The Rogue Pirate’s Bride

by Shana Galen

  “I understand. One day Raeven may, as well. She loved him, and he loved her.”

  Bastien nodded. “I suppose it adds insult to injury to have me—Bowers’s murderer—in her bed.”

  “Actually, no.”

  Bastien raised a brow.

  “I respect you, sir, and you’re a good match for her. Tim would have wanted her to be happy. And, as unlikely as it seems, you make her happy.”

  Bastien let out a bark of laughter. “I fail to see that, Mr. Williams. She seems most intent on killing me.”

  “Yes, before she met you. But after Brest, all she could do was talk about you. Mostly about killing you, it’s true,” he conceded, “but she admires your talent with the sword.”

  Bastien tried not to show his surprise.

  “One thing you should know about Raeven, sir,” Williams said. He looked around him, obviously making sure she wouldn’t overhear.

  “She’s in my cabin,” Bastien told him. “You’re safe.”

  Williams laughed. “You only think she’s in your cabin. Who knows where she really is?”

  Bastien gave a grudging nod. She was particularly slippery when it came to staying where he’d put her. “You were saying, Mr. Williams?”

  “She’s soft, sir.”

  Bastien frowned. “I’m well aware of certain soft features she possesses.”

  Williams went red again. “No, I meant, she’s not as hard as she pretends. On the inside, she’s vulnerable. She lost her mother and now her fiancé. Her father is ill. She may well lose him, and that leaves only me. I suppose I’m asking you to be gentle with her—when you put her aside.”

  “What makes you think I’ll put her aside?” Of course he would set her aside. He had no intention of marrying the woman. But he was curious.

  Williams shook his head. “I-I just assumed—”

  “I’ll be gentle. I’m sure, given enough time, she’ll be the one to leave me.”

  Williams nodded. “Thank you.”

  “May I speak to my sailing master now, Mr. Williams?”

  “Oh!” He moved quickly out of the way. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

  Bastien moved past him and headed for the helm and Mr. Jackson. He couldn’t stop the conversation replaying in his mind. Williams hadn’t told him anything he didn’t know, but it did make him think—he and Raeven were not so different after all. They’d both lost people they loved.

  Did that make it impossible for them to love again?

  Perhaps. He knew he would never risk his heart. Not for her, not for any one. So perhaps they were doomed to—as Mr. Williams put it—set each other aside.

  But Bastien swore they’d enjoy one another to the hilt until then.

  ***

  Raeven didn’t undress. She wasn’t quite ready to behave so wantonly. She supposed Bastien was used to seductresses, but she was the daughter of a sailor. She knew how to set, reef, and furl a sail. She knew how to load, prime, and fire a cannon.

  She didn’t know how to seduce a man, and she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself by trying.

  Still, she thought as she stood in front of his mirror, she could make some effort to try and look more presentable. There was little she could improve about her clothes. He had told her to take them off, so there was no reason to don one of the gowns. It would only look as though she was trying too hard.

  Her face was her face. Even if she had face paints, she wouldn’t have known how to use them. Similarly, she could do nothing about her body. She didn’t have any undergarments to lift or shape her, and besides, he’d seemed to like her body fine as it was.

  But her hair. There she could make an effort.

  She’d never liked her hair. It was thick and heavy, not curly and not straight. She’d tried cutting it short, but after her father had recovered from his apoplectic fit, he’d told her she looked like a boy.

  An unattractive boy.

  She’d had to admit he was right. Her face was too round or too square—too something. The long, dark hair softened her features, and the longer her hair, the less it curled up and stuck out.

  Like it was now.

  She looked into the mirror and sighed. She used Bastien’s comb to try and tame the puffy mess into something pretty and stylish, but either her hair was recalcitrant or she had no talent with hair styling. Perhaps if she tried securing it up…

  “I’m only going to take it down again.”

  She jumped and whirled. Bastien stood inside the cabin. The door was closed behind him, and she had no idea how long he’d been standing there. Her instincts must be failing her because she hadn’t even heard him come in.

  “I-I was trying…” She couldn’t think of the words. He was too handsome, and the way he was looking at her seared her body, rendering her temporarily unable to think. Devil take it, she could barely stand. She wanted to dissolve into a puddle on the floor.

  He crossed to her, lifted a hand to her cheek, and carefully undid all her hard work, loosening her hair so it fell in a cascade down her back. With both hands he fanned it out then leaned in and inhaled deeply. He gave her a roguish smile. “Still smells like cherries.”

  “No, it doesn’t. It smells like salt water and—”

  “Shh.” He put a finger to her lips. “Just now, were you trying to make yourself beautiful for me?”

  She felt heat and color flood her face. “No.”

  “You don’t have to. I already think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  More heat and color flooded her face. “I told you foolish flattery doesn’t impress me.”

  “It’s not flattery. It’s the truth. Look into my eyes.” He took her chin between two fingers and forced her to look into his eyes. “Do you see the truth there?”

  She did see the truth, and it stunned her. How could he possibly think her the most beautiful woman in the world? She was far from it, especially dressed in baggy men’s clothing and feeling as though she were half asleep on her feet.

  “But do you know how you could be more beautiful?”

  She was about to shake her head; instead, she frowned. “Take off my clothes?”

  He grinned. “How did you know?” His fingers hooked around the belt she wore and tugged her to him. He loosened the belt, and she heard it drop with a clink on the floor. “I would have thought you”—he took her shirttail in one hand while he undid the buttons at her throat with the other—“would be able to follow orders.”

  “I’m not one of your crew,” she said as he drew the shirt over her head. She wasn’t wearing anything beneath and had to fight the urge to cover her breasts.

  “Much to my regret.” He looked as though he might cup her breasts, but his hands moved to the breeches and slid them easily over her hips. She wasn’t wearing anything beneath the breeches either. “You’d be the most valuable crew member I had—in here or on deck.”

  She stood naked now—feeling vulnerable and hardly like the most beautiful woman in the world—but then he reached out and caressed her cheek. He leaned close, kissed her lips tenderly, and suddenly she felt beautiful again. His hands brushed over her. They traced her shoulders, molded to her arms, slid down to her waist, cradled her hips, skimmed over her bottom… and stayed.

  “Mmm,” he said into her neck. “Turn around.”

  “You can’t kiss me if I turn around.”

  “Oh, no? Try and see.”

  He turned her, and his hands came around her waist, pulled her bottom hard against his erection. She felt the tickle of her hair as he moved it away from her neck, then the softness of his lips as he nuzzled her. Meanwhile, his hands were free to roam. They circled her waist before moving to test the weight of her breasts. Finally, his fingers found her nipples. He teased them until they strained and peaked, until she was practically thrusting them into his hands. She could hear her breathing, heavy and hard, but she didn’t start moaning until one hand slid between her legs.

  He teased her there, sliding fingers
in and out and around, all the time flicking her nipple with two fingers and tracing his tongue along her earlobe. She shivered and cried out, wanted to turn into him, make him sink himself into her.

  But he had other ideas. When she tried to turn, he shook his head, bent her over the bed. The fingers between her legs never stilled, but she heard him rustle with his clothing then felt his flesh against her bottom. He parted her legs with his own—kicked them apart—and she felt him warm and solid at her entrance. He slid into her, his fingers still working their magic as he thrust inside her.

  Her body didn’t know which way to move. She wanted him deeper inside her and wanted his fingers to move faster. She bucked and writhed, and he continued the sweet torture.

  Finally he cupped her, pressed and thrust hard into her at the same time. With a shout, she exploded, rearing back and arching. He caught her, tumbled with her onto the berth, and rolled her into his arms. Before she could think, could breathe, he was kissing her again. Her senses were overwhelmed, her body on fire. She didn’t think it could burn any brighter, but the harder he kissed her, the more he stroked her, the more she wanted him again.

  He pulled her on top of him so she was straddling him, and it took no persuasion on his part for her to take him inside again. She needed relief. Again.

  She reared back as his hands cupped her hips, held her locked against him. He moved with her, and just before her world went white again, she felt his release.

  Before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, she heard his breathing change as he fell asleep beside her. She smiled and thought, thank God. She was beginning to think he wasn’t human.

  She awoke sometime later. She wasn’t certain how much time had passed, as the cabin was still dark. But she was cold, and she fumbled for the bedclothes, pulled them around her. She blinked, looked around the darkness. Bastien was dressing, slowly and quietly, but deliberately. She watched him don a plain white shirt.

  “No lace?” she murmured.

  He turned to grin at her. “A battle is no time for a fashion statement.”

  She sat. “Have they spotted La Sirena?”

  “No, but we’re getting close. Dress and come on deck. I could use a good pair of eyes and ears.”

  She blinked, more flattered by the plain words than all the compliments about her beauty hours before. She didn’t even think he realized how much his simple trust in her affected her. She felt strong and powerful, as though she could have single-handedly defeated Bonaparte. Her heart swelled, and she felt… beautiful.

  When she didn’t rise immediately, he turned back to her. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she said. But she felt her heart constrict in a way she had never felt before—not even with Timothy.

  Thirteen

  This was it, Bastien thought. This was his last chance. He would destroy Jourdain or be destroyed. The cat-and-mouse games would end today.

  He stood on the bow of the ship and trained the spyglass back and forth over the horizon. Jourdain was out there. He could feel the man’s presence in the prickle on the back of his neck. It was an hour before dawn, and Bastien had ordered the Shadow silent and dark. Now he could hear the creak of the ship’s bow as it plowed through the water, the slap of the wind through the sails, and the hitch in the breathing of the woman who stood beside him.

  He lowered the spyglass and turned to Raeven. She was peering through a second glass, but she held it steady and sure, no longer sweeping it across the water.

  “You’ve found him,” Bastien murmured low and close to her ear. He knew even the smallest sounds could travel across the open water. He smelled the faintest scent of cherries before she lowered the glass and turned to him.

  “There,” she whispered. “Three points off the starboard bow. I think I see a light.”

  Bastien nodded and lifted his spyglass. If anyone but Raeven had reported seeing a light, Bastien would have been skeptical. Jourdain was no fool. Surely, he’d ordered his men to maintain silence and darkness as a precaution.

  But there were always mistakes. One mistake could cost a captain a battle. One traitor could mean destruction for all aboard. Bastien hoped the bastard, whoever he was, showed himself today. He’d send both Jourdain and his traitor to the bottom of the ocean.

  He gripped the spyglass tighter and stared long and hard at the flickering light. The ship and the water moved, hiding the light then teasing him with a quick glimpse. He lowered the spyglass, looked at Mr. Maine behind him. Maine’s lips were tight, his jaw clenched. Probably unhappy at having to give up his glass to Raeven. “Order Mr. Khan to maintain course, and make sure the men are at battle stations. Silently. I want the element of surprise as long as possible.”

  “Yes, Captain.” He moved quickly to carry out the orders, and Bastien turned back to the ocean before him. He had Jourdain now. At the end of the day, one of them would be dead.

  “Raeven,” he whispered. She’d been looking after Mr. Maine, and Bastien could see he’d startled her out of some reverie.

  “Don’t tell me to go to your cabin,” she said immediately. It unnerved him how she could read his thoughts at times. “I won’t sit and hide while men fight and die around me. I can fight too.”

  He’d seen that on the gun deck, and he was short gunners. But firing a cannon was hard, exhausting work. Even with the best of intentions, she wouldn’t be able to maintain the strength and stamina to fire as quickly and effectively as he needed. But he had to find a job for her to do. A safe—safer—task. He could not have said why, but he wanted to protect her more than he cared about protecting himself. Of course, logically he knew if he was killed, she would fare no better. But the woman had defied logic more times than he could count. He wouldn’t be surprised if she singlehandedly destroyed Jourdain and took over La Sirena.

  But she had to survive to do so.

  “How are you at sharpshooting?”

  She blinked, surprised. “I’m a fair shot. I’m better with a sword and dagger.”

  “I’ll expect you to have my back when we board La Sirena.” He’d been joking, but she nodded soberly.

  “You’ll need someone to cover your back. I’ll go to your cabin now and retrieve my sword. Do I see Mr. Castro about a rifle?”

  Bastien grinned. “Can you manage a rifle? You might do better with a pistol. I still have one of my Samuel Brunn flintlocks secured in my desk.”

  “I know. I’ve seen them.”

  They were in a locked drawer then locked again inside a hand-carved wooden box. He was the only one with the key, and he carried it on his person at all times.

  Of course she had seen the pistols.

  “Not that you need this.” He handed her the key. When she took it, their hands brushed, and even with his mind and body tense with anticipation of the battle, he stiffened at the flash of heat unleashed when they touched. “I’ll see you after the battle.”

  She grinned. “You’ll see me in the thick of it.” On tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “For luck.”

  And then she was gone, and he was standing among his men, most of whom were trying to pretend they hadn’t witnessed the last exchange. Bastien raised the spyglass again, feeling for the cutlass hanging at his side, the pistol tucked into his waistband.

  He was ready.

  ***

  Raeven was ready. She had the second of Bastien’s beautifully engraved and embellished pistols in her pocket, her dagger strapped to her thigh, and her sword hanging at her hip. The weight of it was comforting. She’d missed it. She was making her way to the mizzenmast. She’d position herself there and hopefully take out some of La Sirena’s topmen. Fewer men manning his sails meant it would be harder to maneuver the ship away from Bastien’s advances.

  She turned as she made her way across the deck and spotted him standing on the poop deck. Her heart lurched as she saw the first gray fingers of dawn behind him. In another hour they’d be visible to La Sirena. But right now, they were cloaked and had the essential el
ement of surprise. Her heart pumped fast and not just from the anticipation of the battle.

  Bastien stood with solid legs braced apart, black boots firmly set on deck. His black breeches were tight, and she saw the glint of steel at his hip. His hands rested surely on his hips just below his white shirt, which was open at the neck. His face was grim, his jaw set. His cobalt eyes burned as they looked out over the ocean, and his long brown hair had been caught back by the wind.

  Her heart felt as though a fierce wind had caught it, turned it, and tumbled it around. She didn’t know when it had happened or how, but she was in love with Bastien…

  Devil take it! She didn’t even know his real surname. How could she be in love with a man when she didn’t even know his full name? It was another sign she’d gone mad. But then hadn’t she been mad the first time she’d seen him? Hadn’t she fallen in love with him the first time they’d crossed swords? It was only now, when she knew she might not see him again, she could admit to herself the true depth of her feelings.

  What was she going to do? She couldn’t tell him. Even if they won the day, it didn’t mean their relationship changed. They were enemies. He was a pirate, and she was the daughter of a British admiral—an admiral who was probably hot on his heels at this moment. He’d have another battle on his hands very soon if he didn’t rid himself of her. And a sloop against a man-of-war stood no chance. Bastien might try to outrun her father, but in the end, the Regal would catch him.

  No, falling in love with Bastien would not save him. Leaving him and finding some way to convince her father not to pursue him would do the pirate more of a service than giving her heart ever would.

  Besides, he didn’t love her. She thought he felt something for her, perhaps even something more than he’d felt for other women. She knew he respected her experience on ships, valued her judgment, trusted her with his ship and his men. That should be enough for her. It was more than she’d receive from most men.