AFRICAN AMERICAN URBAN FICTION: BWWM ROMANCE: Billionaire Baby Daddy (Billionaire Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance) (Multicultural & Interracial Romance Short Stories) (110 page)

Drake and Charlotte both breathed a sigh of relief.

"That was close." Drake said, and Charlotte nodded.

"Much too close."

"Thanks to your clever friend, your reputation is still intact, it seems."

"Bother my reputation!" She almost meant it, too.

“Really?” Drake grinned, one of his roguish ones, the moonlight glinting in his mischievous blue gaze. One of his hands drifted down to her thigh, his light caress reaching her through her thin summer dress. She gasped and put a hand on his chest to stop him, but it rested there weakly as he finally closed the gap between their lips.

Their first kiss was brief but passionate -- he tasted her like a starving man, crushing them together as he pulled her flush against him. She stiffened at first, relaxing by degrees as he wound his hand through her hair and let the hand on her thigh drift upwards, upwards, and further upwards…

A hot flash of desire electrified Charlotte and she whimpered against his assault, opening her mouth in surrender. His tongue invaded her and she moaned, pressing herself against him as he pushed between her legs.

Through the haze of desire, she felt a warning bell ring in the back of her head. Charlotte drew away from his hot tongue, protesting weakly as she leaned against his broad chest. Drake stilled, stroking her hair slowly while she listened to his rapid heartbeat.

When he pulled away, she had to bite her lip to stop herself from calling him back. He grinned.

"Though I'd love to encourage your rebellion, I must go. I've overstayed my welcome as it is, and some business calls my name."

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Charlotte hoped she was only imagining the slight desperation in her tone.

"Check the newspapers first, little Duchess." So they were back to that again. The intimacy that had lingered in the air had dissipated with the arrival of the prince.

Before she could reply, Drake ran a gentle finger down her cheek, tucking a wayward strand of hair securely behind her ear.

"Perhaps I will see you tomorrow, then." And with that, he seemed to melt into the darkness.

Chapter 3

Charlotte could hardly sleep that night. Although her ears were still ringing from the harsh invectives her mother had hurled at her and the look of confusion mixed with well-hidden anger from the prince was seared into her brain, the only thing she could think of was the paper tomorrow.

So I'll finally know who this mysterious Drake is?

She'd already gathered he was an unsavory character, someone her mother would positively faint to see her with. But he'd treated her with respect and accepted the real Charlotte, not the "Flower of Galloway" or the daughter of a duke. He'd seen real Charlotte and approved of what he'd seen.

It didn't hurt that her body thrummed with anticipation every time she thought of his muscled arms or his hard chest.

Morning dawned, finally, and Charlotte ran for the paper still clad in her nightgown and with nothing but slippers on her feet. The maid who delivered the news to her father every morning, along with his breakfast, stood in shock as she asked for the newspaper.

"I only want to look. Just a peek?"

"W-well, if you're quick ma'am." The maid stammered, handing over what she wanted.

Right there, on the front page, was a picture of a ship and huge words proclaiming: "Pirate strikes again! Royal ships sunk off port!"

She read the article in its entirety, ignoring the increasingly antsy maid next to her.
Latest in a string of aquatic attacks...thousands of pounds in damages...is the gentleman pirate Drake unstoppable?

A pirate.
She thought, her mouth dry. She'd heard of Drake, of course she had. There wasn't a single soul in London who hadn't heard of the legendary Drake, who reportedly left his noble family to search for a life at sea and single-handedly revived an almost extinct fear of pirates.

No wonder he didn't want me to know.
This was a man who'd killed, who'd plundered, who was wanted by every authority in England and some in the States as well. Did she have the nerve to associate with him? Worst yet, was it her duty as one of the gentry -- as the
prince's fiance
, for heaven's sake -- to report him?

She knew she should. She knew her mother, if she knew, would march right up and report him herself. Every cell of her that had played the upright and social "Flower of Galloway" was screaming at her to do the right thing and turn this man in.

That was exactly why she wasn't going to. For too long she'd done what others had wanted her to do. But what did
she
want to do?

She didn't know yet. But she sure as hell was going to find out.

Handing the paper back to the maid, she ran to her room and got dressed in the most inconspicuous dress she could find, swept her hair in a bonnet and ran out before the midday meal.

She was in such a hurry that she didn't notice the prince passing her by or hear him calling out to her.

The rest of the town was a blur to her as she walked briskly past, until the unmistakable stench of the docks hit her nose. She kept up her pace until she skidded to a halt in front of the fish markets.

Drake was nowhere in sight.

Her heart dropped into the bottom of her stomach and she was trying not to feel so betrayed --
of course he wasn't here! It wouldn't be smart to be waiting -- what if she'd called the authorities instead?
-- when a young voice piped up behind her.

"Miss, are you Charlotte?"

"Yes," she whirled around in surprise, coming face-to-face with a dirty little boy.

"Follow me."

The boy scrambled away without another word, and Charlotte had to run to keep him in sight. They passed through one alleyway and then another, giving Charlotte a distinct sense of deja vu. The two of them came out rather close to the water's edge, and the boy stopped in front of a nondescript warehouse. He knocked, two times long and once short, and the door opened.

They entered and there was Drake, reclining on a roughly hewn wooden chair, as easy as you please. The man who opened the door was of true pirate stock, rather large and intimidating. He stared at Charlotte as if he'd never seen a creature like her before, and she returned the favor before shifting her attention to Drake.

"Charlotte!" Drake's face broke out into a genuine smile, half amazed and half...annoyed?" "I must commend your bravery, little Duchess."

He came over and offered her an identical chair to his. She sat, although with trepidation. "If you're regretting my visit..."

"Nonsense. I'm just a tad worried about your welfare. Pirates are not exactly smiled upon by the Empire, as you well know." Despite his casual tone, Charlotte could read his worry in the little crinkles around his mouth, the firm set of his jaw.

"No one saw me come here."

"As they shouldn't. Mason here's very good at knowing when he's being followed." Drake nodded toward the child, who smiled broadly at the compliment.

"Drake," Charlotte began, her voice softening involuntarily as she spoke his name. His face gentled, as if her voice was melting him slowly.

Then he noticed his two men still hovering near the door, unsure of their place. "Mason! Beets! Make sure our booty's safe from those navy dogs."

The two left immediately, and Drake sighed. "I apologize for them. I truly didn't think you would show."

"Then you underestimated me."

"That I did. So, little lady, why
did
you show today?"

"To see for myself who you really are.” Charlotte answered promptly and without any hesitation. Drake chuckled darkly.

“Fair enough.” He rose then, holding out his hand for Charlotte to take. She took it and pulled herself up but he held her hand for a moment longer, threading their fingers together before letting go.

“Come. If you want to know so badly, I’ll show you.”

Chapter 4

Drake led the way through the backdoor of the warehouse and down the dock, slipping down a hidden ladder that Charlotte had missed on her way in. It was completely rusted over and blended in with the wood planks perfectly.

“Impressed?” Drake asked, obviously proud of his hideaway. He made a funny move with his arm, as if he’d wanted to help her but thought better of it, leaving her to struggle with the slippery ladder on her own. It was as if he was showing her her helplessness, her completely inability to survive in his world.

She gritted her teeth and, determined to make it down, pushed herself off the ladder to land on a particularly flat rock. She planned her jump perfectly, making sure she’d make it onto the rock and not into the sea -- but she’d completely forgotten she’d been wearing a dress.

“Oh, confound it!” Charlotte yelled as her skirts sailed up above her head, revealing her undergarments for the whole world to see. Drake, who’d come in close to help her, got a front-row seat to her petticoat and stockings.

After a second of shocked silence, Drake doubled over and howled in the most uproarious, ungentlemanly laugh she’d ever heard. Charlotte, bright red, turned ‘round and started marching away in a huff.

“Li’l Duchess, yer goin’ the wrong way,” Drake managed to say in between hoots of laughter. Charlotte did a quick about turn and strutted past him as regally as she could, nose in the air. Unfortunately that didn’t stop him from whispering, “You’ve got mighty fine legs hidden under those petticoats, lass” into her ear as she passed.

When Drake eventually caught up to her, her face was still the exact same shade of an overripe tomato.

“Where to?” she asked, still in the same regal tone she adopted to preserve a bit of her dignity. Drake took her hand gently and led her onto a small lone rowboat.

“Hold on tight, lass. This’n here’s gon’ be a rough ride.”

The tiny boat almost capsized no less than five times during their rather long journey, but Charlotte didn’t mind in the least. The rough winds pulled at her hair, slapped at her cheeks; the waves came to greet her and drenched her in icy water that sapped her heat away. It was cold, wet, tiring and dangerous -- Charlotte had never had so much fun in her life.

Drake seemed to feel much the same way: his eyes seemed to shine with a light that she’d never seen on land and he became less gentleman, and more of the rogue. With every pull of the paddle, he seemed to shed a bit more of his polished mannerisms until finally Charlotte finally believed that she was talking to the Gentleman Pirate, legendary scourge of the Royal Navy.

Everything about him seemed to be brighter, newer, tougher, larger. Even his old coat, so odd to her at first, seemed perfect on him, straining around his large arms and strong chest. She’d never seen a more good-looking piece of fashion in her entire life.

Eventually, the boat came astride a huge ship, though Charlotte had been aboard much larger ones belonging to the British Royal Navy. When she mentioned so, Drake seemed impressed at her observation. His gaze shined with approval.

“Yes’m, she ain’t a massive ol’ lady but she’s the fastest li’l thing in the whole seven seas.” Drake said. He grasped the rope ladder that fell from the ship and motioned for her to climb up. She eyed the ladder than grasped it, more excited than afraid.

Clumsy at first, she soon got the hang of it and scampered up the side of the ship as agile as a cat. It felt like she’d done this a thousand times. A million. As if she’d been born to run up rope ladders and balance on rowboats and brave the seas.

When they’d both climbed over the top, Drake’s gaze was locked on her with a mysterious, heated smolder. The intensity of it swallowed her, as if she could fall into those dark eyes and never find her way out.

Her skin prickled in anticipation and she just managed to bite back an involuntary moan at the way he seemed to undress her with just his eyes.

Drake seemed to feel the same way, and he’d taken a step towards her when someone cleared his throat from behind the two of them.

“What, Pietri?” Drake growled, the low rumble setting her aflame. Oh, to imagine that voice in her ear, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear as her gripped her waist and pushed his way into her, taking her…

A blush lit her cheeks and Drake’s hungry gaze ate up the sight, seemingly unable to tear himself away.

“Cap’n, the lads were wondering when we’d be pushing off. We’ve been here a couple days longer than planned and yesterday night you disappeared right before the big explosion...” The voice -- Pietri -- said lightly, almost unconcerned. “But I see you’ve had a reason for your distraction.”

Charlotte forced herself to turn around, walking past a rather lean golden haired man -- hardly older than her, really -- who watched her appreciatively as she explored the deck.

“Stop that!” Drake snapped. Pietri looked surprised for a moment, before shrugging in his light-hearted way.

“Hey, she’s gorgeous. I ain’t seen a classic English beauty like that in a long time.”

“She’s off-limits, ya hear? ‘n tell the men too.”
 

“Jeez, Cap’n, what’s got your knickers in a twist? She’s jus’ a girl. A fine-lookin’ one, but a girl all the same.” Pietri saw something in Drake’s face, and shrugged. “Though it seems this one’s got you bad.”

“I was thinkin’...” Drake started, then stopped. Pietri was a mighty fine sailor and an even better pirate -- hence why he was first mate even though all of Drake’s crew were talented and experienced. He was also Drake’s best friend; they’d both been nobles together, and when Drake had left he’d brought Pietri with him.

If there was anyone he could consult with about the crazy idea that had been eating him ever since he’d met Charlotte, it would be Pietri.

Drake watched Charlotte explore his pride and joy, heart singing whenever she found something new or figured out how to work the contraptions on deck. She looked so happy and vibrant on the open sea, her cheeks rosy and eyes shining with joy -- a complete contrast from when he’d first found her in the streets.

Although he never got involved in the business of others, he couldn’t help but make an exception for her. The girl had been pale with desperation and defeat but she’d still held her ground against the group; he couldn’t help but respect her backbone.

And backbone she had, something she’d proved to him again and again. In the heat of her eyes, the strength of her grip, the perseverance with which she looked for him, despite knowing he was a wanted criminal and a hardened pirate --

He couldn’t let her go. She reminded him of himself, back before he’d fled for the open seas -- she was of the same make as he and Pietri. If she stayed shut up tight within the stuffy cage of the
ton
she’d wither and die. Especially if she was forced to marry that abominable, corrupted, sham of a
prince.

Drake shut his eyes and breathed out through his nose, trying him to calm himself from the thought of Charlotte marrying another man -- nay, even
thinking
of another man.

Christ, had he really fallen that far already?

“What would you say about bringing her on board?” Drake asked Pietri as they both watched her climbing up the rope net to the crow’s nest.

It took a while for Pietri to gather his thoughts from the
complete
and
utter
foolishness Drake was spitting. “Sorry, what?”

“What do ya think. ‘bout bringing ‘er on board.”

Pietri spluttered, one of the rare times he lost his devil-may-care cool. “But...a girl? On a
pirate ship
?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re just asking for bad luck.”
 

“You don’ honestly believe those old wives tales, do ya?”

“It doesn’ matter what I believe, it’s what the crew believes.”

“Then why don’t we ask them firsthand? I’m sure Charlotte will persuade them to change their minds.”

“Is this really you, Albert?” Pietri looked him square in the eye. If he was using his old name, then that meant he was really serious. “The man who thought woman were nothing but a burden? Who loved nothing but his freedom and his ship?”

“I thought it was strange too. But I’ve made up my mind -- if the crew be willin’, she’ll stay on this ship.” Pietri took in the set of Drake’s jaw and the fire in his eyes and relented. Drake was speaking as his Captain now, and when he looked like this no one could stand in his way -- not Neptune, not Lady Fortune, and especially not himself.

“Lead the way, Cap’n.”

Drake called for Charlotte, and he seemed to swell with happiness when she came to him, his eyes betraying his adoration for the beautiful and spirited girl in front of him.

He led her into the lower decks, where a manly stench hit her off-guard. The rest of the crew were resting there, safely out of the dismal conditions of the sea.

“Oi look! Cap’n’s brought us a sweet young thing!” A cry went up and Pietri flinched, expecting Drake to roar at them like he did at him. But Drake stood motionless, letting Charlotte prove -- both to himself, the crew, and Pietri -- that she had the guts to be on his ship.

Charlotte, to Pietri’s grudging respect, didn’t shrink back from the dirty or unwashed crowd of men pressing in to see this beauty. Most of them had sated their need for women while they’d been docked, but there was a groomed and polished look about Charlotte that made her a different breed entirely from the used toffers at the rookeries.

Next to him, Pietri could see Drake tense as a man got too close to Charlotte, his fist clenching until the knuckles were white. If Drake had been less of a man, blood might be shed today.

As it was, some of the crew had been with Drake long enough to notice when their Captain was well and truly enraged, and they backed off. One newbie who’d joined them at the last dock, however, reached in close enough to stroke Charlotte’s hair.

Drake lunged at the same time Charlotte ducked, as seamlessly as if the move had been coordinated by the two beforehand. Charlotte stepped out of the fray as Drake knocked the man down with one swing, stopping the next blow before he could knock the man senseless.

Then she held out a hand for the man to grab, staggering against the man’s weight as he pulled himself up.

In the utter silence that followed, she said rather drily, “Wasn’t much of a brawl, was it?”

The whole cabin seemed to shake with the men’s mirth. The man Drake had decked grinned sheepishly, rubbing his sore cheek.

“Thank ya lady. I gots my fair share, messin’ wid da Cap’n’s woman.”

Charlotte grinned as well, cheeks heating at the mention of her being Drake’s woman. The others approached her cautiously and she dove right into what she knew best -- socializing.

She called for beer and rum and food, all of which came plentily after Drake made it clear that he supported whatever she ordered, and a regular party started. By the time the sun cast its parting pink and red rays over the sea, most of the men had drank themselves into a stupor and all they could talk about was the beauty and charm of a certain Charlotte Gordon.

“It seems you have a gift with these ruffians,” Drake murmured to Charlotte as the merriments began to wind down.

She laughed. “I should hope so! They’re all good men, Drake.”

He knew. He knew intimately that each and every one of these men, no matter their background or history, possessed a good heart. They all looked out for each other on this ship -- this motley crew of men was the closest thing to a family he had ever known.

Drake drank in the sight of Charlotte, who was sipping her beer and watching over his men with a fond eye. Already she’d grown attached and the men obviously loved her in return; some of them had already come up to Drake and, in their inebriated state, made it clear that he should “tie her down” as soon as possible.