Blackwell 2 - Timeswept Rogue

by Amy J. Fetzer

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  Amy J. Fetzer

  "Really? I didn't realize." He sent her an amused smirk "Amongst other things, huh?"

  "Like how much I love you," he said and she leaned over kissing him heavily on the mouth. "Yup, now read."

  His gaze slipped over her face afore he returned his attention to the paper. " Tis a document, legal words and such. Mayhaps a will."

  "And?"

  "I am unsure, but I believe it states that the Blackwell house, the grounds, and," he cleared his throat, "a certain painting, are to never leave the hands of a Blackwell descendant."

  "The house? You mean Phalon has to," she jerked a thumb to the door, brows up.

  ' 'According to this, aye. Unless he can prove he is the rightful heir.''

  "When hell freezes," she said defiantly, then scanned the paper. "That's Tess's signature, and Dane's and—" she inhaled, her gaze flying to his—"does that say what I think it does?"

  He frowned. She was suddenly tense, eager. " 'Tis but the signature of their barrister, love.''

  "Did you know him?"

  "Aye. I've tipped a few pints," he grinned, "and did a bit of wenching with the man. Takes a muck of ale to loosen him up though." Ram chuckled, remembering. "And it never remained in his gullet overlong."

  "You got drunk with Thomas Jefferson!" she fairly shrieked, coming out of her seat.

  "Penn, my sweet, calm down." He tossed the document aside and pulled her onto his lap. "He was not quite the paragon of virtue."

  "And what part, dare I ask, did you have in destroying that image?"

  He sent her a mild glance, ' 'I saved my prowess for deflower­ing virgins, robbing nunneries, and pillaging the coast," he said dryly and she blanched.

  "Sorry."

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  "Beg for my forgiveness," he told her, regally looking else­where and she slid her hand beneath the folds of his robe.

  "You'll tell me when I have it, huh?" She kissed bis throat, his broad chest.

  "Mayhaps."

  "Is this foreplay?"

  "Everything you do is," he growled, then covered her mouth with his. Her hand sank beneath his silk trousers and he flinched when she enfolded his arousal, warmly stroking him. "Penel­ope," he gasped.

  "It's midnight and I've never made love in the kitchen."

  "We could be discovered."

  "Isn't that half the excitement?"

  "Penelope," he pleaded.

  ' 'Then take me somewhere where there's a door. And hurry.''

  He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the nearest room, the one with the television, and set her to her feet long enough to tear away their robes and the lacey chemise she wore.

  She laughed softly, pulling on the drawstring of his silk trousers, baring him for her eyes, then shoving him onto the couch. She slid to her knees and before he could wonder she took him into her mouth.

  ' 'Sweet Jesus!" he groaned, gripping pillows and her tongue slid mercilessly over the moist tip of him. "Penelope, nay, nay!" His long body shuddered like quaking earth and Penny laughed, soft and deliciously pleased, teasing him again, and he suddenly grasped her arms, dragging her up the length of him, then jerking her legs round his hips.

  "By God, you unman me," he said, his wide chest heaving, his hand busy finding the moist source of her need and returning the torture.

  "That'll never happen," she replied, her hips taking motion, his fingers playing. "Oh God, Ramsey, oh, oh—!" He bucked, shoving himself deeply inside her and she cried out, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging. She rocked, stealing the life from him and Ramsey drew his head back a fraction to watch. A wicked smile of pure sexual pleasure coasted across her lips, her slim body like liquid rhythm, undulating to the

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  quick tempo of her passion. Her green eyes held him, her love of him teaming in the emerald depths and Ramsey knew rapture, knew why men dueled and died for the love of one woman. Suddenly she jerked, her muscles convulsing around him, thighs squeezing, fingers digging and only then did Ramsey fulfill his own need, wrapping his arms around her and jamming her downward. She moaned and squirmed, draining him of his fire, trembling. Her ragged breath whispered in his ear, a soft rushing feminine sound he adored.

  She went slack and warm against him and he rubbed her spine for a few moments afore she leaned back slightly, fingering his hair off his forehead,

  "I love you, Penelope." He caught her hand and kissed the palm.

  "Why?" she said, yet no teasing smile graced her lips.

  ' 'Because thou art you.''

  Her gaze flew to his.

  ' 'I need no reason, no words to define the workings of my heart. I simply do, my sweet."

  Her lips curved, her look one of peace and serenity as she leaned in for a kiss.

  "And of course, because you've the most beautiful breasts I've ever seen on a woman." She chuckled throatily as his big hands swept up her body to enfold the lush swells.

  "An asset, I'm sure."

  "Because you ravish the cupboards after you've had your pleasures."

  God, she loved the way he talked. "Speaking of food ..." "Again?" he said and she wiggled off his lap, the separation nothing short of painful. She grabbed up her robe, slipping it on and disappearing out the door, leaving Ramsey disheveled, dismissed and feeling much the man who'd lost control. A few moments later she returned to his side with a tray laden with iced cans of soda, a tall glass of chilled beer, cookies, potato chips and a bowl of popcorn. She offered him the corn and he made a face.

  "Pilgrim fodder," he muttered distastefully and she folded over with laughter.

  "Oh Ramsey," she said happily. "You are definitely one of a kind."

  ' 'Permission to come aboard,'' Ramsey called from the dock.

  "Granted," came from somewhere inside the vessel.

  Ramsey strode up the gang plank, glad his legs could still adjust to the rock of the sea. 'Twas a modest ship, not even sixty feet or so, but two masted and low slung like a sloop. A cabin cruiser, the harbor master had told him, named the Annora. Unlike most of the other vessels in the harbor, which were mostly white and of fiberglass, a definition which eluded Ramsey, this craft was a fine piece of workmanship, constructed of dark wood, her deck polished to a high shine, her rails smooth and slick from a fresh coat of varnish and wax. The winches and pulleys gleamed of new brass, her sails a soft brown and rolled tight with leather strips instead of twine. Ramsey felt instantly at home and as he ducked beneath rigging, he decided he wanted one. 'Twould be a fitting place to take his bride, he thought, once she agreed to wed him. He stood midship, waiting, trying not to show his impatience when a slender man climbed the passageway, pausing half in, half out.

  They stared for a moment, and Ramsey recognized the carved features of a Blackwell.

  "You're the one who's buying my company, aren't you?" the man said, half accusing, the wind whipping at his silver

  hair.

  "Aye. I am—"

  "I don't care who you are." He turned and ascended. "Come below."

  His chilling response arrested Ranisey, yet he followed, back­ing down the narrow passageway, the coolness of the air flush­ing his skin as he ascended into a modest stateroom. 'Twas not elaborate, the room, but comfortable, bespeaking of constant use. The walls were dotted with framed photos and mounted weapons and Ramsey thought he recognized the silver cutlass slung over a sagging sofa. Yet beneath his feet was a well worn piece of Aubusson carpet, and against the far left wall, an

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  armoire from his century. The touches here and there told him of a family of wealth and power. Naught was left but this man and his vessel, Ram realized despairingly . . . and the animosity he felt in Alexander Blackwell from across the room as the man selected a pipe from a rack on t
he desk.

  "I understood you wished to sell, sir. If 'tis not the case, then I shall not trouble you again and bid you good day.''

  "No," Alexander said with a sharp glance, looking him over thoroughly. "No. I just can't understand why you want it." Alexander gestured for Ramsey to sit, then dipped his pipe into a humidor and filled it. "There isn't anything left, not of marketable value. Some stock, a couple of warehouses, and the dockyard."

  "I am aware of the risks."

  "Wainright said you intend to keep the name, why?" He brought the pipe to his lips as he depressed a silver cylinder and Ram's brows rose at the instant fire.

  " Tis a legacy I wish to revive."

  Alexander glanced up, critically judging him and the ponytail didn't escape his attention, even at his advanced age. "It's dead." He puffed. "I wish you'd let it be buried."

  "My honor bids I cannot," Ramsey said and the conviction in his soft tone made Alexander straighten. He'd an odd fore­boding the moment he saw this man standing on his deck, and it just got stronger.

  "Your family business was no small effort, and I ask afore we go further, if that is the case, to tell me how this happened?" He wanted to know of the police report. "I could find naught to guide me, Mister Blackwell."

  Alexander settled slowly into a chair perched aside the desk. "Call me Alexander and no, I can't tell you."

  Ramsey sighed, trying not to show his disappointment and Alexander conceded, though not at all sure why.

  "I wouldn't cart oil."

  Ram looked up, frowning.

  "I wouldn't fill my ships with OPEC oil It's too risky to the ocean, the chance of spilling that stuff into the sea. The sea was life for my family for a hundred years. I felt obligated

  to see it stayed clean. Did you know my ancestors started out

  building ships?"

  Ram nodded, wondering what this man would think if he knew he'd sailed one of those magnificent vessels.

  "I had contracts signed, but when I saw what it was doing to the sea, to the environment, I couldn't take it on. I lost a helluva lot of money and employees when I wouldn't give in." "It appears you stood on personal conviction." Alexander scoffed, the pipe clenched in his teeth, the swirl of smoke haloing his gray head. "Shipping by boat isn't as lucrative as it was fifty years ago. The recession, cargo planes, took care of that. I went to building pleasure boats. *' He gestured to his floating home. "It wasn't what we needed to get moving again." He shrugged. "It was a bad business move." "Surely it didn't destroy the company?" "No. Just made us weak enough that when we needed money—" Alexander stopped abruptly, breaking his gaze to stare somewhere beyond Ramsey.

  Ramsey twisted to see where he looked and his features

  tightened.

  "That was my wife, Annora."

  ' 'She is lovely,' Ramsey said and 'twas not a lie. The woman was dark haired and statuesque, her hair twisted high and sleek, ringlets softening her aristocratic features. In her arms was a child of about one or two snuggled in frilly blankets and lace.

  "She's dead, they both are."

  "You have my sympathy, sir." 'Twas the photo Meggie had clipped from the papers. He brought his gaze back to Alexander and saw sheer agony and loneliness in the man's pale-green eyes. Ramsey couldn't bring himself to press him further.

  Suddenly Alexander shook himself. "Well, if you want to buy nottn'ng, I guess you'd better look it over."

  Ramsey frowned, coming to his feet as Alexander did.

  "Come on," he said, crossing the cabin and mounting the ladder. "I get the feeling there's sailor blood in you." Ram followed on his heels. "Prepare to cast off."

  Ramsey grinned. "Aye, aye, sir." On deck he shucked his

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  jacket and rolled up his sleeves, then leapt to the dock to release the moorings.

  Alexander manned the rudder, nothing short of astonished as his companion raced around the deck, releasing the halyard line, adjusting winch and boom. The man knew ships and it made him feel a bit more comfortable about selling off what was left of his family's business.

  "I suppose I should know your name, mate," he finally asked.

  "Ramsey O'Keefe, sir."

  Alexander blinked, a skin-drawing chill running up his arms. No. Had to be an ancestor, he decided rationally, then said, "Let's take her out by sail, Ramsey."

  Ramsey nodded, realizing this craft could be powered by machine if need be, and manned the stern sails, feeling the wind on his face as he sailed from Coral Keys harbor once again, with a Blackwell.

  The two men strolled companionably within the shipyards, the long shoremen gone, the cranes and pallets empty. Twas in sad disarray, the proud name of Blackwell fading on the front of a massive warehouse. Inside were racks for drydocking smaller boats, the pleasure ship section that failed twenty years ago.

  "What do you really want with this place?"

  'To build ships, again."

  "It isn't equipped for steel carriers, if that's what you—"

  "Nay. I've discovered there is a great deal of wealthy people in this country and they are all willing to spend phenomenal amounts of money on their pleasures. I plan to build ships meant to be sailed by the skill of the hand and wind and not mechanics." Ramsey could only do what he knew, and he knew sailing.

  "Good luck. Most people are lazy."

  At his cynical tone, Ram cast him a glance, stone crunching beneath his boots. "I would not allow the unskilled to venture a fathom without a seasoned captain. Me," he said with a grin.

  Alexander suddenly understood. "Like the dude ranches or joining a cattle drive?"

  Ram nodded. "And afore you ask, I know 'tis not lucrative, but I've enough money to see myself and my woman comfort­able."

  Alexander snorted at his possessive tone. "Woman, huh?"

  "Aye, Penelope Hamilton. I plan to make her my wife."

  "The actress?" he said, stopping in his tracks.

  Ram frowned back at him, pausing. "Aye."

  "I can't imagine—it's just that she's a notorious recluse."

  "Merely private," Ramsey defended.

  The corner of his mouth quirked. "I never stay on shore long enough to see movies, but I hear she's incredible."

  Ramsey could only agree, yet noticed a darkening in Alexan­der' s features, a sadness, and he wondered what he was thinking to bring his mood so low. "She'd like to meet you."

  Alex looked up sharply. "Me? What the heck for?"

  "I've a confession to make, Alexander." Ram stopped and faced him. "Penelope Hamilton recently received an ... endowment from an ancestor of yours."

  "Tess Blackwell," he said without missing a beat and Ram-sey's brows shot into his forehead. "God, she was legendary for doing stuff like that. And a loon, if you ask me." Ramsey's look disapproved and Alexander laughed for the first time since they'd met that morning. "I remember my grandmother telling me some stories. One of her sons was in trouble, kidnapped or imprisoned—" he shook his head, trying to recall—"and her husband wouldn't allow her to come along to the rescue, so she stowed away on a ship and as the story goes, she was the one who orchestrated the rescue. If you can believe that?" Ramsey did. 'Twas just like Tess not to be left out of the

  battle.

  "She had to have been at least fifty at the time." Alexander sighed as they walked back down the pier. "She left a couple of endowments," came with a rueful twist of his lips, "to a few strangers. And I'll spare you the rest of my ancestors skeletons, but let's just say she made us interesting back then."

  The matriarch, sharp tongued and rebelling against society.

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  And a bonafide flake, he thought, for although she was well loved, by her family and the old township, her claim of time traveling was a family secret. But his mother had believed it and so had his grandparents, insisting there was proof, and when he was a kid, so had he. But not anymore
. He didn't believe in anything except the good die young and happiness is fleeting.

  "Why did Tess leave anything to an actress? She lived two hundred years ago."

  "I fear I am not at liberty to reveal that. Mayhaps Penelope will offer—"

  "No thanks." He shook his head, putting up a hand. "Being a Blackwell hasn't been an asset in my lifetime." He was cutting all ties by selling the business, so what did it matter? He'd no one to pass it on to and there were enough Blackwell relics around to insure the name wouldn't be forgotten, at least by a museum curator or two.

  "You know," he said thoughtfully, leaping onto his boat. "My wife always believed her ghost haunted our house."

  "Ghost?"

  "I know, it's crazy, but after Annora died, something com­forted me in that house." He flicked a glance in his direction before he checked mooring and manned the rudder. ' 'Or some­one. I would have gone completely mad if I didn't believe I wasn't totally alone."

  His voice fractured and he cleared his throat, turning over the engine.

  "I'd read a police report, Alexander, for a theft?" Ramsey ventured and the old man suddenly looked as if he'd crumble into dust, aging a hundred years afore his eyes. "I apologize, I didn't realize."

  "No, no." He waved him off and busily steered the boat away from the pier. "You see, too much information on other unsolved cases was getting out to the public, and thinking they had a leak, the police made two reports, filing one, the captain keeping the other, hoping to catch whoever was making them look like fools. Frankly, I was grateful. I needed it that way." He flipped open a small compartment to his right, removing

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  two beers and tossing one to Ramsey. They broke the seals and Alexander finished off half afore he spoke again. "I knew Annora couldn't take reporters and cameras invading her misery."

  Ramsey held onto the mast, trying not to drain the beer in one swipe in his eagerness, for he sensed, for Alexander, 'twas excruciating to even speak of the incident.