A Pirate's Wife for Me (9 page)

"I'm confused." Although Cate did not look so much confused as accusatory. "You said Sir Davies sold you to the pirates. If that is true, why would he report them to the English and ask for help in eliminating them?"

"So that when they returned," he said, "the English would sink them, they would die in battle, and no one alive would remember what happened to
me."

"That's diabolical." Cate stood quietly, her brow knit. Then,
"Who
did you say you are?"

"He's my son, the son of a very wealthy, influential family," Sibeol said.

"I know that. My brother took in noble young men to train, and from the way the other boys followed Taran, I knew he was used to leading." Cate examined him as if seeing him once more for the first time. "But for Sir Davies to be so afraid of his influence that he would use him so vilely!"

"Sir Davies
is
vile." Sibeol's eyes grew flinty. "He is an assassin of lives and reputations. He has destroyed my family, my country, all that I love. Should you go on this mission, I would ask you to be very careful of him."

Impressed by Sibeol's vehemence, Cate nodded.

As Taran expected, she believed Sibeol to be incapable of deceit. Sibeol had that effect on people. And, of course, Sibeol wasn't lying. She simply wasn't telling the whole truth.

Taran said, "The English are, in their own charming way, naïve in many ways. For years, I've been watching Davies from a distance. He has been wandering into England, buying his way into rich and noble homes with his money and his phony title, and gathering any information that will weaken the British cause abroad. He sells that information. He is responsible for numerous English and Scottish deaths in both battle and in espionage."

Cate's eyes developed the glaze of tears. "I know. Believe me, I know."

Apparently she had the good sense to be frightened — how else to explain her quivering lips? — so Taran bent his most serious gaze upon her. "Now he moves in different circles. He travels abroad for reasons unknown."

"What is your speculation?" Cate asked.

He waved away her query. "Speculation is useless. We need facts, and that is what we seek in Cenorina. Yet if Davies or his mercenaries discover you are a spy — if they have the slightest misgiving about your performance — they will torture you until you blurt out every bit of this plan, and when you are of no further use to them, they'll kill you."

Cate said, "I would think they have trouble keeping help."

How odd and almost funny she was, as if the existence of such evil was nothing new to her. But she was a sheltered young woman — or she had been.

"Your family will never know what happened to you," Taran said.

"Then like Caesar's wife," Cate said, "I must be above suspicion."

Why had he imagined he could terrify Cate? Long before he appeared in her life, she'd earned the reputation of a girl who would take any challenge. After he arrived in Scotland, she had learned the gentle art of flirting for the sole purpose of seducing him. Now, nine years later, she was a spy. She would always go after her objective, and if she didn't succeed, if everything didn't turn out as she planned, she would make another plan. She was fearless and far too forthright to play the game with the guile that it called for.

"Tell me one thing," Cate said, "when Davies took power, was all law abandoned?"

"He brought in foreign mercenaries to control the population. For the most part, the aristocrats fled. Many of the villages disappeared altogether. At this moment, Davies is making a tour of the Mediterranean countries, using his position to gain entry into the homes of wealthy aristocrats, generals and
nouveau riche
. We don't want him in Cenorina when we're searching for proof of his wrongdoing, but we want him trapped when the time comes to arrest him."

Cate tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. "I don't completely understand. Does Sir Maddox Davies have any inkling the English are on to him?"

"No," Taran said.

"But if he believes the English have discovered he's a spy and a traitor, isn't it more likely he'll escape to France, or Italy, or Russia? Somewhere where England has no influence, nor are they likely to have?" She watched Taran intently.

"During his sojourn as governor, Davies has been mining Cenorina for every bit of wealth. He is a very greedy, very expensive person." Davies's greed had gutted Taran's nation. For that reason alone, he would destroy his former tutor. "Cenorina has been Davies's sanctuary – and the greatest part of his money and the belongings he has acquired remain on Cenorina."

Cate chuckled. "How delightful. He must return to collect his wealth. So in my capacity as housekeeper, I'm to look over every bit of his home and discover where he hides his secret documents."

"And his wealth," Taran said. "For the royal family to regain their influence, they must be able to restore Cenorina to prosperity. What better way to do that than to use the fortune Davies stole from the Cenorinian people?"

Taran could see Cate's mind working. "The timing seems delicate."

"Yes."
Yes
. Taran had waited years for this moment. He had plotted every possibility. And one of the possibilities that existed was the chance that the housekeeper would be trapped if Davies arrived too soon. He'd been sanguine about the possibility before. After all, the housekeeper knew the risks she took.

But he hadn't known the housekeeper would be Cate.

"What means will Throckmorton use to send Sir Davies scuttling back to Cenorina?" she asked.

"I do not know," Taran said. "I can only hope it is painful."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sir Maddox Davies woke to a blast
of Italian sunshine as the maid drew back the curtains and in execrable English, said, "Rise, you scum of an Englishman! The count has ordered his coach will take you to your next place of staying."

Maddox rose onto his elbow, protecting his eyes with his hand, and squinted at the maid.

She wasn't the pretty little thing who had sneaked in every day for the last week to offer him tea, assemble his clothing, and ride him for the price of one gold coin.

This was a coarse, earthy woman with big hands and broad shoulders. He had no desire to be ridden by her. He sank back onto the bed. "It's early. Shut the curtains."

"No." She cracked her knuckles. "The count says
now."

Hm. Last night, Maddox may have indulged in too much of the fine Tuscan red wine and been a tad too friendly with the countess. But how was he supposed to know what was too friendly? The woman had been flirting with him from behind her fan. But perhaps wrestling with her in the corner had been against some rule of Italian culture. Foreigners were free with their escapades. He never could tell what was going to set them off…

"Now!" The maid advanced on the bed and stripped off the blankets. "Now!"

In horror, he tried to cover his morning erection with his hands.

She snorted derisively and made a gesture that gave him to understand she considered him a lesser man. "Skinny," she muttered. "Freak. Upstart." With too much vigor, she started throwing his belongings into his trunk.

He didn't chide her. The woman looked rough, like she could knock him out the window onto the piazza below and dust her fingers after a job well done.

Upstart. Parvenu. Vulgarian.

Bastard
. That was what his noble grandfather had always called him.

In deference to the spinning room, Maddox rose slowly, groped his way to the cupboard, got out his clothes and went into the dressing room. A man of his stature should have a valet. But a man involved with his kind of commerce trusted no servant. When he appeared, properly attired, the ugly maid said, "You! Leave!"

He followed her through the empty, echoing rooms and out into that damned bright Italian sunlight. His trunk was attached to the coach. A footman held the door.

Maddox climbed the steps. When he was balanced with one leg inside, the maid put a hand in his back and pushed. When he fell forward, she shut the door. The driver whipped up the horses. Maddox crawled onto the seat and braced himself as the coach careened around the corners, taking him away from the villa and toward the seacoast.

Sometimes his departures were precipitous. But no matter how disgruntled the Tuscan count might be, he would not actually harm him, for Maddox held something the count wanted very badly, and that … was Cenorina.

Maddox coolly smiled and relaxed into the luxury of the velvet seat.

He was selling Cenorina. Selling it as a base to spy on and attack England, to interrupt established trading routes, to establish a petty régime where any man could be king. Or woman, if she had the money and the ambition. Every despot in Europe vied for the chance to own his own country. The wealthy and the discontented fought for the chance even to bid.

Maddox flexed his hands. And he held them all by the balls.

Genius. He was a genius.

The count's coach stopped at the inn where, three days hence, Maddox would meet with Mrs. Abigail Cabera. The footmen tossed him and his bags on the doorstep, and the coach left before he had even dusted himself off. He obtained the finest chamber in the inn, then concentrated on enjoying the warm afternoons and cool evenings in the tiny town overlooking the sea. He ate well-prepared foods and drank good wines, and was pleasantly surprised when Mrs. Cabera appeared a day early, dressed in an attractive gown and twirling a parasol.

When she spotted him seated at a table in front of the tiny local
ristorante
, she startled him by smiling. Hurrying over, she offered her hand. "What a delightful surprise!" she said. "I didn't yet expect you."

He stood and bowed over her glove. "My mission is completed, and I grow bored with Tuscany," he said. "Please. Take a seat."

Mrs. Cabera lowered her voice. "My mission is completed, also."

"So you have something for me in your bag?"

"I do indeed." She smiled again, and slid her hand along her neckline.

He blinked. Mrs. Cabera was Spanish, the well-to-do widow of a Cenorina tradesman. When the aristocrats had fled and businesses failed, she had been left destitute. Two years ago, when he had conceived his plan to sell Cenorina and realized he needed an employee to visit potential buyers on the continent, he had approached her to work for him, for like him she spoke Italian, French and English, and she could also make herself understood in German. In addition, she understood bookkeeping and would never allow herself to be cheated by a crafty or bullying patrician.

A ruthlessly practical woman, she had accepted his offer, and because she was a mature and handsome woman, he assumed he would also have bed privileges. She informed him she would do whatever he required of her in the way of underhanded dealing, spying, and passing information, and never betray him. But she would as soon sleep with a poxed pig.

He had tested her allegiance, and as long as he paid her without quibble, she was completely loyal … and absolutely uninterested in him as a man.

Now she smiled, her rich red lips curving upward, her dark lashes fluttering. "I don't know what I'm going to do. The inn is full. It has no rooms."

"That is miserable luck," he said. "Perhaps one of the farmhouses will rent out a room."

She put her hand over his. "I was hoping to share."

"With who?"

"With you."

He prided himself on being a gambler, a man with a cool brain and the ability to weigh the odds. If he had a weakness, it was his ready response to the female form. But Mrs. Cabera's curious behavior put him on his guard. "Share? What is your intention?"

She wet her lips with a slow, sensuous slide of her tongue. "That we …
share."

He could think of only one reason why, after so long, she would be making up to him. "Did you lose the money?"

She drew back, affronted. "Lose the money? Sir! I have not! It is in the purse attached to my waist beneath my skirt. I will retrieve it for you. Right now, if you wish." She rose.

Now he put his hand over hers. "You have never wanted to share a room with me before."

She waved a hand at the view. "Never before have I been inspired by such magnificence. The sunshine. The food. The wine. And you are looking … very healthy. Very strong. It is all … warming."

Despite his suspicions, his cock stirred.

She said, "And in Italy, you are different. Less careworn from your duties as governor."

Now his vanity stirred, as well. "The populace does not appreciate it, but I do work hard to rule Cenorina."

She veiled her eyes. "Here, in these balmy lands, I can almost see the burdens lifting from your broad shoulders."

"Yes." He gestured widely. "I think when this is over, I shall buy a villa somewhere close."

"The air would do you good." She looked up again, her eyes dewy with adoration. "But if you have changed your mind about your desire for me, we will conclude our business as usual and I will proceed to the next mission."