Never Trust a Pirate Read online

  Danielle hopped from her seat and executed her best curtsy, the one she’d been practicing for days. “My lady.”

  “Oh, please,” the slightly shorter woman said in a friendly, happy tone. “Do take a seat.”

  “Thank you,” Danielle replied, already worrying that her French accent would be looked upon with distaste by her very English potential employer. The wars had been over for two years now, but Danielle knew well there was still a great deal of animosity between the English and the French.

  The blond woman smiled at her with kind eyes. “I am Lady Daphne Cavendish,” she announced. Her English accent reminded Danielle of her mother. A sharp pain throbbed in Danielle’s chest.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady,” Danielle replied, biting her lip and watching the lady for any signs of disapproval.

  “The agency tells me you come with excellent references,” Lady Daphne said.

  “Oui. I mean, y-yes.” Danielle hated the stutter in her speech but she found that now that she was confronted with Lady Daphne, she was quite full of nerves. If she didn’t secure this position, everything would be ruined.

  Lady Daphne pulled a bell cord and a finely dressed butler soon appeared in the doorway. The lady prettily requested a tea tray. Tea served for a meeting about a maid position? Obviously, the viscountess treated her servants kindly. Danielle liked that a lot. She expelled a bit of her pent-up breath. Working in a fine London town house wouldn’t be the worst thing she’d ever had to do, by far. Perhaps it might even be … enjoyable.

  “You’ve previously worked for Lady Birmingham in Brighton?” Lady Daphne asked, studying her closely.

  Is that what they’d said? “Er, yes, my lady,” Danielle forced herself to reply. She squirmed in her chair. She wasn’t used to being watched so carefully. Normally, members of the aristocracy tended to barely look at servants. They certainly didn’t stare at them with an intensity that made Danielle believe Lady Daphne truly cared about her. It was unnerving.

  “And you had to resign your position there … why?” Lady Daphne leaned toward her, waiting for her answer as if on tenterhooks.

  Danielle plucked at the folds of her skirt. “I need to be in London, my lady. My mother … is ill.” No doubt this fine lady didn’t care a whit about her mother’s illness but it was the truth and Danielle had learned long ago that the more she could follow the truth, the better.

  “You have the loveliest French accent.”

  Danielle blinked three times before she could conjure up an appropriate reply to that surprising compliment. “Thank you, my lady. Not everyone in London is as charmed by it as you are.”

  “Nonsense. The wars are long since over and everyone knows the French are famous for their good taste in hair design and clothing. French lady’s maids are all the rage in Mayfair these days.”

  Danielle blinked again. She should have guessed as much when Grimaldi had asked her to play up her Frenchness. “I’m terribly glad to hear that, my lady,” she said before cursing herself for saying something so common. But the viscountess’s twinkling laughter indicated the lady didn’t disapprove in the least.

  “You lived in Paris, did you not?” Lady Daphne asked.

  “Oui, madame. I was born there.”

  “Why did you decide to come to England?”

  Danielle was spared from answering that question by the arrival of the tea tray. The butler marched over, his back completely straight, his white gloves pristine. He set the tray on the gleaming rosewood table in front of them.

  “Thank you, Henry, that will be all.” Lady Daphne nodded at the man and he retreated from the room. The smile that rested in the crinkles of his eyes as he left, however, informed Danielle that he liked his employer a great deal. She stared after his straight-backed perfection as he left the room. Was Henry his first name or his last?

  Lady Daphne poured the tea in the most dainty, ladylike manner imaginable, and Danielle lapsed into a momentary daydream where she pictured herself dumping over the entire pot and shattering the teacups. She was skilled at a great many things, but being dainty and ladylike were not among them. It would be a miracle if she were to be actually offered this position. Not to mention she would doubtless be sacked within the sennight, but first things first. She must be offered the position before she could be terminated from it.

  She took the porcelain teacup Lady Daphne offered, fingering the little roses painted along the rim. The cup and saucer alone were probably worth more than she’d earned in a month’s time in her previous life.

  “Tell me,” she said, trying to stop the shaking of her hand on the cup. It would not do to spill tea onto the immaculate carpet. “What exactly are you looking for in a lady’s maid?”

  Lady Daphne’s teacup stopped, arrested halfway to her mouth, and she laughed again. “Why, I’m not certain I’ve ever had anyone ask me so directly.”

  Danielle silently cursed herself. Maudit. She should not have asked that question. Lady Daphne would think her too forward.

  “I’ve heard the French are quite direct. I like that,” Lady Daphne continued.

  Danielle blinked again, her teacup arrested halfway to her mouth. “You do?”

  “Yes, quite a lot. We English are often too polite for our own good. I admire someone who can say what they mean. For instance, what do you think of my hair?”

  Warning bells sounded in the back of Danielle’s mind. She brought the teacup to her lips and took a long sip while she considered exactly how to answer such a delicate question. Lady Daphne’s hair was certainly a lovely color and the lady herself was a beauty, but her hair was a bit on the frumpish side, coiled around her head in a knot that did little to show off her fine features.

  “I so admire your chignon,” Lady Daphne said, pronouncing the French word perfectly. “I can never seem to get my hair to do that. And Miss Anderson, well, she was quite sweet, but not the most adept at arranging hair, I’m afraid.”

  “Miss Anderson?” More time bought.

  “My former maid.”

  Danielle set down her teacup and rubbed her hands together. The best answer to Lady Daphne’s question, she’d decided, was no answer. Danielle was not one to spend time on her hair or wear fine clothing, but she supposed having grown up in France, she did have a certain je ne sais quoi when it came to style, as many French women did. She had her aunt Madeline to thank for teaching her such things. “Would you like me to show you my favorite upsweep?” she asked, smiling conspiratorially at Lady Daphne.

  “By all means.” Lady Daphne returned her smile.

  Danielle stood and hurried around to the back of Lady Daphne’s chair. Finally, something she was good at. She plucked the pins from her blond locks, concentrating on not tugging her hair. She pulled them out efficiently, letting the viscountess’s curls fall past her shoulders. Then she used her fingers to part the hair down the middle, sweeping it over her shoulders in two wide swaths before rolling first one side and then the other. She pulled the two rolls together to meet in the center and wrapped the pieces around each other, making a loose bun on the back of Lady Daphne’s head. She replaced the pins and waved her hand in the air. “Voilà!”

  Danielle bit her lip. A moment of panic set in. Would Lady Daphne be horrified by the fact that she’d just dressed her hair in broad daylight in the middle of the drawing room? How in the world would she ever make this work?

  Daphne stood, patting the back of her head to feel the new hairstyle. “Well, that was quickly done.” She stood and moved to the sideboard where a looking glass hung. She studied her hair from first one side, then the other. “It’s positively charming, and what I like best is that I didn’t have to sit still for an hour while you poke and prod. I cannot stand such things.”

  Dieu merci. She wasn’t angry. Danielle glanced down at the carpet to hide her proud little smile. “A lady such as you has more important things to attend to than waiting half the day for her hair to be arranged.”

  �
��Indeed.” Lady Daphne turned back to face her, smiling and still patting the bun on the back of her head.

  The door to the drawing room opened and a tall, fit, tres handsome blond man with crystal-blue eyes and a dimple in his chin strode in. Danielle had done her research on this family. Not only had she learned that Lady Daphne did not enjoy spending long amounts of time having her hair and clothing fussed over, she’d also learned that the lady’s husband was a famous war-hero spy known as the Viscount Spy. She hadn’t been aware of how breathtakingly handsome he was, however. Lady Daphne was a lucky woman, indeed.

  Danielle watched every movement he made. He had the tiniest hint, nearly unrecognizable, of a limp in his left leg, a faint set of lines around his mouth that indicated he’d been in pain in the past, perhaps a lot of it, and he moved with an easy, quiet style that made her think he was probably a proficient spy, indeed. She sat up straight. Would he approve of his wife’s potential new maid? Was he the sort of man who would make the decision for her?

  “Ah, Daphne. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m looking for my—”

  “Rafe, there you are. May I present Mademoiselle LaCrosse? Mademoiselle, this is my husband, Lord Rafferty Cavendish.”

  The man had the grace to stop what he was doing and acknowledge her. Danielle turned and curtsied. Then he promptly returned to his task of searching for whatever it was he came for.

  “What do you think of what she’s done to my hair?” Daphne smiled and spun around to allow her husband to see the chignon.

  Her husband smiled back at her and a fetching dimple appeared in his cheek. “Daphne, my love, your hair could be a rat’s nest and I would still think you were gorgeous.” The couple shared a look that clearly indicated they were devoted to one another. Such a good-looking, happy couple. Danielle inwardly sighed. Those were few and far between. She stood and made her way over to a small table near the door.

  “Mademoiselle LaCrosse comes with excellent references,” Lady Daphne added.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Lord Cavendish patted his pockets, preoccupied with searching the sideboard.

  “She arranged my hair in no time at all. It was quite amazing.”

  “Sounds good.” Lord Cavendish turned his attention to the table in front of the seating area.

  Danielle slipped her hand under the newspaper that sat atop the table near the door. THE BLACK FOX STRIKES AGAIN! read the headline. She quickly grabbed the object she’d spotted from across the room and turned away from the paper.

  “Is this what you’re looking for, my lord?” She moved toward Lord Cavendish and presented him with a gold pocket watch.

  The viscount stopped and looked up. His eyes widened. “Yes, actually. Where was it?”

  “Here. Under the paper.”

  “My goodness, Danielle, I didn’t even hear you get up. You move like a cat.” Lady Daphne smiled. “And you saw that from all the way across the room?” the viscountess asked in awe.

  “Just a guess,” Danielle replied, hoping Lady Daphne wouldn’t make too much over her knack for spotting things. “I noticed you patting your pockets so I assumed the item you were looking for must be small and something you carried upon you.”

  Lord Cavendish’s eyes narrowed on her briefly, but he inclined his head and smiled, too. “And so it is. Thank you, Danielle.”

  Lady Daphne put her hands to her hips. “I daresay you’ve done two impressive things during your interview. I suppose my next question for you is simply … when can you begin?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The theater was not the sort of amusement Cade looked forward to. He preferred a crowded, smoky gaming hell, or drinking far too much at a tavern filled with the type of women who might be up for a good tumble afterward.

  Tonight he’d made an exception. His brother had asked him to attend. Daphne had nearly begged him. They’d spent the better part of the last year—ever since he’d arrived unceremoniously on their doorstep—attempting to make him respectable. They’d even ignored the Amanda Jones debacle. It was more of a family jest than a to-do. Regardless, make Cade respectable? Not bloody likely, but he admired their zeal. Upon occasion, like tonight, he indulged them.

  Cade was in town for his own reasons, of course, reasons just now beginning to pay off. Earlier at the club, when Rafe had eyed the paper and mentioned the name Daffin Oakleaf, Cade’s stomach had clenched. Just how much did his brother know about him? Rafe was a respectable member of Society, an employee of the War Office. His livelihood, his life could be affected by Cade’s choices. Cade regretted that he couldn’t share his secrets with his brother, but it was best this way. To keep Rafe safe. The less he knew, the better.

  If it was the last thing Cade did, he would avenge his brother’s treatment at the hands of the French. But he’d die before admitting that purpose to Rafe. Cade’s role as the black sheep of the family was important to him. Mustn’t disrupt the natural order of things. At any rate, his brother had kindly allowed him to stay with him. He might as well at least attempt to do things the brother of a viscount was expected to do. Even if they were bloody boring. Like attending the theater.

  The three of them entered Rafe’s private box together. Cade still hadn’t got used to the large number of people who called his brother “my lord” and looked at him twice since they were mirror images of one another. One good thing about having been gone for so many years was the fact that no one outside of London had confused him for his brother. Well, except once. In London, it happened daily. Sometimes hourly. At least when they were together, they might get stares, but no one asked that annoying question.

  “What do you think of Danielle?” Daphne asked her husband as she settled into her seat in the box’s front row.

  “Was I supposed to think something of her?” Rafe asked. “She was deuced helpful with the pocket watch. I’ll give her that. The woman’s got a good eye.”

  “Who is Danielle?” Cade asked to be polite. The entire time, he searched the rows of seats filled with other theatergoers. Was the man he was to meet later here? Watching him? Making sure he’d come? Knowing him, he bloody well was.

  “She’s my new lady’s maid. I hired her just this afternoon.” Daphne gave Cade her brightest smile. Like Rafe, Daphne was bright, pleasant, full of hope and heart. Nothing like Cade. Cade had seen too much of the world’s underbelly. Hope and heart were best left to people who’d experienced more joy than pain. He was nothing but pleased his brother had found happiness, but Cade knew that it would never happen for him. Love wasn’t for men like him. His brother was actually capable of making a commitment, being faithful, returning love, giving a damn.

  Cade was imminently capable of returning love for say, the span of one extremely pleasurable evening, but any more of a commitment than that was asking far too much of him. No, he would never be meant for a proper little aristocrat like Daphne. He was more of a connoisseur of the type of women who liked to give pleasure and receive it with no questions asked or expectations to be met in the morning. And that’s exactly how he liked it. Leave the commitments, titles, and London town houses to his brother, the white sheep.

  This black sheep was only in town long enough to get the information he needed. It had already taken far longer than he’d anticipated, and dressing in fine clothing and pretending to be a Mayfair gentleman were wearing on his nerves. Things were finally falling into place. The newspapers were tracking the Black Fox and Cade had made appointments with the men he needed to speak to. Things would soon be resolved. Then he would be on his way, back to where he belonged, which was everywhere, or anywhere, except here.

  “She’s French,” Rafe offered.

  “Who’s French?” Cade asked, his gaze still searching the enormous crowd piled into the theater.

  “My new lady’s maid,” Daphne replied. “You aren’t even listening to me, are you?” Daphne huffed, settling her pink skirts around her. “I like that she’s French, Rafe. Just look at the darling way she arranged my ha
ir tonight.” She turned her head so both men could see.

  “You know I’m not the biggest admirer of the French,” Rafe replied, bitterness making his voice sharp.

  Cade clenched his fist. He knew where that bitterness came from. During the war, one of Rafe’s many missions to France was with Daphne’s brother, Donald, the then Earl of Swifdon. The two had been captured and tortured. Donald had been murdered. Cade knew it was his brother’s biggest regret that he hadn’t been able to save the brother of the woman he loved.

  Daphne, along with the rest of their friends, knew the details and didn’t blame Rafe. Not after what he’d been through. It had been a miracle Rafe escaped with his life. Last year, he’d returned to find the men who’d tortured him and killed Donald. He’d brought the lot of them to justice, with Daphne’s help, no less. Cade, or rather Daffin Oakleaf, knew even more than his brother did about who was behind Rafe’s capture and torture. The French would pay. And soon.

  “She lived in Paris and knows all of the latest hairstyles and fashions,” Daphne added.

  “Ah, yes, hairstyles and fashions are more important than the wars,” Rafe drawled.

  “Danielle didn’t have anything to do with the wars,” Daphne pointed out. “Honestly, Rafe.”

  “I agree with your wife,” Cade said. “An unsuspecting lady’s maid hardly seems like someone against whom to hold a grudge.” But Cade already didn’t trust the woman, either.

  “How do we know she can be trusted?” Rafe asked, though he had a smile on his face.

  Daphne rolled her eyes. “I’ve no reason to believe she’s a subversive agent for the French, for goodness’ sake. She’s a lady’s maid and came with excellent references.”

  “French references?”