Rogue Pirates Bride Read online

  Praise for The Making of a Gentleman

  “The second installment of the Sons of the Revolution

  trilogy showcases Galen’s talents for emotionally powerful

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  — RT Book Reviews

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  “Fantastic historical romance, full of darkness and light.”

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  Shana Galen once again brings her characters to life through

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  Praise for The Making of a Duchess

  “Galen’s trilogy, the stories of lost brothers, begins with a

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  plotline enhance the spirited dialogue and sense of adventure.”

  — RT Book Reviews

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  intrigue and sexy romance in her latest deftly crafted

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  — Booklist

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  the dialogue, charming wit, the intrigues, and the steamy

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  Galen’s book had me up until all hours.”

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  “Intrigue, suspense, and romance wrapped neatly into a

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  Copyright © 2012 by Shana Galen

  Cover and internal design © 2012 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

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  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of

  Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in

  any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including

  information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of

  brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—with-

  out permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious

  or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or

  dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Source-

  books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

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  Printed and bound in the United States of America

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  Copyright © 2012 by Shana Galen

  Cover and internal design © 2012 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover photo credit line?? (designer to add)

  Internal permissions credit lines?? (designer to add)

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of

  Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in

  any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including

  information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of

  brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—with-

  out permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious

  or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or

  dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For mothers, especially my mom, Nancy,

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Source-

  and my mother-in-law Cheryl.

  books, Inc.

  How would I have done it without you?

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  FAX: (630) 961-2168

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  Printed and bound in the United States of America

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  One

  France, 1802

  “That’s him,” Percy whispered. “I’m almost certain

  of it.”

  Raeven Russell glanced at Percy. There was a

  fine sheen of perspiration on his pale, freckled skin,

  and his white-blond hair stood up in all directions as

  though he’d run a hand through it half a dozen times.

  Which he probably had. Percy Williams was purser

  for the HMS Regal, and while Raeven knew Percy

  adored her, she also knew he abhorred any action that

  violated her father’s rules.

  She reached over and slung an arm around him in

  the jaunty way she had seen men do time and time

  again. “You look nervous,” she said under her breath.

  “People will wonder why.”

  “I am nervous,” he hissed. “You’re going to get

  yourself killed.”

  “That’s my problem.” She shifted away from him

  and scanned the men around her. Which one was

  Cutlass? There were several likely candidates.

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  Shana Galen

  Raeven stood like a man—legs braced apart and

  hands on hips—to survey the seedy Brest tavern.

  Dockside taverns the world over were the same, she

  mused as she studied the crowd. They were filled

  with sailors looking for wine and women, ships’

  captains hiring additions to their crews, beleaguered

  serving girls skirting men’s too-free hands, and whores

  working to entice any man with the coin to pay.

>   She didn’t know why she should feel so at home.

  She certainly didn’t belong here and had gone to

  considerable trouble to disguise herself as a young man

  before sneaking off her father’s ship and onto a cutter

  with the crew members going ashore legitimately.

  If her father knew she was here… She shook her

  head. She could hear his booming voice in her head.

  The daughter of a British admiral should behave with more

  decorum, in a manner befitting her station in life.

  But what was her station in life? Her mother had

  died days after her birth, and from the age of four—

  when the last of her relatives had given her up as

  incorrigible—she’d been sailing with her father. This

  certainly wasn’t the first tavern she’d visited. It wasn’t

  even the first time she’d sneaked off the HMS Regal.

  It was the first time she’d found Captain Cutlass.

  After six months of searching for the murdering bastard,

  she was about to meet him… face to face.

  “It’ll be my neck when your father finds out.”

  Percy swallowed audibly, and she suppressed a smile.

  “Then you won’t be long in following me to meet

  our maker. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

  He gave her a horrified look, which she supposed

  indicated he didn’t think she’d be a very good envoy.

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  The Rogue Pirate’s Bride

  3

  He cleared his throat. “I prefer a little more time on

  this earthly world.”

  “I’m in complete agreement. Now, tell me which

  one he is again, but don’t look at him or gesture

  toward him.”

  “Let’s go sit at the bar,” Percy said. “You can see

  him better from there, and we’ll be less conspicuous.”

  “Fine.” Remembering to play her role, she swag-

  gered to the bar and leaned against it, trying to look

  belligerent. Percy ordered ale, and she did as well,

  though she had no intention of drinking it. She

  needed all her wits about her.

  When the barkeep moved away, Percy studied his

  mug and murmured, “See the man in the far corner?”

  Raeven allowed her gaze to roam lazily over the

  tavern until she focused on the corner he indicated.

  “He’s dressed as a gentleman in a navy coat, white

  cravat, buff breeches.”

  She saw him now and nodded. “A gentleman

  pirate.” She shook her head. “Contradiction in terms.”

  “The rumor is he’s a deposed marquis whose family

  fled France during the revolution.”

  She scowled at him. “Don’t tell me you believe that

  rubbish. All the pirates concoct romantic stories. Just

  because one claims he’s a duke doesn’t make him any

  less of a thief and murderer.”

  “Of course I don’t believe it. I’m telling you the

  rumor.”

  But she could hear in his voice he had believed

  the story, and now that she’d set her eyes on Cutlass,

  she could see why. The man did have the air of the

  aristocrat about him. It wasn’t simply his clothes—any

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  Shana Galen

  man could dress up as one of the quality, but there

  was something in Cutlass’s bearing. He was sitting at

  a table, his back to the wall, facing the door to the

  tavern. That much told her he was no fool. There

  was a man seated across from him, and Cutlass was

  listening in a leisurely fashion to whatever the man was

  saying. Cutlass’s arms were crossed over his chest, and

  his expression was one of mild interest. He had a glass

  of something on the table before him, but she hadn’t

  seen him drink from it. Nor had she seen any whores

  approach him.

  He was doing business then. It would have better

  served her purposes if he’d been drunk and whoring, but

  she didn’t have the luxury of choosing when to strike.

  Her gaze slid back to Percy. “He’s handsome,” she

  remarked and watched the purser’s eyebrows wing

  upward. “I hadn’t expected that.”

  The reports she’d had of him rarely mentioned his

  appearance. Captain Cutlass was known for his stealth,

  his agility, and his slippery escapes. It was rumored

  he’d boarded over a hundred vessels. That was obvi-

  ously exaggeration, but even if his record was a quarter

  of that, it was an impressive feat. Of course, he claimed

  he was a privateer, and she knew he sailed under the

  Spanish flag and with that country’s letters of marque.

  She didn’t care for privateers any more than she cared

  for pirates, and made little distinction between them.

  Neither pirates nor privateers should dare attack ships

  of the British Navy. Neither should dare to kill a

  British naval officer.

  She felt the anger and the blood pump through her

  and took a deep, calming breath. She couldn’t afford

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  5

  to be emotional right now. She had to put emotion

  away. And she couldn’t afford a schoolgirl crush on

  the man either. Yes, he was handsome. His dark

  brown hair brushed back from his forehead and would

  have grazed his shoulder if not neatly secured in a

  queue. His face was strong with a square jaw, plenty of

  angles and planes, and a full mouth that destroyed the

  hard effect and hinted at softness. But the eyes—the

  eyes did not lie. There was no softness in the man.

  She couldn’t quite see the eye color from this far away,

  but under the sardonic arch of his brow his eyes were

  sharp, cold, and calculating.

  A worthy adversary, and she’d spill his blood tonight.

  “I don’t like the look in your eyes,” Percy said.

  “Now that you’ve seen him, you can’t possibly mean

  to challenge him. He’s not a small man.”

  Raeven straightened her shoulders to give herself

  more height. She was well aware of her short stature,

  but size and strength were not everything. She was

  small and quick and deadly. “I do mean to challenge

  him,” she said, brushing her hand against the light

  sword at her waist. “I’m only waiting until his busi-

  ness is completed.” Though if it took much longer,

  she would have to interrupt. She wanted this over

  and done.

  “I don’t think that’s wise. Perhaps if we wait—”

  “I’m not waiting,” she snapped. “I’ve waited six

  months, and that’s too long.”

  “Timothy would not have wanted…”

  Her glare cut him off. “Timothy is dead, and his

  murderer is sitting over there having a chat and sipping

  wine. Timothy would have wanted justice.”

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  Shana Galen

  And because she knew Percy’s next comment

  would be about justice versus vengeance, and because

&nbs
p; she did not want to hear it, she pushed off the bar and

  arrowed for Cutlass’s table. It was a short trek across

  the tavern but long enough for her heart to pick up

  speed and pound painfully in her chest. She tried

  to calm herself with a deep breath, but she exhaled

  shakily. Her hands were sweating, and she flexed them

  to keep them loose.

  When she stepped in front of Cutlass’s table, he

  glanced up at her briefly and then back at the man seated

  across from him. Before she could speak, another man

  was beside her.

  “Move away, lad. The captain’s busy at present.”

  The man was tall and lanky with a shock of red hair and

  pale, freckled skin. He was well dressed and spoke to

  her in fluent, if accented, French. English, she thought,

  and well bred. Probably Cutlass’s quartermaster.

  She stood her ground. “I think the captain will

  want to hear what I have to say.” She said it to Cutlass,

  but he didn’t acknowledge her.

  “I’ll tell him you wish to speak with him. In the

  meantime…” He made the mistake of taking her arm,

  and she responded with a quick jab to his abdomen.

  He grunted in surprise and took a step back.

  “Problem, Mr. Maine?” Cutlass said smoothly. He

  had one brow cocked and a bemused smile on his lips.

  Obviously, he didn’t see her as any sort of threat. “Is

  the lad giving you trouble?” He also spoke in French,

  but his was sweet and thick as honey. A native speaker,

  she surmised, and one with a polished accent. No

  wonder he played the deposed French marquis.

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  “No, Captain,” Maine said, stepping forward again.

  “I’ll get him out of your way.”

  Raeven put a hand on the small dagger at her waist.

  “Touch me again, and I’ll slice your hand off.” Her

  gaze met Cutlass’s. “I want a word with you.”

  “Obviously.” He lifted his wine, sipped. “But

  you’ll have to learn some manners first. Come back

  when you’ve mastered the art of patience.”

  In one lightning-quick move, she drew her dagger,

  rounded the table, and pressed it under his jaw. “You

  want to talk about patience?” She pressed the blade into

  the bronze skin until a small bead of blood welled up.

  “I’ve been waiting six long months to slit your throat.”

  “Is that all?” he said, setting his glass of wine on the

  table. With annoyance, she noted his hand did not even

  tremble. “There are some who’ve waited far longer.”