Sweet Vengeance

by St. Michel, Elizabeth

  Did the watch bell ring? Abby lifted heavy eyelids. The night swathed in black velvet yielded to a waxing moon and showered the room bright as day. A muffled thump and a woman’s chirruping laughter startled her into full awareness. Two people moved down the companionway. A crew member and his strumpet? The captain would have the sailor’s gullet filleted for bringing a doxy on board. But who was she to interfere? Abby put her hands over her ears to lock out their amorous murmurings. The lock jiggled. The door flew open.

  Thorne. Of course. He staggered into the cabin. Drunk. The whore kissed him then slipped off his coat. She tossed it on the desk. Charts fluttered to the floor.

  “Wait while I lock the door,” purred the whore, her French accent, promising erotic indulgences.

  “Ah, Lucky Lucette, bring me to heaven,” Thorne slurred, attempting to focus.

  Abby’s ears scorched. Huddled in darkness, she lay rooted to her pallet. Drat! Why did the randy fool have to come back to the Vengeance? There was no way to escape. Stupid. If only she had not scattered her clothes. Her bindings lay in a heap under Thorne’s desk. Her pants peeked out from beneath the bed. Where was her coat?

  “Lucky Lucette?” Reeking with rum, Thorne wobbled. He raised his hand by the bed, had difficulty completing the task then dropped it. His eyes lighted when Lucette plucked off her blouse, and took his hands to ply her massive breasts tipped with dark areoles and tight nipples.

  Abby’s breath quickened. She knew she should look away but froze, fascinated. Mesmerized she touched her own breasts beneath the silk shirt. Her nipples hardened.

  Lucette danced away from him. The whore lifted a bottle of rum from the table and returned to Thorne. “Pleasure yourself with refreshment, Captain.” She rubbed her rounded breasts up against him as she poured the liquid into his mouth. Thorne fell on his bed and pushed the bottle away. The strumpet leaped atop him and squealed her delight, her skirts hitched up over her hips, revealing the dark hairs of her mound.

  Abby’s skin flushed with the erotic display. Her nostrils flared, the two intruders unaware of a witness to their lovemaking. She must leave. Except strolling half-naked on deck was not an option.

  “You’re a big fellow, like a bull in his pen too long.” She clenched her hand over his manhood and squeezed. He groaned as she wriggled off. With skill she removed his shirt. In two successive thuds, his boots hurled to the floor. She coaxed more rum down Thorne’s throat.

  Abby peered from beneath the covers.

  Lucette unbuttoned his pants and tugged them off. “Captain! How you impress me! You are a banquet to be devoured.” She ran her fingers up and down his chest.

  Thorne snored.

  Abby narrowed her eyes when the whore enticed him to drink again. Abby didn’t know how much Thorne had downed but clearly, he was in his cups and would not wake for a long time. The whore pressed to his lips the near empty bottle, lifting his head and prodding him to drink. The liquid dribbled from his mouth.

  Warning instincts clanged. Thorne could drown. Abby rose. She edged behind the harlot. Her fingers searched for the drawer with a knife hidden inside. The same knife she had contemplated cutting her hair with.

  From eavesdropping on her older brothers, she had learned of a whore’s trick to inebriate their customers, rob and sometimes kill them so they would not be identified. Despite her war with Thorne, he lay defenseless. He needed her protection. Her toe hit the bucket of water she used to bathe and she smothered a groan. Did the whore hear her?

  Lucky Lucette slapped his face and laughed. “You mindless, captain. You will not know what hit you.”

  Abby watched while Lucette search through his coat, and then his trousers, stuffing coins and papers into a pilfered pillowcase. The whore put on her blouse and reached beneath her skirt.

  “I always carve a farewell into my customers.”

  Abby’s breath caught a flash of light. The whore raised her hand. A knife gleamed. Abby picked up the bucket.

  Water drenched the whore. She came up sputtering and turned to her assailant with a snarl knotted on her lips. “You bitch! Where did you come from?”

  “I watched your contemptible ruse,” Abby growled. “You’re a thief.”

  With her booty clutched to her chest, the whore swung her knife. Abby reared. The blade swiped an inch from her face. She crouched then rammed the table into the whore. Lucette fell back onto the bed next to Thorne. Not where Abby wanted her. The cabin yielded far too narrow. Abby took a tentative step back. She stretched her hand behind her. The whore landed on her feet. Abby opened the drawer and prayed Thorne had not removed the knife, her eyes trained on her opponent.

  Lucette shoved the table aside and sneered. “I will carve your face before I plunge my blade into your heart.”

  Moisture beaded on Abby’s lip. Her fingers trembled, rifling the contents of the drawer. She inhaled. Her hand seized upon the hilt. Lucette rushed her. Abby sidestepped and put out her foot. The whore tripped and slammed onto the floor. Her bag flew. Abby kicked the whore’s prize where it clanged against a far wall. Lucky Lucette twisted, and with a ferocious roar, jumped to her feet, tossing her knife from hand to hand.

  Abby revealed her knife. “Leave and we will forget this ever happened.”

  Lucky Lucette’s eyes widened. “I’ll not leave until I have what belongs to me.”

  Thorne groaned. Was he hurt? Abby glanced to him. The whore dove to pick-up her bag. With trained ease, Abby threw her knife. The blade pierced the whore’s hand, pinning her to the floor. Lucette cried out. Her weapon clattered to the planks.

  Abby kicked Lucette’s knife under the bed. With a wary eye on her opponent, Abby pulled out the blade and unbolted the door and hissed, “Get out!”

  Suddenly Pascale filled the doorway, his eyes as big as silver thalers, assessing the chaos in the cabin.

  “Pascale, heave this thief from the ship!”

  Lucette gripped her bloody appendage, pleading and begging to be rowed to shore.

  Abby shoved the whore from Thorne’s room, glad to be rid of the vermin. “Don’t ever let me set eyes on you again, Lucky Lucette. Next time, my mark will be more lethal.” Abby pointed her knife at Lucette. The whore scrambled up the ladder faster.

  Grinning, Pascale gave her a full salute. “The captain still does not see you are a woman? What will happen when he discovers his cabin boy to be a femme fatale?”

  Abby shrugged with Pascale’s nonsensical opinion of her. The hem of Thorne’s shirt grazed her knees. Heat rose fiercely to her face. Abby’s hand flew to her mouth. She slammed the door.

  Pascale chuckled from the other side. “Mademoiselle, you face death and you worry about inconveniences.”

  Abby leaned against the back of the door and frowned at Thorne. Inconveniences! She blew her hair out of her eyes, resisting the urge to throttle Thorne. Unconscious, the hounds of hell would not wake him. After surveying the mess in the room, she righted the table and lit a candle. She wiped Lucette’s blood from the floor and, pinching the rum bottle between two fingers, she deposited the offending liquid outside the door. Gathering her bindings and pants she dropped them on her pallet.

  Where was her coat? She scanned the room. The corners of the worn garment peeked out from beneath Thorne. She sighed. To retrieve her coat was another matter. Abby averted her eyes and tugged. Impossible. She lifted his legs onto the bed then rolled him to his side. The garment didn’t budge. If only Thorne weren’t so heavy. She pursed her lips. What to do? The plunk of oars in water indicated Pascale rowed Unlucky Lucette to shore. Simeon with his present infirmity could not negotiate the stairs let alone lift Thorne.

  No. She could not do this. Handling Jacob was like handling a lightning bolt. Why had she been so stupid to throw her clothes around?

  The candle sputtered and in the wavering luminescence, Thorne’s bronze-hued skin showed dark against the linens. The long, muscular form was superbly proportioned, with broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips and le
an thighs, and a furring of hair dwindling to a thin line that traced downward over his flat belly. Her face grew hot. Abby looked away. She could do this, couldn’t she?

  She climbed onto his bed, wedged her knee along his back. Abby closed her eyes, his skin warm and intimate against hers. A low moan passed his lips.

  Abby’s eyes flew open. Did he wake?

  Jacob rolled to his back carrying her with him. His arm flopped out like a child, his eyes closed. Rum! He’d sleep well into the next day. Tomorrow he’d be roaring like a lion with a thorn in its paw, trumpeting the mother of all hangovers. Good for him!

  A shaft of light streamed from the stern and illuminated his face. Did she dare touch him?

  The captain was the kind of man who dealt with revenge.

  Desire won over common sense. Helpless against the yearning woman side of Abby, she traced the fine line of his jaw, the stubble rough to her fingertips. She continued her exploration and ran a finger down his fine aquiline nose then outlined his lips, compelled by his classic beauty as a man, the chiseled appeal of some long lost Roman warrior. She smiled, intoxicated with the heady sense of touching him.

  Did an immortal dare trifle with a God?

  Awareness of him filled every pore of her being. Kneeling beside him, his bare, hot flesh next to hers, she dared to stroke both her palms down his throat where a pulse throbbed, and then across the broad expanse of his chest. A crackle of energy, hot, raw and carnal heated from the muscles that rippled with her caress. Power surged, gliding her hands down his sculpted abdomen as if saying the word, the seas would rise.

  How often had she lain on the pallet, watching him dress when he thought Abe was asleep? To wash him in the tub, to run a wet sponge down his back as the dirty, filthy, ragged cabin boy…this was far different…Thorne’s oblivion, and the anonymity of the night, giving her the wicked freedom to explore him.

  With a flash, the specter of the whore intruded. Abby curled her fingers, her nails, pressing half-moons into her palms. Anger warred with the strange excitement that pulsed through her veins.

  Distant memories flooded…the evening at her ancestral home. To be kissed by Jacob Thorne roused reckless and dizzy sensations. Meandering in her mind like an onrushing stream was the delicious vision in the garden. He had leaned forward and, in one swift movement covered her mouth with his own. If only he had not kissed her so senseless. The taste of his mouth, silky and warm, lingered like a sunrise, extravagant and full of promise. She gave her head a little shake.

  She tugged her coat, but the buttons caught on the other side of him. Damn. If only she could shout her frustration. Abby yanked with such force Thorne woke. With a growl he grabbed her shirt. Her mouth opened under the stare of narrowed cobalt eyes.

  No! Abby pushed on his chest. All the slack from her shirt was pulled up in his fists. Cool air brushed her naked thighs. Taking a deep breath, she shoved and gave a mental curse at her stupidity for blundering with nothing on but a silk shirt.

  Jacob frowned very much aware of the woman on top of him, though the lingering intoxicants clouded his brain. His mind slowed and listed like a ship with spent sails and could find no reason for why a woman persisted to struggle in his grasp. Was he in a brothel or was this a dream? Dumb as a sheep, he could not fathom where he was, or how he got there.

  He narrowed his eyes. He dare not let her go. The enchantment would vanish as the foam on the sea. He gripped her tighter, the shirt in his hand ready to rip. He rather liked that idea.

  “Who are you?” He chafed at the thickness of his tongue. “A sea nymph?” His mind worked as if a door were set ajar, into some unseen world. Was it magic that allowed him this lovely companion? Who was he to argue? After all, it had been some time since he had the pleasures of intimate companionship, and his body’s most primal instinct kicked in with a vengeance. Surely no significant mental prowess on his part was necessary to fulfill his hunger. His wit, though numb, was rather logical and having discovered a reason, savored it with relish.

  He feasted on her form and lovely face while his mind raced for answers. There yielded no recollection. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs, unable to get over a face so beautifully blinding. Certainly he would remember who she was? Her hair, a rich glowing gold, paler in the faltering candlelight and although short, curled softly about her shoulders. Her features were flawless, her nose straight and delicately boned. Beneath soft light brows, her eyes were a baffling blue. And he imagined, when between sunlight and starlight, held endless shades of azure, from periwinkle to the dazzling blues of a summer sky. Under his warming perusal, her creamy skin blushed.

  To take things slow with this beauty would be a penance. His cock throbbed. The more she fought, the harder he got. She breathed hard and the movement gave a tantalizing glimpse of rounded breasts outlined by the soft silk she wore. He resisted the urge to bury his face between her breasts and suckle her nipples until they rose firm and taut.

  “You are drunk. Let me go,” she begged.

  Her voice, a siren’s song was vague and familiar. Jacob’s mind gathered through a soft haze, like a mermaid’s dream, floating over ships and sea. Let her go? Never. He smiled. “Never will I let you vanish.” She stilled when he touched her lips with his finger. “You are tender as the flush of a rose petal and delicate as the light of a solitary star.”

  Abby rolled her eyes. He was reciting poetry to her. His words held no credibility. Of course, the rum talked. To escape was impossible, to brazen out the situation was the only possible solution. His confusion, apparent, Abby played upon it, her quick wit shaping a plan. Through the rough talk of sailors, she had learned things that set her ears to fire.

  Her teasing laughter broke the silence of the cabin and she was thankful the shadows that hid her near state of undress. “Surely, I need to remove my garment before we can continue, Captain?” She mimicked the sweetly-smoothed purr of a French courtesan and he halted. The deception proved simple enough. Could she play this part as successful as that of a scruffy cabin boy?

  Thorne eased his grip, and she guessed from his expression, he was attempting to comprehend, yet the strength of his fingers clasped her still, wary she would evaporate. “I could never forget or forgive myself if I let you go.”

  “En amour on pardonne mais on n´oublie jamais.” In love, we forgive but we never forget. Abby whispered in perfect French, not that Thorne would understand a word of it. He did not know French.

  “Hurry my beautiful nymph.”

  Beautiful? Of course, the rum again, his mind was sluggish. Abby’s feet slipped to cold hard planking. She assessed the time to grab her bindings and pants and flee.

  A traitorous shaft of golden light penetrated the silk she wore and laid bare her soft curves before his eyes. Thorne groaned. Lust flared through his eyes and he snatched her shirt in his fists and hauled her into bed. Two buttons ripped off as she knelt beside him. Her breasts exposed to his heated glare. “Do you think I’d let you disappear?” He was obviously rather pleased with his logic, betrayed by an irresistible boyish grin. Her heart dipped.

  “Really, Captain,” She rested a hand on his chest and pushed him back, conscious her bottom lay bare where he pulled the slack from her shirt. “You need your rest. There’s a chill in the air, and you’ll surely catch your death,” she told him as he attempted to focus on her face. “I’ve an errand to run. I won’t take long. I’ll be back.”

  Abby grinned at her own cleverness. There was no errand, of course, but in his drunken state, he’d be happily dozing soon after she left him.

  He reeled her in like a fish caught on a fly, clutching her shirt until she was an inch from his face, the idea clearly not to his liking. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been with one so fair, and…” he could not finish the sentence.

  Abby patted his shoulder. “You rest yourself a moment, Captain,” Abby coaxed, trying to ply the folds of material from his fingers, anything to gain more material to cover her nakedness.
“I must be about my duty.”

  Thorne cursed. Abby looked at him in surprise, not daring to speak. Her heart pounded. Her blundering knowledge of men flew in the face of ignorance. This was not a flirtatious parlor game.

  “I demand a kiss,” he countered huskily, “so as not to grow weary of the wait.” He pulled her hard against his torso. Her breasts smashed against his chest. Her nipples hardened with the contact and his huge swollen arousal seared against her feminine center. “Give a poor sailor a sampling of your wares that I might better anticipate your return.”

  The seductive whisper stroked her like a soft, warm caress. Had it not been for the incessant pressure of his body sweeping away any feeling of confidence, Abby would have smiled in relief. Yet Thorne rose far too bold to tolerate even the slightest degree of security. He laid his hand on her bottom and pressed her to him and she became acutely aware of her inexperience. His body was on fire, desire pulsed through his swollen, rigid flesh. Her instincts reeled and like a bird caught in a cage, flight rose futile. A well-versed courtesan would not react in shock nor repulse a kiss. If only, she had a way out. Abby ventured an uncertain path.

  She bent to meet his lips, his dark eyes a wicked gleam in the ghostly moonlight, his lean features starkly etched. An inexplicable feeling flickered within her breast, and she halted briefly with the rising excitement that thickened in her belly. With renewed courage, she drove it down. Of course, she could do the deed, and then go.

  A light teasing kiss, just enough to satisfy his needs. He crushed his mouth to hers like he wanted to devour her, flaming her with a heat that seared along her spine and curled her toes. She closed her eyes, reveling in the strength of his embrace, the rum taste of his mouth, the hard pressure of his loins, yielding discernment that this was a strong, virile man, treating and desiring her like a woman. Would she faint?

  Through a haze, she lifted her head. In the silence that passed between them, she breathed unsteadily. “You are tempting, Captain. I must go. I will return.”