The Pirate's Temptation (Pirates of Britannia World Book 12) Read online

  Just get it over with. Her thoughts raced, stirring her pulse. He is not a monster—after all, a monster doesn’t seek a governess for his wee bairns.

  And even if he is, sometimes a beast is preferable to a cur disguised as a fine gentleman.

  Gathering one last breath of courage, she rapped the brass ring against the door, collected her satchel, and took a step back. When the butler opened the door, she’d present the letter and get on with her business. With any luck, she might never even lay eyes on the pirate.

  The door swung inward, its hinges groaning a protest well suited to a haunted mansion she’d once read about in a gothic novel.

  She’d expected to encounter a gentleman in the middle of his life, immaculately attired, perhaps offering a bland, humorless countenance in the way well-trained butlers had.

  Instead, she gazed up at a man who towered over her, at least a head taller than herself. A swath of dark hair fell over his forehead while even darker eyes peered down at her. With his untamed hair, plain black trousers, and a slightly rumpled cotton shirt he wore unbuttoned at the throat and with the sleeves scandalously rolled up to his elbows, he was unkempt—far too unkempt to be a butler. Taking a closer look, she noticed his eyes bore few crinkles at the corners, betraying his youth. He looked too young to be the bane of anything, much less a battle-hardened pirate. But appearances could deceive. Hadn’t she learned that lesson with Lord Gilford?

  He looked her up and down, brazen as they come. His mouth crooked at one corner. “Ye must be her—ye’ve come to rein in these fiendish little terrors?”

  Fiendish little terrors? My, that wasn’t what she was expecting to hear. Not at all.

  “Oh dear.” Had she actually spoken the words?

  His smile broadened, wry but warm. An expression she could best describe as hopeful filled his gaze. “Well, why are ye standing there like ye’ve seen a ghost? Ye are the lass from the agency, are ye not?”

  Clenching her hand around the handle of the traveling bag, she forced a nod. “Indeed, I am. And who might you be? I’d expected the butler to answer the door.”

  “Butler?” He laughed at the word. “I’ve half a mind to take offense that ye’d think I’d trouble myself with whatever it is blasted butlers do.”

  Her lips pulled tight with tension. She certainly didn’t need to get on this towering man’s bad side. “I presume you are Mr. MacArron.”

  “Aye, Rory MacArron, at yer service,” he said, his mouth stern even as amusement danced in his eyes. “But I’m not the one ye need to be talkin’ to.”

  Her fingers dug into the letter of reference. “But you…you were expecting me. Surely I’m at the right place.” She glanced behind her, thankful the coachman had seen fit to wait to see her safely settled in. Perhaps she wouldn’t be staying here after all. This man appeared rather mad.

  Behind him, a small child’s squeal cut through the air, followed by a girlish shriek. He offered an oddly solemn nod. “Ah, ye’re at the right place. If ye can tame these wee banshees, I, for one, will be in yer debt.”

  “I must insist on speaking with the man who is to be my employer. I was told his name was MacArron.”

  “Aye, ’tis MacArron. There’s no mistake there.” The man glanced over his shoulder. “But he’s the one ye want.”

  With a well-honed stealth, another man stepped forward. Thick hair the color of autumn wheat brushed his collar and his brows. Even taller and broader of shoulder than the dark-haired man, the newcomer brushed past him with a smooth movement.

  He’s the one ye want.

  In that moment, Leana met the most intriguing eyes she’d ever seen. As deep and rich a green as the finest emeralds, dancing with wit and intelligence, his eyes were the most striking feature in a face as precisely carved as a Renaissance sculptor’s subject. His full mouth set into a solemn line for a heartbeat, perhaps two, as he regarded her silently.

  Oh, dear. He wasn’t what she’d pictured. She’d envisioned the Devil to be a buccaneer missing half his teeth and half a leg, smelling of whisky and sweat. Utterly unappealing.

  No, this man was nothing like that. Not at all.

  MacArron was handsome. His face was perfection, save for the scar—the curved slash etched across his left cheek in an act of viciousness. On someone else, the mark might have seemed a disfigurement. But on him, somehow, it only enhanced the draw of his good looks. The contrast between the classic cut of his features and the violence of the mark gave him the look of an angel fallen to earth.

  A fierce expression marked those handsome features. Not a scowl. Not quite. She imagined that look might have intimidated a man intent on combat, an opponent well-matched in all but mental fortitude.

  And yet, she felt no fear of him, though apprehension might have been far wiser than the surge of awareness coursing through her body.

  Her gaze swept over him, taking in a long, lean—and if the well-hewn legs below his kilt were any indication—sleekly hard-muscled body. Like the younger man’s, his shirt was white and unadorned, worn open at the throat, revealing a vee of skin feathered with light brown hair. What would the crisp hair feel like beneath her fingertips?

  She pulled in a low breath, as if that would calm her pounding pulse. The tactic did not work. If anything, her heartbeat sped a bit faster as she drew in the clean scent of him. Notes of soap and good whisky filled her senses. Her mouth went dry with an unfamiliar longing. If she’d had her druthers, she’d have savored his heady scent a while longer, but she knew better. She had to pull herself together.

  This man was far too tempting for her own good.

  Much more dangerous than any beast of prey.

  He studied her for the span of several heartbeats, then his expression softened. Tearing away his gaze, he turned to the dark-haired man. “Dinna harass the lady with what ye think passes for wit.”

  “Ah, I was only having a bit of fun.”

  “The lass doesna look amused now, does she?” The newcomer’s attention roamed to the letter in her hand before traveling back to her face. “What brings ye here today?”

  “You are Captain MacArron?”

  He nodded. “James MacArron at yer service. But that doesna answer my question.”

  Swallowing hard against a sudden surge of nerves, she extended the letter to him. “I understand you’re seeking a governess for your wee bairns. I’ve come to take the job.”

  One dark brow crooked. “You?” His head tilted as he seemed to study her. “Here?”

  “Yes. This is where the position is located, is it not?”

  Another nod. “That’s right. But ye’re not what I was expecting. Not at all.”

  “I assure you I am very well qualified. My reference…” Once again, she attempted to give him the letter, but he did not take it from her hand.

  “Nay.” He shook his head. Behind them, in a room not far from where they stood, something large and fragile crashed to the floor, followed by a girl’s squeal. “Ye willnae do.”

  Her heart stuttered. This couldn’t be. Surely he would not turn her away. “But my letter of reference.”

  “I dinna give a damn about your references. My solicitor was clear about my expectations.”

  “I’ll have you know, I’ve come a very long way seeking employment as governess to your darling children.” As Leana spoke, something else landed in the corridor with a resounding thud.

  “Darling children?” Rory MacArron laughed under his breath.

  Leana planted one fist on her hip as she thrust the letter in the pirate’s face. “The least you could do is to take a look at my letter of reference. That is, if you are able to read it.”

  A corner of his mouth tipped up, as though he’d found some amusement in her words. “I assure ye, I know how to read, lass. Give it here.” He took the letter from her outstretched hand.

  She pulled in a breath, shoring up her confidence. “As you can see, I possess ample experience with children.”

  “Aye, I�
��d say ye do.” He looked from the letter to her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think ye wrote this yerself.”

  The audacity of the man! She’d never stoop so low. It was bad enough she’d forged her own name on the letter. She wouldn’t sing her own praises.

  “I would never do such a thing,” she said, firming her chin. “I’ve half a mind to leave this place and allow you to fend for yourselves.”

  MacArron studied the missive. “Tell me, Miss Fraser, how is it ye’ve come by such extensive experience? To my eye, ye dinna look to be old enough to have watched over bairns for more than a dozen years. Ye’d have been little more than a child yerself.”

  Drat. She’d missed that detail in the letter. Think fast, Leana.

  “I am flattered you think me too young, but I assure you I am of the proper age. I began caring for children at a rather tender age.”

  “Did ye, now? Ye must’ve been in need of a governess yerself when ye took on yer first charge.” He met her eyes, his gaze questioning. “Miss Fraser, even if I believed everything in this letter—which I do not—that does not change one indisputable fact.”

  She fought a rising tide of panic. If he sent her away, she had nowhere to go, no way to stay out of Gilford’s reach.

  “And what might that be?”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “I dinna wish to have ye under my roof. A woman like ye—ye’re the last thing I need in this place.”

  Another high-pitched squeal of mischief punctuated his words. Rory MacArron scowled at the Devil.

  “Ye’re not goin’ to send her away, are ye now? Those bairns need someone to teach them.” The young man’s dark eyes narrowed. “It sure as hell isnae going to be me.”

  “Have ye gone and hit yer head in another tavern fight?” MacArron returned Rory’s scowl. “What in bluidy hell could ye teach them, ye dolt? How to swindle a man at cards?”

  “And what have ye done to raise those wee hellions? God above, ye can command a crew of cutthroats, but ye canna control two—”

  “Hellions, is it?” Leana sensed her chance. “I’ve quite a way with children. My references—”

  His green eyes darkened as he settled his gaze on her face. “I dinna give a damn about references,” the pirate said, his voice gruff.

  Another girlish squeal accompanied the thud of small boots racing over the oak floor. Leaving a cloud of what looked like flour in her wake, the girl—at least, Leana assumed the tiny whirlwind was a girl, given her messy braids—made a mad dash to take sanctuary behind her skirts.

  “I dinna mean to do it, Da.” Blinking against the flour, bright blue eyes peered up at the pirate.

  A thin woman with a careworn face and gray hair streaked with silver covered by a crisp white cap followed behind her. White streaks marked her cheerful blue dress and white apron.

  “I wanted to make a sweet biscuit,” the girl protested in a whine, peeking out from behind Leana’s skirts. “Da…please…dinna be angry.”

  The older woman’s mouth thinned to a harsh slash. “I insist you do something. Now. I cannot manage a kitchen with these girls running wild through my provisions.”

  Seeming to struggle to maintain his dour demeanor while looking at the flour-coated child, MacArron shot the matron a glance. “Mrs. Taylor, yer presence isna needed. I will speak with ye later.”

  “Not needed, eh?” The woman’s mouth pulled into a hard line, and she gave her head a stern shake. “Perhaps then I’ll be takin’ my leave—away from this house.”

  As she spoke, another girl—a full head taller than the blue-eyed imp and as sullen faced as the little one was animated—strolled into the room. Arms folded at the waist, her striking gray-blue eyes flashed with youthful defiance.

  “Bridget was only tryin’ to help,” the older girl said. “If Mrs. Taylor wasn’t such an old grouch.”

  Mrs. Taylor’s mouth formed a perfect, angry “o”. She looked as if she wished to retort but thought better of it. She kept her attention square on MacArron. “These young terrors need someone to guide them. Heaven knows I’ve tried. Either you hire a proper governess, or you’ll be looking for a cook as well.”

  Leana seized the opportunity as if it had been heaven sent. “Captain MacArron, I am more than up to the task.”

  MacArron crooked a brow as his gaze flickered to the mischievous little girl. “I wouldna be so sure of that.”

  Squaring her shoulders, Leana met his doubtful gaze and summoned confidence into her voice, even as the older of the two girls flashed a bored glare. “All I ask is a chance to demonstrate my competence. You will not regret—”

  MacArron shook his head. “I already regret trusting my solicitor with such a task. My instructions were very clear. Ye’re not what we need, lass.”

  His words slammed into her, but she held her ground. “These are your daughters?”

  “Yes.” The single word carried unspoken emotion she couldn’t quite decipher.

  “Anyone can see they are in need of guidance.”

  “Guidance?” the older girl scoffed, jutting out her chin. “My mum taught me my letters. I can read. I can write. If ye think to teach me to stitch samplers, I’ve better things to do.”

  Leana gulped a steadying breath. She hadn’t anticipated that challenge, but she would not let it deter her. “I am more than qualified—”

  He shook his head. “I will see ye safely returned to yer home. There is no place for ye here.”

  The cook tapped a foot in a brisk rhythm against the bare wood planks. “You’re quite sure, are you? I wouldn’t be so hasty.”

  He flashed Mrs. Taylor a look of resignation, then turned back to Leana. “Ye will be fairly compensated for your time. There is no point carrying on this discussion.”

  Apprehension washed over her. She swallowed hard against the sense of defeat. Perhaps she could not convince him to take her on permanently. But a temporary position would provide the sanctuary she needed. Even a month would allow the earl to cool his head, and hopefully, forget about the governess who’d defied him.

  The girl tugged at Leana’s skirt, even as she grew bolder, stepping out just far enough to face the scowling cook. Her golden braids tied with a blue ribbon, the child was the very image of a miniature angel—until the moment she looked up at Mrs. Taylor, stuck out her tongue, and wagged it about for good measure.

  The matron’s face reddened. “The child is incorrigible.”

  Giggling, the cherubic imp gazed up at Leana. “You’re pretty.”

  “Why, thank you,” Leana replied.

  The girl studied her thoughtfully. “Are you a princess?”

  Sensing an ally, Leana bit back a hopeful smile. She wouldn’t let this opportunity pass. She’d sensed the pirate’s Achilles heel when she’d asked if the children were his kin. Leana crouched low to look the girl in the eye and smiled her sweetest smile. “No, I’m not. But if your da will have me, I’ll live here and teach you.”

  Rising to her full height, Leana smoothed her skirts with the palms of her hands and faced him directly. She’d backed him into a corner. Hadn’t she? She flashed a look of defiance. The Devil of the Highlands might’ve triumphed over every opponent he’d ever faced at sea, but at this moment, he was no match for a wee lass, a cook, and a determined governess.

  “As my letter from Mrs. Kirk at the agency states, I am well versed in the instruction of fine young ladies.”

  “Are ye now?” His eyes skimmed over the letter again. He shot her a scowl as his fingers closed around the paper. His mouth flattened into a hard line as he tossed her references onto the floor. “I put no stock in this.”

  “I ask only an opportunity to demonstrate my competence. Six weeks to prove my value to this household.”

  The dark-haired MacArron and Mrs. Taylor nodded their agreement. But the pirate folded his arms over his chest and shook his head again, stern as they come.

  “Ten days,” he countered.

  “Ten days?” She held his p
enetrating gaze. “Why, that’s hardly a fair test.”

  His attention shot to the door behind her. “Given I’m of a mind to return ye to wherever it was ye came from, ye’ll take the offer or be on yer way.”

  The wee lass grabbed tiny fistfuls of Leana’s skirt between flour-coated fingers as she flashed a hopeful grin. “Pleeeeeaaaase. Say ye’ll stay.”

  Leana gazed down at the child. The girl bounced enthusiastically on her toes, creating a cloud of milled grain with each little jump. Leana’s attention flashed to the older girl, who scrunched up her rounded face and mustered a scowl, fierce as her father.

  Goodness, this was not going to be easy. These children looked as if they’d seldom had a moment’s guidance.

  But she had a chance to take them under her wing.

  Ten days to prove herself.

  Ten days of refuge under this pirate’s roof. It wasn’t what she’d hoped for.

  But it was far better than the alternative.

  She pulled in a bracing breath. “Very well. Ten days, starting tomorrow.”

  “Fair enough.” He glanced at her, his mouth quirking at the corners as his gaze swept to the miniature handprints on her skirt. Reaching out, he gently tousled the younger girl’s golden-blond hair, then turned on his heel and marched to the door. Casting a look over his shoulder, the hint of amusement had dissolved, replaced by an expression of challenge. “Ye’re a brave one, Miss Fraser, I’ll give ye that.”

  “You’ll soon see I belong here,” she called after him. “You’ll wonder what you ever did without me.” She sounded a bit too hopeful even to her own ears.

  He stopped in his tracks and turned. His gaze locked with hers. “I’ll give ye yer chance. Ten days. And not one minute more.”

  Chapter Two

  James MacArron had commanded a crew of some of the most ruthless bastards in all of Scotland. He’d faced down enemies who’d have seen his neck in a noose or his blood on their swords, and he’d brought his ship through storms that had set the most seasoned of his men to praying.