The Wicked Lady Read online

  Nice girls love a sailor. Naughty girls are quite partial, too.

  When a man she thought she loved offered Lady Catherine Harcourt a life wrapped in a velvet bow, she took it. That life wrapped her in velvet chains. Now her status as a respectable widow allows her virginal alter ego, Cecily, to relieve milksop-for-blood dandies of their riches and go back where she belongs. The sea—aboard her pirate ship.

  The one knot in her sail is Paul Ambury. Daring, irresistible, and a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. Yet the temptation to indulge in his gorgeous body—all in the name of the plan, of course—is too much to resist.

  Paul has known his share of empty-headed society women, and fiercely intelligent Catherine doesn’t fit. When he wakes up adrift in a longboat after a blazing night together, he knows why. She took him for a fool—and took his ship.

  Plus, the evil little genius has him neatly trapped. If he reveals why he lost his ship, he faces court martial. If he does his duty, he must find her and hang her—the one woman with whom he’s fallen in love. Damn it…

  Warning: This book includes graphic sex and language, sexy sailors and saucy pirates trying to get one over on each other in the bed…on the floor…on that handy table…

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  The Wicked Lady

  Copyright © 2010 by Julia Knight

  ISBN: 978-1-60928-188-5

  Edited by Linda Ingmanson

  Cover by Natalie Winters

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: September 2010

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  The Wicked Lady

  Julia Knight

  Dedication

  To Bettie, for not fainting.

  Chapter One

  Cecily. She had to remember she was Cecily today. A certain prim way of walking, a shy look from under her lashes and a soft, quiet voice with a hint of uncertainty to it. She had to remember to try to blush every time a man looked at her.

  It took some effort, because Cecily was all the things Catherine Harcourt wasn’t, but it got easier with practice. Catherine strolled along Broad Street in Bridgetown and tried not to perspire too much in all the layers of clothing she had to wear while being Cecily. The unfamiliar wig made her head itch. A faint breeze cooled her skin and brought the tang of the sea with it. God knew she’d rather be out there sailing, cool as a breeze, dressed in a shirt and breeches with the wind in her hair.

  Not long now, though, and she’d leave Barbados and both Catherine’s and the imaginary Cecily’s lives behind her. Not long and she’d finally be free of this God-cursed island that had plagued her since her arrival. Just one or two more things to do.

  She wandered toward the harbour, intent on finding her mark, poor Lieutenant Matthew Fincher. He was such a dear man, and as gullible as they came, just like the rest of the men on the island. Most of them weren’t half as intelligent as pigs and had less than an ounce of red blood between the lot, for all their bluster.

  A new frigate had just docked, and Matthew stood on the jetty to meet it. She could tell who he was even from this distance, with his sharp, quick movements and shock of dark hair. The ship had finished unloading, and her crew came ashore. The ratings good-naturedly bantered with each other, and catcalls echoed around the harbour as they made straight for the more disreputable parts of town. It was a long journey from England to Barbados, and most newly arrived crew had a powerful thirst, for beer and other things.

  She paid them no attention and manoeuvred her way through a small crowd of giggling girls toward Matthew. The girls were always the same when a new ship came in. They would come down and size up the officers, see if they could find themselves a good catch. Catherine despaired of her own gender sometimes. They couldn’t see that life without a husband was so much more free.

  A few officers came ashore, but to little interest from the girls. They were too old or too fat or too ugly, though one or two of the girls would do well even to catch one of these. Finally the lieutenant who commanded the frigate walked down the gangplank, and Matthew strode forward to meet him with a clap on his shoulder. Now this one was a much better prospect.

  Two women behind her twittered as he strode onto the jetty, and they hurried to “accidentally” meet him. Cecily had to admit he looked very dashing, not only tall, but broad across the shoulders, with a chest that made her wonder what he looked like with his shirt off. His hair was a sun-bleached blond under his hat, worn long and tied back, showing a strong face, but it was the way he walked that held her attention. Bold and purposeful, with a hint of arrogant swagger. She smiled as the two women intercepted him with a flutter of fans and a bob of skirts. Imbeciles.

  The new lieutenant smiled at them as though the blatant adulation was only his due and kissed hands with a flourish and a devilish grin. As Catherine got closer, she could see why the girls were so excited. He was really rather handsome, in a bold, rough way. Not his face, as such, though that was pleasing enough, but the way he held himself, as though all the world should bow to him. The sheer confidence that radiated from him was very attractive.

  Catherine stopped a moment to gather her thoughts. She’d been cultivating Matthew for weeks now, and this must be the friend he kept talking of, the one he was so excited to see. What was his name? Ambury, wasn’t it? Maybe the plan should change a little. After all, tricking Matthew would be like kicking a puppy, an especially stupid and adoring one. This new lieutenant looked much more to her liking. More of a challenge to start with, and the arrogance—she could really use arrogance like that. He’d just taken on his first command, Matthew had said, and this was his first time in the Caribbean with a crew just as green. He was young, single and no doubt pent up after several months aboard, which is why the girls would crowd round him, though he’d get nowhere with these women without a wedding. Shame to waste a body like that too. She could do a lot to take him down a peg or two, and enjoy herself while she did it.

  Yes, Lieutenant Ambury might do very well for what she had in mind. Time for demure little Cecily to go back in her box. This one was a job for Catherine.

  Lieutenant Paul Ambury was thrilled to be here, finally. At last, he and Matthew doing what they’d always dreamed of—catching pirates, and catching them together. He kissed the hand of some pretty young thing Matthew introduced, favoured her with a lingering smile and an intense look and laughed inwardly at the flush that crept up her neck.

  From all that Matthew had written, Barbados was a very different affair from England, and that thought thrilled him just as much.

  “Ladies, if you’d be so kind?” Matthew said as he made a path through them. “Let the poor lad get his land legs, at least.”

  Paul winked at the little blonde as they passed and, for a moment, he thought she might faint. Barbados was looking as though it might turn out very well already. He suppressed a laugh and followed Matthew.

  Once they were out of earshot, Matthew clapped him on the back. “It’s good to see you finally. Sorry about the harpies, but a new man, single and headed for pro
motion—you’ll be getting a fair bit of that.”

  Paul grinned at him. “I expect I’ll cope, but it’s been a long voyage. I don’t need all these highborn women simpering at me. What I need is a good drink and some bad women.”

  Matthew laughed. “I know just the place.”

  They turned a corner, and Matthew stopped so suddenly Paul almost ran into him.

  “Cecily!” Matthew called, and a lady farther up the street half turned and waved.

  “Can’t stop,” she replied. “Lady Catherine has me on an errand.”

  She hurried off with her head down, prim and proper. Matthew sighed right up from his boots. “That, Paul, is the girl I hope to marry.”

  “Marry? You, the scourge of respectable women everywhere?”

  Matthew snorted with laughter. “Second after you, yes. And yes, marry.”

  “Good God, man, has the heat turned your head?”

  Matthew turned down a side alley. “No, not the heat. You know my father’s always going on about making a good match. Having the Atlantic between us only means he does it by letter now. Almost I tire of all this carousing. Cecily is the sweetest, most innocent thing you can imagine. She’d blush if a man even looked at her. I want to see if she blushes all over. The timid ones are always the she-bears in bed.” He flashed Paul a grin. “Besides, she’s got fabulous tits.”

  Matthew stopped outside a discreet doorway set into a wall. “And here, my dear chap, we have the magnificent Mrs. Quinn’s, an establishment where the brandy is excellent, the ladies, if not of class, are at least cultured, and have filthy minds.”

  “Just what I need after a long journey with only the smell of the bosun to lull me to sleep. Lead on, Macduff.”

  Matthew laughed. “You’ve been watching too many plays.”

  “Watching too many actresses,” Paul said with a wink, and Matthew led them in.

  Paul stood on the deck, his deck, and watched his men run through the drill. Despite himself, the thrill of excitement twitched in his stomach. He’d been stationed in Barbados less than a week, and this was their first patrol for pirates. His first real test. He grinned to himself and leant into the spray.

  It was a relief just to get away from port, if he was honest. He’d long preferred the sea and his own company. And the women! Vapid, simpering monsters all. The hints and winks and fluttering of fans—it drove him to distraction, but he had to bear it. He’d hoped that in the Caribbean things would be different, rules and manners more relaxed. Yet the dearth of single men of a certain station seemed to have turned these young women into rapacious harpies bent on capturing a husband, any husband. Though maybe he could work that to his advantage. It would take far less effort to get them into bed.

  As third son of a minor noble, he’d escaped much of these husband-catching antics at home, though there’d always been the pressure from his father to marry well and preferably into money. Here that minor station had lit up the women like a firework, and he’d had not a moment’s peace since he’d landed. Well, except at Mrs. Quinn’s, though you couldn’t really call that peace. After a day or two, Mrs. Quinn’s girls began to pall.

  He’d never enjoyed using girls in return for payment, though he’d rather take fifty lashes than admit it. It was almost an institution. He preferred those who did it for enjoyment, or were naïve enough to believe the promises he dripped in their ear, and there were precious few of those, even in London. His choices were the pox-ridden whores, or getting married to some air-brained creature who simpered at his every word, and little or nothing in between. Even a mistress was difficult, because the sort of women who consented were generally after only what they could get, or else far too clinging for comfort, who thought that once he’d bedded them, they had him. He’d rather keep his frustrations now he’d rid himself of the worst of them. He’d learned long ago to manage them.

  All in all, he was glad to be out at sea, sailing these glorious waters under a hot sun. He and Matthew had dreamed of pirates since he’d read of the exploits of Henry Morgan when he was a boy—they’d wanted to chase them, or become them, but becoming a pirate was hardly likely, and hunting them down seemed just as thrilling.

  The frigate sliced through the waters, his crew well trained and running easy. Just as the sun dipped below the horizon and stained the sea a blood-red, the lookout called down. “Ship ahoy, Captain. Looks like it’s been attacked.”

  Paul’s heart thumped in excitement as he raised his glass to see. The lookout was right—the stricken carrack had two masts down and the third had almost no rigging left. The foredeck was still smouldering. This might be his chance to prove himself, and what he could do. Time to grab his future by the balls and twist.

  “Pull alongside.”

  First Officer Jennings trotted up the steps to the quarterdeck. “Is that wise, sir? The pirates could be back at any time.”

  “Then they’ll have a nice shock when they find us here in the dark waiting for them, won’t they, Jennings? And we’ll have a good end to our first patrol.”

  Jennings frowned and looked through his own eyeglass, obviously unconvinced. “I’ve heard they like to lay traps.”

  Paul ground his teeth. Jennings was a good officer in most respects, with one flaw that drove Paul to distraction: second-guessing his every order. Jennings was too faint-hearted by half, which was why he’d never got a command of his own, even though he was twice Paul’s age. But maybe that second-guessing was what made him a good first officer. At least he never did so in front of the rest of the crew, or Paul would have been much harsher with him.

  As it was, Paul’s voice was hard and brooked no nonsense. “Not traps that involve a known friendly. Did you see the name?”

  “Aye, the Kittiwake.”

  “Which was berthed not a hundred yards from us in Bridgetown two days ago. We’ve a clear duty to aid an ally, or those under our protection, such as this merchantman. I won’t be taking any chances, not to fear. Cannon at the ready! Riflemen to the rail.”

  There were no other ships in sight. Take no chances, but be bold. Men dashed about to follow his orders, a sight that always filled him with pride.

  As they neared the Kittiwake, there was movement on deck, furtive at first, but when those aboard saw the Royal Navy flags, they began to signal, a frantic waving to draw their attention. The look of the ship reassured him. It was definitely the same one that had berthed in Bridgetown—he recognised the figurehead. No pirate vessel this. The sailors looked like ordinary merchantmen. She had a single deck of guns on board, enough to defend herself, but no match for his. A line of sail-wrapped bodies lay along the far side of the deck, awaiting their watery grave.

  Paul raised an eyebrow at Jennings, who shrugged and nodded. All seemed in order. The Newquay slid gracefully alongside and tied up. It wasn’t as good as catching a pirate ship, but a fine start to his career here, nonetheless. Paul bounded down the steps.

  “Thank God you’re here, sir,” one of the merchantman said as Paul and his officers stepped onto the deck with a few armed ratings, brought along just in case. Others stood along the rail of the Newquay, guns in hand, but the Kittiwake’s crew was armed with nothing but relief on their faces. “We managed to beat the buggers off, sir, got ’em a good shot, right across the bow under the waterline so they was taking on water and had to cut and run, but we’re mired good and proper.”

  Jennings’s shoulders relaxed at the man’s words, but Paul felt nothing but cheated. Still, this could be a good enough first patrol, if they could get the carrack to port safely. “Who’s the captain here?”

  A ring of puckered, worried faces surrounded him, and the one who’d spoken nodded toward the shrouds. “Main mast fell on him, sir.”

  Paul looked at the horizon. The sun was a crescent of light above the waves, and darkness crept up on them. He turned to where some of his crew inspected the damage and discussed what spares were to be had. “Jennings?”

  “Might manage a jury mast
, sir, but not till morning. Not much rigging left. She’ll need to be towed.”

  Paul nodded curtly. “I want men on watch on both ships. No telling if the pirates might come back, they or others, and we’re easy targets sitting here.”

  A soft voice called one of the merchantmen away to what were surely the captain’s quarters. When he returned, he was blushing. “Our passenger, sir. Says a man of your breeding should be thanked proper, and all your crew. Got plenty of rum and some brandy for your officers. A tot for all hands before a fight. Isn’t that the navy way? In case there’s a fight, here’s hoping not. Should keep the night chill off else. And she’d like to thank you in person, sir.”

  Paul raised his eyebrows. She? The woman was more than lucky that these sailors had managed to beat off a pirate attack—it should be them she was thanking, for keeping her from a God-awful fate. He gave a few more brief orders and nodded to the sailor. He could spare a minute or two. “Very well.”

  Paul ducked through the doorway into the captain’s quarters and looked around in the dim lamplight. It was only when she moved toward him that he saw her. He blinked in surprise, and all thoughts of ships, masts and pirates fled out of his head. “My apologies—”

  She laughed, a low, throaty sound that made his belly quiver. Her voice was cultured and refined. A lady of breeding, no doubt. “No apologies required, not that I think you mean them, or you’d turn about, sir. My quarters were in the foredeck, along with all my clothes. They were burned to a crisp, and the dress I was wearing, well, there was a lot of blood. Please, there’s no need to stand on ceremony. I’m Lady Catherine Harcourt, but you may call me Catherine. Everyone does.”

  “Lieutenant Ambury, captain of the Newquay.” God, she was a bold one—and the name… Hadn’t Matthew said something about a Lady Harcourt? He couldn’t remember. He was too busy staring. She stood in a pool of lamplight, dressed only in a silk shift stained here and there with blood. The light shone through the thin fabric and showed every curve and line of her body. Her fair hair fell loose around her face, unbound in contrast to the tightly pinned hairstyles or wigs women wore in public. The caress of hair over shoulders was something he’d only ever seen on a woman as she lay in his bed, and was instantly erotic to him. So was her complete lack of embarrassment and the way she watched his face carefully, a hint of mischief in the little half-smile. No simpering in her, no blushing modesty, just a clear intelligence and humour that mocked him. He shifted his feet and hoped the blood didn’t rush to his face, and elsewhere too, obviously. She laughed again at his discomfiture and motioned for him to sit.