The Road to Ruin

by Bronwyn Stuart

  “I am going to make you want me.”

  She raised a brow. “What kind of lesson would that be?”

  “What makes you so sure of yourself, Daniella?” He threw the knife to the floor and slid his way down her body until his chest rested against hers. His delicious weight pressed her into the mattress, her hands over her breasts and his pelvis digging in. He ground his erection against her softness. The two layers of fabric may as well have been non-existent for the exquisite friction his movements created.

  This is what had seen her thrown off her father’s ship. The wanton within her who couldn’t help but yearn for completion had corrupted until her life was ruined. Jimmy had been dropped off the side of the boat to swim his way to the nearest island and she had been dumped on her brother’s doorstep in London. If she gave in to this thing that grew between her and James, her father would likely have them married at the point of a sword.

  “As enjoyable as this might be, we must stop.”

  “You think words will save you now?” he asked. “If you flee my protection and a band of ruffians comes upon you, how will you get away? Saying please and thank you won’t help.”

  “I’ll use my dagger. I can fight.”

  “You don’t have your dagger,” he pointed out with a flick of his head in the direction of the discarded weapon. A long lick to the side to the side of her neck, from her collarbone to her earlobe, sent a thrill right through her.

  “Stop that,” she warned him.

  “You’re in no position to give orders, Daniella. If I was a ruffian, your skirts would be up over your head by now. You should be grateful I’m somewhat of a gentleman.”

  “Not this minute, you’re not!”

  “And you’re still not getting it. Men are stronger than women; it’s a simple fact. Try to buck me off. Try to unseat me. Show me you can fight for your life.”

  “I’ll hurt you,” she said.

  He smiled. “You cannot.”

  His eyes closed to her investigation, his head lowering so slowly she wondered what he was about. Then it hit her. She only had to call his bluff.

  Daniella reached up as though to push him away but at the last sank her fingers into his soft hair and pulled his lips down to hers. Her tongue delved into the warmth of his mouth with a groan. He tasted of liquor and man, of risk and danger, of heat and pleasure. His growing stubble rasped her skin and she felt the pull all the way to her sex.

  When his iron grip closed about her wrists, she let her head fall back as he slammed her arms onto the coverlet and pinned her where she lay, his panting breath harsh in the silence, warm against her nose. “You mean to play games with me, Daniella? How do you know this is one you can win?”

  “This—” she wriggled her hips “—has naught to do with games. And you would do well to remember you started it. The question is will you finish it?”

  “Have you any idea what you ask of me?”

  “I’m not asking, James.” She smiled. “It is inevitable now.”

  “You think me that weak?”

  “I think you are a man. I offer my surrender as a woman.”

  “Complete surrender?”

  She smirked as she leaned up and nipped his lip, wanting more of his taste on her tongue but knowing this was indeed a game. One only the gentleman in him could call a stop to. “Only in this.”

  He sat up, straightening his shirt and dusting himself off. “I was hoping for more, but I’ll take it.”

  *

  James enjoyed seeing Daniella realize he had duped her. Her green eyes opened wide and her hands fisted.

  “Take what?” she asked, both eyes narrowed, the promise of pleasures and playing fading quickly now though her lips and cheeks betrayed what had happened between them. “You thought you could drive me to the edge and then pull back? Humiliate me? You’ll never have my full surrender.”

  James sighed and let his gaze drop to the twin globes of her breasts, magnificent in the pale moonlight. He damned his self-control to the deepest depths of hell. Why could he not just let go? Take what he wanted? He went to the candle and lit it. “You are a better actress than I thought.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For all your bravado, you can’t do this alone. If you were to arrive alone on your father’s doorstep—or gangplank in this case—he would have you back in your brother’s home with a larger dowry and more desperation than ever to marry you off. We have to work together rather than against one another.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed now, a coarse brown blanket over her shoulders clutched tight in her grasp. Good. He couldn’t bear to look at what he’d done to her dress all in the name of teaching her a lesson “You know I’m right,” he continued. “No more joining in fights or climbing out of windows.”

  Her head tilted, her eyes searching his. “For a moment you were scared. That I would get away?” A hint of triumph ghosted across her swollen lips.

  “I was scared you would break your neck.” And he didn’t mind admitting that much.

  She laughed then, surprising him as usual. “I first climbed the rigging when I was four years old. Probably six times higher than your highest tree. I was perfectly safe.”

  “And if you’d fallen? Hobson, Willie, Patrick and I would be right now burying your body in an unmarked grave.”

  She scoffed a little, then relented. “All right. There is a very slim chance that might have happened.”

  He sat on the bed next to her and bumped his shoulder against hers. “And what of the injury to your side from yesterday? Have you reopened the wound?”

  “The scratch is fine. Your salve ensured it is healing well.” She paused for a moment. “I’m beginning to hate it when you make reasonable sense.”

  He was beginning to hate that he couldn’t correctly gauge her reactions. Why wasn’t she screaming at him? She should have been reaching for the chamber pot to brain him.

  James knew he should feel remorse, Butcher or not. He should feel sorry that he used her in his scheme. It was less likely than she was aware to end her way—which he’d always known. Germaine was likely enough to return the Trelissick women but he would surely never set his daughter back on the ocean. Amelia was worth more than Daniella’s happiness to James. He could and would trade his already shattered conscience for her any day of the year.

  He was more than half tempted to drive his own dagger into the back of the captain and take back what was his. But he didn’t kill senselessly. Not anymore.

  But he could. He was sure of that much.

  Chapter Sixteen

  If the truth were to actually pass her lips, Daniella would have admitted she was confused. The wrath of the Butcher had been waiting for her in her room but now James, the man, sat on her bed and teased her like a brother. And more than that, he had again stopped her before she did something regrettable with her “virtue.”

  Oh, it would have been fun though. A red-hot haze of lust still thrummed in her veins, though it was cooling slightly.

  At first she’d thought his refusal of her personal. After lying atop her and hearing her wanton, brazen words, he’d changed his mind and rolled away. But when he’d lit the candle and her eyes had dropped, the tell-tale bulge in his breeches told her he wanted her well enough. But he had resisted.

  She’d thought him weak when faced with a willing woman but it was she who was weak. He was a gentleman through and through, despite the Butcher business. She wasn’t even sure she really had glimpsed the ruthless assassin after all in the depths of his eyes. Perhaps the ferocity and fierceness he’d displayed had been his gentlemanly, brotherly, protective instincts but in overdrive.

  She could now understand why he’d gone to such lengths to take her hostage. His items weren’t items at all. He fought for his family. She had to admire that about him.

  She wished her brother had ever shown that particular emotion for her. She wished her brother had ever looked upon her in a way that wasn’t calculating, adding
up her worth to the House of Lords, to him, to his cronies and his social standing. She wished the men around her saw her as a woman and not a bargaining chip.

  At that moment, she wished James saw her as more than a female to be protected.

  “You should get some sleep: tomorrow is going to be another long day.” His voice was low and smooth, gentle.

  “I will bid you good night then.” She rose and went to the washbasin in the corner of the room intending to prepare for bed, to remove yet another ruined gown. But he didn’t move. James just sat there and stared at her, his eyes narrowed, his hands fisted on his thighs.

  A thrum of anticipation reheated her cooled blood. Her grip loosened on the blanket around her shoulders, letting in the cool night air.

  “I think I will sleep here tonight.”

  Her heart rate faltered, her hands paused in midair. “Oh?”

  “Don’t get any strange ideas, Daniella. I am not going to share a bed with you. I’ll sleep by the door.”

  The look in his eyes told her he actually meant against the door. “I thought we were achieving a level of trust?”

  “We are. But I am taking no chances tonight.”

  So much for her brotherly gentleman. He nodded in her direction and then turned. She thought he would make himself comfortable by the door as he’d said but she’d had to goad him. Instead he placed the dagger on the small night table and, still wearing his boots, breeches and shirt, lay down on the blankets, his hands behind his head.

  With a glare and a humph, Daniella retrieved her cotton nightgown and retreated to the relative safety of the dressing screen. She would not argue with him anymore tonight. If he wanted to sleep on the bed, then she would sleep on the floor. When she dropped the blanket the ruined gown almost made her gasp. It had been quite exquisite, despite her intense hatred of layers of skirts.

  “What do you expect me to wear tomorrow?” she called.

  Silence greeted her question before he let out a long, audible sigh. “I really don’t know.”

  “You could have been gentler.”

  “Where would the fun be in that?”

  She almost chuckled. Almost. The light-hearted banter, the niceness of his voice versus his actions, added to the confusion.

  Changing into the nightgown, she dropped the ruined gown to the floor, picked up the blanket and emerged. She felt naked. Or rather, exposed. Despite her earlier words, she knew he was capable of forcing her. She wasn’t as strong as he was. She wasn’t as calculating or manipulative either.

  She wondered who was more desperate. Desperation made a person do silly things. Like sell her fake virginity at an illegal auction.

  She avoided looking at him as she snuffed the candle. In the darkness, she wrapped the blanket around her and slid down the door to sit on the floor. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Can I stop you?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I’ll answer your questions but not while you are sitting on the cold, hard floor.”

  “Care to trade places?”

  “I do not.”

  She huffed again. Why must he always make her feel like a petulant child? “I cannot share a bed with you, James.”

  “Worried for your reputation?”

  More like worried for her sanity. He’d driven her to the knife’s edge with his performance earlier. Her body still hummed and throbbed in all the wrong places.

  “You will need to sleep, Daniella. I need you alert.”

  Fine. She rose with all the dignity of a princess and approached the bed. “You take up too much room.”

  “Stop stalling and get in. I can hear your teeth chattering.”

  She bit down on her bottom lip but did his bidding. The floor had been very cold and a draft had breezed in from the crack beneath the door to chill her through the thick wool.

  When she finally settled and had warmed up somewhat, he spoke. “What do you want to know?”

  Did she want to talk to him now? While they were so close? Patrick’s earlier revelations meant she had to try to discover more about Amelia and James’s mother and why her father may have taken them. “What would you have done in my situation?”

  “At what point?” he asked, seemingly unsurprised by her line of questioning.

  “I suppose at the beginning.”

  “When was that? When the men noticed you as a woman and not a girl?”

  “I never saw that as a problem.”

  “You may not have but I would stake my title on the fact that your father did. How long do you think he would have been able to fight the men off? During how many battles did he risk his own life to keep one eye on his enemy and the other on you?”

  “I have always held my own in a battle and my father knew that.”

  “So why did he overlook your skills and see the vulnerable woman rather than the cut-throat pirate?”

  A good question. How long had she stubbornly denied what sat right in front of her? But shouldn’t the final choice have been hers? Should she not have had more of a say in where she would reside? Her father had a residence: she could have stayed at home and looked after the men who lived there, too old or injured to serve on a ship.

  No. She would no more have agreed to that than to London. She snorted and rolled over, forgetting for a moment where she was and how close he was.

  “What is it?” James asked, his face only a fraction from hers in the candlelight. How does he always manage to smell so good all of the time? she wondered.

  “I suppose I wish I was born a boy,” she eventually said. “It would have been so much easier.”

  “But you could have been born a lady. Then you would have had other choices. You certainly wouldn’t have known another option lay on the seas.”

  “I have witnessed the lives of ladies and I would have rather been born a fish.”

  He laughed then, the sound echoing in the small room. “You have power, Daniella, you just don’t know how to use it or where to direct it.”

  “I know how to use a sword, how to disarm my opponent and kill a man. I can swim, run, ride. Power is in strength.”

  “Not always. Power can also be in deception; it can be in charm or wiles. My sister can stop an entire ballroom of dancers with the right amount of hysteria.”

  “I will not use my sex as a weapon and neither should she. It misrepresents women and is probably why the men of London think they can own their wives.”

  “Ah, a radical at heart then?”

  “Not at all, I merely believe women should not be used as property or pawns, or be powerless to change their futures, their lives, the lives of their daughters.”

  “You are wrong, Daniella. The women of London learn from an early age to manipulate their husbands. Tears, for example, can be most useful under the right circumstance and used sparingly. It is not an admission of weakness but a strong tool and as old as time itself.”

  Daniella huffed. “I do not cry.”

  “Ever?” He sounded incredulous.

  “No. Well, perhaps if I am physically hurt.”

  “Not even when you were so ceremoniously dumped on your brother?”

  “Not even then. Tears do not alter anything or take back one’s actions or change courses.”

  “You are wrong there also. It works for Amelia every time.”

  “She manipulates you with salty water and you let her?” She almost laughed thinking of the Butcher cowering before his sobbing sister.

  “I let her think she does, yes. I love her enough that if she can make herself cry to change my mind, then it is important enough to maybe change my mind over.”

  “Perhaps it is genuine despair at her circumstances, rather than counterfeit.”

  He shrugged. “Whichever. It is effective.”

  There was no point arguing further so she changed the subject. “And you said she was traveling the continent with your mother?”

  “I believe they are somewhere near Italy as we speak. Probably spe
nding all of my money and laughing about it over copious amounts of warm chocolate.”

  “Tell me about her.” She had known he would lie, expected him to, but for some reason it still smarted.

  “Amelia?”

  “I want to hear more about your family.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? I feel as though I know nothing about you.”

  “You don’t need to. You only need to know that you can trust me to do the right thing when this is over.”

  “Can I?” She didn’t miss the “when this is over” part. She would no more trust him than she would try to swim with a shark. Now that she knew exactly what he stood to lose in all of this, his agenda, she had to come up with her own backup plan. He would trade her for his mother and sister, if her father did indeed have them, or try to. Nothing was going to change that. It’s what happened to her after that that would ultimately decide her fate.

  “I think you would like Amelia,” he said, a tone of wistfulness in his voice.

  “What makes you say that? It sounds as though we are total opposites.”

  “You have some similarities. You are both stubborn as old mules.”

  “I’m not sure that was a compliment.”

  “It was not.”

  He was smiling. Daniella heard it.

  “You are both very determined young ladies. It is a rare trait to have amongst women who were raised to follow their husband’s every word and whim.”

  “But I wasn’t raised that way,” she pointed out.

  “How were you raised? Did your father ever talk of the future with you on those long ocean voyages?”

  An answer hovered on the edge of her tongue but she shook her head and rolled back to face the wall again. “We didn’t talk about the future at all. My father likes to laugh with his crew, but in private he is prone more to contemplation than small talk.”