The Pirate and the Puritan

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The Pirate and the Puritan Page 9

by Howe, Cheryl


  When they both settled into the boat, Solomon took up the oars and guided them out to sea. Felicity blamed herself for the strain with him. The man’s careful speech should have warned her of his pride and struggle to disassociate himself from the typical assumptions made because of his skin color. Her thoughtless words had sounded like an accusation.

  By the reverence with which he spoke of being quartermaster, she surmised Drew had given him a position of importance on the ship. Though Solomon had avoided her tactless comment, she guessed he was a slave despite the title. Solomon was the name inscribed on one of documents she’d found among Drew’s possessions. She was almost sure of it.

  They slid along the side of the other ship. Shadowed red letters hugged the black hull. When the first rung of a flimsy rope ladder came within her reach, deciphering the name of the vessel was forgotten. She pulled herself up while Solomon remained occupied securing the small rowboat. Once he realized her plan, he grabbed for her ankle and succeeded in halting her progress.

  “You’ll make me fall,” she called over her shoulder.

  He released her, then hurried up behind. Upon reaching the top, she discovered hurling her body over the side was harder than she’d anticipated. Stuck with one leg over the railing and the other groping for a foothold, Solomon came up behind her, sending her over the top with a shove. As she stood up from her collision with the deck, she noticed a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

  “I am responsible for your well-being. If you act without waiting for my instruction again, I’ll have to restrain you. I do this only for your own safety.”

  He turned and walked away before she could comment on his provisions for her safety. The bruise on her backside said otherwise. If he would only soften his attitude toward her, maybe they could help each other.

  He lit a lantern at the portal leading below deck. “Follow me to your quarters. And don’t touch anything.” He disappeared down the companionway without waiting for her.

  The ship’s interior reflected the polished simplicity of its exterior. Every line seemed built for speed and maneuverability. Solomon unlocked a portal at the end of the passageway, and Felicity discovered the exception. A room not nearly as large as the cabin on the Sea Mistress, but stuffed with twice as many furnishings, appeared through the door Solomon pushed open.

  He stepped aside and, with a wave of his hand, gestured for her to enter. “These will be your accommodations for the rest of your stay with us. The captain wishes you to make yourself comfortable.”

  She hesitantly entered the room, wary of what she might find. Color overwhelmed her senses. Deep reds, burgundies, purples and greens vied for attention. More subtle hues of gold, yellow and soft brown blended in exotic prints on tossed cushions and heavy swaths of material hanging from the walls, creating a tent-like atmosphere.

  An oak four-poster bed was crowded into the corner, a mound of pillows hiding the headboard. The chaotic decor represented a multitude of cultures. Where the main cabin on the Sea Mistress stood untouchable in its elegant perfection, this room invited relaxation like an overstuffed feather bed.

  The smell of strong cheese drifted from a round pedestal table. A silver platter loaded with a variety of cheeses, breads and fruits rested atop a silk scarf of burnt orange and red. Next to the food sat a silver decanter inlaid with flat, dull stones. Felicity’s awe at her surroundings waned as her hunger increased.

  Solomon nodded curtly toward the table. “The captain will be joining you for a late dinner, but he asked that a light meal be prepared to satisfy you until then. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll bring the water for your bath.”

  At Solomon’s mention of it, Felicity noticed the bronze tub set in another corner of the cabin. Clawed feet supported a large oval bath more inviting than any apple. All the temptations a devil could muster beckoned her primal desires.

  The lavish bath, as did the rest of Drew’s quarters, reeked of ill-gotten gains. Such luxury could have tempted a saint. And experience had taught Felicity she was no saint. Turning away from the decadence required all the rigidity she had perfected in the last ten years of her life.

  “Tell your master I can’t accept his offerings, nor do I wish to share a meal with him. My only desire is to be taken to Barbados as quickly as possible.” She wrapped her arms around her abdomen to keep her stomach from grumbling in protest of her decision.

  Solomon’s shoulders squared. The smooth molasses in his voice froze hard and brittle. “I call no man my master.”

  “I’m sorry.” She stumbled over the apology. Part of her reason for denying the ill-gotten luxury was her fear that it came from the sweat and tears of men like him. “I wouldn’t have assumed by your manner you were anything, but a free and educated man. I saw documents with your name on them and—”

  The tight lines around his mouth warned her she’d just insulted him further. “I heard of your trespassing. Instead of receiving the punishment you deserve, the captain offered you his hospitality. You have the arrogance to refuse it?”

  “I don’t deserve to be punished. I haven’t committed any crime.” She straightened and almost equaled Solomon’s height, but his bulk proved she was no match to him physically.

  “Your presence is a crime. Women are not allowed on this ship. As quartermaster, it is my job to see the rules are adhered to. The generosity of the captain is the only thing keeping me from carrying out my duty.”

  “You’re the one who brought me on board. But if it soothes your conscience, punish me. I didn’t ask to be treated like a royal guest.”

  Confinement to a small, spare hold was more than likely the punishment Solomon had in mind, and it would solve two problems. He’d be satisfied, and she’d be protected from her own dark desires.

  “Death is the punishment for anyone who breaks the rules of this ship, Miss Kendall. The captain’s hospitality is the only thing keeping you from that fate. Do you still wish to refuse it?”

  She shook her head, for once having the sense to keep her mouth shut. Death? He couldn’t be serious. But his stern expression gave no indication that he’d ever jested in his life.

  He turned to leave the room, but she called to him before he disappeared through the portal. “Does Drew—I mean, the captain—is he’s allowed to disregard your...rules?”

  “Apparently. Though he would be better served to follow them like every other man on this ship. My friendship for Drew makes me respect his feelings where you’re concerned, not because he’s the captain. Don’t make either of us regret our decision, Miss Kendall.”

  She hardly noticed Solomon’s departure or the click of the lock that pronounced her a prisoner. Apparently she owed Drew more than she’d first imagined. Gratitude and lust mingled in a dangerous combination. Also, apparently, Drew had feelings for her as well—feelings that had prompted him to go against the rules of his own ship and the approval of his friend. Yet what those feeling were, she dared not imagine.

  Chapter Seven

  A spiced halo lured Felicity deeper into its fragrant arms. She’d only used a few drops of the amber oil that sat among the array of glass bottles Solomon placed beside the tub, but the aromatic mixture of roses and sweet wood wafted from the bath like a thick, drugging smoke. She slid down the brass side until the warm water licked the tops of her breasts. With her eyes closed, she leaned her head on the tub’s rim and surrendered to lush sensation. Even Drew’s selection of soap was decadent.

  Her mind drifted hazily between images of Drew as Lord Christian. Drew as her enemy. Drew as her savior. All clouded together, merging into one clear picture of Drew the man. She grew light-headed, blaming it on the wine she didn’t have the courage to refuse. Visions of Drew’s warm gaze touched her physically, like a finger drawn up her spine. The bathwater became a living thing, kissing her in places she’d never before considered. Her stiff knees relaxed and fell to the sides of the tub. Her entire body grew limp and pliant.

  He boldly stood at the edge of t
he tub, every inch of his body bare. With sun-bronzed arms, he scooped her out of the water and molded her against him. Her nipples strained against the hard muscles of his chest. Sensation too intoxicating to resist weakened her limbs, and all she could do was let her head fall back as he lavished kisses on her neck. He gripped her bottom with rough palms, lifting her to her toes. She thought she would surely burst into flames for wanting him so desperately. Finally, he rubbed the potent evidence of his desire between her slick and swollen passage. He groaned his approval.

  “Wrap your luscious leg around my hip and hold on. I’m going to take you now.” He grabbed her thigh before Felicity could think of a response, positioning her for his invasion. At the same time, he tangled his fist in her hair and pulled her back so he could ravage her breast. Felicity cried out in a voice she didn’t recognize. He hungrily sucked her nipple to almost the point of pain, but not quite. Felicity tightened her leg around his hip and dug her fingers into his shoulder for support. The head of his erection probed her swollen flesh causing her to shiver with pleasure.

  “Touch me. Show me what you want,” he said in a husky voice that burned against her wet, straining nipples.

  The ache inside her took control. She gripped his hot girth and brought him to her opening. The moment he worked his flared head securely into her tight sex, he brought her down hard. She burst around him in a shower of pulsing ecstasy.

  Felicity sat up abruptly, sloshing water over the sides of the tub. Her body trembled with the aftermath of her release. She had one hand on her breast, the other between her legs. Lord help her, but she had not given into that evil since her carnal desires had led her to trust the wrong man, ruining her forever. Those thoughts were not her own, she was sure of it. Some demon must be whispering in her ear about wickedness she could never imagine on her own, setting her body and senses aflame with forbidden desire.

  To assure her guilty conscience that she had not been caught in such a sinful act, she swept the room with her gaze. She stood and reached for the thick towel resting by the oils and soaps. With the key to the cabin wrapped in her palm before Solomon had exited the room, she assumed it would be safe to indulge in the steaming bath. When she had stripped off Drew’s coat and her foul-smelling chemise, she’d had no idea the danger to her tarnished virtue stepped into the bath with her.

  She rubbed her skin with the rough cloth until it hurt, hoping the sting would obliterate the ache coiled between her legs. Over the years, she’d managed to curb her carnal cravings. And when they did seize her in the dark of night, urging her to do things she couldn’t even admit to herself the next morning, she would force herself to recall Sally Bishop.

  The poor girl had been caught in an intimate embrace with a young British soldier in the alley beside her parents’ house. Being the minister’s daughter, her parents had been especially harsh, taking it upon themselves to punish her—as an example to other young girls who might be tempted by Boston’s ever-increasing secular population. Sally had been locked in the stockade for a full twenty-four hours. Every time Felicity passed that stockade on her way to church, she counted herself lucky. Her indiscretion would have rewarded her with a visit to the whipping post instead. But there was neither whipping post nor stockade to be found in Drew’s lush den.

  After securing the oversized towel around her chest, Felicity retrieved her discarded chemise. If only her encounter with temptation had been unpleasant, she wouldn’t need such extreme reminders to keep her from sin. Even a flash of Erik’s hand clutched in her hair and his hot breath on her neck as he slid between her thighs touched her in places that ached at the mere memory. She’d come to the conclusion years ago that the devil had a firm hold on her in the guise of her womanhood.

  Unable to talk herself into dragging the stained garment over her head, she dropped the chemise and turned to the large trunk Solomon had left in the middle of the cabin. He’d informed her that the trunk contained women’s clothing for her use. At the time, she’d found the idea reprehensible and insulting. She would rather wear a sailor’s uniform than the clothes of one of Drew’s mistresses. Of course, she’d not mentioned a word of her rejection to Solomon. He’d made his position clear.

  With her skin saturated with scent so decadent she couldn’t even name it, and flushed from wine, heat and her own wicked actions, she had no choice but to make use of the clothing in the trunk. Remaining nude and tingling was out of the question, even if Drew’s arrival wasn’t soon expected. An immediate need to be dressed in several layers of thick, rough cloth pushed aside all objections to pillaging the trunk. She lifted the lid while clutching the towel tightly over her full breasts. The clothes probably wouldn’t fit. A man like Drew would have a petite mistress.

  A tangle of richly colored garments, none of them black, filled the trunk. She dug past the first layer of lace-trimmed undergarments, looking for something more suitable. When her hand brushed raw silk, her fingers closed around the cool cloth of their own volition.

  A blood red robe absorbed the soft light from the candles. A breathless sound of wonder escaped her parted lips. In the cabin’s shadows, the fabric’s deep color danced between black and red. She dropped the towel and slipped into the robe before her nagging conscience intervened. Wearing silk had been grounds for arrest in her mother’s day and still garnered condemnation in her own circle. The cabin’s seclusion and the separation of an ocean ensured her safety against prying eyes and wagging tongues. She caressed the lustrous fabric covering her arms as she glided over to a large gold-framed mirror mounted across from the oak bed. The prospect of seeing herself in something other than black enthralled her.

  A stranger approached the looking glass, giving her the brief sensation that someone else had entered the room. Her eyes widened at the sight of the dark-eyed temptress staring back at her. She tugged at her tightly knotted bun, letting her hair escape down her back. Willful, golden-streaked curls softened the pale face she’d always considered too long and angular. The robe’s color complimented the mouth she’d thought too wide. A woman she’d never seen before effortlessly grinned back at her from the mirror.

  A hesitant knock at the door distracted her temporarily but could not tear her away from the discovery that something lush and untamed still thrived behind the tangle of thorns she’d grown to protect herself. The sound of a key in the lock before the door was thrust open did.

  Drew stood in the open portal, unguarded surprise dropping his jaw. He devoured her with a gaze that swept the length of her body. Hunger mingling with shock sparkled in the stormy blue-green of his eyes. His blatant awareness of her as a woman bore no resemblance to his calculating flirtations of the past. Perhaps Drew also witnessed what Felicity had in the mirror’s reflection.

  “Did you get all dressed up for me, Drew?” Felicity asked. “I believe you have me at a disadvantage.” She softened her voice seductively on instinct alone. She glanced at herself in the mirror once more, and some forgotten place in her broke loose, surging with freedom. She sauntered toward Drew, feeling the ruby silk cling to her thighs.

  He followed her every movement with a transfixed stare. For the first time in their acquaintance, he seemed unaware of his powerful presence and staggered by hers. In this particular match, the odds appeared to be in her favor.

  He closed the door behind him. “I thought you’d have finished your bath. I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

  “How considerate.” She hooded her gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. What had gotten into her? The silk robe must have cast some sort of wicked spell. Her only consolation was that Drew seemed more disconcerted by the turn of events than she.

  Under the shelter of her lowered lashes, she examined him. He wore fawn-colored breeches that were clean and freshly pressed. An exotic embroidered vest in hues of cinnamon and jade covered a white shirt left open from the throat to the top of his tanned chest. Even his boots appeared recently polished.

  His clean-shaven face and nea
tly tied-back hair confirmed he had indeed taken care with his appearance. She realized the effort had been for her approval. Before she’d donned the robe, she never would have guessed his vanity had anything to do with her. The realization multiplied the effect his good looks had on her weakened defenses. The robe’s magic wrapped itself more tightly around her.

  As her senses reeled, he appeared to compose himself.

  “I assume my appearance meets your standards. I didn’t want you to think you’d left civilization behind.” Despite his casual explanation, his bright stare burned a hole through her silk robe.

  She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Are you referring to those men on the island?”

  He linked his hands behind his back and took a tentative step forward. “Or the island itself. I imagined you found it rather deserted at our approach. Maybe you even thought I went back on our bargain.”

  He paused at the table to pour himself some wine. He refilled the pewter goblet she’d used earlier and offered it to her.

  Determined not to become the prey in this game she’d initiated, she moved to the opposite edge of the table and took the wine from his hand. When their fingers brushed, the predatory hunger in his eyes flared.

  She sipped the wine in order to quell the nervous bubble that tightened her throat. “The island doesn’t concern me nearly as much as the men inhabiting it. Who are they?”

  He placed his palms flat on the table and leaned his weight on them, bringing his face closer to hers. “My crew.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  She met his direct gaze, which only seemed to encourage him to drop his eyes to the gathering of her robe. The small expanse of exposed skin suddenly made Felicity feel bare to the waist, though the silk clinging to her breasts assured her she was still decently covered. With so much attention in their direction, her nipples started to strain against the thin material. She abruptly crossed her arms over her chest and played with a loose strand of hair. In what she thought was a flirtatious gesture, she bit her lip. Her pretense felt a little foolish and altogether contrived, but she refused to turn back into a mouse as long as she held his fascination.

 

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