Sweet Vengeance

by St. Michel, Elizabeth

  He frowned like a child, his favorite toy taken away. Except he was no child. “No more?”

  Abby swallowed. Her brain clouded with sensuality until recognition dawned. A tingling swept up the back of her neck and across her face. She managed to give him a tantalizing taste of her honey-smooth laughter. “In time, Captain…good things come in time.”

  Jacob’s glare lessened. “Promise?” he murmured against her ear and brushed his lips against her throat.

  Abby’s stomach lurched. She felt as if her body was as tight as a drumhead. What was happening to her? For the past weeks, he considered her nothing but a ragamuffin, seeing no trace of her womanhood. The fool! Well, she would give his besotted mind a taste of her contempt.

  Every bit as raw and blatant as it was seductive she forced a demand from his lips. Her hands plunged into his hair, pulling his head closer. Thorne’s arms crushed her full against him, and his mouth turned across hers, invading, demanding, taking hers with a sensual, leisure thoroughness. His hand slipped up to cup her head while he greedily devoured her moist, lips. His hard chest pressed against the peaks of her breasts and sent pleasure so sharp it was almost painful. His fingers stroked the shortness of her hair and even in his befuddled state−she knew he ached for more.

  Abby’s limbs trembled with the intoxicating potion of his hot-blooded kiss. His tongue passed slowly along her parted lips, then invaded to explore, leisurely, dreamily possess. Reality fled from her grasp. No need to struggle. His thirst would be quenched, she rationalized, and he could sleep the entire night in his bed. For this moment, she settled in those broad, wished-for arms, and allowed the woman in her to experience the embrace of a man. But not just any man.

  Captain Thorne.

  Thorne loosened his crushing embrace and Abby’s arms trembled as she supported herself. His fingers brushed ardently down the side of her throat and suddenly inside the yoke of her shirt. He unfastened the last remaining buttons and feasted his eyes on her swollen breasts. Abby gasped. Cool air touched her and what she saw there paralyzed her. The eyes that met hers were not hooded but fully alert, and smoldering with heat. The pressure of his muscled thighs beneath her quickened her heart.

  She struggled to move away from him. The threat loomed too real. “Captain Thorne, your eagerness astounds me. I’ll be on my way and return in a short while.” He caught her round the waist and rolled her beneath him.

  A crooked grin crossed his face. “I know without a doubt that once I release a maiden of the sea, she will forever fade from my reaches, an illusion that is not real.”

  If love is nothing but an illusion, then what is real? “Si l´amour n´est qu´une illusion alors qu´est-ee que la re´alite´?” she said huskily, trying to distract him with assurances of more if he let her go. Abby pushed on his chest, the weight of his body covering her and her defenselessness to muscle and sinew that had been honed on drawing up heavy sails and lugging hefty cargo. She struggled and the full result of his intentions came clear. Her shirt open, and her bare thighs nudged apart, brushed with the scorching heat of his manhood.

  Thorne laughed and his dark head swooped down and kissed her. No longer was he in a crippling stupor. His tongue thrust hard into her mouth.

  Abby turned her head to the side. “Release me!” She shoved and wiggled to the edge from beneath him.

  From her command, he raised on his forearms, Abby’s body aware of his ardor pressed to her thighs. She rolled and came to her feet on the floor. She had every intention to keep right on going, but her breath was jerked from her abruptly as he halted her flight. The tail of her shirt firmly twisted in his grasp. The top cut into her shoulders. Desperately, Abby shrugged and yanked one arm free. The shirt coiled tightly about her other arm and held her captive. Adrenaline leaped through her veins. She crouched and braced her feet against his effort to haul her back. On his side, Thorne could not pivot to pull her nearer. With her free hand, Abby yanked at the twisted silk, while Thorne fought to disengage his arm in the tangled bedding.

  “Please,” Abby managed to purr silkily, concealing her panic. “Release me to administer my duties. I vow to return.” Her arm slid from the fabric...almost free. She tasted victory. In warm seductive tones, she cajoled, “Your patience will be rewarded, my Captain, until then−”

  The shirt slipped. She was free! But so was Thorne! His arm flew out, catching her elbow with a strength she had not imagined possible in one so inebriated. She pried at his fingers. He drew her toward him and any chance of escape vanished with the silk shirt that pooled to the floor. He drew her down upon him, and her body tensed, his manhood hard and thick pressed with urgency against her thighs. He rolled her beneath. His dark head lifted and buried his face in the valley between her breasts. Warm hands cupped her swollen breasts, freed from their bindings, weighing the mounds like treasured bags of gold. His thumbs scraped lightly over her rigid nipples and her breath caught in her throat. He drew one nipple at a time in his mouth lathing a hot torturous path with his tongue. A shuddering excitement passed through her, and the strength from her limbs melted away.

  Raising his head, he stared down into her eyes. “You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes upon. I demand to have you, now.”

  Abby shook her head in denial. Fear mixed with the heady pleasure of a rock hard body pressing down on hers. Her eyes open, she whispered huskily into his ear. “I must go.”

  “I’ve paid the night and will see the transaction completed.”

  Abby licked her lips and seized the opportunity. “But Captain...therein lays the problem. You have not paid.”

  He frowned, though disappointed, refused to let go of his prey. Debate measured in those hard, flint-like eyes. He kept her pinned and reached over to his side drawer and produced a bag of gold. He showered the contents on her. The clink of cold coins gleamed on her skin then slid to the bed. “A hundred night’s worth,” he triumphed.

  “Please, Captain, I beg you. I simply can’t−”

  “Jacob.” His husky whisper commanded.

  “Jacob.” Her own whisper filled with dread. His eyes glittered down at her dangerously, and his mouth curved into a satanic smile. Abby turned her head aside and closed her eyes. His mouth grazed her cheek, and then his hand was beneath her chin, forcing her head around until his mouth covered hers, his tongue prying her trembling lips apart. A strange heat began to pulsate in her loins. His hands moved down her side, curved over her hips and squeezed her buttocks. He nudged his knee between her clamped knees. The burning heat of his staff touched her intimately, intruding the soft womanly folds of her flesh. Distinct warmth flooded the area between her legs.

  “Oh! She moaned and frantically pushed at him. She heaved beneath him and he laughed, dipped his head and suckled her breast. His fingers slicked against one small, sensitive piece of flesh at the core of her, replaced with the unrelenting pressure of her tight, resisting flesh and she heaved beneath him, straining against the broad expanse of chest. “Jacob, listen to me−”

  He lifted her hips and rammed his length into her. A burning violent pain exploded in her loins. “Stop!” Abby pressed her face against the base of his neck, biting her lip until she tasted blood, while tears trickled down her cheeks. His mouth all but consumed her and he kissed her so thoroughly and possessively that the pain of the intrusion began to lessen. Leisurely, languidly his lips gave her pleasure and with each passing moment, alien budding warmth grew within Abby, a feeling she could not deny. She responded to his wild, ardent kisses and her arms crept about him, holding him close, the ever-present, throbbing heat of him set her to fire. He began to move and groaned as her body arched, offering more.

  With one hand he lifted and kneaded her breast then suckled in worshipful silence his eyes glazed as he watched her face. She writhed incapable of reason, attempting to put a name, a place, anything to grab the elusive, keening, cloying craving he demanded. She sobbed with shame at her growing wantonness as his hands stroked her b
ody seemingly everywhere. His breath came in jagged bursts. Each thrust became more potent, harder, faster, echoing the pounding thunder of her heart, bringing her to a new plateau of pleasure, and each level was so filled with bliss she felt she would swoon to go any higher. Yet higher she climbed, her world tore itself free of restraint, her legs circled his waist as she matched him in rhythmic splendor, two beings blending together in a whirling eddy of passion. She strained against him and whimpered into his mouth. With an instinctive movement she surged to meet his next thrust. He sucked in his breath sharply, then tilted her hips to embed his staff into her completely, shuddered and went limp.

  His big body sprawled across hers, and still merged, his flesh pulsated into hers. Overcome with wonder, Abby absently stroked the slickness of his back, touched to the depths of her soul. They existed−two spent embers rising on a zephyr and floating ever so slowly back to earth.

  “Ma générosité est aussi illimitée que la mer, Mon amour est profond: plus je te donne.” My bounty is as boundless as the sea. My love is deep, the more I give to thee. A bard’s words echoed peacefully and came easily to her lips. Where had she heard it?

  Abby’s mind came back together from the ends of the world where it had flown. Aware, she could feel his heart beat and every breath he took along with the musky scent of him that clung to her skin. Her eyes felt heavy and she let them slide closed as she snuggled against his warmth. His arm was flung across her, and his breath tousled the wispy curls upon her brow.

  Remotely she heard the ship’s bell toll, signaling that the break of day had commenced and with it the dawning reality of what she had done. The intelligent, sophisticated Lady Abigail Marie Hansford Rutland, daughter of the Duke of Rutland had slept willingly with a Yankee, rebel, pirate and traitor!

  A shriek of anguish fell from her lips. She threw off the sheltering arm with a snarl, and, struck Thorne in the shoulder. The impact rolled him onto his back.

  Thorne snored, out cold and into a heavy slumber that she had worked so hard to launch from the beginning. She rolled away, unsteadily planted her feet upon the floor and glared through brimming tears to where he lay sprawled naked on the bed. Weeping bitterly, she witnessed the evidence of her destruction. Blood! Her blood! Smeared dark red blood contrasted on the white muslin. She spun and tripped on her coat, the very article of clothing that caused her ruin.

  “I hate you−I hate you,” she cried between sobs while shoving on her clothing. What man would want her, now that she was no longer a virgin? Many, surely, she reflected inconsolably, but none for his wife unless he was some ancient and impoverished lord who paid a handsome price. And even if she succeeded escaping the infamous Captain Thorne, her purity could never be recovered.

  Even far worse raised the sudden realization and more humiliating by far, was her reaction to Jacob Thorne’s caresses. She had given herself to him as entirely and fervently as he had taken her. The magnificent memory of his male hardness, deep and powerful inside her, was now a memory of shame, causing heat to flow to her cheeks, not this time from passion, but from the most degrading humiliation. Added to this shame−a new and potent fear. More than ever, she feared Jacob Thorne, the one man who could stir her passions to new heights and whose power could create a pulsing, throbbing need. Better to play the role as filthy cabin boy than to succumb to the charm of Thorne’s seduction. She lifted her chin. As the ragamuffin lad, she remained safe and safe she would stay.

  “Lucette!” Thorne dreamily smiled.

  Abby put her fist in her mouth. She had given him her greatest treasure and he thought he had made love with the harlot. Damn him! Damn him to eternity! She gathered her pallet, slammed the door and sought the security of her room in the bow. On stiff rope coils, she burrowed deep beneath her quilt, curled into a tight ball, jamming a pillow tightly over her head. There, in total exhaustion, she sobbed out her misfortunes, allowing the sweet peace of slumber to overtake her.

  Chapter 12

  Thorne gripped the rail of the foredeck, surveying his crew as they labored in the hot tropical sun to make ready for sail. His head throbbed like a poleaxed bull and his temper grew short at the time it took to unload cargo and load fresh supplies to ready his ship for the journey to Boston. At the last minute, William Bingham had ordered him to take an additional consignment of desperately needed military munitions, an overload that would encumber the Vengeance’s swift speed through hostile waters.

  A gust of wind shook the ship. “Sou’easter blowing up,” Lawton reminded him. Again.

  Against his lieutenant’s warnings of a gale brewing, he hastened his crew, determined to depart Martinique. He had delayed enough. To free his cousin from British hands was critical. The threat of Ethan hanged on a mad King’s whim menaced with each passing day. A nice fat British Colonel cooled his heels in a Boston jail, guaranteeing an exchange. He had to get to Boston as soon as possible before General Washington decided to exchange that officer for another American prisoner.

  He rolled up his sleeves and grimaced. Why had he wasted valuable time on a prostitute when he should have initiated departure? If only he had tamped down his base needs. Yet warm rum, long incarceration at sea and Lucky Lucette had provided a heady challenge. Her ripe curves had rubbed up against him in Demanjer Tavern and her willingness to remedy the itch that settled in his groin demonstrated too potent of an antidote to resist.

  Yet his licentious behavior stood inexcusable. Hadn’t that flaw spelled disaster for his family−a flaw that had yielded the death of his younger cousin, Thomas, and near defilement of Rachel? For those sins, he would be damned.

  Adding to his sins was the image this morn of a red blood stain on his sheets. Thorne raked his fingers through his hair. He did not take virgins. His moral code and upbringing remained adamantly opposed to the debauchery of innocent women. Yet there remained little recollection of Lucette and his trip to the Vengeance. Vague remembrances of the night in his cabin haunted him. Perhaps the oddest remembrances were the deceiving shadows of the night and the blurring disparities of those apparitions. In his mind’s eye, Lucette boasted a larger anatomy and certainly her behavior at the tavern spoke of seasoned experience. Thorne’s brows drew together. The woman he held in his arms, was slim, her hair silky and shorter. Thorne shook his head, his thoughts muddled. He had learned Pascale had rowed her to shore. Jacob sent Enos to find Lucette, to leave her gold and where to contact him in the eventuality of a child. He would not leave a bastard behind nor would he allow his child to suffer the rejection he had borne.

  Abe walked across the deck, his gait peculiar as if he rode a horse for three days. Jacob’s jaw clenched. Abe had put him in a delicate position with the American representative, William Bingham. What had gotten into the boy’s head to spy on him? Bingham assured him affairs would be fine if Jacob kept a stern eye on the boy until they reached Boston.

  Jacob scrubbed his hand across the back of his neck. Hadn’t he locked the lad in his cabin? No doubt the boy had witnessed part or all his degenerate behavior with Lucette. Abe had packed up his pallet and disappeared sometime during the night. “Abe, get over here.”

  Abe hooked his slim thumbs in his rope belt and looked him up and down. “What?”

  Defiant. Always. “About last evening−” He cleared his throat, worked to form an apology. “So you were−”

  Abe nodded jerkily and wiped his nose, scratching an ear with the other hand. “You looked pretty stupid.”

  Thorne chafed. He deserved Abe’s rebuke, but he didn’t have to like it. The censure coming from his cabin boy soured his stomach. “Have you finished your chores?”

  Beneath red-rimmed eyes, Abe drummed his fingers against his hips. “No, and if you don’t mind I’d like to get back to work. All that wailing and yowling, drowning my ears kept me up half the night.”

  “That’s enough,” Thorne snapped. Had his harshness with the boy the night before cause the lad to vent tears? Like his cousin, Thomas, the boy had a sen
sitive nature hidden behind his bluster.

  The nose met the sleeve again. “Don’t worry, Captain. Your secret is safe with me. I slept in the bow.”

  Thorne glared. “Don’t you ever stop talking?”

  His rebuff brought a cackle of glee from Abe, “Touchy. Did Lucette bless you with some wee beasties? Or did you lose a sea urchin in your breeches?”

  Before Jacob could get in a word the lad turned his back. An ocean-sized chip rested on Abe’s slender shoulders as he slowly shuffled to the foredeck. Jacob restrained himself from falling on the boy and beating him for his insolence.

  A net of casks broke from the winches. Abe stood beneath the descending barrels. Men shouted. Thorne froze. Casks crashed on the deck. The boy darted sideways, twisting, leaping over rolling barrels that thundered across the deck. And errant barrel smashed into the bulwarks. Two sailors wrested it from farther travel. Abe stood gasping, his hand placed over his heart. Thorne frowned. The movement held a girlish grace. His jaw clenched. The crew’s inattentiveness was too close a call, a carelessness that could have spelled death for the boy.

  “Dammit! Can’t you men have better control of the winches?”

  Abe’s hat fell off, revealing thick blonde curls tied back in a thong. Thorne shook his head. Wasn’t the boy’s hair black? No doubt from the grime the lad was acclimated to. Perhaps Abe had finally taken a bath. The boy hugged that hat to his head like a hatch cover strapped to a cargo hold then looked around to see if anyone noticed. How peculiar.

  With scornful eyes, Simeon glared at Jacob from the galley door, muttering something about cooking up a meal of mandrake. What in Hades was wrong with his cook? Pascale stopped and folded his massive arms and glared at him. Enos came aboard, glanced to him then spit a neat stream of spittle over the side. Thorne scowled. Was his whole crew ready to lynch him?

  “Here’s your gold back, Captain. Couldn’t find Lucette.” Enos tossed the bag to him.

  Abner Bosworth appeared with a steaming mug of coffee. “The hairs are up on my neck with that gale brewing, Captain.”