The Pirate Lord
Authors: Sabrina Jeffries
SABRINA JEFFRIES
To Emily Toth, my favorite feminist,
and to my parents,
who taught me to stand up for my rights
Miss Sara Willis had known a great many awkward moments…
A week after Sara’s discussion with her stepbrother, she stood…
The tropical sun dusted the palm trees with its fading…
Until today Sara had found the voyage fairly uneventful. True,…
Gideon Horn paced the decks of the Satyr in a…
Captain Horn’s words rang in Sara’s ears as she hurried…
Sara was stunned into immobility. His lips, far too soft…
The sun edged down onto the horizon like a god’s…
Night had just fallen when Gideon emerged from his cabin…
Before the sun had fully risen the next morning, Sara…
The feel of Gideon’s fingers on her most private place…
“What do you think?” Sara asked Louisa, as they stood…
It took Sara only two hours of wandering the beaches…
Gideon didn’t know why he pulled away from her. He…
Crushing his hat in his hands, Petey hesitated outside the…
Taking a furtive glance around and seeing no one, Louisa…
Sara stood in the hold of the Satyr, taking stock…
It was several hours later when Sara finally ventured out…
Sara was dreaming. Gideon stood with her at an altar,…
Sara made it through the first week surprisingly well. During…
Gideon sat on a bench in his half-finished house, sanding…
“Another story, tell us another story!” the children chanted as…
By the time the men who’d gone hunting reached the…
Nearly a week had passed since Jordan and Sara had…
Jordan had been right, Sara thought as she looked through…
With a crisp snap, the Satyr’s snowy sails caught the…
The ballroom at the Dryden estate in Derbyshire was crammed…
How much it is to be regretted, that the British ladies should ever sit down contented to polish, when they are able to reform
….
—H
ANNAH
M
ORE
E
NGLISH WRITER AND PHILANTHROPIST
E
SSAYS ON
V
ARIOUS
S
UBJECTS…FOR
Y
OUNG
L
ADIES
London, January
1818
M
iss Sara Willis had known a great many awkward moments in her twenty-three years. There was the time as a seven-year-old when her mother had caught her filching biscuits from the grand kitchen at Blackmore Hall, or the time shortly afterward when she’d fallen into the fountain at her mother’s wedding to her stepfather, the late Earl of Blackmore. Then there was the ball last year when she’d unwittingly introduced the Duchess of Merrington to the duke’s mistress.
But none of those compared to this—being physically accosted by her stepbrother as she departed from Newgate Prison in the company of the Ladies’ Committee. Jordan Willis—the new Earl of Blackmore, Viscount Thornworth, and Baron Ashley—wasn’t the sort of man to mask his disapproval, as so many members of Parliament had learned to their detriment. And now he took
charge of her person with a shameless lack of propriety, propelling her toward the waiting Blackmore carriage as if she were the merest child.
She could hear the choked laughter of her friends as Jordan jerked open the door of the carriage and glowered at her.
“Into the carriage, Sara. Now.”
“Jordan, really, such dramatics are not neces—”
“Now!”
Swallowing her dismay and embarrassment, she climbed into the well-appointed carriage with as much dignity as she could muster. He followed her in, slammed the door, then threw himself onto the seat across from her with such force that the carriage rocked on its springs.
As he ordered the coachman to drive on, she cast an apologetic glance out the window toward her friends. She was supposed to join them at Mrs. Fry’s for tea, but they must realize that was impossible now.
“Deuce take it, Sara, stop making sad faces at your friends and look at me!”
Settling her slender frame against the damask cushions, she faced her stepbrother. She opened her mouth to chastise him for his untoward handling of her, then closed it when she saw the ominous furrowing of his brow. Though she was used to Jordan’s formidable temper, she didn’t at all like being the recipient of it. Most of London society joined her in that particular dislike, for Jordan was frightening indeed when he was angry.
“Tell me, Sara,” he bit out, “how do I look today?”
If he could ask a question like that, she thought, perhaps he wasn’t so very angry after all. Folding her hands in her lap, she surveyed him. His cravat was crookedly tied, most unusual for him. His auburn hair was in its natural unruly state, and his frock coat and trousers were rumpled. “Rather mussed, to be truthful. You need a shave, and your clothes are—”
“Do you know why I look this way? Do you have any
idea what brought me racing from the country without taking time to sleep or groom myself properly?” His scowl forced his dark auburn brows into a solid line of disapproval.
She tried to match it but failed miserably. Scowling wasn’t her forte. “You were eager for my company?” she ventured.
“It’s nothing to joke about,” he growled in that warning tone he used to cow the matrons at the marriage marts who attempted to introduce him to their daughters. “You know quite well why I’m here. And no matter how charming you make yourself, I won’t overlook this latest mad scheme of yours.”
Good heavens. He couldn’t possibly know, could he? “Wh-what mad scheme? The Ladies’ Committee and I were merely distributing baskets of food to the poor unfortunates at Newgate.”
“Don’t lie, Sara. You do it badly. You know quite well that’s not why you were at Newgate.” He crossed his arms over his snug-fitting frock coat, daring her to contradict him.
Did he know the truth? Or was he bluffing? It was always hard to tell with Jordan. Even when he was eleven and her mother had married his father and brought Sara to live at Blackmore Hall, Jordan had been completely inscrutable, especially when trying to worm something out of her.
Well, she could be just as uncommunicative. Crossing her arms over her chest to mimic him, she asked, “So why
was
I at Newgate, Mr. All-Knowing?”
No one could get away with mocking Jordan. The only reason he endured it from her was because he truly considered her his sister, despite the lack of blood between them. Still, judging from the glint in his brown eyes, she was trespassing farther than he liked on his goodwill.
“You were at Newgate meeting the women who are being transported to New South Wales on the convict
ship that leaves in three days, because you have some fool idea about sailing with them.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, “Don’t try to deny it. Hargraves told me everything.”
Oh, bother it all. The butler had told him? But Hargraves had always been loyal to her. What had made the wretch betray her confidence?
Feeling defeated, she slumped against the seat and stared out at the sky, which was thick as clotted cream with heavy fog and dew. They were traveling along Fleet Street now. Usually the grubby bustling of its ink-stained denizens cheered her, for it showed that someone at least was trying to make a difference in society. But nothing could cheer her now.
Jordan went on, his voice clipped. “When I received Hargraves’s letter, I left a great deal of unfinished work at Blackmore Hall so I could rush to London to talk some sense into you.”
“That’s the last time I trust Hargraves,” she muttered.
“Don’t be like that, Sara. I’ve told you before, while you may ignore the dangers you encounter with that Quaker woman Mrs. Fry and her Ladies’ Committee, the servants and I do not.” The note of concern in his voice grew more pronounced. “Even Hargraves, who approves of your reform efforts, is no fool. He recognizes how risky your new scheme is. He merely did his duty by telling me. If he hadn’t, I would have sacked him, and he knows it.”
She stared at her handsome stepbrother, whose auburn hair and chestnut eyes so resembled her own that people often mistook her for his real sister. Sometimes his attempts to protect her were endearing. Mostly, they were tedious. If not for his time-consuming duties as the new earl, she would never be able to engage in the pursuits she deemed more important than safety or propriety.
At her silence, Jordan added, “Look here, Sara, it isn’t that I disapprove of reform. I heartily applaud the ef
forts of the Ladies’ Committee. Without them, there would be more orphans in the street, more babies gone hungry—”
“More hapless women forced into virtual prostitution for daring to steal bread for their children.” She leaned forward, stirred by moral outrage. “These convict women are being sent to a foreign land for the slightest of offenses, merely because Australia needs more women.”
“I see,” he said dryly. “So you’re saying none of them deserves incarceration.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” she snapped. She thought of the women she’d met today. “I’ll admit that many are thieves and prostitutes…or worse. But at least half are women whose poverty compelled them to steal. You should hear their ‘heinous’ crimes—stealing old clothes to exchange them for meat or taking a shilling from the till. One woman was sentenced to transportation for stealing four cabbages from a field. Four cabbages, for goodness sakes! Why, a man would hardly have his hand slapped for such a crime!”
His expression grew solemn. “I know there are miscarriages of justice, moppet. But one must deal with those through Parliament and the passing of laws.”
He
would
call her “moppet” now. He only did that when he wished to soften her. “Parliament has relinquished its responsibility for transported convicts to the Navy Board, which is oblivious to what goes on.”
The cold dampness of the Blackmore carriage couldn’t compare to the bitter cold those women suffered at Newgate and would suffer on the voyage. And they would suffer worse things. Her voice hardened at the thought. “The minute those women enter the ships, the crew make advances to them. The ships become floating brothels. That is, until the women reach their destination, where they are handed over to even worse masters. Don’t you think that too harsh a punishment for a woman who stole milk for her baby?”
“Floating brothels. And telling me this is meant to convince me to let you travel in one of those hellholes?”
“Oh, the men won’t bother
me
, you understand. They only take advantage of the convict women because the women can’t fight back.”
“They won’t bother you,” he repeated with sarcasm. “If that isn’t the most naive, ridiculous—”
He broke off when she glared at him. “Sara, a convict ship is no place for a—”
“Reformer?” The carriage jolted as it hit a pothole. When it moved more smoothly again, she added, “I can think of no place that needs a reformer more.”
“And why the devil do you think your presence on that ship will change a deuced thing?”
She winced at his profanity. Unfortunately, this was no time to give him her usual lecture about it. “The grand lords of your Parliament have ignored the protests of the missionaries who accompany the ships. But they
won’t
ignore the sister of the Earl of Blackmore if she presents them with an honest account of the deplorable conditions, both on those ships and in Australia.”
“You’re right.” He leaned forward, bracing his gloved fists on his knees. “They won’t ignore you—
if
you go. But since there’s no chance in hell that I’ll let you—”
“You can’t stop me, you know. I’m old enough to go where I please, with or without your permission. Even if you lock me in my room, I shall simply find a way to escape—if not in time for this voyage, then in time for the next.”
Jordan looked so livid she feared he might ignite before her very eyes. Good heavens, he was volatile. Lord have mercy on the woman who married
him
.
“If you didn’t think I could stop you,” he bit out, “then why did you put this scheme into execution while I was away?”
“Because I wanted to avoid this discussion. Because I
care about you enough to dislike arguing with you, Jordan.”
He muttered a curse that could barely be heard over the rumbling of the carriage. “Then why don’t you care enough to stay here?”
She sighed. “Come now, Jordan, my absence may actually enhance your life. Won’t it be easier for you to run your estates if you don’t have me around to worry about?” The voyage to New South Wales took nearly six months each way, so she could be gone as long as a year.
“Don’t have you to worry about? What do you think I’ll be doing all that time?” He pounded his fist against the side of the carriage. “My God, Sara, ships go down! There are epidemics, and there’s always the possibility of mutiny—”
“Not to mention pirates. We’d certainly present a fine prize for
them
.” She suppressed a smile. He always did prepare for the worst, even when it was absurd.
“You find this very amusing, don’t you?” He ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it even more. “You have no sense of what you’re risking.”
“I do, truly I do. But sometimes one must face a little danger to do a great deal of good.”
A wistful look entered his eyes then. With a sigh, he shook his head. “You are very much Maude Gray’s daughter.”
Mention of her mother sobered her completely. “Yes, I am. And I’m proud of it, too.”
Her mother had fought hard for reform, starting on the day Sara’s father, a soldier out of work, had been cast into debtor’s prison. It had continued even after his death there. Indeed, Sara was convinced that her mother’s altruism was what had attracted the late Earl of Blackmore to her. Her mother had met the earl, a very progressive man, while soliciting his aid in getting members of the House of Lords to listen to her plan for prison reform. They’d fallen in love almost at once. Even
after marrying him, she’d stayed active in her reform work.
Until she’d died two years ago after a long and wrenching illness.
Tears came to Sara’s eyes, and she brushed them away, then dropped her fingers to stroke the etched silver of her mother’s locket, which she always wore.
“You miss her still.” Jordan’s soft comment broke the silence in the carriage.
“Not a day passes that I don’t think of her.”
The telltale tapping of his fingers on his knee showed how uncomfortable her depth of emotion made him. “I cared for your mother, too, you know. She treated me like a son at a time when…I was cynical about being mothered.”
Sara had always sensed there was something peculiar about Jordan’s relationship to his own mother, who’d died only a year before her mother had met and married his father. But Jordan and his father had always refused to speak of the first Lady Blackmore in any depth, and Sara had never pressed them.
“In any case,” Jordan hurried to add, “I miss your mother, too. And I honor her zeal for reform.”
“So did your father, if you’ll recall.”
“Yes, but even Father would have been against this. He would have said you should stay here and—”
“And do what? Feed the poor? Make occasional visits to the prison while dodging your matchmaking efforts?”
She regretted those last bitter words the minute she saw him flinch. She hadn’t wanted to upset him, not when she was leaving London in only a few days.
“My matchmaking efforts! What the devil do you mean?”
“I’m not an idiot, Jordan. I know why you insist that I attend those fashionable affairs.” Leaning forward, she clasped his hands, which felt stiff and cold even through the supple kid leather of his gloves. “You think if you
throw me at enough eligible bachelors, one of them will take pity on me and marry me.”
“Take pity on you!” He jerked his hands from hers with a sound of disgust. “How can you talk like that? You’re beautiful, intelligent, and witty. If you were to meet the right man—”
“The right man doesn’t exist. Can’t you get that through your thick head?”
“You’re still punishing me for Colonel Taylor. That’s what it is. You’re refusing all other men because I wouldn’t let you have that one.”
“Of course not! That was five years ago, for goodness sakes. And it’s not as if I couldn’t have had him if I’d wanted.” When he cast her a quizzical glance, she hesitated, torn between her pride and her need to make him understand her feelings. The latter won out. “I…I never told you this before, but do you remember the night you revealed all you knew to your father? The night he called me in and threatened to cut off my portion if I married the colonel?”