My Fallen Angel

by Pamela Britton

  Nothing happened.

  What … ? She turned, confused as to where her hook had gone.

  It had gone into Garrick.

  He didn’t screech, didn’t even bellow, just stood there, arms crossed over his chest, the hook, the cheese, and the fishing line dangling from his ear like a mouse family’s Christmas ornament.

  “Oh my.” She covered her mouth with her hand.

  He reached up, and it was then that she realized it wasn’t actually in his ear, it was caught on his earring.

  And the sight of Garrick, a frustrated frown on his face, the fishing line trailing from his ear like a miniature tightrope, was more than her easily amused sense of humor could bear.

  She tried to stop it, she truly did, but the laughter rose up in her throat. No,she told herself.Don’t do it. He’ll get angry if you do.

  A giggle escaped. His eyes narrowed.

  She bit her lip.

  “You’re laughing at me,” he pronounced.

  No. No. No. She wasn’t.

  “Youare.”

  She shook her head. Her jaw ached with the effort to contain her giggles. He took a step toward her.

  The sight of that cheese swinging to and fro was her undoing.

  Laughter burst free like birdsong. She convulsed, just wilted against the rail and clutched at her sides.

  “You are laughing at me,” he all but bellowed.

  “Oh my goodness,” she gasped. Poor Garrick. He tried so hard to be studious and in command. A single piece of cheese brought him down to the level of a human.

  Tears clouded her eyes, her shoulders shook. She wiped at her eyes, which was probably why she didn’t see him reach out. All she felt was a warm hand against her shoulder.

  And suddenly, so suddenly it startled her, the laughter faded. Well, not completely. One last chortle slipped out. She looked into his blue, blue eyes. He stood so close, the smell of him so … so sealike.

  Oh, Garrick,she thought.You need my laughter. You need my love.

  She reached out and placed her hand against his cheek. She saw his eyes widen. She moved her hand to the back of his neck. His gaze softened. She pulled his head down to hers.

  He didn’t resist.Yes,she thought.Oh yes. This is what you need. This togetherness. This connection we share. Let it banish the demons in your soul.

  Her heart pulsed, then pressed itself against her chest. His lips were close. So close. She closed her eyes.

  “Bloody hell!”

  Her lids sprang open. Garrick cursed again. The ship creaked. Lucy looked up. The sails had snapped to life.

  How?

  And then they were both knocked from their feet as the ship tilted.

  “Arlan,” she thought she heard him murmur. “Damn his feathered hide.”

  It had been a narrow escape, Garrick admitted later that same evening. A very narrow escape. He swiped a hand over his face as another gust of wind tilted the ship. He reached for the wheel, though it was completely unnecessary to do so. The spoked hub had been securely fastened to a southerly heading, the salt-laden air blowing the Swan smoothly on course, thankfully. Now he could get on with man’s work. Now he could forget about Lucinda.

  But like the persistent brush of wind across his face, the memory of their time together returned. Damnation. It was driving him mad, this way she had of looking at him as if he could slay her dragons. He didn’t want to slay her dragons. He wanted nothing to do with her. But every time he turned around, she was there. The solicitor’s. The tavern. His cabin. It was as if he were cursed, as if God smote him at every turn.

  Was that it? Was this some sort of punishment? Some sort of test? Send him out to sea with her when he hadn’t had a woman in months. Make him want her. Then tease him mercilessly by making her think she wanted him? Because he knew she didn’t really want him. She was probably under some sort of heavenly love spell.

  “Tough, isn’t it?”

  Garrick whirled toward the voice.

  “She is part of the test, Garrick. I’m surprised it took you this long to realize that.”

  He stiffened.

  The man said nothing, just stared at him with black, fathomless eyes.

  And Garrick knew. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the being standing before him was the devil.

  He was short, squat even, with eyes as black as smoke. His face was fleshy, so fleshy he looked more like a baker than a supernatural being. The face was covered with hair. That struck Garrick as odd, but what was odder still was the bright blue, knee-length coat with a stark white, multi-layered cravat he wore. That, combined with his fawn-colored, velvet knee-breeches and the six small pistols which hung from a strap slung over his shoulder, made him look like some of the men Garrick had battled with in the past. In fact, he looked distinctly like drawings he’d seen of … Blackbeard.

  The devil swept his tricorn off his head and bowed low. “Actually, the name is Belial. Or Beelzebub. Or the Devil. Whatever. I’ve gone by many names in the past. Call me what you will.” His eyes swept appraisingly around. “I say, Garrick, this a fine ship.”

  Garrick ignored his polite, almost cordial words. “What do you want?”

  Belial affected a look of hurt. “Now, Garrick, is that any way to greet me?”

  “Get off my ship.”

  “My, my. We’re snappy today, aren’t we? Must be all that abstinence.” He shook his head in mock sorrow. “It’s tough, isn’t it. Nothing like the lack of a good ball-bouncing to put you in a cranky mood, eh? They selected her for you on purpose, you know. Knew howirresistible you’d find her. Rather devilish of them, wouldn’t you say?”

  Garrick didn’t say anything at all. He was exhausted, confused by the emotions coursing through him, and tired of dealing with beings who thought themselves in charge of his life. He almost snorted. Who was he trying to deceive? He didn’t even have a life anymore.

  Exasperated, he turned and walked away, leaving Belial by the railing.

  “I’m not finished, Garrick.”

  “I’ve no interest in listening, Belial.”

  “Not even about the little game I’ve set into motion?”

  Garrick’s steps slowed. Game? What game? Slowly, he turned.

  “You see, I’ve done the most delightful thing,” Belial continued. “I’ve sent my own minion after the boy, and, with a little help from me, he should be upon you within the next twenty-four hours.” He shook his head sadly. “I don’t think I need explain to you what should happen if this person gets his hands on Tom.”

  Garrick simply stared, the ramification of what Belial revealed slowly sinking in.

  “And so I’ve come to offer you a deal.” The devil continued, taking a step closer to him. “I’ll give you your life back. You’ll be free to live out the rest of your days with whomever you choose. Mortal, as you are now. All you need do”—a slippery smile spread across the devil’s face—“is give me your soul.”

  A gust of wind blew over the deck of the ship, the sails moaning eerily above him.

  “But before you agree,” Belial continued, “look yonder.” He pointed to the horizon with one taloned nail. “Do you see that speck of white?”

  Garrick indulged the devil with a glance. “What of it?”

  “’Tis my friends.”

  “Excellent,” Garrick snapped. “I’m in the mood for a good fight.”

  The devil arched a brow. “My, we really are in testy mood. You should indulge in some hot, steamy fornication, Garrick, it would do your soul wonders. Oh, but that’s right—you’re not allowed. Too bad. One more reason for you to agree to my plan. But here’s another: that’s not just any ship there, Garrick, it belongs to Tully. You do remember Tully, don’t you? He didn’t die when he jumped overboard. Oh no. He’s quite alive, and quite anxious to repay you for the loss of his eye. So I ask you, Garrick. What do you think he’ll do when he gets his hands on Lucy? She’s just his type, you know. Spirited. Beautiful. Yours. Oh, I know she’s not yours in t
he truest sense.” The devil laughed mockingly. “But Tully won’t believe that.”

  Garrick just looked down his nose, though the devil’s words sent a chill down his spine, a chill he couldn’t afford to feel. “He won’t catch us.”

  The devil laughed again, a low, nefarious chuckle. “You’re wrong, Garrick. He will.”

  “I’ve beaten Tully before, Belial. I’ll beat Tully again.”

  “Ahh, but it’s not just Tully on that ship.”

  “Oh?” Garrick asked mockingly. “Is the Countess of Selborne on it, too? Will she beat me over the head with one of her coronets?”

  The devil’s eyes narrowed. “I’m beginning to grow impatient with you, Garrick.”

  “Good.”

  “Lucien St. Aubyn is aboard that ship,” the devil continued. “And what Tully lacks in brains, Lucien more than makes up for in cunning.”

  For the first time, Garrick felt a niggling sense of unease. “The Duke of Ravenwood? What has he to do with this?”

  “Nothing. Everything.”

  Garrick stared, wondering at this latest twist of fate. He’d heard of the duke. Who hadn’t? The man had killed his own brother. Apparently the rumors of his dark soul were true. He shrugged. “When you decide which it is, let me know.”

  The dark angel’s lids lowered into slits, his eyes turned red with anger. “Don’t mock me, Garrick. If you decline my offer, I’ll not give you a second chance. Do you understand what will happen if you don’t prove the boy is the earl’s son? You go back to the Well of Souls. And I assure you, when your number is called, it won’t be to give you another chance down here. You will be sent to me. What do you have to lose by agreeing to my terms?”

  “Why do you ask me that if you’re so sure of my failure?”

  Belial’s eyes glowed with anger.

  “I’ll tell you why. I think it’s because you know you’re the one who’s going to lose, Belial. Not me.”

  Belial leaned back, looking momentarily incredulous, then drew up to his full height, suddenly towering a foot over Garrick’s tall form. “You’re a fool, Garrick. See where your ego gets you when your soul is in my grasp. Your puny strength won’t stop the torment of watching your precious charge die before your very eyes. Nor will it assuage the agony of your soul’s slow death.”

  The devil stepped back a few paces and then was gone.

  Garrick stepped back, too, blinking at the spot where Belial had been. If the devil wanted a fight, than a fight he would have.

  14

  A man’s greatest pleasure arises from a woman’s titillation of his manhood. To achieve this titillation, there are several methods one can employ. The first is with the placement of the woman’s hand against the man’s erection. To do this, one must simply stroke the length of his arousal. The other method is one most men prefer. That is to place one’s lips against the hardened …

  Lucy sat up abruptly. Good gracious!

  “Lucy Hartford, what are you reading?”

  “She’s readin’ ‘ow to make the sheets sing.”

  “Thomas Tee,” Lucy gasped, glaring at the boy who practiced making knots with a small piece of rope. She glanced at Beth, covering the tide, A Hundred Ways to Seduce a Man, with her skirts of her green dress, hoping Beth didn’t believe Tom. That was all she needed. Another lecture.

  “It’s that book again, isn’t it?” Beth asked.

  Lucy slumped. Rats. “There’s nothing else to do while we wait for dinner.”

  Tom snorted from his perch in the hammock. Lucy glared. Beth gave her a look Aunt Cornelia would be proud of.

  “Besides,” Lucy said with a tilt to her chin, “it’s a very, er, enlightening book.”

  “Indeed it must be, judging by the color of your cheeks.”

  “No needs to read about it when I’d be ‘appy to share what I know with ya,” Tom added.

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “I hardly think—”

  “I need to see you.”

  Lucy’s mouth snapped shut. Her gaze shot to the door. A jolt of electricity zinged through her. Garrick.

  “M-me?” she asked, pointing to herself. The book slid off her lap and landed on the floor with a slap.

  He nodded, his enigmatic eyes never leaving hers. “Now.”

  The door closed. Lucy looked between Beth and Tom.

  “Do you think—”

  “No.” Beth cut her off. “He is not going to ask you to marry him.”

  “That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Lucy sputtered.

  Beth’s eyes narrowed. Tom snorted again.

  All right, so the thought had hurtled through her mind. “I’ll be right back.”

  Beth got up with her, stopping her before she crossed through the door. “Lucy, wait.”

  Reluctantly, Lucy turned back. Tom looked on curiously as Beth pitched her voice low. “Be careful,” she said.

  “Of what, Beth?”

  Beth’s expression grew sympathetic. “Getting your hopes up.”

  Like the stab of a hat pin, the words pricked at Lucy’s heart. She tiled her chin up. “My hopes are always up, Beth. You know that.”

  Beth frowned. “’Tis exactly that which concerns me.”

  Lucy placed a small smile upon her face. “Beth, one must always have hope. Always. Hope is what’s gotten me through the darkest times of my life. I will always be an optimist. If I weren’t, I would be asking myself to be less than I am.”

  Beth didn’t blink as she stared up at her though wide eyes, eyes that softened when she nodded. “Luce, you make me proud to be your friend.”

  Lucy smiled back. “And I’m proud to be yours, Beth.”

  With those words and one last smile at Tom, she left, feeling very melancholy yet all the more determined to win Garrick’s heart. She would prove to Beth that where there was hope there could be victory, at least in theory.

  The door to Garrick’s cabin was ajar and so she knocked lightly. Her heart skipped a beat when he called, “Come in.”

  She stepped into his cabin, her eyes immediately drawn to his tall form. He stood gazing out the windowthat lined the back wall of his cabin, his hands clenched behind him, his back so stiff she could bounce a ball off of it. And any teeny little hope that he might want to see her because he’d enjoyed her company disappeared like a wish on Christmas morning.

  “Garrick, what’s wrong?”

  He half turned toward her, his queue curling in a question mark. The gold hoop in his ear glittered as it caught the last rays of pink, yellow, and purple sunlight visible through the windows.

  “Garrick?” she repeated, her heat beginning to flutter in her chest.

  “I’ve some bad news.”

  Her breath caught. He was leaving her. No, wait. They were on a ship. He couldn’t leave her.

  She swallowed. “What is it?”

  Still, he didn’t face her fully. She moved up alongside of him, terribly aware of the heat that radiated from his body like nebulous shimmers off a hot carriage roof.

  “Pirates,” he said at last.

  “Pirates?” she asked, resting a hand on his arm, his skin beneath his white shirt so warm. She loved to touch him; it made her feel more connected to him. And he didn’t draw away. She swallowed back a smile. “Piracy dies out in the seventeenth century.”

  “Not in some waters.”

  She felt her brows draw up, then lower. “But we’re miles away from where those pirates roam.”

  He swung toward her. Her arm dropped to her side. Her teasing smile faded when she saw the look in his eyes. “Not this particular pirate.”

  Good heavens. He was serious. Her heart fell to her toes, then just as quickly jumped back into her chest, where it tried to beat its way out. Gracious. Pirates. A shaft of excitement rose in her. “What pirate?”

  “Tully St. Clair. The devil’s own.”

  The words made Lucy shiver for some reason, though the name Tully meant nothing to her. It probably should have, judging by the look on G
arrick’s face. She stared. He looked magnificent in the golden light—pirates or no—almost like a painting she’d once seen of the archangel Gabriel, spectacular in his fury. And he was furious. She’d been on the receiving end of that look enough times to recognize it.

  “Garrick, surely we can outrun this Tully St. Clair?”

  Silence.

  “They can’t be that close, for I saw no sails earlier.”

  More silence.

  “And with hardly any crew on board we must be lighter and faster.”

  Still nothing.

  “And if we hang out our hands and paddle, we’ll be that much faster.”

  Not even a twitch.

  “Then there’s always the option of tossing people overboard to create less ballast.”

  He finally turned to look at her, though it was really more of a glare. “Lucy, this is no laughing matter.”

  So he had been listening. “Who’s laughing?”

  “If they catch you, do you know what they’ll do to you?”

  She tried a cocky smile. “Invite me to tea?”

  “Lucy!”

  She flinched.

  “If they catch you, they will rape you and then kill you, if they don’t decide to keep you for a few weeks.”

  This time it was she who grew silent. “Oh, is that all?” she finally said.

  “No, it is not. Do you know what it’s like to be forced by a man over and over again? I’ve seen it before, Lucy. ‘Tis one of the reasons why I vowed to rid the sea of pirate scum. The women become shells of themselves, some refuse to speak, some simply never snap out of it. I can’t …” He turned away. “I refuse to let that happen to you.”

  She swallowed. All right, so maybe being captured by pirates wasn’t as adventurous as the Gazette made it sound. Still, the odds of them actually being caught were so slim, she refused to consider it.

  She reached out and placed her hand against his arm again. “Garrick, do not fear. We must be far ahead of them—”

  “I fear nothing,” he snapped.