Free Deception by Amanda Quick Page A

closer.
    Ethan grinned. “We are learning all about the West Indies, Aunt Olympia.”
    “And about a pirate named Captain Jack,” Robert added.
    Jared cleared his throat slightly. “It should be noted that Captain Jack was a buccaneer, not a pirate.”
    “What’s the difference?” Hugh demanded.
    “Very little, in point of fact,” Jared said dryly. “But some people are quite insistent upon the distinction.
    Buccaneers sailed with a commission. In theory they were authorized by the crown or by local authorities in the West Indies to attack enemy ships. But it got rather complicated at times. Why was that, do you suppose, Robert?”
    Robert straightened his shoulders. “Because so many different countries have colonies in the West Indies, I expect, sir.”
    “Precisely.” Jared smiled approvingly. “Back in Captain Jack’s time there were English, French, Dutch, and Spanish vessels in the region.”
    “And the buccaneers were not supposed to attack the ships and towns of their home countries, I’ll wager,” Ethan said. He frowned. “That would mean the English would have sailed against the French and the Spanish and the Dutch. The French would have attacked the English and the Spanish and the Dutch.”
    “It does sound rather complicated,” Olympia said. She abandoned any pretense of being an interested observer of Jared’s instructional methods. She hurried across the room to join her nephews. “What was this about a venture across the Isthmus of Panama in search of treasure?”
    Jared’s smile was slow and mysterious. “Would you care to join us while I tell the tale, Miss Wingfield?”
    “Yes, indeed,” Olympia said. She smiled gratefully at Jared. “I should like that very much. I am quite interested in such tales.”
    “I understand,” Jared said softly. “Come a little closer, Miss Wingfield. I would not want you to miss a single thing.”

    Squire Pettigrew arrived at three o’clock that afternoon. Olympia was back in the library when she heard the clatter of the gig’s wheels in the drive. She rose from the desk and went to the window to watch Pettigrew alight from his carriage.
    Pettigrew was a heavily built man in his late forties. At one time he had been accounted a handsome fellow and he continued to act as if every female in the neighborhood still found him irresistible. Olympia did not understand what anyone had ever seen in the squire.
    The truth was, Pettigrew could be a dreadful bore although Olympia was much too polite to say so. She knew that she was probably not a very good authority on the subject. After all, she found the majority of the males in Upper Tudway extremely dull and uninspiring. Their pursuits and interests rarely coincided with hers and men did tend to lecture so to females. Pettigrew was no exception. As far as Olympia could ascertain, his chief passions consisted of hounds, hunting, and farming.
    Nevertheless, she knew very well that she was indebted to him for handling her uncle’s periodic shipments and she was truly grateful for everything Pettigrew had done for her.
    The library door opened just as Olympia sat down again. Pettigrew swaggered into the room. The strong scent of the eau de cologne he favored wafted ahead of him.
    Pettigrew traveled quite frequently to London and took advantage of the opportunity to stay abreast of current fashion. This afternoon he was attired in a pair of trousers that were trimmed with an array of small pleats. His frock coat was extremely snug and cropped at the waist. The back of the coat fell in two long tails that reached his knees. Beneath it he wore an elaborately pleated shirt. His cravat was so high and rigid that Olympia suspected it was held in place with some sort of stiffener.
    “Good afternoon, Miss Wingfield.” Pettigrew gave her what was undoubtedly meant to be a charming smile as he walked toward the desk. “You’re looking very fine today.”
    “Thank you, sir. Please sit down. I have some