Pirates, Passion and Plunder

by Victoria Vale

  No matter how wonderfully unsettled his kisses made her feel.

  She stomped her foot against the floor of the carriage in frustration and pushed away from him. Arms crossed over her chest, she glared at him.

  "Tantrums will not be tolerated, little dove. You have been warned."

  "Warned? Who do you think you are? Just because some delusional people call you the Sea Lord doesn't give you respectability."

  "Ah, that is true." His eyes raked over her and a decidedly unrespectable feeling pulsed in her veins. This man was dangerous in oh so many ways. Her lips pulsed where his mouth had been upon them.

  The breath hitched in her throat and she felt a desperate need to escape. The wheels of the carriage slowed and she took her chance, leaping for the door and freedom.

  Alas, her captor was quicker and soon had her laid across his lap, yards of her skirt piled upon her back. "Oh my.” His voice had a bit of a husk to it that warmed her insides. “Those are some elaborate undergarments, mademoiselle. I wonder how Mr. Arlott would have fared with attempting to get past all these layers."

  At the mention of her continence challenged fiancé, Lizzy's anger resurfaced. "Men, all of you, are a sorry lot. What makes you think you're any better than him?"

  "For one thing," he replied in a confident tone as she felt the ribbons of her pantalettes come undone, "I am quite adept at the removal of ladies' garments." A pile of bright white silk landed on the floor of the carriage within her view.

  What would Madame d'Campe think if she knew that all those yards of French silk had been handled by a pirate? The thought made her grin and a decidedly luscious and naughty feeling came over her. She was free. Free to go about without undergarments if she so chose. She gave a satisfied sigh, which of course was odd considering her position and general annoyance with the man she had hired to assist in her escape.

  "I believe you ought to at least refund my money," she said with a sniff, "since you refuse to follow my instructions any further."

  "We shall discuss all of that at a later point, my dear. Currently, you are in dire need of a spanking, and," he said as he caressed her backside, "if I might say so, you have a very delectable and spankable derrière."

  She gasped indignantly, as a proper young lady ought, but his words had a most unsettling effect on her insides, particularly her nether region.

  A warm hum thrilled her heart. He liked her derrière. A happy smile teased at the corner of her mouth, though she quickly bit her lips together lest he see it, however with her face directed at the floor of the moving carriage, it seemed unlikely. Besides, his attention was focused elsewhere.

  The warm hum was quickly replaced by a heated sting as his pirate-y palm made contact with the aforementioned piece of her anatomy. She squealed at the impact, his hand large and possessive against her bare bottom. Never had she been affronted in such a scandalous manner.

  “How dare you, sir!”

  The bastard had the nerve to chuckle, though he paused in his swatting for a moment to run his hand—which was surprisingly smooth for a ruffian—over both cheeks of her backside sending a quiver through her flesh.

  “I dare,” he said, tracing the crease between her cheeks with his finger, “because I own you now. Have I not made that clear?”

  “And what if I refuse to be owned?”

  He gave a pinch to the center of her left cheek and one to her right, then began swatting again.

  And again.

  She kicked her legs and swung her fists against his thighs. Insufferable man. “Do you not even grant me the courtesy of a reply?” she gritted between smacks.

  “Oh, dear. I do apologize. I thought that was a rhetorical question. But, since you were in earnest, let me just reiterate that you are now mine. Whether you like it or not.”

  “Well, I do not like it.” She shook her head from side to side with such vehemence that several tendrils of her elaborately coiffed hair came loose and fell over her face. She huffed out a breath to get them out of her vision.

  “Ah, my dear little dove, lying will only add to your punishment.” He stroked his palm down her backend and slipped his thumb between her thighs, opening them until she felt cool air upon her nether region.

  Her face, thankfully hidden from his view, flamed. “I have only spoken the truth. How dare you twist my words?”

  “Did you not just say that you did not like being owned by me?” He massaged her thigh, his fingers working the flesh from bottom cheek to the back of her knee.

  “Of course I did.” To her shame, her voice did not carry as much conviction as she had intended.

  Oh, mon Dieu, there was a telltale trickle of moisture escaping her core. She clenched the muscles of her lower half, hoping to stem the tide of humiliating dampness before he noticed it.

  “Oh, mademoiselle, what have we here?” He slipped a finger between her thighs, precisely in the location she had prayed he would not see.

  It seemed nothing was going her way this day.

  Sacré bleu. Never in all his carousing had he encountered a woman so responsive to his touch, to his punishment. He could not tear his gaze away from the delectable sheen of her ardor as it glistened between the pink lips of her sex.

  He shifted in his seat as his cock responded to the pleasure of having Mademoiselle Elizabeth d’Campe across his lap, her virginal charms on full display and weeping with carnal hunger.

  He had to have her. To possess her and own her and make her his and his alone. The thought of any man kissing her as he had, touching or gazing upon her, caused his blood to boil with jealousy.

  Rubbing his thumb and index finger together, he felt her essence. Breathed deeply of her feminine musk.

  Many times he’d had his way with a lusty barmaid or farmer’s daughter in the back of a moving carriage, but this little dove, his sweet mademoiselle, she was meant to be savored like a fine claret. Though he feared that if given the chance, he would gulp hungrily rather than sip sedately.

  A glance out the window revealed they were in familiar territory. He rapped his knuckles on the ceiling of the compartment and shouted, “The Echo Inn” to the driver, who replied, “Mais, oui!”

  Ah, in only a matter of moments they would be ensconced in the finest room the inn had to offer and there and then he would take his time enjoying his little dove and teaching her the ways of men and women.

  Another glance out the window showed they’d turned onto Chester Street. An idea, hasty but brilliant in its finality, came to William when he glimpsed the outline of a church steeple, which shone white and pure in the moonlight, as if it were a beacon guiding him home to some semblance of rightness.

  Without further thought, he sat the girl upright on the seat next to him, wrapped one arm around her and pounded on the ceiling with his free hand. “Stop! Stop!”

  The carriage came to a screeching halt, though his arm firmly around the delicate waist of his mademoiselle prevented injury. He was compelled to keep her near him and this stop would cement her to him for all time.

  “What the blazes was that about? Have you lost your mind?” She glared at him, straightening the bodice of her dress which had slipped tantalizingly low and pushing the escaped curls away from her face.

  Her disheveled appearance caused him to imagine her after a night of ardent amour and his pulse flamed. Grabbing her hand, he hurried her from the carriage before the driver had a chance to open the door. “Wait here, we shan’t be long,” he called to Thomas, as they scurried past him.

  “Come along, little dove.” A frantic need pushed him forward, dragging her behind.

  Their progress came to a sharp halt when the mademoiselle froze in place, her face lifted toward the sky. “A ch-church? Have you gone mad?”

  “We have no time to waste.” He tossed her over his shoulder and hurried to ring the bell on the parsonage. There was no response to his first summons so he clanged the bell repeatedly.

  “Stop that, you’re making a scene.”


  “My dear, if anyone is drawing attention, it is you in that flamboyant dress.”

  “It is not flamboyant. It is the latest fashion. Have you no sense?”

  “I have plenty of sense. In fact, it is my highest priority to see that dress tossed upon the floor of the best suite of the Echo Inn. But, first, I shall make you mine in the eyes of man and God.”

  His bride-to-be gave a screech that sent several birds to flight. The priest, Father Hector, opened the door. “What the—” As soon as he saw William, he stepped aside and allowed him entry with the reluctant mademoiselle still balanced over his shoulder.

  “Captain Marshall,” the priest said, “how can I be of service to you?”

  William set the girl on her feet but retained hold of her hand. Father Hector’s eyes went wide when he looked at her.

  “I would like for you to marry me to this lovely young lady. I should think it was obvious based on her attire.”

  Still wide-eyed, the priest reached into a pocket and retrieved a handbill, passing it to William who unfolded it. Mademoiselle d’Campe gasped.

  Reward

  A thief has stolen a priceless family heirloom, the Pink Spanish Jewel, which must be returned to its rightful owner.

  A sketch of the necklace filled the center of the page.

  In the bottom corner there was a sketch of Lizzy above the words: This girl is also missing. Mademoiselle Elizabeth d’Campe.

  Chapter 6

  Lizzy gasped. Instinctively, she placed her hand into her dress pocket. The feel of the large cool stone in her palm reassured her of the Pink Spanish Jewel’s safety. It was all she could do to keep from scoffing at the wording of the handbill. The Pink Spanish Jewel must be returned to its rightful owner. How ridiculous.

  “That is all very interesting,” she said, in her most imperial tone while eyeing the priest, “but that handbill has nothing to do with us. I wear no such necklace and the young woman in that sketch has a nose which is much too broad to be mine. So, shall we get on with our business?”

  Monsieur Marshall—no, Captain Marshall, she corrected herself— gave her a quick and quizzical glance. She couldn’t blame him. She had surprised herself by not begging the priest for assistance. It had been on the tip of her tongue to do so until he showed them the handbill.

  Her mother’s web extended even further than Lizzy had imagined.

  And she refused to be ensnared by it again. This day, despite learning of her beloved aunt’s tragic death, had been the most exhilarating of her life. How could she go back to cotillions and lemonade after having her French silk undergarments yanked from her body in a moving carriage by a scandalous pirate?

  A scandalous, handsome, dashing and debonair pirate who made her insides warm and sent beads of naughty essence down her thighs.

  Besides, who better to protect her from the ruffians in search of the necklace than the most famous ruffian of them all, the Sea Lord.

  A pirate with a private island.

  Much better to throw in her lot with him.

  Besides, he gave her no choice.

  “You heard my beloved, Father,” the dashing pirate captain said. “We would like to be married right away.” He folded the handbill and slipped it into the pocket of his coat.

  “B-but…” Father Hector’s mouth hung open and he glanced from Lizzy to Captain Marshall and back again. “Th-this is highly unusual.”

  “No ’tisn’t,” Captain Marshall replied. “Is she not properly adorned for a wedding?”

  “B-but…” Father Hector tried again.

  Captain Marshall straightened his neckcloth and then pierced the priest with a stare. “Have you forgotten the … um… favor I did for you the last time you were in New Orleans? Did I mention that the bishop is a personal friend of mine? I am sure he would take great interest in the tale of one of his priests cavorting with a voodoo priestess on Fat Tuesday. What do you think?”

  Father Hector’s face flushed crimson.

  “Right this way,” he said, leading them to the small chapel.

  The priest hurried ahead of them but as Lizzy and Captain Marshall walked up the short aisle to the altar, her pulse quickened. Despite strolling up a much longer, grander aisle earlier that day, this felt like a real wedding and she had all the nerves and anxieties of a bride. She reached up to straighten her hair and for a moment considered putting on the necklace so that she would look her best for her groom.

  But, that would be foolish.

  She glanced over at Captain Marshall. The man she’d hired to save her.

  Maybe he had.

  As they emerged from the church, Lizzy noticed a small gathering of people waiting in the street. No doubt their attention had been drawn to the dramatic fashion in which the carriage had slammed to a stop in front of the parsonage, as well as the appearance of an elaborately gowned bride over the shoulder of an eager groom. Such a display was likely unusual in the quiet parish.

  Unlike the hordes who had swarmed earlier in the day, Lizzy found these quaint people charming and gave them her sweetest smile. However, when one little boy pointed and said, “She looks like the girl on the handbill!” William dramatically lifted her into his arms and her skirts billowed in the breeze, reminding her of her lack of proper undergarments.

  “We cannot let them see your face, now can we?” he whispered just before his lips claimed hers.

  She wound her hands around his neck and returned the kiss. Her husband’s kiss.

  Her life, her plan, had spiraled completely out of control, yet her heart soared. She would not have to marry Mr. John Arlott, or any other distasteful man of her mother’s choosing. Furthermore, she would never live within the suffocating walls of Mallory House again.

  Instead, she was embarking upon a brand new beginning as Captain William “Sea Lord” Marshall’s wife, no less. A sense of giddiness swept through her, wild as the wind that was currently whipping her skirts about her body as her new husband continued kissing her. And ah, what a kiss. His lips were warm but firm, and he slipped his tongue inside to tangle with hers as little whimpers escaped her.

  They entered the carriage to the cheers of the crowd, then Captain Marshall quickly pulled away and stared into her eyes as he cupped her face in a tender manner. Although there was no longer a need to hide her face from prying eyes, he soon resumed kissing her and she did not object. Her hands slipped into the thick waves of his hair and she felt him sigh against her as her fingers cupped his head.

  Apparently, the pirate was not immune to her touch. Womanly awareness bloomed in her and she wiggled her bottom on his lap as the lusty kisses continued. One of his large palms suddenly cupped her backside and gave it a squeeze. “You will do well to hold still, Elizabeth,” he said, using her given name for the first time, “until we are safely ensconced in our room. Had I wished to deflower you in a moving carriage, it would have happened by now.” He growled the words against her throat, his hot breath sending shivers of fire through her body.

  “I prefer being called Lizzy, actually,” she said, feeling as though she were in a daze.

  “Lizzy,” he repeated, “my little bride. You may call me William. Unless, of course, we’re in the presence of my crew while aboard the Silver Shield. Then you must address me as Captain.”

  A thrill jolted through her as she ran her tongue across her kiss-swollen lips. Her entire body seemed flushed. Unladylike perspiration dotted her chest.

  Mon Dieu. Could they not get to the inn any sooner?

  “Ah, my sweet pirate bride, we have arrived,” William said, as though reading her thoughts. Not allowing her out of his grasp, William exited the carriage with her face buried against his chest. He kicked open the door and it banged against the wall.

  “Captain Marshall.” Lizzy peeked out to see a man whom she assumed to be the proprietor come rushing forward, a happy smile on his face. “What a pleasant surprise. And, is this what I think it is? A bride? Why, I never thought I’d see the
day.”

  A few more called out from the dining room where the smell of rum emanated forth. “The Sea Lord has found his lady!”

  “Well, now I have seen everything. Ladies in every port around the world will be weeping into their pillows tonight.”

  “She’s a comely lass, let us see her face, Cap’n!”

  The pirate’s arms closed around her possessively and Lizzy thrilled at his protectiveness.

  “Thank you, gentlemen, but until I have bedded this sweet thing, I think it best her face not be seen. Too many angry papas out there, if you know what I mean.”

  The room exploded in laughter plus a few bits of advice for the “bedding” and Lizzy’s face flamed.

  William turned back to the proprietor of the Echo Inn. “If you will show us to your finest room, I shall take care of our bill on the morrow. I am too busy right now to reach into my pocket.t

  “Of course, Captain Marshall. Your word is always good here.”

  Moments later, the door to the Imperial Suite of the Echo Inn clicked shut. Her groom set her on her feet and walked over to slide the lock into place. For good measure, he dragged a chair from the corner and propped it beneath the knob. He turned back to Lizzy, his lusty gaze running the length of her body, a seductive smile on his mouth. “I do not mean for us to be disturbed for many hours, my sweet bride.”

  A soft mewl escaped her lips. This had no doubt been the most eventful day of her nineteen years, yet she had a feeling that life as the wife of the notorious Sea Lord would be a long running series of eventful days with extremely eventful days sprinkled in for good measure.

  In that instant, reality set in. She was married. To a pirate. For life.

  And she was about to be deflowered.

  The finest finishing schools in New Orleans had not prepared her for this contingency.

  William stepped close. So close the buttons of his coat rubbed against her bosom, taunting the nipples into hard peaks that rubbed uncomfortably against the fabric of her tight bodice. He cupped the side of her face with his hand, his thumb stroking along the delicate flesh of her jaw. A shiver rushed through her, her entire body prickling with awareness and delicious anticipation.