Never Trust a Pirate

by Anne Stuart

  She slid her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her, and she kissed him back, using her tongue as he had, biting him just a little bit, nibbling on his lower lip, sucking on his upper one, letting herself dissolve into a world of touch and taste and scent. He pushed her fully back against the wall, both hands on her breasts now, and there was only a thin bit of cloth between them, a thin bit of cloth he pulled down, so that she felt the rough texture of his calloused hands on her sensitized skin and she let out a helpless moan of pleasure against his mouth. His knee was between her legs, and somehow she’d ended up straddling it, so that it was pushing up against that damp, most sensitive part of her, and she wanted… she wanted…

  His mouth left hers, and she dragged in her breath, not realizing she’d been holding it. “You need something to think about,” he said in a husky voice, moving his mouth down the side of her neck, his teeth nipping slightly against her skin. It was strange, erotic, the feel of his tongue against her skin, until she realized he’d pulled her thin skirt up. She’d left her petticoats behind in the library, and she was acutely aware of how vulnerable she was, and she tried to stop him, but he simply held her wrists in one strong hand as he slid the other beneath her skirt, beneath the thin delicate cotton of her knickers, to… oh, my God, he was touching her there. Even Tarkington had only used his… his thing, not his hands, his fingers…

  “You’re wet.” He moved his head to whisper in her ear, and a frisson of desire ran through her. Desire for what? “I knew that you would be. You’re so damned tempting, little liar.”

  She could feel his fingers moving against her, sliding between her legs, into her most secret places, and she felt a jolt of pure pleasure that forced a shocked cry from her. “Don’t,” she choked, hoping she sounded like she meant it.

  “Don’t what? Don’t do this?” He slid one finger inside her, the invasion shocking, terrible, not enough. “Or don’t do this?” She felt the pad of his thumb brush higher, and a shaft of wicked delight had her closing her eyes, her head falling back against the paneling. “Oh, you like that, don’t you, my sweet?” His voice was no more than a low, carnal whisper. “I could show you so much more. All you have to do is tell me your name.”

  She wanted to. She wanted to do everything he asked of her, and more, just for the sweet, drugging pleasure. She opened her mouth to betray all her secrets, only to gasp in shock as he bent down and put his mouth on one hardened nipple. He made a soft growl as his mouth tugged at her, but it was nothing compared to the heat that flashed through her, and her fingers dug into his shoulders, savoring the exquisite sensation. More, she thought. Please, I need more.

  It took every ounce of strength, of determination she possessed, to bite her lip, hard, and say, “My name is Mary Greaves.”

  He pulled away, his mouth releasing her breast, and it took all her self-control not to cry out in protest as he moved out of her reach. “Bloody hell, woman,” he growled. “There’s only so much a man can stand. Get back in bed and stay there, or damned if I won’t join you to keep you there.”

  She didn’t need to be warned twice. She flew across the room and burrowed beneath the cover, belatedly realizing that her breasts had been bared, the loose shift shoved beneath them. “Don’t move,” he said from the doorway. “I’ll hear you if you do, and I don’t think you’re ready for the repercussions.”

  She said nothing, pulling the blankets up higher and turning her back on him. And a moment later she heard the door close, and she waited, breathless, expecting to hear the lock in the door.

  She didn’t. So he trusted her, at least that far. Even though he somehow knew she’d been lying to him, knew she was no housemaid.

  She should leave, now. But he seemed to have almost preternatural hearing, and he moved with such silent grace he could catch her before she even realized he was close. Besides, she was so tired she could barely move. If he came back in the room he’d be able to do anything he wanted to her—she was too exhausted to put up even the faintest protest.

  Particularly when she didn’t want to protest. She wanted to take him, to hold him in her arms as she’d held Tarkington, to let him lie spent against her, his golden skin hot against hers. It didn’t matter if it was uncomfortable, undignified, she wanted it anyway.

  She wanted him to touch her again, in that shameful, intimate manner, with his mouth on her breast. She wanted… she wanted everything. Everything she couldn’t have.

  It had been too long a day. She would sleep, and tomorrow she would figure out a way to deal with… Luca. His real name was Luca. Now that fit him, not the sober Thomas Morgan. He was Luca, a gypsy pirate with the face of an angel and the soul of a devil.

  And she was trapped. Trapped by her fascination with him. Trapped by her longing for him. Trapped by her suspicions and doubts.

  She couldn’t fix it, not tonight. She couldn’t fix anything.

  All she could do was close her eyes and sleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BILLY WAS STILL WAITING for him in the library when he came down. He sat in one of the leather chairs, well out of the way of the piles of rescued papers, a glass of whiskey in one huge hand, with another glass waiting for Luca. “You back already?” he chided. “And here I thought you were such a gift to the ladies. If it only takes you that long…”

  “Shut up, Billy,” he said wearily, dropping into his chair and reaching for his drink. “I didn’t fuck her.”

  “I don’t believe it. You’ve always had a weakness for pretty ones, and I know you well enough to know you’ve been thinking about this girl since the day she arrived. For which I say, God bless, because anything that distracts you from that skinny witch you got yourself engaged to is a good thing.”

  “I’ll be getting rid of the skinny witch as soon as I think of a way to do it.” The whiskey had a lovely, soft burn, and he leaned back in his chair. “That was a mistake. I just wish I’d had the sense to realize it weeks ago, before I went to her father.”

  “I can give you the answer to that,” said Billy. “Your pretty little housemaid hadn’t appeared on the scene. Once she did, Miss Gwendolyn Haviland was done for.”

  “She’s not a housemaid,” Luca said grimly.

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Any idea who she is or what she wants from you?” Billy drained his glass of whiskey, then looked up at Luca from beneath shaggy eyebrows.

  “I know exactly who she is. Old man Russell’s middle daughter.”

  “Maddy Rose herself?” Billy whistled, clearly impressed. “How did you happen to get your hands on her?”

  “How did she happen to get her hands on me, more like?” Luca asked. “And how did you know the boat was named after a daughter?”

  “I pay attention. So what’s she doing here?” Billy asked, settling in comfortably.

  “I don’t know. As far as she’s concerned I haven’t twigged to who she is.”

  “Why not? Why not tell her you know and ask her what the hell she’s doing, scrubbing your floors?” Billy reached for the decanter and poured himself another splash.

  “I’m enjoying myself.”

  “You heartless bastard.” Billy grinned. “You’re like a cat with a mouse.”

  “More like a cat with a baby tiger. She’s got claws and she spits. I’m waiting to see how long it takes her to tell me the truth.”

  “Why?”

  Luca shrugged. “I’m not sure. A sign of trust, maybe. She must know her father thought I was stealing from him. Maybe she thinks I killed him as well. I know his daughters were trying to convince the police he’d been murdered, and she must be snooping around looking for proof.”

  “That’s ridiculous! Russell stole his company blind and then died in a stupid accident,” Billy said with a huff.

  “Maybe. Or maybe she’s right, and someone else was behind it all. We know that someone wasn’t me, but she doesn’t. I’m waiting for her to ask me.”

  “You’re wanting the moon. I think you
should throw her out on her arse. You don’t need the kind of trouble a girl like that brings.”

  Luca snorted. “Have you ever known me to run from trouble, Billy?”

  The older man laughed. “Not once in all the years I’ve known you. But sooner or later you’re going to wish you’d thought better of things. Though on the other hand that coldhearted bitch you’re marrying isn’t going to like it one tiny bit, so you have my encouragement.”

  “Gwendolyn’s not going to be a problem for much longer. All I have to do is put my hand between her legs and she’ll run screaming home to Papa.”

  “And what about Maddy Rose?”

  “She has no papa to run screaming home to.”

  Billy snorted. “Oh, that sounds right heartless, it does, coming from the pirate captain. But you and I both know you’re not going to hurt some defenseless girl.”

  “She’s not a defenseless girl. She’s a liar and a cheat and a spy, and that makes her fair game.” He thought he sounded properly ruthless, but Billy still wasn’t buying it.

  “You keep telling yourself that, Luca, me boy,” he said. “Though if she’s fair game, why didn’t you take her to your bed and join her? It’s not as if you don’t want her—you can try to convince me of a lot of things but don’t even bother with that one. “

  “I’m not taking her to bed until I know what I’m getting into,” Luca said stubbornly, trying to forget the taste of her, the feel of her, the hard nub of her breast in his hungry mouth, her sound of pleasure…

  “I can tell you exactly what you’d be getting into, and if you’ve forgotten, it’s been too long since you’ve had a piece.”

  “It’s been a long night, Billy,” he said wearily. He glanced toward the window. He could tell himself he’d been a fool to take the skiff out in such threatening weather, but he knew the sea too well. He’d relished the battle against the elements, never in doubt that he would win, and the icy dunking he’d taken had merely added to the zest. “I need to wash the sea salt off me, change, and get some sleep. I’ve got things to do tomorrow.”

  “You keep pitting yourself against the sea and one day the sea will win,” Billy warned him.

  Luca grinned slowly. “You really think I can’t take it on and win?”

  “I think you shouldn’t keep taking stupid chances to prove you’re alive. You need to find a good woman and settle down.”

  Luca clutched his heart, staggering backwards. “Never would I have thought to hear such words from you, Billy! Don’t tell me you’re changing your ways after all these years.”

  “I said you, not me. And don’t tell me Gwendolyn Haviland is a good woman—you know as well as I do what a piece of work she is.”

  “A piece of work who’s the niece of a duke,” he pointed out lazily.

  “And when have you ever cared about such things?”

  “Maybe I liked the idea of a street rat bedding an aristocrat.”

  Billy snorted. “You’ve bedded plenty of aristocrats in your time. Even a princess or two if I remember correctly. You don’t need to be risking yourself in that woman’s icy grip.”

  It was an old argument, and he was tired of it. “I tell you what, Billy. You don’t tell me where to stick my cock and I won’t tell you.”

  “Get on with you,” Billy grumbled. “But I’ll tell you one last thing. You’d be better off with a cheat and liar like that girl than someone like your bloody fiancée. At least she knows how to earn a living.”

  Maddy could hear her sisters whispering outside her bedroom, but she didn’t move, too deliciously comfortable. Her maid hadn’t come with her morning tea yet, but the room was warm, and Gertie must have already stoked the fire without waking her. She ought to get up, Maddy thought. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept later than Bryony or Sophie. She must have had a very busy day. Had she gone into work with Father? That was always tiring in the most pleasant way—walking through the shipyards, talking with the workers, going through the books with her father leaning over her shoulder, explaining things to her. Or was she going in today? She almost thought she could smell the ocean on the air, but that was impossible. They were in London, near the foul-smelling Thames, a long distance from the sea.

  She stretched out her legs beneath the fine linen sheets, reveling in the softness of the bed as it cradled her. Had she come back to Somerset without realizing it? She was in that curious state between sleeping and waking, where she couldn’t be sure of anything, but she knew her father had challenged her with a very difficult task, and she had promised him she would take care of it

  Her eyes flew open as reality came crashing back, and she bolted upright in bed, looking around her wildly. She didn’t recognize the room—it was too dark, and someone was moving in the shadows. The fear that spiked through her was inexplicable, and then the curtains were pulled open and sunlight spilled in, revealing the red-haired maid from the dinner party, Polly.

  “There you are,” the girl said cheerfully. “I was thinking you were going to sleep forever. They told me not to wake you, and I figger it’s not often a girl gets a good bed without having to pay for it, if you know what I mean, so I let you sleep, but I’m thinking you’re going to want to get moving before my mistress gets here.”

  It took a moment for things to shuffle back into place. Maddy blinked. “Your mistress?” she said, confused.

  “Well, since the captain fired the housekeeper and her husband, that leaves just you in the household, and even if you were doing all the work you were fair worn to the bone, or so I was told. Not that I’ve ever noticed any of them worrying about how much work we do, but I figger the captain comes from a different world, and if he wants to let you sleep in one of the fancy bedrooms and use the real bathing tub then more power to you, I sez.”

  “The bathing tub?” Maddy echoed. She must be dreaming.

  “But we’d better get to it fast. Miss Haviland said she was coming over to check up on me and the others and she won’t be any too pleased if she finds you out of uniform.” Polly moved closer.

  “Mrs. Crozier doesn’t have me wear a uniform,” Maddy said, then looked down in horror at her body. She was wearing nothing but her thin shift. “Where are my clothes?” she gasped. She couldn’t remember anything about last night. She’d been sitting on the floor in the captain’s study, he’d been there, yelling at Mrs. Crozier…

  No, he hadn’t been yelling. He’d been deathly quiet, and she could still remember the chill that had washed over her. And then he’d turned to her and… She’d fainted. Good God, she’d actually swooned! It was her own stupid fault for wearing her corset beneath her heavy dress, but she could hardly go around without one.

  “Miss Haviland’s sent over extra uniforms from her house. I’m to stay here and manage some of the cooking, and there’ll be a couple of footmen, including that cheeky Baxter. You’ll have to keep an eye on him—he’ll have your skirts over your head in five minutes flat if he’s a mind to it.”

  Maddy blinked. “What am I to do? Not about Baxter—I can handle him. I mean, what am I supposed to do in the house?”

  Polly surveyed her critically. “I guess that depends on Miss Haviland and why you’re in this bed?”

  “I fainted. Presumably someone carried me up here, but no one wanted to go all the way up to the attics. There are bats,” she said darkly.

  “Of course there are. There are always bats in the attics. The footmen will get rid of them.”

  Maddy brightened. “Will they be staying here too? There’s not much room up there—it’s full of broken furniture.”

  “They’ll get rid of that as well. Miss Haviland says she’s coming to inspect things and she’ll decide who sleeps where. So if you’re wanting to get the bath they said you could have then I’d get a move on.”

  “Who said I could use the bathing room?”

  “That Mr. Quarrells did. I like him, even if he’s a deviate. Never did me no harm, and he always has a kind word for t
he servants.” Polly gave her an impatient glance. “And I have to put this bedroom back in order or my mistress will have the kind of questions I don’t want to be answering.”

  Maddy scrambled out of bed, swaying for a moment when her bare feet hit the floor and then memory flooded through her. He’d carried her up here, the captain had, with his gentle, calloused hands and his hard, warm body. He’d kissed her—oh, God, he’d kissed her, again and again, and then he…

  Her breasts grew tight, hot with the almost physical memory of his hands on them, his mouth on them. His hand between her legs. He knew she was lying, and yet he’d let her go last night, when she wasn’t even sure she’d wanted him to.

  Luca. His name was Luca, a Romany name to go with his gypsy looks. No wonder thinking of him as Thomas Morgan had felt so wrong. He was Luca.

  “I’ve already drawn you a bath, and your new uniform is in there as well. Best hurry.”

  There were some things worth any kind of risk, and a bath was one of them. She wasn’t going to waste another minute. At Nanny Gruen’s cottage bathing had been a laborious experience, and during the time the three sisters let rooms in London they’d had to make do with sponge baths.

  It took her a moment to yank off her shift and slip into the warm, rose-scented water. She slid down, feeling her long hair flow around her, and closed her eyes, giving herself just long enough to embrace the warmth and calm. And then she went to work, scrubbing and rinsing her hair, washing every part of her body twice. She leaned her back against the cooling copper of the tub, ready to steal another short moment of peace, when she heard the unmistakable sounds of Gwendolyn Haviland approaching the end of the hallway.

  “I ’aven’t gotten to the back bedrooms and the bathing room, miss,” Polly was saying.

  “That’s all right—if I’m going to be mistress of this house I need to observe the amenities.”