The Pirate Ruse (29 page)

“An impassioned pirate is a dangerous venture indeed, love,” he said as his expression softened to that of understanding—of gratification in understanding. The right corner of his mouth curved into the hint of a grin as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “And you are ever the genteel lady in claiming it is your will of self-control that concerns you, instead of mine.”

Cristabel frowned.
“But I am in earnest,” she assured him.

Yet he chuckled.
“Of course you are, love.”

It was obvious he did not believe her—that he thought she was fearful that he would force her to intimacy beyond a kiss.
She frowned, suddenly feeling quite indignant that he would arrogantly assume he knew her thoughts.

“Come,” he began, turning from her.
“I’ll take you back to the safety of the…”

Trevon was curious when he felt Cristabel take hold of his arm, tugging on it until he turned to face her once more. She wore an expression of deep defiance, determination, and desire.

“I am not finished with you yet, Captain,” she rather growled at him.

Trevon’s brows arched in astonishment as his lovely prisoner then reached up, taking his face between her hands and pulling his head to hers once more. She kissed him—fervently kissed him—kissed him with coaxing passion. There was a manner of seduction about her, as if she were daring him to resist her.

He gathered her in his arms at once—pulled her body tight to his as he devoured her offered affections.

He broke from her a moment—whispered, “I will not press you beyond this kissing between us,” against her lips.

“I know,” she breathed, trailing soft fingertips over his lips as if priming them for further passion to come.

“But I may well press you to the brink of something beyond it,” he confessed.

She smiled—a purely alluring smile—and whispered, “I know.”

Trevon took her then—took her in his arms—took her mouth with his—took them both on a voyage of such shared kisses of bliss and passion as to cause the very trees to tremble with rapture from the leafy limbs to their shallow yet ancient roots.

*

“And she was ever as happy as any woman could be, miss,” James Kelley said, smiling.

Cristabel closed her eyes—sighed with blessed relief in knowing her mother would not mourn her any longer.

“And she is well?
Safe?” she asked the boy.

“Yes, miss,” he said, nodding with reassurance.
“Well and safe she is…and much more so since reading the cap’n’s letter.”

Cristabel glanced to where Trevon sat nearby, enjoying one of his mother’s delicious meals.
He did not look up at her, only continued to concentrate on the plate of food before him. She wanted to thank him—to rush to him, throw her arms about his neck, and kiss his warm mouth. Goose flesh riddled her body as the memory of their shared tryst among the trees washed over her. She could hardly fathom it had happened. It seemed such a dream. Furthermore, there he sat, only an arm’s length from her, looking as if he were nothing more than a man at a table enjoying a meal—instead of a pirate who so recently played the attentive lover to her.

Cristabel knew she could not race to him—could not kiss him.
He was the captain of the
Merry Wench
and must ever appear in dominant control of everything, everyone, and every emotion. This she understood, though he had not spoken it to her.

Therefore, since she could not thank Trevon for his kindness to her and her mother, she returned her attention to James.
“Thank you, James Kelley,” she said, placing a hand on his forearm. “I am forever in your debt…again.”

“No, miss,” James said, placing a hand over hers that lay on his arm
, “I am in yours.”

“Very well, you two,” Trevon rather grumbled.
“Enough of this sentimental slathering over indebtedness to one another. You are both fortunate you do not bear the marks of the cat for the sake of your tomfoolery in the past.”

James grinned at Cristabel
, and she bit her lip to keep from giggling.

“Aye, Cap’n,” James managed.

“Find my mother, James,” Trevon commanded then. “She is at the houseboat and has chosen a prize for you, something in addition to your part of the
Chichester
treasure…my reward to you for having completed this errand.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” James exclaimed
, fairly leaping to his feet. James’s eyes were purely glistening with wild anticipation. Cristabel giggled as he looked to her and said, “Have a good evening, miss.”

“And you, James Kelley,” Cristabel said a moment before the boy bounded down the stairs of the tree house, heading for the treasure houseboat at a dead run.

“That boy is far too fond of you, love,” Trevon mumbled as he pushed his plate away. He drank water from the tankard his mother had provided. “I think you may own his loyalty more deeply than I do.”

Cristabel shook her head.
“No. He fair worships the ground upon which you tread.”

“I very much doubt that, love,” he said, rising from his chair.

She felt awkward—strangely uncomfortable in his presence suddenly. She was his prisoner. He had held her captive and intimidated and threatened her. Yet only hours before, they had stood together among the cypress sharing kisses the like only lovers share. It was a peculiar circumstance indeed.

She watched as he strode toward her
, her heart’s beat increasing its frantic rhythm with each step of advancement to her.

“Perhaps it would be wise for me to accompany James to the boathouse.” He smiled and chuckled, adding, “Else my mother gifts him the entire contents of it.
She dotes on him as if he were an infant at times.”

“He seems adept at evoking maternal feelings in women
, for he elicits them in me as well,” she said.

She smiled as Trevon took hold of her arm, pulling her to her feet and into a strong embrace.
“And what feelings do I elicit in you, love?” he flirted.

Cristabel’s heart began hammering
; her mouth watered, her limbs tingling with delight at his touch. “I-I cannot say, Captain,” she nervously stammered. “I-I cannot think of how to term them…not properly.”

Trevon smiled
, his handsome brows arching in approval. “Oh, I well like that answer, love. I well like that indeed.”

He pressed his mouth to hers in an alluring, teasing manner—as if daring her to refuse him.
She did not refuse him, however, and shivered with the thrill his hot, moist aggression on her mouth sent rippling through her when his kiss deepened.

“Come along, love,” he said, ending their embrace and taking her hand.
As he laced their fingers, leading her down the stairs from the tree house to the ground, he added, “It needs be we make our way to the houseboat…for Mother often struggles to keep from spoiling James Kelley.”

Cristabel smiled
, her heart fairly swollen to bursting with joy! She had feared the passion they had shared earlier in the day would be the end of his romantic involvement with her—that he had simply let down his guard—that once he owned his wits again, he would berate himself for softening toward her. Yet now, as he held her hand in walking to the houseboat, she had reason to hope that he truly cared for her beyond simply quenching a momentary thirst.

She would not think about the truth of it all—ignore that she was a woman surrounded by traitors and treason
, the prisoner and pawn of his patriotic ambition. She would linger in his approval and affections for as long as fate allowed her to. She would dream that she might find herself in the company of the secreted pirate community forever—that she would wait on the shore for the
Merry Wench
to return with its captain and her lover, just as the other women and children waited for their loves to return.

Oh, it was well Cristabel knew in her heart that such dreaming was folly
, but in those moments she cared nothing for reality. Trevon Navarrone cared for her—at least in some regard—and she would bathe in the knowledge and truth of it for as long as providence would allow.

*

As Cristabel accompanied Trevon’s mother back to the tree house, Claire Navarrone shook her head, still smiling. “Trevon is right to scold me,” she giggled. “I cannot keep from gifting James Kelley doubloons and gems…nor love and affection.” Claire wistfully sighed. “He simply owns my heart,” she added.

“I understand,” Cristabel confessed.
“There is something…something darling about James. One cannot quite determine it in words, but he somehow takes ownership of a heart the moment he meets it.”

“Yes,” Claire agreed.
“He is such an angel boy. I am so grateful…so thankful that it was Trevon who found him wandering the streets of New Orleans, instead of someone who would have abused him…exploited his innocence or endeavored to turn him to villainy.”

“Indeed,” Cristabel whispered
, for she too was ever thankful it was Trevon who watched over James Kelley. Oh, it was true the pirate captain attempted to treat the boy as any other member of the crew. Yet it was ever more evident that Trevon viewed James as more a sibling than anything else.

“I suppose Trevon thinks of his brother Vortigem often when James is in his company,” Claire said in a lowered voice.
“Vortigem was ever Trevon’s hero.” She smiled—lightly laughed. “Oh, how Trevon followed after his elder brother. He trailed along in Vortigem’s footsteps like a happy little pup. I know it nearly broke his spirit when Vortigem died of illness.”

Cristabel frowned.
“I-I did not know he owned a brother,” she said.

“Oh, yes…my eldest child
, Vortigem Navarrone. He was a patriot like Trevon and his father. He died five years past. Consumption claimed him.”

“I am so very sorry,” Cristabel said, reaching out and taking Claire’s hand in her own.

Claire paused in walking—turned to face Cristabel. Forcing a smile, she returned Cristabel’s reassurance with a squeeze of her hand.

“Thank you, darling,” she said.
“I nearly died myself when Vortigem was lost.” Cristabel smiled and brushed a tear from her own cheek as Claire reached out and took a long strand of Cristabel’s hair between her fingers. “As I nearly died when Vienne was lost.”

“
Vienne?” Cristabel inquired. An odd anxiety began to burn in her bosom, yet she assumed it was merely for the sake of discussing loss and mourning.

“Yes.
Beautiful Vienne,” Claire whispered. She tucked the strand of Cristabel’s hair behind her ear—softly caressed Cristabel’s cheek. “I nearly died with her,” she whispered. “As did Trevon. In truth, he has never recovered himself fully.”

Cristabel’s stomach broiled with nausea.

“Were…were they married then?” Cristabel asked
, certain the contents of her stomach would reveal themselves. It was true then! Trevon’s heart had belonged to another—another woman who had once waited on the shore for the handsome pirate to return.

“Married?” Claire asked, frowning yet seeming amused somehow.
“Oh no, darling. Vienne was my daughter…Trevon and Vortigem’s younger sister.”

“What?” Cristabel gasped.

“Yes.” Claire’s frown deepened. “Oh, surely you have heard the terrible tale from some crew member. And her portrait hangs in Trevon’s cabin aboard the
Merry Wench
. He keeps it there…a constant reminder of what he views as his consummate failure.” Claire paused, fresh tears spilling from her eyes at the reminiscing.

“The portrait is of his…his sister?” Cristabel gasped.

“Well, yes, darling. Did you not notice the resemblance?” Claire asked, brushing tears from her cheeks. “Of course Trevon owns his father’s dark eyes, and Vienne inherited the blue of mine, but they favor one another all the same. Do you not see it?”

“N-no,” Cristabel whispered.
“I-I did not see it.”

“There, there, darling,” Claire soothed, gathering her into a comforting mother’s embrace.
“It was a terrible thing, and I am touched that you are so very sympathetic. But please…please do not let Trevon find us both in tears over Vienne. It so breaks him each time he thinks of her. I would not want our weakness to distress him.”

His sister!
Trevon’s sister was the woman in the painting! Cristabel was certain she would vomit—certain she might faint dead away. How could she have been so foolish? And they thought Vienne was dead? How could they think it? She lived! Vienne was as alive as Cristabel—or Trevon! Why? Why did they think she was dead? Why hadn’t Cristabel told Trevon of the woman at the inn, of having seen the woman from the painting at the tavern inn—of having seen Vienne at La Petite Grenouille following the meeting with Governor Claiborne and the Pelletiers? Why hadn’t she told him? Yet she knew why. Cristabel Albay had already been falling in love with Trevon Navarrone by that night, and jealousy had kept her from reporting the presence of the beautiful woman from the painting. She had assumed Vienne had been a past lover of Trevon’s, and Cristabel had not wanted to sacrifice his attention to either wanting an old lover or resenting one.