How To Please a Pirate (31 page)

The men began protesting that she was lovely
just as she was—or perhaps especially as she was. Men did generally
prefer women without clothing.

It occurred to Isabella that she was probably
much older than any of their wives or sweethearts and yet her soft
life of luxury had spared her many of time’s ravages. But while she
might cheat Father Time for a bit, he would not be held off
indefinitely.

She tried to tell herself that her bed was
usually empty now by her own choice since she was heavily involved
in helping Lord Haversham maintain his illusion of a sexual liaison
with her, but her heart damned her for a liar. Even if Geoffrey
weren’t lavishing her with public attention, she might still be
privately alone.

She wondered occasionally what it might have
been like to have lain beside the same man since her youth, to have
given him many children, to have nursed him through illness or
struggled with adversity by his side, to have loved once and loved
well?

She’d never know.

God must be a man,
Isabella had often
said to her philosopher friends,
For He has arranged things so a
woman must take what she wants. And then He makes her pay for it
twice.

So Isabella had decided to take soft fabric
to drape over her milk-smooth skin and hard jewels to adorn her
throat in a winking crescent and to surround herself with fine
things.

And an abundance of pleasure.

Of course, the pleasure was a bit wanting of
late, but she believed a little loneliness was the payment demanded
for her opulent life. When she thought of the discomforts of
poverty, the hazards of multiple pregnancies and her distaste for
sickness in general, she decided she’d made a fair trade.

Now if she could only trade for a few moments
privacy so she could somehow spirit Gabriel Drake safely out of her
house, Isabella promised herself she’d stop making deals with the
Almighty and never barter with Him for more ever again.

“Really, gentlemen,” she said in her gayest
tone, “I must be—”

“What’s going on here?” A diminutive man with
a voice out of all proportion to his smallness demanded from her
bedchamber doorway.

Isabella narrowed her eyes at him. She’d seen
him at court during the last masked ball. Yes, she knew him by his
slimy reputation as well as his name—Sir Cecil Oddbody, Keeper of
the King’s Privy Seal. She didn’t recognize the strapping fellow at
his side but the new man’s murderous frown did not commend him to
her.

Sir Cecil glared at the constabulary and, to
a man, they cringed.

“My dear friend Lord Curtmantle,” Oddbody
lifted a palm to indicate his companion, “sent word that—”

“Welcome, my lord. My name is Isabella Wren,”
she said to Curtmantle with far more dignity than a naked woman in
a room full of men should possess. “From whence do you hail?”

Oddbody scowled afresh at her interruption,
but she’d always found conversational niceties like introductions
useful rudders for steering an unpleasant interview to friendlier
waters.

“I have a tidy barony in Cornwall,”
Curtmantle said.

“Just a baron, worse luck for ‘im, eh?” one
of the men whispered and several of them sputtered with mirth.
“Reckon she’ll throw ‘im out.”

Sir Cecil’s eyes bulged, clearly irritated at
the inappropriate snickers. “
Baron
Curtmantle sent word that
the fugitive we seek was seen entering this house. I came expecting
to find the pirate already in irons. At the very least, lieutenant,
you and your men might be engaged in an exhaustive search of the
premises. Instead, I find you enjoying tea and crumpets with a
naked whore.”

“Well, Your Worship,” the unfortunate
lieutenant said, “it hain’t exactly the lady’s fault she’s naked.
We sort of stumbled in on her unannounced, you might say. But
Gorblimey! If she hain’t been pleasant as she can be about it and
since she’s stayed fair covered up the whole time, I don’t see how
you can rightly call her naked.” Finding more courage the longer he
spoke, he lifted his chin in defiance. “Why, I’ll lay me teeth she
hain’t no whore. She’s what you might call a . . . a . . . well, I
don’t know the word for it proper-like, but—”

“Never mind, Lieutenant,” Isabella said. “I
appreciate your chivalry, but I fear Sir Cecil’s mind is made up
about me. Some minds are so narrow, you see, it’s quite impossible
to fit a new idea into them.”

Humor was still her best defense and the men
showed their appreciation with a rumbling chuckle. Encouraged, she
continued, “And you couldn’t squeeze an original thought out of
them if you put them into a coffee grinder.”

Sir Cecil turned his steely, rat-like gaze on
her.

Yes, indeed. A few turns in a very large
grinder would improve Oddbody out of all knowing.

“That’s quite enough from you, madam,” he
said with a delicate twitch of his nose that reminded Isabella even
more forcefully of the rodent he resembled. “Or I shall have you
removed forthwith and detained for questioning.”

“I’d tread lightly, sir, if I were you.”
Isabella had been reclining on her pillows. Now she drew herself
upright, careful to keep the sheets high across her chest. “This is
my home and you are an unwelcome visitor. I have some very dear
friends at court who would find your actions most distressing.”

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,”
Oddbody said.

“And it’s obvious you have no idea just how
highly placed my friends may be,” Isabella countered.

He waffled a bit, clearly unsure how
well-connected she was. Isabella would hate to call in favors, but
she did hold markers from some exceptionally prominent persons.

What was the point of notoriety if it didn’t
protect one’s silk-clad behind from time to time?

Isabella saw the sizzle of disappointment in
his eyes, signaling that he was preparing to concede this skirmish
to her. Then Jacquelyn appeared in the doorway behind him. Her
wide-eyed gaze swept the room.

“Mother, what is all this?”

The lump that was Gabriel shifted at
Jacquelyn’s voice and Isabella lolled to her left side to cover the
slight movement.

“That’s her.” Lord Curtmantle pointed an
accusing finger. “Jacquelyn Wren. The woman he came to London
for.”

“What are you talking about?” Jacquelyn
said.

“Mistress Wren, we can conclude our business
here quickly and easily or we can move it to another location where
the whole sorry affair becomes much more protracted and . . . not
at all easy,” Sir Cecil said, his face contorted with suppressed
impatience. “To avoid such an unfortunate occurrence you only need
answer one question. Where is Gabriel Drake?”

Jacquelyn stepped back a pace. “Why do you
want him?”

“That is none of your concern,” he said. “We
know he’s in London. All we need to know is where he’s hiding.”

“Lord Drake is in Cornwall,” she said. “He
has no reason to come to London.”

Sir Cecil chucked her chin and emitted a
noise that Isabella might have called a giggle if it hadn’t sounded
so sinister. “Oh, I can think of at least one. Now where is
he?”

“I don’t know,” Jacquelyn said, unable to
mask a shiver of distaste. “I haven’t seen him since I left Dragon
Caern nearly three weeks ago.”

“Liar,” Oddbody hissed.

“If she says she hasn’t seen him, you may
believe her,” Isabella said. “And you, sir, will not insult my
daughter in my own home.”

“Quite right,” he turned and shot her a
leering smile. Isabella knew she’d made a tactical blunder. “I have
more potent methods of interrogation at my disposal elsewhere.
Lieutenant Hathcock, arrest this young woman on the charge of
harboring and concealing a condemned felon.”

“No!” Isabella said, but before she could
gather the sheets about her to rise in protest, the mattress
beneath her began bucking like a stallion. Gabriel Drake threw off
his place of concealment, sending Isabella to the floor in a tangle
of bedclothes.

“Belay that!” he roared. Drenched with sweat
from his long concealment between her mattresses, anger roiled off
him like a vengeful Poseidon rising from the waves. “I’m the one
you want. Leave her out of it and I’ll go without a fight.
Otherwise, you have my solemn promise I’ll make my capture very
costly for you. A condemned man has little to lose.”

Jacquelyn broke free of the men who held her
and ran to Lord Drake. She threw her arms around him. “What are you
doing here?”

“I had to come, Lyn,” he said as he allowed
the constable to bind his hands behind him in a heavy shackle. “You
know why.”

“Oh, Gabriel.” Jacquelyn’s face crumpled
before she pressed it against his chest.

Her daughter’s despair lanced Isabella’s
heart. She could do nothing more for Gabriel Drake, but she could
make certain that little weasel, Cecil Oddbody, didn’t leave with
more than one captive. Isabella hitched her sheet around her body
and tucked a trailing end over her breasts. She rose and hurried to
Jacquelyn, gently disengaging her from Lord Drake.

“Come away, lovie,” she whispered urgently.
Jacquelyn allowed Isabella to lead her to one side.

“Well, madam,” Oddbody said, stopping her in
her tracks. “What have to say for yourself? Hiding a felon between
your mattresses. No matter that he’s a baron, Lord Drake is still a
criminal. Aiding a fugitive from the Crown is a hanging offense in
its own right. No matter how well-placed your friends may be, I
doubt they can save you from this!”

“I invaded this house and hid on my own
initiative,” Gabriel said. “The lady knew nothing of my presence
between her mattresses.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Your Worship,”
Lieutenant Hathcock said with a squeak, “but I expect that’s about
the size of it. After all, Lord Drake’s just a baron. Everyone
knows Isabella Wren don’t take no one to her bed, ‘less he be a
viscount at the least. We’ll all swear to it, won’t we?”

The constables nodded vigorously.

“Very well,” Cecil Oddbody said with a huff.
“But mind how you go in the future, madam, and rest assured I shall
be watching you. Take him away.”

As Gabriel was led away, he passed Lord
Curtmantle. Quick as lightning, Lord Drake swept his leg at the
baron’s knees, bringing him crashing to the floor. Before the
constables could muscle him away, Gabriel had planted his foot
squarely on Curtmantle’s chest.

“I should have killed you when I had the
chance, Hugh,” Gabriel spat. “You’ve traveled a long way to play
Judas.”

Several billie clubs pounded his shoulders
and the constables pulled him off the downed man.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Curtmantle said.
“You’re a far cry from a spotless lamb and you know it.” A flat
smile spread across his face. “But you’re right. You should have
killed me. Just think how much it’s going to pain you when you see
me doing a jig at your hanging.”

Jacquelyn tried to tear herself from
Isabella’s arms, but she wouldn’t let her go.

“Hush, child. Not now,” Isabella whispered
fiercely, then she raised her voice. “I assume you’re taking him to
the Tower. When might we bring food and other necessities?”

Oddbody sneered at her. “Do you imagine I’ll
see him in the comfortable chamber Raleigh languished in? Not for a
moment, madam. For the likes of Gabriel Drake, a more suitable
lodging is required.”

Now that Gabriel was shackled and a welt was
rising from his cheek where one of the constables had clubbed him,
Oddbody was feeling braver. He strutted a step or two.

“You see, a pirate has the blackest of
hearts, cold, unfeeling and utterly beyond redemption,” Oddbody
explained. “His prison should reflect that. If there was a darker
hole than Newgate, rest assured I’d make use of it. However, since
this is the worst we can do until his date with Madame Gallows,
Newgate Prison will have to suffice. Come along.”

Two men dragged Gabriel away and the rest
filed after them.

When the room was empty, Jacquelyn collapsed
in a heap. “Oh, mother, what happened? Gabriel had been pardoned
for his piracy.”

“So he really was a pirate? That
is
a
tale I shall want to hear.” Isabella sank down beside her.
“Evidently, one of the conditions of his pardon was that he not be
found in London ever again. I take it he failed to mention that
tidbit of information to you.”

“I had no idea.” Jacquelyn stared at her
upturned palms in seeming fascination. “Then, it’s my fault he’s
been taken.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Isabella said. “Lord
Drake is not a child. He knew the risk in coming here and he was
willing to take it. You can’t blame yourself for his actions. You
can only accept responsibility for your own decisions, which for
most people is quite burden enough without assuming anyone
else’s.”

“But they’re going to hang him!”

“Not until the end of the month, so that
gives us a little time,” Isabella said. “They’ll wait until then
because the populace expects it. London likes a good hanging and
the more the merrier when it comes to the hempen jig.”

Jacquelyn erupted in sobs.

“Go ahead and cry, dear,” Isabella said,
running a motherly hand over Jacquelyn’s head. “It’s best to get
such things out of your system, but when you’re finished, dry your
eyes. We have work to do.”

Jacquelyn sniffed and shook her head slowly.
“What can we do?”

Isabella took her daughter’s chin in her hand
and kissed her. “Oh, my dear. Even as a child, you were so grave
and proper. You always knew the right thing to do before.”
Something inside her was pleased that she could finally be a help
to Jacquelyn. “Well, for starters, you should go down to the
kitchen with Nanette and make up a food basket. By all accounts,
prison meals are both scanty and unpalatable. The man is still
alive. If he’s alive, he needs to eat.”