How To Please a Pirate (12 page)

“It’s not much to ask,” she said. “I think
I’ve given service enough this day to warrant at least that small
consideration.”

He inclined his head slightly. She wished to
shelter behind distant courtesy, did she? He’d allow it.

But only for a short while.

He watched her walk to the ancient door, a
pang of conscience lashing him when she wobbled slightly and her
shoulders shuddered before reaching it. She left him without a
backward glance.

He wished with all his heart that Uncle
Eustace had made his appearance very much later.

Or, if it would’ve spared her this pain, a
few moments sooner.

* * *

“Good workmanship, this,” Cecil Oddbody said
as he inspected the ancient tapestry in the solar. In the early
morning, the golden threads shot through the piece would be
shimmering glory, but now as the sun sank into the sea, they were
nearly invisible in the soft light shafting through the room’s
green glass windows. “Lovely pattern in the goldwork. And certainly
not the only gold hidden in Dragon Caern Castle if your claim is
correct, Curtmantle.”

“It is,” Hugh Curtmantle said. “Time out of
mind, the rumor has circulated that back in the glory days of Good
Queen Bess, the Lord of Dragon Caern was one of her privateers. She
pardoned his crimes and he filled her coffers with Spanish gold.
But the old pirate also filled his own. And it’s here someplace.
I’m sure of it.”

“Let us hope so,” Oddbody said. “Else a good
deal of effort will have been wasted for naught. It’s not so easy a
thing to have a title declared in abeyance, you know.”

Cecil spared a glance for Baron Curtmantle.
The man had inherited the less prosperous barony to the north of
Dragon Caern and was within a pinch of running the estate into
bankruptcy. Hugh sat a good horse and was reputedly a wicked
swordsman, but the man had the imagination of a gnat.

In the large scheme of things, he was
nobody.

However, at present, he was a very useful
nobody. After all, a string of convenient deaths was difficult to
arrange this far from London.

“You know I appreciate your endeavors on my
behalf,” Hugh said.

“And well you might.” Cecil was no lord. He’d
merely been invested with a knighthood when he was given charge of
the king’s privy seal. With the power he wielded, he was able to
make lesser nobles dance to his tune in any case. “Until the
resurrection of this friend of yours, this Gabriel Drake, you were
well on your way to being named protector of Dragon Caern once the
title devolved to the Crown and thence to me. What do you intend to
do about it?”

“Do?” Hugh seemed puzzled. “What can I
do?”

“Think, Curtmantle.” Oddbody sighed. It was
difficult to believe this toady traced his lineage back to the
first Tudor kings. Perhaps more than one of Hugh Curtmantle’s
illustrious ancestors was cuckolded by a stable hand with a big
cock and a small brain. “A man who returns
from
the dead can
just as easily return
to
the dead. See what you can do to
manage such a journey for the new—”

Cecil stopped in mid-sentence when his more
capable guard cleared his throat from his position at the arched
doorway. Gabriel Drake filled the space, his expression stony. He
was followed by a priest, whose face looked only slightly less
harsh. This was hardly the grateful welcome Sir Cecil expected.

“Ah, Lord Drake, there you are,” he said,
extending his bejeweled hand so the King’s seal flashed
importantly.

It was ever so handy to have a monarch who
spoke little English. It forced the Hanoverian king to rely heavily
on his advisors. Cecil was careful to maintain and embellish the
trust King George invested in him. He would ever guard the Crown’s
interest.

So long as the King’s interest didn’t run too
contrary to his own.

“We were on our way to Bath,” Cecil said
majestically, “and wished to satisfy ourselves that you are
settling well into your new role.”

“We?” Drake looked at Cecil’s extended hand
and then ignored it. “I thought only kings used the royal ‘we.’
Perhaps you should stick to ‘I’, unless of course, you have a mouse
in your pocket.”

“Gabriel, your manners,” the priest muttered,
then in a louder voice. “Welcome to Dragon Caern, good sir. I’m
Father Eustace. A blessing on all souls here.”

The priest took his hand and pressed a quick
kiss to the King’s seal. Not exactly protocol, Cecil supposed, but
he appreciated the gesture. Oddbody had studied the family tree of
the House of Drake. This must be the new lord’s uncle.

“I’ll be thanking you for Gabriel’s pardon,”
Father Eustace said.

“I earned my pardon, uncle,” Lord Drake said
testily, “in service rendered to the King. His Majesty was grateful
to have his cousin returned unharmed from the French buccaneers
who’d abducted him. Oddbody here is just the clerk who signed the
papers.”

“I am the Keeper of the King’s Privy Seal,”
Cecil said, tight-lipped. He shot a glance at the priest who
visibly cringed. “Perhaps, Father, you should remind Lord Drake
that I also have the King’s ear. What His Majesty so graciously
gives, he may also take.”

“My apologies, sir,” Father Eustace all but
stammered. “Gabriel has been a long time at sea. I trust your
forbearance to excuse his lack of . . . polish.”

“It wasn’t the sea that ruined Gabriel
Drake,” Hugh said from his place in a shadowy corner. “He was well
on his way to Hell before that.”

“Hugh Curtmantle, I didn’t notice you
skulking there in the dark.” A look of genuine pleasure flashed in
Lord Drake’s eyes. “Is it really you?”

“In the flesh.”

“And considerably more of it than the last
time I saw you. Come here, man.”

The Lord of Dragon Caern drew Hugh into a
back-slapping bear hug. Cecil decided his minion hadn’t lied when
he described himself as Drake’s childhood friend.

“So I guess you’ve forgiven me for stealing
Catherine Uxbridge from you?” Curtmantle said. “After all, losing
her is what sent you running off to the sea.”

“Probably did me a favor,” Gabriel Drake
conceded. “I haven’t given the matter a thought in ages. The girl
was beautiful, but cold as a witch’s teat. The years are never kind
to harpies. Whatever became of her?”

“I married her.”

“Ah, you have my apology, Hugh.” A wry smile
crossed Drake’s face. “And perhaps my condolences.”

Hugh took a feigned swipe at his friend and
the two fell to easy conversation of old acquaintances and days
gone by. Cecil nodded his approval. Perhaps Curtmantle was more
cunning than he gave him credit for.

Oddbody settled back into the carved oak
chair and watched his underling work. While he followed their
by-play, he calculated the wealth represented in Lord Drake’s
solar. It was elegantly appointed and the fireplace along one wall
was large enough to roast an ox whole. The heavy silver candelabra
on the serving table was fine enough for the King’s own collection.
And if this weren’t enough, there was treasure untold hidden
somewhere in Dragon Caern Castle. More than would satisfy even his
avaricious dreams. Such luxury was wasted on a pirate.

Well, it wouldn’t be wasted on him for long.
Not if Cecil had anything to say about it.

And he always had his say.

Cecil’s attention was captured by the slip of
a girl who carried in a tea tray. She was small, barely more than a
child, but with ripe breasts budding in the first blush of young
womanhood. Her oval face was innocence itself, only lightly brushed
by the corrupting knowledge that she was attractive.

Just the way he liked them. Cecil was a
slight man himself with less in the way of masculine attributes
than he wanted to admit. Children or diminutive whores always made
him feel bigger. A well-born woman-child would be even more
gratifying to bend to his uses.

“Hyacinth, what are you doing here?” Lord
Drake demanded of the girl. “Where is Mistress Wren?”

“She asked me to tell you she’s indisposed,
uncle,” the child said with a not-so-childish smile.

Her wide eyes flicked around the room, and
Cecil read an unmistakable invitation in them. The young ones
always wanted his attention. Every one of them.

“Mistress Wren asked if I’d pour out for you
and your guests,” the girl explained.

“Who is this charming creature?” Cecil
asked.

“This is no charming creature. This
child
is one of my nieces,” Lord Drake said with a scowl.
“Very well, Hyacinth. You may serve, but that had better be sugar
lumps you’ve got there.”

She blinked at Drake, her thick lashes
fluttering on alabaster cheeks. “Of course, dear uncle. What
else?”

What an insufferable bully he was! Cecil was
doing this child, the entire household in fact, a gigantic favor in
masterminding his removal.

Her smooth white hands were poetry in
graceful service as she poured out the steaming brew and stirred in
the sugar and milk. As he sipped his excellent tea, an idea came to
Cecil. Curtmantle complained loudly enough of the chill in his
beautiful wife’s boudoir. Cecil hadn’t missed the glint in Hugh’s
eye when he accepted his tea from the girl’s hand.

Cecil would plant the seed and then continue
on to Bath, trusting that Hugh would see the benefits of the plan.
It should be easy enough to tempt the oaf into imprudence once
Cecil was on his way. In fact, it would be better for Oddbody if he
heard the sordid details second or third hand and at a safe
distance.

The one fly in the ointment was that this
plan would give someone else the first taste of little Hyacinth.
The girl was delectable, after all. Cecil so loved to initiate
innocents into carnal delight. He’d have to satisfy himself with
taking the poor soiled dove under his wing after the fact. That
idea took firm root. Perhaps there were pleasures he’d not
experienced before in administering penance to a ruined girl. It
would be worth exploring.

But Gabriel Drake was an imposing figure.
Cecil had no desire to meet the Lord of Dragon Caern on a field of
honor and Drake was not the sort to forego satisfaction. So if the
girl was to be used to incite an incident, it could not be by
Cecil.

Hugh Curtmantle was Drake’s match for height
and probably carried a stone or two more of weight. If Hugh
defeated Drake, that would answer nicely.

If not, well, Drake’s already tarnished
character would not withstand another scandal. What wellborn woman
would consider wedding a man who would murder his childhood friend?
The reason for the fight would surely be hushed up to protect the
girl and it would thoroughly destroy Drake’s reputation among the
nobility. If Gabriel Drake didn’t succeed in wedding and producing
an heir, then the outcome would still be the same. The Dragon Caern
barony would lapse. It would just take longer. Delicate maneuvers
such as these required patience.

And Cecil was nothing if not patient.

On the night of Lord Drake’s ball,
Curtmantle’s coach-and-six pounded along the narrow road that led
from his threadbare barony to Dragon Caern.

“This velvet is abominably worn.” Lady
Catherine Curtmantle fingered the offending upholstery.

“None sees it but we,” Hugh said.

“And it doesn’t matter to you if my
sensibilities are offended.”

He grunted. “Madam, since you’ve consented to
aid me in advancing our cause this evening, I fear your
sensibilities are already sadly lacking.”

She slanted her cat-eyed gaze at him.
Loathing bunched in the back of her throat. Since he shared the
plan he and that horrid Oddbody had hatched, Catherine could barely
stand the sight of her husband.

Not that she’d been over-fond of him to begin
with.

If he’d just done it, she could wink at his
indiscretion, order herself a new wardrobe made, for which he could
not complain, and be done with it. She certainly didn’t care where
Hugh took his ease as long as it was not in her bed. She’d given
him an heir and one confinement was definitely enough. There were
things one could do to avoid another conception, but she didn’t
care enough about her husband to make the effort. Keeping him from
her bed was the better choice.

But now, he’d made her an accomplice in the
planned seduction of Lord Drake’s oldest niece, a chit barely old
enough not to be considered a child.

And she hated him for it.

But she wouldn’t try to stop him. They needed
the wealth hidden in Dragon Caern. Catherine was sick to death of
scrimping and patching and trying to keep up appearances. If she
had to wear this tired old gown one more time, she’d have a fit.
Once they had control of Dragon Caern, she’d never have to do
without again.

She looked out the window as they bumped
along. The Caern winked in the distance like a star. But for a wee
misstep years ago, she’d be mistress there, married to Gabriel
Drake. Hugh was a charmer back then and she’d succumbed to his
wiles. She’d been lusty and curious in her youth and Hugh had a
big, willing mandrake. Of course, the fact that he stood to inherit
while Gabriel was merely a second son might have played a part in
the debacle as well.

Now Gabriel was master of the most prosperous
estate in the region and, if the tales were true, blessed with a
hoard of gold as well.

Fate was indeed cruel.

Folk still counted Catherine Curtmantle a
beauty. She wondered what Gabriel looked like now and if she’d
enjoy his bedplay more than Hugh’s. Perhaps she should look into
ways to refrain from conception, just in case.

She sneaked a glance at her husband from
beneath her lashes. He’d grown broader in the last few years, and
sported a hint of a double chin, but Hugh was still considered a
fine looking man. When he set himself to it, he could still charm
anything in skirts.