The Rogue Pirate’s Bride

by Shana Galen

  A marquise. Yesterday she’d asked Fitzwilliam Wimberley for the title of the wife of a marquis, and he’d given her a strange look and then the answer.

  She didn’t care if he gave her a thousand strange looks. She didn’t care if the whole crew watched her with sideways glances. She knew she was just standing on the deck, not doing anything, not helping as she always did. She knew she was red nosed from crying. She knew she was clutching her stupid skirts to keep them from tangling about her ankles in the wind.

  Why had she worn a skirt or brushed her hair? It wasn’t as though anyone cared what she looked like.

  A warm hand settled on her shoulder, and she spun around with a yelp. Her father tightened his grip to calm her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s my fault. I was thinking of something else.”

  “You were thinking of him. The pirate.”

  “No, I…” She looked down at the deck. “Yes, I was.”

  Her father nodded, seemed resigned. He studied the men on the yardarms. “I was surprised when you returned the day after we docked. I thought you might run away with him. I certainly made sure you had the opportunity.”

  Raeven gaped. “You thought I would—what do you mean you made certain I had the opportunity?”

  “He should have had an escort to Newgate of at least six soldiers. I detained four of them. I didn’t think even you, Raeven, could outwit six soldiers.”

  She stared at him, and when he looked down at her, he laughed at the bewildered expression on her face. “But why would you do that? Why would you help when you knew I might run away with him?”

  The admiral sighed, shook his head. “Because, dear daughter, you love him. He makes you happy. God’s nightgown, it pains me to admit it! You and a pirate. A rogue!” He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath.

  Raeven was relieved when his color returned to normal and he didn’t begin coughing. He’d been coughing too much lately.

  “But you’re not my little girl anymore. You love him, and as difficult as this is for you to believe, I do want you to be happy.”

  The admiral had never been a man to show much affection, especially in front of his crew, but now Raeven wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, Daddy! Thank you.” She buried her face in his blue coat. It smelled like him—oakum, boot polish, and the sea.

  He stiffened at her sudden embrace then awkwardly put his arms about her. Finally, she released him, stood back, and gave him a teary smile. “But you’re not going to lose me to a pirate. He’s found his family again. He’s home where he belongs.” She looked about the Regal. “So am I.”

  Her father shook his head. “You’ll always have a home here, but this ship is no place for a young woman. You need a husband, children.”

  She was shaking her head, but he ignored her.

  “Earlier this week, I asked for a few months leave from my post.”

  Raeven blinked in surprise. “You what? Why?”

  “I wanted to spend some time with you on land. See you settled.”

  “And your health—”

  “Is fine.” He waved away her concern. “But my request was denied. It seems the seas are heating up again. The Admiralty doesn’t think this peace with Old Boney will last much longer.”

  Raeven nodded. She was glad. Battles and action would keep her mind off Bastien.

  “And that’s why I’ve hired a new purser.”

  Raeven sucked in a breath. She’d known this was coming, known one day a replacement for Percy would be found. She would be forced to accept her friend was never coming back. She cleared her throat. “Who is he?”

  He nodded to someone who stood behind her, and she turned and looked into cobalt blue eyes. Bastien, wearing navy dress, saluted her. She stared at him, turned to her father, and stuttered, “What is this?”

  The admiral shook his head. “It’s exactly what it looks like. He came here this morning, asking for your hand in matrimony.”

  “What?” She turned to stare at Bastien, who only shrugged.

  “I told the rogue no, of course. I’m not giving my blessing to any bloody pirate.”

  “And I told him I’m not a pirate anymore.” The sound of Bastien’s voice, the lilt of his accent, washed over her. It was years since she’d last heard his voice. “I’ve joined the navy. I knew you were in need of a purser.”

  Raeven shook her head. “Is this some sort of joke?”

  “No.” Her father looked tense. “I have orders from the Admiralty to accept him for Mr. Williams’s position. Apparently, money can buy more than freedom.”

  “It’s not just my brother’s money,” Bastien argued. “I am an excellent seaman.”

  Raeven simply stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

  He looked her directly in the eyes. “I am very serious. I have signed on as purser on the HMS Regal. I know I can’t ever hope to replace Mr. Williams, but I will carry out his duties to the best of my abilities.”

  “Why?” she asked. “Why would you do this?”

  He cocked a brow. “Why else, ma belle? You left me. I figured I would have to come to you. I asked for your hand in marriage, but your father refused to give his consent.”

  The admiral cleared his throat. “But I would not be overly dismayed if you married against my wishes.”

  “It would mean abandoning my post,” Bastien drawled.

  “I think we will find a way to make do.”

  Raeven’s head was spinning, and her heart thudded in her chest. “I don’t understand,” she told Bastien. “You have your family now, your title, your—”

  He took her hand, and the admiral muttered under his breath and moved away. “But I don’t have you, mon coeur. I need you, mon amour. Without you, the rest is meaningless. I want you to be my wife.”

  His wife. “Your marquise,” she whispered.

  He grinned. “Yes, that’s right.”

  She shook her head. “But I don’t know anything about being a marquise. I don’t know anything about ducs and mansions and fancy balls.”

  “Then we’ll learn together. Or, better yet, we’ll build a ship and sail it around the world. I think you and I would suffocate if we were confined on land too long.”

  He was right, and she could imagine sailing the world with him. Just the two of them, making love under the stars…

  “But you don’t want to marry me…”

  He sighed. “Are you going to force me to bend a knee? Again? Very well.”

  And to her astonishment, he knelt before her. This gesture generated calls from the Regal’s crew, most of whom had given up all pretense of working and were openly watching the scene. Bastien ignored them. “Raeven Russell, will you be my Mrs. Cutlass, my marquise, my petite cabin girl…”

  She frowned and looked away. He took her hand in his, and when she looked back, his eyes were dark, his expression tender. “My heart, my love, my wife? Raeven, will you have me, a so-called pirate and a self-confessed rogue, as your husband?”

  She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t stand. She knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around him. “Bastien, I love you.”

  “Je t’aime, ma belle. I love you.” He pulled back, held her by the shoulders. “But you haven’t answered the question, and I confess I’m eager to know if I’ll be forced to wear this uniform much longer.”

  She laughed. “No. I mean, yes, I’ll marry you, and no, you won’t have to wear the uniform.” She grinned. “Unless you want. I think it suits you.”

  He looked at her with something akin to horror, and she laughed again. It felt so good to laugh, felt so good to be back in his arms.

  The sound of boots behind them had her looking over her shoulder. Her father stood grim faced. “Am I to congratulate the happy couple?”

  Raeven leaped up. “Yes!” She hugged him hard, realizing as she did, this was good-bye. She pulled back. “But will you be all right without me? Will you take care of yourself?”

 
He straightened. “I’ll be fine.” To her surprise, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be happy knowing you’re well taken care of.” He gave Bastien a warning look. “Now, get the hell off my ship. The next time we dock, I’ll expect to see grandchildren.”

  Bastien gave a mock-salute. “Yes, Captain.” He turned, swept her into his arms, and carried her, laughing, down the gangplank and back onto land. When they stood on the deck, he lowered her, and Raeven looked up at the Regal then into Bastien’s eyes.

  “I love you,” she said. “I always have. From that first moment in Brest, I loved you.”

  “I know.”

  She frowned, but he reached into his coat and pulled out a paper.

  “What’s that?”

  “A special license. My brother has all sorts of connections. My family is waiting at the church now. Are you ready to be married?”

  She gaped. “Now? Today? I-I’m not dressed, not—”

  He put a finger over her lips. “I love you just the way you are, and yes, now. Today. I want you to be mine legally before you change your mind.”

  She swallowed and nodded. Life with Bastien would never be predictable, never ordinary. She could think, or she could hold her breath and dive in.

  She inhaled and prepared to jump.

  Epilogue

  It was the worst pain she had ever felt. She’d screamed until her throat was raw and only a hoarse croak would come out. Bastien stood beside her, held her hand throughout the ordeal. She’d told him to leave, told him he wasn’t supposed to be in the room, but he’d been steadfast, and after the pain became unbearable, she was glad to have his hand to clamp onto.

  She wanted to say she forgot the pain when the midwife presented her with the howling baby girl. She took the baby in her arms, stared down at her red face, the shock of black hair, and the muddy blue eyes. Raeven didn’t forget the pain, but she did fall in love.

  Instantly. Irrevocably.

  She looked at Bastien and knew he felt it, too. She held the baby out to him. “Your daughter.”

  He blinked. “You want me to hold her?”

  “Don’t you want to?” She almost laughed at the look of pure terror on his face.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then here.”

  He took the squalling baby carefully in his arms, looked down at her, and immediately she ceased crying.

  “There,” Raeven said. “She likes you. What shall we call her? Elizabeth? After my mother?”

  He nodded, still staring, enraptured, at his daughter. “Bon jour, Elizabeth. Bienvenue.”

  The midwife had barely finished her duties and the linens scarcely changed when the first knock came at the door. It was Sarah. “Raeven, can we come in now? Just Felicity and Rowena and I.”

  Raeven smiled sleepily at Bastien. The baby was curled in one of his arms, and he had the other wrapped securely around her shoulders. “Your family,” she murmured.

  “Allow one in, they’ll all be in.”

  He was right, but she didn’t mind. Somehow his family had become hers, as well.

  “Come in, Sarah.”

  The door opened to admit the duchesse, the dowager, and the comtesse. All three of the women crowded around the baby and cooed.

  “What have you named her?” Rowena asked.

  “Elizabeth,” Raeven told them.

  “Oh, I adore that name!” Felicity, who had a daughter of her own, beamed. “Hello, Elizabeth.”

  “We might call her Eliza,” Sarah said.

  “Call who Eliza?” Julien stuck his head in the doorway. He was holding Etienne, and the little boy smiled shyly. “Armand and the admiral want to know if it’s safe to enter.”

  Beside her, Bastien gave a short sigh. “Why don’t we invite the servants while we’re at it?”

  “Oh, I know Mrs. Eggers wants to meet the baby,” Felicity said. “And your friend, Bastien, Mr. Leveque.”

  Raeven smiled. “Perhaps later.”

  Julien and Armand stood at the foot of the bed. As usual, Armand was silent, but he gave Raeven a smile. Her father came to stand on the other side of her. “I heard you named her Elizabeth,” he said. “Your mother would have been honored.”

  She smiled up at him. “I know you were hoping for a grandson.”

  “Now that I’ve retired, I need someone to go fishing with me.” He smiled at the baby, who had begun to fuss. “But I think this little girl will have her mother’s spirit. She ought to keep me busy.”

  Raeven took the baby into her arms, and Bastien leaned over and kissed his wife’s temple. “Do you think she’ll be able to sail in a few months? Our ship will be ready, and the world awaits.”

  “She’ll have her sea legs before her land legs.”

  “Just as it should be,” he murmured into her hair. Raeven had to agree.

  Acknowledgments

  There are many people who make a book like this possible. I’d like to thank Sourcebooks, especially my editor, Deb Werksman, who calmly talked me through all the title and cover changes to this book without once suggesting I grab a paper bag for my hyperventilation. I’d also like to thank Danielle Jackson, Sarah Ryan, Susie Benton, Cat Clyne, Dominique Raccah, and all the others at Sourcebooks who work so hard on my behalf. As Deb said, I got the full Sourcebooks’ treatment. Thank you for not resting until we got it right. I’m extremely fortunate to have Joanna MacKenzie and Danielle Egan-Miller as my agents. They make me feel like the only author in the world. And thank you for having such a large supply of paper bags on hand.

  This novel required research into ships and sailing. I’m indebted to my dad for sharing his vast knowledge of seafaring and for reading sections of this novel for correctness. I’m also grateful to Ronald Stebbins for his input. As this is a work of fiction, I’ve taken a few liberties, but I made every attempt at accuracy. I use several Spanish names in this novel, and I’m appreciative of the suggestions and translations made by Gina Colion-Hernandez. Once again, Pascale Zurzolo-Champeau graciously answered my questions regarding French expressions and phrases. Of course, any and all mistakes in the novel are mine completely.

  My career as an author wouldn’t be possible without the support of family and friends, including my longtime friend and critique partner, Christina Hergenrader; the members of West Houston RWA, especially Sharie Kohler and Tera Lynn Childs; and the ladies of the Sisterhood of the Jaunty Quills, in particular Margo Maguire and Robyn DeHart. Madeira James at xuni.com took me on as a client in 2004, and she still designs and maintains my website. Somehow she always finds time for another update or tweak. And last but far from least, I’d like to acknowledge my husband for making so many dinners, entertaining Baby Galen, and always building me up.

  About the Author

  Shana Galen is the author of seven Regency historicals, including the Rita-nominated Blackthorne’s Bride. Her books have been sold in Brazil, Russia, the Netherlands, Spain, and Turkey and featured in the Rhapsody and Doubleday Book Clubs. A former English teacher in Houston’s inner city, Shana now writes full time. She is a happily married wife and mother of a daughter. She loves to hear from readers: visit her website at www.shanagalen.com or see what she’s up to daily on Facebook and Twitter.

  Somewhere in Europe, July 1815

  The spy called Saint hunkered down in the bottom of the wardrobe she’d occupied for the last four hours and attempted to stifle a yawn.

  She didn’t need to crack the door to know the activities in the bed across the room were still very much in progress. She could hear the courtesan urging her “horse” onward, the woman’s demands punctuated by the man’s loud neighs.

  Saint sighed, shifting so her muscles remained limber. She’d given up being embarrassed about three and a quarter hours ago and now wondered how much longer the game could persist.

  Where was Lucien Ducos? If Bonaparte’s advisor didn’t make an appearance tonight, Saint was going to have a lot of explaining to do. Despite being ordered to track Ducos to France
, she’d elected to remain right here.

  Something told her that Bonaparte’s advisor would visit his mistress one last time before leaving. It was a feeling—her intuition speaking to her. And Saint always listened to her intuition.

  It had led her to this wardrobe, where she’d been treated to The Sassy Upstairs Maid, The Very Bad Boy, and now Horse and Rider. Ducos had better turn up soon—before someone decided to play Hide and Seek and discovered the wardrobe held more than clothes.

  The horse’s neighs grew louder, and Saint covered her ears. How much longer? She was definitely leaving as soon as the horse… was stabled.

  She sighed. Oh, who was she fooling? Of course, she wouldn’t leave. She’d stay as long as necessary to secure Ducos.

  That was her mission.

  Failure was not an option.

  The horse neighed frantically, and Saint dropped her head in her hands and tried to remember why she was putting up with this. Bonaparte had escaped after his defeat at Waterloo. England—nay, Europe—would not be safe until he was apprehended and dealt with. All sources pointed to Ducos as the man who knew where Bonaparte was hidden.

  Her mission was to find Ducos and make him talk.

  And she’d do her duty. She’d tracked him here, discovered the name of his courtesan, and set the perfect trap. So where was the Frenchman?

  Suddenly the slaps and neighs were interrupted by three loud bangs on the front door. The courtesan’s house was small, the outer door located down a short flight of steps near the bedroom. In the abrupt silence, Saint could hear the housekeeper’s shoes clicking through the vestibule.

  “What are you doing?” the horse asked the courtesan in one of the seven languages Saint knew well. “You can’t stop now.”

  “One moment,” the woman answered, her voice tense.

  Saint’s nose itched, and she sat forward, careful to remain absolutely silent. She heard a man’s voice, the housekeeper’s negative answer, and the man’s voice again. She could tell, despite the housekeeper’s refusal of entrance, the intruder had entered.