Page 1 of The Pirate Lord
Chapter One
LONDON, JANUARY 1818
How much it is to be regretted, that the British ladies should ever sit down contented to polish, when they are able to reform.
— HANNAH MORE, ENGLISH PHILANTHROPIST,ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS ... FOR YOUNG LADIES
Miss Sara Willis had known 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 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 compared to being accosted by her stepbrother as she departed Newgate Prison in the company of the Ladies’ Committee. Jordan Willis—the new Earl of Blackmore,Viscount Thornworth, and Baron Ashley—wasn’t a man to mask his disapproval, as many members of Parliament had learned to their detriment. Now he took charge of her person with a shameless lack of propriety, propelling her toward the Blackmore carriage as if she were a child.
Her friends laughed as Jordan jerked open the door of the well-appointed carriage and glowered at her. “Into the carriage, Sara. Now.”
“Jordan, really, such dramatics are not neces?—”
“Now!”
Swallowing her mortification, she climbed in. 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 that was impossible now.
“Deuce take it, Sara, look at me!”
Settling herself against the damask cushions, she faced her stepbrother. Though she was used to Jordan’s formidable temper, she didn’t like being its recipient.
“Tell me,” he bit out, “how do I look today?”
Folding her hands in her lap, she surveyed him. His cravat was crookedly tied. His 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 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 scowling wasn’t her forte. “You were eager for my company?”
“It’s nothing to joke about,” he growled. “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. “What mad scheme? The Ladies Committee and I were merely distributing baskets of food to the poor unfortunates at Newgate.”
“That’s not why you were at Newgate.” He crossed his arms over his frock coat, daring her to contradict him.
Did he know the truth? Or was he bluffing? Hard to tell with Jordan. Even at eleven, when she’d first met him, Jordan had been 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 whywasI at Newgate, Mr. All-Knowing?”
No one got away with mocking Jordan. The only reason he endured it from her was because he truly considered her his sister. Still, judging from the glint in his brown eyes, she was trespassing rather farther than he liked on his good will.
“You were at Newgate meeting the women 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. Their butler had always been loyal to her. What had made him betray her confidence?
Jordan went on, his voice clipped. “When I received his 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.
“While you may ignore the dangers you encounter with that Quaker woman’s Ladies’ Committee, the servants and I do not.” The concern in his voice grew more pronounced. “EvenHargraves, who approves of your reform efforts, recognizes how risky your new scheme is. He 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 pursuits she deemed more important than safety or propriety.
At her silence, Jordan added, “I heartily applaud the efforts of the Ladies’ Committee. Without them, there would be more orphans in the street, more babies gone hungry?—”
