Lord of Devil Isle

by Connie Mason

  “Oh, what cunning little things. Nick, they’re beautiful,” Magdalen exclaimed over the new fripperies. She pulled herself away from the hatbox long enough to plant a quick wet kiss on his mouth before she turned her attention back to the bonnets. “I take it all back. You were so right to salvage that wreck.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “I do.” She slipped on the pink one and knotted a jaunty bow under one ear, admiring the effect in Nick’s looking glass. “Why, this is every bit as fetching as that lot at Mistress Atwood’s shop down on Water Street. I’ll wager it came straight from Paris. Was the ship French?”

  “No.” He wondered how much longer he had before Higgs arrived with the wagon.

  “What else were they hauling? Bales of cloth?” Her eyes sparkled like a deep emerald cove. “Better yet, were there any ready-made dresses?”

  “I don’t know.” Nick sank into his favorite chair, flanking the hearth. “Look Magda, those bonnets didn’t come from the salvage vessel.”

  She looked askance at him.

  “They’re from Mistress Atwood’s.”

  “But—”

  “I didn’t make it to the wreck in time.”

  “Oh, no.” She skittered over and sank to her knees before him, resting her skillful fingers on his thighs. “Never say it went down with all hands.”

  “No, not exactly. Bostock beat me to it.”

  “I’m so sorry, Nick.” She raised herself up and leaned to kiss him again, but he turned his head. No mere kiss would make up for losing the Molly Harper. “He must have had a head start. No one can outsail you.”

  “He didn’t outsail me, but Bostock had the better luck, which is ofttimes more telling than skill. I was the nearer salver, but I veered off to pick up some souls already in the water. And so Bostock reached the wreck first. That makes it his, fair and square according to the laws of salvage.”

  “Well, if they’d abandoned ship already, Bostock didn’t get much, I’ll warrant.” She ran her thumbs along his inner thighs, teasing close to his groin but not touching. His body roused to her.

  May as well get this over with, he thought, before I stop being able to think with my big head. “They hadn’t called for all hands to abandon ship.”

  Magdalen reared back on her heels and frowned. “Haven’t you always said going into the sea is the last resort? If someone was addlepated enough to leave a ship still afloat, you should have left them there till you made sure of the prize.”

  Nick shook his head. “If I’d done that, they’d be dead now, and I didn’t want their blood on my head.”

  “It wouldn’t have been. You should have let the fools meet their fate.” She rose to her feet and began to pace in frustration. “Oh, Nick, was it a big ship?”

  “A fully loaded brigantine,” he admitted, wishing he hadn’t spent the extra for a second bonnet. This no longer seemed like an argument he cared to win. “It was three women in the water, Magdalen. I couldn’t let them die.”

  “Male or female, it makes no difference. You owed it to me—I mean, your crew, at the very least, to capture that wreck.”

  “None of the men have complained.” For a blink, an image of Eve Upshall demanding he save her friends first flashed through his mind. Magdalen would have grabbed the lifeline away from them, and devil take the hindermost.

  She sighed. “Men are so impractical sometimes.”

  “I suppose we are.” He’d never much considered what went on in Magdalen’s lovely head. Now that he’d gotten an eye-popping peek, he didn’t find it quite so lovely. He’d suspected she was mercenary, and she certainly loved fine things—her monthly bills at the shops along the St. Georges waterfront proved that. But he hadn’t expected her to be such a coldhearted bitch. “They have no place to stay, so I offered to let them live here.”

  “Here?” Her eyes bulged like a grouper’s. “You’re bringing three strange women into this house? No, Nick, I’ll not have it.”

  “You have nothing to say about it. This is my home, Magdalen.”

  “But I’ve been living here with you for—”

  “For as long as I care for you to, I’m thinking.”

  “Oh, Nicholas, you don’t mean that.” She changed tactics in a heartbeat. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts to better emphasize them and thrust out her lower lip in the pout he used to find fetching.

  He refused to be distracted from his purpose. He’d made up his mind, and there was no point in dillydallying.

  “We’ve had a good run, you and I, but we’ve reached an end. For the sake of what we’ve had, I’ll have Higgs deposit a goodly sum in an account for you at Butterfield’s bank,” he offered. She’d never be able to say he wasn’t generous. “If you should ever be in want, do not hesitate to come to me.”

  “Three women, hmm?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you wanted another woman in your bed, you should have told me. I have a friend who would jump at the chance. She and I have pleasured a man together before and—”

  “Tempting as that sounds, I’ll pass,” he interrupted, regretting she hadn’t suggested it before now. The idea held all sorts of tantalizing possibilities, but unfortunately, he’d lost interest in bedding Magdalen, with or without a second woman under the covers. “You may take everything you’ve acquired while in my household. Send a list to Higgs and he’ll see it delivered to you. You do still have that little house over on Paget’s Island, don’t you?”

  She nodded, mute but dry-eyed. There had never been any question of love between them as far as he was concerned and he was glad to see the indifference was mutual.

  Lust was an exceedingly pleasurable thing, but once it burned out, it left nothing but dead gray ash in the heart. Not terribly satisfying, but easy to sweep clean.

  “Good.” He turned to leave the room, then had a second thought and snapped his fingers. “Oh! Since they lost everything in the wreck, my guests will need something to wear. I ask, of your kindness, that you spare them a few necessaries from your wardrobe.”

  “Of my kindness? Why, you bastard!” She launched herself across the room and pummeled his chest. “You’d take the clothes from my back and put it on your new tarts.”

  He grabbed her hands and held them behind her back. She stopped struggling and pressed her breasts against his chest, peering at him from under her long lashes.

  “Is this a new game, Nick? Trying to get me angry so you can hold me down?” One corner of her mouth tilted up. “All right. I’ll play.”

  “But regretfully, my dear Magdalen, I won’t.” He would miss her. She was as adventurous in bed as she was conniving of heart. But he’d never be able to swive her again without hearing her wish three innocent strangers dead so she might have a few more things. “Be gone before my guests arrive or you may forget about my generous congé. I suspect you have less than a quarter hour.”

  He released her and strode from the room without a backward glance.

  Chapter Six

  Being alone with three strange women would normally be enough to turn Peregrine Higgs into a stammering puddle.

  Thanks be to God for Reggie Turnscrew, Higgs thought as he drove the wagon through the narrow and increasingly steep streets of St. Georges. Perched on the seat beside Higgs, the lad twisted around to face the passengers in the wagon bed. He kept up a steady stream of conversation, entertaining the ladies with tales of the islanders’ doings, telling them who lived in which houses and where the likeliest handouts were to be had.

  As if ladies would be interested in such things!

  “And as near as folk can figure, there be about one hundred seventy islands in the Bermudas all together, give or take,” Reggie was saying. “O’ course, some of ’em ain’t hardly big enough to set your foot on, but if it ain’t touchin’ another bit o’ land, I reckon it counts, don’t it?”

  Like the ladies they obviously were, they listened politely and made appropriate comments whenever Reggie gave them half a chance. />
  Which meant Peregrine didn’t have to utter a single syllable. Good thing, since single syllables were about all he suspected he was capable of at the moment.

  Had there ever been a finer flower of English womanhood than Miss Sally Munroe?

  He swallowed hard. And him not trusting himself to say a bloomin’ thing!

  They’d left the main streets of the village and started up the narrow track that led to the captain’s house. A gig with a single horse came flying down the hillside toward them. The driver plied the whip to its withers with a heavy hand. Peregrine reined his team to the far left side of the road to allow them to pass.

  The driver was a woman, her dark hair streaming behind her, a scowl making her face an angry mask. Peregrine hid his smile and doffed his tricorne as she flew by. She didn’t give him a second glance.

  Looks as if the captain sorted things out like he promised. He chirruped to the team with a light heart and they jolted into a trot. Peregrine had never much cared for Magdalen. She lost no opportunity to make fun of his stutter whenever the captain wasn’t about.

  “Oh, I say!” Miss Munroe exclaimed. “Who was that?”

  “That’s Magdalen Frith, that is,” Reggie supplied helpfully. “Off on a right proper tear, too, by the looks of it. She’d be Lord Nick’s regular lady.”

  Reggie winked hugely as he pronounced the word “lidey,” but Peregrine wasn’t in a position to throw stones at the lad’s unschooled speech. By gum, he wished he could do as well by half.

  “Lord Nick’s regular lady?” Miss Upshall asked.

  “You know, ’is lady friend, ’is doxy, ’is—”

  “Th-that’s enough,” Pere muttered to the boy. The captain hadn’t ever made a secret of his relationship with Miss Frith, but there was no need for the lad to go blabbing everything he knew.

  “Is it much farther to the captain’s home, Mr. Higgs?” Miss Upshall asked.

  Higgs shook his head.

  “Just on the other side o’ that rise,” Reggie added, evidently unaffected by Peregrine’s rebuke. “Whispering Hill be one of the finest houses on the islands, you’ll be pleased to know. Even better than the guv’nor’s place, if you’re asking my opinion.”

  “Why’s it called Whispering Hill?” Sally Munroe asked. “Goodness! I hope it’s not haunted. It’s not, is it?”

  Peregrine chuckled. What an imagination she had! Along with shining blonde locks and the merriest brown eyes Pere had ever had the pleasure of gazing into.

  “ ’aunted? Go on wi’ you! Ain’t that a thought!” Reggie said. “Naw, it’s called Whispering Hill on account of the way the wind moves through the palms. Folks say it sounds like the island’s telling all its secrets, if a body were of a mind to sit still long enough to listen.”

  “How charming,” the quiet one said.

  What was her name? Oh, yes, Miss Smythe. Higgs remembered now, though her Christian name escaped him. He’d have to go back and check the ship’s log on the morrow.

  As the wagon cleared the rise, there was a collective gasp from the women behind him as Whispering Hill came into view. Seeing it afresh through their eyes, Higgs had to admit it was a fair treat.

  Long and low, with a number of little courtyards and curves, the house draped itself over the hilltop as if it had grown there. Its pale yellow walls peeped from behind curtains of bougainvillea and vining hibiscus beneath its starkly white roof. The bottle green jalousie shutters were all propped open a bit, like heavy-lidded eyes, to let the prevailing breeze cool the interior.

  “Mr. Higgs, do you live here, too?” Miss Munroe asked.

  Peregrine nodded, feeling the tips of his ears heat. He hadn’t even thought that far. He’d be living under the selfsame roof as this blonde goddess.

  He might never get another lick of sleep.

  “And now I live here, too!” Reggie proclaimed. “Leastways I live in the stable, I’d expect. There’s a snug corner or two there for the likes of me, I’ll be bound.”

  Peregrine drew the team to a stop, hustled himself down from the driver’s seat and nipped around to hand the ladies out of the wagon. Each murmured her thanks to him, but his fingers tingled when Miss Munroe slipped her small hand into his for a brief moment.

  “Oh, Evie.” Miss Munroe hugged her friend as she surveyed the house. “It’s not exactly a castle, but it is rather like a fairy tale, isn’t it?”

  The captain appeared in the open doorway to welcome them.

  “Complete with a dragon,” Miss Upshall said under her breath. Then she squared her shoulders and strode toward the door. Miss Munroe followed her.

  Miss Smythe started after them, but then stopped and turned back to Peregrine. Her gaze met his for a heartbeat and then settled on the ground before his feet. Several strands of her long brown hair fell forward to obscure her face.

  “Good day, Mr. Higgs. And thank you again.”

  “My pleasure.” He doffed his hat. “Good day to you, Miss Smythe.”

  She looked back up, her face dimpling in a shy smile. There was a smattering of freckles across her nose and apple cheeks. Miss Smythe bobbed a quick curtsey, and then scurried to catch up with the other women.

  Peregrine led the team to the stable to show Reggie Turnscrew what was what. The boy fully appreciated the opportunity he’d been offered and was keen to make himself useful. Peregrine set him to polishing the brass on the fancy carriage the Captain seldom used. Higgs tended the horses himself.

  He’d been brushing down the bay mare for a full twenty minutes before he realized he hadn’t stammered when he answered Miss Smythe. What to make of that, he had no idea.

  “You may choose whichever empty chamber you wish for your own,” the captain said expansively.

  He led them down a whitewashed corridor. Alternating windows and lantern recesses were buried in the outer wall, which appeared to be several feet deep. On the other side of the hall, highly polished doors opened onto the interior rooms. Eve had to admit Whispering Hill was beautifully and exotically appointed. Captain Scott even had a table whose base was fashioned from an Indian elephant’s foot, but she saw no need to fawn over him about it.

  A cage might be silk-draped and gilded, but it was still a cage.

  “There seem to be quite a lot of available rooms,” Sally said, clearly overawed.

  “I like to entertain,” Captain Scott said with a shrug. “And frequently my guests come great distances and need to stay for a long visit. It happens when you live on an island.”

  “England is an island, but I’ve never been in a house with so many rooms,” Penelope said.

  “Then you’ve obviously not visited the right sort of houses back home.” Puzzlement made his eyes narrow.

  Eve needed to warn Penny and Sally to be more careful with their words or the captain would never believe they were ladies.

  He led them into the second to last room off the long hall and opened the double doors of the large wardrobe.

  “You may each have your own room, but at present I have only these garments available for you to divide among yourselves.” He waved a hand toward the impressively large number of gowns. “Of course, if you need something else—and since you are female, I suspect you will—we can send for a modiste to come take measurements and arrange for whatever is required.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Penelope said.

  “Oh, yes, thank you ever so.” Sally started pawing through the dresses.

  “Am I right in assuming these gowns, gaudies and gewgaws once belonged to Magdalen Frith, your ‘regular lady’?” Eve asked.

  “Ah, Miss Upshall.” He turned to face her with an unabashed grin. “Just when I had despaired of ever hearing your sweet voice again.”

  So, he had noticed she’d remained silent throughout his self-congratulatory tour. That pleased her so much, she didn’t protest when he took her elbow and guided her through the open French doors leading out to a small private garden. Sally and Penny were too engrossed in th
e contents of the wardrobe to notice their departure. Eve could still hear them in the room behind her, exclaiming over their new treasures.

  “Aye, the garments once belonged to Miss Frith. Aye, she was my mistress, which means the gowns are of the highest quality.” He raised a quizzical brow at her. “And in case you’re wondering, aye, the post as my mistress has been vacated. Would you be interested in applying for the position?”

  “Captain Scott!” She raised a hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist and held it fast.

  “Miss Upshall, you are far too highly wrought,” he said silkily. He brought her wrist to his lips and brushed them across her pulse point, never taking his gaze from hers.

  She tried to pull away, but his grip was firm and persistent. Like a bird charmed by a snake, she lost the will to resist and allowed him to continue to hold her hand.

  He stroked the back of it with his thumb. Tendrils of pleasure followed his touch, ebbing and flowing like a rising tide. She knew she shouldn’t allow it, but it felt amazingly good.

  “In my experience,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble, like a lion’s purr, “when a woman protests this much, it means she hasn’t had the attention of a man recently and is in desperate need of it.”

  That broke the spell.

  “You conceited swine! Perhaps if you consorted with women other than barmaids and trollops, you’d recognize a lady’s revulsion when you see it.”

  His gaze dropped to her breasts, where the hard tips showed like a pair of raised buttons under the man’s shirt she was wearing.

  “Believe me, Miss Upshall. I can read the signals you’re sending, and revulsion is not in evidence.”

  “Why, you—”

  His mouth swallowed the rest of her response. True to his word, he’d asked no permission to kiss her again.

  She knew she should fight, but his lips were firm and demanding and despite her best resolve, her insides melted like a dish of butter left in the sun.

  It made no sense. He was everything she despised in a man—arrogant and cocksure and totally in control. He was holding her against her will, for pity’s sake, and yet, his body spoke in some hot secret language and her body yearned to answer him in kind. When his tongue teased along the seam of her lips, she ached with the urge to open to him.