He’d taken the opportunity to study the sole of her foot before he tied her ankle to the post and appeared satisfied the wound had healed nicely.
Her language turned blue, and he fetched a neckerchief and knotted it around her mouth, effectively gagging her. She was reduced to glaring daggers at him in frustration. He stepped back and blew her a kiss and, turning his back, he left the cabin. Florence gave a muffled, enraged shriek.
“Tut-tut, do you not know that flirting is a woman’s trade? You are in much need of practice, my dear,” he admonished, pulling the door closed with a snap.
She twisted and bucked, but her bonds held. Defeated, she rested, and all the while her mind raced. It was clear he knew how to get beneath her skin like an irritating burr; all her good intentions were now thrown to the wind. She wondered what devilish thing he had in store for her. The notion elicited an unexpected reaction, one she fervently hoped he would fail to notice on his return.
The door opened, and he strode in stark naked. Florence’s eyes grew round, her gaze focused on his enormous cockstand.
“My word, what is that deliciously haunting scent?” he asked, lifting his chin, nostrils flaring.
Florence’s cheeks burned furiously.
Leaning over her spread legs, he sniffed. “Evidently, you missed me.” He gave her a sinful grin.
Florence mumbled something, her reply lost beneath the gag. His hands stroked her calves, circling higher up her spread legs, his thumbs caressing her inner thighs, so sensitive after the slaps he’d landed there. She mewled.
Then he was on the bed, bent with his nose pressed between her folds. She shuddered as he pursed his lips and blew on her wetness. Arms slipped beneath her stomach. He lifted her to his mouth. Tongue curled, he speared her channel, mimicking the sex act.
It seemed like tortuous hours rather than minutes before his tongue finally touched the swollen pearl of her clitoris. Bucking, Florence discovered her movements foiled, curtailed by him and her bonds. She cried out with frustration when he drew away and shifted from the bed. He crossed back into his cabin. The sound of clinking china bemused her. Whatever is he about?
“Naughty, irascible girls are not rewarded. You may not spend. It is a fact that bad girls get punished.”
He clasped her buttock cheeks, gently parting them. Florence thrashed about uselessly in an attempt to avoid the awful humiliation.
She mumbled desperately through her gag.
“Keep very still,” he stipulated, “and don’t forget to breathe.”
Florence realised that she was holding her breath, and relaxed. Immediately, something cold and slippery pushed against her back passage.
“No,” she tried to yell, horrified by the intimate intrusion of her most sacred, private place.
The devil chuckled at her awful predicament. Full of impotent rage, Florence rolled her hips back and forth in an effort to thwart him. Several painful thwacks soon put an end to her desperate shenanigans. The invasion of her dark channel continued even though Florence wailed her objections, cursing him to hell and back. A hard slap seated whatever he’d plugged her with, and the deed was done. She sagged with relief.
Florence lay passive, surprised by his silence. Then it came—a searing heat building inside her bottom. Shifting her hips only seemed to make matters worse.
He gently removed her gag.
“What have you done to me?” she wailed anxiously.
“Punished you,” he replied.
“But what did you do? I am hurting, burning. You have to stop this and help me!”
“You need to learn a lesson, young lady, and since spanking you failed to curb your temper, I thought perhaps a dose of ginger up your pretty arse might effect a change in your volatile disposition,” he scolded.
“Arrgh! I hate you, I hate you!” she shrieked.
He chuckled. “I am cut to the quick, Flory, since I seem to be falling in love with you.”
He knelt behind her and nudged his cock at her front entrance. Embarrassingly, she was so wet his shaft slid easily into her. With no finesse, he pounded, using rapid thrusts. With every plunge, his groin slapped against the ginger root, and her back passage stung and burned. Suddenly, he gave a brusque shout and withdrew his length, leaving her tied face down on the bed, unfulfilled and overheated. The bed dipped as he left her.
She cried out with frustration, screaming even louder when the click of the cabin door sounded as it closed behind his retreating back.
“You filthy bastard!” she yelled after him.
There was no reply. Florence lay where she was suffering the heat from the ginger, learning by trial and error not to move or the burning discomfort became far worse. After half an hour or so, the potency of the ginger waned. Florence wept, eventually crying herself to sleep.
She awoke at movement on the bed. He’d untied her hands and feet then grasped the offending root and, tugging it from her snug hole, he threw it into the chamber pot.
“One day soon I shall take this naughty little hole,” he said snaking a finger over the crevice of her behind.
She instantly rolled onto her back and glared at him.
“Take my…?” She couldn’t bring herself to complete the sentence.
“Yes, my cock deeply embedded in your tight little arse,” he illuminated crudely.
She gasped in horror. Was there no end to this man’s depravity?
His hand dived between her legs. Re-emerging, he waved his digits under her nose.
“Wet,” he cried, triumphant. “You see, Flory, the idea of me fucking your bum excites you as much as it does me.”
Florence gritted her teeth. She would deny it to her dying breath. He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with enthralling intensity. Her response was all the evidence either of them needed to prove that he was right. Florence knew there was no point in protesting further. Comprehension dawned; she was his now, to do with as he pleased.
Chapter 9
The following day they were eating their luncheon when shouts from above alerted them to trouble.
“Stay here. Do not leave this cabin until I return, do you understand?” He sounded so fierce, with no trace of his usual humour that Florence trembled.
“What is it?” she asked fearfully.
“Nothing good,” he replied.
Strapping on his cutlass, he left her there alone. It took a moment for her to realise the door had been left unlocked. Stealthily, she crossed and peeked into the corridor. The ship lurched, and Florence stumbled against the doorjamb. Shouts echoed eerily down the passageway. She shut the door and hastened back inside. She went to one of the trunks and flung it open, then rummaged to find the most demure of the dresses inside which was a green silk gown decorated with heavy lace cuffs and a darker embroidered green stomacher. Florence quickly stripped off her nightgown and donned a shift, followed by the dress. Florence twisted up her hair and pinned it as best she could without the aid of a maid or even a looking glass. Lastly, she pulled on her soft kid boots, and was ready to leave the cabin.
Heart thudding, she entered the passage and crept up the stairs where she discovered most of the crew gathered on deck. Another ship, a much larger vessel, was hooked up alongside, The Sea Maiden dipping towards her. Men scurried from one ship to the other, travelling via a rope net they had slung between the two crafts. There was much shouting and yelling amongst the sailors. She looked up at the rigging. There were men clambering high up on both vessels. Then she saw it. The other ship flew an English naval flag. Florence knew she had to get aboard it.
There was a moment of indecision. A painful tug lurched deep within her chest. Her heart ached with the thought of parting from her captain. She berated herself for a fool. She was no more than an amusement to him, one that would be discarded once he tired of her. The thought strengthened Florence’s resolve, and she moved forward, careful to keep in the shadows.
Whilst the crew’s focus was on the other ship, she was able to da
rt across the deck, reaching the opposite side without detection. Crouching low, she edged slowly towards the rope net. A sudden loud yell had her ducking. There was a heavy scraping noise. Florence lifted her head to see what was happening, a large plank had been drawn across from the English ship. Once it had been roped into place aboard The Sea Maiden, the sailors moved away to other tasks. She seized her chance.
She feared for her loss of balance, especially since each ship rolled and dipped in the swell. Determined, though, she scurried onto the plank, almost making it over to the other ship, but a sailor challenged her. He caught her arm, and Florence dared not struggle against his hold in case she fell into the churning ocean below. Her relief when he pulled her in the direction of the English ship which she was aiming for rendered her limp with relief. Another sailor rushed forward as Florence reached the end of gangplank; he lifted her down onto the safety of the deck.
“Mr Patterson! Over here, sir!” one of the two men yelled.
An officer appeared beside them and raked her with his gaze. Florence drew herself together.
“I am an Englishwoman, Lady Florence Dowdeswell, lately kidnapped out of Kingston. Please take me to your captain, good sir.”
“Admiral Heston, I am honoured to make your acquaintance.” Florence dipped into a curtsy, relieved to find an English admiral aboard.
“You are too kind, ma’am. I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.” He bowed.
After being invited to sit, Florence settled herself and immediately launched into her tale of woe. When she finished her narrative, the admiral looked pensive. He crossed to a table where he selected one of the crystal decanters residing there and poured pale-amber liquid into two glasses. Returning to Florence’s side, he offered her a glass which she took and, giving him thanks, she sipped. Ugh! Whiskey, not a drink she was partial to. She set her glass aside.
“Lady Dowdeswell, I am well acquainted with your esteemed husband, Sir Carlton. I confess I find your harrowing tale most disconcerting. You may rest assured I shall get to the bottom of this dastardly deed. In the meantime, please accept the courtesy of HMS Archimedes. My first officer shall escort you to a cabin. He will instruct a boy to be on hand to see to your needs. I shall endeavour to return you to either your husband or brother as soon as may be.”
“Thank you, Admiral.” Florence smiled and held out her hand.
The old seadog lifted it, gallantly pressing his lips against it.
“Your servant, madam. Patterson, you know your orders, but see to the lady’s comfort first. I want that reprobate of a captain brought over from The Sea Maiden.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Mr Patterson saluted.
Admiral Heston’s gruff tone dismissed them both. Florence turned meekly and followed Mr Patterson from the admiral’s cabin.
He opened the door into a far larger, better appointed cabin than the one she had occupied on The Sea Maiden. Florence wondered why she felt despondent. She decided that she would write a character reference which could be used at her captain’s trial.
Her captain…
She realised that was how she thought of him, as hers. She didn’t even know the man’s real name. Unbidden, an image of his dark countenance swam before her eyes. A sinking feeling of regret vied with a jumble of confusion in her mind. Giving herself a mental shake, she decided that she must begin to think ahead. How would her husband react to her return now that she was a soiled dove? What would she do if he rejected her presence? She lay upon the bed to ponder her options, but her thoughts were so jumbled she turned away from the problem, promptly falling into a deep, restorative sleep.
The admiral decided to personally see her delivered to her husband. He assured Florence that should she wish to return to Kingston, the Archimedes would deliver her safe into the hands of her brother. When she enquired about the fate of her captain, the admiral stated that he had been apprehended and was even now on his way to face retribution. Florence felt nauseous at the news.
The following day at sea, she agitatedly stalked the deck in an attempt to sort the words she required to explain her capture to her husband, soon concluding there was no polite way to tell him she was no longer chaste.
The ship docked on the island of Cigateo, two days after she had joined the Archimedes. Florence was fascinated by the frenzied activity required to dock a mighty warship. Finally they were secured, and she was set to go ashore.
It seemed strange to be on land again after so long spent at sea. In reality, it had only been a few weeks, yet to Florence it seemed a lifetime ago. The admiral escorted her, resplendent in his dress uniform, the gold-tasselled epaulettes decorating his shoulders shining radiantly in the searing brightness of the tropical morning.
The carriage sent to collect them by the governor was open-topped, enabling Florence to look about the island as they travelled. A parasol was provided which gave adequate shade protection against the harsh sunlight. The road was dusty, but the vegetation either side appeared lush and green. Vibrant, exotic flowers attracted large flying insects, and strange birdsong fluted in the humid air. Yet despite the heat, a gentle breeze from the ocean kept the temperature bearable.
Rounding a bend, they entered a palm-tree-lined driveway. Guards manned high wooden gates, but they opened them at their approach and waved them through.
“Why is there a need for guards?” Florence swivelled in her seat and watched the gates close behind them.
“There is still some small threat from the Maroons, local tribes who object to our presence here. Fear not, my dear, for there have been no attacks in recent times.”
A white two-storey house came into view. The carriage swept into a horseshoe-shaped, gravelled courtyard.
The driver and footman leapt to the ground and placed steps below the carriage door. The admiral climbed down first and turned to help Florence.
Standing at the top of a curved set of shallow steps, a dark-skinned man awaited them. He was impeccably dressed in white and, bowing low, he bade them to follow him inside. The interior of the house felt cool. Floors of polished stone covered the wide passageways. They trailed behind their guide until he arrived at a large imposing door of pale, golden wood.
He turned to the admiral. “Please to wait here one moment, sir,” he said and, opening the door, ushered Florence before him into the room.
She gulped and brushed her damp palms down the silk skirt of her gown.
“Courage, my dear,” the man whispered, giving her an encouraging wink.
Holding her head high, Florence stepped inside what she perceived to be the lion’s den.
Chapter 10
The large room appeared to be empty. There was a snap, and the door shut. Florence spun about, stunned to see the captain standing flat against the wall. He must have been hiding behind the door.
“You shouldn’t be here! Quick, climb through the window before Carlton arrives,” she insisted urgently.
“You do care about me,” he replied.
“Of course I care!” she snapped. “Hurry, you don’t have much time. I will say nothing, but you must leave now before it is too late.”
He moved, but not towards the window. Stepping in front of her, he stretched out his hand to stroke her cheek. She turned her head from his caress.
“Go quickly!” she implored.
“Flory.”
“Don’t. Please don’t,” she begged.
“You must know that I love you.”
He cupped her face between his palms and lowered his mouth to hers, giving her the briefest, most tender of kisses. She moaned as his lips left hers.
“If I asked you to come with me, would you?” he asked.
“I-I…heaven help me!” she cried, spinning away from him, agitated.
“Flory, tell me true, if you were free to marry me, could you love me perhaps?”
She lifted her head and met his warm, lustrous gaze.
“I believe so,” she answered truthfully. “Yes, damn you, Captain,
I could, do, love you. Now go, for I cannot abide the thought of you dangling from a hangman’s noose. I beg you flee, while you still have the opportunity!”
Instead of running, he sauntered across the room to a large mahogany desk and seated himself behind it.
“I find myself in the utterly unique position of being jealous of myself. How novel,” he mused.
Florence listened, astonished.
“What nonsense are you talking?” She crossed quickly to the desk and placed her palms flat on the top. “Please, it is time to stop playing the fool and go before you are caught!” she urged.
Pensively, he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. “What if I told you that we were already married?”
She lifted her hands from the desktop and stepped back, staring at him. A chill trickled down her spine. Was he insane?
“Pardon…? I don’t understand?”
With a shrug, he spread his hands, palms up.
“I have a confession to make.”
She narrowed her eyes. The thump of her heart echoed loudly in her ears. What was it he was attempting to tell her?
“I am actually Carlton Dowdeswell, your husband, dearest Flory.”
She shook her head in denial. No, not possible. Her mind flashed back over the past few weeks. As she recollected the depth of his deception, an incredulous rage burned like acid in her chest. Her head filled with mindless fury. She reached for the silver-and-glass inkwell on his desk, a twin of the one she had seen on his ship.
“Stop right there! No more throwing, you gave me your oath, remember!” he roared.
Too late, she let the object fly. He ducked. With a scream of malice, Florence picked up a paperweight and lobbed that at him, too. He caught it midair.
“You just earned yourself the mother of all hidings,” he growled.
“Filthy bastard!” she yelled.
“No, and I repeat, ad nauseum, that I am neither filthy, nor a bastard.” Carlton sighed and rose to his impressive height, whereupon he extended her his palm.
Pirates, Passion and Plunder Page 42