The Pirate

by Kate Hoffmann

  "It is," Merrie said, her expression uneasy.

  "Then you have been there?"

  "Several times. But I would like to see London in yourtime, before cars and buses and modern buildings."

  "Then I will send you back to deal with Blackbeard," he said. "There are times when I swear you could charm the man into surrender with just a simple smile."

  Merrie gave him a sideways glance. "They say he was quite the ladies' man."

  "He is said to have married many women," Griffin replied. "Most put the number at ten or twelve, but no one is certain." He paused. "Early Jackson was telling me a story about a pirate festival Teach held on the island in late September 1718. According to him, 'tis quite a colorful legend. The afternoon I went overboard, Teach was planning to set sail for Ocracoke. Do you know of this legend?"

  Merrie nodded hesitantly.

  "Then tell me of it. I want to know it, everything."

  "I-I don't know much," she began, "but they anchored their ships in Teach's Hole and went ashore on the southern tip of the island. Charles Vane was there, and Calico Jack Rackham, and Robert Deal and Israel Hands. They barbecued a couple cows and hogs, and drank a lot of rum. There was music and dancing. When word of this festival reached Governor Spotswood, the story had become twisted into the news that the pirates were building a fortress on the island. It was after this that he began to make firm plans to set off for Ocracoke and capture Blackbeard."

  "You know much about this legend," Griffin said. "Everyone knows about it," Merrie replied, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. "Not just me."

  He frowned. "I have been thinking. Perhaps there is no reason for me to go back," he said. "Perhaps it will all happen without me."

  "You can't know that," Merrie said. "Not for sure. You have the journal and the letters. For all we know, those may have had an effect on Spotswood's decision, or on the outcome."

  He turned to face her. "But I am beginning to think there isno way back, Merrie. We have tried everything, to no avail."

  She gave him a sideways glance. "Would that be so bad, if you couldn't return?" Her green eyes were filled with curiosity.

  He stared at her for a moment, then, with a frustrated sigh, he lay back on the sand and threw his arm over his eyes. "I have invested so much of my energy over the past year on bringing Blackbeard down," he murmured. "It has become part of who I am. I would like to think that I might have had the chance to put a finish to this, to make Teach pay for what he did to my father."

  "And maybe you still will," she said.

  Griffin laughed harshly. "Damn, I do not even know how I got here!" He pulled his arm from his eyes and found Merrie leaning over him.

  "Griffin, there is something… something I need to tell you."

  "What is it?"

  She bit her bottom lip and winced. "You'll be angry."

  He reached out and cupped her cheek in his palm. "What troubles you so, Merrie?"

  "It's just that I-I-" Suddenly, without warning, she brought her mouth down on his and kissed him, quick and hard. Then, as if she'd surprised even herself, she drew away, her eyes wide with shock.

  Gently, Griffin placed his hand on her nape and drew her closer. "I cannot be happy with just one sweet taste, Merrie-girl," he murmured against her lips. "I must have more."

  She opened to him and he pressed her mouth to his, quietly demanding her surrender. Hesitantly, her tongue touched his and a warm rush of desire washed over him, heating his blood, making his pulse race. Lord, how could he fight this, these exquisite sensations that her touch aroused?

  Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her beneath him, settling himself against her bewitching body, his hips pressed against hers. How long had it been since he'd felt such need for a woman? He'd lost himself in so many after Jane's death, and though they'd slaked the ache in his loins, none had soothed the ache he felt deep in his heart. After a time, he'd stopped trying to numb the pain and avoided women altogether.

  But somehow, he knew Merrie would make his heart soar with pleasure and his body shudder with passion. He would bury himself deep inside her and there he would find his release. The past would finally melt away and he would be left with only the present… and the future… and the woman who had freed him from his demons.

  Without breaking their kiss, he pushed up on one arm and reached between them, fumbling with the buttons of her dress. One by one, he loosened them, then relinquished her lips for the silken skin of her neck and shoulder. He parted the bodice of her dress and slipped his palm inside, then froze.

  Instinct had trained him to expect another layer or two, a chemise and a corset at least. Instead, his hand cupped the soft flesh of her breast and hard bud of her nipple. He sucked in a sharp breath and held it, waiting until the overwhelming need for release passed.

  He had thought to deny this attraction between them would be to honor her. But now he knew he was wrong, for to make love to her, to give himself entirely to this woman, without reserve, would be the greatest honor of all.

  Griffin brushed his lips along her collarbone, tasting her silken skin and tracing a path between her breasts. And then, with exquisite care, he drew her nipple softly between his lips, teasing at it with his teeth, exciting it with his tongue.

  She moaned softly, then whispered his name. Weaving her fingers through his hair, she pressed him against her, the sweet torment of his mouth on her breast no longer enough for her.

  Griffin focused his thoughts, trying to control his hunger. He knew the moment he entered her, he would be lost in an explosion of long-denied need. So he would take her slowly, treating her with great care and bringing her own passions to the surface, waiting until she was ready for him at last.

  Reaching down, he drew her leg up against his thigh, sliding his palm along the length of her limb, his hard shaft fitted against a spot between her thighs. "I need you, Merrie," he murmured. He drew back and pressed his palm against her cheek, stroking her reddened lips with his thumb. "Faith, but I think I must have been brought here to make love to you, for there is no other reason I can fathom."

  Her eyes snapped open and she looked directly at him, her expression suddenly lucid, the hazy passion in her eyes clearing like the morning fog beneath the sun.

  "I-I can't do this," she murmured. She glanced around, then wiggled out from under him, clutching at the buttons of her dress. "I-I'm sorry… I shouldn't have… I mean, this was all my fault."

  "Merrie, wait. I did not mean to-"

  "We should go now." She grabbed the basket and stumbled to her feet. "I-I'll meet you back at the road." Griffin watched as she clambered up the dune, slipping and sliding against the steep mound of sand. When she disappeared behind it, he flopped back down and cursed out loud.

  What the devil had he done wrong? He knew things between men and women had changed in the past three centuries. But a woman's honor was now her own responsibility-or so Merrie had told him. Besides, she'd had other men and how many, he didn't care to speculate. Had he been so inept that he hadn't even lived up to her past lovers? No, that couldn't be so! She had responded to his touch, urging him on with her soft, pleading moans.

  Griffin groaned. For the first time in a very long while, he felt like a fumbling boy, untrained in the ways of the world. He had made a mess of things, of that he was certain.

  There was only one solution to his dilemma, to this war that raged between his past and his present. He had little chance of returning to his own time. No matter how much he wanted to go back, he'd have to come to terms with making a life here, in the twentieth century. So he would do the only proper thing after their unfortunate encounter on the beach. All their problems would be solved.

  He would simply take Merrie as his wife.

  The night breeze blew softly through the screened porch, ruffling Meredith's hair and cooling her flushed skin. Curling her feet beneath her on the chaise longue, she listened idly to the songs of the crickets and the gentle ebb and flow of
the waves. But her eyes never strayed from the figure that stood on the beach, illuminated by the light of a half moon.

  Griffin stood at the water's edge, staring out across the Sound, his hands braced on his hips. He'd been there since they'd arrived back home, pacing, then stopping to gaze at the horizon. He'd spent many midnights in the same spot, watching and waiting, at the edge of the water while she pretended to sleep. But tonight was different.

  He was still dressed in the faded jeans and ragged shirt that he'd worn to work. The leather pouch was still sitting on the mantel and his boots and breeches were inside the hall closet. For the first time in many nights, Griffin was not waiting to leave. And in that realization, Meredith knew she should feel some joy. But all she felt was utter confusion and a healthy dose of remorse.

  She drew a long breath and closed her eyes. She'd wanted to go to him, to explain her sudden rejection of his advances, but then she'd thought better of it. For an explanation would also require a confession, and she wasn't sure he was ready to listen to what she had to say. Nor was she prepared to tell him what she'd been trying to deny from the night he'd arrived…that shewas the cause of his leap in time.

  Meredith covered her eyes with her hands. It had to be the truth, nothing else made sense. Over the past week, she'd carefully questioned him about Blackbeard, knowing full well it may be the catalyst to send him back. But to her surprise, she'd discovered that Griffin knew very little about the man he hunted and could provide few facts that she didn't already know. She'd somehow forgotten that news did not travel fast in colonial America. Without the benefit of newspapers and television, news of Black-beard's crimes and background had been spread mostly by word of mouth.

  She was now certain she'd brought him here as an answer to her fantasies. Over the past week, she had desperately tried to a recall a specific incident, an errant musing or a frustrated thought that may have provided the key. Yet nothing had come to mind. One day she was happily writing a biography and the next night, he was lying on her beach, half dead, her fantasy man come to life.

  She would have to tell him the truth before their relationship went any further. But she couldn't bring herself to say the words without sounding as if she'd lost her mind.

  Meredith snatched her hands from her eyes. "What am I supposed to do?" she muttered to herself.

  "Perhaps you could begin by explaining what happened between us, Merrie."

  She sat upright, her gaze riveted on Griffin who was standing at the end the chaise. Damn his pirate tricks! He moved like a cat, with unerring stealth. So much for her plan to be safely locked in her bedroom before he headed back inside.

  "I-I really don't know what to say," Meredith said.

  "Did I do something wrong?"

  Meredith got to her feet. "Oh, no," she said nervously. "It's my fault. I guess-I guess I just wasn't ready. There are some things that we need to talk about before we…you know."

  "'Tis my fault," Griffin countered. "I pushed you."

  "No…no, you didn't." Meredith winced. "Griffin, I think you should know that I'm the one who is-"

  Griffin reached out and placed his finger over her lips. "Merrie, I think I know what you want to say."

  "Griffin, I-"

  "As I see it, there is only one solution to this problem between us. We must marry."

  Meredith looked up and met his gaze, then shook her head in confusion. "What?"

  "I want you to be my wife."

  "You-you want me to marryyou?"

  He nodded. "After this afternoon, I believe it is the only honorable thing to do. My behavior was improper and ill-mannered. And though I know you do not have a care for your virtue, I must."

  "And you think you'll protect myvirtue by marrying me?" Meredith asked, unable to contain her disbelief. "Are you crazy?"

  Griffin shifted on his feet and frowned, obviously not getting the response he'd expected. "No, I am in complete control of my faculties."

  Meredith laughed. "You want to marry me because of one little roll in the sand? We didn't do anything!"

  "We did plenty. Now, will you marry me or not?"

  "No!" Meredith shouted. For an instant, she couldn't believe she was actually turning down his marriage proposal. But then, she knew she had no other choice.

  Griffin took a step back. "I don't understand. Why not?"

  "What about when you go back? Do you really expect me to marry someone who might suddenly get yanked back to his own century? Just so you won't feel guilty when we sleep together?"

  Griffin grabbed her hands. "Merrie, let us be honest here. I don't think I will be going back. With every day that passes, this fact becomes more real to me."

  "You-you can't be sure of that," she said.

  "Marry me," he repeated.

  "No," Meredith said, snatching her hands from his. "I will not marry you, Griffin Rourke."

  With that, she turned and walked through the door, making a point to slam it behind her. Of all the nerve! Who did he think he was? She couldn't imagine a more ridiculous proposal. Honor? He could take his half-witted proposal and his moral obligation and shove it, for all she cared.

  "Damn it, Merrie, wait!"

  "Leave me alone, Griffin!"

  Meredith strode to her bedroom and slammed that door, as well. "A marriage proposal should be based on love, not some debt of honor," she muttered. "If he thinks I'd even consider such an insult, he's more provincial than I thought!"

  Meredith threw herself on the bed and covered her head with a pillow. All right, so maybe she was tempted to accept. Deep inside, she wanted nothing more than to spend her life with Griffin Rourke. But she also wanted a marriage based on love, not duty. And she was not fool enough to believe that Griffin loved her. He may desire her, but he did not love her. In his mind, love was not necessary to make a good marriage.

  Yet, that didn't stop her from wanting him. There wasn't a minute that passed in which she didn't think of him and didn't wonder what it might be like between them. And the more time that passed, the more she began to see him as a man who belonged in her time.

  When he was dressed in body-hugging jeans and a torn T-shirt, she could almost believe that he had been born in the same decade as she had. His speech had even slipped into more familiar patterns and as time passed, he seemed more comfortable with his surroundings.

  Meredith sighed. Who was she trying to fool? When it came right down to it, he was still Griffin Rourke-a man whose heart and soul belonged to the past.

  7

  Meredith thought Griffin might come to her bed that night, but he didn't. She woke at least once to hear him pacing outside her bedroom door. Several times he stopped and she could imagine his hand gripping the knob. She slowed her breathing and pretended to sleep, but he didn't venture inside. Finally, the house had grown silent and she'd drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

  When she awoke, it was well past dawn. From the living room, she could hear Ben Gunn carrying on a onesided conversation from his perch next to her desk. Meredith rolled out of bed and stretched, grateful that Griffin had already left for work and relieved that she wouldn't have to face him.

  The last thing she wanted to discuss was his marriage proposal. She knew her refusal had stung his considerable pride, but there was much more to be solved between them before they could consider a future together. If he truly was here to stay, then she would have time… time to make him love her-before she told him why she really believed he'd come to her.

  She pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then padded to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.

  "Morning!" Ben cried, adding a wolf whistle to his cheerful greeting.

  "Good morn-"

  Meredith cut short her reply to the gray parrot. She and the bird were not alone. Griffin stood in front of the fire-place, staring into an empty grate, his arms braced on the mantel, the muscles of his back tense beneath the soft fabric of his paint-spattered T-shirt. Her gaze drifted to the tight contours of his
backside. The man was meant for denim, she mused.

  Griffin slowly turned to face her. Her hesitant smile faded when it met a mask of cold indifference. He stared at her for a long moment. When he didn't speak, she did.

  "It's late. Why aren't you at work?" she asked, watching him warily.

  Her words seemed to crack his icy facade and he raised a dark eyebrow. "When did you plan to tell me, Merrie?"

  Meredith ran her fingers through her hair. "What are you talking about? Tell you what?"

  He reached over and picked up a stack of papers from her desk, then held them out to her. "About this," he said, waving them at her. "Your work. The subject of the book you're writing."

  Meredith's breath caught in her throat. "You searched my desk?"

  He let out a laugh, a harsh sound without a trace of humor. "Of course I searched your desk. You forget, Merrie, I'm a spy. If I need information, I make it my business to find it."

  "You had no right," Meredith said softly.

  "No right!" Ben mimicked.

  Griffin glared at the bird, then leveled a cool gaze on her. "I had no right? I had every right," he said, his voice deceptively even. "When, Merrie? How long did you expect to keep this from me?"

  She stepped back, surprised at the intensity of his tightly leashed anger, and unable to answer. How long? She had never wantedto keep it from him, there had just never seemed to be a good time to tell him. And then, later, it didn't make any difference.

  "Tell me now," Griffin demanded. "Tell me that you have spent years studying the man I despise, that you plan to write a book glorifying his crimes. Tell me that you would do anything to learn more about Teach. Tell me that you are the reason I am here. For 'tis the only thing that makes sense," he said. "Youbrought me here, Merrie. Now, tell me how you did it!"

  "I don't know!" she cried. "I've searched my brain since the night you arrived, but I can't recall anything that would have prompted you to land here. But you're not here because of my work, that much I do know."