Never Trust a Pirate (5 page)

“Fuck it,” she said succinctly, and then she picked up her discarded valise and she was out in the sunshine, feeling strangely better than she had in months.

CHAPTER THREE

T
HAT LITTLE ENCOUNTER
, L
UCA
thought, had improved his mood tremendously. Who would have thought he’d run across such a tempting firecracker in the back alleys of Devonport? Too bad she was probably a virgin—they were always too much trouble. He kept away from the dockside girls—there were too many diseases floating around. When he needed a little distraction he used to visit a certain married woman, but he’d broken it off several weeks ago when he’d become engaged to Gwendolyn, and now, suddenly, he was thinking about sex.

Not that he wasn’t entirely capable of doing without anything but his own hand for months on end, during the long voyages. But something about that girl, about the way she clung to him at the last minute, about her attempt to kiss him back, had aroused more than just his curiosity.

He hoped she found her place of employment without running into any more trouble. Though he couldn’t remember any milliner’s shop on North Water Street. That was a residential area, including his own house. Which meant she’d be walking by occasionally. Even if he managed to talk her into bed—and there was really no “if”
about it—his fiancée would be a problem. No, now wasn’t the time to pursue a bit of crumpet on the side, as Billy would put it. Though her mouth had been delicious.

Maybe Billy was right—Gwendolyn could be more trouble than she was worth. Yes, he wanted children, and he wanted a well-run household and a willing woman in his bed at night. But even though he fully intended to ignore most of the demands of marriage, there were bound to be inconveniences, like this current one, when he wanted nothing more than to follow the pert young miss to her place of employment and continue bickering with her. And then kissing her again.

Life was full of bad bargains. He’d made this one. If the lovely milliner was going to come into his life again he’d wait for it to happen. Otherwise he had better things to do. The smartest thing he could do was put her out of his mind.

He’d reached the quayside, and the girl was long gone. He looked out at the harbor, the sparkling blue sky, the nip of wind as it tossed the leaves on the trees. It was a perfect day for sailing, and he was stuck on land because of old man Russell’s larceny, just as his new ship was stuck in London while solicitors wrangled over who actually owned her.

Apparently Russell had left a will, and he’d bequeathed the
Maddy Rose
to its namesake, his middle daughter, Madeleine Rose. Normally that would be of no consequence given that any assets of a thief were confiscated, but apparently the damned girl’s name was on the legal papers, and one solicitor thought she needed to be found to sign off on it before he could take ownership.

And so he was stuck in limbo, with only a small ketch and a skiff to distract him. No wonder he was in a dangerous mood.

He really shouldn’t blame old man Russell, Luca thought, breathing in the salty air. Luca had spent the first twelve years of his life stealing anything he could get his nimble hands on, and he still would,
if the treasure was worth snatching. Who was he to pass judgment on another thief?

But this thief had stolen from
him
, and that was a different matter entirely. He’d trusted the old man, even when he’d showed up full of crazy accusations. Eustace Russell had died that very night, his carriage tumbling off the side of a cliff, and Luca had always wondered if some fever of the brain had afflicted the normally levelheaded man. But he’d been heading away from the port, dying somewhere in the vast expanse of Dartmoor, which didn’t make it seem as if he was trying to escape.

It was no longer his concern, except for the missing signature to complete his ownership of the
Maddy Rose
. Until that happened he was temporarily landlocked, waiting for the solicitors to finish arguing among themselves, when he wanted nothing more to be out there away from responsibilities and nagging voices…

He stopped himself midthought. Being in command of a ship and God knew how many souls was hardly free of responsibility, and he’d never in his life listened to a nagging voice. Never heard one—no one had cared enough to prate on and on at him about things he found absolutely uninteresting, like the arrangement of a cravat or social conventions, the sort of thing Gwendolyn set such store by. Maybe Billy was right. Getting married to a woman like that could prove very tiresome.

Ah, but she was a gorgeous piece, like fine porcelain. He could dance to her tune gracefully enough, until they were married and bedded. Once she had a child or two to fill with such nonsense she’d leave off of him. And there was the sea. He didn’t have to be home with her any longer than he wanted—he could tolerate marriage to almost anyone in those circumstances, and Gwendolyn would do.

So why did he feel so restless? This was what he’d decided upon. A proper wife to go with his proper life, a gypsy street rat and pickpocket pulling himself out of the gutter to almost laughable heights.
Gwendolyn was great-niece to a duke—his common, half-Rom blood would mingle with that of aristocracy. And he’d still be free to disappear on the ocean, with the sea breeze in his hair and the slap of salt spray against his skin, and Gwendolyn probably wouldn’t notice. Oh, she was drawn to him, wanted him like a shiny new toy, but he suspected once it came down to the marriage bed she’d be happy enough to do without. The few kisses she’d allowed had been cold and close-mouthed, and he didn’t think a parson’s blessing was going to warm her. No, he’d find his pleasure elsewhere once he gave her enough children, and if she found out she’d pretend not to know.

So why wasn’t he celebrating his good fortune? The problem with the
Maddy Rose
would be easily fixed, particularly since his solicitor was his future father-in-law. It was a little late to be changing his mind, about the ship, about his upcoming nuptials. Gwendolyn wouldn’t be a problem, simply because he didn’t care enough to let her be one. And he wanted children. He liked them—the cheeky little buggers.

So why did his mind keep going back to the milliner with her flashing, dark blue eyes, soft mouth, and fierce temper? His course was charted. He couldn’t afford distractions, even one as tempting as the hatmaker.

CHAPTER FOUR

B
Y THE TIME
M
ADDY
arrived at the captain’s house on North Water Street she had regained her composure, even if she couldn’t quite forget what his mouth had been like. It wasn’t like her to let any man fluster her, and unless she made the very foolish habit of wandering the back alleyways near the docks she was unlikely to run into him again. She couldn’t quite place him socially. One of the men had referred to him as “captain,” but it was more likely a generic term of respect for power, which the stranger clearly had. The ships’ captains she’d met, and there had been many of them, were always impeccably dressed, whether in uniform or day clothes. Perhaps this man was a first mate or a quartermaster—something a little higher up than an ordinary seaman.

She shook herself. She had to hope her father’s captains hadn’t hired any foul creatures like the three who’d attacked her. But had her enigmatic rescuer ever sailed on her father’s ships? It was a disturbing possibility.

It didn’t matter. Her father had no ships—his empire was torn apart, the ships sold off one by one, including the one that bore her name. She needed to forget the rude stranger and his shocking kiss.
She would never see him again; no one would ever kiss her like that again. When she found her wealthy, titled husband she would never allow him such liberties.

But still…

She straightened her shoulders, determinedly dismissing the stranger and his mouth, and stared at her destination, the place she would call home for the next few weeks.

It was a narrow terrace house, painted blue, with a ship’s flag flying from a post near the front door. She looked up at the windows and sighed. They were dirty, and she had a sinking feeling she knew who was going to be cleaning them. She shifted her valise to her other hand.

It was a blessing that
Mrs. Beeton’s Guide to Household Management
had gone into its second edition. Inside that heavy tome was everything she ever needed to know about the duties of a maid and the arcane details of housekeeping. She knew how to clean a grate and set a fire, wash windows and sweep, make beds and iron sheets. Nanny Gruen had seen to it, at Maddy’s insistence. She had no intention of living a life where these skills were required, but once she married her viscount or duke she would be a better mistress of the household if she understood the details of the tasks required.

The front steps needed scrubbing as well—wayward seagulls had left their calling card. She sighed, hefted her valise, and started down the basement stairs next to the front entrance. Maddy Russell was gone. Mary Greaves was now onstage, and she had no intention of fumbling her lines.

She knocked politely on the door, setting her bag down, and waited. It took less than a moment for a thin, sour-faced woman to swing the door open, eyeing her up and down.

“You must be Mr. Fulton’s young lady,” the woman said in dubious tones.

Maddy kept her head lowered just slightly. If they were dogs she’d be cringing at a lower level, letting the woman have dominance.
Unfortunately at five foot seven Maddy stood taller than most women and a great deal of men as well, so she was immediately at a disadvantage in the act of appearing humble.

“I’m Mary Greaves, missus,” she said. She’d decided on a bit of a Northern accent. She’d never been terribly good at accents during their childhood theatrical endeavors, but a cross between Lancashire and Yorkshire would do her well. Irish would be easier, but that carried with it all sorts of trouble, and plain English kept things simpler.

“Well, come in, girl. No need to shilly-shally out there in the cold, and freeze us all,” the old woman muttered.

Maddy walked in, standing in place when she longed to sit. It had been a longer walk than she’d expected, not to mention her unsettling encounter, and her feet hurt despite the comfortable shoes. She was going to have to build up her stamina, and fast, if she was going to succeed at this deception.