Escape with a Scoundrel (Escape with a Scoundrel Series Book 1)

by Shelly Thacker

  Every part of her felt shimmering and alive as he began to move, withdrawing and then surging forward until he possessed her completely. The sensation of being utterly joined to him made time seem to slow, to stop. The night, the glow of the lamp, the smooth sheets beneath them faded from her awareness and there was only the two of them, together. The sound of his breath, the musky scent of his body, the way they fit so perfectly together, as if God had made them exclusively, exquisitely for one another.

  Each slow stroke sent a cascade of pleasure through her. Her silken depths yielded and enveloped him until whirls of fire spun tight within the core of her body. His darkness and strength blended with her pale softness until each became lost in the other, giving and taking, surrendering and claiming, loving and loved.

  Together, as one, they moved until a fullness began building inside her, a sweet pressure that sent her rushing toward a breathtaking height she had never reached before. The feelings became so intense she thought she would surely die of them, knew instead that they gave her new life.

  All at once, they reached the peak and soared over the edge together. She felt the sensations shatter around and within her, her cries of pleasure a softer echo of his deep groans as waves of ecstasy swept them both. Washed by heat and light, they kissed, trembling with their mutual release, tumbling through the heavens, two made one, now and forever.

  Her mind and heart repeated the words as she drifted down through a fog of bliss.

  Now and forever.

  The silence of night still enveloped the house some time later as she lay beside him, resting her head on his chest, tracing the muscled ridges of his ribcage lightly with her fingertips. They hadn’t moved or even bothered to straighten the rumpled sheets, too drowsy and sated to do anything but hold one another.

  “I missed you, Nicholas,” she whispered. “It almost frightens me, I missed you so much. Without you, I felt so…” Words could not explain the feeling.

  “Lost,” he finished for her softly. “Alone. Hollow. As if some vital part of you had been torn away.”

  She lifted her head. “You felt the same way?”

  A strange, pained smile tugged at his lips. “Every step I took was a reminder that you weren’t with me.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “I couldn’t get used to the feeling of not having you beside me. I even kept that shirt you wore in Cannock Chase, because it carried a trace of your scent.”

  She smiled at him, then ducked her head before he could see the tears glistening in her eyes. He cared about her. Even if he couldn’t say the words, he cared. “Nicholas, please don’t leave me again.”

  “You deserve better, angel,” he said roughly. “Better than an impoverished ex-pirate and a small house on a swampy island, where it’ll be a daily damn struggle to earn some kind of living from the land. You deserve your dream. Jewels and velvets and Venice.” He stroked her cheek. “But I’ve taken that from you, too. Along with your innocence. And I can’t even bring myself to say I’m sorry. Because I’m not. Selfish bastard that I am, I want you with me.”

  She closed her eyes, sliding her arm around him to hold him tight. If she had to spend the rest of her life trying, she would help him see that he was worthy of the gift of her love. She didn’t care how long it might take. “Then come with me. Don’t send me away with Masud,” she pleaded. “Nicholas, you and I have both spent too many years alone, thinking we had to live that way to survive. Trying so hard to be strong. But strong only takes you so far.” She held him fiercely. “Love has to take you the rest of the way. I can face anything as long as I’m with you.”

  It was true. And she would stay with him for all the days of her life, whether or not he ever said the words she longed to hear.

  “I love you, Samantha.”

  She gasped, lifting her head, gazing down at him in wonder. It was as if he’d read her mind. The words flowed through her like sun and water, warm, precious, life-giving.

  He raked his fingers through her hair, drew her mouth to his, kissed her long and hard.

  “Then come with me,” she said when they came up for a breath. “Leave England with me—spare Foster’s life.” And save your own, she thought. “You’ve proven that you can care and give…and love. You can spare his life. Let him go.”

  “But there’s no way of knowing when or where Foster might show up again,” he countered. “I want to get you out of danger, not take you into danger with me.”

  “I’m not leaving without you.”

  “Stubborn lady. You’d think we were shackled together or something.”

  “We might as well be,” she said firmly. “Because you’re not getting rid of me. And no blacksmith in the world is going to break that vow.”

  He smiled at her. But still, he hesitated. “It would mean spending our life running.”

  “I’ve always wanted to travel.”

  “I’m serious, Samantha. If I let Foster go, I won’t be able to go back to South Carolina.”

  “I hear Venice is nice.”

  His smile broadened and he chuckled. “Una villa sul mare Adriatico?”

  “Yes, a villa on the Adriatic.” She nodded. “Where did you learn Italian?”

  “Home, when I was small. My father was Irish, but my mamma was Italian.” He stroked his thumb over Samantha’s cheek. “All right, mio angelo. My angel. Let’s go to Venice and find your dreams in the sun.”

  London was a shadow on the horizon, a jagged silhouette in the light of dawn, and Sam had already discovered just how little she knew about ships.

  She did her best to stay out of the way as Nicholas and Masud worked the rigging and the wheel, trimming the sails, speaking to one another in what sounded to her like a foreign language—made up of words like “leeward” and “spritsail yard” and “thirty degrees on the port quarter.”

  The ship was barely larger than a fishing schooner. In fact, it might be an old fishing schooner, she thought, gazing down into the glassy waters of the Atlantic slipping by. She liked the wind in her hair, and the smells of wood and canvas, the sea-spray in her face.

  Clarice had been happy to bid them farewell—and not merely because Nicholas had said she could send word to her rich banker that the coast was clear and all pirates had abandoned ship. She had hugged Samantha, whispering in her ear, “You’ve got a chance, the two of you. The kind of chance most people don’t get in this or any other lifetime.”

  Remembering, Samantha grinned, her suspicion confirmed that beneath her worldly-wise, sophisticated exterior, Clarice was a genuine romantic.

  Standing up, Sam grabbed a pole-like piece of wood overhead to steady herself—only to have the opposite end connect with something solid.

  “Ow!” Masud rubbed his head, looking at her with a mournful expression.

  “That’s called a ‘boom,’ Samantha.” Nicholas laughed, standing a few feet away, securing the anchor. “For obvious reasons.”

  “I bruise easily, miss,” Masud protested. “And I try to keep from bleeding more than once a week.”

  “Sorry, Masud,” she said meekly. She glanced at his bandaged arm. “And I really am sorry about that, too.”

  “All right, all right,” he said gruffly. “I’ll agree to a truce if you promise to stop apologizing.”

  “Done.” She smiled.

  Nicholas came up beside her and kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you go below and wait for me in my—in our—cabin.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” She gave him a salute and followed orders, though if there were only going to be the three of them manning the ship all the way to Venice, she would have to learn a little seamanship sooner or later.

  She clambered down the ladder that led into the dark belly of the ship, heading toward the back. Aft, she reminded herself, her mind and heart filled with thoughts of Nicholas and Venice and sunsets over the Adriatic. She opened the door to their cabin.

  And didn’t notice she wasn’t alone until the door slammed shut behind her.

/>   She whirled to find a tall, slender figure stepping forward from the shadows.

  A dark-haired young man with only one arm.

  “We meet again, Miss Delafield,” he said coolly, the gun in his hand glinting in the pale morning light. “Did you think you had seen the last of me?”

  Sam felt cold terror pour through her. “Foster!”

  He smiled. “I was waiting for Brogan to come below—but this is much better. You’ll make an excellent shield.”

  Her eyes on the gun in his hand, Sam backed away, toward the porthole. If she could just call for help…

  “Please stop right there, Miss Delafield. And don’t scream. Even if you’re bleeding from a bullet wound, you’ll still be useful to me.” He motioned her toward the door. “After you.”

  She froze. “How did you—”

  “I told you once before, I know a great deal about Brogan. Including who some of his old friends are. It wasn’t difficult to locate that doxy’s house.”

  “Clarice,” Sam gasped.

  “Have no fear, Miss Delafield. She’s alive and well and she’ll stay that way. Though she should choose her friends more carefully. I’ve been watching the house for several days. I followed the African when he went to the docks one morning, thinking he might lead me to Brogan. Instead he was checking on this ship. Apparently it was in need of repair, which proved fortunate for me. It was fairly easy to sneak aboard with one of the repair crews and stow away. I knew Brogan would show up eventually.”

  “I thought it was money you wanted. Not murder!” Moving only her eyes, Sam glanced around quickly, desperately looking for some weapon she might use.

  “The bounty is good for Captain Nicholas Brogan dead or alive—and after all he’s put me through, I’ve decided that dead will be safer. I’m going to do what I should have done in the first place.” He smiled. “Rather appropriate, isn’t it? A funeral at sea for England’s most infamous pirate. I think I’ll let the African live, so he can testify as to his captain’s identity.”

  “You told me once that you don’t kill without reason—”

  “I’ve got ample reason,” he snarled. “And you’ve got your own life to worry about, Miss Delafield. Cooperate with me or you might not live long enough to be thrown in gaol.”

  “You can’t kill us. You’ll never make it back to port.”

  “Don’t judge me by appearances.” He nodded toward his empty right sleeve. “I spent half my life at sea. I’ve enough experience to manage a ship this size quite well.” He motioned her toward the door with a flick of the gun. “Now move.”

  “You can’t do this,” she pleaded. “Nicholas isn’t what you think. He never was. You don’t know—”

  “I know all I need to know!”

  “But he’s no threat to you! He’s leaving England because he was willing to spare your life! And the reason he didn’t pay your blackmail demand is because he doesn’t have any money to pay you. He’s not rich. He has nothing. Nothing but this ship and…and me.”

  “How sweet. And how creative. Save your lies—”

  “But he’s not a ruthless killer! He was only a boy—”

  He cut her off with a vicious curse. “Shut up.” He pushed her toward the door. “Let’s go above and find him. And keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “Samantha?” Nicholas called curiously, glancing up from his work as a familiar blonde head appeared in the companionway that led up from below. He smiled. “What are you doing? Have you come back to—”

  “Nicholas, it’s a trap!” she shouted, scrambling up the last two steps in a rush.

  Someone caught her from behind and shoved her aside with a violent push. She struck her head against a boom and crumpled to the deck.

  Nicholas lunged toward her.

  And froze when he saw the gun pointed at him.

  “Hold it right there, Captain.” The intruder swung the pistol to encompass Masud. “And you! Nobody move.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Nicholas snarled, his eyes still on Samantha. She moaned and sat up, apparently uninjured. Thank God.

  “I’m wounded that you don’t remember me. I certainly know you. I’ve been hunting you down for years. Step by step. Piecing your life together.”

  Nicholas finally turned his full attention on the intruder—a slender young man with dark hair.

  And only one arm.

  “Foster,” he spat.

  “Indeed. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Again.”

  Seething with rage, Nicholas grabbed the first weapon at hand—a knife he used for cutting rope.

  “Stay where you are,” Foster warned. “I’ve got enough bullets for you and your first mate and your little blonde mistress here.” He pointed the pistol at Samantha, who sat very still. “You’re not going to leave this ship alive, Brogan…but I could let them live. I haven’t decided yet.”

  Nicholas leashed his anger. He slid a glance at Masud. Together, they could take him, but neither of them would risk Samantha’s life.

  He returned his gaze to Foster. The gunman facing him was barely more than a lad. Nicholas could hardly believe that the blackmailer who had made his life a living hell was no more than eighteen or twenty. “If it’s money you want—”

  “Oh, I’ll get money and plenty of it. Ten thousand pounds. And probably a commendation from the admiralty for bringing you in.”

  “How did you find out I was still alive?”

  “I didn’t have to find out,” Foster retorted hotly. “I was there! I was on the ship that went down. I saw you escape, saw your African friend here helping you to safety. And I swore right then that if I survived, I would devote the rest of my life to bringing you to justice. I vowed I would make you pay if it was the last thing I did.”

  Nicholas frantically searched his memories of that night. “I don’t know you.”

  “Of course not. Why should you? I was only twelve. I was a cabin boy on the navy ship you attacked that night. I worked for Captain Eldridge.”

  Nicholas stared at him in stunned silence. The deck suddenly seemed to shift beneath his feet. The horizon tilted dizzily. The wind felt unnaturally cold against his face.

  Sweet Jesus, it all made horrible sense. That was why it had taken six years for the blackmailer to make his demands…

  He had been growing up.

  But even in shock, Nicholas felt another, unexpected emotion: relief. The innocent life he thought he had taken had in truth been spared.

  But the final irony was that in order to save himself, he had to kill Foster now.

  And he wouldn’t do it.

  He threw his knife aside. “Go ahead and shoot.”

  “No!” Samantha cried, scrambling to her feet.

  “Stay back,” Nicholas ordered her.

  Foster looked from one of them to the other, his gun swiveling left and right, his expression confused.

  “I’m not going to kill you,” Nicholas said forcefully. “I won’t do it.”

  “How noble.” Foster raised his gun, aiming right between Nicholas’s eyes.

  “No, please!” Samantha threw herself between them, sobbing. “Don’t do this. Don’t you see? You’re him twenty years ago.”

  “Samantha—”

  “Get out of the way, Miss Delafield.”

  “No. You can’t do this! He was just a cabin boy, too. He was as innocent as you were. He spent years seeking vengeance, just like you. You’re the same!”

  The lad’s eyes burned. His jaw clenched.

  “When does it stop?” Samantha’s voice softened to a whisper. “When does all the killing stop?”

  A second passed. Another.

  “Foster, I’m sorry,” Nicholas said with genuine feeling. “I can’t make you believe that, but it’s the truth. I can’t make up for all the losses and pain I caused, but I can give you what you want—”

  “Nicholas, no!”

  “You can go ahead and kill me.” He raised his hands, palms up, in a gesture of s
urrender. “Get your ten thousand pounds. It won’t bring you peace, and it sure as hell won’t bring you happiness. You’ll find that vengeance solves nothing.”

  Foster cocked the gun. “But it will bring me satisfaction.”

  “Then go ahead,” Nicholas said, his voice steely. “Destroy your life the way I destroyed mine. I took the vengeance I wanted and it brought me nothing but years of misery and anguish.” He lowered his voice to a soft accusation. “Fire that gun and you’ll become what I was. You’ll be me.”

  The young man swallowed hard. The gun in his hand wavered, unsteady.

  “Joseph,” Samantha pleaded, her voice desperate, “you asked me not to judge you by appearances. Don’t judge Nicholas. It’s a mistake to judge any man by appearances or by his reputation. You can never know what’s in his mind.” Her gaze shifted to Nicholas. “Or in his heart.”

  Foster’s hand was trembling.

  “You can either shoot me,” Nicholas said slowly, cautiously, “or you can choose a different way. Let me give you what I didn’t have at your age.” His voice turned rough with emotion. “A second chance.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Foster replied. “I’ve come too far to change now. It’s too late.”

  “Too late?” Nicholas asked ruefully, hearing the two words that had haunted him for years. “No, Foster, you’re wrong. If there’s one thing I’ve learned”—he glanced at Samantha—“it’s that it’s never too late to become the man you were meant to be.”

  Masud cleared his throat. “No matter how far you’ve gone down the wrong road, turn back,” he said quietly. “Old Turkish saying.”

  Foster’s eyes burned into Nicholas’s, just as they had in the middle of a blazing deck six years ago.

  Then, slowly, his hand shaking, the young man lowered the gun.

  Nicholas watched it happen, almost blinded by the light of the sun rising over the waves. He felt a warmth that flowed not only through his body, but through his soul—a sense of forgiveness and renewal, as if he himself were getting a second chance. A chance to regain the years he had lost to violence and vengeance.