Lord of Pirates

by Scott, Scarlett

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  Lord of Pirates

  By

  Scarlett Scott

  When a dangerous-looking stranger raps on Lizzie Winstead’s door in the middle of a stormy night, the peace of her humdrum life is shattered. She’s shocked to discover her visitor is Captain Edmond Grey, one of the most feared pirates of the realm and her lost love.

  Edmond is a wanted man throughout the Colonies, but despite his formidable reputation, he desperately needs help to nurse his wounded brother back to health. Only Lizzie can be trusted not to turn Edmond over to authorities for the price on his head.

  Lizzie can’t quell the feelings Edmond stirs in her heart or the fire he ignites in her blood. Before long, both succumb to the reckless desire renewed between them. She follows him aboard his pirate ship and sets sail into a world rife with passion and peril.

  Together they brave fierce battles and frightening storms, determined to discover whether the love they once shared is strong enough to reunite them forever and conquer the demons of Edmond’s past.

  *Note: Originally published in Wicked Rogue of Mine collection August 2018, this is an extended version, never before published.*

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  About the Book

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Excerpt from Heartless Duke

  Don’t miss Scarlett’s other romances!

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  London, 1709

  Lizzie’s hand went to the latch of the servant’s entrance. She knew she was not meant to answer it, but someone had knocked, and with most of the household staff otherwise occupied preparing for the evening’s festivities, she did not mind performing the easy task. They were expecting a cake delivery, as she well knew, and with many distinguished guests joining them tonight—including some of Father’s esteemed physician colleagues—she did not dare ignore the caller.

  She opened the door.

  And promptly forgot about cakes, propriety, and the dinner that had the entire household in such a flurry. Forgot about everything. Everyone. Forgot to even breathe as she fell into the spell of a glittering, dark gaze.

  Thump, thump, thump went her heart. It was a moment unlike any other, where she felt such a visceral connection to the young man before her, an utter stranger. She felt almost as if she knew him. As if he was somehow hers in an elemental way. Awareness flared deep within her, a tingling sensation tugging at her belly.

  He felt it too.

  She could sense it in the way he stood, unmoving as a marble bust, his gaze burning into hers. Here was someone who called to her, to a part of her she could not explain and had not even known existed until now. Until this handsome young gentleman in simple dress had appeared on the other side of the door and everything had changed.

  “I have a delivery for your master, miss,” he said, breaking the silence with a deep and soothing voice.

  He had mistaken her for a servant, and for a beat, she did not wish to disabuse him of his conclusion, for fear it would change his easy manner with her. As the daughter of an eminent London physician, she was accustomed to tradesmen and domestics treating her differently. She was grateful to be Father’s daughter, for the opportunity it afforded her to study his books alongside him as he permitted. But she did not like the unwritten difference between herself and others.

  She was Lizzie Crawley, a simple young woman who loved to read and tend her herb garden. She was no one special.

  “A delivery,” she repeated slowly, her heart hammering ever faster. What was it about this stranger that made her pulse leap and her body awaken as if from a long slumber?

  She did not know. Could not say. All she did know was that she could gaze upon him forever. He had a strong jaw, a firm chin bearing a small divot, a proud nose, slashing cheekbones, and his mouth…she could not help but wonder, in most shocking and inappropriate fashion, how that sinful mouth would feel against hers.

  “Aye, miss.” A subtle grin quirked his lips, as if he sensed the wayward direction of her thoughts. “I come from the baker, Allen and Son.”

  That would be the cakes she had ordered on Father’s behalf. He was a learned man, content to study his books and practice medicine. Social matters were not of interest to him. This evening’s dinner had fallen to Lizzie, in the place of her mother.

  But this was not the baker she had met with three days prior. This young man was not short and stout, nor round-cheeked with eyebrows that resembled caterpillars. Nor did he smell of flour and grease. She took a discreet sniff of the air.

  No. This man smelled of soap. Clean and tart and masculine.

  “Of course,” she forced herself to say, smiling as if her entire world had not just been upended by his appearance. “Forgive me. I was not expecting the delivery this early.”

  Why, before he had knocked, her day had been ordinary. She had been counting plates and making certain Father would be proud of her as his hostess this evening. She had been humming to herself, thinking the sunlight trickling through the windows surprisingly bright for an early spring day.

  Was he the baker’s son? When could she see him again, and how? Perhaps Father could host another dinner? Certainly ordering more cakes would not be too dear an expense. Cook possessed tolerable culinary prowess, but her desserts were undeniably dreadful. Hence the cakes. Hence the young gentleman who had not yet moved. The man who returned her stare with one of his own—assessing, searching, admiring.

  He was intrigued, unless she missed her guess. That made two of them, for she was decidedly flummoxed. And hopelessly, helplessly drawn to him.

  “I shall retrieve them and bring them in,” he said, flashing her a smile that took her breath.

  The smile was gone before she could react, and so was he, turning and disappearing toward the street with its bustling activity—carriages, tack, London going about its toil. How had she failed to notice the sound? How had she failed to notice a cloud had displaced the sun she’d been so admiring and that a gentle rain had begun to fall?

  She watched him striding away, eyes devouring his tall, lean form. Beneath the hat he wore, his hair, long and dark, descended down his back from a queue at his nape. No wig for him, and she was thankful for it.

  Thankful too for the sight of him returning, bearing the assortment of small cakes in his arms. She stepped back, allowing him entrance, and felt suddenly as if the chamber he had just entered was too small. He seemed to inhabit all of it with his presence.

  “Where would you have me place them, miss?” he asked, showing not a hint of strain for his burden.

  “Here, if you please,” she said, gesturing to an empty space of table.

  As she watched him lower the cakes to the beeswax-polished wood, she hoped quite fervently that none of the servants would return and interrupt them. She was enjoying herself far too much. She wanted him all to herself. And neither did she wish for anyone to return and inform him she was, in fact, the master’s daughter rather than a maid in his employ.

  He turned back to her, his gaze unreadable. “There you are, mis
s.”

  To her dismay, he walked back to the door, preparing to leave. Of course he would, she told herself, for he had likely been tasked with all manner of deliveries across town. He was performing his duty, whilst she was mooning over him, and she now realized he had not been affected at all. Likely, she had been wrong to think they shared a connection, to think the flicker of something between them had been more than a mere meeting of two strangers engaged in going about their respective days.

  But he stopped at the last moment, turning back to her. “I have not seen you here before, miss.”

  “Do you always deliver the goods from the bakery?” she asked without answering, for she did not wish to dissemble.

  A rueful grin curved his lips. “Aye, miss. For the nonce, just until Mr. Allen’s new apprentice begins.”

  “Perhaps I shall see you next week,” she said before she could stay the words. In private, her mind was whirling with the means by which she could convince Father to order more cakes, more buns, more confections of any sort. Anything to see him again. She had to know his name. “What are you called, sir?”

  “Edmond Grey, miss.” He touched two fingers to the brim of his hat. “Good day to you.”

  And then, he was gone.

  Lizzie vowed she would see him again.

  Two months later

  Edmond knew he damn well didn’t want to be a baker. Apprenticed from the time he was but a lad, he’d grown weary of flour, of baking buns, of never leaving the tedious life of shopkeeper. He’d finally settled upon the path that would lead him far away.

  There was only one snag in the fabric of his otherwise flawless plan, and it was a large snag indeed.

  Miss Elizabeth Crawley.

  Lizzie, as he had come to know her.

  He’d been wooing her in secret from the moment he’d delivered cakes to her father’s home. He had been enamored from the first, for she was the loveliest girl he’d ever seen with golden hair and eyes the color of the summer sky. There had been an understanding between them—a deep, powerful bond—that had been instant and undeniable. He had fallen into her gaze that first day, and he had never been the same.

  Initially, he had believed her a servant, and she had not corrected him. If he had known she was the daughter of a physician—a lady far above the likes of him, he would never have pursued her. Indeed, he would not have returned with the next delivery or the next. Nor would he have kissed her or held her in his arms, even if the notion of never having kissed her filled his chest with a hollow ache.

  Because she was not meant to be his, and she had never been meant to be his. He had never possessed any intention of becoming a baker. For all his life, he had dreamt of the water. When he had been sleeping and dreaming, awake and wishing he was asleep, whenever his mind wandered, the restless yearning returned. He wanted freedom. He longed for the call of the ocean and a boat listing beneath his feet. He could not bear to remain, to settle into his life as a baker, toiling day and night to earn a livable wage whilst hating himself.

  And so, here he stood, hesitating at the gate that separated him from her. When he walked through, it would be as the man who loved her. But when he passed back through, it would be as the man who was leaving her. For he had no choice other than to tell her goodbye.

  He found her in the herb garden she so diligently kept. She didn’t hear him approach, and he allowed himself a moment’s pause to admire her for the last time. Her blonde hair had been plaited into a fat braid and she wore an old mantua stained with mud, but she was still the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen.

  “Lizzie.”

  She spun about, holding a hand to her breast. “Good heavens, Edmond. You startled me.”

  “Pray forgive me.” He crossed the distance between them, feeling like the worst sort of cad for what he must do. He didn’t want to hurt her. Hurting her would be akin to carving one of his own organs from his body. But he had no choice. The path before him was not meant for a soft, gentle lady like Lizzie. She was too kind, too sweet, and he would not be the source of her bitterness or ruination.

  “Of course.” She smiled, wiping at the smears of dirt upon her dress. “You must forgive me for my appearance.”

  “You are lovely as ever.” Edmond caught her hands in his, not caring that they were encrusted in dirt from her ministrations. He took a deep breath, held it in his lungs for a beat longer than necessary, before expelling the air and the beginning of their inevitable end. “It is I who needs the ultimate absolution.”

  Her blue gaze searched his, questioning. “Why do you say that?”

  He plowed ahead, knowing there was no kind way to break ties with her. “Lizzie, I’m leaving.”

  She smiled, cocking her head at him as if puzzled. “Must you be off already? You’ve only just arrived.”

  Her innocence stabbed at his heart. “No, love. I’ve joined the navy.”

  Her eyes flared. “The navy?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be leaving on a ship in the morning.”

  “I see.” Her expression became cautious, her brow furrowed as she attempted to digest his revelation. “When will you be returning?”

  And here it was, the part that felt like a knife sinking into his heart. He stared at her sweet round face, her ethereal loveliness, his gaze dipping to the fullness of her pink lips for one more longing look. If he gazed upon her long enough, hard enough, it seemed to him that he could commit her face to his memory forever. That he could take this small sliver of her along with him, the only part of her he would allow himself to keep.

  Say it, Edmond.

  Tell her, you bloody coward.

  She waited, so trusting, heart on her sleeve.

  He severed the final tie binding them together, surging forward as he knew he must. One day, she would thank him. One day, she would find a man worthy of her love. And he hated that nameless, faceless man with the rancor of a thousand stinging suns.

  “Edmond?” She had begun to pale, her eyes searching his, comprehension dawning.

  “I won’t be,” he rasped.

  “Not returning.” The warmth bled from her voice, the welcome from her face. She looked stricken. “Never?”

  He released her hands and brushed a stray tendril of hair from her cheek. “I don’t belong here.”

  She flinched away from his touch. “You don’t belong here? How dare you court me and lead me to believe you harbored tender feelings for me? What was I to you? A lark?”

  Guilt skewered him. In truth, he’d fallen in love with Lizzie. He’d never wanted to cause her pain. For a time, he had thought he could fashion himself into the man she deserved, but each day he served in the bakery stole another piece of his soul. One day, there would be nothing left, and he would resent the wife who had tied him to a trade he deplored. London was not for him. A quiet life was not his idea of happiness. He was hungry for adventure, travel. The sea called.

  He checked the urge to reach for her again, for he had forfeited that right. Still, he would not have her believe he had not cared for her. “Of course not, Lizzie. You were never anything less than everything to me. But the truth is that I would sooner swallow poison than spend the rest of my life as a baker. I have to leave, find my own fortune rather than the one my father chose for me.”

  She studied him in that way she had, seeming to see straight through him. “You have made this decision because of your father.”

  Edmond despised Sir John Grey. He made no secret of the sad fact, nor did he make any apologies. Indeed, for the majority of his eight and ten years, he’d done his best to ignore his sire’s existence.

  He was one of two brothers, both born bastards. His mother was an utter saint, and she’d done her utmost to raise Edmond and Thomas as proper young men. Sir John was a fine gentleman who had no wish to be saddled with the illegitimate get produced by his youthful follies. He used his influence to obtain apprenticeships for Edmond and Thomas both and had only bothered to meet them on one occasion. Edmond
had always been brutally honest with Lizzie about the truth of his lineage.

  Yes, he supposed his father had a great deal to do with his decision. One day he would prove to Sir John Grey he was a man worthy of respect. “I need to make my way, Lizzie. This is my choice.”

  “There will be no changing your mind, will there?” She was quiet.

  He did his damnedest to ignore the sheen in her eyes. Her calm acceptance nearly undid him, and every part of him longed to sweep her back into his arms where she belonged, to kiss her luscious lips and promise her that he would find a way back to her.

  But he could not.

  He was not for her, he told himself. He was doing both of them a favor. “It’s far better for me to leave you now than to roam from you after we’re wed,” he forced himself to say, though he knew it in his heart as a lie. If Lizzie Crawley were his, he would have never left her side. It was why he needed to leave now. “Please understand.”

  “I don’t think I ever shall.” She rose on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek, the peck burning into his skin like a brand. “I wish you well, Edmond. Know that wherever you go I will always hold you in my heart and prayers.” Tears streamed unabashedly down her soft skin.

  “Thank you.” Hell and damnation, this was difficult. Leaving her was not easy, and he hated himself for having to do it. In the end, he knew one day she’d thank him. She deserved to be loved by a true man, not by a bastard who was filled with the hunger to rove the seas. “I will never forget you, Lizzie.”

  “Nor I you,” she whispered.

  And then he left her to her herb garden and a life without him. As Edmond walked away, a fine mist began to fall. He’d never felt more like a bastard than he did in that moment.

  Chapter One

  Philadelphia 1719

  At first listen, Lizzie mistook the commotion for thunder from the angry spring rainstorm that had been assaulting the city since sundown. She stilled at her writing desk, pen poised above the notes she’d been transcribing on one of her father’s medical treatises. No indeed, the loud pounding sound was not caused by a storm, she realized with growing concern, but someone at the front door.