Never Trust a Pirate by Anne Stuart Page B

sir.” She didn’t bob a curtsey, which was just as well. She looked ridiculous clutching that thin blanket around her, her bare feet just peeping under the hem of her nightgown. Her feet were going to get cold. They were very pretty feet.
    “Get back in bed, Mary. Morning will be here sooner than you think.”
    “Yes, sir,” she said again, but he could see the relief in her eyes. So she didn’t want him to remember that kiss any more than she wanted to remember it.
Easier said than done, my girl
, he thought,clattering down the narrow staircase. It was going to be a long time before he forgot her taste.

    Maddy looked at the battered tennis racket in her hand. She hadn’t held one in years, not since she’d started spending so much time in London with her father, learning the business. Oh, not that he’d expected her to take over. She was only a female, after all—not a fit heir to the empire he’d built so carefully, she thought with that trace of bitterness she’d never been able to stifle completely.
    Bryony had chosen to retire from life—she’d insisted she was never going to marry—so their father been looking to Maddy to find a husband and produce a suitable heir to the business. There’d been no particular hurry—Eustace Russell had intended to live forever, and he could wait until her offspring grew up. In fact, he’d only been in his late forties when he’d died, far too young.
    Her father hadn’t particularly cared for Tarkington, but apart from a word of warning he’d said nothing. Jasper Tarkington had been charming, devoted, and Maddy thought she’d loved him. Oh, she’d been reasonable about it—she was an heiress and he was a younger son of an ancient family. He needed her money, but he loved her, he truly did.
    Or so she thought. What would have happened if things hadn’t changed so dramatically? Would their marriage, because it had been inevitable, have been a happy one? Unlikely. He’d proven himself untrustworthy, abandoning her the moment the scandal became known. Taking just enough time to relieve her of her virginity before heading for South America, out of her reach and any consequences of that awful night.
    There’d been no consequences, thank God. She’d gone to him, alone, desperate, needing proof that he wasn’t going to abandon her,that he truly loved her no matter what her father had done. And she’d been so determined to prove her own devotion she’d let him have what he’d been trying to get from the very beginning. She’d gone with him to his bed, willingly, certain it would cement their relationship. In the morning he’d been gone, with nothing but a note expressing polite regret that their relationship was at an end.
    Cowardly bastard that he was. She’d wept private, bitter tears of shame and regret and yes, longing, until she’d finally grown disgusted with her own weakness. She moved on to berating herself, thinking she’d somehow been found wanting, but common sense told her otherwise. He’d used her body and enjoyed himself, so thoroughly that while she took little pleasure in the act, holding him afterwards, stroking his damp hair had given her a wonderful sense of fulfillment. Until he left.
    She wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Her lack of virginity might prove an issue in the impressive marriage she was determined to make, but there were ways around that particular problem. Tarkington had hurt her, but according to her outspoken married friends the amount of pain had more to do with the skill of the lover. Not that she’d told anyone about her fall from grace, not even her sisters, but she’d quietly gathered information. It would be easy enough to pretend discomfort and then leave behind a bit of chicken’s blood on the linen sheets. And if worse came to worst, Eastham was so determined he probably wouldn’t mind.
    And why was she thinking of Tarkington again? Was it something about the captain that reminded her of those