How To Please a Pirate

by Mia Marlowe

  “Hang my reputation,” Gabriel growled. “Damn that Hugh. Not again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that this isn’t the first time I’ve gone looking for a girl Hugh’s seduced.” Gabriel snapped his fingers. “That’s it. I know where they are. Hugh would think it clever to use the same spot.”

  Gabriel flew out the nearest alcove and into the garden. In the far corner of the open space, an exterior staircase wrapped around one of Dragon Caern’s many turrets. Gabriel mounted the steps two at a time, fingering the hilt of his sword.

  The sword was meant to be decorative, Jacquelyn had explained, as much an ornament as the silver on his shoes or the golden lace at the wrists of his frockcoat. She insisted it was quite the done thing that he wear a weapon on the dance floor. Now he was grateful he’d demanded that it be functional as well. The hilt might be crusted with jewels, but the blade was honed to a killing edge.

  As he neared the top of the tower, an eerie sense of history repeating itself stole over him. The last time he climbed this tower, he’d found Catherine, his betrothed, with her heels in the air and his friend Hugh grunting between them.

  He’d left for sea the next morning without a word to anyone. It was the only way he could avoid the urge to gut his childhood friend and denounce his fiancée for a lightskirt.

  Rage roared through him. By God, if he found Hugh rutting his niece, he’d not hesitate this time. He’d hang the man by his own entrails.

  His bloody thoughts were interrupted when he heard Jacquelyn and Daisy clambering behind him.

  “Go back,” he whispered hoarsely. If there was carnage in his near future, the last thing he needed was this woman and child to witness his savagery.

  “No, if Hyacinth is there, she may need me,” Jacquelyn said.

  “Me, too.” Daisy piped from behind her.

  Gabe was about to object more strenuously when he heard Hyacinth’s voice from above.

  “Oh, please, let me go. I want to go back. I want to go back,” her reedy voice chanted in despair.

  “Hugh!” Gabriel bellowed as he flew up the remaining steps.

  When he threw open the door to the top of the tower, he found his niece, hugging her own knees making herself into a very small ball. Hugh was standing a few feet from her. He hadn’t had time to re-button both sides of his drop-front breeches, but he’d been forward thinking enough to draw his blade when he heard Gabriel’s shout.

  “You bastard,” Gabriel said, his voice low and crackling with menace. He heard Jacquelyn’s gasp behind him. Then she and Daisy’s hurried over to wrap Hyacinth in their arms.

  “Oh, Mistress Jacquelyn!” Hyacinth wailed.

  “Come, Drake. Surely you understand. The girl taunted me all evening,” Curtmantle said. “If you lay out such a tasty morsel, you can’t blame a man for wanting to take a bite. After all, you were a pirate. Lord knows you’ve done your share of taking.”

  “Not if the lass was unwilling or young enough to still be in the schoolroom,” Gabriel said. “Even a pirate has certain standards you seem to lack.”

  Hugh laughed unpleasantly. “You may have me there. So, Drake, what do you intend to do? You ran away rather than challenge me last time.”

  “I’ll not run now.”

  Gabriel roared and launched a blistering assault. The world spun around him, a disjointed blur of shrieks from the girls, the musty scent of old rushes on the stone floor and the ever present metallic rasp of blade on blade. A spurt of red shot across his vision as one of them drew first blood. Wounds were never felt in the heat of battle. He wasn’t sure if the blood was his or Hugh’s.

  It didn’t matter. A red haze settled over his eyes. Hugh drew a dirk from his boot and sliced at Gabriel in a windmill of flashing steel.

  Gabriel parried and gave ground. Then in a neat trick not taught by gentlemanly swordmasters, he disarmed Hugh with a couple of maneuvers that would have been labeled unsportsmanlike in any fencing master’s school. But since he and Hugh were trying to kill each other, the rules could go hang. At the very least, the flat of Gabriel’s sword across Hugh’s groin might insure that he’d sire no more bastards this night.

  He grabbed up Hugh’s dropped dirk, shoved his one-time friend to his knees and pulled his head back to expose his throat.

  “Wait!” Hugh pleaded when Gabriel laid the cold steel to his neck. “I didn’t do anything. The girl is yet a maid! On my hope of Heaven, I swear it.”

  “If Heaven lets the likes of you in, I hope to be bound for Hell,” Gabriel growled.

  “Gabriel, stop!” Jacquelyn stood. “He’s telling the truth. Tell your uncle, Hyacinth.”

  “Well?” he demanded. “What did this scum do to you?”

  Hyacinth swiped her nose on her fancy sleeve and sniffed. “He told me I was pretty and then he kissed me and that wasn’t so bad.” Her little face crumpled in misery. “But then he stuck his tongue down my throat.”

  “Ew!” Daisy shuddered.

  “And that’s all?” Gabriel demanded, the dirk still poised for a killing slice.

  “There wasn’t time for anything else,” Hugh said honestly. He swallowed hard and a thin ribbon of red trickled down his neck. “Think, Gabriel. Surely, you can’t mean to kill me over this trifle. Not with your banquet hall filled with guests.”

  “Your concern for my guests is touching.” Gabriel spat the words through clenched teeth.

  The dirk bit into Hugh’s flesh, no deeper than a hair’s breadth. Sweat beaded his old friend’s brow and Gabriel caught a whiff of urine.

  The old wound in Gabe’s heart ached once or twice. He’d never have left Dragon Caern if not for Hugh and Catherine’s betrayal. He’d never have turned pirate, never have become the beast he was trying so hard to tame. All that longed for peace and civility within him ordered him to put down the blade. Yet, the beast whispered to him, tempting him with the thought that it would be so sweet to let his dirk drink its fill of this coward’s blood.

  “My lord . . . “ Jacquelyn’s voice called him back from the brink of murder. “Please.”

  With effort, he lowered the dirk. But he kept a firm grip on Hugh’s shoulder, forcing him to remain on his knees.

  “You’re right, as always, Mistress,” he said. “Let there be decency and decorum this night.”

  Hugh slumped forward in relief.

  A totally wicked thought occurred to Gabriel and he was unable to resist this one. “I will not kill you as you deserve. However, penance is required for your crime.”

  Jacquelyn held him with her gaze over the sobbing Hyacinth’s shoulder. “My lord, if you demand redress in a public fashion, the damage to Hy—“

  “I would never do anything to harm my nieces,” Gabriel assured her. “In fact, I shall see to it that Baron Curtmantle helps them. The girls have been studying the practices of the noble savages who populate the wilderness in the Colonies. Hugh, you’re going to aid their study in exactly the same way I did a few days ago.”

  He winked at his niece.

  “Daisy, get a rope.”

  Chapter 15

  Gabriel made one more circuit of his chambers, then climbed back into bed. The feather tick was certainly more comfortable than his narrow captain’s berth aboard the Revenge, but he still missed the sea’s constant rocking, now gentle, now tossing him about. He willed his mind to give up and let his body find sleep.

  It was a losing battle.

  He laced his fingers behind his head and stared up into the damask bed curtains. At least, the evening had been declared a rousing success. Supper was heartily enjoyed by all. The string quartet was nearly inexhaustible, playing one reel after another as his guests reveled in exuberant country dancing after their oh-so-proper courtly steps earlier.

  And almost everyone left him at the door exclaiming over the delightful comedic farce presented after the meal.

  His lovely nieces played an Algonquin war party and one thoroughly humiliated Baron Curtmantle se
rved admirably as their prey. Jacquelyn made Gabriel step in, acting as “His Majesty’s loyal militia” to rescue the poor baron before the flames got too high. Hugh was covered with sweat and smoke, but without a singe on his miserable hide, more’s the pity.

  After making a spectacle of Baron Curtmantle, Gabriel called Meriwether up from the wine cellar to stitch the shallow flesh wound Gabriel had given Hugh during their swordfight. Meri told him later the baron whimpered throughout the procedure, especially since Meri forbade him a drink of spirits to dull the pain.

  Of course, nothing kept Meri from taking a nip or three while he stitched.

  Gabriel sighed. So much for turning the other cheek.

  He really intended to let the past stay there. His pain over Hugh bedding his betrothed was so far dissipated by time, it was as though it had happened to someone else. Gabriel had actually been pleased to see Hugh again. He’d been willing to overlook Hugh’s sins since he had plenty of his own to atone for, but damn his eyes! The man had to try and seduce his niece. If Gabriel was still Captain aboard the Revenge, he’d have run up the red flag and given Hugh no quarter.

  The loss of Hugh’s friendship was no great thing, but now he’d made an enemy of him. Who knew what Hugh might do? Part of him wished he’d followed his instinct and spilled all Hugh’s blood in the tower.

  There was much to be said for a clean kill. A wounded boar was more likely to take down his hunter than a healthy one. Humiliated and alive, Hugh was more dangerous than ever to all Gabriel held dear.

  But Jacquelyn had stayed his hand.

  For this night at least, seeing the quiet approval in Jacquelyn’s gray eyes was worth whatever danger the future might hold.

  * * *

  “Lyn.” His deep voice wrapped her in its velvet timbre, but it gave her no peace.

  The aching wouldn’t stop. Every muscle in her body clenched in concert with her throbbing folds. There was an emptiness inside her that cried out for filling, a longing that knew no surcease.

  His mouth on her breasts was heaven. Her nipples drew up tight and tender. She arched her back as his tongue flicked over them, teasing them into demanding little points.

  “Gabriel,” she whimpered his name over and over as if she were chanting a prayer. Finally he suckled her, flooding her being with pleasure.

  But the pleasure was sharp-edged. Far from satisfying her, he only whetted her hunger. She grabbed a fistful of the linen sheets when his lips trailed over her sweat-slick ribs and belly to delve into her inner secrets.

  She cried out when his mouth parted her, loving her sensitive mound of flesh with his lips and tongue and—Good Lord!—his teeth. Jacquelyn teetered on the edge of some precipice, but couldn’t seem to fall. She rubbed her breasts with the flat of her palms, trying to still their complaint at being left wanting.

  The scent of her own arousal filled her nostrils and still the ache wouldn’t stop. She was too far gone for shame to matter any more.

  “Please,” was all she could manage before he raised himself to claim her mouth. His tongue sweetly invaded and she tasted herself on him as his weight settled on her.

  Then in a sudden rush, he was inside her, swollen and potent. She expanded to receive him with joy. They moved in tandem, slick and wet, skin on skin, but the ache went on. Each thrust only sharpened her torment.

  “Gabriel,” she moaned. “I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

  “Lyn, what is it?” His voice washed over her, rumbling and true.

  She thrashed to one side, trembling with need. His hand brushed her temple and slid down to cradle her cheek.

  “Wake up, Lyn. You’re dreaming,” he said softly. “And though I’ve no hope of heaven, I’d give a year in paradise to know what that dream was about.”

  That brought her bolt upright. She jerked her sheets to her chin. Had he been bedding her as she slept?

  No. Her nightshift was bunched at her waist but it was still there beneath her sheets and Lord Drake was fully clothed. In her dream, they’d both been splendidly naked.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, louder than she intended.

  Gabriel put a finger to her lips to shush her. “Easy, now. There’s no cause for alarm.” He settled beside her on the bed and lowered his hand.

  “I wake to find you in my chambers in the dead of night. How can you say there’s no cause for alarm?” When she inhaled, she was dismayed to find a little muskiness from her dream lingered in her bedclothes. “We narrowly avoided scandal earlier tonight with Hyacinthe. If anyone saw you enter . . .”

  “No one saw me enter.”

  “How can you be sure?’

  “Because I didn’t come through the door,” he said, his teeth flashing white in the light of a single candle. Behind him, she noticed a gaping hole in one of her walls. “This old castle is more riddled with secret passages than a block of Swiss cheese. You didn’t know?”

  Jacquelyn shook her head. If he scented her arousal at least he was gentleman enough not to mention it. Her groin still throbbed.

  “Come. I’ll show you.” He stood and offered his hand.

  She didn’t dare touch him. Her skin prickled all over, charged and sensitive. She was dry tinder waiting for a single spark to burst into full flame. If she touched so much as a fingertip of him, a dark, wanton part of her might pull him back into bed with her to finish the madness her dream started.

  Instead, she wrapped a sheet around herself as an extra layer of protection from him and climbed out of bed to inspect the opening. Cool air from the dim, secret corridor shivered over her.

  “Rupert and I used to play in these passages when we were children,” he said, his tone both wistful and boyishly excited. “They go everywhere—from the battlements to the lowest dungeon.”

  “Really?” She peered into the void. “Are all the chambers connected this way?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “But the corridors all seem to lead eventually to mine.”

  She took the candle from him and stepped into the passage. There was plenty of room for her, but the musty space was barely wide enough for his broad shoulders to pass through and only a hand’s breadth taller than Gabriel himself. It was festooned with cobwebs, but otherwise seemed clean and dry, leading off in both directions.

  “How did you know this particular hidden doorway led to my chamber?” A sudden naughty thought seared her imagination. “There aren’t peep-holes, are there?”

  The idea that he might have secretly watched her sometime as she dressed and undressed, or bathed in her little hipbath was at once horrifying and beguiling. If she’d known, would she have lingered at her task, stretching naked for his consideration? Might she let the soap bubbles slide longer than necessary down her limbs or take sly pleasure in spreading herself with her washing cloth, hoping to hear his sharp intake of breath through the wall?

  A wicked tingle settled between her legs. She pulled the sheet tighter around herself and gave a little shake, trying to slough off the last wayward urges of her wanton dream.

  “A peephole? No,” he said with sorrow in his voice. “But the idea has merit! I could certainly see to it, if you’d like.”

  “Absolutely not!” Her cheeks burned. He seemed to sense her lurid reaction to the thought of him spying upon her. “Then if you couldn’t see me, how did you know this is my chamber?“

  “I didn’t. Just fortunate, I guess,” he said with a grin. “I couldn’t sleep. I remembered the old system of passageways and thought I’d do some exploring, just to see if my memory of them was correct. When I heard someone call out my name, I nearly jumped out of my skin.”

  “Someone called out?” She shriveled with embarrassment. In her dream, she’d fairly sung his name.

  “Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be you, Mistress.” He took a step closer to her. “I wasn’t able to find solace in the arms of Morpheus this night, but from the sounds you were making as you slept, it seemed you certainly found someone’s
arms. Since you called my name, dare I hope they were mine?”

  “I rarely have any recollection of my dreams,” she said as handed him the candle. This dream however was fresh and stark as a full moon on a cloudless night. “A night phantom is of no import and when one wakes from it, the vision flees like the vapor it always was.”

  But most dreams didn’t leave her with such a heavy, dull ache in her groin. It was almost enough to make her believe Father Eustace’s warning that there were such things as incubi, malicious spirits intent on driving women mad with desire as they slept.

  Except her particular incubus definitely bore Gabriel Drake’s face.

  “Now, since you have no business in my chamber, would you please be so kind as to leave the same way you came?” she said, waving a hand toward the opening in the wall.

  “I can understand your desire to return to that dream,” he said. “Sounded like you were having a wonderful time.”

  Part of her knew she should be affronted, but another part couldn’t condemn him for the truth. Her dream was wonderful.

  And frustrating.

  And maddening.

  She didn’t know how much more of it she could bear.

  “I doubt very much that I can go back to sleep now.” The pulsing between her legs would probably torment her for hours. “Would . . . would you like some company in your explorations?”

  His grin almost outshined the candle.

  “Nothing would please me more.” He cocked a suggestive brow. “Well, almost nothing.”

  Jacquelyn glowered at him. She might dream of wild abandon with this man, but in the real world, she had to help him do his duty to Dragon Caern.

  “If you are coming with me, you might wish to change your mode of dress. Not that I don’t find you delectable en dishabille,” he hastened to add. “But no one has used these passageways for years. I’d hate to see you soil your nightshift.”

  “One moment then,” she said as she padded to the trunk that held her belongings. “I still have Timothy’s clothes. They’re little more than rags anyway. Especially since you nearly ruined the shirt. But maybe I can tie it closed in the back.”