by Mary Martin
"There is no betrothal as yet," she replied over her shoulder.
Courtland stiffened. "You don't care if you make a fool of me. Well, I won't stand for it any longer."
"I am extremely tired," Starlin said as she opened the front door. "And I have no desire to discuss anything more with you tonight. Good night, Buckwald." It was while she was peeking through the parlor window, watching Courtland stride angrily away, that she saw another carriage parked off in the shadows. It was some distance down the street, but Starlin did not fail to notice the coat of arms on the vehicle.
"Morgan," she breathed, her hand going to her throat.
She watched the door swing open, and saw the interior was softly lighted and very intimate. She held her breath upon catching sight of long lithe legs elegantly encased in clinging black breeches. He stepped out of the vehicle and stood there in the street staring up at the mansion. Had he come back planning another break-in? Her breath came in excited gasps. She saw him turn suddenly and say something to the driver, then climb back into the carriage. To Starlin, it appeared he had been looking over the grounds. It made her furious. She was seized with a wild idea. Suppose she followed him. Perhaps he might lead her to his ship. She would then go to the authorities and inform them where the pirate Scorpio could be found. Even though she did not wish to face the truth, she knew she must. Morgan was a dangerous, unpredictable man. And somehow, she had to stop him. Grabbing up her velvet cloak, Starlin secured it about her.
Slipping through the terrace doors, she hurried toward a hansom cab that was parked beneath a streetlamp. It was unoccupied, and the driver was more than happy to comply with her wishes. When Morgan's carriage finally departed, the hansom followed at a discreet distance.
When they stopped sometime later, Starlin peered cautiously out of the window. She did not recognize the area.
The cabdriver leaned over the side. "The other vehicle halted up ahead. A gent got out and walked toward the pier."
"I'd like to get out, Driver," Starlin said.
"Here?" the man queried with an astonished look.
"Yes, and be quick about it, please."
The driver turned up his nose. He'd seen his share of fine ladies who came to the docks after dark. They were looking for some rough seamen with whom to have a bit of fun. The driver swung down and opened thedoor for Starlin. She quickly handed him several coins.
After the hansom had rumbled off, Starlin glanced around her to find she was standing on a secluded waterfront pier. Before her in the foggy night loomed the masts and figureheads of many ships. Even at the late hour the Thames was busy with river traffic: barges, laden with barrels and crates, tugboats, towing the heavier craft to the pier, and, in the distance, the tall masts of brigantines and clippers moored in the bay. Up ahead, she saw Morgan conversing with several seamen who were lounging about. He appeared to know them quite well.
The group laughed abruptly, as though sharing a joke, and then Morgan continued onward toward a waterfront tavern. Starlin became alarmed. She'd assumed he'd go to his ship. She heard the raucous sounds of the river and of the taphouses that lined the pier. Boisterous voices of drunken rowdies and the shrill laughter of painted women made her shudder. She'd heard of the rooms above these shanties, and of the things women did there with complete strangers who could pay their meager fee. Unease settled within, and she was just about to turn and flee when she saw two drunken sailors weaving their way in her direction and quickly ducked behind several large crates.
Rough hands immediately grabbed her.
"Well... would you look at what just stepped into my path," a gruff voice rasped.
Caught off guard, Starlin felt herself being spun about.
"Looking for a man, are you, darlin'T
She found herself staring up at the biggest man she had ever seen. He was dressed in coarse clothes and had long dark hair and a scraggly beard. He had dark, expressionless eyes and a feral smile. "Take your hands off of me," Starlin demanded.
"Now you know you don't mean that," the man chortled, running his hands up and down her arms. "Fine lady like you comes here for only one reason. And I promise you that Hector Deacon can show you a night like you've never dreamed."
Alarmed by his implication, Starlin began to struggle. She kicked and scratched, but the blackguard held fast to her.
"One of them that likes to fight... hmmm," he grunted, shaking her like a rag doll. "We'll go someplace private, and have us a good time. I know where there are no curious innkeepers with sharp memories. No one will disturb us."
"You oaf... let go of me!" Starlin raged? "I wouldn't go anywhere with the likes of you."
The man scowled at her. "Fancy lady . .. don't want Hector," he grumbled under his breath as she continued her desperate fight. He shoved her beneath a streetlamp and stared down at her. "Too ugly for a beauty like you. Well then .. . that's all right, too, for I can make a tidy sum off you. Now what do you think about that?"
Her startled, questioning gaze met his. "What do you mean?"
He laughed jeeringly. "A scant measure of time, lady, and all of your questions answered." He put a hand to the small of her back and gave her a firm push. "Go on with you now, and if you try and bolt, I'll make you real sorry."
All of her instincts warned her to escape. This man was the lowest kind of vermin. She did not like to think what he was planning. She tried to dash away, but he grabbed her and twisted her arm behind her back. A desperate cry escaped her. Her eyes widened when they approached a brightly lit taphouse. He leaned over her shoulder.
"There are men here who will pay a lot for a beauty like you. We may as well both get satisfaction this night."
"You must be joking," she hissed.
"Put on your fancy airs if you like. But I know what you really want."
Starlin's heart began to thud painfully, his fingers aware of the erratic beat as they settled beneath her breast. He pulled her against him.
"Got you excited now, ain't I?" he cackled. "That's good ... I like that."
A bubble of a sob rose in Starlin's throat as the man shoved her through the open door into the room. The air was thick with smoke and whiskey fumes. There
were men of questionable character standing along a wooden bar and sitting at various gaming tables. Painted harlots in gaudy dresses hovered about a table where sat several men dressed in fine clothes. Starlin had heard stories of such places, but never dreamed she would ever be in one. How could she have been so stupid to have gotten herself into such a predicament. Hector forced her to follow him. They paused beside a table where a group of men were playing cards. Hector leaned over one fellow's shoulder.
"In for a bit of sport tonight, lad? How about this sweet darlin', and no questions asked?"
The sailor eyed Starlin closely, assuming that the fine lady was playing along with the scheme. Even when she begged him with her eyes not to listen to her captor, he thought it part of a role. The man turned to his companions.
"Hector says he'd like to give us all a chance to win this fine beauty here. How about playing a game of chance—the man who comes up with the highest hand wins her."
"Sounds real good to me," a sailor at the table said with an eager grin.
There were murmurs of agreement all around. Starlin noticed one of the finely dressed gentlemen at the other table eyeing her closely. She shot him a pleading look, but he only averted his eyes.
Hector took a chair at the gaming table and gave a, rude jerk on Starlin's wrist that brought her to her knees beside him. She glared hatefully up at him. He took the belt from his breeches and bound her wrists securely to his chair. She spat at his feet. He wanted to deck her, but he played it to his advantage.
"Plenty of sass, as you can see, chums." Hector grinned. "She likes to play a bit of hard to get, but she'll do whatever you tell her if you show her who's the boss." He fixed threatening eyes on her and grabbed a fistful of her hair. "Ain't that right, darlin'?"
"I'
ll have your head for this," she ground out through her pain, forced to sit on the floor next to him.
"Do you mind if I join your game?" a deep voice inquired.
Starlin's head flew up and her eyes stared in disbelief. Rayne Morgan stood over her, not a flicker of emotion visible in his eyes. He tossed a heavy pouch in the center of the table. Coins jingled. "My stake, gentlemen."
Hector grinned widely. "Get yourself a chair, mate."
Rayne sat down next to Starlin, yet barely paid her notice. She was smart enough not to say anything, but her eyes fixed on his every move, told him exactly what she thought of him.
The game began; the cards dealt to each player. Starlin found herself holding her breath. She wasn't certain if she felt safer knowing Morgan might win her, or afraid that he would. At the turn of each card, she cringed.
One hand, winner take all. Several men folded. It was only Rayne and two sailors left to turn over their final cards. When it was Rayne's turn, Starlin watched as he took his time, leaning back in his chair and dragging slowly on a thin black cigar. Favoring her with a cool, assessing look, he drawled softly, "Are you afraid?"
Scared to death, she felt like saying, but would have sooner bitten off her tongue. "Not at all," she said with haughty disdain, chin held high. She had thought he might smile in that arrogant, infuriating manner of his, but he didn't. His gaze returned to that one last card. With a quick flick of his wrist he turned it over. And won. Amidst the grumbles of disappointment he leaned over her. She tried to draw away but was held fast by her bonds.
His fingers caught in the windblown strands of her hair, tilted her head backward. "It looks like you belong to me, my beauty. I hope you'll be worth what it cost me."
Before she had time to think clearly, he untied the belt and grasped the end. He stood up and favored her with a commanding look. It was clear that he did not expect her to defy him in any way. Glancing around her at the surly group of men, she decided it was to her favor to comply. Her wrists were aching from the tight binding, but she dared not complain. Morgan gave a short tug on the belt as he took his leave. Starlin could do nothing but follow along behind him.
By the time they'd walked down to the end of the wharf, secured a sloop and sailing for the open sea, she was windswept, recovering her composure and swear.-ing that she would make him pay for his humiliating treatment. There was bitterness in her voice, but he acted as if her discomfort meant nothing to him. *
When the distinct outline of a three-masted ship rose suddenly before her startled eyes, Starlin's knees nearly gave way beneath her. The waves surged in frothy peaks against the sloop's hull as it was piloted smoothly alongside the larger ship that lay in anchor, secluded by a curtain of misty darkness.
Careful to conceal the alarm from her features, Starlin met Morgan's penetrating eyes. "Your ship?'
"The Tempest."
She viewed the sleek, smooth lines, built for speed and a firm hand, just barely able to discern the figurehead of the dreaded Scorpion. Huge guns appeared trained upon them. It was an ominous reminder of the man as he really was. Deadly, and very unpredictable. "It suits you, Morgan," she stated, "both in name and structure."
"Aye, she does at that."
A bit hesitantly, but nonetheless determined not to appear afraid, Starlin allowed him to lead her on board and walked the broad sweeping decks of the Tempest at his side. It was a beautiful vessel, all flowing lines and burnished teak, with tall masts and furled sails. The ship looked nearly deserted, most of the crew obviously enjoying themselves on leave in the city
Only the watch high above them witnessed their silent exploration and his captain's quick step to the helm. Rayne unbound her wrists then left her to brief a sailor at a position by the great wheel. Turning back to the small figure who stood proudly defiant before him, he took her hand within his and drew her along behind him toward a companionway.
As they disappeared below deck, Starlin heard the anchor being hoisted, and shortly thereafter, the ship canvas snapping stiffly overhead, caught by the sighing winds that would take them out to sea. What was he planning? In view of her predicament, she wondered how she'd ever assumed she would gain the upper hand with this man.
They walked down a dimly lit companionway until at last he halted before a dark-paneled door situated directly under the quarterdeck. He turned the brass handle and swung the door inward.
"After you, milady," he bid her.
Starlin stepped hesitantly into the chamber, and slowly examined the tastefully appointed cabin. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the focal point of the room: a large comfortable berth. It comprised much of the area, and was covered by a dozen or more luxurious furs, their dark color and richness intensified by a single brass lantern swaying gently above the structure. More furs were scattered on the floor beside the berth. She swallowed, her eyes hurriedly sweeping beyond it, touching briefly on teak-covered walls where hung gleaming weapons: sabers, knives, and cutlasses. Expensive leather-bound books were tucked into wood shelves that lined one wall, and maps littered a corner desk. There was a marble-topped washstand with an ivory-encased comb and brush, engraved in gold, lying upon it. It was an elegantly furnished cabin—and not at all what she had envisioned. Did all pirates live in such a grand manner? She knew no others to compare.
Her violet eyes widened upon noticing a red damask couch, a large black wolfhound lying in the center of it, watching her every move. She froze, for he looked ferocious even in repose. Good heavens! Was it not the very same animal that had wandered onto her property the other day when she'd been searching for Fredrick? Blister it all, but there were so many unanswered questio'ns where this man was concerned. His presence never failed to scatter her wits, and her best intentions! And why did he always seem to know what she was feeling, even before she did!
"I have seen that dog before!" She whirled to face him accusingly.
"It's possible." Rayne issued a short command and the great animal bounded off the couch and disappeared through the open door. "He's my brother Ely's hound. Sort of the ship mascot." Starlin heard Rayne swing the door closed, then come up behind her. She trembled slightly when she felt him remove her cloak.
The cabin suddenly seemed very confining. He was clever, and very self-assured. And she? She was beginning to feel like a vixen at the end of an arduous chase. She sought a diversion, anything to sway his intentions elsewhere, and perhaps buy her some badly needed time. Frantic, her eyes searched the cabin. An object caught her eye, stood out vividly against the dominant male aura of the room. A dainty Oriental music box of bright red lacquered wood sat in the midst of masculine items on a shelf next to his wide bunk. She turned to watch him closely, questioningly.
"A family heirloom," he offered simply and unemotionally as he shrugged out of his own cloak and laid both aside.
Starlin walked over and picked it up. "How lovely." The delicate tune it played when she opened the lid brought a smile to brighten her intense features.
"Yes, it is, isn't it," he commented, regarding her delicate-boned profile in the wavering light.
She spun about to face him.
"Why don't you explain to me how you got yourself into that predicament back there?"
"That awful man accosted me!"
"You were in the wrong part of town, Starlin. You know it and so do I. You followed me from your house, didn't you?" He was glaring accusingly at her.
"So what if I did?"
"It was a stupid thing to do."
"I hope I don't have to listen to this much longer," she snapped.
"Would you have preferred to have stayed with those other men?"
She glared at the half grin curling up one corner of his mouth. "I prefer to go home now."
"Oh no. You have a debt to pay back first."
"I'll see you get your money back after you take me home."
"I don't want your money, my beauty."
Starlin drew back warily. "You can't mean?. . ."
"From the frying pan into the fire," she sneered.
His eyes glittered. He lowered his head to kiss the side of her neck. His body moved with hers to the clear, melodious notes of the music box filling the room. He was luring her to him, wooing her with the motion of their bodies. She felt that bold assessing stare, those ever-smoldering cat-eyes observing all from behind smoky lashes.
Her own spiky lashes fluttered upward, lavender eyes meeting the high passion in his. She could feel every hard, driving muscle in his body yearning for her to touch him closely, to surrender everything for just this one night. She felt herself succumbing to an emotion that only this man could evoke.
His lips brushed against her hair, her closed eyelids. She tried to force the memory of his lovemaking from her mind. But she could not. He made her feel so good ... so much a woman. Her breasts were pressed against his hard chest, aching and longing, her thighs in sinuous motion with his, weak and trembling. She knew she wanted all of him, everything. Later, she would deal with the consequences, but not now . .. for it was impossible to think with his lips so near.
He held her close to him and she was afire. Starlin felt the world spin away as he led her through the steps, arousing her like nothing she could have imagined, or dreamed. She tilted her head backward, her slim body supported by his arms, her long hair cascading like a riotous waterfall about her shoulders, almost touching the floor. Through her lashes, she viewed the flickering play of candlelight on the ceiling. Spinning shafts of molten gold that danced in a kaleidoscope of flaming desire, flitting about before her lazy-lidded eyes, drawing her into a whirling vortex of passion. His lips were slow and deliberately gentle, yet growing ever heated as they moved across her cheek, her nose, downward to press against the throbbing hollow of her throat. Whisper-soft, he touched the velvety flesh with the tip of his tongue, swirling in tiny circles, prompting her to gasp her pleasure.