How To Please a Pirate

by Mia Marlowe

  He yanked the front of her skirt up. Cool air breezed over her heated flesh as he draped the yards of fabric on the wire and horsehair shelf of her panniers.

  Gabriel stepped back and looked down at her triangle of coppery brown curls. She stopped breathing.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said with reverence. Then he cupped her sex with his whole hand.

  She whimpered with longing as he spread her swollen folds and drew a fingertip along her delicate inner lips. When he dropped to his knees before her, she swayed unsteadily. Only his arms around her hips and his hands on her buttocks kept her upright as his mouth claimed her secrets.

  Had he somehow climbed inside her mind and seen her most wicked fancies?

  Jacquelyn was drowning in a sea of sensation with only a pirate to throw her a lifeline. She nearly wept with relief when he stood and unbuttoned the front of his bulging breeches.

  He kissed her again while he hooked his elbows under her knees and lifted her, spreading her wide to receive him. She pressed down on his shoulders to help him. Just the tip of him slid between her throbbing folds.

  To her dismay, he stopped.

  “I want you so bad, it’s like a sickness but I have to be certain,” he said, his voice hoarse with passion. “You’re a maiden and once done, this is a thing that cannot be undone. Do you want me, Lyn?”

  “Yes, oh, yes,” she almost sobbed.

  He kissed her again as he lowered her, his shaft gently invading her moist flesh. When he reached her maidenhead, he paused for a blink and she moaned softly. Then he rammed himself home and pain shrieked through her.

  He held her perfectly still. Then the pain sizzled away and she felt his full length embedded in her, hot and hard and throbbing with its own rhythm, his heartbeat in tandem with hers. One salty tear streaked her cheek.

  “Now, there’ll be only pleasure between you and me,” he assured her as he kissed away the tear. “No more pain, I promise.”

  “I believe you,” she whispered.

  Slowly, he began to move and the world faded around her.

  Until the door behind him swung open and Father Eustace burst in.

  “Gabriel, lad, you must come right away. We’ve royal compan— Oh!”

  Chapter 11

  “By Thunder,” Gabriel roared over his shoulder, trying to shield Jacquelyn from his uncle’s view. “Does no one ever knock in this cursed place?”

  Eustace’s eyes widened as he realized he’d interrupted Gabriel and Jacquelyn in the very act. The priest whirled around, faced the door and banged his knuckles on the worm-marked oak.

  “Your pardon, nephew.” The set of his uncle’s shoulders told Gabriel that Eustace was upset by the scene he’d interrupted but his voice was commendably even. “But Sir Cecil Oddbody is on your doorstep waiting to be announced.”

  “Who the hell is he?” Gabriel’s tone was decidedly less even.

  Though he was still inside her, Gabriel straightened his arms and let Jacquelyn slide her legs down so her feet rested tiptoe on the floor again.

  “One of the king’s counselors. Unless memory fails me, Oddbody is the courtier whose signature is on that pardon you’re so proud of,” Uncle Eustace said. “Shall I tell him you’ll meet him in the solar directly or that you’re too busy defiling Mistress Wren to attend him at present?”

  “I’ll be along in a moment,” Gabriel said.

  “I hardly think—”

  “I said, I’ll be there. Now begone!”

  “The lord of a castle wields great power. But power is seductive. It consumes all who use it. Be careful yours does not consume you, Gabriel.” Eustace slammed the door behind him.

  Gabe twisted back to Jacquelyn to find her stuffing her breasts back into her bodice, her cheeks flaming. The moment was definitely lost. He felt himself wither and slip from inside her.

  “Lyn, I didn’t want it to be this way.”

  She smoothed her skirt back down without meeting his eyes. Her lips trembled in a mirthless smile and if he hadn’t known how strong-minded she was, he might have feared for her senses. There was certainly nothing to smile about.

  He reached for her. “I’m sorry if—”

  “No need, my lord.” She held up a forbidding hand, careful to keep her eyes downcast. “Now if you will excuse me, your duties take you elsewhere. As do mine.”

  She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her arm.

  “We’re not finished with this,” he warned. “Not by a long stretch.”

  “On the contrary,” she said, her tone brittle. “Your goal is achieved. You have added my maidenhead to your collection. But take heart, my lord. No doubt a new trophy will arise on your horizon presently.”

  “It wasn’t like that and you know it.”

  “No, it wasn’t. It was my own fault. I should have known a pirate would not stop until he’d—”

  “I did stop.”

  “Yes, you did,” she admitted. “But only when you were certain I was incapable of it. Now, Lord Drake, if you will release me, I will see to your guest’s refreshment.”

  “Lyn—”

  “Kindly refer to me as Mistress Wren, if you please.”

  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but there was fire behind them. He found her fury strangely comforting. Familiar, at any rate.

  “It’s not much to ask,” she said. “I think I’ve given service enough this day to warrant at least that small consideration.”

  He inclined his head slightly. She wished to shelter behind distant courtesy, did she? He’d allow it.

  But only for a short while.

  He watched her walk to the ancient door, a pang of conscience lashing him when she wobbled slightly and her shoulders shuddered before reaching it. She left him without a backward glance.

  He wished with all his heart that Uncle Eustace had made his appearance very much later.

  Or, if it would’ve spared her this pain, a few moments sooner.

  * * *

  “Good workmanship, this,” Cecil Oddbody said as he inspected the ancient tapestry in the solar. In the early morning, the golden threads shot through the piece would be shimmering glory, but now as the sun sank into the sea, they were nearly invisible in the soft light shafting through the room’s green glass windows. “Lovely pattern in the goldwork. And certainly not the only gold hidden in Dragon Caern Castle if your claim is correct, Curtmantle.”

  “It is,” Hugh Curtmantle said. “Time out of mind, the rumor has circulated that back in the glory days of Good Queen Bess, the Lord of Dragon Caern was one of her privateers. She pardoned his crimes and he filled her coffers with Spanish gold. But the old pirate also filled his own. And it’s here someplace. I’m sure of it.”

  “Let us hope so,” Oddbody said. “Else a good deal of effort will have been wasted for naught. It’s not so easy a thing to have a title declared in abeyance, you know.”

  Cecil spared a glance for Baron Curtmantle. The man had inherited the less prosperous barony to the north of Dragon Caern and was within a pinch of running the estate into bankruptcy. Hugh sat a good horse and was reputedly a wicked swordsman, but the man had the imagination of a gnat.

  In the large scheme of things, he was nobody.

  However, at present, he was a very useful nobody. After all, a string of convenient deaths was difficult to arrange this far from London.

  “You know I appreciate your endeavors on my behalf,” Hugh said.

  “And well you might.” Cecil was no lord. He’d merely been invested with a knighthood when he was given charge of the king’s privy seal. With the power he wielded, he was able to make lesser nobles dance to his tune in any case. “Until the resurrection of this friend of yours, this Gabriel Drake, you were well on your way to being named protector of Dragon Caern once the title devolved to the Crown and thence to me. What do you intend to do about it?”

  “Do?” Hugh seemed puzzled. “What can I do?”

  “Think, Curtmantle.” Oddbody sighed. I
t was difficult to believe this toady traced his lineage back to the first Tudor kings. Perhaps more than one of Hugh Curtmantle’s illustrious ancestors was cuckolded by a stable hand with a big cock and a small brain. “A man who returns from the dead can just as easily return to the dead. See what you can do to manage such a journey for the new—”

  Cecil stopped in mid-sentence when his more capable guard cleared his throat from his position at the arched doorway. Gabriel Drake filled the space, his expression stony. He was followed by a priest, whose face looked only slightly less harsh. This was hardly the grateful welcome Sir Cecil expected.

  “Ah, Lord Drake, there you are,” he said, extending his bejeweled hand so the King’s seal flashed importantly.

  It was ever so handy to have a monarch who spoke little English. It forced the Hanoverian king to rely heavily on his advisors. Cecil was careful to maintain and embellish the trust King George invested in him. He would ever guard the Crown’s interest.

  So long as the King’s interest didn’t run too contrary to his own.

  “We were on our way to Bath,” Cecil said majestically, “and wished to satisfy ourselves that you are settling well into your new role.”

  “We?” Drake looked at Cecil’s extended hand and then ignored it. “I thought only kings used the royal ‘we.’ Perhaps you should stick to ‘I’, unless of course, you have a mouse in your pocket.”

  “Gabriel, your manners,” the priest muttered, then in a louder voice. “Welcome to Dragon Caern, good sir. I’m Father Eustace. A blessing on all souls here.”

  The priest took his hand and pressed a quick kiss to the King’s seal. Not exactly protocol, Cecil supposed, but he appreciated the gesture. Oddbody had studied the family tree of the House of Drake. This must be the new lord’s uncle.

  “I’ll be thanking you for Gabriel’s pardon,” Father Eustace said.

  “I earned my pardon, uncle,” Lord Drake said testily, “in service rendered to the King. His Majesty was grateful to have his cousin returned unharmed from the French buccaneers who’d abducted him. Oddbody here is just the clerk who signed the papers.”

  “I am the Keeper of the King’s Privy Seal,” Cecil said, tight-lipped. He shot a glance at the priest who visibly cringed. “Perhaps, Father, you should remind Lord Drake that I also have the King’s ear. What His Majesty so graciously gives, he may also take.”

  “My apologies, sir,” Father Eustace all but stammered. “Gabriel has been a long time at sea. I trust your forbearance to excuse his lack of . . . polish.”

  “It wasn’t the sea that ruined Gabriel Drake,” Hugh said from his place in a shadowy corner. “He was well on his way to Hell before that.”

  “Hugh Curtmantle, I didn’t notice you skulking there in the dark.” A look of genuine pleasure flashed in Lord Drake’s eyes. “Is it really you?”

  “In the flesh.”

  “And considerably more of it than the last time I saw you. Come here, man.”

  The Lord of Dragon Caern drew Hugh into a back-slapping bear hug. Cecil decided his minion hadn’t lied when he described himself as Drake’s childhood friend.

  “So I guess you’ve forgiven me for stealing Catherine Uxbridge from you?” Curtmantle said. “After all, losing her is what sent you running off to the sea.”

  “Probably did me a favor,” Gabriel Drake conceded. “I haven’t given the matter a thought in ages. The girl was beautiful, but cold as a witch’s teat. The years are never kind to harpies. Whatever became of her?”

  “I married her.”

  “Ah, you have my apology, Hugh.” A wry smile crossed Drake’s face. “And perhaps my condolences.”

  Hugh took a feigned swipe at his friend and the two fell to easy conversation of old acquaintances and days gone by. Cecil nodded his approval. Perhaps Curtmantle was more cunning than he gave him credit for.

  Oddbody settled back into the carved oak chair and watched his underling work. While he followed their by-play, he calculated the wealth represented in Lord Drake’s solar. It was elegantly appointed and the fireplace along one wall was large enough to roast an ox whole. The heavy silver candelabra on the serving table was fine enough for the King’s own collection. And if this weren’t enough, there was treasure untold hidden somewhere in Dragon Caern Castle. More than would satisfy even his avaricious dreams. Such luxury was wasted on a pirate.

  Well, it wouldn’t be wasted on him for long. Not if Cecil had anything to say about it.

  And he always had his say.

  Cecil’s attention was captured by the slip of a girl who carried in a tea tray. She was small, barely more than a child, but with ripe breasts budding in the first blush of young womanhood. Her oval face was innocence itself, only lightly brushed by the corrupting knowledge that she was attractive.

  Just the way he liked them. Cecil was a slight man himself with less in the way of masculine attributes than he wanted to admit. Children or diminutive whores always made him feel bigger. A well-born woman-child would be even more gratifying to bend to his uses.

  “Hyacinth, what are you doing here?” Lord Drake demanded of the girl. “Where is Mistress Wren?”

  “She asked me to tell you she’s indisposed, uncle,” the child said with a not-so-childish smile.

  Her wide eyes flicked around the room, and Cecil read an unmistakable invitation in them. The young ones always wanted his attention. Every one of them.

  “Mistress Wren asked if I’d pour out for you and your guests,” the girl explained.

  “Who is this charming creature?” Cecil asked.

  “This is no charming creature. This child is one of my nieces,” Lord Drake said with a scowl. “Very well, Hyacinth. You may serve, but that had better be sugar lumps you’ve got there.”

  She blinked at Drake, her thick lashes fluttering on alabaster cheeks. “Of course, dear uncle. What else?”

  What an insufferable bully he was! Cecil was doing this child, the entire household in fact, a gigantic favor in masterminding his removal.

  Her smooth white hands were poetry in graceful service as she poured out the steaming brew and stirred in the sugar and milk. As he sipped his excellent tea, an idea came to Cecil. Curtmantle complained loudly enough of the chill in his beautiful wife’s boudoir. Cecil hadn’t missed the glint in Hugh’s eye when he accepted his tea from the girl’s hand.

  Cecil would plant the seed and then continue on to Bath, trusting that Hugh would see the benefits of the plan. It should be easy enough to tempt the oaf into imprudence once Cecil was on his way. In fact, it would be better for Oddbody if he heard the sordid details second or third hand and at a safe distance.

  The one fly in the ointment was that this plan would give someone else the first taste of little Hyacinth. The girl was delectable, after all. Cecil so loved to initiate innocents into carnal delight. He’d have to satisfy himself with taking the poor soiled dove under his wing after the fact. That idea took firm root. Perhaps there were pleasures he’d not experienced before in administering penance to a ruined girl. It would be worth exploring.

  But Gabriel Drake was an imposing figure. Cecil had no desire to meet the Lord of Dragon Caern on a field of honor and Drake was not the sort to forego satisfaction. So if the girl was to be used to incite an incident, it could not be by Cecil.

  Hugh Curtmantle was Drake’s match for height and probably carried a stone or two more of weight. If Hugh defeated Drake, that would answer nicely.

  If not, well, Drake’s already tarnished character would not withstand another scandal. What wellborn woman would consider wedding a man who would murder his childhood friend? The reason for the fight would surely be hushed up to protect the girl and it would thoroughly destroy Drake’s reputation among the nobility. If Gabriel Drake didn’t succeed in wedding and producing an heir, then the outcome would still be the same. The Dragon Caern barony would lapse. It would just take longer. Delicate maneuvers such as these required patience.

  And Cecil was nothing i
f not patient.

  Chapter 12

  On the night of Lord Drake’s ball, Curtmantle’s coach-and-six pounded along the narrow road that led from his threadbare barony to Dragon Caern.

  “This velvet is abominably worn.” Lady Catherine Curtmantle fingered the offending upholstery.

  “None sees it but we,” Hugh said.

  “And it doesn’t matter to you if my sensibilities are offended.”

  He grunted. “Madam, since you’ve consented to aid me in advancing our cause this evening, I fear your sensibilities are already sadly lacking.”

  She slanted her cat-eyed gaze at him. Loathing bunched in the back of her throat. Since he shared the plan he and that horrid Oddbody had hatched, Catherine could barely stand the sight of her husband.

  Not that she’d been over-fond of him to begin with.

  If he’d just done it, she could wink at his indiscretion, order herself a new wardrobe made, for which he could not complain, and be done with it. She certainly didn’t care where Hugh took his ease as long as it was not in her bed. She’d given him an heir and one confinement was definitely enough. There were things one could do to avoid another conception, but she didn’t care enough about her husband to make the effort. Keeping him from her bed was the better choice.

  But now, he’d made her an accomplice in the planned seduction of Lord Drake’s oldest niece, a chit barely old enough not to be considered a child.

  And she hated him for it.

  But she wouldn’t try to stop him. They needed the wealth hidden in Dragon Caern. Catherine was sick to death of scrimping and patching and trying to keep up appearances. If she had to wear this tired old gown one more time, she’d have a fit. Once they had control of Dragon Caern, she’d never have to do without again.

  She looked out the window as they bumped along. The Caern winked in the distance like a star. But for a wee misstep years ago, she’d be mistress there, married to Gabriel Drake. Hugh was a charmer back then and she’d succumbed to his wiles. She’d been lusty and curious in her youth and Hugh had a big, willing mandrake. Of course, the fact that he stood to inherit while Gabriel was merely a second son might have played a part in the debacle as well.