The Pirate Lord (The Lord Trilogy #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

How much it is to be regretted, that the British ladies should ever sit down contented to polish, when they are able to reform.

— HANNAH MORE, ENGLISH PHILANTHROPIST, ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS ... FOR YOUNG LADIES

Miss Sara Willis had known many awkward moments in her twenty-three years.

There was the time as a seven-year-old when her mother had caught her filching biscuits from the grand kitchen at Blackmore Hall or when she’d fallen into the fountain at her mother’s wedding to her stepfather, the late Earl of Blackmore.

Then there was the ball last year when she’d unwittingly introduced the Duchess of Merrington to the duke’s mistress.

But none compared to being accosted by her stepbrother as she departed Newgate Prison in the company of the Ladies’ Committee.

Jordan Willis—the new Earl of Blackmore, Viscount Thornworth, and Baron Ashley—wasn’t a man to mask his disapproval, as many members of Parliament had learned to their detriment.

Now he took charge of her person with a shameless lack of propriety, propelling her toward the Blackmore carriage as if she were a child.

Her friends laughed as Jordan jerked open the door of the well-appointed carriage and glowered at her. “Into the carriage, Sara. Now.”

“Jordan, really, such dramatics are not neces—”

“Now!”

Swallowing her mortification, she climbed in. He followed her in, slammed the door, then threw himself onto the seat across from her with such force that the carriage rocked on its springs.

As he ordered the coachman to drive on, she cast an apologetic glance out the window toward her friends. She was supposed to join them at Mrs. Fry’s for tea, but that was impossible now.

“Deuce take it, Sara, look at me!”

Settling herself against the damask cushions, she faced her stepbrother. Though she was used to Jordan’s formidable temper, she didn’t like being its recipient.

“Tell me,” he bit out, “how do I look today?”

Folding her hands in her lap, she surveyed him. His cravat was crookedly tied. His hair was in its natural unruly state, and his frock coat and trousers were rumpled. “Rather mussed, to be truthful. You need a shave and your clothes are—”

“Do you have any idea what brought me racing from the country without taking time to sleep or groom myself properly?” His scowl forced his dark auburn brows into a solid line of disapproval.

She tried to match it but scowling wasn’t her forte. “You were eager for my company?”

“It’s nothing to joke about,” he growled. “You know quite well why I’m here. And no matter how charming you make yourself, I won’t overlook this latest mad scheme of yours.”

Good heavens. “What mad scheme? The Ladies Committee and I were merely distributing baskets of food to the poor unfortunates at Newgate.”

“That’s not why you were at Newgate.” He crossed his arms over his frock coat, daring her to contradict him.

Did he know the truth? Or was he bluffing? Hard to tell with Jordan. Even at eleven, when she’d first met him, Jordan had been inscrutable, especially when trying to worm something out of her.

Well, she could be just as uncommunicative. Crossing her arms over her chest to mimic him, she asked, “So why was I at Newgate, Mr. All-Knowing?”

No one got away with mocking Jordan. The only reason he endured it from her was because he truly considered her his sister. Still, judging from the glint in his brown eyes, she was trespassing rather farther than he liked on his good will.

“You were at Newgate meeting the women being transported to New South Wales on the convict ship that leaves in three days, because you have some fool idea about sailing with them.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, “Don’t try to deny it. Hargraves told me everything.”

Oh, bother it all. Their butler had always been loyal to her. What had made him betray her confidence?

Jordan went on, his voice clipped. “When I received his letter, I left a great deal of unfinished work at Blackmore Hall so I could rush to London to talk some sense into you.”

“That’s the last time I trust Hargraves,” she muttered.

“While you may ignore the dangers you encounter with that Quaker woman’s Ladies’ Committee, the servants and I do not.

” The concern in his voice grew more pronounced.

“Even Hargraves, who approves of your reform efforts, recognizes how risky your new scheme is. He did his duty by telling me. If he hadn’t, I would have sacked him, and he knows it. ”

She stared at her handsome stepbrother, whose auburn hair and chestnut eyes so resembled her own that people often mistook her for his real sister.

Sometimes his attempts to protect her were endearing.

Mostly, they were tedious. If not for his time-consuming duties as the new earl, she would never be able to engage in pursuits she deemed more important than safety or propriety.

At her silence, Jordan added, “I heartily applaud the efforts of the Ladies’ Committee. Without them, there would be more orphans in the street, more babies gone hungry—”

“More hapless women forced into virtual prostitution for daring to steal bread for their children.” She leaned forward, stirred by moral outrage. “These convict women are being sent to a foreign land for the slightest of offenses, merely because Australia needs more women.”

“I see. So, you’re saying none deserve incarceration.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” She considered the women she’d met today.

“Half are thieves and prostitutes or worse. But half are women whose poverty compelled them to steal. You should hear their ‘heinous’ crimes—stealing old clothes to exchange for meat or taking a shilling from the till. One woman was sentenced to transportation for stealing four cabbages from a field. A man wouldn’t have his hand slapped for such a crime! ”

His expression grew solemn. “I know there are miscarriages of justice, moppet. But one must deal with those through Parliament and the passing of laws.”

He only called her “moppet” when he wished to soften her. “Parliament has relinquished its responsibility for transported convicts to the Navy Board, which doesn’t care what goes on.”

The damp cold of the Blackmore carriage couldn’t compare to what those women suffered at Newgate.

And they would suffer worse on the voyage.

“The minute those women enter the ships, the crew make advances to them. The ships become floating brothels. That is, until the women reach their destination, where they are handed over to even worse masters. Don’t you think that too harsh a punishment for a woman who stole milk for her baby? ”

“Floating brothels. And this is meant to convince me to let you travel in one?”

“Oh, the men won’t bother me. They only take advantage of the convict women because the women can’t fight back.”

“They won’t bother you,” he said with sarcasm. “If that isn’t the most naive, ridiculous—” He broke off when she glared at him. “Sara, a convict ship is no place for a—”

“Reformer?” The carriage jolted as it hit a pothole. “I can think of no place needing a reformer more.”

“Why the devil would your presence on that ship change a deuced thing?”

She winced at his language. “The grand lords of your Parliament have ignored the protests of missionaries who accompany the ships. But they won’t ignore the Earl of Blackmore’s sister if she presents them with an honest account of the deplorable conditions, both on those ships and in Australia.”

“You’re right.” Leaning forward, he braced his fists on his knees. “They won’t ignore you if you go. But since there’s no chance in hell that I’ll let you—”

“You can’t stop me. I’m old enough to go where I please, with or without your permission. Even if you lock me in my room, I shall find a way to escape—if not in time for this voyage, then in time for the next.”

Jordan looked so livid she feared he might ignite before her very eyes. Good heavens, he was volatile. Lord have mercy on the woman who married him.

“If you didn’t think I could stop you,” he bit out, “then why did you put this scheme into execution while I was away?”

“Because I care about you enough to dislike arguing with you.”

He muttered a curse. “Then why don’t you care enough to stay here?”

She sighed. “Come now, my absence may actually enhance your life. Won’t it be easier for you to run your estates if you don’t have me to worry about?” The voyage to New South Wales took nearly six months each way, so she could be gone as long as a year.

“Don’t have you to worry about? What do you think I’ll be doing all that time?” He pounded his fist against the side of the carriage. “My God, Sara, ships go down! There are epidemics, and there’s always the possibility of mutiny—”

“Not to mention pirates. We’d certainly present a fine prize for them.” She suppressed a smile. He always did prepare for the worst, even when it was absurd.

“You find this amusing, do you?” He ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it even more. “You have no sense of what you’re risking.”

“Truly I do. But sometimes one must face a little danger to do a great deal of good.”

He shook his head. “You are very much Maude Gray’s daughter.”

Mention of her mother sobered her. “Yes, I am. And I’m proud of it, too.”

Her mother had fought hard for reform, starting on the day Sara’s father, a soldier out of work, had been cast into debtor’s prison.

It had continued even after his death there.

Indeed, Sara was convinced that her mother’s altruism was what had attracted the late Earl of Blackmore to her.

Her mother had met the earl, a very progressive man, while soliciting his aid in getting members of the House of Lords to listen to her plan for prison reform.

They’d rapidly fallen in love. Even after marrying him, she’d stayed active in her reform work.

Until she’d died two years ago after a long and wrenching illness.