Once a Mistress (2 page)

“I disagree.” She raked his supine form with obvious pride. “You, sir, are bested.”

He rolled, toppling her to the ground. Pinning her under him, he immobilized her flailing limbs with ease. “Am I?”

“Release me at once.” She squirmed. “Sir, this is not the act of a gentleman.”

“Who said I was a gentleman? You are certainly no lady.” He grinned down at her. “Perhaps I acted precipitously in coming to your rescue.”

She glared at him. “You are no better than Lord Chilton.”

He stiffened, a chill entering his blood. “Had I been Chilton,” he breathed, “you would have found your skirts tossed some time ago and your maidenhead a mere memory.”

He released her and stood, holding out a hand. She took it, and he helped her to her feet. Then she pulled away and began to fuss with her gown.

As he watched her slender hands straighten her clothing, he tamped down his sexual urges and focused on the matter at hand.

“Please accept my apologies,” he said. “I did not intend for things to go so far.”

“Oh?” She brushed clinging soil from the back of her skirt with a vicious swipe of her hand. “And just what did you intend?”

“I need your help.”

“Do you?” She bent to examine a piece of torn lace hanging from the hem of her gown.

“I must get into the ballroom.”

She glanced up at him sharply. “Why?”

He hesitated. “I would rather not say. I thought that since I helped you out of a difficult situation—”

“You bounder!” She straightened so fast he expected to hear her spine snap. “You used me!”

A disavowal hovered on his lips, but she continued before he could express it.

“I thought you were being chivalrous…” She pressed her lips together, as if she had betrayed a confidence. “Is that the only reason you aided me? To make me so grateful that I would help you get into the house?”

“Of course not…”

“And what do you intend to do once you have gained entrance to my home? Steal the silver?”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, exasperated.

“I will bid you good evening, sir. And I will be sure to alert the servants that there is a trespasser on the grounds!” She spun away from him in a swath of upswept skirts and bouncing curls.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. His own temper simmered as he recalled how he had risked discovery to help her. His very life hung in the balance.

“You ungrateful wench,” he growled. “I just saved you from losing your virtue to that strutting popinjay, and this is how you thank me? What would you do if I had saved you from drowning, toss me overboard?”

“Do not be ridiculous.” She tugged at her arm. Unable to break his grip, she sent him a look of cold fury. “I would tie the anchor to your feet first.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That mouth of yours will get you into trouble.”

“Not as much trouble as you will have when I scream.”

As she opened her mouth to carry out her threat, Alex pulled her close and stopped the cry with a kiss.

The taste of her exploded through him, as exhilarating as standing barefoot on deck while a storm rocked his ship. He rediscovered the thrill of pitting his wits and his will against an impressive force of nature as he held this spirited young woman in his arms. With such a woman a man could be tempted to forsake even that most demanding of mistresses, the sea.

The idea so unsettled him that he jerked away from Diana as if she were the devil’s own daughter. She stared at him with eyes the color of storm clouds. A flush graced her cheeks, and her lips, moist from his kiss, parted.

He wanted her, but he could not have her. He retreated behind the rakish facade that had always served him well.

“Now that was surely a proper show of gratitude, my sweet,” he quipped. “But despite your lusty eagerness I must take my leave. Mayhap we will meet again.” He ignored the shock that swept across her features and sketched a mocking bow. It was better for both of them if he disappeared from her life. Turning away from her, he melted into the night.

Diana stared after him, straining to see some trace of him in the shadows. She found herself touching her lips with wondering fingers and snatched her hand away. She would tell her father about the intruder. And she would have the servants beat the bushes for him. With their muskets. Aye, and she would be gracious when they flushed him out like a frightened quail, and she would listen to his pleas for mercy.

She was, after all, a compassionate woman.

Lost in her fantasy, she wandered back into the ballroom. She smiled and greeted her way past the guests, inquiring after her father’s whereabouts. One of the servants mentioned that he had called for port to be served in the study. She left the ballroom and made her way to her father’s private sanctum.

As she approached the study, her steps slowed. Her ire faded to be replaced by chagrin. As angry as Alex had made her, he had helped her out of a dangerous situation. Did he really deserve to be shot for trespassing just because his mocking remarks had sparked her temper? After all, if he had intended to harm her, he could have done so while she lay helpless beneath him.

The memory of his kiss rose in her mind. His mouth had felt softer than she expected, and when his lips met hers she realized how truly dangerous he was. He was the type of man that a woman might beg to seduce her…

“Explain these documents to me at once!” Her father’s voice thundered through the hallway, jarring her from her musings.

“Really, Frederick, at times your actions are of such a common nature.” Chilton’s high-pitched tones brought a frown to her face. She thought the man would have taken his leave by now. Would she never be free of him? She edged closer to the door of the study, which stood open a crack.

The sound of rustling paper broke the silence. Then came Chilton’s deadly hiss. “Where did you get these?”

“You know where I got them,” her father answered. “Did you really expect to keep this from me?”

“You had no right!”

“I had every right!” Frederick Covington’s answering roar could have rattled the pictures hanging in the hall. “These documents, written in your own hand, are proof of your dealings with Marcus. You know Sir Henry Morgan as well as I, Chilton. What would our esteemed lieutenant-governor think of your activities?”

“Morgan is hardly a consideration.”

“Hardly a consideration!” Her father’s voice rang with incredulity. “The man has made it his personal mission to rid the Caribbean of piracy. Every plundering wretch in the area has either turned himself in for pardon or taken himself into hiding for fear of Morgan’s wrath. And you say the man is hardly a consideration? You are either extremely arrogant, Chilton, or else you are a fool.”

“Who is the fool here, Frederick?” Chilton’s silky tone made Diana think of a snake slithering through the grass. “You and I are partners. Do you really believe that Morgan would consider you innocent in this matter?”

“He will,” came the immediate reply. “And had he not already left for the evening, I would prove it. I am known to be an honest man. My good name is my protection.” He paused. “A pity you cannot say the same.”

“I give no credence to the ranting of a low-born wretch such as yourself, Frederick. You are not fit to utter the Markham name.”

Half a breath from flinging open the door in defense of her sire, Diana froze when he spoke for himself.

“I may be a ‘low-born’ wretch, Chilton, but my daughter is not. As you are well aware, my late wife was the daughter of a Scottish nobleman. Diana inherited great wealth through her in addition to the substantial dowry I intend to bestow upon her. However, a man who associates with the likes of Marcus would not do as a husband for Diana. Kindly do not press your suit again.”

Chilton spluttered in response, but Diana lost interest in the conversation. One thought blazed across her mind and brought a wide smile to her lips. Chilton would no longer bother her.

She started back to the ballroom, so happy she wanted to dance. Chilton could no longer offer for her. Frederick Covington did not tolerate dishonesty, and if Chilton were indeed linked to the pirate Marcus, then he certainly lacked scruples.

Her father’s sterling reputation could withstand a little tarnishing. But the Markham name had been sullied when Chilton’s father committed suicide after gambling away the family fortune. Only Frederick’s belief that the son should not pay for the sins of the father made him take on Chilton as a partner.

She entered the ballroom. The blaze of lights and lilting music raised her spirits higher. Once her father reported Chilton’s activities to Sir Henry Morgan, the persistent nobleman would be punished for his crimes. He would no longer seek her as his bride, and her father would be lauded as the hero who exposed the villain.

Satisfied that her unwanted suitor would plague her no longer, Diana tried to lose herself in the dancing. But beyond the garden doors the night beckoned, seducing her with the memory of a dark stranger’s kiss.

Chapter Two

Moonlight slanted into the unlit room and fell across the paper-strewn desk. A figure slipped through the window, head and shoulders briefly gilded by the silvery light. Wraith-like, he melted into the darkness of the study.

The ominous snick of a pistol hammer echoed like thunder in the quiet room.

“Hold, lest I splatter the wall with your ballocks.” The menacing words came from a man sitting near the desk. He gestured with the pistol, pale light playing along the gold-and-ivory inlay of the weapon. “Come over here where I can see you.”

The intruder stepped into the shaft of moonlight, white teeth flashing in a grin. “Is this how you greet your friends, Morgan?”

“Blast it, Rothstone!” Sir Henry Morgan uncocked the pistol and shoved it into his belt. “How do you expect me to react when someone sneaks into my house? I heard you tramping through my shrubbery and thought ‘twas a bloody thief.”

“I meant for you to hear my approach. I had no wish to be skewered before you realized my identity.”

“You were almost gelded, my boy.” With a chuckle, Morgan reached over to light a nearby taper. The soft glow of the candle accented the lines that hard living had etched in his face. “Sit down, lad, and tell me what you are doing here. I thought you to be at sea.”

“I was.” Alex took a chair opposite Morgan’s massive desk. “But I discovered something that I wanted to bring to your attention at once.”

“Indeed.” Morgan raised his eyebrows. “It must be urgent if you risked your neck sneaking on to my private estate. I’m surprised my men didn’t shoot you.”

Alex gave a quick grin. “One must first see a target before one can fire upon it.”

“Ha! And you move like the wind when you have a mind to. Now what is this news of yours? I assume it concerns Marcus.”

“Aye.” Coldness settled over Alex at the mention of the name. “Our elusive quarry does not work alone.”

“What?” Morgan sat bolt upright. “Someone is helping that blackguard?”

“Chilton.” Alex spat the name.

Morgan settled back in his chair, his sun-browned face growing contemplative. “I would not credit that simpering peacock with so dastardly a scheme.”

“That simpering peacock has a black heart.”

“Chilton and Frederick Covington own Fleetwood Shipping. Do you suppose Covington is part of the conspiracy?”

“I do not know the man. My sources only indicate Chilton as the villain. But that does not mean Covington is not involved. Mayhap he is simply more clever than Chilton.”

“Not a difficult thing, that.”

“Agreed.”

Morgan toyed with the tufted end of his mustache. “Things would not go well for Diana, should her father be hanged for piracy.”

The name caught Alex’s attention. “Diana?”

“Aye, Diana Covington. Frederick’s daughter.” A lusty gleam shone in the ex-buccaneer’s eye. “Would that I were a score of years younger, my boy. That woman has a rare combination of beauty and spirit, and she is an heiress to boot. That red hair hints at passion that would burn a man alive.”

“Indeed.”

Morgan gave him a sharp look, then chuckled. “So, you have met her, have you?”

“Aye.”

The curt answer seemed to amuse Morgan even more. “So, she did not fall prey to that handsome face of yours, eh, Rothstone? If your interest lies in that direction, you had best batten down for stormy seas ahead.”

“My interest lies with Marcus.” Avoiding Morgan’s keen gaze, Alex studied the intricate carving on the arm of his chair.
 

“A man can have more than one interest.” Morgan stood and went to the sideboard. “Wine?”

“Aye.” Alex watched the lieutenant-governor splash the liquid into a pair of crystal goblets. “As I said, my only interest is to see Marcus dead.”

As Morgan handed him the glass of wine, he gave Alex the look that had once made men cower before the deadliest buccaneer in the Caribbean. “Our agreement was that you capture Marcus, Rothstone. You are not to be his executioner. Marcus will stand trial for piracy and be hanged from the public gibbet like the rest of his brethren. You are to bring him back to Port Royal
alive
.”

Alex flexed his free hand on the arm of the chair. “What you ask is difficult.”

“We have an agreement.” Morgan swirled his wine. “Marcus will be an example to all the lawless sea dogs in the Caribbean. Either they cease their thieving ways and come before me for pardon, or I will see their bones clacking in the wind.”

“Marcus is different from the rest of them.” Swallowing half his wine in one gulp, Alex stood. He paced the room, his fingers clenched so tightly around the delicate crystal that he expected it to shatter from the sheer force of his raging emotions.

“Easy, lad.” He looked up to see Morgan watching him with concern. “I know ‘tis difficult to resist temptation, but you must let justice prevail. At least you will have the satisfaction of watching him dance at the end of a rope.”

“He killed my brother,” Alex snarled. He flung the goblet at the wall. It shattered, scattering shards of crystal across the floor. Stunned by his own explosion of temper, he watched reddish-brown wine drip down the costly wallpaper like rivulets of blood.