The Pirate's Temptation (Pirates of Britannia World Book 12)

by Tara Kingston

  “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for ye,” Rory called. “The wind is bitter enough to freeze yer bits.”

  “Can a man find any peace on his own land?’ Jamie asked.

  “A messenger arrived. He’s come and gone, but he left this for ye. He said it’s a matter of consequence.”

  Jamie took the envelope from his brother’s hand. A single initial embossed the wax seal. L. Tearing open the envelope, he took in the neatly penned message.

  “What is it, Jamie? Ye seem as if ye’ve looked into the eyes of the devil himself.”

  He reread the missive, convincing himself his eyes had not played a fiendish trick.

  “Take it,” he said, extending the letter.

  Rory stared down at it, his eyes narrowing in anger and shock. “The bloke wants to spur ye into doin’ his biddin’. This canna mean—”

  Anger surged in Jamie’s veins. Bluidy good thing Finch was not around at that moment. He might well have killed the no-good cur.

  Who will be the next to pay for your crime? The time for penance is now—before all is lost.

  Chapter Twelve

  If ghosts did truly haunt the halls of Castle MacArron, they likely roamed aimlessly, lost amongst the sprawling labyrinth of chambers and corridors of the centuries-old stronghold. Days after she’d arrived, Leana was still learning the layout of the place. Fortunately, most of the family’s activities were confined to several rooms which were meticulously maintained to Mrs. Davidson’s exacting standards.

  Leana peered up at the portrait of James MacArron’s pirate ancestor, the dashing privateer who’d used the strategies and daring he’d honed as a pirate to earn a knighthood for his service to the crown. Tall and lean, possessing a chiseled jaw and a firm, sensuous mouth, Captain Seamus MacDougall had posed for his portrait with a sgian dubh tucked into his hose and a cutlass in his hand. A look of arrogance played on his lips, a boldness in his posture, both traits captured to perfection by the artist. MacDougall’s hair had been a shade or two lighter than his great-grandson’s, a fine golden hue, and his intriguing eyes were more blue than green. Still, the resemblance between the men was undeniable.

  Her mind wandered to thoughts of James MacArron. She’d been foolish to challenge the man. What in heaven had she been thinking, insinuating he’d been bested by his younger brother—and with her help, no less?

  He’d certainly shown her what’s what when he asked her to dance. Moving across the floor with one warm, strong hand at her waist and the other gently clasping hers, she’d lost herself in his arms. At least for a moment. Perhaps two. What would it be like to dance with the man while an orchestra played, to feel at home in his arms as he held her, night after night? Morning after passionate morning?

  Ye dinna know me—nor what I am capable of.

  He’d murmured the words against her ear, his warm breath a wisp against her lobe. Had he issued a warning? Or a challenge?

  Ah, what a delicious challenge that would be.

  A little sigh escaped her. Pity she could not soothe her heart’s longing. She’d know better next time. She’d protect herself and steel her heart. There was no place in her life for a dalliance with a man—any man, much less the handsome pirate who expected proper dignity and decorum from the woman he’d entrusted with his bairns.

  Pulling in a breath to shore up her courage, she continued along the shadowed corridor. Portraits of Scots who’d lived centuries before she’d taken her first breath gazed down at her. Coming to a room she’d yet to explore, she tested the door. The hinges squealed as the stout panel swung open. What would she find in the dimly lit space? Would cobwebs drape the corners of the ceiling and a phantom or two peek out from their hiding places? She smiled to herself. My, she was becoming fanciful. It wasn’t like her to let a child’s imaginative fears get to her.

  She stepped inside. A light creak beneath her feet seemed to announce her entry. Like many rooms in the castle, this chamber—she believed it was a sitting room—languished unused and unattended, likely for decades. As her eyes adjusted to the faint illumination, she took in the white-draped furnishings, tapestries on the walls, and heavy curtains covering the windows, allowing in only slivers of light.

  A massive portrait hung over the fireplace. She opened the drapes, and sunlight flooded the room, bathing the image in a golden glow—a woman whose pale blue Empire-style gown displayed her beauty to perfection. A pendant set with sapphires as deep blue as her large, expressive eyes adorned her throat.

  My heavens, she’d seen those eyes before. Studying the portrait, it seemed she’d been given a glimpse of Isla some twenty years in the future.

  “Ye’re looking at my great-grandmother.” MacArron’s husky voice caught her by surprise. “Elizabeth Adams MacDougall.”

  He was standing inches behind her, close enough to touch. Close enough to draw in the woodsy notes of his shaving soap. How had he entered without her even detecting his footfalls? My, the man moved with the stealth of a panther.

  She turned to meet his gaze. To her relief, she saw no sign of anger that she’d entered this room. Rather, questions played in his eyes.

  “I suspected the relationship,” Leana said. “She was lovely. Isla is her very image.”

  “I never knew her. She left this world long before I took my first breath.” An emotion she couldn’t read colored his voice.

  A fresh wave of awareness washed over her. His nearness set her senses on full alert. She had to focus on something other than the way he’d caught her snooping about his house—and the fact they were alone.

  “Why is this room unused?” she asked, hating the slight, nervous quiver in her voice.

  “This was my great-grandmother’s private study. She was a brilliant woman, well-read in the classics, fluent in four languages. She was also a poet. I’m told she would retire here for the solitude she needed to compose her sonnets. After her death, my great-grandfather could not bear to think of it empty, without her bright spirit to warm it. So he had it closed off. Mrs. Davidson still insists on dusting the place from time to time, but no one has used this room in years.”

  “How very sad,” she said. “She must have been very young…when she died.”

  “She was not quite thirty.” Turning to her, he quirked a brow. “Surely Mrs. Davidson told you about her—about the family curse. She never misses an opportunity to regale any newcomer with the tale.”

  Leana swallowed. She didn’t wish to cause trouble for the housekeeper. “Mrs. Davidson was merely making conversation.”

  “All the women who marry into my bloodline meet a tragic fate.” MacArron met her eyes, seeming to challenge her. “I’d bet my last shilling she dinna fail to mention that.”

  “I cannot say I paid much heed to her words. After all, I am a governess, not a MacArron bride.”

  “Ye’ve got nothin’ to worry about then, do ye, Miss Fraser?” His mouth curved at the corners, not quite a smile. “Unless of course, ye dinna mind temptin’ fate.”

  A breath hovered in her throat as her stomach did a little somersault. Slowly, she released the low breath, even as she held his teasing gaze.

  “I’ve no intention of tempting anything, much less fate.” She tilted up her chin. “And certainly not a man like you.”

  “Ye think not?”

  “I’ve no intention of endangering my place here by tempting anyone, much less a pirate.”

  “Intentions.” He repeated the word, placing emphasis on each syllable, seeming to question her. “What makes ye think yer intentions play a part in whether or not a man is tempted?”

  She gulped a breath. “As a modern woman, I am well aware a man’s baser instincts may be aroused without any deliberate action on my part, but I’ve no intention—”

  “There’s that word again. Here’s what I think of yer intentions.”

  He smiled a scoundrel’s smile as his hand caught hers in a soft hold. Interlacing his fingers with hers, he curved one strong arm around her wa
ist, drawing her closer. His gaze locked with hers. Fierce. Demanding. Questioning.

  “If I kissed ye now, would ye think me a scoundrel takin’ only what he wants? Or would ye see it as a surrender—to a hell of a temptation?”

  Her heart thrummed as her breath caught deep in her throat. His broad, hard chest pressed to her breasts, so near she could feel his heart beating in a rhythm with hers.

  “Both,” she whispered against his lips.

  “Would ye hate me for takin’ what I want, lass?” Pulling her closer, his hand splayed over the small of her back, holding her to his body.

  This is wrong. Her mind raced desperately. This can only lead to disaster.

  “Answer me, Leana. Would ye hate me if I kissed ye?”

  “No.” The word escaped her lips, the tiniest of whispers. “It would only be a kiss. Not a seduction.”

  “Not a seduction, eh?” His low, masculine rasp washed over her.

  Protect yourself, Leana. Protect your heart.

  She eased herself free of his hold. “If you kissed me—and the key word is if—you would not entice me into your bed.”

  “Ye’re sure of that, are ye?”

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.” Leana nibbled her lip. My, she wasn’t very convincing, was she? An arrogant half-smile pulled at the corners of his full, sensuous mouth, betraying the truth—he’d seen right through her.

  “That sounds like a challenge, Miss Leana Fraser.”

  “You may take it any way you wish,” she said, mustering resolve. “A kiss is merely a kiss. Nothing more.”

  “And if it is my intention to prove ye wrong, lass?”

  “You will not succeed, Captain.”

  “You’re verra sure of yerself.”

  “I am.” Even as she spoke the words, she prayed she was right. Heaven only knew the sin in his eyes was a powerful lure. She shouldn’t want him. Didn’t she know better than to play with this particular fire? But she couldn’t quite help herself. “After all, it isn’t as if I’ve never been kissed before. And I certainly did not tumble into bed with the others.”

  “Ah, Leana—they never kissed ye like I will.”

  The woman has been put on this earth to drive me bluidy mad.

  Jamie held himself very still, studying the woman who seemed destined to drive him to Bedlam. What was it about Leana that sent his good intentions crashing through the window?

  She was a governess, not a woman seeking a man’s protection and his coin by warming his bed. Leana looked at him with uncertainty in her gaze. And a trust he hadn’t glimpsed in a woman’s eyes for a very long time. Damnation, she had no right to trust him, of all people. If she knew what was best for her, she’d turn on her heel and march right out of the room, slam the door behind her for good measure, and find another bairn or two to watch over—children with a mother who still lived and breathed and a father who didn’t hunger to taste her lips more with each passing moment.

  In a sense, it would be easier for him if she were a schemer, out to use his desire for her own benefit. He could resist temptation if she were a conniver. He’d no desire for a mistress, or for any woman who might turn his body’s whims against him. Damned shame his cock had less to do with his hunger for her than the region in his heart he’d have sworn was scarred beyond repair.

  No, she was not out to seduce him. To the contrary, she’d pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she kept her gaze locked with his. Worrying the soft, rosy flesh with her teeth, she seemed to puzzle through what had just happened and whether she might allow herself to sample his kiss. And more.

  At the thought, his cock went even harder. Damnation, the prospect of a mere kiss should not set his rod to bucking against his drawers. It wasn’t as if he were a green lad, out to bed his first woman. Truth be told, he could have his pick of many a willing lass—a woman who knew what the hell she was doing between the sheets, a woman he could bring to ecstasy without risk of entangling himself in a snare of longing. But at the moment, he hungered for something infinitely more dangerous.

  Something he’d be a fool to think he deserved.

  A lass like Leana wouldn’t give herself to a man without throwing her heart into the mix. In the end, he’d shatter the fragile trust she didn’t try to hide.

  And he’d hate himself for it.

  Still, he wanted to touch her.

  Not wanted—needed.

  Reaching out to her, he swept his fingertips over the velvet smooth skin of her cheek. Her breath quickened, and her delectable, tempt-the-devil lips parted. Ah, the things he would do to her if she were his—he’d bring her pleasure in ways a well-bred lass might never even think to dream of.

  But she was not his.

  And she never would be.

  Walk away. The shreds of his conscience raged at him. Hadn’t he brought enough pain in his life? But by hellfire, how could he think to resist her when he could scarcely tear his gaze away from her mouth?

  Her gaze held his, expectant. Still so damned trusting. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and give her a little shake. Didn’t she know better than to trust a man like him, a blasted pirate?

  He dropped his hand to his side. Damn it, he had to leave her be.

  A woman like Leana deserved more than a tumble between the sheets. The lass deserved a man who’d cherish her smile and the challenge in her eyes.

  She deserved tenderness.

  She deserved seduction.

  She sure as hell deserves a better man than me.

  Letting out a low, slow breath, he summoned his resolve and went to the door.

  “Good night, Leana.”

  “Don’t go.”

  Her whispered reply reached his ears. Her voice was soft as velvet, its touch of huskiness much too appealing. If she’d fired a weapon, he might’ve been less surprised.

  He turned to her. A tempting little smile curved her mouth.

  Blasted confounding woman. He’d walked away. He’d taken the high road. What more did she want of him?

  She planted her hands on her hips and tipped up her chin. Did she have any idea how bluidy tempting she was?

  “This is most unfair,” she said in that delicious voice of hers.

  “Unfair? Lass, ye know not of what ye speak. One of us has to walk away.”

  She eyed him up and down, challenge in her eyes. “And there I thought you were the scourge of the seas—a man out to demonstrate his seductive charm. Am I to be deprived of the opportunity to prove my own fortitude? I’d rather looked forward to teaching you a lesson about the will of a strong-minded lass.”

  God above, she was playing a risky game. Was she truly intent on tearing down his last thread of restraint?

  “The will of a strong-minded lass?” He plowed his fingers through his hair. “Precisely what have ye been reading to put such thoughts in yer head?”

  “My thoughts are my own, I assure you.” Her dark eyes flashed, teasing him nearly to his limits. “I am confident in my own will. I will not be easily seduced by words. Or a fleeting kiss from a man who isn’t even inclined to bestow it.”

  “Ye’re verra sure of yerself, lass.”

  “The evidence speaks for itself.”

  Striding toward her, he quickly closed the separation between them. “Ye believe I dinna want to kiss ye?”

  Her throat appeared to tighten, as if she’d gulped a little breath. So, she wasn’t quite as brave as she pretended to be.

  “It’s quite simple, really. You’ve implied your kiss is remarkably seductive—nearly irresistible to a woman, even a lass as iron-willed as me.”

  “If this is a game, Leana, ye’re not going to win.”

  “You’re verra sure of yourself,” she said, tossing his earlier taunt back at him.

  “With good reason. I may be a scoundrel, but I’m not a fool.”

  “A scoundrel?” She quirked a delicate brow. “I think not. I’m starting to believe you’re a gentleman in pirate’s clothin
g. Why, you haven’t even pressed your lips chastely to my cheek, let alone graced me with one of your surely-I’ll-swoon-into-your-bed kisses.”

  He raked his hand through his hair again, silently beseeching God for strength. Swoon-into-your-bed kisses. Bluidy hell, how did such notions occur to her? This slender lass with the renegade waves of coppery brown hair was going to lead him to the edge of madness.

  He fixed her with his steeliest gaze. Maybe he did need to kiss some sense into her and teach her a lesson about toying with a Scot who was already at the end of his rope.

  “So, am I to understand I have not kept my end of the challenge?” he questioned, his voice a low rasp.

  Her shoulders lifted and fell. What seemed a fresh wave of daring lit her eyes. Was it his imagination, or had she squared her shoulders a bit more, as if to steady herself?

  “That would seem to be the case,” she murmured, her tone a cross between anticipation and uncertainty.

  One kiss. Where would the harm be in one bluidy kiss?

  Curving his fingers around her wrist, he gently drew her near. If the lass desired a kiss, he’d damn well kiss her so thoroughly she’d forget she’d ever been kissed before. With his free hand, he threaded silky strands of her hair around his fingers, brushing the long, dark waves over her shoulder. Releasing her arm, he raised his hands to her face, framing her beautiful features. For a long moment, he waited. He’d give her this chance to stop him, this chance to maintain their sanity before it was too late.

  She drew in a calm breath, and lifted her hand to his face. Tracing the curve of his jaw, she smiled as her fingertips danced over the bristles of new beard.

  “It’s only a kiss,” she whispered, and damned if the words weren’t as seductive an enticement as any he’d ever heard.

  He couldn’t help but smile. Ah, the lass was in for a lesson she’d not soon forget.

  Dipping his head, he brushed his lips over hers, tasting their sweetness as if she were a rare delicacy. He let out a low groan, willing himself to rein in his most carnal impulses.

  “Verra well, lass,” he murmured against her lips. “If I am to kiss ye, I’d damned well better get it right.”