Chapter One 

      “You will allow him, to guard me?” Lady Bron Myric sputtered in outrage at her family, Lord John Raven Myric, Marquis of Weldon, Xavier Myric Viscount Brindle, and her father, Darios Myric, Duke of Moorland.  

      However, her eyes were square on that blasted Pirate, Desalle, her brother’s friend, whom she had hoped had gotten the message loud and clear what she had thought of him. 

      Since she had met him, Bronte had insulted him, slapped his face, and the man actually had the gall to kiss her for it.  

      Well alright, it was an emotional moment. What he had done had helped her brother Xavier snap out of his self-torment. Still, she could hardly believe that Raven at least, knowing the man's debauched ways with females, his criminal inclinations, and his very appearance being that of some, some...pirate! That he would consider allowing the man to protect her. 

      “He has the right of it.” Her handsome father stood by the mantle as he spoke.” If Carrington has some vile design for revenge, he must be drawn out. All of us, your brothers and myself, must go on as if we suspect nothing. Your brothers have the double wedding planned and as the ladies will be told of this, every effort will be put into giving the appearance of normalcy, even the staff must be told.  

      Carrington is more cunning than I would have believed. Raven knew that, and I trust his insight since he saw it from the beginning. He is a vile rapist, an abuser, and I am heartily sorry I did not see him charged for those crimes instead of offering him to leave England.” 

      Bron’s lime green eyes moved to the duke. He had changed much, once all of his secrets were out in the open to his family. Since revealing a very long affair with his mistress, the love of his life, Juliana Brule, and the existence of a half-sister, Adrianna, as a result, he had mellowed. Nevertheless, she could not forget that he was a man of supremacy and influence, a man she had obeyed with some awe and fear, for he had been distant and strict in her upbringing. Handsome or not, nothing could make her father lose that air of authority.  

      Given that her mother, the duchess, had moved out years ago and set up her house in Bath, he had been the one to dictate the rules in her life, and they had been strict because his image and public person was distinguished in politics.  

      From the time she had fled to Raven in order to escape a match with Carrington, she’d made major steps in trying to become more of her own woman. Not an easy task considering the strictures that were part of the very air she’d breathed for so long. In some ways, abandoned by her mother, living with a stern and distant father, even losing Raven when he had gone off to war, that strict and limited life had offered some comfort.  

      There was security in that shield of role playing, in being the heiress daughter of the powerful duke, having to always wear a public face and allow nothing to touch her. At some point, she believed everyone in her life abandoned her, physically and emotionally, and though those in their social circle saw her only as an heiress and Moorland’s daughter, it kept her from having to be anything else, to feel anything else. 

      Yet she would never completely see her father as a man open to debates when it came to herself and her life. She realized in this instance, they were trying to protect her however.  

      “I understand the dangers, the reasons for someone watching over me. I do not follow, however, how someone like the captain would serve.” She added, “Look at him, father,” and waved her hand toward the man sitting sprawled comfortably on the sofa. His black brow cocked, and his long hair under a scarf, braided with rubies, pearls and shell. He had tattoos, some visible, some not, and dark olive eyes, tanned skin, exotic looks.  

      But it was those tight leather breeches and that half-undone shirt. His whole body screamed bloody wild, his sensual mouth, high cheekbones, and the olive eyes and… 

      “He cannot fit in our society; in fact he will stick out like a sore thumb.” 

      “He won’t need to attend with you, Bronte.” This from Raven who sat half on the desk. “He knows how to shadow you without actually being in the room.” He added, “I have contacted an old school friend of mine who can be trusted as escort, though it will appear he is with Antoinette. Indeed he will be—” 

      “Who?” she asked, aware that Desalle was looking at her. She could feel his eyes going over her emerald gown and slippers, up over her hair and face. He was the only man she was sure was not assessing the worth of the rich gown or her jewels, the jasper pins in her hair. No, he was trying to look through them to her curves and assets. 

      “Romel Buchér, Earl of Courtland. Romy we called him back then. He has just returned from China and has an interest in the merchant business, and contacts. He’d come to see me, wishing to speak to Desalle, as we are business partners. I remembered Romy as being an expert shot and swordsman. He was one of those men whom one was glad to call a friend. He eschewed society for experiencing the other cultures. He has been everything from a mercenary solider to a student of fighting tactics. 

      I have no doubt that he can dispense with any threat. However, as we both are aware that my fiancée’s sister is a bit more daring and, shall we say, adventuresome than yourself, I would feel better knowing he was sticking close to her as well. Jaiden is not so sure Toni won’t get some maggot in her head and do something brave but stupid to protect you.” 

      “She’s not that foolish,” Bron defended, though few in this room knew exactly the sorts of adventures that Toni got into. Antoinette could shoot, fence, and she had done things whilst living in the countryside that Bron could only imagine.  

      That Toni was beautiful with wheat curls and brandy eyes, and standing an impressive five-foot-six, was the very point. Toni, like herself, had never had a man look further than the surface, and had been told for most of her life she was “some man’s prize.” It was amusing, really, to think of all the men who fell over them at balls and routs, never knowing that the beautiful girl could do more than wave a fan or dance.  

      Bron sighed. She was trying to learn a few things from Toni. One of them was picking your battles. Nevertheless, she was not giving up this debate so easily. “Very well. The earl can guard us both. We don’t need Desalle.” 

      “Yes you do.” 

      Bron’s gaze flew to the captain who had growled that out. “I beg your pardon,” she glared at him haughtily, “I certainly do not need your sort of protection.” 

      His smile made her want to smack him again. He regarded her as if they were the only two in the room as he added, “I’m no gentleman, milady. Moreover, regardless of his title and wealth and fancy ways, Carrington is not one either. Raven could handle him without breaking a sweat. But, I have crossed his kind before, and I have dispersed my crew to every inn and whor...ah gambling hell, from the docks, to every street corner, to pick up word on him.” 

      “It’s not your place to guard me. You are Raven’s friend. But the men in my family are well able to see to my protection.” 

      “I’m volunteering for the disagreeable task.” 

      “Disagreeable, how dare y—” 

      The captain held up his hand. “While your brothers may consider your delicate sensibilities, I’m in no mood for such. In short, I’m the kind of man they’d hire to dispense with him.” 

      Bron saw something innate and harsh in his eyes and suppressed a shiver. There was death there. “It may have all been talk. He may still be in France.” 

      “And he may be planning your kidnapping and rape. And having heard of the maid, you having seen her after he savagely beat her, it’s not a chance anyone here is willing to take.” 

      Though she did not look away from him, Bronte heard her father say frigidly, “I was too much the gentleman in handling the situation, my dear. I thought to spare his family the scandal of bringing charges. That was a mistake. Should he harm a hair on your head—” 

      Still locking eyes with Desalle she asserted, “You know this man would kill him, don’t you father?” 

      For long moments, the room was quiet. At last the duke uttered, “Better him than you, Bronte. I blame myself, in part, that the threat exists. If I had not encouraged the match—” 

      “You couldn’t know what a beast he was.” 

      “I should have. However, the fact is, he was good at playing the role and hiding his vicious nature. If he is in England, it could only be for revenge. He was quite furious when you cut him. Truthfully, before I confronted him, he knew his image in society was tarnished.” 

      “He wanted to be connected to you. He wanted my fortune, as they all do,” she declared in flat tones. She had grown up discerning why men desired to have the duke of Moorland’s daughter. 

      No one denied it. Even if Raven, her wonderfully strong older brother, assured her, she was attractive. In her circles, that mattered nothing because the fortune was there at birth. She was an heiress, and her father’s reputation and influence was too.  

      “I suppose I have no real say in this.” She gave Desalle one lingering stare before glancing around at her family. “It is not that I am too unwise not to fear him. I am the one who found the girl afterwards. It is just that I do not think Captain Desalle the right protector.” 

      Her eyes met Raven’s, and her brother, whom she trusted above most men, whom she distinguished as a man who’d die for any one of his family, said quietly, “You are a child no more, Bron. You have taken steps out of the intolerant frame of mind you have played the whole of your life. This is very real, if 'tis true. When you think to judge who is a gentleman and who is not, recall what Xavier and I have been, and how you compared the polished peers you’ve known and found them so utterly lacking in real honor.  

      It is time to stop judging on appearance. I know that Desalle is something of a scoundrel and you’ve had little exposure to the type. But he is a man I have trusted with my life many times over and had reason to be glad.” 

      Now, what could she say? Something that sounded so childish as, he kissed me? 

      Her reaction to this arrangement came more from what Desalle made her feel, a confusing jumble that she was not used to dealing with, and not from believing he’d actually protect her. She discerned instinctively he was the sort of man one would want between themselves and the enemy.  

      If only she understood or could control those other emotions that made her feel as if she was in battle with him and herself, whenever she laid eyes on him. Given his shocking ways, appearance and manner, she would have thought herself able to ignore him. 

      The truth was, he provoked her. However, he also inflamed something in her. 

      “I’ll give you my schedule.” She turned and looked at Desalle, thoroughly unsurprised that he had apparently not taken his eyes off her. “If you are going to...shadow me, then I do not want to be in the dark if you discover something. I want to know if that man is present and when. I won’t be protected to the point I’m kept ignorant.” 

      Desalle nodded slightly.  

      She gathered her skirts, curtsied to her father, and left the room. Outside those doors, she leaned against them, her eyes closing. She had thought now that her brothers were settling down, had found their future brides in Jaiden Corvone and her sister Layla Stokes, he’d be sailing off. She had thought he was bloody well out of England a week ago. 

      A discreet cough had her opening her eyes, and she saw the butler standing in the foyer, hands behind his back, his gaze on her rather concerned. 

      Bron pasted on a smile and murmured something as she headed upstairs. By noon, the whole of the house would know and be on alert. She hoped with every fiber of her being that Desalle’s first mate was wrong. She hoped to god that a monster like Carrington was not lurking in the shadows to do to her as he had done to that poor girl. 

* * * *

      The Viscount and Moorland were still talking as Captain Desalle picked up the signal from Raven that his friend wanted a word with him. 

      He arose and accepted a glass of brandy. They stepped out into the side garden, lighting cheroots. Raven propped his boot sole on one of the benches.  

      Desalle leaned against the outer wall, smoking, sipping, looking over the profuse flowers, and wondering—how the hell was he was going to hide from someone as discerning as Raven, that he wanted Lady Bron. 

      It was true, all that he had said, he did offer to shadow her for her protection. He did think Raven would kill the man if he so much as threatened any of them. Nevertheless, he had knowledge of the meanest streets, the sorts of minions someone like Carrington would need to hire. In addition, he did not hesitate to kill if the situation warranted it. He had left his conscience behind when he was twelve and narrowly escaped the La Conciergerie.

      There was every reason to think Raven would see through his desire for Bronte. Raven had witnessed that lovely slap she had given him, and his impulsive response, which was to kiss the lady breathless. He’d hid much of his attraction to so high born a lady, to the sister of his friend, behind his usual ill-disciplined image. 

      Studying Raven, tall, dark, and hard visage, he knew more about him than likely anyone in the man’s own family. He wondered if a man whose instinct would be to protect his own, had agreed to the plan because he knew that Desalle would kill Carrington, or because he knew his friend would draw the line in his flirtation with a young lady like Bron? 

      In which case, Desalle could have quickly erased that honorable notion. He had never had a reaction to a woman as he did to Bronte Myric. Her eyes, the color of fresh limes in the sun, her cream skin, her curves that were outlined as today in a sea green silk, off-the-shoulder gown. Moreover, her pink lips, that long brunette hair drawn up with a long rope of it spiraling down her back, even her haughty brow and cultured voice.  

      It was not like the decadent sexual antics he had indulged in Spain, Italy, or other foreign shores. He’d had his share of supposed ladies. However, Bronte Myric was the real thing, right down to the toes of her satin slippers. She was that contrast of proud and rigid, fiery and frigid, untouched, vulnerable, and yet so very challenging. 

      Raven finally spoke. “You know why I trust your judgment on this, my friend. Neither father nor Xavier were easy to convince. Either Xavier or myself would just as soon kill the blackguard ourselves. However, it is not in Carrington to take on a man. He is cunning, and managed to hide his sadistic nature for years, and was intelligent enough to fool my father for the five he tried to gain Bronte’s hand.  

      I’ve talked to Jaiden, and she knows that Toni won’t be happy to have Romy looking over her shoulder either. But I believe if anyone was born with eyes in the back of their head, and an uncanny sixth sense for danger, you were.” He laughed. “I’ve seen it at work.” 

      Desalle blew a stream of smoke, murmuring, “The talk has been around and we want him to feel comfortable, and to keep talking. You and the viscount, your ladies, are in the midst of planning the wedding. You’ll be attending those society events, but the more he thinks no one is onto him, the better.” 

      Raven sighed and gazed at him. Their stare held a moment as the Marquis uttered, “Do I have to remind you of my sister’s upbringing compared to the females you have been around? It’s not just her station and who she is in society. She did not have a good childhood despite father’s wealth. Mother left her as easily as she abandoned the rest of us. And those dragons father put in charge of her.”  

      He shook his head. “I will admit that I had some success before I left, at seeing the girl she was then laugh and relax. When I returned she was almost a stranger. She has not been exposed much to the world outside the ton, nor men such as yourself. As much as I bask in these last weeks of seeing her take a stand and come into her own, Bronte is far from knowledgeable about the world. I do not think she is weak, mind you. I simply want you to understand that she is the product of her experiences, all of them, and her lack of them.” 

      Desalle returned, “I am as I am, Raven. Your sister is a beautiful woman. Any man with blood in his veins reacts to a woman like that.” 

      “Hmm. Yes.” Raven’s brow arched. “But you have, since first meeting her, set out to deliberately provoke her. I’m simply saying, I understand the temptation, but for once in your roguish life, Desalle, try and consider the repercussions if you cross any of those lines you know exist.” 

      “Lines?” Desalle studied him with a slight wry smile. “You want a man like me to draw lines? Distinction, I can comprehend well enough. I’m the sort fathers like yours warn their virtuous daughters about. But lines could turn into lies, and I have never bothered lying, well, not where it counts anyway. I’ll protect her, shadow her, but what good would it do me to lie since you saw her slap me, and saw my response to it. I wouldn’t deliberately scandalize a woman. But I’m no gentleman.” 

      Raven shook his head again then looked around murmuring. “All right you bloody pirate. I know you have some honor, which is why I trust you. Nevertheless, all that I can do on the other front is warn you, that though I feel Bronte is grown and whatever her private life is her own, I also expect you to restrain your hot blood on the personal side. At least use your head more than you are normally inclined.” 

      Desalle finished off the drink and took a draw before replying, “She has a habit of insulting me, and disdains my character and appearance. I believe that should be comfort enough that your sister has more sense than you give her credit. She knows exactly what I am.” 

      Chuckling, Raven slid his boot off the bench and walked over, giving Desalle a teasing clap on the shoulder. “Ah, yes. A rather unique experience for you, isn't it, my friend? Bron is of our stock after all. She doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated or impressed by you.”  

      As Raven was laughing rather heartily at his own wit, Desalle grumbled, “It’s not that bloody amusing.” 

      Later, as he returned to The Ruby and consulted with Joris and the crew, before packing a wardrobe and returning to the home of the Marquis, the Lady Bron residing just a few doors up at His Grace’s residence, Desalle felt a resurgence of the frustration that had been growing since he’d first laid eyes on the woman.  

      He was aware of the gulf and contrasts between them, and of the feeling he'd had right from the start that this was no easy conquest. It was complicated, given his friendship with Raven, and the trust her father and brothers put in him as her protector. It was also complicated because he knew her background and lofty station. The frustration ate at him through too many bottles of rum and sleepless nights seeing that face in both outrage and temper. 

      Still, he wanted her. He couldn’t promise that which he was unsure of his ability to keep. There were things in his past that made it all the more forbidden. However, nothing, as of yet, had been enough to restrain his desire for her.