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Rogue Pirates Bride

Page 27

by Shana Galen


  knee is starting to ache. Will you give me an answer,

  ma belle, or do I have to kneel here forever?”

  She wanted to say yes. She opened her mouth to

  do so, but the words stuck in her throat. How could

  she agree? How could she become the wife of a pirate?

  The wife of Captain Cutlass? The wife of the man

  who’d killed Timothy?

  And how could she not? He wasn’t Captain Cutlass

  anymore. He was Bastien, and little as she liked to

  admit it, she loved him.

  Did he love her? He hadn’t said so…

  “I…”

  His jaw tightened, and he began to rise. “If you

  need time to think about it—”

  “No.” She sank down beside him, joined both of

  her hands with his. “But before I agree, I need to

  know what happened. I need to hear it from you.

  The truth.”

  “Are you ready for the truth?”

  He knew exactly what she was talking about. She

  had known he would, had known he would under-

  stand without her having to explain. “I thought I

  knew the truth. One of the men from the Valor told

  me the story. But I’m willing to hear your version

  now. I want to know what happened.”

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  Bastien nodded, squeezed her hands. “We were off

  the coast of Greece, and our holds were full of cargo.”

  “Stolen from other ships, I’m certain.”

  He flashed her a quick grin. “Not British ships,

  ma belle.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “I think you like that about me.” He put a hand

  on her waist, and her whole body tingled. “But as I

  was saying, we were low in the water, and I think the

  Valor must have thought we’d be… what is the term

  you English use? Easy pickings?”

  She nodded. She could see the Shadow in her mind,

  see it as Timothy might have—an easy target. Except

  he didn’t know Bastien.

  “I could see the Valor was not fully manned. I think

  your Captain Bowers saw an opportunity to press

  sailors and take a prize. I did not approach him.”

  She looked away. The story she had heard had

  been very different. Bastien clenched her waist. “Why

  would I, Raeven? A British ship-of-the-line? There’s

  no profit in that for me or my men.”

  “Perhaps you wanted the glory.” The words were

  out even before she could think. And she regretted

  them immediately.

  “You know me better than that.”

  She looked at him, looked at his face, so familiar to

  her now. “I do.”

  Bastien wasn’t seeking glory. She didn’t imagine

  he ever had. But Timothy… he had needed to prove

  himself if he hoped to advance in the ranks of the

  navy. The glory would have been his. “Go on,” she

  whispered. “Tell me the rest.”

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  “The Valor went straight for us. If we hadn’t been

  so laden with cargo, I would have turned and run.

  I wasn’t looking for a battle. But when he came for

  us, I didn’t shy away. I don’t need to tell you, if he’d

  won, I’d be dead and my men part of the British

  Navy—whether they liked it or not.”

  She didn’t agree with the British practice of impress-

  ment. She knew ships needed to be manned, but taking

  a man against his will seemed wrong. And when her

  father had impressed sailors, they usually caused more

  trouble than they were worth. And still it was a sort

  of slavery. She could see why the men of the Shadow

  would fight it. What man, or woman, wouldn’t want

  to be in control of his own destiny?

  “I think he expected me to run,” Bastien continued,

  “but I turned and came alongside him. The weather

  was stormy, the seas rough, and he had to close his

  lower gun ports. We closed with him amidships. I

  fired my guns, and he his. But as I said, he was under-

  manned and cocky. I’m sorry, but there it is.”

  She nodded. Timothy could be cocky. He was a

  good sailor, but he had always enjoyed easy victories.

  “Still, we took a beating. Damage to the bowsprit,

  the sails, a few of our guns taken out. But we kept them

  spitting, and we had the weather gage. He couldn’t

  maneuver as quickly. When the tide turned against him,

  he couldn’t get away, and we damn near blew him out

  of the water.” He tightened his grip on her waist, and

  she looked up at him. She realized she’d been staring at

  the floor, envisioning the battle, picturing it in her mind.

  “I could have sunk him, but I didn’t. Merde. I didn’t

  need the whole of the British Navy after me. I spanked

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  him and limped away to lick my wounds, which were

  fortunately few. I didn’t intend to kill Bowers. One of

  the men told me later he’d seen the captain go down,

  and the next time we were in port, I heard he’d died.

  It wasn’t my intention to kill him, but neither do I

  apologize.” He released her now and stood. She sunk

  down onto her heels. He’d been holding her up, and

  she felt weak.

  “He asked for a fight, and I gave him one.”

  She nodded, stared at the oak floors beneath her. It

  wasn’t the story she’d been told, but considering that

  story had been related by a sailor from the Valor—the

  losing ship—she could see why it had been altered. No

  one would want to highlight mistakes the lost Captain

  Bowers had made. Especially not to his grieving

  fiancée. Much better to paint him as a hero and Cutlass

  as a villain.

  But perhaps no one was hero or villain. Perhaps

  both men had done what their natures dictated.

  Bastien emerged the victor.

  “You loved him.” Bastien was turned away from

  her, staring out the dark windows at the endless ocean.

  “For that I’m sorry—sorry I killed someone you loved.”

  Her head jerked up, and she stared at his back. The

  tenor of his voice, the way he said it—she wanted to

  tell him she loved him. She wanted to tell him no one,

  not Timothy, no man had ever touched her, body or

  soul, as he had. But he had not said he loved her…

  She rose, went to him, and wrapped her arms around

  him. He was solid, his body warm and hard against hers.

  She pressed her cheek to his back, inhaled, and smelled

  sea salt and tobacco.

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  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll marry you.”

  She felt him stiffen, realized he was surprised. He

  hadn’t expected her to agree. But when he turned

  to take her in his arms, his face showed nothing but

  confidence. “We’ll marry in Franc
e.”

  “Brest?” she said with a raised brow. “It would

  be appropriate.”

  “Brest then. I’ve already told Mr. Khan to set a

  course. We’ll sail directly. If the winds are favorable,

  we should reach the harbor in a few weeks.”

  “If my father doesn’t find us first.”

  He looked at her long and hard. “And if he does?

  What then?”

  She knew what he was asking, knew he wanted to

  know whom she would choose. But she didn’t know

  the answer. If it came to a battle between the two

  men, the two ships, she could not bear to lose either.

  So instead of answering, she wrapped a hand around

  his hair and tugged his face to hers. The kiss was hard

  and meant to distract. She felt his initial resistance, felt

  it melt away as his arms came around her.

  It was enough, Bastien told himself as he buried his

  face in Raeven’s long, dark hair. Having her with him

  now, holding her, feeling her warm body press eagerly

  against his. It was enough for now.

  Her loyalties were divided. Understandably so. But

  what she did not realize, or perhaps did not want to

  acknowledge, was at some point she would have to

  make a choice between father and husband. Between

  navy admiral and privateer. Between duty and love.

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  Or at least passion. There was love between

  them, though neither wanted to acknowledge it. He

  suspected she feared the fragile emotion as much as

  he did. What neither feared was passion, and that

  bloomed effortlessly between them.

  She had kissed him, long and hard, but he quickly

  wrested control from her. She didn’t give it easily. She

  grasped his hands and tugged his shirt over his chest,

  kissing his chest and licking her way to the waistband

  of his breeches.

  Just when things were about to get interesting, he

  pulled her up, yanked her own shirt over her head.

  Rather, it was his shirt, and he was disappointed to see

  she’d bound her breasts. She reached for his waistband,

  but he captured her wrists in one of his hands and

  reached for her bindings with the other. “I want you

  naked,” he growled.

  “I want you naked first,” she countered. She tried

  to wrest her hands away, but he held fast, grasped

  the knot of her bindings with his free hands, and

  yanked it loose. He spun her around, and the fabric

  fell away. When it fell to the floor, he took her in

  his arms again. Her warm, soft flesh pressed against

  his bare chest.

  She looked over her shoulder toward the door.

  “Perhaps we should lock it.”

  “There’s no lock,” he murmured, taking one of her

  rosy nipples in his mouth. Bon Dieu, he loved the taste

  of her. He could not seem to get enough.

  “Mmm…” She arched her back, offered the other

  breast. “But what if the crew should… oh, yes… I

  mean, the crew… if they…”

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  “It’s a small ship, Raeven,” he murmured against

  her, cupping her now and tasting her. “I think the

  men know what’s going on, and if they value their

  lives, they won’t interrupt. Now wriggle your hips so

  I can slide these breeches off.” His hands slid down the

  curve of her bare hips. “Why don’t you wear a dress

  once in a while? Then I could just toss you on the

  table and lift your skirts.”

  “That’s too easy.” She stepped out of the breeches,

  gloriously naked before him. “But you can still toss

  me on the table.”

  He lifted her without a word and did just that. With

  the swipe of a hand, he cleared the dishes away—

  Salviati would have something to say about that, but

  Bastien would worry about it later—and set her down.

  She sat up, reached for his breeches, but he pushed her

  back on her elbows, took a long moment to enjoy the

  sight of her, then kissed her.

  Every inch of her.

  He knew her body now, knew what she enjoyed—

  what made her laugh, what made her moan, what

  made her buck and claw and cry out. And when he

  was finished, he did it all again. But somehow she

  managed to take control long enough to divest him

  of his boots and breeches. And when she touched

  him, he couldn’t stop a growl of pleasure. She

  clamped her legs around his waist, and he sank into

  her warmth.

  He had intended to take her hard and fast, but

  once inside her, he slowed, savored and enjoyed. In

  couplings with other women, he had always sought

  release—not that he didn’t make sure they enjoyed

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  the experience, but he made love because he enjoyed

  the end result.

  But with Raeven, time seemed to stand still. It

  wasn’t simply about his release or hers. It was about

  them, together, the connection between bodies and—

  he looked into her eyes—hearts. She felt it too. She

  hadn’t been a virgin with him, and he wondered if it

  was as different for her as it was for him.

  “Mon coeur,” he whispered as he moved inside her.

  “Mon amour.” He’d never said those words before,

  barely realized he was saying them now. But at that

  moment, at every moment since the first time he’d

  held her, she’d been his heart. His love. How could he

  not love her? She fit him. It was as though she’d been

  made for him, and he for her.

  “Bastien,” she whispered against his neck and

  arched against him. And he could contain himself no

  longer. With a groan, he went over the edge, holding

  her tightly, taking her with him.

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  Sixteen

  He gathered her into his arms, held her tightly,

  and Raeven wished they’d waited until they were

  back in his—their—cabin so she could lie against him,

  rest her head on his chest and listen to his heart.

  That’s what he’d called her. My heart. My love. Had

  he realized he’d said those things, or did he say them

  to every woman?

  No, he’d never said them to her before. He’d called

  her many pretty endearments in French and English

  and even Spanish, but he’d never called her his love.

  She took a deep breath, bolstering her courage. If

  she didn’t tell him now, it might be days before she

  gathered her courage again. And who knew if they

  had that much time. She’d never expected to lose

  Percy or Timothy. “Bastien,” she began, hating the

  way his name stuck in her throat. She sounded like

  such a girl.

  “Hmm?” He’d pulled her into his lap and was

  rubbing his hands along he
r bare back, keeping her

  warm. In a moment, he’d put her down, suggest they

  dress, and her chance would be lost. She needed to say

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  it now, while his face was buried in her neck and she

  didn’t have to look him directly in the eye.

  Lord, she was such a coward.

  “Bastien, I-I wanted to tell you… I mean, I wanted

  you to know…” She could feel him smiling. Irritating

  man! “I think I…” No. That was no way to say it. She

  should sound confident. Sure. He hadn’t said, I think

  you’re my heart.

  “I’m listening.” He pulled away, looked into her eyes.

  Damn it! Now she was going to have to say while

  he was looking at her. She felt heat creep into her

  cheeks. She took another deep breath and made

  herself say it. “I love you.” She stood up, paced away

  from him. “There. I said it.”

  He didn’t answer right away, and she risked a glance

  over her shoulder. He was smiling. But then she was

  walking around naked. Of course he was smiling.

  “Come here, mon coeur.”

  She felt the tightening in her heart ease. She hadn’t

  misheard him then. She went to him, happy when his

  arms came around her. He kissed her neck. “Raeven—”

  “Cap’n!”

  She recognized Ridley’s voice outside the cabin

  door. Bastien stiffened immediately, released her, and

  reached for his breeches. “What is it, Mr. Ridley?”

  “We spotted something. Want you to come take

  a look.”

  She hastily pulled on his shirt as he strode to the

  door and yanked it open. She was half naked, but

  to his credit, Ridley’s eyes never wavered from his

  captain’s face.

  “Why haven’t we beat to quarters?”

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  Now Ridley’s eyes strayed, just for a moment, to

  lock with hers. “Oh, God,” she breathed. She bent,

  fumbled with the breeches and pulled them on. Her

  hands were shaking, her body was shaking, and her

  heart was pounding so hard she thought the whole

  ship could hear it.

  “Are you certain?” Bastien asked. “It’s the Regal? ”

  “I doan know the ship well. Can’t tell from this

  distance. But it be a British man-of-war. Dat much

  I knows.”

  “I’ll go look,” Raeven said, pushing past Bastien.

  “I’ll know instantly.”

  Ridley moved out of the way, and she rushed up

 

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