In the Tudor Court Collection. Amanda McCabe

throat. ‘Since I do not wish to live alone for the rest of my life I may take a mistress…’

      ‘Why can you not marry? Are you married—is there someone anticipating your return?’ Her mouth was dry as she waited for his answer, which was a while in coming. ‘Someone you love?’

      ‘There was once a woman I loved.’ He frowned and looked into the distance. ‘That was long ago, before I became what I am now. No one waits for me and I have no wife. Love is something I cannot afford, Maribel. It softens a man and makes him weak—but I would be generous to any woman I took as my partner in life. She would have to be the right kind of woman, one who could share the hardships of the life I live.’

      Maribel drew a deep breath. What was he saying to her—that she could be his mistress if she chose? Or was he telling her that she was the wrong kind of woman? She knew that he desired her, and suspected that it would be heaven to lie with him. Part of her yearned to tell him that she would rather sail the seas as his woman than be wife to any other man, but something held her back. She knew nothing of this man or his hopes and dreams. It would be foolish to imagine that she could be more than a temporary amusement to such a man.

      ‘I accept your word that I shall be safe on the island,’ she said at last. ‘It seems that there are some honourable men left. My husband was one such man and perhaps you are another.’

      ‘You told me your husband loved you—but did you love him? Are you still grieving for him?’

      ‘Yes, I loved Pablo. I did not wish to marry again, but my father forced me to agree.’

      She had loved Pablo, but she was beginning to understand that perhaps she had only ever loved him as a brother. However, she could not admit the truth to this man.

      ‘And you truly wish to find your mother’s family?’

      ‘Yes…’ she whispered, though her heart spoke otherwise.

      She could not deny the strong attraction he had for her, the way something deep inside called to him, but he had spoken of taking a mistress. He did not need or want a wife. She was sure that he had been warning her to keep her distance, for he felt the attraction too. He would take her as his mistress and treat her well for as long as it pleased him but then, when it was over, she would be truly alone.

      At least he had been honest with her and she must respect him for that, but there could be nothing more than a wary friendship between them.

      Justin inclined his head. ‘You will excuse me, lady. I have much to do.’

      ‘Yes,’ she said and smiled at him. ‘I must not keep you from your work. I know I must often be in your way when I come on deck…’

      ‘You would never be in my way,’ he replied, and for a moment the heat in his eyes seared her.

      Maribel went below to her cabin, feeling restless. Sometimes when the pirate captain looked at her that way she had feelings that were hard to ignore. Without his realising it, he had lit a fire inside her and she could not ignore it no matter how hard she tried.

      It was merely physical. The result of a marriage that had not satisfied the woman in her. She had not realised then how much she would have missed as Pablo’s wife, but she was beginning to understand now. There was something inside her that craved the kind of love she should have known with her husband—but it was the bold pirate who filled her dreams and made her restless, not her gentle husband. Yet it would not be just physical for her, because if she gave herself she would give her heart and he wanted only her body. He had loved a woman once and he did not wish to love again. Could she be content with such an arrangement?

      A part of her cried out that she would take what happiness she could, but her mind denied it. She might long for the kind of loving that she had never known with her husband, but to love and not be loved in return would break her heart.

      ‘Forgive me, Pablo,’ she whispered, saying goodbye to the memories she had treasured. No longer a child, she felt that she was at the threshold of becoming a woman—if only she had the courage to step over.

      Justin watched the woman as she stood at the prow of the ship, her long hair blowing softly in the breeze. She had abandoned her formal ringlets and the new style suited her. There was pride in every line of her body. She was a true lady and it showed in all she did, in her every movement and her speech. Her smile was an enchantment, though it was seen seldom enough. Sometimes when, as now, she stood staring out to sea, there was an air of sadness about her that wrenched at his heart. He could only guess at the causes. Was she missing her home or her husband?

      Justin was aware of a nagging jealousy. Pablo Sanchez must have been a true man to hold her heart beyond the grave. Given the choice she would remain faithful to her dead husband, but for how long? Anger stirred in him. She should not be allowed to waste her life in regret for a man who could no longer hold or love her. Such beauty should be for the living.

      Seeing her day by day as they sailed, spending a few moments in her company, explaining the way the sails were worked and the tools that he used for reading the stars to guide them on their journey, had brought him to a closer understanding with her. Her eyes no longer held that faint hint of fear whenever he approached. He believed she was beginning to trust him, to respect his word—but did she like him? Did she feel anything more than respect?

      Justin had given his word that she would be safe from him and his crew. He had told her that she must come to him willingly, but he did not believe that it would happen. It would have been better to have taken her to England, given her money and let her find her own family, but the crew might have mutinied.

      No, he would not lie to himself. He could have found a way to persuade them, but he had not wanted to part from her too soon. She drew him like a moth to a flame, but he knew that he would be foolish to hope that a woman like Maribel Sanchez would look twice at a pirate. Her world was not the one he had chosen; there was too wide a divide between them and he did not see how it could be crossed, except in a way that would shame her.

      His smile was wry. Of late she had spoken softly to him, but at the start there had been such contempt in her voice when she spoke of pirates. She had challenged him so proudly and her contempt stung. He had been born to a proud family. There were times when he thought of his home longingly, but how could he ever return? One day Queen Mary would die and, pray God, Elizabeth would reign in her stead. He knew that the charges of treason would then be dropped, but there might be others in their place. He had incited men to mutiny. He had preyed on merchant ships, and the ships of friendly countries, also the Mistress Susanna, which was an English ship. He could not shame his father by returning to a trial and a hanging.

      At the start he had been carried along by his sense of fair play and justice. The men had been ill treated and Captain Smythe had deserved what happened, perhaps more. Had he left the men to their own devices and gone to France to his cousins, Justin might have been able to return home, but it was too late. In Maribel’s eyes he had seen the disgust and contempt that his mother would feel if she learned what her son had become.

      Justin had not sent word to let his parents know he was still alive. Better that they should think him dead than know what trade he followed…

      Maribel sighed as she brushed her hair. The weather had been so hot these past days, and the ship had been becalmed for a short time, making a long journey seem endless. She was desperate to go ashore again, though nervous of what awaited her at their journey’s end. The atmosphere on board ship had become increasingly excited and tense as the ship drew nearer to its destination. The men could hardly wait for the promised time on shore and the division of spoils.

      She had heard that some of the islands in the Caribbean had been for some time the haunt of pirates, and the seas about them were said to be a lawless place, but she had heard nothing of this island in the Aegean. She knew however that Corsairs haunted the Mediterranean seas, many of them from the Ottoman Empire. Her father had dismissed all pirates as thieves and rogues and spoken of a need for the seas to be swept clean by a sufficient force of ships ranged against them.

      ‘While that nest of rats