Lady Pirate (4 page)

“Well,” Henry grunted after her. “Ye're not so much like a lady when ye stomp about like that.”

Pausing, Valoree turned to glare at him, then sighed and started to walk again, remembering to keep her steps shorter and less determined. She'd have to remember to keep her bearing more feminine, she thought as she paused by the carriage and peered in through the window. Inside sat Meg, the old prostitute Bull had found to play her aunt and chaperon.

Valoree grimaced at the societal foolishness of forbidding women to travel alone, and threw the door of the carriage open. Ah, well. She would make do. With a quick heave, she clambered into the coach. This
woman would serve her purpose. It was only once she was inside that Valoree noticed the other woman's pallor. Left over from her drunken state the night before, no doubt, Valoree thought dryly. She looked sober enough to play her part, though. In fact, today the woman looked so sober that Valoree almost pitied her. Her “aunt” would probably welcome a little hair of the dog that had bitten her.

However, other than obviously suffering the ill effects of overindulgence—her face had a slightly gray cast to it, and the lines around her eyes and the way she was squinting spoke of head pain—“Aunt Meg” looked fine, much better even than Valoree had hoped. Her new gown, black and demure, and her carefully upswept hair gave her a regal air. In fact, if she hadn't known better, Valoree might have sworn the woman was a true lady, rather than the prostitute she knew her to be.

“Ye're ready,” Valoree said as she arranged herself in the coach.

One eyebrow arched majestically, and the woman subjected Valoree to the same inspection she herself had just been through. “You're not,” came her response.

Valoree blinked, then felt anger wash through her. “What the hell do you mean, I'm not?” she snapped.

“Your hair. A lady would never walk about with her hair all wild about her head like that.”

Valoree raised a hand to her head, a frown on her lips. “I—”

“Sit,” the woman ordered, gesturing to the carriage seat beside her, and apparently fully expecting to be obeyed. She turned and began to sift through the contents of a small bag on the seat beside her. “I expected as much, which is why I asked your man Henry to collect a couple of things—Aha!” Pulling a brush free of the bag, she turned and smiled triumphantly at Va
loree, then frowned at her lack of response. She smacked the empty portion of the bench seat again. “Well, come on!”

Valoree hesitated, then glanced at Henry, who had followed her to the carriage and now stood studying her hair with a frown. “She's right, I guess. Ladies usually have their hair up like hers.”

Though annoyed by the fact, Valoree had to admit she herself was completely ignorant of what ladies did or did not do. She had not left the ship more than a handful of times over the past thirteen years. When she was younger, the ports they had usually put in to were not the sort Jeremy and Henry felt she needed to visit. And when she had become Back-from-the-Dead Red, she had remained primarily on the ship to avoid discovery of her identity. All her memories of society were from her very early childhood. She had no idea what ladies were sporting nowadays.

Cursing volubly, she switched to the other seat with a flounce of her skirts. She ignored “Aunt Meg's” reproving look as the woman set to work on her hair.

The coach jounced and jostled more than a small ship on the high seas. Harder, too. Valoree grimaced as it crashed over another bump and gingerly raised a hand to her head.

Her discomfort did not go unnoticed. “Are you ill? You look quite pale,” the old woman across from her asked with feigned sympathy.

Valoree's eyes snapped to her “aunt.” “If I am look
ing ill, it is because every part of my scalp is on fire.” The woman had swept her hair up in a towering coiffure and piled it on her head. “And by the way, I am not foolish enough to think that ladies go through that kind of pain every time they put their hair up—so if you try another trick like that, I'll have you whipped. And keep your mouth shut while we are in this meeting. The last thing I need is for this Whister fellow to figure out you are an old prostitute.”

Meg stiffened, then colored at the insult. Valoree felt a moment's regret, but it was brief. She had too many worries and too little time to be overly concerned with anyone's hurt feelings. Her entire crew, and now this woman, were dependent on her for both a home and a new way of life. She was feeling the strain. And it hadn't helped that the woman
had
pulled her hair awfully as she'd tugged it into shape.

“My apologies, my
dear
,” Aunt Meg said haughtily, sounding every inch a noble as the coach finally came to a lurching halt. “I shall endeavor to remain silent while at this appointment should it please you. However, I have lived the ‘good life' so long, one can never be sure of not meeting a previous…patron. Let us hope this lawyer of yours is not one of them.”

Valoree's eyes widened in horror at the possibility, and her “aunt” smiled back with quiet malice. Further conversation was cut off as One-Eye opened the door of the coach.

“Damn.” Valoree cursed under her breath as Meg exited, then moved quickly to follow the woman, intent on catching her and shoving her back into the coach. She was not willing to risk Whister's recognizing her. Surely it was doubtful that he had ever solicited her favors, but one never knew. Unfortunately, in her sudden panic to catch the woman, Valoree used more speed than care in disembarking, and she managed to trounce on, then tangle her foot in, the folds
of her skirt. She ended by tumbling to the ground outside the coach, her hair falling out of its do and tumbling around her shoulders.

One-Eye blinked his one good eye, then gaped down at her in horror as she tried to struggle to her feet. Henry was a touch more helpful. Leaping from his seat beside the driver, he hurried to assist her.

“What are ye doin', ye silly souse?” he snapped, slapping the other man in the back of the head and knocking the fine new hat he wore askew. He helped Valoree back to her feet. “What were ye gonna do? Leave her lyin' there till the dolphins swam alongside ye?”

“Well…” One-Eye straightened his cap and hurried to brush down her skirts in an effort to remove the mud that now clung to them. “How was I to know she was to be needin' help gettin' up? She ain't never needed help gettin' up afore.”

“She wasn't a lady before. She was the captain.”

“Well, and so she's still the captain now.”

“Aye, but she's wearin' a dress. That makes her a lady. And ladies is more delicate and helpless than captains. Just look at how she tumbled out of the coach like a—Ah!”

“That is the blade of my knife you are feelin' at your arse, Henry,” Valoree announced coolly, annoyed by his words. “It's a little reminder that dress or no dress I am still your captain. I am
not
helpless. Got that?”

“Got it, Cap'n.”

“Aye, sir. Ma'am. Me lady,” One-Eye, added.

Grunting in satisfaction, Valoree placed her knife back in the bag she had brought along for just that purpose, and waited as the men straightened on either side of her. “Now. You two shall wait here with the hack. My “aunt” and I shall go in and see Mr. Whister. You will not accost any passerby nor talk at all. You
will stand silent and solemn-faced at your posts. If I come out and find either of you behaving at all in any way that is unbefitting of footmen, I shall have you whipped. All right?”

“Righto.”

“Aye-aye, Cap'n. Me lady.”

“Very good,” she muttered, then started up the path to the front door where Meg stood waiting. She knew the men knew her threats were mostly idle—she'd never whipped either of them in all the time they'd sailed together—but she also knew that such threats were the only way to convey the seriousness of the situation.

Aunt Meg apparently saw it differently. “You should not draw your knife in public,
dear
. It is most unbecoming in a lady. Should anyone see—”

“No one saw.”

“I did.”

“You don't count.”

“No, I do not suppose I do,” the woman muttered as Valoree reached to tap at the door. After a moment she added, “There is nothing to worry about.”

Hand still raised, Valoree glanced at her sharply. “I am not worried.”

“I see. Well, your men told me that when you are cranky it is usually because you are worried and refusing to show it.”

“My men are a bunch of carpies.”

“They care for you very much. And I think you care for them, too.”

The comment silenced Valoree for a moment; then a peevish anger overtook her. She tried glaring the other woman down, but the creature was not to be intimidated.

“They are like family to you, are they not?”

Sighing, Valoree swallowed and glanced back at the door. “They are. The only family I have.”

“And you fear you will fail them,” Meg guessed, then rushed on when Valoree started to protest once more. “There is no reason to fear that. I've heard of your difficulties. It matters little if your behavior is not exactly that of a lady. They cannot refuse you your inheritance for that. Besides, you shall see it is not that difficult to play at being a lady. You merely need to say as little as possible and follow my lead.”

Before Valoree could comment, the door before them swung open to reveal a solemn-faced servant.

“Lady Valoree Ainsley and her aunt to see Master Whister.” Meg made the announcement imperiously, striding uninvited into the entry as if she had every right. Gesturing for Valoree to follow, she turned to the servant to add, “We have an appointment.”

“Of course, my lady.” Bowing, the servant nodded at Valoree as she entered, then closed the door. “Master Whister is with another client, but he should be only a moment. If you would wait in here?” Turning to a door on his left, he opened it for them, then bowed again as “Aunt” Meg led Valoree past him into the room.

“I shall see to some refreshments for you ladies while you wait,” he continued. “If you would care to—” A sudden shout from the room across the hall made him pause and glance toward it nervously, a frown sliding across his face. The expression quickly disappeared, however, and he gave them a sickly sweet smile. “I shall be back directly with those refreshments.”

Valoree nodded solemnly to the man, barely waiting for him to withdraw and pull the door closed before hurrying forward. Resting her hand on the doorknob, she leaned her ear to the wood in an effort to listen to the shouting coming from across the hall. Unfortunately, she could hear nothing but Meg's hissing rep
rimand as the older woman flew across the room to pull her away.

 

“Please calm down, Lord Thurborne. 'Tis not as bad as all that,” Whister soothed.

“Not as bad as all that?” Daniel glared at the man seated across from him. “You tell me that to claim my inheritance from my grandmother—money the Thurborne estates need quite desperately, by the way—I have to…to…What the hell did you say?” He broke off irritably, reaching across the desk to snatch up the scroll the man had been reading from before he'd interrupted. “‘To give up my dissolute ways, find a bride of noble blood, and beget an heir from her,'” Daniel read grimly, then slammed the parchment down.

“Lady Thurborne, your grandmother, was concerned that you were not taking your title and position seriously. She wished to see you settled and happy.”

“Settled and miserable, you mean,” Daniel said with a snarl, then stood to pace the smallish room. “I cannot believe she did this. I cannot believe she could even come up with this on her own. Someone must have—” He stilled, anger filling him as he saw the way the other man was suddenly nervously straightening his desk and avoiding looking at him. “
You!
”

Whister jumped slightly in his seat, his gaze guiltily meeting that of the younger man. “Me?”

Daniel's eyes narrowed grimly. “You gave her this idea, didn't you?”

“I-I may have mentioned that a client of mine had made just such a stipulation in his will toward his daughter's inheritance,” he admitted unhappily, then looked up with a meek smile. “In fact, the daughter in question is probably awaiting me out in the salon right now, Lord Thurborne. I was not expecting you today and she—”

“Oh,
well
, you should see her at once then, by all means,” Daniel said in a snarl, moving toward the door. “I would not mean to be so rude as to intrude on someone else's appointment. I shall just wait until you are finished and then speak to you. Unless there's a stipulation in the will against that, too,” he added dryly as he reached and opened the door. Outside, Whister's man was just opening the door across the hall.

 

“What are you doing? Are you mad? You cannot—”

“Shut up!” Valoree hissed back. “How am I supposed to hear anything with you caterwauling in my ear? I am trying to—Ouch!” The sudden opening of the door made her stumble several steps backward, her hand on the doorknob the only thing that kept her upright as the wooden door crashed into her head.

“Oh, my lady! I am ever so sorry!”

Valoree recognized the butler's voice and even managed a smile, though it was more grimace than anything. As she raised a hand to rub at the sore spot on her skull, she suddenly found herself surrounded by people. Meg had moved quickly to her side, her expression more chiding than concerned. The butler was fluttering helplessly before her, horrified guilt written all over his face for braining her, however unintentionally. She also saw that a second man, much younger, and obviously of the nobility, had crossed the hall to join them. Valoree suspected his was the shouting voice she had been trying to eavesdrop on. That being the case, she supposed she should feel chagrin at being caught. Instead, she felt annoyed. If there was one thing Valoree hated, it was feeling foolish, and the obvious amusement in the man's eyes was making her feel just that.

“I was just coming to inform you that refreshments would not be a moment,” the butler said, drawing her
gaze again. He was wringing his hands miserably as he eyed her. “I never meant to—Well, I did not expect you to be—Can I get you anything? A cold compress, perhaps?”

“Stop fussing, man,” Valoree snapped. Her head was beginning to pound, and mollycoddling would simply make it worse. “It's not the first time I've been knocked about a bit, you know.”

The sudden silence that fell gave her the first hint she might have misspoken. With a gulp of dismay, she took in the threesome around her. Meg looked horrified, and the butler and the newcomer looked completely nonplussed.

Sighing, she closed her eyes. Yes, that had most likely been the wrong thing to say. Most ladies probably didn't get knocked about. Ever. And if they did, they certainly didn't admit it. She should have thought before speaking. That was one of the first things she had learned to do as captain of a ship full of pirates. Thinking before speaking could avert all sorts of catastrophes. Why hadn't she done so now? “I must have got knocked harder than I thought,” she muttered in disgust.

“Perhaps some brandy?” the butler inquired sympathetically, her words seeming to have shocked him out of his stunned silence.

Valoree shook her head, wincing as pain shot through her skull again. “Never touch the stuff. I'll take some rum, though, if you have any.”

“Oh, dear,” Meg said with a sort of horror, then managed to force a titter of feigned amusement. “Oh, my dear, you are ever the witty one. You must not joke so, however, for not everyone knows what a prankster you are.” Turning to the butler, who relaxed at her words, she added sweetly, “A cold compress will be fine. And a touch of brandy, please.”

Nodding, the servant hurried to a sideboard to pour
the brandy, then started back toward Valoree with it, only to pause when “Aunt” Meg met him halfway across the room. “I shall fetch a cold compress,” he said as he handed her the snifter, then disappeared through the door.

Valoree watched him go, but was distracted by the newcomer.

“Whatever were you doing at the door?”

Valoree peered at the man with irritation. He was tall and handsome and carried himself as only a member of the nobility could. And she would bet her share of the booty from that French frigate her crew had just taken that he knew exactly what she had been doing. There was no mistaking the glint in his eyes for anything but malicious humor. She supposed he was working off some of the temper his appointment had stirred in him, but she didn't like it. Were they on her ship—

But they weren't on her ship. They were in a parlor. She made a face at the thought and did the only thing she could. She lied.

“I was about to leave the room, obviously.” Turning away, she moved toward a chair and sat down. “I was about to go looking for the loo.”

A sudden sputtering made Valoree glance abruptly over at Meg. The woman had paused a few steps away. She was clutching the brandy glass with white-knuckled fierceness and looking ready to swoon. Abject horror was the only explanation for her pale, pinched look and the way her mouth was flapping with nothing but insensible sounds emerging.