How To Seduce A Pirate (The Hawkins Brothers Series) (2 page)

CHAPTER
2

The Honorable
Miss Holly Turner stepped into the ballroom wearing a burnished gown of gold
taffeta, her locks pinned and curled in an elegant crown around her head and
garnished with a ruby comb.

It had been
seven years since she’d entered the glittering world of high society. A selfish
part of her hoped she had not been forgotten. During her first season, she’d
held the eye of every eligible bachelor, and she’d adored the flattering
attention. But the scandal that had ravaged her father had forced her into
seclusion, and her youthful heyday had passed.

With the passing
of time, though, the gossip had also died. And now there was hope for her younger
sister, Emma, to make a respectable match.

Holly looked
over at her seventeen-year-old sister, adorned in white and wide-eyed as a
dove. She felt the girl’s fingers digging into her arm and smiled.

“Don’t fret, love.
You’ll be the toast of the town.”

Emma simpered. “I’m
sure I’ll forget every etiquette lesson, every dance step. Oh, Holly! What if
no one asks me to dance?”

“Hush, Emma.
Your dance card will be filled. Soon you’ll need another and another still.
Don’t let your nerves spoil your wonderful evening. Look. Here comes our
hostess.”

The Countess of Brimsby
approached the ladies with a broad smile. She had invited the sisters to her
annual spring ball at Holly’s behest and in honor of their late mother, her once
cherished friend.

“Holly, my dear.”
The matron cupped her shoulders and kissed her on each cheek, officially marking
her re-entrance into society. “You are as lovely as your mother.”

“Thank you, Lady
Brimsby.”

“And you, Emma,
how tall you’ve grown.”

Emma offered a
very presentable curtsy.

“Well done, my
dear. Why, you’ll have every young beau at your command, just as your sister
once had.”

Holly winced. Lady
Brimsby had not said anything untruthful; Holly wasn’t the freshest bloom in
the garden anymore. Still, the unwitting remark stung worse than a bee.

“Come, girls,
let me introduce you to all the eligible men.”

It wasn’t long before
Holly’s prediction had come true. Emma attracted the notice of many well-to-do
gentlemen, and her dance card indeed overflowed with handsome suitors. She
spent most of the night twirling across the dance floor, much to Holly’s
relief.

Holly herself
received a few charming glances but quelled the impulse to encourage the courtiers.
She was Emma’s chaperone. And while Holly would love to dance, she needed to
keep a close watch over her vulnerable sister.

As the night wore
on, the air stifled. Holly couldn’t step outdoors to escape the crush, not even
for a moment, too afraid to leave her sister unattended. Instead, she headed
toward the refreshment table and collected a glass of iced water. Just holding
the chilled glass between her hands doused some of the stuffiness in the room.

“Might I have
the next dance?”

She stiffened.
Her heart pumped faster at the sound of that seductive male voice. She would
never forget that voice. She had heard it even in her dreams.

There was really
nowhere for her to hide, much less run. She was trapped. And she didn’t want to
imagine what awaited her if she confronted that voice—and the man it belonged
to.

But she couldn’t
stand with her back to him either. The warmth from his body heated her spine,
and she shivered with dread. How had he found her? Would he out her at the
ball? In front of the ton? On her sister’s important night? Heavens! Could she
prevent another scandal in any way?

Wait! She was
imagining the worst possible scenario. Perhaps he didn’t recognize her? Perhaps
he just wanted to dance with an eligible lady? He had been asleep and drowsy
with opium on the night she’d first met him. How much could he truly remember
about her?

But what was he
doing at the ball? Was he gentry? No. No. She’d made inquiries into his
mysterious identity. He was not a lord, she was sure. And yet . . .

Her mind swirled
with a thousand thoughts. It was time to learn the truth.

Hand shaking, she
set down the iced water, hauled in a deep breath, then turned with a polite
smile.

Her heart
slammed against her chest as a pair of livid blue eyes penetrated her soul. Heavens,
his eyes. The bluest blue. She had never seen him in full light and hadn’t
realized just how black his wavy hair was or how finely sculpted his features
were without the trace of a beard. And tall. Ever so tall. With the same wide,
muscular shoulders any artist would beg to study—or any lover would beg to
touch.

Holly sensed her
temperature rising, her throat growing parch. Strangely, the brilliant light
from the ballroom detracted from his bewitching physique. He was still as
sinfully handsome as she remembered—even when steaming mad—but he was a man to
be admired under candlelight, in the shadows, in the time between dusk and
dawn.

“I don’t believe
we’ve met,” she said, voice strangled. She lifted her gloved hand for a
customary buss on the knuckles. “The Honorable Miss Holly Turner.”

His touch was
both tender and strong, and she felt an involuntary spasm in her belly—and heard
warning bells in her ears.

“I believe we’ve
met before, Miss Turner.”

At his husky
voice, she shuddered. The man still possessed the same disarming affect on her
with his low timbre. And when his sensuous lips caressed her hand, scorching
her flesh right through the satin fabric, unbidden pleasure skittered down her
spine.

“In fact,” he
whispered in a throaty vein, “I believe we know each other very well.”

Holly’s heart
pounded ever harder. How much could she deflect as nonsense, the misconceptions
of a half asleep, intoxicated man?

He murmured,
“Intimately well.”

A heady memory
welled to the forefront of her thoughts—a naked man towering above her. So
strong. So virile. So erect.

She was
blushing, she knew. She couldn’t restrain her body’s response to his both
charismatic and dangerous presence. Worse, curious eyes were turning toward
them. Why? Was it really so unthinkable Holly might attract a suitor? She might
be a spinster, but she was only five-and-twenty, hardly an old maid. And no one
knew her identity as Lord H. Or that she had painted the stranger in front of
her. So why all the nosy stares? 

Holly could feel
an anxious pressure on her throat. She mustered her bravado. She had to protect
her sister. She had to disentangle herself from the Adonis before gossip
spread. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, sir.”

She tried to
pull her hand away. His grip tightened.

“I think not,
sweet.”

Oh, no! He had
called her that on the night they’d first met. He
did
remember the details
of their brief encounter. How many, though?

“Shall we
dance?”

Flustered, she
croaked, “I’m not inclined to dance.”

“A shame.”

He escorted her
onto the dance floor, maintaining an unbreakable hold of her hand. If she
struggled, she’d receive even more intrusive attention from the onlookers. Heavens,
requital had come!

He wrapped a
muscular arm around her waist, holding her close, much too close. His fingers
spread across her backside in a guarded embrace, and for a moment her memory
slipped into the faraway past.

She found
herself a debutant again in the arms of the season’s most sought-after beau.
All the mooning, coy, flirtatious winks of the feminine sex failed to attract
his notice. He had eyes solely for her. She alone was worthy of his passionate attention. 

In smooth steps,
he guided her in a graceful waltz.

“Might I assume
I paid for that dress and those jewels with the fortune I forked up to retrieve
my naked arse?”

Holly gasped at
his outright, crude language in the
middle
of the dance floor. Her
foolish reverie shattered as she desperately searched her immediate
surroundings. Had anyone overheard the exchange? But his voice had been low
enough to disappoint the eavesdroppers. Couples strained their ears toward
them, but none expressed shock at his outrageous inquiry.

“Sir, I—”

“Quincy,” he
interrupted. “Quincy Hawkins.”

His name jarred
her to the bone. She had preferred to think of him as a dream. But he was real.
And he posed a very real threat to her newfound position in society. She needed
to know as much about him as possible, to appease him, to take the hellfire out
of his eyes.

He was rich, she
reflected, wearing the most fashionable togs. And he had enough money to
purchase her—his?—painting. But he’d mentioned no title. A boon, there. She was
unfamiliar with his family name. And yet, she’d been absent from society for so
long. He might be the latest young buck on parade. He appeared a couple of
years her junior. She had likely missed his entrance into society. He had
probably arrived shortly after her departure.

But she had been
so
sure he wasn’t a gentleman. Her subtle inquiries into his identity
had confirmed him a sailor. A sailor! Her source had clearly lied to her.

“Mr. Hawkins, you
are a gentleman, and I—”

“I’m not a true
gentleman, Miss Turner. I only pretend to be one for the sake of my sister.”

“Your sister?”

“The Duchess of
Wembury.”

Holly groaned.

“And you, Miss
Turner, have embarrassed my sister with your infernal artwork.”

Worse and worse.
A rake might be flattered by the amorous attention he’d received from the
painting, but a rake protecting his sister? His
duchess
-of-a-sister?

Holly was
doomed. She recognized his sister’s title. Her  husband, the Duke of Wembury,
had been known as the “Duke of Rogues” in Holly’s time. If nothing had changed
in all these years, Holly had just embroiled herself with one of the most
wicked family’s in England!

Suddenly all the
obtrusive stares made dreadful sense. Holly was dancing with the man in
the
painting—the painting that had all but abased the Duchess of Wembury.

Lightheaded,
Holly grasped Mr. Hawkins in a firmer hold. Oh, why had she auctioned the
painting of him? Why had she
ever
painted him in the first place?

It had never
been her intent to do either, not after she’d realized her error in mixing up
the rooms at the gaming hell. But his image had haunted her. And after several
restless weeks, she’d expressed his likeness on canvas, hoping to release herself
from his inexplicable hold.

But unleashing
her creativity had only made him more desirable. Mr. Hawkins possessed an
enigmatic allure. Soul. Mystery. And a story.
Who am I?
he had called
from the canvas.
Come closer and find out . . .

  He had
captured her breath. And she’d reasoned he’d capture the breaths of others as
well—wealthy others. She’d been right on that count. The sum his likeness had
fetched had finally provided her with the means she’d needed to launch her
sister into society and provide her with a respectable dowry.

Now, Holly might
lose everything on that gamble.

“Mr. Hawkins,
there’s been a terrible misunderstanding.”

“I think not,
Lord
H
.”

Again she looked
to see if anyone had overheard him. Thankfully, no.

“How did you
discover me?” she whispered. If he had learned of her clandestine identity,
might others discover it as well?

“A very
forthcoming Madam Barovski.”

“No, she would
never reveal such a secret. Her reputation would be ruined. And trust, once
lost, is irrecoverable. She’d lose all her patrons.”

“Very astute,
Miss Turner. But what if I had a brother, say a Bow Street Runner, who
threatened to bring down her entire establishment if she didn’t reveal the wench
who’d come into my room on Christmas Eve?”

Holly scowled at
the word “wench.” Her paintings had sustained her and her sister in times of
poverty. No one wanted art from a woman, much less serious art, and so she’d
painted nudes incognito, resorting to disreputable tactics, like hiring
prostitutes as models. It infuriated her to be considered a “wench” for the
work she’d performed to survive.

“And might Madam
Barovski betray one client to save all the others?” he murmured.

“She might,
indeed,” grumbled Holly, silently cursing Madam Barovski. And then an idea
struck her. “Aren’t you being a hypocrite, Mr. Hawkins?”

“I beg your
pardon?”

“I paid for your
services. You might have changed your mind about posing for me when you chased me
from the room, but that’s no reason to upbraid me or intimidate me with
exposure. If you didn’t want the attention, you should not have agreed to the
transaction.”