Sweet Seduction hmtl

by Patricia Pellicane

  "I'll take you up on deck at night."

  "Why? Why only at night?"

  Tristan sighed. "Gypsy, even then you're bound to cause trouble."

  "What can I possibly do?" Meg couldn't fathom this man's anxiety. What did he expect her to do?

  "You can have every damn man on this ship lusting after you. That's what."

  Meg's mouth opened and then closed with astonishment. She'd never heard anything so absurd in her entire life. "You are utterly ridiculous if you believe all men suffer your despicable standard of morals."

  Tristan grinned. It was amazing how she could often sound so educated and proper. Just as if she were a real lady. Idly he wondered how she'd learned to act and talk like she did. No doubt a past lover had taught her well. Tristan's mouth twisted as he wondered what else the man had taught her. It didn't sit well knowing there were others before him. The idea made him unreasonably angry. He didn't bother to consider why that should be but lashed out with a sneer, "While your morals are unimpeachable, of course." His anger made his words particularly harsh. "I always thought a person of morals would not steal. Perhaps I was mistaken." He glared at the dress she was wearing, looking her up and down in the most insulting fashion possible.

  "You are that and much more that a lady cannot say."

  "Taking for granted there was a lady present, of course."

  Meg gasped at the insult but came back with one of her own. "The trouble is, some men are so simple in mind and insignificant in spirit that they cannot recognize a lady when they see one."

  Tristan ignored her remark. "And what about tricking men into parting with huge sums of money for a promise you never fulfill? Does that count in your definition of morals?" He eyed her thoughtfully. "Or perhaps you do?"

  "Do what?" she asked, growing more furious by the second that he dared to judge her when he was the one at fault here.

  "Fulfill those promises. How many lovers have you taken? Which one taught you your manners, the way you speak?" His eyes grew black with disgust at the thought of any man, other than himself, touching her. "One can't help but wonder if such a manner of living would not tarnish your pristine values. Or is it all right because you're a Gypsy, and Gypsies are somehow permitted these little idiosyncrasies?"

  Meg ignored his damning questions. This beast deserved no answers, no explanations. Hadn't she explained all, only to receive jeers for her efforts? She returned to the original conversation. "I won't be staying locked in this room day after day."

  "Won't you?" He shrugged into his jacket. "In case you haven't noticed, Gypsy, I'm the captain of this ship, and you'll stay wherever I say."

  "But not locked in this room," she asserted, determination glittering in her black eyes.

  "Rather than demand, a wise woman uses her charms to gain what she wants."

  "You mean she whores to get what she wants," Meg said, even as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She couldn't remember ever using that word before, but this beast of a man made her so angry, she hadn't been able to hold the word back.

  Tristan shrugged. "One way or another, most do." He wasn't being cruel. Tristan truly believed that was the way of things. Few might actually call it whoring, but when a woman gave a man what he most needed, he certainly was of a mind to see her wants met.

  Meg gave his chest a hard poke with the tip of her finger. "Well, I'm not most."

  Tristan grabbed her, just as she realized that she had moved far too close. Meg's eyes widened to find herself suddenly hauled tightly against him. She pushed her arms between their bodies. Her heart pounded with fear, dreading that he might take it in his mind to kiss her again.

  "It's true. You're not like most —you're far worse."

  Meg leaned as far back as his arms allowed. Even from a man such as this, the comment rankled. "Meaning you'd think more of me if I was of a mind to join you in bed."

  "Meaning I'd think more of you if you weren't a little liar."

  Meg sneered at the insult. "You dare to accuse me when you tricked me into your bed last night? You promised me the key to this room, only to pretend an injury so great you couldn't move." Meg was only voicing her suspicions. It wasn't until she saw his mirth did she realize she'd hit upon the truth. Anger gave her the strength she needed to break free of his hold. Meg had to force her hands to her sides, for the impulse to lash out at this grinning beast was great indeed.

  "One would think, Captain Hall, that a liar can only expect lies in return."

  "My thoughts exactly, Gypsy."

  "If you think so little of me, why not let me go?"

  Tristan laughed softly and then nodded. "A good question. And one I wish to hell I had the answer to."

  Meg had little appetite. She listlessly moved the food in her plate as she asked, "Where are you taking me?"

  "To America," Tristan returned as he took another bite of his rare roasted beef.

  She fidgeted nervously. She was sick of this room. Tristan, true to his word, had not allowed her on deck. Still, he had promised to take her for a long stroll tonight, and Meg couldn't wait for him to finish eating so they might get on with it. "Where in America?" she asked as a tiny flicker of hope began make itself known.

  "Baltimore, Maryland. Ever been there?"

  Her heart thundered in her breast. She forced the surge of excitement down lest he realize her sudden interest. Baltimore, Maryland, was only fifteen miles from her home. Meg gave a silent prayer of thanks, knowing it wouldn't be long before she'd be out of this man's clutches and safely at home. She evaded answer with a dramatic shrug while keeping her on her plate. "What would a Gypsy do in Baltimore, Maryland?" Purposely she stumbled over the as if it were foreign to her tongue.

  Lord, but this beast had a surprise awaiting his arrival. She wondered how he'd react when he was arrested for abducting the daughter of one of Maryland's more prominent citizens. Just knowing he would be spending the rest of his life isolated from society was sure to ease any suffering she might endure during this trip.

  Meg ignored the tiny flicker of remorse that came to plague her. The man deserved all he was due under the law. She wouldn't be sorry. She wouldn't! She was going home. Sooner than she expected, she was going to find a way to escape.

  Tristan shrugged, never realizing the excitement that throbbed in her veins. "Much the same thing as in England, I expect. Not that she'd have near as many customers though. Baltimore isn't anywhere as large as London."

  "Do you have parties where a Gypsy can ply her trade?" she asked, unable to keep her smile inside any longer. Thank God she'd managed to keep her laughter at bay. She wanted to dance around the cabin with glee, just knowing he was delivering her practically into her family's hands.

  Meg knew her father would search for her. No doubt he was about it at this very moment. But sooner or later, he was bound to give up. He couldn't stay away from his home forever. Eventually she'd find him at home. If luck was with her, she'd be there awaiting his return.

  Tristan's mouth twisted in displeasure at the thought, mistaking her smile for an eagerness to continue on with her previous life. "You won't be plying your trade. You won't be knowing any man but me, and the only fortune you'll be telling is mine."

  Meg ignored his reference to other men. Let him believe what he would. She didn't care. Still she couldn't control the laughter that slipped from her lips, unable to remember a time when she'd felt so lighthearted. "Give me your hand, Captain. Let's see what happens."

  Tristan grinned as he placed his hand palm up in hers. "Make it good, Gypsy, and 111 see your fee doubled."

  Their eyes met and held for a long moment before she realized she was supposed to be telling his fortune. She whispered shakily, "My fee is only the freedom to leave this room during the day."

  Tristan smiled and then nodded as the plea echoed silently in her eyes. "Done." He hadn't realized till he'd said it that he was going to give her permission. A second later he added, "But only with me at your side."

&n
bsp; Meg grinned. "Why?"

  "You'll need protection."

  She laughed. "But who will protect me from you?"

  And when he said nothing, she went on, her voice filling with hearty laughter. "I see. You think I'm so cunning as to turn the men against you. Perhaps I'll promise them something special and one of them will-"

  "Enough!" he said, and she knew in an instant that that was exactly what he thought.

  "Lord, but you deem me to have extraordinary powers," she said with no little amazement.

  Tristan didn't bother to deny her statement. He knew her powers well enough. He knew how she could tempt a man: he'd seen her dance; he'd held her in his arms. It was definitely within the realm of possibility that another could want her equally as much as he did. Only no one else was ever going to get her. "You were about to tell my fortune. Do it!" he said as he pressed his hand farther into hers.

  "With the usual chants and gibberish?" Her eyes were wide with mischief.

  "Without. Let's see if you're as good as you look."

  Meg laughed. "It might not work without the crystal ball and the rest of the trappings, but," she shrugged good-naturedly, "I'll try"

  A moment passed as she studied the callouses on his palm before she gave a wicked whisper. "Just as I thought. You and I are completely unsuited."

  "Why?"

  "You are mulish, bullheaded, and domineering." She pointed to a bump on the side of one finger. "See this?" She glanced up and grinned. "This means you are stubborn, inflexible, and obstinate. You need someone less, ah . . . shall we say willful? You need a lady who is sweet and gentle, more willing to give into your unrelenting demands. We're much too alike." She shook her head. "It would be like rams butting heads."

  Tristan laughed. "How come I'm mulish and obstinate while you're only willful? If we're so alike, shouldn't each of us have the same characteristics?"

  Meg grinned and then shrugged in supposed innocence. "I can only tell you what I see."

  Tristan laughed. "What else do you see?"

  "Well," she hesitated. "I see a lady. Now this one is for you. She's gentle and sweet. She smiles a lot when you're around." It was happening again, only this time Meg wasn't nearly as frightened. She did | see a woman's figure. How she knew she smiled, Meg couldn't have said.

  "Does she love me?" he asked with a grin, knowing it was expected of him.

  Meg bit her lip and closed her eyes in concentration. "She says she does." An instant later she shook her head. "But her words are not true. She wants I . . wants . . . ? Trees?" she glanced at him, her brow creased in confusion. She couldn't fathom why she'd said such a thing. It made absolutely no sense. "I don't know, something. There's another lady. She's older. You don't like the older one."

  Tristan felt a chill race up his back. Had Linda been playing him for a fool? Was it Oak Tree she was after? Was it the plantation she really wanted? Tristan's mouth thinned with anger. He didn't take much to the idea of a woman, any woman, having the power to deceive him. He never wanted to think himself that gullible. Tristan shook his head. No, it couldn't be. Doubtless the Gypsy used much the same words over and over again to everyone who was foolish enough to cross her palm with gold. The few half sentences could probably be associated to anyone or anything. It was just a coincidence that they seemed to fit his life.

  "That's very good," Tristan said in admiration of her supposed talent. "Can you tell me what, the woman looks like?"

  Meg shook her head. "She has brown hair, but her face is fuzzy.''

  "That's also very good." Brown hair was a common enough color to get her off the hook, but a fuzzy face was the perfect out.

  Not understanding his cynical response, Meg asked, without thinking, "Really? Has she a fuzzy face?"

  Tristan laughed. This woman was adorable. He didn't know how he stopped himself from taking her into his arms. "Do you see yourself in my future?"

  Meg grinned and then shook her head. "Sorry. I'm not there."

  "Are you sure?" he asked, knowing he wasn't about to resist her allure any longer. He tugged her from her chair and, giving her no option, directed her to sit in his lap. She tried to refuse. He put her where he wanted her as he repeated, "Are you sure?"

  "Very sure," she said, her voice taking on a sudden soft trembling.

  "Maybe if you looked harder?"

  Meg only shook her head. "I'm not there " she said again, only this time her words were less a statement of fact than a plea.

  "I think you are." Tristan breathed near her mouth. "As a matter of fact, I think you're very much a part of my future."

  His mouth touched against hers, and Meg felt again that familiar terrifying weakness that threatened to melt her bones. She had no doubt that this night would end with her in his arms if he started kissing her anything like he'd kissed her this morning. If he hadn't put her from him, she greatly feared she might very well have dragged him off to bed herself. Her cheeks grew dark at the outrageous thought. "Walk," she groaned, even as he parted her with his tongue and she almost swooned under delicious sensation of his lips on hers.

  "Aye, a walk. Are you sure you don't want to wait tomorrow?"

  Meg nodded as she watched his warm smiling gaze eyes that told clearly her apprehension. "I'm sure. I'm very sure."

  Chapter Eight

  Meg left the hatch and moved at Tristan's side along the darkened deck, her hand skimming the thick wooden railing polished to a high gloss by years of care. Still Tristan warned, "Be careful. You might get a splinter."

  Meg flashed him a soft, tentative smile and dropped her hand to her side. She looked out over a black sea that mirrored tiny specks of light from above and wondered if her situation had been different, would she have felt a tenderness for this man? He was hardheaded and determined, to be sure. Still he possessed a quality of gentleness that was often hard to resist. Except for the actual abduction, he had not forced her to accede to his demands. That in itself surprised her, for he had had every opportunity to abuse her and yet had not. Amazingly enough for a kidnapper, he did act genuinely concerned of her physical, if not mental, welfare.

  The ship dipped deep into a hollow and caused her to temporarily lose her balance. Before she could reach again for the rail, Tristan took the opportunity

  to pull her gently into his arms.

  They stood together for a long moment, his hands moving tenderly down her back as he gently pressed her closer. Meg bit her lip and looked into his dark eyes, reading correctly the hunger she found there. No matter the odd sense of comfort she found in his embrace, she knew it was a mistake to stand this close.

  "This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I suggested a walk."

  "It's what I had in mind," he returned with one of bone-melting smiles. "The deck is dark enough to ire us a measure of privacy"

  Meg lowered her eyes. It wasn't the least bit wise her to watch that smile. There was no telling what might lead to, for it affected her far more than she dared admit. "That's very nice, but we won't need it."

  Tristan laughed, stood her away from him, and then placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Hold on to me. There are a thousand things on deck that can trip you."

  A man stood behind a giant wooden wheel, his was squinting against the wind as he directed the ship on course. Another lone seaman stood opposite them, smoking a pipe and looking up at the sky.

  The moon was in its last quarter and granted the earth its most meager light. Blackness surrounded the ship. It blended sky to sea as it blurred horizons. Overhead a thick, black velvet canvas sparkled with brilliant, jewel like points of light. Besides the stars a measure of light was gotten from two lanterns each roped to thick masts — foremast and main. Neither offered illumination beyond a circumference of perhaps eight feet, and were used mainly as running lights to proclaim the Baltimore's presence, lest another ship come upon them in this vast Black expanse.

  With Tristan's help, Meg managed quite easily to keep her footing as the merchant ship
lunged through the thick blackness. Sails unfurled, the heavy ship seemed to skip across the water's foaming surface just before it plunged a good foot or more to drop with a hard thud into the hollow between each surging crest. She looked around the darkened deck and inhaled deeply the delicious scent of clean, salty air.

  Had she been a man, Meg would have chosen a life spent at sea, for nothing so exhilarated her as this churning opulence of nature. Its throbbing rhythm permeated her entire being with delight.

  On her father's ship, she could be found as often as not standing at the prow, her hair whipping free of its pins and flowing like a black, silken cape behind her slender form. Meg took to the ocean as if she'd been born a sailor. She'd been on ships most of her life, had accompanied her father on short excursions whenever possible, and she doubted the day would come when she'd ever get enough of this particular joy.

  Her dark eyes flashed with laughter as the high-pitched wind screamed overhead. Rushing past ropes, pulleys, yardarms and masts, it snapped tight huge sheets of canvas and snatched at her breath while whipping her hair into wild disarray around her head. The wind carried with it the finest mist, and salty. The moisture clung to her skin and hair, causing both to glisten in a dim, silvery light by stars.

  "It's wonderful."

  Looking down at her, Tristan caught her exhilaration. He knew a sudden freshness of spirit. For the first time in months, perhaps years, he felt again the elation of riding churning waves, of racing unrestrained through the night. Her exuberance grabbed him, teased his senses, lifted his spirit to a profound almost mystical plane, and he knew only a powerless, greedy ache that demanded still more. He stared at her, his lips parted in surprise. Was it simply being with her that brought about such intense emotion? Tristan discounted the thought as impossible. No one held such power in their hands. No one could so influence him. His oddly melancholy mood upon docking in England had been solely due to the fact that he'd been so long without the company of a woman. This surprising burst of gladness had nothing to do with her in particular. Any woman standing her place would have caused such feelings. Meg laughed as a large wave hit the bow. Its force shook the wooden ship, lifting Meg, who yelped with surprise, from the deck. She hung tighter to Tristan, striving for a balance the moving deck seemed disinclined to provide. She laughed as she fell against him, forgetting for a moment her silent pledge to remain cool and composed in this man's presence. "If I were a man, I'd spend my life at sea."