by Meg Hennessy
Standing on the brick path, washed in alabaster light from the moon, Aurèlie slowly turned to come face-to-face with a masked man dressed in black, a smoldering pistol in his hand.
She screamed and raced toward the house. He followed step for step until she could no longer outrun him. He caught up with her and with no hesitation, lifted her into his arms.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Non s’il vous plaît! Let me be! Let me be!”
Balancing her in his arms, the man ran toward the water, away from the house, away from her home and deposited her atop a small pirogue, the wood wet from the water. Two men were already on the small vessel, both wearing masks. When her captor set her on the surface, he pushed the small craft away from the shore and hopped on board.
“You release me, or I scream and awaken all the landowners to your presence. American gunboats are in the area, even British. You do not wish them to know you are here, non?”
Her captor leaned down to be close to her face. In the shadowed night, she could not see his eyes. He spoke in perfect French. “If you do, Madame, I take you deep into the swamp and toss you overboard, do not try me, prendre mon mot.”
Her entire body tightened, her breathing became shallow. Concern over what he planned and the sloshing of the water against the small craft made her head woozy and her stomach roil with the churning waters. “Do such a thing, you would not, even a man like you.”
“A man like me?” He chuckled quietly. “You test me, n’est pas?”
Yes, but he failed her test. Aurèlie fell silent, watching as a large ship slowly came into view through the thick fog hovering over the bayou. Her captor pushed the pirogue up to the cargo net hanging over the side. Without the slightest warning, he swung her over his shoulder and scaled the netting. On deck, men were shifting about, preparing the ship to sail.
“Not a ship, not a ship!” Aurèlie stiffened in an effort to break loose but failed. The man held her steady and continued along the deck and down a short flight of stairs. Winding through a narrow dimly lit hall, he carried her in his arms as if she added little to no weight upon him. He halted when someone called out, “Captain.”
He turned, allowing the man to whisper in his ear, and Aurèlie heard English words like “she” and “safe.” Obviously, they weren’t talking about her. She was far from safe.
A room emerged at the end of the hall. He carried her inside, then slowly lowered her to her feet. Ignoring the lingering touch of his hands, she rushed to escape but halted at the door when he spoke.
“Madame, we shoved off. If you wish to mingle about the men unprotected, do what you must. You know where to find me, eh?” He waved for her to continue.
She swallowed hard, resigned to her situation, at least for the moment. “What is it you do? I am a free woman.”
“It matters not, Madame.”
A servant delivered a wine tray, then politely left the room. Anxiously, Aurèlie waited for her captor to pour the wine and allow her to touch something of his but after the servant left he addressed her, “Si vous s’il vous plaît, pour a glass for you and for me.”
She stepped over to the table, poured wine into both the glasses, then noted the label on it. “This is my father’s wine. This you steal, but it is not enough, you rob Liberty Oak?”
He studied her for a moment. “Rob Liberty Oak?”
“The house has been robbed, taken much apart. You pretend not to know, non? But fool me, you do not.”
“I do not pretend,” he said quietly, as if thinking about what she said, but his reflecting meant little to her. With her father’s wine in hand, he was beyond redemption.
“A liar as well as a thief.” she spat out at him.
He again studied her as he appeared to regroup his thoughts. “Maybe it is not I, but your husband who lies?”
The wine collected in the back of her throat. She forced an uneasy swallow. “I said nothing about my husband.”
“So I have noticed, Madame. But I am not surprised, you are living with a white man. You cannot love him, non?”
His comment caught her by surprise as he watched her from behind the dark shadow of the mask. But her life was personal and she had no desire to talk to him about any of it. He was just trying to distract her from the crime at hand.
“You do with me what? I am a free woman.”
“It appears, Madame, that you are not. I have you and sell you I could.” He reached out and pulled off her hat, tossing it aside before lifting a lock of her hair. “You are a beautiful woman, eh? You would fetch a handsome price, n’est pas, unless I was persuaded otherwise.”
She tried to brush his hand away, to touch him. As if wise to her, he stepped out of range but not before she caught something familiar about his movement. Though obviously a pirate of the most unscrupulous kind or she wouldn’t be here as his captive, his identity intrigued her. She lifted a glass in her hand for him to take.
“Your spirits, monsieur.”
He reached over and slowly wrapped his gloved hand around it. Nothing came to her mind. She squinted to see him better, but he foiled her efforts by turning away from her. She sighed. “I do not wish to drink wine. I wish to return home.”
“This American, he is unlikable, non?” His French was impeccable, better than hers.
He leaned down as if to inhale the scent from her hair. A faint breeze of anticipation sprinted over her shoulders. She shook her head, trying to shed the odd feeling of interest she had in the man, a pirate of the backwaters, a smuggler.
“You must be from France to speak the language with such clarity.”
“Most astute, Madame.”
Perhaps it was ships that made her feel so light-headed, the never-ending movement of the swells beneath the hull, the rhythmic, salty spray against the gunwales, the gentle sway of the room. She drew a deep breath, her lungs expanding ever so slowly as she watched her captor across the table, yet only an arms length away.
“You take me back, oui? I tell no one—”
“Do not make promises you can not keep.” He lifted the goblet to his lips, watching her over the rim.
“But I have a child to care for and a husband.”
“A child?”
“Oui, his child, but to lose another mother would hurt her much.”
He set the goblet down on the table and walked over to her.
She backed up, needing to keep her distance.
“You wish to return for the child but not your husband?” Cornering her against the wood planked wall, he stroked the side of her face with a gloved hand, then leaned down to kiss her. She managed a slight pull back but hesitated when he placed a finger beneath her chin and raised her face to his. “I will remind you, Madame, you are now my captive and would recommend obedience.”
“To a pirate?”
“To the man who now has you. Pirate or not.” His warm breath eased across her lips, so enticing, she swiped them with her tongue.
Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers, gliding over her mouth as if taking a mere taste of her. She inhaled lavender, a familiar scent, but the effects of his kiss wiped any rational thought away. Helplessly falling into the heat of his lips pressed to hers, she gasped as images of Jordan and the mysterious man at the ball flashed through her mind but nothing came into focus.
When he withdrew, she eyed him suspiciously.
“I’ve danced with you. You are the man who danced me out unto the gallery at the ball but…how is it you were there? Only the richest men attend.”
“Madame, do I appear poor?”
“You are a pirate.”
“A very successful one.” He snapped his heels together for a quick bow. “I am that man and will take you away with me, as you had so wished, non?”
“No, you cannot.”
“But you desired me that night.”
“I admit, I…was interested…but…I am married now.”
“To an American. Your marriage is nothing more than an arrangeme
nt for the purpose of…” He tilted his head and boldly raked her body.
Her breath quickened as if touched by a warm caress. “Oui, but I am—”
“You agree, oui? Your marriage is a fraud?”
“No—”
“You wish me to take you away? You did the night of the dance, n’est-ce-pas?”
“Oui but much has changed—”
A knock on the door silenced her response. Not that it mattered; the man would not listen to reason and how was it he touched nothing in the room. It was as if he knew her talents—she eyed him as he spoke to the cabin boy in French, noting the inflection of his voice, the movement of his hands, how he slightly guarded his side, a side that might have had a lead ball in it.
Her blood started to boil, remembering the night Jordan had been wounded. In his delirium, he had spoken in French. At the dinner party, he had conversed with the mysterious French guest, and the image of Laon, France, she had gotten from the medallion.
She glanced around the cabin. A ship. So that was the big secret.
The man before her…Jordan.
…
Jordan turned toward Aurèlie, holding his glass in his hand, not allowing her an opportunity to touch anything after him. Suddenly, a bright smile transformed her face. He drew a tight breath, suspecting she was up to something. Having outsmarted him at nearly every turn, her being on the prowl made him nervous. His anonymity was short-lived. That much he understood, but Maisie’s little secret still lingered in the back of his mind. He couldn’t resist trying to find out how she really felt about him, to pull her beyond the facade of the mistress.
“You must like the wine, Madame, oui?”
“Most definitely.” She moved toward him in a seductive manner. He backed up, feeling a shift in the reins from his hands to hers. “I have made a decision. You offered to sail away with me. You will not sell me, non?”
He cleared his throat, trying to adjust to her game plan. “Ah…that depends.”
“You won’t wish to, I make sure. Oui, I go with you, cela est bon.” She waved her hand as if all was decided. “I yearn for excitement, adventure. My husband, he is a bore, does not bring life to my body when he touches me. He is cruel, oui, oh, how I must confess.”
“He is cruel?” What the hell? Jordan’s voice cracked a little as he tried to maintain his disguise, when in truth he wanted her to explain. “How is he cruel?”
“Oui, horribly so. He ah…he can’t…well I yearn for the touch of a real man…who can.”
“Maybe he chooses not to.”
She laughed, giving her hair a shake before stroking her neck and the curve of her breast, seemingly pleased to see his eyes follow the imaginary line. “No…he can’t.”
“Really.” His disguise started to melt, dropping the French and returning to American. “A moment ago, you defended him.”
“I can no longer pretend, a most disagreeable man.” She seemed to be enjoying whatever game she now played. He hoped to hell she knew who he was.
“And his touch, does not excite you?”
“Non, he tries but…” She casually answered with the toss of her hair over her shoulder while pouring herself another glass of wine. After a quick taste, she motioned to indicate the cabin. “Might be comfortable.”
“Might indeed.” He nodded, his undivided attention riveted to her every word, her movement. All right, so she knew who he was. She also knew he was the man who had danced her out onto the gallery at the masquerade ball and true to Aurèlie’s form, he was now dancing to her tune.
Well…dance he would.
She drained the wine, then waved a delicate hand around her head as if allowing the wicked effects to take over. She was a beautiful creature, a beautiful, deceptive creature.
“If I am to be your captive, certainly there are things I can do, oui?” She faced him as she slowly ran her tongue along the rim of the glass. “You have plans for me, n’est pas?”
Plans? He might think of something if he could stop wishing he were the glass. Her tongue disappeared behind those kissable lips, nearly heart-shaped and full, now slanted in a sexy smile.
He tried to swallow but couldn’t, his throat suddenly parched. He gave his body a subtle shake to dislodge the grip she had on him. Hell, he wanted her. He had tried to be a man of honor, knowing he’d break the plaçage as soon as he could leave Louisiana but they were on open waters. Here he wore a mask of deception and stood in the captain’s cabin on a privateer’s ship. He wasn’t Jordan Kincaid. Hell, he was nothing but a damned pirate who took what he wanted and right now, she was it.
“Oui, Madame, I can think of much for you to do.” Though speaking French, his voice was little more than a deep, hoarse whisper. By all appearances, he had underestimated his opponent. If she thought to play games, he’d up the ante. From his belt, he pulled a cutlass and held it casually within his hand, waving it slightly as he spoke. “And you think to meet the challenge?”
She again ran her tongue along the glass, throwing him a simple flirtatious flutter of her eyes. “I do.”
He motioned with the blade. “I wish to see more for which I barter.”
After a sip of wine, she motioned to her body and spread her arms wide. “Unwrap with care, my pirate.”
“I will handle with much care, Madame.” He allowed a hint of amusement to draw his lips into a soft smile. With blade in hand, he plucked off each gold cordon and tassel from her habit, one by one. The pelisse slid from her arms and pooled around her feet. She stood before him in a riding dress. Her breasts, which he ached to caress, remained nestled behind short stays. He motioned with the cutlass for her to remove more of her clothing. “I’d like to see what I have here.”
“More than you can imagine…” She dipped her fingers into the wine, sprayed a few drops on her face, and ran a moist finger dripping with wine deep into her cleavage, held firm by the stays. “More than you can handle…n’est pas?”
The tiny drops of wine slowly sank into her cleavage, mixing with the perspiration that created a soft luster over her mocha skin. He ran his own lips with his tongue, already tasting her. She thought she was clever and knew who he was, Jordan Kincaid, American planter. When in truth, he was not.
His home port had become the sea. His tortured soul rode the waves of the restless waters. Liberty Oak had become a false dream, an illusion of lost time. But now, life stood before him in the form of Aurèlie. Whether she knew it or not, she had brought air to his lungs and blood to his dying heart. His soul yearned for love, but dare he reach out and touch such beauty without destroying it, as he had done to all he had loved before her? Well, he had danced long enough. To hell with honor. She wanted Liberty Oak. But Liberty Oak had a price: him.
“More than I can handle? Like hell.” He yanked her into his arms, spilling her wine, and kissed her long and hard, with a deep, demanding kiss. She melted into him, feeling as soft as he imagined. Her scent wafted through his senses, diluting his memory of the past.
“You desire me,” he whispered into her ear as he lowered his kisses down the side of her throat, knowing his touch had excited her from day one. “Just as you did that night at the dance.”
“Oui, the beautiful music, we danced.”
He moved behind her, running his fingers lightly over her shoulders. He wrapped her hair within his hand and rolled the massive length to one side, exposing her nape. His body flush with hers, she leaned against his chest. He allowed his hot breath to roll down her spine with each gently delivered kiss to her nape. “You danced most elegantly.”
“Oui, music, I love.” Her body started to sway to some imaginary music, to the rhythm of the sea.
He wrapped his hands around her waist, gliding atop her body as he lifted her riding dress over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her standing in her petticoat. Drawing her arms behind her back with one hand, he caressed her throat with the other, bringing her head upward. “You desire me, Madame, say it.”
Clo
sing her eyes, she rested her head against him. A deep breath escaped her throat in a whisper, “Oui, I desire you.”
She was committed, so was he. Regardless of why they had been thrown together, she was the one beautiful thing he had found in the dark world in which he lived. As a pirate, he’d take her. As her husband, he had a right.
He began to remove her undergarments, one piece at a time, each hook of her petticoat, unfastened. Her corset unlaced until a thin chemise of muslin remained his only barrier to his exploration. Running his hands up her legs, he pulled the shift off over her head. He caressed each freed mound of heated flesh within his hands.
The wine, now dry and sticky between her breasts, tasted sweet as he ran his tongue over her skin. She sucked in her breath, her hands gripping his shoulders. He nuzzled her stomach as he lowered himself to his knees and pulled free the garments around her feet. He’d make her want him.
“Spread your legs, mon chéri, if you wish for me to pleasure you.”
Without hesitation, she did as he asked. Closing her eyes, she surrendered to his touch. With her hands on his shoulders, she allowed his exploration. Her body tasted sweeter than the wine. He held her steady, feeling the quivering magic plunging deep inside of her. As her rushing ecstasy faded, she gasped for air, squeezing his shoulders.
Jordan rose to his feet and stroked the hair from her face, placing a light kiss to her temple, pleased to see his effect on her.
“Je suis prêt, I am ready,” she whispered.
“Non, ma belle femme, I am not,” he denied her desire in a low voice before swooping her into his arms to place her on the bed. Her breathing raced in and out, matching the slap of the waves against the ship’s hull.
She watched as he pulled off his high boots and peeled down the black breeches. He hesitated before continuing to undress, noting her glancing around him as if searching out the scar from a recent bullet wound. He suspected she knew who he was but had yet to admit to the charade. He left his shirt on.