Seduced by a Pirate - By Eloisa James Page 0,1

or his poor wife.

Griffin’s man, Shark, entered the room as he turned from the window. “Pack our bags, Shark. We need to escape the menagerie surrounding this house. Has rabble congregated at the front as well?”

“Yes,” Shark replied, moving over to the wardrobe. “The butler says it’s a fair mob out there. We should bolt before they break down the door.”

“They won’t do that.”

“You never know,” Shark said, a huge grin making the tattoo under his right eye crinkle. “Apparently London is riveted by the idea of a pirate duke. Hasn’t been such excitement since the czar paid a visit to the king, according to the butler.”

Griffin’s response was heartfelt, and blasphemous.

“The household’s all in a frenzy because they don’t know whether the duchess will leave the duke or not.” Shark shook his head. “Powerful shock for a lady, to find herself married to a pirate. By all accounts, she thought he was five fathoms deep and gone forever. She fainted dead away at the sight of him, that’s what they’re saying downstairs. I wouldn’t be surprised if your wife does the same. Or maybe she’ll just bar the door. After all, you’ve been gone longer than the duke has.”

“Shut your trap,” Griffin growled. “Get someone to help you with the bags and we’ll be out the door in five minutes.” He grabbed his cane and started for the hallway, only to pause and deal his thigh a resounding whack. For some reason, slamming the muscles with a fist seemed to loosen them, so that walking was easier.

Not easy, but easier.

“Yer doing the right thing,” Shark said irrepressibly. “Run off to yer missus and tell her yerself before she finds out the worst in the papers.”

“Summon the carriage,” Griffin said, ignoring Shark’s nonsense. That was the trouble with turning a sailor into a manservant. Shark didn’t have the proper attitude.

A moment later, he was pausing on the threshold of the library. Over the years, he and James had been entertained several times by no less than the King of Sicily, but even so, Griffin was impressed by the room’s grandeur. It resembled rooms at Versailles, painted with delicate blue and white designs, heavy silk hanging at every window.

Unfortunately, James didn’t suit the decor. He sat at his desk, sleeves rolled up, no coat or neck cloth in evidence. Like Griffin, he was bronzed from the sun, his body powerful and large, his face tattooed.

“This is remarkably elegant,” Griffin observed, wandering into the room. “I’ve ruined you, that’s clear. I never saw a man who looked less like a nobleman. You’re not living up to all this ducal elegance.”

James snorted, not looking up from the page he was writing. “I’ve just had word that the pardons will be delivered tomorrow.”

“Send mine after me,” Griffin said, leaning on his cane. “I have to find my wife before she reads about my occupation in the papers. In order to win our bet, you understand,” he went on to say. He truly felt a bit ashamed of the wager he and James had placed; one ought not place bets regarding one’s wife.

James rose and came around from behind his desk. Griffin hadn’t paid attention to his cousin’s appearance in years, but there was no getting around the fact that the tight pantaloons he wore now weren’t the same as the rough breeches they had worn aboard ship. You could make out every muscle on James’s leg, and he had the limbs of a dockworker.

“Remember the first time I saw you?” Griffin asked, pointing his cane in James’s direction. “You had a wig plopped sideways on your head, and an embroidered coat thrown on any which way. You were skinny as a reed, barely out of your nappies. Most ship captains looked terrified when my men poured over the rail, but you looked eager.”

James laughed. “I was so bloody grateful when I realized the pirate ship following us was manned by my own flesh and blood.”

“How in the hell are you ever going to fit in among the ton?”

“What, you don’t think they’ll like my tattoo?” James laughed again, as fearless now as when he first faced Griffin and his horde of pirates. “I’ll just point to Viscount Moncrieff if anyone looks at me askance. Maybe between the two of us we’ll start a fashion.”

“My father’s still alive,” Griffin said, wondering whether he should go through the trouble of collapsing into a chair. It was damnably hard to get upright again. “I’m no viscount,” he