The Pirate Lord Read online

  About the Book

  A family tragedy steeped in deceit and betrayal saw Lady Eloise Blakely vow never to fall victim to a man’s charms, let alone invite him into her bed. Until fate swept her aboard a pirate’s ship and into its captain’s embrace.

  Yet when he reveals a dark secret, her lover becomes her enemy …

  Ten years ago, Miles Zachary Fenton was framed for murder. For so long he has fought to clear his name and reclaim his dukedom. Now, when both appear to be just within reach, he is forced to abduct a meddling beauty, one who wreaks havoc with his emotions and complicates his plans …

  Can love for his beautiful, aristocratic captive rescue Miles from his lust for revenge?

  ‘A sizzling debut from a talented new writer. Powerful emotion and delicious sensuality … Vanda Vadas is a captivating new voice in historical romance.’ Christina Brooke, author of The Ministry of Marriage series.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  More at Random Romance

  Eliza’s Home

  The Contract

  Copyright Notice

  Loved the Book?

  To Bryan, Skye, and Rhys. So much love.

  And to Mum, with love.

  Prologue

  England 1734

  A child’s scream shook the household from slumber.

  Lord Shafford burst into his daughter’s bedchamber. ‘Eloise?’

  She stood at the window, her forehead and palms pressed against the glass pane. Tangled chestnut hair spilled over her shoulders and down the back of her nightgown.

  Her head turned towards the open door. Large, fear-filled eyes pleaded with him. ‘Don’t let him die, Father. Please don’t let him die!’

  He rushed forwards with open arms. ‘Who, child?’

  She looked back through the window and slapped her palms against the cold glass. ‘Cinnamon.’

  Lord Shafford followed the direction of her gaze. ‘Good God!’

  He fled the room and raised the alarm. ‘Fire! The stables are on fire!’

  His bellowed directives reached every corner of the west wing, sending servants fleeing to spread the word and assist in dousing the flames.

  Ever her father’s shadow, Eloise instinctively turned on her toes and followed him. She sprinted down the bedroom corridor, her hair flicked up as if a sudden gust of wind had blown it off her shoulders. Before she took flight down the spiralling staircase, a large hand grasped her upper arm and pulled her hard against a tall, youthful wall of strength. She didn’t need to guess who stood there.

  ‘Let me go, Julian! I must help put out the fire.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing, little sister.’

  ‘But my pony!’

  ‘No, Elly.’ He spun her around, knelt before her, and challenged her wilful stare. ‘A fire is no place for a child. Go back to your room and stay there. Now.’

  She stomped her foot, fists clenched. ‘No! And I’m not a child.’

  ‘Damn your stubborn nature.’ He threw her over his shoulder, strode to her room and set her down. When he saw the nanny hasten towards them he ordered, ‘Maisy, Eloise must stay in her bedchamber. Do not let her out under any circumstance.’

  The nanny closed the door behind him to prevent her young charge from leaving the room. Eloise rushed back to the window. The blaze grew brighter.

  Her nanny joined her, unlocked the window and pushed it wide. Ash peppered the brisk, pre-dawn air. It reeked of smoke. Pandemonium unfolded in the courtyard below, and distressed shouts could be heard. The servants had formed a human chain, sending pails of water towards the fire, and empty pails back down the line.

  With the nanny distracted, Eloise inched her way back from the window. On silent, bare feet, she escaped outside.

  Into a nightmare.

  Servants moved with a sense of purpose. The stench of burning horseflesh and thick acrid smoke flayed her senses. Timbers creaked, popped and crashed to the ground, scattering projectiles of red-hot lumber.

  She could hear the sickening high-pitched neighs of her father’s trapped thoroughbreds, the desperate thud of hooves kicking against their stalls, then the clacking of hooves over cobbles as a bloodied horse bolted from the wreckage. Eloise watched in horror as it stopped. For one moment its eyes widened in recognition of her, then it circled on the spot, disoriented, and collapsed. Its hind legs spasmed. Its blood-curdling scream chilled her to the bone. She jumped as she heard the single gunshot to its head – an act of mercy by a quick-thinking stable hand.

  Shock set in. She stood immobile. Her lips quivered. Cinnamon.

  The disturbing, macabre scene triggered another terrifying realisation. Her gaze swung back to the burning stables. Guilt ripped through her fragile conscience. Her forearms lifted to shield her face from the heat of the fire. She lunged forwards. Her mother and the nanny appeared at her side, holding her in restraint. She hadn’t even noticed them until now. She struggled to be free. ‘Father!’

  Lady Shafford, terror-stricken, looked towards the stables, back at the nanny, then to her daughter. Eloise read a moment’s distress in her mother’s eyes, saw a flicker of tension in her expression, as if some urgent and weighty decision hung in the balance.

  Eloise pressed her cheek into her mother’s palm and received in return a kiss to her forehead.

  Lady Shafford smiled. ‘All will be well, my darling child. I love you.’

  In a heartbeat, comfort turned to horror as her mother stepped back, out of reach, and raced headlong into the stables, calling her husband’s name.

  Eloise screamed for her mother. The nanny cried after her mistress.

  At the southern end of the stables, double doors burst open and smacked against the outside walls. Clouds of smoke billowed forth. Two figures emerged, one dragging the other well clear of the raging inferno.

  On sighting the two men, Eloise sank her teeth into the nanny’s hand, freeing herself a second time. She ran and flung herself on the cobbled ground, vigorously shaking the lifeless form. ‘Julian! Julian! Wake up!’

  Sobbing, she looked from her brother to his friend. Gareth staggered on the spot. He stood doubled over at the waist, hands on his knees, coughing and spluttering from smoke inhalation.

  The nanny pounced, prying Eloise’s body off her brother. Others had arrived at the scene by now, and Eloise was forced to leave them to attend him. Hysteria incited her nanny’s outburst. ‘Run from me again, child, and for the first time in your life you’ll feel the sting of my hand on your backside!’

  Her scolding fell on deaf ears. Eloise stared at her brother’s body before looking to his rescuer. Her voice shook with dread. ‘Gareth?’

  He wiped his smarting eyes, lifted his arms, and beckoned her. The nanny released her weeping charge, who fell into Gareth’s embrace.

  ‘He’ll live,’ he wheezed. ‘Your brother will
live.’

  Her body sagged momentarily against his, before bunching his shirt-sleeves in her clenched fists.

  ‘Please …’ She looked back to the fire, pointing. ‘Mother and Fa–’ Emotion choked off the words.

  He turned his gaze towards the stables, then to the nanny, who nodded. An ear-splitting crash sent them all diving to the ground. A section of the stable roof collapsed, spewing burning cinders skyward.

  Eloise looked up to see a saddled, riderless horse galloping towards them. Still on the ground, Gareth dragged her beneath his body to protect her.

  She peeked out from under his arm. Fear of being trampled overwhelmed her. The horse stopped as suddenly as it had appeared, directly before them, and snorted. With her heart in her throat, Eloise lay helpless to do anything but watch the animal rear its mighty body over them.

  The horse whinnied, hooves thrashing the air. Its forelegs thudded back down to earth. It stamped its front right leg several times, reared once more and bolted in the direction of the fields behind the stables. Traumatised by the frenetic chaos surrounding her, Eloise slipped into unconsciousness.

  Hours later, she awoke to muffled conversation between servants outside her bedchamber.

  ‘It’s true! Last night, Lord Shafford and the duke’s son quarrelled.’

  ‘Which son?’

  ‘His eldest. Miles. It’s said he lit the fire in an act of revenge.’

  ‘For certain?’

  ‘Gareth tried to stop his brother but was too late. And it was Miles’s horse what near killed Gareth and the young miss.’

  ‘Poor lamb.’

  ‘They say Miles died in the fire with –’

  The servant clamped her mouth shut as Eloise pushed the bedchamber door wide.

  She rubbed sleepy eyes. Before she could open her mouth to speak, the servants scurried away in opposite directions.

  Left to wander the house in search of her family, Eloise found her brother in the library. He sat behind their father’s desk. Both elbows rested on the polished mahogany, supporting his bowed head.

  ‘Julian?’ She ran to him and scrambled up onto his lap. ‘I had the most frightful dream.’ Her frown gave way to a brilliant smile. ‘Where are Mother and Father? They promised to come wake me this morning.’

  Her gaze danced across his sombre face. ‘Have you forgotten? It’s my birthday today. I’m ten years old.’

  Still he didn’t speak, his gaze downcast. Her small hands cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. ‘What’s wrong?’

  He stared at her with watery red eyes, his face drawn. She thought he appeared older than his eighteen years.

  ‘Why do you look so sad?’ asked Eloise.

  Only then did she notice the unnatural smell in the air. Her hands dropped from his face. She raised her chin, sniffed, drew a deep breath. A healthy fire burned in the grate, yet something more sinister filled her lungs. She sat rigid in her brother’s arms at the sight of his tear-filled eyes.

  Her breathing laboured. Alarm set in. ‘Julian?’

  His arms tightened around her, drawing her close. As he spoke, sobs wracked her body. ‘Mother and Father are dead.’

  Chapter One

  England 1744

  Once again, the music commenced.

  Lady Eloise Blakely made a quick escape from the ballroom and onto the terrace, refusing to dance another step. At least, not until she’d revived her spirits with a breath of night air and sought a moment’s respite from her guests, their conversation and an overly eager suitor.

  A large potted rhododendron at one end of the terrace provided the perfect place to hide. Its foliage spread wide enough to conceal her teal silk skirt. She doubted guests would brave the cool spring evening.

  No sooner had she relaxed against the stone wall than she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Her breathing stilled. The footsteps stopped. She prayed he would not find her.

  ‘Your fragrance gives you away, Elly. It lingers.’

  Air whooshed from her lungs. She stepped out from behind the rhododendron. ‘Julian! What a relief. I thought it was –’

  ‘I know, sister.’ He looked amused.

  She feigned displeasure. ‘You enjoy teasing me.’

  ‘Would it be so bad if he’d found you first?’

  ‘Yes.’

  His grin gave way to laughter. ‘Come here.’

  She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, thinking her brother cut a handsome figure in his white satin coat with gold trimmings. Tight-fitting breeches defined the masculine physique of his twenty-eight years.

  They strolled to the edge of the terrace. Her gaze turned to the manicured gardens below. Flaming sconces illuminated the rose garden, giving it the appearance of a night-time floral wonderland.

  She gave him a brilliant smile. ‘You’ve outdone yourself tonight, and in my honour. Thank you.’

  ‘For you, anything.’

  ‘I’m enjoying a wonderful evening.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you hope to convince me, or yourself?’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘A wonderful evening, you say? Hah!’ He nodded towards the potted plant. ‘Then what were you doing hiding over there?’

  She steadied a faltering smile. ‘I needed but a moment’s peace, that’s all.’

  ‘From what?’

  She sent him a look. ‘Not what. Whom. You know very well to whom I refer.’

  He nodded, conceding the point. ‘Yes. Although that’s not what’s troubling you, is it? You might have your guests fooled, but not me.’

  She offered no reply.

  ‘Elly, birthdays are supposed to be happy occasions.’ He placed a hand beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. ‘Especially when the birthday is yours.’

  ‘If anyone understands the reason for my mood, it’s you.’ She managed a smile, if only a half-hearted one. ‘Don’t think me ungrateful. I appreciate all you’ve organised this night. And yet …’

  ‘I’m waiting.’

  Eloise sighed, her melancholy gaze shifting from the frivolities inside the ballroom, to the inky blackness beyond the gardens. ‘How can I celebrate my birthday when …’ She swallowed. ‘… when my birthday is synonymous with tragedy?’

  Her eyes beseeched his. ‘I can’t forget, Julian. This day of all days, I celebrate one thing and mourn another. I shall never forget.’

  ‘No, not forget. But you’ve grieved long enough.’

  ‘I’ve upset you.’

  Julian shook his head.

  ‘I hear it in your voice. I see it in your face. Is your patience with me finally wearing thin?’

  He gathered her hands in his. ‘It’s time you accept the past. Our parents would not wish to see you live out your days as an unhappy spinster. It’s unhealthy. You must find something to occupy your life.’

  Astonished, she said, ‘I have. You know it. There are many interests that claim my attention. I’m not left idle for one minute.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Besides, what man wishes to be bested by a woman in target practice, be it with sword or firearms?’

  She laughed. ‘You taught me well.’

  He did not share her humour. ‘Then I fear I’ve done you a disservice. When you test your skills with a horse against a gentleman’s, you can hardly expect him to court you for fear of public ridicule at having lost to you.’

  ‘Then he’s no match for me in the first place.’

  ‘A man has his pride, Eloise.’

  She snatched her hands from his. ‘And I have mine! If a gentleman is intimidated by my … accomplishments –’

  ‘Which are unusual for a woman, you must admit.’

  ‘Nonetheless, I don’t see why –’

  ‘Elly, I’m only suggesting –’

  ‘That I marry, bear children, and devote my life to a husband.’

  Exasperation got the better of him. ‘Correct.’

  ‘Really! Julian. H
ow could I bring wifely joy to a man when I have no desire to do so?’

  ‘If you would allow it, there’s one man who craves your attention, your affection. He lives only for you. To make you happy.’

  ‘He could never make me happy,’ she scoffed.

  ‘Why not?’

  Her gloved hands gripped the balustrade. ‘You need ask?’

  ‘You could at least let him try.’

  She looked him in the eye. ‘The answer is simple. I don’t love him.’

  ‘You don’t have to love him.’

  Her jaw dropped. ‘You would be content knowing Catherine didn’t love you? Granted, her family is well connected, yet you would settle for being nothing more to her than wealth and station in society? That she married you solely for the title of Marchioness of Shafford?’

  He looked contemplative.

  She persisted. ‘I for one could not bear such a shallow existence. Miserable spinsterhood is more appealing than a loveless marriage. You and Catherine at least share the same bond as did our parents. Love. Don’t expect me to marry for convenience and a title.’

  ‘Becoming a duchess is not to be sneezed at. That aside, you seem determined not to love at all. So, if not for love then, yes, marry your admirer, if only for companionship and to secure your future. That is the way of things.’

  ‘I’ll not live a lie.’

  Julian set a hand to her shoulder. ‘Call me a hypocrite if you will, but perhaps in time –’

  She shrugged out of his hold. ‘Never! My mind is made up. You know where I stand on the subject of marriage and children. If I’m in any way a burden to you, I could reside with our aunt in Marseilles.’

  ‘And do what? Polish your French? No. You misunderstand me, Elly. I’ll not force your hand in marriage, nor do I wish you gone from Blakely House. What I want, what we all want, is to see you happy. Perhaps someday –’

 
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