you must not have betrayed Lord
Drake with Baron Curtmantle, after all,” she said. “The play will
be over if we tarry long, so I’ll leave you now. But may I suggest,
Lady Curtmantle, that you step aside into an alcove to adjust your
bodice before making your way to the garden? Your abigail seems to
have been . . . singularly negligent in your toilette this
morning.”