Sweet Vengeance

by St. Michel, Elizabeth

  He wanted to savor the honey sweetness of her voice and all the less condemning ways she made him feel. Suddenly the night seemed like a thousand burning suns. He wanted her. He wanted to see her face in the morning, and then at night and a million times in between. He wanted to hear her laugh, to hear her sigh and all the mundane things linking them together. He wanted to grow old with her, bounce their children from his knee and witness all the best there was to be. He wanted to marry her.

  His fingers folded down to lace with hers. He knew pushing her hard, too fast would be a big mistake on his part, so he held back. The wind blew tendrils of her hair around him, wrapping him in an enchanting snare. She leaned into him and he pressed his lips against her forehead in a kiss. Her heart beat fast against his chest. He dared not kiss her on the lips, to take her mouth’s nectar, to bury his nose in the valley between her breasts. A jolt of heat pulsed in his groin. He’d never be able to stop.

  When she shivered, his arms went automatically around her. She wanted him as much as he desired her, he knew it in his bones, knew it in the way her body melted into his. She had unnamed needs and he could easily cultivate those needs. She was an innocent and untouched and he’d do his damnedest to keep it that way.

  A feeling he did not wish to name stirred behind his breastbone. She was truth, beauty and goodness personified. She’d be a fool to have him. A privateer, a wanted man, a man with a price on his head. He could not love her, for if he loved her, he could not leave her alone in Boston while he went on with the war.

  And yet putting her aside he must. He could not make promises. No. He could not allow her to fall in love with him. Straining against all desire, he pushed her away from him.

  “Jacob?”

  Her voice broke and the stricken look on her face tore his heart from him. So be it. He had to separate for her own good. Why did his decision howl through his veins?

  Chapter 18

  The estrangement between her and Thorne over the past few days weighed heavy on Abby’s heart. How convenient he’d be working on the opposite side of the deck or go beneath when she was about. Thorne and his dreadful history crossed her mind more than once.

  Never again would she offer comfort and chastised herself for the prior evening’s weakness. Abby shrugged, unable to sort out the reasons of men. Best to keep things the way they were. She sighed. How to isolate the loneliness?

  Twelfth Night had arrived and everyone wanted to erase the unstated melancholy of not being home to share the occasion with their families. For Abby, it was especially hard not knowing if there would be any of her family to go back to. In his cabin, she had finished bathing and selected the violet gown. The décolletage was scandalously low but she didn’t care. She ran her hands down the skirts, the satin folds smooth to her fingers and gazed into the mirror, surprised her hair had grown past her shoulders. She swept it up in a stylish fashion, allowing little ringlets to dangle free. A growing confidence met the woman reflected in the mirror, yielding femininity and power. This was Lady Abigail Rutland. This was the young woman bred of conviction and prominence.

  Simeon had worked all day in the galley and promised a grand surprise so she had taken extra care to set the table. Beeswax candles dripped down silver candelabras, thieved no doubt from raided ships, and illuminated the captain’s cabin in a warm festive light. The silverware was polished to an extra luster and the crystal possessed an additional sparkle. The glitter did nothing to assuage her melancholy.

  The temperatures had dipped so she draped a shawl around her shoulders just as Lieutenant Lawton, Enos, and Benjamin Lee filed in, dressed as impeccably as they could manage. Everyone was there to celebrate, bestowing happy felicitations, everyone except Thorne. He had left orders for them to celebrate without him. If he wanted to wallow in misery, then so be it.

  “Simeon, you have outdone yourself,” toasted Lieutenant Lawton. Simeon had butchered one of the geese earlier in the day and roasted the bird to tangy crisp perfection. Bread pudding followed with potatoes, fish with a lemony cream sauce, and oranges from Martinique, everything to tempt the palate. Everyone was buoyed with high-spirits. Everyone except Abby, who pasted on her most brilliant smile, saying little, pushing the food around her plate, and unable to eat. If the crew were aware of any distancing among the Captain and her, they did not comment.

  Midway through the meal, Enos stood up. “I’d like to make an announcement. The crew and I would like to make a special presentation to you, Miss Hansford. For taking care of our wounds and ailments especially what you did when Ben and I were sick.”

  She took the crudely wrapped package from Enos. “I am touched.” Her voice wavered. She pulled away the linen to reveal a beautiful carving of the Vengeance, fully-masted with sails, detailed rigging, whittled right down to the rudder. “I don’t know what to say, except thank you. Thank you all.”

  “Our names are carved in the bottom, Miss Hansford.”

  She turned the piece over, struck between wonderment and awe. They were her family. Before she could say anything, warm air rushed into the cabin. She didn’t even have to look. Thorne. Abby frowned. Rum. Thorne had been drinking.

  He slid into the empty chair beside her, the tension palpable between them. When she looked up, she swallowed down a wave of panic. She hadn’t quite prepared herself for... And it definitely took some preparation. Refined in his dress, he lounged far from the rough privateer. His white shirt tucked into unfashionably tight fawn-colored trousers, clung to powerful thighs, the corded muscles rippling beneath, in what could be barely considered decent.

  It pleased her to look at him.

  More than it should have.

  He held his freshly shaven chin between his forefinger and thumb in thoughtful reflection then waved his hand. “We shall have a festive celebration this night. I command it.”

  Of course, he would command it.

  He motioned for Simeon to fill his glass then refill Abby’s. He forked some meat into his mouth. “Excellent,” he said to the beaming Simeon then tapped the table for his cook to leave the bottle.

  Why was she so relieved to see him? Why her burgeoning nervousness? Because he was looking at her even while he was talking to Simeon. She blushed. When she grasped her fork to quell her shaky fingers, her shawl slipped from her shoulders to the floor. She bent to retrieve it, but Thorne had procured the garment for her. In lazy regard, his gaze paused at her décolletage then slowly moved up to her face.

  A crackle of energy passed between them. Abby breathed in the heady scents of allspice, rum, and−the scent of him, felt the heat from his knee pressed to hers. Every breath wove into her brain and spiraled there. When she straightened four pairs of eyes stared at her. If only she could slide down her chair and hide beneath the table. In London, her gown would have been exceptional. On the Vengeance, it created a sensation and perhaps one she was not prepared for.

  “Captain, so glad you could make it,” Enos broke the silence. “I was about to raise a toast to our beautiful Miss Hansford

  “Aye,” Joseph Lawton seconded, “To have a fair flower aboard the Vengeance.”

  Benjamin Lee raised his glass. “Even my love, my dearest Sally…” he referred to the ship’s figurehead. “…cannot compare to our Miss Hansford.”

  Thorne, too, lifted his glass, his eyes never leaving hers, his lips pressed in a cynical line. “A toast to our admirable, Miss Hansford, so chameleon-like−from cabin boy to seducer of the world.”

  Did he dare to call her a seductress in front of his men? How she itched to rake her nails across his face. To think he was jealous. Oh, to teach him a lesson. Risky.

  Like confronting a jackal in its own den?

  “Lieutenant Lawton,” Abby began, “Did I tell you how handsome you look this evening? And Enos, how divine you appear. Benjamin, did I remark how dashing you have been?” How long did she go on, charming them with platitudes, making it a point to ignore Thorne? Over the rim of his wine glass, he watched her
with hooded eyes. Despite his calm manner, he did not fool her. At any moment, the stem of his wineglass might snap in two. Good.

  You are walking on dangerous ground, Abigail Rutland.

  Thorne tilted back in his chair. “I see you are making an effort to charm me.”

  “I wasn’t about to beguile,” she snapped.

  Thorne’s fork clattered to his plate. She could see him glowering at her, clearly disliking her answer.

  “What, no wagers this evening, Enos?” Thorne rolled up his sleeves.

  Enos put his glass down. “It’s Christmas, Captain. A sacred day. Wouldn’t be proper.”

  “I can well imagine what wagers are spinning through your mind. Like when I will bed our cabin boy.”

  Abigail gasped. Enos choked. Benjamin Lee’s jaw dropped.

  At that moment, she wished Thorne to perdition, fully aware she should withdraw from the darkness that surrounded him. If only she could resist diving into it, to succumb to the lure of his menace. She finished her wine. “Captain Thorne chooses to embrace self-pity. He wraps it around him like a rope on a winch.”

  Lieutenant Lawton tapped his finger on the table. “Captain Thorne, you’re out of bounds. The crew and I will excuse your behavior due to the spirits imbibed this eve, but Miss Hansford has done nothing to deserve your callous treatment. You owe her an apology.”

  She had definitely confronted the jackal in his own den.

  Abby smiled inwardly. Now she was backed by his crew. She held out her glass for Thorne to refill. “Captain?” she challenged.

  His face went through a host of changes. The hostility was gone. In its place was something else, something more calculated and measured. Was she treading in shark infested waters?

  “You’re right, Joseph. I do owe, Miss Hansford an apology. I was completely out of line.” He refilled her cup and his own. “Miss Hansford, you have provided me a liberating moment. Like Lieutenant Lawton has suggested, the rum, the wine has done the talking and blinded me in many ways. I pray you do not think the worst of me.”

  Abby’s hand flew to her chest. He had humbled himself to her in front of his men. Or was it a ruse? The man was maddening, always ensuring her turmoil. He looked at her for a long time, but she saw no arrogance in his gaze now, no insolence. Only acute interest−and gentleness that made her hurt for what she had said to him. “I accept your apology, if you accept mine for the harsh words I have spoken, Captain Thorne.”

  “Jacob,” he demanded.

  “Jacob,” she whispered. Despite the melody of the waves and wind against the ship, she could hear his heartbeats, feel his pulse pounding along her nerves. It was as if everyone else, and the walls and the world all-around had faded away, leaving only her and Jacob. Too see his soul naked, to know it mirrored hers, reduced from complicated epiphanies, balancing all the pain, loss, awkwardness, idiocy, compromise, and clumsiness that threaded life. The neediness and loneliness reflected made her acknowledge that together they had the power to banish that sense of isolation. They were two woven threads. She could not deny their connection any more than she could forego breathing.

  Enos cleared his throat, hurtling her back to earth. Abby took a deep sip of wine. To have something else, anything else to focus on she took the carving of the ship Enos had carved on behalf of the crew. “Again, I thank all of you for this treasured gift.”

  The first time Jacob became aware of Abby as a woman, he could barely get over her beauty. But this−this was beyond perfection. She was bewitching and enchanting. Her grace spurned mere earthly mortals. The suggestion of defiance in her unwavering eyes only made her that much more captivating. Yet he was unable to keep his eyes off her. Everything about Abby shimmered as if her gown had been woven by ethereal beings out of sapphire starlight.

  The sight of her seized him as well as every robust man in the room. Jealousy churned in his stomach, for every one of his crew gawked like fish caught in a net. Hadn’t Enos leaned over a little too close to whisper some witticism in her ear? Sitting opposite of her, Lawton had bowed−a little too far, informing her of how she rivaled all women of his acquaintance−as if the Bible-thumper had any women of acquaintance. And Benjamin Lee, how he wanted to punch that school boy obsession right off the old salt’s face. Thorne poured more wine in her glass.

  “Captain, I will drown.” She waved him off but he filled it none the same.

  “If we did not have the winter, Miss Hansford, we’d never appreciate the spring,” Enos said. “Having you as our cabin boy was one thing but to have you as you are now is like having a blossoming rose.”

  Enos’s sentiments scorched Thorne’s ears. A genuine smile built up and lit her face. He should be the recipient of that smile, not Enos. Jacob viewed the scene through a red haze, and watched as she turned her attentions from one male to another, always smiling, nodding and gazing into his face.

  On two accounts, the intrepid Miss Hansford had thrown down a challenge. First was her method to make him jealous. His stomach hardened. She was succeeding at that. Secondly, he couldn’t get her words out of his mind. “...I hold no censure, no reproach and no blame upon your head. Life deals us unfair justice and tragedy. No matter what our difficulties, to lose hope would be the real disaster…” Damn her. Damn her to hell.

  He had been an ass where she was concerned. He had strung out her future not giving her any hint of what was to become of her. Part because he had not figured it all out and part because he didn’t want to let her go. No doubt, after he rescued his cousin, he’d be ordered out to England again to raid the coasts. There was no security in his future. But the gods were clearly not inclined to leave him be, leaving the golden-haired enchantress to weave her spell.

  When he made his apology and saw her heart soften, saw her eyes search his, he was lost. In that one look, a most intimate message was made, and everything else ceased to exist−to understand that they were broken, magnificently imperfect and tangibly connected. There was no denying it. She had stolen into his heart. A part of her would always be there.

  She deserved better.

  From his pocket, he pulled a package and placed it in front of her. He liked her quick intake of breath, the way her lips parted. “For you, Miss Hansford.”

  “I am overwhelmed, but I do not have anything to give you, Captain.” Her fingers trembled as she gingerly opened the lace cloth to reveal a pearl encrusted comb.

  “It is beautiful.” In the radiant candlelight, she bestowed a smile on him like a princess would her knight in shining armor. How he’d like to freeze that look of wonder−forever.

  How many times had he made the trip to his cabin door at night, raising his hand to knock but then turning away? Damn his moral code.

  “I have another gift for you.”

  When she tilted her head in question, Thorne put up his hand. “I have given considerable thought about your future once we arrive in Boston.”

  He watched her breath hitch, the way the light flickered in the hollow of her throat. “I plan to set you up as a companion to a wealthy widow. Mrs. Smith is a trusted friend of the family and would find it incumbent to help a young lady. Her discretion is complete. I would set you up with a plausible story, saying your father had expired and left you stranded in Martinique. I gallantly obliged your circumstance and gave you passage home to America. The crew will swear to your story.”

  The men nodded in agreement. Thorne had it all figured out. He would be worry free. A privateer’s life was rife with risk and high rate of mortality. He would not burden Abby with that risk nor have her worrying about him−or leave a child behind with a widowed mother.

  Yet he wanted her in every way a man wanted a woman, possessing her until she depended on him for the very air she breathed. His expression carefully neutral, he continued. “Your reputation will be salvaged with no hint of your misfortunes. You will find a comfortable environment in Boston−safe.”

  “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.�
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  But Thorne saw her hesitate…then lift her lips into a smile. Odd? He assumed she would be delighted. Was she not happy with this arrangement? His decision was made.

  Lieutenant Lawton interrupted. “Miss Hansford will be the toast of Boston.”

  Jacob gritted his teeth, contempt of that prospect filled him with disgust. No doubt every proper eligible male would court her like dogs after a butcher’s cart.

  “You will love Boston,” said Enos. “You will find it much different than England. Vast wilderness, Indians, half-savage whites, wild beasts.”

  “Don’t let Enos fool you. He comes from Nantucket, a long line of whalers and a long line of story,” said Jacob. “Boston is civilized and quite progressive.”

  “The cradle of civilization…” Enos winked, “Bostonians built a church that cost fifty pounds and a tavern that cost five hundred pounds.”

  “The city has its own excitement,” added Lieutenant Lawton. There’s delight and joy.”

  “Of course, he finds Boston exciting. He has a sweetheart to get back to.” Enos elbowed Benjamin. “But first he has some making up to do.”

  Abby looked at the blushing Lieutenant Lawton over the rim of her glass, considering him. “En amour on pardonne mais on n´oublie jamais…in love, we forgive but we never forget.”

  Thorne raised an eyebrow. He did not know French, but the flawless accented language was nagging and familiar. Lucette?

  Lawton looked at her expectantly. I know Latin and the language is close to French. “I hope Helena forgives me for leaving, but at times, I consider that absolution an illusion.”

  “Si l´amour n´est qu´une illusion alors qu´est-ee que la re´alite´?” she smiled. “If love is nothing but an illusion, then what is real?”

  There were those same husky tones again.

  From the realms of darkness and confusion, the soft purr of a courtesan formed bright in Jacob’s mind. Pieces and parts of that half-dream were flooding back to him. There remained no orderly sequence, and he could find no reasonable explanation for what he recalled. He scowled darkly, finding no balm for his troubled thoughts and irritated with his own inability to remember that night clearly. That voice. Was it possible?