Page 2 of A Prince Among Pirates
My attention shifts to my betrothed, across the room. She’s wearing a soft pink dress adorned with lace and silk ribbons. It offsets the pretty brown of her hair and the pale white of her skin nicely. Though I cannot see them from where I stand, I know her eyes to be the deep blue of the distant ocean, and I can tell that she has enhanced the color of her cheeks with rouge.
I should be ecstatic, of course. She is the daughter of a marquess and comes with a handsome dowry and a title that outranks my father’s. She is beautiful and well mannered, and always has a smile for me—but in truth, ever since the betrothal, the very sight of her sets my teeth on edge.
She reaches for me as I approach her, and I take her hand, bow over it, and press a kiss to the back of her white glove, leaving a small blot of red over her ring finger.
How ominously appropriate.
I stand back upright and tuck her arm into mine to hide the mark. I must play the part of the dutiful fiancé for the remainder of the evening, with Katherine Stuart on my arm.
“Are you quite all right?” she whispers to me. “Your lip is bleeding.”
“Ah, nothing to worry about, my dear. I had an unfortunate run-in with a rake in Father’s office.”
She gives her social laugh and touches my arm as if I were the most amusing man alive. I resist the urge to shrink away. Her touch revolts me, but it wasn’t always so. Merely weeks ago I would have reveled at her hand on my arm, her lips near my ear. I might even have stolen away with her in a dark hall, or a wooded area, and put her virtue in terrible danger.
But there is no fun in stealing away with someone when it is socially acceptable to do so. There is no fun in an arranged marriage, either—especially not one so clearly meant as a punishment from my father.
I wonder what led to him marrying my mother all those years ago. It’s hard to imagine the viscount of Falmouth in love with anyone. She must have been a great beauty—irresistible and charming. How I wish I had known her. How I hate him for refusing to allow me to. It isn’t his fault she died, but he has kept her identity from me all this time, for reasons at which I can only guess. I steal a glance his way as Katherine blathers on about the daffodils and yellow table dressings for our wedding reception.
I detest yellow.
Eventually I spot Digby in the crowd, chatting with a group of our classmates from Eton. Their respective wives and fiancées stand with them, looking bored and trying their best not to. Had I not a shackle on my arm, I might convince one of them to slip away with me into the garden for a romp under the waning moon. There’s nothing quite as enjoyable as another man’s wife—but I suppose my own nuptials will put a hard stop to that.
Ugh, what an absolute bore! Flirting and having illicit affairs as a young bachelor is one thing—I am charming and irresistible in my current state—but a wedded man bedding other people is just tacky. My life will be over before it has even begun.
Grief overwhelms me at the thought of what my life will be like six months hence: a wife round with child, and insufferable meetings in the House of Lords with my father. I am already suffocating at the thought of it. My days at Eton gave me some sense of freedom from my family, but they did little to quench my desire for somethingelse—something apart from the stuffy life of the peerage. I want to experience the world, not just the tedious political intrigues of men who dress in monochrome and play chess with other people’s lives. I’m meant to do somethingmore.
And there is nothing I want less in life than to become my father.
“Forgive me,” I interrupt. “I feel a touch light-headed.”
“Are you ill?” Katherine asks, aghast.
“No,” I assure her, donning my best charming smile. “Just need a bit of fresh air. I’ll return with champagne for us both.”Before she can argue, I extract myself from her grasp and escape to the balcony.
The cold night air fills my lungs, burning my insides, but at least now I can breathe again. I approach the railing and gaze out into the fathomless ocean below. The moon hangs over the black water, a rippling crescent of ivory dancing across its surface. All at once, I would like nothing more than to climb onto the rail and dive into the water.
The thought alarms me. I don’t want to die—yet I am tempted all the same. The water is freezing, and I cannot swim, but my hands grip the railing, and my heart beats unevenly against my ribs as I stare down into the face of certain death. I could do it. I could just jump. My father would be so glad to have got rid of me without lifting a finger or carrying a guilty conscience—and I would be free. Dead, but free.
Except I don’t want to die. I want tolive.
I tear my hands away from the icy railing and step back, breathless and shaken. I stare out at the water as I try to collect myself… and catch sight of something black on the horizon.
“Do you think it’s a pirate ship?”
Startled, I whirl about, and I can’t hide my grimace when I see Digby looming in the open doorway. “Impossible to tell from here,” I say—but in truth there is no reason to think a pirate ship might be merrily sailing into port at Falmouth.
“I don’t understand the appeal of it,” Digby says, leaning against the rail beside me, though I certainly didn’t invite him to do so.
“Of piracy?” I ask. I should hope not.
“Of living at sea. Navy men and pirates alike.”
“Don’t let a navy man hear you say that,” I snort.
“My uncle is a navy captain,” Digby says. “He speaks of living at sea like a badge of honor, but my father says it’s just an excuse for buggery and lawlessness. Even in the navy.”
I balk at the thought of Lord Hale uttering the word “buggery” in front of his son but don’t say so. “Buggery and lawlessness?” I repeat, because I am feeling sassy. “Where do I sign up?”
