The Pirate Lord

by Sabrina Jeffries

  And to think she’d almost given in to him! What a dreadful mistake that would have been!

  Louisa shrugged. “He’s the captain. Surely you didn’t expect him to follow the same rules he set for his men.”

  “That’s exactly what I did expect.” Sara sniffed. “He talks about starting a colony and making it a paradise, but what he really wants is a harem for him and his men. He wants to make us all into Queenies.”

  “Shh,” Louisa whispered. “Here she comes now.”

  Sara told herself not to pay any attention to the woman. But she couldn’t resist peeking to see if Queenie indeed looked as if she’d spent the night with the captain.

  There was no doubt about it. Queenie had definitely spent the night with someone. She wore a cat-in-the-cream smile as she swaggered across the deck toward the other women, and her face literally glowed with good health.

  “Good mornin’, all,” she chirped. Stretching her shapely arms high over her head, she gave an exaggerated yawn. “Afraid I’m a little late gettin’ around this mornin’. Had a long night, you know.” With a languid grace Sara hardly knew the woman possessed, she let her arms slide back down like wilting flower petals, then struck a seductive pose. “I tell you, ladies, you mustn’t worry about the kind of husbands these pirates make. Judging from last night, I’d say they’ll do nicely…quite nicely indeed.”

  Most of the women chuckled. Sara couldn’t. Turning her flaming face back to the horizon, she fought down the bitter words rising in her throat. What did it matter if Gideon had bedded Queenie? What did it matter if the wretched tart had enjoyed it? They deserved each other. Queenie represented the worst of the convict women and Gideon the worst of the pirates; they’d be perfect together.

  Then Sara felt, rather than saw, Queenie press through the crowd to stand next to her. Clamping her lips shut, Sara continued to stare at the island, which now loomed much closer and larger than before.

  “Is that it?” Queenie asked, bracing her crossed arms against the rail. “That’s Atlantis?”

  “We think so,” Louisa thankfully answered. Sara couldn’t have answered civilly at that moment if her life depended on it.

  “Don’t look like much,” Queenie grumbled. “There’s no green. And where’s the water?”

  Sara’s eyes narrowed. Queenie was right. There was no evidence of a spring or any sort of vegetation. Surely this couldn’t be what Gideon had meant by “paradise.” If so, he had a strange idea about what paradise required.

  A somber silence fell on all the women as the ship neared the island. After everything these women have endured, Sara thought, at least Gideon could have had the decency not to deceive them about what lay ahead at Atlantis.

  As they watched, however, the ship started to veer to the right. It was still making for the island, but now it seemed to be making for the furthest end of it.

  “Maybe this ain’t the island after all,” one of the women standing behind Sara remarked. “Maybe we just got to get around it.”

  “I don’t think so,” Sara mused aloud, now very curious. “If they’d wanted to avoid it, they could have passed it from a greater distance.”

  The women surged forward against the railing as each sought to get a better look at the huge expanse of dead grass and half-submerged boulders that was now so close they could make out the forms of white seagulls flitting in and out of the jumble of rock.

  The ship turned fully to the right and was sailing parallel to the island. It took several minutes to round the rocky outcropping on the end, for Atlantis was wider than they’d expected. But as the ship passed the point, putting them in view of a new side of the island, the women collectively gasped.

  This side was as green and lush as the other side had been brown and dry. Feathery coconut palms lined the sandy curve of shore, and beyond them a veritable jungle of exotic trees, twisting vines, and matted undergrowth stretched upward toward the top of the island, a peak that appeared to be several miles inland.

  Thatched huts of various designs were nestled into the forest banking the beach, and at one end of the natural lagoon a dock that looked substantial enough to accommodate the Satyr stretched out into the water as if waiting to claim them. Another vessel was moored to it on the side away from them, a sloop about half the size of the Satyr, but obviously quite seaworthy and probably still capable of carrying a large cargo.

  As the ship slowed, Sara glimpsed a silvery sliver of a stream bisecting the shore. Beside it lay a couple of rough wooden carts, obviously used for hauling containers of water. There was even a rude track along the beach where the cart had obviously been dragged.

  Paradise. She had to admit it. Clear blue waters filled with tropical fish, colorful fruits dripping from the trees, and a light, warm climate. Heaven itself.

  The sound of wood scraping against wood jolted her from her thoughts, signaling that they’d reached the dock. As men scurried to weigh anchor and secure the ship against the newly cut posts, the women began to point out sights and to chatter excitedly about their home.

  “So what do you think, ladies?” came a voice behind them. “Does it meet your expectations?”

  As a chorus of women exclaimed over the island, Sara tightened her lips. Gideon. Apparently, with the ship docked he now had time to come boast about his precious island. Bother it all. She had half a mind to tell him exactly what he could do with his paradise.

  From his standpoint behind Sara, Gideon surveyed her stiff back and rigid stance, wondering what she was so angry about now. He’d expected her to be pleasantly surprised by the delights of Atlantis Island, not furious.

  Why in blazes do I care? he thought sourly when she refused to look at him or say anything. She made her bed with that blasted Hargraves. Let her lie in it.

  The trouble was, he couldn’t stand to let Hargraves have her. God knew she was a troublesome wench, with a tongue that could strip the barnacles off a ship’s hull. But he couldn’t help remembering how it had felt to hold her and kiss her, how, for just a few moments, she’d been an eager, melting softness in his arms. Confound her, thoughts like that had kept him up half the night, making him call for Queenie and just as quickly turn her over to Barnaby when he realized she wasn’t what he wanted.

  As if she’d heard his thoughts, Queenie sidled up to him and slipped her hand in the crook of his arm. “Good mornin’, guv’nor. Hope you’re feelin’ as good this mornin’ as I am.”

  He stared at Queenie incredulously. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been railing at him for not bedding her. It had taken both him and Barnaby to convince her to vacate his cabin after he’d made the disastrous mistake of calling for her. What was her game now? He knew she’d spent the night with Barnaby, and judging from the first mate’s smile and her pleasant expression, it had been a good one. What did she want with him?

  Then Queenie slanted a glance at Sara’s unyielding back, and Gideon instantly understood. Obviously, Sara had heard about his calling for Queenie. And Queenie must’ve let Sara believe that she’d spent the night with him.

  So that was why Sara refused to look at him or speak to him! She was angry about Queenie. The thought gave him immense satisfaction. Despite all Sara’s protestations that she didn’t want him, she was jealous over some tart she thought he’d made love to.

  Then a sobering thought hit him. She might merely be pretending to a moral disgust over his supposed lechery. It would be just like Sara to look down her nose at him for seeking relief for the very fires she’d roused in him…and refused to quench herself.

  As Queenie plastered herself to his right side, he glared at Sara’s back. The little witch. She had no right to be angry. He’d done nothing to be ashamed of, and even if he had, it was all her fault for making him ache for her.

  He started to thrust Queenie away, then stopped himself. Why should he? If Sara was jealous, let her have a taste of what he’d suffered yesterday when he’d seen her fussing over Hargraves like a frigging mother hen. M
aybe then she’d admit that she didn’t want that ugly sailor.

  And if it wasn’t jealousy that had roused her temper, at least he’d have the pleasure of rubbing her nose in his “lechery.”

  The other women had disappeared, helped off the ship by his men so they could explore the island. Only Sara remained at the rail. He grinned. Draping his arm casually about Queenie’s shoulders, he said smoothly, “Good morning, Miss Willis. And what do you think of our island?”

  She faced him, paling when she saw him with Queenie. But she quickly recovered herself. “It’s lovely.” Her voice lowered in acid condescension. “It’s the perfect place for you and your lecherous companions to sport with your unwilling concubines.”

  A slow smile touched his lips. “You mean, ‘sport with our prospective wives,’ don’t you? And I assure you, not all of them are unwilling.” He cast a glance down at Queenie’s ample bosom. “Some of them are more than happy to be here.”

  The look on Sara’s face was priceless. He would wager his ship that she was jealous, though she’d never admit it, even to herself.

  Then she tilted up that stubborn chin of hers and said in a lofty voice, “Some of them have no self-respect. I’m not talking about them. They have their own consciences to deal with.”

  Queenie bristled. “Why, you haughty little bi—”

  “That’s enough, Queenie.” He dropped his arm from around her shoulder. “Why don’t you join the other women? I have some things to say to Miss Willis.”

  For a second he thought Queenie would refuse, but apparently she decided it wasn’t a battle worth fighting, because she shrugged and released her hold on his waist. “If you say so, guv’nor. I’d like to see if the beds are as comfy on land as they are on sea.” And with a last come-hither look in his direction, she strolled off down the deck, her hips swaying provocatively.

  Gideon returned his gaze to Sara only to find her watching Queenie’s retreat with a murderous look. He chuckled. “You don’t like her, do you?”

  Smoothing her hair back with one hand, she turned to walk away. “I have no feelings about her whatsoever. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Captain Horn…”

  Her words died off as he caught her arm. Easily matching her stride, he goaded, “Aren’t you just a bit curious, Sara? Haven’t you the least interest in hearing how I found Queenie’s performance last night?”

  “Absolutely not!” A flood of crimson spread over her cheeks. “Let me go!”

  He slid one arm about her waist and bent to whisper, “Don’t you want to know what we did together? Whether I kissed her as I did you? Whether I fondled her breasts and the secret place between her legs—”

  “Stop it.” Her body trembled against his. “Stop saying these things!”

  There was such misery on her face he couldn’t bear to torture her anymore. “I didn’t touch her, you know.” The admission left his lips before he could prevent it. “I sent her to Barnaby without so much as a kiss.”

  She went very still. “I…I don’t care what you did with her. It’s nothing to me.” But he could tell from the relief in her voice that she was lying.

  “It was you I wanted,” he went on. “And it’s you I’m going to have, no matter what I must do to get you.”

  It was true. Last night had taught him one thing: he couldn’t stomach another woman in his bed when he wanted only Sara. He had to make love to her at least once, if just to get her out of his thoughts.

  “You can’t…have me,” she said haltingly. “I’m promised to another.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” During the long hours of aching for her last night, that was one thing he’d decided—that somehow he’d seduce her away from Hargraves. “You’re meant for me, not him. And one day soon, I’ll make you admit it. You can be sure of that.”

  Chapter 13

  O! how short a time does it take to put an end to a woman’s liberty!

  —FANNY BURNEY, ENGLISH NOVELIST

  EARLY JOURNEYS AND LETTERS OF FANNY BURNEY

  It took Sara only two hours of wandering the beaches of Atlantis Island to admit, albeit grudgingly, that Gideon’s love of the place was justified. With every step she took, her slippers sank into sands white and fine as marble dust. The air smelled fragrant and rich, like the air in that London greenhouse she’d once entered during a dinner party.

  And the colors! Vivid pinks and brilliant yellows dotted the forest of willows and aging oaks. Barnaby had explained to her that although the island was located in the tropics, the south trade winds and cold currents of the North Atlantic kept the temperature moderate, thus enabling orange and lemon groves to thrive alongside date palms and bamboo. According to Barnaby, winters were nearly nonexistent and the summers mild.

  That explained the lush flora, but what about the varied fauna? So far, she’d seen wild goats and rabbits roaming the higher promontories. Huge sea turtles waddled along the shores, and wherever she walked, she startled grouse and pheasants out of the brush and into the air. Were they all native to the island, she wondered, or brought here long ago by some other hopeful colonists who’d since given up the ghost? What had made this small bit of the world a paradise from end to end?

  Well, not quite end to end. There was the other part of the island—the dry, brown expanse they’d seen when they’d first approached. When she’d asked Barnaby about it, he’d explained that it was the result of a strange weather phenomenon. The same trade winds that made the island mild in climate also dried out the side of the island they blew constantly over. Since the unattractive side faced the trade route, it wasn’t surprising no one had bothered to settle there. When ships had been blown off course far enough to find Atlantis, they’d eyed it as an unlikely source of provisions and had sailed on by.

  It was like some ancient Garden of Eden hidden away where no one could find it. No one but Gideon, that is. Trust him to be the one to stumble across it.

  She glanced furtively down the beach to where he stood, wearing only his buff trousers and his belt with the saber slung from it. Stretching his arms up, he caught hold of a rounded cluster of yellow fruit hanging from what appeared to be an odd sort of palm tree with flat, waxy green leaves. A banana tree, they called it. She watched as he drew out his saber, then used it to sever the cluster from the tree in one lethal swipe.

  As he twisted at the waist to lay the cut fruit in a cart already heaped high with the strange yellow crescents, his muscles flexed and worked, a fine sheen of sweat glistening off the black hair of his chest. At just that moment, he glanced her way and his gaze caught hers. For a moment his eyes were rich and unfathomable, and she felt the force of his gaze like a sensuous whisper, across her brow…her cheeks…her lips. A sudden, all too painfully familiar heat flashed over her, flaming into a blush. Mortified to be caught staring, she pivoted away from him, but not before catching a glimpse of the slow, knowing grin that curved his mouth.

  Good heavens, the man was a danger to all woman-kind! She, of all people, should be immune to him, having known her share of criminals in the course of her reform work. Yet she was far from immune. Of all the people on God’s green earth, why must it be a notorious pirate captain who made her blush and feel weak at the knees like some starry-eyed young girl at her coming out? She’d always been too sensible for such infatuations, with the exception of Colonel Taylor, and even with him she hadn’t lost all common sense the way she had with Gideon.

  Although she hurried down the beach away from him, she couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading from the most intimate parts of her body. Oh, yes, Gideon belonged in this Garden of Eden. He was as temptingly made as the first Adam must have been. God hadn’t shirked his duties when creating Gideon Horn. No, indeed. In fact, she wondered if God hadn’t put just a jot too much effort into it. He should have given the man something more useful than good looks and a treacherous charm. Humility, for example.

  She tried to imagine a humble Gideon, but it was impossible. Such a creature would be beyond even the Alm
ighty’s powers of imagination.

  Spotting Louisa, who sat on a fallen log a few feet from where the beach ended and the brush began, Sara hurried to her side.

  “What are you smiling about?” Louisa grumbled. “Don’t tell me, you’re already being seduced into liking this island.”

  “Seduced” was a good word for it, Sara thought. “You must admit it’s not what you expected.”

  “It’s exactly what I expected. Have you seen those huts yet? They’re the crudest buildings imaginable! No window shutters…plank floors…roofs of thatch. The only thing in their favor is the featherbeds, which do look comfortable, I’ll admit. But what else can you expect of pirates? Of course they would pay attention to their beds. That’s all they care about. Men! I swear, the communal kitchen that Silas has been using is as primitive as—”

  “Silas? You seem to be on awfully familiar terms with Mr. Drummond all of a sudden.”

  With a snort, Louisa ducked her head. “Not at all. Silas…I mean…Mr. Drummond and I have just learned to…tolerate each other’s company. He finally realized he needed my help, that’s all.”

  Her help? Louisa’s “help” had consisted of taking over the poor man’s kitchen and ignoring every attempt he made to regain power. If he’d learned to tolerate that, he was a better man than she’d thought. “Well, I must admit the meals have been quite edible since you offered your ‘help.’ And I’m sure that with a little work we can make the huts presentable.”

  “That’s the only reason they brought us here, you know. To clean and cook and sew for them.”

  “Oh, no, they want much more than that,” Sara said acidly, remembering Gideon’s knowing, seductive look.

  Louisa stiffened. “You’re right, of course. They want our bodies, too. And I’ll be damned if I let any of them have mine. They’ll have to tie me down first.”