Once a Mistress

by Debra Mullins

  She was, after all, a compassionate woman.

  Lost in her fantasy, she wandered back into the ballroom. She smiled and greeted her way past the guests, inquiring after her father’s whereabouts. One of the servants mentioned that he had called for port to be served in the study. She left the ballroom and made her way to her father’s private sanctum.

  As she approached the study, her steps slowed. Her ire faded to be replaced by chagrin. As angry as Alex had made her, he had helped her out of a dangerous situation. Did he really deserve to be shot for trespassing just because his mocking remarks had sparked her temper? After all, if he had intended to harm her, he could have done so while she lay helpless beneath him.

  The memory of his kiss rose in her mind. His mouth had felt softer than she expected, and when his lips met hers she realized how truly dangerous he was. He was the type of man that a woman might beg to seduce her…

  “Explain these documents to me at once!” Her father’s voice thundered through the hallway, jarring her from her musings.

  “Really, Frederick, at times your actions are of such a common nature.” Chilton’s high-pitched tones brought a frown to her face. She thought the man would have taken his leave by now. Would she never be free of him? She edged closer to the door of the study, which stood open a crack.

  The sound of rustling paper broke the silence. Then came Chilton’s deadly hiss. “Where did you get these?”

  “You know where I got them,” her father answered. “Did you really expect to keep this from me?”

  “You had no right!”

  “I had every right!” Frederick Covington’s answering roar could have rattled the pictures hanging in the hall. “These documents, written in your own hand, are proof of your dealings with Marcus. You know Sir Henry Morgan as well as I, Chilton. What would our esteemed lieutenant-governor think of your activities?”

  “Morgan is hardly a consideration.”

  “Hardly a consideration!” Her father’s voice rang with incredulity. “The man has made it his personal mission to rid the Caribbean of piracy. Every plundering wretch in the area has either turned himself in for pardon or taken himself into hiding for fear of Morgan’s wrath. And you say the man is hardly a consideration? You are either extremely arrogant, Chilton, or else you are a fool.”

  “Who is the fool here, Frederick?” Chilton’s silky tone made Diana think of a snake slithering through the grass. “You and I are partners. Do you really believe that Morgan would consider you innocent in this matter?”

  “He will,” came the immediate reply. “And had he not already left for the evening, I would prove it. I am known to be an honest man. My good name is my protection.” He paused. “A pity you cannot say the same.”

  “I give no credence to the ranting of a low-born wretch such as yourself, Frederick. You are not fit to utter the Markham name.”

  Half a breath from flinging open the door in defense of her sire, Diana froze when he spoke for himself.

  “I may be a ‘low-born’ wretch, Chilton, but my daughter is not. As you are well aware, my late wife was the daughter of a Scottish nobleman. Diana inherited great wealth through her in addition to the substantial dowry I intend to bestow upon her. However, a man who associates with the likes of Marcus would not do as a husband for Diana. Kindly do not press your suit again.”

  Chilton spluttered in response, but Diana lost interest in the conversation. One thought blazed across her mind and brought a wide smile to her lips. Chilton would no longer bother her.

  She started back to the ballroom, so happy she wanted to dance. Chilton could no longer offer for her. Frederick Covington did not tolerate dishonesty, and if Chilton were indeed linked to the pirate Marcus, then he certainly lacked scruples.

  Her father’s sterling reputation could withstand a little tarnishing. But the Markham name had been sullied when Chilton’s father committed suicide after gambling away the family fortune. Only Frederick’s belief that the son should not pay for the sins of the father made him take on Chilton as a partner.

  She entered the ballroom. The blaze of lights and lilting music raised her spirits higher. Once her father reported Chilton’s activities to Sir Henry Morgan, the persistent nobleman would be punished for his crimes. He would no longer seek her as his bride, and her father would be lauded as the hero who exposed the villain.

  Satisfied that her unwanted suitor would plague her no longer, Diana tried to lose herself in the dancing. But beyond the garden doors the night beckoned, seducing her with the memory of a dark stranger’s kiss.

  Chapter Two

  Moonlight slanted into the unlit room and fell across the paper-strewn desk. A figure slipped through the window, head and shoulders briefly gilded by the silvery light. Wraith-like, he melted into the darkness of the study.

  The ominous snick of a pistol hammer echoed like thunder in the quiet room.

  “Hold, lest I splatter the wall with your ballocks.” The menacing words came from a man sitting near the desk. He gestured with the pistol, pale light playing along the gold-and-ivory inlay of the weapon. “Come over here where I can see you.”

  The intruder stepped into the shaft of moonlight, white teeth flashing in a grin. “Is this how you greet your friends, Morgan?”

  “Blast it, Rothstone!” Sir Henry Morgan uncocked the pistol and shoved it into his belt. “How do you expect me to react when someone sneaks into my house? I heard you tramping through my shrubbery and thought ‘twas a bloody thief.”

  “I meant for you to hear my approach. I had no wish to be skewered before you realized my identity.”

  “You were almost gelded, my boy.” With a chuckle, Morgan reached over to light a nearby taper. The soft glow of the candle accented the lines that hard living had etched in his face. “Sit down, lad, and tell me what you are doing here. I thought you to be at sea.”

  “I was.” Alex took a chair opposite Morgan’s massive desk. “But I discovered something that I wanted to bring to your attention at once.”

  “Indeed.” Morgan raised his eyebrows. “It must be urgent if you risked your neck sneaking on to my private estate. I’m surprised my men didn’t shoot you.”

  Alex gave a quick grin. “One must first see a target before one can fire upon it.”

  “Ha! And you move like the wind when you have a mind to. Now what is this news of yours? I assume it concerns Marcus.”

  “Aye.” Coldness settled over Alex at the mention of the name. “Our elusive quarry does not work alone.”

  “What?” Morgan sat bolt upright. “Someone is helping that blackguard?”

  “Chilton.” Alex spat the name.

  Morgan settled back in his chair, his sun-browned face growing contemplative. “I would not credit that simpering peacock with so dastardly a scheme.”

  “That simpering peacock has a black heart.”

  “Chilton and Frederick Covington own Fleetwood Shipping. Do you suppose Covington is part of the conspiracy?”

  “I do not know the man. My sources only indicate Chilton as the villain. But that does not mean Covington is not involved. Mayhap he is simply more clever than Chilton.”

  “Not a difficult thing, that.”

  “Agreed.”

  Morgan toyed with the tufted end of his mustache. “Things would not go well for Diana, should her father be hanged for piracy.”

  The name caught Alex’s attention. “Diana?”

  “Aye, Diana Covington. Frederick’s daughter.” A lusty gleam shone in the ex-buccaneer’s eye. “Would that I were a score of years younger, my boy. That woman has a rare combination of beauty and spirit, and she is an heiress to boot. That red hair hints at passion that would burn a man alive.”

  “Indeed.”

  Morgan gave him a sharp look, then chuckled. “So, you have met her, have you?”

  “Aye.”

  The curt answer seemed to amuse Morgan even more. “So, she did not fall prey to that handsome face of yours, eh, Rothst
one? If your interest lies in that direction, you had best batten down for stormy seas ahead.”

  “My interest lies with Marcus.” Avoiding Morgan’s keen gaze, Alex studied the intricate carving on the arm of his chair.

  “A man can have more than one interest.” Morgan stood and went to the sideboard. “Wine?”

  “Aye.” Alex watched the lieutenant-governor splash the liquid into a pair of crystal goblets. “As I said, my only interest is to see Marcus dead.”

  As Morgan handed him the glass of wine, he gave Alex the look that had once made men cower before the deadliest buccaneer in the Caribbean. “Our agreement was that you capture Marcus, Rothstone. You are not to be his executioner. Marcus will stand trial for piracy and be hanged from the public gibbet like the rest of his brethren. You are to bring him back to Port Royal alive.”

  Alex flexed his free hand on the arm of the chair. “What you ask is difficult.”

  “We have an agreement.” Morgan swirled his wine. “Marcus will be an example to all the lawless sea dogs in the Caribbean. Either they cease their thieving ways and come before me for pardon, or I will see their bones clacking in the wind.”

  “Marcus is different from the rest of them.” Swallowing half his wine in one gulp, Alex stood. He paced the room, his fingers clenched so tightly around the delicate crystal that he expected it to shatter from the sheer force of his raging emotions.

  “Easy, lad.” He looked up to see Morgan watching him with concern. “I know ‘tis difficult to resist temptation, but you must let justice prevail. At least you will have the satisfaction of watching him dance at the end of a rope.”

  “He killed my brother,” Alex snarled. He flung the goblet at the wall. It shattered, scattering shards of crystal across the floor. Stunned by his own explosion of temper, he watched reddish-brown wine drip down the costly wallpaper like rivulets of blood.

  Morgan broke the silence. “Damned expensive crystal, Rothstone.”

  “I can afford it.” Rubbing one throbbing temple, he slanted a wry look at Morgan. “I am, after all, the Earl of Rothstone.”

  “But you are also El Moreno.” Morgan scowled at the broken crystal littering the floor. “This does not bode well, Rothstone. I chose you for this task because of your fine sailing skills, not because of your brother.”

  “But I accepted because of my brother. Do you think just any man would be able to play the role of pirate?” Alex raked a hand through his long hair. “Had I only wanted adventure, I could have found that on my own.”

  “But you can sail the world no longer.” Morgan leaned forward in his chair, his expression ruthless. “William is dead, and now you hold the title. You were only too happy to take advantage of the opportunity to become El Moreno, to sail the sea in freedom with the wind in your hair and forget about your obligations to the earldom. Admit it, Rothstone.”

  “All right!” Two strides took Alex to Morgan’s desk. He slammed his hands down on the mahogany surface. “You are correct when you say that I hate being bound by my title. ‘Tis true. But ‘tis also true that I cannot shirk my duty. I am the last of the Rawnsleys. I bear the title. I cannot change that.” He leaned closer. “But I can do something about Marcus. He killed my brother. And now I find that Chilton helped him do it.”

  Morgan rose slowly. “And so will he hang alongside Marcus for his part in these crimes. Have patience, lad.”

  “Patience!” With a harsh laugh Alex turned away. He sprawled into his chair and stretched his legs out before him with an arrogance that bordered on flippant. “The spirit of my brother cries out for vengeance, and I cannot be at peace until I satisfy that debt of honor. Look at me, Morgan. What do you see?”

  Morgan glared at him, his mustache practically bristling with impatience. “I see El Moreno, scourge of the seas, rival of that blood-thirsty bastard, Marcus.”

  “You see a man in mourning,” Alex corrected. He indicated his dark clothing with a sweeping gesture. “I have sworn to wear black every day of my life until my brother’s death is avenged. The fact that my clothing has become El Moreno’s trademark is an ironic coincidence.”

  “But an effective one,” Morgan replied, settling into his chair once more. “You make a credible pirate, Rothstone. Would that you had been one of my crew when I sailed these waters.”

  Alex paused, some of the anger draining from him at such high praise. “My thanks.”

  “You can thank me later…after you help me clap Marcus and that primping popinjay, Chilton, in irons.”

  Alex visualized the scene. Slowly he smiled. “I have already set a man to watch Chilton, but tell me what you have in mind.”

  Leaning across the desk, Morgan told him.

  “Now, lass, hold still!”

  “Ow! Maude, there is no need for this. I am perfectly capable of brushing out my own hair.” Seated at her vanity table, Diana looked into the mirror and watched her mother’s cousin pull the brush through her tangled red curls.

  Maude Dunstan pursed her lips. “A fine thing that, a lady o’ your station brushin’ her own hair! Yer mother would skin me alive if she was here tae see it.”

  Diana chuckled at the image of her gently-bred mother doing such a thing. Maude, on the other hand, seemed quite capable of it. She was a dour-faced woman with a heart of gold and the protective instincts of a lioness. A spinster cousin who lived on the charity of Diana’s grandfather, she had chosen to accompany Diana’s mother from Scotland upon her marriage. When a fever took the life of Margaret Covington, Maude became Diana’s caretaker and confidante, helping her through the grief when the same illness took Diana’s betrothed.

  “Did ye enjoy yerself this evenin’?” Maude asked, disrupting Diana’s thoughts. Her tone seemed innocent enough, but Diana knew that her companion planned every word as carefully as a general did a full-scale battle.

  Wary, she answered the question. “I did indeed.”

  “I wasna certain. I see’d ye tryin’ tae avoid that…eh, Lord Chilton. It’s the likes o’ him that made yer father order ye no to be goin’ about on yer own.” She paused, then continued, “Seein’s we’re on the subject, miss, would ye care tae tell me where ye disappeared tae for a good half hour?”

  An image of the black-garbed stranger rose in Diana’s mind, his dark eyes dancing with mischief and his lips tempting her with that wicked grin. If Maude discovered the truth, Diana knew she would be guarded more closely than the queen’s own jewels in the future.

  “How would you know if I went anywhere?” she shot back in an effort to distract the other woman. “You were surrounded by members of the Assembly. Did no one ever tell you ‘twas unseemly for a woman to argue politics?”

  “Dinna play yer games wi’ me, missy.” Maude tapped Diana’s shoulder with the back of the brush. “Answer the question now.”

  Diana sighed with impatience. “I was in the garden.”

  “In the garden? At night? On yer own?” Maude jerked the brush hard through the snarled curls. “Are ye daft, bairn? Ye could have came tae some harm.”

  Diana winced and gave Maude a baleful look. “I may yet come to harm right here in my own bed chamber.”

  “Dinna interrupt. Ye ken the rules right enough, Diana Margaret. Yer father telt ye ne’er tae wander about on yer own. There’s too many lusty scoundrels about now-a-days.”

  “I know. I shall not do it again.” Knowing that Maude could lecture on behavior for more than an hour, Diana searched for a new topic of conversation. “Tell me, have you heard anything of interest in the marketplace lately?”

  “I dinna ken what ye mean.”

  “Now, Maude.” Diana bit back a laugh as she saw the flush that crept into Maude’s cheeks. “You have heard something, haven’t you?”

  “Perhaps,” came the soft reply.

  “Please tell me.” She folded her hands in her lap, and presented her most cajoling smile. “I promise not to be unduly influenced by what you say.”

  Maude placed the brush o
n the vanity table. “It’s no right for a lass o’ your station tae be that taken in wi’ the likes o’ El Moreno.”

  “El Moreno.” Diana savored the sound of the words on her tongue. “Even his very name is exciting. ‘Tis said that he is trying to earn his fortune so he may wed the lady he loves.”

  “Earn a fortune, is it? And since when is killin’ people and stealin’ from them considered earnin’ anything?” Maude signaled for Diana to rise, then unlaced her gown. “In Scotland such a way o’ life would earn a body naught but a hangin’.”

  Diana slipped off the dark green silk overdress and stepped from the matching underskirt. Then she stood patiently while her companion unlaced her corset. “I am sure El Moreno did not choose to be a pirate.”

  “Nonsense,” Maude snapped. “He’s as bad as that Marcus. The two o’ them go about attackin’ other boats, takin’ captives and collectin’ ransoms. If that’s no a pirate I dinna ken what is.”

  Diana rolled her eyes as Maude helped her out of her layers of petticoats. “You think all pirates are the same. You don’t even trust Sir Henry Morgan, and he was appointed deputy governor by the king himself!”

  “Aye, and the Jamaica Assembly is no happy about that,” Maude retorted, warming to one of her favorite topics. “Why else do ye suppose the governor went tae England? The Assembly finally forced him tae petition King Charles tae remove the brigand from his post.”

  “Sir Henry Morgan is hardly a brigand, at least not any more,” Diana stated. “On the other hand, Marcus is simply a cold-blooded killer. And as for El Moreno, ‘tis common knowledge that he always puts his captives ashore at the next port. I think that gold lures him, not blood. And I think you dislike him simply because he is Spanish.”

  “Aye! Spanish!” Maude shook one of the undergarments in her vehemence. “No decent woman would as much as look at a scurvy Spaniard!”

  Clad only in her shift, Diana sat down to strip off her stockings and garters. “Maude, I understand your dislike of the Spanish, but please try to remember that the war has been over since I was a babe. Besides, given what I have heard about El Moreno’s looks I have no doubt you would give the man a second glance yourself.”