The Pirate Lord (7 page)

“The captain will be with you in a moment,” Mr. Kent murmured before leaving and closing the door behind him.

She scarcely heard him. She was too busy scanning her surroundings. She’d only been in one captain’s cabin, and that was the one belonging to Captain Rogers. Its spartan, lean lines and minimal comforts made it look like a cabin boy’s berth compared to this.

Every piece of furniture was made of the best mahogany, from the desk cluttered with instruments and papers to the cabinet that held guns and knives of every description behind its cut crystal doors. The royal blue curtains were shot through with gold threads, and a Persian carpet lay on the floor, an obvious extravagance where water was a constant threat.

But the most alarming thing was the large mahogany bed presiding over one corner of the spacious cabin, its posts carved with the same satyr motif that graced the ship’s figurehead. A coverlet of insolent red silk was draped over the plush mattress, with a heap of jet-black pillows at one end. She walked to the bed in a trance, wondering aloud what debaucheries and horrors had been committed there.

Involuntarily, she reached out to touch the patterned scarlet silk as a sudden vivid image of the dark-haired pirate captain rose up in her mind. He must have had many women in this bed. A strange heat spread through her body to think of him bending over a woman, touch
ing her body with those large hands, kissing her with that firm, mocking mouth—

“Looking for signs of thievery, pillage, and rape, Lady Sara?” came a voice behind her.

She whirled away from the bed, her cheeks stained crimson. Good heavens, it was him, the pirate captain himself. How utterly mortifying! Now she had something new to add to her list of humiliating experiences.

He closed the door, a smile playing over his lips as she stood there speechless. “The coverlet belonged to an obnoxious viscount on his way to America to marry an heiress,” he said as he removed the saber from his belt and hung it on a hook by the door. Then he strode to his desk and cast her a brazen look. “I enjoyed removing it from the bed he was sharing with his mistress.”

She winced, remembering what Mr. Kent had said about the captain’s hatred of the nobility. Perhaps she should tell him the truth about her own dubious connections. That might make him more inclined to listen to her pleas. “Captain Horn, I think I should…er…set you straight on one matter. I am not…that is to say…you shouldn’t call me Lady Sara.”

In the muted light of the cabin, his sudden scowl made him look even more like a creature out of mythology, a dangerous, fearful creature liable to snap her up in his massive jaws at any minute. “Oh? And why not?”

“Because I’m not actually a lady—not in the sense you mean it, anyway.”

Although she dropped her gaze from him, she could feel the force of his disapproval as he approached her. “You’re not the Earl of Blackmore’s sister?”

“Well, yes, I am. Sort of.” She swallowed hard. “His father, the late Earl of Blackmore, adopted me after marrying my widowed mother. So I’m not really Lady Sara, you see, but Miss Willis.”

When he was silent she ventured to look at him again,
surprised to find that he looked thoughtful rather than angry.

“Do you mean to tell me,” he said, “that despite being adopted by an earl and made part of his family in every legal sense, you can’t bear the complimentary title that any one of his other children is allowed to bear?”

She’d never heard it put quite that way. “Well, no, I can’t.”

He snorted. “That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard.” Running one hand through his rumpled wavy hair, he shot her a forbidding look. “I swear, I’ll never understand you English. You have more rules designed to cause enmity among families than I’ve ever seen. Younger sons can’t inherit, daughters can’t inherit, fathers are pitted against their heirs. It’s a confounded mess.”

His commentary on the social makeup of British society startled her. Pirates weren’t supposed to have opinions on such things. Or express them so eloquently. “You must admit it’s worked well for hundreds of years,” she said in faint defense of her countrymen.

He quirked one eyebrow upward. “Has it?”

In those two words he managed to convey all his contempt for English ways. What could possibly have roused such feelings in him? Americans were testy about being a former British colony, to be sure, but this was rather extreme. And though she was dying to know why he hated the English, she didn’t ask. She doubted that this proud pirate would answer her. Or approve of her asking the question.

He studied her, as if he wished to open up her mind and peer inside. She’d endured the ardent glances of lords and the lascivious looks of many a prisoner at Newgate, and all those sailors, of course. But never had a man looked at her with such concentration.

It was unsettling, to say the least. She dropped her eyes from his, searching for something to say that would shift that intensity away from her. “In any case, I’m sure
that’s not what you brought me here to discuss.”

That shook him out of his silence. “Certainly not.” Moving behind his desk, he sat down in the armchair, then gestured to a chair near her. “Sit down, Lady Sara.”

Though she did as he said, she protested, “I told you. You can’t call me—”

“It’s my ship and my rules. I’ll call you whatever I damned well please.” His gaze skimmed her body before snapping back to her face. “And it’ll serve to remind me that you have a stepbrother lurking out there, waiting to pounce on me at any moment.”

His sarcasm brought her up short. Why, he wasn’t afraid of Jordan, not one jot. No doubt her revelation had made him assume that Jordan was no longer a threat to him. And that wasn’t what she’d wished to accomplish at all.

She straightened in her chair, folding her hands primly in her lap. “The fact that Jordan is my stepbrother and not my brother doesn’t change anything, Captain Horn. He still won’t forget about me. I assure you he’ll be after you just as soon as he learns what happened. There’ll be warships hunting you everywhere. You won’t be able to sail for fear of my stepbrother.”

Her words didn’t have the effect she’d intended. A smile spread across his handsome face. “Then I suppose it’s just as well we’re not sailing anywhere else once we reach our destination.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “We’re retiring from piracy, my men and I. That’s why we need wives.”

That stunned her into temporary silence. She glanced around the cabin at the gold fittings and extravagant comforts. “
Retiring
?” she choked out.

“Yes. Retiring. As you may know, piracy’s a very dangerous profession lately. Most governments seek to ferret out our kind and destroy us. And my men and I
have more than enough spoils to make us comfortable. We don’t wish to end our illustrious career by kicking the clouds, if you know what I mean.”

She nodded mechanically. She’d done enough work at Newgate to recognize the cant for hanging. But retiring? Pirates retiring?

Settling back in his chair, he laced his fingers together over his stomach and surveyed her with his disconcerting gaze. It seemed to touch her mouth, her cheeks, even her well-covered bosom. If another man had looked at her like that, she would have been appalled. So why was it that when he did it, her pulse quickened?

“The trouble is,” he went on, his tone lower, huskier, “we have no country to retire in.”

“What about America?”

“Not even there. Let’s just say America holds little appeal for most of us. And I doubt any American towns would welcome a pirate band with open arms.”

“I should hope not,” she grumbled, then could’ve bit off her tongue at the look of scalding anger that passed over his face.

But he seemed to check it quickly, and when he spoke again, his voice betrayed nothing but bland indifference. “I see you understand our situation. Fortunately, my men and I have found an island inhabited only by wild pigs. It has a freshwater stream and lush vegetation, and it’s large enough to support a substantial population. So we’ve decided to settle there, to build our own country.”

His gaze grew dark, almost mesmerizing. “There’s only one problem, you see. We have no women. And a colony without women…well, you can understand our dilemma.”

The smile he gave her then was so unexpectedly charming, she had to force herself not to respond to it. She didn’t want to be charmed by this…this wicked scoundrel. She didn’t want that at all.

“But why these women? Why not pick wives in the Cape Verdes or—”

“Why do you think we were in Santiago?” He glanced away, his mood seeming to shift to a graver one. “Unfortunately, few women wish to travel to an unknown island where they’ll be cut off forever from their families and expected to do their part in making it livable. Even the…er…ladybirds find that a less than tempting proposition.”

Ladybirds indeed. A blush rose to her cheeks despite her attempts to stop it. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Can you blame them?”

His gaze was on her again, and he smiled as if he took great delight in her embarrassment. “I suppose not. They have reasons to stay on Santiago. But the situation is entirely different for the women of the
Chastity
. They’re doomed to a life of near slavery in a foreign land. We chose them precisely because we thought they’d prefer freedom with us to enforced servitude with cruel former convicts in New South Wales.”

“I’m not sure I understand the distinction between former convicts and pirates,” she snapped. “They’re both criminals, aren’t they?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, making him look even more forbidding. “Believe me, there’s a profound difference between my men and those cutthroats.”

“You expect me to take your word for it?”

“You don’t have any choice, now, do you?” At her disgruntled expression, he seemed to rein in his temper. “Besides, our island has more to offer than New South Wales, where the weather is pitiless and the government more so. We have perfect weather, easy living, plenty of food, and no government but our own. There are no jailers, no magistrates oppressing the poor and catering to rich nobility…’tis a paradise. Or it will be when your ladies join us.”

His eyes fixed on her, a burning zeal in their depths. He’d painted a pretty picture of his island, but Sara
wasn’t fooled. New South Wales might have proven unsavory in the long run, but at least the women would have had some choice there. They wouldn’t have had to marry against their will. Though the inhabitants of the country might have regarded the convict women as prostitutes, there would always have been opportunities for the women to work hard and attain respectability. Some transported convicts even managed to make their way back to England and their families, though only a very few.

On Captain Horn’s island, however, there’d be no such possibility. They’d be at the mercy of him and his pirates. “A paradise?” She rose from her chair in a sweep of dimity skirts. “You mean a paradise for you and your men. You’ve said naught that makes it a paradise for the women. They’re to be forced to be your wives and forced to labor for a ‘country’ they didn’t choose.”

He rose, too, rounding the desk to stand scant inches from her, his brow lowered in a frown. “Do you think they’d have any choices on New South Wales? I’ve been there. I’ve seen how convict women are treated. They’re parceled out to colonists as servant labor, though every man there intends that the only labor they’ll do is on their backs.”

At his crudeness, a hot flush again stained her cheeks. He lowered his voice to a harsh murmur. “Those who aren’t chosen as servants are confined in crowded factories where conditions are worse than in England’s gaols. And that’s the fate you wish for your charges, Lady Sara? I offer them freedom and you offer them
that
.”

His unfair accusations stung. “Freedom? That’s what you call forced marriage? You say your colony will be better, but you’ve given me no evidence of it. You’re going to parcel those women out to your men just as the Australian authorities do. You’re offering them marriage, but it’s still enforced servitude, isn’t it?”

He stood there as rigidly as his ship’s figurehead. His eyes narrowed. “Suppose they were allowed a chance to choose.” His words were clipped, as if he already regretted them.

Surprise and then hope rose in her. “To choose what? Whether or not to go with you to your island?”

He scowled. “No. I mean, to choose their husbands. They can spend a week getting to know the men and seeing what’s in store for them on our island. After that, however, they must accept the proposal of the man they most prefer.”

“Oh.” She considered that a minute. It was better than his heartless earlier offer, but certainly not as good as giving the women a choice between returning to the
Chastity
or going with the pirates. Though she wasn’t sure they’d want to go back anyway. A tiny part of her knew that he might be right about what lay in store for the convicts if they continued on their journey.

If only she could be sure that his men truly did intend to retire. If only she had some inkling of their characters. She sighed. They were pirates. What more was there to know?

Still, he was offering something the women might not have gotten in New South Wales—the chance to choose the one who would enslave them.

She sought some way to make the choice easier. “One week is a short time,” she began. “Why, we might not even reach your island until—”

“We’ll reach Atlantis in two days,” he interrupted.

“Atlantis?” she echoed. “Like the Greeks’ Atlantis?”

For a moment, he lost his stern look. “Some say Atlantis was utopia, Lady Sara. And that’s what we hope to create. Utopia.”

“A utopia where men have all the choices and women have none.”

“I’m offering them a choice.”

“Could we have two weeks, perhaps?”

His expression hardened. “One week. Take it or leave
it. Either way, your women
will
take husbands. I’m giving up a great deal by letting the women make the choice instead of the men. The men will grumble about it.”

“And what if a woman chooses not to marry?”