Never Trust a Pirate

by Anne Stuart

  She cried out, reaching for him, but he simply turned her onto her knees, pushing her hands down on the mattress, her face into the pillow, as he pushed inside her from behind. It was different this way, he was even bigger, pushing against different places inside her, and she buried her cry of pleasure into the pillow, wrapping her arms over her head, as he moved, faster and faster, and just when she thought she couldn’t stand any more pleasure he reached between them and touched her between her legs, above where they joined, and it was everything, death and madness, pain and joy, as she lost herself completely, drowning in waves of dark, saturnine delight.

  He pulled out, and she felt the warmth of his release on her back, and if she’d had enough of her brain she would have wept, but she was still being racked by wave after wave of almost unbearable pleasure that followed her as he slowly pulled her down, wrapping his arms around her as the last bit of control drained from his body.

  It was a long time before she could speak. A long time before she wanted to speak. But when she did, she still managed to come up with a challenge. “Hours?” she said in a hoarse whisper.

  She felt his smile against her skin. He was lying with his head on her stomach, holding her. “The night is still young,” he said.

  And she shivered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  MADDY WOKE ALONE. OF course she did, she thought, shoving her hair out of her face. Luca had probably already left the boat and set sail for the Argentines, just like Tarkington.

  The water was gone from the floor, as were her clothes. Instead there was a pile of clean linen, including a simple day dress and unadorned underclothing, though no corset. The ship was docked somewhere, but all she could see from the porthole was the great wooden side of the quay, and they could be anywhere from Gibraltar to the Orkney Islands as far as she was concerned.

  There was even a pitcher of tepid water beside a washbowl. Apparently the bathing room wasn’t working—either damaged in the storm or perhaps it didn’t work when they were docked. It didn’t matter. She washed her body as thoroughly as she could, washed off the saltwater and the rain, washed away the touch and taste of him from her skin. She couldn’t reach the spot on her back where he’d spilled his seed the first time, and she was glad of it. What would have happened if he hadn’t protected her from making a child? What if she’d conceived, and he’d been long out of her life, at sea somewhere, forgetting all about her? It would have been a total disaster.

  A disaster she wanted so much she could weep with longing. But not now. She was made from sterner stuff than this.

  During the evening and endless night they’d slept and awoken, made love in ways that still made her blush in the morning, and he’d made it clear he wanted her. Made it clear he’d come after her. She was a fool to expect words of love.

  But then she was a fool. She didn’t want to stay with a man who didn’t love her, desperate for scraps of attention, signs of affection. Not when she was so desperately in love with him.

  He’d done one odd thing. Her wrist had begun bleeding again, and he rose and went to look for bandages. When he’d come back to the bed he’d brought them, and a knife as well. She’d looked at it dubiously, still too languid to make a protest.

  To her surprise he took the knife and scored his own wrist, just enough for a few drops of blood to well from his golden skin, and then he set it against hers. It reminded her of a childish ritual, and she said nothing, watching him out of slumberous eyes as he held their wrists together for an endless moment. And then he’d released her, bandaged both her hands, and made love to her all over again.

  She looked down at her wrists. She wasn’t a complete fool, just a besotted one. She’d never been in love before—her infatuation with Tarkington had been just that—but she imagined it didn’t kill you, even though right at that moment she felt stabbed to the heart. If it didn’t go away you had to learn to live with it, and she wasn’t the sort of woman to mope and sulk. She’d move on, take Lord Eastham’s offer, and live a happy life as a wealthy, titled woman. She supposed she should feel guilty that she looked forward to her impending widowhood so eagerly, but there was a limit to how cheerful she could be in the circumstances. You did what you had to do. What she had to do was get the hell away from Luca before she made an even bigger fool of herself.

  What would happen if she told him she loved him? Nothing good. He was a gypsy, a wanderer, a man without ties.

  Though he’d been planning to marry that whey-faced bitch, Gwendolyn Haviland, she reminded herself in a spurt of fiery jealousy. So why couldn’t he marry her instead?

  Because he hadn’t asked her. It was that simple.

  She had to leave, or end up weak and pathetic. Was her pride more important than love? She didn’t know—she wasn’t being given the choice. She only wished she had his baby to carry to Eastham with her.

  It was a wicked thought, but it really shouldn’t matter. Eastham already had an heir and two spares from his previous marriages, and if she were pregnant he’d preen at the sign of his virility. And she’d have something of Luca for the rest of her life.

  But he’d been careful each time, pulling out, until she’d wanted him to stay inside her. He hadn’t.

  She had the dismal feeling that sometime last night, in the throes of something so bright and powerful she couldn’t quite reconcile it, she might have said something damning. She might have told him she loved him.

  If she did, he didn’t notice. Because he hadn’t stopped, in fact, he’d redoubled his efforts, until she had the very real fear that her heart might just explode from so much pleasure.

  She wasn’t sure she could face him. Not remembering what she’d done at his soft urging. Not remembering what he’d done to her.

  She dressed. To her relief there was even a pair of soft leather slippers beneath the pile of clothing. Had they been put there to ensure she could leave? No money, however, which was a mixed blessing. There wasn’t much she could do in a foreign city without a sou to her name, but money would have felt like a bribe, or even worse, payment for services rendered. She would make do as she was.

  The door was unlocked. Of course it was—there was no need to hold her prisoner anymore. Stepping into the deserted passageway, she glanced toward the steps. That man had dragged her up them, and she’d been unable to break free. What would he have done if she’d agreed to go off with him when he’d asked her to? Would she have even made it out of Devonport and the surrounding area of Plymouth alive?

  Why would he want to kill her? Affection for his new friend Gwendolyn was logical but far-fetched, and her instincts told her that wasn’t it. He was the one behind her father’s death, she knew it, just as she knew that Luca was innocent. The problem was, she had no idea why and now he was dead, as well as the people he’d hired, and she would never know the truth. Her sisters would be disgusted with her, but at this point she was no longer certain she cared. At least he was at the bottom of the ocean, never to hurt anyone again.

  Her legs still felt weak as she pulled herself up the narrow stairs, though whether it was the aftermath of the storm or a night in Luca’s bed was questionable. The day was overcast, and the deck of the ship was empty of everyone except a handful of sailors working on the broken mast. No sign of Luca. No sign even of Billy Quarrells.

  She turned to look at the quayside, and blinked. Not at the docks themselves, but the city that stretched beyond them. At the unmistakable tower of the newly constructed clock near the city center. She was in London.

  The gangplank was down, and no one cared enough to stop her. She didn’t dawdle—moving down at a quick pace, but the moment she reached land she almost collapsed. Somehow she’d grown used to the relentless motion of the sea, and the sudden stillness of the land was disconcerting. She took a deep breath, trying to center herself, and looked around her. No sign of Luca anywhere. He was gone, vanished. Just as Tarkington had. But this wound was so much deeper, more devastating.

  She k
new the docks well, from the days when she used to visit at her father’s side. She racked her brain, trying to think of someone, anyone in the area who didn’t hate her father so much that he would lend her enough money to get back to the comfort and safety of Nanny Gruen’s. She wanted to weep in her nurse’s lap; she wanted to hide somewhere where she could start to heal.

  The offices of Russell Shipping were closed and shuttered, and normally that would have made her furious. Not any longer—she had worse disasters on her mind. She turned, almost running into a short, stocky gentleman.

  “Excuse me, miss…” he began, and then stopped in shock. “Miss Russell?”

  It was Bottingly, one of the men who had worked for her father for almost twenty years, a sweet, well-fed man who always had the patience to explain anything she asked. “Mr. Bottingly,” she said with a forced smile. “How good to see you. You look well.”

  And he did. Losing his employment didn’t seem to have harmed him a bit. He flushed, looking almost guilty. “I’ve been working for some of the new owners, Miss Russell. One of your father’s captains has been buying up the ships, and I expect he’ll need help since I can’t see him giving up the sea.”

  “Captain Morgan,” she said quietly.

  “Yes, miss!” Bottingly beamed at her. “Then you know about that. I wrote you when your father passed away, but I do want to say once more how sorry I am about what happened. I never believed he did anything wrong.”

  “Nor did I,” she said, grateful. She was ridiculously close to tears, so she pinched herself, hard, to keep from disgracing herself.

  “Miss Russell, is there any way I can be of assistance?” He was looking at her more closely now, and he’d probably realized she was out in public without a companion, a hat, or a reticule. “May I call a hackney for you?”

  She shook her head. “No money to pay for it, I’m afraid. And no place to go.”

  A frown turned Bottingly’s usually friendly face into one of deep concern. “You come with me, Miss Russell. There’s no way I’ll leave my dear employer’s daughter stranded on the docks of London. I know just the thing.”

  She didn’t, couldn’t put up a protest. She had no other place to go. She let dear Mr. Bottingly settle her into his own, serviceable carriage and direct his driver to take her to Berkeley Square. “Don’t you worry, Miss Russell. That’s your sister’s house now, even if she’s not there, and you’ll be welcomed.”

  She had her own doubts, as the driver set her down outside an elegant mansion on the square. She walked up the front steps slowly, prepared to be tossed into the street. She could always sleep in an alleyway. She could… she was out of options.

  The door opened, revealing a gentleman’s gentleman, perfectly groomed, looking at her blankly. “May I help you, miss?” He had just the touch of an Irish accent, and for some reason she felt oddly comforted.

  “I am Madeleine Russell,” she said, and he stared at her blankly. She took a deep breath and continued. “My sister is Bryony Russell, though I suppose she’s…”

  “Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Russell!” he cried, clearly distressed. “Come in, please. We’re so used to thinking of the new Lady Kilmartyn as Mrs. Greaves that I forgot her maiden name. We had no word you were coming, but it won’t take but a moment to get a room ready for you. We’ve been waiting for his lordship’s return any day now, but so far we’ve heard nothing.”

  She could have collapsed in relief, but she’d done too much collapsing, and the valet or butler or majordomo was smaller than she was. She didn’t want him laboring under her weight. “Thank you, Mr.…?”

  “Collins, Miss Russell. I’m Collins.” He ushered her into the house. The place gleamed, spotless and elegant, smelling of beeswax and lemon oil. Her sister had done a better job during her time in service than she had, Maddy thought with a trace of irony. “Would you like me to show you to your room? It’ll be the work of a moment to air the sheets and start a little fire to take the chill off.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  “And maybe I bring you a tray? A light repast?”

  She should have been starving. Indeed, in times of trouble and stress she often turned to food to distract her anxious mind. She should have been longing for a banquet given how bad things were and how long it had been since she’d had a decent meal. The very thought made her nauseated as the worst storm couldn’t.

  “Perhaps something later,” she said faintly.

  “And do you perhaps have luggage following, Miss Russell?” he said in a solicitous voice. That was the kind of butler to have, she thought blindly. The kind who looked out for you.

  “I’m afraid not. My clothes were lost at sea.” True enough, even if it had only been one dress and her undergarments.

  “At sea, miss! How shocking. But not to worry. His lordship had your sister’s closets filled with clothing he ordered from Paris, and I know she’d want you to use some. Just let me take care of everything. Is there anyone you wish me to inform that you’re in town?”

  She shook her head. Luca had left her without a word, and all she wanted to do was hide.

  Seven days. Seven days without her, seven days to first get roaring drunk, get in a fight, argue with Billy, threaten to take the ship out again and run it aground, hire a private detective, give Wart a fortune, punch his fist into a wall, almost breaking his hand. Seven days without her and he was going mad. How was he going to live the rest of his life if he didn’t find her?

  Billy had been philosophical. “Clearly she don’t want to be leg-shackled to a sailing man.”

  “Or a gypsy,” he’d said bitterly.

  “There’s that,” Billy had agreed, never one to spare his feelings. “Even if she didn’t say no when you asked her, this is her answer.”

  “Asked her what?” he demanded, annoyed.

  Billy had given him a long, measuring look. “Asked her to marry you?” he said in a careful voice. “Told her you were in love with her?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You didn’t,” Billy echoed flatly. “And you expected her to sit around and wait until you said something?”

  “I didn’t think she needed a bunch of words. Words are easy.”

  “Not for you, apparently. Jayzus!” Billy exploded. “I know more about women than you do and I don’t even like the creatures! They need those words, Luca. They don’t guess, they don’t live on hope. We took off to the harbormaster without a word and you thought she’d sit around and wait for you? They have their pride. You have to tell them. Fact is, the same is true of men. If you love someone you tell them.”

  “What makes you think I love her?” Luca snapped. He’d been a fool to even consider the possibility. The first chance she got she left him.

  “Oh, maybe it’s the way you’re looking for a fight everywhere you go, or the way you’ve been drinking, or the fact that you’re about to jump down my throat for even suggesting such a thing.” He shook his head in disgust. “I’ve taught you everything I know, but I never thought I needed to explain something as simple as this. Didn’t you tell that Haviland woman you loved her when you proposed?”

  He glared at Billy. “Of course. It was a lie.”

  “And other women you bedded?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what makes the difference?”

  Luca had paused, wishing he had an excuse to punch Billy, knowing he only had the truth to offer. It was wrong, and inescapable. “You know the answer as well as I do. Because I really do love her.”

  Billy nodded. “Exactly. So go out and find her.”

  In the end it wasn’t Wart, but Billy himself who found a trace of her. The newspaper had been three days old, but Billy had always had a fancy for reading the society posts, something Luca could never understand, and he’d found the notice buried in a paragraph of massive unimportance.

  “Miss R. is in town, staying in Berkeley Square at her sister, the Countess of K.’s house while she and her husband, Lord K., e
njoy a honeymoon abroad.” With its refusal to name names it had taken Billy a while to make the connection.

  “She’s still in town, right under our noses,” Billy had said. “And chances are she doesn’t want a damned thing to do with you. But you’ll never know unless you ask, eh?”

  “She made her choice,” Luca said flatly. “If she had feelings for me she would have stayed, not managed to sneak out the moment my back was turned.”

  “You didn’t give her a choice, you moonling!” Billy snapped. “Listen to me. You’re a pirate and a gypsy. You know how to get what you want. I’ve never known you to wait for permission. Unless you’d rather mope around like some moonstruck virgin, giving a bad name to pirates the world over.”

  Luca had glared at him. “Tomorrow,” he said.

  Billy glared back at him. “Right now,” he said. “What’s more important? Pride? Or love?”

  “Pride,” Luca said flatly. A moment later he was gone.

  Maddy should have been feeling better. It had been a week of cosseting, of specially cooked meals and people looking out for her every need. It was a week living in a luxury she hadn’t experienced since her father died, a week where she didn’t have to clean, didn’t have to work, didn’t have to worry about anyone. She could sleep as late as she wanted, stay up as late, wander around in the back garden when no one was watching. She was safe and well cared for. Surely she should be feeling better by now.

  If she ever saw Luca again she would spit in his face, kick him in the shins. No, she would be gay and cheerful, reminding him of all he had lost. And then she’d hire someone to kick him where she’d like to kick him. How could he have let her go? He said he’d always come for her. Where was he?

  But days passed and Luca didn’t show up. She wasn’t sure how she expected him to find her, much less want to find her, but she wasn’t feeling particularly reasonable. He had abandoned her the moment they reached London and never thought twice, while she couldn’t think about anything else but him. So be it. There was always Lord Eastham.