The Pirate Lord

by Vanda Vadas

  ‘You’re blind. What’s the point of describing appearances?’

  ‘Then let my hands become my eyes.’ Her heart pounded. Never before would she have boldly asked to touch a man, yet circumstance forced self-reliance. She had to take steps to escape. She had to at least discover something of his identity.

  His silence gave her permission to proceed. Stilling her nerves, and summoning all her courage, Eloise moved closer, sensing his gaze upon her face. Heat rushed to her cheeks.

  What were his distinguishing features? Strength of body, for one. Her hands followed the contours of well-developed, muscled arms. Broad shoulders befit a man who’d endured a lifetime of backbreaking labour.

  Unsteady palms moved across his chest to discover his shirt unbuttoned at the neck. Her fingers fell into the hollow at the base of his throat. His skin burned as hot as Hades.

  The clinical purpose of her mission dissolved into alluring fascination. Her hands settled over the rise and fall of his chest. His heart thumped. He stifled a groan.

  Her senses sharpened. Driven by overwhelming awareness, she visualised every toned muscle of his abdomen beneath the sensitivity of her fingertips. She longed to make contact with his bare skin. What might she discover then?

  A light breeze swept over her. She swayed. Hard, strong hands settled on her waist, steadying her. Like a spark to tinder, his heat ignited a flame in her belly. She sucked in a breath. Instinct, quickly ignored, warned her to step out of his hold, to abandon the disturbing folly of her examination. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what lured her. How could this stranger stir in her something so unfamiliar and devastatingly delicious?

  ‘I remember,’ she said, threading her fingers through unbound collar-length hair, ‘that this is the colour of midnight.’

  He breathed a ragged gasp when her thumbs pressed lightly over the line of his eyebrows. The butterfly flickering of his eyelashes titillated her sensitive finger pads. His lids closed. She made a study of his unmasked eyes.

  ‘And your eyes are the same colour.’

  Exploratory fingertips glided over his cheekbones and down a straight nose to locate his mouth.

  Her eyes fluttered shut. Her knees grew weak. In last night’s dream his lips had worshipped her body. She’d writhed in pleasure. Now, standing before him, she touched that part of his face. In her mind’s eye she saw the shape of his arrogant mouth. Remembered the smooth texture of his lips, from corner to corner, top to bottom. Her index finger lingered over the vertical groove between nose and lip.

  She resented her blindness like nothing else. But at the same time, it offered her a convenient shield to hide behind. It gave her an excuse, and bolstered her courage to pursue the identity of the man who held her prisoner.

  Drawn by his warm breath and intriguing male scent, she lifted her chin and leaned into him. His hand guided the direction of hers and she gave in to the curious sensation of wet warmth closing first about her fingertip, and then along its length as it was drawn slowly into his mouth. The gentle pressure and sucking sensation alternated with his laving tongue. He repeated the action, sliding her finger in retreat, only to draw it back into his mouth.

  A moan escaped her, fevered by the lascivious ministrations. Need burgeoned in her most intimate flesh. A small corner of her mind remained lucid enough to scream a warning, alerting her to make the connection between the carnal longing between her thighs and the sensual stimulation of her finger in his mouth.

  Her eyelids snapped open. She breathed a shocked gasp. All attempts to wrench free of him failed when large hands locked about her wrists. She trembled. From fear, or desire?

  ‘Stop playing with me!’

  His anger sparked. ‘Is it not you who has been toying with me?’

  ‘Certainly not! I was merely trying to …’ The words wouldn’t come.

  ‘To what?’

  ‘To … to …’

  ‘Provoke me?’

  ‘No! I only meant to –’

  ‘Fire my blood. Without recourse?’ His tone had turned to ice.

  ‘How dare you!’ She pulled free of him and stumbled backwards.

  Strong arms caught her. He stepped her back, his body pinning her against the wall. ‘Did you not think of the dangers involved in deliberately stirring a man’s blood? Or of the consequences?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then save your neophyte fondling for your betrothed.’

  His counsel confused her. Anger at herself, together with wounded pride, mustered action fast enough to slap him. Hard.

  He cupped the base of her skull with one hand, and curled the other behind her back. His lips grazed her earlobe. Warm, whispered breath delivered a promise: ‘Next time you feel an urge to get to know me better, be prepared to get to know all of me. Is that clear?’

  She understood completely. His hard length, pressed firmly against her belly, left her in no doubt.

  He drew away. Booted footsteps faded across the floor. Eloise jumped like a skittish mare when the door slammed shut. Her trembling gave way to uncontrollable sobbing. Clutching her arms about her, she dropped to her knees, bowed her head, and wept in shame.

  Zach sagged against the door outside her bedchamber. He could hear her weeping. Christ! What had he done? Blast him for a fool.

  It would be days before the viscount returned from London, and Seth was out sweeping the locale to discover something of the woman’s identity. He’d have gladly accompanied his lieutenant if not for the risk of being recognised or raising suspicion. The viscount must not be implicated in the woman’s disappearance.

  Curiosity and boredom had ground him down and led him to her door with the idea to check on her wellbeing. He should have walked away, as he had so many times during the day. He’d weakened, had convinced himself that he’d come to her room only to learn her name.

  Fatal.

  Had he known barely a stitch concealed those exquisite curves he wouldn’t have set foot in her bedchamber. He’d caught scent of her plan the moment the words left her mouth. ‘Then my hands shall become my eyes.’

  Sail the stars! Did she have the slightest idea how the words had played with his mind? How his loins had stirred to life? How a handful of syllables had instantaneously stripped him of common sense and self-control?

  He’d steeled himself against giving in to her game and to the temptation of her touch. Inner demons had mocked him, goading his participation if only for amusement.

  Before he could do the right thing – the honourable thing – and put safe distance between them, she’d reached out and latched onto his forearm. In that moment of contact she’d irrevocably robbed him of free will, committing him to her devilry. He was at her mercy to be surveyed like an explorer mapping the terrain of a new continent.

  With every inch of him she touched, she may as well have seared him with a hot poker. Her heat had burned through clothes to his skin, deeper than when he’d suffered the sting of the lash on his back. Her kind of branding he’d gladly endure.

  In return, he’d selfishly taken advantage of her blindness, flagrantly regarding the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the shift. Homing his gaze on barely concealed, beaded nipples. The urge to reach out and tweak them forced his hands to clench into fists. The thought of those full lips and parted mouth paying homage to his …

  He’d flung the image from his mind and set his hands to her waist to steady her. She’d trembled beneath his hold. Her voice, when remarking on his hair and eye colour, had been thick with desire. In her sightless eyes, and ever-shifting expression, passion sparked, flared, evolved. He’d witnessed candid curiosity morph into stark arousal.

  She’d leaned into him, breasts to chest. He’d absorbed the heat of her body and imbibed an intoxicating feminine scent, exclusively hers. Potent and pure. Guiding her finger into his mouth had seemed, for all intents and purposes, a natural progression in her evocative exploration of him.

  Except she’d been shocked by his indelicate deed. Pu
shed beyond comfort. He’d unintentionally caused her distress. For that, his regret ran deep.

  But to suggest he’d treated her as no more than his plaything when it was she who’d asked to touch him? He’d taken her accusation as an insult. Regardless, he’d no right to castigate her in such a way. She was an innocent without doubt and had exercised her every right to demand an explanation for her abduction. He admired her cunning and method in her quest to use him and lay bare his identity.

  If only things weren’t so complicated. He must wait for the viscount’s return with news from the London lawyer. Only then could plans be modified and executed.

  Zach steeled his heart and mind to the sobbing sounds of his captive. How damned inconvenient to have developed an attraction to her. To lust after her.

  She remained a pawn in his plan for vengeance. If she chose to marry Garth Fenton, than she was no better than the blackguard.

  He strode from the house. Within minutes he emerged from the stables astride his horse and set the animal to a gallop. Perhaps, under the cover of darkness and in the solitude of mist-laden hills, he could purge all thought of her from his mind.

  A futile exercise.

  At an hour past midnight, Zach paused in defeat at the base of the staircase leading up to the lady’s bedchamber. One hand rested on the balustrade. The quiet hills had failed to clear his head. Her scent still tormented him. His skin burned long after her touch.

  He clung to the belief that nothing, no one, and certainly no woman, would prevent his plans for revenge.

  Movement to his left caught his eye. Lily emerged from the shadows, her expression one of sheepish concern. ‘My apologies for the late hour disturbance, Captain, but the lady –’

  ‘What about the lady?’

  Lily wrung her hands. ‘She was crying for a long time after you left the house. I took tea to her door several times but she forbade me entry into her room. I just hope –’

  ‘I’ll look in on her. Thank you, Lily.’ Zach sprinted to her door, gently turned the handle and pushed it wide.

  The sight of her lying on the floor, in the very spot he’d left her, sent him striding to her side. In the soft candlelight, tear-stained cheeks showed evidence of her having cried herself to sleep. He brushed wayward, satiny hair from her face and looped one soft-textured curl around his finger. Culpable insensitivity, backed by self-loathing, settled in the pit of his stomach.

  His roughened thumb traced her jawline in a tender apology. He scooped her up in his arms, taking meticulous care not to wake her.

  He laid her gently on the bed and removed the borrowed slippers, mindful of her bandaged foot. With the coverlet tucked about her, he pressed a tentative kiss to her forehead.

  Low-burning wicks fizzled between his fingertips. It rankled to think he’d failed to learn her name, and that he should even care about the woman who possessed the face of an angel.

  Zach added her to his list of flaws. She’d fast become many things to him. One thing above all else.

  Forbidden.

  Chapter Seven

  Eloise awoke with the memories of yester eve weighing heavily on her mind. No need to guess who’d returned last night and carried her to bed. It added insult to injury. How would she face the day or the forced company of a man who remained just as resolute to keep her captive as she was determined to escape?

  Hope soared when she recognised the maid’s gentle rap on the door, followed by a cheery greeting. ‘Morning, my lady.’

  Crockery jiggled on the meals tray. Eloise considered food the least of her needs, but her lack of appetite and despondent mood upset the maid. If only to oblige, she ate her breakfast, after which Lily helped her dress in lavender-scented silk.

  Eloise gave in to curiosity. ‘Whose clothes am I wearing?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say, my lady, but you’ve a fine figure. I envy you so. I’ve gained much weight since the captain –’

  ‘Lily!’ Eloise fumbled for the maid’s hand. ‘This captain. Who is he? I fear for my life! Why does he keep me here? You must tell me everything you know about him.’

  ‘Please, my lady. I can’t.’

  ‘You can. Don’t be afraid.’ Eloise squeezed the maid’s hand in hers. ‘You don’t understand. He keeps me here against my will. You must send word to my brother. He’ll pay you tenfold what your captain has promised you. Your safety shall be assured. Please.’

  ‘You’re hurting my wrist.’ The maid broke free.

  Eloise lost hope. ‘Help me!’

  ‘Forgive me, my lady, but in truth I know nothing of why you’re here or of the captain’s intentions. You must believe me. He’ll do you no harm. The captain is a good man. Truly, he is.’

  ‘Please send word to the Marq–’

  The door slammed. Eloise smacked her palm against her forehead in frustration at being left alone in grim silence and at the mercy of people she didn’t know. She groped her way to the window, feeling helplessly trapped like a butterfly in a jar. The dark reality of her predicament filled her with despair, driving her to grasp at something, anything, to keep her sanity.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and drew strength from the sun’s warmth on her face and neck. She gripped the windowsill as if clinging to the mane of her mare, galloping at breakneck speed back to her family and all that was familiar to her. She could almost feel the wind on her face and the way it set her hair free. So real was the pleasure of her imaginings that she’d have laughed aloud if not for the sensation of being watched.

  Her stomach twisted into a ball of knots. The memory of last night’s encounter caused her shame anew. What a blessing not to have to see condescension in his eyes.

  There was no point in turning around. ‘Do you make a habit of entering a lady’s bedchamber without first knocking?’

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On the nature of my business with that lady.’

  She did her best to ignore the humiliating double entendre. ‘You have no further business with me. Nor I with you.’

  ‘We have more in common than you think.’

  It didn’t help that his tone sounded suddenly kind. She counted each measured step he took until he stood at her back. Her hand rubbed her nape, sensing his gaze upon it.

  Had he come here to exult in her wanton downfall? The night they’d first met on the balcony, it was she who’d touted, ‘Looks can be deceiving’. She was a lady. Last night she’d behaved anything but. Could she blame him for misunderstanding her intentions?

  He cleared his throat. ‘I apologise for my thoughtless words and behaviour last night.’

  Warm breath grazed her ear, inducing a shiver as if she were cold. She hugged her waist in an attempt to still her nerves. Not through fear of him, but rather because of the genuine sincerity his tone conveyed and the all-too-accepting reaction it stirred in her. How could she loathe him after having been offered his frank apology? Hardened resolve would be her only defence.

  ‘No. It is I who should apologise. You must understand it was for no other reason than to –’

  ‘I know.’

  She sucked in a breath when his hands settled on her shoulders.

  Eloise trusted the candour in his voice. She didn’t trust herself not to lay a hand over his. She gripped the windowsill tighter and trembled under his touch. ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘In time. Let’s take a turn in the gardens. The air will do you good.’

  His hands fell to her waist and gently turned her. He drew her to his side, guiding her forwards. ‘Your foot, is it any better?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’ Eloise could scarcely concentrate, aware only of the intense heat of his hand splayed over the small of her back. The left side of his body aligned with her right. Something in her triggered a warning. Was he genuinely concerned and considerate of the slight limp to her step? Or was his apology but a prelude to a cross-examination?

  Caution won out. She tried to wrest free of his e
mbrace, only to be swept off her feet and into his arms. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she shrieked.

  ‘Carrying you down the stairs. A safety precaution, if you will.’

  Eloise had no choice but to cling to his powerful frame. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Muscled arms flexed beneath her knees and back. Her left hip met his hard midsection.

  The scent of sandalwood and freshly laundered clothes blended with his unique scent. Masculine. Potent.

  Hunger flared; it had nothing to do with food. If only she could see the man who fed her senses.

  He set her on her feet. ‘Before we step outside, I insist your eyes be protected from the sunlight.’

  Eloise resisted the urge to place her hand at his throat; to feel with her fingertips the vibration of his speech. Insisting she wear the blindfold showed he cared for her wellbeing. Though she was not so gullible as to believe his polite attentions and concern for her were not without purpose.

  The house had been her prison for two nights now. Stepping into the sunshine was like being set free. She sunned her face and breathed deeply. A breeze carried to her the perfume of hyacinths and roses. Would she ever be whole again? Would she ever witness the colour of changing seasons?

  She drew comfort from the arm he’d laid around her waist. She didn’t mind him gathering her close. ‘Be my eyes,’ she said. They began a leisurely stroll. ‘Tell me what you see.’

  Zach saw a woman he wanted. One who lay beyond his reach.

  His admiration for her grew stronger with every step they took. He thought of those men who’d lost an eye or had suffered permanent loss of sight from injuries inflicted in battles at sea. Others had suffered temporary blindness from a blow to the head, or from exposure to blasts of gunpowder. Some had borne it in their stride. Others were driven to ruin, unable to cope.

  Despite her being a woman of means with a family to care and look after her, she’d shown no signs of childish helplessness; no female hysterics or simpering demands for attention. Stubborn determination had prevailed over hopeless self-pity.