Pirates of Britannia Boxed Set Volume One: A Collection of Pirate Romance Tales

by Barbara Devlin

  The pirate captain was the complete opposite of what she’d expected. She couldn’t stop staring open-mouthed, even when he pierced her with startling, dark eyes. She had the uncomfortable feeling he was peering into her very soul. Did he know her nipples had tightened as heat spiraled up her thighs and blossomed in her womb?

  The new and foreign sensations caused her to sway. She hoped the perceptive Manuela would think the soaring temperature had caused the flush reddening her face.

  SANTIAGO HAD EXPECTED sour-faced officials to be present as witnesses and felt a momentary pang of pity for a man he noticed out of the corner of his eye who reminded him of a raccoon—the vice-governor, he’d guess. To be burdened with such an ugly wife…a cross to bear.

  However, the astonishing vision of a tall, raven-haired beauty almost threw him off stride, which wasn’t a good thing. It was vital he appear in control, of himself and the entire gathering.

  Yet he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the young woman. Who was she and what was she doing here? If he wasn’t mistaken, he’d knocked her off balance too. When their eyes had met, she’d blushed profusely, nostrils flaring, back arched. Yet, he’d wager she was an innocent.

  It was a very inopportune moment for his cock to salute, and he was glad he’d decided to don the long collarless coat over the tunic, despite the heat.

  It’s as well I don’t wear macaroni trousers.

  Governor Melchor cleared his throat and spoke to the clerk. “You will record the names of those present.”

  “Already done, Your Honor,” the man replied.

  “Read them aloud,” Melchor insisted.

  “Su Excelencia, Governor Felíx Melchor de Alcobendas y Guadarrama, His Excellency, Vice-Governor Don Maximiliano Montserrat and Lady Ivanna Luna Montserrat.”

  “Mapache,” Santiago muttered under his breath, taking an immediate dislike to the man who reminded him of a Raccoon. His success as the son of a shipping magnate in Sevilla and subsequently as a pirate captain had resulted largely from an ability to size up people and situations quickly. He wouldn’t be surprised if Montserrat thirsted for the governorship.

  “Lady Valentina Elena Melchor de Alcobendas y Guadarrama.”

  Aha! A relative of the governor’s. The beauty was much too young to be his wife—or so he found himself hoping. Such a delicate flower deserved a young, virile man. He conjured a vision of waking every morning wrapped in those incredible raven tresses.

  “Señora Manuela Campo.”

  He might have known. The scowling, grey-haired chaperone dressed from head to toe in black crêpe was the quintessential dueña, an embittered widow.

  As the roll call continued, he bit his lower lip, chiding himself inwardly. It was imperative he not be distracted from what was important. In Spain he might be Valentina’s social equal, or even a rank or two above her, but in La Florida he was a mere pirate, a criminal. The governor would likely have him executed for simply looking at his daughter, if the Black Widow didn’t tear him limb from limb first.

  The clerk inhaled deeply and read out the last name on the list. “Capitán Santiago Velázquez.”

  This was the moment he’d been waiting for. He lifted his chin and tore his gaze away from Melchor’s daughter. “I would prefer the record and the Letters of Marque show my full name, Don Santiago Fernando Velázquez de Vallirana y La Granada. Also the name of my First Mate seems to have been omitted. Señor Christian Williams.”

  The raccoon’s wife snorted with derision, but her predictable reaction was of no consequence to Santiago who derived great delight from Lady Valentina’s wide-eyed surprise.

  “Very well,” the governor agreed after a moment’s hesitation. “Amend the record.”

  “And the Letter of Marque, Your Honor?” the clerk asked. “That will take a few minutes.”

  “Make it so,” Melchor replied. “We’ll wait.”

  FEET SHIFTED. THE humidity climbed suddenly as though the entire house was on the boil.

  Montserrat scurried over to the harried clerk and the two pored over the documents on the desk.

  Valentina feared Ivanna Luna’s wrist might shatter with the increased fanning efforts.

  As for herself, she was tempted to flee the insistent gaze of Capitán Velázquez who seemed not to be wilting of heat stroke despite being overdressed. Indeed, he looked irritatingly calm.

  As did the smirking black man standing beside the footmen with arms folded across his broad frame.

  A tight smile from her father broke the spell. This was the kind of occasion for which her mother had prepared her. She inhaled deeply, swallowed her nervousness and bade her guests take a seat. A knot tightened in her belly when she realized there weren’t enough chairs for everyone.

  To her relief, Manuela snapped out of her scowling trance and began barking orders at the footmen. Drinks, refreshments and more chairs were to be fetched.

  Montserrat hovered over the clerk as he made the changes they had apparently agreed upon.

  Her father watched the goings-on with a slight smirk on his face. It occurred to her he too was aware that the pirate captain had taken charge of the proceedings and caused the flurry of nervous activity.

  She became annoyed by the thought that the pirate’s cool arrogance in requiring a change to the prepared documents had undermined her father’s authority. He’d also remained standing, long legs braced, hand on the hilt of his sword. Why was a thief allowed to carry a sword, and wear buckled shoes, an exquisitely tailored tunic, and fine hose she suspected were made of silk? No doubt his entire wardrobe had been plundered, mostly from Spanish ships. The wretch should have been forced to surrender his ill-gotten gains and come before them as a penitent, stripped of all…

  She swayed, overwhelmed by the carnal image of a naked Santiago Velázquez that shocked her to the core. She shifted her gaze to the window, her confused thoughts galloping in an entirely unladylike direction.

  She squealed when a firm hand grasped her elbow. “Are you unwell, Lady Valentina?”

  The melodious voice plucked a chord deep inside, her heart racing when she looked up into warm eyes full of concern. Drawn into the brown depths of the pirate’s gaze, she couldn’t look away.

  “No…sí,” she spluttered, wishing she had Ivanna Luna’s fan. “The heat.”

  He guided her to a newly-delivered chair she didn’t recognize. The overly-familiar action was appalling, not to mention he’d used her given name without permission, as if they were…friends. However, she drew strength from his support, and the strange tingling in her nipples wasn’t unpleasant. In fact…

  She gulped air when he whipped off his outrageous hat with a flourish and tucked it under one arm. “You have been standing too long in this insufferable humidity. My pride has caused a delay. I apologize. Do you forgive me?”

  Valentina was aware of shocked murmurs and Ivanna Luna’s loud tutting, but her eyes darted from the long feather sticking out behind him at an odd angle, to the inky-black waves that framed his noble face. She was absurdly relieved the feather had miraculously survived, but ashamed to find herself wondering what his thick hair would feel like if she sifted her fingers through it.

  He brushed a kiss on her knuckles. His moist lips barely touched her skin but her resolve to resent his arrogance faltered. “Of course,” she murmured, fluttering her eyelashes in a most unseemly way.

  The heat had obviously stolen her wits. At least, that was the excuse she would offer Manuela.

  Letter of Marque

  IT WAS ESSENTIAL Santiago listen carefully to every detail of the document as the clerk began to explain the contents. The lives of his crew depended on it.

  He dragged his gaze away from the assembly and looked up at the whitewashed beams, but his attention still wandered during the reading of the formal preamble. Was Valentina still watching him? He was standing in the Great Room of her home. Was her bedchamber close by? Perhaps on the second floor, directly above his head.

&nbs
p; To All in Whom these Presents Shall Come or May Concern…

  He seemed unable to concentrate on the lengthy introduction, his mind daydreaming of long, raven tresses wrapped around…

  By virtue of the Power and Authority Vested in Me by His Most Sacred Majestad King Carlos…

  Santiago clenched his jaw. He remembered Carlos all too well—the gangly monarch who’d taken the word of a courtesan and apparently issued a royal warrant for Santiago’s arrest. As if a member of the noble Velázquez de Vallirana y La Granada family would indulge in forbidden rituals and sexual acts. Three hundred years had passed since his ancestor’s thieving exploits. It bordered on the ludicrous, but the charges had forced him into piracy. The irony of it. He would consider it his patriotic duty to attack British ships for his country, not for the king.

  He lowered his chin and scanned the hostile gathering. Every eye in the room was upon him, but he saw only the intense gaze of Lady Valentina. To his dismay, sweat trickled down his spine as his arousal thickened.

  He looked away quickly.

  Reposing special trust and confidence in the loyalty, courage and conduct of Santiago Fernando…

  He narrowed his eyes at the governor, whose blank expression gave away nothing of his emotions. Did Melchor really trust him? He hoped so, for he sincerely intended to fulfill his part of the bargain. Aiding his country in a bloody war might earn him a pardon, enabling him to return to his native land—perhaps with Lady Valentina on his arm.

  He gritted his teeth. This preoccupation with the first beautiful woman he’d seen in nigh on two years was becoming ridiculous.

  Caballeros, I do give unto him this Letter of Marque authorizing him as Capitán and Commander of the vessel Santa María…

  He breathed more easily. It was the first indication his beloved ship was going to be returned to him.

  …Oppose, pursue, subdue, take, sink, burn or otherwise destroy ships of the country of Great Britain…

  Dios mío, the words made him sound like the murderous marauder he was accused of being. Despite his resolve, he looked again at Lady Valentina, hoping the regret in his eyes bespoke his true character. He couldn’t deny men had died in defense of the ships he’d plundered, but he derived no pleasure from it.

  It was adventure he relished, harnessing the power of the wind filling his sails, the thrill of besting another captain, of challenging the sea and all her moods. He’d incidentally amassed a small fortune which he might now be able to retrieve from its hiding place, having cheated the gallows. That pleasing prospect reminded him to listen attentively to the remaining terms.

  …Vessels, goods, merchandise taken under the aegis of this Letter of Marque shall become the property of His Sacred Majestad, King Carlos…

  He stiffened his spine, ready to loudly voice his objections.

  …Of which one half share may be granted to said Capitán Velázquez upon application to His Excellency Governor Felíx Melchor.

  He supposed it was more than he could hope for as he accepted the quill from the clerk and prepared to append his signature.

  “We must agree on the security you intend to offer,” Señor Raccoon suddenly interjected into the silence. “As your guarantee of good behavior.”

  Anger constricted Santiago’s throat. On top of his rodent-like appearance, the Raccoon’s mode of speech indicated Catalonian birth. However, it seemed the stern-faced Melchor was equally annoyed with his vice-governor. Lady Valentina stared at Montserrat with narrowed eyes. It was of some consolation that she plainly despised the man, but his blood boiled in his veins. Who did this colonial nobody think he was, questioning the honor of an Andalusian in such a manner? For one reckless moment Santiago was tempted to tell Montserrat what they should do with their Letter of Marque. Or better still he could march up to the supercilious Catalán and shove the document down his throat.

  He inhaled deeply. His word as a gentleman should have been enough, but he sensed Montserrat’s greed. “Will five hundred escudos suffice?” he said nonchalantly. At least, he hoped he sounded as if the outrageous amount was of no consequence to him.

  He wished he’d been more circumspect when he saw the gleam in the Raccoon’s eyes. The rash declaration had hinted at the existence of his hidden wealth.

  He had to drag his errant thoughts away from bedding the delectable Lady Valentina. Preoccupation with a new lover had led to his downfall in Sevilla. Carelessness in this foreign outpost could prove equally dangerous.

  FIVE HUNDRED GOLD escudos!

  Valentina’s heart pounded in her ears. Velázquez had rattled off the amount as if it were a mere nothing. Either he was lying, and had no such funds at his disposal, or his wealth from plunder bordered on the obscene.

  She didn’t know him at all, yet she was certain he wasn’t a liar. Honor was of paramount importance to him.

  A man of honor wouldn’t send men, and perhaps women and children, to a watery grave. The idea of a gruesome death aboard a burning ship couldn’t be borne.

  She could understand attacking the warships of an enemy nation, but plundering merchantmen for personal gain seemed highly immoral.

  Despite her indignation, she wished he hadn’t piqued the interest of the Montserrats. The Raccoon was practically salivating at the mere mention of so much coin. A tic played at the corners of Ivanna Luna’s harsh mouth.

  Valentina clenched the muscles in a very private place as Velázquez signed the Letter of Marque with an ostentatious flourish, an enigmatic smile rendering his weather-bronzed face even more handsome.

  She inwardly acknowledged an insane flood of relief that the rogue had escaped the gallows.

  SANTIAGO SHOOK HANDS with Melchor, impressed with the man’s firm grip. He tucked his furled copy of the signed document inside his tunic and retrieved his hat. He was pleased with the astonished reactions the long feather had wrought, but it was as well he’d removed the headwear beneath the too-low ceiling beams. The sooner he was gone from this boxy room, the better.

  Yet, his feet were apparently fixed to the stone floor. It would be rude and ungentlemanly to leave without bidding farewell to his hostess. He almost had himself convinced that was the reason he strode to her side and bowed. “Adíos, Lady Valentina. Gracias por su hospitalidad.”

  Her fierce blush indicated she was still suffering the effects of the heat. He wondered why she didn’t carry a fan.

  “There is no need to thank me, señor. I have done nothing for you beyond what is expected of a hostess.”

  He looked into eyes the color of amethyst, filled with an urge to tell her she had done more for him than she realized. Her beauty, her smile, her sultry voice, even her youthful uncertainty had knocked him off balance, made him realize he could still harbor tender feelings he’d thought long dead. She’d resurrected the hope that love and happiness might yet await him…somewhere.

  But these were fanciful notions. His shaft had merely responded as it should to an attractive woman. That was all there was to it.

  He brushed a kiss on her knuckles, donned his hat, turned on his heel and left with an imperious wave to the gaping crowd.

  He resisted the urge to burst out laughing when Christian saluted stiffly before following him.

  Stark Reality

  “YOUR BEHAVIOR WAS outrageous,” Manuela hissed, her lined face even more wrinkled than usual. “And don’t think for a moment the Montserrat woman didn’t notice.”

  Valentina had expected this scolding. She studied the carpet of her bedchamber, tempted to giggle when she remembered how the feather of the pirate’s hat had tickled the ceiling beams right below where she now stood. Her dueña would have been truly scandalized if she’d reached out to run a finger along the magnificent plume.

  “You allowed him to kiss your hand,” Manuela huffed. “Twice!”

  Valentina raised the offending knuckles to her nose and inhaled.

  “No doubt the stink of him lingers,” her chaperone accused. “You must wash your hands.”


  A faint aroma did cling to her skin, intriguing, natural, arousing. “What was I supposed to do?” she retorted. “He was my father’s guest.”

  “Tonterías! Mark my words, Señora Montserrat will gossip. She and that sunken-eyed Catalan husband of hers thirst to discredit your papa. You know this, yet you give them ammunition. Your excuses are rubbish.”

  Valentina’s throat tightened as tears of shame welled. “I would never do anything to put my father’s reputation in jeopardy.”

  Manuela took hold of her hand and dragged her towards the baño. “Then you must stay away from pirates.”

  Valentina allowed herself to be led, resigned to the likelihood Capitán Santiago Velázquez would never give her a second thought in any case.

  STANDING ON THE deck of the Santa María, Santiago shaded his eyes and looked up at the Hudson’s Bay Company flag flying from the mainmast. “Does it look enough like the Royal Navy’s red ensign to get us by?” he asked Christian.

  “The ruse worked for us before,” the First Mate replied. “From a distance.”

  “What about the nameplate?”

  “Nailed over the real one. We are now King George II,” Christian replied with his trademark grin.

  “How very British,” Santiago replied sarcastically. “Let’s hope some bright Royal Navy officer doesn’t wonder what a Hudson’s Bay vessel is doing so far south.”

  He gripped his own ensign, taken down in favor of the fake flag, and pressed his thumbs into the purple drac emblazoned on the white silk. It reminded him of the astonishing amethyst depths of Valentina’s lovely eyes. He’d chosen to fly the dragon popular in Andalusian folklore rather than a traditional pirate flag; a winged female drac with prominent breasts, two long claws and an eagle’s beak had proven effective in persuading various captains to surrender. It was his intimidating good luck token.

  In an effort to calm his disquiet, he gathered the material in his fists and held the creature’s breasts to his lips. The men would believe he was saddened by the removal of his personal talisman when in reality he was imagining Valentina’s ample globes pressed against his face as he suckled rigid nipples…