In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

pretty and sweet smelling, why they smelled better than some of the food she’d eaten. She grinned when he told her that some likely were.
    She put her hand to her throat. “You mean you can eat them?”
    “Some, yes, of course.”
    “Oh, but only in these gardens. Surely not anywhere else.”
    “Of course, anywhere. Come, child, I’ll show you.” And he proceeded to tell her, in great lengths, just which were good to eat and which weren’t.
    “I’ve read in books some flowers can be brewed into teas?”
    “Yes, most certainly. And this one”—he’d pointed to a flowery pink bloom—“makes the best.”
    “And it’s found elsewhere?” she asked.
    “Aye, I’ve picked some meself near my home of an evening.”
    She considered, followed him along some more until they approached the hedge and the vines weaving through them, clawing their way up the stone wall.
    “Surely, you must have a magic potion or some wizardry in you.”
    The look he gave her said he wasn’t sure if she’d praised or insulted him.
    “Do vines always grow so thick? Or do you bewitch them to get such sturdy growth?” She gave it a hard tug to emphasize her point, and while doing so, weighed possibilities.
    “They do their own growing, miss, but you would be right in that they are sturdy. I’ve some of the same growing at me home and me sons have been known to use them as a ladder to get into places they shouldn’t be going.”
    She laughed along with him and gave them a considering look before she bid Henry good day.
    And so it went, between her lessons on sewing, cooking, and needlework, Sarah gathered information. By the time her eighteenth birthday was within sight, she had her plan as ready as it was going to get. She had the pieces to make it work, but before her lay the hardest part, ensuring those pieces fell into their proper places at the precise moments. It was a daunting task, to be sure. And failure, she knew, would only result in making things worse than they already were. Yet the thought of doing nothing, of continuing on day by day and year by year as she’d been doing was far more daunting than failing.
    So, with the vision of spending the rest of her days in the house propelling her, and knowing the timing was perfect, Sarah made her way to her bedroom just as her maid, Sophia, was snapping fresh sheets onto her bed. Smiling brightly, she strolled into her sun-washed bedchamber, where the salty sea air blew in through the open window. She grasped an end of the sheet, pulled it to the corner of the mattress.
    “Miss Sarah!” Sophia gasped. She yanked the sheet from Sarah’s hands. “What would Mrs. Bingham say if she were to come in and see you making your own bed? And me allowing you? She’d box my ears!” Then as if she were afraid of just that happening, she cast a hurried glance over her shoulder. The doorway was empty. Sophia clutched the sheet to her chest and uttered a quiet prayer she hadn’t been caught.
    “Mrs. Bingham is in the kitchen, helping Mary and Isabelle with the preserves, you need not worry about her.” And neither, thank the Lord, did Sarah. At least for the moment.
    “I always worry about her,” Sophia muttered.
    Then stepping between the bed and Sarah, leaving Sarah no choice but to step back, Sophia flicked the sheet over the mattress once more. “It’s a lovely day out; you should be outside enjoying the afternoon. It isn’t proper for you to be here while I’m cleaning.”
    Sarah bit her lip. And so it begins . “It could also be said that a proper lady should turn away from the window when she sees two people locked in a passionate embrace under the glow of the moon.” She grinned when Sophia spun, horrified, to gape at her. “But she didn’t.”
    “Oh!” Horror turned to shame. Sophia began wringing her hands together. “Oh, miss, a thousand apologies. I know I shouldn’t—We shouldn’t—” Her eyes filled with fear. “Please don’t tell Mrs. Bingham!” she