Pleasing the pirate a lo.., p.1
Pleasing the Pirate: A Loveswept Historical Romance, page 1
ALSO BY SHARON CULLEN
The Notorious Lady Anne
Loving the Earl
Pleasing the Pirate is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Loveswept eBook Original
Copyright © 2014 by Sharon Cullen
Excerpt from A Kiss of Lies by Bronwen Evans copyright © 2014 by Bronwen Evans
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.
eBook ISBN 978-0-345-54972-3
Cover design: Carrie Devine / Seductive Designs
www.readloveswept.com
v3.1
For John, Megan, Nic, and Abby. Without them I would be nothing.
Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Editor’s Corner
Excerpt from A Kiss of Lies
Author’s Note
After Scotland’s defeat in the 1745 Jacobite uprising, Charles Stuart was secretively whisked away to France, where he never fully recovered from his defeat. He became an alcoholic, his wife left him, and he eventually traveled to Rome where he would later die. England came down heavily on the Scots. Kilts were banned, Scotsmen were not allowed to carry weapons, and they were not allowed to gather as a clan.
A few years later, the French drafted a plan to invade England. They approached Charles Stuart with the hope he would agree to land on Scottish shores and raise another rebellion, thus luring England’s forces away from home soil. France would then cross over into England and overpower the small army that remained.
England, having heard of the planned invasion, met France’s fleet at Quiberon Bay. France incorrectly surmised that England would never fight in horrible winter winds and shallow waters. The French were wrong.
The battle lasted all night and when the sun rose, England had lost fifty men and France had lost 2,500 men.
While I have changed the location of the battle and the time of year by a few months, Phin and Mairi’s story is loosely based on these historical events.
Chapter One
Bloody hell but he was in a fine dilemma.
The stone floor was wet and hard and poking into his arse. The wall behind him was just as hard, just as wet, and just as uncomfortable.
He had no idea where he was. Most likely Newgate. First off, it smelled like Newgate—like the wretched odor of the Thames—and Newgate was where the worst offenders resided until their trial.
He also had no idea how long he’d been here. Days, at least. No longer than a week. Maybe.
Time stood still when all you saw were the same four walls and food was sporadic at best.
He’d arrived in England after a long absence when he was arrested on his way to visit his family. At first he’d had no idea why he had been arrested.
Well, of course he had some idea. He was a pirate and he’d just returned from the Indian Ocean where he’d “acquired” a goodly amount of fine silks and spices and gold and made a very tidy profit off the sale of his plunder.
It’d been that last bloody ship he’d attacked that landed him here. How was he supposed to have known the ship was owned by the favorite cousin of the Duke of Farrington’s wife?
His fault. He should have been more careful. He shouldn’t have stopped in the pub for a drink. He should have gone straight home. He shouldn’t have been greedy and attacked that last ship.
Phin Lockwood, pirate-turned-prisoner, rested the back of his head against the wet, mossy wall and fought his rising panic. He couldn’t die like this. He refused to succumb shackled and beaten down.
The clanging of metal keys had his gaze going to the door, which remained locked except for once a day when food was tossed in. It was not feeding time, so that meant a change in the schedule and that did not bode well for him.
The screech of metal upon metal was near to deafening after the silence he’d endured. The door opened, more metal grinding against stone, and a guard appeared, sporting a wicked smile and evil little eyes. This was not the same guard that had served him since he’d arrived. Another reason that whatever was happening could not be beneficial to his health and well-being.
He had been denied food for so long that he was shaking with fatigue and hunger. And now very real fear.
“Come on now. ’E wants te see ye.”
Phin cocked a brow. “He?”
“The king, hisself. Hurry now. Can’t keep the king waiting.”
Phin pressed his back against the wall for support while he raised himself up. He had no idea why King George would want to see him.
He shuffled toward the open door, tasting freedom but unwilling to hope for it. Part of him believed he was taking that last long walk and so he said a silent goodbye to the family he would never see again and the friends who’d been good to him. He also sent up a silent prayer asking for forgiveness. It’d been ages since he’d actually prayed but he figured it couldn’t hurt now.
The guard cuffed him on the shoulder, causing him to stumble. He growled but there was no threat to it. He was too weak and he was unarmed.
He followed the guard through the dank halls and out into sunshine so bright, his eyes closed automatically. He was loaded into a carriage that resembled a large box with bars on it and transported to Kensington Palace.
Part of him truly believed he was walking to his execution, so he was surprised when they stopped at the palace. He was marched into a large, cold chamber to face a chair so ornate it could only be the king’s.
Voices echoed throughout the chamber, but Phin was too weary and too focused on staying upright to turn around to see who it was. So it was with great surprise that he found his friend, Sebastian Addison, the Earl of Claybrook, standing next to him.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
“Just follow along, mate, and we’ll get you out of here.”
“In truth?”
“In truth.”
Phin leaned forward and nodded to the man on the other side of Sebastian. Sir Colin Atwater. Interesting, his presence here. Atwater was in charge of the Office of Intelligence, better known to Phin as The Office. Atwater was also the man Sebastian reported to, which had Phin wondering just what the hell was going on here. Sebastian had been England’s premier spy before he went soft and wed Gabrielle, another of England’s spies. But Sebastian was retired now. Or as retired as one could get when in the spy business. Was he coming out of retirement, or was he using his influence to save Phin? Phin could only hope for the latter.
“His Majesty, the King.” The announcement of the king’s arrival stopped all conversation. King George II walked in and sat slouched in his chair appearing ten kinds of bored.
“Don’t fall down,” Sebastian whispered out of the side of his mouth.
“I’m trying not to.”
“State your business, Atwater. And this better be worth the interruption,” King George said.
Phin experienced a surge of annoyance. The king was irritated that he’d been interrupted? Surely Phin’s life was worth an interruption. However the king might think differently since Phin was nothing but an irritating pirate who had once sailed with the notorious Lady Anne, and who had been a burr in the side of a few English shipowners since then. Hence the fairly large bounty on his head and more than likely the reason he’d been residing in Newgate the past few days.
How in the bloody hell did Sebastian think he was going to get Phin out of this fine mess?
Atwater bowed to the king. Phin was never all that comfortable around Atwater. He was too quiet, too unassuming, and too interested in the goings on around him. In other words, he liked to lurk in the corners and watch. Bizarre, that.
“Your Majesty, we appreciate your audience. I am here to back up everything that Lord Claybrook is here to tell you.” He stepped back and motioned with a nod of his head to Sebastian.
“Your Majesty, I have asked for an audience in regards to Phin Lockwood, the gentleman on my right,” Sebastian said.
The ki
Phin suppressed a shudder at the word “seized.”
Sebastian cleared his throat. “He is, Your Majesty.”
The king sat back. “What business have you with a pirate, Addison?”
“As you know,” Sebastian said, “I’m still in pursuit of Grant McFadden.”
“Reprobate and traitor.” The king spat on the ground.
Phin had to suppress a smile. The king held no love for any Scotsman who fought for Bonny Prince Charlie, and Grant McFadden would definitely fall into that category. He was more of a burr in the side of the king than Phin had ever been.
“I feel that with Mr. Lockwood’s assistance I just might be able to capture said reprobate and traitor,” Sebastian said. “But Mr. Lockwood can’t help me if he’s residing in Newgate.”
King George turned narrowed eyes on Phin and studied him for long minutes. Phin tensed, every muscle screaming in agony from spending long days and nights on the cold, wet floor, from the beating he’d received before arriving at Newgate, and from the very real fear that the king would deny Sebastian this request.
“Lockwood. You’re the one who plundered Farrington’s cousin’s ship?”
“Something he would have never done if he’d known the ship was owned by someone so esteemed,” Sebastian said.
Phin stiffened at the lie, but Sebastian shot him a warning look.
The king huffed. “How might Lockwood help in capturing McFadden?”
“He has skills and contacts in the underworld that I don’t possess.”
Phin shot Sebastian a surprised look. What contacts in what underworld? All he knew were other sailors.
The king drummed his bejeweled fingers on the arm of his chair. His gaze slid to Atwater.
“I trust you, Atwater, so I must believe if you’re willing to back Addison then this must be true.” His gaze slid back to Sebastian. “You may have Lockwood.”
Phin’s relief was so great that his shoulders sagged and he feared he would fall over.
“However, if Lockwood does not bring McFadden to me then his life is forfeited.”
Phin snapped taut. He looked at the king in disbelief. His life was forfeited?
Bloody hell.
Sebastian bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty. He won’t disappoint you.”
Sebastian grabbed Phin’s arm and squeezed. Phin managed to bow without falling on his face, but just barely. He was reeling from the fact that in one moment he was free and the next a noose hung over his head. He was teased with the taste of freedom and he was damn angry about it.
Sebastian led the way out of the palace. Somewhere in the dark hallways they lost Atwater before stepping into the brightness of the day where Phin stood blinking. The carriages rolling past, the finely dressed people strolling the street seemed foreign to him after so long on the sea and then days locked in a small, airless room.
Sebastian tugged on his gloves and looked up the street. “That went well.”
“How in the bloody hell do you think that went well? How am I supposed to find Grant McFadden?”
“Your ship and crew are waiting for you. You’re to set sail for Scotland where you will encounter McFadden’s sister. Bring her to England. We will use her to flush her brother out.”
Phin blinked. His stomach growled and his knees shook with weakness. “If I fail, I lose my life,” he said.
“Yes. That’s unfortunate.” Sebastian frowned. “We’ll just have to see that you don’t fail then.”
Unfortunate? “Addison,” he growled.
“Let’s not worry about that just yet,” Sebastian said. “Our first order of business is to get you bathed and shaved. You’ll frighten the ladies.”
“I don’t give a damn about the ladies.” What was this nonsense about McFadden’s sister?
“Splendid. Because you don’t have time to worry about ladies right now. We need to get you to Scotland.”
Chapter Two
Mairi McFadden clutched the edge of the bed and swallowed the bile rising in her throat. The pirate ship swayed beneath her as seamen above called out to one another.
It wasn’t even moving, the ship. From the shore it looked to be placidly sitting atop the water, but that had been an illusion. The small waves caused it to gently rock. But even that small motion sent her stomach into rebellion.
This was something she had not anticipated when she made the ill-fated decision to stow away on Captain Phin’s ship, as she’d never set sail before.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. Calm on a ship full of pirates. What had she been thinking?
Above her a seaman laughed.
Nay, not a seaman. A pirate.
She peeled her fingers off the bed frame and curled them around the cold steel pistol while trying not to fall off the bed. Bunk. Isn’t that what sea-type people called their beds? Bunks?
Oh, what did it matter? She was in the bedchamber of the notorious pirate Phin, about to accost him with a pistol. Whether she was sitting on his bed or his bunk made no difference.
The ship dipped one way and swayed the other, causing the contents of her stomach to dip and sway with it.
She willed her stomach to quiet while she listened to the goings-on above her. There was much running about and shouting. Good-natured shouting. Lots of laughter. Some clanking. Every once in a while a deep voice rumbled through the wooden planks above her head and made her heart hammer quite harshly.
It was far too late to change her mind. She knew that. But it did not keep her from wanting to.
She sat ramrod straight and watched her muddied boots sway with the ship but that caused her stomach to roil even more. It’d been a long trek to reach this destination, and she was desperate to speak to Captain Phin. She hoped and prayed that the man who sent her in this direction had not led her wrong. “Find Captain Phin Lockwood,” he’d said. “He can help you locate your brother.”
She hoped so because Phin Lockwood was her last hope in saving her land and her heritage. And possibly her freedom.
To keep her mind from such morbid thoughts she looked about her.
The room was made of rough-hewn wooden planking—on the floors, the ceiling and the walls. There was nothing soft about it. No curtains at the large windows that overlooked the ocean behind them. No carpets to warm one’s feet in the winter. No soft-backed chairs with thick padding. There was a small table with a metal tankard on it, a lone chair, a desk in the corner, and placed upon it appeared to be sailing implements, but she would not know a sailing implement if it reared up and bit her on the nose.
There were no paintings of family members or even a beloved animal. Clothes were not tossed about. In fact, the place was immaculately kept.
And, of course, there was the bed she was sitting upon. Mayhap she should move to the chair. It wouldn’t do for Captain Phin to find her on his bed. That might give him ideas. Then again, she was in his bedchamber. And she had a pistol. He was definitely going to have some ideas.
Oh, what did any of it matter? She was just that desperate.
The sound of large, booted feet made its way toward Captain Phin’s cabin, interrupting her thoughts. The steps were heavy, methodical, steady, moving ever closer. Mairi sat up. Her palms grew moist and her heart thundered. This had to be him. Even his footsteps sounded authoritative.
She jumped up and wiped her free hand on her skirts, wincing at the protestation of her stomach. Transferring the pistol, she wiped off her other hand, then raised the pistol with both hands, sighting down the barrel as her da taught her to do.
The door creaked open and Captain Phin stepped in. All six foot plus of him. He had to duck to clear the doorway and when he straightened, the top of his blond head nearly touched the ceiling.
He locked stormy gray eyes on her. He was wearing a dark blue waistcoat with gold epaulets at the shoulders and absolutely nothing beneath it except a very large expanse of sun-browned skin.
Oh my. She had to remind herself to breathe.
His breeches were tan in color and so tight she saw every muscle in his thighs ripple. Rugged, well-worn boots reached his knees.
Mairi tore her astonished gaze from his body to his face. This was not what she expected when she pictured Captain Phin Lockwood. She’d imagined an older man, face creased by years on the ocean. Bowlegged, bent at the shoulders, a dry voice and rheumy eyes.
