Her Passionate Pirate

by Neesa Hart

  “And your mother?”

  “She understood Lauren much better than she understood me. They communicated, and to her credit, it’s not that she didn’t try with me. She and Lauren would pressure me to go shopping with them. I hated it, and they didn’t know why. Mama thought I needed more confidence, so she sent me to charm school.”

  He groaned. Cora patted his arm in sympathy. “It was every bit as humiliating as you think.”

  “I didn’t know they even had charm schools anymore.”

  “Are you kidding? We lived in South Carolina, where old traditions never die and never, ever, go out of style.”

  He decided he wanted to see her face for the rest of the story, so he eased her onto her back and lay half on top of her. Gently he traced her eyebrows with his fingertips. “What kind of things do you learn in charm school?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Oh, you know. What kind of fork to use when. How to fold your napkin after dinner. How to respond when a boy asks you to dance.” She threaded her hands around his neck. “And that you should never find yourself in a compromising position on a sofa with a rakish-looking male.”

  He laughed, a warm, deep chuckle, then kissed her tenderly. “But you survived,” he said when he lifted his head.

  She slanted a look at her sleeping nieces. “I did. Mama died in a car accident when I was in college. That’s when I found out that I really didn’t resent her like I thought I did. I just felt incredibly sorry for her. I found it sad that she’d spent her entire life trying to please other people. Hardly anyone showed up for her funeral—not even family. It was tragic.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  She pulled in a deep breath, and her eyes took on a faraway look. “But Lauren was younger. It was harder for her. In a strange sort of way, she and Mama had become best friends. It’s as if there was no one else in the world who really understood what drove them. So without Mama, Lauren felt completely lost.”

  “And she filled the void the same way your mother did,” he guessed.

  “Yes. She’s been married three times. I’ve lost count of her affairs. Kaitlin is her daughter from her first marriage, and Molly and Liza are from her third. The second only lasted five months.”

  He lowered his head until it rested against her shoulder. She absently stroked his hair. For long minutes he thought about what she’d told him and the insight it had given him. The deep longings she’d had as a child for acceptance and self-worth had gone unfulfilled. As a result she doubted her own desirability. With that knowledge came the freeing realization that he could, after all, offer Cora something more than a wild physical passion. He couldn’t promise her forever, but he could give her something that would last long after he’d become a distant memory.

  He smiled to himself. By the time the flames died down, Cora would never again have to doubt her allure. He dragged in a contented breath. “One more question,” he said softly.

  “Hmm.” Her voice sounded sleepy.

  “According to Kaitlin, Lauren seems to think I’m having a terrible influence on you.”

  Cora managed a partial laugh as she wriggled closer. “I’d say she’s right about that. I’ve obviously forgotten everything I ever learned in charm school.”

  He tweaked her shoulder. “Why do you think your sister is so angry?” he asked.

  She yawned, “I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  Chapter Nine

  Dearest,

  You are like a fever in my blood now. Since that night you showed me the glorious power of passion, I find I cannot stop remembering the exquisite feel of your hands on my flesh, your voice in my ear, your body pressed to mine in heady passion as you took me to the stars and back. Please, please, my love, hurry back to me with all swiftness. I am praying that the winds will carry you to me, so I can burn with you again.

  Abigail

  2 April 1861

  Cora surveyed herself in the mirror and frowned. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered.

  Kaitlin sat on Cora’s bed, smiling. “I think you look beautiful, Aunt Cora.”

  A week had passed since Lauren’s inflammatory phone call. To Cora’s knowledge, her sister had not called again. A week had also passed, she thought ruefully, since she’d nearly made love with Rafael. And every nerve ending in her body had been on standby ever since. She was so jittery, Becky had jokingly asked her if Abigail was haunting her and keeping her up nights. She was haunted, all right, and up nights, too, but it had nothing to do with Abigail and everything to do with Rafael.

  When she’d finally allowed herself to think about that night, she was forced to admit one simple truth. Despite every warning she’d issued, despite her common sense, her practicality and the sheer folly of it, she’d fallen completely and irrevocably in love with Rafael. Like Abigail Conrad, she’d ignored everything that was realistic and reasonable and thrown her heart after a man who would almost surely break it.

  Rafael had a wanderer’s soul—freedom gave him life. Like a rare and magnificent bird, he was born to fly high above the clouds and the bounds of earth. If she tethered him, even if he willingly allowed it, she would kill the very spirit that made him so wondrous. She couldn’t live with herself if she did that. The day would come when he would resent her for it, and even if he never expressed it or even hinted at it, she would know. Just as her father had looked so resentfully at her mother, Rafael would look at her with lifeless eyes—and the part of her that had survived years of disappointment and unrequited affection from her parents could never survive it from him.

  But she’d surprised herself with the admission that she did, indeed, love him—this most unsuitable of men. Once, she’d imagined that loving deeply and caring intensely would lead to nothing but bitterness and sorrow. In the wake of its admission, however, had come a strange and exhilarating sense of joy. Joy that had given her a wealth of mischievous thoughts and delicious daydreams.

  Unfortunately she’d had little time to pursue either. The morning after their passionate interlude, Rafael had told her about his conversation with Jerry and about tonight’s reception. With the deadline inflexible and bearing down on them, they’d both spent a frantic week trying to get the necessary research completed to avoid looking unprepared under the intense scrutiny they’d face this evening. Hours poring over reports and analyses had left her head spinning. She’d fallen, exhausted, into bed during the early hours of the morning. Cora knew that nothing would have satisfied Jerry more than to have caught her off guard. Her driving motivation, however, had been to do the best she could to properly represent Abigail. She felt like she owed it to the woman.

  Becky stood by the mirror in Cora’s room and surveyed her with a critical eye. “I have to admit I didn’t think the color would work. But it looks good.”

  Cora peered down at the pale-green ballgown. “I’m wearing a hoop,” she said.

  Becky grinned at her. “And a corset.” She braced one shoulder against the wall. “And I must say that from a feminist perspective, I think it’s despicable, but as a woman, I have to concede it looks damn good.”

  “Becky…” Cora warned.

  “Well, it does. It, er, pushes and pulls everything so nicely.”

  Kaitlin reached out to touch the seed pearls on the green satin. “It’s so pretty—even if it is oyster spit.”

  Cora looked in the mirror again. With her hair piled high on her head in a period style and the dress hugging her breasts and sweeping to the floor in a graceful bell, she had to admit it felt almost sinfully indulgent. Of course, that could easily be attributed to the outrageously expensive underwear she wore, and the plans she had for it when the dress came off. “I can’t believe he talked me into this.”

  “Make you a bet,” Becky said, “that he looks almost as good as you do.”

  That she could well imagine, Cora thought. He’d talked her into wearing Abigail’s dress when he’d finally told her about his conversation with Jerry. He’d given her
twenty minutes to vent her rage, then had pointed out methodically and logically, that while she couldn’t prevent Jerry and Henry Willers from trying to capitalize on her research, she could ensure that she controlled the stage. Spin them, he’d warned again, before they spin you.

  She had to admit that his solution was a brilliant one. Jerry didn’t know about the dress or the jacket or the report Cora had received authenticating them. Rafael’s PR representative had persuaded Jerry to hold the press conference in the ballroom of Cape Marr’s only grand hotel—the ballroom where a portrait of del Flores wearing the red-and-black embroidered jacket hung. When Rafael and Cora arrived wearing the garments and bearing documented evidence of their authenticity, Jerry Heath wouldn’t be able to draw a crowd by yelling “Fire!” much less with his usual pompous rhetoric.

  And in a weak moment, with her nieces looking at her hopefully, she’d agreed. So here she was, dressed up in Abigail’s finery, feeling more like one of the ugly stepsisters than Cinderella. “This isn’t going to work,” she complained.

  “Of course it is,” Becky told her. “Just stick with Rafael and everything will be fine.”

  Cora shook her head and turned from the mirror. Looking at her reflection was making her too nervous. She simply wasn’t the showman he was, and didn’t even want to be. The thought of cameras clicking and reporters yelling questions was making her palms sweat. “Kaitlin,” she said, needing something to keep her mind off the pending disaster, “we’ll be back around seven-thirty. Is everything going to be ready?”

  Kaitlin nodded eagerly. “Becky helped, and as soon as you’re gone, we’ll tell Molly and Liza what’s going on. I couldn’t tell them before. They would have yapped.”

  Cora laughed. “Probably.” She still didn’t know what had inspired her to pull Kaitlin into Margie’s scheme for Rafael’s birthday, but she was increasingly grateful for the effect the shared confidence had on her niece. Kaitlin had flown into action with the skill of a seasoned party planner. And just in time, too. Cora and Margie had scheduled the party for tonight—days before she’d known about Jerry’s plans. She’d been so busy the past week preparing, checking and rechecking her reports for tonight, she’d had time for little else.

  So today was Rafael’s birthday, and thanks to Kaitlin, his sister’s party would come off without a hitch. Cora still didn’t know how Rafael would react to his family—or to her interference—but Margie had effectively calmed her fears. At last count, seven of Rafael’s siblings were supposed to come, including his older brother, Zack, and his family. And just to keep life interesting, Cora thought wickedly as she adjusted the lace at her bodice, she’d made plans of her own for the evening. Plans that included burgundy sheets, a bottle of wine, a couple of candles and the lace-and-satin undergarments she was wearing. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Kaitlin,” Cora assured her.

  Kaitlin beamed. “It was fun. Margie let me pick colors and everything.”

  “Wait till you see the cake, Cora,” Becky said. “You won’t believe it.”

  When Cora had identified a bakery where they used a computerized process to transfer a picture onto the icing, Kaitlin had spent hours on the design. Her art teacher had been enlisted in the process, and no one except Kaitlin, the bakery and Becky, who’d played chauffeur that afternoon, had seen the finished product. “I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

  Kaitlin nodded. “It turned out really good.”

  “When’s everyone getting here?”

  Becky checked her watch. “Thirty minutes. So we have to get you and Rafael out the door before they come, and them in the door before you guys get back. Make sure you stay at the reception at least an hour.”

  “When do I turn into a pumpkin?” Cora quipped as she reached for the satin reticule that went with the dress.

  Kaitlin rolled her eyes. “Aunt Cora—”

  “I know, I know.” She kissed Kaitlin on top of the head. “Just shut up and have a good time.”

  Becky pulled open the door. “And whatever you do, don’t let Jerry win. I have a fifty-dollar bet riding on his complete humiliation.”

  Laughing, the three of them made their way down the wide oak staircase.

  OH, MY, CORA THOUGHT a moment later when she found Rafael in the foyer with Liza and Molly. He held Liza against his chest and was waltzing with her while Molly looked on and laughed. He caught a glimpse of Cora in his peripheral vision and stopped suddenly to simply stare at her. At the full impact of his heated gaze, Cora sucked in a breath so sharp it made her corset stays tighten.

  “Look, Aunt Cora!” Liza exclaimed. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

  He certainly is, she thought, and swallowed hard. He wore slim-fitting black trousers that disappeared into immaculate black boots. Perfectly tailored, they clung to every muscular plane with a lover’s familiarity. His full white shirt accented his bronze skin, and the expertly tied sash at his waist made his chest look impossibly broad. A ceremonial saber hung at his side, and the jacket, that gold-encrusted, broad-shouldered, bolero-cut jacket. Good Lord. What it did for his physique should be criminal. Cora wet her lips and met his glittering gaze. He’d pulled his hair into a neat queue at his nape and switched his usual eye patch for a black patent-leather one.

  Yes, he looked beautiful, breathtaking even. Cora gripped the handrail and took a tentative step down. He set Liza on the floor and mounted the stairs two at a time until he reached her. Distantly, she heard the sound of his saber knocking the steps and suddenly knew why Abigail had been so fond of the noise. He stopped when he was on the step below, and they stood, face-to-face, eye-to-eye. “Cora,” he said in a rough whisper that sent goose bumps skittering across her flesh, “you are glorious.”

  She swayed slightly toward him, wondered what would happen if she simply dragged him to the upstairs room, forgot the reception, skipped the party and went straight to the part where she’d give him his birthday present.

  Kaitlin stepped out from behind Cora’s hoop skirt and said, “Aunt Cora thinks she looks silly, but I think she looks wonderful.”

  “Me, too!” Liza yelled.

  Rafael lifted her hand, kissed her knuckles and whispered, “As a matter of fact, so do I.”

  Becky coughed, loudly and intrusively. Cora blinked and the spell was broken. Becky came down the stairs and gave them a knowing look. “You’d better get going. You wouldn’t want to be late to your own reception.”

  RAFAEL CAST a surreptitious glance at the clock and stifled a groan. They’d have to stay at this cursed event at least another half hour before they could make a graceful exit. He polished off his glass of water and plunked it down on the table.

  He usually enjoyed these things. It gave him personal satisfaction to talk about his work, and an even greater satisfaction to mold the media’s opinion of what he was doing and why. But tonight he’d been seriously off his game. His PR rep had been shooting him nasty looks for most of the evening. He’d found himself unable to concentrate, constantly distracted by the site of Cora hovering just beyond his reach.

  Just the way she’d been all week.

  From the moment he’d seen her on the stairs tonight, he’d felt the pump of adrenaline in his blood. The short ride in the car had been torturous. Twice, he’d almost suggested they skip the event and find someplace, anyplace, private enough to exhaust the sexual tension that had been steadily building since their interrupted tryst on her sofa.

  Now his appetite was whetted to a razor-sharp hunger that had his hands flexing as he fought the urge to simply drag her away with him until her protests stopped and she was demanding that he satisfy her. He reveled in the image for long seconds, knowing that Cora wouldn’t allow it. She wasn’t a woman to be bullied or manipulated. She held her own, and that made him want her all the more.

  Squaring his shoulders, he started across the room toward her. He blatantly ignored a reporter who tried to intercept him with an asinine question about the Isabela. He could well imagine del Flores
standing at an event similar to this one, spotting Abigail across the room, surrounded—like Cora—by a ring of admirers. The pirate wouldn’t have stood for it, either.

  He approached her in measured strides, savoring the moment when she first noticed him bearing down on her. She shot him a warning glance over the head of a short television anchorman Rafael recognized. The censure in her green eyes steeled his resolve. Tonight, he promised himself. Tonight he would have her.

  Rafael stepped into Cora’s circle of acquaintances, reporters and scholars, and staked a claim. Extending his hand to her, he said softly, “Dance with me.”

  A hush fell on the small group, as if they sensed the deeper meaning of the commanding invitation. Her eyebrows lifted, and for a nerve-racking moment, he thought she’d refuse. But a devilish smile played at the corners of her mouth, and she raised sparkling eyes to his. Did she, too, sense the power of this moment? he wondered. Did she know that tonight, at any rate, Abigail and del Flores were finding their way together again?

  Cora slid her fingers into his outstretched hand. “I’d be delighted, sir,” she said softly.

  His fingers curled around hers in a rush of satisfaction. From the corner of his eye, he caught the look of near rapturous pleasure on the face of his PR rep. She was already lining photographers up and had her assistant hurrying off to speak with the director of the small orchestra.

  As they walked toward the wooden dance floor, Cora gave him a wry look. “Is it your policy to always make a spectacle of yourself?” she asked in a low, sultry voice that made his gut clench.

  He hesitated. They reached the center of the floor, and he spun her into his arms as the music began. He made a mental note to authorize a bonus for his PR rep when he recognized the opening chords of a rumba. “It is my policy,” he said as he swept his arm around her waist, “to get what I want.”

  The stiff boning of her corset felt decadent beneath his fingers. He lowered his head and drew an intoxicating breath of her scent. “Do you feel it, Cora?” he whispered close to her ear as he led her in the first steps. “Do you feel how much I want you?”