by Edith Layton
“Black Jack!” she breathed in startled horror. “What can you be thinking of?” She looked around, her heart thudding and her eyes wide. “Are you mad?” she whispered in fright, “There be a price on yer head, man!”
“On that scallywag’s Black Jack’s head, mebbe,” he answered, “but not so much as a penny to be made on that fine gentleman Master Jarvis Kelly’s head, don’t y’know? And that’s who I am tonight. You almost didn’t know me yourself. And why should you? I scarce recognize meself.
“Look you, no mustache, not a speck of me beautiful black hair to be seen neither, I’m shorn clean as a lamb, white and gentle as one too. And if you believe that…” He grinned.
His smile vanished. “Ah, lass,” he said, “forget about me—look about. What are you doing here amidst these foolish fops and fancy molls? Not a grain of sense in their heads, nor one idea neither. Call this having a good time? I know you want to be a lady, but I tell you I can’t see it. Why, there’s scarcely a female here I couldn’t have beneath me in less time than it takes to tell. The only difference betwixt them and an honest whore is that the ones at home charge less, and offer more. You don’t belong, lass, no more’n I do.”
“You may think what you will,” she said proudly, “but this is the world my mother came from. I think I could become used to it.”
“Aye, I suppose you could become used to it,” he agreed, “but don’t fool yourself, luv. They’ll not become used to you. Nor are you your mother. You look beautiful, to be sure. But you’re standing alone. And if they knew who you really was, so you’d remain. Without the big man at your side, you’re no one at all. Even without me, you’d be someone at home. Think on that, lass. Think on it long and well. You’ll have the time. I’ll wait for you to come to your senses. It won’t take long. You’re a clever lass, for all your wild dreaming. In the meanwhile, I do believe I’ll have me some fun.”
“If they catch you…” she warned him.
“They won’t,” he said, grinning, “not if I go off with a fine lady who don’t want her husband to catch her—ah, don’t fret. No need to be jealous. I said I’d be giving you time, didn’t I? I can live like a shipwrecked sailor for a few more weeks—knowing the feast that’s to come when you come to your senses. But there’s more to life than willing wenches—there’s gambling and drinking to be done.” He touched a finger to her nose, bowed, and melted into the crowd before she could warn him again.
“What happened?” Magnus asked the minute he returned, his hand going to his sword when he saw her pale face, “Who offered you insult?”
“No one,” she said, and was glad the sedan chair only seated one, because she didn’t know what to say.
When they were back in Martin’s house again and all alone, she told him.
“Don’t worry. He’s right. He can take care of himself,” Magnus said when she was through. He was vastly relieved. He’d known something was wrong—he’d seen it in her face and it had struck him to the heart. But this was something that didn’t threaten her—it might, he realized, threaten him.
“You, ah, don’t worry about him, do you?” he asked casually.
“Black Jack? Not in the usual way of things,” she answered. “He’s tough and clever—amidst pirates. I don’t know how he’ll manage in the social world.”
Magnus roared with laughter. Literally. Cristabel and Magnus were standing in the parlor, but it was such a full and merry sound that the footmen in the outer hall grinned at each other when they heard him.
“’Od’s teeth, but you’re a funny girl,” Magnus said, looking down at her with a tender smile, “to worry about the fate of such a black villain at the hands of those fops and their ladies.”
“He’s not such a villain,” she said quickly, “or rather, well, I suppose he is. But not as bad as some others. There’s bad, and then there’s bad…or maybe what I’m trying to say is that there’s bad and there’s evil. Neither he or my father is precisely evil, though they do wicked things.” She clasped her hands together and gazed up at him as though for confirmation.
“I don’t know your father,” Magnus said quietly, “but if you love him even though you know you must escape him, then—no, I doubt he’s really evil. As for Black Jack—do you love him too?”
He hadn’t meant to ask that. He was astonished that he’d blurted it out the way a boy would. But suddenly he had to know.
“Love?” she asked, her eyes searching his. “No,” she said, “not in that way. But I wouldn’t want to see him come to harm.”
“Odd,” he said, unable to resist the urge to touch one white curl that lay on her white shoulder, “I find I envy him.”
She barely felt the slight touch, but it made her shiver, deep inside. “Do you think I wish you harm?” she asked, growing very still.
“I think I wish you trusted me,” he said softly, his hand caressing her shoulder now.
“I didn’t get to my great age by trusting too much,” she said gruffly, trying for a quick retort so he wouldn’t guess what his touch was doing to her insides—she felt as though the sea were getting rough beneath her feet. She loved the feeling.
She was hesitant and nervous with him tonight. Her insecurity was new to Magnus. It was her fierce courage that usually amused and intrigued him. But tonight she was shy and tentative with him. That hurt as well as drew him to her even more. He always responded to the lost and lonely. Tonight she seemed just that—more so because she was trying so hard to be brave. She stood before him, lithe and perfumed, dressed as a spun-sugar lady, and she was so desirable to him. He thought she looked beautiful, but he thought her own radiant hair was magnificent. It was these contradictions—the fire of her own hair beneath the ice white powder, the indomitable spirit beneath the guise of the brittle lady of fashion—that fascinated him, and undid him at last.
“Cristabel,” he murmured, her name itself a caress the way he said it in his deep voice, “ah, Cristabel, what are you doing to me?”
He didn’t let her answer. His kiss was light, almost hesitant, until he felt her lips, soft and surprised, beneath his. Then he took her deep into his arms and with infinite gentleness, held her close and hard against him as he kissed her again.
She was surrounded by him, his strength and tenderness melting her as no man had ever done. She tasted his kiss and burrowed into his embrace as though she were coming home to safe harbor. He whispered against her mouth and she felt her lips parting just as he asked. She responded to the next question she found on his lips, although she hadn’t known the answer until he silently asked for it. Yes, she thought dazedly, of course she wanted his tongue against hers, though it was as strange as it was thrilling. She felt his hands on her back, then gently on her breasts, and shivered at the way they feathered over her, seeking and adoring. It made her weak and strong all at once. Although it felt as though he were shaping her for his pleasure, she was pleased to let him do it.
The pleasure was overwhelming. And it was the pleasure that made her stop—the pleasure she was taking in his touch.
“No, no,” she breathed. Although his hand was on her breast and his mouth approaching hers again, he stopped the moment he heard the first word. It gave her time to recover a bit, and that little pause was filled with worry: Would he do this with a lady? She didn’t know. Her confusion and desire spoke for her.
“What be I thinking of?” she whispered to herself as well as him. “I kept me virtue in a pirate den. I can’t lose it here.”
“You won’t,” he said, still holding her close. “Don’t worry. Virtue is never lost, it can only be given. If given to the right man, there is nothing to fear.”
She looked up at him with hope and fear. “Ah, my lord,” she said in despair, “what be you doing?”
He thought about it, and his eyes widened. He knew the truth then, and it was as if a great weight had been removed from his chest. She needed him as no other woman ever had, and he needed her. He wanted her as he’d wanted no ot
her woman. It was a shame that the circumstances weren’t right, but it was time. He knew his mind and knew he was a possessive man; he couldn’t let her go on living in his brother’s house, so close and so far. He couldn’t continue taking her around London, watching men from her past and future vie for her, and not say anything. She wanted to be a lady, she behaved like one, and so she was one in his eyes and heart. He couldn’t trifle with her. She had to know as soon as he did.
“What I am doing,” he told her with a small, crooked smile, “is wooing you, Mistress Stew. That’s what I am doing.”
He felt her body tense. She put a hand on his chest and stepped back from him, holding him at arm’s length. Her eyes were wide and shocked. “I will leave!” she said, her nostrils flaring as though she scented fire.
“No,” he said, his voice gentle, but his hands firmly holding her from fleeing, “no, not for anything would I let my intentions send you running into the dangerous unknown. Hear me, Cristabel. I said I’d woo you, but I’d never harm you, force you, coerce you, embarrass you—or whatever it is you’re worried about. Do you understand?”
She bit her lip and nodded, unable to meet his eyes. He could feel her trembling, and his heart sank.
“Perhaps ‘woo’ is too strong a word,” he said, craning his neck, trying to see her expression. “I’ll try to become a friend. You can’t have too many friends, can you? We’ll come to know each other. It may be that when you do, you’ll decide you dislike me. If so, I’ll bother you no more, I promise. Look you, my dear,” he said, and his voice was strained, “I know I’m not to every woman’s taste. No man is. As for me, I’m too big, for a start, and I’ve been told I’m overbearing and pigheaded—just hear Sophia on that subject,” he said ruefully. “So if you find you agree with her, just tell me and I’ll leave you alone. No man can force affection, and though it would pain me, I’d never persist where I’m not wanted.”
She put up one hand to stop him. He clasped it in his own. “No,” she said in a small voice, “don’t apologize. It’s not that. You don’t bother me. It’s just—it’s just that I felt you were mocking me.”
“Mocking you?” he asked in amazement. “Why should I do that?”
“Or—trying to get round me.” She blurted the worst at last.
“Why, so I am,” he laughed. “That’s what wooing is. Seriously, Cristabel, my intentions are honorable. I’d never bring anything but honesty to you. Be sure, I’m speaking of marriage, nothing less.”
She was more shocked. “That can’t be!” she gasped.
“Oh yes it can,” he said, drawing her close again. “Your father isn’t here to accept my declaration of intent, but I think we can take it as given.”
“Don’t be a fool, man,” she cried. “I be a pirate’s lass, and you a great lord.”
“I don’t know what ideas you have of England, my dear,” he chuckled, “but this isn’t the kingdom of Good Queen Bess anymore, where the rules of Court are the rules of the land. In fact, there are no more hard rules; we live in a kingdom whose king can’t even speak English. And if there’s one advantage to being a nobleman, it’s that I can marry where and when I please: an earl’s daughter or a miller’s daughter; it’s my choice.”
“An earl or a miller, aye,” she said sadly, “but never a pirate’s. My father’s a wanted man.”
“And you are wanted by me—a wonderful symmetry, isn’t it?” he asked, rubbing his cheek against her hair.
“Nay, you don’t understand,” she sighed. “It cannot be.”
“It almost was, remember?” he said calmly. “And so it will be. You don’t have to say yes immediately, though it would be wonderful if you did. I understand. You don’t really know me yet. I can tell you I’m clever and bold, brave and rich too.” He laughed, but then grew sober as he said, “You delight me, mind and body. I’ll hold and protect you for the rest of my life, you have my word on it, and there’s no mortal power that can make me break my word. But how can you know that? So. I will play the suitor. I can woo you and find pleasure in that. But I mean to have you as my wife, Cristabel Stew, and before too long. Be warned.”
Her eyes were filled with despair. “I be a pirate’s daughter,” she said again. “It can never be.”
“And a lady’s daughter,” he reminded her, “and so it shall be.”
He drew her close and kissed her again, and after one stunned moment, her hand left his chest and slid up around his neck. But there were tears on her lips now.
He stopped and looked down at her. “Is it that you don’t think you can ever love me?” he asked seriously.
She shook her head violently, and said, “No, ’tis not that…” before he cupped her head in his hands to stop it shaking, and put his mouth over hers to silence her denials.
He let her go because he knew there was nowhere else for them to go tonight.
“I’ll leave now,” he told her. “And don’t worry.”
She shook her head again. “You don’t understand; I can’t do this.”
“We’ll talk about it again tomorrow,” he said. “I promise I won’t nag you—but that doesn’t mean I won’t try to seduce you.” He grinned, dropped a light kiss on her lips, and left her.
She stood looking after him for a long time after he’d gone. He’d startled and stunned her, and almost convinced her. But now that he was gone and the force of his personality wasn’t coloring her thoughts, she could see she was right and he was wrong, on so many counts. She couldn’t marry him. There was a natural order to things. Fish of the same sort swam in the same schools, parrots nested in trees with birds of a feather. There was about as much possibility of finding a shark mating with a tuna as having a marriage between a nobleman and a pirate’s daughter. His world would never accept her, and in time, neither would he.
She knew men. They acted irrationally, on the spur of the moment and at the spur of desire. That which made them men often did the thinking for them. “A man’s brain be in his breeches,” the pirate women said. “Men are governed by their lusts,” her governesses had said. It was so. She’d seen it again and again. She’d thought Magnus was above that. Obviously he wasn’t. And now, she realized, after knowing his kiss, neither was she.
He desired her, but he was a good man and so would marry her in order to have her. But she was a good woman and knew she couldn’t have him, one way or another.
Even though such a marriage might be possible—with Magnus almost anything might be possible—and even if the pirate’s daughter could become a viscountess—she wouldn’t marry him. No matter how she felt about him. If there was one thing she knew, it was that to marry was to become as nothing.
She’d seen it too many times. After marriage, a man’s desire was replaced by boredom, his devotion vanished, and deceptions were practiced. Marriage meant being shouted at, lied to, or sneered at. She’d never seen a happily married woman. She’d never seen a man so in love with his wife as was her father—but only because his wife was long gone. She had pride and independence; she couldn’t trade that for three or four months of love. She knew her own heart. She could bear to be abused and mistreated, but she didn’t think she could bear to live to see her love betrayed.
The sight of Magnus set her heart to racing; the sound of his voice seemed to vibrate through her bones. His touch made her forget herself entirely. If such a man possessed her, surely he would possess her very soul. And when he turned against her, there’d be nothing left of herself. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, but the chill came from within. This love, this desire for a man, was the greatest danger she’d ever known. She was smart and brave and bold. But even the bravest left the battle when there was no chance of winning.
Cristabel went to her room to weep. She’d left the Islands in despair, thinking she’d gotten herself married to a stranger. But she hadn’t cried anything but tears of vexation then. Then she’d snatched victory from what had looked like defeat, and found herself free as she’d alw
ays longed to be. Now she wasn’t free anymore. She’d found what she wanted, and needed, and knew she couldn’t have it. First she would weep. Then she would decide what to do.
*
Magnus knew he’d still be there. A determined gossip stayed at a party until its last gasp. Lord Hastings wouldn’t leave until the housemaids started sweeping over his feet. Sure enough, when Magnus got back to the party, although most of the guests had gone, the too-elegant lord was sitting listening to a drunken fop complaining about his tailor. When he saw the Viscount Snow return to the party, Lord Hastings’s eyes brightened and he left the morose fop to come to Magnus’s side.
“Ah, Hastings,” Magnus said, “well met, sir. I came back to see if I could find a missing buckle, but no luck. It’s foolishness itself to wear good silver on one’s shoe—so I suppose I deserve the loss. Still, I find you here and that’s good fortune. Now that I think of it, you could do me a great service, if you would. You’ve a head for names and faces, don’t you?”
Lord Hastings nodded eagerly. It wasn’t often a prime buck like Snow even asked him for the time of day.
“Well, then,” Magnus said, “think on, if you please, sir. I was talking with an interesting gentleman when we were separated by the crowd. Then I had to take a lady home. But he was telling something to my benefit about trade in the Islands, a thing to do with investments,” he said vaguely. “I’d like to continue our chat but can’t recall his name, if I ever heard it right in all the babble.”
“Of course, of course, too pleased to be of service. What did he look like?” Hastings asked eagerly.
“Well dressed,” Magnus said hesitantly, as though in deep thought, “wearing a white wig, a pleasant-enough looking chap. Wait,” he said as Hastings looked chagrined, because he’d just described almost every male who had been there that night, “one thing I do recall. Singular thing, actually. He said his family’s lived in Canterbury for generations on end. That, I do remember.”
