Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (16 page)

“Bleedin’ Christ!” The captain swore. He rose from his chair
and began to pace about. “I told you, Donovan. The lock of hair; the evidence
was in front of us the whole time!”

The captain kept right on venting his spleen. Donovan’s arms
surrounded her. He held her firmly against him. Elizabeth buried her face in
her husband’s neck. She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the perverse
imagery assaulting her soul. She was so cold. Her limbs were shaking. Bile rose
up in her throat. She feared she might be ill and then she couldn’t draw a
breath against the tightness in her chest.

“Brandy, Jack, now!” Her husband barked, bringing the
captain out of his monologue.

The captain was beside them in trice, holding out a glass of
amber liquid. Donovan took the glass and pressed it to her lips. She drank it
at his insistence. It burned all the way down.

“Misogynist prick.” Donovan muttered. “I’m going to kill
him.”

Chapter
Fourteen

Getting Elizabeth settled for the night was foremost in his
mind as Donovan led her down the hall to their cabin. He carried her shoes in
one hand and his free arm was wrapped firmly about her waist to steady her. She
was tipsy after wine and a shot of brandy to steady her nerves.

“I’ll see you tucked in before I leave.” He said as they
entered the cabin. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to retract
them.

“You’re leaving me alone after what I told you?”

“I have to write a statement for Jack to deliver to the
governor of Basseterre when he hands Linton over to the authorities. He’ll hang
for sure, for aiding the abduction of a noblewoman, if not for the rest.”

Still pale, she nodded, accepting his lie.

If they were on land, it might work out that way. They were
at sea. The punishment for betraying one’s crew was death. Linton would be
forced to walk between two rows of men armed and thirsting for his blood.
Donovan intended to be waiting at the end of that line. If Linton survived the
trial by his fellows he’d be hung or keel-hauled; either way, he’d be dead.

“How do you know he helped the smugglers?” She asked.

“He showed up offering to take the place of our ship’s
physician, who suddenly became too ill to sail. That’s too much of a
coincidence, Lizzie. And, there is the lock of hair we found attached to the
main mast with the ransom note. My guess is, he cut your hair, and kept a piece
of it for himself. Jack will be searching his quarters as we speak. And,
someone had to be here to signal the smuggler crew when my men succumbed to the
drugged ale. Turn around.” He directed, and began unfastening the ties of her
gown when she did as he bade.

He pulled the gown over her head and slung it over the sofa.
Lizzie turned to face him. His height gave him an unhindered view of her
breasts beneath the opening of her shift. Perfect ambrosial spheres. Pink
nipples matched the shade of her lush, sensual lips. He hardened to granite, unable
to pull his gaze from the delightful creamy swells.

“. . . Donovan?” Her impatient tone slapped his conscience.

He swallowed, forcing himself to listen and look at her
face, not her breasts.

“I said, what if someone comes in here while you’re out?”

“No one will come through that door.” He assured her,
tracing the outline of her arm with a light forefinger. That finger moved
across her collarbone, yearning to circle a delicate orb. He yearned to taste
those tender buds and tease them with his tongue. Instead, he pulled her
against him, mindful not to press against her and intimidate her with his
molten male need.

Elizabeth pushed tight against him, not noticing the rock
formation at the apex of his thighs. She was distracted by a greater threat, he
realized, as she wore out the subject.

“How can you be sure? Why can’t you do this with the captain
tomorrow? I could come with you. I promise not to be a--“

 Donovan captured those enticing pink lips, silencing her.
He slipped his tongue into that warm, moist cavern. What was this? Damn if she
didn’t appear to mind the intrusion. She remained pliant in his arms; pouring
oil on the fire heating his blood instead of wriggling away from him as she
should be if she knew what was good for her. He cupped her curvaceous bottom
and drew her hard against him in spite of his bulging erection. Perhaps if she
knew the danger, she’d cease her pleading and let him go kill Linton.

He devoured her mouth with his kiss. Damn it, why wasn’t she
retreating?

The brandy--chasing two glasses of wine. She was
intoxicated. She didn’t understand what was happening between them. Holding her
by her shoulders, he set her away from him and lowered his head so he could
look her full in the eyes. “Listen to me, Elizabeth. Every man on this ship
sailed under me when I was the Raven, every man, save one. You could dance
naked in front of them and they wouldn’t touch you. They wouldn’t dare because
they know me.”

A frown crumpled her adorable features. “Then, why did you
make your men go below when I was out on deck the other day?”

“That was for your comfort, my sweet.”

Lizzie quickly found the chink in the wall of protection he
was trying to build around her. “You said every man but one sailed with you in
the east, you meant Linton, didn’t you? He could come in here while you’re
away.”

Donovan was grateful Lizzie’s reasoning was sound, despite
the annoyance it was giving him at the moment with her worrying and supposing.
It wasn’t long ago he feared she might not be capable of reasoning deeply at
all. Taking her sweet face between his hands, he held her worried gaze. “And
that one man will be with me.”

Lizzie kept looking at him with those big, worried eyes.
“I’ll let you do whatever you want if you stay with me.”

The words should have thrilled him. They did give him pause.
He studied her, noting the apprehension in her eyes. Her invitation was borne
of desperation, not desire. She was trading her body in exchange for protection
from a greater threat than the one straining his breeches.

“No, Lizzie.” He turned away while he still could and busied
himself by removing his silk vest and untying the annoying neck linens required
for formal dinners. He shrugged off his dress shirt and replaced it with one
more suitable for bloodshed. He moved to his weapons cabinet and unlocked it to
select a blade that would cause the most damage without actually killing the
man. He examined the blade of one dagger and set it aside in favor of another.

“You don’t want me?” The hurt in her voice was unmistakable.

He turned and stalked back to her, took her hand and pressed
it against his granite cock. “Oh, I want you. I’m in pain from wanting you so
desperately, Madame.”

She jerked her hand from him and retreated into the
bedchamber, intimidated at last.

He studied the beamed ceiling for several seconds with his
hands on his hips, released an exasperated sigh, and then surveyed the room
with venom. He cursed himself for his callow behavior. It wasn’t Lizzie’s fault
that he was hot and horny, ready to explode from the heady combination of pent
up lust and the primitive desire to kill something.

He knew he should march in there and apologize for being so
crude.

Donovan groaned, his rage defying his conscience. The
gentleman in him was appalled by his savage behavior. And yet, he was in no
mood to have to explain himself to a naïve miss. And having an erection was
painful—sort of--it was bloody uncomfortable.

Shoving aside the guilt for intimidating his bride, he
returned to his weapons cabinet.

*******

Elizabeth listened to the angry shouts coming from the outer
deck. Donovan left several minutes ago. She heard the door slam and the lock
turned with a key. She should be grateful the man remembered to lock the door,
given his foul mood and his desire to be well shot of her.

The arrogant, self-absorbed cad. He had no idea how
difficult it had been to offer herself to him in the first place. And then to
be callously set aside like a meal that was unappetizing!

A shrill cry of pain brought Elizabeth up short. She remained
still. A sudden cacophony of shouts overwhelmed that single wail of anguish.
The angry sounds brought a sharp, jarring memory of the night she was abducted.
There had been shouts outside her door that night, the clanging of swords, and
finally those filthy creatures swarmed in with their torches and dragged her
out into the night.

Elizabeth shrank against the headboard and clutched the
covers up to her neck as the memory invaded her mind. She released a tortured
breath, tossed back the covers and jumped to her feet, anxious to distance
herself from the memory of being groped by cruel hands.

She returned to the larger suite. It was silent out on the
deck, deathly silent. What was happening, a mutiny? Donovan left with haste,
before arming himself heavily. And he never locked the door when he left
before.

The sharp rat-a-tat-tat of drums broke the tense silence
that descended beyond the cabin door. She sighed as understanding came. This
wasn’t a mutiny; it was an execution. There would be no trial for Linton in St.
Kitts, her husband was making certain of that.

“Miserable prick, I’m going to kill him” He vowed in the
captain’s cabin earlier.

Elizabeth returned to the small room and sat down on the bed.

A morbid part of her longed to go out on deck to witness
Linton’s execution, on behalf of the poor women he abused at the asylum. The
sensible part of her overruled such lunacy. She couldn’t endure being
surrounded by rough seaman again, even those under her husband’s command.
Following his assurance to its rational conclusion, what he was actually
telling her was that she was a female on ship full of ruthless pirates but she
was safe only because she belonged to the head pirate, a man far more dangerous
than the rest of the crew.

 An eternity passed before she heard the key grating in the
lock. A resonant clang of metal echoed as something was deposited on the desk.
She rose and peeked into the larger room. Donovan stood at the desk, a pile of
weapons being loaded onto it from his body. His shirt was saturated with blood.
He didn’t seem injured. He stood calmly at his desk cleaning the curved dagger
he’d taken out on deck with him, unaware she was watching from the doorway.

He replaced the weapon in the case and locked it. The keys
were deposited in the desk drawer. He removed the pistols from his belt along
with his sword and set them on the desk. He unbuckled the leather holster
strapped to his thigh and placed the dagger holster on the desk next to his
pistols and sword. He lifted his foot, braced it on the desk, and removed
another long dagger from the shaft of his boot and set it with the others. He
dropped his foot and peeled the bloody shirt over his head, tossed the soiled
garment to the floor and then stalked to the washstand. Elizabeth watched his
elegant profile as he poured water into the basin, lathered his hands and
rinsed them. Wet skin shimmered like burnished bronze as he dipped a cloth into
the basin, rung it out and washed all trace of blood from his torso with
practiced movements. His taut muscles rippled in the golden light, making her
insides reel with admiration and wonder.

The man was lean, graceful and dangerous--a beguiling
combination for any woman.

“Why are you not asleep?” His voice jarred her out of her
strange enchantment with his physical form. He did not turn to face her as he
waited for her reply.

“You lied to me.” Elizabeth replied, recalling the reason
for his blood spattered shirt. “You said Linton would be handed over to the
magistrate in St. Kitts. I’m not a simpering miss with tender sensibilities
that need minding. I’ve been forced to deal with the ugly realities of life
since my mother died. I assure you I can endure them without sinking into
hysterics, my lord.”

That magnificent torso swung about and advanced. Elizabeth
was confronted by a wall of naked male flesh. Always the gentleman, he remained
clothed in her presence except when he came to bed. When she awakened from
night terrors, she felt rather than saw his damaged flesh in the darkness as he
drew her close to comfort her. Now she could see them clearly for the first
time. Long, narrow ruts of pale purple lined his chest. The marks were vertical
and precise.

“They tortured my lord.” Pearl confided not long ago.

Elizabeth stiffened. She would not disappoint this man by
cringing at his disfigurement. She stared at his mutilated flesh, her heart
cracking while outwardly she maintained the mask of calm perfected during her
years with Fletcher. The damage was akin to surface scratches on a fine Greek
statue. The vandals failed miserably in their attempt to ruin a masterpiece.

Fascinated by the power and grace of his male form, she
placed her palm against the contours of that muscular chest. His skin was firm
and slightly moist from his labor. Dark whorls of hair curled about her
fingers. Fearing her action was too brazen she tried to retract her hand.

Donovan captured her wrist. His free hand covered hers,
flattening it against his chest, as if savoring the intimate contact. “I don’t
want you to endure the ugly realities of life.” His brusque tone made Elizabeth
glance up at his face. “As my wife, you will never be forced to deal with them
again. From this point on, if a man offends you, if he looks at you
inappropriately, you will tell me so I can deal with it. Is that understood, Mrs.
Beaumont?”

Elizabeth jerked her hand from his grasp. “I should take
comfort in the fact that you intend to go bludgeon every man who looks at me? Good
God, this isn’t the Dark Ages!”

“I can’t kill a man for looking at you, but I can make damn
sure it goes no farther.” He replied in that high-handed tone she was coming to
loathe. “You belong to me.”