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It was true that he and James had limited themselves to attacking only pirate and slave ships, never legitimate merchant vessels. By all accounts, she thought he was five fathoms deep and gone forever. Of course, for a good part of his life at sea, he and his cousin James had entered those battles together, shoulder to shoulder. On the other hand, when they landed in England, James discovered that his duchess was on the verge of declaring him dead, since she had not heard from him in seven years. I stand to lose—what do I stand to lose? However you looked at it, he had turned into a sorry excuse for a gentleman, with a limp and a tattoo and fourteen hard years at sea under his belt. He had even tattooed a small blue poppy high on one cheekbone in her honor, although he had known her for only one day—and had never consummated the marriage. Or even to a privateer. Griffin knew the distinction was slight.

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Most ship captains looked terrified when my men poured over the rail, but you looked eager. From men whose deepest allegiance was to each other to men who owed their wives something. But it was equally true that he was, and had been, a pirate. James rose and came around from behind his desk. We made the bet, but we never set the forfeit. Male friendship was such an odd thing. Shark has been chatting with the household. You were skinny as a reed, barely out of your nappies. He sat at his desk, sleeves rolled up, no coat or neck-cloth in evidence. It seemed fate had something else in mind. An involuntary stream of curses came from his lips at the very thought. The last huzzah of our piratical, vulgar selves. He had even tattooed a small blue poppy high on one cheekbone in her honor, although he had known her for only one day—and had never consummated the marriage. Seduced By A Pirate is available in the following formats: Not everything, perhaps, given the years that had passed, but dignity, at least. The captain of the Flying Poppy, the scourge of the seven seas, fearful of a wife he barely knows? Put on that coat you had made in Paris. Not easy, but easier. It was time to go home, obviously. However you looked at it, he had turned into a sorry excuse for a gentleman, with a limp and a tattoo and fourteen hard years at sea under his belt. A modicum of loyalty. By all accounts, she thought he was five fathoms deep and gone forever. We need to escape the menagerie surrounding this house. Did you know that your wife is famous throughout London and Paris for her elegance? I stand to lose—what do I stand to lose?

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