Once Upon a Pirate: Sixteen Swashbuckling Historical Romances

by Merry Farmer

  No, Lady Calliope Banks. You’d best remain on the spinster’s shelf, she told herself firmly, even as she stole another gaze at the ruggedly handsome man sitting opposite her.

  It’s far safer there.

  Chapter 4

  Good God, I’m three sheets to the wind. What the hell was I thinking?

  Jonathon frowned in concentration as he ascended the staircase of the Anchor and Crown Inn with heavy, deliberate footsteps. He hadn’t intended to get drunk. But after dinner had concluded, he’d ended up in the inn’s main taproom, quaffing ale and rum with Pickering and Holloway, and his own first mate, Mr. Keats, rather than paying a visit to Mahébourg’s finest bawdy house as he’d originally planned. It looked like he wouldn’t be using the French letters in his coat pocket any time soon.

  All because of Lady Calliope Banks and her pretty blue eyes, plump pink mouth, and perfect peach of a derriere, he grudgingly acknowledged. Never mind her buttoned-up, ladylike demeanor that the cad in him was just itching to undo. How damnably frustrating that he couldn’t seem to get the chit out of his mind. Although he badly needed to tup a woman, he rather suspected that the company of a prostitute just wouldn’t do tonight.

  What the bloody, blazing hell is wrong with me?

  The world tilted momentarily before righting itself and Jonathon paused on the landing, gripping the balustrade. It seemed the rum they’d all been drinking had been rather rougher and stronger than he’d realized.

  No matter. At least I’ll sleep well, he decided as he shook his head in an attempt to clear the alcoholic fog blurring his senses, then resumed his climb to the first floor where his hired bedchamber lay.

  He was halfway down the dimly lit hallway—the candles in the wall-sconces had burned low—when a door to his right swung open and someone barreled straight into his chest.

  A slight, soft, sweet-smelling female who uttered a breathy ‘oof’ then a gasp.

  Lady Calliope Banks.

  Lady Calamity.

  He caught her gently about the shoulders. “Are you all right, my lady?” he asked, peering down into her fair countenance. In the soft glow of the candlelight—and despite the fact his vision was a little blurry—he noted that thick tendrils of her bright, coppery hair were tumbling about her pale face and slender shoulders and she was still wearing the turquoise gown that fit her so perfectly. He was acutely aware of the feel of her palms resting against his pectoral muscles.

  The intimacy of the moment.

  Perhaps she was too because a fiery blush marched across her face and she took a step back. Her hands fell away and he relinquished his light hold. “Y-yes. Quite fine,” she murmured. “I apologize for bumping into you.” Her pretty mouth lifted into a smile. “Despite my reputation for courting disaster, I assure you, I’m usually not this clumsy.”

  All evidence to the contrary. He bit back the teasing comment as no doubt it would spike her ire and instead asked, “Why are you out here at such a late hour? Can I be of assistance?”

  Lady Calliope pushed a stray curl away from her cheek. “I’m having trouble sleeping and wanted to order some hot chocolate. But the bell-pull in my room doesn’t work.”

  “I see. I noticed you don’t have a maid...” He trailed off, wondering if she’d elaborate.

  “No… Well, I did when we set out from England. But the journey didn’t agree with her.” She waved a dismissive hand. “When all’s said and done, it’s really by-the-by.”

  “Hmmm.” Jonathon frowned. He was certain there was more to that story—just as he supposed there must be some intriguing reason that a titled young woman like her had chosen to accompany her eccentric uncle on a wild goose chase for a long-dead bird at the ends of the earth—but he supposed it really wasn’t any of his business. Aloud he said, “You shouldn’t be wandering about by yourself though. You don’t know who you might run into.”

  The young woman lifted her chin and looked down her pert little nose at him, at least in a figurative sense. “You’re not my guardian, Captain. Or should I call you Lord Sandford?”

  “Captain Townsend will do. Where’s your uncle?”

  “Asleep. And I do not wish to disturb him. He’s exhausted.”

  “Tsk tsk, Lady Calliope. Do you really think your uncle would want you to risk your own safety in the hunt for something as prosaic as hot chocolate? Allow me to escort you downstairs, then back to your room. There are some nefarious, rough types about who are well into their cups and would think nothing of molesting an attractive young lady like you.”

  “I… I’m sure I’ll be quite fine,” she stated firmly. “I don’t intend to linger in the taproom.”

  Jonathon raised an eyebrow. “You can trust me, you know. As I mentioned at dinner, I was once an officer in the Royal Navy. And it seems you’ve already learned I’m a peer of the realm. I know I proclaimed myself to be a rough mariner when we were first introduced, but I promise to play the part of the perfect gentleman.”

  “Really?” Lady Calliope arched a delicate brow back at him and crossed her arms. “You mean a perfectly foxed gentleman.”

  What a delightfully stubborn minx. Jonathon’s lips quirked with a smile. “I’m only a little foxed,” he lied.

  “Only a little?” she scoffed. Her gaze was suddenly hard and Jonathon frowned as a novel thought occurred to him.

  “You don’t like me,” he murmured, taken aback. How bizarre. Women always liked him. Well, that hadn’t been the case with his faithless fiancée in the end…

  “Considering how overbearing you were this afternoon, I’m not sure that I do. Besides, I could say the same thing about you. Why do you dislike me so much, Captain Townsend?”

  He couldn’t suppress a wry chuckle. How wrong she was. “While I’ll confess that you can be a little vexing on occasion, I don’t dislike you.” Leaning forward he said in a low, velveteen voice that he knew would put her to the blush, “In fact, I find you quite intriguing.”

  Even though Lady Calliope did indeed blush, quite spectacularly, she held her ground. “Yet you ordered me to get below as soon as I set foot on your ship,” she rejoined, her face aflame. “And you are telling me what to do yet again. I’m not one of your crew to be ordered about. Captain.”

  Jonathon smirked. “Well, given your propensity for getting yourself into trouble, it seems someone needs to take you in hand.”

  Anger and some other emotion Jonathon couldn’t quite identify sparked in Lady Calliope’s fine blue eyes. “Take me in hand?”

  “Yes.” Jonathon reached out and gently grasped Lady Calliope’s arm, drawing her closer. To his surprise and delight, she didn’t resist. Indeed, if anything, she swayed toward him. Beneath his calloused palm, her skin was warm and smooth as satin. When he grazed his thumb over the tender flesh on the inside of her forearm, her breath hitched and he had the distinct impression she wasn’t averse to his nearness or his touch at all… especially when her eyes drifted to his mouth. “Let me remind you that you’re staying at an inn full of brutish sailors who’ve been deprived of female companionship for a long, long time, Lady Calliope. This isn’t Gunter’s Tea Shop in Berkley Square or Almack’s.”

  Lady Calliope raised her chin as her gaze returned to his. Her voice was noticeably husky as she murmured, “Yet I was perfectly safe aboard the Vestal.”

  “Captain Pickering runs a tight ship and his crew are used to being around paying passengers, both male and female. Not all the men downstairs at this present moment are so… civilized.”

  “And are you civilized, Captain Townsend?” Lady Calliope’s tongue darted out to moisten the plump pink flesh of her delectable lower lip.

  Christ. Jonathon swallowed. “Yes,” he said. Although devil take him, he was finding it difficult to remain so. Lady Calliope’s feminine scent drifted around him, tempting him to do something unthinkable. To taste that enticing mouth and find out if the ginger freckles scattered across her countenance could also be found in other places currently concealed by
her clothes. To behave like the men he was trying to protect her from…

  With an effort, he ignored the animal stirring of lust in his blood, dropped his hand, and stepped away. “I’ll go downstairs and organize one of the barmaids or chambermaids to bring you whatever you desire, my lady. Hot chocolate, was it? Or tea at a pinch if hot chocolate isn’t available?”

  Instead of arguing with him again for being high-handed or boorish as he’d half-expected, Lady Calliope simply nodded. “That would be lovely,” she replied. “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Excellent.” Jonathon bowed over her hand. “Goodnight then, my lady.”

  “Yes, goodnight, Captain.”

  As soon as Lady Calliope Banks’s door shut, Jonathon shook his head for the second time that evening in an attempt to knock sense back into his alcohol addled brain. He’d never lusted after spinsterish bluestockings before. Even his former fiancée had fallen into the category of accomplished debutante.

  Turning on his booted heel, he headed for stairs. What disturbed him even more than his inexplicable desire for a young woman who clearly wasn’t his usual cup of tea, was the fact he was now fetching her a cup of tea. Or hot chocolate.

  An earlier thought returned to his troubled mind: what the bloody, blazing hell is wrong with me?

  Hopefully he’d come to his senses by morning.

  Chapter 5

  The next day dawned bright and fair. As the Andromeda departed Grand Port, its ivory sails billowed in the wind like the wings of great bird taking flight. Calliope, standing on the deck beside her uncle, had to narrow her eyes against the sparkling glints of sunlight dancing across the clear turquoise waters of the bay. All around her, she could hear a host of familiar sounds—the shouts of the crew in the rigging, the snap of the sails, the creak of the deck’s timbers, the cry of gulls, and the rush of waves beneath the ship’s keel as it cut through the gentle swell and ploughed its way out to the open sea.

  She was relieved that she’d been able to don her own freshly laundered clothes before they’d departed The Anchor and Crown. Although her stays and half-boots were still slightly damp and she didn’t have a bonnet to protect her hair. Indeed, the stiff sea breeze had already teased a good deal of unruly strands out from her poorly pinned chignon and she was conscious of the fact her white muslin skirts were plastered to the outline of her legs. Again.

  She sighed. If any of the crew aboard the Andromeda—or Captain Townsend himself—were sneaking ungentlemanly glances at her figure, well so be it. There wasn’t much she could do about it.

  On boarding, she’d immediately sought out the Andromeda’s cabin boy, Tom, and returned the borrowed clothes to him. With any luck, her own lack of wardrobe would soon be rectified if her belongings could be retrieved from the Vestal. Or failing that, she would purchase new things in Port Louis upon their arrival.

  “At last, our real adventure is truly beginning, Peewee,” said Uncle Theo. The cheer in his voice resembled the bright peal of the ship’s bell calling the first watch. “I cannot wait to speak with Governor Farquhar and the Mauritian Scientific Society about our quest.”

  Mr. Lucas gave a disgruntled harrumph. “Let’s just hope they have some useful intelligence to share,” he said dolefully. “I, for one, do not wish to return to England empty-handed.” Calliope was aware his advancement at Oxford University was dependent upon him making a significant academic contribution. He currently possessed a master’s degree in zoology but had hopes of achieving a doctorate.

  “I’m sure we’ll find dodo remains somewhere on the island, Mr. Lucas,” replied Uncle Theo. “The thing is, I firmly believe no one has hitherto really invested much time and energy into the search. Granted it was well-nigh impossible while Mauritius was under French rule. As I’ve oft said, that also means we are probably the first British researchers to actually conduct a proper, scientific investigation. I’m truly excited.”

  Calliope could see he spoke the truth. She’d never seen Uncle Theo so invigorated. There was a renewed energy about him—a brightness in both his gaze and smile—that hadn’t been present in England, and it warmed her heart immeasurably to see him thus. And she was pleased for herself too. While the long sea journey to Mauritius had been arduous at times—and yesterday, it had proved perilous—Calliope was happy that she was doing something stimulating for once. That was not to say she hadn’t derived some measure of satisfaction from helping Uncle Theo in whatever way she could in the role of ‘personal secretary’ over the last few years—from organizing his appointments, to keeping track of his expenses, to transcribing his research notes into something legible. But to be on a treasure hunt of sorts—albeit for the bones of a legendary bird—was thrilling indeed.

  For Uncle Theo’s sake, she truly hoped he was able to discover something. If he could add to the depleted collection of dodo remains in Oxford’s Ashmolean Museum—only a crumbling head and a foot survived—then his reputation at the university would reach legendary status too.

  The cabin boy, Tom, joined their small group at the railing. “Pardon me, Lady Calliope, Dr. Bell, and Mr. Lucas,” he said with a small bow, “but Cap’n Townsend wondered if you might like to join ‘im for a spot o’ tea in his quarters.”

  Calliope blinked in surprise. “Oh, how lovely.” And unexpected. It was almost as if Captain Townsend was going out of his way to prove he was indeed, civilized, just as he’d professed last night. Heat bloomed in Calliope’s cheeks as she recalled the feel of his large, warm hand on her arm. The arrested look in his eyes as he’d studied her face and the warmth in his voice as he’d teased her. She should have been affronted, considering how foxed he’d been—he rather smelled like he’d been swimming in a vat of rum. But the disconcerting thing was, she hadn’t been offended. Not at all.

  “We’d be delighted,” said Uncle Theo. “And I hope Nelson will be joining us too.” Calliope had told her uncle about the garrulous parrot and she knew he was very keen to observe the bird’s antics for himself.

  “Aye, of course, sir,” replied Tom as he ferried them toward the door leading below decks. “But as I tell everyone before they meet ‘im, you mustn’t mind what ‘e says. While ‘e is a real ‘ave-a-chat, ‘e doesn’t ‘ave the best manners.”

  On entering the captain’s cabin, Captain Townsend pushed away the chart he was studying and rounded his desk to greet his visitors. Nelson, who sat upon his master’s wide shoulder, regarded Calliope, her uncle, and Mr. Lucas with keen, beady eyes. “Aaargh! Avast, ye landlubbers,” the bird proclaimed, fluttering his wings. “Batten down the hatches! Get below. Get below!”

  “I’m sure you would have made Nelson’s acquaintance yesterday, Lady Calliope,” said Captain Townsend as he returned Nelson to his perch by one of the wide mullioned windows.

  “Yes,” she replied as they all took seats at the large dining table where an elegant tea service had been set out on silver trays with raised edges; Spode china cups and saucers, a matching china jug and teapot, a silver urn, teaspoons, sugar bowl, and tea caddy. There was even a plate of ginger biscuits. “I did indeed.”

  When she dared to cast a glance at the gray parrot, she noticed he was bobbing up and down in that cheeky way of his.

  “Thar she blows! Booty ahoy, booty ahoy,” Nelson called across the cabin, his impudent gaze pinned on her. “Come ‘ere and give us a kiss, my pretty.”

  Despite her best efforts not to blush, Calliope felt warmth suffusing her cheeks. Captain Townsend must have noticed her discomfort as he said, “I do hope he wasn’t too impertinent yesterday. He doesn’t encounter lovely young ladies all that often.”

  The flare of heat spread across Calliope’s face—not only at the memory of the parrot describing her bottom as booty, but the fact Captain Townsend had yet again suggested she was attractive… although, like all inveterate flirts, she was certain he didn’t mean it.

  “He does have a most unique way of speaking,” she conceded as she began to busy herself with the tea thin
gs; it was a lady’s duty to pour after all. “It’s not every day one gets told to blow something out one’s bunghole.”

  As she opened the tea caddy and dispensed fragrant leaves into the pot, she sensed Captain Townsend was smirking, which meant he’d been feigning contrition and didn’t mean a word he’d just said. Urgh! And to think she’d briefly entertained the idea the man was actually a gentleman after he’d arranged hot chocolate to be delivered to her room last night. Arching an eyebrow, she caught the man’s amused gaze again. “It makes me wonder who taught him so many singular turns of phrase…”

  “Well, I think he’s a most fascinating bird,” declared Uncle Theo. “How long have you had him, Captain Townsend? Did you teach him all he knows?”

  Captain Townsend accepted a cup of tea from Calliope before responding, “I inherited him, so to speak, a few years ago,” he said gravely. “After a close friend—a naval colleague of mine actually—died unexpectedly. Nelson belonged to him.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear your friend passed away,” murmured Calliope. Her heart cramped with genuine sympathy at witnessing the change in the captain’s demeanor. A shadow of sadness and another emotion she couldn’t quite place flickered in his eyes, replacing the spark of insolent mischief she’d become accustomed to seeing there.

  “Yes indeed,” agreed Uncle Theo. “I’m sorry to hear that too. And I apologize for inadvertently raising a painful subject.”

  “That’s quite all right. You were not to know,” replied Captain Townsend. “But to answer your other questions, Dr. Bell, it was my friend who taught Nelson so many singular turns of phrase,” he turned a smile on Calliope, “as you so eloquently put it, my lady. Although, I have also observed that Nelson has an uncanny knack for imitation. He only has to hear something once and he will repeat it. I do believe he’s even capable of generating new expressions all by himself. He really is very clever.”