The Pirate Lord (14 page)

She turned her face away, but didn’t stop him. “I don’t…I mean, I…I don’t want…I…I…”

He took her mouth again, silencing her as he buried his tongue in the sweet, hot warmth of her mouth the way he wanted to bury himself in another part of her. When he had her clinging to him, he reached behind to unhook her bodice enough so he could inch the sleeves of it off her shoulders. Impatiently he tugged loose the ties of her chemise, then drew the muslin down to bare her breasts.

Although she moaned low in her throat and jerked beneath his kiss, she didn’t pull away. By God, she was sweet, the sweetest woman he’d ever tasted. As he stabbed his tongue restlessly between her luscious lips, he filled his hands with her breasts, his blood beating a fierce tattoo through his veins.

Her woman’s flesh was soft, so very soft and yielding. And he was hard as iron. When had a woman ever made him this hard?

As she clung to him, he dragged his lips from hers, but only to kiss his way down to one satin-skinned breast. Her eyes widened in shock when he took it in his mouth and sucked hard on the nipple. But she didn’t fight him. No, she arched into him, her fingers digging into the bare skin of his shoulders. Her fingernails would leave marks there later, but he didn’t care. He wanted her. Here. Now.

Warning bells sounded in his head. He ignored them. The scent of her, the salty taste of her skin, drove him to distraction. He could have resisted her if she’d been the cold English lady he’d expected. But she was a fiery warrior queen who recited
Lysistrata
to rouse her troops. A woman like that he couldn’t resist. He wanted her. She wanted him. What else mattered?

“Gideon! Oh, good heavens!” she breathed as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, wanting to devour them.

“Aye, it’s heaven,” he muttered against her breast. “You’re heaven, sweetheart.” She was an angel, this Englishwoman, whom he craved with every beat of his
lecherous American heart. He would have her. He ought to have her. She belonged with him. And she wanted him. No matter what she said, her body belied her. She wanted him.

He made these excuses to himself as he kissed her again, this time with a hunger that even the pleasures of her mouth couldn’t assuage. He wanted more. He had to have more. In a fever of need, he bunched her skirt up in his hands, drawing it up along her slender calves and past her bent knees.

Sweeping his hands beneath the muslin and over her pale, smooth skin, he fit himself into the vee of her parted thighs. She would belong to him and no one else. No one should have her but him.

He would show her how much she wanted him. He would bring her to realize it, so she could never thrust him away again. And with that jumbled thought, he slid his hand between her legs.

T
he feel of Gideon’s fingers on her most private place jolted Sara out of her half-dream. “No,” she whispered as she jerked her mouth from his. “No, you mustn’t!”

His hand cupped her, giving instant relief to the sweet tension he’d built in her body. “Ah, but I must,” he whispered. His gaze was dark, knowing, as if he realized exactly what she was feeling. “You want me to. Let me touch you, Sara. Let me show you how it could be between us.” He rubbed her in a most interesting way, making her feel fluid and hot, like the sun-warmed tropical sea.

“Yes,” she breathed, despite her reservations. She closed her eyes to shut out the knowledge shining in his face, the knowledge of her weakness. An almost irresistible urge to give in to his deft hands possessed her, coupled with a strange urge to touch him, to run her hands over his body and do to him what he was doing to her.

As he continued to rotate his palm with unerring ac
curacy over the place that ached for his touch, she splayed her fingers over his muscle-bound ribs and further in, over his chest, matting down the crisp, tight hairs with her questing hands. His skin, like rumpled velvet, seemed to jump beneath her fingers. Dragging in a harsh breath, he moved one of her hands lower, past his wide belt to cup the hard ridge in his breeches.

Her eyes flew open. His expression no longer looked knowing, but stark, raw, and needy as only a man could look needy. He made a guttural sound in his throat as he thrust his hips against her hand. At the same time he flattened the heel of his palm against her, and a wave of pleasure hit her at once, so intense she nearly jumped off the trunk.

“Oh, my Lord,” she whispered. Every part of her shook and quivered. Every part of her craved more. Not conscious of what she did, she undulated against his hand, seeking a repeat of the pleasure.

His eyes glittered. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let yourself enjoy it.” He parted her curls with his fingers, then slid one inside a passage that had somehow grown wet and slick, allowing him easy access. “Sweet Jesus, you feel good, so good.” With an almost animal growl, he crushed her mouth under his once more.

Faintly, Sara heard a noise from somewhere above them, the grating of wood against wood, but she thrust the sound from her mind. Then a voice called down from above, “Cap’n? Cap’n, you down there?”

Gideon tore his mouth from hers and jerked his hand back, a curse rumbling from his lips. “Yes, Silas, I’m here. I’ll be with you presently.”

Shame washed over Sara in buckets as she came out of her sensual fog. Good heavens, her hand was on his breeches! And he’d been touching her with an intimacy only allowed a husband!

As she snatched her hand away, the sound of descending footsteps echoed down to them. “I’ve got to talk to you,” Silas said, his words punctuated by the
clumping sound of his wooden leg on the steps. “It’s about that woman Louisa—”

“If you come any nearer, Silas,” Gideon barked, “I’ll have you keelhauled, I swear I will!”

The clumping noises halted abruptly. Sara frantically dragged down her skirts, but when she tried to scoot off the trunk, Gideon wouldn’t let her. With firm hands he held her thighs still.

His gaze locked with hers as he called back up to Silas, “Go to my cabin. I’ll meet you there shortly. I’ve got something else to attend to first.”

Her heart pounded in time to the sounds of Silas clumping back up the steps. She was the “something else,” and if she let herself be “attended to,” she could count on his casting her aside with easy nonchalance once he was done with her.

Well, she wouldn’t let that happen. Not with this man, this unscrupulous pirate. The hatch door slammed closed above and Gideon bent to kiss her again, but this time she was prepared. Bracing her hands against his chest, she turned her face away. “No,” she whispered. “No more.”

His breath came hot and heavy against her ear as his arm crept back around her waist. “Why not?”

For a moment her mind was blank. What reason could she give that would make any sense to him? If she protested that they weren’t married, he would simply put an end to that objection by marrying her, and that would be disastrous.

Then she remembered Petey’s plan. “Because I’ve already promised myself to another.”

His body went still against hers. An oppressive silence fell over them both, punctuated only by the distant clanging of the watch bell. But he didn’t move away, and at first she feared he hadn’t heard her.

“I said—” she began.

“I heard you.” He drew back, his face taut with sus
picion. “What do you mean, ‘another’? Someone in England?”

She considered inventing a fiancé in London. But that would have no weight with him, would it? “No. Another sailor. I…I’ve agreed to marry one of your crew.”

His expression hardened until it looked chiseled from the same oak that formed his formidable ship. “You’re joking.”

She shook her head furiously. “Peter Hargraves asked me to…to be his wife last night. And I agreed.”

A stunned expression spread over his face before anger replaced it. Planting his hands on either side of her hips, he bent his head until his face was inches from hers. “He’s not one of my crew. Is that why you accepted his proposal—because he’s not one of my men? Or do you claim to have some feeling for him?”

He sneered the last words, and shame spread through her. It would be hard to claim she had feelings for Petey when she’d just been on the verge of giving herself to Gideon. But that was the only answer that would put him off. Her hands trembled against his immovable chest. “I…I like him, yes.”

“The way you ‘like’ me?” When she glanced away, uncertain what to say to that, he caught her chin and forced her to look at him. Despite the dim light, she could tell that desire still held him. And when he spoke again, his voice was edged with the tension of his need. “I don’t care what you agreed to last night. Everything has changed. You can’t possibly still want to marry him after the way you just responded to my touch.”

“That was a mistake,” she whispered, steeling herself to ignore the flare of anger in his eyes. “Petey and I are well suited. I knew him from before, from the
Chastity
. I know he’s an honorable man, which is why I still intend to marry him.”

A muscle ticked in Gideon’s jaw. “He’s not a bully, you mean. He’s not a wicked pirate like me, out to ‘rape
and pillage.’” He pushed away from the trunk with an oath, then spun toward the steps. “Well, he’s not for you, Sara, no matter what you may think. And I’m going to put a stop to his courtship of you right now!”

Terror struck her at once. He could do anything to Petey, anything! “No!” she shouted as she leapt off the trunk and ran after him. “No, Gideon! Stop!”

But he was already halfway up the steps. As she raced after him, her dress came down around her shoulders. She stopped to hook herself up, watching helplessly as he vanished through the hatch above.

Bother it all! she thought as she struggled with the hooks. If she didn’t get up there quickly, Gideon would no doubt have Petey thrown overboard or worse. And she couldn’t let him get away with that. Petey was her only hope of escape, and not even that wretch of a pirate was going to hurt him!

Having just come off the port watch, Petey lay in his hammock carving an image of a ship into a bit of old ivory. The crew’s quarters were deserted, for everyone else was either courting the women or serving on watch duty. If he had his druthers, he’d be with them. He’d be seeking Ann out.

That was impossible, however, and knowing that some foul pirate was even now probably trying to gain her affections put him in a savage mood. He’d taken the only path possible, but it didn’t sit well with him to think that sweet Ann Morris was forbidden to him.

Suddenly, the door to the crew’s quarters shot open, crashing against the wall with such force that Petey nearly fell off his hammock in surprise. In strode the Pirate Lord himself, looking every inch the devil’s spawn, with eyes like night fires and fury on his scarred face. His gaze fell on Petey at once, so virulent that it struck terror into Petey’s breast.

Petey slid warily off his hammock, then backed
around it as Captain Horn stalked toward him. “Good even, Cap’n. Is everythin’ all right?”

The captain caught him by his shirt front and lifted him a few inches off the ground until Petey’s face was level with his. “You can’t have her, do you hear? Not now, not ever!”

Shocks of fear crept up along Petey’s spine. It was all he could do to keep from quaking. “Wh-who do you mean, cap’n?”

“You
know
who I mean, Englishman.” The pirate’s eyes narrowed. “Unless she lied to me about choosing you as husband.”

Ah, so that was who he was talking about. The little miss. Petey swallowed hard. What a bloomin’ nightmare. “Miss Willis didn’t lie, cap’n. I…I asked her to be my wife, and she accepted.”

As the captain moved one hand from his shirt front to clutch him by the throat, Petey tightened his fist on his carving knife. If any other man had taken him by the throat, Petey would have had him on the floor with the knife in his gut. But this was the pirate captain. With such a madman he must tread carefully.

“Let him down!” came a voice behind the captain. It was Miss Willis herself, her hair all atumble about her shoulders and her face blanched white as the ivory scrimshaw in Petey’s other hand. “Let him go, I say!”

“Stay out of this, Sara!” the captain ordered, his fingers tightening around Petey’s throat. Despite the fact that the pirate still held him up by the shirt, Petey’s breath was half cut off by the pirate’s hold on his neck. He sucked hard, trying to force air through the thin passage.

Miss Willis ignored the captain’s words. Coming up behind him, she clutched at his bent arm. “You’re hurting him! Let him down!”

“I’m teaching him a lesson,” Captain Horn ground out. “He needs to be reminded of his station, which on this ship is somewhere beneath cabin boy!”

“And for that you would strangle him to death?”

“For that, yes. And for presuming to court you.” The captain glared at Petey, whose struggle to breathe was becoming more acute. “He doesn’t have the same rights as my men. I should have made that clear before.”

“But I chose him!” She latched onto the captain’s arm like a barnacle. “You said we could choose our own husbands! And I did! I chose who I wanted!”

The sudden silence in the cabin was deafening, punctuated only by the creak of hammocks swaying with the ship’s motion. Slackening his hold on Petey’s neck only slightly, Captain Horn turned his head to fix Miss Willis with a penetrating glance. “Are you telling me that you truly wish to have a low sailor for a husband?”

“If my only other choice is a pirate, yes!” It was an emotional outburst, but as the captain continued to stare at her, she added more firmly, “Of course I wish it. And if you tell him he can’t marry me, then you take away the choice you claimed to give me.” She took a deep breath. “If I can only choose a man you approve of, I have no choice at all, do I?”

The captain scowled at her. Then he threw Petey to the floor with a coarse oath, knocking the scrimshaw and the carving knife from Petey’s hands. Petey gasped for breath as Captain Horn hovered over him, wearing the look of a man who’d just been struck in the noggin by a yardarm and was itching to tear apart the one who’d done it.

When the captain flexed his fingers, then curled them into hard fists at his side, Petey scrambled to his feet and took a fighting stance. He didn’t want to fight the captain, for his policy had been to stay as unnoticed among the pirates as possible. But fight him he would, if that’s what it took to keep himself and the little miss safe.

“Stop this!” Miss Willis cried. “Stop it now, both of you!”

Captain Horn ignored her. Regarding Petey with a
mixture of contempt and amusement, he beckoned him on with one hand. “Take your shot, Hargraves. Go ahead, take it!”

Incensed by the pirate’s condescension, Petey kicked out in a movement designed to knock an opponent off his feet. Next thing he knew, he was flat on his back on the floor with the captain standing over him.

A grim smile crossed the captain’s face as he planted his foot on Petey’s chest. “Very good, Hargraves. A smooth maneuver. But whoever taught you to fight that way should also have taught you to ignore your opponent’s taunts. Fighting like an Asian requires thinking like an Asian, which means not letting your emotions get the better of you.”

Petey stared up at him in awe. He’d never met another sailor who knew of such things. But he should’ve realized that if anyone knew them, it would be the Pirate Lord.

To Petey’s surprise, the captain suddenly removed his foot, then held his hand out to him. Petey hesitated a moment before accepting the man’s help in rising to his feet.

Miss Willis pushed around the captain and hurried to Petey’s side, her face distraught as she ran her hands lightly over his arms and chest. “Are you hurt? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No, miss, just my pride.” He cast her a rueful smile. “Don’t fret yourself over it. I’m fine.”

It was only when he caught Captain Horn’s assessing glance that he realized he was behaving more like a servant than a fiancé. As he slid his hand around Miss Willis’s waist, ignoring her startled expression, he noticed that the pirate watched them with interest.

“Such a touching scene.” Captain Horn’s face wore a look of suspicion and muted anger. “And to think I never guessed until now the grand passion going on beneath my very nose.”

“Like Miss Willis said, she chose me.” Peter thrust out
his chest, affecting a protective stance…a little too late, unfortunately. “She probably told you that she and I became friendly on the
Chastity
.” It was the story both he and Miss Willis had agreed upon last night, though they’d known some would find it less than convincing.

Apparently the captain was one of them. “She did claim something like that.”

Claim
. Clearly the man didn’t believe either of them.

Then the scourge of the seas cast a slow, lascivious glance over Miss Willis, making her tremble beneath Petey’s arm. “She and I have also become quite ‘friendly’ in the past two days. Haven’t we, Sara?”