Never Trust a Pirate (11 page)

In fact, it had been Bryony’s idea to go into service in the first place, though she hadn’t imagined Maddy would go haring off on her own. Bryony had gone after their first and most-likely suspect, their father’s business partner and the one man who’d emerged unscathed from the collapse of the company, the notorious Earl of Kilmartyn, and instead of proving him guilty of their father’s destruction she’d gone and married him, despite rumors that he murdered his first wife.
Right now they were on the continent, well out of the way of the law while Kilmartyn’s men tried to prove his innocence.

Apparently the Earl of Kilmartyn had enough money to support them all, a lovely thought, but Maddy intended to take care of herself, and Sophie besides. Maddy had no intention of going into exile, despite her longing to travel. She wanted the truth, she wanted justice, and she’d do just about anything to get them.

Including being a maid in the household of the most disturbing man she ever met. He made her feel strange, uneasy, with a clawing feeling inside that wasn’t completely unpleasant. It wasn’t just because he kissed her. She’d been kissed before, but never like that. But he was unlike anyone she’d ever known, he was a conundrum, and at another time, in another life, she’d be fascinated, even tempted. She couldn’t afford to let that happen.

No, she’d stay the course. He didn’t even remember her, and no one ever looked at maids. She could ferret her way around things and find the truth. And maybe, in the end, if he turned out to be innocent and she was ready to leave, she might just grab him by his open white shirt and kiss him good-bye.

She laughed, sliding under the threadbare covers again, the racket still tight in one hand. She could just imagine the expression on his face. It would make all the hard work worth it.

But in the meantime she needed to concentrate on the job at hand, not Captain Morgan. His guilt or innocence would come to light soon enough. She just couldn’t afford to get distracted.

CHAPTER SEVEN

L
UCA HADN
’
T BEEN PLANNING
to leave for London the next morning. He usually slept well, deep and undisturbed by dreams or any of the things that should plague his nonexistent conscience unless there was some emergency on board ship.

Last night had been different. Last night he’d woken over and over again, the taste of the girl on his tongue. She’d looked so delicious, sitting there in bed, pulling the covers up to her chin like a terrified virgin. Terrified by the bats, not by him.

Hell, he was a lot more terrifying than a few harmless bats, and he was offended that she considered him the least of her worries, particularly since she remembered the one time she’d seen him before. She knew as well as he did that he was twice as strong as she was, and she didn’t know that he wouldn’t use that superior strength to hurt her.

It was the unsolved mystery that was plaguing him, he told himself, not the girl herself. That elusive, hidden memory that was driving him mad and yet no matter how hard he tried to remember, the answer remained out of reach.

He hadn’t spoken to her that long ago time—he knew that much. They’d been separated and he’d seen her from a distance. But where
and when? In which lifetime? His time on the streets of London had been so long ago that it could scarcely be then. She was young; she probably hadn’t even been born by the time he went to sea.

Russell’s ships had never carried many passengers, though there’d always been a few, and Luca had made it his practice to keep the hell away from them. His job was running the boat, not flattering the upper crust. Besides, they were much happier with Lindholm, his bland and charming first officer, than a raffish former pirate who didn’t have time for polite chitchat.

But still, nothing came to mind. He couldn’t picture her anywhere near the ocean, and his life was the water.

He had no intention of spending another sleepless night. There was one person he could count on for information, even the most impossible to find, and once he got to London he would be easy enough to locate. Even the endless train ride would be worth it, much as he hated the things. Travel should be on the ocean, not trapped in a steel cage with smoke and soot belching all around him.

It was late when he reached London, but he didn’t hesitate. The warrens of the West End were well-known to him—it didn’t take him long to track down the Wart in their old hunting grounds. He leaned against a lamppost, surveying the world he had once known so well, and waited.

“Well, look at the toff, wandering down in the gutter with us lowlifes.” The rough voice came from just behind him, but Luca didn’t jump. He and the Wart had perfected the art of silent movement, and he would have expected nothing less. “Why no, I think it’s nothing but a gyppo, come amongst us city dwellers.” Wart moved around to the front, and Luca didn’t give a damn, he pulled the man into his arms for a heartfelt embrace. It had been too long since he’d seen him, but Wart liked to keep his distance. Luca had grown up with him, picked pockets, and serviced gentlemen with him, but Wart
had been faster than he was when the press gangs had come, and Luca had found the sea.

“Lemme alone,” Wart said, shoving him back a moment after returning the embrace. “I’ve got me reputation to consider. They’ll think I’m a nancy boy, and I’m done with that lay.” He spat into the filthy street. The sky over London was thick with greasy smoke from the manufactories, and the soot had covered everything in the Seven Dials area, including Wart, who was half Luca’s size nowadays. “So how does it feel to be a contributing member of society?”

He grinned, giving Wart a punch to his thick shoulder. “Smothering.”

Wart laughed. “I should think so. Too bad the gangs caught you and made an upstanding citizen of you.”

“Not quite. I was a pirate before I turned honest.”

Wart rolled his eyes. “Never say it, mate! The very word
honest
makes me shudder.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t torment you with it.”

Wart settled one haunch on the remains of a broken wagon. They were deep in the back alleys near the notorious Dials, where filth and despair were taken for granted and the police never showed their faces, and the air smelled of refuse and human waste and the stench of life rotting. At one time it had smelled like home, and Luca could still feel a faint tugging.

“So what are you wanting from me, Luca, me boy? It won’t come cheap, not when you have the blunt to spare,” Wart said amiably. “And don’t be expecting me to change me ways—I ain’t leaving the Dials to be your bloody pensioner. I like me life here.”

“I’ve given up offering,” Luca said. “But I’ve got a job for you.”

“That’s different then,” Wart said. They both knew that Wart would do anything he could for his old pal, free of charge, and Luca would give him the shirt off his back, but it was a game they played.

“It’s about a woman,” Luca said.

Wart shook his head. “It always is. Though not so much with you. Women have always been besotted by that pretty face of yours; I can’t believe you’ve finally found one who’s immune to it. More power to her.”

“What makes you think it’s a woman I want?”

“What else could it be? You wouldn’t be looking for your mother—that gypsy trull was long gone after her old man sold you to Morris the Sweep. No, you’re wanting to get between someone’s legs, and I can’t imagine anyone saying no to you.”

“Ah, Wart, I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” he shot back, unruffled by the slight against his mother. It was a fair enough description.

“I don’t care how pretty you are, you’re not my type,” Wart shot back. “Only if you paid me.”

“I thought you said you’d given that up. How about I pay you not to?”

Wart laughed. “I miss the old days, I do. We were a devilish pair around here, weren’t we? No pocket was safe. Too bad you couldn’t run as fast you could talk.”

Luca shrugged. “It all worked out for the best. We both know it’s a waste of time to think about ‘what ifs.’ Do you want to hear about this woman or are we going to keep talking about the good old days of sodomy for hire?”

Wart grinned at him. He still looked like a boy in the dim light of the Dials, a very bad boy. “You think I’m going to weep over it? We did what we had to do to survive, neither of us are squeamish, and we don’t complain. Unless you developed a taste for it?”

“Sod off,” Luca said amiably.

“Tell me about the woman then. What do you need from me? I can always kidnap and tie her down for you, but if I remember rightly you were never much for rape.”

“No,” he said shortly. Not when he’d had to endure it himself. He’d take no one by force. Of course, despite Wart’s jibes he had little doubt he could talk anyone he wanted into his bed, including his lying maidservant.

And that was definitely where he wanted her. Soft and naked beneath him. Though she wouldn’t be a sweet, gentle fuck. There was something about her, something beneath her meek exterior that was so fiery that he expected she’d almost be able to keep up with his unexpectedly fierce hunger for her.

“There’s a young woman who’s just come to work for me down in Devonport,” he said, leaning against the broken wagon with a complete disregard for the state of his clothes. “She calls herself Mary Greaves, and she’s been hired as a maidservant. Recommended by one of my solicitors, Matthew Fulton. But she’s not who she says she is. She tries for a Northern accent but half the time she sounds like Mayfair.”

“That’s what comes from soft living, me boy,” Wart said with a contemptuous sniff that was only half playful. “Maidservants and solicitors! Next thing we know you’ll be getting leg shackled to some virgin and making up to the bloody queen.”

“Victoria’s not my type,” he said, deliberately not mentioning Gwendolyn. Indeed, he was beginning to wonder why’d he’d thought respectability had been such a good idea.

“Maybe the girl saw you on the street and followed you home for your beautiful eyes?”

“And who could blame her?” Luca retorted. “But no, it’s something else. I need to find out who she is and what she’s doing in my house. She’s not trying to seduce me, more’s the pity, so we can rule that out.”

“Might be part of a gang of thieves. We’ve done that in our time—gone in as climbing boys, checked out the lay of the land, so to speak, and passed along the information for a cut of the proceeds. She might be running the same game.”

“It’s possible. But then, why would she have a more cultured voice than she’s showing? And it would take an educated eye to find the things of value in my house. They’re not your ordinary booty—not much silver or fancy china. It’s in books and artifacts from distant countries that most people wouldn’t even recognize.”

“But you said she sounds like she’s from the upper classes. She’s the type most likely to recognize rare things.”

“Maybe,” he said doubtfully. “But I don’t think that’s it. I’ve seen her before, I know it. I just can’t place her.”

“Never tell me you’ve been pining after some unattainable goddess all these years!” Wart begged.

“Hardly. She’s not a goddess, though I admit she’s beautiful. But then, beauty’s an easy commodity. And no one is unattainable.”

Wart laughed. “Tell me what she looks like. Mebbe that will jog your memory.”

“Brown hair. Very dark, long and curling.”

“Every woman has long hair,” Wart scoffed. “Tell me something I wouldn’t know. And when did you see her with her hair down? I thought you said she’d just started to work there?”

“None of your business.”

“It’s my business if you want me to find out who she is. If she’s an easy piece that makes a difference.”

“She’s not. She’s either a virgin or close to it.”

“Hmmm. Not too many of them in my line of work.”

“And what exactly is your line of work?”

Wart grinned at him. “Purveyor of information. But a pretty dark-haired semi-virgin isn’t giving me enough to go on. You got anything else?”

“She’s got interesting eyes,” he said slowly, suddenly remembering them. “A very dark blue. I think I’ve seen those eyes before, in another… hell and damnation!” Memory flooded back, and with it a powerful fury that swept over him, rendering him almost speechless.