Bound by the Heart (9 page)

"Michael!”

"Yes ma'am," he said, downcast.

Wade tilted his head toward the faint rasp of a curse
filtering in through the open portals. He glanced at the timepiece on his desk
and was amazed to see how much time had passed. It was almost his watch.

"Never mind, lad, we'll talk more tomorrow. Right
now I'm due up on the bridge." He stood up and stretched, regretfully
eyeing the soft mattress on the berth. He shut and latched the gallery windows
to seal out the dampness and lit the brass lanterns—one on his desk, one
hanging from the center beam in the ceiling. Then he stopped beside his desk
and removed two cigars from the humidor.

"I'll send someone in to clear away the dishes.
Help yourself to the bookcases, Governess"—he glanced at Summer and
grinned mockingly—"anything I have is yours."

The flush remained in her cheeks long after the sound
of his boots had faded from the corridor. She toyed with her fork quietly for
the next few minutes, scarcely remembering that Michael was still in the cabin
with her.

"Well, I got the bounder to admit he would open
fire on the Royal Navy," he said smugly.

Summer blinked and stared at him. "You got him to
admit he would
return
fire . . . something any ship's captain would do. And
why on earth were you hounding him about his motives and intentions? He hasn't
the most stable temperament I've seen, and he doesn't give much warning between
changes. In fact," she added dryly, "he's downright prickly where his
patriotism is concerned."

"Yes, but just look at what we'll be able to tell
Father! No one has been on the
Chimera
during one of her voyages and lived to describe her
activities to the authorities."

"That
is certainly encouraging to know."

"We'll be able to tell all about her cannon and
her men, what he carries on all three decks
...
his strengths, his weaknesses. I told you, they've given me free run of the
ship. Father says the revenuers have tried to follow him to his home port but
they always lose him in the islands. Wouldn't it be something if we came home
with
that
news?"

Summer was silent another long minute, then shook her
head slowly. "Are you certain you are only ten years old?"

Michael grinned and dipped a finger into the empty
stewpot. He sucked the traces of gravy off noisily and set about attacking the
last crumbs of biscuit.

Chapter 5

S
ummer shifted
uncomfortably on the wooden chair, grumbling as a
slender thigh found little relief against the hard round spindles.

Captain Morgan Wade touched a melted wafer of wax to
the last of the dispatches he had written and pressed the gold ingot into the
seal, leaving behind the impression of a falcon in full wingspread. He tested
the hold of the wax and, satisfied, slipped the letter into a bundle with four
others and locked them—together with the seal and the leather-bound writing
tablet—in a cabinet behind his desk. He made several quick notations in his
logbook, retied its narrow rawhide straps, and that too went safely back into
its niche.

Summer yawned herself fully awake, startled to see
Wade sitting calmly at work behind his desk. His face was trapped in the glow
from the lantern, and behind him there was only darkness showing through the
panes of the gallery windows. In her lap, forgotten, was the volume of
Shakespeare she had started reading.

The timepiece declared it to be a quarter of three.

"Oh. I must have fallen asleep."

Wade glanced up at her but did not comment.

"I
...
I hope I did not disturb you."

"You were quiet enough," he murmured
absently, working the points of a compass over his charts. "It was a
pleasant change."

She flushed and straightened in the chair. She would
have dearly loved to stand and walk the cramps out of her legs, but she did not
want to draw any undue attention to herself. She watched the movements of his
hands for a few minutes and studied the frowning brow, the growth of stubble
beginning to soften the square jaw. Undeniably there would be women who would
consider him a handsome man. Perhaps even those who would consider him an
extremely handsome man. On the other end of the scale, however, were his
arrogance and churlishness, to put a firm damper on anyone's judgment.

She took a deep breath. "Will we be at sea much
longer?
...
I
mean before we reach wherever it is we are going?"

"A few days. It depends on the weather.
Why?"

"I was merely curious to know. Will you be
sending a missive with your demands to Sir Lionel as soon as we arrive?"

A brief flash of annoyance glittered in his eyes.
"What do you suggest I do?"

"I think you should. I think the sooner you
return his son to him, the easier it will be on you in the long run. He is a
powerful man."

"So you keep telling me."

"And his authority is far-reaching. He will be
livid from the ransom demand, never mind that it should be delayed."

"Suppose I cannot decide what those demands
should be?" he said, leaning comfortably back in the chair.

"He is a wealthy man. I'm sure he would be
willing to pay handsomely."

Wade pursed his lips. "Suppose I said his money
doesn't interest me.

"Suppose I said I didn't like diamonds," she
quipped sarcastically.

"I might believe you
...
if you already had more than you wanted."

"You have more money than you want?" she
scoffed.

"Let's just say I have more than I could
reasonably expect to spend in two lifetimes."

Summer was momentarily taken aback. "Profits from
your trade, no doubt?"

He merely smiled.

"Why do you continue at it, then? You told
Michael this evening that your trade was of the utmost importance to you."

"I said my
freedom
to trade was important," he corrected her gently.

"Well then? What could you possibly prefer over
money to make you risk your life and your ship smuggling illegal cargo?"

He shrugged. "I enjoy what I do."

"You enjoy it?" Summer folded her hands
tightly on her lap, feeling the resentment flow up into her cheeks. "Does
your enjoyment include brutalizing women and children?"

"Come now. You don't look very brutalized sitting
there all curled up like a kitten, reading
Midsummer Night's Dream.
If I truly wanted to brutalize
you, I'd have you chained in the hold with nothing but the dampness and the
rats to keep you company. I certainly wouldn't feed you prime meals and clothe
you and give you the benefits of my own cabin for your comfort. No—" he
took a slow breath and his eyes considered the way her breasts were shaped
beneath the cambric—"I'm beginning to think the arrangement we made
earlier suits me just fine."

"Arrangement?" Summer's heart slowed and she
felt a chill sweep down her spine. She could not look away from the blue of his
eyes. They seemed to reach out and engulf her, washing the fear through her in
a sluggish wave. "What arrangement?"

"The one we agreed would keep you and the boy out
of the bilges. You do recall admitting that you couldn't cook
..."
He left the implication to hang
in the air between them, his words turning this way and that, the gleam in his
eyes making their meaning perfectly clear.

"I agreed to nothing," she said quietly.
"As for the costs incurred by our passage, Sir Lionel will gladly
reimburse you whatever amount you deem fit to ask."

"But I already told you, his money doesn't
interest me. And you did ask me what I preferred instead."

Summer felt a flush of redness heat her cheeks.

"I . . . asked you what you would prefer
from Sir Lionel,"
she stammered.

"Well, perhaps you can pay his debts in advance.
Think how grateful he would be."

"No," she cried and jumped to her feet. She
was mindful of the sudden narrowing of his eyes—eyes that reminded her, not
comfortably, of a bird of prey contemplating its victim.

"No," she said again, forcing a calmness
into her voice that she was far from feeling. "What you are suggesting
would be quite impossible."

Wade's gaze belied the lazy smile that appeared on his
lips. "Nothing is impossible, Governess, if you put your mind to it."

"No." She shook her head and took a
determined step back from the table. "N-No."

"Ahh." He stood up slowly and shook his
head. "And you know the effect the word 'no' has on me."

Summer knew. She knew what he wanted and she knew what
he would take again without so much as a pang of guilty conscience. But still,
she stared back in quiet desperation, hoping against hope a spark of humanity
would rise to the surface.

"Come here," he commanded softly.

"Please," she whispered. "Please don't
do this. It
...
it isn't fair!"

"A lot of things in life are not fair,
Governess," he said, his voice so low and throaty she might have taken it
for gentleness under different circumstances. But a moment later she saw the
crooked smile and the darker flicker of intent in his eyes, and she whirled
around, dashing wildly for the door. She pulled at the latch, not knowing
exactly where she could run, only knowing she had to escape. The corridor was
dark, and she did not see the enormous black specter blocking her exit until
she collided with the gleaming, hairless chest.

She choked off a scream and staggered back, clapping
both hands over her mouth.

"Somet'ing wrong, Cap-tan?" Mr. Monday
drawled, his teeth glaring whitely through the darkness. With a further jolt of
horror Summer saw that he was totally naked.

Wade came up behind her.

"The governess here was just saying she might
want a change of scenery. She thinks my cabin is becoming a little too crowded,
and could perhaps find an easier berth with the crew."

Mr. Monday's liquid brown eyes went from Wade's face
to Summer's. "I could take her down, Cap-tan, you want me to. The men, dey
make her a fine bed, I'm sure. All fifty of dem."

Summer's face drained of all color. She took a halting
step back and met with the solid bulk of Morgan Wade behind her. She spun
around to confront him, but the rage and humiliation died in her throat without
making a sound. He stood there, waiting expectantly, his arms folded across the
steely breadth of his chest.

"Well, Governess? Fifty beds
...
or one?"

Summer pressed herself against the wall. There was not
much free space between the door jamb and the edge of a bookcase, but she
wedged herself into it, her eyes large and round and very green.

"A wise decision," he murmured and turned to
Mr. Monday. "It seems the governess has reconsidered. Thank you anyway for
your trouble; I hope we did not disturb your sleep."

"No trouble, Cap-tan." Monday leaned into
the cabin, his arm stretching past a frozen Summer Cambridge as he drew the
door shut again.

"It's a bad habit I haven't been able to break
him of," Wade sighed. "A carryover from his slave days, I imagine . .
. sleeping outside the master's door. But in this case, I guess he saved you
from making a bloody fool of yourself. Just where the devil were you planning
to run? Where did you think you could go?"

"Anywhere," she hissed. "Away from
you."

He made a sound of disgust in his throat. "Well,
you had your chance to leave, with my blessings. Why didn't you take it?"

Summer glared at him and Wade could feel his temper
fraying thin. It was after three o'clock in the morning and he had been on his
feet for more than forty-eight hours. He was bone-weary and the novelty of
sparring with a female companion was losing its appeal rapidly. And yet, even
cornered and defeated, she was not prepared to surrender without a hell of a
fight; he could see as much blazing in the depths of the fiery gray-green eyes.

Her eyes, damn them. They would not let him go. He
doubted they would even let him strike an amiable compromise.

"Come over here," he ordered impatiently.

"No," she whispered fiercely. "I won't."

"You will come to me, Governess. You will render
payment for the meal and the hospitality."

"No."

Wade clenched his hands into fists by his sides.
"A simple kiss, Governess. That's all I want. Fair barter in any port, and
an easy compromise in such dire straits as these."

"You can barter your way straight to hell,
Captain Wade, for all your compromises will win you."

Wade closed the gap between them with firm, promissory
footsteps. Summer felt her nerve falter, her courage slip, and a faintness
begin to cloud her senses as she saw his hands reach out toward her. She raised
her arms to fend him off, but he merely brushed them aside. His fingers raked
into the golden mass of her hair and, as his body crowded hers against the
wall, he angled her head, her mouth up to his.

At the last possible second, Summer found the strength
to twist to one side, but he was not deterred. His lips were content to plunder
the smooth white arch of her throat, to seek the racing pulse beneath her ear
and hold it captive until he could feel the shivers spiralling throughout her
body. She tasted sweet, sweeter than anything his tongue had sampled for a very
long time. Her skin was like warm satin, her hair was tousled silk—a fine
torment for fingers more accustomed to iron and jute and canvas.

Wade groaned and abandoned his reason to the clean,
fresh fragrance of her. His hands moved of their own accord, skimming from neck
to shoulder to breast, caressing the trembling flesh through the cambric,
teasing the wary buds of her nipples into unwitting accomplices.

Summer felt herself slipping. Her body was on fire,
the heat consuming her. His mouth was on hers, crushing the pleading whispers
into silence; his tongue shocked her, destroyed her in deep, searching thrusts.
His hands were moving beneath her shirt, his flesh hot upon her flesh . . . and
they both knew a kiss was not enough. Not nearly enough.

Wade loosened the scrap of cloth holding her trousers
in place, then ran his hands down her bared thighs, pulling her purposefully
against him. Summer's knees lost the ability to hold her upright, but he was
there to catch her. He lifted her, his mouth still fastened to hers, and
carried her to the bed. There, he waited until her eyes fluttered open before
he set her down and began releasing the laces of her shirt.