by Connie Mason
“Dios! Why would I warn Diego? I would have come with you willingly had you the courtesy to ask.” Her eyes softened when she looked at him. “I prayed for a miracle but didn’t expect one.”
“If I didn’t know you for a lying little witch, I would be inclined to believe you. The miracle you spoke of was no miracle at all. I don’t know yet how Stan knew where to find me, but I’m grateful he arrived when he did.”
“If you think so little of me, why didn’t you leave me instead of risking your life to return for me?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already that you are my wife? My faithless wife,” he clarified. “You wasted little time welcoming del Fugo into your bed. Did your brothers know the bastard had no intention of marrying you?”
“They never would have left if they had known Diego’s intentions. The man is deceitful and utterly without scruples.”
“He must have had something you liked,” Morgan hinted crudely.
“I lied, Morgan, to save you from further beatings. Diego forced me to admit to things that aren’t true in order to save you from torture. Everything I said was a lie.”
“Including what you’re telling me now.” His face was hard, implacable, his voice cold and unrelenting.
Abruptly the longboat bumped into the hull of the Avenger. Several men began scurrying up the rope netting while others attached the boat to lines being lowered from above. When no one but Morgan and Luca remained in the boat, it was winched aboard the Avenger. in a very short time the sails were unfurled to catch the breeze, and the Avenger scudded before the wind, away from Havana and danger. The faintest of mauve streaks colored the eastern sky, heralding a flew day.
Morgan clung to the rail and stared at the shore receding in the distance. He recalled vividly his brief sojourn on the hostile island. If not for Stan, today would have been his last on earth. His bruised and battered body would have turned to dust and ashes on foreign soil. But the memory of Luca’s words hurt far worse than the torture he had endured. She had told him she hated him, that she wished for his death. She had become del Fugo’s willing mistress. She had taken great pleasure in his suffering. Releasing the rail, he rounded on Luca, his eyes blazing with fury.
As the Avenger’s sails filled with air, Luca tried to remain calm, hoping that once Morgan’s temper cooled he would see things more clearly. How could he not know that she never meant those hurtful things she said? Didn’t he realize she would do and say anything to save him from torture? But when he swung around to face her, the fires of Hell burned in the depths of his blue gray eyes. Her heart thumped wildly. What was he going to do to her?
Grasping Luca’s arm, Morgan pulled her roughly toward his cabin and shoved her inside. He followed, slamming the door behind him. His unrelenting hatred for her was awesome to behold. She didn’t deserve this kind of treatment from him.
“Wha… what are you going to do?” she asked, backing away from his implacable fury. “I’ve done nothing to hurt you.”
“I haven’t decided yet on your punishment. When I do decide you’ll be the first to know. I never wanted a wife, Luca, but now that I have one I will do whatever is necessary to keep you in line. Your brothers did neither of us a favor when they insisted we wed.”
“Is there nothing left between us then? Nothing to build upon?”
He sent her a leering grin. “There is lust, Luca. Neither of us can deny that.” Then he turned and stormed from the cabin.
Chapter 11
Morgan flinched involuntarily as Stan Crawford cleansed his lacerated back and applied a salve he’d retrieved from the medical supplies.
Hold still, Morgan. I’m trying not to hurt you.”
“You’re not hurting me, Stan.” Morgan’s glazed expression made a mockery of his words. “Tell me how you learned where to find me.” He hoped Stan’s explanation would take his mind off Luca, who was waiting in his cabin, contemplating her punishment “When did you return from Spain?”
“We arrived on Andros two days after you and Luca were abducted. Lani was frantic when we arrived. She saw signs of a fierce struggle and knew you hadn’t gone willingly with your captors. Who were they, Morgan? You mentioned Luca’s brothers.”
“Aye, Luca’s brothers. They came in the dead of night and caught us sleeping.”
Crawford’s brow shot up. “Together?”
“Aye, together. It was foolish of me not to place guards around the island. I assumed no one had the courage to invade Andros. Did you contact Luca’s father in Cadiz?”
“Funny thing,” Crawford said curiously, “Santiego refused to negotiate. Now I understand why. He had already dispatched his sons to Andros. We returned as quickly as possible, never expecting to find the island in an uproar.”
“The wily old bastard,” Morgan muttered beneath his breath. “How did you Know where they were holding me? I shudder to think what would have happened had you arrived a few hours later. I’d not be here to tell the tale.”
“We have Lani’s husband to thank for that. He had fallen asleep on the beach and awoke to the sound of voices. The Spaniards passed within a few feet of him but failed to see him. The night was dark and moonless. He understood little of what they said except for one word. Havana. He told Lani, and she put two and two together. We stayed on Andros only long enough to replenish our water supply and stow away enough fresh fruit for the journey.”
“I can never repay you for saving my life. Thank you, my friend.”
Crawford grinned. “I was appalled when you insisted on returning to the governor-general’s mansion for Luca. I would have thought you’d be thrilled to get her off your hands. According to rumor she’d become del Fugo’s mistress. Tis not like you to want another man’s leavings.”
Morgan stood abruptly, pulling on the shirt Stan had given him. “Luca and I have unfinished business. One doesn’t discard a wife so easily. When I’m finished with her she’ll regret begging her lover to torture me. She wanted my death but has steadfastly denied it. She said she was forced to say those things in order to save me from further torture.” He whipped his fingers through his tousled hair. “Bloody Hell, Stan, she told me to my face that she ordered my beatings! She seemed pleased at becoming del Fugo’s mistress. What in the Hell am I supposed to believe?”
Crawford shook his head in consternation. “Why did you risk your life to take Luca away from del Fugo? Unless,” he mused thoughtfully, “you think she truly was forced to lie.”
Morgan deliberately turned away lest he reveal more of his soul than he intended. “I don’t know what to believe. I can’t trust my common sense where Luca is concerned. There is something between us, something even I don’t understand, something deep and disturbing. She’s mine. A priest joined us in marriage, and by God she’s going to remain my wife!”
Crawford was stunned by the grim purpose behind Morgan’s words. Morgan Scott was a driven man. Crawford almost pitied Luca, given Morgan’s frame of mind and volatile disposition.
“I didn’t tell you the most important thing about the voyage to Spain,” Crawford said when an uncomfortable silence stretched between them.
Morgan swung around to face Crawford. “What is it?”
“There is a great armada forming off the coast of Portugal. We saw ships gathering in the harbor at Lisbon; all kinds of crafts, galleons, galleys, vessels of all sizes and descriptions. It appears that King Philip is financing an expedition against England.”
“So the Spanish monarch is finally showing his mettle. Queen Elizabeth knew something was brewing and even ousted the Spanish ambassador from England when she heard he was conspiring against her. ’Tis time to return home, Mr. Crawford. Set a course for England.”
Luca paced the small cabin restlessly. Her nerves were raw, her composure shattered. It hurt to think that Morgan believed all those lies she’d told him. Even when she denied them, explaining why she’d said them, he seemed disinclined to accept her word. He was angry. Both at her and at h
er brothers. in a way she couldn’t blame him. He had suffered horribly on her account. Not satisfied with merely ordering Morgan’s death, Diego had derived great pleasure from using the cat on Morgan. And afterward Diego had insisted that Luca take the blame for the beatings.
During the following days Luca languished in abject boredom. She saw no one save for Stan Crawford, who delivered her meals, and the cook’s helper, who saw to it that the cabin was kept clean and that Luca was provided with water for bathing. Neither man seemed inclined to engage in conversation. She saw nothing of Morgan, whom she supposed was still too angry to confront her. She recalled his injuries and feared he hadn’t been properly treated for his numerous wounds. When she sought to question Stan, he refused to tell her anything about Morgan’s condition, leaving her to stew and fret over Morgan’s injuries.
Morgan was told of Luca’s inquiries about his state of health, and he felt nothing but contempt for her mock concern. Did she expect to gain his sympathy by pretending remorse? He wasn’t that gullible. Why then was he deliberately avoiding her? his conscience asked. Because he still wanted the Spanish sorceress, he answered truthfully. Despite all the lies she had told him he remembered how sweetly she had responded to his loving, how exquisitely she had moaned and writhed beneath him; the heat and tightness of her body when he buried himself deep inside her. Bloody Hell! He was nearly mad with wanting.
Take her, a little voice inside him urged. She’s yours. He had every right to bed her when and where he pleased. No, that same voice warned. She will bewitch you. Her Spanish blood will taint you. She will beguile you with her sweet body and tempt you with her flawless beauty.
“She is my wife!” Morgan said aloud, forgetting that he was standing at the helm of his ship where others could hear him.
“Did you say something, Captain?” a sailor standing nearby asked.
Startled, Morgan shook his head. “Sorry, Stiles, just muttering to myself. Go about your work. Wait,” he called as the sailor ambled off. “Find Mr. Crawford and tell him I want him to take the wheel. There is some unfinished business I have to take care of in my cabin.”
“Unfinished business, indeed,” Crawford chortled as he took the wheel and watched Morgan stride purposefully toward his cabin He hoped Morgan had finally come to grips with his feelings for his Spanish bride. Either that or he’d finally decided on a fit punishment.
Morgan flung open the cabin door. It crashed against the wall, and he slammed it shut. Luca started violently and jumped to her feet. Had Morgan finally come to punish her? He was strong enough to snap her in two if he wished. She prayed to God he didn’t.
“Morgan…” His name slid past her lips on a shaky sigh.
He grinned mirthlessly. “You were expecting someone else?”
Her throat was as dry as dust. “I’m not afraid of you. I spoke the truth. I was not Diego’s mistress. I would have killed myself before allowing him to… to…”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t care whether you believe it or not, it’s the truth.”
“Ah, Luca, ever proud and defiant. Do you still want to be a nun?”
“Si, if I had a choice in the matter. But since I am a married woman it is no longer feasible. Unless, of course, you pay them to take me off your hands.”
“You would make a terrible nun.” He stepped closer, closer still, forcing her to look up at him.
“How can I punish you if you are locked away in a convent?”
He touched her face, so tenderly, yet she felt the steel beneath his caress. “I’ve done nothing to deserve punishment.”
His eyes took on a silver glint. “What do you deserve, little nun?”
“Your consideration. I am your wife.”
“My wife.” Though he’d never admit it, the word tasted sweet on his tongue. “I can’t recall wanting a wife. If anyone had told me that one day I’d have a Spanish wife I would have cut them down with my sword. Yet to my regret I find myself lusting for you, my fiery Spanish bride.”
Luca reached out to him; her sultry eyes hinted of promise, and hope. “Is that so bad, Morgan? Does my Spanish blood render me unfit to be your wife? It didn’t seem to matter to you on Andros when you seduced me.” Her eyes darkened with the pain of rejection. “Seducing me was nought but a game, wasn’t it?” she charged. “A game you were determined to win. Once you took my innocence I became dispensable.”
“You were merely my hostage on Andros, not my wife.”
“You destroyed my virtue,” she contended.
Morgan gave her a leering smile. “And enjoyed every minute of it. So did you, Luca, admit it.”
“Unlike you, Morgan, I do not hide the truth. You risked your life for me, you can’t be completely immune to me.”
She was standing so close he could feel her sweet breath brush his cheek. Her chin rose defiantly, placing her lips near enough to …
He groaned, succumbing to the sweet seduction of her lush lips. His mouth captured hers, his tongue playing teasingly upon her lips, unwilling to deepen the kiss for fear he’d lose his soul. When Luca opened her mouth to his kiss, she denied Morgan the choice of withdrawing before his senses deserted him. He was drawn into her web of seduction just as thoroughly as a fly was enticed into a spider’s web. His kiss deepened, growing almost savage in its intensity as his arms came around her. The moment their lips touched, a strange madness seized him.
Fire. A jolt of liquid, scorching flame seared through Morgan. He felt exhilarated, more alive than he’d been since the last time he’d held Luca like this. He wanted to shout at the pure pleasure of her body melding and shaping to his.
Luca strained against Morgan, savoring the taste and feel of him. His mouth was hot, persuasive, demanding. He tempted and conquered, coaxed and took, but also gave. Luca trembled with desire as his lips devoured hers. The heat of his body and strength of his desire overwhelmed her senses.
“Witch,” Morgan whispered against her lips. “Spanish witch.” Then he swept her from her feet and laid her on the bunk. “You drain me of the will to resist you.”
Luca caught his hand and drew it to her breast, placing it so he could feel the wild tattoo of her racing heart. “If I’m a witch, you’re a warlock, for you make me tremble with need.”
“You hate me,” Morgan reminded her.
“No, never! Well,” she amended, “maybe at one time.”
“You derived great pleasure from my pain.”
“A lie!”
“You lay with Diego del Fugo.”
“Dios! You are the only man I’ve ever known intimately.”
He wanted to believe her. “You are Spanish.”
“Sí. And you are English. That will never change.”
“Bloody Hell! Do you know what you do to me?”
Morgan’s eyes glittered dangerously as he placed his hand on her throat applying slight pressure.
Luca’s eyes widened, waiting for his next move. He could kill her so easily.
His hand left her throat and slowly, deliberately moved downward until his palm cupped her breast. Luca released her breath in a harsh sigh, unaware that she had been holding it.
“Did you think I would kill you?”
“It had crossed my mind.”
He gently explored the shape of her breast, flicking the nipple with his thumb. “I’ve never killed a woman in my life and I don’t intend to start now.”
“Damn you for your inflexible attitude!” Luca pulled away from him, her eyes flashing with anger. “You believed what Diego wanted you to believe. Why is it so difficult for you to believe me?”
“I truly want to trust you, Luca, but at the moment it doesn’t happen to matter. I want you.” He pulled her against the hard ridge of his need, letting her feel how much he wanted her. “Are you going to help me remove your doming or must I do it myself?”
His long fingers trembled as he pulled roughly, impatiently, at the ties, laces, and buttons fastening her cl
othes. Luca searched his face a moment before pushing his fingers away and finishing the job herself. ‘This is the only dress I have, I don’t want it ruined.” He helped her tug the dress over her hips then turned his attention to her petticoats and corset. He touched her bare thigh, and thick desire pounded through him.
Within moments she was gloriously nude, a tempting feast spread out before him, and suddenly he wanted to taste every luscious inch of her. His sword fell to the deck with a clatter. His clothing followed. Luca stared at him. Tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, he radiated a sense of Ewer, strength, and masculine vigor. His features d been molded with boldness and originality. There was no subtlety and only a hint of refinement. He looked like a pirate, one who took what he wanted and hang the consequences.
He was her husband. Luca convulsed with longing. She feared that if he couldn’t overcome his hatred for Spaniards there would be nothing more than this between them. Lust. She might love him desperately, but she realized it would never be enough to overcome his hatred for her and her countrymen. But she could try. Dios, she could try.
She took his face between her hands and kissed him with a wild, sweet passion that swelled him with pounding desire. She could feel his sex, thick, heavy, fully erect, throbbing against her thigh, and reveled in the power, no matter how fleeting, she had over him. He groaned and grasped the lush curve of her buttocks, grinding himself against her in a frenzy of need.
His mouth found hers again, licking, tasting, as if he couldn’t get enough of her honeyed essence. His tongue searched out all the tender places inside her mouth, scattering her wits. Leaving her mouth, his lips traveled down her body, closing around a dusky nipple. He nipped gently. Luca cried out, clinging to his shoulders and arching against him. He lifted her breast more fully into his mouth, suckling her vigorously as she shuddered and trembled beneath him.
“Morgan… I want you inside me.”
“I’m going to taste you, Luca. Every single inch of your delectable flesh. I’ll give you what you want, but not until I’m ready.”