by Edith Layton
“Join us, join us,” Martin said eagerly as his brother took a seat.
Magnus was dressed in shades of fawn today, except for his white neck stock. His hair was drawn back into a neat queue, his face looked freshly shaved, and the clean, spicy rum and floral scent of him disturbed Cristabel as much as his clear, gray gaze did. He sat across the table from her. Although he claimed to be hungry, he passed up the cold meats and hot pasties and instead only took coffee and bread. He joked with his brother without saying another thing to Cristabel, but she still felt he’d changed their pleasant little breakfast with his presence.
She found she couldn’t avoid him even when he wasn’t watching her, because she couldn’t stop thinking about him. He did have a striking face, she admitted, with its broad, high forehead, mobile mouth, and intelligent eyes beneath thin, elegant brows, but she’d grown up among many handsome men. His voice was exceptional, slow and low and rumbling, resonating through that powerful chest. That was true. But she was a captain’s daughter and so she responded to the power in it. That was the only thing she responded to, she told herself fiercely. And if she could live with her father and thrive under such totalitarian rule, she could surely learn her way around this man for the short time she would have to stay with him.
But it vexed her that she found everything he did so fascinating. He selected a roll and broke it apart. Surely there were better things to do, she thought, than watch those long, strong fingers butter bread? She forced herself to look away from his hands. She looked up to find his gray eyes, steady and sober, upon her.
“I have other coins like the ones that you say seem safe to use,” she said abruptly. “I’ll see to getting them. There are things I want to buy today.” She rose from her seat.
“Please stay,” Magnus said calmly, and she sat, wondering how he could make such a simple request sound like a command. “You haven’t finished your breakfast yet. There’s plenty of time. Our family credit is good enough to cover your purchases until you find simpler gold or until we can help you convert Spanish coin into coin of the realm.”
“I wouldn’t take a copper piece from you!” she cried in real alarm. “I’ve plenty of coins, and if you consider them too odd to use for trade here in London, I’ve other goods that can be converted to money fast enough.”
“Goods?” Sophia asked.
“Ah, well, say ‘treasures’ then,” Cristabel said, suddenly embarrassed, recalling just what sorts of things her father had considered an impressive enough dowry for an English nobleman and wondering what these people would think of the items crammed into her trunks.
“Pirate treasure!” Sophia breathed, clapping her hands together. “Here. Right in this house. I never thought anything could be so diverting. You’re so full of surprises. Oh, please, Cristabel, may I see?”
Now Cristabel knew for certain what they’d think of her treasure. She felt her breakfast grow cold and hard in her stomach.
“Rude little sister,” Magnus chided Sophia, “mind your manners. That’s like Cristabel asking you to show her your marriage settlement: acreage, annual income, and all. That’s not done among your friends and it’s not proper to ask of her.”
He was trying to spare Cristabel embarrassment, and it shamed her even more. If he really believed her to be a lady, he wouldn’t have to say it. Instead, he was making allowances for her as if she were a savage. Her chin came up again.
“No,” Cristabel snapped, “not at all. Pirates love to show off. You’re invited up to my room as soon as breakfast is done. Everyone,” she said with a great show of unconcern, even though she was afraid of what they’d think of her pirate booty. Although she was half a lady, the other half of her felt as if she were going to be hanged. Well, she might as well have a proper audience for it.
It pleased her to see them choke down their breakfasts in excitement. All except for Magnus, of course, who ate so leisurely, she thought Sophia was going to bounce out of her chair and run him through with a bread knife before he was finished. But eventually even he was done eating, and Cristabel led them upstairs to her room, her head held high and her heart sinking.
“We could have the servants bring the chests down to the parlor instead of traipsing all the way upstairs to see them,” Sophia suggested. “How many are they?”
“Only a few,” Cristabel muttered as they walked down the corridor to her room. “Don’t come up if you don’t want to. It’s all the same to me.” She was full of conflicting emotions, vaguely ashamed of her great treasure, and proud as well.
“We can bear the exercise,” Magnus commented. “There’s no sense in having the servants see the contents. They’re better off under Mistress Cristabel’s lock and key and watchful eye. If she’s kind enough to show us, a private audience is best, I think.”
But because of the width of the ladies’ skirts and Magnus’s shoulders, even Cristabel’s spacious room seemed small for all four of them. There were five sea chests stacked against the wall. Two were for her clothing. And three for her dowry. Cristabel herself hadn’t gone through them, but as she knelt to unlock the first one, she had a fairly good idea of what would be inside. She expected them to be impressed with the worth, if not the choice of items. She didn’t expect the sudden silence when she raised the lid.
Sophia was the first to speak. And gasp.
“Oh my,” she said.
Well, there was a lot of plate, and it shone in the sunlight, Cristabel conceded. He’d done her proud, all right, but she didn’t see anything very different from so many of her father’s chests. All the trunks had been crammed so full that they hadn’t rattled when they were carried—pirates didn’t pack for neatness, but for swiftness and safe transport. Looking up, she saw her three visitors staring in wonder at what lay before them.
Finely wrought platters and dishes, pitchers, tureens, and salt cellars of silver, gold, and bronze lay all in a jumble on top of the coins—and necklaces, tiaras, bracelets, rings, pendants, and combs of silver and gold, tortoiseshell and jet, mother-of-pearl and jade, all set with diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, pearls, rubies, opals, and lesser gems—all glittering and gleaming in a disorderly heap. She was proud of her fortune, but Cristabel suddenly felt embarrassed for the higgledy-piggledy look of it.
“I’ve read about such things,” Martin breathed, “but never seen it.”
“Can you imagine where all this came from?” Sophia said in wonderment.
“It came from my father,” Cristabel spoke up defiantly. “He wanted me to be well off. Well, actually, he wanted to impress Martin,” she admitted, “but it’s all the same.”
“I’m impressed,” Martin said. “See what I passed up for you?” he asked Sophia, who was still gaping at the treasure. “A fortune in pirate’s loot.”
He said it in jest, but Cristabel froze. He made it sound shameful for her to have her treasure. She knew it was wrong, always had, but piracy was her father’s profession and she had grown accustomed to it, the way she would if he had gone to sea and returned with fish each night, instead of jewels.
“Me father risked his head each time he went to work. I don’t see ye going out and turning yer hand at anything.” Cristabel spat, spinning round on her heels and glaring at Martin.
She was hunkered down in front of the chest, highlighted by the sun-drenched treasure. Magnus thought the barbaric beauty of the glittering treasure was no less stunning than the play of light on her radiant hair and in her glowing eyes. She was crouched and at bay, and looked as though she wished she had a knife in her hand. He wished he were alone with her, knife or not. But when he spoke, his voice was calm and low and slow.
“Ods life, Martin, where do you think we got our fortune from?” he asked in amused tones. “Our ancestors were Viking and Norman, both prime plunderers. There’s little to choose from between Saxon and Spanish loot. Cristabef s father’s treasure is merely—fresher.”
It was such a nice thing to say that Cristabel couldn’t speak. She g
azed at Magnus, wide-eyed and amazed. He made her father sound almost as respectable as his own family, though she knew that could never be, no matter how many generations passed. She blinked, on the verge of tears, and plunged her hands wrist-deep into the coins.
“Aye, well,” she said gruffly, recovering herself, “that is to say, yes. But you’ve already plowed your gold into the earth and gotten decent coin from it. What can you do with mine?”
Magnus knelt next to her, and didn’t speak at once because the wild, fresh perfumed scent of her overwhelmed him.
“Much,” he finally said as though nothing had affected him but the sight of her treasure. “Give me what you will now. I’ll have it appraised in places where discretion is assured. Gambling is a disease in London town,” he explained. “There are too many gentlemen who don’t turn a hand to anything but dice and cards. Noblemen are famous for selling off their family treasures bit by bit when the need arises. I’ll say the goods are those of a young acquaintance of mine—which you are. Then we’ll dispose of what we can, where we can, for the fairest price. We can’t do a century’s work in a week, so it will take time. But we’ll have you set up with nice, dull currency soon enough. And with a strict reckoning of every pence of it, I promise you.”
She stared at him, caught between hope and fear. No one had ever been so nice to her without a reason.
“I do so turn my hand at something,” Martin said, cutting into their thoughts. “I wouldn’t have been kidnapped in the first place if I hadn’t gone abroad to look after our affairs. I go to the office, don’t I, Magnus, and I contribute my fair share. Of course, if you don’t think I do…” he said, and then stopped because he couldn’t think of a powerful enough threat, and wasn’t sure he wanted to use one even if he could.
“So you do,” Magnus assured him. “I know it well. So, what shall we take first?” he asked Cristabel.
“I don’t know,” she answered, flustered by his nearness and the close scrutiny of those knowing eyes. “You pick. Whatever you think will fetch a handsome price.”
“Anything in this chest would do more than that,” he answered, lifting a silver chalice and turning it in his hands, “but you have to help me choose. I don’t want to take anything that’s a particular favorite of yours, anything with sentimental value,” he added when he saw her look at him in confusion.
“Sentimental value?” she asked, astonished, “it’s merely booty. There’s nothing here of mine, nothing I want at all.”
“Oh, but, Cristabel!” Sophia cried, sinking to her own knees in front of the chest, like a nun before an altar, “look at this comb! Have you ever seen anything like it? The gold is so buttery, and all these tiny rubies! The design is magnificent. How can you bear to lose it?”
“It goes well with your hair,” Cristabel said. “If you like it—’tis yours.”
“Truly?” Sophia asked, holding the comb to her breast with reverence.
“Aye, well,” Cristabel said, embarrassed, “it’s nothing to me. It’s like—like if your father were a fisherman—would you fall in love with a porgy? I’ve no use for jewels and such,” she said, remembering all the pirate women and their love of jewels and gems. She’d decided, early on in her girlhood, that if she had to grow to be a woman, she wouldn’t make matters worse by decking herself out like a pirate’s trollop. Ladies wore little perfume and less jewelry, or so she’d always been told. She still had her mother’s pendant. It was simply a pearl set in gold. That was the kind of jewelry a lady wore.
“Thank you!” Sophia said eagerly. “I don’t know. It’s a cunning comb, to be sure. But I have so many—and just look at this tiara! The diamonds, the way they catch the light—what are you doing?” she shrieked as Magnus lifted the glittering crown from her head.
“Just because our guest is generous doesn’t mean that we can take advantage of her,” Magnus said. “If she wants to give you a gift, fine. But you wouldn’t pick through a friend’s wardrobe and take everything that caught your eye, would you?”
“She would,” Martin said with a fond grin, “greedy little thing. Remember how she took young Alice’s favorite doll all those years ago, Magnus? But really, Sophy, Magnus is right.”
“If I want to give my property away, I can!” Cristabel said. Because she knew Sophia was being greedy, and would not be if she considered her guest to be a friend—or an equal. This realization hurt, and the only way she knew to stop the pain was to pretend she was rich and eccentric enough to give away anything—so long as she didn’t give away the truth of how the rejection hurt her.
“So you can,” Magnus agreed, “but in this case it would be like giving a boy enough green apples to give him an aching belly. Accepting your gifts wouldn’t be good for Sophia. She has enough baubles. She needs to learn to use discretion.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with appreciating pretty things,” Sophia said angrily, “but now, come to think of it, this tiara is just too gaudy. It’s vulgar. It must have been taken from some horrid Spanish creature. The comb too—it was likely ripped right off some sluttish thing’s head. It probably has hair still in it, or blood—or lice. Lord knows what a devil of a time one has ridding oneself of them. I don’t want either.”
“Sophia!” Martin gasped.
“Sophia,” Magnus said.
Sophia swallowed. “Thank you for the offer, Cristabel, but I don’t think I want any gifts from you,” she said, and picking up her skirts, she swept from the room. Martin shot a look of apology to Cristabel, nodded at Magnus, and followed his wife out the door.
“She’s used to getting her way. It was amusing when she was a child. Much less so now. I’m sorry if she hurt your feelings,” Magnus said gravely.
“Of course not,” Cristabel said, her amber eyes growing damp. “How could she? Only ladies have feelings. But,” she said, her chin quivering despite all her efforts to keep calm, “I’m half a lady, and so I suppose it bothers me a bit. I’ll recover. The other half is just as rough and rude as she thinks, ye see.”
She dashed away the gathering wetness from her eyes.
“Don’t,” he said quickly. “Your tears are more valuable than any of your jewels, and she’s not worth one of them.”
And then, to her astonishment, as well as his own, he lowered his lips to her, and kissed away the last tear from under her eye. He felt her lashes flutter and the softness of her skin beneath the salty dampness on his lips. Her skin was silken, her scent delicious, her warmth incredible.
She opened her eyes to find herself impaled by his intense gray gaze. His lips had felt so soft, so warm; her gaze slid to that astonishingly strong yet gentle mouth. She suddenly found herself looking higher, and then higher as he rose swiftly to his feet. He held out a hand and she rose to face him, scarcely aware of what she was doing, both eager and afraid to see what he would do next.
“Weeping females quite unman me,” he said. “Now, you don’t want to see something the size of me cry, do you? Even though you’re used to spouting whales? Come, it’s not worth the sorrow. Forget it. We’ll have a look at this treasure and pick out some stuff that we think can be easily disposed of. Then I suggest you lock the chest and keep the key somewhere safe, and far from the prying eyes of Sophia and the servants.”
She silently handed the key to him.
He stared at her. “I trust you,” she said simply.
“Thank you,” he said, looking troubled.
“…and I am very good with a knife,” she added.
He couldn’t concentrate on the treasure, he was laughing so hard.
*
He had stepped away from her just in time, Magnus thought. It had been a struggle, and he wasn’t sure he was glad he’d won. There were so many reasons why it was wrong for him to be wishing he had moved that kiss he’d given the pirate’s daughter a bit lower that he couldn’t count them all. She was young. She was alone in a strange land. She was under his protection, with no other male to look after her. She trus
ted him implicitly; he was used to that, many people trusted him. But he wasn’t sure he trusted himself with her. To act on his impulses would be to take advantage of his power and position as he had never done before. Although he lusted for her, he didn’t know her. And that was the most compelling reason of all.
She’d wanted a kiss on the lips as much as he had. He was sure of it. He didn’t know exactly why he was so sure of himself, but he was no fool. Still, kisses too easily offered were too often trouble, and kisses too easily given could lead to even more trouble. Cristabel wasn’t just beautiful and seductive. She was an entirely unknown quantity: half pagan, half lady—just as she said.
There was only one thing he was certain of: He was fascinated by her. And as with all rare objects, she required closer study. If he was wise, he reminded himself, he’d be careful of just how close he got.
He didn’t have to worry now; there would be no opportunity for more moments of passion tonight. He certainly wouldn’t be alone with her again, and whatever his lustful fantasies, he wasn’t on his way back to Martin’s house now to see her for pleasure. This was strictly a financial visit, he told himself. Soon after he’d left her that morning, he’d sold off a serving tray and a teapot, both of which had sent the jeweler into barely concealed ecstasy. But not concealed enough, because Magnus had noticed this reaction and had gotten a good price for the items. He wanted to deliver the money to Cristabel immediately.
And if he wondered why he was hurrying through the night to Martin’s house and why the errand couldn’t wait until morning, he told himself it was just to see her pleased and grateful expression. He was also going to protect her from Sophia’s avarice and possible spite. What a noble fellow you are, he told himself wryly, moving through London like a juggernaut, sparing the girl a few moments of unease and giving her some spending money—even if she does have a king’s ransom in those sea chests.
But when he reached the house and announced his success, showing her the money, she-didn’t move to take it from him. She closed her eyes for a minute and seemed to be praying. Then she opened them again, and reached out, taking approximately two thirds of the coins from his palm.
