Page 1 of The Moonstone Pirate
Chapter One
Moonstone Landing
Cornwall, England
July 1831
“Look, Uncle Cormac,”Lady Imogen Stockwell said with a gasp as their carriage approached Woodley Lodge, the once-abandoned manor house overlooking the pirate caves near Moonstone Landing. “I never imagined it could be so beautifully restored.”
“It is a travesty, that’s what it is,” her uncle grumbled, but he was staring down at his costume and not referring to the elegant estate that had been brought back to its magnificent splendor by the new owner.
Imogen wondered whether the man dressed as a pirate standing with his arms crossed over his chest and arrogantly poised on the front steps was the mysterious Earl of Woodley.
He certainly appeared to be in command.
Her uncle, the Marquess of Burness, was still staring in disgust at his own costume, which Imogen thought suited him perfectly. He was dressed as Hades, god of the underworld, and her Aunt Phoebe was garbed as the lovely Persephone.
“What man in his right mind holds a masquerade ball to introduce himself to his neighbors? How are we to bloody get to know Lord Woodley and his family if we are all wearing masks?”
“Cormac, your language!” But Imogen’s aunt chuckled at his remark, which only made him scowl harder before continuing his complaints.
“And what idiot husband agrees to his wife’s choice of costume for himself?”
Phoebe leaned over and kissed his cheek. “The best sort of husband, my love. You will survive the ordeal with your typical manly fortitude. Besides, I am certain my sisters and their husbands will look equally ridiculous.”
He kissed his wife back. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Yes, Uncle Cormac,” Imogen responded with a soft, lilting laugh. He looked quite dashing in his dark clothes and flowing black cape. “The point is, it is not ridiculous if we all look ridiculous together.”
He stopped fidgeting with his mask and gave up. “Lord Woodley owes me for this sacrifice.” But in the next moment he winked at his wife. “You look delicious, love.”
“And stop flirting with Aunt Phoebe in front of me,” Imogen chided, although she was always delighted by how much her uncle adored his wife. This was the loving marriage she hoped to achieve for herself. However, she was not out in Society yet, and had never had a beau or even received flowers from anyone.
Nor had she ever received a stolen kiss.
She poked her head out the window and waited impatiently for their carriage to move up in queue, as several had drawn ahead of them under the massive portico. A devil and an angel descended from one, and a corn stalk and potato descended from another. “Well, everyone is getting into the spirit of the ball. Be grateful Aunt Phoebe did not decide to have you both come as vegetables. How is that potato ever going to sit?”
Her uncle merely grunted.
“It appears the Earl of Woodley has invited all of Cornwall,” Phoebe commented with noticeable dismay. “Stay close to us, Imogen. I fear this simple country ball will not be quite so simple after all. Indeed, I would declare it a crush.”
To the right of them was the elegant house that appeared enormous and quite imposing up close with its gray stone walls, massive chimneys, and beautifully landscaped lawn. To the left was a stunning view of the sea, and the sunlight glittering upon it like diamonds cast upon the water. It was a balmy summer day, and Imogen was eager to stroll the grounds and explore, although she could not go very far in her butterfly costume, since her wings were awkward and she had little peepers popping out of her hair that threatened to fly off in the constant breeze.
Why couldn’t butterflies have normal ears instead of those fragile, sticklike projections atop their heads? Imogen was certain they were going to fall off before the night was through. However, all in all, she was pleased with her costume.
When it came their turn to alight, Imogen went first and was quite surprised when the pirate strode forward to assist her. He did not bother to take her hand. Instead, he placed his own hands around her waist to lift her to the ground, and then held on to her several moments longer than were necessary. “Greetings, Miss Butterfly,” he said, his voice deep and seductive. “Or am I to address you as Lady Butterfly? Better yet, you shall simply bemybutterfly.”
Imogen blushed, not that he would notice beneath her ornate half mask. “Lady Imogen Stockwell,” she replied, giving a theatrical curtsy that included a dramatic flare of her wings.
Their host bowed in turn. “Draco Waring at your service, although I am not sure we are supposed to be giving ourselves away at this early hour.”
His smile beneath his own black satin half mask was breathtaking.
Imogen wished she could see all of his face, for his eyes were a luminescent, silvery gray, and his hair was as black as a raven’s wing. He certainly had a finely honed body, which was impossible to overlook, as she had clutched his broad shoulders for support when he scooped her out of her uncle’s carriage as though she weighed no more than an actual butterfly.
“Oh, I did not think,” she muttered, now feeling utterly a fool for giving away her identity when the entire point of a masquerade ball was to remain mysterious.
The gentleman tucked a finger under her chin and gently raised her gaze to meet his. “It was a stupid idea to meet one’s neighbors in this fashion, but the choice was not mine to make. Albert Woodley and his daughter, Deandra, planned this event. Please, call me Draco.”
