Chapter Three
Alec McBride, Duke of Gleneden, stood at the edge of the ballroom and scanned the crowd once more.
It was quite a crush. A faint smile rimmed his lips.
He’d never been particularly fond of masquerades.
But as he was the guest of honor, he was obliged to work his way around the room, shaking the hands of those he’d met during his time here—despite the costumes.
He spied Lady Alicia McDormand, dressed as a vampiress.
Another dressed as Marie Antoinette with her great white wig.
A man sauntered by, enrobed in black, with a deep cowl that completely shadowed his face.
The man paused, and when a hand with great claws emerged to bring the fingers of a gaily laughing witch to his lips, Alec chuckled.
He was acquainted with the inspiration for the man’s costume.
Tonight he was the Demon of Dartmoor, penned by his brother Aidan’s wife, known to the world as F.J. Sparrow.
They would laugh when they learned the frenzy had extended to Ireland. Of course now they were halfway around the world on their honeymoon.
Ah, yes, while he’d enjoyed his time in Ireland, he was chafing to be home.
He’d remained in London in the spring for Aidan’s wedding.
He’d visited Annie and Simon in Yorkshire and his mother in Bath prior to making his trip to Ireland.
He wouldn’t forego the baron’s invitation, not when his father and the baron had been such great friends.
But the thought of returning to Gleneden, sitting in the great hall in his favorite chair, his feet propped up and sipping a whiskey at his leisure, was appealing beyond belief. And—
The thought stopped mid-stream.
He was obliged to revise it.
Ah, yes, he decided. Appealing beyond belief…
His return to Scotland was forgotten. He stood some twenty paces distant near a tall fluted column when he spied her…a woman who gazed into the throng as if searching for someone.
The set of her shoulders was proud. She was tall for a woman, but small-boned.
Brave of her to appear with her hair loose—and bold of her, he thought with a vent of admiration, to wear a skirt that clung to her hips, revealing the shape of her buttocks as she turned ever so slightly.
Aware of a low simmer alight in his belly, he surveyed her, an admiring assessment.
She was exquisite. Indeed, there was much to appreciate about the lady.
And most fortuitous for him that her costume of choice was the same as his, for it provided him an avenue of introduction.
Almost before he knew it, Alec found himself standing before her. He had no memory of crossing the black and white tiled floor.
He executed a slight bow. As he straightened, he secured two glasses of wine from a passing footman and handed one to her.
“Good evening, my fellow pirate,” he said smoothly. “Are you expecting someone? Your escort, perhaps?”
He gazed straight into her eyes, eyes that were a startling, vivid shade of green.
At his question, the lovely said nothing, but shook her head.
The tip of her tongue came out to run over her lips, leaving them dewy and damp, the color of blooming heather after a misting of rain.
Desire, sharp and swift, clamped hold of him.
He was a little startled at its strength.
Alec’s gaze had already roved her from head to toe. Her skin was almost iridescent, and no doubt as smooth as a pearl, he was certain. And there was a goodly expanse of it revealed, he noted in satisfaction, battling the impulse to reach out and touch, to confirm his assessment.
As if he needed such an excuse. He was well aware he was right.
Those delectable breasts quivered with a deep, indrawn breath. He quite enjoyed the view. She gazed up at him. Her feet were braced slightly apart, one slim hand on her cutlass, as if, indeed, she balanced herself on the rolling deck of her ship.
And certainly there was nothing tentative in her appraisal of him. It was no less thorough than his. Alec took a swallow of wine, aware of her forthright study. Was it bedding she wanted? If so, he would accommodate. Oh, indeed, quite obligingly.
But he discovered himself rather impatient. Dammit, he wanted to hear her voice. Sweet and musical? Low and sensuous? The latter, he decided.
“I applaud your costume.” He allowed a faint smile to curl his lips. “I believe it is the first time I’ve seen a lady play the part of pirate.”
“Indeed.” He was right. Her voice was low. Vibrant. “Have ye never heard of Ireland’s most famous lady pirate, Grace O’Malley?”
“I have not. Pray tell me of this pirate.”
She smiled, running her tongue over her lips again. A stab of sheer, raw desire bolted through Alec. Vaguely he wondered how she would taste…He had to drag his gaze away from her lips to concentrate on what she was saying.
“Many called Grace O’Malley the Sea Queen of Connaught.
Her father was involved in shipping and trading.
Irish legend tells it that as a young girl, Grace wished to accompany her father on a trading expedition.
When she was told she could not because her hair would catch in the ship’s ropes, she cut it off.
” She gave a low, husky laugh, flipping her own hair back over her shoulder.
Alec took a sip of wine. His gaze had sharpened.
Beneath her pirate’s scarf, her hair was beautiful.
Thick, tumbling waves flowed down her back, the glossy black of a raven.
Of course, if they had met under other circumstances, her hair would have been hidden, neatly tucked beneath a bonnet or pulled back into a tight, restrained bun, no doubt.
Instead it was wild and unrestrained…as wild and unrestrained as she was, he suspected.
“I should imagine every man here is glad you did not do as the young Grace O’Malley,” he murmured. “I should consider it almost sacrilege.”
She made no comment on his remark, but continued with her explanation. “Even once she was wed, Grace sailed the seas. A fierce sailor, our Grace O’Malley, who would not be beaten down by the English as they tried to take over Irish lands.”
“She sounds quite fierce. Why, I almost hate to reveal to you that I am half English.”
Her head tipped to the side. Black, piquant brows arched high. Wordlessly, she eyed his plaid.
Alec gave a mock sigh. “And aye, half Scots.”
“In truth?”
“Oh, aye, in truth. Does that mean I shall be unable to curry favor with you?”
A slow-growing smile edged her lips. “Are you familiar with the Giant’s Causeway in Antrim?”
“I am. I visited there a scant three days ago.” Alec was reminded of the huge basalt columns descending from the cliffs to the sea like giant steps.
“Then perhaps you’ve heard of the legend of Finn McCool, who lived there with his wife Oonagh.
From across the channel there, the Scottish giant Benandonner began taunting him, telling Finn that he was but a wee giant compared to him.
Benandonner declared that he was the stronger and he could prove it, if only the channel did not stand in the way. ”
She ran a finger around the rim of her wine-glass, all the while maintaining that alluring smile.
“Now, Finn could not stand for such insult from his Scottish rival. So Finn built a causeway out of the stones to cross the water and demanded that Benandonner come prove himself. Alas, Finn was so exhausted from building the causeway that when Benandonner came, he needed a wee rest before battling him. Thus, his wife Oonagh disguised Finn as a baby and put him in a cradle, should Benandonner come before Finn was ready.”
His lady pirate spread her hands wide. In some far distant part of his mind, he noted her tendency to speak with her hands as well.
“And Benandonner did indeed come chasing after Finn, thinking to best him. Yet when Benandonner arrived and spied Finn sleeping quietly in his cradle, he feared the mighty giant Finn even more after seeing Finn’s ‘baby.’ So frightened was he that he had not the courage to face Finn.
He fled back to Scotland, terrified, tearing up the causeway so Finn could not follow. ”
Alec tipped his head to the side. “I have heard this story. But I was told the Scottish giant was much larger than the Irish.”
His lovely lady pirate waggled her finger back and forth. “Oh, no, no.” She spread her fingers, turning her hand palm up. “However, even if that were true, Finn’s wife Oonagh proved herself the smarter of either of them.”
Alec laughed softly. “At first I was convinced I must prepare to defend my Scottish heritage. And now I find I must defend my gender as well.” He gazed down at her. “Perhaps we should resume our role as pirates. Are we acquainted with each other?”
“I think not.”
“Never on the high seas? Fighting over the booty of a ship gone down? In port where we shared…perhaps…a pint or two of ale or a bottle of rum?”
“I daresay,” she said lightly, “that we are evenly matched on the high seas, sir. And—” she drank from her wine, smiling as she did so. That seductive smile was still in place as she lowered the glass. “—perhaps elsewhere as well,” she finished with a faint laugh.
“I see.” Alec leaned against the pillar, as if considering. “A pity. I could hardly call myself a pirate were I not the sort to kidnap ladies and do…” He let the sentence trail away, his meaning clear.
She met and matched him full-on. “Perhaps you should fear what I might do were I to kidnap you, Scotsman. Why, I might take you to some warm, distant island across the ocean. You’d be forced to spend long nights alone in my cabin.
And when we arrived, why, I might bind you.
Tie you to a tree so I might indulge my preferences.
You see, at such times I have this urgent… need, shall we say.”
“Need?” He arched a brow. “What need?” Her lips were damp and red from the wine. He wanted them wet with the wash of his tongue.