Andrea Kane (21 page)

“Exquisite,” he breathed, lowering his mouth to the hollow between her breasts. He inhaled her fragrance, felt the wild fluttering of her heart. “I want to touch … to taste … all of you. Tonight,” he promised darkly, “I will.”

“Drake?” Her voice was so soft she wondered if he could have heard.

Drake raised his head. “What, love?”

“I bled.”

He froze, startled, trying to see her expression in the dim light. He wondered if her words were meant to be an accusation, an expression of anger. Unsure, he waited.

She turned her face up to his, uncertainty in her eyes. “That’s normal, is it not?”

Drake could feel the knot of tension inside him melt away in a flood of tenderness. Obviously no one had prepared her for last night. “Very normal, sweetheart.” He kissed her eyelids softly, then her cheeks. “It happens only the first time, never again.” He felt her relax beneath him. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he whispered.

She slid her hands up the strong muscles of his forearms, his shoulders. “I’m not sorry,” she answered honestly. “The pain wasn’t that severe and it didn’t last long.” Her own curious gaze dropped to the dark hair that covered his broad chest and tapered down to the flat, taut planes of his abdomen. He was magnificent.

Drake watched her, forcing himself to lie still and endure her scrutiny. Lord, she hadn’t even touched him and he was on the brink of insanity. “Like what you see, princess?” he managed with a tight smile.

She raised her enchanted eyes to his face. “Yes, very much.”

He groaned. “You are destroying me.”

For the first time Alex knew the full power of her own sexuality. She gave Drake a worldly smile. “I hope so.”

The combination of her alluring sensuality and her breathtaking innocence was going to be the death of him.

Unable to hold back, he lowered the full weight of his body onto hers, tangling his hands in her silky hair. They kissed, open-mouthed and unashamedly hungry for each other. Alex explored the hard contours of his back, the rippling muscles beneath the smooth skin. She could feel his maleness, hard and throbbing, against the soft skin of her thighs, and she arched slightly to increase the exciting friction it generated.

Drake gave a hoarse cry of need, tore his mouth from hers, pressed urgent, burning kisses down her throat and shoulders until he reached her breasts. He paused, his chest heaving, and stared down at her, watching her nipples tighten even before he touched them.

“Drake … please …” Alex couldn’t bear the tension. She needed his touch desperately.

“Yes, princess,” he breathed, lowering his open mouth to her yearning breasts.

The taste of her skin, the sweet intensity of her desire, was almost more than he could take. He circled each breast with his tongue, then drew the taut nipples into his mouth, using his lips and his teeth to drive her wild. He felt her writhing beneath him, heard her calling his name.

He needed more. When her nipples were wet and swollen from his mouth, Drake moved down, gliding his tongue along the slender curves of her body. He paused at her navel, dipping his tongue inside, circling slowly, then going lower still, kissing her legs, her thighs, urging them apart with his hands and settling himself between them.

Alex whimpered, torn between frantic need and embarrassed resistance. She felt his breath there, between her legs, and her whole body begged her to give in, to let him do this wonderful thing to her.

She felt his lips, his seeking tongue, and knowing that she would soon be unable to do so, voiced a weak token protest. “No …”

“Yes.” With that one word she was his. He tasted her sweetness, the nectar of her passion, and the world went up in flames.

The pleasure was beyond endurance and growing stronger, higher, consuming her in an agony of wanting. She clutched at his shoulders, arched wildly against his mouth, seeking more, all sensation centered beneath his stroking tongue.

Drake stoked the fire inside her again and again until he was shuddering, so close to eruption that he could wait no longer. He raised his mouth from her moist sweetness, panting, and leaned back until he was kneeling between her spread legs.

Alex’s eyes flew open in protest. She was at the very edge of sensation, desperate for release. Her storm gray eyes met his blazing emerald ones.

“Drake … please … don’t leave me … not yet,” she pleaded, her voice shaking with passion.

He groaned, closing his eyes, fighting for the control he needed to take her gently, to merge their sweat-drenched, craving bodies without causing her pain.

Unsure of his actions, knowing only her own desperate need for fulfillment, Alex wrapped her small hand around his huge, rigid arousal. He flinched at her touch, his face contorted with pain. She stroked him gently, coaxingly. “Drake?”

It was no use.

With an anguished cry he entered her, taking her with all the violent need of his body and soul. He heard her cry out, but it was too late; he couldn’t have stopped or slowed down if his very life had depended on it.

“Alex … Alex …” He called her name over and over, pounding into her welcome softness with all of his strength and passion, demanding all that she could give.

She sobbed his name, contracting around him with wild, utter abandon, feeling the warm flood of his seed as it poured into her body.

And then the room was silent, but for their ragged breathing.

Still shuddering with the force of his climax, Drake rolled to one side, his arms wrapped tightly around his wife, his body still deep inside hers.

“Are you all right?” he gasped, feeling her tremble in his arms. “Did I hurt you, love?”

She didn’t answer for so long that Drake’s fear escalated. At last he felt her breath against his chest, heard her ragged whisper. “Yes. And no.”

He smiled, cradling her against him. Last night he had let her sleep. He had no intention of making the same mistake tonight.

Dawn cast its first golden glow on the waters of Lake Ontario. Kingston lay alongside them, signifying the end of the first leg of their journey, the beginning of another. Just ahead, the mighty Saint Lawrence beckoned, and
La Belle Illusion
surged forward eagerly, ready to accept the challenge.

The seamen moved about the ship, performing their jobs while, keeping a constant eye out for danger. It was unprecedented for Captain Barrett to be conspicuously absent from the quarterdeck for more than three hours at a time. But if anyone noticed, no one made mention of the fact.

Below, in the captain’s cabin, Drake gently kissed his wife awake. “Princess,” he murmured between kisses, “I have to go topside. It’s been hours.”

Alex gave a sleepy sigh and opened her eyes. “We just went to sleep,” she protested.

He grinned. “That may be, love, but that doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t been at the helm since sometime after midnight.”

She stretched gracefully, feeling the physical tenderness that resulted from a night of lovemaking. The ache felt wonderful.

He stared down at her, seeing the effect of last night’s passion. Her cheeks were still flushed, her hair wildly tousled, her softly parted lips still swollen from his bruising kisses. He felt the familiar surge of desire rise up inside him, coupled with a less familiar and most unwelcome tightening in his chest.

“Drake?” Her voice was questioning.

He shook his head, denying the feelings. He lowered his mouth to hers again, deepening the kiss until they both felt the magic of the previous night spinning its web about their senses.

The shrill sound of the officers’ whistle pierced the air, shattering the fantasy into bitter shards of reality. Seconds later there were running footsteps and calls of “Captain! Captain!”

“Damn!” Drake tore himself from Alex’s arms and hurried across the room, pulling on his shirt and breeches.

“Drake … what is it?” Alex sat up, alarmed.

He paused at the door only to give her a hard look. “No venturing from this cabin, Alexandria. I mean it,” he warned.

She rose from the bed, the sheet draped around her. “Tell me what is happening,” she demanded.

He had already flung open the door as he spoke. “La
Belle Illusion
is in trouble. God help us if it is an American attack.”

“I
T’S A MILITARY SHIP
comin’ up behind us, Cap’n! An’ she’s flyin’ the American flag!” Cochran stood at the top of the stairs, calling out to Drake as he reached the main deck.

Drake’s head jerked around, his expertly trained eye instantly assessing the situation. The oncoming ship was a 160-foot military brig of over four hundred tons, with two towering masts and sixteen guns. She dwarfed
La Belle Illusion
in firepower, speed, and crew. The situation was grim.

All around Drake his men were following Smitty’s orders, dragging the cannons into position and hoisting the gunpowder and cannonballs up through the hatch to the main deck. Everything would be ready should it be needed.

“Captain! They are definitely in pursuit!” Smitty shouted, as Drake leapt onto the quarterdeck.

Drake nodded. “We’ll try to outmaneuver them.” He took the wheel from Smitty in an iron grip. The Saint Lawrence was narrowing; the Thousand Islands lay ahead. It would be nearly impossible to escape. But with Drake at the helm, anything was possible.

“We’ll not make this easy for them, Smitty,” he vowed, steering
La Belle Illusion
windward.

Despite Drake’s superb skill, the attempt to escape was futile. Not only was the enemy ship larger, with more expansive rigging, but the weight of the timber in
La Belle Illusion’s
hold made her slow and difficult to steer among the myriad small islands.

Minutes later Drake made his decision.

“Man the guns, men,” he commanded. “We are in for a fight.” His calm tone did not fool anyone. This was going to be a battle to the death.

The men hauled the cannons inboard and opened the gunports, then stacked the cartridges alongside the guns as they waited tensely for Drake’s next order.

Alex stood, horrified, on the main deck, witnessing the scene around her. “Oh, my God,” she whispered, pressing her hand to her mouth.

Thomas Greer spun about. “Miss Alex! You should not be up here! We’re about t’ do battle!”

“Yes, Thomas, I can see that.” She was overcome by fear and by frustration. She might be a woman, but surely there was something she could do to help.

She hurried to the quarterdeck where Drake was maneuvering the ship rapidly downriver.

“Drake!” She flew up beside him. “What can I do?”

“Damn you!” He spat out the words, determined to avert the danger that loomed behind them. “I told you to stay below! Do I have to beat you into obedience?”

Alex looked stunned, then defensive. “We are about to be attacked! I thought …”

“You thought? No, damn it, Alexandria, you didn’t think! You just acted, as always!” A muscle worked in his jaw, which was clenched in fury. He wiped the spray from his face impatiently. “Now get off my quarterdeck before you get yourself killed!” When she hesitated, he barked,
“Now,
wife!”

She had never felt more like chattel. Turning around, she retreated to the main deck without another word.

Drake gritted his teeth. He knew he had hurt her. But at least his harsh words had forced her below to safety.

Alex had no intention of going anywhere.

She made her way along the main deck, watching as the small crew worked frantically to ready the cannons. She bit her lip, cursing her lack of knowledge and experience, as the straining, sweating men prepared to fight for their lives.

The ominous white sails of the enemy ship loomed closer. Alex could make out the American crew as they manned their guns. The futility of the situation struck her like a violent blow as she counted the men and gunports of the vessel that would soon be upon them. How could Drake ever hope to emerge victorious?

“Cochran! Where the ’ell are the rest of those cartridges?” Jamison demanded, searching the deck.

“Mannings is below, filling ’em with powder.” Cochran glanced toward the open hatch at the top of the hold. “He should be passin’ ’em up any second.”

Jamison swore under his breath. “Who the ’ell is goin’ t’ get ’em? We’ve got t’ reload within a hairbreadth! There’s no time for us t’ run back t’ fetch ’em!”

Before Cochran could respond, thunder exploded through the air, followed by huge sprays, of water that swept the decks as the ship rolled wildly.

“They’ve missed us!” Thomas Greer shouted.

Alex looked up and fought back a scream, realizing that the Americans were now directly parallel to
La Belle Illusion
and that the tremendous explosion of a moment ago had been cannon fire.

“Ready the larboard guns!” Drake’s voice boomed out.

Instantly the men loaded their cannons. First, a cartridge of powder was rammed down the barrel. Three good strokes of the rammer put home a wad of rope yarn. Next, the lethal ball itself was snugged up against the wad by the rammer. Finally, another wad was put home, leaving no space between the powder cartridge and the last wad. The touchhole was filled with powder and the guns aimed at their target.

“Larboard guns, ready, Cap’n!” Cochran called out.

Less than a minute had passed since the command had been given. Poised, the crew waited, knowing what came next.

“Larboard guns, fire!”

Alex said a silent prayer as the men blew upon their linstocks and ignited the cartridges through the touchholes of their guns.

The impact sent Alex sprawling to the deck. The mighty cannons boomed out, rolling backward from the force of their fire, yet held fast by the breeching rope that tied them securely to the ship. Alex recovered in time to see the balls fall into the water, far short of their target.

“God damn it!” Drake roared from the helm. “How many chances do you think we’re going to get? Your range is short! Increase the elevation of those blasted guns!” He grimly noted that the Americans were preparing to fire again. “I’ll dodge their fire and get in closer. And this time, don’t miss!”