Free Never Trust a Pirate by Anne Stuart Page B

he’d dealt with the upper crust in the last few years while in Russell’s employ, and he hadn’t been impressed. The only one he’d liked and trusted had been Russell himself, and that had proven to be a mistake. He was hardly going to start aping their bad behavior. Russell. Why was he suddenly thinking of Eustace Russell so much? That part of his life was over.
    Of course, if he hired the new maid for bed sport rather than cleaning his house, that would be a different matter, but it was already too late. And that wretched old woman who’d served as his housekeeper since he’d bought this place would keep her at a distance as well. Prunella Crozier tended to drive off maids and cooks with surprising speed, leaving him living in a state of chaos—the only mitigating factor being her acceptable cooking skills. The house didn’t matter—as long as the ships he commanded were spotless and the food on his table edible, he didn’t care.
    He would have to apologize to the girl, he supposed, but not until he remembered where he’d seen her before. His solicitor’s junior partner had recommended her, so perhaps he might have seen her in Fulton’s house. But she’d supposedly worked for his mother, and he’d certainly never been welcome in Mrs. Fulton’s august presence, so he couldn’t have seen her there. There were too many unacceptable things about him: his gypsy blood, his refusal to conform to society’s demands, his past. The impressive amount of money he’d amassed over the years, both from legitimate and questionable sources, would only take him so far.
    No, he wouldn’t deal with the girl tonight—the day had been too long, and tomorrow would be soon enough.
    It seemed as if his guests lingered forever. Billy wouldn’t abandon him to the Havilands, and old Haviland didn’t seem in any hurry to leave his fine cognac. By the time he’d gotten rid of them he was bone weary, and he sat staring at the fire, knowing he should go to bed, but he was still feeling restless. It was the damned girl beneath his roof that was making him edgy, and he knew it.
    Wilf Crozier couldn’t be trusted to properly damp a fire, so Luca kicked the blaze down and set the grate in front of the coals. Fortunately warm weather was coming, and maybe his delectable new maid would be better at laying fires. Though he could think of other things she might be good at laying.
    He shook his head, both to toss off the effects of the whiskey and to negate the temporarily lustful thought. Not for him.
    He started up the stairs, turning down the gaslight as he went, moving through the shadowy hallways, silent as the thief he’d once been. He’d just reached his room when a bloodcurdling scream tore through the quiet house.
    He could come to full attention no matter what state he was in, and he immediately knew where the scream had come from and who had made such a hideous sound. He slammed open the hidden doorto the attics and bounded up the stairs in the darkness. There was only a faint glow at the top to guide him, but he had eyes like a cat, and he could see when there was no light at all but the faint pinprick of the stars above an ink-black sea. The screaming had stopped, and he wondered if someone had cut the idiot girl’s throat when he heard the panicked whimpers coming from the room on the left.
    He charged in, only to be brought up short, frozen.
    She was sitting up in bed, her long, silky dark hair loose around her shoulders, though one side was partly braided, as if she’d been disturbed in the act. She was wearing a soft white nightdress of some sort, too thin for the chill in the attics, her eyes were wide in fear, and she’d stuck a small fist in her mouth to silence the noise she’d been making.
    He had a knife drawn, and he whirled around, looking for a possible assailant. There was no one there but the two of them, and as she stared up at him she looked, if possible, even more frightened.
    “What the bloody hell is