In the Tudor Court Collection. Amanda McCabe

curving in a mocking smile. She longed to be in his arms and to feel that mouth take possession of hers, as it had once before. It was all she could do to stop herself swaying towards him. She wanted to give herself to him, to tell him that she would be his woman in truth, but pride held her back.

      The expression in his eyes told her that he desired her but she knew that he did not love her. He had made it clear that a man such as he had no time for softness or love. Maribel was certain that to give herself to this man would mean loving him—the kind of love that would become a consuming flame. If she gave him her heart, he would crush it beneath his boots.

      ‘You speak my name,’ she said. ‘But I know you only as Captain Sylvester. I do not think it is your true name.’

      ‘I may not give you my family name—it would shame them.’ His eyes were flinty, distant. ‘They do not know that I have become a pirate and it would hurt them. However, my Christian name is Justin…’

      ‘Justin…’ she breathed. ‘Justin…’ A smile touched her mouth. ‘Yes, I like it very well. It suits you, sir—for you are a just man.’

      ‘Am I?’ He moved in closer, gazing down at her. ‘I retain some honour, Maribel, but a man may only be tempted so far. Be careful how far you tempt me—and wear your petticoats or I may not be responsible for my action.’

      ‘Justin…’ Her stomach clenched as his hot eyes scorched her. ‘Forgive me. I did not mean to tempt you or any man. My gowns were so hot…but I shall be more sensible in future.’

      ‘Be careful when out walking,’ he said. ‘I have purchased some lighter gowns for you with fine petticoats that will not be so heavy. I should have sent them immediately, but I was caught up with other things. I shall have them taken to my house. They will await you in your room—and now I shall take my leave of you before I lose all sense of honour.’

      He turned and walked away from her. Maribel watched. She longed with all her heart to call him back, but her pride held. He spoke of honour and yet he mocked her. If he cared for her, he would surely have asked her to be his wife, but he did not want a wife—only a mistress.

      She knew that she had only to say the word and she could become his woman in truth, for she had seen desire in his eyes and felt an answering need in herself. Yet if she were so lost to all pride and sense of what was fitting that she gave herself to him it could only bring unhappiness in the end.

      A little voice in her head told her that it would be worth the risk to know the sweetness of lying with him, of being safe in his arms—but he did not love her. He had told her that he had once loved a woman and would not give his heart again. She could be his mistress if she chose, but not his wife.

       Chapter Five

      ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you were Sylvester’s woman?’ Peg said when Maribel mentioned that he was sending someone to take her to his house and to fetch her trunk later that day. ‘You would not have needed to help with the chores if I’d known you were special to him.’

      ‘I did not mind helping,’ Maribel said and blushed. ‘It is good to understand what other people have to do.’

      ‘Show me your hands.’ Maribel held them out and Peg frowned as she saw the red marks on the palms. ‘You should have told me that you had never done hard work. I should not have asked you to carry water from the well if I had known. I’ll give you some salve for your hands.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘It’s the first time I’ve known Sylvester to take a woman under his protection. You must have made an impression on him! There will be some jealous females once‘ tis known you’ve done what none other could.’ Peg grinned suddenly. ‘What is he like as a lover? I’ve thought many a time I would be happy to lie with such a man!’ She threw back her head and laughed as Maribel flushed. ‘I thought not! You have not lain in his bed, have you? He is protecting you from scum like Pike.’

      ‘Why do you say that?’ Maribel looked at her.

      ‘You are innocent, child. Anyone with sense can see it in your eyes. Besides, I know his heart is in the grave of the woman he loved.’

      ‘He has told you this?’ Maribel felt as if a knife had entered her breast, because to hear it from Peg seemed to make the woman real instead of the shadowy person Justin had mentioned in passing. ‘He has spoken to you of this woman—you know who she was?’

      ‘That I cannot reveal without telling his secret,’ Peg said. ‘Before I came here I was a servant in a big house. When I killed the rat that raped me I should have hanged had it not been for Sylvester. He took me from the hellhole I was locked in and set me free. I escaped to sea with a man I cared for. I know that Sylvester’s heart was broken when the woman he was to marry died of a fever a few days before their wedding…and if you tell him that I revealed so much I’ll slit your throat myself!’

      He had lost his love shortly before his wedding day. It was not surprising that he could never think of putting another woman in her place. Maribel felt a flow of sympathy for him, feeling his hurt and the pain it must have caused him. In that moment she wanted to put her arms about him and kiss away all the grief and pain, to make him whole again. She knew how it felt to lose someone you loved and she had loved Pablo as a brother. How would it feel to lose someone who meant so much more—someone who was a part of you?

      ‘I swear I shall not reveal what you have told me.’ Maribel said. Her heartbeat had returned to normal. Peg had told her something so revealing that she thought it had begun to explain the mystery that was Captain Justin Sylvester. Sylvester was not his true name. He had come from a respectable family, from what Peg had hinted, perhaps a great family.

      The mystery was deep and she might never reach the bottom of it, but Maribel suspected that she might be falling deeply in love with the man himself. He was a gentleman despite his present situation. He was also a man of honour.

      Why did he believe he could not return to his homeland? What had he done that was so terrible?

      She knew that he could be harsh. It was necessary to discipline the men that served with him. Yet he could also be compassionate and honourable.

      Maribel’s heart ached as she saw to the packing of her own trunk for the move to Justin’s house. Being here on the island had caused her to lose so many inhibitions that she had had before being taken captive. When she first left for England she had been very much the correct Spanish lady. She was not certain who she was any more. Maribel was not sure that she would ever be able to give orders to a servant in the way she once had, taking it for granted that they should obey her every whim, though she would be expected to do so once she was living with her English family.

      If only there was another way to live! One that was possible for her. She did not think that she could be happy living on the island, because the pirates were dangerous, coarse men and she would always fear most of them. Yet to return to the kind of life she had known in her father’s house would be hard.

      She thought that she would like to live simply in a modest house, somewhere in the country—perhaps a farm—but with whom? One face filled her mind, but she struggled to push it away. To dream of such happiness was foolish.

      Justin Sylvester was not looking to settle to a quiet life. He might desire Maribel, but he did not love her. He did not wish for a wife, merely a mistress to lie with when it suited him.

      Blinking back her tears, Maribel dressed herself in a thin shift, one petticoat and the thinnest gown she possessed. She looked respectable, because her hair was disciplined into the ringlets she had worn at home. She had teased her comb into her tangled hair, curling it about her fingers. The effect was not quite as neat as when Anna dressed her hair, but she did not look like the wanton hoyden Justin had rescued from that vile man.

      Lifting her head, Maribel glanced at herself in her tiny silver-backed mirror. She vaguely resembled the formal lady that had first set sail for England, though she knew that inside she was very different. She had been living inside a shell, in a cold dark place and barely alive. Now she was aware