Read: Never trust a pirate. Never trust a pirate - Valerie Bowman. "The black fox strikes again!"

Out of boredom, Lovelace pursues a pretty new maid on his brother's estate, and she flirts with him, but does not take liberties. So it would seem to anyone who would observe the relationship between the dashing sea wolf (according to rumors, who was not disdainful of piracy) Cade Cavendish and Danielle La Crosse.

However, in reality, both the “bored ladies' man” Cade and the “flirty maid” Danielle are fearless British intelligence agents who will have to work together to identify and neutralize an experienced French spy.

In such circumstances, feelings can be not only inappropriate, but also deadly. However, what to do if Daniell and Cade really fell in love with each other and are desperately balancing between love and duty?..

The work was published in 2017 by AST Publishing House. The book is part of the "Charm (AST)" series. On our website you can download the book “Never Trust a Pirate” in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format or read online. Here, before reading, you can also turn to reviews from readers who are already familiar with the book and find out their opinion. In our partner's online store you can buy and read the book in paper form.

Valerie Bowman

NEVER TRUST A PIRATE

Chapter 1

London port, July 1817

Only three steps. Only “three steps” separated him from the map. There she is, lying on a rickety wooden table in the captain's cabin aboard the aptly named Le Secret Francais 1
French mystery ( fr.). – Note here and below. lane

The only sound that broke the silence of the cramped space was his labored breathing. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He's gone far enough. Despite the foggy, cold weather, he swam to the ship moored in London harbor. Silently, like a black ghost, he climbed aboard. I wrung out my clothes so as not to leave a trail of drops on the deck boards. He managed to sneak into the captain's cabin while the captain was sleeping, and now, now only “three steps” stood between him and the priceless map.

The drop fell onto the wooden floor like a hammer onto steel. The sound of his breathing rose in a desperate crescendo. The roar of blood in my temples turned into an annoying buzzing.

Step forward. The foot made contact with the floorboard. Secrecy and silence. Always. Business card the best thief in London.

The captain stirred slightly in his sleep and began to snore. The thief froze. A foot in a leather shoe froze on a wooden board. The pistol rested on two nails, directly above the captain's bunk. If he wakes up, he can shoot at the slightest noise. Because he probably knows what treasure is kept in his cabin.

The thief counted to ten. Once. Another. He had long ago mastered the art of maintaining balance on a boat. He waited until his heart was beating steadily again before taking the next step. Light creaking of the floor. A slight hint of movement from the captain. Again endless waiting. Impatience curled into a tight knot in my stomach.

Now he came out of the shadows and stood just a step away from the table screwed to the floor. Moonlight streamed through the window above the captain's bunk, falling on his balding head. The map was spread out on the table and pinned in the corners. You'll have to take out the pins. The sound of paper being torn echoes too loudly in the silence of the cabin.

Moments of agonizing anticipation when the captain turned his back to him and stopped snoring.

The thief glanced towards the bed. The pistol flashed in moonlight. The thief swallowed hard. He never took a gun to work. An overly loud weapon. The team, the port police and anyone who is interested in the source of the noise will come running. His only weapon was a knife tucked into the waistband of his pants. A tool for those who prefer to act furtively.

He counted to ten again before taking the final step.

There is no time to study the map carefully now, but a quick glance revealed the destination. Saint Helena Island, near west coast Africa, was clearly circled. Map of the route of the next escape of a dangerous person. That bastard on the bunk was plotting the enemy's escape!

The thief's fingers itched to grab the card and run, but he forced himself to breathe evenly and carefully pulled out the first pin in the upper right corner. She got out easily. The top of the card rolled up with a slight rustle. Holding his breath, the thief looked again towards the captain. No movement.

The thief stuck a pin into the table to prevent it from falling, and reached for the next one, in the lower right corner. She immediately jumped out. He hastily stuck it into the table and carefully rolled up the card. Reaching for another pin, he looked back. Everything is quiet. The pin is stuck in the tree. You need to pull harder. With a black-gloved hand, he grabbed the pin and pulled. Breathing whistled in my ears. This time he heard the waves crashing against the side of the ship.

The pin finally gave way. He pressed his palm down on the top of the card to keep the freed left corner from curling up. Extra noise.

The thief leaned his chest on the card and stuck the third pin into the tree.

Distinct sound. One that he had heard often before.

The thief swallowed in surprise. Damn it all! He was trying so hard not to make any noise that he didn't realize that the captain had stopped snoring.

The thief, half-prostrate on the table, was pondering what to do. The door is on the left, ten steps away, the open window is on the right, five steps away. Will he fit through the window? It’s hard to imagine what awaits him if it turns out he won’t get through.

– Step back from this map if you don’t want to get shot in the back.

The thief slowly stood up, putting his hands behind his head, showing that he had no weapon.

“I don’t shoot at unarmed people.” And you, captain?

“I would shoot a thief without a second thought,” the captain hissed, almost spitting out the word “thief.”

The thief looked at the map. You need to take a good look at everything if you have to leave the ship without it. He's been in worse situations, and large quantity more times than I could count. And now I remembered the knife hidden under my shirt. The easiest and fastest way is to grab a knife and throw it at the bastard’s throat. But an inner voice reminded me that justice must be done in the proper manner.

“Turn around,” ordered the captain. - Slowly.

- For what? – he asked, trying to gain precious time.

“I want to see the face of the person who intends to steal my secrets.”

He began to turn around. Slowly. So slowly and calmly that he could have sworn he heard a drop of sweat fall from his forehead and plop onto the floor. Finally, he stood face to face with the captain.

– Etres-vous Renard Noir 2
Are you Black Fox? ( fr.)

? – asked the captain.

– Pourquoi veux tu savoir 3
Why do you want to know? ( fr.)

The captain's face was well illuminated by the moon. He narrowed his eyes.

- Oh, perfect French? Why is it so difficult for me to believe this, seeing an obvious Englishman in front of me?

- Explicit?

– Who else needs this card?

He was tempted to strangle the bastard. He may not be able to kill the villain, but at least he will injure him!

He reached behind his back, grabbed a knife and threw it at the captain. The knife hit the hand holding the gun. The captain howled. The weapon fired. Smoke and an acrid stench filled the cabin. The thief tore the card from the fourth pin and rushed to the door.

But on the deck above the captain's cabin the tramp of many feet was heard. The thief forced himself to wait in the pitch darkness below deck, right under the gangway, while the first group of sailors ran down the steps to the cabin. He straightened the card and folded it into a small square.

“He escaped, you idiots!” Find him before he jumps overboard! – the captain yelled in French.

The sailors obediently scattered across the decks. The captain ran out of the cabin, clutching the wound on his hand. Blood oozed between her fingers, scarlet drops falling onto her nightgown. He climbed up and ran along the deck.

The thief, jumping out of the darkness, rushed into the empty cabin and flew up to the window. I read a short prayer, asking God to help me squeeze through the narrow gap. He climbed onto the window and climbed out. He tore off his black cocked hat, pressed the card to the top of his head, and pulled his hat back down further.

To the right, two feet from the window, a rope hung. Thank the Lord for small mercies! He rushed to the side and grabbed the rope. He silently went down it, resting his feet on the side, and found himself in the water. He carefully turned his head and winked at the busty French woman at the bow of the ship, under the captain's cabin. He let go of the rope and swam to shore like a mackerel fleeing a shark, trying not to inhale the stench of dirty water. He counted on the darkness of the night and the muddy water of the Thames, which would not allow him to be detected.

As he quickly increased the distance between the French ship and the shore, the cries of the French were heard in the night. He dared to look back again. It seemed that all the lanterns on the ship had been lit, and the sailors were scurrying around the deck like disturbed ants.

He swam to the darkest place at the far end of the pier, away from the French ship and, leaning on his hands, climbed out onto the creaking pier.

Exhausted, he lay on his back and, breathing heavily, stared at the pitch-black sky. With one hand he held his cocked hat. A wide smile stretched his lips.

He did it! He escaped from a French ship and took away a map with the planned route of Napoleon's escape from St. Helena. No wonder he was nicknamed the Black Fox.

Chapter 2

“BLACK FOX STRIKES NEW!”

Cade Cavendish stole a glance at the headline of the Times article lying on the corner of the table next to him. His twin brother Rafe was lounging opposite the above table at Brooks, the famous gentlemen's club in St James's Square. Cade really wanted to crush the newspaper in his fist. He turned his gaze to Rafe. Did you really notice?

- Did you hear me?

Cade's blond head snapped up.

- No. I'm sorry?

Damn, you shouldn't have allowed yourself to be so distracted by the title of some article!

“I asked if you intended to go to the theater with me and Daphne this evening?” – Rafe repeated.

Theater? Oh yes. The pastime of aristocrats, like what my brother became. Rafe, the best sheep of the family, was a spy for the Ministry of Defense during the wars with the French. The Prince Regent granted him the title of Viscount and married him to the Count's daughter. Cade, meanwhile, has spent the last ten years... doing slightly different things.

Cade cleared his throat, resolutely refusing to look at the newspaper again.

“I guess theater isn’t the worst idea.”

Rafe blinked in surprise.

“Don’t make me twist your arms.” I don't want to bore you.

“My brother, during our twenty-eight years you have done a lot of things, but you could never bore me. Plus, I am always happy to spend time with my beautiful sister-in-law.

Cade raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

Rafe narrowed his eyes.

- Be careful!

“Where is the delightful Lady Daphne this afternoon?”

Rafe leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.

– Meets with candidates for chambermaids. She quit. Moves north, closer to the county where her sister lives.

“What a horror,” Cade drawled.

Another tedious problem for the poor aristocracy is finding decent servants.

“It's not that bad, you know,” Rafe assured.

- What exactly?

- Have servants. Money. Power.

“I have no doubt,” Cade nodded. He stayed at his brother's new town house in Mayfair. Of course, their childhood home in Seven Dials was nothing compared to this. “I enjoy this luxury from the bottom of my heart.”

- While you're here? – Rafe asked, without taking his eyes off the newspaper. - How much time has passed?

Cade hid his smile.

“I would say almost nine months,” he answered immediately.

Of course, the brother did not know why he was here. Moreover, he was shocked when Cade showed up at the Earl of Swiftdon's town house last year and introduced himself as Mr. Daffin Oakleaf, one of his many false names. Rafe believed his brother was dead. Hell, everyone thought he was dead. This is exactly what Cade wanted. But he returned for a special purpose. One whose meaning I did not intend to reveal to my brother.

This wasn't the first time Rafe had hinted that he wanted to know how long Cade planned to stay at his house. But silence was only to Cade's advantage. Besides, he truly enjoyed teasing and teasing Rafe about his beautiful young wife at every turn. Cade may have been known in the past for his adventures and love affairs, but he would never try to seduce his brother's wife. Luckily, Rafe was aware of this, which meant Cade could continue to abuse him.

- Yes. While I’m here,” Cade replied with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

- How long will this last?

- You know me. I stay as long as I want.

- Wonderful. Then keep your mistresses away from my house... and from my wife,” Rafe grinned.

Cade pulled down his cuff and sighed.

“If you're talking about that unfortunate incident with Miss Jones, I've already apologized a hundred times.” How did I know she would climb into your bed in that hotel room? Amanda had no idea I had a doppelganger.

“Yes, but perhaps if you had kept within the bounds of decency, none of us would have become victims of such unfortunate incidents.”

- Decency? - Cade shook his head: - What a boring word!

Rafe muttered something unintelligible under his breath and then rubbed it with the back of his hand.

Cade smiled from ear to ear. His brother had had the habit of grumbling while rubbing his nose since childhood: a sure sign that Cade had driven him to the point.

"The Black Fox Strikes Again?"

Cade winced. It was necessary to throw the newspaper away when there was still an opportunity.

Rafe stared at his brother over the newspaper page.

-Have you heard of him?

- About whom? – Cade asked, flicking a non-existent speck of dust off his sleeve.

Damn aristocrats and their damned fashionable clothes! Since he lives in Mayfair, he spends almost whole days taking care of his wardrobe.

“About the Black Fox,” Rafe drawled.

Cade sighed again.

“I think they mentioned that name to me twice,” he muttered, straightening his tie and clearing his throat.

Rafe raised his eyebrows.

“It says here that he is an Englishman and a pirate.” Last night I stole some valuable cargo from a French ship moored in the harbor.

– Is this really so?

Cade pretended to look for the footman to tell him to bring more brandy. He refused to look his brother in the eyes.

Rafe shook the newspaper, wanting to read the rest of the story.

“They also write here that he is a master of disguise.”

Still, calling the footman, Cade gave his order, after which he settled more comfortably in the chair and shrugged his shoulders. He scratched his eyebrow and asked:

- Really? How interesting! And you're looking for him?

“You know I can’t discuss my assignments,” Rafe snapped, still studying the newspaper.

- Oh yes, Viscount Spy! Is this your new nickname? And everything is kept in the strictest confidence?

- I suppose that's exactly it.

Rafe nodded towards the newspaper.

“Do you know any master of disguise, Mr. Oakleaf?”

Chapter 3

While waiting in the Viscountess's fashionably furnished drawing room, Danielle la Crosse straightened the skirt of her simple white dress. Whatever you say, they attach too much importance to outfits. Dealing with skirts became an impossible task. Today she stepped on the hem several times and almost fell.

Out of boredom, Danielle began to study the portraits in gilded frames, sterling silver candelabra and wallpaper that, no doubt, cost more than the little cottage on the coast for which she had been saving up for so long.

She had never before seen anything more beautiful than the furnishings of this room. Tiny porcelain figurines of birds seemed intended only to please the eye. A carved gilded box on a nearby table (Danielle couldn't resist looking into it) contained dry rose petals, just think! And the carpet, so soft and fluffy, evoked an absurd desire to take off my shoes and plunge my stocking-covered feet into it. And yes, the carpet was as soft as it looked. Danielle was extremely grateful that no one witnessed such horrific behavior. Completely indecent for a decent chambermaid for an English lady. But to the French woman, who had lived in poverty for too long, the Viscountess’s house seemed like a real palace.

Danielle was rarely nervous, but now she desperately needed this position. The maid of a noble lady like Daphne Cavendish earns more money per week than ordinary maids do in a month. This will allow her to stay in London. For now, she has nothing more to dream about.

The living room door opened and a petite woman with shiny golden hair and observant gray eyes floated into the room. She looked no more than twenty years old.

“Please forgive me for keeping you waiting,” she said and, sweeping the carpet with her dark pink skirts, walked over to Danielle.

Danielle hurriedly stood up and curtsied perfectly, which she had been practicing for many days.

- Milady...

“Oh, please,” interrupted the woman, who turned out to be slightly shorter than Danielle, friendly. - Sit down.

“Thank you,” the girl replied, worried that the potential employer would not like her French accent. The war had ended two years ago, but Danielle was well aware of the animosity that remained between the British and French.

The blonde smiled. Her gaze was kind.

“I am Lady Daphne Cavendish,” she announced. Her English accent reminded Danielle of her mother. A sharp pain pierced my heart.

“Nice to meet you, my lady,” Danielle replied, biting her lips and afraid to find signs of disapproval on the lady’s face.

“The agency said that you have excellent references,” Lady Daphne noted.

– Oui... that is, yes.

Danielle hated hearing the hesitation in her own voice, but now that she was alone with Lady Daphne, she realized that she was more nervous than she thought. If she doesn't get the job, it's all over.

Lady Daphne pulled the sonnet cord, and a butler in an expensive livery appeared at the door. The lady politely asked for tea. Tea served to a candidate for the title of maid? Apparently the Viscountess treats her servants well. Danielle really liked it. She finally breathed freely. Working in a beautiful London house was far from the worst thing she had to endure. It might even be... nice.

“Did you previously work for Lady Birmingham in Brighton?” – Lady Daphne asked, carefully studying the girl.

Did the agency tell her this?

“Uh... yes, my lady,” Danielle managed, fidgeting in her chair. She wasn't used to this kind of... almost surveillance. Typically, aristocrats barely looked at the servants. And of course, they didn’t stare at them so intently! For some reason, Danielle felt that Lady Daphne cared about her. This threw her off balance.

– And you were forced to resign? Why? – Lady Daphne inquired, clearly impatient to receive an answer.

Danielle nervously fiddled with the folds of her skirt.

“I need to live in London, my lady.” My mother... is sick.

The noble lady, of course, was indifferent to her mother’s illness, but Danielle told the honest truth, and she had long ago learned that the less she evades the truth, the better.

-You have a lovely French accent.

Danielle blinked three times before she could find an appropriate response to such a surprising compliment.

- Thank you, my lady. Not everyone in London is fascinated by my accent.

- Nonsense. The war is long over, and everyone knows that the French are famous for their good taste in everything related to dress styles and hairstyles. French maids are all the rage in Mayfair.

Danielle blinked again. She should have assumed something similar when Grimaldi asked her to play the French background.

“I'm terribly glad to hear that, my lady,” she said before sitting down again. The girl cursed herself for saying such a banality, but the Viscountess's ringing laugh showed that she was not at all angry.

– You lived in Paris, didn’t you?

- Yes, madam. I was born there.

– Why did you decide to come to England?

Danielle was saved from answering this question by the appearance of a butler with a tea tray. The man's back was straight as a stick. The gloves sparkled white. He placed the tray on the shiny rosewood table.

“Thank you, Henry, that’s all.”

Lady Daphne nodded to the butler, and he retreated. However, Danielle noticed how his eyes smiled when he saw his mistress, and realized that he loved his mistress very much. Therefore, she watched in fascination as perfection itself with a straight back left the living room. I wonder if Henry is his first or last name?

Lady Daphne poured the tea, and her every movement was filled with inexpressible grace. Danielle took a moment to imagine herself in her place. She will, of course, knock over the teapot and break the cups. Of course, she can do a lot, but the elegance and grace characteristic of a lady are not inherent in her. It would be a miracle if she was offered the position, not to mention the fact that she would no doubt be kicked out within two weeks. But let everything go in order. First they should offer her a position, and only then fire her.

She took the porcelain cup Lady Daphne offered her and ran her finger over the roses painted around the edge. The cup and saucers cost more than she earned in a month in that past life.

“Forgive me for asking,” she began, trying to stop her hands from shaking. God forbid he spills tea on a spotlessly clean carpet! – What exactly do you look for in a maid?

Lady Daphne froze before she could raise the cup to her lips.

“I’ve never been asked this so directly before,” she laughed.

Danielle mentally cursed herself. She shouldn't have asked such questions. Lady Daphne might think she's too bold.

“I heard that the French are frank people, and I like that,” Lady Daphne continued.

Danielle opened her mouth in surprise.

- Is it true?

- Exactly. We English are often too polite for our own good. For example, what do you think about my hair?

Alarm bells rang in Danielle's ears. She raised the cup to her lips and took a long sip, wondering how to answer such a delicate question. Lady Daphne's hair was a wonderful color, and the lady herself was a beauty, but the hairstyle seemed old-fashioned to the girl and did not highlight her lovely features.

– I so admire your hair knot! – continued Lady Daphne. – I can never achieve this hairstyle! And Miss Anderson... Well, she was quite nice, but I'm afraid she didn't know how to do her hair very well!

- Miss Anderson?

A little more time has been gained!

- My former chambermaid.

Danielle put her cup down and rubbed her palms together, deciding that the best answer to Lady Daphne's question would be no answer. Danielle was not one to spend time doing her hair or wearing fashionable clothes, but she believed that, having grown up in France, she had, like most French women, an innate taste and sense of style. It is worth thanking Aunt Madeleine for teaching her a lot.

– Would you like me to show you my favorite hairstyle? – she asked, smiling conspiratorially at Lady Daphne.

“Of course,” she also smiled.

Chapter 1

London port, July 1817

Only three steps. Only “three steps” separated him from the map. She is there, lying on a rickety wooden table, in the captain's cabin aboard the ship aptly named "Le Secret Francais".

The drop fell onto the wooden floor like a hammer onto steel. The sound of his breathing rose in a desperate crescendo. The roar of blood in my temples turned into an annoying buzzing.

Step forward. The foot made contact with the floorboard. Secrecy and silence. Always. The calling card of the best thief in London.

Moments of agonizing anticipation when the captain turned his back to him and stopped snoring.

The thief glanced towards the bed. The pistol sparkled in the moonlight. The thief swallowed hard. He never took a gun to work. An overly loud weapon. The team, the port police and anyone who is interested in the source of the noise will come running. His only weapon was a knife tucked into the waistband of his pants. A tool for those who prefer to act furtively.

He counted to ten again before taking the final step. There is no time to study the map carefully now, but a quick glance revealed the destination. Saint Helena Island, off the west coast of Africa, was clearly circled. Map of the route of the next escape of a dangerous person. That bastard on the bunk was plotting the enemy's escape!

The pin finally gave way. He pressed his palm down on the top of the card to keep the freed left corner from curling up. Extra noise.

The thief leaned his chest on the card and stuck the third pin into the tree.

Distinct sound. One that he had heard often before.

The thief swallowed in surprise. Damn it all! He was trying so hard not to make any noise that he didn't realize that the captain had stopped snoring.

– Step back from this map if you don’t want to get shot in the back.

The thief slowly stood up, putting his hands behind his head, showing that he had no weapon.

“I don’t shoot at unarmed people.” And you, captain?

“I would shoot a thief without a second thought,” the captain hissed, almost spitting out the word “thief.”

The thief looked at the map. You need to take a good look at everything if you have to leave the ship without it. He had been in worse situations, more times than he could count. And now I remembered the knife hidden under my shirt. The easiest and fastest way is to grab a knife and throw it at the bastard’s throat. But an inner voice reminded me that justice must be done in the proper manner.

“Turn around,” ordered the captain. - Slowly.

- For what? – he asked, trying to gain precious time.

“I want to see the face of the person who intends to steal my secrets.”

The captain's face was well illuminated by the moon. He narrowed his eyes.

- Oh, perfect French? Why is it so difficult for me to believe this, seeing an obvious Englishman in front of me?

- Explicit?

– Who else needs this card?

He was tempted to strangle the bastard. He may not be able to kill the villain, but at least he will injure him!

“He escaped, you idiots!” Find him before he jumps overboard! – the captain yelled in French.