Once Upon a Pirate Anthology

by Merry Farmer

  Jonathon sighed heavily. “You have no idea, my lady. Unfortunately, the Orpheus, because it’s a schooner, is able to outrun the navy’s much bigger and slower frigates. Governor Farquhar and I both suspect Flint has a secret base of operations somewhere hereabouts. Perhaps on the nearby Isle of Bourbon or even along the south-western coastline of Mauritius, not far from here. Part of the reason I was late for the banquet at Le Reduit was that I was hoping to meet with a French merchant by the name of Alain Dupont at The Anchor and Crown. Word about the docks is he might have some useful intelligence. Apparently, he’s a nefarious sort himself and has been rumored to sell slaves to some of the local plantation owners. But as you know, he didn’t arrive.”

  Calliope’s eyes were shadowed with concern. “He sounds dangerous too.”

  Jonathon shrugged. “If the rumors are to be believed, I suspect Dupont is the sort of man who’d do anything for the right price.” His mouth flattened. “Just like Flint. I believe there’s nothing the cur wouldn’t do in the pursuit of riches. He’s a soulless mercenary.”

  “You mentioned he was once in the Royal Navy so I gather there’s more to Flint’s story than you originally told me at The Anchor and Crown. Your dislike of him seems rather… personal.”

  Jonathon’s mouth twisted with a wry smile. “You could say that. During the War of 1812 when we were at war with America, a very good friend of mine, another British naval captain—Charles Redgrave was his name—discovered that Flint, his first mate, had been selling information to the other side.”

  Calliope’s blue eyes widened. “Flint was a spy?”

  “A traitor. But it’s much worse than that. When Captain Redgrave confronted him about his duplicity, Flint murdered him. Stabbed him in a dockside tavern in London late one night and then fled.” Jonathon’s gaze drifted over to where Nelson roosted upon his perch in the corner of the room. “That’s why Nelson is now mine. Charles Redgrave was his owner.”

  Calliope’s eyes shimmered with tears. “I’m so sorry, you lost a friend in that way. Michael Flint is a truly evil man.” Sympathy colored her voice as she added softly, “No wonder you want to catch him so badly. I pray that you do.”

  “God willing, I will very soon.” Jonathon captured her gaze. Moved a step closer. “Because when this is all over, when Flint has been brought to justice, I intend to return to England for good so I can find a bride. My very own viscountess.”

  Calliope’s breath quickened but she didn’t look away. “You do?” she whispered huskily. Her gaze dipped to his mouth.

  “Yes. I think I’d rather like to find someone with a sweet disposition and a good heart. Perhaps even red hair…”

  He raised a hand to brush one of her unruly curls away from her delicate pink cheek and then Nelson let out an ear-piercing squawk from his corner of the room. “Avast ye! Batten down the hatches!”

  Jonathon whipped around in time to see the parrot darting like an arrow across the library before disappearing into the hall outside. The next moment there was another shriek, but this one was human.

  “Ouch! Get off me for God’s sake! Get off!”

  Calliope dropped the book she’d chosen and started toward the door. “That’s Mr. Lucas.”

  Jonathon followed at a slower pace. There’s was something about Mr. Barnaby Lucas that he didn’t like. He was sullen and shifty-eyed and from what he’d seen, didn’t treat Dr. Bell or Calliope with the respect they deserved. And if the sly bastard had been eavesdropping on him and Calliope just now, well he deserved everything Nelson meted out to him.

  Nelson had indeed meted out swift justice. From what Jonathon could see, given the hallway was dimly lit, Mr. Lucas was sporting a scratch across one cheekbone and a bleeding ear.

  Nelson fluttered onto Jonathon’s shoulder. “Walk the plank, ye scurvy dog,” he cried. “How do you do?”

  Mr. Lucas shot the bird a murderous look. “How do I do? Just look at me! I’ve almost lost an ear and an eye.”

  Calliope was clutching her shawl to her mouth and Jonathon wasn’t sure if she was trying to suppress a gasp of horror or a fit of the giggles.

  “Now, now, Lucas,” said Jonathon, pulling a kerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat and handing it to the glowering man. “I’m sure it’s not as dramatic as all that.”

  “Like bloody hell it’s not.” Mr. Lucas snatched the square of linen from Jonathon and sent another fulminating glare at Nelson. “If that bird ever comes near me again, I’ll… I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Jonathon crossed his arms over his chest.

  Mr. Lucas’s jaw worked as though he was grinding his back teeth together. “Never mind,” he grumbled as he dabbed at his ear.

  “Is there anything you need, Mr. Lucas?” asked Calliope.

  The insolent man barely glanced at her. “It can wait until morning,” he muttered then turned on his heel and stomped down the hall, heading for the main stairs leading up to the first floor where the bedchambers lay.

  “Goodness gracious,” murmured Calliope turning her wide-eyed gaze back to Jonathon. “I wonder why Nelson attacked Mr. Lucas.”

  Jonathon ruffled the soft feathers on the bird’s chest. “It’s rare behavior on Nelson’s part, I’ll give you that.” He returned to the library and set the parrot on his perch again while Calliope went to retrieve the book she’d dropped. “Is Mr. Lucas one to eavesdrop, do you think?” he asked. “If Nelson saw him lurking suspiciously just outside the door, he might have perceived him as a threat. Like a predator lying in wait.”

  Calliope frowned. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure, Captain. Oh no.” Her eyes widened. “Do you think he was spying on us? I really hope he didn’t misinterpret our exchange. You and I, we were only talking after all. If he tells my uncle…”

  Jonathon arched a brow. “Are you sure that’s all that was going on here, Calliope? That we were just talking?”

  Calliope blushed and clutched the book to her chest. “Yes. I’m perfectly sure, Captain Townsend. And now I have something to read, I’m going to bid you goodnight.”

  Jonathon bowed and mustered a polite smile. He was confused and even a little hurt that she didn’t wish to acknowledge the intimate nature of their encounter. The significance of the discussion they’d shared. That they’d almost kissed again.

  That he’d not-so-subtly hinted that in the future, he would like to court her with a view to marrying her.

  But it was growing late so aloud he simply said, “And goodnight to you, my lady. I trust you’ll enjoy the book.”

  As the door to the library shut and Jonathon reclaimed his cognac, he had to smile to himself. Calliope had chosen a particularly erotic French text for her reading pleasure—L'Escole des Filles ou la Philosophie des Dames by Michel Millot, also known as The School of Venus or; the Ladies Delight Reduced into Rules of Practice in the English translation. As Lady Calliope Bank’s French was excellent—he’d heard her speak it on a number of occasions—there was no doubt in Jonathon’s mind that she’d soon be blushing from head to toe.

  Chapter 10

  Two days later…

  As soon as the inclement weather passed, Calliope decided that she would like to visit the quiet cove she’d discovered on the western edge of Belle Mer and spend a quiet morning indulging in one of her favorite pastimes, painting.

  Even though the heavy rain and strong winds had ceased, the excavations at Mare aux Songes had been halted for the time being; the water levels had risen, making it difficult for Belle Mer’s workers to wade safely into the deeper parts of the swamp to sift through the mud. As a result, Uncle Theo had declared the night before that Calliope wouldn’t be needed today; he and Mr. Lucas had numerous fossils they wished to study and classify, so she could spend the day doing as she pleased.

  Since her close encounter with Captain Townsend in Belle Mer’s library, Calliope had hardly seen him. He seemed inordinately busy with managing the estate and overseeing the Andromeda’s repair and maintena
nce work. He hadn’t taken dinner with her, Uncle Theo, or Mr. Lucas again either. It made her wonder if he was still trying to track down the informant, Alain Dupont in Mahébourg’s dockside taverns.

  If Captain Townsend was able to capture Michael Flint at last, would he really return to England and begin to look for a wife as he’d hinted two nights ago in Belle Mer’s library?

  Someone like me?

  Her heart did an excited little jig at the thought as she made her way to the cove. She really was a hopeless case when really, the sensible thing to do was put the man out of her mind. If Captain Townsend’s desire to woo her hinged entirely on whether or not he caught Flint, she might be waiting forever and a day. She shouldn’t get her hopes up.

  Better to focus on the here and now, she told herself as she wandered down the shaded, muddy path between knots of palm trees and thickets of wild, jungle-like undergrowth. Enjoy this perfect morning. Lose yourself in the scenery. Focus on the beauty of nature, nothing else.

  Once Calliope reached the tiny cove, she removed her grubby half-boots and stockings and paddled barefoot in the cool seawater lapping at the white sand of the pristine beach. It felt wonderfully pleasurable to be doing something that was simple yet slightly illicit. The hem of her primrose muslin gown quickly became soaked, but she didn’t mind. It would dry quickly in the sun.

  When she was ready to paint, she set herself up on a lush patch of grass, about twenty yards from the water’s edge. After setting her boots and stockings on a nearby rock, she then unpacked her sketchbook, paintbox, brushes, and a small jar of water from the old leather satchel she’d brought along. From her vantage point, she had a clear view of the cove, the coral reef at the mouth of the lagoon, and the wide blue ocean beyond. A knot of towering palms at her back and her leghorn bonnet would hopefully provide her with sufficient shade as the sun rose higher in the sky and its heat intensified. Although Didi’s aloe ointment had worked wonders on her skin, Calliope wasn’t keen to get sunburnt again.

  As she made a rough outline of the far shoreline and Lion Mountain, she hummed quietly to herself. It was a pity she wasn’t adept with oil paints as the pastel shades of her water colors couldn’t possibly capture the brilliant azure blue of the cloudless sky, the variety or depth of the verdant shades of green in the jungle foliage, or the clear turquoise of the lagoon’s almost mirror-like waters. The cobalt blue of the Indian Ocean that reminded her so much of Jonathon Townsend’s eyes.

  Jonathon. Dare she address him by his Christian name, even in her thoughts? She hadn’t missed that he’d dared to call her Calliope during their library encounter.

  Ugh! Calliope rolled her eyes in frustration. So much for her resolution not to think about Captain Townsend. It probably didn’t help that she’d begun reading the naughtiest, most shocking book she’d ever come across. What on earth had she been thinking when she’d plucked it from the library shelf? Reading for ‘pleasure’ had taken on a whole new meaning. L'Escole des Filles could only be described as an erotic text and she sincerely hoped Captain Townsend hadn’t noticed what she’d unwittingly chosen. She’d been so worried that Didi or one of the other French speaking housemaids would discover what she’d been reading, she’d taken to hiding the book and only ever read it when she was alone. In fact, she’d slipped the book into her satchel before she’d set out for the beach.

  While the sedate, ladylike part of her urged her to return the book to the library, another wicked side of her had discovered it was compelling reading for a young woman who knew practically nothing about sexual intercourse. Although there were some French words and phrases Calliope couldn’t quite translate, she had certainly learned an eye-opening amount of detail about the anatomy of a male and the sexual act itself. She’d also discovered that reading such salacious material made her body ache with desire. It was very similar to the feeling Captain Townsend had aroused inside her when he’d kissed her, or when she thought of the sculpted male body she’d glimpsed beneath his wet linen shirt. When she snuck peeks at his muscular thighs and buttocks encased in figure-hugging breeches and pantaloons…

  Calliope squeezed her own thighs together in an attempt to ease the sweet ache in her most secret feminine place. But it did little to relieve the sensation. Last night in bed after she’d put aside her naughty tome and snuffed out her candle, she’d almost been tempted to touch herself ‘down there’.

  What a wanton woman she was becoming. She’d never experienced such overwhelming feelings of lust until she’d met Jonathon Townsend.

  The unexpected sound of rhythmic splashing made her look up from her painting. And then she sucked in a startled breath. A dark-haired, shirtless man was swimming straight toward the beach, his muscular arms cutting through the water with long, sure strokes.

  It could only be Captain Townsend.

  Calliope froze. Good Lord, what if he was entirely naked? She only had seconds to decide what to do. To stay or flee? To brazenly stare or avert her gaze or hide? Those were the options careening around inside her head like a swarm of trapped butterflies. In the end, it was her indecision which kept her rooted to the spot. Of course he would notice her. In her bright yellow gown, she looked like a buttercup at the beach.

  At the very least, she could feign disinterest and that she barely regarded him.

  To that end, she dipped her head and pretended to be engrossed in her painting. The brim of her bonnet shielded her face, but she could still sneak glances at him.

  And how could she not? When he stood, she released a tiny sigh that was half relief and half disappointment. Even though he was only half-naked, his snug buckskin breeches were molded to his lean hips and powerful thighs. And of course, the sight of his bare upper body had her gaping like a landed fish.

  My goodness. He was utterly magnificent and even better than the picture her imagination had painted. A chiseled Adonis. All impossibly wide shoulders and sleek hard muscle gleaming like bronze in the morning sun.

  He sluiced water out of his hair with the drag of one hand as he waded out of the water with sure strides. But instead of acknowledging her presence and heading in her direction as she’d feared, he crossed to a tumble of large boulders on the other side of the cove.

  Was he going to sit on the rocks and sun himself?

  If his back was turned, or he closed his eyes, Calliope could pack up her things and steal away. Because heaven knew what she would do if he approached her in his current jaw-dropping state of dishabille.

  However, it seemed he wasn’t going to laze about on the beach as he reached between the boulders and retrieved a pair of top boots and a white linen shirt. And then to Calliope’s utter horror, he didn’t get dressed but began to pad across the sand straight toward her.

  He raised a hand in greeting but Calliope ducked her head again and tucked her bare sandy feet beneath the hem of her gown.

  “Well met, Lady Calliope,” he said as he deposited himself on the grass right beside her and leaned back on his elbows. His long legs and bare feet stretched out before him. “It’s a glorious morning, don’t you think?”

  The audacity of the man confounded her. He was acting as though it was perfectly natural and proper to lounge around in her company—a single young woman—in a barely dressed state. It was uncivilized.

  It was also profoundly arousing

  “I… Yes, I suppose so,” she stammered, refusing to look at him directly even though she desperately wanted to.

  “You’re painting,” he remarked.

  “Just the scenery,” she rejoined and risked a glance his way at last. Then blushed.

  He sat up, resting his forearms on his drawn-up knees. Droplets of water dripped from his tousled black hair and slid down his broad back. “I don’t mind if you look at me, my lady,” he said with a wolfish grin. “And I’d be more than happy to pose for you. As long as you promise to capture my best side.” Lifting his chin, he turned his head this way, then that. “Which is it? Right or left?”

&n
bsp; Calliope couldn’t suppress a snort. “You are such an arrogant peacock, Captain. But I don’t paint portraits. I’m a landscape artist.”

  “I’m sure you’d do a wonderful job.”

  “You haven’t even seen my work.”

  “I’d very much like to. You mentioned once before you had a folio. During you first visit to Le Reduit.”

  He remembered that? The captain’s eyes were filled with such genuine warmth and interest, Calliope was momentarily disarmed. “My folio is back at the house,” she said. “I could show you later this afternoon...”

  “I take it you have a few examples in here?” Before she knew what he was about, Captain Townsend picked up her satchel and fished out L'Escole des Filles. “Hey ho. What do we have here, my lady?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Are you enjoying the story?”

  Oh no. Calliope felt as though she were drowning in embarrassment. “I… I haven’t read it,” she lied, her face aflame. “The French is quite beyond me.”

  He laughed. “Ha. We both know that’s not true. In fact, your conversational French is flawless.” He shot her a knowing grin. “And didn’t you tell me you enjoy books with no literary or intellectual merit whatsoever? I’d be most interested to hear your views on the subject matter of this particular book when you’ve finished it. Perhaps we could compare notes?”

  Calliope snatched it out of his hand and stuffed it back into the satchel. “Well, you won’t because I’m not going to finish it. And I don’t take kindly to being laughed at or being accused of lying. Or… or having my privacy invaded.” She tossed the dirty water from her painting jar onto the grass then snapped her paintbox closed. “I think it’s time for me to return to the house.”

  “Calliope, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you so. Don’t let me ruin your morning.”

  “Well it’s too late for that, Captain Townsend.” She gathered up the rest of her painting paraphernalia, pushed it into the satchel along with her stockings, then jammed her sandy feet into her boots. “Good day to you, sir.”