The Rogue Pirate’s Bride (25 page)

She could set, reef, and furl a sail.

She could fight with a sword, rapier, cutlass, and dagger, and wasn’t a bad shot with a pistol.

She could plot a course halfway across the world. And be sure her ship actually reached its destination.

What could these men and women do but stand about, dance, and look pretty?

Finally—
finally
—they left the ballroom and stood in the house’s large foyer. To Raeven it seemed cavernous as a tomb with its high, domed ceiling, marble statues, and stark, imposing walls. A footman or butler materialized immediately and bowed to the duchesse. “Your Grace, how may I be of service?”

“I need to see my husband. Is this the library?” She gestured to one of the closed doors.

“Yes, Your Grace. Shall I announce you and your… companions?” His tone had just the slightest sneer of derision, but Sarah ignored it.

“No. We want to announce ourselves,” she said, more than a hint of excitement in her tone.

She went to the door, knocked briskly, and opened it.

***

Bastien held his breath as the door swung open. He heard the duchesse—strange to think of anyone but his mother as the duchesse de Valére—call out something. Perhaps a greeting. And then the two men inside swung around to face them. The men were well dressed in all but matching coats, breeches, and pumps. They both held crystal glasses filled with amber liquid. Bastien had never seen one of the men.

And when his gaze met that of the other, the years fell away.

The duchesse moved to the side, and Bastien stepped forward. He opened his mouth to say something. He thought he might say something amusing or pithy, but no words came.

Instead, he watched his brother hand his glass to the man he’d been speaking with, take two steps, and then enfold Bastien in a firm, hard embrace. Bastien stood immobile, hardly knowing what response he should make. An hour or so before, he had not known his brother was alive, and now here was Julien, in the flesh, hugging him fiercely.

Julien stepped back, put his hands on Bastien’s shoulders. Too late, Bastien realized he should have embraced his brother in return. “I knew you were alive,” Julien said in French.

The voice.

The voice was almost the same. Older, deeper, but Bastien knew that voice. “I’ve been looking for you, looking for Captain Cutlass.”

Bastien had a thousand questions. He wanted to ask about his twin, their mother, his father, his nephew, this Sarah, how long Julien had been searching for him, how he had known Bastien survived, how Julien survived…

Instead, he said, “I think most of the soldiers in London are searching for Captain Cutlass. Raeven and I just escaped those transporting me to Newgate.”

He reached for Raeven and noted, again, she stood behind him, off by herself. She seemed to want to shrink away, to avoid notice. He took her wrist and pulled her forward. “This is Raeven Russell, daughter of Admiral Russell. She aided my escape, and I imagine her father has noticed her absence by now.”

“That doesn’t give us much time to reminisce. I take it the navy may be after you, as well?”

Bastien shrugged. “I’m a popular man at the moment.”

Julien laughed. “If that’s another way of saying you’re in trouble—again—my answer is this seems like old times. And, once again, dear brother, I am going to come to your aid.”

Bastien bristled, just as he had as a child. “I can handle myself. I only stopped to say hello before making my escape.”

“Oh!” The duchesse gripped his arm. “But you can’t leave now. You haven’t even seen your mother.”

Lord Astley, who had been standing quietly near the bookshelves, stepped forward. “I’ll fetch her. I think it best if I inform the servants we might have military company. If the soldiers knock on my door, Valére, you can be assured we’ll do everything we can to stall them.”

“Thank you,” Julien said. When Astley was gone, Julien gestured to the couch and chairs clustered on one side of the room. “Now, quickly, tell me everything.”

Bastien led Raeven to a chair before taking one himself. “It’s not an easy matter to fix. You won’t be able to snap your fingers and right the wrong.”

Julien sat on the couch across from him and smiled. “These days, I have more than fingers to snap. Start talking.”

So Bastien did, and for the first time since Maine’s betrayal, he had someone at his back again. He was not on his own. Bastien could handle himself, but he couldn’t stop the smile that rose to his lips when he thought of his older brother looking out for him again.

Everything happened in a whirlwind. One moment Raeven was at some lord’s ball, and the next she was ferried back to Berkeley Square in a carriage so sumptuous she was afraid to sit on the squabs, lest she dirty them.

She had argued now that Bastien was back with his family, she should return to the
Regal
, but Bastien wouldn’t allow it. She thought Julien might have agreed her return to the
Regal
was best, but he didn’t protest when Bastien told her no. And so she found herself in the lavish carriage with the dowager and the duchesse de Valére.

Before she and Bastien had parted, Raeven had witnessed the reunion between mother and son. The dowager had rushed into Lord Astley’s library and practically mowed Bastien over with the enthusiasm of her embrace. It was difficult to believe the stately woman seated across from her now was the same woman who’d cried and babbled and hugged Bastien until he must have felt more loved and adored than any other man on earth.

The reunion had made Raeven cry, had made her ache for her own mother, the mother she had never known.

Now she looked at the duchesse and Bastien’s mother. They looked back. Both women were kind, but Raeven knew they didn’t quite know what to think if her—the tart their precious Bastien had thrust upon them. They hadn’t called her a tart, and perhaps they hadn’t even thought of her that way in their minds, but she felt like unwanted rubbish. She wanted to go home, go back to the
Regal
. She didn’t want to wait for Bastien to dismiss her. Didn’t want to be humiliated.

“We shall send word to Armand and Felicity immediately,” the dowager was saying as the carriage turned another corner. “Armand will want to see his brother.”

It seemed she was expected to make some response, so Raeven said, “Naturally.”

Silence. She cleared her throat.

“Ah, and who is Felicity?”

“She’s the comtesse, Armand’s wife. They’ve been married only a year.”

“I see.” Raeven could see the questions forming in the ladies’ minds. Would Raeven be the next… what was the wife of a marquis called? She didn’t know, but that’s what they were wondering. Would she be Bastien’s wife, or was she just a temporary diversion?

She was saved from the subject when the carriage slowed and the footmen opened the doors. Once again, she looked up at the beautiful town house, and once again, she was met by the butler, Grimsby, at the door. If he was surprised to see her again, he didn’t show it.

It seemed to Raeven half the staff was awake to greet the duchesse and Bastien’s mother, though it was practically the middle of the night.

“Mrs. Eggers.” The dowager gestured to an older lady who immediately stepped forward. “We have two guests with us. My son Sébastien is on his way home, and this is Miss Russell.” The housekeeper’s gaze flicked to Raeven and then back to her employer. Raeven wondered what the staff thought of her. Wondered if she looked as much like a street urchin as she felt she did. The dowager continued, “We will need… two rooms prepared.”

Raeven felt her face heat, knowing the dowager had probably guessed her relationship with Bastien was more than merely friendly. But it would have been unthinkable for them to share a room when not married.

The dowager was giving more instructions as to which rooms, how they should be prepared, and the possible arrival of Bastien’s brother Armand and his family, but Raeven was not listening. She wished she had waited and returned with Bastien and his brother Julien. He had urged her to go on without him so she could rest, but she didn’t feel tired. She felt unsure and uncertain and wished she were back in her cabin on the
Regal
.

“Miss Russell.” The dowager took her arm and led her into a small parlor. It was feminine and inviting, with pastel paintings, moldings on the walls and ceilings, and dainty chairs upholstered in pink and white silk. It also faced the street, and Raeven found herself staring out into the square, hoping Bastien would arrive soon.

“You needn’t worry about him,” the dowager said, sitting delicately in one of the chairs. She wore an amber silk gown that swirled about her like honey. To Raeven’s eyes, she looked too young to be the mother of men like Bastien and Julien, but then what did she know of mothers? “Julien will take good care of him. Julien takes good care of us all.” She glanced at the duchesse, who was standing in the parlor’s doorway. “Go ahead and check on little Etienne, Sarah. You won’t feel easy until you do.”

The duchesse smiled, and Raeven realized Etienne must be her son. “I’ll be back down in a moment.”

The dowager waved a hand. “Go to bed. I shall make certain Miss Russell is settled.”

The duchesse, who looked tired, nodded. “I’ll see you at breakfast, Miss Russell. It was a pleasure to meet you. And thank you.”

Raeven frowned. “Thank you?”

“For bringing Bastien home. You don’t know how much this means to Julien. He’s never stopped looking for him, never given up hope. Now his family is complete again.” She looked at the dowager, a sadness flickering in her eyes. “Or almost. Good night.”

When she was gone, silence, except for the crackling of wood in the fire, filled the parlor. Raeven stared out the window again, and when she turned back to the dowager, the older woman’s gaze was far, far away. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and distant. “I never believed.” There was anguish in her tone. “It was easier for me, I suppose, to believe the twins dead. The idea of them being alive somewhere without me—” Her voice broke.

Raeven felt tears sting her eyes, and she went to the woman, knelt before her. “There was nothing you could have done. Bastien told me the story of his escape. He thought you perished.”

The dowager shook her head, and a single tear escaped down her cheek. “All those years alone.” She looked at Raeven. “But then he wasn’t alone. He had you.”

Raeven swallowed. She hadn’t exactly comforted Bastien. In the short time she’d known him, she’d tried to kill him numerous times, seen him shot, betrayed, and imprisoned. “W-we haven’t known each other very long,” Raeven said.

“Really? Bastien said you’d met last summer.”

When had he said that? Raeven stood. “Yes, well. It was a brief meeting initially.” She’d tried to carve him open in that tavern in Brest. “We met again a month or so ago in Gibraltar.”

The dowager smiled. “And you brought him home.”

“Actually, my father did. I don’t know if you understood, Your Grace, but Bastien is under arrest for piracy. The navy would like nothing better than to see him hanged for his crimes.”

The dowager waved a hand. “Julien will fix that.”

Raeven shook her head. “I don’t see how.”

“You will.” The dowager leaned back and assessed her. Raeven shifted from foot to foot and wished she had taken one of the chairs. “You love him.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Bastien. You love him. You are an admiral’s daughter, and yet you risked your own life and freedom to help my son. Why would you do such a thing unless you loved him?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Raeven blurted. The dowager raised her brows, but Raeven couldn’t seem to stop talking. “He doesn’t love me back—or at least he hasn’t said as much. He did say he wanted to marry me, but that was… before.” She gestured to the delicate parlor. “And even if he wants me now, it will never work.”

“Why?” the dowager asked quietly.

“We’re from two different worlds. I belong with my father on the
Regal
. He needs me. I’m all he has.”

“And yet earlier it sounded as though you considered my son’s proposal of marriage.”

Raeven opened her mouth, closed it again. “It wasn’t exactly a
proposal
.”

The dowager lifted her brows.

“That was before,” Raeven tried to explain. “Now.” Again she gestured helplessly to the room, to the dowager, sitting there looking so stately. “I don’t belong here, in this world.”

“You belonged with the pirate, not the nobleman.”

“Yes—no. I—I don’t know. I don’t know that we ever belonged together. I—”

The housekeeper opened the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Miss Russell’s room is ready. Shall I show her up?”

The dowager looked at Raeven, and she glanced out the window one last time. Still no sign of Bastien. “Yes, please.” Suddenly, she was tired. So tired.

Bastien came to her in the night. She’d known he would. She did not know how he would know which room, but she knew he would find her.

She was dozing when he slipped into bed beside her, when his warm arms came around her and he pulled her against his nakedness. She was naked, as well. She hadn’t bothered with the night rail the maid she’d dismissed left on the bed. It was frilly and delicate—everything she was not.

“Mmm,” Bastien murmured in her ear. “You’re warm.” He kissed her neck. “Soft.” His hand cupped one breast, but before he could go any farther, she turned in his arms to face him.

“I was worried about you.”

He traced her cheek with one finger. “As you see, I’m in your bed, safe and sound.”

“The soldiers?”

“My brother is dealing with them. Apparently, he’s richer than the King. He’s going to buy the navy a ship or three on the condition they forget all about Captain Cutlass.”

“Will they accept?”

“They have little choice.” He pulled a lock of her hair to his nose, sniffed. “Cherries. Captain Cutlass is no more. There’s only Sébastien Harcourt.”

“Marquis de Valére.”

“
Ma belle
, you make it sound like a crime. It’s a title, nothing more.”

How she wished that were true.

Suddenly, he lay back on the pillow, stared up at the ceiling, and smiled. In the dim light from the fire, she could see his face. He seemed so happy. “I never dreamed of this. Never dreamed I’d be sleeping under my brother’s roof. Never dreamed I’d see my mother again.” He glanced at Raeven. “She looks the same. She’s still beautiful.”

Raeven nodded. “She’s very beautiful.”

“And I have a nephew. They named him Etienne, after my father. I’m an uncle.”

Her heart ached at his happiness. She was glad she had been a part of it, however briefly.

“Armand and Felicity—that’s his wife—will come tomorrow or the next day. Julien told me Armand was imprisoned for years. I wish I’d known before. I wish—”

She put a finger over his lips. “You can spend your whole life regretting. You have them now. You have me now.”

His hand curled in her hair again. “Yes, I do, don’t I?” He pulled her mouth to his and kissed her. “And what do you suggest I do with you?”

She shook her head, slid on top of him. “It’s what I’m going to do with you this time.”

“Oh?” He groaned when her breasts rubbed his chest.

She leaned forward, captured his wrists and anchored them to the pillow. She knew he could take back control whenever he liked, but for the moment, he seemed content to allow her to lead.

She lowered her mouth to his, touching his lips lightly. She’d missed his lips; she
would
miss his lips. She brushed hers softly against his, letting her tongue dart out lightly. His fingers curled, and she nudged his mouth open, kissing him more deeply.

He’d been drinking brandy. He tasted of it and of the wild pirate she loved. Their tongues mated, and she felt as though the world around them rocked. She knew they were on solid land, but when she kissed him, she could almost feel the swell of the sea. He smelled like the sea, like the salty ocean, the clean, crisp air.

She felt his arms tense and strain, knew when he realized he was still pinned to the bed. Knew when he accepted it and stilled. She broke the kiss, bent to taste his neck, to trail her tongue over the stubble on his jaw.

“
Mon coeur
,” he murmured.

Her heart stuttered. Did he mean it, or was it simply an endearment? Something said in the heat of this moment?

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore.

She lifted her head. “I’m going to need my hands.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mmm-hmm. I’m ordering you not to move.”

“Yes, Captain.” He was grinning, amused by her, but when she scraped her teeth along his shoulder and down his chest, she heard his quick inhalation of breath. She ran her fingers over the muscles of his chest. She was reminded he might be an aristocrat, but he hadn’t lived the life of one. He was hard as steel, and his muscles tensed and rippled under her fingertips. She looked up at him, saw he was watching her as she was watching him. She let him see her while she admired his broad shoulder, his sculpted chest, his slim hips.

And then her eyes slid lower.

“Now what, Captain?” His tone was too easy, too light. She lowered her mouth to his erection, touched her tongue to him.

“More of this?” she asked.

“You’re the captain.”

She smiled. His voice had been hoarse and strained.

She touched her tongue to him again, ran it up and down the length of him. When she looked up, his hands were clutching the pillow. He saw her looking at him, reached for her, but she held up a hand. “I didn’t say you could move.”

“Raeven—”

“Shh.” She bent again, this time taking him into her mouth. She heard his groan as she tasted him, felt him tense beneath her. She teased him, liking the control, knowing he was on the fringe of losing his.

“Raeven!” His hands clutched her shoulders.

She looked up, shook her head. “I didn’t say—”

“I need to be inside you. Now. Take me or I’ll—”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. She straddled him, lowered herself slowly over his hardness, and took him inside her.

She had wanted their lovemaking to be passionate but playful, but now when she looked down at him, she couldn’t keep her emotions in check. Her heart swelled as she moved over him. He cupped her neck, brought her lips to his for a tender kiss. She returned it and allowed him to reverse their positions.

He moved slowly, gently, taking his time. He kissed her sweetly, and she had to swallow to keep the tears from spilling over.

When she found release, it was slow and warm. She sighed her pleasure, and he sighed with her.