Sweet Vengeance

by St. Michel, Elizabeth

  Where are we today?” she asked, although transparent. Each day that went by, she grew more anxious.

  “At the southern end of the Bahamas.”

  “The seas are more turquoise.”

  Her voice faltered for a second, too complicated to assign to a single emotion. She was afraid to go to Boston. She wanted to go home. He didn’t blame her. He wanted the familiarity of home. The topic of going to England lay just below the surface. Best to keep it buried. It was too dangerous for her alone in England with the prevailing circumstances, regarding her family. Boston was the safest place for her. She had to be reasonable, he was only thinking of her welfare. “The seas are shallower,” he said at last.

  She left his side and crossed to the point of the bow, her skirts flowing behind her. Why did he follow in her wake? He thirsted for the warm glow that flowed from her. He needed it like a parched desert needing rain.

  Dolphins. It started with just four, speeding through the Vengeance’s bow wave, left, right, crossing each other, doing little hops out of the water. Joy bubbled in her laugh and shone in her eyes. But it was that smile, wicked in its genuine, magnificent beauty that keeled him over like a nor’easter.

  She pointed starboard off the bow. “What are they?”

  “Dolphins.” Within minutes there were six of them and more of them in the distance coming toward the ship, jumping high out of the water in graceful arcs, playing with each other. Fifteen of them frolicked around the ship, vying with each other for the coveted spot around the bow. White bellies up in the water, looking to see if Abby and he were watching. For two hours, Abby stood next to him, her exclamations, her upturned face, blissfully alive. She shouted to the dolphins and clapped with delight when they twirled and dipped with her laughter. The trappings of the past dimmed, allowing in rays of sunshine on his long forgotten soul. For the first time in a long time, he truly smiled, finding happiness in her joy.

  Thorne had to be careful. Miss Hanford was weaving chains around his heart.

  But things didn’t add up. He wondered about her past, wondered who in the devil she was. She reminded him of Lady Abigail Rutland. That girl far from his reaches. No way would Lady Rutland have been set out to sea with an ex-slaver resolute on her demise. No one would dare go up against her father, one of the most powerful dukes in England, the Duke of Rutland. No. This girl had to have a different history.

  He watched her steel herself, saw the way her eyes had turned a deeper shade of blue. He was about to speak when she interrupted him.

  “The men say there is much discouragement in America. It has been a bad year.”

  Jacob frowned slightly. From reports by Bingham, she spoke the truth. He’d be damned before he’d acknowledge failure.

  She waved a hand. “The harsh winter at Valley Forge, men defecting and starving. The defeat of Lafayette at Barren Hill…these occurrences dampen the spirits. You are not discouraged?”

  Thorne folded his arms in front of him. “Sometimes setbacks occur. But setbacks always yield a return to a better position. The men at Valley Forge worked harder, trained harder. The harshness made them strong and more committed. At Barren Hill, Lafayette escaped unscathed and the Continental troops that have grown in numbers have chased the Redcoats from Philadelphia to New York. And then there is the alliance with the French,” he reminded her. “These are times that try a man’s soul. Americans perceive the persecution and tyranny of a cruel ministry and will not tamely submit—appealing to Heaven for just cause in a determination to die or be free.”

  “Shall we promenade?” he offered her his arm. Something about her taunted him, challenged him, made him desire to strip away that veneer and see what was underneath. He told himself he shouldn’t want to know her. “Then there are appearances that are deceiving.” He let that thought drift over, to strangle her, an attempt to remind her of her deception as a cabin boy. He replayed her discovery. Pink-tipped peaks of perfectly formed feminine breasts. Clever. Bound and hidden. He perused her slender figure, a build concealed beneath an over-sized coat that fooled him into believing she was lad.

  “Of course. The charming part of Captain Thorne?”

  Her smile skewered him again, warm shafts of sunlight melting frozen flesh until it ached. “I believe, Miss Hansford, I shall revel in the unexpected when it comes to you.”

  “You are flattering me, Captain Thorne.”

  “It was not meant to flatter.”

  Abigail lowered her head and a smile came fleetingly to her lips. “Now you are being provocative, Captain.” Like a dog with a bone, he clung to his damaged ego.

  How life had changed. Just days ago, she had been so assured and confident. The cabin boy scampering unnoticed about the ship, included in male camaraderie. She had laughed with them and shared their chores. But now, the deference and bowing and scraping, chafed her nerves. She often winced when they passed a group of the sailors, and felt their discerning winks to one another. They knew that she slept in the captain’s cabin and the captain slept elsewhere.

  “I see Enos is busy carving something but he won’t tell me what it is for. He cut himself the other day and I bandaged his wound,” said Abby.

  “No doubt he will suffer many cuts so you can administer his injuries.” Thorne muttered under his breath.

  Abby burst into laughter. The captain was so vexed she couldn’t help herself. “It is interesting to note that the entire crew has had a sudden list of injuries and complaints. After I bandage or give them special concoctions that Simeon brews, their recovery is rapid.”

  “Of course, to have a female administer their complaints has added to their unexpected infirmity.”

  Abby pasted on an innocent expression and looked him in the eye. “I am resigned to make the best of the situation.” Was the proud Captain Thorne, jealous?

  “I’ve noted the hive of activity, surrounding you. I’m sure the crew is happy as oysters. My fervent prayer is that my crew does not become so ill that there will remain but one soul to lift a sail.”

  A block and tackle swung loose. Abby ducked. Thorne caught the heavy block and cursed. “My point exactly.”

  She helped him secure rigging, tying a neat bowline as Abe had learned to do. “I hope you aren’t going to harangue me with some superstitious repartee about women on board being bad luck. I’m trying to earn my keep and be helpful.” The man really needed to enjoy life. She’d seen a glimmer when he watched the dolphins with her and again when he mused about his ailing sailors. But she had looked at him too long. The image of his perfect naked form was stamped on her mind, the times she seen him undress in the cabin when he thought she was a boy. She lowered her eyes, remembering it−all of it, and what had come after it. Her heart sank. He did not recognize the virgin he had slept with was her.

  She walked over to a rope coil and nudged it with the toe of her slipper. He was suddenly standing there next to her, but just to pick up his telescope to consider the horizon. Yet he didn’t walk away after he set it down.

  She kept her eyes off him, but could feel his on her. Was he always going to make her this nervous? Abe would have offered a firm retort. But she was not Abe anymore. What was this unsettledness that he made her feel? Whatever it was, it was disturbing. She started walking, anything to take her mind off the image of his perfect dark hair, chest damp, long legs and that other naked, perfectly aroused part.

  “Captain, when I ponder events…that even the strangest of circumstances, the most troubling episodes of one’s life, the greatest divides from home and familiarity, there have been times like these of indisputable joy.”

  He stopped and stared at her, his eyes turning darker cobalt. “Then there are circumstances that are beyond my control—like discovering a mysterious female beneath my nose.”

  She stepped back, her heart pounding with alarm, the double entendre at once, suspicious and sensual. “Some circumstantial evidence is very strong, like when you find a grouper in the milk. You take him out and h
eave him overboard.”

  She saw a glint of humor then the amused twitch of his lips followed by a deep resounding sound that came from his sensual mouth. Her heart turned over. Thorne had laughed at her witticism. If only his mood weren’t so fickle. He had the predisposition to find humor in the things she said and then study her with distrust. They stopped portside. A cloud mass had leadened the skies. Even the waves curled and foamed in grey. “You remind me of an acquaintance. Lady Abigail Rutland.”

  Abby held her breath. The wind made a dreadful roar, pinging the shrouds against the mast. Did he suspect? She had been so caught up in their jovialness that she forgot Thorne might have intended to trap her. To be demure as a nun might serve her. “I-I have heard of her, but never have I been compared to her. I understand she is beautiful and accomplished, everything I am not.”

  Thorne balanced himself with the roll of the ship, caught and righted her as well. His touch burned where his hands lay on her arms. He removed them. “You are more beautiful.”

  Abby expelled a sigh of relief, at the same time flattered with his compliment. “Thank you.” At least he didn’t suspect her yet the insatiable, curious part of her thirsted for his reaction to Lady Abigail Rutland. “You mentioned Lady Rutland was an acquaintance. But how?”

  “You mean, someone of my lineage rubbing shoulders with her pedigree?”

  Abby snorted. “I mean nothing of the sort. I-I cannot imagine you, an American privateer, having any association with the lady unless she is an undeclared pirate.”

  Thorne chuckled. “Ask away. I shall be open to your feminine interest.”

  Abby rolled her eyes, but refrained from rubbing her hands in glee. She had endured kisses from English lords who paid her court, yet nothing, nothing near what had transpired in the garden with Jacob. And nothing like the soul-shattering lovemaking she had permitted in his cabin. On top of that, she was still reeling from the fact that he had called her beautiful. “How did you meet and what did you think of her?”

  Thorne stroked his chin in thoughtful reflection. “You must know about her that badly?”

  Abby tapped her foot, her mirth barely concealed. “You promised to tell me. I expect you to keep your word.”

  “I had business with a relative and was invited to her engagement ball.”

  “A relative in England?” If only she could find out his relationship to Humphrey.

  “She descended the stairs like a queen, holding court over so many admirers. It was all I could do not to fight them all off and carry her away.”

  “Captain Thorne, you are teasing me.” Drat. He was not going to tell her who his relative was. If she probed on that subject anymore, he’d get suspicious.

  “What did she look like?”

  “She wore a mask and a wig. I could not see her face or her hair. It was a frivolous masked ball. From what I recall, she had your shape and build.”

  Abby bit her lip. “Did you talk to her?”

  Thorne put his hands up. “Did I find her witty, clever, charming and intelligent? Now who is being provocative, Miss Hansford?”

  “We are discussing your romantic designs. Besides, I am helping you relieve shipboard boredom. The least you can do is supply me with details.” And because she couldn’t stand the wait any longer, she blurted, “Did you kiss her?”

  “I never kiss and tell.”

  “You did!” Abby clapped. “How did it make you feel?”

  His face darkened and he stalked her. Abby retreated until she was backed up against the foremast. The man was like a powerful natural force, like the shifting seas, a force so intense that nothing surrounding him could turn away or remain unaffected−least of all her. He leaned his head forward.

  And then Thorne did the unthinkable. He kissed her.

  “Like this…” Thorne brushed his mouth down on hers again. “And like this.” He wanted to teach the lovely Miss Hansford a lesson for being so stirringly provoking. Inside he knew he couldn’t…wouldn’t…do any more than kiss her. But the minute his lips touched hers, his calm was shattered and his senses fled him.

  He hadn’t foreseen the reaction to this kiss, especially when Abby curved into him, holding onto him for support, her soft full breasts flattening against his chest. He yielded his own expertise, tempting, gradually persuading, enticing her lips to open, and when they did, he swooped in and commanded her sweetness. He reached down and pulled her rigid against him. Her tension lessened, and she melted into him. He drove his tongue deeper, to exploit her passion. Jacob took full dominance. He breathed her, tasted her, and savored her. His mouth brutal on hers, twisting, bruising, rousing, his tongue thrusting through her like a brand, searing her, having her.

  A part of him wondered what had come over him. He only meant to challenge her. But another part of him understood his motives well. He wanted total possession. He stood on the precipice of desire.

  Any longer and they’d both be lost.

  Abby felt nothing but shock in those first few seconds, then panic. She was terrified that her feet weren’t touching the deck; with her hair grasped back in a brutal clasp so she couldn’t escape the insatiable onslaught of his mouth, her body behaved shamelessly, crushed to his. She gave up resisting.

  She liked what he was doing to her, but his kiss overwhelmed and confused her. The arm holding her up was going to fracture her ribs. Her own resistance did not slacken the tiniest bit. Breathing was unattainable and she felt she would perish from suffocation.

  Her hands groped to his chest, firm healthy male flesh tingled beneath her fingertips. Her mind desired to touch him everywhere, to explore every part of him like she had that night in his cabin. She brushed her fingers over muscle, heat, moisture then slid her arms around his neck, sighing.

  With every touch, he made her realize how very female she was. A wild sensuality stirred to life inside of her, and she recognized it for the dangerous sensation it was. No. She could not tamp down the wealth of hidden feelings that leaped from her, blossoming, exploding, no more than she could have stopped him when she had given herself to him. She had had a taste of him and desired more, and she acknowledged it for the perilous sensation it was. His lips left hers. She seemed to float until her feet met the deck, her arms fastened to his neck to support her.

  He drew away. The gap between them gave way to chill. Abigail managed to gulp in sweet air, her bosom still heaving.

  Jacob leaned back to study her. “Does that answer your question?”

  He was just as rattled as she. Mutely, Abby nodded, clinging to his arms for support. “More that adequately.”

  A round of cheers hailed from the ship. Abby clapped her hands over her mouth. The crew watched with blatant stares expectant of the silent tableau between her and their captain.

  “Enos!” Thorne shouted.

  But Enos was too busy with the crew exchanging coins again. Simeon and Pascale stood first in line with their palms up. Sweet Judas!

  “Enos tipped his hat to her. Just a friendly wager when the captain would first kiss you. No offense, Miss Hansford. The bet relieves shipboard boredom.”

  Chapter 16

  Thorne found Abby hours later closeted in his cabin, sitting on the long, cushioned bench beneath the transom windows with her legs tucked under her. “I suppose we should have seen that coming.” He attempted to mollify her mortification but rather liked the blush that rose to her cheeks. She was affected by the kiss as much as he and there was a certain male satisfaction to that revelation. He intended to pursue the sweetly intoxicating, Miss Hansford.

  “Easy for you to make a humorous gesture from it instead of the terrible scene that it was. I must appear a wanton woman to every member of the crew.”

  Thorne chuckled. “From Enos’s first bet, we have drawn even.”

  “I didn’t realize there was a competition.”

  She was getting her hackles up. He hid a smile. The temper of Abe had not disappeared. “A wise woman cautioned me at one time, to abando
n my incivility and laugh.”

  She dropped her sewing to her lap. “Leave it to you, Captain Thorne to have me choke on my own words. It is my reputation that is ruined.”

  “You are assuredly an uncommon young lady. You have strength, and courage. You are a survivor. Most women could not have endured what you have gone through.”

  “Thank you,” she snapped and returned to her work. He could see his words somewhat assuaged the feelings of remorse about their kiss. Thorne shrugged. There was nothing he could do about her status and distracted himself with the delicate tendrils of her golden hair that curled around her face as she bent over her work. She repaired his shirt with fine even stitches, the same stitches, Abe used when carefully repairing the sails. He shook his head with the amazing transformation then took in the long, lean curve of her arm, the straight line of her back and the way her every movement was graceful.

  He could not envision a more domestic scene and assumed, like all young women, she spent hours, embroidering. Under his intense stare, she smoothed her hair back then put her work down. Did she tremble? She stood and walked around the table, the farthest she could to get away from him and turned her back. She set to arrange the already organized charts.

  He grinned and moved to her side. How dear she looked in her appealing pink dress, a slender pink satin ribbon edged on the bodice and bared the tops smooth white bosom. She spun around. An avalanche of charts rattled to the floor and their gazes collided.

  The chaos vanished, the clatter silenced and time froze. In the stillness, he saw her unguarded, her feelings exposed. A lasso of emotion slammed around him and anchored his heart to hers. For one perfect moment, they were bound and tied together in an immeasurable way, and he could see something he hadn’t before. Her heart. Tenderness washed over him and he struggled with the unpredictable magnitude of such consequence.