In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2)

by Michelle Beattie

  Sophia’s stance softened. “Yes.”

  “Jacob,” Sarah repeated. “A good strong name. Is he a good, strong man?”

  Her maid’s cheeks flushed pink.

  “You see! This is what I want to know, what I’m hoping you’ll share with me. And I promise whatever is said and done in this room goes no further than the door. Please. One night. And you’ve nothing to do but tell me about the wonderful Jacob and share some wine. With a friend,” she added with her most charming smile.

  “If your father ever discovered…”

  “I would take full responsibility.” She’d already penned the letter she intended to leave behind, stating the idea and series of events were her doing and hers alone. Her father might have a temper, but he would never punish an innocent.

  “Imagine yourself as me, never having felt what you do in Jacob’s arms and likely never having the chance to know. Would you wish such a thing on anybody?”

  Sophia’s shoulders fell and she sighed. “I would not wish such an existence on anyone. And you’re right, you are not asking for so very much. You’ll give me your word neither your father nor Mrs. Bingham will ever know?”

  “Your secret with Jacob is safe with me.” Unfortunately for her plan to succeed, they would learn of the wine. Still, Sarah had taken measures to ensure Sophia wouldn’t be held accountable. She wasn’t proud of using Sophia but, in the months she’d been planning, no other viable option had come to mind. And she would have done everything she could to protect Sophia from blame.

  The longer Sophia looked at Sarah, indecision weighing in her eyes, the harder Sarah’s heart began to pound. Say yes, she willed. Please, please say yes. Without this first piece of her plan in place, the rest would be impossible to achieve.

  Sarah’s hands trembled. She looked past Sophia to the turquoise sea sparkling beyond the window. Was she to live her life never knowing if the water was cool as a drink from the well or warm as the summer breeze? Would she never feel sand beneath her bare feet? Would she never know the thrill of being held and cherished? A thick knot of fear wedged in her throat. Would she spend the entire length of her life as alone as she felt in that moment?

  “Yes, Miss Sarah. I’ll help you.”

  Her knees wanted to buckle. “You will?”

  With a gentle smile, Sophia squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Lucky for you I enjoy talking about Jacob nearly as much as being with him. Now, go, before I get into trouble.”

  “Thank you, Sophia. You won’t regret this, I promise.”

  And no matter what came of her plan, Sarah promised herself, neither would she.

  Chapter Four

  “Is that it?”

  With his first mate Chunk standing at his right, Aidan swept the looking glass back and forth along his starboard side. They were far from shore yet, a deliberate strategy so as not to alert anyone in the yard or in the house, though it was little more than gleaming windows and a brown roof. Still it looked as Grace had described it. Not that she’d ever seen it, as Roche had mostly kept her prisoner in his cabin, but when they’d anchored once overnight, she’d asked a crewman she’d befriended to describe to her what she wasn’t permitted to see for herself.

  A two-level house set back from the beach surrounded by a brick wall covered in vines. He couldn’t see much brick through the glass but there was definitely a thick wall of green blocking the house from the beach. The lower level of the house was hidden behind it, leaving Aidan at a distinct disadvantage. He had no way of seeing or knowing where the doors were to get in or how many guards patrolled the area. Grace’s friend hadn’t supplied her with too many details.

  “It looks right, feels right.” Aidan slapped the glass closed, set it back on its perch next to the wheel. “But it won’t be easy.”

  Squawk. “Won’t be easy. Won’t be easy.”

  His parrot, Carracks, bobbed along his perch in the cage set at Aidan’s feet. On the Revenge, Aidan had fashioned a hook to hang the cage from, but as this was Luke’s ship, he’d had to set the parrot on the deck.

  Chunk shrugged. “Nothing worth having ever is.”

  “That’s the truth of it,” Aidan agreed.

  Above them the sky was an undisturbed sea of blue. The gentle breeze swayed through the sails and eased the ship along. They would fight tonight, but at least they wouldn’t also be fighting the weather. Turning the wheel portside, Aidan sailed smoothly away from Roche’s house. They weren’t the only ship about. There were small fishing boats bobbing in the wakes of the larger frigates and sloops that passed them by. There were enough other ships about that theirs shouldn’t alert the guards. But to be sure, he intended to wait until they were completely out of sight of the house before dropping anchor.

  Once they had, Aidan gathered his crew on deck and together they went through the plan yet again. They might not have as much information about Roche’s house and grounds as Aidan would have liked, but he went through the possibilities, the strategies.

  “Our best chance is to be as quiet as possible. I don’t want pistols blazing unless we have to. We have knives and I’ll have my bow. Whoever gets to Sarah first needs to silence her before she can scream for help. Silence only,” he reminded them. “I don’t want her hurt if we can avoid it.”

  “And if we can’t?”

  “Then try to keep the damage minimal.” Aidan grabbed the papers he’d set out on the deck to go over the plan, rolled them as he came to his feet. “Remember, men, Sarah is the means to the end; it’s Roche we’re after.”

  *

  The minutes of the day passed as slow as if he were trying to run in thick sand while attempting to carry a cask full of rum. It wasn’t that he idled the day away. He, Chunk, and two other crewmen—Lucky and Jacques—took the longboat ashore. After several wrong turns, they found what certainly had to be Roche’s home. Not only did Aidan recognize the roofline with its three chimneys as the one he’d seen from the ship, but it was the only house in the vicinity with an iron gate. If he didn’t know better, he’d think a governor or some aspect of royalty lived beyond its boundaries.

  He would expect with the rock wall at the back, with this gate at the front, and with at least four guards he could see, that Roche would have perched cannons next to the chimneys jutting from the roof. Instead, it appeared as though Roche had opted for a less obvious tactic. Smart to be ready and prepared without being obvious. If he had those cannons it would draw more attention, make people come and wonder. Talk. This way, people simply accepted it as it was and after a time likely stopped speculating.

  Definitely smart, Aidan mused as he sat on his haunches in the bushes across from the house. But, as he imagined the locals eventually became complacent about the home and who lived inside, he hoped the guards had also become less wary. Hopefully even bored.

  As they had time, too damn much of it, left before darkness fell and he could put his plan into action, Aidan remained hidden while he studied. He had no intention of coming from the front, but if he happened to see a weakness, an easy way to breach the gate, he was willing to alter the plan. Whatever it took to get Sarah out as quickly and easy as possible. While he was prepared for the difficult, even tricky, he would certainly appreciate the easy right about now.

  The flies buzzed, bit, and annoyed as he bided his time. Sweat ran hot and sticky under his shirt until his back twitched with a gnawing need to scratch away the itch. He wiped the perspiration from his brow and upper lip, blocked the discomfort from his mind—he’d had worse—while he kept an eye on the guard. One remained in clear view either sitting in the small structure to the side of the lane or pacing before the gate. He wasn’t alone, though he was the only one Aidan saw.

  There was at least two more, one on either side of the hedge butting up to the gate. As the guard strolled from side to side, Aidan heard their muted conversation, the odd chuckle of laughter from both sides of the lane. Three for certain, though if he were a betting man he’d say at least five as he would
expect another two, closer to the front doors. And that wasn’t counting who was inside the house with Sarah.

  Confident he’d gleaned as much as he was going to from that angle, Aidan scuttled back further into the trees. When enough wide palms and assorted leaves and shoots blocked the house from his view he braced his back against a tree trunk and used it to scratch the itch as he came to his feet. He sighed when both the itch and the cramping in his legs eased. Then, signaling to Lucky, Jacques, and Chunk they pushed their way out of the small jungle and made their way back to the beach.

  They were fortunate; others were swimming in the water or lying on the sand. One family with its two small children was occupied building a moat around a small but clever sandcastle. It wouldn’t appear out of the ordinary for Aidan and his men to also loiter about as though they had nothing better to do than cool themselves in the gentle surf.

  “You forgot your shirt,” Chunk said as he tossed his own negligently aside on the white sand.

  There was a reason they called him Chunk, Aidan thought and it wasn’t because the man was portly. Thick muscles roped along his arms, defined his chest and made his neck twice the size of Lucky’s. Aidan imagined if a man ever had the misfortune of running into Chunk it would surely feel as though he’d run up against a brick wall.

  He was damn glad the man would be on their side when they went in for Roche’s daughter later.

  “Next to you, Chunk, I would appear no more than a waif.” Aidan chuckled as the water lapped gently at his ankles, then thighs. It was true enough, he thought as the sea wrapped around his waist, but it wasn’t the reason he kept his shirt on. Only Sam, Luke, and Joe—whom he’d known since he was a young boy slaving on a plantation—knew of the lash marks on his back. It wasn’t that he was ashamed, though the angry scars certainly weren’t pretty. He simply never felt the need to bring attention to them. They were a part of an ugly past and he was no longer that scared and abused boy. Just as he wasn’t Caden Hunter anymore, either. But at one time he’d been both and Roche had had a hand in each. Tonight, however, it was Aidan who’d be stealing something from Roche.

  Aidan turned his back to the waves and examined the house. Above the vine-covered rock wall, he saw the same six windows he’d seen from the ship. Six bedrooms at the back, five at the front.

  “What the devil does he need eleven rooms upstairs for?” Aidan muttered, though he imagined Sarah’s rooms took up at least three of those windows. The question remained, which three and who occupied the others?

  “How many people live in there?” Lucky asked as he floated past Aidan. Jacques, he noticed, was also bobbing within hearing distance.

  “Let’s hope he simply built the house to match his arrogance and most of the rooms are empty.”

  Chunk surfaced next to Aidan, sent water flinging in every direction when he shook it from his hair. “How many guards?”

  “Three so far. The gate,” he gestured with his head, “isn’t as elaborate as out front. Because it’s only the width of a normal doorway, it’s harder to see inside the yard.”

  “With those vines coming down, it would be easy enough to climb over the wall.”

  It wasn’t getting inside that troubled Aidan, but getting out again. With Sarah, as he had no intention of leaving without her. “I’m sure Roche has thought of that, which means likely more guards inside. He wouldn’t go to the trouble to make such a fortress and then leave it accessible. My guess is he has enough men within those walls to ensure Sarah remains inside while intruders remain out.”

  “Until tonight,” Chunk said before once again slipping beneath the water’s surface.

  “Until tonight,” Aidan agreed. Then, just as he was about to follow Chunk’s lead and dip beneath the waves, movement beyond the gate caught his eye. “It’s Sarah,” he whispered. She was in and out of his line of vision before he could do more than blink but it had to be her. No maid he’d ever seen strolled the garden in the middle of the afternoon wearing a stylish hat and a gown the color of the sky.

  He thought of her living such a pampered life while his early years had been spent in hell, thanks to her father.

  “Enjoy your day while you can, princess,” he muttered.

  *

  It wasn’t working! Sarah tried not to panic as she wove to the window where, after a cautious glance over her shoulder to ensure Sophia wasn’t looking, she poured her wine into the potted plant she’d brought up to her room weeks ago. It was the fifth such glass of wine she’d poured on the delicate purple flowers and though Sophia’s words were becoming slurred, the maid remained awake and alert.

  If Sophia didn’t fall asleep soon, Sarah would have to run down to the cellar for more wine. She never would have believed she would need five bottles of wine!

  With her empty glass in hand, Sarah spun from the window then feigned unsteadiness.

  “Oh my.” She giggled. “This does indeed make your head soft as a lamb. Let’s have more.” She filled Sophia’s near-empty glass then her own. Sarah sat on the bed next to her maid and waited until Sophia took a large mouthful before she rose her own glass and took the tiniest of sips. It tasted vile and she forced herself not to grimace as the flavor soured in her mouth. Truly she had no idea why people enjoyed it.

  “Tell me again, how you feel when you’re with Jacob,” Sarah coaxed.

  “Ah, miss, it’s the very fact that it’s forbidden that makes it all the more passionate and wonderful.” Excitement danced in her eyes as she took another gulp. “Stolen kisses in the dark are the best kind. And the touching”—she sighed and drank more—“it’s thrilling in the gardens, his hands on my flesh, our moans swallowed by the night.”

  Because she’d already heard this earlier, before their second bottle of wine, Sarah was more prepared for the clutch in her belly as she envisioned herself locked in a passionate kiss in the fragrant shadows of the garden. But if simply hearing about such scandalous activities made her heart race, her breasts feel fuller and a strange pulse beat between her legs, what must the real embrace feel like?

  Her glass empty, her maid flung herself on Sarah’s bed. “I love the feel of Jacob’s hands on me,” Sophia said as she trailed her own fingers over the swell of her bosom. “And when he lowers my gown and takes my breast in his mouth—”

  “His mouth!” Sarah’s hand jerked and wine spilled over the bodice of her gown. Though there was nobody else in the room she whispered, “His mouth?”

  Pushing up on her elbows, Sophia smiled. “Feel that trail of wine slipping between your breasts?”

  “Yes,” Sarah answered, already wiping it away with her hand.

  “Imagine a man’s mouth licking it away instead.” Then, as Sarah’s hand stilled over her cleavage, Sophia flopped onto her back and laughed. She was still cackling when, frowning, Sarah turned to the mirror.

  Her eyes were wide and her face flushed with embarrassment as her hand hovered over her décolletage. Did such things actually happen? Her thoughts churned and scandalous images filled her mind as Sarah finished wiping away the trickle of wine. Well, she’d wanted to know.

  She blew out a breath. She certainly did now.

  Realizing the room was suddenly quiet, Sarah looked over her shoulder. Her belly clutched for a whole other reason. Sophia’s eyes were closed. One hand held her empty wine glass over her belly while the other hung limp over the side of the bed. With her lower lip caught between her teeth, Sarah crept to the bed.

  Her maid’s mouth was open. Her chest rose and fell in a steady, quiet rhythm that spoke of sleep. Testing, Sarah eased the glass from Sophia’s softly curled fingers.

  “Sophia?” she whispered. No response. “Sophia.” She tried again, this time with a little nudge.

  Sophia sighed, turned her head to the side and remained asleep.

  Sarah bowed her head. Thank God. Then, looking down at her maid she thought, this was it. It was now or never. Wiping her palms on her skirt and hoping the little wine she’d consum
ed stayed in her stomach, Sarah blew out a breath and set to work.

  *

  “Aye, you two, get out of here!”

  “You see, Jack,” Lucky slurred. “I’s told you there was someone here.” He grabbed the bars of the gate. “Mister, have you some rum to share with a couple of blokes?”

  “Rum,” Jack nodded, lifting his empty bottle. “That’s what we need, sure enough.”

  The guard poked his musket through the bars and into Lucky’s belly. “I said move on.”

  Another guard stepped forward. “What’s the trouble, Jacob?”

  “These two drunks won’t go away as I ordered.”

  Jack threw an arm around Lucky’s shoulder and the two of them broke out in a loud, bawdy song about rum and women. The words made little sense and the tune was terrible but it was perfect for drunken sailors on a midnight stroll. From his perch on top of the wall—Lucky and Jack’s distraction had served its purpose—Aidan’s gaze searched through the darkened yard and gardens.

  He knew there were three guards, where was the third? Surely the racket Jack and Lucky were making was loud enough to bring the other guard about. At least he hoped so because the man named Jacob sounded like he was only going to give Lucky a few more seconds before firing. While Aidan didn’t relish the idea of going in without knowing where the third guard was, he wasn’t about to lose the element of surprise either. Below him, down the wall from Jack and Lucky, Aidan heard the rest of the men he’d brought shuffle in anticipation.

  “Blimey, it sounds as though someone’s wounded. Jacob, what did you do?”

  There you are. Aidan reached over his shoulder and soundlessly slid an arrow from his quiver. He had it notched before Jacob could answer. Aiming down its length, Aidan pulled back on the bowstring and opened his fingers. The arrow whistled past his cheek and, before the guard hit the ground, Chunk leapt from his place beside Aidan as his captain notched and let another fly. It, too, snapped into its target. The guard named Jacob spun but Chunk’s meaty fist caught him on the side of the head before he could call out an alarm. Jacob fell unconscious to the grass. Jack and Lucky scaled the gate and dropped into the yard.