How To Please a Pirate (28 page)

“To Bath,” Gabriel said, setting his jaw. He
didn’t owe anyone an explanation for his actions. Not even his old
shipmate.

“Are ye thinkin’ that’s the wisest
course?”

“Mayhap not, but I can’t seem to steer clear
of it, Meri,” Gabriel said, suddenly deeply absorbed by the need to
adjust his horse’s bridle.

“Want company on the road?”

“I’d rather you stay here and look after
things for me till I return.”

If I return,
Gabriel amended silently.
He was done with the whole charade, the endless parade of hopeful
misses in his parlor. He could no longer step to the farce of this
mating dance. Lyn would just have to listen to reason. And if she
wouldn’t, well . . . he was still a pirate at heart. She’d look
good slung bum to the sky over his saddle.

“No, Meri, it’s best you bide here,” Gabriel
said. “Besides, the girls would miss you.”

“Aye, and I’d miss the wee heathens right
back, come to that,” Meri admitted. “Cap’n, ye know I’d never try
to tell ye where to drop anchor—“

“Then don’t,” Gabriel cut him off.

“I’m a simple sailing man. I know what I know
and it’s generally not much. Ye take the lead and I’ll follow ye to
Hell, singing all the way. Mutiny is not in me,” Meriwether said.
“But I’ve got to ask ye have ye thought this through with something
other than yer cock?”

Gabriel rounded on him and grabbed him by his
greasy lapels.

“If you weren’t my friend, you’d be a dead
man.”

“If I weren’t yer friend, I’d not bother to
say it.” Meri screwed his face into a horrible scowl. “When ye were
at the helm of the
Revenge,
ye never put yerself before the
crew. Ye were ever the first into a melee, last to withdraw. Now ye
run from yer duties. I can’t think Mistress Jacquelyn would approve
of the change in your character.”

“Leave her out of this,” Gabriel growled.

“Can’t. Not when she’s at the heart of the
trouble,” Meri said. “I never thought to care much about these
landlubbers, but the people here have wrapped their hands around me
old heart. I wonder that ye now seem ready to desert the folk in
this snug cove who depend upon ye.”

Gabriel released the older man and rummaged
through his saddlebag. There was an empty water flask he needed to
fill and even though food was the last thing on his mind, prudence
dictated he should probably raid Mrs. Beadle’s larder before he
left.

“Who said anything about deserting?”

“Ye’re the one saddling his horse,” Meri
observed.

“I’ll be back,” Gabriel said, wondering if it
would be true. “As soon as I find her.”

It was a measure of their friendship that
Meri didn’t back down.

“Truth is, seems to me the lass has made the
right choice,” Meriwether said. “Ye’re expected to wed, lad. Like
it or not, it seems the one ye want won’t do for yer wife. I’m not
sure what ye’re intending, but unless ye enjoy living in the center
of an unending squall, ye’d best not have two women with a claim on
ye under the same roof.”

“Since when did you become such an expert on
women?”

“Never said that, Cap’n. But it don’t take
much learning to see ye’re bound for mighty shallow shoals if ye
keep to this heading. Mrs. B. says—”

“Mrs. B? Who else have you been talking with
about this?” Gabriel demanded. “Is everyone in the Caern privy to
my personal doings then?”

“The way you mooned about whenever the lass
should chance to pass ye by? Only the ones with eyes,” Meriwether
said. “Which might be a smaller number than ye might think, most
folk being so interested in their own troubles they’ve not much
time for anyone else’s.”

“I know it’s not in you nature, but if
something should happen and I’m . . . delayed, I need to tell you
something.” Gabriel checked the girth once more. Then he told his
first mate about the treasure under the keep and how to find it.
“If I don’t return, use it to protect my nieces. I’ll have your
promise on it.”

“Och, Cap’n, ye don’t need to ask. I’ll guard
the little mites like they was me own and ye know it.”

A carriage rattled past the open stable door.
Gabriel recognized the Curtmantle crest embossed on its side, twin
lions rampant—a bastardized version of the ancient Tudor coat of
arms which Hugh claimed as his distant heritage.

Gabriel left his mount and walked to the
doorway to watch the carriage make a sharp turn. Dust swirled in
its wake as it came to a halt before the sturdy oak entrance to
Dragon Caern. A lad dressed in threadbare livery leaped down from
his perch on the back and opened the passenger door with a proper
obeisance to the occupant.

Catherine Curtmantle stepped lightly from her
equipage, her dainty shoes and more than a quick glimpse of her
delicate ankles leading the way.

“No doubt you’re right, Meri. Most folk are
more worried for their own troubles,” Gabriel said. “Then there are
those who bring fresh trouble with them wherever they go.”

Good breeding warred with Gabriel’s wishes.
More than anything, he wanted to mount his horse and ride, but his
sense of duty won out. He strode toward the carriage. At the very
least, he might cut this unwelcome visit short.

“Good morning, Lord Drake,” Catherine said,
extending her gloved hand.

He ignored it. Good breeding will only goad a
man so far. This woman had once ripped out his heart. He wouldn’t
touch so much as her fingertip if he could help it. He gave her a
curt nod. “Lady Curtmantle.”

Her plucked brows lifted. Miffed, she
withdrew her hand. “I’m calling to see—“

“I regret I am unable to oblige you at
present,” Gabriel said. “A pressing matter requires me to leave at
once.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and pursed her
lips. She looked like a cat trying to decide whether to devour her
wounded prey here or drag it back to her lair. “And might that
pressing matter be taking you to Bath?”

“If it did, it’s hardly your concern,
Madam.”

“You’re quite right,” Catherine said airily.
“Why should I care if you waste your time?”

“It’s mine to waste,” he said, forcing a
tight-lipped smile. “Now if you will excuse me . . .”

“By all means, though you’ll not find what
you seek in Bath.” She waved her hand airily. “I’m sure Mrs. Beadle
can tell me enough to satisfy Mistress Wren of the children’s well
being.”

She flounced through the tall front door,
with Gabriel in her wake. When she turned aside into the solar, he
grabbed her shoulders and spun her around.

“What do you mean?” he demanded. “You’ve
heard from Jacquelyn?”

“I received a letter from Mistress Wren
requesting I visit to ascertain if your nieces are well,” Catherine
said. “I mean to do just that.”

“Let me see the letter,” he demanded.

“I burned it as she requested. Evidently,
your chatelaine values her privacy.”

He remembered Lyn telling how she’d watched
as the headmistress of her school burned her mother’s letters. She
might have made such a request. Still, Lady Curtmantle seemed an
odd choice for a confidant. “Why would she write you?”

“She and I have more in common than one might
believe.” Catherine shot him a mirthless grin. “You, for one thing.
What in the world do you think we talked about while you danced
attendance on your fawning debutants?”

Gabriel frowned. He had noticed Lyn and Lady
Curtmantle in earnest discussion more than once, but never
considered that they might form an uneasy alliance. He should have
asked Lyn about it. He’d always been too busy trying to figure out
the quickest way to get Jacquelyn into his bed to waste time over
trivialities. “Is she well?”

“You mean she hasn’t written to you? Oh dear,
it is as I feared.” Lady Curtmantle popped open her fan and
fluttered it vigorously before her deep décolletage. “She obviously
doesn’t want you to know where she is.”

“Since you brought it up, if she’s not in
Bath, then where is she?”

Catherine closed her fan and fingered its
lace edge. She made ‘tsk’ noises with her teeth and tongue. “Why
should I betray her trust?”

Gabriel scoffed. “Madam, when it comes to
trust I fear you are out of your depth.”

“As are you. Will you hold my past sins
against me forever?” She lowered her gaze. Her lips parted softly,
the perfect penitent. “You can run off to play the pirate as it
suits you and then return as lord of the manor with barely a break
in your stride. How is it you can change, but no one else is
allowed that luxury?”

“Catherine.” It was a mistake to speak her
name. Boyishly stupid or not, he’d loved her once and the cold
embers of remembered longing stirred briefly. Lady Curtmantle was
still beautiful, but hers was a cold beauty. And she wasn’t his
Lyn. “If ever you cared for me in the slightest, tell me where she
is.”

“It’s not that simple—“

“Then let me simplify matters for you,
Madam.” Gabriel pressed her against the stone wall. His hand closed
over her white throat. “If Jacquelyn complains you betrayed her
confidence, you may tell her you were forced to reveal her
whereabouts. And you needn’t worry about being convincing because
it will be true.”

“You wouldn’t hurt m—” Catherine’s mouth
gaped as he cut off her wind.

“I’ve killed my share of men,” Gabriel
admitted conversationally. “Not that I didn’t avoid it whenever
possible, of course. We pirates follow the path of least
resistance, you know. If we can make off with the goods without
committing a mortal sin, we will. But sometimes murder and mayhem
is inevitable when the person in question won’t acquiesce to our
demands. Some folk just want killing, Meriwether always says.”

The whites showed all around Catherine’s pale
blue eyes as she struggled to free herself. When his grip
tightened, she stopped kicking and clawing, focusing all her energy
on trying to squeeze a breath through the narrow passageway he left
her.

“Never have killed a woman, though I suppose
it’s not much different than dispatching a man,” he said
philosophically. “Probably easier in some ways, so long as the
woman isn’t trying to kill me back.”

She blanched pale as parchment and he
lessened his grip enough to give her a little air. She gasped like
a trout flopping on a riverbank.

“You really came to see about my nieces?”

Her head moved in a barely discernable
nod.

“You aren’t trying to do me or Jacquelyn any
harm, are you, Catherine?”

Her lips moved in a silent ‘no.’

He eased his grip further. “Good. Now where
is she?”

“London,” Catherine wheezed. “The letter came
from London.”

Damnation.
Of all the bolt holes Lyn
might have made for, why did she have to choose that one? He was
sure he’d never told her that he couldn’t set foot in the city
without threat of hanging. Or had he let it slip and she was
counting on him not following her there?

When Gabriel released Catherine, she sagged
to her knees. “I know London well enough to know a person can
disappear into its rabbit warrens and never be seen again. Where is
she staying?”

“With her mother, I think. Where else would
she go? Isabella Wren is not a person who shuns attention. She
should not be too difficult to locate,” Catherine said, her voice
wispy and crackling. She massaged the bruised skin of her
throat.

Remorse coalesced into cold lump of guilt in
his belly. He’d always despised men who brutalized women and now
he’d become one. Meri was right. He wasn’t thinking clearly at
all.

“I ask your pardon, Catherine,” he said
softly as he reached down to raise her to her feet. “I should not
have used you so.”

She swallowed hard and huffed out a sigh.

“You are forgiven, Gabriel,” she said as she
smoothed her dress with both hands. “I know you’re a man of great
feeling and such men are prone to rash action. After all, your love
for me made you run away to the sea.”

“You think I went to sea pining for you?” He
tipped her chin up to force her to meet his gaze. “I was a boy and
I’d been hurt by two people I trusted implicitly. The thoughts of
murder rampaging through my heart scared me spitless. I ran away to
keep from killing Hugh, though in hindsight, that may have been a
mistake.”

“Gabriel, if you’re planning to run off with
her, I can only wonder at your sanity,” Catherine said. “You can’t
run from home again. You’ll be throwing away everything. You can’t
really tell me this chatelaine, this nobody means so much to
you.”

He turned and stomped to the door. “I’m no
longer a boy who fears his own rage. I’m a man who’s not afraid to
unleash it, if necessary. And I’m not running away. I’m running
toward the only home I’ll ever know. If someone tries to get
between me and Jacquelyn, God have mercy on them.” He stopped and
leveled a glare at her. “For I won’t.”

“Why, this is utterly ridiculous!” Isabella
scowled down at the scandal sheet beside her plate of buttered eggs
and toast.

“What is?” Jacquelyn asked from her place at
the far end of the long dining table. Ordinarily gentle folk ate
the first meal of the day in a small breakfast room instead of a
larger dining room, but Isabella was never one to settle for
ordinary. Since her mother rarely rose before noon, purists might
insist the meal was nearly luncheon in any case.

“This theatre critic is being purposely
thick.” Isabella pushed the sheet aside and peeled an orange slice,
carefully removing all traces of the white pulp. “Anyone with eyes
knows the real play at the theatre last night was going on in the
Duke of Kent’s private box when his wife came at intermission and
surprised him with his mistress.”

“How awful for her,” Jacquelyn said as she
chased a fig around her plate with her spoon. The elegant sideboard
behind her fairly groaned under the weight of choices Nanette set
out to tempt Jacquelyn’s fickle appetite. Food still held little
fascination for her. “And yet it amuses you. Don’t you care about
the wife’s pain?”