How To Please a Pirate (13 page)

Except her, of course. She knew him too
well.

Which made the plan all the more
despicable.

“Are you sure about this, Hugh?” she asked.
“You said Gabriel was looking fit.”

“He is, but I could always best him with a
blade,” Hugh said. “Don’t worry, Cat. Just make excuses if anyone
misses me and before you know it, you won’t have to worry over worn
velvet ever again. You’ll be able to buy a new coach if you like.
Dragon Caern will be without its baron and Oddbody will hush up the
scandal and see me named protector.”

“And Gabriel’s niece? Poor despoiled child.
What will become of her?”

“That’s incidental.”

“Try not to enjoy it too much,” she said.
“Besides, you’d better save your strength. Gabriel Drake’s
swordsmanship may have improved over the last fifteen years.”

Hugh grasped her chin and forced her to look
at him. “And if it has, will you weep for me, Cat?”

“Terribly,” she said, willing herself not to
cringe. She hated Hugh when he manhandled her like that, but if she
made a fuss, he only did it more often. She decided to make light
of it. “I may have to let Lord Drake console your grieving
widow.”

She forced a laugh so he’d think she was
joking and he joined her.

Privately, she thought the idea had
merit.

* * *

Torchlight blazed from the battlements.
Banners snapped in the breeze overhead. Every bit of silver was
polished, every stone scrubbed. Mrs. Beadle had moved heaven and
earth to create as sumptuous a feast as might be found on King
Geordie’s own table. All the folk of Dragon Caern were turned out
in their best. The arriving nobility with their marriageable
daughters in tow were warmly received by Father Eustace and ushered
into the little used ballroom where a string quartet was tuning
up.

Everything was going exactly as planned.
Jacquelyn had worked tirelessly to make Lord Gabriel Drake’s
re-entry into society a brilliant success.

Of course, it would help if she knew where he
was.

She’d successfully avoided being alone with
him since ‘it’ happened. Even to herself, she wouldn’t give their
encounter a name. She only knew that in order to keep ‘it’ from
happening again, she must keep her distance from Gabriel Drake.

She was fairly certain she needn’t worry
about bringing a bastard into the world. There hadn’t been time to
do that much damage.

Just quite enough.

Jacquelyn rarely allowed herself to think
about ‘it,’ but when the memory rushed back unbidden, she was
surprised that the loss of her maidenhead didn’t cause her more
grief.

Rather, she mourned the loss of that
incredible connection when she held him inside her, when she and
Gabriel Drake joined deeply. For that earth-shaking moment, when he
re-christened her ‘Lyn,’ she’d felt anything was possible, that
something entirely wonderful was taking place and her life would
never be the same. Even if they’d taken a tumble from the
battlements in their conjoined state, she had no doubt both ‘Lyn’
and Gabriel would have sprouted wings.

But now she was just Mistress Jacquelyn again
as if ‘it’ had never happened.

Gabriel must not have given ‘it’ much thought
since. He certainly hadn’t sought her out and his demeanor toward
her before others was stiltedly polite. No furtive glances. No sly
innuendo. He even allowed her to teach him the minuet without so
much as a fingertip where it didn’t belong.

The man was positively maddening.

He was also nowhere to be found.

Jacquelyn searched his chambers, the stables,
the armory—she even took a candle down to the wine cellar, but only
found Mr. Meriwether, sprawled mournfully amid the sad remains of
the last empty bottles of the ’08.

No one had seen Lord Drake.

The musicians were starting a shaky bit of
Purcell to warm up their strings and still the host of the gala was
absent.

“Where the devil could he be?” Jacquelyn
stepped out into the bailey, beside herself with worry. Since
Meriwether was still in residence, she was reasonably certain
Gabriel hadn’t absconded. She was ready to admit defeat and have
Father Eustace make some sort of apologetic announcement to their
guests, when she noticed a lone candle shining through the chapel
windows.

She didn’t suspect for a moment that Gabriel
Drake was a praying man, but it did seem like a good spot to hide.
Certainly the last place anyone might look for him. Jacquelyn
lifted her skirt and sprinted across the courtyard.

There was no one kneeling at the altar, but
the door leading down to the crypt was ajar. She stopped on the
third step from the bottom. Gabriel Drake was standing, head bowed
before his father’s tomb.

In the dimness of a single candle, he was
still resplendent. Despite a number of loud disagreements over the
subject, she’d been unable to convince him to don a wig for the
festivities.

“The blasted things are nothing but French
foppery,” Gabriel had insisted. “I will dance like a dandy. I’ll be
as charming as Lucifer himself. For the sake of Dragon Caern, I’ll
even wed one of the insipid little twits you’ve arranged to come to
this bloody ball, but I’ll be damned if I’ll wear a wig.”

Now the way his own hair glinted blue-black
in its neat queue made her realize he’d been right on this
point.

The cut of his new brocade jacket did justice
to the width of his shoulders and the golden frogs and epaulettes
winked in the candlelight. Old Lord Drake’s ring, a twisted
convulsion of twin dragons swallowing each other’s tales, gleamed
on Gabriel’s forefinger. His green velvet breeches displayed his
muscular thighs and the bulge of his maleness made her mouth go
dry. She jerked her gaze back to his troubled profile.

Even without his darkly handsome face, he’d
be dazzling in the ballroom. With it, Jacquelyn predicted a string
of swooning maidens in short order, especially if, as promised, he
set himself to be as charming as Lucifer. She swallowed the lump
that formed in her throat.

She almost spoke when he extended a finger
and traced his father’s name engraved in the stone slab.

An invisible hand squeezed her heart. She
shoved the unwelcome emotion aside. She dared not allow herself to
care for this man. There was no other option. He must wed a proper
lady and do it quickly. Wasn’t Jacquelyn responsible for filling
Dragon Caern’s keep with his potential wives? No matter what had
passed between them, she must not succumb to the tenderness welling
in her chest. It was the path to madness.

She cleared her throat. “My lord.”

His lips lifted in a fleeting smile when he
looked over at her. “Trust you to find me, Mistress.”

“You led me a merry chase,” she admitted.
“What are you doing here?”

“Just basking in my state as the prize of the
evening,” he said sardonically.

“Prize? You’re thinking mighty highly of
yourself.”

“Not at all,” he said. “In my years at sea,
occasionally I’ve seen more than one pirate crew go after the same
prize ship at the same time. A Spanish galleon filled with gold or
a heavy French frigate is a tempting morsel, after all. If there’s
more than one buccaneer captain after her, you’d think she’d fall
easily. But more often than not, the prize is accidentally put to
the torch in the melee and goes down in flames.” He tossed her a
weary glance. “I’m less than pleased about being the prize.”

“I know this is difficult—“

“No, this is nigh impossible, but you’ll not
let me out of it, will you?”

“You act as though this were my doing,” she
said. “It’s not my will that you wed.”

He raised a brow at that. “Nor mine, but
there seems no help for it.”

He rested his hand on the cold stone again as
if he would draw strength from his father’s bones interred within.
“What did my father say when he was told I had been lost to the
sea?”

“I wasn’t here yet when the news came that
your ship had gone down with all hands, but Mrs. Beadle told me
about it once. Your father took it very badly. Old Lord Drake
didn’t speak for a month—not even to your uncle. Everyone went
about on tiptoe for fear of upsetting him further.”

Gabriel snorted. “Aye, fear was always his
strong suit. Rhys Drake was a hard man.”

For the first time, Jacquelyn wondered if she
might not be blessed in not knowing her father.

“And yet, I miss him. Oh, not just because
I’m in this kettle of brine, though Lord knows I’d give anything to
be someplace else this night. It’s just . . .” He sank down onto
the cold stone floor, heedless of his fine garments. “On my way
home, I had it all planned out. What I would say. What he would say
. . . ” Gabriel’s eyebrows tented on his forehead. “And somehow, I
thought everything I’d done, what I’d become . . . well, it
wouldn’t matter so much anymore.”

“Laying aside the past is not always
possible.” She knew she’d never be able to put away the heat and
the ache and bliss of holding him. If she lived to be a hundred,
the memory of his mouth on her would still make her belly clench.
But she forcefully thrust aside the remembrance now.

“Perhaps, simply coming home is enough,” she
said.

Jacquelyn crouched beside him and rested her
palm on his forearm. His heat radiated through the brocade to her
hand. She was seized by the desire to feel his bare skin beneath
the fine fabric, but she reined herself in and drew her hand back.
She should be helping him face his duty, not make things more
difficult. If peace with the old lord would ease his heart, she’d
share what little she remembered of his father.

“I know your father was hard on you, but he
was proud of you, too,” she said. “I heard it in his voice every
time he spoke of you.”

“Proud? Of me?” The corner of Gabriel’s mouth
twitched. “Was he?”

“Oh, yes. He was. Quite proud,” she assured
him.

Gabriel studied the stone between his feet
for a moment, looking very much younger than his years. Then he
glanced back up at her. “Well, that’s something then, isn’t
it?”

He gave himself a small shake and Jacquelyn
realized her brief glimpse behind his self-assured façade was over.
Gabriel stood and offered his arm to her.

“Enough of this, now. Thanks to your hard
work, I believe we have a ball to attend and somehow, I have to
pick out a wife from among our guests.” When she slipped her hand
under his elbow, he closed his other hand over it. “Lyn, I
wish—”

“Mistress Wren,” she corrected, then against
her better judgement she added, “or Jacquelyn, if you like. I can’t
see the harm when it’s just the two of us.”

His smile crinkled the edges of his eyes.
“Well, then Jacquelyn, perhaps as the night progresses, you’ll do
me the honor of a minuet or two.”

She knew it was the worst sort of
foolishness. He needed to dance with his prospective brides. But
when he smiled at her, she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Perhaps, my lord, if you promise not to
tread on my toes.”

* * *

“Hyacinth, you’re making yourself look
ridiculous.”

Daisy flopped belly-first on her bed and
rested her pointed chin on her knuckles. Hyacinth had been preening
in the room they shared all afternoon. It was enough feminine
folderol to make Daisy want to invade the twins’ adjoining chamber.
Or even the little room Lily shared with Molly, the sweet-natured,
simple girl who’d been engaged to nurse the motherless Lily and
stayed on to dote upon the littlest Drake girl as if she were her
own. Daisy had been the picture of forbearance over Hyacinth’s
silliness, but wearing their mother’s jewelry was over the
line.

“You put those back,” she warned, “Or—”

“Or what?”

Hyacinth fingered the earbobs she’d pilfered
from their mother’s jewel box. She wasn’t supposed to know where
Mrs. Beadle had stashed it for safe-keeping, but there wasn’t much
that went on in Dragon Caern Castle that she and Daisy didn’t know.
She turned her head from side to side to admire the effect of the
bobs in the silvered glass.

Daisy reluctantly decided they really did
make her look older, but she wasn’t about to give Hy the
satisfaction of telling her so.

“Mistress Jacquelyn gave me permission to
dance till the supper is called,” Hyacinth said with a gloating
grin. “You’re jealous because you’re stuck here with the children
this evening while I’m down there dancing with the rest of the
adults.”

Daisy rolled her eyes.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Hy.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Act your age. Just because you’re all
gussied up, don’t forget you’re only thirteen.”

“I’ll be fourteen in two months.” Hyacinth
patted her neatly coiffed hair. She’d worked on it for over an hour
to pile it up on her head like that. “It’s a pity Mistress
Jacquelyn won’t let me wear a powdered wig, but my own tresses are
pale enough I suppose. Maybe in the ballroom with the swirl of
lovely dresses and shining crystal, no one will notice the
difference.” Hyacinth picked up her fan and flirted with her
reflection, batting her lashes and trying to look as haughty as
possible. “And besides, nearly fourteen isn’t that young. There was
that girl in Dover who married at fourteen.”

“And everyone whispered about her, too.”
Daisy sighed deeply. “Don’t act like some simpering ninny.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking
about.” Hyacinth stood and smoothed the front of her gown.

It really was quite fetching, Daisy decided,
but Hy didn’t need to hear it. She was already so full of herself
it was a wonder she didn’t burst at the seams. Her sister twirled,
dipped in a deep curtsey and made a moue at her reflection.

“Like that, for instance,” Daisy said. “No
one really smiles like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a cat with milk on its whiskers.” Daisy
folded her arms across her flat chest. Just because Hyacinth had
sprouted a pair of bumps, she thought she was some high and mighty
grand lady now.