How To Please a Pirate

by Mia Marlowe

  She brushed away the old hurt as the glittering ball gowns of the candidates for Lord Drake’s affection caught her eye.

  “That’s Lady Millicent Harlowe of Doud over by the punchbowl. She’s the daughter of a viscount,” Jacquelyn whispered to Gabriel. “It’s reported his lordship will settle a handsome dowry on her, though that’s a small matter since Dragon Caern is doing well. But with her father’s connections at court, she’s considered no end of a catch.”

  He grunted non-committally. “It would have to be a monumental dowry.”

  “I know,” she agreed with his unspoken objection. Pity Miss Harlowe resembles a carp.

  Musical laughter floated toward them and Gabriel’s head turned like a foxhound scenting his quarry.

  “Elisheba Thatcher,” Jacquelyn said, her belly tightening with an emotion she didn’t care to name. Pale and pink, the girl was lovely as an English rosebud, her petals just beginning to unfurl. “Her father boasts a ‘Sir’ before his name thanks to some exemplary service to the Crown, but no hereditary title.”

  “Obviously hoping his daughter’s good looks are his ticket to permanent nobility,” Gabriel said. Elisheba’s laugh came again, this time more shrill than musical and followed by a definite snort. Jacquelyn felt him wince.

  One by one, she searched out and found the eligible young women she’d invited for Gabriel’s consideration. Lady Rosalinda Breakwaithe from Plymouth, Lady Calliope Heatheridge from Bath, Miss Penelope Fitzwalter from Falmouth, Jacquelyn whispered the pertinent facts about each of the potentials in Gabriel’s ear. She tried to swallow her satisfaction when he seemed not to prefer any of them.

  Yet they had all come. She shook her head in wonderment. Though rumors of Lord Drake’s piracy had probably traveled even faster than the news that he was seeking a wife, the nobility seemed more than willing to offer their daughters to the new baron. Amazing what a prosperous estate and a title would induce folk to overlook.

  “A man’s sins are easy for the world to forgive,” her mother had told her once. “But a woman’s indiscretions? Never.”

  The world was patently unfair.

  Jacquelyn shoved aside this glaring understatement and turned to the pirate whose arm she still held. The world offered little hope for a courtesan’s daughter, but if she could see Gabriel Drake suitably wed, perhaps she could help balance the scales for the rest of the folk of the Caern. She had to try.

  “This is beginning badly,” Jacquelyn said. “We shouldn’t be standing here weighing the graces and deficiencies of your choices as if we were judging cattle at auction.”

  “A fairly apt comparison when you get down to it,” he said with resignation. “Perfumed and pomaded, but breeding stock just the same.”

  She frowned at him. “I hope you’ll keep that less than gallant sentiment to yourself.”

  He ignored her, smiling and nodding to an acquaintance across the room.

  “You said it first,” he reminded her in a half-voice. Then he looked down at her, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “Actually, I rather like the idea. It makes me the bull standing at stud.”

  She dug a sharp elbow into his ribs. “But unlike the bull that has a whole harem, you, my lord, must content yourself with one cow. So choose wisely.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Lest you run too far afield with your bovine visions, let me remind you that bulls who prove too unmanageable often find themselves gelded.”

  He laughed. “Trust you to keep me from feeling too full of myself, Mistress. By all means, manage away at me.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “If you were at all manageable, you’d have been available to greet your guests as they came in, instead of gawking at them once the dancing has already started.”

  “Then I’ll give a little welcome speech over supper,” he said smoothly. “I’ll have a captive audience then. With their mouths full of my mutton, no doubt my remarks will be found even more amusing.”

  “Have you decided what you’ll say about your . . . your time at sea yet?” She’d fretted for naught that his stint at piracy would turn away the best, most eligible potential brides. Still, society might be willing to ignore only what was kept from its view. If the bare truth were confirmed, the arbiters of correct behavior might feel compelled to shun Lord Drake.

  “The least said about my former career the better, but I’ll not deny it, if that’s what you’re angling for. As you say, laying aside the past is not always possible. Looking forward seems the most prudent course,” he said. “And right now, I’m looking forward to taking a turn around the floor with you.”

  Country manners allowed for a relaxation of the normal stratification of class. And Jacquelyn was the chatelaine of Dragon Caern—a position of authority normally filled by the well-born lady of the household. But noble blood did not flow through Jacquelyn’s veins. Not acknowledged nobility at any rate.

  “It’s not seemly that your first dance should be with me, my lord.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “When did a pirate ever concern himself with what’s seemly?”

  “This night you are Baron Gabriel Drake, Lord of Dragon Caern and no pirate,” she argued.

  “If, by the admission of your own lips, I’m your lord, then my will is to be obeyed,” he said, his pleasure evident at having caught her neatly in the web of her own words. “Come, Mistress. I’ll not be denied. It’s not a minuet, but you did promise me a dance.”

  Jacquelyn felt all the eyes in the room fastened on them as he led her onto the dance floor. Continued argument would only create more spectacle, so she went with him quietly, the picture of demureness.

  “Ah, Drake. You finally decided to join us,” the man next to Gabriel said as they bowed in unison.

  “Hugh, it’s good to see you.” Gabriel nodded to the man. “Mistress Wren, I’m sure you know Baron Curtmantle. Hugh, this is Jacquelyn Wren, Dragon Caern’s chatelaine.”

  The baron cast a dismissive glance her way. Jacquelyn had never met him, but she knew of Dragon Caern’s neighbor to the north. Given his reputation for buggering serving girls, she wouldn’t have invited him and his wife to the ball, but Gabriel requested it.

  “You remember my wife, Lady Catherine,” Curtmantle said as the woman beside Jacquelyn dipped in a low graceful curtsey.

  “Charming as always, my lady,” Gabriel said in a tone that told Jacquelyn he found Baroness Curtmantle neither charming nor a lady. The woman gave no outward sign of understanding Gabriel’s subtle message. Perhaps Jacquelyn was more attuned to his meanings than most.

  She observed the woman from the corner of her eye as they moved through the precisely prescribed movements of the dance. Catherine Curtmantle had all the marks of bone-deep loveliness, long-necked grace and even features.

  But the permanent cleft between her brows warned of an evil temper.

  Gabriel may be friends with her husband, but the baroness would make a formidable enemy, Jacquelyn decided.

  The two couples joined hands to form spokes of a rotating wheel.

  “We’ve heard you’re planning to wed, Lord Drake,” the baroness said, the arch of her elegant brow turning the statement into a question.

  “All these lovelies lining up for a chance to warm your bed,” Lord Curtmantle said. “If I had your choice before me, man, I’d have made damn sure to be here on time.”

  His wife glared dirks at him.

  Perhaps she has reason for the frown mark between her brows, Jacquelyn allowed. Of course, hadn’t Gabriel just likened the women in the room to cows waiting to be serviced by a bull?

  Maybe Mrs. Beadle was right. “All men are swine, dearie,” she’d said. “We may like bacon well enough, but just remember there’s no telling where it’s been wallowing.”

  * * *

  All adults are addle-pated, Daisy decided, propping her chin on her fist while she peeped from beneath the long table cloth. The whole Caern had been atwitter about this blasted ball for weeks and for what
? She squirmed under the serving table that held the big punch bowl, trying to keep the people she knew in sight. For the last hour, nothing remotely exciting had happened, except when someone dropped their dainties plate in front of her table and she managed to snag a sweet, sticky petit four.

  Mistress Jacquelyn didn’t dance any more after that first quadrille. She wandered among the guests, chatting and smiling, but Uncle Gabriel ‘tripped the light fantastic toe’ each time the music started afresh. Daisy was no judge of male grace, but she thought he was quick enough on his feet without being overly silly-looking. He changed partners each time the music stopped—even giving a bow and dancing a somber sarabande with that poor girl whose thin face, pursed lips and buggy eyes made her look like a fish.

  Uncle Gabriel really must be pretty nice, she decided, even though folk whispered that he’d been a bloody pirate. If it was true, Daisy bet he was a nice bloody pirate, for all that.

  She couldn’t understand why Hyacinth had decided to dislike him so. Uncle Gabriel was certainly better than that big fellow, Baron Something-or-other, who kept wanting to dance with Hy. Daisy shivered each time. The man was old—as old as their uncle and there was a woman with a pinched face who kept staring at them each time Hyacinth danced with him. The woman didn’t look at all happy.

  Hyacinth, on the other hand, had a sort of squishy expression on her face. Like she was a dish of butter left in the sun and part of her was melting.

  Daisy wanted to slap Hy till her teeth rattled.

  She wasn’t completely certain of the proper etiquette for a ball, but surely it wasn’t right for a man to dance with the same girl that often. She didn’t see any of the other men singling out one dancing partner to the exclusion of the others.

  Not even Uncle Gabriel who was supposed to be picking out a wife, for pity’s sake! His face was exactly the same, no matter who was leaning on his arm. The only time he’d looked the slightest bit different was once or twice when Daisy caught him sneaking a glance at Miss Jack. Then he had this sort of wooly-headed, dazed expression that made him seem quite a bit less bright than Daisy knew he was.

  She wondered if he was thinking about that time he kissed Mistress Jacquelyn in the garden. Judging from the wooly-headed, dazed expressions she saw on some of the other dancers’ faces, adults probably thought about that sort of thing a lot.

  When the gavotte tottered to a stop, Mistress Jacquelyn tinkled a little bell at the far end of the ballroom.

  “Dinner will be served directly, but before we retire to the banquet, Lord Drake begs your indulgence while he says a few words—”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” Daisy muttered. Mistress Jacquelyn went on for several more minutes about how grateful the folk of Dragon Caern were to have the son of the house returned from the sea and all that gushy rot.

  Daisy stopped listening. Even when Uncle Gabriel started talking, Daisy’s attention was riveted on her sister. Judging from the little shakes and nods of her head, Hyacinth seemed to be in silent communication with someone across the room. Daisy followed the direction of Hy’s gaze and found that horrible Baron Who’s-his-face.

  He gestured and waggled his eyebrows back at her sister, even though he was standing behind that other lady. He leaned down and whispered into the frowning woman’s ear and then slipped behind one of the curtained alcoves that led into the garden.

  How rude! And while Uncle Gabriel’s still talking, to boot!

  Of course, Daisy wasn’t attending one bit to her uncle’s speech either, but then she wasn’t even supposed to be here so her rudeness didn’t count.

  Then Uncle Gabriel’s booming voice ceased and the revelers began moving slowly in the direction of the dining hall, like a herd of cattle toward its feeding trough. A wide assortment of silver-buckled boots and ornate slippers shuffled past, stirring up a low-lying cloud of dust that tickled Daisy’s nose and made her fight off a sneeze.

  It also blocked Daisy’s view of Hyacinth. She pressed her cheek to the hardwood and tried to follow the progress of Hyacinth’s too-small but oh-so-cunningly beaded pair of pantofles.

  Daisy’s brows nearly met over her pert nose in consternation. Hyacinth was going the wrong way.

  Oh, wait. That’s right. Mistress Jacquelyn had only given her permission to attend the first set. When the rest of the guests retired for supper, Hyacinth was supposed to retire to the nursery.

  Where she belonged.

  Wouldn’t she be disappointed when she discovered Daisy already knew everything that had happened and Hy would have no captive audience for tales of her exploits?

  Serves her right for trying to act so grown-up and superior.

  Daisy was just about to scramble from her place of concealment when she realized Hyacinth wasn’t on her way to the stairs that led to their room. She watched in horrified fascination as her sister’s beaded slippers disappeared into a curtained alcove.

  The same curtained alcove that awful baron had sneaked into earlier.

  Once she was sure the rest of the guests were gone, Daisy bolted after her sister. There was no one in the alcove, but the door to the garden beyond was open a tiny crack. Daisy stuck her head out and peered into the moon-washed night.

  Hyacinth was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter 14

  Gabriel had never felt less like eating. He remembered most of the older folk at the festivities and though many had gained flesh and lost teeth, he was able to call them by name. They treated him with every courtesy to his face, but he’d lost count of the number of times conversations ground to an abrupt halt whenever he joined a group. Obviously, his past was grist for the gossip mill and the wags found it a tastier dish than even the delicacies created by the excellent Mrs. Beadle.

  Not that he cared for himself. In fact, he didn’t give a ship rat’s arse what the nobility thought about him. But it seemed to matter a great deal to Lyn. He’d come to think of her by that secret name, though she didn’t want it to pass his lips. What she wanted had come to mean a great deal to him.

  A very great deal indeed.

  So somehow, he’d get through this interminable evening without embarrassing her if he could help it. He’d court one or more of the women she seemed to think would make a good baroness. God help him, he’d even marry one of them.

  But how he was going to bed one when he knew Lyn lying alone in her chamber down the hall, he had no clue.

  The first course of jellied eel and stewed kidneys was being laid on. He looked down the long table. Since Lyn hadn’t seated herself at his side, he hoped she’d at least be at the foot of the table where he might catch a glimpse of her from time to time.

  He should have known she’d be too crafty for that.

  Uncle Eustace was in the place of honor at the foot of the table and he suspected Lyn was seated on his right. He couldn’t be sure because the beefy vicar from Salisbury on her right hid all but her dainty hands.

  Like most of Lyn’s decisions, the placement was probably wise. He’d have had a hard time conversing with anyone if she was in his line of sight all evening. If Jacquelyn Wren sat opposite him, it might signal to his prospective brides that she was making a certain proprietary claim on the workings of the estate, at the least.

  He wished she’d assert a claim on him.

  But she wouldn’t.

  Most women wouldn’t put the needs of an estate before their own. Just his luck that he’d found one made of sterner stuff.

  Uncle Eustace raised a glass toward him in silent salute. Even though Gabriel had forestalled any priestly scolding from Eustace, he knew his uncle was still furious about what had passed between him and Lyn. Eustace’s mute toast warmed him. At least, someone was pleased with his performance this night. No doubt, Lyn would give her critique of his deportment later, whether he welcomed it or not.

  A bite of fresh, crusty bread was half-way to his mouth when he saw Daisy skitter into the banquet hall. Her little features taut with worry, his niece made a bee-line for Mi
ss Jack.

  Very convincing frantic face, he thought. Daisy could have a bright future on a London stage, if it wasn’t too scandalous an occupation for a wellborn lass to consider. Whatever devilry the little imp had dreamed up, Jacquelyn could handle.

  But she shouldn’t have to. He snorted in consternation.

  On this night of extreme manners, successfully negotiating the shoals of society was plague enough, the last thing Gabriel needed was trouble from his brother’s brood of she-vipers. Sometimes Gabriel imagined his brother Rupert was enjoying his trials from the comforts of heaven. Perhaps his perfect sibling might someday tumble off one of those fluffy celestial seats for saddling him with this little pack of fiends below.

  Gabriel was jerked back from his musings when Jacquelyn stood and flashed him a wide-eyed glance. She rushed from the banquet hall with Daisy at her heels.

  He didn’t need further prompting. He’d read genuine concern in Lyn’s eyes. Without so much as a by-your-leave to the viscount at his side, he rose and strode after them.

  There had better be a real emergency, he thought disgustedly. If Daisy was crying wolf, he’d tan her bum so well, she’d need to carry a pillow about with her in order to sit for the next month.

  And she was his favorite.

  He caught up to Daisy and Jacquelyn in the long arched corridor.

  “ . . . and then I couldn’t see her anywhere!” Daisy finished miserably.

  “What’s amiss?” Gabriel narrowed his eyes at his niece.

  Instead of wilting under ‘the Dragon’s Glare,’ Daisy nearly knocked him over, wrapping her thin arms around his waist and clinging to him. The child was trembling. Not even Daisy was that good an actress.

  “Oh, Uncle Gabriel, you have to find her.”

  “Hyacinth’s gone missing,” Jacquelyn said, panic creeping into her voice. “With a man. From Daisy’s description, I think it’s your friend, Baron Curtmantle.”

  “Damnation.”

  “Indeed, but more to the point, what do we do? Dragon Caern is a veritable rabbit warren. We have no idea where they’ve gone and if we raise a general alarm Hyacinth’s reputation and yours by association is ruined.”