The Pirate Lord

by Vanda Vadas

  Zach had no doubt between which of the two he was unwaveringly committed.

  He offered her his hand along with a conciliatory smile, and led her from the rock pool.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Eloise twisted the napkin in her hands. The endless whir of cicadas pulsed in time with her rising resentment. She was supposed to have dined with Zach and walked with him along the beach before dark. How foolish of her to believe he’d keep his promise after making himself scarce these past few days and nights. His unease in her company had been noticeable the instant he’d suddenly separated himself from her at the rock pool.

  He swept aside any attempt she made to broach the matter. There was always something or someone else requiring his attention.

  A breeze rattled the palm leaves outside and ruffled the thin curtains over the windows. She listened in vain for his footsteps, her gaze darting, now and then, to the open doors leading onto a wooden verandah.

  She looked down at the serving dish. Thick gravy had formed a cold stodgy skin over the meat and vegetables. Just as well Kamania had left on an errand rather than stay and see her culinary efforts go to waste.

  Eloise tugged the pins from her hair. How futile to have spent meticulous care and attention in her appearance. All for Zach. All for nothing.

  Perhaps the wine would make up for her loss of appetite. She took the thin-stemmed glass between her fingers and drained the full-bodied red. It spread warmth throughout her body.

  Her gaze settled on Zach’s glass, focusing on the deep-coloured claret as if it were a crystal ball. It showed her bleak future. She saw disturbing images of him planting himself deep inside the brothel’s madam. The procuress could probably turn more tricks than all the harlots in London.

  She looked away, desperate to sever the thread of her imagination.

  She stewed about it for several minutes before taking another gulp from Zach’s glass. Had she not taken a walk to the cove yesterday morning, she wouldn’t have spied the arrival of another ship. Zach had singled out one of its passengers, greeting the fair-haired pregnant woman with smiles and his undivided attention.

  Where had he stowed her?

  Eloise threw down the napkin, gripped the edge of the table and stood abruptly. Her chair toppled over. She heard malevolent laughter and turned towards the open doors.

  Letitia leaned against its frame.

  The woman’s intentions were clear enough. Like a coiled snake lying in wait in the cane fields, she’d risen, daring to slither close enough to strike.

  Her shirt, unbuttoned to the waist, exposed a deep cleavage and barely concealed breasts. Her skirt looked rumpled and she brazenly rubbed the V between her legs.

  Dark brown eyes took in the elegantly laid table and uneaten meals. ‘I’ve already satisfied the captain’s appetite. Now he’s gone to visit that blonde bitch. The one who carries his child.’

  Eloise sucked in a breath. ‘You lie!’

  Letitia languidly buttoned her blouse. ‘Lie? About what? That the captain enjoys my pleasures, or that his seed has spawned a child inside that woman?’ She patted her belly, her expression smug. ‘Perhaps I also carry his child.’

  Spiteful woman. ‘I don’t believe you.’ Eloise would not engage with her rival.

  ‘Hah! You’re a fool.’ Letitia laughed. ‘Look at you, all pretty and moon-eyed. You’re wrong if you think he loves you. He uses you!’ she sneered. ‘He doesn’t love anyone. Never will. That’s why we call him Captain Heartless.’

  The venom in those words struck Eloise like a sabre across her cheek. Time to perform a few tricks of her own. She snatched up the carving knife, twirled it with her fingers and flung it at the door. The sharp point sank into the wooden frame beside Letitia’s head. The woman gasped and stood to attention. Shock showed on her face when she saw how close the knife had come to disfiguring her face.

  ‘Leave,’ warned Eloise. ‘Now!’

  Letitia spun on her heels, and fled.

  Eloise caved in to crippling heartache and teetered on her feet. Her mind reeled. She couldn’t think straight. Zach didn’t confide in her. How could she discern the truth from a lie?

  She reached for the glass of mind-numbing wine. Crimson-red liquid sloshed over the rim and onto her hand, staining the pristine lace tablecloth. She drank what was left. Every last drop. As she set it down, it slipped from her unsteady hand against the dinner plate, and broke.

  ‘To hell with it all,’ she cursed.

  The feel of that knife in her hand had given rise to a different taste. She left the dining room and pushed open the door of Zach’s study. There, on display against one wall, sat his collection of swords.

  She seized one and unsheathed it. Much too heavy. The sword and sheath clattered to the floor at her feet. She reached for another, a rapier with a basket hilt, and tested its balance in her hand. A flick of her wrist and a downward slash and she knew she had her weapon. It was light and very quick. Positively lethal, if need be.

  She left the house, slashing at any wayward branches along the path to the beach. Unsteady footsteps carried her to the water’s edge. There, gentle waves soaked the hem of her skirt and licked her ankles. Water washed back and forth, drenching her satin shoes. They, like her, were ruined.

  She slipped them off, spiked one with the tip of the sword and hurled the dainty projectile into the sea. The second one followed, given up to the whim of the waves rolling into shore. Wriggling her toes in the sand gave her simple yet gratifying pleasure.

  The sun dipped on the horizon. She angled her face to its lingering warmth and swayed with the balmy breeze whispering around her body. Strangely lightheaded, she giggled for no apparent reason, casting blame on the mollifying claret and having consumed it on an empty stomach.

  Giggles gave way to misery. Misery morphed into a sense of hopelessness. She weaved a path along the shoreline, indifferent to the curious stares from those standing watch at each stone rampant she passed.

  Determined not to give in to tears, Eloise took a fortifying deep breath, stood en garde and lunged at her imaginary opponent.

  Zach took the steps two at a time and entered his house. ‘Eloise?’ An eerie silence answered his call. ‘Kamania?’

  Gnawing disquiet led him to the dining room. There, a large knife protruded from the verandah door frame. He gripped the handle and gave it a hefty tug. Whoever had wielded it had done so with force. Eloise? Surely not. Then again …

  He righted the toppled chair, eyeing untouched food and two empty glasses, one broken. Wine soiled the tablecloth. He lifted the bottle, all but empty, and set it back down. Hell. She’d better be sleeping it off.

  He climbed the stairs and went directly to her bedroom. Rose scented soap lingered in the air. The bathtub had not been emptied. Where are you? She’d suggested they visit the beach after their meal. Good God! She couldn’t swim.

  Zach bolted down the stairs and skidded to a halt outside the library. A quick glance inside told him all he needed to know. Eloise was armed.

  He set off at a sprint, spurred on by the fear of her doing herself an injury, or of finding her floating face down in the water, drifting out to sea. Sail the stars! He’d take his own life before letting anything happen to her.

  Guilt slayed him like a thousand blades. He should have told her about the recent arrival of the viscount’s maid. He should have explained the complicated circumstance of Lily’s pregnancy and why she’d come to Mercy Island.

  Damn him to Hades! He should have sent another in his place to ride and fetch the doctor. Lily’s labour had caught him off-guard. Had his responsibility for one woman’s life been at the expense of another?

  In the fading light, Zach burst through the shrubbery onto the sand. ‘Eloise!’ He scanned the shore to his left, and to his right. Something caught his eye on the water’s edge. He ran towards it, recognising immediately one of her shoes. Where was the other? Where was Eloise? He muttered a string of vile oaths and turned at the
sound of a shout. A guard standing watch pointed in a southerly direction.

  Zach ran at speed along the shore, stopping to examine impressions in the sand. They were, beyond a doubt, her footprints. He knew every inch of her delectable body, including the shape of each delicate foot.

  Again, he broke into a run, kicking up sand in his wake. His lungs burned; his throat was as dry as a tinderbox. Had his cold indifference towards her driven her to do the unthinkable? God forbid. She was too smart to do that. Or too inebriated to know better.

  He raced against time, against an out-going tide and darkness closing in. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not when …

  He came to a sudden stop, catching his breath on great gasps. Up ahead, he saw lit torches where a crowd of men and women had gathered on the sand. Shouts and cheers carried on the breeze.

  Fear for Eloise’s safety spurred him on until he broke through the crowd. There she stood, in the centre of the circle with her back to him, rapier in hand, in the throes of duelling one of his best swordsman.

  A sudden hush fell over the crowd. Not one of them moved, nor spoke. Eloise’s opponent looked like he was about to meet his death and shrank back into the crowd. All eyes fell on Zach.

  Eloise turned towards the source of their distraction. Glazed eyes blinked. Her expression soured. ‘Ah, Captain. To what do we owe the pleasure?’

  Sand stuck to her wet clothes, her hair was bedraggled. Implacable green eyes sent him a warning. She looked as fierce as any man who’d dared to take him down. ‘Eloise, I –’

  ‘Spare me the apol … olgetic look, Captain. I doubt there’s anything you can say to ex … onerate your despicable behaviour.’

  She made it sound as though he’d seriously sinned against her. He hadn’t expected a right royal welcome, but this? ‘I was delayed. I wouldn’t call that despicable. I apologise, nonetheless.’ He stared at her raised sword.

  ‘How could you?’ She hiccupped, and took an unsteady step towards him.

  Zach raised a brow. ‘’Tis indeed a good drop, that red.’

  ‘I’m com … completely unaffected by it.’

  Muffled laughter rolled through the crowd. Zach’s glare silenced it.

  He held out his hand. ‘Put down the sword, Eloise. Let’s discuss this back at the house. You’re in no state to –’

  ‘We’ll settle this here. Now! Someone hand the captain a sword.’

  ‘There’s no need. Come, let’s go,’ he coaxed.

  ‘I challenge you to a duel, Captain. If I disarm you, then here I stay. If you disarm me, then I’ll relent like a too … thless tiger.’ Again, she hiccupped.

  Zach caught a whiff of her wine-laden breath. He had a premonition that her anger towards him stemmed from something other than his tardy timing for their planned rendezvous.

  He accepted the sword handed to him, if only to humour her. ‘You might begin by telling me why you’re so upset.’

  Her mouth fell open. ‘That you should even ask, is an out … rage. Have you no shame?’

  He spread his arms wide. ‘Apparently not.’

  She took advantage of his unprotected torso, and lunged forwards to strike the sword from his hand.

  Zach’s lightening fast reflexes dodged her move.

  Eloise circled to his right. She held the hilt over her head, the tip pointed at Zach’s face. ‘Who is the new arrival who carries your child?’

  The crowd murmured.

  Zach had to think. ‘My child?’

  Again, she had the advantage of surprise, moving swiftly to slice a tear in his breeches along his inner thigh.

  The crowd sucked in a collective breath.

  In total dismay, Zach looked down at his groin. Another mistake. The tip of her blade came to rest beneath his chin. He’d thought to indulge an inebriated woman foolish enough to challenge him in a duel. More the fool he who’d underestimated Eloise, even with her being under the influence of alcohol. Or was that what she’d wanted him to believe? Clever, if that was indeed her ploy. He so admired this woman whose intention it was to mete out her own swift revenge.

  ‘Do you deny it … being your child?’ demanded Eloise.

  His gaze met hers. ‘I deny fathering a child.’

  ‘And Letitia?’

  Rumblings of disapproval unsettled their audience.

  ‘What has she done now?’ Damn that woman’s indiscretions!

  ‘She … paid me a visit and said she might also carry your child.’

  ‘She lies.’ The tip of her blade nicked his throat.

  ‘Don’t treat me like an ignorant fool. I’m not some base whore waiting in the wings for the likes of you!’

  The sharp enmity of her words stunned Zach into silence. Had the wine distorted her judgement of him, or did she genuinely think him a callous monster?

  He dropped his weapon in the sand. ‘You have your father’s skill with a sword. He would be proud of you, Eloise.’

  She choked on a sob.

  Zach’s words were intended as a compliment, not her undoing. Before she could recover what wits she had about her, he wrested the sword free of her hand and threw her over his shoulder.

  The crowd of onlookers erupted with cheers and applause and he carried her – kicking and screaming past the bemused watchmen – back to the house. There, he planted her unceremoniously on her bed and pinned her down.

  She squirmed beneath his weight. ‘If you think I’ll be another of your conquests tonight, think again. You … you’ll not bed me unless by force.’

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself. My one concern is to get you out of these damp clothes, have you wash away the stench of my finest red, and see you sleeping it off in bed.’

  Before she could find the words to retaliate, Zach stripped her naked, picked her up and lowered her into the tub. Her mouth opened on a silent scream, the cold water giving her a sobering jolt. Zach pointed to the soap on a stand beside the tub. ‘Unless you require my assistance, I suggest you bathe.’

  The moment he took a step back, she looked set to leap from the tub. Zach laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off and snatched up the soap like a petulant child.

  Except there was nothing child-like about her svelte body. Did she have the slightest idea what it did to him to see her glide the soap over her breasts and around each erect nipple? He grew hard when, one at a time, she raised a long slender leg with pointed toe and worked the rose-scented froth from calf to thigh. The soap slipped from her grasp. Her hands dived between her legs in search of it.

  Zach bit back a groan. What he’d give to be that cake of soap. He was certain she purposely taunted him when she turned to kneel on all fours, one hand chasing the soap as if it were a slippery fish on the riverbed. He was treated to a view of her rounded derriere and everything in between. His fingers flexed. Hell and damnation!

  He whirled around and swiped at the towel draped over a chair. He daren’t look back at her until he’d drawn a few steadying deep breaths and repressed depraved thoughts.

  Mind over matter had him turn to see Eloise crouched on her knees with her head submerged, scrubbing her scalp. She surfaced and wrung water from her hair.

  She looked at him, as innocent as the day she was born. Zach knew better. She blinked. Water clung to her long lashes like dewdrops on petals.

  ‘Enough now.’ He offered her the towel.

  She gripped the edge of the tub and slowly pushed herself up to stand. Zach focused on her face. God forbid his gaze slip lower than her neck. He shook the towel. ‘Take it.’

  She didn’t move a muscle. Her gaze dropped to his groin, to the aroused bulge in his breeches. Like a shield, her hands covered parts of her body. Panic flared in her eyes.

  Hell. The last thing he wanted was for her to fear him. ‘I’m not going to ravish you,’ he said quietly. ‘Trust me, Eloise.’

  ‘Trust?’ She shivered despite the warm evening and developed a faraway look. ‘It was trust that had me beg my father to save m
y pony from the fire. My … my selfish plea brought about his and my mother’s death. I carry that guilt with me every day of my life.’ The weight of her grief showed on her pallid face, in the glimmer of her tears.

  He let his arm fall by his side. ‘You’re not to blame for what happened that day.’

  ‘No? Gareth blamed you. I believed him. Trusted him. You point the finger at him, asking me to believe you. Which I did.’ She laughed as if she’d recited a riddle. With her next breath, she looked suddenly grave. ‘Except now, you give me cause to doubt you. Perhaps I, more than you, need to hear Gareth’s confession. After all, without it, it’s your word against his.’

  If it was her intent to injure him, she was succeeding, though Zach suspected too much wine had corrupted her mind. Her lids drooped. She was speaking slowly and making a concerted effort to enunciate each word. ‘Trust me, Eloise.’

  ‘“Me” being Miles Fenton, gentleman and Duke of Ar … lington? Or Zach, pirate turned nar … cissist? Which is it?’ Tears formed in her eyes.

  He clenched the towel in his fist. ‘The red gave you a sharp tongue.’

  Her chin lifted. ‘No. It gives me courage to speak my mind. You are the centre of your universe. People are at your disposal.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘You pursue and pillage Gareth’s ships. Are your crew’s lives so ex … pendable? What if Judd is killed? How will you face his wife? Will you tell his sons that their father died for the good of your cause?’ She sobbed. ‘How proud you will be, Captain Heartless.’

  She drew a shuddering breath. ‘Who is that pregnant woman? What is she … to you?’

  Ah! Back to that. Jealousy. The root of her attack on his character. It gave Zach hope that he might mean more to Eloise than she was willing to admit. ‘She is –’

  ‘Your lover? As is Letitia? Are they the reason you’ve cast me aside like some trifle … ling faux pas you’d rather forget?’

  Pointless to plead his case when she was a sobbing mess, and in no state to listen. She looked as lost as a child. Vulnerable, fragile and wounded. In need of consoling arms.