His Pirate Seductress (Love on the High Seas Book 3)

by Tamara Hughes

  She stumbled back a few steps, confusion followed by annoyance on her lovely face.

  “What will you promise me next, Catherine? Can I touch your breasts if I give you a hint of the cross’s location?”

  Her features flushed, and she turned away, her balance slightly off as she walked to the bed. His bed. She removed her breeches and hose, providing a glimpse of thigh. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from the view. Although her shirt hung to her knees, he admired her slender calves and tiny feet. She hurried into bed and drew the covers to her throat before blowing out the lantern and settling in.

  Moonlight filtered through the wall of windows to his left, illuminating the room and the woman in the bed across from him. The fact that she’d been able to use his desires against him grated, and that he still burned for her… He ground his teeth. Accursed woman.

  Her breathing soon became slow and even. He should shout. Keep her awake, and dispense some torture of his own. Then again, what would stop her from moving to a different cabin to sleep blissfully in silence? No, he’d rather she stay here. For very close to where she lay, yes, almost by her head, the Ruby Cross was safely tucked away. The irony of it brought a smile to his face and an odd satisfaction to his heart.

  Chapter Three

  Her head aching, Catherine snuggled under the covers a bit more, but the morning sunlight burned through her lids straight into her skull. She ran her tongue over the roof of her mouth, wrinkling her nose at the awful taste. Burying her face in the pillow, she took refuge in the scent she found there. Manly. Like Thomas. Last evening’s events came rushing back. The way she’d told him about her family and her troubles. She’d had no shame. And good Lord, that kiss. How wanton. She hadn’t drunk that much rum, had she? She’d only meant to have enough to convince him to imbibe more, until he was truly drunk. Drunk enough to spill his secrets. She groaned. Instead, she’d been the one who’d done all the talking.

  An icy chill infused the air, and she burrowed deeper under the blanket, sure she’d see her breath if she troubled herself to look. See her breath? Sweet heaven! She bolted up in bed and stared at Thomas. His head hung to his chest, and she could see him shiver clear across the room. She threw off the covers and sprang to her feet, the cold penetrating her shirt with its frigid claws. Her breath came out with a rush, and the air indeed clouded before her. When had the temperature dropped so low? While yesterday had been cooler than typical, she’d never imagined… Catherine rushed to his side. “Thomas?” Cupping his cheeks, she lifted his head. His eyes were closed and his lips blue. “Wake up!” She patted his face, then shook his shoulders, his skin so very cold.

  With a moan and a wince, he opened his eyes. He glared at her as if only his hatred for her was keeping him from freezing to death.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll fix this,” she said as much to herself as to him. She raced to her pile of clothing and quickly donned her breeches. When she lifted her coat, the watch she’d taken from Thomas clattered to the floor. Without much thought, she set it on the table by the bed and hurried through the doorway. She pointed to two men loitering on deck. “You and you, I need your help. Follow me.”

  She led them into the cabin and motioned toward Thomas. “Move him to the bed.”

  They glanced between her and Thomas, breaking into grins.

  “Just do as I say,” she ordered.

  They complied. Thomas moaned when his arms lowered to his sides, and he fell almost to the floor before they caught him. They half carried him to the bed and dropped him onto the mattress.

  “Anything else, Cap’n?” one asked as they headed toward the door, snickering all the way.

  Their impertinence rankled, but her concern right now was for Thomas. He appeared unconscious again. “Bring me some hot coffee, and be quick about—”

  Barnet stood in the doorway, his stare sharp and angry.

  “—it.” Damn.

  “What goes here?” Barnet demanded.

  She hurried to Thomas’s side and threw the covers over his nakedness. “He’s suffering from the cold.”

  “Good.” Barnet snatched the bedding and pulled it away from Thomas’s shivering form. “Just what kind of torture are you performin’ here?” He gestured toward her prisoner. “He’s naked…with barely a scratch on him.”

  Heat rose up her neck and scalded her cheeks as she smacked Barnet’s hands away and settled the covers over Thomas again. “Obviously what I’m doing is having some effect. Look at the condition he’s in.”

  “And you’re tendin’ him like some nursemaid.” He took her by the shoulders and moved her from the bed. “I don’t think you understand the art of torture, Catherine. Now is the time to strike, when he’s weak.”

  “He’s not conscious.” Even as she said the words, Thomas’s eyes opened in narrow slits.

  “A bucket of water would wake him.”

  Lifting her chin, she stood her ground. “No.” She wouldn’t let Thomas freeze to death, no matter how much she needed the cross. She wasn’t going to let him die at all, and handing him over to Barnet would surely lead to his demise.

  His features softening, Barnet lifted a lock of her hair and smoothed it between his fingers. “Torture isn’t somethin’ you should have to do—you’ve a tender heart. You should leave this work to me and my men.”

  She backed up a step and pulled her hair from his grasp. “What’s gotten into you?” She’d always known he had softer feelings for her, but he’d never acted on them, and she encouraged nothing more than friendship. She had no interest in more from him. “And they’re my men, not yours. Not on this voyage.”

  From the corner of her eye, she watched Thomas quirk a brow. “I am the captain, and I have this in hand,” she assured Barnet.

  Barnet’s lips thinned and his jaw twitched, but he didn’t lash out with that temper of his. Instead, he turned to Thomas, their glares clashing. Barnet grabbed one of Thomas’s wrists and set to securing him to the bed. “At the very least, he’ll be bound as he was before.”

  Once the deed was done, Barnet scowled at Thomas. “The last man we crucified stayed conscious longer than you.”

  Crucifixion? Dear God. She pointed to the door. “Barnet, go,” she commanded, her tone one to be obeyed.

  His attention caught to his right. The table by the bed, or more precisely, Thomas’s watch. He reached out.

  “Leave it. It’s mine.” She took a step toward him. “You and the men can have all the cargo and the ransom from the crew,” she reminded him.

  He cast her a disgruntled look and hesitated, then headed out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

  Muttering an oath, Catherine returned to the bed.

  “Why d-did you s-save my w-watch?” Thomas asked as she spread the covers over his shaking body.

  She met his questioning gaze. “This watch obviously means a great deal to you, just as the Ruby Cross means much to me.”

  “Ah, you m-mean to hold it in exchange for the cross. It won’t work. The sheer p-profit I’ll get from the cross outweighs any f-fondness I have for the watch.”

  Perhaps she’d put his words to the test later. Now she had to get some heat back into him. She exhaled into her hands to warm them up, then began with an arm, rubbing her palms over his skin. “Why didn’t you call out to me when the cabin grew so cold?” Was he really that stubborn?

  He shook his head, his eyes rolling to the ceiling as if she were half daft. “Wasn’t this what you wanted when you s-stripped me of my clothes? Typically when someone desires to f-force information from a prisoner, they th-thrive on opportunities such as this…” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Your quartermaster is r-right to question you. Why are you tending me rather than taking advantage?”

  Moving to the other arm, she frowned. “If you’d rather have Barnet have a go at you, I can call him back,” she spat. The fool should be silent and accept his good fortune instead of questioning her logic.

  Barnet believed she’d been too so
ft with Thomas, and by all accounts, he was correct, although she couldn’t rightly say why. She was accustomed to doing whatever necessary for her family to survive. Now her mother and son were at mortal risk. She should beat Thomas, cut him, hand him over to Barnet, allowing anything short of killing him… She frowned. The mere thought put a sour taste in her mouth.

  Was it compassion that kept her from hurting him? Cowardice? Stupidity? Or perhaps none of those. From the first moment they’d met, she’d seen glimpses of the type of man he was. Strong, capable, confident. And the more time she’d spent with him, the more his mischievous nature and keen wit had emerged. In an odd, twisted sort of way, she’d almost enjoyed their sparring. So much so, he’d distracted her from her cause. Curse it.

  She had to find some way to make Thomas talk, a method other than causing pain and death. Her gaze caught on his pocket watch still sitting on the table by the bed. How much did he value the piece? Enough to get her what she wanted?

  …

  Although tremors racked him, Thomas had the urge to laugh. His jailer, the person in charge of causing him pain and misery, was doing her utmost to save him. She truly had no idea what forcing a prisoner to talk meant. Lucky for him.

  “Why does your watch mean so much to you?” she asked, her ministrations moving to his sides. Her hands over the blankets, she rubbed him up and down vigorously.

  He shouldn’t answer. A skilled torturer could use whatever he said against him. A skilled torturer. He smothered a chuckle. Very well. “My father g-gave it to me to commemorate becoming the captain of this ship.”

  “He must be very proud of you.” Catherine was bent over him, her attention on warming him, making his skin tingle and sting as it thawed. Her coat gaped open, exposing her shirt, still untied at the top, providing a glimpse of delectable breasts. The sight heated him far more than the rubbing.

  “Y-Yes. My father was proud for a time, but it didn’t last.” His father’s approval had always been fleeting, which, in an odd way, spurred him to greater heights. To feel that admiration again.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her breasts moving in a rhythmic dance as she warmed his chest. Such a curative sight.

  “My father thrives on competition. We all do. My b-brothers and I…” His mind stuttered when Catherine turned her ministrations to his hips and thighs. “Perhaps not my mother… Although I suppose she is competitive in her own w-way—hosting parties and events to impress her peers.”

  The brush of Catherine’s hands, even through the bedcovers, stirred his blood, and something else as well. Apparently that region of his body was responding faster than anywhere else. Normally, he might enjoy being tied naked to his bed with a woman caressing him, if he weren’t so damn cold.

  “In what way do you compete?” she asked.

  “In everything. Gambling, w-women, drinking, our occupations, o-our wealth…any success.”

  “You compete against your family?”

  “My brothers mostly.” His father wouldn’t be nearly as proud if he himself were defeated by a son. “It’s how my n-nose was broken, the first time.” On a stupid lark in a pub, half drunk.

  “Your brothers broke your nose?” She adjusted her position, her hands grazing parts already well warmed.

  A groan stuck in his throat, his temperature rising with every stroke. “Just one. Charles. Sparring when we were young. The pub owner made a bit of money, and we got free ale.” Seemed like a fair trade at the time, especially over the next week, as he had taunted his brother about losing.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Thomas shook his head. If Charles had won, there would have been hell to pay. “Charles will soon be running for the House of Commons, a politician, no less.” Once that lump won a position in Parliament, he’d be a tough competitor to beat. “My other brother, Stephen is a solicitor, working toward becoming a barrister, God help us.”

  Someone knocked on the door, and Catherine rose from the bed. “And you’re the captain of a merchantman, working for the Lamont Shipping company.”

  Yes, he was behind his brothers on that score. “Once I sell the Ruby Cross, I’ll work for myself.” Then he’d be on more equal footing.

  Catherine opened the door. “Arrange a hot bath,” she ordered as she accepted a large mug. A bath? Thomas could scarce hear the response, but Catherine’s answer was clear, “Do as I say. Be off with you.” She shut the door and headed back to the bed, the scent of coffee infusing the cabin. “Do your parents encourage this behavior of competing against your brothers?”

  “Why not? They now have a ship’s captain, a politician, and a lawyer for sons.”

  She glanced from the mug in her hand to him and back before snaking an arm beneath his shoulders and propping him up enough so he could take a drink. “Does all this competition make you happy?”

  That first taste of hot coffee was like heaven on earth. Dear God. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed a cup. He stopped for a breath of air, warmth traveling to the pit of his stomach. “Why shouldn’t it make me happy? Comparing myself to my brothers has driven me to become successful and independent.”

  “I don’t understand why you can’t cheer one another’s accomplishments rather than make your lives a competition.” She helped him to drink more of the brew, and for the first time in a long while, he not only allowed someone’s help but relished in their tending. “Are any of your brothers married? Do they have children?” she asked.

  Indeed, how nice to have someone tend him and offer comfort…even if that someone had been the cause of his incapacitation. As for his brothers. Married? He gave a laugh. “No. They haven’t had time, as of yet.” He studied her features, beautiful and kind. What would it be like to have a wife, someone to care when he fell ill or had his nose broken? “Once their careers are established, perhaps finding wives will be the new challenge.”

  In truth, he’d never questioned his happiness. No time to and no reason to. He had this ship, and soon he’d own one himself. That should make him happy enough.

  Catherine set down the coffee on the small table and resumed heating him up, rubbing his arms once more. He could tell her to stop. He would survive, with or without her help. He could tell her that, but he held his tongue and enjoyed her touch instead.

  Chapter Four

  Catherine’s gaze locked onto Thomas, still tied to the bed, as she carried her lunch of pork roast and potatoes into the cabin. She set the meal down on the small table as close to Thomas as possible. He looked far better than he had earlier this morning. Virtually no signs of his near freezing remained.

  Thomas eyed the bathtub sitting in the center of the room, the water steaming. Would the promise of a warm bath and a good meal sway him into talking? Unlikely. Although by now he should be hungrier and weaker.

  “Shall we take up where we left off?” she asked.

  He smiled, his confidence back in top form. “You don’t believe tempting me with food will work, do you?”

  She squelched the oath tickling the tip of her tongue. He was far too stubborn. “On the contrary. The food is mine.” She stabbed a bite of potato from the plate and popped it into her mouth with a grin. Blasted man.

  His stomach growled, and some sense of satisfaction rose within her, until he spoke. “My shoulders hurt like the devil. Maybe if you rub the ache away, I might talk.” His eyes glowed with mischief. What an arse.

  Looking past her, he nodded toward the tub. “The water is getting cold.”

  “So it is.” She had originally ordered the hot bath for him when he’d been shaking so very badly. But at present he appeared healthy and whole, and irritating as ever. Not only did he no longer require a bath for warmth, he didn’t deserve one. That and she had no way to keep him bound while he bathed. He’d most likely strangle her the moment his hands were free. She turned to look at the steam rising above the water. After all the trouble the men had gone to, they just might string her up if it went unused. And frankly, she
didn’t want to let it go to waste.

  She rose from the bed and crossed to the tub, then dipped her fingers into the water, yearning to step inside and sink into the luxurious heat. Catherine looked back at Thomas. He watched her with curiosity.

  “You didn’t think this bath was for you, did you?” she teased.

  A smile lifted the corner of his lips. “Feel free to partake. I don’t mind.”

  Indeed. He wouldn’t mind having her strip naked before him. So what to do with him? She couldn’t bathe in front of him, and asking to have him removed from the cabin would place him right in Barnet’s hands. She headed to the armoire. No reason to send him away when she could simply obstruct his view. Opening the tall wardrobe, she scanned the contents. She’d seen it earlier. Aye. She retrieved a white cravat from inside and returned to the bed.

  Thomas smirked. “What are you planning? Usually I don a full suit when I wear my cravat.”

  “Not today.” She covered his eyes with the long cloth, wrapping it around his head and tying it off at the side. “There. Now off to my bath.”

  “There’s soap near the basin on the corner table,” he offered. Why, she had no idea. She’d been torturing him for nigh on two days, or attempting to, at least. No matter. She found the soap and returned to the tub, where she released the buttons of her coat and slipped the fabric from her shoulders, her every sound magnified in the silence.

  “Your coat,” Thomas said as he lay still in the bed.

  “What?”

  “You’re removing your surcoat,” he explained.

  True, but why did he bother to point it out? She slipped off one boot and set it on the floor.