by Andrea Jones
And he’d keep his eyes and ears open for signs of his captain. If Hook was alive, he had to be here, aboard the Roger’s sister. Nibs tested the knot of his kerchief and followed Renaud to the party, where, under the approving eyes of Captain Cecco, LeCorbeau welcomed him, literally, with open arms.
§ § §
Smiling over the wine, Cecco hid his uneasiness. Except for the brooding of his bo’sun, he found no good reason for the feeling, but he couldn’t shake it. His concern for his lady’s sons nagged beneath his merriment, yet he surmised that those seamen were capable of fending for themselves. He, Mr. Starkey, and the rest of the crew had seen to that as the young sailors trained.
The lingering resentment on the Irishman’s features set Cecco to thinking. Aware as he was of the man’s devotion to Jill, Cecco couldn’t help but believe Smee’s glower related to her well-being. Once or twice the captain tried to catch the bo’sun’s eye to divine a clue to his thoughts, but Smee spared his new master only a glance, and delved into his cup.
Watching the surgeon now, Cecco wondered again. The man’s appearance always contrasted with his surroundings, so stiff and formal among sailors, and even more so within the elegant decadence of the Frenchman’s lair. Yet tonight the doctor smiled and feasted with the rest, seeming equally at ease in the smoky, crowded room. He even appeared to enjoy himself. Cecco noted that the bo’sun’s observation, too, followed Hanover, and Cecco’s concerns were allayed. Obviously, Smee still resented the surgeon, both for his pretensions to Jill and his collusion to elect the new captain.
Relaxing, Cecco drained his glass and smiled at LeCorbeau. The Frenchman in his triumph was an amusing sight. And Cecco had to admire Mr. Nibs, whose sense of duty balanced his distaste, and who bore his circumstances with a philosophy beyond his years.
Cecco nodded to himself. Nibs had learned this philosophy from his lovely mother. As always, the image of the lady aroused her lover, and he shifted in his chair and counted the minutes until he might return to her. Perhaps, as LeCorbeau was so happily engaged, Cecco could slip away earlier than planned. Jill’s captain would wake her with the pleasant weight, not of duty this time, but of gold. He would shower her with it. Cecco hailed another glass of wine, smiled, and patted the pouch at his belt.
LeCorbeau’s gold.
§ § §
The ruse was too good. Mr. Smee balanced Hook’s rapier on his knees and strung the evidence together. Cecco made a show of dispensing with the lady’s lads. He’d somehow bargained with the Frenchman until the little bag of gold strained like a sail in a gale, but Smee got the feeling in his craw that every gain Cecco made in pretense, he enjoyed in actuality. Now nothing and no one, excepting his bo’sun, could expose his betrayal. He was no longer hampered even by the surgeon who had connived with him through the first ruse, and lost.
Renaud offered Smee another glass, and the bo’sun accepted. He took one gulp and then, clearing a space on the brocaded tablecloth, he set it down. He wouldn’t touch another drop. The wine was strong.
Not strong enough.
§ § §
Hanover blinked in the light of the tapers and excused himself from the littered table. In spite of his elation, his stomach churned at the sight of his partner draping himself over the young man. Even knowing LeCorbeau’s peculiarities, the surgeon was shocked. The collaborators had held the briefest meeting after LeCorbeau arranged for Hanover to attend Guillaume. Hanover had time to explain only that Hook had assaulted his daughter, and then Cecco had stamped in, demanding that LeCorbeau join the company, and congratulating the mate on his obvious recovery. But the lack of detail was of no consequence; LeCorbeau understood that Hook was out of the way, Nibs was in his power, and Jill would soon follow her sons to L’Ormonde. Now the company appeared inebriated enough not to notice the surgeon’s absence, and he shot his cuffs and secured his medical bag. As he weaved his way through the oppressive haze of spirits and tobacco toward the cabin door, Hanover imagined the more sublime sight in which soon he would be reveling. The bridal veil of her hair, shining in the golden light of tapers.
§ § §
Sooner than Tom expected, the crew deck fell quiet, the hammocks suspending their heavy contents and the lanterns burning low. He hoisted his bulk from his bed and made his way aft. L’Ormonde squeezed three cabins into this section. Tom determined to check them all, tonight. The chance that a captive captain was hidden in such an obvious place was a long one, but Tom intended to leave no possibility untried, and the sooner the better.
Lifting a lantern from its peg, he cast a look about and listened to the revelry upstairs, then he crept toward the mates’ cabin. Best to start there, before the boys left the party. He laid his hand on the brass knob. Its chill sent a shudder up his spine, but he turned it, held his breath against a squeak, and opened. Only at the last second did he think to rap before entering.
Monsieur Guillaume sat back on his bunk, supine, his arms crossed and his blue-stockinged feet extended before him. At odds with his posture, his snappy coat with its brass buttons hung at attention from a peg above him. He looked up at Tom’s knock, then he smirked.
“Bonsoir, Mr. Tootles! Have you, too, come inquiring after my health?” The second mate studied Tom’s discomfort, and his eyes lit with mischief. “Or are you, perhaps, seeking advice on what, in our captain’s opinion, makes a good sailor?”
Tom swallowed and grinned. “Evening, Mr. Guillaume.” He cleared his throat, shifting his stance along with his tactics. “Whatever I came for, I’m guessing I came to the right place.”
With a smile as acute as his eye, Guillaume reached behind his pillow. Producing a bottle of cognac with a very old label, he ordered, “Come, Mr. Tootles. No need for we of lesser rank to miss the festivities.”
“Doesn’t Captain LeCorbeau enforce rules about officers fraternizing with the sailors? Sir?”
“Oh, no. Quite the contrary. Our captain requires that his officers train his men— in whatever skills they may be lacking.” With the bottle, he indicated the foot of his bunk. “Make yourself comfortable. I had not thought of working tonight, but since you present me with the opportunity, I may as well begin my duties.”
“That looks to be a respectable bottle of brandy, Mr. Guillaume.”
“Oui. One of the benefits of serving a man of taste.”
“It puts me in mind of my former captain. James Hook was a gentleman, head to toe.”
“A gentleman? Don’t make me laugh! There is no such thing. I’ve seen the world. It holds only two kinds of men. Those who have what they want, and those who want what other men have.”
“And which are you, Sir?”
Guillaume eyed Tom. Deciding the sailor was more curious than cheeky, he exhibited the cognac. “I have what I want. And you?”
Tom thought a moment, reflecting on his reason for boarding L’Ormonde. He reached for the bottle and seized it. “Maybe I want what you have.”
Not displeased by the gesture, Guillaume laughed and sat up. “As you say, Mr. Tootles. You have come to the right place.”
§ § §
“At last you have pleased me, Liza.” He awarded her a kiss, and softly shut the door. The air of the gun deck was refreshing; he lifted his face to clear his head. After confinement in that cramped cabin, the sea air invigorated him— nearly as much as his anticipated reunion with Jill. The sleeves of his shirt rippled in the breeze, and he breathed deeply in the darkness. Then, without a sound, he entered the unoccupied quarters and eased the door closed. Jill would welcome her lover’s return. How ironic that his little one had made it possible. For the great good that, in the end, the girl had done him, she claimed a pittance in return. A little affection, easily bestowed.
It was there, just as she told him. The lantern she’d left burning by the window illuminated the knotted end of rope, which swung with the movement of the ship. He hefted the sash, hooked it to the ring on the ceiling, and vaulted to the sill. From portside floated the so
unds of mirth and music. The company on L’Ormonde pursued their pleasures, and none aboard her could spy the stern of the Roger.
Grasping the line, he shoved away from the hull, indulging in the heady feel of freedom as the cable swung him over the sea. His bare feet grasped the knot, which scraped between them as he thrust his body upward. As he gravitated toward the ship, he pressed his feet flat against it. The wood’s dampness lent him traction for the climb. Wrapping the rope around his forearms as he went, he strained to pull himself upward. But he hardly felt the struggle. The time of privation had served to strengthen him. And that misery was over now. Thanks to the girl, the woman was in reach, and really, the effort was as nothing. Nothing but the promise of pleasure.
For with every heave he ascended toward heaven, and the angel who awaited him.
§ § §
His little one busied herself the instant the door closed. All was in readiness. After moving it into place, she shed her clothing and climbed into bed. As tired as she was, she knew that this night, the night of her transformation, she’d win no rest at all. In her sleeplessness she would have plenty of company. Hook wouldn’t sleep, nor would Jill, nor Cecco. Nor even her father.
Satisfied, Liza didn’t bother to close the bed curtain tonight. She was fearless. No need to hide anything anymore. She needn’t obey her father any longer, and Jill least of all. At last the tables were turned. Cecco was carousing, Hook had spent his last night as a prisoner, and from now Liza rightfully assumed her role as his mistress.
In her happiness, she toyed with the chains. Their clink made a merry sound that matched her mood. When the moment seemed right she sat up, snatched the bottle— already uncorked— and tipping it up, imbibed a long draught. Then she smiled, poured a measure over her breasts, and waited.
Hook would be quick about his business. Tonight, he belonged to Liza. His little one.
Chapter 23
To Have and To Hold
He expected her to be watching for him. As he hauled his shoulders through the window, he shook his hair from his face and glimpsed the flickering interior of the familiar cabin. No welcoming hands assisted him as he pulled himself over the gilded sill. He settled on the window seat. His arms and his fingers burned from the bite of the rope, and he rubbed them on his breeches as he searched the shadows.
Sliding his feet to the floor, he felt the luxury of the Oriental carpets against his skin. Two lanterns glowed, one above the daybed, and one above the bunk. A candle lit the dining table, calling his attention to a goblet and a pewter cup there. He headed toward them. The goblet was filled, waiting for him. The cup appeared empty. Near them lay a parchment. Liza had assured him the lady expected his visit, and he anticipated the paper’s message, sweet and poignant, like the wine. He tilted the letter toward the candle’s light and read.
My dear Sir~
Do as you will with this offering. Only believe that I do not betray you.
With all my heart, I am trusting you.
Gratified, he raised the cup and drank from the vessel her hands had filled for him, drinking in her affection, as well. He savored the taste, then exhaled, and as he did so the agony of the previous days diminished. Turning toward the bunk, he set down the glass and moved to reclaim her. His Jill.
She lay still in the lanternlight, her hair like gold against the pillow, her nightdress pure white. Her face was turned slightly away from him, her eyes closed, her expression troubled. Her lover knelt down at her side, breathing a delicate scent, and then he took her hand in his own. Marked with her precious blood, it appeared as crimson as ever. He kissed it.
She didn’t stir. Smiling, he leaned over her to graze her lips with his kiss. The beauty did not awaken. He squeezed her shoulder, jostling her with a tender touch, but still she slumbered. Sliding his arm behind her, he raised her to his embrace, and he frowned to find her head lolling to the side.
His brows drew together; he knew these signs. He had experienced the effect often enough. He turned toward the table. That cup had held water— and, he now realized, a trace of amber liquid.
Jill had drugged herself to sleep, with the doctor’s medicine.
He allowed her body to slide through his arms and fall back on the bed. Her hair sprawled around her face, unruly as a mermaid’s. Slowly, he stood, his rage rising with his frame. He stared down at her, clenching his fingers, not quite believing what his eyes witnessed. He shook his head, refusing the frustration that threatened to set its teeth in him.
Raising his gaze, he now took note of the bed shelf. It was transformed into a treasure trove. Under the lantern gleamed her many bracelets, her earrings, her emerald ring, her anklet, and her several necklaces— gold, opal, and ruby. The jeweled dagger lay there, and near it her pistol glistened.
In preparation for someone’s arrival, she had divested herself of all men’s gifts. Bearing only two leather straps around her wrists, she lay naked of fetters or finery, free of belonging to anyone— as if uncertain who would awaken her. Thinking back, he understood that even her note was penned without particulars, devoid of specifics. She might have written it to any of her admirers. Now, cleansed and unconscious, with no protector but oblivion, the woman, like her jewelry, lay as vulnerable as it was possible to be.
I am trusting you.
Truly.
He stalked his way across the cabin and hoisted the goblet for another draught. When the glass was empty, he crumpled the parchment and tossed it away. Then, swiftly, he snatched up the pewter cup. In a movement of pure fury, he heaved the cup, dregs and all, out the window. Stiffly, he knelt on the bench, where he untied the knot the girl had secured, leaving the rope to dangle.
And then he rose, reached to the candle, and vanquished its flame between his fingers. Still feeling the burn within them, he strode back to the bed. As he gazed down at his love, his breast roiled inside, but he managed to tame his emotion. Yet even as he loosened his breeches, he smelled the reek of the dead candle’s smoke. His fingers tingled with its fire.
Believe that I have not betrayed you.
Yes. In spite of the evidence, he believed. No man held a stronger claim on her than he. She was his Jill.
He lowered himself to her bed. He pulled open the ribbon of her nightdress.
And after all, he knew she wouldn’t disappoint him. She was a valiant woman. Intelligent. She understood the virtue of silence. His smile turned smug. As it did so, Hanover felt the badge of his honor— the gentleman’s scar— tighten on his face. From cheek to jaw.
§ § §
Hook was parched, not fully awakened from the drugging, desperate for liquid. He had to have it. Liza had drunk some herself. How harmful could it be? Reckless, he lunged for the drops upon her body. With his tongue, he gathered the moisture she had sprinkled over her flesh. The droplets rolled down her breasts and he caught them, licked at them, and tried to swallow. But his thirst was not nearly slaked, and he craved for more.
The girl obliged, laughing as she fondled the neck of the bottle. Keeping it outside his chain’s reach, she doused herself again, watching the wine trickle into a pool at her navel. He dove for it, his tongue delving for the drops, and she threw back her head and exclaimed. He hardly noticed her noises. He was thirsty.
Next she splashed her thighs, and again, he traced the rivulets. The linen became stained with her wine, the bedding moist between her legs, but she paid no heed to housekeeping. Like an extravagant courtesan, she poured for him again. His frenzy was catching, his tongue made her wild, and she pawed at his shoulders while his hair slunk over her belly. This time, when every drop of moisture on her skin was taken, the girl filled her mouth. Smiling, she lay on her back and, submitting to his body, let him have his way between her lips.
She had never felt so powerful, never experienced such heady pleasure. Her body thrilled to his stroking, her mind in ecstasy, too. He needed her, yearned for what she offered, and for these moments, she ruled him. The great man was at her mercy, depe
ndent on her for his survival, and she relished these sensations. She filled her mouth again, and this time he fell back, hooking his handless arm around her neck and pulling her with him, and he opened his lips to receive her gifts.
The girl was generous. She filled him, again, and again.
And then she gave him the bottle. Trusting her, thinking with his throat, he drained it. As he lay panting, her fingers strayed to his breeches. One button at a time, she opened them. His eyes rolled toward her, growing luminous in the lanternlight, concentrating for the first time since he regained consciousness. He raised himself up on his elbow. He spoke, but his breath never evened.
“Now you will free me.” In a spasm, his lip twitched.
She only smiled. “I will, Sir. When our agreement is fulfilled.”
His eyes squeezed shut, tightly, and he pushed the words from his mouth. “Filled…fulfilled…?”
“We have time.”
He squinted at the girl. She made no sense. “Time.” He shook his head, and his stubbly black beard itched against his throat. “Time to go.”
Liza relished his confusion. She played on it. Another minute or so, and he would be beyond even this. “Yes, it’s time. Let me help you with your shirt, Sir.” She shoved it over his shoulders and, unthinking, he ducked his head through the collar. She pulled it so that his sleeve slid up the chain and his beautiful body lay unsheathed. The little liquid she’d swallowed was having its effect upon her, too. She reached for his waistline, tugging at his trousers.
Succumbing to sensation, he lifted his hips and allowed her ministrations. Within moments they lay close together, naked on the wine-soaked sheet, their bodies heating toward fever-pitch.