Excerpt of The Pirate Lord by Sabrina Jeffries

Chapter One How much it is to be regretted, that the British ladies should ever sit down contented to polish, when they are able to reform. . . .

—Hannah More

Miss Sara Willis had known a great many awkward moments in
her twenty-three years. There was the time as a seven-year-
old when her mother had caught her filching biscuits from
the grand kitchen at Blackmore Hall, or the time shortly
afterward when she'd fallen into the fountain at her
mother's wedding to her stepfather, the late Earl of
Blackmore. Then there was the ball last year when she'd
unwittingly introduced the Duchess of Merrington to the
duke's mistress.

But none of those compared to this—being physically
accosted by her stepbrother as she departed from Newgate
Prison in the company of the Ladies' Committee. Jordan
Willis—the new Earl of Blackmore, Viscount Thornworth, and
Baron Ashley—wasn't the sort of man to mask his
disapproval, as so many members of Parhament had learned to
their detriment. And now he took charge of her person with
a shameless lack of propriety,propelling her toward the
waiting Blackmore carriage as if she were the merest child.

She could hear the choked laughter of her friends Jordan
jerked open the door of the carriage and glowered at her.

"Into the carriage, Sara. Now."

'Jordan, really, such dramatics are not neces—"

"Now!"

Swallowing her dismay and embarrassment climbed into the
well-appointed carriage dignity as she could muster. He
slammed thedoor, then threw himself onto the seat across
from her with such force that the carriage rocked on its
springs.

As he ordered the coachman to drive on, she casts an
apologetic glance out the window toward her friends. She
was supposed to join them at Mrs. Fry's for tea, but they
must realize that was impossible now.

"Deuce take it, Sara, stop making sad faces at your friends
and look at me!"

Settling her slender frame against the damask cushions, she
faced her stepbrother. She opened her mouth to chastise him
for his untoward handling of her, then closed it when she
saw the ominous furrowing of his brow. Though she was used
to Jordan's formidable temper, she didn't at all like being
the recipient of it. Most of London society joined her in
that particular dislike, for Jordan was frightening indeed
when he was angry.

"Tell me, Sara," he bit out, "how do I look today?"

If he could ask a question like that, she thought, perhaps
he wasn't so very angry after all. Folding her hands in her
lap, she surveyed him. His cravat was crookedly tied, most
unusual for him. His auburn hair was in its natural unruly
state, and his frock coat and trousers were
rumpled. "Rather mussed, to be truthful. You need a shave,
and your clothes are—"

"Do you know why I look this way? Do you have any idea what
brought me racing from the country without taking time to
sleep or groom myself properly?" His scowl forced his dark
auburn brows into a solid line of disapproval.

She tried to match it but failed miserably. Scowling wasn't
her forte. "You were eager for my company?" she ventured.

"It's nothing to joke about," he growled in that warning
tone he used to cow the matrons at the marriage marts who
attempted to introduce him to their daughters. "You know
quite well why I'm here. And no matter how charming you
make yourself, I wont overlook this latest mad scheme of
yours."

Good heavens. He couldn't possibly know, could he? "Wh-what
mad scheme? The Ladies' Committee and I were merely
distributing baskets of food to the poor unfortunates at
Newgate."

"Don't lie, Sara. You do it badly. You know quite well
that's, not why you were at Newgate." He crossed his arms
over his snug-fitting frock coat, daring her to contradict
him.

Did he know the truth? Or was he bluffing? It was always
hard to tell with Jordan. Even when he was eleven and her
mother had married his father and brought Sara to live at
Blackmore Hall, Jordan had been completely inscrutable,
especially when trying to worm something out of her.

Well, she could be just as uncommunicative. Crossing her
arms over her chest to mimic him, she asked, "So why was I
at Newgate, Mr. All-Knowing?"

No one could get away with mocking Jordan. The only reason
he endured it from her was because he truly considered her
his sister, despite the lack of blood between them. Still,
judging from the glint in his brown eyes, she was
trespassing farther than he liked on his goodwill.

"You were at Newgate meeting the women who are being
transported to New South Wales on the convict ship that
leaves in three days, because you have some fool idea about
sailing with them." When she opened her mouth to protest,
he added, "Don't try to deny it. Hargraves told me
everything."

Oh, bother it all. The butler had told him? But Hargraves
had always been loyal to her. What had made the wretch
betray her confidence?

Feeling defeated, she slumped against the, seat and stared
out at the sky, which was thick as clotted cream with heavy
fog and dew. They were traveling along Fleet Street now.
Usually the grubby bustling of its ink-stained denizens
cheered her, for it showed that someone at least was trying
to make a difference in society. But nothing could cheer
her now.

Jordan went on, his voice clipped. "When I received
Hargraves's letter, I left a great deal of unfinished work
at Blackmore Hall so I could rush to London to talk some
sense into you."

"That's the last time I trust Hargraves," she muttered.

"Don't be like that, Sara. I've told you before, while you
may ignore the dangers you encounter with that Quaker woman
Mrs. Fry and her Ladies' Committee, the servants and I do
not." The note of concern in his voice, grew more
pronounced. "Even Hargraves, who approves of your reform
efforts, is no fool. He recognizes how risky your new
scheme is. He merely did his duty by telling me. If he
hadn't, I would have sacked him, and he knows it."

She stared at her handsome stepbrother, whose auburn hair
and chestnut eyes so resembled her own that people often
mistook, her for his real sister. Sometimes his attempts to
protect her were endearing. Mostly, they were tedious. If
not for his time-consuming duties as the new earl, she
would never be able to engage in the pursuits she deemed
more important than safety or propriety.