The Pirate Lord Read online

  ‘Julian.’ Her deprecating scowl relaxed into a smile. ‘Let’s not quarrel. You mustn’t worry about me. I’ve enough people to care for in my life, starting with you. Months from now you’ll cradle your first-born. I’ll devote myself to being a worthy aunt. Your child will not want for attention or affection.’

  Julian’s pensive stare gave her pause. ‘What is it?’

  He lifted a slow hand to her cheek. She tracked his gaze as it moved over her face, from her arched brows and long lashes to her deep chestnut hair framing an oval-shaped face.

  ‘So like our mother,’ he murmured, ‘yet as stubborn as Father.’

  Her fingers curled around the locket at her throat. Miniature portraits of their parents contained therein lent her strength and comfort in her darker hours. She smiled at Julian with all the warmth she could muster, hoping to mask the grief and loss residing permanently in her heart. He’d gone to great lengths to ensure her birthday be a joyous occasion. She was loath to let him see her feeling anything but happy.

  ‘Come, dear sister. You’ve strayed from your guests long enough.’ He pointed through the glass French doors. ‘There he is. The most eligible of the ton. Just look. Women of all ages swoon over him. But do you see? His eyes search the room for you, Elly.’

  She groaned inwardly. ‘Grant me five minutes solitude. Detain him until my return. I’ll dance with him again. Promise.’

  ‘Don’t be too long. You’ll catch a chill.’ He kissed her forehead and glanced about him. ‘I dare say this is the only place he’s yet to look for you.’

  Her brother slipped back inside the ballroom. Eloise settled her gaze on her ardent admirer, His Grace, the Duke of Arlington. Two years younger than Julian and of lesser height and build. Dressed in resplendent finery, he adjusted his powdered wig and habitually inspected manicured nails. Eloise possessed not the slightest romantic inclination towards him. Rather, she held a certain fondness for him, as if he, Gareth Fenton, were her second brother. More importantly, he had her eternal gratitude for saving Julian’s life.

  She would remain forever in his debt, though not to the point of marrying him. He deserved a good woman who would genuinely return his affections.

  Eloise was strolling back to her hiding spot when a movement to her left caused her head to turn in that direction.

  A man stood at the foot of the terrace steps. Their eyes met. It was not so much his presence that disturbed her, but rather his attire, illuminated well enough by the sconces placed intermittently up the balustrade.

  Knee-high boots, breeches and shirt melded into one stark splash of black. Ebony hair, neatly tied in a queue, fell past his collar. A wide, black satin mask concealed the upper portion of his features, leaving only the tip of his nose, mouth and jaw exposed. He glanced surreptitiously to his left, towards the gardens, then back at her, past her shoulder, and re-settled his gaze on her face.

  She called down to him. ‘Who are you? State your name and business!’

  He ignored her demand and began a purposeful ascent, stopping three steps below her. His eyes, hypnotic coal pools, filled her with a sense of foreboding. In spite of her adamant words, she thought herself mad to single-handedly confront the masked stranger.

  She stood her ground. ‘Who are you? This is a private celebration and you’re trespassing.’

  ‘My business is not your concern.’

  His clipped words and icy stare unsettled her. Conversely, a moment’s warmth infused her when she focused on his strong jaw and bronzed complexion. An indication of a life spent under the sun.

  Lips neither full nor thin drew her gaze. Her skin flushed hot with the direction of her thoughts. Even more so when she beheld his raw, provocative regard.

  Humiliation evoked anger, and with it a resurgence of her confidence. His stillness lessened his threatening guise, and already she’d tired of his masked charade. ‘I –’

  ‘Gather your skirts, about face and concern yourself only with the evening’s indoor amusements. Whatever the cause for celebration.’

  At the suppressed irritation in his tone, Eloise raised her chin. ‘I hear the voice of an educated gentleman. Nonetheless, you lack manners when addressing a lady.’

  His glare pinned her where she stood. With slow predatory steps, he moved to stand but a breath away.

  Eloise tensed. Her position at the top of the stairs, wedged between the rhododendron and the wall, lost all advantage, for it was he who now peered down his regal nose at her. Oddly enough, she experienced a perverse combination of fear and an inexplicable giddy awareness.

  ‘You’d do well to pretend you never saw me,’ he warned.

  Eloise tilted her chin a little higher. ‘And if I don’t?’

  His gaze held hers and suddenly dropped to her mouth. He raised a steady hand and, with his index finger, traced the outline of her lips.

  Eloise drew back and moved to sidestep him. He captured her left wrist. Despite her attempt to withdraw it, he refused to let go. Commanding her gaze, he leaned over and pressed his lips to the back of her gloved hand.

  His mouth lingered long enough for heat to penetrate the thin silk. Eloise retracted her hand the instant he released her. ‘Touch me again, and I’ll scream.’

  He flattened his palm on the wall beside her head and leaned in close. ‘And risk your reputation by being caught in the embrace of the Devil himself?’

  His taunt left her feeling ill at ease, and so she looked away. She flinched at the touch of his fingers beneath her chin, and submitted to the upward pressure forcing her to meet his intense dark eyes.

  Those same fingers followed the curve of her jaw, skimmed down her neck and brushed the skin at the base of her throat before closing around the locket. Eloise suffered an unfamiliar pleasurable sensation. Only when he removed his hand from her person did she realise she’d been holding her breath.

  His gaze shifted from the locket to her face. ‘A gift from a lover?’

  Her look of indignation said otherwise.

  The sounds of conversation interrupted them. In one fluid movement, he darted behind her, clamped his right hand over her mouth and pulled her hard against him.

  Eloise blinked. Her heart hammered within her ribs. If only she’d heeded his advice to go inside and forget she ever saw him. She could barely draw breath through her nose for the firm clasp of his hand over her mouth.

  Her spirits lifted when, through the foliage, she caught glimpses of two men walking towards the opposite end of the terrace. She recognised the voices of her brother and His Grace.

  Desperation seized her in a bid to scream for help, only to hear her pitiful attempt smothered behind her captor’s hand. The arm encircling her waist squeezed tighter. The hand covering her mouth increased its pressure.

  The man at her back whispered a curt warning in her ear. ‘Listen, and listen well, my lady. I don’t wish to harm you, but if you try that again …’ His left hand slid up over her ribs to shamelessly cup her breast. ‘Understand?’

  The impact of his words and actions had the desired effect on Eloise. She answered him with a stiff nod. Rose-scented evening air faded beneath the aroma of leather and horses. Heat from his offending hand permeated the material covering her breast. The shocking thrill of his bold tactics, together with the feel of his body moulded to hers, forced her compliance.

  To her relief, his hand lowered to reclaim her waist. He slightly relaxed the other over her mouth. When she heard her brother’s voice, she willed him in her direction.

  ‘I’ve already searched the terrace,’ he declared. ‘She has to be somewhere inside the house. Come.’

  All hope of rescue was dashed. Eloise berated herself for asking Julian to leave her, to dismiss the duke’s over-zealous attentions until she was ready to seek him out.

  Her hopes lifted again when His Grace stayed put. ‘Since we have the opportunity for a quiet word, tell me something, Shafford. These men you’ve hired to deal with your … er … problem, are they
trustworthy?’

  ‘They ought to be. They come with the highest recommendation. I’ll be damned if I will allow another of the thoroughbreds to disappear right beneath my nose.’

  ‘Quite right. You’ve hired how many?’

  ‘Five men. They’re travelling from London and will arrive in a few days.’

  ‘Splendid. I hope they soon catch the wretched thief. Should you require my help, let me know.’

  ‘Thank you. For now we must find a certain young lady.’

  Eloise’s heart plummeted as the men disappeared inside the ballroom. Her eyes closed in bitter disappointment. The stranger’s brusque voice sliced into her silent prayers for deliverance.

  ‘When I remove my hand from your mouth, do not cry out.’

  His warm breath whispered across her cheek. Slowly, he removed his hand and turned her to face him. Despite her fear, she snapped, ‘What do you want?’

  ‘What makes you think I want something?’

  The muted level of his tone schooled hers. ‘Come now. Do you think me a fool? You camouflage yourself against the black of night and your masked appearance suggests you hide in order to seek. What is the purpose of such behaviour?’

  ‘Despite your interference in my personal affairs …’ His eyes shifted in the direction of the ballroom, tension invested in his rigid stance. ‘I’ve seen and heard all I require for tonight.’

  Eloise blanched at the sudden loathing in the stranger’s eyes and voice. What did this man know of the theft of bloodstock from Blakely stables? Did he act as a spy to thwart Julian’s plans to prevent further thieving attempts?

  Understanding dawned. She accused him. ‘You. You thief!’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  She dismissed his guiltless conduct. ‘It’s you who’s been stealing the horses.’

  He suppressed a burst of laughter. ‘I’ve been called many things, my lady, but horse thief is an insult to my talents.’

  Exasperated, Eloise attempted escape only to feel his arms lock around her. Angered, she hissed, ‘Release –’

  His ireful gaze silenced her. ‘I, too, seek a thief.’

  Eloise summoned the courage to risk a terse reply. ‘Then you waste your time here. There is not one among us who even looks like a thief.’

  ‘Looks can be deceiving,’ he said on a sour note.

  ‘Indeed.’

  He swept an imperious gaze over the quickened rise and fall of her breasts, before looking into her eyes. ‘Should we meet again, you’d best heed my caution and do as I ask. And … if … you … don’t?’

  To Eloise’s chagrin, he’d mimicked a question she’d asked of him. With each spoken word, he dipped his head a fraction and kissed her with a force as strong as his embrace. The jolt Eloise received surpassed the initial shock when first she’d seen his masked face.

  From one heartbeat to the next he eased the pressure. His powerful frame softened about hers as though he cradled a newborn close to his skin.

  His lips gentled, employing an unexpected and stirring tenderness. Breathless, she experienced panic of a sensual nature, bordering on an improper, eager anticipation. A master of his game, his lips soothed her fears and any attempt to resist him. She succumbed to his touch. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she relaxed her body into his.

  Never had a man held her like this, and though she’d experienced a kiss before – or what she thought exemplified a kiss – it didn’t compare in the slightest to this rising tide of unfamiliar excitement.

  His lips feathered hers, becoming subtly persuasive, preparing her for more. Eloise shuddered in response and brazenly kissed him back, following his lead. When his lips firmed, she pressed against his; he tasted, she nibbled; he took, she gave.

  Never had she known such giddy side effects, and from a simple kiss no less. And yet it wasn’t so simple. She had no control over the pleasurable sensations tripping through her, nor did she have the slightest wish to restrain them. In truth, he thrilled her.

  He broke the kiss. Her heavy eyelids opened as though she were waking from a drugged sleep. His intense gaze bored into hers, as if he were patiently waiting until she’d refocused, certain she could stand without his support. He stepped back. With a courteous flourish he bowed and fled. It took her a few moments to understand what had transpired.

  Shame heated her cheeks. What had she done? What had she allowed him to do? Through her vulnerability he’d duped her, beguiled her with his lips to the point of her losing all sense of reality. With this accomplished, he’d guaranteed himself a safe and speedy escape.

  She could ill-afford to waste time on self-recrimination. What to do? Time was of the essence. An immediate search party must be dispensed. She should alert Julian to the thief’s intrusion. Doing so would waste precious time and abet his escape.

  But instinct compelled her to follow him. She bounded down the steps, cursing the voluminous skirts that hampered her speed. In her haste, her heel clipped the edge of the remaining step, sending her off-balance and tipping her backwards.

  Her loud shriek rent the air. Eloise flung out her arms to brace her fall, though she was too late to prevent the back of her head thudding against stone. She tried with great effort to resist the blackness stealing over her.

  Must follow … getting … away …

  She knew no more.

  Chapter Two

  Zach Fenton leaped onto his mount, which had been awaiting him in a cluster of poplar trees. The instant he snatched at the reins he heard a shrill cry.

  His head jerked in the direction from which he’d run, certain the woman on the terrace had raised the alarm concerning his presence. He’d left her seemingly satisfied, and safe, although the distress in her tone now said otherwise. Nonetheless, he felt duty-bound to retrace his steps to ensure her wellbeing.

  Mumbling a string of oaths, and warring with his logic, which was urging him to get the hell out of there, he vaulted off his horse and sprinted back to find her.

  Concealed behind a hedge, he observed a chaotic scene. Guests burst from the ballroom, spilling out onto the terrace, their faces awash with confusion. Shouts died into gasps of horror at the grim discovery of a woman’s body lying at the foot of the steps.

  Zach struggled to make sense of all the commotion. What had happened in those few minutes after he’d left the lady standing outside the ballroom? He cursed, realising she’d given chase. Fool. Her actions proved both irrational and courageous. What of the consequences? His stomach lurched with sickening dread.

  He strained to decipher the jumbled words and broken conversations and slumped on his haunches when he saw reassuring nods by those attending her.

  A search of the estate was imminent. He fled the scene, mounted his horse and galloped across the fields, satisfied that his rival had conveniently showed himself on the terrace. Sighting the man would suffice, for now.

  He gave thought to his encounter with the young woman on the terrace. Who was she to challenge him? He’d travelled far, crossing the Caribbean Sea and Atlantic Ocean. At Blakely House he’d bided his time, skulking in the gardens before venturing up the steps in search of his nemesis. He’d not seen her hiding in the shadows.

  She could have been his downfall.

  Her identity intrigued him. She’d behaved with authority, questioning him as if she were the lady of the house. This woman resembled no one he could recall.

  Forging through the night, Zach’s thoughts turned to vengeance, to his forced exile from England this past decade. Society with all its privileges remained something he’d once taken for granted. At last his days of living as a fugitive were numbered.

  Candle-lit windows came into view. His friend and ally anxiously awaited his return.

  As he slowed his mount to a steady canter, visions of the young woman came to mind. Questioning emerald eyes had shimmered with bravado and fear, her curvaceous form stiff until he’d plied his lips to hers, eliciting the desired response of willing surrender. It had b
een a gratifyingly pleasurable experience, yet just who had subjugated whom?

  Her wellbeing concerned him. He set his mind at ease. He’d stolen from her a kiss. In future, she might think twice before meddling in a man’s business.

  Viscount Derby poured two brandies and handed one to Zach. ‘Well then, don’t keep me in suspense. I’ve long been awaiting your return. What transpired this evening?’

  A portly man, Derby quaffed heartily from his glass then produced a neatly pressed handkerchief to pat his mouth dry. Although approaching fifty, his eyes were still keen as he appraised the younger man before him. ‘No doubt you saw him, eh?’

  Zach took a slow sip of the brandy, savouring the warmth it left in his throat. He pushed himself up from the high-backed chair to stand in front of the open fire. ‘Indeed I did.’

  But it wasn’t the bane of his past to flash before his eyes, rather the striking features of a certain fiery temptress. Sail the stars, she’s a piece! He shook his head to rid himself of her image and eyed the glass. ‘That’s a potent drop.’

  Derby laughed and reached for the crystal decanter. ‘Your brother was there? You saw him?’

  ‘Half brother.’ Zach refused the offer of a refill and placed the glass on the stone mantelshelf above the fire. ‘I saw him.’

  Derby settled himself into an armchair. ‘Where? How?’

  ‘On the terrace.’

  ‘Face to face?’

  ‘No need for alarm. I stayed well hidden.’ Sarcasm entered Zach’s tone. ‘His Grace ventured out onto the terrace.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘No. Shafford accompanied him. They were searching for a woman. Possibly the one I restrained in my arms at the time.’

  Derby choked on his brandy. ‘You don’t waste time, do you?’

  ‘I was there on business, not pleasure.’ Although, this last word had Zach recalling the moment he’d slanted his lips over hers. He’d thought to silence the woman for her sharp tongue, and for interfering with his well-laid plans.