“We have to go, Belle.”
No mushy words of remorse from him. Last night he’d espoused regret…but last night he’d had an itch in his pants.
Damian moved across the room, gathering her clothes. He placed the garments on the bed beside her. “Get dressed.”
She didn’t budge, even after he tugged the binding rope loose. “Why? So you can watch me? Humiliate me even more?”
Mirabelle gasped as a hard and handsome face swooped in to press close to hers. The soapy scent of him swirled around her, arousing her senses. And that look in his sea blue eyes, so scorching! Her nipples turned stiff and pointy under his ravenous stare.
“Get dressed, Belle. Now! Or I’ll dress you myself.”
He headed for the door and rested a sturdy shoulder against the barrier, blocking her escape route. But he also turned away from her, giving her privacy.
The blackguard! How could he still make her feel all warm inside? Aroused, even? Could hate and lust really live in harmony? Apparently so.
Mirabelle snatched her apparel. With the blanket still draped around her shoulders, she sprinted to the corner of the room. There, by the window, stood a rickety changing screen.
She busied herself getting dressed, peeking around the partition to see if the bounder was still facing the door. He was.
She snorted. A little late for chivalrous conduct, wasn’t it? Where was the rogue in him now?
Oh, blast him! He had ruined everything. Even her dream of becoming a pirate was dashed to bits. James was surely beside himself with worry. He would never let her join the crew now. He would never let her near any sort of danger again. She was doomed to live a lonely life on land. And all because of Damian.
The rotten scoundrel! Well, if he wanted to get even with her brothers for locking him in the brig, she wasn’t going to help him.
Mirabelle eyed the window in assessment. A snug fit, but still, she reckoned she could wiggle her posterior through the opening.
Quietly she inched her way over to the window, shuffling about to make it sound as if she were still getting dressed. A clandestine peek through the glass revealed a thatched roof one floor below, protecting the main entrance. It wasn’t the softest spot for a landing, but it was better than the ground. She could easily clamber down from there, and be off. Damian would never get his wide shoulders through the narrow slit in the wall. He’d have to storm through the inn to get outside. And by then, she’d be gone.
Pulse thumping loud in her ears, she carefully lifted the pane of glass…
Bloody hell! The squeak echoed like a trumpet blast. Without pause, she threw up the sash and dove out the window.
But two robust hands clasped her booted ankles and roughly yanked her back inside the room.
Stout arms circled her waist, crushing her ribs. And a livid face dropped to mesh ominously with hers.
“Going somewhere, Belle?”
He kept one hand secured to her hips, and used the other to shut the window. It slammed closed, the glass splintering.
Her heart missed a beat. “You have no right to keep me here, Damian.”
“Oh? I wasn’t aware a pirate had any rights.”
Confound him! He was going to make her suffer all the more. Keep her near him, make her remember over and over again how wonderful it’d been to be in his arms. And how devastated she had been to learn it all a ruse.
With a sharp edge to her voice, she charged, “I know why you’ve taken me, Damian.”
He seemed startled by her assertion, then demanded darkly, “Why?”
“You want to get back at my brothers for locking you in the brig, don’t you?”
A dark flame burned in his delft blue eyes. He didn’t confirm her assumption, though. He didn’t have to. The truth was evident.
“Just let me go!” She struggled in his embrace. “You’ve punished my brothers long enough by keeping me all night.”
He gripped her tighter. “Not nearly enough, Belle.”
She stopped flailing to demand, “How long are you going to hold me? Days? Weeks? Do you intend to drive my brothers mad with grief?”
He hauled her across the room and laced the rope over her wrists again.
“You bloody scound—”
He pressed his lips close to hers, his warm breath bathing her skin, sending shivers dancing down her spine. “Do you want a gag, too?”
She fell quiet, then gritted out: “I hope my brothers find you and thrash you soundly.”
“Until then, why don’t you come along quietly, like a good little girl?”
She kicked him.
He growled. “Fine, then.”
“Damian!”
Whisked in the air, she found herself slumped over his sturdy shoulder and carted out of the chamber.
She made a fuss all the way to the kitchen, then hushed once she realized the two of them were not alone. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself. She didn’t want to risk her pirate identity being revealed.
Her tousled mane in her eyes, Mirabelle blew at the wisps of hair to better see who was in the room.
A serving maid. And she didn’t seem the least bit stunned. What, did this sort of barbaric behavior happen often at the inn?
The girl handed Damian some freshly cooked fare bundled in a cloth. He nodded in acceptance of the baked goods, which Mirabelle eyed with only mild interest, her thoughts preoccupied with a certain rogue navigator holding her captive.
But her fury was forgotten when the serving maid bobbed a curtsy.
What the devil did she do that for?
“You’re welcome, Your Grace,” said the girl.
Mirabelle’s brows stitched together, but before she could ask the girl what was going on, Damian hauled her out the door and over to the stables.
“What was that all about?”
“Nothing,” said Damian curtly. “A mistake in identity.”
Bloody hell, he should have known this would happen. Once he had shaved his beard, it was more apparent who he was, and being so close to home, it wasn’t unreasonable to suspect the locals might recognize him. Hell, he might have wandered into that pub at some point in his drunken existence, even met the serving wench, without realizing it.
“She mistook you for a duke?”
“Humorous, don’t you think?”
His steed ready and saddled by a rather drowsy stable lad, Damian mounted the beast, hoisting Mirabelle into his lap.
He set out quickly, impatient to leave the Drunken Horse tavern and inn behind. He didn’t want anyone else to recognize him. He didn’t need this abduction to go even more awry. If Belle discovered his true identity before it was time, she would only fight him all the more, struggle even harder to get away—and warn her brothers.
Belle cocked her head to the side and eyed him shrewdly. “You don’t look like a duke. Why would she think you one?”
He shrugged, trying to sound dispassionate. “Perhaps the girl was half asleep and didn’t see me very well.”
Belle snorted but didn’t say anything else. Good. He needed a silent moment to correlate his wayward thoughts.
He had done it again, bedded Belle. The memory of it burned in his blood. He shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have given in to his despair and sought comfort in Belle’s arms. Now he wanted her all the more. And it would hurt all the more to lose her.
Damian pressed his arm firmly against her belly, holding her snug, inhaling the heady musk of her sea-doused locks. She stiffened in his hold. She was back to hating him. He supposed it was better that way, but still…
He gave an internal sigh. Nothing had gone as planned, not even last night’s coupling. His slow seduction had turned into a wild romp in bed. He had spilled his seed into her, too. That had not been his intent. Not at first, anyway. But once he was buried deep inside her, rocking against her pulsing core, the consuming need to possess her, to brand her as his overwhelmed him. He’d poured himself into her with exuberance, cherishing
the earth-shattering moment as divine. Now she was his. In some small way at least.
And if he got her with child? He had not considered the consequence last night…or perhaps he had. Perhaps the thought of her enceinte had had some appeal. For it would truly make her his—forever. No matter how much she came to loathe him after the deaths of her brothers, there was one eternal part of him she could never resent—his child. Damian sensed in the bowel of his gut she would never hate his child—their child. He would be with her always then.
And that was the only way he could ever be with her, for now he had a mission to complete. And he needed Belle as bait. He had to stop looking at her with a tender eye. He had to stop being a hen-hearted ninny, as his father would say. Emotions made one weak. Already his shifty little pirate had tried to escape him. She’d almost succeeded, too. He had to keep a better watch—and hand—over her. He had to be strong for Adam’s sake. Cold, even.
“Damian?”
He gathered his resolve, abrupt in his reply. “What is it, Belle?”
At his brusque query, she paused. He could hear her teeth grinding. She was annoyed with him. And rightly so. After all, he had kidnapped her. What right did he have to be in a dark mood? she likely wondered. Little did she know he had to be in a dark mood just to get through the rest of the journey. He was growing too soft, too fond of Belle. And such feelings posed an intimate threat to his mission.
After a short rest, she said, “Why don’t you want to be a pirate?”
“I don’t care to be a cutthroat.”
She scoffed. “My brothers aren’t cutthroats and you know it.”
Was she daft?…Of course not. She adored her brothers. She thought them “honorable” pirates. And they, scheming brigands, would not disabuse her of that belief. Why, Damian himself had at one time supposed James a fair and righteous captain, the crew a merry lot of brotherly tars. How wrong he was! So it was no great mystery, Mirabelle’s devotion to her kin.
“Admit it, Damian, the real reason you don’t want to be a pirate.”
She wanted truth, did she? Fine. He’d give it to her. “I made an oath to my brother.”
“What? Not to become a pirate?”
“No, I have a vow to fulfill. And I can’t do it trapped aboard the Bonny Meg.”
Especially with you on board! he thought.
She humphed.
“You don’t believe me, Belle?”
“Well, what were you doing in New York then?”
Looking for your brothers.
“Like I said, Belle. I had an oath to fulfill.”
“In a gaming hell?”
“I was cleaned out. I needed the money.”
A snort from her. “You were prepared to spend the night wagering, deep in your cups, weren’t you?”
“I don’t drink, Belle, or gamble for pleasure.”
“You not drink? And you don’t have fun gambling? What kind of a rogue are you?”
“A reformed rogue.”
That had her snickering. “Aye, I see how well you’ve reformed. Kidnapping me and all.”
“You, a pirate, expect fairness? I think your moral compass is a little off.”
“As is yours. So you see, Damian, you would make a fine pirate. Which brings me back to my first question: why won’t you join the crew?”
“I already told you.”
“Sticking to the oath story, are you?”
“And what do you want to hear, Belle?” He pressed his lips to her ear, to whisper roughly, “Spit it out, for I’m tired of this inquisition.”
But she wouldn’t tell him her mind. Not that it mattered. Just then, Damian was held rapt by the distant figure on horseback that appeared over the hilltop.
He squinted at the dark shadow, but could not make out the face. One of Belle’s brothers already? No, it couldn’t be. James was a clever captain, but still, it would take more than a night—a stormy night, at that—to pick up their trail. A highwayman maybe? At the crack of dawn, though? Damian didn’t think so. Then who?
But Damian didn’t get to study the mysterious figure very long, for soon the shadowed horseman disappeared back behind the hilltop.
The sparring with Belle had to stop. It was too great a distraction. Potential danger lurked everywhere, and he’d best remember that.
Chapter 22
T he large London square was bustling. Harlequins in bright costumes danced. Giants and dwarfs mesmerized little children with their antics. A theatrical booth in the center of the square delighted spectators with a rowdy Punch-and-Judy show.
A fair.
“Bloody hell.” Damian dismounted first. “We’re going to have to wend through on foot.”
And so they did. Damian steered the horse through the crowd with one hand and gripped her bound wrists with the other. He was careful to keep her close to him, so no one would see her tied wrists—and so she couldn’t escape.
Her dire predicament forgotten for a moment, Mirabelle was enraptured by the enchanting spectacle. Minstrels piped their jigs. Vendors peddled their wares. She passed a gingerbread stall and inhaled the spicy richness of the freshly baked fare.
She even smiled a bit. She had not been to a fair in years. Father had always loved to attend such festivities. Going to the Goose Fair had been his favorite pastime. Each year he would take her and Quincy and Eddie along, until the boys grew too old to attend the event—or care, as it were—and then it was just she and Father who’d amble out into the countryside to partake in the merriment.
Mirabelle glanced around the revelry. It was a pleasant reminder of days gone by.
Damian cut through the masses, past the furniture sellers and silversmiths. Beyond the muslin dealers and toy makers.
She finally thought to ask: “Why did we come here?”
“Because it’s quicker to cut through the city.”
“To get to where?” she wondered.
“To get to my…”
“Your what, Damian?”
Silence.
She huffed. Of course he wasn’t going to tell her. He was going to drag her across the country, make her brothers fret, then abandon her in some remote village with neither knowledge nor means to get back to the Bonny Meg. He was just that kind of a devil, she was sure. Not a trace of honor in his soul.
Why, he wouldn’t even admit to the real reason he’d absconded from the Bonny Meg. Oh sure, he’d tried to convince her of an “oath” to his dead brother he had to fulfill, but really, did he think her so daft? The navigator wanted his freedom. He wanted to roam the land, the sea. Whatever suited his fancy. He wanted to cavort with wenches and frolic in gaming hells. And being imprisoned on a pirate ship for a whole year would put a pesky wrinkle in his pleasurable pursuits. Damian was not the kind of man to stay in one place for very long—or be with one woman for very long.
She suddenly felt a flutter of unpleasant emotions and suppressed the ache to demand, “I want to go home, Damian.”
He steered her round a dancing harlequin. “Not yet, Belle.”
“Then when?”
“Soon, Belle.”
She twisted her bound wrists. “Damn it, Damian, let me go! You’ve punished my brothers long enough. Even you, scoundrel that you are, can’t be this cruel.”
He stopped and whirled around, his lips so close to hers, she could feel his words brush her skin. “Oh, but I can, Belle.”
The chill on her spine was biting. The rogue. He was going to be spiteful. And to think, she had once considered him a kindred spirit. She had once empathized with him, deeming him another lonely soul like herself. She had fretted over him. She had lusted after him…
Mirabelle took in a deep and measured breath. She had a lot to regret. And she was going to spend a lifetime nursing those regrets, she was sure.
“Move that cart!”
Mirabelle started and peered over Damian’s shoulder. A fruit cart blocked the street, and the obstinate vendor refused to budge, thumbing his nose at the nav
igator.
A row erupted then, the two men bickering. The commotion proved timely, as Mirabelle struggled for freedom. But of course the lout of a navigator had a grip on her like an iron manacle.
Too engrossed with her fight for liberty, she didn’t notice the buxom flower girl strutting through the square. Not until the girl walked right past her, that was, and broke the bond with the navigator.
Mirabelle blinked in surprise.
Free.
She backed away.
Damian grasped behind him for a wrist. He grabbed the flower girl’s instead, too distracted by the heated quarrel with the vendor to notice he had the wrong woman.
“Let me go!” the flower girl demanded, twisting her wrist this way and that.
Damian held her fast, squabbling with the fruit seller, oblivious to the stranger he had snared in his grip.
Steadily retreating, Mirabelle cast Damian one final, watery glance. Blasted tears! What the devil was she sad about? Certainly not that she was going to miss the scoundrel of a navigator.
Wiping the moisture from her eyes, Mirabelle turned on her heels and ran.
Twilight hovered over the city of London.
Wrists free of rope, Mirabelle hugged herself as she made her way through the misty cobblestone street. She was hungry and tired and she wanted to get back to her brothers. She wanted to forget all about Damian.
A little voice inside her snorted. Forget the navigator? Not without a magic wand and a sprinkle of faerie dust.
Nonsense! The man was a cad. A scoundrel. She would dismiss him from her mind, right quick at that, and go about her way…but what was her way?
For a brief and ludicrous second she had believed her fate was with Damian. But then he had betrayed her, the blackguard. Clearly her destiny lay elsewhere.
So where was she to go? Home? Tend house and garden, and wait for her brothers to return from yet another buccaneering adventure?
Like hell! She belonged on the Bonny Meg. And she wasn’t going to quit her ambition so easily. She was going to fight for it. She didn’t care how much James protested or how many times she had to stow away, she was going to be a sailor. She wouldn’t let Damian devastate her seafaring dream…as he had devastated her heart.
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