The Pirate Lord: Aristocrat. Rogue. Spy. Page 9

  Jonathon Stag astonished again her by bursting into loud laughter. “Not married! By God, you are full of surprises, my lady. Not married?” He wiped his eyes of tears and his shoulders shook. “Oh blessed, bloody hell! I passed up a perfectly good dinner for nothing.”

  “Once again, my plight amuses you. I thought you would be angry.”

  “Oh, I am! I am furious. I thought I was robbing a rich aristocrat of his prize. I am only amazed you did not tell me this when there was still time to preserve your chastity.”

  He leaned his elbows on the railing, his long legs bent at the knee. Stag’s queue had come loose and the wind caught his hair. “Could it be you didn’t want me to stop? That presents interesting possibilities.”

  Bronwyn’s pulse danced and she was compelled to step closer. He had that effect on her. A rogue of the seas and a curate’s daughter—how could it be that she was drawn to him? Jonathon Stag had none of the admirable qualities of her father. He was not like any man she had ever met.

  “What sorts of possibilities? Do you mean to make an honest woman of me?”

  “You know me better than that.” He grinned.

  “Then I have changed my mind about coming to your cabin tonight,” she said decisively. “Your arrogance disgusts me. There will not be a third time. I have paid my debt and amply. I will not be bullied into becoming your whore.”

  “Are you saying you did not enjoy yourself?” he asked in a mocking tone. “My apologies, Lady Bronwyn, but that is not the impression you gave me. I found you to be my equal in bed play. Such passion and from a virgin too … your deflowering will make a gripping story for the men on the night watch.”

  “You faithless, lying coward,” she hissed. “I’ll cut your tongue out of your head if you speak to any man about what we’ve done.” Bronwyn stood below the railing, glaring up at him.

  Captain Stag’s brow furrowed. “I believe you would. Yes, you have the look in your eye of a woman who would commit murder if she was betrayed.”

  He swung over the railing in one swift leap and dropped in front of her. Jon caught the back of her head and pulled her in for a hot, lingering kiss that took her breath away.

  “We agreed there was to be no kissing,” she gasped when he released her.

  “I am changing the conditions of our agreement,” he murmured huskily.

  Jon’s hands were in her hair. He bent over her again, slower this time, almost hesitantly. His breath was a warm tickle on her lips and then his mouth was touching hers, a kiss that wound sensuously over her lips. Her eyelids fluttered closed. Perspiration cooled the back of her neck. Jon’s lips moved over hers, teasing them awake, urging them to respond.

  Bronwyn’s lips parted and the pirate took possession. She forgot where she was and who he was. There was only his mouth and his arms holding her up. How could a thing as innocent as a kiss do such devastation to a woman’s soul?

  Jon released her and held her back at arm’s length. He gave her a long look. “I won’t tell a soul about our liaison, provided you come to my quarters tonight. I promise not to lay so much as a finger on you. I only want to talk. I have found that I enjoy your company.”

  Bronwyn blushed furiously without knowing why. Her racing heart might have something to do with it, she thought ruefully. How did he manage to turn the tables so rapidly and gain precisely what he wanted from her? She had him beat and yet she could not deny that she wanted to see him again.

  Jon held his breath without meaning to do so. The air felt charged between them as though they were caught in a lightning storm. He watched as Bronwyn’s mahogany eyes flicked away.

  “I am a hypocrite,” she moaned softly, and then fell silent for several seconds. Her mouth worked and her eyes were troubled. “I pretend I don’t want this, but I do. I don’t know what’s come over me since coming aboard this ship! Crying for instance—I am not emotional by nature. And I never would have done that with you last night if I were in my right mind. I feel—I feel—quite lost since meeting you.”

  Bronwyn’s voice dropped to a whisper and she blushed even deeper. “I think about you, Captain Stag. Since it happened, I find I am thinking about you almost constantly. I was restless and out of sorts this morning, and then you appeared and my very limbs began to tremble. I cannot continue in this state of madness. Caught between despair and—and longing. It is agony.”

  Jon moved with weak legs to the side of the ship and gripped the railing to keep from touching her. His knuckles were white; his heart was pounding in his throat. He was glad he did not wear a neckerchief for he could barely breathe as it was.

  “So now you know the truth. I am in your power and I hate it!” Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper of despair.

  “I am a novelty,” he managed to say. The effect her confession was having on him was intensely felt—a piercing wild joy shrouded in hopelessness. “When you are aboard the Dauntless, I wager you’ll forget all about me. Since familiarity breeds contempt; the cure will be in seeing more of me, not less.” He tried to smile.

  “I am sorry, I cannot. I do not wish to sound ungracious. I am grateful to you—”

  “I don’t want your gratitude! I want you to see you—to talk to you.” He struggled for the words. “You said you feel lost since meeting me. That is strange. Because since meeting you, I feel found.”

  Bronwyn was silent.

  Jon ran his tongue over his dry sunburned lips, his mind working rapidly. “I believe I have the solution for both of us. We shall make an exchange. You have given me something of value. I shall give you something of value. I’ll tell you a secret that will put me in your power just as surely as you’re in mine. It’s one way to ensure that we can trust each other. If you come to me tonight, I’ll tell you everything about myself. Will you?”

  He was shaking. Actually shaking with nerves! He could order her; force her to come to him by threatening the boy again but he didn’t want her on those terms. For the first time in his life, Jon had no control. There was nothing he could do but ask and hope that she said yes.

  Bronwyn nodded her beautiful head just slightly, the barest whisper of agreement.

  “You will then?” Damn him, he sounded like an eager suitor.

  “I will, Captain Stag. I will come to you at six bells.”

  She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and hurried away.

  §

  SIX BELLS sounded, signaling the beginning of the evening watch. Billy Hawkins found James elbow-deep in blue velvet and soapy water in the galley.

  “What d’ye have there, Master James?” Bill picked up the plush bodice jacket and flipped it this way and that.

  “Lady Gage’s gown needs a good washing I’d say,” James replied smartly. “Look at that, Mr. Hawkins. My water is as black as can be and I’ve only just doused the skirt. Dust and dirt embedded right in the velvet, it was. Hasn’t been cleaned in months, I reckon. I’d fire her maid if I were her ladyship. A good lady’s maid ought never to allow her mistress’s gowns get in such a state. Such a cloud of dust came out of it; I was like to die of sneezing.”

  Hawkins listened to the odd account and examined the velvet bodice more closely. The fabric was certainly costly but the workmanship was hastily done. He saw a marking at the edge of the stitching that made him pause.

  “What is that? Do you know your letters, Mr. James? What does that read?”

  James squinted by the light of the oil lantern. “Why it says ‘Potts Boardinghouse.’ Oh that’s a wicked trick! Lady Gage was sold a gown made from used cloth.”

  Bill did not answer. He recognized the heavy blue velvet. Lady Gage’s gown was once the curtains in the sitting room on the second floor of Potts’ Boardinghouse. Bill knew this for a fact because he’d sat in that very room only a few days ago when he was in Penzance doing Stag’s dirty work of securing a crew. The blue velvet curtains had lent an air of luxury to the establishment.

  “Where did you first encounter Lady Gage?” he asked Ja
mes.

  “Why, she was on the wharf, enquiring after the Black and I said I was able seaman James of the Black Adder. She offered payment in exchange for passage in the lighter boat to see Captain Stag on urgent business. The lady said she was meant to be aboard the Dauntless and as I knew of the captain’s interest in that vessel, I thought he would wish to speak with her.”

  “Did she say what her business was with Stag?”

  “No. Only that he would want to hear what she had to say and I did not like to risk his displeasure by sending her away.”

  “She didn’t say anything about getting her servant boy back?”

  James shook his head emphatically. “If she had, I would’ve sent her packing. Captain Stag would have hung me from the yard arm if I’d brought that kind of trouble on board. Why do you ask? Was that the reason she gave the captain? I swear I knew nothing about that! She said she had information that the captain of the Black Adder needed to hear!”

  Bill waved his hand. “Hush now, you damn fool. I believe you. She said the same thing to the captain and nothing’s come of it as far as I know.”

  James looked relieved and returned to his work, but Bill began to put the missing pieces together. The young female Jon Stag was entertaining tonight was not Lady Gage, daughter of General Gage. She did not have a servant and it was likely that she did not have a husband.

  Who was she? Was she a spy for the rebel colony or for the Crown?

  Or was the imposter something else altogether.

  Chapter Fourteen

  JON RELEASED a tightly held breath as soon as she entered the room. He pretended not to notice her very much, turning away to pour the wine. Their conversation earlier had shaken him badly. Hawkins was closer to the truth about Jon’s interest in the girl than the old sailor could have imagined.

  Bronwyn was not married.

  The news had provoked Jon to make a rash promise. Why? He couldn’t say but he cursed himself for making the pledge. Maybe he was bewitched.

  Whatever else transpired, Jon would find out if Bronwyn was who she claimed to be—he owed that much to Bill Hawkins.

  “You don’t speak French,” he said neutrally as he handed her a glass of wine.

  Lady Gage wandered to the window, either to avoid his eyes or to look out to sea. “I was an indifferent student. My poor tutor, Mama almost had him fired.” She turned around and crossed her arms over her chest. “You speak French rather well.”

  “I do.” He had to admire how deftly she put him on the defensive. A spy would have the same skill. Jon was forced to work out a reason for being fluent in French that was plausible. “I was aboard a French privateer’s ship for a year when I was younger,” he said at last. “I picked up the language.” Not so very far-fetched. He was aboard a French privateer’s vessel when he was younger, but he’d arrived already speaking the language.

  Jon pulled out a chair. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “I would rather stand if it’s all the same.”

  “It is, but the sea is choppy tonight. You might find it hard to keep your wine from spilling.”

  Bronwyn sat down. The girl was evidently loath to waste a drop of the blessed grape.

  “I see Hawkins found you trousers that fit.”

  She smoothed the light wool breeches. “I believe they belonged to a boy who perished at sea. He and I were the same size as luck would have it. He was only thirteen, but he must have been tall for his age for the pant legs fit down to my ankle. The shirt and vest were his as well.”

  “Very fetching. But then you could wear sailcloth and outshine the ladies in Paris.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You must miss Paris.” He took her hand in his and examined it. The nails were short but clean. There were calluses on the pads of her palms.

  Bronwyn caught his look. “James has been teaching me how the rigging works. I thought since I was dressed like a sailor, I could help out on deck. Mr. Hawkins is obsessed by the lack of manpower aboard the Black. He makes me feel quite guilty for taking my leisure.”

  She withdrew her hand from his.

  “You ought to wear gloves. A lady should never perform manual labor. Or allow her hands to look as if they do,” he added sardonically.

  Bronwyn’s glowing cream complexion turned a dusky rose. “You sound like my mother. She was forever chastising me about forgetting my gloves.”

  Jon’s ears pricked up. “You spoke of her in the past tense just now. I was not aware Gage’s wife was dead. There was nothing in the papers about it.”

  “A slip of the tongue, although she might as well be dead for all that I have seen of her.” Bronwyn gasped and pressed her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. That was ungenerous of me. My mother works very hard to help my father. Please disregard my bitter remarks.”

  Jon smiled and shrugged. Her story was strange. Her manner was stranger.

  “What about your parents?” she asked. Her voice rang with false cheer. “Are they still alive?”

  “My mother is not. My father makes his home in the colony of Virginia. I haven’t seen him in nine years.”

  “Is he a pirate too?”

  He laughed. “My father is a bastard but not of the sort that would put his own life at risk to get what he wanted. He risks the lives of others instead. He has an estate and keeps slaves to run it. We are no longer in communication.”

  Jon fell silent and so did Bronwyn. The night sky glittered over the berth where he would bed her if he could summon the courage to simply take her and his soul be damned.

  BRONWYN DOWNED a bracing gulp of the grape. His questions about her parents were becoming too pointed. Drinking on a nearly empty stomach was not without its problems; the wine went straight to her head.

  Stag stood at her side, his hips were at her eye level. The bulge under his soft deerskin trousers made her pulse pound and breathing difficult.

  “Where is your mother now?”

  Oh god, not this again.

  “She is with my father. I returned home for my….” Her brain scrambled for an excuse and then lit upon one. “My presentation at court,” she said with a bright smile. “Mother thought it best to remain with Father and I agreed.”

  “Brave girl for coming out without Mama, I mean. I thought all young ladies clung to their mother’s skirts until their wedding day.”

  Stag did not take his eyes off her face. Under normal conditions, she would not be troubled by his rude scrutiny but the tension between them was hardly normal. She did not know what to expect from the man. Hour by hour he puzzled her greatly.

  “May I ask what it is you want with me?” Bronwyn set her glass down. The question was a sincere one. “You have taken as much as I have to give. Why am I here?”

  Stag appeared uncomfortable. “I like to look at you. And I like the way you smell.”

  “Is that all?” She resisted the impulse to sniff her arm.

  “No,” he admitted with a glower. “I enjoy your company. Too much for my own good, but then I was never a man to do what was good for me.” He rubbed his head and stretched to work out the tension in his shoulders. “I’ve always failed at making small talk and witty banter—a fault that seems to worsen in your company.”

  “It is the same for me,” she said breathlessly. “I have been anticipating seeing you again, and now that I’m here, I can’t think of a word to say.” She gave a nervous laugh. “We should address one another by our given names—as friends do. I think that will help.”

  “If you wish.” But his eyes had not lost their hunted look.

  He downed his wine and poured a second glass. His mouth was tight with tension.

  The atmosphere felt charged in the enclosed quarters. Bronwyn rose to fling open the casement and gulped in deep breaths of the fresh Atlantic air. The stars beyond were brilliant. She fixed her eyes on them as she felt Jon come to stand directly behind her. The bed taunted her, coupled with the breeze, the midnight sky and the loosening effects of the win
e.

  This is a seduction, she thought wildly. Just as her mother warned her about when she was fifteen and became friendly with the son of the lord of her father’s parish! This is what it is to be seduced.

  Bronwyn liked it. She liked it very much.

  JON PRESSED up behind her, lowered his lips to her cheek as though to see the stars. “I cannot think when I am with you ... don’t move ... I must do this....”

  He released Bronwyn’s hair from its comb. The tresses fell to her narrow waist and he took her in his arms. In his passion, he bent Bronwyn back and kissed her hungrily, at first to satisfy the physical craving he had for her, and then to satisfy something far more desperate within him—an unquenchable need to belong to her.

  The feeling brought him up short. Jon broke off the kiss with a strangled gasp. He sat down on the edge of the berth and yanked off his boots. “Shall we?” he said in a hard clipped tone.

  Her eyes revealed a myriad of emotions, but she did not cry nor did she get angry. The worst of it was that Bronwyn seemed to understand the abrupt change in him.

  She knows what it is to disappear behind a wall, Jon thought ruefully. The lady had more than a few defenses herself.

  Oddly, she seemed to trust the blunt, coarse Jon Stag more than the lovesick suitor, which she demonstrated by standing in front of him and unbuttoning her vest. Her hair tumbled becomingly over her shoulders.

  “I can only give myself to you under duress,” she confessed softly. “Threaten me or take me by force. For the sake of my conscience, you must leave me no choice.”

  He laughed harshly. “I’ll not salve your conscience at the expense of my own. I was fine until I met you. I was happy in my way. We do this sin together or not at all. I will be free of it.”

  Bronwyn’s stomach filled with butterflies and her breathing grew shallow. Jon was shaking and so was she. “Can one get free of this feeling? How? I feel possessed.”