Never Trust a Pirate (Scandal at the House of Russell 2)

It was strange. He was used to lust stirring his privates, anger making his head pound, laughter in his belly. But his feelings for the Maddy Rose were in between, somewhere in the area that a heart was supposed to reside.

He didn’t have one, of course. Oh, the thing still did its job, thumped obligingly in his chest, but he’d stripped that body part of any feelings when he was seven years old and his stepfather had sold him to Morris the Sweep, who’d run the chimney sweeps. Eight pence had been his worth, and the old man had starved him. Luca was no use as a climbing boy if he was too big to fit in the chimneys, and he spent endless years edging his way up and down the innards of the chimneys of rich, happy families in their rich, happy houses. By the time he was twelve he looked half his age, covered with burns and the mark of the lash.

He’d run away, of course, and kept trying till he succeeded. Tried to run back home but his family had already moved on, as the Travelers did. His gypsy heritage was in his face, his dark skin and eyes, curling black hair always filled with soot. His heritage was in his soul as well—rebellion and a determination to escape had always burned bright in him.

He should never have expected his mother to save him. He’d been born from a previous marriage to a non-gypsy, a Gadjo, an Englishman who’d given him his height and little else. His mother’s second husband hated him and the reminder that he wasn’t Anselina’s first. Luca shouldn’t have blamed her for letting him go—he knew how heavy his stepfather’s fists could be. But he did.

He’d escaped Morris as soon as he was big enough to fight back, taking his friend Wart with him. Together they’d become the finest child pickpockets in London. They’d serviced gentlemen when they were starving and found their way into many a wealthy household in the middle of the night to relieve them of whatever silver they could carry. So the life of a pirate had been a natural move for him.

It hadn’t started out that way. It had never been his idea to go to sea—the Rom had a natural aversion to it. But he’d been taken up one night when he hadn’t run fast enough—coshed on the head, and when he’d woken up the next morning he was already in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight.

It still made him laugh to remember how sick he’d been those first weeks. He’d spewed all over himself, the sailor who had kidnapped him, and the burly captain whenever they got close. Eventually there was nothing left to spew, and he lay in the small hammock they’d rigged up for him, stinking of vomit, hoping he’d die.

Until he heard the captain and the quartermaster talking. “Might’s well throw him overboard, sir,” the quartermaster had said. “He won’t last much longer and he’s too much trouble.”

He could feel eyes on his tiny, miserable body, and then the captain drawled, “Give him another day. See if he can hold down a bit of ale. He’s a pretty lad, and a bright one, or I miss my guess. If he’s no better tomorrow throw him overboard.”

The quartermaster grunted, poking at him, and Luca wanted to hurl. Not a good idea, he decided, swallowing his bile. On land there were always a dozen places to escape to, particularly when you were small and wiry. He could fit almost anyplace. Here on the boat he was trapped.

It was another man who forced the ale down his throat, clamping his jaw shut so he had to keep it down or choke. A big man, with huge hands, the ugliest face in Christendom, and an unexpected kindness in his eyes.

And that was how he met William Quarrells.

Billy was going to approve of this day’s work, he thought as he strode along the quayside. He’d loved the Maddy Rose as well, serving as Luca’s first mate and the one man he trusted unequivocally.

Luca tossed his hat and coat on the dusty table in the narrow front hall of his house on Water Street and headed toward his office. It was a little past noon, time for a decent meal, but his very proper fiancée was trying to civilize him, and he was indulging her, at least for the time being. Gwendolyn Haviland had informed him archly that only the lower orders ate a full meal at midday. Proper people ate dinner in the evening, accompanied by wine and good conversation with one’s equals. The very idea made him shudder.

His desk was as littered as the front table, though he rifled through things so often he didn’t allow dust to settle. By the time Billy pushed open the door he’d already compiled a stack of bills for his business manager to attend to, and was just enjoying the reward for his labors—a small glass of Jamaican rum.

“Don’t let Miss Haviland see you with that,” Billy said in his rumbling, sea-dog voice. “She says rum is for lowborn limeys.” He mimicked Gwendolyn’s prissy accent.

Luca turned and poured him an even deeper glass—Billy was a larger man than he was and needed more rum. “I am a lowborn limey,” he said, handing Billy his glass. “And a filthy gypsy as well.”

“She expects you to rise above it. Cheers.” He drained half the glass, made a face, and then fixed his deep-set, worried gaze on Luca. “You were able to get the Maddy Rose?”

“All taken care of. Just one little bit of business and then she’s ours.”

Billy sighed with satisfaction. “You know buying that ship makes no sense at all. The age of the clipper ship is over. It’s all about steam nowadays. But the Maddy Rose is a thing of beauty, and it fair warms my heart that you were softheaded enough to buy her.”

Luca grinned at him. “Even a man who’s sold his soul to commerce has to be foolish every now and then.”

“Ah, you’re so rich you’ll never miss it,” Billy scoffed. “Now if you could only be sensible about the blasted woman you intend to marry.”

“I may as well have respectability, Billy, since I’m about to have my own shipping company. You know that. Gwendolyn is my best way to achieve it. Besides, she’s my solicitor’s daughter. This way I know Haviland won’t play me false.”

“True enough. He dotes on the chit. Problem is, he expects you to dote on her too,” Billy grumbled.

“I dote on her,” Luca said cheerfully, draining his glass of rum and pouring another. “I proposed to her, didn’t I?”

“You gave up,” Billy said sourly. “That woman set her sights on you the moment she met you, and she’s scarier than the… Lord, I can’t think of who she’s scarier than. I wonder you held out so long.”

Luca stifled his momentary irritation. “Her plans happened to coincide with mine. She wants a wealthy sea captain for a husband; I want a society wife. I’ve a mind to turn respectable, and she’s the way to do it.”

“It’s not your money she’s after, laddie,” Billy said dourly. “There’s more than enough of that around, and Miss Gwendolyn Haviland could have just about anyone she pleases. It’s your pretty face.”

Luca snorted. “Then it’s a great deal fortunate that she doesn’t have an inkling what kind of dark soul lingers beneath it,” he said lightly.

“She sees you as a project. You’re like a doll—she can dress you up and teach you manners and trot you out like some trained monkey.”