Never Trust a Pirate

by Valerie Bowman

  Much to her surprise, she found that in just a few days’ time, she had grown fond of both Mary and Mrs. Huckleberry. Mary asked her about her day, saved her bits of cake if she wasn’t present when it was served, and answered any questions she had about the household. If Mary didn’t know the answer, then Mrs. Huckleberry did. The housekeeper proved a ready and willing ally. The two were friendlier than anyone Danielle had ever known. Friendly and trusting. A knot tightened in Danielle’s chest each time she thought about it.

  The other surprising thing was how much she enjoyed spending time in Lady Daphne’s company. Danielle had assumed before she’d arrived that Lady Daphne would be a spoiled, pampered, demanding aristocrat who cared about nothing more than her clothing and hair. Danielle’s mother had told stories of the kinds of ladies she’d grown up around. The infamous ladies of the ton.

  Lady Daphne turned out to be the opposite. The viscountess spent many of her days helping at an orphanage. She cared little for social gatherings and seemed to attend such events only as obligations. She preferred visiting with friends and family, wanted to spend as little time as possible seeing to her hair and clothing, and was interested in the lives of her servants. She was kind and friendly and lovely, just as Mary said.

  Danielle found that she, Mary, Mrs. Huckleberry, and Lady Daphne could talk and laugh much like … friends. The word still felt foreign to Danielle, but she embraced it more each day. But always, niggling in the back of her mind, was the fact that someday soon she’d have to leave these people and this life. Would they learn she’d been a fake? Would they hate her for it?

  To her chagrin, Danielle didn’t see Cade at all. She’d left off attempting to follow him after the first debacle. Instead, she turned her attention to eavesdropping. But the man stayed out until all hours, slept until afternoon, ate, dressed, and left. There wasn’t much to eavesdrop upon and Danielle grew more frustrated by the day.

  In addition to her busy days, at night, after Lady Daphne and Lord Cavendish went out to Society events, Danielle visited her mother. It was during those quiet moments, after her mother had fallen asleep and she listened to her labored breathing, that Danielle had a chance to contemplate her encounter with Cade. She’d been surprised at their conversation in the library. He’d seemed open and honest with her until he’d shut down and stopped answering questions. His charming veneer had returned and he’d done nothing but offer her more wine and tease her.

  Why hadn’t he kissed her? She honestly couldn’t say that she wouldn’t have allowed it had he tried. The man could tempt a saint. But when she wasn’t drinking wine and wasn’t in a romantically lit room with a handsome man, she realized it had been for the better. She suspected he relished his reputation as a rogue more than he actually deserved it. Or perhaps he had merely thought better of himself because he was in his brother’s house and seducing one of the maids would be considered bad form. He’d mentioned that he and his brother hadn’t been raised in Mayfair. Where had they been raised? Surely not too far away or his brother wouldn’t be a viscount now. Some sort of gentry perhaps? Lady Daphne and Lord Rafe both seemed perfectly civilized and proper like the other members of the ton she’d met, but Cade, Cade seemed different. He didn’t have a valet. Didn’t seem to have a profession. He wanted her to think he was living off his brother. But why? Or was he living off his brother? That would certainly explain why the man might possibly turn to crime. Was he feeding secrets about his brother to someone, or group of someones, who wanted to hurt Rafe? Was that possible?

  “There ye are.” Mary’s voice came floating down the servant’s corridor.

  Danielle turned to see Mary and Mrs. Huckleberry bustling toward her.

  “We’re off ta bed soon,” Mrs. Huckleberry announced. “Care ta walk up with us?”

  “I’d love it,” Danielle replied. She needed to retrieve her shawl and reticule from her bedchamber before she hired a hack to go to her mother’s.

  The three of them made their way along the corridor toward the servants’ staircase at the back of the kitchens.

  “What’s wrong, me dear? Why da ye seem so … well, sad, if you don’t mind me askin’?” Mrs. Huckleberry held the candle high so they could navigate the steep, narrow stairs.

  Danielle’s chest felt heavy, as if Cook’s iron cauldron were sitting on it. And mon dieu, were those … tears? She’d never had anyone ask her such a question before. Never had anyone else care or be so friendly or helpful or … nice. Not since she’d been on her own. Mother had cared once. Before she got sick. Now all she could do was care for her mother.

  She took a deep breath. “It’s my mother. She’s sick.” Now why had she gone and done that? Before she’d come here, she’d never told anyone about her mother.

  Mary gasped and tears filled her eyes, too. She put her small pale hand on Danielle’s shoulder. Danielle allowed it. It felt unexpectedly good to be touched, to be comforted. She didn’t realize how much she’d been missing it.

  “What’s wrong with her, me dear?” Mrs. Huckleberry pulled Danielle down to sit next to her on the stair.

  “Consumption.” Danielle wiped away tears with the handkerchief Mary pressed into her hand.

  “Oh, no.” Mrs. Huckleberry shook her head.

  “It’s where I go to, at night, when I sneak away.”

  “I wasn’t going ta say anything, me dear,” Mrs. Huckleberry said.

  “I know you weren’t, and that’s why I’m telling you. Thank you for understanding.”

  “We all have our problems in this life, me dear, and there’s no sense in judging others fer how they handle theirs.”

  “Is there nothing we can do?” Mary’s hazel eyes searched Danielle’s face.

  “Not much, I’m afraid,” Danielle replied.

  “There’s always something, however small. You stay here.” Mrs. Huckleberry hefted herself up and hurried back down the stairs.

  Mary took Mrs. Huckleberry’s seat and squeezed Danielle’s hand again. “I’m sorry about yer mum, Danielle.”

  “It’s all right. Thank you for listening to me.”

  “Me mum always says if ye want ta feel better, turn yer sights to some other topic.”

  “It’s good advice.” Danielle managed a smile for the maid. “What shall we talk about?”

  Mary turned to Danielle with a gamine grin. “I’m glad Mrs. Huck is gone fer the moment. I’ve been meaning ta ask ye about yer drink with Mr. Cavendish the other night.”

  Danielle gasped. “You know about that?”

  “With all me talk about Trevor I completely forgot ta ask about it when I came ta yer bedchamber. Don’t worry. Mrs. Huckleberry has me see ta the fires in the big rooms in the middle of the night. I’m the only one up, I swear. I heard ye two talking in the library and sneaked away. I promise I didn’t eavesdrop.”

  Danielle laughed. “It’s all right. I believe you. If you had eavesdropped, you would have known that we had some wine and he told me about himself and his brother.”

  Mary’s eyebrows shot up. “Wine? Do ye think he was trying ta get ye foxed ta have his way with ye?”

  “Mary Hartfield, think what you’re saying.” Danielle couldn’t help but laugh at the girl’s obvious enjoyment of it though.

  “Gor, I’d like that man ta get me foxed and have his way with me,” Mary said, still grinning.

  Danielle shook her head. “He did say a few cheeky things.”

  “He could be as cheeky as he pleased with me. Did he try ta steal a kiss?”

  I wish. “I’ll leave that to your imagination.”

  “Oy, I don’t know if ye should do that. My imagination is cheeky, too.” The maid paused for a moment. “Ye didn’t get foxed?”

  “I’m afraid not. I’d have to drink a sight more than two glasses of wine to get foxed.”

  Mary’s face scrunched up. “What da ye mean?” Then she gasped. “Ye’ve been drunk afore, mademoiselle?”

  Danielle laughed again. “Yes, lots of times,
I’m afraid.” With smugglers, drunkenness was a way of life.

  “I suppose the French are more free with the wine than we are.”

  “Oh, I’ve found that both countries love wine and spirits equally.”

  Mary leaned forward and braced her hands on her knees. “What does it feel like ta get foxed?”

  Danielle tilted her head to the side and contemplated that. “It feels like you haven’t got a care in the world. And everything is funny.”

  “Funny?”

  “For me it’s funny. I’ve known other people who drink to excess and are angry or sad or just sleepy.”

  Mary blinked at her. “Ye mean it’s different for everyone?”

  “I think it can be. My father used to say a drunken man says a sober man’s thoughts.”

  “Oy, that’s mighty interestin’, mademoiselle.”

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  “What did ye mean when ye said it would take more than two glasses of wine? How much does it take ta get foxed?”

  “That also depends,” Danielle replied.

  “On what?”

  “On how accustomed to drinking you are. I used to drink quite a lot with the sorts of people who drink quite a lot.” And she’d had to learn quickly how to handle spirits to keep her identity secret.

  “Who did ye drink with?”

  “That’s a story for another time, but suffice it to say I learned how to handle my liquor and now, it’s not possible for two glasses of wine to get me foxed.”

  “I want ta get Trevor foxed and ask him if he fancies me.” Mary giggled. “If I get him foxed will he tell me what he really thinks?”

  Danielle laughed. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  There was no time to discuss that plan before Mrs. Huckleberry came huffing back up the stairs. “I’ve put on a pot o’ me garlic soup fer ye ta bring with ye ta yer mum’s tonight.”

  Danielle started. “You didn’t have to—”

  “I’ve been told it helps with the cough and the tight chest.” A kind smile wrinkled the housekeeper’s face.

  “Oh, yes,” Mary said, nodding emphatically. “Mrs. Huck’s garlic soup is legendary. It’s sure ta make yer mum feel better.”

  “I’ll send Trevor with ye ta carry it,” Mrs. Huckleberry added.

  “That’s far too kind of you.” Danielle’s chest still felt tight. She twined her fingers together and stared down at her slippers. She’d never felt more guilty for deceiving these nice women. “I … I don’t understand why you’re helping me.” She dared a glance up.

  Mary’s nose scrunched up and she gave Danielle the cutest little grin. “Oh, Mademoiselle Danielle, ye’ve never had friends afore, have ye?”

  There was that word again. Friends. It hung in the air like a cloud of coal dust. No. She had never had friends before. This was what it felt like. To have people to talk to. People to ask questions of. People willing to make your sick mere garlic soup.

  What sort of a friend was she? One who was lying to them? Deceiving them? A friend who would have to leave one day without so much as telling them where she’d gone or why? She was a horrible friend, which was exactly why she’d never had any. She didn’t deserve one, let alone these two.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Danielle murmured.

  “There’s nothing ta say, me dear, except … thank ye,” Mrs. Huckleberry replied.

  Thank you. Those, too, weren’t words she’d used often. She’d never had anyone to thank but herself. No one aside from Grimaldi had done anything for her, but he didn’t require thanks. She’d worked to pay him back. She hadn’t asked anyone for help and they hadn’t offered, which was exactly the way she liked it. No commitments. No obligations. Long ago, two people she trusted had betrayed her, but something told her Mary and Mrs. Huckleberry never would.

  “Thank you for the soup,” she whispered, standing so the three could continue their walk upstairs.

  “It’s me pleasure,” Mrs. Huckleberry replied. “Now, hurry home tonight after yer visit, ye hear? Ye’ll need ta get some sleep. Tomorrow’s ta be a busy day.”

  “Yes, tomorrow’s going ta be especially busy,” Mary echoed.

  Danielle paused. “Why? What’s happening tomorrow?”

  “Didn’t Lady Daphne tell ye?” Mrs. Huckleberry asked. “She’s planning a ball.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Danielle had paid Nigel, the footman, to ensure the back door near the servants’ staircase was left open. Having told Trevor he didn’t need to wait after assisting her with the soup, she’d spent the entire evening reading to her mother. Mama had enjoyed the soup. It made her feel better. Danielle had stayed longer, reading to her until after midnight.

  Back at Lord Cavendish’s property, she flew across the alleyway like a wraith, up the back stoop, and slipped silently through the unlocked door. She was about to place her foot on the first step of the servants’ staircase when a deep voice sounded from the shadows.

  “Late night, eh?”

  Instinct took over. She whipped a knife from her walking boot, spun around, and braced her arm against the throat of the man standing in the darkness not a pace away from her.

  “I can honestly say I’ve never in my life been more aroused than I am at this moment.”

  Several seconds passed before Danielle managed to calm her pounding heart. Cade. Of course. Who else would it be?

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “I’d like to ask you the same question. The other night you were merely getting a nightcap. Now you’re pulling knives? You’re an anxious one, aren’t you?” Cade drawled.

  “Je suis desole.” She pulled her arm away from him, stepped back, and slipped the knife back into her boot.

  “Don’t apologize. I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

  “Did you?” She crossed her arms over her chest. She could see his smile in a beam of moonlight that shone through the window behind her.

  “I don’t know many lady’s maids who are so—ahem—proficient with a knife. I clearly need to get out more.”

  “How many lady’s maids do you know?”

  “Enough.”

  “Perhaps you don’t know them well enough. A female has to be able to defend herself on the streets of London. Especially at night.”

  “Which begs the next question. What were you doing out on the streets at this hour?”

  Danielle sighed. “It’s a long story.”

  “I have time.” He pressed a shoulder against the wall and crossed his booted feet at the ankles.

  She tilted her head. “What if I’d rather not tell it?”

  “I’d respect that, but I’d ask if I could ask a different question.”

  “Which is?” She pressed her hands behind her and leaned back against the door.

  “Where did you learn to handle a knife like that?”

  A half-smile touched her lips. “Seems we both have our secrets.”

  “Secrets?”

  “Where have you been tonight?” she asked.

  “Ah, well, if you’re going to pry into my secrets, at least come to the library and have another drink.”

  Ten minutes later, Danielle sat curled on the settee in the library across from Cade, who sat in a large leather chair. She swirled the liquid in the glass and stared into it.

  “So,” he began. “How about if I promise to tell you where I was this evening if you tell me where you were?”

  Did she dare tell him the truth? What if he asked questions about her mother? She’d never told anyone about her mother’s past. No one had ever asked. Cade was asking now. “Very well, you go first.”

  Cade lifted his glass in a toast. “How did I know you were going to say that?”

  “A tres lucky guess?”

  “I was out having drinks with friends,” he said.

  “That’s vague. Where? With whom?”

  “I doubt you’d know them, sweetheart.”

  “That’s probably true, but you co
uld at least tell me where.”

  “The Curious Goat Inn.”

  “A favorite haunt of yours?”

  “I suppose you could say that. Enough stalling, where do you go?”

  “I went to visit my mother.” Even as the words left her mouth, she was surprised she’d said them.

  “Your mother?” He seemed surprised as well.

  “Yes, she’s … unwell.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She has … consumption. She’s not expected to live more than a year.” Saying it aloud felt freeing. Danielle had lived with this fact every day, but allowing herself to speak it felt unexpectedly comforting.

  She glanced at Cade. The man was handsome, but there was something more to him. Some bit of … dare she think it, sensitivity that made him easy to talk to. He was charming, yes, but it was more than that. He was also … friendly to her. Kind. Yes, that was it. Kind. It was unexpected. The truth was that she was falling for his charm a little. She was attracted to him, liked talking to him. But she couldn’t allow herself to get too close. Cade might seem nice but he was also a job. Not to mention he might be a spy for the French along with the sin of stabbing his brother in the back. She didn’t know for certain.

  All she did know was that he was the key to finally getting her mother to the cottage by the sea she’d been saving most of her life for. If she finished this last mission, Grimaldi had promised she would finally be free for as much time as she needed to see to her mother. He’d personally give her the money she needed.

  Everything was at stake here. Her mother’s final days and her reaching her personal dream. She’d never had friends, never needed them, but she shouldn’t confuse friendship with work. This was a job and she’d do well to remember that. Friends weren’t real. Friends didn’t matter. They’d reject her when they learned of her duplicity in the house. Only family was real. Only family mattered.

  “How often do you visit her?” He pulled her back to their conversation.

  “Every night. I try to take the burden off her nurse.” Danielle sipped the wine he’d given her.