Beyond Heaving Bosoms

by Sarah Wendell

  “Get down from there!” he says, voice hard as the granite beneath your fingers.

  “If you want me, Your Grace, then you can very well retrieve me yourself,” you toss back, and climb your way up even more determinedly.

  Does he:

  Catch up with you before you reach the top of the wall? Turn to Option 17.

  Catch up with you only after you reach the top of the wall? Turn to Option 18.

  Option 17

  Merkinshire is strong, and his lack of familiarity with the wall is more than compensated for by his sheer brute power. Before you quite know it, he is beside you, clinging with grim determination, an even grimmer look in his eyes. “You impossible chit,” he grinds out, “come down before you kill yourself.”

  “I won’t,” you say. “Look, we’re more than halfway up. If we go up the rest of the way, there’s an old stairway on the other side that we can take.”

  “I see you’ll need some lessons in wifely obedience,” he says through clenched teeth, and reaches out one hand to grab you.

  “No, don’t!” you begin to say, but too late. An astonished look crosses his face as the grip on his other hand fails. You look on in paralyzed horror as he falls several feet to the ground, dashing his head against the rocks.

  You clamber down the wall and ride for help as fast as you can, but it’s too late: he’s dead.

  The resulting scandal ruins your prospects forever and exiles you to the Continent. Crushing guilt and shame keep you in isolation for many years, where you turn to poetry and the works of the Enlightenment for solace. Eventually, however, your money, beauty, disregard for convention, and bold intellect lead you to become a hostess of some of the most popular salons in Paris, and the lover of many brilliant musicians and artists, including Frédéric Chopin and Eugène Delacroix. You die at a ripe old age, surrounded by friends; although you have never stopped feeling sorry about Merkinshire’s death, ultimately, you regret nothing.

  Option 18

  The next time you look down, Merkinshire is nowhere in sight. Shrugging off the pang of disappointment, you continue climbing determinedly.

  When you reach the top edge of the wall, a pair of dusty Hessian boots greets your sight. Sinewy brown arms covered in a light fur-ring of black hair reach down and haul you unceremoniously over the top.

  “So you found the staircase on the other side of the wall, I see,” you say, attempting a tone of insouciance but sounding disappointingly breathless instead. The grip on your arms turns brutal, and your heart experiences an unspeakable thrill, even as you toss your head defiantly.

  “Witch,” he growls, and his mouth descends on yours, the kiss both pain and pleasure. You struggle against his hold, but his hands are iron shackles. More insidious, however, are the chains of pleasure snaking through your body, tying you down, quieting your struggles. As he feels you relaxing against him, he gentles his mouth and begins kissing you more thoroughly, his lips and tongue moving with passion and consummate skill.

  When the two of you at last part, you are both breathing raggedly. He traces his thumb against a smudge of dirt against your cheek. You gently push yourself into his touch, positively purring with pleasure. He groans and kisses you again. When he raises his head this time, his eyes glitter with some indefinable emotion.

  “Witch,” he says again, and pulls your head against his chest, where you can hear the pounding of his heart; if you weren’t so utterly certain that it were impossible, you would almost say his voice sounded affectionate.

  “Witch and hoyden I may be, but at least I don’t abandon my new fiancée to the gossip vultures as I hare off to who knows where, doing who knows what,” you retort.

  “Ah, that bothered you, did it?” he asks. “I assure you, it was for a most worthy mission.” He lets go of you and reaches into one of the pockets of his coat and pulls out a small velvet box, which he hands to you silently.

  Filled with a hope you dare not name, you take the box from his hands and gently open it. Inside is the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen, a gold band mounted by a single perfect cabochon sapphire, its dark blue depths surrounded by tiny, brilliant diamond chips.

  Overcome, you look up at him. “I…I had no idea,” you stammer out. “I thought you left because you couldn’t stand the thought of being forced to marry me.”

  Merkinshire gives a sharp crack of laughter. “Silly chit. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to want something more; as it was, I was relieved when your father told me we would be wed by the end of the week. You’re a regular menace to morals, ma petite, and I’m not sure my purity can withstand many more of your assaults.”

  You swat him on the chest. “Yes, I’ve assaulted your virtue, to be sure—by falling off horses and climbing up walls. I can hardly credit how long you’ve managed to withstand my debonair charms.”

  “No,” he corrects you, his voice gentle for once, “You have merely enchanted me by being the most magnificent female I have ever seen.” His eyes narrow as he looks down at your face. “Though your penchant for endangering your very beautiful neck is less than endearing to me. I’m very fond of that neck, and I can think of any number of much more delightful things I’d wish to do it.”

  “Fond of my neck, are you?” you say, attempting to sound casual.

  “Yes, well, and perhaps other parts of you as well,” he says. “I love you, you little fool, and have for all this age. I’ve merely waited for you to be old enough to court properly. When I saw you fall off your horse, part of me died at the thought that you may have been lost to me before I ever had a chance with you.” He drops his forehead to yours. “Please forgive me for striking you,” he says huskily. “This apology cannot begin to make up for the pain and humiliation you suffered, but you have to understand that I was frantic over you.”

  Your very heart and blood are singing with joy at his words. “I forgive all,” you whisper back. “For, dear heart, I love you, too, and have ever since the first time I saw you. You were so frightening and distant and arrogant, however, that I didn’t know what to do with my passion, and so I told myself I hated you. How foolish I was!”

  Overcome by emotion, he says nothing; he merely crushes you to his chest, and you thrill at the firmness of his embrace, the swift beating of his heart. As his head swoops down once again to kiss you, your heart throbs with happiness as you realize you have managed…To Tame the Dissolute Duke.

  Option 19

  You stand on the deck of your father’s ship, the Calliope, as playful winds blow your flaming tresses into a streaming banner behind you. You inhale the warm salty air and grin at the wonder of the beautiful, calm expanse of ocean. Next to you, your companion, Miss Eldredge, leans heavily against the railing, looking a bit green. You, however, are blessed with a cast-iron constitution and haven’t been sick even once in the month you’ve been at sea.

  Suddenly, you hear the lookout above you call, “Ship ahoy!” A bustle immediately begins; as time goes by, you see a speck form on the horizon, then become larger with astonishing speed.

  The excited murmuring on deck begins to take on undertones of alarm, however, when the strange ship takes down its standards and runs one up that is completely unfamiliar to you: black, with a horrible skull painted on it, and two crossed swords underneath.

  Miss Eldredge grasps the import immediately. “Oh, sweet merciful heaven, pirates have found us! Come, my dear, we must hide below!”

  Determined to show a brave front, you say, “I have every faith our good captain will successfully fight off these vermin,” even as your arm shakes a little when you put it around Miss Eldredge’s shoulders as you move to the cabins below with all speed.

  The fight is poor, nasty, brutish, and short; the screams of men and booming of cannons etch themselves indelibly in your memory. Locked in a small closet in the cabin, however, you have no idea who prevailed.

  After an eternity of silence, you hear knocking on the door. When there is no response, the k
nocking turns into hard, solid blows that eventually break the door open. Your heart sinks. It does not seem your ship has prevailed after all.

  The light from the open closet door dazzles you. “Oho! Look at this tasty little morsel, hiding itself away for a special occasion,” cries out a horrible voice. A hand covered in dirt and blood closes around your arm and yanks you out. You scream and struggle, but your cries are silenced when you are struck a smart blow across the mouth.

  You see before you a filthy patchwork excuse of a man, his companion equally disreputable. “Oh, the captain is going to love this little treat, isn’t he?” the man says, and chuckles. “Come, duckie, let us go find Captain Severin. This was a good haul, a good haul, indeed.”

  They tie your hands behind your back and drag you to the deck as you weep hysterically at the unspeakable things that will surely await you, then drop you at the feet of an unusually tall man. You don’t look up until a deep voice rasps out, “Well, what have we here?”

  What does the pirate captain look like?

  He is heavily bearded, with fleshy jowls and small eyes glittering with cunning. When he smiles at you, his few remaining teeth are rotting away horribly. Turn to Option 20 (below).

  His chiseled features startle you with their pure masculine beauty; whatever it was you expected, it wasn’t Michelangelo’s David made flesh. His gunmetal gray eyes are framed by outrageously long eyelashes, but beautiful though they are, their calculating look strikes terror in your heart. Turn to Option 21.

  Option 20

  “Good job, me lads,” says Captain Severin, chuckling with glee. “Take her to my cabin. And mind you, no poaching; I like me girls fresh and lively.”

  You are brought to the captain’s cabin, where you attempt to find something to saw off your bonds, but to no avail. When he enters his cabin several hours later, you instinctively back yourself up against the wall, heart pounding with fear and hatred.

  He locks the door behind him and looks at you, the gaze shrewd but, surprisingly enough, not unkind. Finally, he sighs and says, in cultured tones that contrast sharply with the coarse accents of his earlier speech, “I would appreciate it if you put off the hysterics until much later, or avoid them entirely. First of all, allow me to assure you that I am not in the least interested in ravishing you. My taste, to be honest, runs toward comely young men, not girls barely out of the schoolroom. My interest in you, m’dear, is strictly pecuniary. I recognize the name of your ship, and the money I’ll be able to recover from returning Lord Hartley’s precious daughter intact, not to mention avoiding his wrath should she be returned damaged goods, is of infinitely more value to me than allowing the savages that run my ship to have their fun with you. So if you keep quiet, follow my orders, and don’t leave the cabin, I can assure your safety. Disobey me, and I won’t be held accountable for what my crew do to you. Do we have an understanding?”

  As he speaks, your heart lifts with joy and hope. You can only pray this is not some fiendish pirate’s trick. “You have my word,” you say, voice trembling.

  “Excellent,” he says. “So very glad we could come to an understanding. Care for a round of vingt-et-un?”

  The time you spend on the ship passes uneventfully. Captain Severin proves to be unexpectedly good company; the two of you spend many nights playing cards and talking about poetry, and he regales you with stories of his adventures on the high seas. After several months, you are set down in a port in a strange city, where your father retrieves you, crying for joy. When called upon to recount your experiences to your friends upon your return, your sojourn aboard a pirate ship is so unremarkable that you embellish a little, turning the pirate captain into a handsome, salacious beast who restrains his passion only because he is shamed by your goodness and purity, and gives you up with the greatest reluctance because he wants you to marry well instead of leading the dangerous life of a pirate’s wife. As you tell the story over and over again, you almost begin to believe the story yourself, but always, you remember the gentle treatment from the rough and ugly captain, and thank him silently.

  Option 21

  “This is a pretty little prize, boys,” says Captain Severin. An enigmatic smile quirks his sensual mouth. He leans down and lifts your face to the light. You hiss at him and attempt to shake free; however, this does not deter him in the least, and he merely tightens his grip on your chin. He sees your bruised and bleeding lip, and his expression hardens.

  “Take her to my cabin,” he says, and straightens up. “And boys? She’s mine now; any attempts to poach on what’s mine will be, as it always has been, punished most severely.”

  The looks of fear and respect on the faces of these hardened criminals would almost be comical, but they give rise to even more trepidation in your breast—how depraved is this Captain Severin, if he makes even the most cruel and rapacious pirate quiver in his boots?

  You are brought over to the pirate ship and left in the captain’s spartan quarters, hands still bound; you are unable to sit still, however, and are pacing the cabin when the captain enters.

  “Ah, my captured tigress, prowling in her cage,” he says mockingly.

  You glare at him, too overcome to speak.

  “Come here,” he says lazily. You back away in response, until your back hits the wall, and he huffs with amusement. “Sweet child, you’re in my domain now. Nobody will heed you if you call out or scream—indeed, my crew might find it…stimulating. I have no wish to treat you cruelly, but rest assured, I will tolerate no insubordination and will take the kid gloves off if I have to. I assure you that you do not want me to retrieve you.”

  “I would rather die a thousand deaths than submit to the will of a savage, unfeeling beast like you,” you hiss, proud that your voice wavers only a touch.

  Severin shakes his head wearily. “The hard road it is, then,” he says, and starts toward you.

  Your attempts to run are futile, of course; he catches you soon enough and subdues your struggles with ease. Desperate, furious, and fearful of what is to come, you rear your head back and spit in his face.

  His eyes widen with fury, and you suddenly realize that he had, indeed, been restraining himself with you. He pins you with one arm and wipes the spittle off his cheek. “Very well, my spitting tigress,” he says, “If you hate me so much, let me give you good reason to detest me, then.”

  He tosses you onto the bed and begins systematically cutting your clothing off with a knife he has retrieved from his boot. You stop moving only when he points out that he will not be responsible should you shove yourself into his blade. A cynical smile slants across his face at your sudden docility. “Death is never preferable, is it, no matter what you tell yourself?” he says.

  He looks down at your now-naked body, and a heat sweeps across his expression. “You are indeed quite the tasty morsel,” he says, and leans down to suck on your nipples. The sensation races down your body, unexpectedly pleasurable, and a liquid heat begins pooling between your legs. You struggle anew, but now it is to escape the unwanted pleasure, not your bondage. The movements seem only to excite him, however, because he presses his hips against you.

  After many moments of similar torment, he sits up and unlaces his breeches. Your eyes widen at the sight of his large, rampant manhood, easily as big around as your wrist, throbbing with potency. You have no idea what is going to happen, but you’re quite sure it’s going to hurt. As you begin weeping, he changes his position, shoving his body between your legs; he reaches between your legs and touches your secret cove of femininity. It is brimming with unexpected moisture, which mortifies you but seems to please him.

  “You may tell yourself you do not want this all you want, my tigress, but your body shows me otherwise,” he says. With one hard thrust, he sunders you apart with his fleshy spear.

  The pain is searing, agonizing; you cannot help but scream. You attempt to buck him off, but succeed only at seating him more firmly against you. At your vigorous movements, the captain sudd
enly moans and shoves himself even deeper, every muscle tensed to rocklike hardness. After an infinity, he finally shudders and collapses against you, his weight almost smothering you.

  He lifts his head and looks down at your face, glistening with tears and contorted with hatred, and says, enigmatically, “Damme. Unmanned by a mere girl.” He rolls off you and unties your arms. Defeated, humiliated, and furious, you curl into a ball. He throws a sheet over you, puts himself to rights, and leaves the cabin without so much as a word.

  The sound of the lock might as well have been a death knell.

  As you grasp yourself tightly in an attempt to prevent yourself from shivering apart, you’re not sure who you hate more: Captain Severin for wrenching your innocence from you, or your body for betraying you so with its pleasure.

  The next several weeks fall into a pattern. You are locked in the cabin; the first mate and the captain are the only people you see. Every night, the captain returns to the bed and slakes his lust on your body. The pain fades with time, and the pleasure correspondingly grows. One memorable night, the captain is able to bring you to a frenzied peak of pleasure, the likes of which you have never experienced, and he seems inordinately pleased by this.

  The morning after, you are determined to escape.

  You choose to slip away on a moonless night. Once you started responding to his caresses and showed no signs of wanting to escape, the captain has become much less vigilant about locking the door. Tonight, the captain sleeps much more heavily than usual, due to an excess of passion and rum.

  Unfortunately, your escape is assailed by problems from the start. Although the swim itself presents few problems, you fail to wrap your food securely enough in oilskin, and everything is ruined by the time you reach the shore. You also find that you are not especially skilled at woodscraft, and the pirates, once they realize you’ve escaped, are able to track you down in no time at all. You’re glad to be caught again, at any rate. You’re starving and sunburned; the astonishing array of oversize creatures with far too many legs terrify you; and you had to discard your shoes while you were swimming, so your feet are cut and bleeding from stamping around the forest.